When one thinks of Eagles, they think Silence, Hyde, others. They think Southern, thug, unkempt, strong, demanding, unbending. While she is Eagle to the core, she is no thug, and never unkempt. The rest, however, remains true. Her leather coat falls open, and moves about her calves as she walks. Underneath is a button down blouse and slacks. Expensively simple, perfectly pressed, impeccably put together. Her hair is short – boyishly so, though her features are strong they are distinctly feminine and enhanced with make-up, well applied and understated. High heeled boots click against the cement in ever steady cadence, and add 2 inches to an already impressive 5’11” height.
She is, quite simply, well-dressed and imposing in the same breath.
The moon is darkening, hiding behind the black blanket of calm, but her rage still simmers, creating a path before her where none was moments ago. There’s a press of sensation, the raise of hairs along the back of unsuspecting neck, an unease that there is a monster among them, though they are unsure who and where. However, the Modi is – as always – in control. It is few and far between that she ever loses her cool. She is Eagle. She is Predator. She is Modi.
And so she walks. Along the edges of Eagle Territory.
[Kemp Oates] He was outside Eagle Turf. Having taken this alley and that to reach the diner he sat outside now. More like lounged at the outdoor’s table. Long legs stretched out beneath the table. Dinner at his elbow as he idly watched the occassional passerby. His birth moon was close at hand, leaving him between quiet and reclussive.
[Eve Monarchos] A woman like Eve…she doesn’t go street very well, even the attempt leaves a chill down her spine. She’s dressed in a hip length leather jacket that is tied about her waist, her hair worn long and straight, her makeup neutral to enhance her Gaian given beauty. Designer blue jeans and black leather ankle boots.
She knows it’s dangerous to be here…but she needs to pass a warning to the lost.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Kemp is outside Eagle turf, but close enough that she sees him. There is a pause in her step as she studies the boy, the rotager, the one who stepped away from the Eagles with the usurper. There is a tightening along the edges of her lips, a brief but disapproving glance, before it passes.
He made a choice, but that does not mean he is the enemy. If anything, he is likely happy to no longer have her voice in his head. That brings a flash of amusement across her lips, and once he sees her, she lifts her chin. Eagle nod. It means many things – right now, it simply means hello.
Past him, someone else looks distinctly out of place and heading this way. Suddenly, there is the feeling that this will be a very long night.
[Kemp Oates] He paused with a look over the top of his glass as his green gaze met AM’s through the shaggy fall of muddy brown hair across his eyes. A brief, casual lift of his chin in return as he lounged with as much ease as if he were on the sofa channel surfing. It was warm enough to suit his fast metabolism. And there he sat on that cloudy, overcast night, simply enjoying dinner.
[Eve Monarchos] Passing the diner, a familiar scent stirs her attention. The silvery green eyes glance in Kemp’s direction for a mere moment. The woods…that’s where they’d met before. She doesn’t say anything, merely keeps on walking. Eve has business to attend to.
Coming as close as she can to the territorial border without crossing it, Eve looks in on the Eagle’s land. Her hands are in her pockets and the night wind is stirring the length of her hair. She waits to be approached.
Winters Sight had thought about coming to this place through the Umbra, but she does not want to come close to causing trouble. Homid forms seems to be preferable when one wants to avoid conflict.
[Kemp Oates] From where he sat in homid, he couldn’t pick one scent out over the other with the mixture of garlic, onions, gas fumes, sewer gasses, trash, and the thousands of bodies in the city. Not unless he tried hard to pick one known scent out over another. And frankly, right now he didn’t give a damn. He’d seen the female, Eve in this form once or twice at the Caern. Idly watching as she passed and he took a bite from the sandwich he’d ordered.
[AnneMarie Hoch] A twist of her lips, a suggestion of a smile – faint, but there, for Kemp. She does not approach, as of yet, because she knows how frustrating any conversation would be. For all she is shunned for – her empathy to those she knows should never be suspect. It is partially why she is so unknown. She is a firm believer in if they don’t ask, she will not tell. Anything.
Eve continues closer, and a slim brow arches. She hovers along unseen lines, and lips twitch in barely disguised amusement. And she waits.
And waits.
And waits some more.
Before, finally, the Modi steps forward to meet the Shadow Lord. She, of course, says nothing. She merely waits, her pale gaze unflinchingly locked on the Lord.
[Eve Monarchos] Eve looks to the woman once, just long enough to let her know that she has Eve’s attention before the Shadow Lords eyes respectfully lower.
“I bring important news that needs to be shared”.
Her voice travels, not caring who else heard her. Her eyes then graze AnneMarie again before again lowering.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Lips curl into a slight smirk, before falling into impassiveness. There is an arch of brow, and silence. Her hands make no move from her pockets, her feet are still, she does not figit or recline or relax her stance. She is steadfast, unmovable, strong. She gives the impression she could wait there for hours, for days.
Because she can.
And so she waits, listening.
[Kemp Oates] He casually munched away. It suprisenly quiet inside his head, no voices after four years of totemphone. No feel of others of the pack inside him. Fortunately a little of the chaos swarming him, was at rest for now. Stretching his foot out to hook the chair across from him to drag it towards him with a grating, muffled sound of metal against cement. Heels perched on the chair as he stretched out fully, lacing his fingers behind his head.
[Eve Monarchos] As AnneMaries keeps her distance, Eve bites back a sigh and mentally rolls her eyes.
“It’s the kind of news that needs to be discussed privately. If it’s to you, then that’s fine. But the news needs to be shared…”
There is no smirk from Eve, no twitch of being a smart ass. There were more then enough Sept members who thought they were actually good at it to make it increasingly unfashionable. Her expression is serious and steadfast. Removing her hands from her pockets she brushes a strand of hair from her cheek.
“Please….”
[AnneMarie Hoch] if it’s to you, then that’s fine… The smirk slashes across her lips again – even as she waits until the please at the end. Heaven forbid the Shadow Lords must speak with the Eagles, with her, especially. She lets the last word linger between them a moment, then two, before with a lift of her chin she points toward the alley near Kemp’s reclining in front of the diner.
Without so much as a sound, she is moving, deliberately turning her back to Even and leading her that way. It is a deliberate slight, one that Kemp as Fenrir would interpret correctly. She deems Eve unworthy enough an opponent that she does not insist she lead, and shows her back to one who could be enemy.
Cocky? No. Calculated? Yes.
But the steps cross the line into neutral territory, and into the relative privacy of an alleyway. As she passes Kemp, lips curve slightly into a grin, that fades almost before it comes fully into view. She’s amused.
