[Gina McClaren] *Min Su was an old, coarse, dour battleaxe of a chinese woman. But she was Soledad’s friend, and as such Gina wanted to keep on good terms with the untalkative old crone. After an hour of painful conversation, the pretty pikey was somewhat relieved to be wandering the streets of Chinatown alone. She nibbles at Chicken Satay, stick held carefully between small cold fingers, looking out over the late night bustle of the market. She did so love chinatown. A trip to another culture without ever leaving chicago. It satisfied her wanderlust more than anywhere else, save the woods.*
[Izzy Montoya] She has never made bones about the fact that she? Can’t cook. Which is why her fridge is filled with take out containers in various stages of Oh Look a Science Project! Edward was able to make something of what’s left, but she failed miserably. And felt like Chow Mein.
Which is how, exactly, she ended up in Chinatown, sitting on the back of a bench, her feet planted firmly on the seat, a bag of food between her feet, and a container of chow mein in hand – from which she’s eating via chopssticks and a startling quickness.
Even now, relatively relaxed, her look, her bearing, even her state of dress screams cop. Business casual, with a bulge under her leather trench coat at the small of her back that suggests a weapon. It’s safe to assume she has the badge and cuffs to match. To the average Joe, she’s just a cop on a break. To those in the know, she is bred pure enough that she attracts attention – the blood of Vikings and Warriors and Heros writ within her blood.
Her trench coat is open, her elbows are resting on her thighs, and her dark eyes miss nothing.
[Gina McClaren] *There was a woman over there. Stiff backed, proper posture. Gina would bet her eyeteeth the woman was a cop. It sets a pikey on edge, as does the niggling familiarity of the stranger. Had this woman questioned her in Mag mile perhaps? Dark eyes focus on Izzy as the curvy woman in the olive mini-trench try to place her. Worried, despite the fact that Gina rarely worked Chinatown. Picking a pocket wasn’t worth it if it was a triad whose wallet you snatched. Gina stuck with what she knew. Fat. rich, horny men. Its a few minutes of observing before Gina’s curiosity gets the better of her. Nibbling her chicken satay, she jingles towards Izzy and takes a seat on the bench.*
Cold as hell, essnae et?
[Delmar Meister] Dalmar had been kicked out of nicer places than the one he was currently being kicked out of, but this particular establishment had earned itself a place in the record books for shortest time from fuck-about to kickin-out. It was a testament to their security, as well as, to some degree, how often they got trouble makers like him in there. Which is why, when the seven foot black man lets go of his coat collar and tosses him a few feet out onto the sidewalk, the Fenrir doesn’t get angry.
In fact, as he struggles his way to his feet, he grins back at the retreating bouncers and calls out ‘Good talk!’
A moment later the smile drops away and he’s dragging himself on down the street.
[Izzy Montoya] The pikey joins her on the bench. It’s no surprise to Izzy, since she’s been watching her since the woman marked her presence down the street, worked to decide if she should sit, and then finally did. Curiosity killed the cat – but you know what they say, Satisfaction brought it back.
Cold, as hell, isn’t it. “Ain’t that th’fuckin’ truth.”
Her gaze is tugged away though, as she watches Delmar get booted form some establishment or another, a smirk twisting her lips in a comfortable, lopsided expression as she takes another bite.
[Gina McClaren] Och fookin christ. *Gina’s head falls into her hands as she gives a soft laugh. This was the second or third time Delmar had been tossed out of some establishment, and that was just in front of her. Her voice raises above the wind and the din of the crowd, full throated and singsongy.*
Wha’d ye dae thes time?!
*A sheepish, almost apologetic grin to Izzy the cop. Shaking her head and raising her shoulders, as if to say “Boys…can’t live with them… etc.*
Ah’m Gina. ‘ave we met afore?
[Izzy Montoya] She shakes her head, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she glances over at Gina. “Don’t think so. I’m Izzy.”
She sticks her chopsticks into the container, wipes her hand on her slacks, and offers her a hand to shake. “Pleasure.” Then she grabs up her chopsticks again, points them at Delmar. “Friend a’yours?”
[Delmar Meister] He stops, turning to find that very familiar and entirely unmistakeable voice and…frowning a little when he does. But what’s this? Handsy has company tonight? That, if nothing else, is enough to get Delmar to head on over. He straightens out his coat tails again, even though there was really no amount of straightening that would make this guy look presentable. If Izzy had the look of a cop, Delmar had the look of the kinda guy that cops chase.
