[Kemp] It was the Vice District where for the right price, you could have anything. Buildings were dirty, dark and crammed so tightly that most shared a wall on each side with the next building. Despite temps in the low 60’s, it was cloudy and looked as if it might rain at any time. This added to the gray, gloomy feel of the area. Though here and there outlandish neon signs blinked and flashed. It was in one of these buildings, painted black with red dragons on the door, that Kemp was hanging out. Inside amid the noise and stink of stale perfume and drink.
[Rory O’Bryne] There are three alleyways – two in Bronzeville, and one in Chinatown, all close together. Those three alleys that cover three blocks or so bear new markings, new claims, new monsters that live in them – with a whole bunch of cats. She’s not bred for streetlife, that’s what they say. She’s not supposed to be foraging for food, scrounging for sustenance, searching for coin. What they don’t know is that she is more used to this than one would think.
One thing she’s learned is that often times, Sundays especially, certain establishments that deal in stale perfume and drink, where you can get a lap dance for $10, where an extra $20 can get you considerably more than that – they have a buffet. All you can eat. And on Sundays – it’s only two bucks. Which explain the presence of the slender, smallish woman piling a plate high from the table at the corner. She doesn’t care what it is – though she’s smart enough to double check after her LAST meal in Chinatown – she is hungry enough to just keep piling.
She dresses simply – jeans that are dark wash, and a jacket with the hood pulled up, trying to contain fire-red curls that bounce free anyway, attracting notice. Her backpack is slung on one shoulder, and her boots are scuffed and worn. They won’t last the winter.
Most noticeable – her Rage. and her Breeding – combined with a curious lack of scent. It’s an odd combination for sure.
[Kemp] Tables were crammed in here like a mini maze. Music thumped and dim lighting gave a flash sense of privacy to the place. A stage had young Asian girls in various stages of nude and near nudity dancing. Towards one end were private booths and a curtained off area where now and then a girl lead a client with a smile.
He sat at a table not so far from the front where food could be had in this oddball combination of make a buck anyway you can. Though he was on the side closer to the dancing. Long legs stretched out as he watched lazily through the dark strands of hair over his eyes. Long and lean, summer tan just starting to fade some. Normally leaning towards a darker hue than most of his Tribe, Kemp’s hair was muddy brown, his skin bronzed. Always in jeans and boots. He too wore a hoodie, but the hood was down, exposing his dark features. For a moment his head tilted sideways as he watched a girl on a pole twisting, turning, humping against it; then his head turned towards the feeling of rage to seek it out in an almost lazy movement.
[Rory O’Bryne] She snags a couple extra biscuits and shoves them into her coat pocket on the sly, before a bite of a third hits her mouth, and she grabs her plate and turns to find a table – only to see Kemp looking her way. She meets his eyes only briefly, before her’s drop downwards, finding a spot on the floor infinitely interesting. She peeks up through her lashes, and then starts moving toward a table, keeping an eye on the one watching her, just in case.
She looks ready to bolt at any minute.
[Kemp] Inwardly he snorted with the deer in headlights look from the red head. It had to be some relation to Imogen’s family with that hair, then again he had been wrong before. Still, his knee moved as he hooked the seat across from him and then gave it a shove to send it in Rory’s path.
“Ain’t good to stand and eat. Sit down.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She swallows, hard, as the chair comes sliding her way, and after a furtive look around, she does as she’s told, and sits, her plate hitting the table with a clatter from unsteady hands. She scoots her chair up under her, and grabs her fork and hastily takes a couple of bites, in case he wants to take it from her. As is his right, simply by breeding, likely by rank, certainly by rage.
Her eyes close briefly as she swallows. It’s been a couple days since she ate, but the City wil Provide. Thus sayeth her alpha, anyway. This time, it’s providing breakfast for 2 bucks in change found in a gutter. Another couple bites, before she looks up at him, swallows deliberately, and says. “Hi.”
Better a greeting late than never. And still, she doesn’t quite meet his gaze.
[Kemp] “Food ain’t the best here. It might give a regular person the irregular trot. Music’s ok, but the dancing is better.”
His attention remained on Rory for several long moments before he started watching a lap dance a few tables over.
“Ain’t seen ya yet. So many new faces come and go.”
[Delmar Meister] Usually the folks that went into the curtained section with one of the lovely hostesses came back floating, smiles on their faces, or on rare occasion limping awkwardly in wet pants. They didn’t come stumbling out as if thrown, the way this one did. And they certainly didn’t turn with hands raised defensively the way he did either.
The girl that follows him is irate, to say the least, and viciously graceful even in stiletto shoes and a g-string. Her voice calls out through the thumping music, screaming obscenities. And all he does is back away slowly, and grin.
To the average observer there’s nothing special about the slim blonde man being ejected from the private room. He’s too ugly get a second look and not ugly enough to stare at. But there is a certain whiff in the way he moves, the way he carries himself even now. Not enough Rage to bark out into the night and send warning signs to–well, potentially violent strippers, apparently. But to those who knew to look for it there were signs of his breeding in every step.
[Rory O’Bryne] She shrugs slightly. It’d give a regular person irregular trots, but she’s no regular person. Her lips curl into a brief grin, as she takes another bite and looks over at the dancers, and shakes her head. Not her scene, apparently. She’s hear for the food. Music is a bonus.
“Rory.” her name, of course. “Been here a wew feeks.” She doesn’t seem to notice that her words a mixed up, confused. She hear it correctly in her head, and seems oblivious to the switching of the first letters/sounds on random words. There’s a reason Chloe usually does the talking for her, but she’s not here, and Rory simply shoves another bite down as she glances toward the commotion over by the curtains.
[Kemp] She said her name was Rory, nothing more in this place. So for a second his attention was completely her’s as his eyes met her and she was treated to a murky green like moss in a pond.
“Kemp.”
His own breeding was so faint that most would miss it if they blinked. Then the commotion from across the room and the appearance of the blond, drew his attention away from the Rory for a few moments. There was something in the line of face, in his bearing, that spoke of the blood of heroes and that something had Kemp’s attention. Or maybe he was waiting to see if the girl planted a stiletto in the guy’s crotch?
