[Lonna Larson] She waited at the bus stop. The blonde sat comfortably and was more than content to just take in the air. It was time to really stop and reflect. Her daily travels didn’t really mean that she needed to take her car everywhere.
But, it was getting cold. Not horribly so, but cold enough that she was starting to wonder if the bus was actually going to run on time. She waited, and her attention didn’t waver. The blonde inhaled, letting the thought of what-have-you go wherever it so pleased. She toyed idly with the end of one of her blonde curls, and her mind was a thousand miles away.
Just one of those days, it seemed.
[Temple Cayce] Another beautiful night in Chicago. The chill mist never seems to stop falling here. And yet Temple continues to venture out into the streets, making his rounds to the soup kitchens and halfway houses that always seem so full these days. His workday is finally over, but he hasn’t been able to tear himself away from the area. The gangs still hold this stretch of real estate with an iron grip; not much has changed in three years.
He finally decides it’s time to call it a night and begins the short walk towards the parking lot where his motorcycle waits. The dark eyed Theurge makes it roughly one block before he spots a familiar face, sitting alone at a bus stop. Smiling, he changes course and picks up the pace. In moments he’s within a few feet of the pretty blonde. “I’ll give you this, Ms Larson: You’re a brave soul. You are aware this area is one the most gang-infested in the city, aren’t you?”
[Lonna Larson] She was miles away, but at that moment she heard her name. The blonde perked up, her attention moving from the sky and then over to the Theurge. His eyes were dark, hers were a vibrant blue-green. She regarded the man with a bit of curiosity.
“I live here,” she told him, “well, not here… but I work around here. I actually live a few blocks over.”
Not quite embarrassed or ashamed. Lonna lived in a gang-infested area, and she could… well, maybe she was just a little too naive to realize that she should be scared. Or a little too experienced in other areas. The world was full of all sorts of things- fomor, monsters, things that dare to swallow you in your dreams. What could be so bad, right?
“It’s got potential out here,” she tells him.
[Temple Cayce] He smirks, moving to take a seat beside her on the bench and setting his helmet on the ground at his feet. “That’s what City Council said when I was a kid. It took about three years before they lost interest and pulled the funding. And within six months that building…” He points to a small structure a short distance away. “…was the sight of one of the most brutal shootouts the city has seen since the days of Capone.”
A quiet sigh escapes his lips, visible in the cold night air for the briefest moment before it’s spun away by a soft breeze. His dark gaze is far away when he finally speaks again. “But you’re right. It could be beautiful. Sometimes my heart aches when I think about it.”
[Temple Cayce] ((Ugh. And that shoulda been site, not sight))
[Lonna Larson] She gave him enough room to sit down. The blonde let her hands rest on the edge of the bench, and she leaned forward as if she was there waiting with quit anticipation as to what would happen next.
“Someone told me once that whatever we do here reflects on the other side,” she tells him, “I think it was one of the first conversations I had with someone when I came to this city… feels nice sometimes to think that something changes.”
She crossed her legs at the ankle and sighed something content, as though this thought about a world she would never be able to be in pleased her. There were stories for different times, it was all left to thought.
“What was it like here?… I mean… growing up here?”
[Temple Cayce] “It…was hard. My folks weren’t really the most involved parents in town, the school system had already begun it’s cataclysmic decline. There was never enough to go around. For anyone.” He turns his dark gaze to her face, as if looking at something beautiful could ward off the memories her question had dredged up. “My brother…”
Before the thought can be finished his voice cracks, and his eyes go down to the helmet at his feet. There is an endless silence in the short moment before he clears his throat and resumes. “My brother and I joined a local gang, Down by Law. Being in a gang was different then; at least it was for us. We were a family, we looked out for each other. I was more like a mascot, really. They thought it was funny to have a smart little kid running with them. Then other gangs started moving into our neighborhood. After that, it was a never-ending fight.”
[Lonna Larson] Brows knit and her expression took on a quiet sort of concern. She looked at Temple, and her attention now did not waver. She was lovely, yes, even when she was concerned or troubled it didn’t change that fact. She looked at him, and instead of holding onto the bench she instead legs her hands rest comfortably in her lap.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’s hurting.
She let her hand rest ontop of his briefly, and she looked concerned. “I’m sorry, Temple,” she says. And does not clarify.
[Temple Cayce] When he looks up the smile has returned, though his eyes still hold on to the sadness like a pirate hoarding treasure. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. In reality it prepared me for this life I live now. And there are alot of people out there with harder stories than mine. But thank you Lonna. I can see why Liam cares about you.”
