[Gina McClaren] *Its dark and drizzling. This not a popular beach. The shoreline ragged with stones, a rickety dock looms lonely across the water. No, people preferred sand and playgrounds and concessions, and few preferred even those once darkness fell. The die hard beach partiers risk rain at other locations. This was a place that didn’t attract happy coeds with booze and bonfires. It attracted lost souls and drifters. Well… and people wanting to dispose of bodies. Gina sits alone on the end of a dock, a small curvy shadow as the wind tosses long hair about. Thinking as she grows numb in the chill of wind an rain. A little pain to remind you you’re alive.*
[Julian Riley] The beach is sparsely populated. Every few miles there’s a dot in the darkness that constitutes a warm body – or two. Maybe you can pick out a persons shirt if it’s just the right color. His shirt does little to expose him – it’s a black hooded sweatshirt. His jeans are equally as dark. Whatever he was doing tonight it wasn’t sleeping. It wasn’t being at Waco’s ranch where he belonged.
Sneakers sink into the sand, he doesn’t mind that it seeps into his shoes and presses in against his feet. Nor does the cool wind seem to bother him – in fact, he turns his head into it, his nose catching scents carried on it. The lake, sand, rocks and moss and … other spices that do not quite fit into this locale.
Hazel eyes scan the beach and docks until he spots Gina’s form. His feet are silent in the sand but once they hit the dock they can be heard and his added weight is likely felt.
[Julian Riley] don’t go! LOL
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] [*L* I wasn’t planning on it. ]
to Julian Riley
[Gina McClaren] *The thud and bump of his feet on the dock has her head snapping around warily to regard him, little woman prepared to stand and move quickly away if need be. The press of his rage almost convinces a strider kin that her instinct for flight is well warranted, but the continued prickle of it across her skin, and the familiar lean form give her pause, hands flat on the dock.*
Julian?
*Her voice clear and warm, enchanting as she looks up at him and tilts her head in question. A deep breath of sharp autumn air swells her chest, exhaled in a thin plume.*
[Gina McClaren] (just a heads up, this is going to be a ~very~ slow moving scene. I’m in another at the moment and started this one so as to go along at a very lazy pace. If you were looking for something a little more progressive, this is probably not for you. :P )
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] (I don’t mind slow. I’m patient.)
to Gina McClaren
[Julian Riley] “Hey.” He says, his hands shoved deep into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Julian does not move to sit, he stops about three or four feet behind Gina, his face splattered and masked with various shades and forms of shadows.
“What’re you doing out here?” he asks curiously, head turning right and left to regard both the beach and the water.
[Rory O’Bryne] Chicago is a city of many wonders – it has a little bit of everything. There is the city itself. The woods outside the city. And lakes, waterfront, and beaches within the limits. It’s odd, weird, perhaps even a little confusing. It’s also cold. The weather is wet, and rainy, but it doesn’t stop her from walking along the beach. The hood to her jacket is pulled up, but it only barely contains the mop of red curls that try to escape and taste the rain. Her hands are shoved into the pockets, and the dark wash of her jeans is darker still with the weather. The sand clings to her shoes, slows her progress, but she powers on, walking through the sand toward the docks where other figures dot the planks.
It’s hard to miss her, despite the fact she is slender and on the short side at just 5’4″. Her rage powers through the senses, even under a darkening moon, and the blood of heroes and kinks surges through her veins, though she is curiously unscented in all other ways.
[Gina McClaren] Reckon ah’m tryin tae sort me mind out on a few thengs…
*Gina curves her body towards him, wrapped in a knit sweater and long layered skirts. She jingles as she moves, feet set bare on the cold wet of the dock. An easy silence as she watches him.*
How are ye. Julian?
[Gina McClaren] ((groovy then! :P just didn’t want you gnawing your own leg off waiting for my slow ass to post))
to Rory O’Bryne
[Julian Riley] “I’m good, thank you.” His eyes fix on her for a moment and then return to scanning the beach. Uneasy or perhaps just plain wary. “You’re going to get sick.” He says, nodding toward her bare feet. Gina had the ability to cave even the strongest of men, but Julian was an oak and when her voluptuous frame curls in his direction he clears his throat.
“I’m ready for it to stop raining I think….” he says, his eyes on the beach. Fixing on Rory’s moving form his head tips slightly to one side. It looks feral, canine in nature.
[Rory O’Bryne] A gust of wind knocks her hood back, and she reaches up to catch it and pull it forward again. That’s another thing that Chicago has plenty of. Wind. It’s nothing like home. Rory is pretty sure that’s a good thing.
Movement on the dock pulls her eyes upwards. Her head tips in a surprisingly natural mirror of Julians.
[Gina McClaren] Ah like tae feel the mud atween me toes.
