John Barrister

[Princess] The EMT house. Princess is in the kitchen; her hair is getting long, and she needs to cut it. For now, though, a loose and messy braid suffices to keep it out of her face. The braid is wet and dark; somehow, her hair is dyed again, that same color, that fuck off bitch red - and it deepens, when wet, to the color of a scab, or a wire, or a snake's tongue. She is in the kitchen, a pan over the stove, frying; eggs in the skillet, and onions, too. All scrambled together. Last of the milk, farewell.

[Henry Allard] ((::does the cigarette dash::))

[Tristan Stern] The EMT house. Princess is in the kitchen, where the scent of an egg scramble originates and drifts through the house. A scent that is immediately breathed deeply into his lungs as a certain pretty boy - ignored by many - has been camped in front of the TV with headphones on, stretched out with his hands behind his head, fingers laced, and ankles crossed on the opposite arm of the couch along the other side. He's completely comfortable indulging in his totally fabulous addiction to faghags galore.

Yes. He's watching the Daytime Emmy Awards. Tyra is gonna be there looking fierce, after all! It's no wonder all they boys have left the pretty one alone to watch the big screen all by himself.

At least he's using the headphones.

[Princess] Now, Princess isn't a terrible cook; there are a few things she's learned to cook well enough. And, what with Guinevere, she knows herbs; she uses these, liberally, in the scramble. Tristan's presence hadn't been acknowledged, but it was noted; there are enough eggs to feed, well, a couple of boys. And her. Which says quite a lot. The weather's good, and she's been sleeping in the woods; sleeping in the cars; sleeping in the beds of strangers. Eggs don't take very long, either, so she eventually turns off the stove and scrapes some onto a plate. Considers, then scrapes some onto another plate, grabs a couple of forks, and - balancing them carefully - walks into the living room.

[Princess] (( Dex + Ath! WILL SHE BALANCE THEM! ))

(( ...smirk. What? ))

[Tristan Stern] (DICE ADDICT!!))

[Henry Allard] ((*LMAO* TEH CALL OF TEH DICE IS STRONG))

[Princess] (( AM NOT!

(rolls WP!) ))

[Henry Allard] It had started late today. The beeper's call, that is. It had started in the middle of the afternoon, having lulled its captive into a false sense of safety, into a sense that the city was taking it easy today, that it was giving its dogged soldiers a fair fight. That had not been the case, not for long. It had gone off at a rather inopportune moment, and since the interruption Henry has been absent from the house, with its door constantly opening and closing to allow in and let out occupants who were otherwise enjoying their Saturday off. Richard, most notably, had been banging in and out the backdoor all afternoon long, trying in earnest to get the old lawn mower working again, while Noah had been happily working away in the little mudpit the guys have tried year after year to turn into a vegetable garden. Where those two have gone off to now is anyone's guess, but so far as either of them have been able to tell, Thaney and Tristan are the only two currently occupying the modest house in the relatively quiet section of town.

Now, though, there comes the sound of footsteps on the front porch, the screen door croaking open. A key in the lock. One of them will hear it; the other is happily engaged in a television event geared towards bored housewives and... well, Tristan.

[Tristan Stern] Funny. He used to make sleep in the beds of strangers too. Now, however, he sleeps in one bed only, and sometimes it still takes getting used too. Not that he's complaining.

He doesn't hear Princess coming, but there is one thing that a Gnawer never misses - not even Kin, like Tristan, and that's the appearance of food that's proceeded by the intensifying scent and the matching growl of his belly. He tugs the headphones down and lets them rest around his neck - who really needs to hear it anyway, right? - as he pulls himself up into a sitting position to look over at Thaney and just how many plates she's juggling. He grins to see that there's more then one, and the smile warms as he reaches out to help relieve her of her burdon.

"Mah hero! Assumin one of those plates is for me, of course."

Then the noises in the entry way, and he tips his head to see who's kicking his boots off. "Heya hotstuff. They finally let ya off, huh?"

[Princess] Her ear doesn't flick. Princess is not a wild animal (even if: if: if: frisson; see? Feel it, contained, restrained, invisible: monsters). She is just a girl. When Tristan takes plate dos from her, the Fianna girl's mouth quirks; easily, baby. Because she's an easy-going girl, and there's not even the hint of a moon in the sky. "Yeah, it's for you." Princess cranes to look over her shoulder, whilst simultaneously taking a seat and forking up a bit of scramble; when, lo! It is Henry, she says, serious and grave, "Food for you, too, if you want what's left in the skillet."

[Henry Allard] Normally, when Henry returns home, it is difficult to tell what sort of a shift he has had. Tristan, by now, has learned that there is a system at work, a way to readily deduce whether a shift was Great, Good, Bad, or Horrible by looking at what he is wearing when he strolls in the front door. Today he is still in his uniform, which from a distance one might deduce meant his shift went Great. It might mean that the shift was so quiet, so uneventful that there was absolutely no need for a shower, that all he needed to do was to grab his bag and catch a ride home and get himself fed and beered up once he returned to the house. From a cursory glance, it seems cut and dry.

Yet he moves slowly, he sits down on the stairs as soon as the door is shut behind him, he rakes his hands through his hair and he plucks at his shoelaces and he peers through the slats in the stair's railings when acknowledgement comes his way, and in the dim light of the entranceway, he has to put legitimate effort into smiling.

Which means it was Horrible.

"Yeah, it finally quieted down enough for them to let us off."