He turns away for a second, looking down the street before turning back to his bus stop companion. “I can see why you’re passing around that petition for better public transportation. I’m afraid your bus is never coming. If you’d like, I can give you a ride home. Frankly I’m tired of this bench, and I don’t like the idea of leaving you out here to fend for yourself. Capable as you may be.”
[Lonna Larson] “Suffering is suffering,” she said quietly, “if it’s the worst you’ve ever felt, then it should be taken seriously.”
He can see why Liam cares about her. It makes her blush, and then suddenly find her shoes rather interestion. He figures that her bus isn’t coming, “I thought it wouldn’t.” There is a sigh following that.
Then, he offers to give her a ride home. She perks up, and there is an obvious conflict in her eyes, though what over is hard to tell. “You don’t have to do that, it’s okay, really. I mean… you have a lot of other stuff to do,” she tries to protest, but she’s coming up with the worst reasons.
[Temple Cayce] Temple laughs and shakes his head before lifting his helmet from the ground. He stands with a grunt, his hand extended to help her up from her seat. “I’ve finished all of the things I have to do today Lonna. Let me give you a ride.”
Seeing her hesitation, he quirks a brow curiously. “Unless there’s some reason you’re declining. You’re not afraid of motorcycles, are you? I can assure you, I’m an excellent driver. I’ll even go slow for you.”
[Lonna Larson] (you can do it, girlie!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Lonna Larson] He’s looking at her curiously, and for the life of her she tries to talk herself into it. there’s hesitation there, and her hand comes up to play with a loose curl. It’s almost a comforting gesture, slowly twirling the lock between her fingers.
“Oh- it’s not that-” she says quickly, “I just-”
She’s trying to come up with a reason why she can’t go home, and it’s drawing blanks. And in her bright eyes there is a flicker of something akin to panic. Something she was trying to bite down, but not quite succeeding in doing.
“It’s not motorcycles. I don’t mind those.”
[Temple Cayce] The smile fades, the curious expression spreading from the arched brow to envelope his entire face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Have I done or said something to offend you? Or…you don’t think I’m going to try and take advantage of you, do you?”
It’s a legitimate question, and a cause for concern to Temple. The helmet dangles loosely in his left hand, his right pushing through his dark brown hair as he examines the kinwomans reaction to his offer. “Lonna…you can trust me. If there’s something wrong, I’d like to know what I can do to help.”
[Rory O’Bryne] At some point, she’s managed to pop into her room, shower, and change clothing. So much so that the only scent of blood that still clings to her from the oh so recent battle is where it is dried into the straps of her backpack.
Of herself, there is no scent. There is, however, the innate knowledge of purity that sings through her veins, declares her fit for far more than would ever come to be. Wasted potential. Despite the good intentions of her jacket’s hood – the mop of deep red curls cannot be contained, corkscrew springs sneaking free to fall into her face, to obscure her view, only to be pushed back by slender pale fingers.
She turns the corner. Destination: Bus stop. Right next to Temple and Lonna.
[Lonna Larson] (can we calm down now? Please?)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Lonna Larson] Oh, and now it became complicated. She tried to calm herself down, and the quiet sort of panic that had come across her features were soon enough pushed aside. One good, long breath. She inhaled, she exhales.
“OH, it’s… Temple it’s not…” she inhaled slowly, “it’s not you, I promise.”
She looked at him, and then she smiles a little. It was a weak expression, but an attempt. “It’s all in the past, I’m fine… just get nervous, that’s all.”
[Temple Cayce] He can only stand, staring mutely as Lonna seems to fight an internal battle with her nerves. Once she has regained her composure, and clarifies that it’s not his fault, he returns her weak smile. Temple opens his mouth to speak again; and then Rory approaches. Her Rage presses his nerves, her breeding obvious at almost any distance. It is all clearly a bit overwhelming for the teenaged Theurge. “I…if there’s anything I can do to help Lonna…for now, maybe I should just go.”
[Temple Cayce] ((Sorry that took so long guys, I actually gotta post out))
[Lonna Larson] She stopped, looking over to see the redhead in the distance. the blonde started to go through her purse, and she eventually retrieved a receipt. Lonna dug through and tried to get a decent handle on what she was writing. Her handwriting wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was nice enough to be read.
“Call me, okay? I really do appreciate your offer, Temple,” she tells him.
[Rory O’Bryne] Her steps slow as she nears the pair, careful not to invade their privacy. There’s a sense that it is more than just politeness in the petite Fianna, but it’s somewhat undefined. Her glance toward them is quick, then her gaze drops down and away, once again.