“Heh, think he stiffed her or maybe that’s what was wrong, nothing was stiff?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Her eyes are green as well, though more crystal than mossy – and he only gets a glimpse of them as she meets his gaze only briefly, dropping them near instantly in submission. She has been trained well. Too well. He doesn’t ask for further introduction here, and directs her attention over toward Delmar and the blond. She tips her head slightly, a distinctively animalistic movement, and then shrugs. “Both?” Maybe.
She lifts her hand to shove those curls back into her hood, before scarfing another few bites, and swallowing it with a sip of water. Her belly has stopped complaining, finally, though it doesn’t slow her roll as she works her way through her piled high plate.
[Callie] *She’s not here for the food, that’s for certain, but there are other attractions in a place stuffed full of drunks with money to spend, and their eyes on something else entirely. She slips through the crowd, almost unnoticed . . and that’s just the way she likes it.*
[Kemp] “Eggroll against the outcome? She kicks him in the balls, you owe me. Now, make your call.”
He was dead serious as he watched what was taking place. Directing her attention back to it.
[Rory O’Bryne] She tips her head, and then grins a little. “Deal.” She think a minute… “flaps his sace, you owe me – beer.”
She nods. Again, the shift in words doesn’t phase her – she doesn’t even notice. She carefully sets aside one of the better looking eggrolls for him should he win, and watches the showdown across the way.
[Delmar Meister] The stripper continues screaming near intelligibly, and the object of her ire just keeps backing away slowly. Eventually a burly man in a security shirt comes up to the two of them. Words are exchanged. The blond man seems to explain himself, and that only makes the woman even angrier. She lunges, press on nails ready to claw the blond’s eyes out. Instead he sidesteps, leaving him with a handful of coat collar, and a decent grip as she swings and slaps him over the head and back.
[Kemp] It was in the middle of laying bets that his attention suddenly shifted towards Callie. He recognized this one. Yet as he split his attention between the possible face slapping/ball kicking/ betting, he watched Callie.
“Deal. Balls, eggroll. Face, beer.”
[Kemp] “Heh, not sure how to call that one, but since it was closer to the face than the balls, depending on where you consider the head to be, I owe ya a beer.”
With that he was rising to press for the bar to get said beer. Leaving Rory a few moments of peace to stuff her face.
[Callie] *Callie watches the trouble brewing too, leaning back against a pillar clad in some kind of flock patterned paper, sticky with beer and goodness knows what else. That trademark red hair is visble, to keep the hood up in here would be ridiculous so she lets its sit on her shoulders, disguising the length of her hair, her build, and her outline. She gives it time to play out a bit, a useful distraction? maybe, but trouble all too often brings attention of a kind she can do without. So she stays with her pillar, out of the way, and waits.*
[Rory O’Bryne] She grins up at Kemp, clearly happy with the outcome. She must be Fianna – what with the breeding, the hair, the preference for beer at 2 in the afternoon.
He gets up to go get her drink, and she smiles happily down at her plate, as she makes quick work through about half of it in the time he’s gone. She finally slows down a little, and leans back to rub her belly. before belching – hiding it behind the back of her hand. Color rises in her cheeks, though the dim light saves her the further embarrassment of having it be noticed.
[Delmar Meister] But wait, there’s more!
The bouncer leaps into the fracas, but instead of pounding on the blond man, he grabs the woman by the waist, lifting her into the air and away from her target. With her hands frustratingly far from her victim she resorts to the next best thing. She kicks. The pointed heal of her stiletto finds purchase on his hip, and the man crumples.
As Kemp comes within earshot he gets a bit more insight into what has taken place. She is still screaming, but through the din he can now hear her the words ‘Fucking Cheapskate’ thrown in with venom. And now that the blond man is on the ground, he can also hear him groan ‘I’m fucking suing’ with painful certainty.
[Kemp] He watched the commotion across the room as he waited for the beer at the bar. Neon twinkled off of glasses that would look horribly dirty in the light of day. Tall and lean, a tad over 6’5″, it was easy to see him as he started back and neared the commotion. With a show of teeth in a sort of smile, he winked at the screaming girl as she was pulled back. In the same motion he reached down with his free hand and pulled Delmar by the collar of his shirt towards the table Rory sat at.
“Like you can afford a lawyer if ya can’t afford a dance.”
Nudging the guy towards the seat he had vacated.
“Here, sit down and drink before ya do something else stupid.”
One beer made it before Rory, the other before the seat he offered to Delmar.
[Rory O’Bryne] Her eyes widen, as she watches the fracas, and then she sets the eggroll on a napkin and slides it over on the table in front of Kemp’s seat. Seems they’re both winners tonight.
Then he drags Delmar over, and she slides the Eggroll in front of Kemp, instead of him, and lifts her beer. “Thanks.” single words are easier. She lifts it in silent, brief toast, before she takes a couple healthy swallows, and goes back to her pile of food.
[Delmar Meister] “Ey!” Was all the protest Kemp really got. Pale blue eyes peered at him through their corners and Delmar walked to the table with more ease than his previous crumpling to the floor suggested.
He sat, though his eyes glowered, and straightened his collar as he did so.
“Aint the point.” Delmar grumbled.
[Kemp] “The point is, ya cheated the girl, she got pissed and she kicked ya good while ya both made a huge scene and your face is going to be remembered.”
He nodded towards the beer.
“Or did I miss something else?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Delmar grumbles, and Kemp lectures a bit, and she keeps her attention on her plate, where it belongs. She’s slowing down though, no longer shoving the food in as if she’s been starved for weeks, but picking out choice bits now. Some things are set aside, things that can be carried easy. You’d be surprised how easy it is to sneak away a dozen eggrolls or so in a backpack when folks ain’t lookin.
She can’t bring herself to eat the wontons though. Not after what happened last time.
[Imogen] (go figure the second I log in, I get called by work. *wanders off muttering something something on-call something NO BACK UP something mutter mutter something*
BBL, I hope.)
[Callie] *and that’s when Callie spots Kemp. As he steps in to break up the scrap he’s immediately recognisable in, even silhouetted against the orange-blue glare from the spots. Common sense would tell her to leave, now, before this turns into something worse . or before she’s called to account for her presence in a lap-dancing club, of all places. But . . what is Kemp doing here? . . it’s certainly intriguing.*
[Delmar Meister] “This is a uhhh…” He starts to say, and seems to stall out, taking a sip from the beer placed in front of him before trying to continue.
