[John Thornton] John smiles that wan not-a-smile and nods.
“They do seem discomfited, don’t they?”
Another swig of overly hot coffee, before he continues.
“Maybe the fact that Joe’s running the show has put them on edge around us…?”
[Marrick Fisher] Beth looks at her a third time, and finally, the Fury waves back.
It is, in fact, a youthful gesture. Something small and close to the chest in the most literal sense. She plops herself down at the table in the middle of the restaurant. Marrick, all blonde hair and Rage, finally got the nerve to wave at the elementary school teacher.
She looked back at Abney, and spoke words that were only meant for the Coggie.
[Moira Murray] As usual, the smile that doesn’t quite touch John’s eyes appears when he nods his head. Her eyebrows knit forward, giving him a questioning stare. She shakes it off, however, and looks over her other shoulder around the diner.
Blue eyes slid across Beth and Patrick, but made little of them sitting together, assumed they knew each other and her gaze passed on to other faces. She leans in to rest her arms against the counter’s edge, swiveling the chair a bit with her feet.
When the old guy behind the counter finally realizes she is there, Moira offers him a bright smile. “Yes, I’ll take some of that black rot gut you burn in your coffee pot.”
The man snorts at her and shakes his head, moving off to fetch her a cup of coffee, which Moira promptly saturates with crème and sugar. The mention of Joe makes her shoulders go stiff, eyelashes closing over her eyes to glare at the coffee. “I would not know.”
[John Thornton] ((Perception + Empathy, diff = 6))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[John Thornton] The attentive detective’s gaze moves to the man behind the counter, drifts to the fifties style napkin dispenser on the counter… In which the two blond women who spoke conspiratorially at a table behind him were reflected.
Then, a curious brow rises on John’s forehead as Moira goes stiff and stares daggers at her coffee. He takes another swig of coffee before continuing…
“I gather you and Joe don’t see eye to eye on some things…?”
[Abney] The no moon took the chair with a view of the counter. Didn’t straddle it; slouched into it gratefully, her spine against the back. After a second, she unslouched in order to lean closer to Marrick. Girls can do this: suddenly be a unit of talk. It’s in the way they incline their heads, the way they slope their shoulders. “Ha!” she says, somewhat explosively — then the fury of the paper bag, disemboweled neatly to reveal two of the four pig blankits, much worse for wear, but still edible lifts on up and swallows what she’s got to say. Which is: “Where are you from?” Then: suddenly quieter. “I’m just honestly confused. I haven’t run into anyone for — a couple months. Anywhere. Not even the faintest sniff and now — chrissakes, yannow? I’m trying to figure out what sort’ve trickster god would play this kind of trick. And, yannow: the punch line.”
[Patrick Bergfalk] It seems that, after asking Beth about Marrick, Patrick is done paying mind to the Garou in the diner. He sits down, doughnuts set to one side, and opens up his cheesesteak, using the abused paper bag as a placemat with a couple of quick tears. He unlinks his cuffs, rolls his sleeves up couple of times, and is picking up his sandwich when Marrick waves at Beth. He smiles.
“I have to eat something,” he says, just before taking a bite. “Half the time I go home expecting a real meal and there’s tofu everywhere.”
[Moira Murray] Moira raises her cup to her mouth, cautious as she takes the first tentative sips. It doesn’t matter how careful she is about drinking it, the brown sugared liquid manages to scorch her tongue when she doesn’t pay attention as she went to answer John’s question.
Instead, Moira coughs, inhaling liquid and air at the same time. She squints her eyes shut, clanking the mug down on the countertop suddenly and reached for a napkin to cover her mouth.
“Guh!” another cough, “Definitely not,” she says, opening her eyes to look up at him. “He’s very bit of the pit bull he portrays and certainly doesn’t trust you. I don’t think any of them do.”
[Beth Clemensen] The edgy teenager decides to go for it and fires a wave in Beth’s direction. Though her attention appears to have drifted away from the blonde pair and centered itself on Patrick, she has little luck ignoring the weight of the girl’s eyes on her face, and when she looks up, she catches the motion of her hand. Beth is new to the area, too new for the girl to be a former student, and yet there appears to be some recognition riding along with that wave.
So as Patrick unpacks his dinner, Beth lifts her hand again, and waves back. While the man rolls up his sleeves, Beth opens up her messenger back and stows her ledger and her pen, clipping the entire affair closed and sliding it off to the side again as Patrick explains he has to eat something. When she laughs, it seems as though she finds genuine amusement in what he’s said, rather than the laugh existing for the sake of filling the air where silence would otherwise sit.
“Oh, no,” she says, leaning back in the booth and reaching for her cup of coffee. “I’ve got to hand it to Jael, though… Ellie brings some pretty impressive lunches to school.”
[Marrick Fisher] “Oklahoma City,” she offers Abney, “ain’t a lotta my folks out there, either, so…”
She shrugs, but then continues the thought. She looks at Abney and she is saying that she is confused. The Fury nods with a certain degree of empathy. She was confused, the Fury was confused. They were both confused, and that was something that could be bonded over.
“It’s when y’ain’t lookin’ fer somethin’ is when y’find it… or… well… like that Alanis Morisette song where she’s like “it’s like ten thousand spoons, when all y’need is a knife.””
except the spoons are purebred fenrir kin.
[John Thornton] John’s other brow rises upon his forehead now, that wan not-a-smile still playing about his lips. Then, with a shake of his head, John takes another drink of coffee… His expression deadpanning again as he sets the cup back in the saucer.