[Eve Monarchos] And Eve does follow, keeping her distance between she and the Eagle pack member. The Theurge isn’t crazy about Kemp’s presence here. Instead, she keeps her attention focusedon AnneMarie.
This was a dangerous thing to be doing.
“The Theurges of the Sept have been keeping an eye on the Umbra as of late. The Gauntlets thickening. We think it might be related to the activites of the Weaver. A massive disturbance was reported a few days ago by the Glasswalker theurge near Obsidian Data territory”.
[Kemp Oates] He completely ignored the Lord following AM. For only a moment a smirk crossed his lips as he met AM’s gaze. He knew the dance well, all the steps. Waiting until Eve just started to pass him before belching loud and long with a satisfied smacking of his lips.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Many, when entering an alley way, or a place chosen for a conference, will lean against a wall, or drag up a crate to sit on, lean against a dumpster, any such thing that will lead to presumed comfort. AnneMarie is not one of the many. Her posture remains ramrod straight, her hands remain in her pockets, her stance remains controlled. Silent. Calm. She has a strange grace, animalistic and pure, though she carries herself as if she were royalty – though her blood speaks of nothing other then mongrels.
She seems completely unsurprised by the information given. As if she’s already heard it – if not all of it. A lift of her chin invites Eve to continue.
[Eve Monarchos] When Kemp lets out a belch, Eve can’t help but make a disgusted face. How some can act with dignity befitting creatures of higher thought, and others who choose to …well, revel in base behaviour is beyond her comprehension.
When AnneMaries says nothing, Eve takes out a folded piece of pape and offers it to the woman.
“Today an e-mail arrived from the same Glasswalker theurge”.
((Reference forum thread))
[Kemp Oates] The disgusted look just made his day. If he could of farted on demand, he would of followed to the alley just to fart on the Lord after that face she made. Life was good when you could get a disgusted reaction from a female Lord. Snickering as he loaded up on carbonation again.
[AnneMarie Hoch] There’s a drop of her eyes to the paper, but she does not take it. Not for a long, perhaps uncomfortable – for Eve – moment. Her hand slips from her pocket, after a moment, and reaches for the paper, taking it between her fingers. One handed, slender fingers manipulate the paper to open it. There is a glance, and then her hand falls to her side once more, the paper held loosely between fingertips.
It is clearly not on Eagle Territory. It is clearly a Sept problem. It is completely unclear why Eve – of all people – feels the need to bring it to Eagle attention.
[Eve Monarchos] Her intuition tells her what AnneMarie is thinking, studying her reactionless expression.
“The Weaver doesn’t know or care for territorial boundaries. If disturbances like this are happening, then it won’t be long until the Eagles are afflicted as well”.
Eve inhales deeply, her chest rising slightly as she looks to AnneMarie now. They all have pride, and why not? They are proud creatures for a reason.
“I am new to this city and I do not know the Eagles well. I do not know if you have crescent moons who are capable of detecting or containing such a danger if it arises. But if it does, and if the will of Eagle would let me…I would gladly help”.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She smirks. Intuition cannot possibly tap all that she is thinking. Her own pack, tied by totem and bonded by blood, cannot claim such things. This little welp of a Lord cannot hope to do more then barely scratch the surface. AnneMarie has an expressive face, when she so chooses. What little is understood, is only because she allows it.
And she moves – quicker then thought, faster then imagination, to close the gap and place herself directly into the personal space of the Lord. Eve will move back, or be moved, until the press of bricks bite into her back, into her shoulders, into her skull as she must look up to the Modi. It is intimidating – for any who know of the Works of the Eagles. It is frightening to any who have even heard rumors. It is deliberate action on the part of AnneMarie, as is what happens next.
Her other hand comes from her pocket, holding a whiteboard, and pen. Still uncomfortably close, she writes. Her script is quick, neat, and easily readable, especially when it is placed directly under the ShadowLord’s nose.
You pathetic little welp. Your sept cannot continue to beg for Eagle to save you, then curse us once you are safe once more. You know of our Godi. It is he who built the defenses that protect Maelstrom. It is his work that protects the Eagles now. It is his work you shunned and his deals with the spirits you must keep in order to avoid pissing them off more the you have Eagles Brood.
Does the sept know you are here to beg for Eagle Strength again? Talk to your tribemates, little Eve, and learn what it is to be at the wrong side of Eagle tooth and claw. You chose your lot when you cast it with them. Eagles will not protect your scrawny asses now. Discover strength on your own, before you dare beg for our grace again.
Once she is sure every word is read, she wipes the board across her thigh to erase it, and steps back. A slow smirk, and she turns on a heel, and starts to exit the alleyway.
[Eve Monarchos] ((What!?! Eve wasn’t asking for anything though….*rae*))
[Eve Monarchos] As Eve is pressed to the brick wall, she frowns. When she reads, her eyebrows shoot up.
“Eagle strength!?!”
The words fall out of her mouth, she then snorts. Eve shakes her head and is tired to being treated like shit. She came to warn the Eagles…she came to offer a hand, and this is what she gets?
Insulted…the theurge might not have physical power, but she offers many different things. If this is the way Eagle responds…then so be it. At least Eve tried. Patience thin…the Lord leaves in a renewed sense of what Eagle really stands for.
[AnneMarie Hoch] There is a clear line drawn. The Sept chose their side. The Eagles theirs. Eagles do not go to beg for help. The presence of the Lord telling them what they already know simply translates to a request for aid. Eve may be new. Perhaps she will learn. At least it is the calmest of the Eagles she tried to offer aid too. Silence would not have waited so long, or been so forgiving.
AnneMarie pauses by Kemp with a slight lift of her brow. A request, if granted she will join him at the table. If not, she will keep moving.
[Kemp Oates] He glanced up from contemplating the wear on the soles of his boots. Arching a brow at AM with a snorted exhale as he pulled his other foot from the chair across from him. Pushing the chair towards her with the flat of his foot.
[Eve Monarchos] Anger boils in her body, keeping her warm against the winds of Chicago as she leaves for home.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She slides into the seat with a grace that speaks of the animal beneath her skin. She drops the paper, and her board on the table before her, setting her pen neatly next to them as she leans back in the char. Pale gaze lifts to watch Eve stalk off, amusement glittering deep within her gaze.
When she looks back to kemp, she lifts the pen, and writes simply. “How’s things?”
A loaded question, perhaps. But she has always liked the kid.
[Kemp Oates] “Heh.”
One idle look to the board had him reaching for his drink as he shrugged lazily.
“Still breathing. See you are too. Have fun in the alley?”
Smiling around his straw.