Thaney is given a wave, and when he has both of his boots off he hoists himself standing, gingerly sets them beside the smaller-sized sneakers waiting on the black doormat beside the door.

[Tristan Stern] He watches. He knows these signs. He has seen them, learned them, picked them apart and deciphered them over and over again. He sees how much effort goes into that smile, he hears the smallest of waverings in the voice of a man who always has himself in complete control.

It was Horrible.

He watches the way he pulls himself to a stand, and then the headphones hit the coffee table, and his plate follows a moment later as he winks at Thaney before calling out to Henry. "I'll get your plate. Sit."

There's no arguing, either, and Henry knows it. Tristan disappears back into the kitchen to make a plate for his better half, and then takes the time to get out the water bottle, and fill it with water as hot as he can make it. He wraps it in a towel, to return to the living room with it, and the plate of goodies lovingly made by Thaney.

[Princess] It takes Princess a moment - she does not know Henry as well as Tristan, will likely never know Henry as well as Tristan - before she, too, picks up on the mood of Henry's day. The teenager is an observant creature, and sensitive to the internal life of the people she stays around. Some people, busybody people (like she can be, it has to be owned), would say: Why do you do it? Would press him to get another job. To get another assignment.

And Princess will never, ever do that. She knows, you see, about jobs that you don't like. She knows about doing things that give you nightmares, about dirty jobs, about, about, about that kind of thing, you see, about staying awake, about feeling ripped to pieces, spine on display, and - horrible days, but with capitals. Yeah, she knows all about them.

So she doesn't say a single thing, except - "What the hell is this?" - once her gaze has fixed on the television. "Hey," she adds, "I made the eggs myself; used some herbs I still have from my job with Gwen. Hope you like them." Anxious. She really does.

[Henry Allard] Hands on hips, sharp knees poking against the thick fabric of his utility pants, he moves slowly into the light. Once he's there, once Tristan has left his station to fetch fixings from the kitchen, of a sudden there is a blue bruise on the bridge of his nose also, the sort of thing that one might have difficulty believing was there at first glance. It doesn't look particularly painful, doesn't look as if some great blow had to have been dealt to plaster it there in the first place. It's just there, and given his great reluctance to discuss his day to begin with, given the (thankful) proclivity of present company to not embarrass him with questions, with prying, that is likely to be all there is to it.

"What the hell is this?"

The expression on Henry's face mirrors that of Thaney's question, the proceedings on the television bringing a dogged smile out of lips that don't seem fit to move in such a direction.

"Oh, yeah, the Emmys," he says. "Tyra's on."

As if that is supposed to mean anything to Thaney.

"How've you been, Thaney? Haven't seen you in a while, I was starting to get worried."

Despite the crack of exhaustion in his vocal cords, despite the slump of defeat in his shoulders, there is genuine interest to be found in the man's eyes, in his question, as he deposits himself in the unoccupied recliner.

[Tristan Stern] He stares at Thaney - and gapes at her. "It's.. it's..." and then he rolls his eyes. "I'm surrounded by heathens. It's the Daytime Emmy Awards! Tyra's a presenter this year - looking FIERCE as always and ya gotta love Tyra! Ya just.. just... gotta - did ya tell her Henry?"

He hands Henry his plate, and when the other man is settled and comfortable, he has him lean forward just enough to slide that hotbottle down behind him, situating it perfectly against the lower back muscles he knows will be throbbing and aching.

Then he sees the bruise. A brow arches "Need ice too?" He doesn't ask how it happened, or what happened, or who he's going to have to kill for bruising his man. He just offers that same easy grin.

And let it be known he isn't mean enough to unplug the headphones and force them to listen to what's certain to be inane nattering on the show.

[Princess] Princess takes a bite of her eggs, spearing a large sliver of onion; chews it, swallows. Oh, stomach as empty as a hollowed-out egg; hurts, it does, contracts around food. Her eyes half-close - such strange eyes, too, eldritch, two different shades. They open a little, so that it's this: the wide-eyed, misleadingly young (solemn) gaze. "Tell me what?" Honest perplexment. "Are you guys going to meet this Tyra chick in real life, or something?"

And - Henry inquires. Princess takes another quick bite of eggs, wolfs it (ha, ha) down, and says, "Oh. I've been trying to - uhm." Here, she frowns, slightly: "Been spending a lot of time on the otherside." Here, even, the refinement of a shudder: "Also, like, uh." Drinking, a lot - but, no, can't tell Henry and Tristan, they'd go all parental, and - "Stuff. Been okay, though, mostly. You know."

And Tristan inquires. Princess? Does not touch that. Eats more eggs. Yum!

[Henry Allard] That gaze has Henry both completely captivated and compelled to avert his gaze. Such an intensity in such a young face would be difficult to handle were he not faced with remarkably diluted versions on a daily basis, were the young mothers and the heroin addicts and the gang leaders not marked with the juxtaposition of youth and solemnity found in this girl's cast. There is no way to compare to two, yet one has managed to prepare him for the other. He is able to look on the girl's face without feeling a jarring sense of discord.

"Huh-uh," is his response to the matter of ice, and the other man is given a muted smile of thanks. As always, there is a great reservation about him in the presence of others, whether they be trusted friends or complete strangers, and Henry does not hold Tristan's gaze for very long. It's a matter of keeping himself and Thaney from being mutually unnerved, it would seem.

That plate comes to rest on his thigh, and Henry fishes around the mass of fluffed eggs with the tines on his fork while the girl staggers her way through a response. The longer it goes on the further his lips spread themselves. Not far at all, all told, but far enough. He chuffs out a small laugh through his sinus cavities, then finally succeeds in spearing a hunk of egg.

