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jeremiah_garou) wrote2013-06-17 08:30 pm
jeremiah_garou) wrote2013-06-17 08:30 pm
Stories to tell.
June 17, 2013
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (62% full).
It's a fair evening, the warmth of the day is slowly leaving and an earlier threat of rain has decided not to make its appearance. Perfect weather for an evening out. Even if one is out alone, such as one Shadow Lord. Ky, still flying solo, is seated on the ground with his back against a tree. A sketchbook rests against his knees, pencil gripped in his fingers. The lead leaves faint gray streaks across the paper while he draws, attention obviously elsewhere.
The park's a usual haunt, and Jeremiah walks in from one edge, a plastic bag in one hand, his jacket pulled around himself, and then he stops short. The Shadow Lord happens to be sitting in the spot that the former Shadow Lord usually occupies. And then after that hesitation, Jeremiah keeps walking, pausing a significant distance but within conversational range of Ky, but not saying anything.
Marcus enters the now familiar park in the opposite direction, with a small rucksack in hand, and for once his 3yr old charge is nowhere in sight. He makes for the fountain at the center, and stands there for a moment to scan the rest of the park. His gaze flicks over Ky briefly before spying Jeremiah. Waving a greeting, the Gaian strides up to him. "Hey… figured I'd find you here—how's it going?"
Ky's eyes leave the page after a moment or two, focusing on Jeremiah. His brows lift slightly, however he doesn't speak, interrupted perhaps by Marcus' greeting and subsequent approach. A flicker directs the Shadow Lord's gaze to the approaching Gaian, and whatever he's drawing remains paused.
Jeremiah seems like he might be about to say something—possibly about the tree—but it's also interrupted by Marcus's arrival. "It goes," comes the response, ignoring Ky save for a slight nod. It's the ahroun's usual terse shortness, but without any real flares of anger behind it. "Yeah. Can usually find me here." The statement seems to be directed at Ky as well.
Marcus was about to say more, but catches the glance Jeremiah tosses to Ky, and looks to Ky as well. This time, he actually looks at the other Shadow Lord. After a breath, Marcus makes a decision and turns to Ky, "Hello… are you family to Bullfrog?"
Ky's mouth quirks in some sort of dark, humorless smirk. "Indirectly," he answers, though he looks at Jeremiah as he speaks, instead of Marcus. Humorless, but not angry. Level. He closes the sketchbook and then stands. The pencil is tucked into his pocket.
Jeremiah doesn't offer contradiction, or in fact any words at all, to either of the other Garou. Instead, he moves around the tree and looks about to where the next closest one is, then looks back at Ky, without moving to sit in the spot that the younger ragabash just freed up.
Marcus watches Jeremiah with a faint frown, but doesn't follow. "Marcus Farewell, or Speaks Softly with a Sharp Tongue… Fostern Raggie of the Unicorn sort," he eventually introduces himself to Ky once he's sure there are no unclued within earshot. "New in town… gonna tell me his story?" He tilts his chin a bit towards the Gnawer.
"Kyler Smith," the Shadow Lord replies smoothly, easily adopting a more respectful posture when his attention returns to Marcus. "Cliath Ragabash, Grandson of Thunder and elder. And if Jermi's got a story to tell, you should ask him for it."
Jeremiah takes a neutral stance across from either of the ragabash, and there's a squeaky muttering, entirely unintelligible. "I might even tell it. Some day."
Marcus nods, acknowledging the introduction, and responds with a half-smirk. "I'm asking you… Bullfrog will tell me his story in time." It stays a request, Marcus is hardly pulling rank, but he's curious and it shows. "Besides," adds after a pause, "Doubt he'd want to say much with Jackal squeezing his throat." As if on cue, Jeremiah speaks up, prompting a perked brow from Marcus and quick grin. "Some day," he repeats after the boy, "but not today."
"Not here or now," Ky implores, his smirk of earlier returning when Jeremiah mutters. He doesn't look at the Ahroun though. "I'll tell you a story another time. I need to get to the shop, clean up." Normal stuff.
The ahroun nods once, and looks to Ky, after that. "I'll see you around," Jeremiah offers to Kyler. "I haven't seen Lefty, yet. But I will." There's one more nod, and then Jeremiah moves to take his customary spot that's now vacant. "Take care," is offered to Kyler, though it's hard to tell what he means by that, with the Jackal influence on his voice.
Marcus eyes Ky for a moment, then nods and steps away. "Fair enough…I'll see you around." He waits until the Shadow Lord is out of earshot before turning his attention back to Jeremiah, "Well, that was brief…" Stepping closer to the Gnawer, he holds out the rucksack. "Brought you some provisions—raincoat, some canned food, and a couple of old books I had lying around…eh, one of them is pretty smutty."
