[Izzy Montoya] (123 not me!)
[Edwin Morr] ((Blur of the Milky Eye))
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Edwin Morr] ((*shakes fist at Kahseeno*))
[Edwin Morr] The night was chill, and the steady fall of newborn snow seemed to mute the sounds of humanity within Chinatown. The citizens thereof, undeterred even by the weather, shopped in the various street side vendors and stores, the whole of the place awash in the fluorescent lights that proclaimed Open in various languages. They milled about the sidewalk, talking, laughing, shopping…
All save one, it seemed.
One merely stood in the darkness between two worn down tenement buildings, watching quietly the ebb and flow of humanity, watching the steady wanderings of the creatures as a diver might exotic fish. His arms were folded as he leaned against the building, his features a blurry and indistinct mass of shadow beneath the navy baseball cap’s bill.
A lopsided grin splits the creature’s face, in spite of the traces of blood upon the bandages wrapping his neck.
[Izzy Montoya] She has a thing for Chinese food – and since she can’t cook even the basics, it’s unsurprising that she’d be found in Chinatown more often than not. There are a few places that are better than others and that’s where she’s headed now – Nancy’s Noodle House – they have the best chow mien in the city, bar none. I mean sure, Nancy’s not a very Chinese name, but it’s really not that big of a surprise – and it’s easy to remember that way.
Where some prefer to hide in the shadows, Izzy has never been one of them. She is who she is -brash, open, and without apology. She’s dressed as she so often ism business casual, covered by a leather trenchcoat, which is open and – when not flared from her movement – has a telltale bulge of a weapon at her lower back.
Her hands are in the pockets of her jacket at the moment, her stride one of strength and purpose, as down the way the neon sign of her destination flickers.
[Edwin Morr] He hears the footsteps before he sees the woman from whom they emanate… And just as he begins to wonder to whom they belong, she comes into his field of vision. Edwin’s grin widens, as shaded eyes stare upon her curves and admire the view for a few moments.
Then, just as she’s about to pass him, he speaks.
“Must have sum’in’ mighty serious on yer mind fer uh face dat perty ta be all business, doll.”
[Izzy Montoya] She jumps. He actually gets the jump on her, when her mind is elsewhere, and her thoughts are already several steps ahead. It’s a rarity, but on occasion it does happen. And what happens instantly is habit as well – her hand reaches for the gun a her back, wrapping around the grip before his voice fully registers.
And then she at elast has the grace to look slightly sheepish as she pulls her hand free.
“S’a good way to get fuckin’ shot, Edwin.” But it’s said with lips that curve into that familiar smirk once again.
[Edwin Morr] “Well… Mebbe I’s jes’ uh glutton fer punishment. Reckon I never did have th’sense not ta enjoy givin’ folk th’willies.”
Edwin grins slyly and unfolds his arms, wiggling his fingers in an almost visual representation of the willies. He lets his hands drop to his sides, considering for a few moments, before continuing.
“An’t seems ta me y’oughta thank me. Feller like me ta watch th’alleys fer ya, keep ya from gittin’ shot by some fool punk kid tryin’ ta make uh name fer ‘imself by killin’ uh cop. Hell… Mebbe jes’ by bein’ here, I’s saved yer life.”
At this, he chuckles with amusement, the lights across the street glinting in his shaded gaze as he does so. The eyes turn to the direction Izzy was headed, as the grinning No Moon queries yet again.
“Whut’s gotcha all riled up?”
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, slightly, as she straightens her coat, and then tucks her hands back into the pockets of her coat. She’s without gloves today, her hands chilled in the Chicago Winter.
“Is that so… well then.” A beat, and an amused smirk. “Maybe I’ll jus’ have to fuckin thank ya.” She nods in the direction she was headed. “Buy ya dinner?”
Then he asks and her brow furrows, irritated. “Some other fuck – a mutual acquaintance even – decided t’be all smarmy and sneaky last night. I’ma shoot that fucker yet…”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin nods, stepping from the darkness and closer to the detective, his head tilting slightly.
“An’ jes’ which mutyal acquaintance’d dat be?”
He falls into step beside her, extending his arm so she could take his elbow in perfectly gentlemanly fashion. Still, his grin becomes more lopsided and sly still in the action, as though knowing full well how incongruous it was, to have a monster like Edwin Morr behave in any way, shape or form.
[Izzy Montoya] She glances down at his offered arm, and then back up, and snorts, amused. Like she’s a lady, like he’s a gentleman, like they’re some normal couple out for a stroll late at night in the Green.
In the end, however, she lifts her hand from her pocket, and slides it into the crook of his elbow. Her touch, once it sinks in, is cool… but then again, she doesn’t have the benefit of rage to warm her.
“That creepy motherfuckin’ Ezra.” A beat. “He fuckin’ tells me to mind my mouth and my motherfuckin’ manners again and I WILL shoot him.”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin tilts his head, and then chuckles wryly, giving his head a slight shake. The shake stops abruptly; the wound became a red hot branding iron with the motion. However, once he stopped the head shake, it returned to a dull throb that beat in time with the beating of his heart.
After he’s done, he sighs deeply before speaking.
“Well, I ain’t gonna tell ya not ta shoot ‘im. But seein’s whut he is, how he is… Mebbe dat ain’t yer sharpest move, unlessin’ ya ain’t got no choice.”
They walk a few steps, her holding his arm while he thinks, before he continues.
“Seems ta me, ya ought never trust uh battle ta chance. Always know you’ll win a’forehan’… Not so sure shootin’ him assures ya vict’ry.
