[Kemp] It had been a rainy day all day. One of those days where most of the time it was a fine constant mist that just added to the chilled feeling of winter, not fall. Some complained as they hurried along the streets, that it felt like it might snow, not rain. Others complained that the misting rain was worst than a downpour. For him, it was just another day. He’d spent the morning on the docks, earning money under the table. Now with evening coming, he was beneath the overhang of a building, not far from what he called home. A hoodie kept his hair somewhat dry and the overhang added extra protection. Here he stood with hands in pockets, watching traffic drift pass with the swipe of wipers thumping away and that wet hiss of tires on pavement.
[Page from Mei] Hahahaha. Are you cockblocking? (turn on gchat!)
[Gina McClaren] *What a wretched day. Grey, Dismal, Overcast, and Drizzly. Gina’d been making her way with a small cardboard box held in both hands. Hair in twin braids, bulky sweater and jeans staving off some of the cold. Not nearly enough, were you to ask her. She’s preoccupied at the moment with the leering of a hobo who she’s currently trying to dig out change for, box balanced on a wide hip as she struggles. She sees Kemp in the distance and raises a hand in hello, chiming to the homeless man.*
Darlin, jes.. here.. a five’ll dae et aye? Ah dinnae ‘ave anythen else fer ye..
[Maija] Wretched or not, it’s a day just like every other. She’s gotten the afternoon off, so that she could meet with Mary Alice, and start this whole ‘get an actual education’ thing rolling. She has her dates, she has her books, she’s ready to go. Possibly.
Her backpack is heavy with the newest additions, and she’s not really paying attention to where she’s going, as she’s listening to headphones on an ancient diskman that she borrowed from her boss’s kid, to listen to a cd she’d made for Maija as thanks for a late nght meds run. Head bopping, she doesn’t even recognize the rage from under that overhang…
at least, not yet.
[Kemp] He lifted his chin slightly in return greeting with the wave as he watched Gina down the way with the homeless man. Not so sure about the woman. She reminded him of a barkeeper or something. Always cheerful, bawdy and well she had big knockers and showed them off. It was while he was watching Gina and musing over some of the rumors he’d overheard about the Kin that Maija came bopping along. That was when he moved enough to make Maija aware of his presence before she ran into him.
[Gina McClaren] There ye are darlin. Buy yerself some soup.
*A soft smile to the man now shuffling away with a Tupperware container and a handful of bills. The pikey couldn’t really afford it, but if she managed to get a dancing job on the side, she might have enough for food AND Shelter. Oh glorious day. The raucous strider kin trots towards Kemp with, tilting her head as she sees Maija, another wave as she struggles with the box she carries.*
Allo Maija darlin. Kemp loves, ah brought food fer ye.
[Maija] There’s movement, and her eyes snap up, instantly. While she was distracted, she is still fairly observant. And Jumpy. She falls still, stops moving, and then lifts a hand to peel the the headphones off, and down to hang around her neck – when she recognizes Kemp, she takes a breath, and relaxes a touch. After all, he’s Imogen Approved. Sorta.
“Hey.”
Her gaze flicks to Gina, then back, tucking her hand into the roo pocket of her oversized hoodie that swallows her thin form. “S’up?”
[Kemp] ah brought food fer ye
Like a line from a Horror movie those words rung out
Dun-dun-dunnnn!
For a moment he wanted to run as if his tail was on fire. How many times had he heard those words in the pass from Nessa with some new horror to try and poison him with?
Maija asked what was up. And his reply was.
“Gina brought food.”
Duh, he was a brain surgeon.
[Gina McClaren] *Gina chuckles, slowing to a stop and presenting Kemp with a box.*
There ye are darlin. you should be set fer a day oor tae. Naethen fancy ah reckon. Jes stew, bread. A ginger loaf, and some left over spaghetti wha ah found ah didnae really care fer. Ye dinnae mind leftovers dae ye?
