Not alone.

[jeremiah_garou]

June 19, 2013
The moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (76% full).

Late evening finds Marcus outside his RV, talking to a couple of women; a pretty blonde and a buxom brunette. His 3yr old charge is sitting at the table, using the light from the RV window to help her see the screen of the Gameboy in her hands. Marcus is holding one of those small barbecue grills in his hands, probably borrowed from the two women, and speaking animatedly to them. The women, it seems, are very much enjoying the attention.

It's taken a bit of time, but Jeremiah's able to be seen off in the distance at a slow walk towards the RV. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, each footstep deliberate and evenly spread, and when there's a chance, Marcus gets a polite nod. The ahroun looks like he's cooling down from a run, as well, but not in the least tired.

Perhaps it's the way he's walking towards them, or that he looks like a homeless man, or maybe it's the rage rolling off him—whatever the reason, the women give Jeremiah nervous looks as he comes closer and is greeted heartily by the Gaian. "Jeremiah! Glad you can make it tonight… this is Cynthia, and Tawny, the lovely ladies who were nice enough to let me borrow their grill for a couple days." He holds up said grill, beaming. The women share a look, then smile at Marcus.

"We gotta go, Marc… see you later."

"Yeah, see you later, Marc… Byee~" With that, they both walk away in the opposite direction. Marcus watches them leave, smile broadening, then turns back to Jeremiah, "Nice girls."

Jeremiah doesn't look directly at either of the women, offering them polite nods as they hurry to leave. It's the ahroun in him, the purpose with which he walks doesn't seem to be something he can get rid of or turn off, it's just there and does nothing to lessen how dangerous Jeremiah seems. He was expecting it, quite likely. "I'm sure they are," he says, after they're far enough away to be out of earshot, not hear the ruined Jackal-voice.

Whether it's the voice, or the realization that someone new has arrived, Maya pauses her game to look up at Jeremiah. Silently, she studies him with open curiosity. Marcus glances at the girl as he sets the grill down, and crouches by her to drag out a bag of coal from under the table. "That's Jeremiah, Fruit—he's like me. He's safe." He then flicks a glance at the Ahroun, as if momentarily doubting his statement. Standing up, the Gaian tilts his head towards the RV. "I got hot water and a spare change of clothes if you feel like taking advantage while I get the grill going."

Jeremiah offers the girl a gentle smile, as gentle as he can manage. It doesn't put a damper on the threatening aspect, but it makes it… more protective than threatening, at least. "Hi there," he offers towards her, though without moving at all. "I know, my voice sounds pretty funny. But it's alright. I'm pleased to meet you, Fruit." Look, even a bit of a joke at his own expense, and then there's a gracious shake of the head towards Marcus. "Amazingly, we've got hot water, and showers, at the Library," he admits, "I'm good." Nor does Jeremiah seem like he spent most of his run in homid, or smell like the typical homeless, though the jacket's a bit musty. "Thank you, though."

Seeming satisfied, Maya drop her head and starts tapping away at the Gameboy again, prompting a sigh from Marcus before he falsetto's, "Pleased to meet you, Jeremiah, my name is Maya." This gets no reaction from, who continues to play in silence. Turning his attention back to the Ahroun, Marcus nods. "Good deal… I wasn't sure what resources you had at Gnawer HQ… there's beer in the fridge, and steaks warming on the counter, bring 'em out," he says while fiddling with grill and going about starting a fire.

Jeremiah nods, moving over into the RV to gather the requisite items that Marcus has requested, and when he comes out, he's at least unbuttoned the army jacket. It's doubtful if the ahroun will take it off. He's also produced a bottle opener from one of the many pockets of said jacket, because it's not one that Marcus would recognise. There's a smile, but at the moment no words.

Grill lit and coal put away, Marcus pokes at the flames with a stick to settle them, then drops into one of the deck chairs. He invites Jeremiah into the other chair nearby, leaning forward to grab one of the beers as soon as it's opened. "Thanks… give it a few minutes to warm up, then we start cooking." The tin box comes out too, but is placed on the table for now. "How've you been?"