“Uhhhh.” He starts jutting a thumb to the ‘establishment’ behind him. “If a place is gonna have uhhhh…strippers as waitresses, I ought to be able to tip ’em with uhhhh…my mouth.”
[Gina McClaren] Some o tha time, reckon. Suppose we’ll see how es mood es. Aye?
*Gina offers a rueful smile, glancing to the moon. Grinning moon. Nothing to be too worried about, but still, low key wasn’t her biggest fan at the moment. Delmar approaches, Speaks, and Gina holds her head again. Wincing.*
Och christ…
*She repeats. She simply didn’t have words.*
Ye didnae…
[Izzy Montoya] Brows arch, and then she’s laughing. It’s a free sort of laugh, the laugh of one who’s at least thought sometime similar, if not having done it herself. Soft and warm, though brief enough.
He looks like the type of thug she should shake down just to see what he might be up too, but she doesn’t seem inclinced to do so right at this very moment in time. Her food holds more interest, as she digs into the bag at her feet and liberates an eggroll and takes a bite.
[Delmar Meister] “Nah. Tried to, though.”
There was a shrugging of shoulders, and the sheer amount of fabric that moved with hi, his hood, his coat, all suggested of just how much was layers against the cold, and how little was actually him.
“So uhhhhh…who’s your friend, Handsy?”
[Gina McClaren] *Gina sighs in guilty amusement. Head tilted as she regards Delmar with more approval than was healthy or wise. Her nibbled stick of chicken offered to him offhand, charms jingling.*
Thes es Izzy. Reckon we met jes now.
[Izzy Montoya] She takes another bite, studying the kid for a long moment. There’s the sense that she doesn’t miss much, that she’s seeing more than he, perhaps, might think he shows. But after a moment, she nods and stabs her chopsticks into her chow mein again, and offers her hand to Delmar.
“Detective Izzy Montoya. Pleasure.”
[Edwin Morr] ((Dex + Stealth + Fox, diff = 6))
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Edwin Morr] ((Oh what the hay…
Blur of the Milky eye))
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 8)
[Edwin Morr] ((That’s 2 suxx at diff = 9 to detect him ahead of time.))
[Izzy Montoya] (what the hell – Per+alert – IIIIIII SEEEEE YEEEEEEEW….)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 8, 8, 10 (Failure at target 9) Re-rolls: 1
[Izzy Montoya] (….noooooo i doooooooon’t…)
[Delmar Meister] [Won’t risk the embarrassment]
[Edwin Morr] It was funny to see how people react when you appear out of thin air. Certainly Delmar probably felt it happen before he saw it. However, it was quite likely that the others, without the aid of the pack bond, would find themselves taken unawares by the sudden appearance of the man in the navy baseball cap at the far end of the table.
Or perhaps it was the cracking of the fortune cookie between dexterous fingers that did it.
Either way, one moment, the chair is empty… The next, Edwin’s grinning visage resides there, idly pulling apart a fortune cookie with no small measure of curiousity upon his features.
[Izzy Montoya] (curious….. )
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 10) Re-rolls: 2
[Izzy Montoya] (damn, closer. *L*)
[Edwin Morr] ((ick… Sorry… Put Edwin on the next bench over. Got confused.))
[Delmar Meister] “Detective?” Delmar gives her an impressed look as he shakes her hand, and gives the same look to Gina as well. “You’re uhhhh…movin’ up in life, Handsy. Makin all the right uhhh…friends. Good to meetchya, detective. I’m Low Key.”
There’s a sudden crunch that was, for him at least, precedented by an odd tingle of familiarity. Delmar winced slightly but in truth, he was getting used to it.
“That’s Trace.” He says, still holding on to her hand.”
[Gina McClaren] *Gina’d cracked a smug smile as Izzy introduces herself as a detective. She’d thought as much. Or something in that regard anyway. A crunch snaps sharp in the air, and the man Delmar introduces as Trace Gina exclaims as – * EDWIN!
*On her feet and jingling towards him, along with the chicken she’d offered to Delmar. If he wanted it now, it would appear he’d have to chase his meal. The pikey diverting to the shadowlord with a shake of her head. Her approach more hesitant than usual, despite her enthusiasm.*
How long ye been there peaches?
[Izzy Montoya] He looks impressed, and she smirks, slightly. But then Edwin arrives at the next bench away from the one she’s and Gina share, casually cracking a fortune cookie in his hands – practically from thin air.