[Loki] “It’s tha quiet moments I lust fer tha most…” His voice appears from behind Annemarie, echoing out of the alley as he simply pours from the shadows, tracing his steps behind the silent Modi. A hand pull from the pockets of his cargo jeans, rose up to the right side of his face to start peeling of the bits of tape and gauze bandage there, leaving thin trail of fresh scar across his right eye and temple.
He blinks as his eyes adjust to the harsh glow of streetlight, tilting his head to look at the pair of Fenrir. One Eagle and one not.
“Ye piss tha little thing off, Annemarie?”
[AnneMarie Hoch] (brb – gotta run the kids down the street)
Amusement still twists through her gaze, as she lifts a shoulder in a shrug. Seems to answer both questions as she looks toward Loki. She opens the paper that she was given, glances over it again, then pushes it toward the two Rotagers to share the information.
Across her board, written. Seems so. She came to warn us of what we already know. Why a Lord was sent to do such, escapes me.
[Kemp Oates] “Don’t ask me man. I was not in on the tea party.”
Lifting his chin towards Lachlan’s face in general.
“See ya finally got that plastic surgery done.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] (back)
[Skadi] It’s still spring. For a day, or two, or three before the midwestern winter reasserts itself. It is still spring: balmy and warm, the damp ozone of a passing storm fills the air, and a low fog rolls off the river and the vast flat planes of the lake, drifting silently through the streets. Up and down the streets, the residents in the tenements and apartments, the brownstones, the cheap apartments tucked above the local businesses have flung open their windows. Even now that the sun has gone down and night has begun leeching the warmth from the air, many remain open. Snatches of television programs, hip-hop music, talk radio, domestic squabbles all rise and fall on the wind.
Loki appears behind AnneMarie; Skadi simply appears. Down the street, a half-block away, tall and thin, still, if subtly less skeletal than she was on her return. Blonde hair long and loose around her head and shoulders, visible through the mist as she walks down the sidewalk, then again as she joins Kemp at the rickety old table, sidling behind him with a subtle physical presence before claiming an old wrought iron chair, turning it around,and prowling through the wreckage of whatever meal Kemp might’ve had for a left over bite or three.
[Kemp Oates] His head turned as Skadi appeared and sat at his side. Sliding his plate towards her along with the remains of his drink. She was so thin it made his bones hurt. Part of a grilled ham and cheese with onions and pickles on it, some half stale chips and a slice of tomato.
“Hate veggies, but pickles are ok.”
Adding a belch for Skadi with a wiggle of his brows.
“Tastes as good as it smells.”
[Loki] “Ah, ye only wish… Pretty boy.” He snorts in Kemp’s direction. His eyes roam, falling on Skadi as he blinks; nostrils flare to breath in the other female’s scent. He takes a step to the table, standing on the other side that allows him to face the others, his back to the street.
“A little update on our current situation; tha Chrome Bitch’s moved in tae Chinatown, spider patrols, crackdown, law enforcement has picked up wi’ renewed response times… and it gets worse.”
He taps two fingers on the table, the fresh scars around his right eye wrinkling as one blue orb and one freshly healed brown eye narrow. “We’ve got drones, Kemp… this side.” He looks away, over his shoulder at the street, his voice falling in a low, almost conspiratorial tone.
[AnneMarie Hoch] In the presence of four fenrir, she is the odd garou out. One was never an Eagle, two were and walked, and her. She is silent – no surprise there, and once the paper is looked at, she folds it again under her whiteboard to be taken back later.
Skadi gets a slight nod of hello as well. Other then that, she simply listens.
[Kemp Oates] “On this side?”
Frowning with a look to Skadi as he muttered.
“Ain’t never heard of that, but this goes with the shit we done told about before and with what I seen when umbral downtown.”
His attention slid back to Lachlan.
“So that’s what happened to ya? Means won’t have to go hunting on the otherside.”
[Skadi] The blonde rejects nothing that Kemp has left behind. Veggies, pickles – the slice of tomato, limp, tasteless, an unappetizing pink, she eats those all at a go, all at a fucking go: ravenous as few can be – starved and still healing, still healing and starving, all wrapped up together. She uses the heel ends of the bread to attack a dollop of mustard on the crackling paper, inhaling it, as close to breathing as eating can get. She’s licking her fingers clean of whatever goup is left from her three second meal, salivating in anticipating of finishing off the stale chips, delaying the pleasure, briefly, momentarily, when she catches Kemp’s sidelong glance; from here, the ridged skin of the glyph carved into the Rotagar’s skin are just visible through the sweep of his shaggy hair.
“This is tha shit what got him? Tha shit tha guardians was gossipin’ on?” Her eyes are an astonishing blue; they sweep to Loki and fix on him.
[Kemp Oates] “Not sure if it was the exact one I ran into, but then again, I got the head cheese and I think it was the pets that got hold of ole Lacky here.”
Rising to fish into his back pocket.
“Ya need more to eat. I’ll get it.”
With that he swept the hair from the back of his neck, bending low to show Loki the glyph of the Weaver there.
“Someone gets pissed when ya go into sectors A1 and A2, and done warned someone else before running into me. No idea who it was, ain’t damned sure what the sectors are either, but is that who ya ran into?”
[Loki] His shoulders roll back in a small shrug, slowly shaking his head. “Nah, what got me is unrelated tae our problems wi’ tha prenumbra. Jus’ a…” he pauses a moment, dragging nails across the scar on his temple, scratching at the clear scab of skin that had formed. Whatever had got a hold of him had claws. “–had a visit from me brother, brought me a present… among other things.”
His mismatched eyes turn up to watch the other Rotagar, remembering what he said about sectors A1 and A2, the glyph sliding into his view. Again his head shakes, muttering, “…bloody hell.”
“There’s a construction site that’s goin’ up ‘ere in tha neighborhood not far from ‘ere I think. Saw city workers out late at night, surveying the grounds, they didn’t act human. Went tae take a look at it wi’ Bai, Evan and a new wolf-girl in town, but couldn’t get across… ‘twas too thick tae cross.”
[Loki] “I think…. it was Bai Chou, Vienos’ spirit talker that got warned. He’s been dealin’ wi’ a lot o’ this shite… Chinatown seems heavily hit by its influences.” he adds.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She watches, and listens. Though Silence has declared it a Sept problem, it never hurts to know what is coming your way, in case it does cross those lines, and they are drawn into the fight.
She folds her hands in her lap, slender legs crossing under the table as she smooths the crease along her thigh. She is attentive, listening, missing little to nothing as the other’s discuss things around her. For now, she is content to leave it at that.
[Kemp Oates] “Would of been nice if he passed it on, shit head.”
Brushing up against Skadi’s back with his hip as she sat there and he stood.