“It doesn’t surprise me. Joe’s been on the wrong side of the law at least once, maybe more than that. And given those tattoos… I suspect it wasn’t for a simple misdemeanor…”
Then, with a sigh, his brows narrowed, John continues.
“Still, I rather doubt they are used to being questioned… Even when giving strange or potentially difficult requests for kin to fulfill.”
[Moira Murray] “You will find, dear Detective, it comes with the job of being what we are. They’ll come knocking on our doors with the bizarre requests.”
He mentions a few things about Joe that Moira hadn’t known, she is suddenly interested. Her curiosity piqued now, “I take it you have read his rap sheet? How thick is the folder?”
Moira sets the napkin down, wiping up some of the split coffee pooling at the bottom of her mug and lifts it up again. She doesn’t take a drink just yet, “Could be your profession. It might make a few hold the notion you are more likely to choose your police ethics than kin duty.”
[Patrick Bergfalk] “Heh,” he says after taking the first — massive — bite of his sandwich. He eats neatly enough to fit into the persona of a man who wears what he wears and drives what he drives, but he also takes the sandwich apart like it’s an enemy, his jaw working quickly, as though he doesn’t have long. He doesn’t. It’s getting late. “As long as she’s eating,” he says, unconcerned with whether Ellie eats foccacia and tofu or Smucker’s Uncrustables.
After all. He’s eating a steak sandwich so greasy, so fat-laden, that it’s a damn good thing he’s not five or ten years older than he is. He’d be in serious trouble with his doctor, in that case.
He glances around the room after taking a second bite, chewing thoughtfully, then sets his sandwich down, picking up a paper napkin to wipe his mouth and fingers. “Excuse me a moment,” he says to Beth, and pushes his chair back, setting his napkin down. He walks over towards Abney and Marrick’s table, moving with a certain deliberation of motion that bespeaks a man who knows his body, warrior or not.
[John Thornton] “I find it curious they expect the latter to trump the former, when so few are willing to take the time to explain the things I do not know…
Never mind that, were I of a mind to have this investigated officially, I have had months to decide to do so…
Or the oddities I’ve helped to kill since being found.”
John scrubs a weary hand through his scalp, deepening the furrows in the chestnut brown mop of hair upon his head.
“Somehow, I suspect that so long as I question their reasons I will never be trusted.”
[Abney] That makes Abney’s mouth curve in amusement. A wicked sort’ve amusement. But: fire. Pyre. Ashes, again. The smile is a ghost: is a sad ghost. Hungry ghost; the fact that she smiled also makes her feel guilty and distant and, yeah, irritable again. Abney didn’t used to be quite so irritable, but she was never as easygoing and hey-hey-no-judgement as she was expected to be. She crams a big ol’ bite of maple and bacon dougnut into her mouth — way too much, actually, and she regrets it when her cheeks have both bulged to GIGANTIC PROPORTION and crumbs are trying hard to gush out all over her chin. For a minute at least she’s occupied in NOM nom noming it all down until she can swallow, eyes tearing up from the effort, and then say, “Uhm. Curses. Your timely reminder about the uses of cutlery came too — early? I was too blind?” Abney — wraps a lock of hair around her index finger, then clears her throat and pitches her voice right low, leaning forward again.
[Moira Murray] Moira’s body swiveled in the chair, the mug still held up as she pressed it to her mouth and tilts it back, swallowing a few times. Her eyes drift away from the Detective, watching the diner again. Patrick uproots himself from Beth’s table and makes his way over towards Marrick and Abney.
“There are things I could explain in more detail about them, Detective, if you want to learn.” She says quietly to John behind the mug, “But it isn’t the type of conversation one has out in the open in a diner.”
[John Thornton] “No, I don’t suppose it is…”
And with that, the phone in John’s jacket begins to buzz with an incoming call. He smiles that wan not-a-smile as the hazel gaze returns to Moira.
“Please excuse me.”
With that, John takes the coat and starts toward the door… His hand finding the interior pocket and removing the cell phone as he does so. He speaks while continuing toward the door.
“Go ahead.”
[Marrick Fisher] She took a bite of food and was chewing. She held the burger like it was something worth holding onto. A burger was a burger, and that was worth whatever she’d paid for it.
There’s a smile of wicked amusement on Abney’s face. She’s sad, and that much Marrick did know. She wasn’t the most perceptive of creatures, but she did notice this. She watches at Abney seeks vengeance on her pigs-in-a-blanket. Terminating her food with extreme prejudice.
Voice drops, and she shares whatever she needs to before looking back at-
Hey, person. Well bred person. Patrick gets regarded like… well… like he’s someone’s Dad or a neighbor who came by to tell her to keep it down or something.
“Hola,” she said.
[John Thornton] ((Fade John here; he’ll be going outside to answer his phone and won’t make it back in.
Thanks for the rp. And goodnight everyone.))
[Abney] And, once it is clear that Patrick is coming over, Abney doesn’t ignore him. But her view is of the counter and the front of the diner: Patrick and the teacher were perepheral. The pale blonde folds her arms over the top of the table, fingers tugging now against her jacket’s collar, and lets her gaze tug the way of these are the heroes who died, gloriously, in battle — these are the heroes who were wise and who were brave; this is what they made. This is their true legacy. This: Patrick guy. “Hey?”
[Patrick Bergfalk] [Night Mandrake!]
