[John Thornton] The sky was dark, black with the thick bank of clouds overhead, hiding the silvery light behind a veil of purest night. The wind whipped and tore through the windy city, its breath substantial even when it ceased the seemingly endless gusts, as rain trickled down upon the city below like a mister watering vegetables…
On the whole, it was a miserable night to be out, for man or beast.
One such man sat within the relative comfort of a black Crown Victoria, its engine rumbling throatily as it idled, and then died in the vacant parking spot. It had been a long time since lunch, would be longer still until dinner, and it seemed there was always more work to be done.
Still, that didn’t mean one totally ignored protocol. A hot cup of joe could be just the thing to keep the mind sharp…
And with that thought in mind, the detective pulled the plastic tab off the lid of the styrofoam cup and began to drink the steaming black coffee within.
Without a bookstore rested, a steady hustle and bustle in the cheerily lit place from customers milling about within.
[Maija] A bookstore that currently holds one far too skinny Gnawer kinfolk, digging through the bargain bins for something… new. Some fluff for between the studies, studies she’s taking extremely seriously. Than again, it seems Maija is the type to take a good many things seriously – too much so. She’s the one that older women tsk their tongue over, bemoaning the life she’s suffered, hoping she finds herself a good man and settles down, and learns how to smile.
Maija just wants to survive until tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. And if Beyond The Valley Of Thorns by Patrick Carman helps her do that, then so be it. She grabs a couple other likely suspects from the bin, and pays with a crumpled $10 bill she’d gotten as a tip today. Some folks spend their tips on beer, liquor, some other vice. She spends her’s on book. Everyone has their weakness.
Soon enough, she’s stepping through the door of the bookstore, and looking up at the sky with a sigh as she pulls her hood up. It’s gonna be a wet wait for the bus.
[John Thornton] Hazel eyes turn to the motion almost immediately, and as they register a far too skinny Gnawer kinfolk at the doorway, John can’t help but feel that wan not-a-smile spread over his lips.
Maybe it was the hood; when they first met, it was all she could do not to bury herself in the thing not to be seen. Even that one time, when she was listening to a story and wasn’t wearing it… It had been all she could do, upon seeing him, not to hide beneath the bedsheets…
Funny to think what Mrena might have done then…
That name was ominous, would lead to dark places if he let it. Instead, John settles upon distraction. He turns up the 24 hour news service to hear reports of continuing violence in Afghanistan…
Before honking the horn twice, two short bursts, to get Maija’s attention. The doors unlock with a simple click of the electric locks…
[Maija] The horn honks, and she whips her head toward the noise, instantly. She’s still hyper aware, still very conscious of her surroundings. No matter how much she gets used to being her, tries to settle down, somethings simply can’t be unlearned.
She relaxes though, slightly, as she recognizes not the car, but the man sitting inside. The lamp light is dim, but his is an unmistakeable presence, one that’s been finding her more often than not, lately. She arches a brow, slightly, as the locks click, and with a final tug of her hood, she heads his direction.
She opens the door. “Hey” and sips from her backpack as she slides inside, setting it and the bag of books into her lap as she takes a seat. “Stalkin’ me, are ya?”
[John Thornton] “Somebody has to keep an eye on you…”
John shrugs and takes a swig of too hot coffee, before continuing.
“If only to keep you from catching pneumonia.”
He nods to the window.
“What are you doing out in this weather?”
In the dark light, the hazel eyes seem almost gray to the point of black. In the dark of street lights, maybe the near blacked sockets don’t seem so prevalent.
Maybe the detective who doesn’t sleep seems just a bit less care-worn.
Then again, maybe not…
His hair was still a disheveled mop, furrowed with the passage of his fingers. His tie was, as it always seemed to be unless he was on duty, askew, with the top button of the plum hued dress shirt unbuttoned. And his smile, as seemed to be the case anymore, just didn’t quite look happy…
But at least he didn’t stink of liquor…
[Maija] She laughs softly. “I’m a gnawer – we ain’t the kin t’get sick.” Not exactly true, but she says it anyway. Her tribe is known to be quite… hardy. She reaches up to push her hood back, once in the car, something she wouldn’t have done so many months ago.