Pale fingers lift to wrap around the straps of her backpack, and she finds an unoccupied space against a wall, and waits there, pale eyes searching for a bus that isn’t due to come just yet.
[Temple Cayce] “I will Lonna. Be safe.” He looks her over one last time as he begins to open the distance between them, then turns away and resumes the long walk to his motorcycle. There is only a brief glance at Rory as he departs. Within moments he has disappeared down the dark street…
[Lonna Larson] There is silence for a moment, but then the blonde looks at the Fianna. She can notice the rage, the way it crackles in the air. The blonde looks at her, all long legs and soft curls and beautiful cheekbones. Lonna offered her a smile; it was content. Pleased, but relaxing.
“Hey,” she said, “staying warm?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Lonna look her way, and Rory meets her gaze for a lingering moment, before submissively dropping them once again. She is content, smiling and pleased, and Rory isn’t one to burst that bubble. She lifts pale fingers to rub at the side of her nose, idly, and then scratches at her shoulder – rather ineffectual when done through her jacket.
She nods, slightly, in reply. After a moment, chewing on her inner lip, she voices the same question in return – with a single word. “You?”
[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson is the kind of woman that you want to hate. She’s tall and thin but curvaceous. Her skin is practically glowing tonight. She looks amazing- she always looks amazing, that is. Odd, she managed to push back her fears and her nerves for the time being and, instead, managed to make small talk with the redhead.
“Mostly… it’s not so bad…”
[Rory O’Bryne] Rory can’t help but be noticed, even as she tries not to be. It’s not that she’s a great beauty, because she’s not. She’s ok – but she has features that certainly stand out: She’s pale, very pale, and her skin is littered with freckles. And her hair – that mop of blood-red curls cannot be missed, even on a good day.
She dresses simply enough, all told – her boots are scuffed, her jeans simple and darkwash denim, her jacket a simple warm black quilted affair, with the hood attempting to contain wayward curls.
Lonna is mostly warm. Rory can’t help but be the same, the fire of rage burning through her skin – as if it might burn the one who dares to touch her, too. “Good.” That Lonna is warm. She glances toward where the bus might be coming from, at some point, and asks softly. “What time is the mus to the bile?”
Her words are mixed up, jumbled, and she seems to be completely oblivious to the fact.
[Andrew] I don’t care if it hurts, I wanna have control. And then walking along came the one known as Andrew. To most anyway. His head down. He’s found himself a hoodie for this cold weather. Got knows where he got it. Stolen probably. It’s newer looking that the one he tore to shreds ages ago. There’s hardly a hole in the thing. Big pouch in the front. Grey. His hands are stuffed in the pocket in the front. The hood shades his face from the street lamps. His moon hangs in the sky and he doesn’t glance at it. Sometimes he wonders if he was born under the wrong one. Who knew what he was born under anyway?
He was walking towards the bus stop at the moment. Cargo pants and beaten up sneakers. Hands in his hoodie pouch and hood down.
[Lonna Larson] Rory is hard to miss, and Lonna is for a completely different reason. Lonna lacks the breeding, the fiery hair, the passion. Instead, she stands tall and elegant and breakable. Just another porcelain doll. Something about all that rage makes her nervous, not for a completely different reason.
Lonna slips her hands into her pockets and took her in. Attire was comfortable. Jeans, a corduroy jacket, and a sweater of some sort. It was cool, yes, but not cold to the point that she blonde hand to cover up too horribly much. Then again, she had been out all day. Her attention stays on the redhead, and she speaks, “It… I think it should be running soon. They’ve been running late, though.”
Something caught her attention, and the familiar form of a particular Child of Gaia made her tense. She looks away and finds the pavement very interesting.
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, maybe she said it right. There’s a touch of relaxation in her form then, knowing the bus will arrive – eventually. Sometimes, you never know.
Lonna looks down, suddenly, and stares at the pavement. Rory blink, and looks up and round to see the source. Her gaze falls on Andrew, and she watches him, flicking her eyes between him and Lonna, and then taking a step closer to the woman – almost protectively. Instinct.
“Friend?” The question very much sounds like she expects to hear that Andrew is ‘foe’ instead.
[Andrew] Most people indeed recognized him as a foe. He was walking along the sidewalk, heading towards them, going in the direction of a certain set of apartment buildings he knew were down the street. His head was down but at the low talk ahead of him he glanced up. His scarred visage coming into view. Brown eyes. Hard features. Cromagnon man, eat your heart out. And he kept right on walking towards them. Eyeing Lonna, mostly.
