[Gina McClaren] *She’s been having to make so many trips to the grocery lately. Every time she comes home with a bag a garou either bowls her over or jumps out of the damn bushes at her. Once, just ONCE she would like her eggs to make it all the way home in one piece. Its for that reason that she’s avoiding the sidewalks today. Avoiding the road, opting instead to jingle down the muddy alley towards home, risking mud rather than Bogeyman as her olive mini trench flutters in the wind, her hair whipping long about her back and shoulders, dark eyes scanning trees and trashbins for any sign of gangbangers or lurking shadows.. *
[Rory O’Bryne] Gina is hoping to get her eggs home in one piece, having made a trip to the store, scanning for hidden hobos and shadows. She’s probably surprised then, to see Rory, in the open, crouched before an old plastic bowl dug out from the dumpster. And into it – Rory’s dumping a whole bunch of cat food. Next to her, a gallon of milk, already dumped into a similar bowl.
She hears the jingle, and turns to look, her green eyes finding Gina easily enough. She pauses in what she’s doing, head tipping curiously, even as the first stray cat comes to taste her offerings, daring to brave the rage of the one bounded to their Totem – all for the love of fresh milk.
[Gina McClaren] Och.. *Gina’s bells and charms tinkle to a stop as she comes up short with her bag of groceries, offering Rory a soft grin.*
…Sae thas where they’ve aul been comin frem…? *The bag is shifted across her ample hip, pikey watching the frizzy redhead’s hair get tossed around like a scarlet halo.*
Ets Rory, esnae et?
*Even in a muddy alley, there’s a certain intimate charm about the tiny indian strider kin. Maybe its that voice, so warm and melodic, easy to listen to. Or maybe its just her inherent charm that makes her seem more like an old dear friend than a barely acquaintance. Whatever it ism its present now as the small woman gives Rory a wiggle of fingers in greeting.*
Ye done here?
[Rory O’Bryne] Gina asks about the cats, and Rory watches them, wrapping her arms tight around her knees and hugging them to her chest. She has no scent which would frighten them more than the tug of rage does, and they venture close because of it. She doesn’t offer a hand, instead letting the scrawny, feral things eat.
She looks up at Gina, and nods. “Dotem temands it.” the feed and caring of the cats, one would supposed. Another slight nod for her name, it is Rory, and then she reaches cautiously to slide her fingers between the ears of a particularly pretty orange tabby, and stands cautiously. “Finished.”
She’s fed the cats in 4 different alleys. This was the last, out of food, out of milk, until next week.
[Gina McClaren] Well then darlin.. suppose ets my turn tae feed a stray.
*A chuckle as the pretty little brown woman tilts her head down the alley.* Tha beg slatboard fence? Tha’s me house. Come en an ah’ll gi’ ye some … *She peers in the bag she’s holding* .. Och.. hows a very..very late breakfast sound? Eggs an’ hashbrowns an aul tha?
*She’s already trotting to the fence two houses down, pushing open the back gate and moving through the backyard to the front door, as though sure certain Rory’ll follow.*
[Kyle Velenar] Nightmare roll
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Rory O’Bryne] She tips her head, slightly. Confused, perhaps, as to why the woman would be nice to her. Doesn’t she know who she is? what she is? But she’s also not stupid. And her belly grumbles to suggest that a late night breakfast is exactly what she needs.
She reaches back and pulls the hood of her jacket up over her curls, tucks her hands into her pockets, and follows the jingling kinfolk toward the house.