*Her attention turns back to Maija. The curvy kin grins at the skittish woman,*
Nae mooch goin on darlin. Jes came tae drop aft a care package. … Though ye’ve given me a bit o an idea yerself. Would ye like a spliff?
[Maija] Her lips quirk into a lopsided – and very brief – grin. “So I see.”
He looks a bit terrified at the concept, and she just shakes her head, a hand lifting to tug her damp hood back into place, her hand pale and chilled, and tucked quickly back into her pocket.
“Ya always got women feedin’ ya?” What she doesn’t say is that she’s a pretty damn good cook herself. Mama J insisted, and the times in her kitchen are the few good memories she took with her when she went on the run.
Then Gina asks if she wants a… spliff… and Maija blinks at her blankly. “…a… what?”
[Kemp] He shrugged with a faint grin as he took the box. Answering Maija first.
“Must be my boyish charm and good looks.”
Then as he looked in the box he thanked Gina.
“I don’t mind leftovers if it ain’t something weird. Appreciate it.”
[Gina McClaren] A spliff darlin.. a.. *Gina does a cursory look around. She was generally pretty on point as far as where police may be lurking at any given time. A snerk as Kemp mentions his inherent charm* Och.. tha’s certainly et.
*And seeing no cops, she withdraws a small handrolled cigarette out of her jean pocket, grinning like a chesire cat as she offers Maija the joint*
Reckon ah’m willin tae share, effen we three can find a spot out o thes Damned rain.
[Kemp] “You two go ahead.”
He shook his head, nodding down the way abit.
“I’ll just stay upwind here and keep watch.”
[Maija] a spliff… “OH! Yeah, sure.” Clarification occurs, and yeah, she’s all for that.
To Kemp. “Ya like bbq ribs n shit? Should come by sometime – they keep trying t’fatten me up. I can’t eat all th’shit they send home with me from work.” Though it’s obvious she could use a little weight, gained to make her more curvy than the far too thin look she’s sporting. What they don’t know is it doesn’t matter how much she eats, she will always be too thin.
[Gina McClaren] See darlin? Ye’ve aul the ladies tryien tae feed ye. Ye must have a terrible charm about ye.
*She leans against the wall, joint out to Maija.*
[Maija] She takes the J, her fingers ice cold where they brush Gina’s, and she digs her lighter from her pocket, and she ducks her head, the oversized hood coming in handy as she spark up, and takes that first harsh deep hit… holding it in as she passes the J back to Gina.
With the exhale, it’s noticeable – to Kemp at least – that it unwinds just a touch of tension his rage brings to settle between her shoulderblades. She’s skittish, and he knows it. If this helps, well, all the better.
[Kemp] “Looks like.”
As soon as they started with the J, he moved off upwind and put distance between them. Leaving the two to their recreation.
[Gina McClaren] Hmm. *Slender joint tucked between her lips as she takes a toke, eyes shut blissfully. With the day she was having, she could stand to get stoned out of her face. She’s handing the J back to Maija when her cell phone rings. She digs it out of a jean pocket and looks at the number in agony.*
AAAugh.. ah’ve tae gawn tae wooork. Fook ME.
[Imogen] Upwind of the joint is downwind from Imogen. He can sense her breeding before he smells her, smell her before he sees her, as she rounds the corner to a worn and tired building, a small umbrella looped around her wrist, her shoulders hunched slightly against the sudden chill of the wind tearing through her corduroy coat. Her hair is pulled back from her face, the strands swept back from her eyes, and held in place by clips and pins which are starting to come undone beneath the ministrations of Chicago’s ever-present gale.
“Looks like what?” she enquires absently, casting a glance toward Gina as she curses.
[Gina McClaren] *Phone pressed to her ear as she prattles away on the line. An apologetic wince to Kmep and Maija, a wave to Imogen as the curvy kin begins walking back from whence she came. Apparently taking her leave of them.* ((sorry folks. Kids’s being caraaazy!)))
