Sometimes that's all that matters.
Tuesday, 5 March 2013 22:29![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeremiah_garou5 March, 2013
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (41% full).
Late evening finds the Gold Star Laundromat nearly deserted. Its sole occupant is a rather tall dark-skinned man wearing rather less than he was the last time. He's still got the white wife beater on, along with a pair of jean-shorts and flip-flops, so he's decent, but he seems to take a 'do as much in one load as possible' policy when it comes to laundry. With more of his skin showing this time, it's much more obvious how much of him is covered with tattoos and scars. As for the man himself, he's stretched out in a chair, his feet propped up on the machine across the aisle from him, while his back rests against the machine he's got in use.
It's late and the fact that there aren't many people seems to be exactly why Jeremiah's coming to do his laundry now, not too long before the calls for 'last load' and no new things started. The Gnawer's carrying most of his laundry bundled in that oversize coat of his, a handful of coins that should be enough to finish the one load. It's not like he has much, anyway, but he'll wash as much of it as he can and remain decent. And true to form of 'not paying attention', he doesn't notice that Slash is there until he's gotten most of the numerous shirts and layers into the washer and is emptying the pockets of his coat of assorted junk and stuff. "Hey," he offers. Or rather, squeaks. His voice, unlike the last time the two met, is high, nasal, and whiny. Eventually, the Ahroun gets the washing machine going, and turns to look at the other man.
Slash doesn't have a lot, either—everything he owns will fit either on his person or into the pack that's currently resting underneath his chair. Something of a necessity when you travel cross-country primarily by foot. His brow furrows at the squeaky voice, clearly noticing it, but the single word isn't enough to jump to any conclusions. "Hey," he replies in his own raspy, wound ravaged voice. "Looks like I can pick 'em, if this is you all's go-to spot."
"Better than the rest've 'em," Jeremiah responds, and the more words that come from the Gnawer's mouth, the more clear it is that something transpired in the time between, but Jeremiah at least doesn't seem to be letting himself be hindered by it. Carefully, the stuff and junk from his jacket is gathered up and set onto a chair, and then Jeremiah flops himself down into the chair next to it with a nod.
"Always wondered how that one'd mix with battle scars," Slash comments, given that his own voice has dropped so much lower in both volume and pitch. "Not that I want t'know that badly. So who'd you piss off?"
Jeremiah chuckles . It's an unpleasant sound at the moment, grating and irritating that quickly gets cut off, and the Ahroun reflexively touches his hand to his side, probably some unseen scar, before he raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Probably badly," he responds, in answer to the first, and the second gets a nod. "Lot of folk around here. A while ago, 'n another life. Or so it seemed. Just… trying to make things right, if I can."
"'Spect you're right," Slash agrees. Then, to the rest, he replies, "Funny how that works." And not funny ha-ha, one might gather. "New life, new name… might be a different life t'you. Doesn't always mean much t'some, though. Hell, sometimes it's enough that your ancestors did it."
The Gnawer lifts his shoulders in a shrug. At the least, the smaller moon in the sky means that Jer's far less on-edge than he'd been, that ever-present Rage held in tight control and far enough under the surface. "Yeah. An' then I fell outta the sky here, so go figure. I'll take my lumps, an' all this." The stuff starts to get sorted out, and Jer pulls the worn flannel shirt he wears a little closer as though without the numerous layers he's hidden behind, he's suddenly vulnerable. "I did kinda choose t' stay an' face this, anyway. Make've it what y' will."
Slash shrugs, reaching down to his pack until he comes out with a bottle of water, taking a swig to keep his throat wet. "Sometimes people get attached to a place. Think it's worth fighting or suffering for, even when it don't make much sense. Fuck, only reason I can find Egypt on a map is 'cause I'm a Strider."
"Everything's worth fightin' for," Jeremiah says, level and patient for an ahroun certainly, but there's a light in his eyes that suggests that that willingness to fight is all too close to the surface. And for all that the punishment rite may make the intonation still laughable, his expression is serious. "Not like I have anythin' anywhere else. An' I ended up here. It might mean something, an'… it might not."
Slash shakes his head, "Maybe when you're young and don't know any better. You get a few more years on you, you learn t'pick your fights." A shrug, as to what it might mean, though. "The crescent and gibbous moons might know 'bout that. Me? Only thing I think is that you've already decided it means somethin'… an' sometimes that's all that matters, in the end."