“So ya saying was your bro that did that to your pretty face? Heh, glad I ain’t got no relations.”
Stepping away to push the dirty door open, vanishing inside the small diner.
[Skadi] “Hell,” she drawls, to Kemp as he rises to pull out his wallet. “I ain’t come lookin’ fer ya ta make ya buy me fuckin’ dinner, but I ain’t gon’ say no.” The stale chips remain; and a smear of cheese baked into the wax paper on which the sandwich was served. She picks up the coke, full of half-melted ice cubes and rattles them against the sides of the glass, gauging how much liquid is left before tipping it back and taking a long drink – clearly unconcerned about Rotagar cooties, or perhaps too thirsty to care.
“‘N I don’t fuckin’ know who tha hell you is, neither. ‘R details, side what I done caught from some fuckin’ gossip at tha Caern. We gon’ do this shit up right?” The creature tips her head back, a casual gesture to ensure that they are along. And yet – unnecessary. Her rage ensures a distinct bubble of personal space. There are no other patrons on the sidewalk, at the makeshift collection of tables and chairs, sitting out on the warm spring evening, with the ghostly fog drifting through the filthy streets. She gives AnneMarie a flat, cursory glance, pale lashes shadowing her rich eyes, before her attention swings back to Loki. “I’m Skadi. Modi’n Fostern.” The faint curve of a small, but viciously promising smile. ” – just back from Valhalla, so I ain’t all up on tha local gossip ‘n shit.”
[Loki] He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twisting his body so one knee touches the pavement. His arms lay across the table as he crouched in front of it. Chin touching the edge, he gives Skadi a crooked grin.
“Lachlan Sköllson, Eyes o’ Loki, Fostern and Rotagar.”
[Kemp Oates] He wasn’t gone too long, which probably attested to just how fresh the meal was. Juggling a paper plate piled with two of the same ham and cheese sandwiches he’d had before. A chip tumbling off as he spun with butting the door open, exiting ass first. Fingers hooked in the tops of two cups of Coke.
“Heh, finger food.”
Licking his fingers after he sat plate and drinks down.
“What did I miss?”
[Reyna Pilali] Would you mind another or are you all almost done? :)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Kemp Oates, Loki, Skadi, Tin Can
[AnneMarie Hoch] She doesn’t react to the sidelong glance from Skadi. In fact, it doesn’t seem that she reacts to much, though she is certainly listening to each of them in turn.
That she is quiet is unsurprising. That she remains sitting there with them all is perhaps raises a brow or two. Either way, however, she remains where she is seated, across from the ex-Eagles, with Loki crouched nearby. Her hands in her lap, her posture prefect where other’s slouch.
[Kemp Oates] ((I unfortunately will be leaving soon. I have to be up in just over 5 hrs for work.))
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can
[AnneMarie Hoch] (join in. *g*)
to Decker Rohl, Kemp Oates, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can
[Decker Rohl] (fuckin pussy! *LOL*)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Kemp Oates, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can
[Kemp Oates] ((Heh, blow me! LOL! ))
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can
[Skadi] “Ya got shit goin’ on in yer fuckin’ territory,” the ham and cheese appear in front of her; she tips her head back, golden hair sliding down her back, and bestows a rather savage grin of appreciation as Kemp slides back behind her, to his own chair. The stale chips hold considerably less appeal now, and she pushes them halfway across the table, pulling the new, fresh sandwich in front of her, fingers depressing the soft bread as she looks across the table at Lachlan. ” – an’ ya got drones, this side.” Recapping, now, to cement the facts in her mind. “Tha hell happened with tha drones? Yer fuckin’ spirit-talker gits a target, ya kin call on me. An’,” lifting her chin at the Rotagar beside her, ” – him, I figger. ‘Specially if ya find tha ugly ass fucker tha stuck that glyph on ’em.”
[Skadi] (I am heading out shortly too! Late! however: obviously I am not everyone. (grins) So please, pop in!)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Kemp Oates, Loki, Tin Can, winken
[Decker Rohl] (where are you people?)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (Just outside Eagle Territory random diner, sitting at the tables outside))
[Kemp Oates] “Ya know if it’s a scuffle, I’m in. It’s about the only physical contact I get that gets my rocks off.”
Snickering as took up one of the Cokes to suck a good part of it down before speaking again.
“Let me know.”
Belching with a satisfied smirk.
“Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”
[Loki] “Trust me, if there’s a scuffle I’ve got tha two o’ ye tagged tae drag along. Seems Chinatown ain’t tha only place bein’ hit, but its tha place wi’ tha most concentration o’ tha action. I think it needs more investigation… but when I’ll keep ye informed.”
[Kemp Oates] “Heh. Works for me.”
Rising with a scrap of metal on cement as he pushed the chair back with the back of his calves.
“I gotta go see a man about a horse. Walk the lizard. Drain the main vein. Release the monster. Unfold the magic carpet. Check the water temperature. See how deep the pool is.”
Stretching in an overhead reach with a faint cracking of his joints.
“See if I can find Lloyd, he talks to the air, might of heard some more shit about this, never know.”
[Decker Rohl] It’s a shit part of town with a shit diner with some shit tables outside. The four Fenrir are about the only ones outside as the nighttime temperature drops, but they’re surrounded by ambient city noise. Busses roaring by. Cars at the stoplight. Pedestrians on the opposite side of the street. The loud cackle of some coked-up girl up in the apartments over the diner.
Then another bus comes by and its doors open. There isn’t a single sound inside the bus. There’s a pause. Then Decker comes out the rear doors, taking the jolt of the steps smoothly, easily somewhere in the pistons and springcoils of his muscles and joints. He has a dufflebag gripped in hand, the strap hanging. The bus roars off almost before his heel leaves the step, running a yellow light to get away. The silence seems to spread around him as the night takes a breath — and then Kemp’s chair grates out and breaks it, and the world resumes its pace.
Decker throws his bag. It arcs right over their food; its hanging strap catches on someone’s straw and knocks the drink over; it thunks heavily into the empty seat next to Skadi. The chair tilts backwards, about ready to fall, and then thinks better of it and clangs back onto all fours.
“Siddown, Truth-in-Frenzy.” Decker takes the seat across from the one his bag occupies. The last time they saw him he looked like shit. Sick to his stomach, vomiting blood, and that wasn’t even the fun part. They missed the part when his bones started melting and his skin stretched like taffy. Oh, but that shit is done with. This time, he looks like two hundred pounds of murder. “This won’t take long.”
