[John Thornton] The streets of Chinatown were cold and blustery, as Winter clenched her icy fist about the city of Chicago more tightly with each passing day. A full Moon stared down like a brilliant, lidless eye through an inconstant haze of passing cloud cover. And while the wind was not the ripping, tearing hands of demons as it had been in recent days, the steady breath that passed between the buildings as enough to chill exposed skin to the bone.
The residents and visitors to Chinatown sought refuge where they could find it, most amidst the various shops and restaurants within the smaller city within the Windy City. One such person was a man with a mop of chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes that seemed almost blue against the robin’s egg shade of the tablecloth before him. A cup of coffee steamed silently before him, a bowl of noodles and soup, with various vegetables thrown in for good measure left a heady aroma over the table’s expanse.
His sockets were black with fatigue; it seemed from the look of him that he never slept. And his skin was pale… The faintest scent of scotch rested upon him. Still, his eyes were clear, alert… As though whatever indulgence he had allowed himself in that regard had not been taken to excess.
His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the navy tie long since loosened upon his neck. Practiced hands begin snagging noodles and the various vegetables using chopsticks instead of the fork that had been left for his benefit.
[Moira Murray] This part of the city was becoming more of a draw for the kinfolk in more ways than she had imagined. The lure of the different culture that existed in Chicago enticed her senses, along with array of mysticism that lurked behind closed doors. She had often come here to visit the specialty stores to restock her herb supplies. Only the best alternative medicines could be found hidden in the back rooms of a few teahouses that she frequented.
Moira huddled up under the heavy weight of a black wool trench coat, buttoned to the neck to keep out the cold. Snow had fallen earlier in the week; it caught in small white drifts in long black hair, dampening it as she stops at the door to the restaurant, pulling her hand out long enough to grasp the handle and peel the door open to enter.
She releases it, stomping her boots out on the mat at the front door before heading further inside, pausing to search out the main dining tables. The slender quirk of an eyebrow rose up over blue eyes as she smirks, motioning to the hostess to a particular table, and smiles before making her way over.
“Evening, detective.”
[Rory O’Bryne] The snow is still new, still amazing, still… cold. She wanders through Chinatown, though, clothed in everything she owns, save one extra pair of jeans and a t-shirt in her pack, trying to stay warm by simply moving. Her curls are somewhat contained by a knit cap, and she has fingerless gloves on her hands. Her jacket isn’t exactly warm, but it’s better than nothing – under that no less than three shirts, at least two of them long sleeved. A pair of tattered jeans, the holes in the knees showing the darker color of leggings underneath – two pairs of socks, and her boots. And she still is cold…
But the snow… SNOW! She traces her fingertips through the snow caught on ledges, grinning in delight as she lifts her fingers to her lips. She looks up at the sky, the wind whipping snow from the top of buildings, though no new snow falls tonight. It gives the same effect, and she’s like… well.. a little girl at Christmas.
She wraps her arms around herself, her hands tucked under her arms, trying to keep them warm as she continues her walk, looking in windows as she passes.
[John Thornton] Evening, detective.
John blinks as the words reach his ears, though it takes several more moments for him to realize their meaning. Then, slowly, the blue-seeming hazel eyes turn to the voice, the so-called thousand yard stare clearing from them.
“… Moira. Hello…”
[Moira Murray] “I didn’t interrupt your dinner did I?” She angles her head to watch him briefly, coming to stand on the opposite end of the table. The distance gaze in his eyes seems to clear after it takes him a few moments to recognize her standing there.
[Rory O’Bryne] She wanders past the eatery and her belly audibly rumbles. Just outside the window where John and now Moira are, she leans on the ledge, and starts digging for enough change for an eggroll, or something similar. She bites her lower lip gently, as she goes through each pocket, to see how much she can come up with.
[John Thornton] John shakes his head…
“No… I was just… no.”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, after a fashion. It seemed almost a ghost of its former self, even less of a widening of the lips than before, even less an expression of emotion.
Hazel eyes track to the window, a curious brow raised upon his forehead as he spies the red-headed woman digging through her pocket without the restaurant.
“Please join me…”
[Moira Murray] Moira nods, “You look like shit, John,” she remarks dryly, her eyes catching the faint smile that barely manages to peel the corners of his mouth. The lack of expression draws a brief frown across her forehead.