Jeremiah bares his teeth in what is certainly a grin, if a feral one, and nods. "Suppose so," he agrees. "Then again, I kinda end up the fights pick me. Someone once joked I need to get th' hang of laying low enough times between, but I'd turn around and there'd be something I couldn' ignore. Didn't go a day without something for months." Clearly not that Jeremiah's complaining either. Fullmoons, can't live with them, can't live without them, but subtleties may well be lost on this one. "One day I'll know better." He grins. "Or I'll be dead. Either or."
Slash notes, after a swallow of water, "Or you'll be a big damn hero an' when we meet up in a laundromat you'll be tellin' me how glad you are that you didn't listen t'me way back when." Despite Jeremiah's current status, Slash doesn't seem to be mocking him by the addition of the third option.
Nonetheless, the ahroun finds himself chuckling again. "Ironically," he notes, "that's basically what I need t' do, if." Jer takes a breath. "If I's want this t' get lifted," he finishes, then huffs and shakes his head. "Not that you knew that. Big damn heroism for the sept, an' this gets lifted. Otherwise, I squeak and whine for as long as I stay here. I do what needs doin'. Just an ahroun. Not a hero."
Slash whistles. "Damn. You really did piss a lot of people off. Not sure I'd have stuck around with somethin' like that if it were me, even in Trenton, Tampa, or Philly." Spots that were, apparently, closer to a real home to him than most.
Jeremiah nods, quite solemn now. "Did some pretty damn stupid things," he admits. "Rage'll do that. Didn't think much, those days. An' well. If I don't stick it through, if I take the easy way out an' leave? I'm no better than I was as a Lord, or the slime that—" He shakes his head, shakes the topic off, not something he wants to get further in. "Got a chance to do right, s'pose that's all that matters."
Slash doesn't press, whether out of simple courtesy or because the washer he's sitting against suddenly stops. Getting to his feet, he begins to move everything from the washer to the dryer across from it. "Yep. Already decided," he comments with a chuckle that turns into a cough. "So what's your plan for the big rite in a couple of weeks?"
The ahroun shakes his head. "Need to talk to Elliot," Jeremiah says. "Was told, I'm banned from th' bawn an' Edgewood, an' not welcome. Doubt I'd be welcomed at th' rite. But if they need me be somewhere, 's there I'll be."
Slash says "Need t'do the same. That, and get off my backside and track Topsy down. Apparently someone brought trouble with 'em when they came here, an' now people need a rep from the sept t'speak up for 'em if they don't have a tribal elder t'do it. Always got on well with the Gaians, an' she's got enough rank that if somethin' did happen, she could handle it."
Jeremiah winces at the last, and sighs. "That someone," Jeremiah intones, rubbing his hand against the forehead, "woulda been me. Or well, more accurately, me. That series of 'pretty damn stupid things'. My apologies for the more lasting consequences."
Slash isn't quite sure whether to look amused or irritated as he regards Jeremiah, but seems to lean more toward the former. He ends up just shaking his head and shrugging. "Eh. One more person t'owe a bit of chiminage to. Could be a hell of a lot worse. An' the price is usually fair from the Gaians."
The Ahroun, for his part, has taken the time to steady his breathing again, and nods. Nonetheless, Jeremiah seems to feel like he owes the Strider at least a little bit more of an explanation, though it's slow in coming, with a false start before he says anything. "'fore I was a Gnawer, I was, well," it's obvious, he doesn't need to say it. Aside from the whining, high pitch, Jeremiah's voice as he speaks is almost flat. "Grew up in a traditional, pretty isolated Sept. Down in Colorado. An' then little over a year ago, Broken Prairie fell. From the inside out, except I didn't see it 'til later. I survived, Ky survived. No one else, an' we had some… problems. Came here, and too blinded by anger, and by what I'd grew up with, t' deal w' folk here straight. An' I'd already had enough a' all th' crap. So yeah, man I was… pissed a lot of folk off. Kaz-rhya, she believed in me, an' saw I'd had 'nough of the BS and 'nough of it, sent me t' Vegas, when I left here."
Slash nods his head. "Was sorry t'hear Kaz wasn't still around. Knew she wasn't Alpha anymore, but she was good people. But who knows, road might bring her back this way again."
The younger man smiles. "Yeah. Hope so," Jeremiah admits. "'d like t' see her 'gain. If not," he shrugs, "I might head t' Portland, when I'm done here."
"No reason not to. Few hours if you've got a ride, few days if you go on foot," Slash agrees, punctuating it with a swallow of water. "Way you were talkin', though, I wouldn't wait on bein' done here so much as bein' more settled in."