He asks what she’s doing out in this weather, and she pats the bag in her lap. “They’ve got the best selection of cheap ass books in th’city.”
Though he’s been in her apartment – seen the wall of books. On one hand, he can’t hardly be surprised, on the other, how could she possibly need more?
“Have t’get a bit a’fluff readin to cleanse the mental pallet between Socrates an’ Latin studies.” She’s a lot of things – stupid ain’t one of them.
[John Thornton] “Socrates and Latin studies… And here I thought I was doing well with crossword puzzles.”
John smiles that not-a-smile and takes another swig of coffee. Then, without a word, he flicks on the lights and pulls the car out into traffic deftly. As he drives, an errant hand moves to turn down the radio, as it continued on to discuss how trafficking in Mexico was affecting the local townspeople in the northern border towns…
The Crown Vic ultimately finds itself moving steadily toward the freeway, and then onward toward Bronzeville.
“Given that we’re trying to cleanse the mental palate, what exactly qualifies as literary ginger these days?”
[Maija] She laughs briefly – the sound almost foreign, yet genuine in its brevity. She tucks her hair behind her ears, and slides her hand over the books. “Socrates is just for fun, actually.” Odd idea of fun, she has. “The Latin is because some’a th’ books I got of Wills, they’s in Latin, and I’m dying t’know what they is.”
Of course, maybe it’ll help her grammar, too.
He pulls out into traffic, and she reaches for her seatbelt and clicks it home, before she answers. “Whatever’s cheapest really. Fluff stories, romance novels, mysteries. This one’s called Beyond th’Valley o’Thorns – should be a good nuff distraction for a bit.”
[John Thornton] “Beyond the Vally of Thorns… Certainly sounds interesting.
What’s it about?”
The Crown Vic merges onto the freeway with an abrupt uptempo of the engine; John merges the car going five over the legally posted speed limit. Then, a slight brake to let a faster car pass, and he was in the middle lane, cruising past semis and the elderly alike…
Meanwhile, once the reach the middle lane, John grabs the coffee with an errant hand, his eyes never leaving the road. The whole of the motion seemed so thoughtless, so devoid of cognizant attention, that the true amount of time John spends on the road becomes starkly apparent.
He knew where the cup holder was, as a guitar player knew where the C chord was…
[Maija] She shrugs slightly, thin shoulder lifting under the fleece of her sweatshirt. “Dunno, really. I jus’ liked the title.”
She watches the way he drives, the ease with which grabs his coffee, and gathers that he spends a lot of time in his car – likely as much time as she spends on her feet. “It ain’t matter what it is, really, what it’s about – just somethin’ other than grammar an’ other studying.”
A beat. “Gettin’ m’GED.”
[John Thornton] At this, the detective’s eyes turn to her momentarily, before turning back to the road. Nodding approvingly…
“Good idea… A GED is one of those rare things without a drawback. Having one can’t hurt you, but in the right circumstances, it can help dramatically.”
The Crown Vic pulls into the fast lane, and the engine goes up tempo again as the black sedan pulls past a slower pickup.
“With a GED, you could apply for a job at the precinct if you wanted.”
[Maija] That gains him a brief smile, one that flickers across her lips just long enough to be scene, should he look for it. As with most of her expressions, it fades away quickly, as if acknowledging it’s existence would cause it to be killed forever.
“Think I’d be a good cop – or jus’ all th’better to look after me, Detective?”
There’s definitely something like amusement under the words somewhere. “I was thinkin I might go t’school. Become a librarian. Or some shit.”
She glances at him, to see if he laughs… it’s not everyone who desires to be something so simple… then again, he’s been witness to her love of books. Perhaps he’s not surprised at all.