One hand pulls at the buttons of her coat to open it and shrug out of it as the other grasp the back of the empty chair to pull it out. She sits, folding her coat over the chair and leans forward to rest her elbows on the table.
She follows his gaze to the window, glancing at Rory as she digs through her pockets curiously.
“Hmm…”
[Rory O’Bryne] She finally comes up with a handful, and counts it. It’s a slow and painful process, but in the end she dictates that she should have enough for something small, something to keep her belly from complaining too loudly.
She finally deems it to be enough, even if she’s not sure she’s counted it correctly, and moves to slip inside the eatery. Her rage is enough, even under the dwindling moon, that people step back from her, giving her an open path that she takes without thinking about it, without realizing that it actually happens.
She waits while her eyes adjust to the lighting inside, cupping her change in her hand, her hands to her chest, making as small a target as possible. When the hostess looks at her and goes to shoo her off, she opens her hands to show she has money, quickly so that she doesn’t see how little it is. “Please..”
Rory is a lot of things- and she’s also sweet, and it’s hard for people to say no. Especially under the weight of rage that could cause a situation to turn bad in an instant.
[John Thornton] John nods, his eyes tracking to the red-headed woman as Moira’s did.
“You’ve seen her too. I was debating trying to help her.”
Then, as the restaurant employee starts to shoo Rory out into the cold, John shakes his head.
“Wait here…”
Like that, he sets down the chopsticks, and puts his napkin on the table beside the bowl of noodle soup. Standing, his expression again schooled to neutrality, he approaches the red-headed woman (Rory).
“Ah, thank you for coming, and for your cooperation. We have a table for you just over there.”
The badge on John’s hip flashes prominently, the shoulder holster and .45 caliber pistol unmistakable in their stark contrast to the white dress shirt. Hazel eyes turn to the restaurant employee trying to shoo her away, a brow risen curiously as John’s stern countenance settles upon the employee.
[Moira Murray] Wait here…
She blinks, rotating in her chair to watch John get up; her arm lies across her coat and the back of the chair. She doesn’t say a word as John’s actions seem to echo Moira’s thoughts. If he had not gotten up to do something, she was about to say something.
Her head turns, skimming around for an extra empty chair to the table, she promptly gets up to fetch it, pulling it over and then walks over to John, Rory and the hostess.
“There you are!” She exclaims with a shake of her head, “Where have you been?”
She looks to the hostess apologetically, “My sister… she’s a little… off tonight.” Moira steps up to Rory, touching her elbow and nudging her to come with them. There was no way to tell what Rory was except for the sensation of rage that surrounds the redhead. Whereas John and Moira were easy to trace with the blood of the Fenrir singing in their veins.
[Rory O’Bryne] John comes to her rescue, like some white knight, and Rory flushes with embarrassment, ducking her head to hide behind those curls. She holds her change to her chest again, and glances at John out the corner of her eye. Fenrir. Green eyes slide past him to the woman he was sitting with. Fenrir as well.
She chews her lower lip, and the blush deepening as Moria joins too. “Hi.” Then she calls her her sister, and she blinks, and looks up at them again, then to the waitress, then lets them lead her to the table.
For someone carrying as much rage as she does, she is certainly timid – an unusual combination. When they arrive at the table, she takes the seat they’d pulled up, and with a shy smile, hidden under the fall of those curls, murmurs. “Thanks.”
[John Thornton] ((Manipulation + Subterfuge, diff = 6 [wp spent]
Hail Kahseeno))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
to Rory O’Bryne
[John Thornton] John leads the women away, the hostess’ confusion giving way to either of the stories or both as the case may be. Perhaps she thought Rory a witness there to give a statement. Perhaps she thought Rory to be Moira’s sister. Perhaps she thought the former, and that Moira was helping to cover their tracks. Whatever the case, the hostess relents, allowing John and Moira to lead Rory to their table nearby. Then, once Rory and Moira are again seated, John retakes his seat before the bowl of noodle soup.
First, the hazel gaze settles upon Moira.
“That wasn’t bad, as cover stories go… Though if you two are sisters, the resemblance is little in evidence.”
John’s mouth widens in that ghost of a smile, as though it were a matter of no consequence.
“Good evening… I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The hazel eyes, which seem blue again, turn to Rory, a curious brow raised.
[Moira Murray] “How do you know? She could be my half-sister or step-sister for all you know. Scot’s blood runs pretty think in my family, especially with my mother being of Stag’s brood, she and my aunt were both gingers. I took after my father in looks.”