"I know."

A pause to bring the utensil past his lips, and he nods his approval at the girl's culinary skill.

Green eyes slide over to Tristan once, almost negligibly, and then he asks, "Have you seen Marissa around, lately?"

[J.B.] Princess' cell phone rings.

[Tristan Stern] Harumph. Meet her in person. Why, that'd be.. that'd be... [fanboysigh] totally awesome. But he doesn't say it, he just winks at Henry and retakes his place on the couch and takes up his own plate and begins to shovel it down. A pause, a lifted brow, and that forever easy grin for Thaney. "S'good!"

And he's not just saying that. He attacks his pile of eggs with gusto, with one eye and both ears on the conversation between Thaney and Henry, the other eye watching the daytime stars dressed to the nines wandering across the stage on the big screen tv.

[Princess] "Not in the past couple of days," Princess says, with a frown that is -- unfortunately -- coming to be associated with her packmate's name. Whenever it's brought up. Just this faint shadow of a frown, between her eyebrows; over her eyes. "Why? Is that what you need to tell me?" Calm girl, Princess; even the half-smile, the reluctant - now, anyway - curve of her mouth, is calm. Despite the frown.

And, lo, the cell phone has minutes. This is such a rare occurrence that she is startled by it. Does not know the proper etiquette.

"The - oh." Princess gingerly fishes her phone out of her back pocket, pulls her braid from one shoulder to the other, and says, "Question by May Swenson?"

[J.B.] There is a hesitant -- startled -- pause. Then, composed and polite, John's deep rumble (though not so very rumbly on a cell phone): "May I speak to Thaney, please?"

[Henry Allard] The phrasing of her question, the second, provokes his brow to crease in on itself by a few degrees. Several more passes through the small sea of food on his plate are made before another bite is procured, and he is mid-breath to respond to her inquiry, evidently confusing though it may be, when the phone in her back pocket rings out against the cushions of the couch.

Jaw closes momentarily, to staunch the premature flow of words, and then he concerns himself with chewing and swallowing rather than formulating a coherent sentence. It is slow going, his arm not moving with nearly the speed and vigor that Tristan's does. Normally the man can keep pace with his better half, can put away a good deal of food in a small expanse of time, but lately it has been with bird-like hesitance that he pecks at his meals.

Something that happens on-screen makes him shake his head in bemusement, but does not go so far as to draw forth words.

[Princess] "Uhmyes?" Behold: Fianna eloquence, in the very flesh; in the very

[Princess] .

[Maya Nevskaja] (you know, i came in with the idea of playing! but now I think I may just spy. *beam*)
to Henry Allard, J.B., Princess, Tristan Stern

[Maya Nevskaja] (...i mean, why! RP! my lord, yes! I shall! *dives in*)
to Henry Allard, J.B., Princess, Tristan Stern

[Henry Allard] ((That's the spirit!))
to J.B., Maya Nevskaja, Princess, Tristan Stern

[Tristan Stern] Thaney's phone rings, and Tristan uses her distraction to catch Henry's gaze and hold it for a long moment. He has seen how little he's been eating, how tired he's been, and there's concern written across his eyes - naked and open.

Until something happens on the screen and Henry's bemused and Tristan - well he just grins and goes back to watching the pretty girls in their pretty outfits talking about pretty things. Yes, if there were any doubt at all - he is certainly as gay as they come. And he grabs the headphones and holds one side to his ear as Tyra comes on screen. He's waited all night for this, after all!

(Stereotypes, ahoy!)

[J.B.] Another pause, confused. Then, "Thaney?" Acknowledge assumedly given, he continues, surer now, "Hi. It's John. The book you asked me about the other day, that I thought I might have in stock? I found it. I'm going to be driving home from the pawnshop in about 10 minutes, so if you're somewhere along the way, I can drop it off."

[Princess] "Uhmyeah." No, Thaney? Is not one of those teenagers who talks on the phone a lot - or very well. Actually, she's pretty horrible.. "I mean, cool! I mean, uh; I'm at - uhm? The house, the one in Lake View, you know where it is, right? Don't knock loud I think - uhm. Just call again. Because there might be sleepers, even though - well, and I should hang up now, before my minutes run out, kay? Seeya!" Click.

Phew. That's done with. Princess/Thaney eyes the cellphone for a moment, lest J.B. call back, all why no I have no idea where it is, then - always supposing that doesn't happen - warily slips the cell back into her pocket. And takes another bite of eggs, attention back to Henry, expectant like!

[J.B.] The house, the one in Lake View, you know where it is, right? "Yeah, I think -- "
Don't knock loud I think - uhm. Just call again. "Okay, sure -- "
Because there might be sleepers, even though - well, and I should hang up now, before my minutes run out, kay? "All right, but it'll take me -- "
See ya! Click.
" -- about forty minutes to get there," John says to himself, bemused, and puts his phone -- a landline, imagine that! -- into its cradle.

Ten minutes later he's closing up the pawnshop, turning the OPEN sign over to CLOSED, locking the door, double-checking it, rolling down the steel-grate gate and locking that down. All the while he shifts a book from one hand to the other, sometimes pinning it under one elbow when he needed both. When he's done, he turns away from the tiny storefront, walking the half-block or so to where his truck was parked. Parking was always tight on a weekday morning, but by this time of night his truck is the only one left on the whole damn street as far as he could see.