[Reyna Pilali] The weather had jumped from one extreme to the next, and it left Reyna scrambling through the local thrift stores for a decent coat. It cost her all of $7.00 and was heavy, warm and durable against the elements. She wore it tonight with old faded jeans and a thermal shirt beneath. The messenger bag she always keeps near is again thrown over her shoulder so the strap is across her chest and the bag rests against her hip. She was here for a reason, and Rey was headed down a familiar street her eyes scouring buildings as she walks.
[Kemp Oates] ((Awfuckme, it better not LOL!!! ))
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can, winken
[Skadi] “Ya better say fuckin’ excuse me’r I’m ‘onna start thankin’ yer a fuckin’ heathen. I mean,” a simmering, sidelong glance at Kemp. ” – I got delicate fuckin’ ears.”
Her blue eyes flare back to Loki. He is crouched on the ground, leaning forward, chin resting on the edge of the rickety old table scavanged from some second hand store by the cook’s wife. She’s sitting forward in a mismatched chair; lean and tightly wound as she hovers over the fresh sandwich she has yet to touch. The weight she has gained since her return is evident in her face, in the shade of it – filling out her cheeks and jawline, but her collarbones, visible through the thin weave of an old cotton t-shirt, are sharp enough to cut stone. Moments pass, and she’s silent. “Tha fuck happened – ”
A sharp glance up and across the table; Silence arrives and Skadi falls silent, eyes narrowed on the beast that was her Alpha, her face a mask of tension, the defined prominence of the bones beneath the new halo of fat, the muscle that spasms in her jaw.
[AnneMarie Hoch] The night goes silent, and her reaction to it is a ripple of tension across her shoulderblades, a straightening of an already ramrod straight poster, a tightening along the back of her neck.
Pack. Not just any pack. Silence.
He joins them, settles to the seat next to her, across from his bag. She turns to look at him, lifts her chin in traditional hello. A brow lifts, slightly, as he tells Kemp to remain. Fingers smooth restlessly along the crease of her slacks against her thigh once again, before returning to calm fold around her other hand.
[Kemp Oates] For a moment a single brow lifted. Last time he saw Decker, he was told to get the fuck out of there. Now he wanted him to sit? Several things went through his head like grease through a goose, lickety split as he slowly lowered to the seat again. Green eyes glinting behind the long strands of shaggy brown hair the curtained them.
[Loki] The Rotagar doesn’t flinch or bat an eyelash at the appearance of Decker. His head turns in a curious tilt, lifting his chin off the edge of the table as he continues to crouch on the ground, never once bothering to take up a chair. His lean frame starts to unfurl from its position once Decker takes a seat. Lifting up his arms to tuck them behind his head, hands cupping over the nape of his neck with the fingers intertwine.
“Turned in tae quite tha party now… won’t be a human ‘round ‘ere fer miles.” It had become a congregation of Fenrir…
[Reyna Pilali] The diner is simply an unexpected convience on her way somewhere else. With one hand the sleeve of her coat is pushed up and she casts a cursory glance at the watch on her wrist. Pushing through the door the immediate flow of tension is obvious. Through shoulder length brown hair she steals an unobtrusive glance the growing groups way. At the counter she smiles to the nervous waitress and orders a large coffee to go.
[Kemp Oates] Slowly his head turned to level the nearly hidden green eyes on Reyna for a moment. A few dark strands of hair wisping across his nose and cheek with the play of the wind. Just as slowly his attention shifted back to the gathering. Chest expanding with a deep inhale.
[Kemp Oates] ((fading fast))
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can, winken
[Skadi] (…yes: it’s late. Like Blu, I have to go to bed soon. Or twenty minutes ago!)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Kemp Oates, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Tin Can, winken
[Decker Rohl] “Shut-up,” he says as Loki speaks: just like that, like two halves of one word, shutup. Casual. Offhanded, even.
The Modi settles into his chair then, throwing one arm lazily over the back, tilting it on two legs to survey the gathered Fenrir. He lets them wait. He lets the silence stretch while his heavylidded grey eyes bored holes in them, moment after moment.
“Well, ain’t this fuckin’ nice.” It’s almost friendly, conversational. “A l’il tea party with Sits-on-Fences,” Loki, who had the great misfortune to be present when Decker was feeling less than polite, “Backstabbin’-Pack-Breaker,” Skadi, “‘n tha No-Tongue-Rotagar.” That last, surprisingly, would be Kemp.
“Heard you been talkin’ ta Imogen, Kemp. Fuck’s up with that shit? Huh?” He bares his teeth: maybe it was some sort of smirk, some sort of grin. “You kin talk ta Imogen, you kin talk ta Annemarie here, you kin talk ta Loki, you kin talk ta this twofaced bitch you been followin’ around like a blind dog, but ya cain’t come’n talk ta me. You kin skulk around behind my back, listenin’ while that bitch drips poison in yer ear ‘n puts daggers in my back, ‘n you never once thought ta come ta me ‘n tell me nothin’.
“That where we stand now, kid?”
[AnneMarie Hoch] In Kemp’s defense, there hadn’t been much talking between the two of them. But she does not voice that, as self-preservation is a powerful thing. It’s what causes one to fight until they can no longer lift a finger, and sometimes, it is what causes one to remain silent on all levels, rather then say something.
It is the comments about Skadi that get her attention the most. She turns to look at Decker, studying him for a long moment. There is clearly more to the split of pack then she realized, that she did not know. But in the end it is just a look, a glance, that results in nothing more then a tightening of her jaw, a press of her lips, before those expressions too fade into controlled relaxation.
You can learn a wealth of things by simply… listening… after all.
[Kemp Oates] “How about, I done tried to talk to ya at the packhouse and ya told me to fuck off?”
Rising with that.
“So ya see, “Tells Everyone That Ever Gave A Fuck To Kiss Your Ass”, ya don’t exactly make the attempt to make yourself available for shit, do ya? This from the guy that done told me to fuck off again when help was offered after that shit that went down the other night too. Forgive me if I find it a little hard to try and be all happy happy, woohoo, let me chase your ass down so I can be told to piss off again. And yeah, it was a nice fuckin tea party, but I gotta go piss now. Can’t wait. Take a rain check if you happen to be in the mood when that time comes. Got toilets to see, water to flush, on and on.”
Lifting his chin towards his former Alpha. Adding.
“I done talked and talked and at the moment, I’m trying to keep the chaos at bay that ya done stirred up again. Heh. Fucked in the head Deck. That’s what I am. Fucked in the fuckin head. And now, have a good one cause this boy done gonna take his fucked up head out of here.”
For maybe the first time ever, he turned and strode off with his parting words.
[Kemp Oates] ((Heh, I must sleep before it ends up in this chair that I sleep. Night all!))