Jeremiah lifts his shoulders in an easy shrug. "Done might take a while. I got time," the ahroun says. Understatement of the century, and the nod that he offers to Slash seems to be that Jeremiah does know that. "Nothin' but it, really." There's a grin. "Still'd like t' see Kaz again. An' another of your folk, Tim? Knew him when I was a kid, always was real good to me, even when I'd fucked up. Don't think he's in town now, though?"
Slash shakes his head. "Not so as I've heard. Wouldn't have minded catchin' up with him, either. Didn't get know too many people when I passed through last time—was only here a few months—but looks like we're two for two so far."
"Mm," Jeremiah says, a slight grimace when even what was supposed to be a soft sound comes out irritating and high, but he'll get used to this eventually. "I didn't exactly know so many folk last time I was here, myself. An' seems a lot of folk I did know've moved on." It's dry, not a complaint as much as an observation.
Slash lets out a faint sigh, then answers, "That's the way of it. Every time you come back to a place, there's a few less familiar faces. Some move on, some die. I think that's one of the reasons I like the desert so much."
Jer listens with all the respect and attention of someone listening to an elder, respect for that Slash has seen more, done more, been through more, and nods. "Makes sense," he admits. "Then again, ain't like any've the folk I did know still know me. Whether they see that or not…" shoulders raise an lower in another shrug.
Slash says, "Depends. Things can change a hell of a lot for a person, an' some people still know you—at least in the ways that matter—no matter what. For them, it's just fillin' in some details. For most, yeah."
Jeremiah considers this as both dryers come to a stop, nodding again. "Yeah," he agrees, the one word saying enough and the Gnawer going thoughtful. "Yeah, s'pose that's true too. Still, suppose I should get this together and go head for somewhere t' sleep," he admits. "Good seein' you, sir."
Slash offers a wave. "Just Slash is fine. I've spent a good chunk of my life on the road, an' so I don't carry extra baggage. Weighs you down. Bein' more formal than you have t'be's just another kind, in my book. See ya around, Bullfrog."
Jeremiah grins and eases a little bit more as he takes clothing out of the dryer, putting on each layer except for a few that get folded to carry. "Fair," he admits, "Seeya." And then, with stuff loaded into the coats of the oversized surplus jacket, the ahroun gives another nod and makes for the door out to the street.
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (41% full).
Late evening finds the Gold Star Laundromat nearly deserted. Its sole occupant is a rather tall dark-skinned man wearing rather less than he was the last time. He's still got the white wife beater on, along with a pair of jean-shorts and flip-flops, so he's decent, but he seems to take a 'do as much in one load as possible' policy when it comes to laundry. With more of his skin showing this time, it's much more obvious how much of him is covered with tattoos and scars. As for the man himself, he's stretched out in a chair, his feet propped up on the machine across the aisle from him, while his back rests against the machine he's got in use.
It's late and the fact that there aren't many people seems to be exactly why Jeremiah's coming to do his laundry now, not too long before the calls for 'last load' and no new things started. The Gnawer's carrying most of his laundry bundled in that oversize coat of his, a handful of coins that should be enough to finish the one load. It's not like he has much, anyway, but he'll wash as much of it as he can and remain decent. And true to form of 'not paying attention', he doesn't notice that Slash is there until he's gotten most of the numerous shirts and layers into the washer and is emptying the pockets of his coat of assorted junk and stuff. "Hey," he offers. Or rather, squeaks. His voice, unlike the last time the two met, is high, nasal, and whiny. Eventually, the Ahroun gets the washing machine going, and turns to look at the other man.
Slash doesn't have a lot, either—everything he owns will fit either on his person or into the pack that's currently resting underneath his chair. Something of a necessity when you travel cross-country primarily by foot. His brow furrows at the squeaky voice, clearly noticing it, but the single word isn't enough to jump to any conclusions. "Hey," he replies in his own raspy, wound ravaged voice. "Looks like I can pick 'em, if this is you all's go-to spot."
"Better than the rest've 'em," Jeremiah responds, and the more words that come from the Gnawer's mouth, the more clear it is that something transpired in the time between, but Jeremiah at least doesn't seem to be letting himself be hindered by it. Carefully, the stuff and junk from his jacket is gathered up and set onto a chair, and then Jeremiah flops himself down into the chair next to it with a nod.
"Always wondered how that one'd mix with battle scars," Slash comments, given that his own voice has dropped so much lower in both volume and pitch. "Not that I want t'know that badly. So who'd you piss off?"