“A service industry. I was unhappy with the service and uhh…”
He leans back in his seat, circling the hand holding the beer as if indicating that there was more to this sentence. Just around the bend. Wait for it. Wait for it.
“And I shouldn’t have to pay for that.”
There it is.
[Kemp] He shook his head and replied.
“She should of charged your ass double cause she had nothing to work with.”
A moment later he was pointing out Callie.
“She with you, Big Spender?”
[Delmar Meister] “Ey…” Delmar protested again, this time far more passively. The guy had just bought him a beer after all, and he could feel the rage seeping off him, even if he could only barely make out the man’s breeding.
He turned toward where Kemp was pointing, spotting the red head standing by the column.
“Nope.” he said simply. “Never uhh…Never seen uhh…Nope.”
[Callie] *Ah crap. Callie sees the adren pointing in her direction. Nod and smile? or sit tight and pretend it hasn’t happened? She decides on a version of the former. A vague nod, eyes widen, questioning . you want to speak to me?. But she stays put with her back to the pillar*
[Rory O’Bryne] She glances up at Delmar, then over to Callie when Kemp points her out. But she has nothing to say, and keeps quietly eating.
[Kemp] “What’s your name boy?”
His accent was a mix of Chicago and Jersey, a big mess. And while he was not blond, blue eyed, the tiny bit of breeding he had was Fenrir. He called Delmar boy when he himself had recently turned 21.
As he waited for Delmar to speak, he lifted his hand and crooked his finger at Callie in a Come here motion.
[Delmar Meister] “Low Key.” He said, and took a big swig of beer, wiping his face afterward. It didn’t do much to wipe away the smirk that remained there as he stared at a spot on the table and waited for some kind of reaction.
[Kemp] “Low Key.”
He shrugged.
“Sure, fine. I’m Kemp. Sometimes they call me Truth in Frenzy.”
His voice had dropped to that low intimate level meant to stay beneath the beat of music and voices.
“That there is Rory, or so she tells me. And the other red head; I feel a theme here; is Callie as I recall.”
[Callie] *so . . she gives a little push, one hand on either side, off the ghastly unpholstered column. Picking her way between tables, across patches of tacky floor and those that are slick and uncertain beneath her feet, picking her way but without looking down, though she doesn’t directly stare at Kemp. That would be plain stupid. Arriving just in time to hear his last comment* that’s right
[Rory O’Bryne] Kemp waves over the other one, and Rory’s attention becomes firmly planted on her plate, and the eating of the remains on it. She doesn’t fidget, so much as she becomes very still, as if expecting a beatdown at any point in time.
Kemp mentions her name, and she looks up at him, and then away again. She marks Callie with a glance as she arrives and confirms her name too.
[Kemp] He waved Callie to a seat with a flick of his fingers.
“And then there were four.”
Not missing Rory’s sudden tenseness though he was uncertain the cause just yet. Of course it had him looking for something weird about the girl.
[Delmar Meister] “No shit?” Delmar says and turns in his chair as if to examine Kemp further. “No shit. Wow. Uhhh…guess they were right.”
And so his gaze circles around the table. Truth in Frenzy, Callie, Rory, and Low Key.
“There should uhh…” He stalls again. “There should be a punchline in here somewhere.”
[Kemp] “No shit. How pathetic can a group be? Here we are in a strip club, ala cheap restaurant, with two women and neither is giving us a lap dance.”
He just waited for an explosion from the women. In the meantime he looked at Delmar.
“Who is them and what was right?”
[Rory O’Bryne] She didn’t explode, she just looked up confused.
There was a lot weird about her, but one thing was consistent. She doesn’t worry about the dancers, she hasn’t looked at them twice. Nor has she looked at any of the few men twice either. For her, even in a place that reeks of sex, it was all about the food – cheap and easy – and not the women – cheaper and easier. Her brow furrows slightly, as if trying to see where the joke was, but in the end, she says nothing at all.
There’s a lot weird about Rory.
[Callie] *She sits. Leaning back in her chair, surveying the others as they in turn seem to be doing the same thing. The stage lighting flashes, reflected in the gold rings in rows up each ear, through one eyebrow, the side of her nose. It slides off the copper of her hair, lights up the bones and shadows of her face. But there’s no explosion in response to Kemp’s comment. She just shrugs* lap dancing never was my strongest point . . did you want me for anything in particular?
[Kemp] “Want ya? Naw. Just didn’t like ya skulking over there.”
He straightened up in his seat with a closer look at Callie.
“What is your strongest point?”
[Delmar Meister] “These uhh…These guys I know down in uhh…Bronzeville. Bald heads, always pissed. One of ’em’s ahhh skinhead actually. I asked them were I could uhh…find you, and they said you’d find me.”
He took another swig of his beer, eyebrows raising as Kemp spoke to Callie. Funny, she didn’t seem like Fenrir. Come to think of it, neither did the other one, even though she was certainly showing no mercy to that plate of food. Low Key juts a chin out in a backward nod in her direction. Adding a ‘Sup’ to the greeting.
[Kemp] They told this guy that he would find him? He knew who Delmar spoke about and for a moment was amused.
“What did ya want with me?”
[Callie] if you mean what do I do best? *she queries, glancing across with the beginnings of a grin lit up for all of a second* see . . I guess that would depend on who you asked. I might tell you I’m a pretty decent musician, but someone else might disagree. They might have a different perspective. There was a guy when I lived in Boston who would have said it was getting into trouble. Personally, I think that was grossly unfair.
[Rory O’Bryne] Green eyes slide from one to the other as they talk, taking it all in as she finally sits back and pushes her plate – empty – aside. No mercy indeed. There’s a brief nod in reply to Delmar’s greeting, though she drops her eyes quickly, never letting there be even a second’s though that it was a challenge, or that she considered herself equal with the likes of them.
She tucks away the information of the two in Bronzeville that know of Kemp, as well as Callie’s round about non-answer of what she does best. She lifts her bear and drains the contents by half, and remains quiet. Speak when spoken too – that’s the rule.
[Delmar Meister] “Huh? Uhh…you know. Just a meet and greet. Make sure uhh…you knew my face.” He scratched at his chin, working at a beard that wasn’t there, or not there yet anyway.
His eyes go back over to Rory, noticing just how little she offered to be noticed.
“So uhh…what’s your deal?”