Delmar, where he still holds onto her hand, can feel the tension slide through her form, her muscles flexing, her hand tensing briefly. There’s the distinct sense that if he didn’t have her hand, it would at least be inching toward that bulge at the small of her back.
Then he introduces him, and she nods slightly toward him, then rests dark eyes on Delmar. “I’m gonna need that back, you know, so I can fuckin eat my chow mein.”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin’s lopsided grin widens, as shaded eyes turn to Gina.
“Oh, long ‘nough I s’pose… Truth be tol’, I ain’t entirely shore m’self. Uh spell, mebbe two.”
He digs out the fortune and hands it to Gina without reading it.
“Reckon you might jes’ need dis more’n me.”
His grin all but dripping trouble, with a healthy dose of sly cunning thrown in for good measure, the Lord’s gaze turns to Izzy and Delmar.
“I see ya foun’ yerself some right purty comp’ny ta keep. Attaboy, Low Key.
Whose yer frien’?”
[Delmar Meister] Gina practically runs off and Delmar, who had shown decidedly more interest in the detective, watches her awfully closely. Izzy’s hand, a previous prize, was released without hesitation.
His eyes survey Edwin. He spots his widening grin and his shaded eyes. He casts a glance at Gina, noting her exuberant smile and jingling happiness. He turns to Izzy. No, he turns to Izzy’s bench. No, scratch that–
[Izzy Montoya] “I reckon if you’ve been eavesdropping you know well enough.” It’s said with a twist of her lips into an easily going smirk, bemused more than anything. “Izzy.”
She has her hand back, and she uses it to snag her eggroll and take a bite. Delmar is silent and keeps looking at her, and the bench, and her, and she huffs an amused breath. “Have a seat kid. I won’t bite ya. Yet.” She reaches down to the bag of chinese food at her feet, most of which she had intended to take home for late night snack and/or breakfast. “Help yourself.”
[Gina McClaren] *Gina has no idea how long a “spell” is. Nor does she think Edwin Morr inclined to illuminate her on the term. Charms clink together as she settles herself onto the bench beside the shadowlord, raising an eyebrow as she regards LowKey and Izzy with a smile. A glance of the fortune and she levels a mischevious look to Edwin. Allbut unable to keep the laughter from radiating across exotic features. Soft strider kin reading in singsong.*
“Ye’ll reconnect with an friend… en Bed.” Och, sure ets nae ye tha needs thes wan?
*A half cheeky grin as she leans back on the bench, splitting her attention between Delmar and the Detective, and the sly threat beside her. She murmers.*
Saerry aboot tryin tae stab ye, Bogeyman.
[Delmar Meister] “Don’t uhhh…” he says, digging into the bag of chinese and pulling out one of the cardboard cartons. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Oh yes, he sits as well, slumping one thigh over the back of the bench.
“So you uhhhh…workin tonight, Detective?”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin chuckles and shrugs…
“Whose ta say I ain’t already? An’ whose ta say I ain’t th’frien’ in question?”
Edwin’s grin widens… If anything trouble and sly intent seem even more heavy handed in the expression. For a moment, if only a moment, the look almost seemed like the sly grin of a fox… One could see the copper red hair peeking from the navy baseball cap as a coat of red velveteen fur, the sharp featured face drawn into a muzzle and dark eyes. Then, when one blinked, the sense was gone. At least, to a point…
“Ain’t no thang, doll… I’d uh been mighty disappointed if’n y’ain’t tried at th’very least. An’ moreso if’n ya ain’t given yer all ta do th’deed. Right’r wrong, half measures ain’t worth nuthin’.
If’n yer ta be damned, best own it.
‘Sides… ‘Twas uh right good stab. Yer learnin’ well.”
Edwin nods… Then, the gaze turns to Izzy again.
“Well, ’tain’t like yer sellin’ nuc-uh-lar secrets’r such… An’ in fairness, who’s ta say whut voices th’wind carries best?”
[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t answer right off, not until she’s finished another bite of chow mien, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She handles chopsticks like a pro, and half the time she’s not watching what she’s doing, but rather the area around them – including Edwin and Gina. She winks at Edwin. “So sure about that are ya?”
She looks over at Delmar as he grabs a container, and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Officially, not right this second. Don’t mean it won’t change at a moment’s fuckin notice.”
a beat, and a slight smirk. “Why, whatcha have in mind…”
[Gina McClaren] Och, stell, ah’d o been saerry had ah managed tae steck the sharp end entae yer squishy bets.