[Patrick Bergfalk] The legacy of Skalds and Forseti of old — and more recently — strides over to the Fury and the Gaian without knowing this is what they are. He should know only that they are blondes, that they are young, and that they make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He is not rolling down his sleeves as he approaches. Whether because he is Kinfolk or because he is so intensely pure, he looks younger than he is. He looks stronger than he should be, for a human being. He is not the most attractive person in the room, but there’s a calm seriousness and unselfconscious confidence to him that catches more attention than his looks.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he says, though clearly that is not stopping him, “but my name is Patrick Bergfalk.” He reaches into his pocket, drawing out a slim metal case from which he takes two cream-colored business cards with black and navy lettering. He hands one to each of them. They are utter simplicity, bearing only his name and phone number, without address or e-mail or even profession. There are several other forms of card in the case, but he gives this plain two-lined one to Abney and Marrick.
“I’m no sure how to say this, so I’ll be as clear as I can be under the circumstances: I am looking to get in contact with others like myself, and I would deeply appreciate any help either of you can be in getting me in touch with them.”
[Loni Leonidis] The clock was nearing midnight when Loni tugged open the door to the diner. Immediately her presence fills up the warmth of the greasy spoon. The air begins to feel electrically charged and people who had otherwise been preoccupied with their food cast an eye upward and over toward the 5’10 female striding gracefully toward an empty table in one corner of the restuarant.
There is, notably, a strength within her build. A well founded confidence in each step. Dressed comfortably in faded jeans and a dark hoodie, Loni’s naturally brown but now highlighted tresses are left to hang down her back just past her shoulders.
People that were seated anywhere near her decide they’re done – whether or not their plate is full, near full or empty. The waitress handling the section in which she’s chosen to sit is uncomfortable. She watches the young woman as she edges into a booth alone and something about the natural, predatory grace in just the most basic of movements has her stomach churning.
Loni, meanwhile, is now seated. Her hand snatches a menu propped up between two napkin dispensers as she waits for the waitress to make her way toward her table.
[Abney] ooc: eeeek, skip me! brb! if anyone’s waiting. *forgot post order!*
[Marrick Fisher] “Well, I’m Marrick,” she offers. She takes the business card and, while she was a creature with a short attention span, she was also a gregarious sort of thing. Despite all things, despite the rage, despite the tension, despite the desperate need to burn off calories and energy like it was nothing, “an’.. I know a few folks you may wanna meet. I’ll pass this along.”
A pause.
Another second before she looks back at the elementary school teacher. From the teacher to the woman with the dark hair and he light eyes, and then back to Patrick. He’s bestowed with a sort of inner strength that only came with his breeding.
“An’… well… yer kinda in luck ‘cus… well… ” God, this was hard to say, so why not just come out with it? “That lady you were talkin’ to has a lot in common with you.”
and indicating with her head to Moira, “an’ so does she.”
[Joss Lehrer] There are a multitude of little coffee shops and diners and hole in the wall places in the Green, and there’s no particular reason that she should find this one tonight – except for the fact that they have THE BEST cinnamon buns that are almost as large as her head, hot and sticky sweet with butter and icing and… And that, my friends, is a rare find. Which is why the door opens, the bell above the door signals her arrival, and the one and only giggling Godi walks into the shop.
There should be a punchline.
(she is her own punchline)
Her skirts swirl around her ankles, her steps light in simple flats, her sweater and skirts all in earthtones, her dreads hanging heavily down her back. She has piercings, and tattoos, though most are covered up. She also has scars, and tonight, though her Rage is full, her spiritual being the same – her will power is low.
Low enough that any other Eagle would be on edge.
She is not.
She is, however, making a beeline for the counter and the boy behind it. “Teeeeeeell me cook made a fresh batch today…. please…”
[Patrick Bergfalk] Though Marrick stammers her way through explaining that he has just been talking with one of his own tribe, that his child’s kindergarten teacher is one of his own tribe and that the woman he saw lounging on the patio on his way in is one, too, Patrick takes the news with aplomb. He nods to Marrick, smiling faintly, and flicks an eyebrow up. “Well,” he says mildly, “small world.”
He looks over at the scarred, pierced, dreadlocked, beskirted girl that just came in, and then something makes a soft buzzing noise. He gives an apologetic glance to Marrick and Abney, taking out his phone and glancing at the screen. His brows pull together but the corner of his mouth tugs upward, wry.
“I’m sorry,” he says to the two blondes, “we’ll have to continue this later.”
He takes the call as he turns away, going back to the table he was sharing with Beth to begin gathering his food. He takes out another business card as he explains to someone on the other end that he’s on his way, it’ll just be another twenty or thirty minutes, and uses a pen from his front pocket to scrawl something on it. He gives Beth a wry smile, broader than the one he showed when his phone went off, and then slides the card to her, face up, the writing he just put on the back hidden. Listening to whoever called him, giving the occasional Yes or I understand that, he gets his doughnuts and sandwich together.
The last thing he has to offer is a wink before he takes himself out the door, heading towards a black Volvo down the street.
[Loni Leonidis] Finally, it’s an older grizzled waitress that waddles over to take Loni’s order. Betty Jean has seen it all in her forty years as a waitress. She still wears a skirt and pantyhose, her awful white waitress shoes screeching on the linoleum as she draws to a stop near the rather stoic looking customer. It’s the screech of rubber on the floor that forces Loni to look away from the menu and up at the graying woman waiting to take her order.