She shoots John a cheeky grin, once settled in her chair, she reaches for a menu, flipping it open and glances at it. She then hands it to Rory and looks to her, “Order what you like, dinner is on me.”
She grabs another menu for herself, spreads it open and lays it flat on the table to skim over it.
[Rory O’Bryne] She tips her head, listening to them and watching the way they interact as she carefully puts her change on the table, and then pulls her gloves off. She rubs the side of her nose, briefly, and then offers a shy smile for John and Moira both.
“Rory.” Her voice is soft, and smooth, and not overbearing. It’s almost hard to hear her. Her fingers play with her coins, absently, as if they cant quite keep still. And with Moria’s mention for stags brood, she smiles again. “Fianna. Mull Foon.”
She doesn’t seem to notice that she speaks incorrectly, that her letters are often mixed up, though she takes the menu. She just holds it though, her brow furrowing slightly as she says to order what she wants. She lets her fingers run over the letters on the front, but then just nods. “Whatever you have, will ge bood.”
Then to them both. “You’re Fenrir…”
[John Thornton] “Yes. I’m John; I’ll be paying for dinner. That’s Moira; she only thinks she’ll be paying for dinner.”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, that ghost of an idea of a smile, before waving over the waiter. After ordering Rory a bowl of the noodle soup, some pork dumplings, and an egg roll, he turns his attention to Moira.
“What can I get you this evening, Ma’am?”
[Moira Murray] “Nay…” She crinkles up her nose, leaning over to stage-whisper to Rory, “He only thinks he’s paying for dinner.” She straightens up in her seat, eying the Detective over her menu with a narrowing of her eyes and smile to her lips.
When the waiter appears, “General Tsao’s chicken with the vegetables and noodles, extra plate of egg rolls and hot tea.”
Flipping the menu closed, she reaches for Rory’s laying atop hers and sets them back in the holder. She rubs her hands together, shifting her gaze between the pair. “I am Moira, John thinks he’s paying for dinner but he isn’t,” shooting him a quick glance over at him.
[Rory O’Bryne] They fight over who’s paying for dinner and Rory stares at them, and then catches herself and ducks her head, hiding her shy smile, and her blush. She slips from her backpack, and sets it at her feet [it clanks and rattles – heaven knows what she has in there], so that she can undo her coat and slip from it too. It’s warm, and she can feel her hands again.
Hands that can’t seem to keep still. She finds the pile of change she’d put on the table, and stacks it and re-stacks it, to keep her fingers busy.
“Thanks… dor finner, I mean. I dope I hidn’t interrupt something important..?” Again there’s the curious switch of words, and she seems completely oblivious of the oddity.
[John Thornton] “No, nothing important, just a little disagreement as to the payment arrangements.”
John nods, and takes a swig of the coffee steaming quietly upon the table. As Moira eyes him periodically, the hazel eyes return her gaze, that not-a-smile remaining upon his lips.
“You know, if Rory is an informant, this could be construed as obstruction…”
A curious brow remains raised upon his forehead.
[Moira Murray] There is a flicker of determination shining in the depths of her eyes, chin lifting up just a notch higher in a streak of stubbornness at John, whenever he returns her gaze. She gestures at him with her left hand, snorting softly.
“Office hours are over with, detective, whilst at the dinner table. I do not speak cop, and I am pretty stubborn if I need to be in getting what I want.”
It wasn’t exactly arguing, not that she sees it has, but the challenge is there in her voice and her demeanor. Not so delicate a wallflower as most would think this kin was.
“You aren’t interrupting anything at all.”
[Rory O’Bryne] If anything, at this table? Rory is the wall flower. She looks between the two of them as they argue, and bites her lower lip gently. All she knows is that she can’t pay. She rubs her nose, gently, finally able to feel the tip of it again – snow is amazing, yet really really cold!
“Whats an… informant?” Some questions are easier than others…
[John Thornton] “An informant is someone who shares information about a given crime or pending investigation with the police. Given the way the discussion with the hostess went, that may be the impression she had…”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, before continuing.
“Still, I rather doubt I’ll need to go quite that far to have my way. I’ve also little intent to make you an actual informant in that respect.”
He takes a bite of the noodle soup, snagging a large piece of carrot within his chopsticks’ grasp.