[Gina McClaren] *Its a squat yellow house in an area of Bronzeville that, while still dangerous and scummy, sports the occasional mowed lawn or white picket fence. People here still struggling to have a neighbourhood to be proud of, safe or not. Gina’s little house has peeling yellow paint that might once have been cheery, a solid white door, and a tall greying clapboard fence that obscures the backyard from nosy neighbours. The inside is cozy, or in less glowing terms, cramped. The interior decorating looks to have taken place in the seventies or eighties, given the palette of oranges and browns everywhere. Even the yellowing kitchen wall paper has orange floral accents. Olive fridge and stove monstrosities, chipped white cabinets. The house may be small, ugly and cramped, but it smells like heaven. Spices and Food. Windows often open to let a cool breeze whistle through. Gina opens the front door with one hand, having left it unlocked knowing she had company over to mind the place. Door bumped open with a hip, she makes a b-line to the kitchen, hollering.*
Kyle loves?! ye Eaten? Ah’m maken a longshoreman’s breakfast! We’ve a fianna fer company!
[Rory O’Bryne] She calls for Kyle, and Rory tips her head slightly. She knows a kyle – curiosity flickers across her features, though she ducks her head slightly to hide it. She steps inside behind Gina, glancing around curiously, sniffing once or twice.
Smells good in there, and there’s a little smile that acknowledges it.
[Kyle Velenar] He’d been staring at the ceiling of the bedroom for over an hour now. The faint sound of music coming from the portable player next to his head. With a ragged sigh he sits up and looks at the sceen of the player while rubbing his neck. Hearing Gina come in, on reflex he goes to yell out an answer and stops when it comes out just loud enough for someone in the same room as him. Standing he gets dressed in, what he terms his casual clothes. Black jeans and long sleeve tshirt. Wandering out of the guest room as he finishes buckling up the collar around his neck he makes his way to the kitchen. His eyes are red but not from a lack of sleep as usual. Leaning against the doorway he looks to Gina and smiles.
“Grabbed a…..bite at……the clubs…..”
He turns and smiles at Rory as he gives a casual wave in greeting.
“Hey Rory……How’s things?”
[Gina McClaren] Och, ye kain Rory than.. brilliant. Apparently ets ane jes tha trueborn striders wha gie around. *A mouthful and then some, hollered from the kitchen. Considering Gina and Lonna seem to hold a tie for the sept position of “slut”. The curvy kin is packing away groceries and prepping cooking as she bustles in the kitchen. Singsonging loudly.*
Es thes yer territory darlin? Wha we’re en?
[Rory O’Bryne] It is the same Kyle, and she hunches her shoulders slightly, her hands pressed deep into her pockets, as she glances up at him. “Hi.”
Gina is harder to understand than Rory herself sometimes, so she pays attention, close attention. Then her eyes widen as she figures out what she insinuates, and she shakes her head vigorously, her hood falling down, those curls bouncing with the force. “Oh no! I must jet him at the hotherbrood!” Her kind doesn’t compete for any position, let alone one of slut.
She gestures slightly toward Chinatown, taking refuge in the talk of territory. “Some alleyways in Chinatown, hose to clere. Chloe and me.”
[Kyle Velenar] Kyle can’t help but chuckle at Gina’s comment as wanders over to sit down on the couch after picking up his drawing pad and case. He’d been trying to do a portrait and just couldn’t seem to get it right. There was something he was missing. Shrugging he simply sits there as he draws and listens.
[Gina McClaren] *Gina clinks and clatters, settling things into pots and fussing about, finally emerging into the living room to peel off her coat and toss it in the closet with a pleased sight.*
Sae are ye stayin o tha Brotherhood now darlin?
[Gina McClaren] (-t)
[Rory O’Bryne] “Was.” She shakes her head, slightly, after that though, and unzips her coat. She picks a chair sort of in the corner, and settles to the edge of it, and peels slowly out of her jacket. It’s warm in here.
“Pomeone sut itching powder everywhere. Turned off the wot hater. I won’t stay and te a barget.”
[Kyle Velenar] Looks up at Rory and nods at her comment. It was one of the reasons he only slept there from time to time.
“Got you….as well….Some trickster…..forgot Halloween….isn’t till…..end of…..month….”
He’d been caught out by the cold shower but luckily he always kept his own towels and stuff for himself in his room.
[Gina McClaren] och.. tha place es a bad idea aul around. A clusterfook o’ epic proportions jes waitin tae ‘appen. Probably wan o the boys frem room three wha ded et. Bloody trecksters.