Still… He goes takin’ liberties, you tell me. He’ll beg ta be shot a’fore I’s done…”
And at this, Edwin’s tone grows dark, deathly amused. There is a sense almost of the hangman’s jest before the noose, of the macabre humor of court fools before an execution in the dark ages. It was not pleasant, nor kind… It was perhaps the most chilling thing about Edwin…
The fact that even in repaying a hefty debt, he would laugh and revel in the horrors wrought by his own hands.
[Izzy Montoya] He isn’t gonna tell her not to shoot him… “Good, cuz I wouldn’t listen anyway.” but she should hedge her bets. Se chuckles at that, even though it still has an edge to it.
Then she looks up at the Lord on her arm and arches a brow, slightly. “…well that begs the question. What do you consider ‘takin liberties’?” Curiosity killed the cat…
She doesn’t seem to mind the darkness of his tone. He’s Shadowlord, he’s a no moon. She knows well their ability to hold a grudge, to extract vengeance.
[Edwin Morr] Edwin’s shaded gaze turns to meet hers, and with that sly grin playing about his lips, he winks at her before turning his gaze back to the road before them.
“Well… If’n you say no, an’ he don’t stop… Dat’s takin’ liberties in my book. An’ seein’s how he may end up packed un’er Fox, it’ll be on me ta tar ‘is ass if’n he does. Or yer guardyan’r th’ high muckety muck Fenrir… Whutever th’case, I’d wanna know.”
Edwin nods, shrugging as she says she wouldn’t listen anyway. So far as he saw it, it wasn’t his job to tell her what to do, let alone his place to do so. That sly grin never leaves his features, though it does widen slightly as his thoughts turn to more immediate survival concerns… Food, namely.
“So… You pickin’ th’rest’raunt or’m I? Dere’s uh right fine noodle joint o’er yonder whut might be jes th’ticket fer uh col’, snowy night like dis.”
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, and nods. “Alright. Just checkin.”
They walk a bit more, and he suggests who’s job it would be to set Ezra straight, and for some reason that amuses her too. “Remind me to tell you of the Fenrir I met the other day. He was appalled that a woman of my ‘advanced age’ wasn’t mated. Bastard called me old – can you believe that shit?”
She looks ahead, and nods. “Nancy’s? That’s actually where I was heading – best chow mien in the city… so far anyway.”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin begins chuckling…
“Not th’smartest way ta git uh date. Feller oughta have ‘is eyes checked… Yer jes’ now bloomin’ inta womanhood’r some such.”
Nodding, they turn to Nancy’s and start up the steps. Strangely, he opens the door for her, with an overly grandiose gesture like a doorman at some fancy hotel.
“Still… like ol’ P.T. Barnum used ta say… Dere’s uh sucker born ever’ minute.”
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, as they go up the steps. “He’s from a very backwater home, I guess. Apparently one of my breeding should have been squirtin out a squalin brat every fuckin’ year since I was 13 or some shit.”
She snorts – not bloody likely she’d be doing that even now – breeding be damned. “I mentioned freezing my eggs, and he got this look of pure confusion. Poor guy is WAY outa his element round here.”
He opens the door for her, and she grins up at him. “Careful now, ya might fuckin’ spoil me…”
[Edwin Morr] “You bein’ spoil’t’s yer bunch’s pro’lem; seems ta me yer grand poobah’ll be th’one dealin’ wit’ dat. As fer me… I don’t see no recourse but ta spoil ya rotten. Puts uh smile on m’face.”
He grins wider, and then enters Nancy’s behind her, pulling the door closed behind him.
“‘Sides, uh feller talkin’ like dat could git mighty hurtful; reckon mebbe yer due fer bein’ spoil’t. Dat said… I gotta won’er ’bout uh guy whut reckons thirteen’s uh good time ta start poppin’ out babies. Uh might too young fer my taste; seems too close ta cradle robbin’.”
The way he talks, you might think him older than he was. And indeed, the years had not necessarily been kind, fighting the Wyrm time and again… Still, for all his bravado, he was at best twenty-one. More likely, he was still but twenty or nineteen… Which left an effect rather like the pot calling the kettle.
“Don’t seem e’sactly th’sanest thang I’s heard t’day.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Shit, at thirteen, I still had fuckin’ braces and acne. There’s no fuckin’ way anyone’d believe I’d turn out THIS fuckin’ fine…” Confident one, isn’t she.
As for spoiling her. “Well, as long as it makes you smile, I’ll allow a bit of spoiling. Just don’t get carried away…” Must be another one of those rules, hm? But it’s said with that same amused smirk she always seems to wear, as she heads to the hostess stand, then on to a table.
Then, curious. “How the fuck old are you, anyway…”
[Edwin Morr] “Well, how ’bout you tell me when I’m limit up, an’ den I’ll quit. Dat way, we’re both happy…”
He then takes her to a table near the window, answering only after he’d held her chair for her and everything. Everything was done with a simple sly confidence… As though whatever happened was well within his power to handle, and handle it he would, with a laugh or grin upon his lips.
Retaking his seat, he speaks to her last question.
“Well, le’s put it dis’a’way. I’m ol’ enough ta drink’n smoke as I please… I only sneaks inta bars ’cause I got a strict rule about payin’ covers… As in, I never do.”
[Izzy Montoya] He even holds her chair, and she just… looks at him… for a long moment. She doesn’t thank him, but it’s there somewhere in the lack of her insisting she can do it herself. Instead, she slips from her coat and lets it fall back over the back of her chair, reaches back to secure her holster, and then leans her elbows on the table.
He doesn’t exactly answer – but at least hat would mean he’s legal. At least. “Alright. Not too bad then. Even I draw the line of some of the younger ones. It’ creates problems, and well…” there’s that lopsided and knowing smirk again. “…they just don’t have the same control.”
[Edwin Morr] ((Paused for now. *chuckles*))