Another nod from the ahroun, and he opens his own beer, pocketing the bottlecap into one of the million pockets of the jacket. It might be junk, but even little pieces of junk are useful and collected. "Well enough," Jeremiah answers, taking a sip from the beer and a nod. "I've been."

Marcus takes a pull, and leans back in his chair with another nod at Jeremiah. "How's that book doing it for you?" This time, there's a slight smirk punctuating the question—Marcus knows very well the racy contents of said book. Probably read the novel more than a few times.

Jeremiah lifts his shoulders in an easy shrug. "It's a book. Thank you for them," he responds, letting the Russian slip to colour his words a little. That iron willpower extends into control over what he does or doesn't show, and while Jeremiah's relatively easy to read, it's impossible to tell if the racy contents of the book bother him, help him, or if he's indifferent. Likely the third. "When I finish, I'll shelve it at the Library. We's have a lot of books, lot of us like to read."

"It's a good habit," Marcus agrees after another drink of beer. He puts the bottle down and gets up to check on the fire, then tosses the steaks on the grill. "So how long have you been out here?" He asks after a moment, easy and casual. This is all done while keeping a constant eye on Maya, who still seems engrossed in her game.

The Gnawer tilts his head to one side to consider this, as if trying to figure it out. "Mid-February," he eventually comes up with. "Like I said, I fell out of the Umbra. Elliot-rhya's mercy I was allowed to stay on terms of Judgement."

Marcus eyes Jeremiah for a breath, then picks out one of the smaller steaks to place on a paper plate and hold out for Maya. "Go eat this inside, Fruit—there's juice and salad in the fridge." Without missing a beat, the girl turns off her Gameboy and takes the plate. She glances at Jeremiah as she passes him before silently going into the RV. Two other steaks are pulled from the grill and placed in paper plates, one for each Garou. As Marcus hands Jeremiah his share, he settles back in his own chair to tuck in. "Why were you in the Umbra?" He asks, all casual like.

Jeremiah takes his food, settling it into his lap. It's not quite the prison hunch over food, but there's clear carefulness in the way that the ahroun eats. "Connecticut, walkabout," Jeremiah says, using as few words as possible. "Fighting a large bane with several others and a Fianna over there. Cleanup from the huge storms, you know? It's what I did. Walkabout, wasn't ready to settle. Got stabbed through the gut by some… tendril, and then the umbra went wonky on me and swallowed me up, spit me out here a week later. Here, all places."

"What's wrong with here?" Marcus asks, genuinely curious as newcomers tend to be about the place they end up. He picks up the steak with careful fingers and tears at it with his teeth, happy to forego utensils. Good thing there are paper towels on the table.

"There's history," Jeremiah says, shortly and succinctly. He's drank a good bit of the beer, and it's loosened his tongue—but the ahroun's got significant stamina as well, it would seem. "The alpha before Elliot-rhya, Little Silvertip-rhya? He declared the man I was… before things, after things, that is… anruth, exiled, and dead if I stepped foot in this territory. I'm not him. But the dishonor and cowardice and stupidity in what he did, was enough to earn me this." This being the punishment and needing no explanation, and clearly the ahroun isn't keen to say what he did, either.

Marcus swallows his bite and puts the steak down halfway through Jeremiah's explanation. Blue eyes study the Ahroun with quiet intensity, almost as if trying to piece together the part of the story not being told. After a long moment, Marcus dips his head in a slight nod. "That makes Elliot-rhya an Alpha I can respect," he decides. "If it means he believes in second chances."

Jeremiah nods. "It means, he let me stay to talk to Salem-rhya. And stay abiding by Salem-rhya's Judgement, unless I choose to leave, or am told to by a tribal elder." That's all that Jeremiah seems willing to say for the moment, and the words stop, letting the ahroun return to his food.

