[Skadi] “You wear fuckin’ ponchos, ya fucker,” Lloyd comes into earshot. Skadi isn’t quite vicious, not precisely, but the half-grin falls away, leaving her mouth flat and still. Her face is in profile to the Strider: the heart-shaped line of her jaw is particularly apparent now, with her long damp hair pulled away from her face in the complicated layers of a thick french braid, the hollow below her ear. Tendons stand out in her neck, and a certain rather virulent tension markers the twist of her spine. “Ain’t like you kin say nothin’ ’bout my taste in shit. An’ if ya do, I’ll knock ya down an’ paint yer toenails, too.”
Her mouth twists back into a brief curl at the tailend of the remark. She looks back at Kemp just in time to catch his gaze, briefly fixed lower than it should be, and her lean body stills again. She’s not breathing.
She’s not breathing; she’s just staring as the metallic pink thing unfolds from Kemp’s pocket like an endless line of handkerchief’s from a magician’s hat. The rain skews what line there is on the street, casting strange shadows across the porch, walking light across her face: and then, faster than either of them can quite see or wholly process – a full moon’s gift, that, always the first to act – she has swung herself off the low porch wall and closed the distance to Kemp in what seems to be a single step. grabbing the string bikini and tearing it out of his hand. There’s a stiffness to her manner, akin to outrage, but not so livid with fury.
“Fucking – fucking hell – ” Skadi breathes at last, if only to curse; she does not see Kemp’s face. If there was something aware, referential, even generous about the way she accepted the first gift, all that self-gratifying self-awareness has now disappeared, just that quick. “You cain’t – that ain’t nothin’, you cain’t thank about that shit, you ain’t – ” Absurdly pleased and absolutely furious and furiously embarrassed, in a way she rarely is, Skadi punches Kemp hard in the shoulder with her left hand as she struggles to contain all the complicated architecture of string in her right. “”Fuckin’ hell!”
[Kemp Oates] She moved so fast to snag and pull the string bikini top out of his pocket fully, that it was out before he realized she beat him to the tease. Grunting as he purposely staggered back with the punch to his shoulder. Rubbing it with an intent look to her face.
“Does this mean ya don’t want the other half?”
He was reaching into the opposite pocket with the question.
[Skadi] Abruptly, Skadi’s face is stained red. All the blood in her body seems to have been unleashed by the fine capillaries closest to her skin’s surface: a rarity. She isn’t the sort of fine-skinned, fine-boned thing who blushes, no: the sudden, furious flushing is neither delicate nor shy; it mirrors the hot flare of rage that scorches up her spine, leaving the ahroun breathless, blind to anything that isn’t in her immediate field of vision, and deaf to all but the pulse pounding in her ears.
Lloyd’s presence is wholly forgotten.
“Pull somethan’ else out an’ I’m’a make you eat it.” She replies, staring him full in the face, both hands fisting around the straggling remains of one half of a pink metallic bikini. “Then pull it out yer ass an’ push it down yer gullet again.”
[Lloyd] “…Like I want a Labotomy. Put that thing away…”
He waves against the weight of the poncho, somewhere in Kemp’s posterial direction before swivelling in Skadi’s direction. The gaunt faced creature has the regard of patience. The substance of a wraith. Decidedly different from the electric slendernessof the Modi under the protection of the porch. As the two Fenrir exchange a flood of pleasantry, kindness, sweet memory and Hillbilly wonder, the Strider is left to watch with something akin to…
…Well, shock. Tales of Fenrir speak of Dying in glorious battle. Earning the right to be seated in Valhalla. Trusting things like Worry and Regret and Dementia to the other tribes and keeping what they Kill.
…But Pink Frillies and Blushables?
It is enough to keep him quiet on the vast majority of what is being said, from Skadi’s fashion remarks to Kemp’s inch by inch revealing comedy sketch. Out in the rain, he stands, tucking further into his poncho with only a…
“…Huh…”
To marr his gaunt features.
[Kemp Oates] “Fine.”
He turned, one hand on the railing as he swung over in a half vault to land with a splash and bending of knees on the sidewalk below.
“Remind me not to try to do nothing nice again? Never works out.”
Shooting over his shoulder as he lifted the hood back in place, heading for the street.
“But what ya keep wearing is wearing out. Besides, it’s like wearing the same damned pair of shorts everyday without changing.”
[Skadi] The blonde stands there for another moment, her features stained with the unbidden, unwitting eruption of her rage, staring at the place where the Rotagar stood; and the void there, immediately thereafter. She remains absolutely still, except for the fingers of her right hand, still reeling the slippery length of fabric into a ball, except for her eyes, lidding to ward off the sick headache that always seems to follow such a fountaining of rage. The air around her crackles with life; she opens her eyes just as Kemp hits the broken sidewalk, and then turns with all the coiling power of a striking snake to follow him. Briefly, she bares her teeth at Lloyd; it’s a feral warning, instinctual and unsubtle.
Her feet hit the ground a spare few seconds after him; her body compacts itself to diffuse the force of her impact, and then she is already standing, lengthening, following the tall young man through the patterned rain. “Ya caught me out, Kemp. I thought you were playin’ a Rotagar’s game on me, an’ ‘fore I knew it I couldn’t fuckin’ see straight.” He can’t see the effort it requires her to leash herself, after the near-break with reality, but perhaps he can hear it, low in her voice, breathless not from physical effort, but from the necessary chaining of beast to will. “That’s how it is sometimes. Don’t mean nothin’ more’n that. It’s just how it is, sometimes.”
[Evan McCollach] (Within Eagles territory or outside)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[Lloyd] Eyes and brow finally make an appearance, the hood pulled back with pinching fingers. Black eyes, dull and sunken deep into the skull, as if he’d slept perhaps a few hours in the last week or more, regard the pair of Fenrir. Observation patented by the Tribe of Wanderers, he seems to be doing a fine job of remaining invisible while this little moment plays out. All sorts of girlie fabulous and sweet hereafter.
Skadi’s teeth flash and he balks, just slightly, rearing back in his hood and poncho combination at the sudden display, though his feet remain planted against the tide of rAge that rumbles past. Fingers diddle in the rain, rolling in and out of the palms one after the other in an attempt to be rid of some of the nervous energy that’s spawned in the moments of awkwardness lining the night.