[John Thornton] John does laugh, perhaps just a little, but at her statement about being a good cop, or the better to look after her. It’s not a harsh laugh, not the sort for laughing at somebody… It was the laugh of a man who hears something wholly unexpected, and who found himself caught off guard at the sentiment.
The sort of thing that doesn’t happen to men like John very often.
The laugh quiets quickly, and maybe for a moment… Just a moment, the wan smile seems more genuine. Still… it is but a moment, and one that passes all too quickly.
“Am I that transparent?”
John just watches the road for a short time, driving… Letting the lights flash as they push onward into the night.
“Librarian… It suits you. Being able to see so many books, to look after them…
To read whatever you felt like, at any given time you weren’t busy helping customers or shelving them…
To search for whatever knowledge or truth you might care to look for.”
[Maija] He laughs, but it’s not at her, it’s because she’s caught him off guard. It brings back that brief smile – though she hides it by looking out her window into the night. It’s there in her reflection though, wavering across the window under the passing lamplight, just a moment, just long enough to be caught.
She hasn’t caught a man off guard since Will left. There was a wolf once – but that ended badly, and she’s resolved to NOT catch them off guard any longer. That’s neither here nor there.
He continues to say it suits her, her chosen profession, and she relaxes slightly, settling back into the seat of the car, breathing easier, perhaps. He understands. “Ya get me.”
He does. It’s kind of unsettling.
“When I was a kid, m’Uncle, he had a whole room a books… he wouldn’t let us touch’em. I got beat a lot, gettin caught in there. I learned quick t’not get caught.” It’s clear it means a lot to her now, to be able to read anything she can get her hands on, whenever she likes. It explains how she came to rescue all of Will’s books- and very few of his personal belongings.
It explains her.
[John Thornton] John nods, taking the exit off the freeway and continuing the car toward Bronzeville. He turns down a side street, then a second… Then the car stops.
Not at Maija’s apartment.
Instead, they find themselves staring at a little diner. The sign read closed, but John unlocked the doors and shut off the engine all the same.
An aged man, fifties, sixties maybe, could be seen cleaning up near a stainless steel bar area in front of an open range stove. Maija might remember it…
From the incident with the glass.
[Maija] He pulls up in front of the diner, and she arches a brow, slightly, and glances at him. He shuts off the engine, though, and unlocks the doors as she studies him. “Ah, showin’ me how a proper gentleman takes a gal t’a diner?”
She remembers the last time she was here, the last time she was here with him. A handsy companion, a push out a barely stopped car, a skidding gnawer kin – and broken glass.
She looks at the man inside, though, then back. “S’closed – but I’m bettin ya got connections…”
[Moira Murray] ((open still?))
to John Thornton, Maija
[John Thornton] ((Yep))
[Maija] (Yup. headed to a diner. :) )
to John Thornton, Moira Murray
[Moira Murray] ((The closed diner? :P))
to John Thornton, Maija
[John Thornton] ((Yep, the closed diner. Where John knows the owner. Who reopens it for him, and then feeds whoever else shows up around the same time anyway.))
[John Thornton] ((Handy to know someone in food services when you work John’s hours.))
to Maija, Moira Murray
[Moira Murray] ((Maybe the old man gets around and knows more people.))
to John Thornton, Maija
[John Thornton] “I’m hungry…”
Hazel eyes turn to Maija with a raised brow, the wan not-a-smile playing about his lips.
“And you’ll need something to hold you over while fending off Socrates with Latin.”
With that, John steps out of the car and walks to the front door of the diner. Bill, the diner owner/operator, waved him in as John reaches the door…
Opening the door and proceeding inside, John nods to the venerable fellow behind the counter.
“Still open?”
“Only for people I like.”
The aged gentleman grins at John and points to his nose, before turning to busy himself behind the counter again.
“Lemme know when you get your order figured out…”
Wordlessly, the white apron clad gentleman started a pot of coffee, as though he knew that would be at least part of John’s order.