*A saucy chuckle, Gina having more of the old warmth than she’d been sporting in recent days. Voice fuller, more lively. Easier on the ear. Izzy gets a grin, gina settling in to listen, hand playing with hair under a baseball cap. She was certain sometimes it was copper. Other times she was sure it was brown. Nothing absolute about a Bogeyman.*
Ye’ve met LowKey than?
[Edwin Morr] Izzy asks as to whether he’s sure, and with as straight a face as the always grinning No Moon ever wears, he retorts amusedly…
“Which part?”
Then, Edwin can’t help but chuckle as Izzy winks back, and then harder as she presses Delmar.
“Watch out, Low Key… I’d almos’ swear she’s plannin’ ta eatcha live.”
Edwin shrugs, turning back to Gina…
“Well, if’n ya weren’t plannin’ ta do’t, I’d uh been uh might sore. I mean, I ain’t showed ya whut I showed ya ta not do th’deed. Somebody gits serious an’ you ain’t, you lose… Plain’n simple.
As fer Low Key, reckon I oughta… He’s uh Bogeyman.”
[Izzy Montoya] Apparently, her brazen joke has the poor boy speechless, and that only serves to amuse Izzy even more. She finishes off her container of Chow Mein, and recloses it, tossing it into the nearby trash can at the end of her bench. She then leans forward to watch Edwin and Gina.
She arches a brow slightly. “Bogeyman, hm?”
[Gina McClaren] Och es ee now?
*Now its Gina’s turn to look to to Delmar with an impressed expression. She nods her head in approval, long hair slipping over her shoulder. She offers Edwin her tepid chicken satay.*
Good tae hear et. Ee’s a recht chancer, reckon yer a fine pair.
*Caramel fingers push Edwin’s thick hair back behind an ear, tucking it away with a certain familiarity. A sigh making her breath plume in the chill air. Satay still held out for him, should he want it.*
When’d tha’ happen?
[Edwin Morr] Edwin’s eyes narrow, his grin becoming marginally more lopsided, as the shaded features turn to Izzy again. Absently, he takes the chicken satay in hand, answering before taking a bite.
“Jes uh name… Worth fergittin’.
Now who’s droppin’ eaves?”
He grins up at Gina, and shrugs, taking a bite of satay and chewing it thoughtfully before answering. His grin widens as he fields Gina’s question.
“Oh, uh spell… Mebbe two.
We’ll be uh big ol’ happy fam’ly here shortly… If’n thangs go’s dey should.”
Edwin tilts his head as he sees her breath crystallize in the air before him.
“You col’?”
[Izzy Montoya] “Sorry bub, I don’t forget shit.” A beat. “and that’d be me. Hazard of the job.”
She pulls her gloves form her pocket, apparently done eating for now, and tugs the leather onto her hands carefully, the well crafted gloves fitting her hand like a second skin.
And yeah. She still listens.
[Gina McClaren] *A roll of dark eyes, and a sharp pinch of Edwin’s earlobe as he answers her so entirely vaguely. Her shoulder presses into him friendly, despite herself and she nods.*
Bogies everywhere then? Fookin hell, there goes tha neighborhood.
*Izzy gets a wide grin, woman a hard case, that was for certain. Gina takes the satay stick and tosses it into the street, shrugging impressively when Edwin inquires as to her temperature.*
Reckon ah could use a bit o heat, aye.
[Edwin Morr] Edwin shakes his head and chuckles at Izzy…
“Liar. Yer not uh whit sorry.”
He sighs…
“Still, dere’s folk whut’ll take offense ta dat name. Folk whut ain’t gonna like if’n ya bring’t up. Whutever yer plannin’ ta do wit’ it, be mighty careful…”
Edwin cackles at Gina’s sentiment about being surrounded by Bogeymen.
“Oh, ’tain’t quite ta dat point jes’ yet. Butcha never can tell whut me’n mine’ll do next…”
Standing, Edwin starts to slip off his coat…
“Best see ya home ‘en… C’mon…”
[Izzy Montoya] “Truth.” She says, and shrugs, chuckling. “As for takin’ offense, there’s a whole fuckin bunch of sensitive flowery types that take offense to everyfuckin’thing. I ain’t one of ’em. As for what I’ll do with it- just puttin names to faces, that’s all.”
A beat, and that lopsided smirk again. “An’ I’m always careful.”
Sorta.
[Gina McClaren] Och, mayhaps nae careful enough Detective.. effen thes es the sort o company yer keepin.