Then:
“…When you two are finished, I’ve got some business to discuss…” Tucking in under the Porch awning, with a wet shlump and a spastic shake of the head that tosses the cowl back around his neck.
[AnneMarie Hoch] (whereever. you start.)
to Evan McCollach
[Kemp Oates] His back was to her, stiff and straight as a board as he spoke over the patter of rain and hiss of tires with a passing car.
“Ya said once not so long ago. Get ya something pretty. Said, should pick it up on one of my little trips. So like a some dumb fucking asshole, I did it. It was pink, ya need it, so I got it. Guess I could of got one of them packs of days of the week undie things, but that would of got me what? Seven death threats instead of one?”
Shaking his head, back still to her.
“Ya know, I ain’t never, ever gonna understand women or Modi. And sometimes? Like ninety fuckin percent of the time, if I close my eyes, I couldn’t tell one Fenrir Modi I know, from another one of the other sex. Lot of the same, puckered assed reactions. Hit, splat, hurt, then think.”
Hood moving again with another shake of his head before he muttered.
“Sorry I got ya something. Won’t try again. At least it weren’t a vibrator or nothing.”
Which he had done for a friend once.
[Evan McCollach] Earlier he had planted himself within a small park, if the barebones trees and grey puddles that marked the area could be called a park. However it was time for him to start some patrols, catching the edges of the Eagles territories here and there. He had been trying his damned hardest to find a new area that he hasn’t visited before. But it was a bit hard. The low-income housing were all cookie cutters, each apartment building looking the same as the last.
The only thing that is familar is some of the faces he sees, some gangbangers who think they own this neighborhood. And he can feel their eyes on him, it was kinda hard to miss him too. A whitboy, with fiery red hair seemed to draw a lot of attention. But the beast within called to their subconscious. And they wrote him off calling him a lil’ punk or something like that. But he knew, they could feel it. They were scared.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She is more reliable then the mailman. No matter the weather, no matter the day, she walks patrols. Even on federal holidays – which is more then one can say about the USPS. And so it is, that she walks the length and breadth of the territory now, again. Step by step, one heeled boot before another, the tall and lean Modi moves with a liquid grace that gives hint to the beast under her skin.
Long leather coat, white buttondown blouse, dark slacks, boots. Makeup perfectly applied, her entire demeanor one of royalty – for all the fact she has none but the blood of whores and theives running through her veins.
and so it goes.
[Skadi] In the aftermath of her rage, Skadi is left drained. Not enervated: just this, drained, her senses alive, her nerves tingling, her coiled frame sparking tension like a downed electrical line, severed, might fountain with sparks. Her head is empty, all hollowed through, and the back of her skull throbs with a dull, frissionless ache that patterns a mirror to every beat of her racing heart. Skadi closes her eyes again. She is wearing nothing as protection against the rain, and in the space of thirty seconds, her t-shirt has already become soaked; it clings, translucent, to her torso, the flat triangles of her scapulae pulling like stunted wings as she shrugs, and shoves the skimpy garment from her right hand into her right front pocket.
“I fuckin’ tolja, Kemp,” she sounds tired; there’s a distance in her voice – maybe its the echo of rain – as she addresses his back. “I seen what warn’t there. One moment it was fine, an’ funny. An’ then it wasn’t. An’ I fucked up. I did not mean ta spurn your gift, an’ I’m fuckin’ sorry I done it. Ya hear?”
[Kemp Oates] “I hear and what happens when ya react on what ya see that ain’t there in a situation that matters? Something to chew on.”
He’d been scowling with his back to her, but to hear her say she was sorry, that made him wince. Doing what he did best. Forcing a wide smile into place as he turned his rain streaked face towards her in turning around.
“Don’t matter none. And here. The rest of it so ya don’t have to walk around showing your goods and turning my hair white or something.”
Tugging the bottom half of the string bikini from his pocket to wad up in his fist as he held it out towards her.
“Juan is waiting for us. Come on before he turns into a soggy taco peddlar.”
[Evan McCollach] The atmosphere changed constantly with around Michigan Lake, it was warm one day, the cold the next. Rainy, sunny, cloudy, the weather was just strange. However right now, the weather was a bit cool, but it was not cold enough to justify his mariner’s coat. So a light zip-up sweater as all he required to night.
His eyes constantly checking on the shadows are he walked. It was brisk and enjoyable, if it wasn’t for the environment he would think this was inviting. But as time went on, it seemed that the fates drew the two Eagles along the same path. Well as Evan turned the corner, he caught sight of his packmate AnnaMarie. However he did not change course. Heading directly towards her.
“Good evening.”
Formal and polite, Decker made it quite clear where Evan stood within this pack already.
[Skadi] “Turns into?” The rhetorical question comes hard on the heels of Kemp’s remark, a rote response, still shaded by the modi’s changeable tension. She grabs the other half of the garment, from the Rotagar’s hand and shoves it, too, into her right front pocket; there’s a furious economy to the motion, a staccato sharpness made more distinct by the way the shivering cold rain shunts the available light and narrows one’s field of vision.
Then: “C’mon.” To one, or both, as she vaults up the three low, stone steps, back onto the porch she has commandeered as her own. It’s a familiar setting, even if the ruined location is far from familiar: just another ugly building on another ugly street. Her boots – not the pink ones, tonight, not even cowboy boots, just a pair of ugly old shitkickers she seems to wear whenever she thought shit might go down, that needed kicking. – clomp on the wide stone steps. She takes all three at once, as if some display of physical prowess could dissipate whatever ugly thing had just happened.
[Skadi] Back, over her shoulder, to Kemp, as she gains the porch. “I done got you some co-cola.” Then, over her right shoulder, to Lloyd, just as she is bending over the lid of a cooler hidden in shadows pooled on the porch, an afterthought. “Ain’t got no Mexican drinks, though. Don’t know whatcha’ll drink, neither. Coronas? That it?”
[Lloyd] He’s bowed, elbows to knees, the Poncho half-off and hanging all sodden and heavy on one shoulder. Beneath is a sweater soaked through in some sections, damp in others, clinging just barely to the skeletal framework that hides beneath. Part of the upper chest is exposed, alongside a careful collection of circular scars, uneven and mismatched and incomplete beneath the greenish garment.