[Henry Allard] That exposure in the way Tristan looks upon him is nearly ignored. It would be incredibly easy to simply dart a glance over and then turn his attention back to his plate, but Henry doesn't do that, doesn't have the gumption to look away while Tristan is so evidently attempting to communicate without speaking, and so Henry gazes back across the space, ceases his fruitless swiveling of metal through protein for a moment. There is no response in his own eyes, no defense; he simply looks, and then there is a pulling at his lips, a Yeah, I know forming on his face.

It lasts but a moment, and then there is the business of the television to attend to. Henry sees the host of that show Tristan watches so religiously, that one about the models, before Tristan does; and then there come the headphones, and the Coggie kinsman just shakes his head again and continues to eat his eggs. Thaney flies through her conversation as quick as one possibly could, and then she is looking at Henry.

All this looking, and so few words. One might think Henry would be perfectly comfortable in an atmosphere of Not Speaking, but this doesn't appear to be the case.

"Boyfriend?" he asks.

[Maya Nevskaja] There is no moon in the sky.

This sort of thing disquiets many people, they walk a beat quicker on ill-lit street corners, the thugs and pimps for a moment reconsider a deal going down and wonder if its some omen of bad luck, if finally, tonight, they'll get caught, take a bullet in the brain for double-crossing.

Maya knows the moon is there, she feels it like wind breathing down her neck. But it is dark, and her eyes are darker, her hair the exact shade of the sky above and her skin the pallor of the newly dead in the wash of headlights. Too pale, her face for that ebony hair. She is walking without purpose, but without fear. The Godi's heart does not palpitate with the lack of moonlight, though her eyes do occasionally flicker upward, as though to read the faint smattering of stars as a human might a street-map.

She is closer to John that perhaps, he realizes.

The Fang-raised-Fenrir emerges from the opposing side of his truck, night-time playing tricks and drawing shadows under her eyes. She wears a denim jacket, and it rustles when she moves.

Her bracelets rattle.

Her voice quiet, a shock of unpolished english. "Hello, John Barrister."

[Tristan Stern] He's still listening to Thaney and Henry, thought one side of the headphones is pressed to his ear and dark eyes are riveted on the screen for a few moments. It certainly doesn't stop the shoveling of those eggs from plate to mouth via the tines of his fork, either. He's all about multitasking, Tristan.

There's a twitch of a grin for someone said on screen - unheard by the others, but amusing him none the less. Only when his goddess of Top Model Fame walks off the stage again does he toss the headphones back on the table and lean back into his corner of the couch.

[Princess] " - where?" Perplexed, again. "Whose?"

[Henry Allard] Blink. Blink.

"Um..."

There's a touch of uncomfortable laughter, monosyllabic and rough. In the silence built by the television's filtered sound and the lack of other bodies in the house, Henry is afforded the opportunity to sit a moment and attempt to reason out why Thaney is so... un-Thaney-like this evening. That befuddlement is what tips him off, ultimately, and he chooses to ignore it in favor of taking another bite of eggs.

Without anything to wash it down, it becomes necessary to move. Henry leans forward to place his plate atop the heavy coffee table, the ceramic of the dish pushing aside the edge of several hastily-lain magazines in the process.

"Im going to grab a beer." A beat, and the next question is diverted out of traffic towards Thaney. "You want some water or something?"

[J.B.] John Barrister looks like the sort of man who's not easily rattled, and he's seen more rattling sights than he lets show. All the same, the rattling, purposeful, solemn-eyed apparition gives him a start. Then he steps up to the passenger's side of the truck. The lights blink and the horn toots as he unlocks the doors. John deposits Thaney's book on the dashboard.

"Hi, Maya. How long have you been here?" -- a little perplexed: he wasn't sure which was more disquieting, the idea of a Theurge loitering over his truck for hours, or a Theurge knowing exactly when to come to the truck to meet him. "I'm about to head home, but first I need to drop something off for Thaney. She's one of yours. Well, not exactly; she's one of Stag's, I think. You're welcome to come along, though."

[Princess] "Yes, please," she replies, sinking into the couch cushions; she lists a little to the side, toward the pretty, pretty gay boy, and watches the screen with intense interest.

[Tristan Stern] He reaches over and tugs on Thaney's braid a little, affectionately. And then, with that same grin. "He meant you, by the way - with the boyfriend? It was his way of asking who was on the phone and if it were anyone interesting."

He leans back his head, fingers sliding through those curls as he watches Henry upside-down like over the back of the couch for as far as he's able. "Grab me one too, babe? Just put a fresh case in the fridge, grabe from the front left."

[Maya Nevskaja] The Godi blinks once, a slow, cat-like motion that brings long dark lashes to bed against her cheeks. A tilt of her head, and she smiles at him across the width of the truck as though it brought her amusement, his starting at her appearance.

How long have you been here?
"I have been walking."

You're welcome to come along, though.
"I would be happy to."

She grasps the door and pulls it open, climbs inside and her senses react to the new environment. It has always been a thing of wonder to the Godi, how a person's presence coated their belongs, their spaces. An extension of oneself in cars, clothing and as she saw so often, even in death.

She waits for the kinman to turn the engine, watching him discreetly, his motions. Her eyes are not heavy, but they are felt.