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, Tin Can, tumbleweed, winken
[AnneMarie Hoch] Night kiddo!
to Kemp Oates
[Tin Can] (G’night Mate)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Decker Rohl, Kemp Oates, Loki, Reyna Pilali, Skadi, tumbleweed, winken
[Decker Rohl] How about, I done tired to talk to ya at the packhouse–
And that’s as far as Kemp gets. Decker stands first, and when he stands, he lifts the whole damn table and sends it crashing off to the side… somewhere.
“It was already too late at tha packhouse ‘n you fuckin’ know it.” One line, so full of rage that quiet as it is it stings the air. “How ’bout you talk ta me alone, in private, before Pack-Breaker here comes walkin’ ta tear shit up. How ’bout you talk ta me soon as Pack-Breaker starts hissin’ in yer ear, ‘stead’a whinin’ at me ta holdjer hand by tha time she already filled ya full’a shit. How ’bout you act like tha brother you say you is instead’a some–”
And there he breaks off, clamping down sharply. His bag’s chair has fallen over after all; his bag is lolling on the ground. He doesn’t fucking care. He stands there deaf to it all, waiting for the kid to go.
[Skadi] “How about, Silence-rhya,” Skadi stands now, furious. Her features are a vision of stark control, a silent snarl, “you talk ta yer fuckin’ pack, afore you made fuckin’ oath-breakers’a them all.”
The table goes crashing, but she’s already standing; turned, and walking away.
(…in the future, heh. This sort of thing REALLY needs to start earlier for me. I have to be up in six hours, and I’ve been physically exhausted this week, since I was sick all last week. Later!)
[Kemp Oates] “How about talking is a two way street? How about ya told me ya didn’t want to have nothing to do with me when ya said ya ain’t my fuckin father? How about ya threw my love back in my fuckin face? How about now that ya done ruined everyone’s meal, I leave cause it takes something like this for ya to fuckin talk to me? How about I’m fuckin torn the shit up inside an ya don’t give a good damned fuckin shit and now ya done made me lose my temper. Thanks Deck. Nice talking to ya and maybe next time? You’ll decide for once to fuckin talk to me instead of snarling and expecting the blind devotion I done always followed ya with?”
Shaking his head as he strode off into the night with a wave over his head with the typical teen farewell.
“Whatever.”
[Reyna Pilali] Reyna was waiting for her coffee with a few crumpled dollars held firmly in two thin fingers. A glance is cast instinctivley back at the loud crash and the uprising of an angry, Rage filled voice. The muscles beneath her coat tense and tighten but she looks away a frown distorting her young face. Thanking the waitress she takes her coffee in one hand and heads for the door.
[Decker Rohl] (for the record: decker never raised his voice above normal. though the others might’ve shouted, heh)
[AnneMarie Hoch] He stands, and the table goes flying, and with it her whiteboard, pen, and the piece of paper given to her earlier. Along with it – Skadi’s dinner, the drinks, and the chair with the duffle bag gives up it’s tenuous hold on gravity and topples over.
Skadi snarls something, and walks away, and AnneMarie remains where she is. She did not break her oath, and that makes her lips curl into a silent snarl. But still she remains. Silent and impassive, listening to it all, remembering it all, as if she were a skald as well as a Modi. Some tales need remembered. This is one of them. Some also require sitting and keeping ones mouth shut. This is definitely one of those.
[Decker Rohl] In the wake of that small cataclysm, Decker straightens his chair and sits the fuck down like nothing happened. Nevermind that the table was gone, and AM’s whiteboard and marker, and all the food and drink and two ex-Eagles.
“Fuck’s good here?” he snarls, reaching for a menu off the neighboring table.
[AnneMarie Hoch] (running down the street to pick up the girls – brb.)
[Loki] Sits-on-Fences… A tick forms in the line of his jaw, his eyes skewer into thin slits, pinned on Decker as the Eagle’s Modi spoke. His arms drop from behind his head, pulling down to cross over his chest. The eyebrow over his blue eye quirks up at Kemp’s reply, looking on as the other Rotagar said his peace and left.
The tables suddenly turn, more like go crashing on the ground. He moves, side-stepping out of the table to skirt around an empty chair. He turns with a snap of his head to settle his eyes on Decker. Skadi slips through his peripheral, leaving Loki with the remaining two Eagles.
“Why don’tcha go ask tha bloody waitress who ye probably scared tha piss out o’.” he says with a wry grin.
[AnneMarie Hoch] (back)
[Decker Rohl] Decker lifts his eyes from the menu to pin Loki with a brief, terrible stare. There’s a promise of violence there; a charge of dynamite that really should’ve gone the fuck off except Skadi’s ass scooted out faster than this player can type. Then he flips the menu over, looks over the drinks.
He briefly locks eyes with a waitress inside, waving her over. If this were anyplace but the Green, the cops would’ve been called. This being the Green, the waitress had been taking cover behind the counter, waiting for shots to be fired, and only now cautiously rises from behind it. It takes her a bloody long time to come out all the same.
There’s no conversation from Decker in that time. Though he does, after a moment, get up and right the table.
[AnneMarie Hoch] The ham and cheese, with chips. Seems to be a favorite, judging by the amount that just hit the floor. Her mental tone is wry, the slight smirk that graces her lips matching it perfectly. She glances over toward the waitress, and watches Decker right the table. She looks for her whiteboard, then to her Alpha with a pointed ‘forget something?’ type of look.
Though it’s tinged with amusement, and she does not expect him to get it. Nor does she move to retrieve it herself, just yet. She does add, however. That folded piece of paper. A Lord dropped it off, shows where things umbral are going haywire and offered her aid if we could not control our borders. I sent her away fuming.
[Cole Berkeley] The door of the garage is open, as it has been nearly every night for the past week. The new guy is closing, because the new guy is closing every night this week. ‘Cept Friday, of course, but that was settled at the outset. The office to the side is dark and the door is locked, all the warmth and light coming from inside. There’s a ’94 Saturn with the hood popped in the garage, and a lean figure leaning over the engine block. One earbud from a pair of headphones is in, its mate dangling along his chest. The CD player is crammed into a big pocket of his cargos, music blaring from the loose headphone (when your isms get smart).
[Loki] “Ah, such lovely eyes ye got, Silence, tha death glare warms me right ‘ere.” The fingers of his hand close into a fist, pounding it over his left breast, as he pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, sniffing, and then suddenly cackles with laughter.
He shimmies away from the upturned table, getting out of the swiping reach of the Eagles and takes a longer way around a few tables to slip into the diner, possibly to go sweet-talk the waitress into calming down, or simply make some escape from Decker’s testiness.