[Rory O’Bryne] She tips her head, slightly. “Deal?” Slender shoulders lift in shrug. There’s no deal, really. Maybe she’s just shy. Or secure in the knowledge she’s the bottom of the proverbial food chain.
She pulls her feet up to sit cross-legged in the chair, her pack moved around to sit in her lap, where she goes about stashing the rolls she has n her pockets for later consumption and share with her Alpha. “Do neal.” She doesn’t seem to notice her words are mixed up, hearing exactly what she intended to say, rather than what she did say. “Why?”
[Delmar Meister] Delmar’s head tilts to one side, eyes narrowing as he regards Rory. “Uhh…what’d you say?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Her brow creases in thought as she blinks. “No deal.” That’s exactly what she said – to her, anyway. Then she sighs, and she drops her gaze down to her pack again. “My mords wixed up, again?” She honestly doesn’t know.
[Delmar Meister] “Oh shit! You uhh…you did it again!” Which was a strange declaration coming from the guy who sounded as if at any moment he would chime in with ‘We’re uhhh…currently cruising at an altitude of uhh…thirty-thousand feet.’
“That happen to you uhhh…a lot?”
[Callie] *She has half an eye on the girl, has had since she saw that hair and felt the unmistakable sense of their shared heritage, and the girls lineage just can’t be ignored. But, she wonders as Rory stuffs food into her backpack, where the girl is staying and how she comes to be in this position*
[Callie] ((Kemp dropped))
to Delmar Meister, Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] She lifts a hand to rub at the side of her nose, absently, without looking up to meet his gaze more than a glance his way, and to Callie who’s now silent, and Kemp who’s wandered off to do whatever Adren Fenrir do in a strip club in chinatown.
She chews on her lip a minute before answering. “Guess so. They said it’s a dental meformity. Dr. Slaughter calls it Spoonerism. I hon’t dear it.”
[Callie] ((how old is Rory, roughly?))
to Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] 17-20
to Callie
[Delmar Meister] “Oh shit. That’s uhh…that’s a trip. Ha!”
He slaps the table with one hand, and slams his beer down with the other, talking to Callie as he pointed to Rory.
“She hon’t dear it!”
[Rory O’Bryne] She flushes, embarrassment staining her cheeks as he mimics her, and she ducks her head, hiding it away as she fusses with the zipper and gets the pocket closed around the pilfered extras from the food table.
[Callie] *with Kemp safely removed from the equation, temporarily at least, Callie turns her attention fully to the other two, and then on Delmar entirely. Her eyes narrowing, for only him to see* cut it out!
[Delmar Meister] “Ey…” Delmar seems to growl, eyes giving her a jovial warning, if such a thing existed. Kemp indeed wasn’t here. And none of these women had bought him a beer.
“Dont get your panties in a bunch, Red. Besides, she doesn’t mind, do ya Rory?”
[Rory O’Bryne] She doesn’t mind, does she… Rory glances up, and then back to her pack in her lap, a clear sign of submission. To the inevitable. She shakes her head, slightly, agreeing that she doesn’t mind. “So, nir.”
She lifts her hand again, fingers slender, pale, fragile looking, and shoves wayward curls back into her hood, which she still wears up, even here. Trying to contain that mop of fire-red hair is an all day job.
[Delmar Meister] Delmar chortles at that, grinning as he brought the bear back up near his lips and turning those wary eyes back to Callie.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. She’s uhhh…been duckin her eyes and tuckin her tail since uhh…since I sat down.” Delmar shakes his head, draining the last of his beer with a sigh.
“Mental…deformity.” He says, slowly correcting Rory’s previous mispronunciation. “I bet she’d get up there and start dancing if you ordered her to. What do you say, Rory? Wanna dance?”
[Callie] *A pointed look at Rory’s bowed head and pointless fussing with her bag. Then the girls head lifts, her answer the epitome of beaten submission and resignation, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. Callie turns back to Delmar with a look of scorn. She’s not given to shows but this gets to her like nothing else* you stop it . .
*she leans forward, rising slightly from her formerly laid back position* right now.
[Rory O’Bryne] Since before he sat down, technically, but she doesn’t correct him. She wouldn’t correct him – it’s not her place. He asks if she wants to dance, says she would if ordered too, and there’s a sound low in her throat, that of a wounded animal, though it’s soft enough to be missed in the general mayhem of the club, the dancers, the music.
She swallows, hard, and shakes her head no. It’s hesitant, but clear she doesn’t want too. Even if ordered, it’s likely she’d risk the beating and go running out of the club instead – even a kicked puppy eventually runs away.
[Lou Cracka’Jack Perkins] *Light filters in from outside a moment, as the door to the strip joint swings open and in walks the Ghetto Diva, all her glory. Sharp dark eyes skate the place behind dark glasses, looking for Ronnie. She was here to collect on a bet from the bar..tender? Shades glinting in the dark as she tilts them down, as though to make sure she’s really seeing what she’s seeing. A languid hip rolling gate taking her towards the table with Delmar and Rory. Her jaw working hard at gum, a wash of rage as she approaches with bored predatory grace.*
Damn Baby Girl, you’s everywhere I wanna be!
[Delmar Meister] He watches her stand, watches her obviously upset by what was going on. He didn’t smile, nor did he stand with her. He just leaned back a little further in her chair, feet firmly on the ground.
“Dont you mean ‘night ro–”
Lou’s interjection halts the retort that he was almost certain would get him punched in the face. His eyes narrow at the wiry new girl, the angry redhead, and her shy counterpart. He glanced around the strip club, catching a hot glance from a certain stripper in stilletos that probably still wanted to claw his eyes out.
“Shiiit…” He muttered to himself.
[Callie] *Before he’s cut off she’s already on her feet. Callie would never be tall, fine-boned and lightly built she’s not an imposing figure. Nobody is going to look at her and quake in their boots. But there are times when something seems to raise the devil in her and it looks out of her eyes, hard and full of fire. One time . . not so very long ago . . she would have pulled rank. Not today.* Get the fuck out of here, or I will see to it myself
[Rory O’Bryne] Lou comes up, and she glances her way, and then down again brow furrowed as she tries to remember if they’ve met, if the comment was meant for her. She decides half a moment later that it likely doesn’t – as Delmar mocks her again. She is quiet, and still now, doing her best not to fidget, not to draw more attention to herself. If the floor could swallow her up right now, that’d be just fine with her.