*Gina teases, waving a hand to Edwin and a retreating Delmar. Who knows what had drawn the ghoulish get’s attention. The little woman looks up as Edwin sets his coat over her shoulders, hands seeking the familiar cold of fillet knives inside. A smile as she finds them, and a wink as she stands. Singing to Izzy*
Well, reckon ah’ll see ye round loves. Good luck wi’ yer crime solvin.. aye?
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly, and lifts a hand in a wave. “Have a good evenin, folks.”
[Edwin Morr] “Fair ‘nough, detective. Take care…”
He chuckles darkly and leads Gina off toward the Brotherhood. A nod to Delmar in parting, with a knowing grin and wink.
“C’mon…”
[Continued with Delmar… bit of a sneaky time shift, there… but it works well enough]
| Izzy Montoya Fri 9:58 pm She doesn’t answer right off, not until she’s finished another bite of chow mien, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She handles chopsticks like a pro, and half the time she’s not watching what she’s doing, but rather the area around them – including Edwin and Gina. She winks at Edwin. “So sure about that are ya?” She looks over at Delmar as he grabs a container, and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Officially, not right this second. Don’t mean it won’t change at a moment’s fuckin notice.” a beat, and a slight smirk. “Why, whatcha have in mind…” |
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Delmar: He’d already had a cheek full of steamed rice, some of it tumbling down his shirt as he’d foregone the potentially embarrassing use of chopsticks and opted for the potentially embarrassing sloppy eater method instead. “Oh uhhh…I dunno. Its Friday night, you’re off duty. Hard workin lady like you deserves to uhhh…deserves to get laid.” And there it was, plain and (sort of) to the point. |
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Izzy: Edwin and Gina chat a moment or two, and then head off, and she waits until they’ve stepped away before she answers. Even then, she didn’t answer right away, just levels her dark gaze on him, that lopsided smirk still playing around her lips. “Is that so… and tell me – you think your man enough for the fuckin job, then?” and he thought he was blunt…. |
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Delmar: “The fuckin’ job? Yeah. Matter of fact I uhhh…I do.” Delmar wasn’t much to look at. He was no Fabio, no Atlas body and bronzed skin. He was a skinny guy with a sharp nose and too little meat on his face to make him handsome. But he was either the most confident fucker to walk these streets, or a huge bullshitter. There’s a little bit of levity in his eyes. A very little bit. Just enough to make one wonder which of the two he actually was. |
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Izzy: She chuckles, softly. “Confident motherfucker, ain’t ya. How old are ya…” Because yes, it matters, on some level at least. There’s no doubt of what she is, not for him. Her breeding fairly thrums through her, painting the tails of heroes along her skin, through her blood. His rage is there, considerably less than some, more than others. It’s enough that she knows – even if Edwin hadn’t have given it away. “And you plannin on doin the job yourself, or simply finding me a fuckin’ date.” |
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Delmar: “Twenty-one.” He says plainly, and follows it with an oddly perplexed look as he does that ‘Uhhhhh…’ warm up thing he does. “Why the fuck would I uhhhh…give the job to someone else? What’s the fun in that?” |
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Izzy: She laughs and shrugs. “You never know.” |
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| She leans forward, her elbows resting on her thighs, her hands clasped between them lightly, as she watches him. There’s something to be said for brashness, for just putting it out there. It’s very much the way she is, and she responds to it.