Bill Smithson was a retired Navy man, fifty, sixty maybe, but possessed of a strength in spite of his advanced years. He wore a clean white shirt, a bleached white apron, and had gray hair and a friendly face. Solidly built, were it not for his wrinkles and gray hair, he could pass for a man half his age.
[Maija] She smiles a little, and reaches back to pull up her hood for the short walk to the diner. Books are shoved into her pack, and after a moment’s thought, she actually leaves her backpack in the car. It’s a level of trust that she rarely shows anyone – very few in the city at all.
That’s not to say she’s unarmed, of course. Those things are carried on the body, not in the pack.
She follows John in, studying the man behind the counter briefly, and pushes back her hood as she comes inside the diner. It’s – again – a level of trust in the good Detective.
“Friends in high places, I see..”
[Moira Murray] There was a place; you could go if you knew the right person, where a decent meal can be found at a little diner in Cabrini Green. Despite the late hours and the closed sign out front, the door to the diner would open again after Detective John Thornton and Maija slipped inside.
A head appears through the doorway first and then followed by the slender frame of the young woman that peers in. An eyebrow arches upward curiously, as she glances around until her eyes find the old man behind the counter. A smile flashed at Bill as he looks up to see her.
“Haven’t seen you in these parts in awhile…”
Soft laughter mingles with her words as she enters, shutting the door behind her. “Hello, Bill, it’s been awhile. I was wondering if it was still open…” her words die away as her eyes cut towards John and Maija.
[John Thornton] Bill seems to shrug at first, his eyes lighting up at hearing an old voice…
“Well, look who it is…”
Then he shrugs and nods toward John and Maija.
“The more the merrier, I guess.
John, for his part, nods to Maija, answering as the hazel eyed gaze tracks to the new voice from the doorway. He smiles that wan not-a-smile and nods in greetings.
“Bill and I have an… understanding.”
Then, as Bill approaches with a pot of coffee and two cups, he adds his own two cents.
“What he means is he’s addicted to the slop I serve… And the more I abuse him with it, the faster he runs to get his next fix. Like some damned alleycat.”
The old man said the words with feigned vehemence, his mouth turned up in a grin as John takes a seat at one of the tables. His shirt was plum in hue, open at the collar, with a brown striped tie that hung loose and askew. His pants were a matching shade of brown…
His shirt was bunched on the left side from the weight of a wicked looking .45 caliber pistol slung in a black shoulder holster. The glint of a five pointed star, the badge of the C.P.D, was clearly visible at his belt near his hip. Hazel eyes turn to Maija with that wan not-a-smile and a raised brow.
“Coffee?”
Two steaming cups of black coffee sat on the table before John. A cream and sugar server rested on the far end of the table from John; whatever the proprietor knew about the detective, he knew enough about John’s tastes to know John didn’t need them.
After a moment of consideration, the hazel eyes turn back to Moira.
“You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.”
[Maija] She takes a seat at the table with John, and glances up at Bill and then sets about peeling from her sweatshirt and hanging it over the back of her chair. In just a tank top underneath, it’s even easier to see how skinny she is – she’s very thin, though John has seen her eat often enough to know she’s no longer starving – not the way she was that first night. Still, she doesn’t seem to gain weight, unless she’s carrying a brick in each pocket.
She glances over at Moira as John invites her over, and then away again, tucking her hair behind her ear. Shy, maybe. Guarded, certainly. To Bill, she just offers a brief grin. “If it’s good nuff for th’Detective, is good nuff for me.”
She, however, liberally doses her coffee with cream and sugar.
[John Thornton] ((I gotta go on my next post, but you two are welcome to continue after that. I apologize for the abrupt departure but I gotta be up in 3.5 hours…
Bill will mostly be busying himself cleaning the place, though once they order he’d busy himself making the orders before going back to cleaning.
John will drive Maija home when they’re done, and Moira as well if she needs a ride.