*Is her simple explaination. She doesn’t mention the other rainy evening they shared recently. She didn’t have to. They were both there an know all too well how it ended. Perhaps thats why she remains seated rather than drawing closer to the man. She watches Rory approach, 5 foot of curves curling a little tighter against the rain.*
Hello loves?
[Julian Riley] He is watching Rory too. The tension riding the corded muscles of his back and shoulders eases every so slight as the hood is pushed back and the fire red of Rory’s hair is produced. Relaxing, he smiles just slightly…it’s probably the first time Gina has seen such an expression on his normally stoic face.
“Did you itch?” He asks, eyes flickering back to the curvy Strider kinswoman. “From the ivy?” A hand is pulled free of his sweatshirt pocket and he waves at Rory. It’s the kind of wave that says, come here.
[Rory O’Bryne] The female calls a hello, and Julian follows it a moment later beckoning her closer. Rory looks about her as if to make sure they mean her, and then she studies them a moment longer. Finally she turns and makes her way to the dock, her feet near soundless on the worn, wet boards.
She stops respectfully a few feet away, pale green eyes lifting to meet Julian’s briefly, then lowering to hover somewhere about his chin, before dropping away completely.
[Gina McClaren] Nae darlin, reckon ah jes missed et. Thank ye though, fer takin care o me like ye ded.
*Julian smiles at the approach of the redhead, and so too does the curvy strider kin. A howl of wind rustles her skirts as she rises to her feet, rain having begun to soak through her sweater. She moves to stand a little closer to Julian’s lean frame. Safety by proximity.*
ye kain a lass Peaches?
[Julian Riley] The lowering of her eyes washes away the smile. It was what she was supposed to do – wasn’t it? Wasn’t it expected? Julian had no need for posturing and even as a Philodox he did not seem to lay judgement on the red head for transgressions not her own. Gina moves in closer to his body and he extends a hand toward Rory.
“I don’t expect that.” He says to her in regards to the lowering, submissive action. “I mean … I just don’t so…” His smile lingers, Gina speaks and he motions between them. “Rory is like me …Rory this is Gina…she’s kin to the Striders…” His voice is pitched low, keeping their conversation private should anyone consider eavesdropping.
[Rory O’Bryne] He doesn’t expect it. She lifts a hand and rubs at her nose, then shoves her curls back under her hood – hoping to keep it contained. It never works. Her skin is pale, almost translucent in the darkness, as she forces herself to look up and meet his eyes again. A slight nod.
She understands. It does not make it easier, but she understands.
She glances at Gina, and she gets the same submission. All are above the mule. Including Kinfolk. But she says softly. “Hi.”
[Gina McClaren] Allo Loves.. Yer enjoyin our fine weather? *Gina laughs, soft and merry, looking up to the redhead with a grin thats sunshine in the dark. Voice impossibly warm, intimate. For most, the soft caramel kin was simply pleasant to be around. Familiar, like an old firend or worn in comfortable shoe. Too long hair hangs wetly down her back, and she bends down to scoop up her shoes, hopping and tossing out a hand, jingling unsteadily as she tries to fight her flapping skirts to slip them on.*
[Julian Riley] Instinctively, a hand juts out to steady the kin as she tries to hop around and hook them on her small feet at the same time. Julian looks down at her briefly before looking at Rory. “I’m glad we had a chance to see one another again…” There is something that whispers interest in his tone when it comes to Rory. It is a tone most women would love to hear when he speaks to them or what a life long friend would expect to hear in his tone. And, really, it’s genuine.
“Are you making it okay in the city? You’ve got somewhere to stay?” He asks, holding onto Gina securely and safely until she’s got her shoes on.
[Rory O’Bryne] Gina has a voice that’s warm and welcoming, that of an old friend. Julian has similar tones, and it doesn’t exactly put her at ease. It doesn’t cause her to run and hide, either. She chews on her lower lip a minute, before letting it slide free.
“Yes. The Hotherbrood.” She says it just like that, though by her expression she does not realize that it’s backwards, that her letter sounds are in the wrong place, that anything is wrong at all. She hears it correctly.
[Gina McClaren] *She weebles and wobbles, but she doesn’t fall down, brushing her hands off on her damp skirts as she rights herself. A soft smile of appreciation to the man that had helped her. The pretty pikey curling her arms round herself as she listens to the interaction between Rory and Julian. Pleased. Rory mispronounces the brotherhood and Gina gives a chuckle.*
Reckon tha’s as good a place tae start as any. Dae ye ‘ave kin en tha city wha’ll help gi’ ye on yer feet love?
[Julian Riley] His eyes skirt downward to watch Gina and the ease with which she welcomes the new Garou into the fold. Just as she done with both Waco and himself. This seems to, oddly, leave him a little less tense standing so close to the kin.