[Maya Nevskaja] (belongings, for god's sake. Spell, jacqui! *shakes self*)

[Princess] Tristan reaches over to tug on Thaney's braid; her response is delayed by, oh, just one second. Then: a snort of laughter, swallowed, but: undeniably a snort of laughter. "Oh." But - there's a note of appreciation (frankly, my dear; it's a direct response to something specific) underlying the irrepressible bubble of amusement. Then: "No. That was J.B. Do you know him? He's," here, a shade quieter, so Henry might not hear, unless he's come back already, "Get of Fenris kinfolk."

[Monty] (locations?)

[Henry Allard] His footsteps fall heavy on the wooden floors, his course from the living room through the dining room into the kitchen just about palpable, vibrations casting themselves along in waves. Although he is not a hefty creature, although he looks as if he could stand to pack on some weight, it is easy to forget that there is still some mass to him. Times like this, that mass asserts itself, all 190 pounds of it. They can hear him moving from and to, they can hear him moving around in.

There is no way he is going to move as quickly as Tristan had. There is no way. Exhaustion comes along for the ride, latches itself as if by heavy metal chains about his ankles, and every move he makes is deliberate and heavy--removing a glass from the overhead cabinets, filling it with ice from the freezer, filling it with water from the tap, this all takes sizeable effort. Beer, then. Beer from the front left, as instructed, which then has to be opened. A drawer roars to attention, one by one beer caps clatter to the floor, and as Thaney is introducing the absent man to Tristan, Henry is stooping to gather up said bottle caps and deposit them in the trash compactor.

At some point he reaches up to pinch the exhaustion from the bridge of his nose. This turns out to not be a terribly bright move.

[Princess] (( *GLEE* MONTY!!!!!! ))

[J.B.] There is a certain quiet, intrinsic confidence in John. It is not arrogance; it is something more like belief in oneself. It's hard to ripple his pond. Nonetheless, he is starkly aware of her awareness. His movements are steady and unhurried, but they have a studied quality that is not native to him.

He turns the key; the engine turns over. John drives an enormous Chevrolet Silverado, perhaps two or three years old. It's a work truck, the heaviest breed of the class, with a double rear axle and enormous towing capacity. Nonetheless, trucks nowaday are designed for aging baby boomers with wives, children, expanding waistlines and expanding wallets. There's significant attention to luxury involved. The seats are leather and fully adjustable, a navigation system lights up the dash, there are six or eight or ten speakers arranged throughout the spacious king-cab, and various little amenities soften the macho edge on the truck.

As for personal touches: there are coins in the little cubbyholes scattered throughout the cabin. Maps in the door pockets. A rather chewed tennis ball rolling around the floor. A plastic bag not very full of various bits of driving trash -- fast food receipts, gum, a cigar butt or two, though it should be noted the cabin doesn't smell heavily of smoke. Then again, neither does John.

It's quite silent in the cabin while he points the big truck in the direction of the freeway. After a while, to fill the space, he turns the stereo on with a glance at the Godi: "Mind if I put this on?" And provided she doesn't, he advances the CD to some track or other he finds acceptable for a past-midnight drive.

[Maya Nevskaja] (Maya is getting into a strange man's car because he offered her candy. *grin* okay, not really. She's about to go with JB to visit Princess, Henry and Tristan at their house.)
to Henry Allard, J.B., Monty, Princess, Tristan Stern

[Monty] (Bah! So much for Monty.)

[Princess] ooc: *crushed!*

[J.B.] (*lit LOL*)

[Tristan Stern] He arches a brow, and then shakes his head slightly. "Can't say as I know him yet. Get, huh? What kinda get.. the mean rar sulky i'm a stud even if I can't go furry type, or the nice kind?" That grin is unrepentant as he listens to Henry's progress through the house, as attuned to him as he is his own self, some days, in some ways. He hates when the days have taken so much toll on Henry. He works too hard, he cares too much, trying to take care of the whole wide world while Tristan has to remind him to eat. And sleep.

He shovels some more eggs - his plate more then half gone, already.

[Princess] "There's only one kind," she says, quietly; "But he can socialize, if that's what you mean."

[Henry Allard] ((BRB, keep on going))

[Tristan Stern] He snorts. "Liar. There is no 'one kind' of any group, and ya know it, Miss Thaney. But the socializing part is good to know. The more people to drink beer with the better."

[Princess] "That's not true," she says, suddenly earnest. "I think everybody's mostly one group. I mean, they all fight, of course; don't see it, don't listen, think their way, go their ways, separate, but it's still all mostly one group. Maybe I'm wrong, though - I probably am." Meditative, now, instead of earnest: slide into melancholy. Lift out of it, with, "Beer's nice. Henry!" This last is lifted still further - voice projected, the way she's good at projecting her voice, not yelling, but carrying it elsewhere. "Maybe a beer instead of water?"

[Maya Nevskaja] She does not intend to unsettle him, but as a shark cannot pretend to be less than a predator (a brush of its skin would serve a non too gentle reminder), a Garou cannot be less than it is, and the presence of one does what it was designed to do.

She explores his space with her eyes, smoothes her palm along the dashboard, touches the windowpane but eventually, her actions still and she remains quite motionless, a small figure bundled in the seat across from him, eyes fixed quite purposely away from the driver on the passing flashes of nightlife -- not that there was much to be seen at this hour -- out the window.

His voice draws her eyes, a shake of her head. Hair falls into an eye. She should have tied it back at this length, but she liked the feel of the wind in it too much to restrict it. "How long have you known Thaney?" She attempts the name, it comes out awkwardly.

It does not seem appropriate to blush over such a thing, the woman is thankful for the lack of moon.