He’s forcing his hands into the bulk of the poncho’s lower half, pushing water out of it’s sodden depths and letting it roll down the porch steps and form tiny puddles around indents, pits and cracks in the aged staircase. His features, wane and streaked thinner by the rain, are marked in concentration, forcefully expending energy and effort in his attempt to squeeze the Storm out of his favoured fashionable.
“…And the Full Moon cracks a joke. Who would have thought it possible through all the Pre-menstrating Fisticuffs and Hillbilly Dialects…” Sarcastic, even a hint of venom carrying beneath it all. The rain and the weight clinging to his shoulders seems to have helped his mood none at all.
“Not I, said the Seer!”
[AnneMarie Hoch] Decker may have made it clear to Evan where he stands. Perhaps that even matches with where AnneMarie believes he stands. She is, as ever, determined to keep her opinion firmly on lock.
Fortunately, she has lots of practice.
He speaks, and she pauses in her walk, coming to a smooth stop as she studies him. The only reply, however, is a slight lift of a brow over pale gaze. There is no ‘eagle nod’. Some might infer something from that. They might be correct.
[Kemp Oates] He trudged up the steps, one at a time with a look towards Lloyd as he pushed the hood back down, once more that pink scrunchie coming into sight.
“Real men ain’t afraid to wear pink.”
Shoes making a scratching noise across the stone porch as he lowered to sit with his back to the building, knees drawn up loosely.
“Hey, thanks Skadi, think I can have one of them colas before ya kick his ass for saying ya got P M S?”
[Skadi] “I ain’t got PMS.” Her voice is casual, as she roots through the melting ice for the promised “co-cola.” What comes out could be any brand: after all, co-cola is an all-purpose referent in the deep south. Something like: Y’all want a co-cola? Followed by, a scant few seconds later, What kind?
It’s a coke, though, the can is distinctive, red and silver. Still bent over the cooler, she tosses it up, underhanded, to the Rotagar, then looks over at the theurge standing sodden at the foot of the steps. If the sharpness has been forced from her voice, it is still present in the long curve of her spine, in the long slabs of paraspinal muscles that border it. “‘cuz I’m pregnant. Y’all,” this would be the singular y’all, “havin’ anythin’, or what? I got beer or co-cola. An’ if ya git under tha roof where it ain’t caved in, tha work yer doin’ wrangin’ out yer fuckin’ poncho might come ta some fruition.”
[Evan McCollach] He moves up closer to the Metis woman, standing close enough to feel the primal instinct around her spark through the air. He understood it as her birth, mundanes would just see it as a pure preditor hiding in human skin. And half of that tempered his words.
“I understand you do not like me in anyway. But for the next three months are are bound. I will not pretend to have forgiven the trangressions yet, but Decker has taken me under his wing as Alpha, per Balance’s punishment. For that I shall do my best to work with you.”
He was calm and cool, even with the beast riding right infront of him.
[Lloyd] He’s murmuring under his breath throughout Skadi’s explanation and offer, entirely to himself and yet the Strider seems to speak with the air so often, that all attempts at an Inner Monologue probably got left behind a long time ago.
“Yes because kicking the shit out of a skinny man that Runs everywhere is really gonna impress Father Fenris. Bet he nudges a cup of Mead and some Fresh virgins in her direction after it’s done and yells-” He stops his poncho draining to flail hands above his head, eyes wide and staring off into the rain as his voice picks up in timber, low and ‘growlie’
“-Drink Up, ya Podunk Modi! You’ve earned it!”
Followed by a string of very nasty toned obscenities in a host of other languages, hands falling towards his Poncho again to continue the slow-going drain of waters, head finally swivelling around and returning to the Present, here and now, regarding Skadi with bloodshot eyes narrowed in question.
“…What you say?”
[Kemp Oates] He’d snagged the Coke out of the air, aiming it towards Lloyd in case it sprayed as he opened it.
“I didn’t do it.”
That was all he had to say on the subject.
[AnneMarie Hoch] A smirk twists across her mouth and whipcracked across Eagles wings comes her voice – surprisingly, her voice is mellow, soft, pretty in it’s mental incarnation. Unsurprisingly right now it vibrates with the full force of her moon. DO NOT pretend to understand ANYTHING about me, philodox.
It thrums through her, the promise of violence, the assurance that it will erupt. Though she does not move, she meets his gaze head on, in direct challenge. I do not ask, or need you’re forgiveness, child. You presume too much. It’s a mistake you should not repeat.
[Skadi] “Immaculate fuckin’ conception,” she snorts, straightening, another coke in hand, and a beer to set beside it, hard on the limestone railing, cracked and stained, damp from the rain, for all that it remains largely protected by the sweeping overhang of the porch roof. Her features are school, an attempt at careful neutrality that does nothing to disguise her disappointment when Kemp fails to fall for her bait. “Neither’a y’all got no reason ta thank on my girl parts. PMS bullshit or no. Anyway, what tha hell do Mexicans drank? Izzit tequila? Is that it?”
[Kemp Oates] “Jumping beans.”
His head tilted back as he took a long swing off the Coke.
“Got a question about that maculant perception shit. Is that like getting it off the toilet seat?”
Belching long and loud.
[Lloyd] He looks down at the Coke in her hand, blinking back from his own inner thoughts to rally to the current situation. A hand moves out to take the offered Drink, or accept it if it’s offered. In turn, he ducks and shies slightly as Kemp opens the hissing can of soda, fizz and foam soaring a whole six inches in Lloyd’s direction to splatter flacidly on the pavement infront of Kemp’s feet.
“…I wouldn’t know, I’m not mexican. I’m sure one o f the Vatos down on 45th and Madison might be able to tell you though.”
Pausing as Kemp brought about the finer points and details of Skadi’s birthing preference.
“…Ahem…” Throat clearing, his own coke popped with slightly more caution then Kemp had with his. It hisses.
“…I think we’re cooked…” He sips.
[Skadi] “S’how Mary got Jesus.” Skadi explains, with a patina of patience that suggests anything but lurks beneath the veneer. ” – direct from fucking god.”
[Kemp Oates] “Wait, she got Jesus from sitting on the toilet?”