[Lou Cracka’Jack Perkins] *Lou moves to Rory’s side, taking stock of the situation. Tongue rolling across her teeth with a cluck. She goes back to chewing her gum, jerking her head to Rory. Here yes however, those flick sharply between Delmar and Callie overtop of her shades.*
You got this girl? Why these fuckers gettin froggy?
[Delmar Meister] “OKAY!” He shouts back, throwing his arms open, holding the beer bottle in one hand. He stood, shaking head as he pushed the chair out from behind him.
“Alright. Alright, you uhh…you win. I’m out.”
He shook his head, glancing down at Rory and Lou, and shaking his head with a sigh..
“I’ll fet the guck out, alright?”
Apparently he just couldn’t help hmself.
[Rory O’Bryne] She shakes her head slightly. “Ro neason. I’m used to..” she gestures, slightly, and then he says he’ll go, and that Callie wins, and then…
…he does it by mocking her again, and she just keeps those eyes cast downward. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before, nothing that hasn’t been done before. She knows her place well – keep your head down, your mouth closed, and do as your told.
[Rory O’Bryne] [OOC: I have to say thank you! You’re the first person to actually mock her! So many others are all understanding and such. And she’s a mule! Mockery expected! So thanks for that!]
to Delmar Meister
[Delmar Meister] [ :D I’m glad you feel that way actually. Now I don’t feel half as rotten as I did before. :p]
to Rory O’Bryne
[Callie] *She watches him go, not moving from where she stands, not reacting to that last taunt thrown over his shoulder at both of them. Then, when he’s finally gone, she turns back to Rory and the person who just joined them during the showdown. It’s some relief that he backed down, being totally an unknown quantity.* you shouldn’t take it . . people like him shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it
[Rory O’Bryne] [OOC: it’s like kicking a puppy, but in Garou Society – the puppies get kicked! I expected FAR more mocking than she’s received to date.]
to Delmar Meister
[Lou Cracka’Jack Perkins] Aw.. Nu-unh… *Her eyes slide to Rory, narrow, then sliiiiide back to Delmar, head tilting at him as they go. Neck and shoulder slipping akimbo. Her hands, complete with long dragon lady nails, come out of her pockets. She arcs an eyebrow in blatant challenge. A bubble emerging from painted lips, blown fat and pink. Lou pops it with a sharp SNAP!.*
[Rory O’Bryne] She lifts a thin shoulder in a shrug, and glances between Lou and Callie. She looks over at Delmar, then down again, worrying a loose thread away from the strap of her backpack in her lap. People like him, she says… “People mike le deserve, expect it.”
She shrugs again, slightly. This is not the first – nor will it be the last – that she is mocked. She reaches for her beer, and takes a long swallow, before setting the cup on the table and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
[Delmar Meister] He offers one last scoff to the group of ladies, shaking his head at Rory in particular.
“Whatever.” He manages to say as he heads for the door.
He staggers there, the brightness of the outside hitting him by surprise apparently, and out of the club he goes.
[Kemp Oates] ((Sorry, went poof. Might again if the storm keeps up ))
to Callie, Delmar Meister, Lou Cracka’Jack Perkins, Rory O’Bryne
[Callie] deserve and expect are not the same thing *she drops back into her chair again, leaning back, assuming her earlier relaxed posture . . though a keen observer could spot her hands shaking slightly as she shoves them deep into her pockets. She looks up at Lou, and back to Rory again, and her eyes still glitter, a spark against the dark forest green* what makes you think you don’t deserve better?
[Lou Cracka’Jack Perkins] Dayum. An’ here I thought i was gunna git ta slap a cracka….. *She snorts, looking to the redheads. What were they breeding carrot-tops in Chicago now? The pep talk doesn’t interest her. Nor do the dancers. She swaggers her way to the bar to find Ronnie. and her 20 bucks.*
[Rory O’Bryne] She has breeding that sings under her skin, telling tales of the warriors that came before her. She has rage of such a degree that it’s clear she is a warrior under the pale skin and fragile looking frame. She is easily recognized for what she is, despite her lack of scent, her curious tendency to downplay her very presence in any situation.
It all comes down to a single word.
“Mule.”
A waste.
[Kemp Oates] “So, couldn’t take sitting with two girls in a strip club, or did they ask ya to pay for something?”
Suddenly he was behind Delmar when he came out the door, half blinded by the change in lighting.
[Rory O’Bryne] [OOC: glad you made it back! I just posted earlier that you had stepped aside to do whatever boys do in strip clubs!]
to Kemp Oates
[Kemp Oates] ( I skimmed back and saw that. Thanks! ))
to Rory O’Bryne
[Delmar Meister] “Jesus!” He says with a jump, turning suddenly at Kemps presence. Low Key shakes his head. “Three, actually. I was uhh…havin fun with mule and uhh…the other two didn’t take too kindly to it.”
He glances about, and attempts to peer over Kemp’s shoulder.
“Where did you go? And uhh…where the hell’d you come from?”
[Kemp Oates] He ignored the question, still interested in why Delmar had asked about him in the first place. Minor distractions causing him to miss that response.
“Ya did her? Or she gave ya a lap dance?”
For a moment his face screwed up as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Did ya pay her or cheat her like the other one?”
[Delmar Meister] “Nah, she wouldn’t dance. The uhh…other one wouldn’t let her. And I didn’t uhh…cheat anybody. You go to ahhh burger shack and they give you ahhh two dollar hot dog instead of a three dollar uhh…burger, how much are you gonna pay? I’m the uhhh…victim here, man. I’ve got the bruise to uh…prove it, I bet.”
[Callie] *Callie leans forward again, but this time it’s more friendly, just getting closer. Her elbows rest on the table between them. She regards the other with care, and long consideration before answering that one.* that’s not the point. The guy’s an asshole, he thinks he can behave like that with anyone he likes and it’s ok. This is going to sound like a hell of a cliche but if you want other people to give you some respect you damn well got to show them you’re worth it! Where you staying anyway? . . I can maybe show you some places worth knowing if you need it . .
[Lou Cracka’Jack Perkins] *And collecting on her bet, she slips out the side door, much to annoyance of management.*
((ugh! headache attack. duckin out))
[Kemp Oates] “I know what I seen and I seen one pissed off working girl. Ya done said ya didn’t get what ya paid for, though I’m bettin ya didn’t pay nothing at all.”