For now, he listens. His eyes silently watching the beach front for anyone near them. Finally, he speaks. “Yeah…if you need anything….” He says, leaving the offer open ended.
[Rory O’Bryne] She shakes her head, slightly. “They said to find Huried Batchet. I haven’t found him yet.”
She lifts her hand and tucks her curls behind her ear again, and shrugs a slender shoulder. She’ll be alright. She has broken from the fold to prove that very thing – that she’d be alright. Julian offers, and she nods, and ducks her head, slightly, to hide a small smile. She has his number.
Though in truth – she’s a little startled at how accepting, how friendly they all are. She’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
[Gina McClaren] Och, Hatchet. Ee’s an odd duck. a weeee bit intense. Off balance like. Mind yer tongue reckon an he’s sweet as cherry puddin. *She singsongs into the rain, face upturned to let it run along softly exotic features. Worshipping the weather wistfully, even as it threatens her with the sniffles tomorrow.*
Ye’ll find him en wan o tha rooms close by the laundry, reckon. Blond felly, longish hair, short beard. Handsome, effen ye like em pretty.
[Julian Riley] Julian is accepting because everyone else may not be. It was in his nature. It rain his blood. He was a staunch supporter of the under dog and what a better under dog than a Metis? His eyes dance between Gina and Rory, growing more at ease as the two talk. Her odd speech doesn’t seem to bother him – though he does appear to listen a little bit closer to her words.
[Rory O’Bryne] She snaps her gaze up to Gina as she tells her to mind her tongue around Hatchet, checking to see if that’s a joke, a jab. Clearly she knows that she has the problem with her speech, even if she doesn’t know when it happens, or control it. After a moment, she nods, slightly, deciding it’s not a joke at her expense, but rather advice.
“Room 1.” She nods. She doesn’t say anything about liking them, pretty or otherwise. She does not have that right.
[Gina McClaren] There’s also the Boy’s en room Three. Hatchet’s Packmates, reckon. Curata grim heart, and Charlie. Curata’s Fianna like Hatchet, but ee’s a bit o’ a bint. Charlie tho, Charlie es pure majesty. Ee’s a Black Fury Metis, an ee’s sweeter than cherry puddin. Ee’s.. Ee’s like tha sprinkles on top. Ee’s yer best bet, effen ye need tae kain where tae find Hatchet.
*My my the strider’s full of information. She crinkles her nose in pleasure, nodding.*
[Julian Riley] He smiles and looks down at the toes of his sneakers. “Hopefully that will point you in the right direction.” He says, eyes drawing back up to rest on Rory. “Have you given your chiminage yet?” He asks curiously, his own gift to Chicago’s totem having been a painful one.
To Gina, he glances. There’s no words, just a spared glance of …possibly approval or relief. It’s hard to tell at times with Julian.
[Rory O’Bryne] “Thanks.” Single words are easier. They come out cleaner, they are understandable and do not give cause for ridicule. Understandably, she’s a woman of few words.
Julian asks about chimiage, and she nods. “Mo Taelstrom? Yes. She shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, her shoulders hunching slightly at the memory. She explained to no one what she had given, what it meant. Marrick said it had to hurt, and hurt it did.
She looks at Gina, as she knows the elders, and furrows her brow. “I stix fuff. Tinker. Want to gake a mift for the elders here. Huried Batchet, Marrick. Any ideas?”The woman clearly knows them better than Rory, and any bit of help is appreciated.
[Gina McClaren] Hmm.. let me thenk on that Rory Peaches.. Ah’ve nae mooch experience wi’ Marrick. Hatchet’s a big fan o food.. but then, wha felly esnae? *A chuckle as she shakes her head, thinking on Rory’s strange speach with amusement. A hard shiver vibrates up her body, and she looks around with a quirk of her lips.*
Reckon ah’m gintae trot homeward afore ah freeze me tets aft. But here.. *Her satchel rattles and rustles as she digs in it for a peice of paper, scribbling her name and number on it and offering it to Rory, wind flapping it insistently.*
here’s me number, an me address en bronzeville. Drop en whenever ye’d like fer tea. Jes mind the Angry Coggie.
[Julian Riley] Gina excuses herself and Rory is left with the Child of Gaia Philodox. “Be careful Gina.” He remarks as she goes, his eyes watching her hair as she goes. Rory then receives his attention, his hand lifting to rake back through his wet dark hair.
“That’s a lot of information…” He says with a half smile riding his lips. “So you’re making gifts?” He questions casually.
[Julian Riley] (Boy that was a redundant shitty post LOL sorry!)
[Rory O’Bryne] She takes the paper, and looks at it, reading the numbers slowly to herself, memorizing the shape, the name they attach too, before she tucks it into her pocket with a nod of thanks. Bronzeville. Angry Child. Got it.