Sound fair?))
to Maija, Moira Murray
[Moira Murray] “Who isn’t addicted to the slop you serve, Bill, you feed it to entire populace of the Cabrini that can stomach it.”
The more the merrier… Moira considers John’s offer for a moment, looking as if she might refuse. With a slight turn of her head, she glances back out the window to scan the street before pulling away to step further into the diner. She walks over to their table.
“Why thank you, Detective,” the smile never fading from pretty features, “Glad to know I don’t have to muscle my way into a joining you and your friend.”
A navy blue pea coat that hangs open to mid-thigh swallows up Moira’s frame. Soft, feminine curves hold an hourglass shape hidden under the layers of cotton and wool fashioned in charcoal grey tunic dress and black leggings. Black hair was gathered back in a single braided plait, which ran down the center of her back.
She takes a seat at the table, sitting across from John. Her eyes moving between him and Maija briefly and then over to Bill. “I’ll take a coffee as well, please.”
[Moira Murray] ((Sure thing!))
to John Thornton, Maija
[Maija] (oh sure. JUST ABANDON HER. You meany. :) )
to John Thornton, Moira Murray
[John Thornton] ((He’s helping her learn to be more social. Get her out of her social shell a bit. :) ))
[John Thornton] Bill goes to gather a third coffee cup, returning with the coffee pot in one hand and the cup in the other. He places the empty cup before Moira, and begins filling it quietly.
“I’ll point out nobody’s gotten sick at my restaurant yet. And I’ve been around for more than a few years…”
Bill had a friendly, sympathetic face, the kind of face that made a person easy to talk to… The kind of face a man who ran a diner in Cabrini needed to have not to lose it all to the gangs, crazies, or other myriad setbacks a location like Cabrini was rife with…
As for John, he smiles that wan not-a-smile before answering.
“I don’t know… The last guy I saw try to muscle anybody got Bill’s broomstick across his shoulders for the trouble.
Nonetheless, you’re welcome.”
He takes a swig of the still way too hot coffee, as though oblivious of the heat.
“Maija, this is Moira…”
And then, as Bill returns to his cleaning, John adds in a quiet tone.
“She’s Fenrir kin, like me.”
Then, turning to Moira, he pauses for a moment… John’s expression becomes a deadpan….
“This is Maija… She’s…”
Just then, John’s shirt pocket begins to vibrate. With a curious brow, he opens the phone and considers the other number.
“She’s whatever she tells you she is. And a friend of mine.”
And with that, John steps a short way away from the table and speaks.
“Go ahead.”
Just like that. No mention of his name, no identification of who had called. Nothing to identify either way who was calling whom on either number.
((And with that, fade John. Bill can still be around to refill or serve whatever food the two order.))
[John Thornton] ((It goes without saying that John’s buying for Maija… Unless they both let him be the gentleman and buy for both.))
to Maija, Moira Murray
[Moira Murray] ((What girl is dumb enough to say no to a free meal?))
to John Thornton, Maija
[John Thornton] ((*chuckle* Fair enough. Night folks.
Thanks for the rp *wave*))
to Maija, Moira Murray
[Maija] Moira is… everything Maija isn’t. Poised. Beautiful. Curvy and confident. Well dressed. While Maija falls on the opposite end of the spectrum, in scruffy jeans that might fall apart without notice at any time, and her tank top that is thin in places, and the hoodie on the back of the chair that’s 2 sizes too big and swallows her when worn. Her shoes are sturdy though. That she doesn’t skimp on. Those have to last a long damn time, and she’s on her feet 99% of her day.
Moira is also Fenrir kin. She nods, slightly. Seems the Fenrir are fond of checkin up on her, lately. Odd, that. Can’t fathom why they’d want a mousy little street rat around – but she takes it as she does everything else, in stride, with considerable caution.
John takes his call, and she fills in the glaringly missing blank. “BeeGee kin.”