He stepped off to the side of the door, up against the dirty facade of the building.
“Ya know, I have a talent for pissing off the ladies. They are sensitive creatures.”
His back against the building, hoodie up now against the cooler air, he regarded Delmar.
“So, ya ran into Joe and Thomas. Tell me about that.”
[Callie] ((I will have to go soon))
to Delmar Meister, Kemp Oates, Rory O’Bryne
[Kemp Oates] ((Sorry I died on you earlier. Thanks for playing! ))
to Callie, Delmar Meister, Rory O’Bryne
[Rory O’Bryne] She’s heard the argument before, but there are years of conditioning. She is a Mule – she’s a waste of good breeding and lower than the lowest kinfolk on the totem pole. She knows her place.
So she chooses not to answer the first, as there are some that cannot understand unless they have lived the same life. She just says. “Have place – pack.”
[Delmar Meister] “Not much to tell. Joe uhh…showed me around his place. Said he claimed it for the uhhh…tribe. Said I should find Silence and you, since your like the uhh…head Rotagar or something.”
[Kemp Oates] “Silence is out of town for now. Joe is Jarl. So, I guess he’s the one ya want to talk to.”
He smiled as big as an idiot.
“I’m not the Rotagar Elder either.”
He shook his head slowly, still smiling.
“Ya might say, I’m just me.”
[Callie] well, as long as you have somewhere. *She doesn’t pursue it further. Not the time, or the place maybe, not the right person perhaps. Slowly, she gets to her feet, hesitating briefly to ask* you know how to find the Others?
[Delmar Meister] “Shhhiiit.” He said with no little bit of annoyance. “Now I uh…gotta go lookin’ for a whole different uhh…set of folk? This is gettin tiring.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Evening has begun in Chicago, though by most standards it is still too early for stripclubs, particularly on a holy day of rest, at least by Christian reckoning.
Imogen is doubtlessly heading somewhere beyond the strip club, but her path takes her nearby nonetheless, her stride shifting slightly as she sees the recognizable and tall frame of the Adren Rotagar. The kinwoman, dressed in jeans, a cream blouse beneath a chocolate brown coat. She carries an umbrella, lifted over her head to protect herself against the rain.
A glance between the two as the slight redhaired woman – rife with pure blood and breeding, Fianna-marked – slows. A lift of her gaze toward the strip club title, a wry twist of her mouth.
“You didn’t get thrown out, I hope,” this more to Kemp, Delmar unfamiliar.
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, slightly. “Found.” Single words are easier – and they often tell the whole story. SHe’s already been to Maelstrom, sacrificed, found a pack. She’s set.
A beat, and then. “Thanks.”
Before she takes her empty plate back to the buffet, only to load it up with another round of things she can stash in the plastic grocery bag in her pack. Which she does, on the sly, zipping it up quikcly.
[Kemp Oates] “Ya done spoke with Joe. What is it that ya need? Either way, when Silence returns, ya need to let him know aboutcha. And ya need to make sure you’re good with the Sept.”
He considered Delmar, guessing at his age and such. Finally just asking.
“How old are ya Low Key?”
He started to ask his rank when the other voice chimed in and he was turning to face Imogen.
“Naw, I didn’t get thrown out, but he did.”
Snickering with a jerk of his thumb at Delmar.
[Callie] see you around then. *She slides out from the table as Rory heads back to the buffet, and takes herself off out the door of the club and into the darkening street*
[Rory O’Bryne] The sign has said all you can eat – she just doesn’t intend on eating it all here. Soon, before she gets run out herself, she’s slipping out the front door, blinking rapidly at the change in light, until her eyes adjust.
Hearing voices, she turns to see Delmar still there. With Kemp. And Imogen. To the last, theres a bit of a smile in greeting, as she slings her pack back on her shoulders.
[Delmar Meister] “I wasn’t kicked.” He says droning low. “I was encouraged.”
And back to Kemp, he shrugs. “How old you think?”
[Callie] ((right, got to go. Thanks for the rp and have fun. Bye))
to Delmar Meister, Imogen Slaughter, Kemp Oates, Rory O’Bryne
[Kemp Oates] He noticed Rory coming out and lifted his chin to her and then leveled his gaze on Delmar.
“Oh let me see…..er….Thirteen?”
[Delmar Meister] “That’s exactly right. Uncanny.” He turns to Rory as she exits, giving her a twisted mouthed smile and a delicate twidling of fingers as a wave.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen arches an eyebrow, flicking her gaze over Delmar, an asexualized up and down. “Charming,” she observes.
Rory exits the stripclub. Imogen regards her briefly, and if the incongruity of its registers, she does not dwell on it. Her greeting is in her nod, slight enough to be nearly missed.
[Kemp Oates] In a stage whisper aside to Imogen he said.
“It always pays to be generous when guessing the age of the extremely young. They eat that shit up.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She’s greeted by all of them, though some are understandably more facetious than others. She tucks her hair back into her hood, trying to contain them in what is surely a losing battle, before she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
Kemp says Delmar is only 13, and she tips her head, slightly. It certainly would explain things. Maybe.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns her head to look at Kemp as he stage whispers to her. When she answers, it is in a normal tone of voice, “In that case, I must ask you why you had a child in a strip club, Kemp.” Her humour barely registers in a turn at the edge of her mouth.
[Kemp Oates] “Oh he was in there himself, trying to find a bargain discount lay and getting kicked in the boys. I didn’t take him. I only gave him a beer. It puts hair on the boys.”
[Delmar Meister] “Hey, what can I say? I’m uhhh…a charming kinda guy.”
He winks at Imogen, and flashes a smile. Only, its not at all charming, and it doesn’t do anything for his looks. His skin still seems pasty, eyes still sallow, and there’s still not quite enough flesh in his cheeks.
“What’s uhh…what’s with all the redheads around here? There ahhhh convention in town?”
[Kemp Oates] “We could be red heads too with some Lady Clairol.”
He knew he was going to get the evil eye for that one.
“I tried a change once.”
Eying Imogen to see if she remembered. Then his attention was on Rory.
“Hey Rory, this guy try to get a cheap dance out of ya? He said the other girls wouldn’t let him.”
[Rory O’Bryne] He says he’s charming. But then her attention is on Kemp, and she glances up to meet his eyes then suddenly finds the toe of her boot very interesting.
