Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 12:29:48 AM)
(This user has entered Bayou!) (IP = 75.65.6.211)
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 12:38:26 AM)
The occasional, far-off whoosh of the interstate was dimmed, and only a backdrop for the more immediate, teeming noise of the Louisiana bayou area. Life brimmed, buzzed and trumpeted: cicadas buzzed, crickets chirped, and even frogs were heard to give deep, indignant grunts. The buzz of flying insects were punctuated by the staccato, angry bzzrt of the bug light which cast an eerie neon glow over the deep, cyprus-hanging gloom. But, beyond that canopy of dark, reaching sentinel trees, the sky was bursting with pinpoints of light that city-goers only dreamed of.
Legs splayed wide. Muscular, lean arms draped apathetically over the arm-rests of the cheap aluminum and plastic lawn furniture. Shaven head gleamed with the sheen of sweat. Chin dipped. Facetted grey eyes were silvery dimes in the wan light. Redrimmed. Bloodshot. Cigarette dangled between deft, calloused fingers. Lifts it. Pulls in. Glows cherry red, casting his face in half-light. Stark, lined features. Angular as jutting cliffs. And that cigarett
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 12:38:38 AM)
That ain't no cigarette, at all. Cloying odor of marijuana.
Slow as molasses, extends his hand to the side, wisp of smoke following. Grunting to Mia.
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 12:46:10 AM)
She nods greeting and extends a hand, looking for a puff. She remembered the first time he had lit up she had been horrified. She had been filled with righteous indignation. She was such a prude when she had first met him. So much had happened since then. It seemed like a life time ago. Now, it helped her relax and keep the rage away.
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 12:55:11 AM)
Slouched. Apathetic. Draped himself in that chair like a young lion sunning himself. That fire'd been growing within him each night as the moon waxed. Luna's slow, sure smile. Kept the edge off. Left that flash-fire ozone to smolder like dryer static. Lids were half-lidded and langorious. Lazy. Behind them was the small, disused trailer his Kin, Michael Goedeche, had provided. In front, the waxing crescent glimmered off the dark, forboding water of one of many bayou water-ways that sliced through this vast swampland.
His mood turned from contented to sour, and back again in turns. Remembering the last time they'd done this. As a pack. All of 'em. Laying in the grass. Joking with one another. Watching the stars in the wilderness.
Now they were two.
Slid his glance to her, "Whatchu wanna do?" Sudden. First time he'd broached the subject. Survival mode. Reeling. Settling day to day. Now there was reflection. Thinking. Always a problem.
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 1:10:02 AM)
She takes a slow long drag and holds her breath. She released it slowly through her nose and settled in a chair next to him. She extended her leg and tried to rub the soreness away. Left to her own devices, she would prefer to go to a library and continue her research. But, she could tell Cole was getting restless. “You tell me,” she said, “you know the area better.”
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 1:10:40 AM)
She handed the joint back to Cole.
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 1:26:07 AM)
Leaves that gaze on her. Weighty like granite. Deft fingers pluck the proferred joint from her grasp. Lips become a hard line as he raises it again. Drawing in. That glow again. Angry red.
Blows out a stream of blue-grey. Wisping. He snorted, "Cain't run out wi'jess two," he slurred lazy. Flicked an ash, "Yeah, got mah kin here," shrugged slow and apathetic. "Fenrir's strong here," That could be good and bad. As she well knew, his own traditional sept had all but expelled him. Brow furrowed, gaze sliding forward. Screwed up his expression, thinking. Wiped his palm on the back of his stubbled scalp, "Whassat. Them hippies ya know. Then ones whut smell like asparagus. They holed up in Nawlins, ain't they?"
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 1:28:30 AM)
"Yeah, they ain't far from here". She thought he might find her friends a bit tame, but she was willing to do whatever.
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 1:37:59 AM)
Lucky for her. Her friends. Him. And possibly the whole of New Orleans, he apparently had no notion of meeting them. Dipped his chin once. Twice. Nodding slowly. Another puff. Smoke rose around him. Scratched at the red growth on his chin, "If they 'ny 'count ya kin contact 'em," a beat, "Like ah done with Mike an' Owen." Another pause, "That right?"
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 1:43:35 AM)
"I can contact them. They should be around."
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 1:48:10 AM)
That seemed to settle it. Muttered low, rubbing more furiously on his chin, "Uh huh." Again that lean arm stretched her way, smoke streaming in its wake. Grunted. Puff puff give, and all that.
"Thass that then," nodded after she took it, and straightened in his seat. Leaned forward. Elbows on knees. Forearms draped lazy, "Makin' our stay here. Git ta tha Sept. Give 'em chiminage. Feed tha caern. Meet new 'mates." Paused at that. Brow furrowed. Whipped his gaze at her. Pointing. "No pussies. An' no stick-up-tha ass ones neither." Stipulations.
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 1:50:51 AM)
“That works. I just need to get a few things. When do you want to go?”
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 1:57:40 AM)
He stood abruptly at that. A flashfire whip. The apathy was a facade. Always coiled. Skinned out of his shirt, baring his pale, sinewy flesh, and stepped away from the dim glow of the bug light, "Tomorrah. First light," That meant 'noon'. Werewolves were simply nocturnal creatures.
The air shimmered around him, and he fell forward. Battleship grey fur exploded from thin skin. Flimsy fingernails became diamond-hard scythe-like claws. The change in mass was nothing short of supernatural. The new space he occupied displaced the air around him, washing a gust of air over her. A 9 foot beast of war. Grey eyes were silvery, gleaming.
In his warform, he spoke the Garou-tongue with none of his southern colloquialisms. It was the ancient, intuitive language made of spirit and flesh, and not of homid monkey-babble. His Pure breeding was actually apparent in form, word, and deed in -this- form.
"Now. We hunt." And that nightmarishly huge shape exploded into motion with frightening, impossible speed. Blended in
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 1:57:53 AM)
Blended into the gloom of night.
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 2:02:22 AM)
She shifted and raced after him. Cole didn't wait for anyone.
Cole Rutgar (Aug 5, 2011 2:19:48 AM)
(This user has moved to OOC Room) (IP = 75.65.6.211)
Mia Jones (Aug 5, 2011 2:20:00 AM)
(This user has moved to OOC Room) (IP = 75.65.6.211)