Jeremiah chuckles . It's an unpleasant sound at the moment, grating and irritating that quickly gets cut off, and the Ahroun reflexively touches his hand to his side, probably some unseen scar, before he raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Probably badly," he responds, in answer to the first, and the second gets a nod. "Lot of folk around here. A while ago, 'n another life. Or so it seemed. Just… trying to make things right, if I can."
"'Spect you're right," Slash agrees. Then, to the rest, he replies, "Funny how that works." And not funny ha-ha, one might gather. "New life, new name… might be a different life t'you. Doesn't always mean much t'some, though. Hell, sometimes it's enough that your ancestors did it."
The Gnawer lifts his shoulders in a shrug. At the least, the smaller moon in the sky means that Jer's far less on-edge than he'd been, that ever-present Rage held in tight control and far enough under the surface. "Yeah. An' then I fell outta the sky here, so go figure. I'll take my lumps, an' all this." The stuff starts to get sorted out, and Jer pulls the worn flannel shirt he wears a little closer as though without the numerous layers he's hidden behind, he's suddenly vulnerable. "I did kinda choose t' stay an' face this, anyway. Make've it what y' will."
Slash shrugs, reaching down to his pack until he comes out with a bottle of water, taking a swig to keep his throat wet. "Sometimes people get attached to a place. Think it's worth fighting or suffering for, even when it don't make much sense. Fuck, only reason I can find Egypt on a map is 'cause I'm a Strider."
"Everything's worth fightin' for," Jeremiah says, level and patient for an ahroun certainly, but there's a light in his eyes that suggests that that willingness to fight is all too close to the surface. And for all that the punishment rite may make the intonation still laughable, his expression is serious. "Not like I have anythin' anywhere else. An' I ended up here. It might mean something, an'… it might not."
Slash shakes his head, "Maybe when you're young and don't know any better. You get a few more years on you, you learn t'pick your fights." A shrug, as to what it might mean, though. "The crescent and gibbous moons might know 'bout that. Me? Only thing I think is that you've already decided it means somethin'… an' sometimes that's all that matters, in the end."
Jeremiah bares his teeth in what is certainly a grin, if a feral one, and nods. "Suppose so," he agrees. "Then again, I kinda end up the fights pick me. Someone once joked I need to get th' hang of laying low enough times between, but I'd turn around and there'd be something I couldn' ignore. Didn't go a day without something for months." Clearly not that Jeremiah's complaining either. Fullmoons, can't live with them, can't live without them, but subtleties may well be lost on this one. "One day I'll know better." He grins. "Or I'll be dead. Either or."
Slash notes, after a swallow of water, "Or you'll be a big damn hero an' when we meet up in a laundromat you'll be tellin' me how glad you are that you didn't listen t'me way back when." Despite Jeremiah's current status, Slash doesn't seem to be mocking him by the addition of the third option.
Nonetheless, the ahroun finds himself chuckling again. "Ironically," he notes, "that's basically what I need t' do, if." Jer takes a breath. "If I's want this t' get lifted," he finishes, then huffs and shakes his head. "Not that you knew that. Big damn heroism for the sept, an' this gets lifted. Otherwise, I squeak and whine for as long as I stay here. I do what needs doin'. Just an ahroun. Not a hero."
Slash whistles. "Damn. You really did piss a lot of people off. Not sure I'd have stuck around with somethin' like that if it were me, even in Trenton, Tampa, or Philly." Spots that were, apparently, closer to a real home to him than most.
Jeremiah nods, quite solemn now. "Did some pretty damn stupid things," he admits. "Rage'll do that. Didn't think much, those days. An' well. If I don't stick it through, if I take the easy way out an' leave? I'm no better than I was as a Lord, or the slime that—" He shakes his head, shakes the topic off, not something he wants to get further in. "Got a chance to do right, s'pose that's all that matters."
Slash doesn't press, whether out of simple courtesy or because the washer he's sitting against suddenly stops. Getting to his feet, he begins to move everything from the washer to the dryer across from it. "Yep. Already decided," he comments with a chuckle that turns into a cough. "So what's your plan for the big rite in a couple of weeks?"
The ahroun shakes his head. "Need to talk to Elliot," Jeremiah says. "Was told, I'm banned from th' bawn an' Edgewood, an' not welcome. Doubt I'd be welcomed at th' rite. But if they need me be somewhere, 's there I'll be."