Her voice is soft, and barely caries the distance. “He fakes mun. No big.” It’s certainly not the worst she’s heard.
[Kemp Oates] “He fakes it?”
Both brows rose with that, then he burst out laughing.
“Damn boy! Girls can fake it, guys leave evidence! Ya can’t fake that shit.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen flicks a glance toward Kemp as he talks about trying to change colour. “Don’t remind me,” she says, dryly.
Her attention returns to Delmar, his comment on redheads. “I couldn’t say. I live ‘ere.”
Delmar’s idea of charm is clearly not effective on the slender pale-skinned kinwoman.
[Delmar Meister] Delmar chortles at that, which evolves into a full bodied chuckle as Kemp runs with it. He pulls his hood up, hiding away the many thin blond plaits and twists that cover his head.
“That shit never gets old. Latch you cater, folks. I got somewhere I need to be.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She looks at Kemp as he busts out laughing, confused as to how he comes to that conclusion – right up until Delmar busts a gut too and she ducks her head again, to hide the flush of color that splashes over her cheeks.
She pushes her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, her shoulders hunching slightly as she scuffs the toe of her boot along the sidewalk.
[Kemp Oates] “Latch you cater? Ya best not touch my cater, ya latcher.”
He had no idea what Delmar meant, but figured it was an exit. Waving him on with a shooing motion.
“Scram. Go find your bargain lay but don’t be surprised when ya get more than ya paid for.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen watches Rory as she visibly folds in on herself, weighted by shame.
It should be noted that the doctor does nothing. Offers no explanation to the two Garou, nor offers defence to assist the Metis.
[Delmar Meister] ((Thanks for playing guys! I got another scene but it’s been great fun!))
[Rory O’Bryne] Delmar leaves, and she does little more than glance up to see that he is indeed gone. Something catches her eye off to the side, something shiny. She moves to it and crouches down, plucking the dime from the ground and wiping it on her jeans before she tucks it into her pocket.
Chloe would say the City will provide. With a backpack of pilfered food, so far, so good.
[Kemp Oates] He was stupid, he was totally missing anything odd from Rory. Then again, he didn’t know her and anything strange might be attributed to a lack of knowledge and attention on his part. When she went after the dime, he simply watched.
“Well, guess that guy is confused as shit by now.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Her eyebrow lifts as her attention turns to Kemp.
“How so?”
[Kemp Oates] “Well Joe and Thomas told him that he needed to talk to me and Decker or something like that. Decker is out of town and I ain’t the Jarl, so he don’t need me, he needs Joe. And I ain’t the Rotagar Elder, so, well it’s back to the drawing board for him.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen stares at Kemp for several seconds.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, blandly.
[Kemp Oates] “Joe is Jarl while Decker is gone.”
He spoke slowly so she would hear him.
[Rory O’Bryne] She soon scores another dime, 2 pennies, a nickel, and a quarter. She dusts them all off and shoves them into her pocket before she looks back to Kemp and Imogen again. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat, and when it looks like Delmar isn’t coming back, she moves over toward them again.
“Hi, Imogen.” That, she gets right.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen regards Kemp rather mildly as he talks to her much like she might be deaf or perhaps mentally incompetent. “I hear just fine,” she says evenly to Kemp, a small amount of sarcasm touching her voice, “thank you very much.
“Jarl, I assume is another word fer leader, then? Tribal Elder or some-such? Offer Joe my congratulations.”
Her head turns slightly to Rory, dark blue eyes touching the girl briefly before speaking, “Rory,” she greets her. “How are you?”
[Kemp Oates] “Yes it is. And when I see him again, I will.”
He tugged his hood higher with a look both ways down the street. Stepping slightly away from the two women.
[Rory O’Bryne] There’s a ghost of a smile, and she shrugs her shoulders. “Fine. Full.”
She glances at the sign that offers cheap Sunday buffet – of flesh and food apparently. She nods toward Kemp. “friend of yours?” and then… “He hon’t dear my mistakes, I think.” a beat. “Weird.”
[Imogen Slaughter] “Leaving, are you?” Addressed to Kemp as her eyes cut slightly toward Rory.
“I imagine he does,” she says, her mouth twisting slightly, “there isn’t a disease fer hearing letters switched, I don’t believe.”
[Kemp Oates] “Who me? Naw, short attention span, ya know.”
Responding to Imogen with a faint shrug. Finally he stepped back.
“Rory, tell me more about yourself now that we are outside away from prying ears. The rest of your name, your Tribe all that.”
[Rory O’Bryne] “Oh.” She nods slightly. He makes fun, then, but differently.
Kemp turns back and asks for the rest of her information, and she nods. She takes her time, trying to get it out correctly, but it’s twice as difficult when you don’t know you’re making mistakes. “Rory O’Bryne. Tongue-Twister. Cianna Fliath Ahroun..” a beat – and the toes of her shoes are mighty interesting again. “Mule.”
[Kemp Oates] A Mule. Thank God it was not a Fenrir Mule, he was getting sick to death with shame at seeing those steadily increasing in numbers. It was bad enough they came from other Tribes, but when it was his own, it was worse.
“Do you add that last part because ya were taught to or what? Because I gotta say, it would be like me saying. Kemp Oates, known as Truth in Frenzy to the Nation. Born under the New Moon and Adren in rank. Dumbass.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s participation in this particular conversation is nothing. She steps back herself, lowering her umbrella as the rain comes to a step, shaking it out away from the two Garou before collapsing it entirely and binding it with its strap.
She loops her hand through its handle and reaches into her purse to retrieve the accoutrements of her addiction – a bronze-plated cigarette case, a zippo.
[Rory O’Bryne] She smiles a little at that, but hides it in the duck of her head, the escape of curls helping mask the brief moment of amusement.
“Taught to.” Made to. “If I don’t other’s neel the feed to remind me.”
[Kemp Oates] He nodded slowly, understanding.
“I wasn’t raised knowing what I am. Knowing the closed knit community in which I could learn the ways. I also for a long time, had no idea what a mule was other than a pack animal. I know what it means, what it stands for and know as far as continuing our kind, it is a dead in path which saddens me greatly.”
There were times he wasn’t so young and stupid sounding, but they were few and far between.