“What can I do ya for?” Betty Jean was calm under pressure. She’d been held up at gun point four times and assaulted during a mugging on more than one occasion. That’s not to say that Loni did not set off a warning or two in inwardly…but outwardly she seemed unphased.
“I’ll have a large chocolate shake…chili mac…and a side of bread please?” The menu is slid back between the napkin dispensers and Betty Jean nods before moving to start making Loni’s requested shake.
Though she is Garou, the young woman looks tired. Arms lift above her head and she stretches, her feet lifting to settle on the bench seat opposite her. Eventually her arms cross over her midsection, her eyes finally wandering the interior of the diner. There are numerous people of which she takes note, a hazel gaze lingering on them for a moment more than what would be considered a simple passing glance. It’s studious rather than offensive. But there nonetheless.
[Beth Clemensen] [I’m fading like whoa. Thanks for the RP, guys!]
[Patrick Bergfalk] [Thanks for the RP, everybody! G’night!]
[Marrick Fisher] Well, small world.
“Wouldn’t want t’paint it,” she offers. Enough Steven Wright for the day, though, and instead found that the male was excusing himself due to a phone call. She nods, something solid.
Instea,d her attention moved again, and she found herself looking at the other Fury in the room. She regarded her for a second, head cocked to the side and a half smile on her face. She heard something about chocolate shakes. Joss got a glance, a wave hello, and Abney got a-
“Gimme a minute.”
And she got up to go bug her tribemate.
[Abney] The numbers of Fenrir appear to be falling off; Patrick leaves, and Loni replaces him. But Joss comes in: the number stays the same after all. Joss and Loni — well, of course Abney looks with her clear, clear eyes. Of course, she looks. And of course, she puzzles; of course, surprise is staying with her. Is bedding down for a good night’s nap. The child of Gaia (we’re all, you know) tips her chin upward when Marrick asks a minute and sets her hands on the tabletop. The four fingers and thumb of her left hand all have rings, and so does the thumb and index finger of her right — and she twists the ring on her left finger around, watches the light gleam on the hematite. Make it shine, dark-side of the moon made bright.
[Loni Leonidis] Loni’s eyes take note of Marrick’s movements almost immediately. She is a full moon, but there’s very little forcefulness about her. There is, however, a lingering heaviness that feels very much like the promise of something or someone dangerous. Marrick arrives very close to the same time the shake machine’s roar is dying away and Betty Jean is navigating a path back toward the very same destination.
The shake is sat on the table and without a word the old woman turns and walks away. Again. Loni doesn’t burden her with words, she lets the woman go and adjusts her attention toward Marrick. The blonde Fury bears the blood of heroes. It is a stronger lineage than Loni’s herself, and that is duly noted.
“Hey…” She says, eyes lowering to grab the straw with two fingers so she can start in one the shake. It should be noted that at that moment her booted feet drop off the seat opposite her. They make a soft thud sound on the floor.
[Joss Lehrer] The boy behind the counter saves his life. There are indeed fresh cinnamon rolls to be had and Joss grins at him, thrilled to hear it, and pays the boy as he heats one up for her and drizzles butter all over it. Heart attack on a plate.
While she waits, she grins at Marrick and waves, bouncing on the balls of her feet lightly, before she turns to grab her hot sticky treat, and a glass of water and heads to a table out of the way, yet within view of everyone.
[Marrick Fisher] “… you got yer heart set on eatin’ alone, or do y’wanna come eat with us?” she says with a slight cant of her head towards Abney.
Loni and Marrick might have shared a moon, but Loni seemed to have a greater grip upon herself than Marrick did. She was young, she was vibrant, and that which burned bright burned quickly. She might have been at ease with her rage, but that did not mean that the rest of the world was okay with it.
She bore the blood of heroes. She came from good stock. Of heroes and sages and wise women.
Camaraderie offered, companionship offered.
“Jus’ seems awful lonely, is all.”
[Loni Leonidis] There is a stranglehold held tight on the heaviness of her Rage. It is kept in check neatly, and she even manages to smile at Marrick. Hers is not the scowling face of the typical Ahroun. While she oft times may seem stoic, Loni could be (at times) rather personable. Her tongue swipes off a bit of whipped cream from the top of her lip and she nods. “It is. Just a little.”
Betty Jean is coming around a table filled with college co-eds by the time Loni is standing and taking Marrick up on her offer. “I’m going to sit with her. Thank you…” Her steady hands reach out and take the bowl of chili mac and the small plate of white bread. She balances those items with her shake as she follows behind the blonde.
“I’m Apollonia.” The name edges just over Marrick’s shoulder. “Most people just call me Loni.”
[Marrick Fisher] Loni’s taller than her by a good three inches. Marrick finds herself looking at chili mac, and there is a great dichotomy with the girl. Personable, well-mannered.
And terrifying.
“I’m Marrick,” like Eric with an M. She’s got a twang to her voice that insists upon itself that she, “great t’meecha Loni.”
[Abney] Abney could easily spend an hour just staring at her rings. At the way they work light and shadow. But that isn’t now. There are doughnuts. And some burger, left for her. And an intriguing amount of breeding still in this greasy diner. When Joss waves at Marrick, then crosses the floor to a table against the wall, view of everybody, a corner, Abney follows her with her eyes. Her head is still down, pale sunlight-on-snow blades of hair still in her eyes; a strand on her mouth, actually, which is sticky with sugar. She licks her lips, as if the smell of cinnamon buns made her remember them.