Confusion showing with the knitting of his brows as he turned his head towards Lloyd again. Arms resting across the cradle of his updrawn knees.
“Who’s cooked? Whatcha talking about Willis?”
[Evan McCollach] Evan did not sway from her gaze, he would not. Her voice may have been soft and mellow across the link that they shared, but that meant little to him, her body language meant more. He could feel teh rage brimming within her, her moon was close overhead.
And yes, physically he was a child, but that was in the eyes of the regular world. However in the eyes of garou society, he was an adult, he was ready for responsibilty. She was just a cub now, he outranked her. he would deviate. And his voice, again spreading across the link.
I may be a child of Gaia, but I will not be intimidated by a cub.
[Lloyd] “No, Mary was just an impressive adulturer and Joe knee-deep in denial…”
He coughs again, clearing his throat of an obstacle, spitting it out between the rails and turning back to the pair before him.
“We’re cooked because we can’t hold the Hot zone” Fingers raise, ticked off one by one “The Fath’ra’tha are re-grouping. Wyrm hound wanderings are growing deeper into the Territorial boundaries and perimeters I’ve set up. The pollutants are gonna wreck havoc with the spiritual purity over the next few years and there just aren’t any numbers” The hand waves around the trio of them “Here to really hold the place all off and on like we have been.”
His neck cranes. Cracks. The motion and sound forces his eyes closed, age showing through those thinned features.
“…Nevermind that place out in Moraine Hills. Spread way too thin and we need Decades to hold what we’ve got. Decades and some good luck.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] She smirks, slow and sure. That is your first mistake. I am but a cub for a while. I have done more for this sept with my pack then you can imagine. I have worked tirelessly to become Eagle, to prove myself. You have not put in the time. You are Eagle only by our mercy, and only for a while. You are no brother.
She steps forward, and closes the distance between them, without looking away. I am Eagle. You are a liability. Your place in this pack is below my feet until you fight for higher as is the Eagle way. You stood by and watched your alpha fall. You challenged me then. You have done everything to get out of that challenge since. You are not even worthy to be Eagle shit. You were not even worthy to be a Hound. Just as Throat Ripper, you abandoned your responsibilities. You are worthless until you prove otherwise.
[Kemp Oates] “So what are ya saying there Lloyd ole boy? That it is hopeless and we should just give the fuck up and move on?”
Taking another swig with a following belch.
“Ain’t gonna happen ya know. I done heard the shit going around. Done seen what was going on umbral downtown, hear it’s been confirmed where A2 is too. Gotta be something we can do.”
[Skadi] “Ya fuckin’ look Mexican. In that fuckin’ poncho.” She lifts her chin, dark eyes catching what light there is, then, flashing bright. “S’disgustin’. Ain’t nothing like that. S’when tha baby ain’t got no daddy cos ya ain’t – fuckin’ hell. I ain’t pregnant. I ain’t that fuckin’ stupid. I ain’t a fuckin’ mare; tha world’s got about as much use fer a pregnant modi as fer an’ ‘gator on wheels.” A pause follows as she picks up her beer can – something cheap, money’s low now, tight, Natural Light or Pabst Blue Ribbon or Milwaukee’s Best – and pulls back the tab, releasing a hiss of carbonation from inside.
“Hey,” nudging Kemp’s ankle with her right toe, Skadi settles back on the wide porch railing. “Ya had any trouble since last night?” Her voice is low; her gaze flashes to Lloyd, below. “Striders come’n go.” It’s a mild non-sequitor. “What about you?”
[Evan McCollach] (Evan is 5’9, is AnneMarie taller?)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[AnneMarie Hoch] (yup. *L* she’s 5’11 without her boots. She’s 6’1″ currently with the boots.)
to Evan McCollach
[Kemp Oates] “Nope, no troubles since lastnight, why? Shit like anyone can pick me out of the dark unless I got a mind to be picked out? I was just one of a group that jumped in and murderated night working city workers or some shit. Ya had problems?”
Arching a brow at Skadi.
[Lloyd] “-And Fenrir Fight blind and Stupid.” Was the automatic rejoinder to Skadi’s comment on his Tribe, his eyes lifting to regard her as the next part of emerges.
“Duty before Dementia, Lady. I go when I need to. Not when it’s convenient.”
[Kemp Oates] “We fight blind and stupid? Bullfuckinshit. That’s like saying you ain’t ugly.”
Snorting as he reached behind his head to tug the scrunchie out, tossing it at Lloyd.
[Lloyd] He catches the scrunchie in his lap, eyeing Kemp with a half-smirk.
“That’s the point. You Fight about as blind and stupid as us Striders come and go. It’s easy to see it that way but don’t necessarily adhere to the Stereotypes. We’ve got our reasons just like you’ve got yours.”
[Evan McCollach] He would not look away, he only looked up into the eyes of the Modi, she stood 4″ his better. He was not going to back down with a cub. He was not going to do otherwise. He honored the law, he lived it and her words meant nothing in the end.
Tell me do you think two dishonorable acts cancel it other out then? We were given an order from an Elder. I made that plain as day, and yet you wished to dishonor yourself. I will not fall to such a disgraceful level and do not believe your mockery changes my thoughts on that.
His emerald eyes seemed to change, cloud, darken. No longer were they bright with optimism, they were clouded now. Dark pine seemed to come over them. His body did not shutter away from her, it only stiffened. He outranked her and he would make sure she remembered it.
I will stand the air of disgrace that encompasses you as long as I am bound under Eagle. But do not think I care for your weak taunts. I would stand by that challenge, if you had retained enough honor and rank to be able to voice such.
[Skadi] “Naw.” To Kemp, her gaze on his face is not precisely lazy, but shaded: a passing flicker that shaves back to Lloyd with his comment on their tribe. Then again, she is considerably more memorable than he. “I ain’t had no troubles. Ain’t gone nowhere, neither.” Two sentences for Kemp; through them both, Skadi’s blue are now fixed on the Strider. She is not showing him her profile, the perfect definition of the heartshaped jawline, the sharp profile, distinctive and arrogant: she’s looking him dead on, full on.
“I – ” clarified now, like she had managed to floodlight each word, a prickle of rage flushing across her senses like a heatrash. ” – was asking you a question, Strider. I was not maligning your fucking tribe. D’you fucking understand me?”