[Tristan Stern] "One group, sure. But not one kind. I'm not just like you, and wouldn't be even if I were a female Fianne. Though granted, my violin playing might earn me an honorary rank or something." A wink, followed by a chuckle. "But we're all distinctly individual, which means there is most certainly not only one kind of Fenrir, nor Gnawer, nor Coggie, nor Fianna. And it's not that your wrong, its that you were overgeneralizing. I mean really, do you find me the same as every Gnawer you've ever known? I'm by far the prettiest..."

Gotta love a guy who'll make fun of himself.

[Princess] "Yes," she says, very seriously: "You're making things too complicated, I think; I mean, yeah, they are. But they also aren't. You know? And all the Fenrir I've ever met, no matter whether or not they've agreed with each other, they've all been of one kind. A kind of group. AnneMarie and Decker, Skadi and J.B. and Loki and ... The others, from back before."

[J.B.] Ah, the ever-troublesome dental fricative, th. Ask a foreigner the hardest thing about the english language, and she'll be liable to name it. Some will substitute a T, others a D, a B -- whatever it is Maya substitutes, it is incorrect, but gives Thaney's name (which is incorrect, anyway, insofar as it is not really her name) a certain exoticity.

"Hm," thoughtful, "since March? April? She was one of the first I met when I came back to Chicago. First of the Nation, I mean."

[Tristan Stern] "Stereotypes are a slippery slope, kiddo." He says it with a grin though, easy and sure. "I like the things that make folks individualistic better, myself. It's what makes some folks tolerable, where they wouldn't be otherwise."

[Princess] Here, sheer curiosity - "Are there people you don't tolerate well?"

[Tristan Stern] That brings actual laughter - light and free and easy. "Oh yeah. There's quite a few I'd just as soon never deal with again."

[Princess] "How come?"

[Tristan Stern] "Because they are too busy condemning me for what they think I am, to discover anything of worth that may actually exist. They rely on stereotype, on generalizations." Simple, yet not. A shrug.

[Maya Nevskaja] Here Maya does in fact turn and look directly at, or at what is directly in her line of sight of John. His ear, the profile of his face. Her eyes move along the length of his arms, his fingers on the steering wheel.

His wedding band.

Drifting back. The Godi shifts her weight in the seat with the faint stirring of her jewelry. Her accent makes her voice seem harder than it perhaps was intended to be, by curse of where she was born, she comes across as aloof, perhaps even mean. Tactfulness was a learned subject when you already struggled to communicate.

"You must like the Fianna. I will be interested to see her." She means meet, but her choice of substitute is somehow fitting.

[Princess] "Everybody thinks you've got worth," the Fianna says, uncomfortably: "You got clawed by a monster and lived. The boy who lived," she says, with a faint smile, although it doesn't echo in her eyes. No, now? Her gaze is mildly anxious, and completely (once more, once again) serious - studious, even. "'Sides, there are lots of different types of stereos. Those are those big boombox things in 80s movies, right? And in cars?"

[Tristan Stern] "Do they?" He turns to look at her, stretching to set his plate on the coffee table - empty, of course. He was starving - he's always starving. "There are lots of different types of stereos you say - but just a bit ago you said there is only one kind. So which is it? Can it be both, or only one?"

The show on the TV ends, forgotten, as he settles into his corner of the couch and studies the girl [monster] beside him. "Not everyone thinks I have worth. Your Skaldi doesn't. Many Fenrir don't. Many Gnawers don't. All because of what I do behind closed doors, all because of who I love. Clawed by a monster? There are worse things then the monsters that did that. Many times after that day, I thought it would have been easier if I had not been the boy who lived. Many times since I've thought the same. I have to fight to prove there is more to me then who I like to fuck day in and day out - and still, there are far, far, far more folks who find me worthless, then those who are awed by my scars..."

[Princess] "It's both," she says, perplexed; "It's both in one. You see?" Then - she listens. Places her (empty!) plate down on the magazine-stacks, near Henry's; Henry, who might be in the bathroom, might be dead asleep, gone Henry. Then she rests her chin in the palm of her hand, and listens to Tristan. Your Skadi causes her eyebrows to lift, just a very little, and - well. A listener, you see? When he's done, she makes a sound, noncommittal, unsympathetic but - understanding. Follows it with: "You think so? I guess it's a bit startling to think you're never going to have children. You'd make a good biological paw, I think. But I'm never going to have children, either, so - " Here, a shrug. "I don't think about who you fuck." Beat. "Because, ew, Henry. He's like a brother. Ew."

[J.B.] "I like her," he affirms, sealing it with a nod. "Thaney's a good person. She seems genuinely nice, which is a rarity sometimes. I think she's probably a good -- good Philodox, too. Though I'm happier when I don't have to deal with that side of her," he adds, laughing.

The truck rolls onto the freeway. The engine is sonorous and strong, the acceleration smooth, though nothing awe-inspiring. He merges with the sparse late-night traffic, heading north along the great wheel of Chicago's transportation web, where downtown was the hub. During the day, especially at peak hours, this drive is a nightmare of brake lights and stop-and-go. This late, though, there's hardly anyone around; the sights of Chicago's skyscrapers rising up out of the plains is theirs to admire. Through the car windows, in the night, the skyscrapers seem marvelous and pristine, without the inescapable grime of the city that daylight would reveal. Late-night workaholics have some lights burning still, dappling the great towers in pinpricks of light. John takes an interchange across the river and the heart of the city slides by them, passes them by. Now it's fading into the rearview mirrors as he navigates off the freeway, into the quietly affluent uptown district of Lakeview with its trendy little shops, its brick condominiums, and its small, astronomically priced houses.