"The Vault," Kyler offers, nodding his head toward the industrial sector. "You ever need some work done. Or a story." He glances toward Jeremiah and shrugs, slightly, before heading toward the direction of the shop.
Jeremiah shrugs his shoulders, entirely unworried by Ky's departure. "It usually is," he says. Tension, still entirely there, mitigated by the slow way that Jeremiah speaks and the hillfolk influence on his words. "No matter. Thank you," he adds, nodding, and settling the rucksack next to him after he's taken it. "Last raincoat I had's still in Connecticut. Anything helps, always. Books pass th' time." There's a long moment of pause, and Jeremiah adds, "When I's not here, I'm usually either at the Library, our tribe's place. Or out by the bridge, encampment there. Don't come on full moon."
Marcus settles on the ground by Jeremiah, and pulls out a small tin box from a pocket. With practiced efficiency, he starts rolling a mixed joint, tobacco and hash for the observant, plain tobacco for the clueless. "Let me know if there's anything particular you may need… I have a habit of picking up a lot of random stuff during my adventures." Giving the Gnawer a sidelong glance, he adds, "And why not come by on a full moon? It's not like you can hurt me, Jeremiah."
Jeremiah looks at Marcus for a long, appraising look. "I don't much like company then," he admits, and then there's another silence. "And… if something happened? Yes. I could." Though Jeremiah's control is as unwavering as ever, without the slightest fault.
Marcus nods, not quite looking at the Cliath as he's focused on finishing his task. Rolled joint complete, he passes it to Jeremiah, and starts on another one. "No one likes company on their moon… but sometimes you don't get a choice." He pauses and turns his gaze back to Jeremiah, half-smirk reappearing. "Maybe you could, but I'm not worried… I've had experience, you can say."
Jeremiah doesn't say no to the joint, pulling out a lighter from one of the numerous pockets of the army coat he wears. "Your choice," he eventually states after lighting it, and there's a small focus to the motions that suggests deeper thought to the simple action of smoking. But there's an amount of deference to the other Garou's experience in there. "It's not… as bad as it used to be. After. I've gotten better at it. I still don't seek out company."
Marcus finishes rolling his own join and brings out a cheap Bic lighter to put a flame to it. After the first puff, the Ragabash visibly relaxes and settles back against the tree, tin box closed shut and forgotten on his lap. "The thing is, Jeremiah," he starts, eyes absently watching a casual drug deal at the far side of the park, "Staying aloof is a sure fire sign that you're ripe for the picking by Dancers."
"Last ones that tried that died," Jeremiah notes. This? Dancers? That seems to be a sure way to irritate the ahroun, because even with the calming effect of the joint and the smoke, the ahroun levels a significantly angrier look at Marcus—as if trying to evaluate whether Marcus, perhaps, is one of the very aforementioned, and there's a bloodlust in that too, that coiled and tensioned desire for violence—before the ahroun continues, stone still, "Messily. I was ronin long enough. I don't need lectures."
Marcus meets the boy's look with an easy smile. "It's not a lecture, I promise… I'm trying to tell you something here, bear with me." He pulls on the joint some, smoke filtering out of his nose before he exhales it all in a quick breath. "There's a reason our type needs tribe and Sept… isolation leads to dark thoughts, and dark thoughts attract dark company… hate is a poison, it seeps into you, slowly and without warning, until you turn into the thing you abhor… dig?"
The ahroun's thoughts remain clearly dark for a moment, but clearly also far away. "Trust me, I get it," Jeremiah says, but it's more quietly, though with no less venom and anger, and there's something else that the ahroun almost says, before he shuts his mouth again, attention turned to the joint and rite instead.
Marcus takes another long puff, and releases the smoke gradually. "Sure enough, bear with me here," he repeats. The drug deal seems to have ended amicably, and Marcus turns his attention back to the Ahroun. "What I'm trying to say is… I'm out at the Trailer Park, and I'd like you to come by for dinner sometime this week… I can give you a ride there and back, no problem."
Jeremiah seems to consider this, attention inward, and looks at the Ragabash and nods. "I'll stow my stuff at the Library," he notes, "and run." Accepting dinner, denying the ride, "It's good for me, and I ain't getting much reason to go out that way in four legs, and such."
"Right, great," Marcus' beams at the Gnawer and he pulls up to his feet, grabbing the box before it tumbles out of his lap. "It's plot 7, in a secluded area of the park so don't worry if you have trouble finding it, I'll just find you." How, he doesn't elaborate. "So I'll be seeing you then…"
The ahroun looks up and nods, with a simple one-word response. "Yes." That said, Jeremiah settles against the tree, pulling one of the books from the bag Marcus gave earlier and beginning to read.