[Moira Murray] Her eyes follow the Detective as he slips away from the table. His attention called on by a mysterious caller. Moira does not inquire, merely focused her attention on him for a few seconds and then away. She had laughed when Bill had responded to her taunt about his food, shaking her head slowly.
The coffee sits untouched in front of her during the introductions, Moira reaching for the cream and sugar to load it up and then stirring it until the black-turns-brown liquid wasn’t hot enough to scorch her tongue.
Maija is… everything Moira was once. Skinny. Tough. Cautious of her surroundings. A runaway. They sit on opposite ends of the spectrum right now, but a few years ago, she wore the same clothes as Maija did.
Maija says she is BeeGee kin and Moira’s expression softens immediately. “I’m quite familiar with the BeeGees. I was practically fostered by one for a few years when I running around on the streets of Chicago.” She picks up her coffee cup, taking a wary sip and winces. “How old are you, Maija?”
[Maija] Moira softens when she hears her tribe, and she doesn’t exactly relax. She doesn’t tense either, at least not yet. Her eyes are dark, as dark as the sky outside, though she keeps from making direct contact too often. It’s too much, reveals too much, and she’s hidden for far too long.
She lifts her cup, holding it in both hands, as if it’s warmth is something coveted – which it is. Her fingers are slender, strong, pale, and always cold. Always. A sip, a swallow, and she finally answers.
“18.” It’s the truth, oddly enough, though she wasn’t 18 when she got here, and certainly wasn’t 18 when she left home. A beat. “Ain’t many a’us around here anymore. Not that I need no fosterin.” Just general observation.
[Moira Murray] Moira blinks in surprise at Maija. The age catches her off guard. It is easy to read on her face, as she doesn’t try to hide her reaction. She braves another swallow of the coffee before setting the cup down on the table with a light clack.
She considers a quiet thought, regarding Maija with interest. “Gnawers are pretty resilient from what I remember. You would think there would be more of you known in Chicago, but I find if a kin doesn’t want to be found, there are ways to fly under the radar.”
Her hands lay in her lap, folding together as she leans back into the chair. “Have you been on your own for a long time?”
[Maija] She seems surprised, and Maija acknowledges it with the briefest of smirks. It appears and flitters away just as fast as it arrived. Guarded, hiding behind a carefully cultivated mask. There are so few in Chicago who have seen that mask come down, who have seen her relaxed enough to be herself, to allow reactions to flow freely. And one of them was barely human at times.
“Oddly enough? It’s th’Fenrir what keeps findin’ me.” Imogen. Kemp. John. And now Moira.
Has she been on her own for long? She doesn’t answer, for a moment, because Bll comes back and takes their order. For her – knowing John’ll jus’ double it on her if she don’t order enough – it’s a gutbuster of a burger an’ fries. He keeps trying t’fatten her up. It ain’t workin. Only after Moira has ordered and Bill moves away does she finally answer. “Runnin’ since I was 15. Finally settlin down here, since May.” Presumably when she turned 18, and could take more drastic steps to protect herself.
[Maija] (Adds Decker in front of Imogen.)
[Moira Murray] There is a pause in the conversation when Bill comes to take their orders. Moira waits until Maija has placed hers before she responds. A sub sandwich to go with extra pickles on the side, she pretends to enjoy the coffee by picking up her cup again and takes another – painful – swallow before setting it back down.
Wincing, she makes a bleh face, sticking out her tongue, and scrunching up her nose. “He really needs to clean out the filters more often. Or wash the socks at least.”
The Fenrir seem to have an interest in the waif sitting across from her. “Believe it or not, Fenrir have a rather strong sense of family and duty, more so than the Fiann. We protect our own rather vigilantly.”
She is reminded of the other night with her first meet of Thomas and Joe – the new Jarl of Chicago. Moira snorts out with indifference. “That’s a long time to be running. I did a bit of that as well when I was your age, that’s how I wound up in Chicago. Ran away from home.”