[Tristan Stern] He laughs then, by the end. Two months ago, these kinds of conversations were impossible to have. Two months ago he was about to give up, move on, get away from all of this. Two months ago, he was at his lowest low.

This is now. Thank goodness.

"Thaney, love, despite the protestations of the Nation, this is 2007. Should I decide to have a child, there are ways to make that happen. Thanks for your confidence, though - I always hoped I'd be a good dad if I had the chance. Someday I might - but right now, things are just too unstable and all. If I'm going to go about getting clawed almost in two, it's not fair to a baby. Sides - i'd want to be stable before that - be sure I could raise him or her right and shit. Things normal folks want, even if we ain't at all normal."

If he noticed the look when he mentions Skadi, he doesn't go back to mention it again. It's a nice friendly conversation, see? And things will likely be real complicated soon enough anyway. Take the easy bits when ya can.

[Princess] ooc: okay, I? am dying of kitten induced CUTENESS. OMG. how can it be SO EVIL and then SO CUTE?

[Princess] "Life isn't fair," she says, with the sudden, angle downward of a frown - that's her reply to pretty much all. Her change of subject is deft, and as obvious as an elephant in a bathtub of dubious size: "So you liked my eggs?"

[Tristan Stern] "Nope, it's not. And even if I don't ever have kids of my own, I'll be content to raise as many of my friends' kids, and stray puppies as need me." A wink, and a nod. "And I'll most certainly ask you to feed them eggs when I do. Those were awesome!"

[Maya Nevskaja] "Most people are."

Maya looks away when he laughs, physically, she draws herself further from him toward the window; reshuffling her approximation to him. She watches the city fold atop her, the buildings swallow the night sky and all the Godi can sense is the Weaver, her web.

Maya's kohl-darkened eyes narrow.

For the remainder of the trip she seems withdrawn from the kinfolk, her focus is certainly elsewhere. Beyond his companionship, beyond understanding. "I do not like cities." She says abruptly, drawing herself upright in the seat. "There is too much here, not enough space."

[Princess] "You can do that, without stability?" Here, a quirk of an eyebrow: "What's the difference?" Also, a flush of pleasure - turns her ears pink. "Praise will get you more eggs, you know. Not now, since there aren't any left, but in the future."

[J.B.] John has a talent: that talent is adaptation. With the passing minutes, he has grown accustomed to the eldritch Theurge. Her stillness, her abruptness, no longer perturb him the way they had. When she speaks suddenly, his glance is brief -- if only out of necessity, as he navigates a corner.

"I've never met a Garou who really liked the city," he says. "I met one of the cityfolk once. A Glass Walker? She told me, I hate the city. I'm just evolved for it, that's all."

For a moment, John can remember the Glass Walker clearly. Her smoke-and-brandy voice, her dark hair, savage eyes. He remembers what became of her, too: those eyes flecked in blood, the back of her head crushed in. It was less than three hours, from one memory to the other.

"I thought it was ironic," he adds. They're on a quiet residential street now, and he parks under an elm. Belatedly, he wonders if he should've asked her where she'd come from, instead; what wide-open spaces might lie in her past.

[Tristan Stern] He chuckles softly. "The difference is taking in an existing child that needs me - or say, a teenager - and doing my best by them vs. actively participating in bringing another life into this fucked up world." He shrugs, and grins. "I don't know, exactly. One of those little odd things, I guess."

But at the promise of more eggs, he clutches his heart with a bright grin. "Yay! - but you do know what they say about feeding Gnawers, right?"

[Tristan Stern] (HA! JB has too. *harumph*)

[Maya Nevskaja] One day a person shall learn about Maya Nevskaja. One day she will meet another she can tell secrets to the way she is told them by her spirits. It will not be a pretty tale, of victory and conquest (if any ever are) but one filled with bitter memories of ruined innocence and violent ends.

Violent beginnings, those too.

Maya looks straight ahead, and she has no makeup to conceal her pale cheeks under, they are drawn tight, not suffused with any false color. It makes her seem more wolfish, less of a woman, more of a thing. Hard and lean and hungry -- yes, that seemed about fitting for her.

She cuts John a smile, beginning bland and then real, captivating, full. "I will not come to love it, but I will come to understand it." She captures him fully for a moment with her eyes, and then pushes open the door and slips out, Maya's wake leaving his truck untouched by perfume, shampoo. As though she had never been at all.

[Princess] "Don't eat anything they give you, unless you know how old it is?"

(( Sorry for belatedness, sorrry, sorry! ))

[Tristan Stern] He blinks, then laughs agian. "nah, that's EATING with a gnawer. Otherwise - they're like stray puppies - feed em once and ya never get rid of them.."

[J.B.] It's like moving from one world to another. The quiet sound-insulated space of the truck, with the road rushing under the wheels; the Godi. And now this: Henry's home, comfortable, welcoming, with chatty kin and a genuinely nice Fianna inside.

It is too warm for a coat. But John rolls his sleeves down nonetheless, to seem at least partly presentable. Then he takes Thaney's book off the dashboard and gets out of the truck. He seems the type who might've opened Maya's door for her if she hadn't herself; she, however, seems very much the type to do it for herself.

They walk up the path to the front door. John clears his throat once, but neither speak. John's big thumb pushes the doorbell. He's forgotten he was meant to call.