When Marrick returns with Loni en route: “Hey,” the no moon says, with a quiet smile. “Uhm. I’m Abney.” A head tilt, this to Marrick, toward Joss: “Do you know her, too?” The too isn’t hesitant, exactly — but it as much of a question as the do you know her.
[Loni Leonidis] Loni is a tall woman at 5’10 – almost 5’11. Her body is strong and muscled, though not so much as to be unattractive. It is an athletic build, the body of someone not satisfied with sitting around idle. They are moving, Loni managing her food and shake as well as Betty Jean had only moments ago.
“Hi Abney, I’m Loni.” When Abney mentions another ‘her’ Loni spares a glance over one shoulder toward the corner Joss has taken a seat in. She takes a seat at Abney and Marrick’s table. There’s no donuts here, no rolls. Loni is eating as if it were supper time for her. Her meal is large and will weigh heavy on her stomach if she goes to bed anytime soon. Luckily, that’s not part of the plan.
[Marrick Fisher] Joss waves at Marrick, Marrick grins and waves back, “yeah, that’s Joss.”
She waves her friend over. The Fury is a gregarious sort. Or, at the very least, Marrick Fisher will talk to anyone and everyone should they prove to have a pulse. That, and she seemed genuinely pleased to see Joss. Despite the edge, despite the tension, despite all things, she was a personable sort.
“Joss Leeehreeeeeer!”
Good enough greeting.
[Joss Lehrer] She looks up as she hears her name, and then she’s waved over. She doesn’t get up right away – no she waits until she has a mouthful of sticky bread goodness, a piece still in her fingers as she slides her plate into her palms and stands up only moments after sitting and going to join the other ladies.
“MAAAAAAAARRICK FIIIIIIIIIIIISHER!”
Clearly she’s even less shy than the Fury. She plops her plate down, hops into a chair, settling in a swish of skirts and a breath of Fenrir purity.
[Loni Leonidis] Loni is eating her chili mac and bread. Every now and then she sips her shake. It is Marrick’s greeting, though, that draws her eyes toward Joss. It is not with outright scrutiny that she studies the newest arrival at the table of all women. Her glances are more casual, but because they are brief and come randomly each one is deeply studious.
She twirls her fork around in the spaghetti noodles of her chili mac and then draws a heavy bite of food into her mouth. For all of the gregarious greetings, Loni seems happy enough to offer a smile or a nod at the moment.
[Abney] “Nice to meet you, Loni.” Oh! How quickly the table will resolve into sides: quiet and gregarious. Abney is on the quiet side, clearly. The garou picks a piece of bacon off of her smooshed maple doughnut and nibbles the edges while Marrick expansively calls that’s Joss there over and then Joss: wow, lungs. Clearly, less shy. The blonde even sits up straighter, folding her arms across her corner of the table again. Lifts her head, a little. “I’ll trade you a bite of this delicious pig blankit for a little bite of that,” Abney says, to Joss, after a second.
[Loni Leonidis] ((OOC: Hello all. Sorry to to put OOC comments in t he transcripts, but the baby woke up fussy and is refusing to lay back down. I’ve gotta deal with him, so please post around Loni. She has to go to the ladies room or something =] I will try to get back on if he beds down again))
to Abney, cricket, Joss Lehrer, Marrick Fisher
[Marrick Fisher] She half chokes on a laugh, and it is enough for her to enjoy the sound. There is silence, and the Fury is content to be quiet and just grin contently while they barter with food and start their own little bit of economy.
“Dayum, Joss, got a set a lungs on ya t’day,” she grinned.
[Joss Lehrer] She settles into her chair and grins at them. Her blood is clearly Fenrir. Her rage is there, simmering under the surface. And she smiles. It’s….disconcerting, to say the least. She knows it, too.
She and Marrick are clearly the loud ones, and Joss, for her part, just leans over and shoves a bit of her sticky bun from her fingers between Marrick’s lips. “Taste that. TELL me it’s not the best thing this side of Vahalla… God I’m gonna get so FAT.”
She grins at Abney and nudges her plate over. “No trade needed – have a bit. It’s seriously the best sticky bun I’ve had since my mama’s back home.” the bun is bigger than she should be able to eat herself. She doesn’t care – she’s totally gonna eat it anyway.
A quick bit of business in a quick aside to Marrick. “Remember the dreamin’? Should be taken care of.” Should be. Might be. Ya never know.
[Abney] “The dreaming?”
Hey. She asks questions. Really, it’s what she does. Not best. Abney does not know what it is she does best. She knows what she did best, but that was before.
“Well, try some, anyway. Bacon and maple-cream. Might give your cinnamon buns a run for the hills,” and Abney’s cool dark eyes actually twinkle, devil-merry — that touch of wicked again. And she, very carefully, peels a piece of cinnamon bun away from the whorled center, and very, very cautiously tastes of its …
a’ight, of its glory.
[Marrick Fisher] “If you are capable of getting fat, I will sing your praises from th’freakin’-”
And there was stickbun in her mouth. She blinked, brows raised and a look of surprise on her face. It was enough to shut her up for the time being. She blinked, and found herself chewing.. swallowing… A blink. A nod, and-
“Damn, that is good.”
Joss mentions the dreams and she gives a nod. There is quiet affirmation.
“Good,” she says, then back to Abney. She asks about it and the Fury nods, “got a few minutes? We’re all of… well.. a like mind. You seen the sights of the city yet?”