She goes, and leaves her with Julian, and she looks at him and nods, slightly. After a moment’s consideration, she pulls her backpack off her back, and opens it, pulling out a battered and beat to hell box. It couldn’t possibly work, right? But she lifts the lid, and the music plays – tinny and slow. Somewhere over the Rainbow. It brings a content smile as she shows it to Julian and lifts a slender shoulder in a shrug.
“I thix fings. I find them, hroken and burt, an’ put them together again.” It’s what she can do. It’s what she has to offer in way of introduction, in way of usefulness other than tooth or claw. “I lound a famp. Fixing it for him.” Buried Hatchet, most likely.
[Gina McClaren] ((hey you! I enjoy rory immensely do you have aim?}
to Rory O’Bryne
[Julian Riley] He smiles. It’s an expression that is given easily to the red headed Metis. “I like that.” he says, nodding toward the box. “It’s very nice.” His words speak of genuine concern, of the possibility of genuine and honest to God like. It was just the sort of man that he was. Likely to a fault.
“I want to show you something.” This is stated with a jerk of his head toward the beach. Toward the concrete paths and the cars parked just a hundred feet away from the dock. There’s an old blue pick up that’s older than Julian himself. If she comes, and when they reach it, he opens the door with a loud rusty creak.
“It isn’t fixing things….nothing as lasting as that…but it’s something.” In his hand is a hand carved wooden chess piece. Intricate in design and detail, the Rook’s curves and corners are yet to be smoothed.
[Rory O’Bryne] She holds the box close to her belly, ducking her head to smile, hiding it behind the fall of blood-red curls. She’s pleased, but she doesn’t let him see that. It’s wrong to let them see pride in her job. She does what she does and does it well. That’s enough. “It peeds naint. Isn’t done.”
He wants to show her something, and she tucks her box back into her pack, and swings it over her shoulders again and follows. She’s curious. She doesn’t get the chance to see what others do often, her own crafts often belittled as they come from the hands of a metis, a mule.
She chews on her lower lip, absently, until he shows her the carved chess piece. She tips her head, slightly, and reaches for it, before she snatches her hand back, expecting to be reprimanded. “It’s beautiful.”
[Julian Riley] “No it’s fine…” He says and offers it to her with certainty. Julian knew the weight of what her birth meant. He knew that the sins of the mother fell on the child. As a Philodox, it was a debate he often had with other Garou. His spark and feelings on the matter profound.
“Fixing something…that’s a talent. I can’t fix a thing.” He says, leaning against his truck and not minding the moisture that threatens to bleed through his sweatshirt. “It’s…special. To be able to fix what’s broken.”
“I know how you’re treated by … the majority Rory.” He begins with a shrug. “Please don’t expect that from me. I can’t do it. You’re the Great Mother’s daughter, as I am her son. We’re all special in our own way and each of us is with purpose and important. Defects and all.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She ducks her head, again, but feigns as if it’s to look at the Rook, fingers sliding over the edges, the unfinished marks, seeing the beauty that lies underneath, that will come out fully when it is finished.
“Fan’t cix everything. But I try.” And sometimes, sometimes that’s the only thing anyone can expect from themselves. She looks up at him as he continues, and nods, slightly, ducking her head again. “Is not only problem.” her mental deformity, she means. But she understands what he’s saying on some level, even if she’s never experienced it until coming here.
“Can’t fix everything. Can’t mix fe.”
[Julian Riley] He is what most label a bleeding heart. Her words, backwards and in need of decoding in his head, tear at his heart. It breaks it and he remembers what his defense of a Metis cost him before. He remembers Waco and his admission. His mouth creases into a flat line, devoid of any lingering smile.
“I know.” He says quietly, a hand finding the Mule’s shoulder. “But you’re worth something. Regardless.” What Rory said, that she couldn’t be fixed, will haunt Julian for a good long while.
“Hey … why don’t you let me drive you to the Brotherhood?” He asks as the rain falls in a soft misty sheen.
[Rory O’Bryne] She flinches slightly as he touches her shoulder, but she doesn’t pull away. He says she’s worth something, and she doesn’t argue. SHe may not believe it, but she does not argue.
Instead, she looks at the old truck dubiously, and back up to meet his gaze. “It runs?” surprise maybe. Maybe expecting it needs tinkering with too, though her skill is with motors of much smaller caliber. She nods though, deciding to brave it if he does.
“Ok.”
[Julian Riley] “Barely.” He says with the faintest of chuckles. She gets in, he closes the doors. The engine complains briefly before turning over. It doesn’t roar or hum or purr. It just grumbles and complains and runs just enough to get Julian where he needs to be.
“Told you … I can’t fix anything really…”
(Okay! I gotta head off to bed, gotta work in the AM. Thanks for the RP!)