“Guess that leaves just one question then – your place or mine?” |
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| Delmar:
There’s a deep, audible breath that he takes before stepping off the bench and taking a standing position in front of her. “My vote is your place.” There’s a slight glance at the bag of food. That was a lot of food for one person. “Unless there’s uhhhh…somebody waiting there for you.” |
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Izzy: She studies him for a long moment, and then puts her hands on the back of the bench, standing and stepping down to the walk in a fluid movement that speaks of grace under skin. The move places her directly in front of him, with barely a breath between them. She reaches behind her, and picks up the bag of food. “Not even a fuckin’ cat.” She hefts the bag of food slightly. “Breakfast and lunch tomorrow. I can’t cook worth shit.” She lifts a leather covered hand, and lays it against his chest, briefly, before she turns him around and nudges him forward with a little push. “Car’s that way.” |
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Delmar: Now that earns her a chuckle from him, but Delmar in no way resists the manhandling. Not yet anyway. He turns as instructed and heads for the car. “At least your uhhh…honest about it. Hey, you uhhh…you got handcuffs and shit right?” |
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Izzy: “We all got our fuckin’ weaknesses.” There’s a feeling there that she doesn’t cop to many of her own, however. Not knowing how to cook is the least of these. He asks about cuffs, and she snorts. “What kinda cop would I be without ’em? Gotta fuckin’ gun too, but somehow I wager ya ain’t so interested in that… And I ain’t gettin in a uniform for ya, either.” just in case he’s got any bright ideas there. |
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Delmar: “We’ll see.” He says simply, and gives her a sidelong glance and devilish grin that does nothing for his features. “I uhhh…get the feeling this is gonna be a good night.” |
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Izzy: “We’ll see.” She mimics, and points out her car. It’s clearly an undercover vehicle, which sort of defeats the purpose when one things about it. Non-descript, dark blue in color, four door. She unlocks the drivers side door, slides in and reaches across to unlock the passenger door for him. Door closed, she reaches over the seat and places the food back there, before starting the car with a roar that suggests the engine under the hood is not exactly standard. No cop’s car is. “Couple of rules. I ain’t aimin to be claimed by no one, so don’t go fuckin fallin in love or some stupid shit like that. And no marks where they can be seen. I ain’t a fuckin teenager hopin for a hicky to show off to my girlfriends.” She puts the car in gear, and arches a brow. “Deal?” |
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Delmar: “Damn” he says, once again giving her that impressed look as he slouches in the seat. “Its uhhh…gonna be hard not fallin’ in love when you keep turnin’ me on like that. You uhhhh…you give orders in the sack too?” |
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Izzy: She pulls out into traffic, chucking softly. “Yes.” She’s certainly a woman who knows what she wants – and she’s not afriad to ask for it. Demand it, if that’s what it takes. One thing is certain – she’ll certainly get hers tonight. One way or the other. “Ain’t far.” a beat. “Trace, that what ya called the other one, right? Packmate?” Idle talk for the drive. SHe’s a good driver, too, though likely a bit more recklace than her surperiors at the station would like. |
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Delmar: “Yeah. Leaves no Trace. “He’s a uhhhh…a sneaky fucker. But I trust him.” There’s a noticeable silence on the heels of that. “Didn’t know he uhhh…knew Gina though. Should have, but uhhh…” And that’s where he left it. “So uhhh…you from around here? Chicago, I mean.” |
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Izzy: “Good t’know.” And it is. She hadn’t lied to Edwin, she’s still putting names to faces, and figuring who’s who in the city. It’s imparative for what she might be required to do sometime for the Nation. “Born an’ raised, though I just came back about a month ago. Had to bail due to some.. creative paperwork I had to file at work to protect some of you fuckers.” Not him specifically, of course, but clearly a kinfolk cleanup necessitated by a fuckup of grand proporitons. “Took the fall to protect my partner at the time. Worked Vice in Miami for several years to get my rep back.” |
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Delmar: “No shit? That’s uhhhh…that’s heavy. You pissed? Or uhhh…or is it one of those things where its uhhhh…too far gone to worry about?” |
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Izzy: She shakes her head. “Nah, not pissed. ANymore anyway. I’d do it the exact same way if it happened again. I’m hopin’ the group round here now is a bit smarter bout their cleanups and coverups. I ain’t a fuckin’ babysitter.” she hits the blinker, and turns into a residential type neighborhood. Lake view – he’ll realize they’re not too far from the brotherhood. Now THAT was a good decision. “John – my partner at the time – didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what was really goin on. So the price for me takin the fall and transferring was that it stayed that way.” she snorts, and shakes her head. “Then he fuckin finds out recently that he’s a lot more like me than we ever knew. So I came back to fill in some of the blanks. And stop him from drinkin himself into a grave.” |
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Delmar: “What, he uhhhh…find out he’s kin and hits the bottle? Is he Fenrir or uhhh…one of them other ones?” |
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Izzy: “More like found out he’s kin, fell for a garou, had her die on him – then hit the bottle. He recently lost another gal too. Gotta pull him up by his bootstraps, before he does somethin’ fuckin stupid.” a beat, and she looks over at him. “S’why I don’t do love or claimin. Hurts too much when you assholes get stupid an’ forget to duck.” the voice of experience, there. She pulls up to a building on Fullerton, and soon into her parking space. “This is it. Last chance t’back out.” There’s that smirk, again. Amused. |
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Delmar: “Oh I don’t uhhh…I don’t ever forget. I’m always duckin’. Duckin is my uhhhhhh…my default.” |
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| They pull up to a building, and Izzy pulls into her parking spot. At the same time, Delmar’s fetching the bags of food from the back seat and opening the car door as soon as the engine’s off.