[Lonna Larson] “Yeah,” she said. It’s followed with a nervous laugh. Sure enough, though, Andrew was coming their way. His eyes were hard, and the blonde tries to play it off as though she was not nervous, as though seeing him didn’t make her want to turn in the other direction. “He’s kind of… like… a friend of a cousin.”
The infamous cousin references are left aside. This is the second time, however, that this particular Child of Gaia has found herself uncomfortable and, instead, chose the company of a Fianna for some kind of comfort.
[Rory O’Bryne] “Oh.” She’s nervous, though it’s a family matter, and she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she moves closer still, just in case.
She doesn’t flinch away from the glimpse of his face – but she doesn’t look long either. It’s not surprising though, considering that she doesn’t even look Lonna in the eye for very long. He keeps eying Lonna, and she watches them curiously – without seeming to outright stare.
[Andrew] I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul. He’s the lone wolf. Tonight and every night. He hunts alone. Feeds alone. Speaks to the spirits alone. Dances alone. Should have been his name. They only got it part right.
He walks up to the two of them. And stops. Recognizing them both. Looking at Lonna first. Back to Rory. And back to Lonna. Then around the empty street. Street lamps humming. Traffic buzzing. Buildings creaking. Webs twisting. And he’s silent.
[Lonna Larson] She looks at him again, and they’re both quiet. The blonde doesn’t say anything for the time being, and instead of moving away from the rather ragey young woman, she stays still. The blonde looks over at Andrew and offers a nervous smile.
“Hey, Andrew,” she says.
[Rory O’Bryne] She tips her head, trying to remember where she’s seen him before, then her gaze clears and she nods. “The Hotherbrood. You found your ball.”
She’s not even aware she said it out loud – let alone that she messed it up. Lonna puts a name to his face, and Rory tucks away the information.
[Andrew] He grunts, as a form of greeting. Meeting Lonna’s eyes briefly. Then twisting over to Rory’s. At her comment, his face twists into something that might be a smile. Brief and barely ringing his eyes as it is. It fades away and he nods a bit. “Yeah.” Nodding more firmly to Lonna. “Hey.”
His head turns and glances at the bus stop sign. A form of transportation he’s likely to never use since it costs money and he has none. His two feet work fine. Or free rides from willing kin. Or four legs in the dead of night. Or on the wings of an ephemeral world many don’t realize is there. Who knows how he gets around.
But it’s not by bus.
[Lonna Larson] (skip me, please!)
[Lonna Larson] (don’t panic, again!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Rory O’Bryne] He says yea, and she nods. Her memory, at least, is in working order. A roll of slender shoulders resets the straps of her backpack on her back, as she looks between them. There’s something there that she cannot quite put a finger too, and it’s clearly making the Fianna nervous. She swallows, hard, and then takes a step back.
“Ok.” a beat, and then – as he clearly has rank. “Rory.” an introduction.
[Andrew] He looks at Rory a moment. Fixing her with steady eyes. He’s supposed to be friendly. And ethereal. And Wise and stuff. But he’s just another Garou. And they’re standing at a bus stop. And he’s got something he had meant to do.
He nods to Rory. “You’re new. Ever find Buried Hatchet.” Voice whiskey smoker growly and tinged with Southern.
[Lonna Larson] She inhales, and then looks at Rory and offers her half a smile. It is something half-hearted, but she seems to be a rather pleasant creature. Lonna offers her a little wave and tucks her purse underneath one of her arms. The blonde gave a little wave to those at the bench and she heads down the walkway.
“I’m just a few blocks from here, i’m going to just walk,” she said.
And with that, it was away from the garou.
[Rory O’Bryne] She meets his eyes, then drops her’s instantly. She ducks her head, a little, and watches a spot on the cement. “Yes.” she’s new.
Then a sigh. “No. I haven’t found Huried Batchet yet. Or his packmates.” They are likely busy. Or unconcerned with meeting a newly arrived Fianna. Either way, she’s been unable to make contact. She shrugs her shoulders, and glances up at him, then Lonna as she waves and beats feet, and back to that interesting spot on the cement. “I’ve seen the Mull Foon Elder, though.”
[Andrew] He grunts. “That’s good.” But he’s not overly talkative. Buried Hatchet wasn’t a great contact in the city anyway. In his mind, anyway. So he didn’t seem to care. And he had things to do. There was a cleansing to be done. It had to be done. He was already late. He blows a cloud of vapor out of his nose and nods to Rory as he heads off after Lonna.
He might be following her. He might be going the same way. Who knows. Stalking comes to mind. And his eyes drift to the ground again as he walks.
[Rory O’Bryne] She blinks, and then opts not to wait for the bus either. She, however, walks the other way.