[Joss Lehrer] She grins and plucks a bit of the offered food too and pops it into her mouth. She’s not super skinny, Joss, but there is very little extra padding on her. She’s compact, yet curvy, and undeniably feminine despite – or maybe because of – her quirky sense of style.
She laughs at Marrick proclaiming it good – because it IS, and she likely will never get fat, and they all know it. Rage burns to brightly, to hot, to intense for them to gain anything in the way of padding. What they do get is often sloughed off in battle.
Abney asks of the dreaming, and Joss waves a hand in an absent gesture. “Bit of a problem with some late night visitors – all taken care of. I think. For now anyway.”
[Abney] Abney’s gaze goes from Marrick to Joss. A nod. “For now, huh? That sounds — unsatisfying.” She licks sugar from her lips, again — the sweets that she’s consumed, you’d think her blood was sugar, that she shined with summer, oh darlin’. But her voice is serious: “I don’t know where anything is in Chicago.” A beat. Then: “Well, except the Motel 6 with the magic fingers and an ice machine without that suspicious pink fuzz.””
[Marrick Fisher] “You intend on stayin’?”
A brow raised. As though this was a serious question, because it was. She doesn’t falter, she doesn’t give the question any less weight than it deserves. Truth. In all that it was.
“‘cus if you are, there’s some folks you need t’meet, places t’stay that ain’t gonna charge you like a Motel Six will… and… yeah. You got resources out here.”
[Joss Lehrer] There’s a low growl, the tension in her body ratcheting up just a touch as Abney points out that it sounds… unsatisfying. “It was. One got away. I’ll find him though.” Determination.
And then she shakes it off, and goes back to creating her little sugar high.
She grins at Marrick, and nods. “What she said.”
[Abney] Joss growls. The ragabash watches, attentive; tension ratchets up. Still attentive, Abney. A nod; that’s all. Her gaze switches back from Joss to Marrick. The observer would note: at this point in time, Abney’s eyes move; that’s all. Not her body; she is still. Her fingers close up like a flower at night, see. And go under the table, play with the beginning of a hole in her jeans. “Yes,” she says, lead. “I intend on staying. This is where I was heading, see, and — and — ” Abney falters, and immediately is furious with herself. Her brows slash together for an instant. There’s frisson, in the air: for a No Moon, Abney is angry. For a child of Gaia, Abney is angry. Then, quieter: “And, well. I don’t have any more X’s on the map I need to hit. This is where I was heading. So, uh. Yes. I do. Intend to stay. If I can. What should I know?”
[Marrick Fisher] “Sacrifice,” she tells Abney. Joss growls, and it is the tension in her friend that tips the Fury off that something is different. That something might be wrong. She lets her attention shift, and there is some pride in the Godi’s determination.
Back to Abney.
“Y’wanna stay, y’gotta give something up… somethin’ that would hurt t’lose. It ain’t the worth of the object that matters, you c’n give up a million dollar diamond and if it don’t mean anything to you, it don’t mean anything… Ain’t somethin’ to be taken too lightly.”
[Joss Lehrer] She closes her eyes, and breathes a few moment, just breathes, and calms. Only when it’s completely under control again does she resume eating her weight in cinnimon bun goodness, and listen as Marrick explains what Abney needs to know.
“An’ the place you wanna look for that’s cheaper than your motel is the Brotherhood. Run by family.” Someone’s family anyway. “2nd floor is something like a dorm.”
[Abney] “We heard stories about that. Maelstrom: right?” That, meaning sacrifice. The word doesn’t work on Abney in any particular way; maybe it makes her look a little blanker. A little more like a sheet of paper, somewhere — something to write on. “Does it, uhm, whose family? This is what I really don’t know — what’s this place really like? Chicago, I mean — everywhere. Not The Brotherhood.” A beat, and then, “Either of you live there?”
[Marrick Fisher] “I lived there for a little while, then moved out by Oz park. It’s a decent place, but it ain’t the kinda place you wanna stick around for too long. Don’ think th’ Coltranes ever intended fer people t’stick around as long as they did.”
She pauses and continues on to think about Chicago. To reflect on the town.
“S’big. If you ain’t from a city it’ll knock ya fer a loop. Y’meet a lotta types in this place.”
She pauses again, and for a second her gaze becomes darker, and the Fury takes a second to reflect on this. To make a statement that was powerful, “lotta battle out here. Lotta fights, an’ yer gonna find yerself fightin’ with folks who ain’t pack more often than not. I don’ think this is jus’ stupid coincidence, either, but that’s jus’ me.”
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, slightly. “Lived there for a couple days, before I moved in with my pack on their territory.”
She gestures to Marrick with a piece of sticky sweetness. “What she said. There’s a lot of glory to be had here, and it’s often shared with folks you don’t think would come to your aid – but they always do. Things are a bit different here than most are used too – but you get used to it.”
[Abney] Quiet, for a moment. Marrick knows Abney’s moon — Joss does not. But surely, she’ll be able to guess. For a no moon, Abney is low on quips and long on thoughtful pauses. Her shoulders lift, huddle; some trigger word. She combs her fingers through her hair, again. Picks another piece of bacon off the doughnut, and licks it off her thumb. Then: “What do you think it is, if not coincidence?”
That was for Marrick. Switch those eyes to Joss, again. A smile that is sudden — lance of sunlight; sweet. “Sorry. I’m Tiny Doom, by the way. Tiny Doom, Little Spark. Cliath and Ragabash. I introduced myself to her, but now you. How long’ve you both been in this city? Do … ”
Both of them, now. “Do lots of people roll in not intending to stay?”