[Maija] “Had worse.” then the coffee, that is. Then she lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Best coffee place is in Lake View. Close t’the park there. That’s th’shit. An they know it, from th’prices they charge.”
She’s a cheap ass coffee kind of girl, and she’s downed her’s by half already. It’s hot, it’s got caffeine, and sugar.
“Ain’t anyone’s ‘own’.” It’s said without thought, though with quite a bit of determination. She doesn’t belong to anyone, she claims no family, she refuses to let anyone get that damn close. She can count on one hand those in Chicago that she actually gives a damn about. Even less that would miss her should she fade away once again.
“It was run or die. I chose th’harder option.” Stubborn little shit, ain’t she…
[Moira Murray] “Running is the harder option,” she says matter-of-factly. “Dying is the coward’s way out.”
Her hands have returned to her lap at some point, the fingers of her right hand snaking around her left to rub at her inner wrist where the faint impression of a white ring of scars still bear testament.
“Don’t you get tired of being alone, though?” The question was asked with a curious tilt of a black eyebrow. “I’m sure you know there is a notion of family out there somewhere. People that want to keep an eye on you, whether you want them to or not.”
[Maija] She snorts. It’s a brief sound, not exactly amused. She doesn’t answer for a long time. It might seem like she’s not going to, either, as she turns her head to watch John talk on the phone.
She knows why he brings her to places like this, why he introduces her to people her own age. He forgets age is just a number, that in some ways, she’s too old, too jaded, too set in her ways. Finally, she turns to meet Moira’s gaze briefly, then looks down at her cup of coffee.
“Bein’ alone is easier. Family ain’t never brought me anythin’ but pain. And I ain’t mean that in some fru-fru emo kinda way. I mean in th’ I can name the bones I ain’t had broke easier than the ones I have kinda way.”
[Moira Murray] Moira’s eyes have wandered as well, following in the same direction, as Maija’s to watch John speak on the phone, but for different reasons. She catches herself doing this and quickly lowers her gaze away. Her head tilts down as Moira reaches out for the cup and decides to have another go at the bitter coffee.
Silence threatens to stay between them, the snort followed by her words brings Moira’s attention back to the Gnawer. She listens with interest, her gaze never straying from Maija’s face, nor does she feign interest to hide boredom. She seems genuinely intrigued.
“Was it a parent?” a strain of emotion creeps into her voice a little, her eyebrows draw together in a frown.
[Maija] If she noticed Moira watching John as well, she doesn’t mention it. She’s also saved from answering just a few more moments by the delivery of their food. Maija, like so many of her Tribe, wastes no time adding ketchup to the burger, the plate, and shoving a few fries in her mouth.
It’s like she hasn’t eaten in days, instead of hours, though the former is more easily believable. She’s just too skinny. Some day she might actually have to watch what she eats – but for now, she still has a teenagers metabolism.
Finally, she does answer. “My father.” not dad. It takes far more to be a dad – any prick can be a father. “Thought’e could beat the change outa me. Had help from some others.”
[Moira Murray] “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Is the only thing she can think to say – it’s a common response – that many people would probably say if they were in Moira’s seat. The news that it was her father only makes her frown more.
Bill had saved Maija a few more minutes from having to answer. The sandwich that Moira orders is set on the edge of her table in a plain brown bag. She reach out for it, just leaves it there until she is ready to claim it.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Father-daughter relationships can be difficult at times, men not quite understanding what their daughters are to become when they change… or in your case – don’t.”
Her chest rises and falls with each intake of breath, held shortly for a second and then releases everything out in a sigh as her head turns away, keeping her eyes focused on the window and the lack of activity in the street. She seems to stare at her own reflection mirrored in the glass.
“My father wasn’t the best of men as well. He never physically beat me, not like yours.” A beat. “But he did kill my mother right in front of my eyes. I was sixteen when that happened.”