[Kemp Oates] “Heh, like ya got signals?”
Holding up one finger in a waiting motion.
“Wait for my signal.”
And that was the position he remained in for a very long moment before cracking up.
“Damn, forgot what it was, but you’ll know it when ya get a secret decoder ring. Your’s for only nine ninety nine plus shipping and handling and four box tops.”
[Lloyd] The gaunt features swivel to catch Skadi’s attention full on, smirk fading into a crooked sort of consideration, jaw left to hang askew of it’s alignment with the upper teeth.
“…I answered your question. I’m here until something more important comes up.” Pause. Beat. Eyes swivelling into the skyline.
“…And for the record, I’m well aware you weren’t maligning anything. I’m pretty sure any attempt would have been a lot less subtle. I was simply clarifying a potential mix-up for any future consideration.”
Smile. Oil slick and hollow on those sunken features.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Her lips twist in a knowing smirk. Weak. Fearful. You have no strength. You have no spirit. You claim my words ar weak when you refuse to back yours up with a spine.
And you.
Step forward, directly into him. He steps back, or she pushes him back.
by choice. another step.
do not answer to the Grand Elder any longer
Another step. Do you.
Her hand comes up then, and finds way to his chest, where she – summoning the Strength of Eagle, pushes him back. Violently and with full intention to knock him on his ass. This is business of pack and if you are too chicken shit to stand for your position, you will look up at me from your proper place at my feet. We are Fenrir. We are Eagle. You are worthless until you find balls to prove yourself otherwise. You belittle my words, but yours have nothing but quivering jelly below them.
[Kemp Oates] “Ok, all this shit aside. Ya sound like gloom and doom with all this talk of what is going on wrong here. But I ain’t hearing nothing saying what might help.”
[Lloyd] “…You say that as if there is a way to help it.”
He shivers slightly against the cold of the rain seeping through damp clothing. Hands rise to scrub and rub against sleeves and body.
“…As far as I know, we’re better off killing the Site then letting it get corrupt and become something worse.”
[Silence] (eagle turf? and since y’all have been squabbling on totemphone, i’ma say decker heard it.)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[AnneMarie Hoch] (Yup, and figured as much. *chuckles* And Evan – want me to roll that push? Either way is fine by me.)
to Evan McCollach, Silence
[Kemp Oates] “Wait, define killing the site and exactly what site? Are ya talking the little tree building? Or downtown or chinatown or the caern? Cause I done been through one destroying of a caern and talk all ya want, ain’t something I care to do again unless absolutely the last choice. Now, stop the mumbo jumbo talk and speak plain and true cause you’re giving me a fuckin headache.”
[Evan McCollach] (Nah.. I can role with it. And yeat they are on the edge of the eagle’s territory)
to AnneMarie Hoch, snail
[Skadi] The modi’s gaze remains fixed on Lloyd. She’s still. She’s not moving. The beer in her hand is cheap and bitter, but it hisses appealingly, and the liquid, pale as piss, in that cold metal can will do more to uncoil her nerves and loosen her limbs than anything else close to hand. So: she’s not moving. Her mouth is still, just like the rest of her, except when she flicks a spare glance at Kemp, at his profile, the shaggy hair falling forward around his face.
[AnneMarie Hoch] (alrighty – just for reference – she does have 8 base dice she would have rolled, and a +3 strength from eagle. heh.)
to Evan McCollach
[Lloyd] “…No we’re not goin’ to kill a Caern that would be silly.” Slow and methodical. Every word.
“…However, the place I’ve been guarding is grim at best. Wyrm’s growing bolder, more of it getting pressed deeper into Cabrini ’cause of the Weaver push from down South.” He sighs deeper into his sweater, shrugging the full poncho off to slop onto the stairs.
“…We’re looking at a good number of decades.” He pauses, emphasising with long drawn out hand motions “Decades of time before it comes even close to being useful to us. Until then it’s just a Gaian wellspring. Incapable of being tapped but wholly possible for it to be corrupted.”
[Evan McCollach] (Its +3 Str.. oh I thought it was only +1 Str)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[AnneMarie Hoch] ( Nope, +3. Eagle is mighty. )
to Evan McCollach
[Evan McCollach] That was all he needed, everyone always thought that the children of Gaia had no spine, that they were inable to stand up for what they believe in. That was a grave mistake indeed. And as she pushed his chest, he does take a several few step back, trying to absorb the push. But now he was beyond pushed.
True, this is pack business… so I guess I better ‘teach’ you that I will stand by my word. I cannot honorably challenge a cub, but I sure as hell can guide you however you see fit.
[Evan McCollach] (Let me ask, which book is Eagles totem from. There are like 4 different ones. And I am sure this isn’t the Child of Gaia Eagle totem)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Silence
[AnneMarie Hoch] (It’s not. It’s modified Thunderbird if I remember right.)
to Evan McCollach, Silence
[Silence] (it’s actually Thunderbird, from the wendigo book. back then there weren’t any other Eagle totems yet *LOL* then the SFs popped one out, the Coggies another…)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[Kemp Oates] “Ok, so why don’t we push back at this shit, cause it ain’t going away and it just going to keep coming and taking more if we sit on our collective asses. And frankly? I ain’t gonna live decades. I ain’t got that much time here to spend, ya know?”
[Evan McCollach] (Oh okay. Sorry, would I be able to get a small run-down on Eagle’s traits and ban then. I never actually picked up the Wendigo Tribebook. )
to AnneMarie Hoch, Silence
[Lloyd] “…And we all sort of keep pushing and pushing and pushing until each of us is dead and the place gets corrupted anyway.”
He stares at Kemp. Then ’rounds on Skadi.
“Dunno, I kinda like it. Bitter, morose, Futile. Reminds me of Marriage.”
[Kemp Oates] “Awfuckme, making my brain fuckin hurt.”
Tossing the can at Lloyd after crushing it in his fist.
[Skadi] “Next time ya decide ta clarify potential mix-ups fer any future fuckin’ consideration,” his words, verbatim, in her drawl: not belle, but hillbilly. It’s not mockery. It’s too measured for that. “yer ass better make sure thatcha ain’t malingin’ Fenris, his brood ‘r his children. Even by way’a fuckin’ demonstration. Ya hear me?” The volume rises at the end; her fingers have collapses the cheap can of beer into an hourglass shape, sloshing two fingerlengths up through the widemouth opening.