[Marrick Fisher] “I think that we’re gettin shit thrown at us t’keep th’sept offbalance long enough that they ain’t gonna notice a full-scale attack comin’ when it does come. City’s fire fer a lotta things.”
She nods something solid. She pauses and takes her time to think.
“Folks either die or leave, from what I’ve heard.”
[Joss Lehrer] She watches Marrick as she says what she – no, what they think it is, and she nods, slightly. Then it’s her turn to answer the question, as well as introduce herself. The diner has cleared out, people moving away, until it’s them, and the closing staff, and they don’t seem overly concerned that a table filled with Ragey women keeps them from going home.
“Gossamer Wing. Fostern Godi. Eagle an’ Elder.” She grins, easily – which is all the more disconcerting with the confirmation that she is, indeed Fenrir. A fenrir that smiles. “Been here for a few months, came to become Eagle. Ain’t plannin on going anywhere anytime soon.”
[Abney] “Okay. So you think maybe there’s something out there that knows; something that’s nudging all of the shit in this direction because of its plans? A General of Bad?” Clarity: it’s important. Folks either die or leave, Marrick says; Abney snorts, softly. Then, for her trouble, coughs on a piece of bacon stuck in the back of her throat. Her gaze flicks over to a pitcher of very mopy, very tepid water on a counter — just away there, waiting. Joss grins, and Abney lowers her head a little – subconscious response to display of teeth, see. But: “Wait. What’s a Godi?” She isn’t going to pretend she knows what it means, and hope it comes clear soon enough. Abney’s been around Fenrir before, but they aren’t really her most extensive tribe ever heart heart we hang out all the time.
[Marrick Fisher] “I ain’t too sure yet… maybe somethin’ sees somethin’ that we don’t. It’s a different sorta thing… I wanna sit here an’ hypothesize ’bout stuff, but I don’ have the information t’do it yet… was in a battle recently, heard a spiral pack say that this place had potential. Maybe they see it as a place that can be taken.”
She is thinking outloud, and the more she does, the more she seems distinctly trouble.d She’s eighteen years old, but her mind is ages away.
[Joss Lehrer] She nods to Marrick’s explanation, her mind wandering but clear and troubled. Then Abney brings her back and she laughs softly. “Sorry. Godi is the Fenrir word for Theurge.”
Spirit talker, shaman, crazy, crazygood… she is all of them and more. “With such a ebb and flow of tribes and members here, we have a Moon council instead of Tribal council. They went nuts and declared me elder.” Her eyes shine with mischief as she says it – but there’s an underlying sense of pride there as well.
Sometimes, it’s easy to believe she’s only 18.
[Marrick Fisher] “Hey, they were already crazy when they let you in. They turned down whole buncha folks when they picked me.”
[Abney] “Well.” Both of the local garou look troubled; trouble is a look that Abney knows well. The ragabash runs her hand over her face, this time. And what she says is this: “Well. Gotta look at it this way. If there IS a G. O. B. And it knows about the way the land lies? Then it’s got eyes. So you don’t know what sort’ve eyes they might be right now, well, hell. It’s easier to figure out what signs that’d tip a G. O. B. off in the first place, and maybe those signs go through minions, the point is: you figure that out, there are trails that can be investigated. Followed back, you know? We look for that, and maybe it won’t just be people dying and random battles.”
And then . . . okay. Abney sits up straight, and stares at them both — flat out stares, eyes wide and startled. Then she drops ’em, suddenly, flushing: “Wait, wait. You both’re elders? Like, THE elders?”
[Joss Lehrer] “Good ideas.” She nods, and sops up some butter with her roll.
She then laughs and nudges Marrick’s shoulder with her hand. It’s clear these two are more than just acquaintances, they’re friends and genuinely enjoy each others company. They are opposites, in a lot of ways. Marrick is intense, always, and Joss is the antithesis of any Fenrir stereotype that anyone could discuss. She’s happy, she’s content, she’s secure, she’s more.
“Yeah, but you didn’t submit – and after that last debacle with Mr. Dark And Broody, I should have stood up for you instead of him. I just wasn’t about to stand up for that other dude. What a waste.”
And then it clicks for Abney, and she laughs in delight. “Yup, that’s us. Kinda scary, ain’t it? My packmate is the Philo elder, and acting MOC as well.”
[Marrick Fisher] “We’re a different sorta sept,” she offers.
Joss nudges her and she leans a little with the blow. It’s a false sort of thing, but amused none-the-less. She waits ever so patiently and… well.. it’s as patient as she can get with her own tensions and what-have-you.
“Presidin’ over all matters relatin’ to war, multi-pack assaults an’ sept defense.”
[Abney] “Shit. Well. Hi, again.” A beat. Then: “Who’s the best Galliard around?” A question. Of course. And Abney, well; she’s still uncomfortable, still surprised that she’s in such, let’s face it, illustrious company … At least as far as rank goes, as far as reputation. But: “And I’m confused. What ‘they’ chose you? Who’s Mr. Dark and Broody? Is that an actual deedname?” There, that wickedly sharp/amused smile — something that curls like a piece of paper, burning, in her eyes. Coffee bitter aftertaste, but there. “And uhm,” more serious. “What about my auspice?”