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (62% full).
It's a fair evening, the warmth of the day is slowly leaving and an earlier threat of rain has decided not to make its appearance. Perfect weather for an evening out. Even if one is out alone, such as one Shadow Lord. Ky, still flying solo, is seated on the ground with his back against a tree. A sketchbook rests against his knees, pencil gripped in his fingers. The lead leaves faint gray streaks across the paper while he draws, attention obviously elsewhere.
The park's a usual haunt, and Jeremiah walks in from one edge, a plastic bag in one hand, his jacket pulled around himself, and then he stops short. The Shadow Lord happens to be sitting in the spot that the former Shadow Lord usually occupies. And then after that hesitation, Jeremiah keeps walking, pausing a significant distance but within conversational range of Ky, but not saying anything.
Marcus enters the now familiar park in the opposite direction, with a small rucksack in hand, and for once his 3yr old charge is nowhere in sight. He makes for the fountain at the center, and stands there for a moment to scan the rest of the park. His gaze flicks over Ky briefly before spying Jeremiah. Waving a greeting, the Gaian strides up to him. "Hey… figured I'd find you here—how's it going?"
Ky's eyes leave the page after a moment or two, focusing on Jeremiah. His brows lift slightly, however he doesn't speak, interrupted perhaps by Marcus' greeting and subsequent approach. A flicker directs the Shadow Lord's gaze to the approaching Gaian, and whatever he's drawing remains paused.
Jeremiah seems like he might be about to say something—possibly about the tree—but it's also interrupted by Marcus's arrival. "It goes," comes the response, ignoring Ky save for a slight nod. It's the ahroun's usual terse shortness, but without any real flares of anger behind it. "Yeah. Can usually find me here." The statement seems to be directed at Ky as well.
Marcus was about to say more, but catches the glance Jeremiah tosses to Ky, and looks to Ky as well. This time, he actually looks at the other Shadow Lord. After a breath, Marcus makes a decision and turns to Ky, "Hello… are you family to Bullfrog?"
Ky's mouth quirks in some sort of dark, humorless smirk. "Indirectly," he answers, though he looks at Jeremiah as he speaks, instead of Marcus. Humorless, but not angry. Level. He closes the sketchbook and then stands. The pencil is tucked into his pocket.
Jeremiah doesn't offer contradiction, or in fact any words at all, to either of the other Garou. Instead, he moves around the tree and looks about to where the next closest one is, then looks back at Ky, without moving to sit in the spot that the younger ragabash just freed up.
Marcus watches Jeremiah with a faint frown, but doesn't follow. "Marcus Farewell, or Speaks Softly with a Sharp Tongue… Fostern Raggie of the Unicorn sort," he eventually introduces himself to Ky once he's sure there are no unclued within earshot. "New in town… gonna tell me his story?" He tilts his chin a bit towards the Gnawer.
"Kyler Smith," the Shadow Lord replies smoothly, easily adopting a more respectful posture when his attention returns to Marcus. "Cliath Ragabash, Grandson of Thunder and elder. And if Jermi's got a story to tell, you should ask him for it."
Jeremiah takes a neutral stance across from either of the ragabash, and there's a squeaky muttering, entirely unintelligible. "I might even tell it. Some day."
Marcus nods, acknowledging the introduction, and responds with a half-smirk. "I'm asking you… Bullfrog will tell me his story in time." It stays a request, Marcus is hardly pulling rank, but he's curious and it shows. "Besides," adds after a pause, "Doubt he'd want to say much with Jackal squeezing his throat." As if on cue, Jeremiah speaks up, prompting a perked brow from Marcus and quick grin. "Some day," he repeats after the boy, "but not today."
"Not here or now," Ky implores, his smirk of earlier returning when Jeremiah mutters. He doesn't look at the Ahroun though. "I'll tell you a story another time. I need to get to the shop, clean up." Normal stuff.
The ahroun nods once, and looks to Ky, after that. "I'll see you around," Jeremiah offers to Kyler. "I haven't seen Lefty, yet. But I will." There's one more nod, and then Jeremiah moves to take his customary spot that's now vacant. "Take care," is offered to Kyler, though it's hard to tell what he means by that, with the Jackal influence on his voice.
Marcus eyes Ky for a moment, then nods and steps away. "Fair enough…I'll see you around." He waits until the Shadow Lord is out of earshot before turning his attention back to Jeremiah, "Well, that was brief…" Stepping closer to the Gnawer, he holds out the rucksack. "Brought you some provisions—raincoat, some canned food, and a couple of old books I had lying around…eh, one of them is pretty smutty."