“I uhhh…I don’t back out either. And don’t forget which one of us uhhh…made the offer in the first place.” |
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Izzy: “I don’t forget anything.” Grinned, as she steps from the door, locking the car up before leading him to the front of the building. There’s a pause while she grabs her mail, before she leads him through the lobby. She waves to the doorman, and then makes for the stairs. There’s an elevator, but she hits the stairs anyway. Three flights. She doesn’t explain why, unless he asks. Then, it’s to apartment 3c. The building is on the newer side, and pretty well kept, and certainly not a complete shit hole. She doesn’t have anything else to spend her money on – though as with the her, the inside of the apartment is deceptively simple. No big purchase, nothing really flashy, the most expensive thing in the place her tv, stereo and her laptop. after she lets him in, she locks the door behind him, than makes her way to the small room that looks a bit like a walk in closet. Her keys go in the dish up top a table, her badge and gun into the drawer beneath them. Her cuffs she leaves on top, as she undoes slips from her coat and hangs it up, kicking off her shoes. “Kitchens through there, you can put the food in the fridge. Wanna beer?” (her place: http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=4640  |
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Delmar: “Yeah, I’ll take one.” he says with an air of non-commitment to it. She offered and he accepted. He could have just as easily said no. He wasn’t there for beer. But while it was being offered. “Is the Elevator uhhh…broken or something?” He asks before depositing the bag of food on the kitchen counter. He let his feet wander after unburdening, taking look at her apartment. |
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Izzy: She follows him to the kitchen, grabs a beer for both of them, popping the tops with a bottle opener, and passing one his way. She takes a few swigs of hers, and then blinks at the question. “Ele… oh. No. Works fuckin’ fine.” She studies him a long moment, and then nods. “I don’t much like small, enclosed fuckin’ spaces. S’all. So I take the stairs when I can.” A beat, and a grin. “Helps me keep my girlish fuckin’ figure.” He wanders, and she leans a shoulder on the wall that leads down the hall, and watches him. |
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Delmar: There wasn’t much to look at. The apartment was plain and sparsely decorated. Delmar takes a few steps in one direction, peruses her music collection, takes a step in another direction, throws bag several large swigs of beer, and circles back to her. He leans a shoulder against the same wall, leaving only inches and breath between them, and gently connects his beer bottle with hers. “So uhhh…how do you wanna do this? Traditional-like in the bedroom? Or uhhh…bent over the kitchen counter?” |
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Izzy: Something amuses her, watching the way he prowls through her apartment – it’s a wolf spreading his scent, is a subtle attempt to discern something more about her purpose, it’s a purposeful violation of her territory, claiming it for his own, if only for the night. Her lips are still curled, amused and lopsided as he finally leans against the wall, clinking their bottles together. She doesn’t answer at first. Instead she reaches up to push his hood back from his face, her fingers still chilled slightly from the Chicago winter. Her fingers find the back of his neck, and she pulls him closer, until she can lay claim to his lips. There’s no hesitance here, there’s no question, and there is no doubt that she’s far from a novice at this most basic and animalistic of sports. She catches his lower up with her teeth, and lets it slide free gently, before she arches a brow. “Why choose?” |
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Delmar: That was exciting. It must have been. Why else would he be breathing so heavily. Why else would there be that tension now in his neck, shoulders, arms, back. Why else would his entire body be so stiff with energy as if he were about to pounce. Which is precisely what he does. He pounces, bringing their lips together again and kissing heavily from her mouth. Meanwhile, his hand, the one that wasn’t still holding a beer bottle, shrugs out of his coat and starts at undoing her clothes. Delmar presses his body against hers every so often, nudging with his hips against hers, pushing her back with the mere weight of him. They were on the move. Next stop: Kitchen. |
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Izzy: It was exciting. For her, on some basic primal level, she loves nothing more than pushing the buttons of one born True. She likes to frustrate them, to thrill them, to find out what makes them tick, what makes them react. One of the best was to do so is through sex. There’s no easier way than to learn about a person, learn how to guage their reactions. He pounces, and she’s ready for it, ready for him. Her lips curve into a knowning smirk across his, before she abandons all pretense, and simply gives in, matching his kiss with equal intensity, holding on to her beer only long enough to find the counter as he moves her into the kitchen. He outweighs her. He’s stronger than her. He could break her in two if he wanted too. She doesn’t care. All she cares is that both hands are free now, to help pull at his clothes, letting them fall where they may as she finally is rewarded with the slide of her chilled fingers against the heat of his skin. As her shirt is shed and tossed, if he looks, he’ll note the most recent and biggest scar on her lean frame – low on her right side, a bullet wound, what they call a through and through. Half an inch higher and it would have hit her vest. Instead, it nearly took out some vital organs. A couple years old, it’s all that mars her skin aside from typical childhood mishaps. |