[Kemp] ((Thanks for the play))
[Maija] Gina has to go to work, and Maija takes another hit, and hands it back. “Ya’ll need this more’n me then.” Gina moves off, Maija exhales, and digs in her pocket for a piece of gum, before she turns to rejoin Kemp, who’s been joined by Imogen.
“Hey.”
[Kemp] “That people seem to want to feed me.”
He turned to answer Imogen with a nod to the box of food he held and Gina and Maija down a bit with their smoking.
“Leftovers. Hungry?”
[Imogen] A touch of her eyes is her farewell to Gina, then her attention lifts to Kemp, then lowering to the box he offers her. A pause.
“Maybe later.”
Maija greets her, “‘lo,” she says, her truncated greeting intrinsically different than the younger woman’s. Her gaze moves between the Rotagar and the kinfolk, both in hoodies, both with their hoods up.
“Yeh look like hoodlums,” she observes without rancour.
[Kemp] “It keeps the rain off.”
He waited till Maija finished her smoking before he was offering the box to her.
“Hungry? Should be now.”
[Maija] They look like hoodlums, and Maija doesn’t bother to hide the little smirk that brings. “Yeah. I’m scary.” Clearly weed is good for Maija’s jumpiness. And unsurprisingly, she’s somewhat of a lightweight.
Kemp asks if she’s hungry, and she peers into the box, and snags the bread, and the little container of stew. “Thanks. If she’s tryin t’poison you an’ I keel over, I’m gonna haunt ya.”
She leans back against the wall – not exactly next to Kemp, and peels off the lid and dips the bread into the stew for a bite.
[Imogen] Her eyes move slightly as Maija takes out food, dark eyes lowering to touch the plastic container. A shadow of a smirk twists her mouth at Maija’s threat.
The question is absent in Kemp’s direction, lifting her chin to indicate the food. “Gina brought yeh tha’, did she?”
[Kemp] “Ya won’t be the first ghost I have dealt with, nor the second, or third, believe it or not.”
Imogen asked about the food and Gina and he nodded.
“Yeah, I don’t get it. Not sure if she was cleaning out the fridge or what. Ain’t my birthday or a holiday.”
[Maija] “Be n’expert hands, then.”
Apparently the food isn’t tainted – or if it is, it’s not a fast acting sort. It even tastes good, despite being chilled and eaten with a spoon of bread. It is not surprising at all, sometimes, that she’s Bone Gnawer. “Ain’t bad, actually. Mine’s better.”
[Imogen] Imogen’s eyebrow arches slightly. “Perhaps she was only being kind,” she observes mildly, her tone even.
Maija assures that hers is better. Imogen reaches into an inner coat pocket, retrieving a bronze plated lighter, a cigarette case. “And here I thought yer specialty was ribs,” she smirks, flicking open the case and retrieving a slender cigarette.
[Kemp] Gah, everyone was smoking something. When Imogen took out her lighter and smoke, he stepped away, making sure he was upwind again.
“I think Gina is one of those that are mom to a lot of people or something to them.”
[Maija] She shakes her head. “Jus’ work for them. I kin make a stew that’ll blow ya mind. With biscuits from scratch.” She pauses while she makes her way through another bite or two, and then adds softly. “Mama J taught me t’cook. Ain’t nuthin fancy, but I do alright.”
Of all she left in Seattle, there’s only one person she misses, that she regrets leaving there to face the music when she bailed. The expression of regret passes across her features, chased away by the careful mask she typical hides behind.
[Imogen] “No, don’t move,” Imogen says, already starting to step around him, heading closer to Maija, “I will.”
Kemp’s comment results in a shrewd glance. “Motherly is perhaps not a word I would use to describe her,” she observes, “but maybe.”
She lights her cigarette, cupping a hand around the small flame to protect it from the wind. Maija’s explanation, her soft spoken addendum receive a glance, but little more. Perhaps Imogen has nothing to say to that – the emotional connection that the Gnawer kin seems to have with a woman who was likely not even a relation.