Marcus cleans his hands and grabs the beer, taking another long drink while he listens. "And you choose to stay, even while shunned and exiled… is this before or after the Gnawers have accepted you to their tribe?"

Jeremiah shakes his head, quietly. "Rat accepted me last year, around this time. Kaz, she sent me to Las Vegas when Silvertip kicked me out, gave me names, called a few people on my behalf. It… helped me heal and not just survive."

Marcus nods before he drains his beer, then picks up the box and starts working on rolling a couple of joints, half-eaten steak forgotten for now. Slowly, Jeremiah's situation becomes clear to him, and though he's not put off by the Ahroun's background, he's not sure how much empathy Jeremiah is willing to accept. So he keeps his voice neutral, while he expression betrays a deeper emotion. "There's honor in what you're doing, you know… don't let anyone convince you otherwise."

The Gnawer nods, and he's still slowly and steadily working on eating his steak in between conversation. "Impossible though it may be?" he eventually offers, voice a quieter squeaking than the earlier conversation. "I'm an ahroun, not a hero. The Jackal will be removed if I leave forever. Or if I end up doing some Big Damn Act of Heroism for the Sept. I'm no hero."

Marcus finishes rolling the joints in record time, placing one by Jeremiah and fishing out a lighter to apply flame to his own. He takes a deep puff, leaning back in his seat again to let the smoke float out of his mouth at a leisurely pace. It's potent stuff, and suddenly the Ragabash is deeply relaxed. "That's a subjective term, Jeremi—do you mind if I call you Jeremi, or would you prefer I didn't?—there are so many variables and no real value to it." He turns to Jeremiah with a small grin, "No one's really a hero, but we're all protagonists."

Jeremiah takes the joint with a nod, though it's his food the ahroun still focuses on. "I'd prefer you didn't," comes the tight, carefully controlled response, before the ahroun takes another swig of the beer, finishing the bottle. "I happen to like Bullfrog, as names go. Kyler… tries to see if he can get a rise out of me. It's always been a hobby of his, even when it isn't particularly wise." There's a shrug, and then Jer lights the joint, taking a deep puff from it. It eases the tension, somewhat, but there's still that coiled tightness about the ahroun's manner.

Marcus sobers a bit at the mention of Kyler, but decides against pursuing that story for now. "Fair enough, Bullfrog it is then," he says before taking another long puff to get back his earlier high. He stretches his legs out, and sinks into his seat, adopting an almost feline grace in his lazy demeanor. He perks a brow at Jeremiah after another long moment of silent joint puffing, and smiles again, "I'm glad you made it out."

"Thanks for dinner," the ahroun offers, turning back to pleasant enough smalltalk to fill the gaps, "'s quite good. Have to admit, I don't get steak very often."

Marcus ashes his joint in his empty beer bottle, and nods. "Don't mention it… feel free to come by anytime." It's a sincere offer, and Marcus follows it a confirmation. "Got them from a kin-owned butchershop downtown… cheap and plentiful if you know who to talk to." He doesn't give out names though, convinced the Get kin in charge would probably not be welcoming towards the Ahroun.

Jeremiah grins a little bit. "I appreciate it," the ahroun admits, quietly. "It's…" He pauses, thinking and considering his words carefully even with a looser tongue. "Good to have friends. Good to remember that anruth don't mean all the way alone. Or that, it don't have to."

Marcus gives Jeremiah a look that indicates there's more to it than that, for the Fostern at least. "It doesn't," he eventually says, in a firm tone that emphasizes how he feels about the subject. The lights at the front of the RV suddenly go off, and Marcus gives it a quick glance. "That's my home bell," he murmurs, and turns back to Jeremiah to indicate the left-over steaks, beer, and joints. "Feel free, and stay as long as you like… but I gotta go inside for a while."

Jeremiah nods quietly, and there's a slight raise of one hand and salute in parting to the Fostern, rather than further words. The ahroun will stay for a while and then wander off, quietly as he tends to be these days.