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Delmar: “Mmm…” Delmar grins. “Scars.” He had a few of his own. A slender puncture in his left shoulder. A narrow slash along his right side. These things were expected of garou. These things were marks of pride for a Fenrir. No wonder he grins madly at the sight of the gunshot. No wonder he tugs hurriedly at the rest of her clothes. |
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Izzy: She laughs, low and soft. “Mhm.” She trails her nails along the puncture wound of his shoulder, the narrow slash, scars of his own. The difference is that he has to die and fight his way back to receive his. She doesn’t have such a luxury of tooth and claw and rage. But she appreciates it when she sees it – as evidenced by nimble fingers tugging his belt open, and free, fastenings undone with the ease of one who’s done this a time or two before. she presses her palm lightly against his lower belly, then with a turn of her hand slides downwards, cool fingers curling around him with a soft, pleased sound across his lips as she claims them again, as the last of her clothing hits the floor. there is no shyness here, no modesty nothing but a woman who’s very adept at getting exactly what she wants. Lucky for Delmar – tonight, it’s him. |
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Delmar: That sudden, sharp inhale wasn’t voluntary. It was the sound of the unexpected in a tense situation. He looked down at himself, at her taking things, quite literally, into her own hands. If Izzy was looking for a button to push, she’d certainly found one. “I’m uhhh…gonna need that back.” he remarks, half in Jest. |
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Izzy: She grins at him, and arches a brow. “Don’t worry. You can have it back when I’m done with it.” She delibrately slows her fingers as they sliding over him, exploring, teasing, as she kisses him again – not so much slowing down, as building the intensity, until she releases him to reach behind her, grab the counter and lift her hips to set herself on the edge, long legs lifting to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. She’s very much in control, though she suspects she’ll have it wrestled away from her any moment now – and she welcomes it. |
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Delmar: There would be plenty of amused outrage tonight, he thought. He may have been wrong, but the thought was enough to have him simply shrug off her implacable control. Izzy seizes him with her legs, and once again the two meet in a clash of passioned kissing. Only this time Delmar’s hand have been snaking around her back, up her neck, and one has even tangled itself in her hair. Its this one that tugs firmly, but smoothly, and exposes her throat, which the Fenrir True Born teases with lustful huffs of breath and the occasional nibble of teeth. And in the mean time, he guides himself to the warmth at the apex of her thighs, and prepares to make his entry. This is what they were there for. Everything else was just for fun. |
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Izzy: His hand tangles in her hair, tugging her head back and instead of a gasp of outrage is met with a moan deep in her throat, vibrating against his lips and teeth. He meets only wordless encouragement now, through each tremor of breath, the grasp of her hands at his sides, sliding up under his arm, around his back to pull him closer – he prepares, and she’s had enough waiting. This is what he’s here for – this is what she aches for, what she needs. Now. No more teasing, and as he slides deep, her breath catches, released into another low growled moan as hips curl to meet his press. “Oh fuck.” |
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| Delmar:
“Yes Ma’am!” He growls, and the grip on her hair tightens, pulling further as his body undulates, hips grinding against hips, The other hand slides forward, cupping a single breast as if for support. Though whether it was Delmar or Izzy that needed the support was anyone’s guess. They’d been building pressure and tension all night, and that wouldn’t stop now. The smooth slide of their movements accelerated by degrees until there was only sharp, grunting, growling breaths to punctuate each piston like movement and, in at least one occasion, a sudden deep and heavy press as Delmar squeezed himself against her, wrapping arms around her hips, and lifting her off the counter, and into his arms. |
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Izzy: He growls and a tremble weaves it’s way through her – though it’s certainly not a reaction of fear. It’s pure adrinilin, pure desire, the siren call of one born true to one of his kin. The need for support is mutual, and drawn from the other, as he tightens the hand in her hair, and she matches his movements with eager hips, sharp cries, and wordless demands for more. He presses against her, lifting her off the counter and she flows against him like wine across skin, her arms around his shoulders, fingers clutching skin, nails finding puchase in a marking grip as she clings to him. “don’t….stop…” And he doesn’t…. gaia bless Garou stamina. |
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