[Joss] Ever enter a room just after an argument and feel the aftereffects of the fight lingering in the air like toxin? It’s a particularly unpleasant circumstance to find yourself in, particularly if you’re a stranger to those fighting.
Or, a relative stranger, anyway.
A brunette pushes into the cafe behind a handful of other late nighters, her appearance nothing if not — artistic. Baggy jeans, oversized work-shirt and a knapsack on her back, a pencil stuck behind one ear. Though it’s not any real particular physical attribute that’s interesting about the girl — it’s that she’s so innately ordinary. Messy hair that’s scratched as she slides onto a barstool, one sneaker tucked under her bottom. The most interesting thing about her is the total sense of detachment she carries about the sweltering rage in the small space.
She helps herself to a donut from beneath a display case, and bites into it.
[Reyna Pilali] The sweltering heat of Decker’s Rage had aggravated Reyna’s. Now she sips her steaming coffee and heads off down the sidewalk, boots against dirty pavement. Fingers tuck back a few strands of dark hair while hazel eyes pay careful attention to her surroundings. The open garage door is caught in her sidelong vision and soon has capture the whole of it as she drinks her fresh coffee.
[Decker Rohl] Decker snorts. ‘cceptin’ help from a Shadow Lord’s like ‘cceptin’ tha Devil’s ‘all this I will give ya’ clause. He glances at the map briefly, then folds it into fourths and slaps it back down on the table. Harder than strictly necessary, one might add. The table’s empty. Nothing jumps, nothing gets knocked over. The splatters and stains so sidling a little further out, though.
The silence that surrounds him is dark. If his mood had been foul before, it was beyond mention now.
[AnneMarie Hoch] I know. It is not like the offer was meant as she was attempting to put it off, either. I am mute, not stupid. Some day, people will discover that. He is fuming, and the differences between them are stark and sharp in contrast. Should the Hounds see them now, it is clear that she has far more control then they ever gave her credit for.
Decker slaps the paper on the table, and settles into the foulness of his mood. She watches the rotager as he scoots away, and shakes her head, slightly. Eyes of Loki, there, has had problems with these happenings as well. Seems everyone wants to kiss our ass again, now that they are so soon in danger of loosing theirs. A soft sigh, escapes before it is bit back again.
[Cole Berkeley] The guy in the garage has floppy hair. He’s got on a very stylin’ work shirt with a name patch on the chest pocket, a dingy white thermal shirt underneath it. The jeans he’s got on are stained with motor oil and has a couple spots that don’t look quite black enough to pass for engine grease. There’s a shop towel hanging out of one of his back pockets that swings like a tail as he stretches for some out-of-reach part inside the car.
He stands up with a look of consternation on his face, brows furrowed. With a roll of his shoulders and an arch of his back to try and pop it, he looks out at the street, willing it to be just twenty, thirty minutes later than it is. About to bend back over, he sees someone standing out there and, after a second of hesitation, calls out. “Hey! Um…girl? Can you help me with something real quick?” Presumably…since there’s not a lot of people out after dark on this particular street…he’s talking to (at) Reyna.
[Loki] Loki eyes Joss as he hits the counter, motioning over to the waitress that stood behind it, a pot of coffee clasped between her fingers. He crooks a finger at her, leaning most of his frame over the counter and murmurs something to her when she gets close enough. He reaches behind him to shuffle his wallet out of his pocket and slips her some money.
With a wiggle of his eyebrows, waiting until she has taken it, he pushes back from the counter. Looking around at the inside of the diner and then back out towards the window at Decker and Annemarie; he shakes his head, spinning on his heels and heads for the men’s room.
[Decker Rohl] They’ll learn ta stand on they own. Decker arches his hips up to dig in his back pocket for his wallet, then stands. ‘r they fuckin’ won’t. I don’t givafuck.
“Fuck’s takin’ so long,” he says aloud, and grabs his menu to go find the damn waitress himself.
[Loki] (And I… am out for a bit. I need to head off and do some stuff. Thanks for the scene. Night, guys.)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Cole Berkeley, Decker Rohl, Joss, Reyna Pilali
[Reyna Pilali] She’d been watching the space beyond the open garage door. Her eyes had slowly begun to fix on the bent over form of a boy. Even still his barking words make her shoulders pull back straight and her eyes to narrow into thin slits. Most sane women would not be out on this street – in this neighborhood – alone. They certainly wouldn’t approach a stranger in a garage because they yell at them for help. Not Rey. She has an insatiable curiousity and so she readjusts her the bag across her near flat chest and starts towards Cole.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She could add what she is thinking, but instead it is said by gaze alone, and to her Alpha’s back. He moves to find the waitress, and she sees the edge of her whiteboard, and stands to retrieve it, and the pen nearby. She returns to her seat, angles her chair so that anything spilt on the table before won’t end up in her lap, and takes the folded paper and tucks it into her coat pocket.
She slides her whiteboard across her thigh, where the darkened stain suggests it is cleaned often, before setting it on the table before her again. She holds the pen, however. It gets lost easier. Otherwise, she is quiet, watching Decker stalk his dinner, and Joss sit at the counter. And half a dozen other things that mean exactly nothing.
[Joss] The exact manner in which Decker Rohl folds his arms over his chest is what Joss is studying in the mirror behind the bar. Loki is glimpsed much the same way by pale green eyes — eyes that are the shape and distinctly mannered the same way as a capricious feline. They narrow marginally at the Modi’s form before dropping to the napkin in front of her, scattered with donut crumbs.
It’s become something of a sketchpad, with the black lines of a hunched figure scowling up at her on it, her quick, slender fingers making fine work of Decker’s head and starting on the outline of the woman seated beside him.
The old man on the stool beside her, who smells like engine oil and sweat is watching her with idle fascination, eating diner food and sipping lukewarm coffee. “S’good,” He chews, and the girl glances up, hunkering her shoulders slightly and shrugging without comment.
She turns her attention back to the figurines on the napkin.
[Cole Berkeley] Boy? Boy? Ain’t no boy in his twenties that…well…okay, so he looks a bit on the young side. Its the way that his frustrated confusion seems to rest quite seriously on his features. As she gets closer, he digs into a pocket for the keys and then gives her a nod to let her know to expect them. “Catch,” he says, before lobbing the keychain towards her. He behaves as though there’s nothing much strange about her being out there alone, or the fact that she didn’t tell him to fuck off. Cole does give her a second glance, though, a flat once-over that speaks of his own curiosity.
With a jerk of his noggin towards the Saturn, he says, “Mind trying to start it up? I gotta…” he waves the socket wrench in his hand at the engine loosely, “…stuff. With the thing.”