"The Vault," Kyler offers, nodding his head toward the industrial sector. "You ever need some work done. Or a story." He glances toward Jeremiah and shrugs, slightly, before heading toward the direction of the shop.
Jeremiah shrugs his shoulders, entirely unworried by Ky's departure. "It usually is," he says. Tension, still entirely there, mitigated by the slow way that Jeremiah speaks and the hillfolk influence on his words. "No matter. Thank you," he adds, nodding, and settling the rucksack next to him after he's taken it. "Last raincoat I had's still in Connecticut. Anything helps, always. Books pass th' time." There's a long moment of pause, and Jeremiah adds, "When I's not here, I'm usually either at the Library, our tribe's place. Or out by the bridge, encampment there. Don't come on full moon."
Marcus settles on the ground by Jeremiah, and pulls out a small tin box from a pocket. With practiced efficiency, he starts rolling a mixed joint, tobacco and hash for the observant, plain tobacco for the clueless. "Let me know if there's anything particular you may need… I have a habit of picking up a lot of random stuff during my adventures." Giving the Gnawer a sidelong glance, he adds, "And why not come by on a full moon? It's not like you can hurt me, Jeremiah."
Jeremiah looks at Marcus for a long, appraising look. "I don't much like company then," he admits, and then there's another silence. "And… if something happened? Yes. I could." Though Jeremiah's control is as unwavering as ever, without the slightest fault.
Marcus nods, not quite looking at the Cliath as he's focused on finishing his task. Rolled joint complete, he passes it to Jeremiah, and starts on another one. "No one likes company on their moon… but sometimes you don't get a choice." He pauses and turns his gaze back to Jeremiah, half-smirk reappearing. "Maybe you could, but I'm not worried… I've had experience, you can say."
Jeremiah doesn't say no to the joint, pulling out a lighter from one of the numerous pockets of the army coat he wears. "Your choice," he eventually states after lighting it, and there's a small focus to the motions that suggests deeper thought to the simple action of smoking. But there's an amount of deference to the other Garou's experience in there. "It's not… as bad as it used to be. After. I've gotten better at it. I still don't seek out company."
Marcus finishes rolling his own join and brings out a cheap Bic lighter to put a flame to it. After the first puff, the Ragabash visibly relaxes and settles back against the tree, tin box closed shut and forgotten on his lap. "The thing is, Jeremiah," he starts, eyes absently watching a casual drug deal at the far side of the park, "Staying aloof is a sure fire sign that you're ripe for the picking by Dancers."
"Last ones that tried that died," Jeremiah notes. This? Dancers? That seems to be a sure way to irritate the ahroun, because even with the calming effect of the joint and the smoke, the ahroun levels a significantly angrier look at Marcus—as if trying to evaluate whether Marcus, perhaps, is one of the very aforementioned, and there's a bloodlust in that too, that coiled and tensioned desire for violence—before the ahroun continues, stone still, "Messily. I was ronin long enough. I don't need lectures."
Marcus meets the boy's look with an easy smile. "It's not a lecture, I promise… I'm trying to tell you something here, bear with me." He pulls on the joint some, smoke filtering out of his nose before he exhales it all in a quick breath. "There's a reason our type needs tribe and Sept… isolation leads to dark thoughts, and dark thoughts attract dark company… hate is a poison, it seeps into you, slowly and without warning, until you turn into the thing you abhor… dig?"
The ahroun's thoughts remain clearly dark for a moment, but clearly also far away. "Trust me, I get it," Jeremiah says, but it's more quietly, though with no less venom and anger, and there's something else that the ahroun almost says, before he shuts his mouth again, attention turned to the joint and rite instead.
Marcus takes another long puff, and releases the smoke gradually. "Sure enough, bear with me here," he repeats. The drug deal seems to have ended amicably, and Marcus turns his attention back to the Ahroun. "What I'm trying to say is… I'm out at the Trailer Park, and I'd like you to come by for dinner sometime this week… I can give you a ride there and back, no problem."
Jeremiah seems to consider this, attention inward, and looks at the Ragabash and nods. "I'll stow my stuff at the Library," he notes, "and run." Accepting dinner, denying the ride, "It's good for me, and I ain't getting much reason to go out that way in four legs, and such."
"Right, great," Marcus' beams at the Gnawer and he pulls up to his feet, grabbing the box before it tumbles out of his lap. "It's plot 7, in a secluded area of the park so don't worry if you have trouble finding it, I'll just find you." How, he doesn't elaborate. "So I'll be seeing you then…"
The ahroun looks up and nods, with a simple one-word response. "Yes." That said, Jeremiah settles against the tree, pulling one of the books from the bag Marcus gave earlier and beginning to read.