[Princess] "There's this one girl - " she says, begins to say. The door-bell rings. Princess' shoulders lift up, hunch; she curses, quietly, and under her breath, with a glance upstairs. Then she's on her feet, saying, "Where's Henry, anyway? Do you think he went to sleep?"

And, the two Get of Fenris will have to wait for a moment, while the house wakes, and somebody comes to find them.

[Tristan Stern] He frowns, slightly, and shakes his head. "He may have - he was pretty tired. I'll go check on him - you get the door. And don't worry, the boys are our living it up tonight. Bell won't wake anyone."

He tugs her braid again with a grin, before he heads to the other room to find his wayward boyfriend.

[Maya Nevskaja] How unexpected a couple they must seem at the door. The affable, polite kinfolk who has brought a book to a genuinely nice Fianna and the dark, petite woman with the long black hair beside him who seemed entirely out of place.

At least she had not worn her necklace of animal bones this evening.

To another Garou she smelled like the earth, something subtle, something alive and vibrant, yet tinged with death. Perhaps that was the way a Theurge ought to smell, to look. Beguiling, even charismatic, but at the same time best glimpsed from afar. A safe distance between.

Nobody answers the door, Maya's amusement grows. A flicker of mild curiosity at the man beside her, she must look upward to see his face. She reaches across him, and settles a finger on the bell for some time.

[J.B.] Maya looks at John. John shrugs his shoulders. Maya pins the doorbell down and John suddenly sucks a breath in through his teeth - "Shit." - and puts a hand out to stop her. Mind, he never actually grabs her by the wrist or anything of the sort. "I was supposed to call when I got here. Some of the house is apparently asleep. Well; damage is done. Let's just wait."

[Princess] Princess catches her braid, once it's tugged - head falls back, natural-like, and then she says, "Okay." This is when the doorbell starts to go on repeat: repeat: repeat: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: --

"Ack!" The door is wrenched open but a moment later. "J.B.?" Beat. Take in Maya. "And guest?"

[J.B.] John, or J.B., does indeed darken the doorstep. He makes for an imposing shadow, very tall, very broad; then he steps into the light and his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It looks a little like a wince.

"Sorry. I forgot to call." He holds out the book to her, then gestures to his companion. "This is Maya Nevskaja. She's a Crescent Moon of the Fenrir. I ran into her on the way up."

Not literally, one hopes.

[Maya Nevskaja] First rule of entertaining a Get of Fenris.

Do not keep them waiting. Maya pressed a finger to the bell, John puts his hand out toward her wrist and the Godi's muscles draw in, tense. Her eyes are on him suddenly, intently and she breathes out through her nose, a quiet huff of -- what? Warning? Agitation? The door is wrenched open, Maya's hand falls to her side.

She looks over the Fianna's shoulder, then at her. Her smile rising, a sharp, teeth-filled thing. "Half Moon," She says to Thaney, not trying her name again it would seem.

[Tristan Stern] The kitchen first, and then upstairs. He hears the ring go on repeat and winces, but just shakes his head, chuckling. And he disappears into the bedroom.

[Princess] "I noticed," she says, seriously; there's a tinge of wryness, of course. Duh. The ringer just went ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: ring: etc. Forever. Ad infinitum. "But," she adds, to be fair, "my minutes might have been up, anyway. The middle of the month: hard to know."

And Princess takes the book with all due seriousness, running her fingers over the edges. She would read the cover, or behave with more - well; she might behave differently, were it not for Maya, who, of course, she could smell was garou as soon as she opened the door. Who she regards, curiously, quietly, directly.

"Yes," a reply, answer. Then: "Maya Nevskaja?" The last name is slightly butchered. She tries the name again, to better effect - still. It'll be a while. "Well, it's nice to meet a Crescent Moon in this city." Or it will be, until she finds out who Maya packs with! But that's another story, for another day. "Come into the kitchen; have a drink. Only one, for drivers." Oh, hospitality - inescapable.

[Maya Nevskaja] The Half Moon's regard is natural, and Storm's Eye is quite accustomed to the ritual that comes with first greeting. She knows that she appears out of the ordinary with her pale face, her darkdark eyes and that long, unadorned hair. A small thing, not build as a Fenrir should be, or as statistics would have her be she is still something to be aware of.

"If it is easier, you may call me Storm's Eye." A small mercy, spoken on a thickly accented tongue. A pleasant voice, husky and soft, if hardened by something beyond her moon or tribe.

[J.B.] "Actually," John says, "I think I'm heading back. It's getting late." Actually, it's already quite late. Closer to early. Still: "Unless you need a ride?" -- this, to Maya.

(sorry to bail guys, but i had like 4 hrs of sleep last night and i'm falling over!)

[Princess] "Hm," she says, with a flick of a glance for J.B., thoughtful: concentration makes her sober, rather than the lucid, half-girl thing she'd been up until now. "Thaney is what I'm called. If it's easier," here, well - submerged flicker of amusement. "You can also call me She Whose Tongue Knifes Flame Into Equal Halves." The last is said with a half-glance, again, for J.B. - we'll call it a half-glance because she doesn't really look at him, but is keenly aware of the kinfolk's presence, not entirely comfortable with it, finds it odd, salt in the eye - whatever. At the same time, doesn't notice it.

[Princess] Add, all, "It already is late; seeya round, J.B.? Maya?" Beat. "You can also call me - hm. Juniper, if you want."

[Tristan Stern] (gonna bail too! night all!)

[Maya Nevskaja] (*declares a pause*)