[Decker Rohl] AnneMarie can see Decker through the windows. He leans over the counter, says something, gets told something, looks disgruntled, is replied to, says something else, puts money on the counter, walks out. Stops. Shoves the door open and leans back in. This time AM hears it — “‘n I want it to-go.”
Joss, of course, hears the entire conversation, which runs so:
“Where’s my fuckin’ waitress?”
“Your friend just ordered for you.”
“What?”
“That guy.” A nod at the bathrooms. “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
Money on the counter. “Don’t need his fuckin’ charity.”
And then he’s out, only to turn back briefly (“to-go.”) before the door slams behind him. If he’d noticed Joss at all, it’s not apparent.
Once outside, though, he drops into his seat again. “Girl from tha docks is inside,” he tells AnneMarie. “She’s one’a ours. Might wanna say hi ‘n shit,” a smirk, brief. “I ain’t in tha fuckin’ mood.”
[Reyna Pilali] Stuff with the thing. That was a wonderful explanation for Rey because she wouldn’t have understood technical jargon anyway. Cole nods and throws the keys at / to her and with fairly quick reflexes she steals them out of the air when they get near enough. She isn’t driving, so she doesn’t bother to tell the mechanic that she cannot drive. For a brief moment she turns the keys over in her hand and doesn’t move. Then, as if shoved by some unseen presence she nods and mumbles something before climbing into the car.
Seconds tick away as she tries a few of the keys before finally finding one that fits. The engine sputters and stammers before she considers that maybe a bit of gas might make it start. That, of course, does the trick and behind the wheel Rey smiles with a bit of self-satisfaction.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She arches a brow and casts him a very dry look. There is amusement glittering in pale gaze, however, and it twists even across her lips briefly. Might wanna say hi’n shit.
Alright.
Simple as that. Though she doesn’t move just yet. She knows he’s in a foul mood, but there’s something… What you said to them. Kemp and Skadi, of course. She did this on purpose?
There is no love lost between herself and the other modi. but this would be a definite problem.
[Decker Rohl] Don’t wanna talk ’bout it.
It was final.
[AnneMarie Hoch] It’s as good as a yes. She nods, and stands, and heads inside toward Joss. Other’s might touch his shoulder as they move by. But she is Fenrir. And Modi. And thus just moves inside.
[Cole Berkeley] And Cole waits. He glances at her with a slightly raised eyebrow at the mumbling that he can’t make out, waits – leaning over the engine – while she figures out the keys, and then digs in and twists something in the depths of the machinery while she applies gas. After a few seconds, he calls out: “Okay, cut it!” The engine, he means, if she can assume that much without struggle.
[Joss] Of course the issue will be that when AnneMarie does finally come in to say hi’n shit — there will be no sign of the girl from the docks. Which is peculiar considering that she came in the front door and so that must mean —
“She didn’t even pay, little shit.”
“You see where she went?”
— there is nothing there but her doodled on napkin, with two definitive figures sketched into it.
[Reyna Pilali] Nodding sharply the engine is killed and she wraps the fingers of both hands around the steering wheel. “Did you fix the thing?” She questions, lifting her bottom of the seat to peer at him as best she can from her position inside.
[Decker Rohl] The totemlink follows her:
You keep yer nose ‘n yer assumptions outta this. This’s my business. You step inta it, ‘r flap yer tongue ’bout it, ‘ll fuckin’ take it out on yer hide.
As AnneMarie is moving in, a waitress is coming out with a bag of … whatever it is Lachlan ordered. She skitters aside like a marble to let the female Modi through, and then squeezes through the door sideways like a harried crab, afraid to turn her back on either. When she gets to Decker she practically drops the bag on the table. He rights it after she leaves, folds the top of the bag down into a serviceable handle the way kids carried their lunchbags.
Headin’ back. He grabs his food as he stands.
[Cole Berkeley] First words she’s said since she walked in, if you didn’t count her talking to herself. Cole, meantime, slams the hood shut. The thing around his neck has slipped out from under his shirt and hangs from his throat for a moment, a length of thick string with a delicately carved piece of wood at the end of it. It seems like it could break in half if you put any effort into it, that dark-stained thing in what almost looks like an elongated letter S.
He shakes his head to the barely-heard question. “It’ll take awhile. I gotta get a thing…for the…yeah.” He waves the tool at the Saturn’s hood, tucking the pendant away with his free hand as soon as he notices it fell out. Cole looks at her and gives her a nod. “Thanks.”
[Reyna Pilali] Hazel colored eyes peer at the stranger. She’d seen it peek out. That thing around his neck. When she slid out of the car and tossed him his keys she saw it. Reyna is a plain girl with an attractive, yet borderline plain and simple, face. She wears no make up and her clothes are far from ‘girlie’. To his words she nods, though her attention is on his neck. “That was pretty. Was it an ‘S’?” The question comes on the eve of her hand lifting to flick a finger toward his neck.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Fuck off, Silence. I didn’t say a goddamned thing. Didn’t even assume. Perhaps you should take your own advice.
And then she’s inside, and going toward the counter, where all that is left is the little drawing. She smirks, pockets it, and then belatedly toward Decker. Hunt well.
She waits until he has gone, before she leaves as well, and resumes her patrols.
[Decker Rohl] There’s nothing but a brief, short snarl over the totemlink: a warning, and not a threat. Then it shuts down.
[Cole Berkeley] Hazel meets blue, one of those powdery, feathery blues that makes someone’s eyes always seem a little on the naive side – or maybe just a little on the terminally earnest side, which is almost the same thing. But that’s just the color. The actual look he wears is more considering, like he’s figuring something out. Probably what to do to the Saturn to make it work again, however it’s broken.
As she had before, he catches the keys one-handed, snatching them out of the air as they hurtle towards his chest, or throat, or face. He furrows his brow a little at her, then blinks and looks down as though trying to see his own neck. Since the pendant is tucked away again and you can’t really look at your own neck by turning your head down, he fails miserably at this effort and looks back at her. “Nah, ‘s…um…somethin’ my da made.” He doesn’t speak with an Irish accent, or really any identifiable accent (or, perhaps, the accent of those kids who never stayed long in one hometown), but he uses a term that is typically associated with certain ethnicities and regions.
Cole himself isn’t all that much to look at. What muscle he has is lean on his bones and mostly hidden by his clothes. He’s scruffy, not least because he’s got motor oil and grease under his fingernails, in the cracks of his knuckles, staining nearly everything he wears, but also because he doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a day or so. His nose is a bit too round and blunted to make him look fierce. “Family thing, right?” he adds, and shrugs pointlessly.