[Maija] Snorts. “Difficult? Difficult.” She just stares at her for a long moment, then shakes her head, and concentrates on eating again.
“Ya ain’t get it. He knew exactly what he was doin, as did th’cunt what helped him. Ain’t anyone see fit t’do nuthin bout it, neither. Not until he put me in th’hospital th’last time an I ran far enough he ain’t been able t’find me.” a beat. “Yet.”
She glances up at Moira, as she talks about her mom, and lifts a chin. Her voice softens slightly. “Sucks. Ya know’d her though. Least ya got that t’hold to.”
[Moira Murray] Moira turns to regard Maija in a silent stare as she speaks, shakes her head, and focused on devouring the food in front of her. She shakes her head, looking back down at the near empty cup of coffee in front of her.
“No.”
She finally says after a few minutes have passed, allowing Maija time to clean up most of her plate. “I do understand what you are saying. I just phrased it wrong I suppose.”
Her shoulders sag beneath the warm wool of her pea coat. She begins to gather herself up, shifting in her chair to lean in. “Your father beat you into near oblivion trying to get something out of you that won’t ever happen. Mine turned a blind eye in disbelief to the changes happening in me and destroyed everyone that tried to make him see it – to accept it.”
[Maija] She sops up some catchup with the last of her fries as she listens, then looks up at her briefly. The silence lingers, but not necessarily uncomfortably. It just stretches…
…until she finally sits back, her hand on her belly, then covering her mouth as she belches. Quite the lady, Maija. It breaks the silence though, and she lifts a shoulder into another slight shrug. “An’ ya’ll wonder why I ain’t want nuthin’ to do with th’Nation. Look at me like I’m crazy cuz I ain’t give a shit if ya rage or don’t. I do m’duty when I’m called on, but I ain’t lookin’ t’be claimed, nor t’pop out any future generations for th’ fuckin almighty nation t’fuck up like they did me.”
She lifts a hand, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “It’s family, ya’ll fuckers keep sayin – we protect our own. Sorry, but it ain’t my idea a family. Ya ain’t protect’em by breakin em until they ain’t able t’be fixed no more.”
Like her. Wahya once said her soul was broken. She didn’t argue, because he was right, and Chicago is lacking a soul surgeon. And in the end, Wahya left, like all the rest. “Ain’t got no one but me – an if it gets lonely, leastwise I know I ain’t gonna break me. Leastwise I knows that I’m th’only one what can protect me.”
[Moira Murray] Her eyes widen slightly to the belch. The left side of her mouth quirks up slightly in a half-smile. She raises her right hand to gesture absently in the air, and then brings it down on the brown paper bag holding her sandwich, drawing it to her.
“You are correct, of course,” she replies, “Nothing will change the path that you have directed yourself towards, Maija, except your desire to alter it. I can’t fault the way you feel, wanting to be out of the eyes of the nation. I’ve felt that way myself, run from it even.”
She smirks at her, “We are alike to a very small degree.” Moira begins to stand up, the chair sliding back as the back of her legs pushed it. “I’ve worn your boots, just not your experiences.”
She steps away from the table, gesturing to John that she was leaving and quietly thanks him for the meal on the go. Maija is given another glance, “Hill House, if for some reason you wish to speak again sometime…” Moira fishes out her small billfold from a coat pocket, slips out a small white card, and lays it on the table in front of Maija, “Don’t hesitate to call me if you run into trouble. I can help…” smirking now, “in most cases, I can heal as well.”
She tips her head towards John, winking, “Thank the Detective for me.” With that she begins to step away and make her exit of the diner.
[Maija] Moira stands up, and then mentions Hill House. Maija nods. “They’s helpin me get my GED.”
She knows the place well, and she arches a brow a the comment about healing. She reaches to take the card, and then. “Family BBQ in Bronzeville. S’where I work. Th’boss there usually kin find me.”
Specially as they’re also her landlords. She shoves the card into her pocket then, and returns to her coffee, while she waits for John.