“They ain’t decades left. Maybe decade. Who fuckin’ knows? But we ain’t in tha plurals, no more, Strider. We’re in tha fuckin’ single digits. Don’t mean a pack couldn’t claim that space; do right, ’til tha end. Maybe we’ll send ’em runnin’ again. Buy our selves another thousand years ta fight.”
[Kemp Oates] (( I am running on pure fumes and will not recall most of this come 30mins from now LOL! ))
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach, Lloyd, Silence, Skadi, “Thaney”
[Lloyd] He makes an attempt to catch the Aluminum projectile, failing abysmally as it bounces off his knuckles and over the railing, vanishing with a wet clatter on the ground. Lloyd shake’s out his hand, wincing slightly.
“I’m just bringing this too attention. We’re sitting comfortable for now but it won’t last. This isn’t permanent. Something needs to be done and my resources and efforts are a band-aid on a gut wound. Only gonna work for so long.”
He’s pulling to his feet, poncho in hand and eyes on the Fenrir.
“You two stop by the MEat Market. Soon. We can discuss more how this situation is going nowhere and what needs to be done then. Right now. I’m cold and tired and need some sleep.”
And he’s struggling with the Poncho on, taking the stairs one unsteady step at a time. The rain falls about his shoulders and the Strider does what Strider’s do best. He leaves.
[Lloyd] ((*chuckles* Indeed. End here.))
[AnneMarie Hoch] He stumbles, and she follows. She does not let up. She will not. She earned her place as a fucking Eagle, many times over. You cannot for you have no fucking Honor. No fucking pride. No. fucking. spine. You are unworthy of the gift Silence has given you.
Her hand flexes. She wants to hit him. To fight. To show him how Fenrir pick their places in the pack. She aches for it. She pauses in her onslaught. Her hand against the wall by her side. People at this hour are few and far between. They are in shadow, between street lamps that rarely work anyway. For all the world it will look as if the six foot IronWood staff that flows from it’s place around her bicep down into her hand, solidifying from it’s dedicated state. She pulls it before her (See – it was just a stick leaning against a wall there. really.) and spins it once before simply holding it. It is covered with runes. A story. Her story.
She places the end of it against his chest, and shoves again. Prove yourself. Or accept your position below me like the coward you have already shown yourself to be.
[Kemp Oates] ((thanks, i so seriously am having hand eye coordination malfuctions of the sleepy sort))
[Skadi] Immediately on the heels of Skadi’s grim speech: her phone rings, an electronic imitation of the General Lee’s horn, from the Dukes of Hazzard: a new ringtone, though god only knows how Skadi negotiated the arcana of downloading a new one. She pulls the pink rhinestone-covered phone out of the pocketful of bikini, checks the display, and answers it immediately, wordlessly pacing away from the other Garou, down the length of the rotten porch, in the drilling rain.
[Evan McCollach] (Does everyone get Eagle’s gift of +3 Strength or just one person?)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Silence
[AnneMarie Hoch] (it was two at a time, but not sure what our Totem count currently is..)
to Evan McCollach, Silence
[Silence] (It’s still 2 at a time. We have enough points.)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[James Wagner] (Open scene? )
[Silence] (I posted the current eagle up on our pack thread just now, if you wanna go see)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[Silence] (more or less, though i’m going to bed fairly soon)
Sometime in the past five, ten minutes that Annemarie and Evan have gradually escalated their disagreement across, Decker has come to witness the scene.
He doesn’t interrupt them. A faint clank on a fire escape overhead is the only hint of his presence. He drops to an easy crouch, watching the exchange in silence, his rage pulsing in the night like a terrible second heartbeat.
[Evan McCollach] The litany dances in his head, Respect those of Higher Station, Honor All Who Are Beneath You. His eyes seemed to grow as dark as they possibly could, green boardering on black. And it sparked something within him. His mind no longer treading the Coggie way. Sometimes you needed to prove yourself with silver claws.
His hand moved up to grip the egde of the staff she holds at his chest. She was faster than him by all means. She was a better fight by all means. She was a fernir, and a modi not less. However he would not back down. And if his hand could grab the bottom half of the staff. Well he would call upon Eagles Strength, should it be available. And her end right back at her.
Maybe he could catch her off gaurd, ignorant that maybe not all children of gaia were peace, love and hippy power. Even if it didn’t work, the last words Thaney said to him ring in his ear. No matter what Evan, stand by your words, your way. Don’t give one inch. Be yourself.
[James Wagner] Cabrini-Green. More or less it was Eagle Territory, and if anyone would be able to help him? That notorious pack probably could. Striding up to about a half block away from the group, James’ chin lifts and he stood there a moment or two to see if they would notice him.
Tenuous at best. If this particular stretch of land was Eagle’s, he didn’t want to get his ass kicked.
[Evan McCollach] (5 dice base (dex+brawl) 3 str base)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[AnneMarie Hoch] He grabs the staff, and shoves it back at her. She uses the momentum he gives her to spin and throw a wicked blow with the staff to his upper thigh. The touching of her staff gives her permission to carry on. Challanged, that touch of his hand accepted. And she fully intends to beat him bloody if he will not stand his ground and throw down.
[AnneMarie Hoch] (suggest we roll this – because she’s good, excellent even, in hand to hand, but I don’t want to assume her success. Heh. If you want to continue to freeform (which is totally your call) she has base 7 with the staff, rerolled 10s, 3 str +1 for the staff +3 for Eagle.)
to Evan McCollach
[Evan McCollach] (Yeah I guess we can roll. Evan won’t last very long *laughs*)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[AnneMarie Hoch] (Want me to just roll this one, and then we can go inits after that for anything further?)
to Evan McCollach
[Evan McCollach] (Yeah)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[AnneMarie Hoch]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[AnneMarie Hoch] (dam)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (Soak roll)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (nice. *g* if he’s gonna fight now, let’s go inits.)