[Moira Murray] Moira glances away from them as John explains what an informant was. The waiter makes his way back with their food, setting down Moira’s tea first and then her plate. The waiter eyeballs Rory for a moment, careful as he puts the rest of the plates down on the table and leaves a fork for them.
Moira picks takes the small kettle of hot water, pouring it in her cup and sets it aside, she unwraps the tea packet and soaks it in the hot water, using a spoon to dunk it under a few times before setting it down on the saucer. She reaches for a pair of chopsticks, peeling them out of the packet and begins to pick at her food.
“Mhmm.” Stuffing mouthful of food in her mouth, she chews and swallows, “John, what are your plans for Christmas? If you say you are working I’m going to hurt you.”
[Rory O’Bryne] “Oh.” She wrinkles her nose, and shakes her head. “Good. I knon’t dow anything.”
Then the food arrives, and her belly grumbles loud enough for them to hear it, and she takes up her spoon and slurps happily away at the soup, eating as if she hasn’t had a decent meal in days. Eating – well, like a Gnawer. It wouldn’t be any surprise to them if and when they find out that her packmates are both BGs.
She listens as they talk, enjoying the banter between them. It reminds her of Chloe, and how she talks to.. well, everyone. And Gabe. But then again, everything reminds her of Gabe, and that she has a date tomorrow. She blushes, for no apparently reason, though it’s likely hidden under her curls and the duck of her head, as she hovers over her food.
[John Thornton] John smiles that wan not-a-smile as he answers her.
“Very well. I won’t say I’m working.”
He finishes the coffee, placing the empty cup upside down on the saucer.
“I’ll be driving in my car and talking to people I know.”
Then, he takes another bite of the noodle dish, his expression again dubious.
“What are your plans in that regard, Moira?”
[Moira Murray] After a few more bites, she sets the chopsticks down, reaching for her napkin to wipe at her mouth. Checking on her tea, she picks up her spoon and the fishes out the tea bag, pressing on it gently to drain it out and sets it down on the saucer next to the cut with the spoon. She picks it up, bringing it to her mouth, sipping.
“I have no idea as of yet. There are people I could visit, I don’t really have any family in Chicago, and I sure as hell do not want to spend it alone. Parties are boring when you fly solo.”
She shrugs her shoulders, sits the cup back down. A glance to Rory and she smiles, and then glances back over at John, “So keep me company and spend Christmas with me.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She keeps quiet, so that she doesn’t disturb the making of plans and such for Christmas. She grabs an egg roll and quietly tucks it into her pocket, hopefully unseen. If so, she takes a dumpling or two and does the same – she’ll bring them back for her packmates. Their snack snuck away, she happily attacks her soup again.
[John Thornton] ((Perception, diff = 6))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[John Thornton] John blinks, a brow raising curiously as Moira suggests he spend Christmas with her. As she does so, the hazel eyes register motion at the periphery of his vision. Wordlessly, John’s eyes seem to move to his food, as he takes another bite of the noodle dish.
He is quiet for a span of several moments before he answers.
“Moira… I’d…” He shakes his head. “I’d just bring you down. I’m not much for Christmas spirit this year…
I should probably just stay home and not be a bother to anyone.”
John sighs deeply, shaking his head, before meeting Moira’s gaze.
[Moira Murray] “Nonsense,” she says rather flatly, her head angling as she looks at him from across the table. She sits back in her chair, her gaze steady on him as he looks away for a moment and then back to her.
“I, honestly, do not think you should be alone on such a holiday. I could care less if you were in the spirit or not, and you certainly aren’t a bother to me.”
She sighs, looking down at her lap for a moment, folding the napkin in her lap once, and then looks up again. “I have no plans, no family, no one to spend it with. Just give up and say yes, please?”
There was a bit of earnest and concern in her response, somehow feeling he shouldn’t be alone given the way things have gone for him.
[Rory O’Bryne] She glances up, and looks between them, and tips her head.
Then back down to her food – this is clearly a conversation that she doesn’t know anything about, or have any real stake in. She simply keeps eating. Christmas is just another day for her, anyway.
[Rory O’Bryne] .
to Rory O’Bryne
[John Thornton] John sighs… running his hand through his hair, rubbing black sockets with the palm of his hand. A moment passes, a second…
“Alright… If it’s really what you want.”
John shakes his head, his phone beginning to ring.
“I need to take this call. Please excuse me.”
That said, John stands and makes his way toward the restrooms, where a small phone kiosk was set up.