*She tosses herself at the couch, hair fanning out behind her as she lands, jostling Kyle with an almost sisterly grin. Almost.*
Saerry ye were caught oop en their wee prank war.
[Rory O’Bryne] She shakes her head, slightly, laying her coat behind her, then clasping her hands together, and pressing them between her knees. She’s thin, and her tanktop and jeans do little to hide that. She’s also pale, and from the looks of it, has a full body freckling going on.
“Been a victim lost of my mife. I don’t stay where wot nanted.”
[Kyle Velenar] Gives a warm smile to Rory. For a goth he sure smiled a lot and it wasn’t fake either. There’s something in his eyes that shows he’s honest and trustworthy. Looks to Gina after she messes his hair and smirks before turning back to his pad. The image of a young woman set against a wilderness backdrop slowly taking shape.
“Sounds like…..you may….have Strider…..blood in…..you……Most true….that I’ve….met in….my travels….crave company…..despite situations.”
[Gina McClaren] Well.. nae effen tha company’s a bunch o cunts darlin..
*Gina’s looking at the picture with unabashed curiosity. She fixes the Goth’s hair back into its usual limp shag, leaning her back warmly against his shoulder as she turns to face Rory.*
Rory.. reckon thes es the pot callin the kettle black-ass.. but ye’ve a strangeness tae yer speech.. wha’s tha aboot?
[Rory O’Bryne] She flushes, and ducks her head, slightly, embarrassed. She doesn’t know when she does it – hearing what she means to say despite what actually comes out of her mouth. Softly. “They said it is a dental maformity. Dr. Slaughter told me it is spalled Coonerism. I… don’t know when it happens. Can’t correct.”
She looks like she’s ready to put her coat on and be put out of the house for what she is. She presses her hands tighter between her knees to hold back the reaction.
[Kyle Velenar] “Don’t be….embarassed Rory…..we all….have our…..quirks…..”
Gives a weak smile as he fiddles with the collar and adjusts the tightness around his neck.
[Gina McClaren] Och, es enteresten tha’s aul. Dinna fret on et Rory Darlin. Yer a metis than? Or ded ye gi’ het en tha chops?
*There’s a ding, and she’s sashaying past Rory towards the kitchen, a small brown hand settling on on the redhead’s shoulder briefly as she passes, despite the rage that raises hairs on the back of Gina’s neck. Gina could read people, and Rory seemed more flight than fight.*
ye wan yer bacon crispy oor limp?
[Rory O’Bryne] She flinches under the touch, as if she expected a blow, but holds it back as well a she can. She glances up at Gina, and then admits. “I am a Mule.”
She lifts a hand to rub idly at her nose, and then nods, slightly. “prisply, clease.”
[Kyle Velenar] Sitting quietly he watches the pair between drawing on the pad. He could say something but it would probably sound condiscending since he can’t put any tone or inflection in his words.
[Gina McClaren] *Gina accompanies the touch with a soft grin, before moving to fuss about in the kitchen again. the hiss of bacon spitting and a noise of displeasure as it gets her. Running water. finally she re-emerges and leans against the door, head cocked as she studies Rory, trying to figure how to best put the ragey beast at ease. No one likes a skittish timebomb.*
[perception empathy]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Rory O’Bryne] She’s uneasy with people. It’s not surprising given how she grew up, how she’s suffered for sins not her own. However, there’s not suggestion that she’s close to losing control, that she might do anything other than skitter away. She’s unused to people giving a shit, caring about her, even feeding her. But she remains still, and calm, her green eyes searching every little nook and cranny, and always respectful.
Hesitantly… “Do you heed nelp?”