“Ya get the shit end of the deal. Your parents I have no forgiveness for. Yourself, you’re the end result of wrongness, weakness and stupidity. Still, it is not your fault. So I got little tolerance for them that take advantage of that shit. To show respect and deference to your elders, those of higher rank is a good thing to do. To deal with shit from someone of your own rank, well if I were you, I’d kick some ass. I’d prove my worth and then some, taking the light from them. But then again, that’s just me. Take it or leave it for what it’s worth.”
[Kemp Oates] ((In=end))
[Rory O’Bryne] She blinks, and is startled enough by the lecture to look up at him – its more words than everyone’s said to her put together in the past week. She bites her lower lip, chews on it idly as she watches him speak – not meeting his eyes, but paying attention.
She sighs, briefly. “I kick ass wighting fyrm. Good at it. The other stuff?” she shrugs. “Hitting him don’t change opinions. Always be pasted wotential. Existence is shameful. Can just do what I am dorn to bo.”
[Kemp Oates] “Ya can beat him in more ways than one. Ya can beat him with your wits, but more than that, with your own accomplishments. You’ll always have marks against ya. Ain’t nothing ever going to change that. That’s the fault of them that fucked it up for ya in the first place. But ya can beat him with your own glory.”
He nodded, then added as almost an after-thought.
“Besides, if ya don’t let him know it hurts ya, then that will piss him off to no end. Ain’t nothing worse than to try to climb higher on the bodies of others, only to find when ya take that step, ain’t nothing there to stand on.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp offers his advice. “Otherwise, hitting him,” Imogen speaks up, her cigarette light and held between her fingers as she exhales smoke, turning her head away from the pair, “is a preferable alternative to hanging your head and scuffing your toe.”
Her mouth twists slightly, not quite like humour.
“Though the options are entirely up to you.”
[Kemp Oates] He beamed at Imogen’s advice.
“Make sure it’s in the boys. I think he liked it when the stripper did it to him.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She listens. There’s that much. She gives consideration to what they say, and there’s the feeling that she’ll continue to think on it too. She chews her lower lip, absently – the thoughts ticking through her mind are almost visible in a dance cross her features.
Then Kemp chimes in with the last, and she ducks her head with a soft laugh, hiding it behind her hand, though it’s clear it amuses her. “Not sure he BAS hoys.”
[Kemp Oates] “Well there is that too. Maybe ya don’t want to know for sure.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen lifts an eyebrow in Kemp’s direction.
“I imagine I don’t want to know.”
[Kemp Oates] “Well I sure don’t want to know. Unlike a lot in this city, I don’t swing that way.”
He rocked his hand back and forth.
[Rory O’Bryne] She shrugs, slightly. “Is hard. But trying. Never been away from bome hefore. Learning wew nays.”
She points down the way a little, where some cats are foraging in a garbage bag for food. “The Forgotten – py mack – alley’s’re that way.”
[Kemp Oates] “It’s good ya have a pack. This world can be cruel enough when with others, it’s worse alone.”
He canted his head to her when she pointed out the direction of her pack’s territory.
“Ya run into a tight spot, just howl. I’ll try to find ya soon as I hear it.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods. “Kay.”
One of the cats comes closer, lingering out of the range of their combined rage, ducking from the feeling, though still mewing for food. She pulls her bag around, reaches for some of the pilfered food and grabs an eggroll, that she breaks up and tosses to the cats. “Ditto. We’re easy to find – collow the fats.”
[Kemp Oates] “Um, ya did know the saying is that Chinese food is really cat meat?”
He couldn’t resist saying it.
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, and grins a little. “Dogs. Or is that Korean? ron’t demember which.”
She shrugs. “Totem. We cake tare of them.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen taps ash to the ground, speaking up again – it appears she only feels the necessity to do it rarely.
“It works fer both,” she says. “Korean, Chinese. Dogs, cat.”
A twist of her mouth, slight. “The rumours are not particular.”
[Kemp Oates] “I think it’s whatever ya think will gross out your current target. Heh.”
He looked back towards Imogen and spoke softly.
“I would offer that if ya needed anything while he is gone, to call me, but I know better. Ya take care of yourself and ya have a Pack to watch over ya. I can’t offer anything ya ain’t already got.”
Then he lifted his voice to include to the two women.
“Well, I’m gonna go get out of the drizzle for a bit. Interesting to meetcha Rory. Most always good to see ya Imogen.”
He waved and started off.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s gaze flicks toward Kemp when he speaks softly to her. Though Rory, perhaps, cannot hear the words, she can likely see the faint tightening at the edge of the kinwoman’s mouth.
In the end, she says nothing in response.
“Ha’ a good night, Kemp,” as he starts off.
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods to Kemp, and lifts a hand to wave, after wiping the grease from the eggroll fed to the cats off on her thigh. She re-shoulders her pack. “Bye.”
Slender fingers wrap around the straps of her pack as she glances at Imogen. “He’s alright.” So far.
[Kemp Oates] ((Thanks for the play!))
to Imogen Slaughter, Rory O’Bryne
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns her gaze from Kemp’s departing back to Rory’s face.
“He is,” she says simply.
“You should take his words t’heart,” she says, stepping back, apparently intending on her own departure, though by no means running off. “I know you’re – less,” her mouth draws slightly tauter, then eases deliberately. “But they’ll treat yeh worse if yeh just bow yer head.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She listens – as she has everything tonight, and her gaze shifts to where Kemp disappeared around the corner, than back again to Imogen. “Will try.”
It’s what she can promise – years of one way of life cannot be changed on a dime, but perhaps the acceptance of some will make that easier. Until then, she can prove herself with Tooth and.. well. Teeth, anyway. “Too many memories – wet in the gay sometimes.”
[Imogen Slaughter] “I’m sure.”
Imogen is not likely to stand about giving advice. What she’s said is not quite that so much as commentary. Critique.
And with it said, there is little else to go on. “Ha’ a good night,” she says, glancing down at a few stray alley cats still hovering around the edge of the building. “Enjoy yer company.”
And with that, the slight kinwoman steps away, headed down the street in her original destination.
[Rory O’Bryne] She smiles, and nods. “Night”
And then she whistles, and the cats come closer, following her as she starts off toward The Forgotten’s alley. She’s a carton of milk stashed in her backpack, and soon there will be some very happy kittens in Chinatown.
[Imogen Slaughter] (thank you for the RP!)
[Rory O’Bryne] [Thank you!]