[Kemp] ((Sorry, cat had a tick on her face, had to do a chase, wrestle, chase and then I lost the damned tick))
to Imogen, Maija
[Imogen] (that is what you get for living in the WILDERNESS)
to Kemp, Maija
[Kemp] ((It’s what I get for not ordering the frontline sooner so I didn’t run out. ))
to Imogen, Maija
[Kemp] “I can cook.”
Three words spoken clear as a bell like it was something special. Though it was apparent he was watching Maija eat and taking stock of what was in the box. Last time there had been picked pig’s feet and that had freaked him out like nothing the wyrm could throw at him.
[Imogen] Kemp’s admission draws her attention, cigarette held between her fingers, her lips sealed to hold her breath in her lungs.
She turns away to exhale smoke, one hand brushing absently on the thigh of her jeans. “What can yeh cook?” she asks.
[Maija] Imogen wouldn’t use ‘motherly’ to describe Gina, and there’s a snort that’s probably amusement from the Gnawer kin, as she scrapes up the rest of the stew from the container, and finishes off the bread. Like as not she’ll be hungry again an hour, but that’s neither her nor there. It won’t put any weight on her, either.
She leans over and drops the empty container back into Kemp’s box, and dusts off her hands before tucking them back into the front pocket of her sweatshirt.
[Kemp] “Grilled cheese.”
He nodded slowly inside the hood.
“Two pieces of bread, some cheese, just squish it with the iron on Cotton setting until the cheese melts and it’s pretty good.”
[Maija] She looks up at Kemp, and then shakes her head with a briefly amused grin. “Betcha kin rock th’cup’o’soup too, huh?”
It’s clear that that ain’t ‘cooking’ in her book, but well, at least he’s easy to please.
[Imogen] Her smirk is half hidden behind her hand as she fits a cigarette between her lips. “I rather hope tha’ doesn’t involve an iron.”
[Kemp] “I ain’t much for soup, really. It’s kind of like salad. Girl food.”
He shifted the box from one side to the other, wondering how long before the cardboard gave up the ghost in this weather.
“Ya know.”
Change of subject.
“Last I heard, Gina was looking for a guardian or something. Though she had one, she wanted another. I don’t get Striders.”
[Maija] Girl food. “Noted.”
Then he brings up the topic of guardians, and there’s something very like a tired amusement in her gaze. Everytime someone says that maija needs/has a guardian, the person in question disappears/dies. It’s becoming clear that A. Maija must be bad luck when it comes to guarding or 2. she doesn’t really care either way. She takes care of herself, for the most part – she’s not had a good run of folks who want to “take care” of her. Ever.
“What’re they lined up for’er or somethin? Must put out.” A lot.
[Imogen] Her dark eyes cut briefly toward Maija as she speaks, but if she has agreement or censure for the statement, neither shows.
“Guardian?” she echoes. “A full-blood t’ – what, take care o’ her?”
[Kemp] He snorted and it turned to a choking sound and then outright laughter. Never really giving an answer but for the display that said it all for several moments.
Finally he got himself under control to answer.
“Guess when Sampson died he left her care to his pack. She didn’t want to be under Lukas or something and since she is not his family, he let her look for someone else. I don’t know, she mentioned to me, I told her her Tribe should be the ones looking after her.”
[Maija] Kemp snorts, chokes, and then laughs outright. She arches a brow, slightly, and then looks down, slightly, hiding the little smirk that fights it way to find a home briefly across her lips. Score one for Maija – made the Ragabash choke.
She doesn’t know Sampson, and Lukas only in passing, so has nothing to add, really.
[Imogen] “Ever ask her t’consider perhaps just makin’ do on her own two feet?” a copper eyebrow lifts upward, causing a faint marring on her clear brow.
[Kemp] “No, I was too busy telling her why I was not what she was looking for.”
He looked at Imogen like she lost her marbles for a moment.
“Not trying to tell her to stand on her own.”
[Maija] She glances up at Imogen. As one that does stand on her own, seems she agrees.