[Gina McClaren] Nae nae peaches, ah can run a kitchen wi’ me eyes closed an a peg leg. Ah’ll be fine. Unless…
*She narrows her eyes in consideration. Maybe the girl’d feel better if she thought she was warning her supper. A nod.*
There’s a huge fookin oak framed.. Tv case monstosity down en tha basement.. ah cannae move et more than a bloody ench.. an ets blocken wan o me windows…
*She nibbles her lip and tilts her head.*
Ah reckon yer a wee skinny theng recht now.. but.. ye thenk ye could mayhaps..gie entae a moore comfortable skin and gi’ et a tug out the damn road fer me?
[Rory O’Bryne] She gives her something to do. A bit of the nervousness bleeds from her shoulders and she even smiles a little. “I dould co that.”
She stands, and tucks her hair behind her ears, and looks for the door to the basement. “I can thix fings too.. if you need, you know..” she chews on her lower lip a minute, showing she’s well used to being turned down. She’s content with moving the TV though, so it doesn’t block her windows.
[Gina McClaren] Thank ye peaches. Ah dinnae ‘ave anything o the moment ah reckon.. but effen ye wan tae drop by regular like, ah reckon ah’d be happy tae feed ye fer any tinkerin ye might dae.
[Rory O’Bryne] She smiles, warm, if hesitantly, and nods, before she heads down to the basement to move the tv. she doesn’t shift in front of Gina, as it tends to freak even the kinfolk out. Downstairs though, the snapshift to her birthform is easy, and comfortable. This was how shew as born, the skin she is comfortable in.
Soon the offending tv is found, and moved out of the way, easily enough for even one of her size when in her birth form. Once it’s placed in a less window blocking position she returns to her monkeyskin, and pushes her curls back from her face. And if Gina worried of clawmarks from where she grabbed the tv – there are none.
Once finished, she moves back upstairs, following the scent of crispy bacon.
[Kyle Velenar] The soft sound of pencil on paper is the only noise Kyle makes as he sits on the couch quietly.
[Gina McClaren] *And crispy bacon there is! Along with eggs, hash browns, fried onions and a coupled of some sort of deep brown loaf slices which look moist and smell of ginger. She’s carrying the plate out and setting it and a glass of orange juice on a shoddy little tv table for Rory when the metis comes upstairs. A bright smile to greet the redhead.*
There ye are darlin.. though..
*she snatches a piece of bacon, breaks it in two and prods Kyle in the cheek with it. Kid needed some iron. The other half is popped in her mouth and chewed with a pleased squint of her eyes to the Fianna.*
mm. et ocurred tae me while ye were downstairs. Tae tha south, round a big ol’ junkyard starts territory defended by a Fenrir full moon, name o Joe Holst. Ee’s a neonazi an a preck, o’er all. sae ye might wan tae keep an eye out fer hes markers, ef ye ‘avenae aulready seen em, aye?
[Kyle Velenar] Looking up from the pad he takes the offer bacon and nibbles on it while letting the pair chat
[Rory O’Bryne] She settles back to the edge of the chair, and takes her fork, and leans over to start eating – until there’s a question posed. She chews and swallows carefully, and only when her mouth is clear does she reply.
“Haven’t het mim yet. I’ll look.”
[Gina McClaren] hmm. *She settles down to do a crossword puzzle, feet tucked up under her, toes resting against the Goth’s leg. When you were a drifter, you learned to cherish other striders like long lost family no matter how brief you were in each other’s company. A contented sigh.*
There’s more en tha kitchen, effen either o ye wan et.
[Kyle Velenar] Finishing the drawing he grins as he lets out a sigh. It was just right and all from memory. Not too shabby. Looking to Rory he tilts his head as if studying her for a moment. Then he sets to work drawing again on a new page.
[Rory O’Bryne] She is content to be quiet. It’s much easier than speaking without knowing when your words have messed up, when things don’t come across as they should. She eats with manners, but quickly, as if she is part gnawer rather than strider, as if she believes someone will take it from her before she finishes. She eats like she hasn’t in days, and even goes back for seconds.
Soon enough, however, she’s managed to eat her fill. Then she carries her plate to the kitchen, and washes up her dishes, before setting them in the drainer.