Slash says "Need t'do the same. That, and get off my backside and track Topsy down. Apparently someone brought trouble with 'em when they came here, an' now people need a rep from the sept t'speak up for 'em if they don't have a tribal elder t'do it. Always got on well with the Gaians, an' she's got enough rank that if somethin' did happen, she could handle it."
Jeremiah winces at the last, and sighs. "That someone," Jeremiah intones, rubbing his hand against the forehead, "woulda been me. Or well, more accurately, me. That series of 'pretty damn stupid things'. My apologies for the more lasting consequences."
Slash isn't quite sure whether to look amused or irritated as he regards Jeremiah, but seems to lean more toward the former. He ends up just shaking his head and shrugging. "Eh. One more person t'owe a bit of chiminage to. Could be a hell of a lot worse. An' the price is usually fair from the Gaians."
The Ahroun, for his part, has taken the time to steady his breathing again, and nods. Nonetheless, Jeremiah seems to feel like he owes the Strider at least a little bit more of an explanation, though it's slow in coming, with a false start before he says anything. "'fore I was a Gnawer, I was, well," it's obvious, he doesn't need to say it. Aside from the whining, high pitch, Jeremiah's voice as he speaks is almost flat. "Grew up in a traditional, pretty isolated Sept. Down in Colorado. An' then little over a year ago, Broken Prairie fell. From the inside out, except I didn't see it 'til later. I survived, Ky survived. No one else, an' we had some… problems. Came here, and too blinded by anger, and by what I'd grew up with, t' deal w' folk here straight. An' I'd already had enough a' all th' crap. So yeah, man I was… pissed a lot of folk off. Kaz-rhya, she believed in me, an' saw I'd had 'nough of the BS and 'nough of it, sent me t' Vegas, when I left here."
Slash nods his head. "Was sorry t'hear Kaz wasn't still around. Knew she wasn't Alpha anymore, but she was good people. But who knows, road might bring her back this way again."
The younger man smiles. "Yeah. Hope so," Jeremiah admits. "'d like t' see her 'gain. If not," he shrugs, "I might head t' Portland, when I'm done here."
"No reason not to. Few hours if you've got a ride, few days if you go on foot," Slash agrees, punctuating it with a swallow of water. "Way you were talkin', though, I wouldn't wait on bein' done here so much as bein' more settled in."
Jeremiah lifts his shoulders in an easy shrug. "Done might take a while. I got time," the ahroun says. Understatement of the century, and the nod that he offers to Slash seems to be that Jeremiah does know that. "Nothin' but it, really." There's a grin. "Still'd like t' see Kaz again. An' another of your folk, Tim? Knew him when I was a kid, always was real good to me, even when I'd fucked up. Don't think he's in town now, though?"
Slash shakes his head. "Not so as I've heard. Wouldn't have minded catchin' up with him, either. Didn't get know too many people when I passed through last time—was only here a few months—but looks like we're two for two so far."
"Mm," Jeremiah says, a slight grimace when even what was supposed to be a soft sound comes out irritating and high, but he'll get used to this eventually. "I didn't exactly know so many folk last time I was here, myself. An' seems a lot of folk I did know've moved on." It's dry, not a complaint as much as an observation.
Slash lets out a faint sigh, then answers, "That's the way of it. Every time you come back to a place, there's a few less familiar faces. Some move on, some die. I think that's one of the reasons I like the desert so much."
Jer listens with all the respect and attention of someone listening to an elder, respect for that Slash has seen more, done more, been through more, and nods. "Makes sense," he admits. "Then again, ain't like any've the folk I did know still know me. Whether they see that or not…" shoulders raise an lower in another shrug.
Slash says, "Depends. Things can change a hell of a lot for a person, an' some people still know you—at least in the ways that matter—no matter what. For them, it's just fillin' in some details. For most, yeah."
Jeremiah considers this as both dryers come to a stop, nodding again. "Yeah," he agrees, the one word saying enough and the Gnawer going thoughtful. "Yeah, s'pose that's true too. Still, suppose I should get this together and go head for somewhere t' sleep," he admits. "Good seein' you, sir."
Slash offers a wave. "Just Slash is fine. I've spent a good chunk of my life on the road, an' so I don't carry extra baggage. Weighs you down. Bein' more formal than you have t'be's just another kind, in my book. See ya around, Bullfrog."
Jeremiah grins and eases a little bit more as he takes clothing out of the dryer, putting on each layer except for a few that get folded to carry. "Fair," he admits, "Seeya." And then, with stuff loaded into the coats of the oversized surplus jacket, the ahroun gives another nod and makes for the door out to the street.