[Evan McCollach] (Iniatal) + 6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[AnneMarie Hoch] (+7)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Evan McCollach] (*cries* Why oh why have you forsaken me Kahseeno)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (declare. *g*)
[Evan McCollach] (Use WP to active resist pain. 1 rage for extra action. first action kick to side of torso. Rage action step in with punch. Rage will be spent on resist stun if needed)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (She’s dropping 2 rage. Smack with the stick. Smack with the stick. Smack with the stick. 1 wp to resist pain. Rolling first strike)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Silence] The Modi’s storm-grey eyes are impassive on the pair that are dancing on the edge of a fight. There’s a vague sense across the totemlink, a thrumming as if the Modi wanted to say something, but holds back. And anyway, in the end he didn’t need to say it. Evan fights.
James’ shadow darkens the street. Slowly, as though unwillingly, Silence looks away from the fight. He rises to his feet on the fire escape silently. His attention is on the Galliard now; it remains there even as he comes to the edge of the rusty fire escape and looks down, considering the distance to the street below. Eight feet, maybe nine, maybe ten of straight drop. He plants a firm hand on railing and vaults over it. What sound he may have made on the landing is lost in the rattling of the fire escape, all the way up to the roof.
He approaches James Wagner. If the Fianna had thought the events of that other night would make Decker greet him as a friend, he’s wrong. The Modi gives a lazy tilt of his head toward the border, two or three blocks over. “Cain’tcha read?”
[AnneMarie Hoch] (dam)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (Soak roll)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (Is it +1 diff for weapon length or -1 dice to cover weapon length? I forget)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Silence
[Silence] (-1 die)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[Evan McCollach] (Kick roll at diff 7. Please aid me Kahseeno)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 8 (Failure at target 7)
[Evan McCollach] (*just looks down*)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (second smack – HAIL KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (dam)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (Punch… all hail Kahseeno)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (damage roll)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (Man this site’s dice just hate me)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (soak)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[James Wagner] Decker’s aid did not, in James’ mind, believe that made the two of them friends. Loose acquaintances was more the like, as between two people that have worked [killed] together. “Aye, though ‘owlin’ out ‘ere ‘n th’open would like as not draw tae much ‘ttention fer the likes o’ye an’ m’self.”
There was a light shrug, and eyes a touch lighter than black met storm-grey briefly. Decker was Adren, and James was Fostern. Respect was due to a mighty warrior such as he. His eyes dropped lower to a place a hair below the Modi’s eyes. “Th’umbra’s a bit o’a nestin’ grown fer th’beasties ‘nyhow.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] (they’re not loving me much either. AM’s last hit. HAAAAAAAIL ALMIGHTY KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (dam) HAIIIIIIIIL!! KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (soak)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Evan McCollach] (( lvls Bashing… Evan is knocked out)
[Evan McCollach] (Err thats 9)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (that’s 9 levels lethal – I was told her staff was lethal (Might be wrong, it was a long time ago – either way. He’s out. *L*). She’ll pull it, so she just knocks his ass out. Want me to write it up? )
to Evan McCollach
[Evan McCollach] (House rules for lethal? Books has it at bashing, but either way Evan is out cold *shrugs*)
to AnneMarie Hoch
[Silence] Out in the open, James says. With a sardonic hint of a smirk, Decker looks deliberately up and down the street. These are the projects, make no mistake: graffiti on the walls, rusty old cars on the streets. A block or so down there’s a bum snuffling in his sleep, and distantly a car backfires — or maybe it was a gun. The immediate vicinity, however, is nearly deserted save for the sparring Garou down the way, and a mangy alley cat.
“Folks round here know better’n ta poke they noses in other people’s business. Spitcher business out ‘n be on yer way, Wagner.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] It starts, and it is finished almost at the very same moment. He at least tries. That is the best she has seen of him so far. However, he also fails. Miserably. She has spent hours, upon hours with her staff, and even though she is better still with her hands, she has chosen to catered to his weakness if only in this one, tiny bit.
She glances a blow off of him, he kicks and she hits again. He lands a punch that does nothing – and she pulls the hit enough that she simply lays him out cold. When he wakes, he will find her crouched by his side, her knee on his chest, and that staff across his throat. Waiting for him to wake. Waiting for him to audibly yield.
[AnneMarie Hoch] (I don’t remember to be honest – it’s been a while since she’s pulled her staff. *L*)
to Evan McCollach
[Silence] (fyi: 9 bashing for a garou translates into 2 lethal, 5 bashing)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[AnneMarie Hoch] (I always get confused with the whole bashing/lethal thing. *L* Always have, forever will.)
to Evan McCollach, Silence
[Evan McCollach] (*shrugs* I barely remember it)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Silence
[James Wagner] “Mm.” He conceded Decker’s point, a smirk of his own curling his lips. Still, for a moment or two he says nothing. How to proceed? The only time such a thing has come to be for the Galliard, it was in life or death combat. And now, a more-than-friend of his has spoken of running for her life from the one man she never wanted to see again. It seemed that lately redhaired women were ending up dependant on him. First: Reagan, and now Molly. Stifling a weary sigh, his eyes met the Modi’s again briefly.
This was difficult. Killing a mortal man was easy; James would do it himself. Give him time, Decker. The Fianna was preparing himself mentally for the repercussions that might follow. “There’s bein’ a bloke I’m needin’ dead. ‘R ye knowin’ ‘nyone that’d be up tae th’task?” By his words, it was known well enough that James could not, would not, do it himself.
“Dead, ‘r incarcerated fer a long time.” Weakness, James was allowing himself to admit. His hands were tied, and he and Decker had been long-time associates. Loosely. anyhow.
[Evan McCollach] He slowly comes to, and for teh first moment she is not registered. All he can feel, all he can sense is pain. A shooting pain that courses through his body. And all he can let out is a stiffled groan. His breathing labored and weak for the time being.
And then it triggers, the staff across his throat, her knee on his chest. His eyes lossing the dark green, if they are able to open large enough to be noticed. His mouth slowly opens, but the taste of blood seems to cut off his tongue, covering over his vocal cords. But with strain, he raises his neck. Exposing it to AnneMarie, surrendering.
[Silence] Decker gives a short, disbelieving sound — somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Yerself,” he says, bluntly.