He answers the call, and finishes writing down the lead. Then, stopping the waiter coming out of the kitchen, he places another order for pork dumplings, this time to go, and pays the bill.
After leaving instructions for the waiter to place the extra dumplings on the table before Rory and Moira left, John turns and goes toward the door.
Off duty wasn’t really a luxury he enjoyed.
((Sorry folks, my concentration is shot… I really ought to quit while I’m behind here.
Fade John from the scene please.))
[Moira Murray] Moira sighs, shaking her head as she looks away towards the window. She returns her attentions back to her food a second later, after the Detective has left to take his phone call.
“He does that a lot.” She says quietly, picking through the food with her chopsticks, “You know we could just get a take-out box for you, if you want to take the food home.”
She speaks to Rory, offering her a small smile.
[Rory O’Bryne] She blinks as John gets up to take his phone call, and watches him as he goes. Then her attention turns back to Moira, and her food. She shrugs a little at the first part. “People do that mo te all the time.” Walk away. It’s normal to her.
She then sneaks a look at Moira, and flushes, figuring she’d gotten caught pocketing some of the food. “Didn’t take it mor fe… my mack-pates.”
About that time the waitress drops off the to go box of dumplings, and she realizes she was really and truly caught. She rubs her nose absently, and then scratches behind her ear -and changes the subject. “You hike lim.”
[Moira Murray] It takes her a moment to realize that Rory didn’t quite enunciate her properly. She laughs a little, color flushing her cheeks as Rory mentions Moira’s attraction to John. She lets out a small sigh, rolling her shoulders up into a small shrug. She picks up her cup, finishing off her tea. The cup clanks against the saucer.
Moira motions for the waiter to bring a take-out box for her and she turns to Rory, “He is nice, a bit broken, but sweet.”
[Rory O’Bryne] That neither of them have mentioned the way she speaks actually means a lot to the metis. She’s certain she’s had to mess up at some point during the evening, yet neither Moria nor John have mentioned it. It’s something she’ll remember of tonight, and hold close. It’s rare she isn’t made fun of, after all.
She tips her head, slightly. “So hix fim.”
[Moira Murray] “He isn’t fixable, I don’t think, or doesn’t want to be. His soul is broken.”
When the boxes arrive, Moira begins to take what food there was left on the plates and pours them into the Styrofoam boxes and then bags them up. She sets the bag to the side of the table for Rory, smiling at her. “Food for you to take to your pack.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She thinks about that for a long moment, her eyes flickering toward the door, where John had most recently been, than back again. She raises her hand, nails blunt and thin and barely noticeable, and scratches the back of her neck, before tugging her hat back into place absently. “Just time can fix an sroken boul. Maybe he nust jeeds someone there for when he wakes up. Like you.”
Nods. As if she knew anything about relationships, what with her first ever date happening this weekend.
Then she blushes again, color staining her cheeks as the food is offered for her and her pack. “Thanks.” Real food is a treat.
[Moira Murray] “I’m not so sure about that. Time doesn’t always heal wounds, it just… lets it scar up.”
Moira starts to stand up, pushing her chair back and reaches for her coat. She looks down at Rory, slipping her arms into the wool coat and pulls it around her. “Maybe I will be there if he wakes up, but that isn’t my decision. It will be his if he wants me there.”
She buttons up her coat, “Have a good night, Rory.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She nods, slightly, and doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t know what to say – which isn’t such an oddity really. It’s not often she speaks as much as she has tonight, as little as it was. Moria puts on her coat, and Rory hastens to do the same – she doesn’t want to be left here with the Hostess who keeps looking at her funny. She thinks a minute, and then scoops the change she’d put on the table up and shoves it back into her pocket too. It’ll be good for a doughnut or a hot dog tomorrow. She shoulders her backpack, and then takes up the bag too, holding it protectively against her chest, lest any think to take it from her.
It’s for her pack.
She’d fight for it.
Ruthlessly.
But for Moira, she smiles, shyly. “Thanks. You too.”
[Moira Murray] “You are welcome.”
She nods her head, pushing her chair under the table and begins to head out, a glance back to Rory before she exits the restaurant and steps out into the cold.
[Rory O’Bryne] She lifts her hand a little from the package and waves, and then after Moria leaves, she follows, ducking through the door and moving quickly down the street. She’s the cats to feed, and then back to the house, where there’s still so much work to do.