[Marrick Fisher] “Used t’be a guy named Skinny Legs, he was best no-moon we had… but he died,” she said, “member of the Unbroken Circle when… well.. they were th’ Unbroken Circle an’ not jus’ the Unbroken. Serafine was our Galliard elder for awhile… Black Fury, damned good story… she dissapeared, an’ we haven’t had one sense. Our no moons an’ our gibbous moons ain’t got anyone.”
She winced a little. It was something to admit. They weren’t a full council, and that did not please the idealist. She took a second to take a drink.
“An’ Mister Dark an’ Broody is the second Lord I ever met. Wyrmbreaker. Fostern.”
There was reverence for the rank…
She took a drink again to wash the taste of his name from her mouth.
[Joss Lehrer] There’s reverence for the position, if not the man, and Joss chuckles softly.
Safer topics… “If you wanna check up on no-moons, look for a guy named Kemp. Fenrir. Adren. Damn good rotager, but he tends to tell people what they don’t wanna hear, so they don’t wanna listen. Which, ya know, is kinda what you all are supposed to do, right? Right.”
[Abney] “It’s the best job ever.” Bland innocence. Yeah: she can do it. The gaian glances over at the counter guy. Back at Marrick and Joss. Whoa, tension. Right there. If she were a galliard, she might pluck at it a little — see what threads could come unbound. But this is Abney, and she is not a galliard, so she needn’t know the whole story — and she’s not a philodox, not there to pass judgment. And she wasn’t there to, at this moment in time, push on bruises until they exploded one way or another, either. So, leaving the subject of Wyrmbreaker aside, sure: “So … what ‘they’ chose you? Was it Battle Royale, but for auspices? Or… well. You guys make it sound sort’ve recent.” Also a question.
[Marrick Fisher] “I dunno… it was kinda weird fer me ‘cus the challenge had two parts. Had t’answer a question, er.. well.. a coupla questions. Master of Challenges liked my reasoning behind ’em, so I guess I passed that part. Then? There was fighting.”
A pause.
“I got my ass handed to me. I got torn up, didn’t submit, but I got torn up. Once everything was healed, the Master of Challenges declared me th’winner of the challenge.”
[Joss Lehrer] “because you didn’t submit. Even when he tore you up.” She nods, and there’s an obvious pride there in her friend.
She smiles at Abney. “Wasn’t too long ago.. July, wasn’t it? Or August.” She gestures absently, it was around that time, anyway. “Mine were questions. And he declared both the challengers essentially correct – and I edged the challenger out due to my rank in the end.”
[Abney] Abney listens to them fill out the story, give it more shape. Then she says: “Cool, then. How’s it working out, this council of auspices thing? You guys meet very often?”
[Marrick Fisher] “It’s… It’s actually kinda rough. Findin’ myself between a rock an’ a hard place, because you gotta respect rank, but at th’ same time, I’m supposed t’be leadin’ Adrens. It’s taken a load off the Grand Elder, an’ I guess it helps get some problems resolved faster.”
[Joss Lehrer] She snorts. “Meet? There’s five positions. One stands empty still because no one can pass the challenge, and the other – everytime someone wins the challenge, they die. So… there’s been no meetings. For my part, I get called on a lot for various things, which is sort of exhausting, but I have the advantage of rank in dealing with others. Marrick’s had a hard time of it. She’s gonna put em all right at the next meet though, right?”
Confidence.
[Marrick Fisher] “I got a list of shit I gotta do at the next moot,” she says with a slight grin.
[Abney] “Three’s a crowd. A crowd can meet!” A pause. “Noone can pass the challenge for No Moon elder? Uh; what the hell is the challenge?” Marrick and Joss are friends. It’s obvious: everything they do; the way they feed off each other. Little details. And, for a second, it’s just a sharp fact to Abney. The clear-eyed no moon swallows it like a thorn. Hurts her throat. Her gaze unfocusses. She looks away, then: “Do you think this Brotherhood place has a room open tonight?”
[Joss Lehrer] “It’s different every time. I’m not sure what Evan has up his sleeve for the nxt one.”
Then she smiles, warmly. “They’ve quite a few rooms open the last I heard. The food’s good, and the rooms and beds comfortable.”
[Marrick Fisher] “Oh hells yeah it’s open. Foods good, an’ th’ Coltranes are good people. Real hospitable, y’know?”
[Abney] The no moon pushes her chair back and stands up. “I’ve got tons more questions for you.” Flat: a statement of fact. “But I’m going to go for now. Can I get some directions to the Brotherhood from either of you?”
And, hopefully armed with directions or guidance, Abney will do just what she says: leave. A, “Nice to meet you both. I hope we can talk again,” ghost-quiet left behind. It isn’t because she couldn’t have kept asking questions about the state of affairs at Maelstrom’s sept. It isn’t even because she doesn’t like Joss and Marrick’s company, find them congeneal: the Fenris and the Fury. Ha. The Undestructable’d never believe that. No: it’s because being around other garou …
Well, she wants to step back for a moment. The evening — was suddenly too much. So she left it to die without her.
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, and pulls a pen and a piece of paper from the bag that is always at her hip, and sketches out directions to the Brotherhood for Abney. She slides it over, and points to the number on the bottom. “My number. Call if ya need anything.”
The Fury and the Fenrir – Chicago’s most intense welcome wagon.
[Marrick Fisher] She fave an upward nod and half a wave. Abney was headed out, and for her part the Fury seemed more content than anything. She was a different sort of creature, yes, but at the end of the day.
“See ya ’round, Abney, keep warm,” she offers.
[Abney] ooc: and i’m so dead, thanks y’all! out!