[James Wagner] “More complicated ‘n that. Th’bloke ‘n needin’ killed s’Kin. I’ve a reason tae b’lieve ‘e Wyrm-tainted, an’ ‘e’s chasin’ one o’m’girl’s ’round th’world.” James shook his head. The Galliard was frustrated.
“S’an unfair advantage s’well, Garou goin’ up ‘gainst Kin.”
[Silence] “Whose kin? Yers?”
[James Wagner] “M’own tribe, aye.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] The smirk he sees now is knowing, and confident. It is as she expected. It is what she knew the outcome to be. He submits to this temporary cub. He knows that just as she took his Alpha’s life – she has spared his. He knows.
He surrenders, and she lifts the staff, but does not get up just yet. She stands the staff at her side, fingers loosely wrapped around it as she watches him, her knee still pressed uncomfortably into his chest.
Finally. Under Eagle, you are beneath me. You are unproven. You are omega. As long as you are under Eagle’s wings, you will remember that I have bested you, and that I have proven myself to Eagle, and to Silence. And to you. YOU are the cub in this pack, begging for teaching. We do not answer to the Sept. I am temporarily a cub to the nation, but by my deeds I will regain my standing quickly enough. Within this pack however, you will give me the respect I have earned, or I will continue to beat you bloody until you do. Are we perfectly clear.
[Silence] “Then ‘s yer duty ta discipline ‘im. Kinship ain’t jus’ ’bout pertection ‘n shit. ‘n if he turns up Wyrmy, ‘s yer duty ta kill ‘im.”
[James Wagner] A thoughtful look, followed by a nod. “Aye. T’was what I was thinkin’. Thank ye, Silence-rhya fer yer counsel.” A nod, and James departed.
[Silence] Briefly, Decker’s attention seems to turn inward.
Under Eagle, Annemarie’s voice comes over totemphone, you are beneath me. You are unproven. You are omega — and here, Silence firmly cuts in.
Enough, Ruhiger. He knows where his place is, ‘n he had tha balls ta fight back, ‘least. ‘s a start.
Then his eyes clear. He gives the Fianna a vague nod up, then turns himself to approach his packmates.
[Evan McCollach] He does not move to fight against her, he slightly moves to gather his wits and to understand how his body is left. Hmm… two broken ribs. Probably some damaged intestines. And then there is always the bruises.
Understood.
And then Decker connects to them, over the totemlink. He yields, he is the omega.
However, may I ask Rugiher… why spare me when you kiled Agony Thane?
And the ~yuf was left out, either on purpose or because he probably has some brain damage too.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She does not expect the yuf until she has officially gained rank. This is pack business. Not of the Nation. She stands (with a press of her knee into his chest again. A reminder, however unintentional) and leans her staff against her shoulder, her hand wrapped loosely, comfortably around the wood. Her other hand slides into her pocket, as she watches him.
A slight smirk. You are not Agony~Thane. He was a coward. He refused to fight back. He challenged us time and time again, then let himself die. You fought back, eventually. His outcome would have been the same, if not by my hand, by another.
A pause, then. Her shoulder rolls into a negligent shrug. But mostly, however temporarily, you are Eagle.
[Silence] After his brief contact, Decker says nothing more. He comes within fifteen or twenty feet of them, but gives them their room to finish their challenge. Besides, he was curious. Wanted to see what the Coggie kid would say next.
[Silence] (in case it’s not obvious — don’t wait for me to post *LOL* i’m brushing teeth and stuff, and will soon be diving for bed)
to AnneMarie Hoch, Evan McCollach
[Evan McCollach] His body was slowly trying to heal itself and sooner or later it would. He was garou, he would heal. And as she pushes her knee into his rib… yeah that one is broken too. He coughs a little bit before looking up at her… from his eye line it would be at her mouth.
Agony Thane, my former Alpha, told us not to attack under any reason. Wheather it was a Shadowlord trick, or it was because of Astraea and the command of the Sept’s Elder… we could not. I live my life by my honor… and Astraea would have come down on us for any disgraceful acts.
He coughed a little more, laying still. Trying to force his words out.
“And… *cough, cough* is.. Lings cooking…*cough* as bad as this?”
It would have been a great joke if Evan voice wasn’t tempered and his face, whatever parts not bruised too badly, made of stone.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She snorts, a silent expression of air from her nose. I was challenged by Agony~Thane for protecting my alpha as he sought to attack him from behind during a moot. Where you stand passive for whatever reason, Loyalty and respect demanded my action. I would not change it. I would not stand by.
It is never more clear that she is Modi then times like this. It is cut and dry.
[Silence] The knock on Ling’s cooking draws a faintly amused grunt from the Modi. Decker starts walking again — not toward them, but away, deeper into the territory.
Ling’s cookin’ ain’t bad, he insists: parting words, such as they were.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She smirks, and glances toward Silence’s retreating back. It has improved much since she started.
[Evan McCollach] He nods and doesn’t attempt to look up to see Silence. It was too much for his body, even though he was definately able to sit up without killing himself. However he did not disagree with her for the moment. She had her reasons and he understood that. He just nodded, as best as he could.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She does not offer a hand to help him up, but she does not leave him battered in the street. It is an important distinction, however thin the line that keeps her from resuming her own patrols. Fingers slide over the carved runes with familiarity. The staff clearly means much to her.
Another moment, or two, and with a touch of concentration, the staff melts and slides up her arm to wrap around her bicep in tattoo form once again. Her hands return to the pockets of her coat, and she simply watches him.
[Evan McCollach] After a few moments, he is able to sit up. And when that is able to be done, he tries his best to unzip his sweater, giving some room. Finally he pushes his body from its simple homid form to his near-human form, the glabro form. He would heal at a quicker pace and it wouldn’t be that recognizable this time of night.
And as she shifts, his clothes stretch, hem and threading close to popping. Soon he would be able to stand without any effort.
“I will be.. fine.. I am probably.. going to head back home.”
He strains himself to stand, using the wall to aid himself a little bit.
[AnneMarie Hoch] A slight smirk. Of course you’re fine. I barely touched you.
Fenrir standards. Impossible to live up to, most days.
[Evan McCollach] (I think we can end the scene here. Evan would head back to the packhouse)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (Alrighty. She’d go back on patrol, as always. heh.)
[AnneMarie Hoch] (thanks for the scene!)