A beat. “What’s th’point o a guardian, anyway? Not that they’re linin up for my scrawny ass – they all tend t’run or die soon as m’name is mentioned anyway. Been like 5 folks that I ain’t never heard of cept in passin that’s supposed t’be “claimin” me. Far as I’m concerned, they ain’t “claimin” shit.”
[Imogen] Her mouth twists slightly. “Don’t look at me like tha’. S’just a question.”
She takes another drag of her cigarette, and drops it to the ground, crushing it out beneath the toe of her shoe. “Sounds like just another method o’ becomin’ chattel, t’me.”
Smoke exhales from her mouth, caught by the wind and scattered by it. She straightens, brushing her hand lightly on her thigh before saying simply: “I should go.” A beat, and the farewell is to both: “Goodnight.”
[Kemp] “I thought Gnawers were close with their Kin? As for claiming, well some see it as duty. Some seem to treat it like collecting playing cards. Some do it cause someone else is doing it. Some seem to make claims and do nothing more. And sometimes I think some say it just to say it cause, wow, neato keen, everybody that’s cool does it.”
Imogen mentioned chattel and leaving and he called behind her.
“What’s cows got to do with it?”
[Imogen] She turns her head slightly to glance over her shoulder at Kemp, her mouth moving slightly – a suggestion of a smirk. “I’ll gi’ yeh the English lesson later, shall I?”
Her hands slide into her pockets as she turns back, and she heads for the next intersection.
[Maija] “G’night.” There’s a sound of amusement for the offer of an English lesson for Kemp, as she lifts a hand t’wave goodbye to Imogen, then tucks it back into her pocket.
She watches Imogen walk away a moment, then glances up at Kemp. “Some is, some ain’t. I was on th’run for a long time, till I settled here, so steered clear o’th Nation for it. They was close knit back home – so much so they ain’t never bothered t’step in an’ stop what was goin’ on.” Shoulders shrug, slightly. “Ain’t met any Gnawers round ‘ere since Ryan was kilt.”
[Kemp] “I always hated school.”
Muttered to Maija as he lowered his voice.
“Think I’ll skip again.”
[Imogen] (Thanks for the RP guys! have a good night!)
[Maija] She clarifies for him, with a soft chuckle. “Chattle, not cattle. Means property, basically.”
[Maija] (night Mei! Thanks for playin!)
[Kemp] “Samething then. Cows are property.”
He shrugged, looking up at the misting rain falling through the light of the street lamp.
“Well, let’s do it. Ya lead the way, I’ll walk ya home.”
[Maija] “Pretty much.”
She shoots him a glance when he says ‘let’s do it’.” What am I, Nike, then?” and it’s suddenly clear that she’s been spending a lot of time with the once-Fianna kin. But she tips her head, resettles her backpack on her shoulders and heads off in the direction of home.
“Ain’t a short walk, all th’way t’Bronzeville. Sure ya kin make it?” It’s said with a little smirk though, as she knows he can.
A beat. “There’s a couple a fellas that hang at a junk yard near my place – ya know’em?”
[Kemp] “Beats me. Lots of people hang out in Bronzeville.”
He shrugged, ambling along beside her with the box as the drizzle slowly soaked into their clothing.
“Got names?”
((And I am not here but a few minutes more, off to bed in a few y’all ))
[Maija] “Joe s’one. Ain’t know th’other.”
She refrains from giving her opinion on the kinfolk they were hanging with – so far.
[Kemp] “I know Joe. Though didn’t know they had Kin they were hanging with.”
This was news to him. Other than pain in the ass Drew.
[Maija] “From what I kin tell, she ain’t worth knowin. But yeah, my place ain’t too far from th’Junkyard. Ran inta them few days ago.”
She falls quiet again. She doesn’t seem too uptight walking with him, and only part of it is to do with the weed. He’s Imogen approved – and that carries a lot of weight with the scrawny Gnawer girl.
[Kemp] He snickered with a shake of his head as he walked her home and made small talk along the way. Once there, he left the box with her and headed out for his own place.