lo, the rats.

Kennedy

Fri 04:40AM EST
The Pine Barrens were a far off cry from the normal haunts of the city. It was a much different place. And it carried a different set of rules. Kennedy wandered down a gravel road, listening to the soft sweeps of her baggy jeans as the tattered thread-hems swept along the road. Mud and dust covering the fabric. Long, lanky links of pale blond hair fell around her face to frame it. Dark eyes, like twin obsidian pools, swept back and forth over her surroundings. She was cautious, yet relaxed all at the same time...


Santiago

Fri 04:46AM EST
People in the barrens, now, they're a pretty hardy, salt-of-the-earth lot. None of that all-night partyin' like them cityfolk. All the Coggie cabins are dark, and almost all of them are still - except one. Santiago's.

On his porch, there's movement. Very quiet. The old rocking chair creaks gently back and forth...back and forth. The night's frigid to a temperate-dweller, but when you come from the desert, where the difference between night and day can be nearly a hundred degrees - upper 20s to lower 120s - 47 isn't so bad. He's casually dressed, drawstring pants cutting just above the navel (no sloppy sagging here) on a flat washboard stomach; plain white shirt unbuttoned, and pale against his swarthy skin. At the very edges, mostly hidden by the fall of the shirt, are the tail end of twinned tattoos that apparently wind down the sides of his ribcage.

It's a night at home. Santiago's just relaxing. There's a cool pepsi on his knee and his senses are open to the night, breathing it in as it breathes around him. Wind rustles the trees and then the sound of feet on a road come to him. The motion of the rocker doesn't stop, doesn't slw, but his black eyes begin to track the girl.


Kennedy

Fri 05:01AM EST
The wind rustles through trees and branches, playing along gravel road to stir a faint bit of dust along the way. It sweeps through the heavy volumes of army green fabric, whipping the tail ends of the trench coat that drapes lazily over her lean, wiry frame. A frame that hid a thin line of muscle in her bones, built smal, built thin. Built for speed and not physical strength, but it was hard to see all that sometimes. When it was hidden beneath the baggy clothes. Black baby doll shirt stretches across her chest, exposing a bit of mid-riff, the sharp-pointed edges of a tattoo almost wraps the small expanse of her lower back (..just above the waist band.) More tattoos, tribal glyphs laid hidden beneath the material of clothes. Her secrets if the right person could decipher them.

The faint scents of the city carried itself on that wind. Clean scents. No trash. No dumpster-diving. She cleaned up well when she had the chance to. There was a nervous jerk, in the sudden twist of her head, as it turns, almost at a cant to stare at the dark rows of cabins that began to run before her vision. Her movements slow down, giving her time to focus, otherwise, perceptive eyes.


Santiago

Fri 05:04AM EST
Sleep by day. Hunt by night. The life of a desert predator...and his eyes, trained by the utter lightlessness of an overcast night on the high desert, are sharp as a screech owl's. All the lights are off by the moon is still half-full. Waning now, it rises late in the night, sets after daybreak, and casts enough light for the girl, perhaps, to see motion on the porch. And if she should look his way, Santiago raises a hand in greeting. Slow. Easy. No sudden movements here. No jerkiness, either: he moved with a sureness, a liquidity, that made it seem as though his joints were oiled.

After a moment the hand lowers again to the scrolled arm of the rocker. His other hand remains loosely wrapped around his Pepsi. He waits to see what the girl will do.


Kennedy

Fri 05:09AM EST
Movement... What her eyes sought they found, sweeping over to focus her gaze upon the man on the porch. The hand in the air, waving to her, a sign of greeting. It came from the cabin, she now pauses in front of. Her shoulders roll beneath the coat, her head rolls, left and right, on her shoulders to pop a few joints. Curiosity plays on her face, as Kennedy accepts the greeting as a sign to come over. Dirty converse set motion to her steps, pants swishing along the ground,from her movements, as she heads up towards the cabin. "Evenin'.. or should I say morin'." A slight chuckle in her words, voice carrying on the air to greet Santigo.


Santiago

Fri 05:12AM EST
He has an easy enough smile. You might even say gentle. It shows no teeth, bears no threat, and parts the black frame of his neat goatee. Sharp black eyes inspect her; in this light, it's hard to see that his eyes are as dark, as hard, as they are. "Morning will do." Pause to sip the Pepsi. All the while his eyes stay on her and note every last little detail. "You're out early."


Kennedy

Fri 05:19AM EST
She comes to stop at the first step of the porch, one sneakered foot lifts to rest on the edge. Small hands peek out of the large sleeves of her coat, sliding around to rest on her front jean pockets, sliding inside to find a place to hide. "Yea, I suppose I am. I just decided to go for a reeeeally long walk.. And here I am!" The corners of her mouth twist upward into a wide grin, as a cheery tone etches in her voice. Her eyes, just as dark as his, sweep up to survey the porch, the rocker, the pepsi. Him. From foot to the top of his head. Those eyes fixing on his face finally to just stare, unblinking.


Santiago

Fri 05:24AM EST
Black eyebrows, thick but even, rise over black eyes. "And here you are, indeed." A moment. Then the rocking chair creaks and rumbles over the wooden planks of the porch as he rises - but he himself moves without sound. There's an impression of flow: each motion blending to the next. His silence and sureness of foot could rival those of a mountain cat. "Come on up." Since she'd begun to already. "Want a drink?" He jiggles his can of Pepsi, and tilts his head toward the roughhewn door on his small, roughhewn cabin.


Kennedy

Fri 05:30AM EST
His words caress over her ears, as her head jerks down, eyes moving to stare at the can when it jiggled. Ooh, yea... Lashes flutter over her eyes a few times, as she starts up the steps. "Sure. I'd like one. My throat is a bit parched. I can't remember the last time I had a soda." It would also wash down that roadkill she polished off a couple miles back on the road.. She scampers up onto the porch, a light bounce on the balls of her feet. As she looks over towards the door, curious now to what lay inside. Maybe something good... "You gotta a name, mister? Or do I just call ya, El Silento." a soft giggle bubbles in her throat, grinning up at him.


Santiago

Fri 05:43AM EST
The grin is, perhaps surprisingly, returned. His teeth are even and white and gleam faintly in the night. "Santiago," he replies, simply, and pushes the door open. "You?"

Hinges squeal softly. Santiago makes a note to himself to oil them before the night is done. There's no lock. This is unsurprising for three reasons. One, hardly anyone wanders out here. Two, it's unlikely he - or anyone out here - had anything truly valuable in their homes. And three, it's the thief who should be worried, not the theft victim, when the dens of werewolves are concerned.

Inside his home is unremarkable. Everything can be summed up with one sentence: old and spartan, but clean and well-maintained.

The living room and kitchen are conjoined. In the former there's a a couch against the left wall, sagging but clean. In front of that is a very simple, unadorned coffee table. Against the opposite wall - no more than eight feet away, if that - is a 20" TV dating from the 80s, if not earlier. Beyond this little set-up is the small utilitarian kitchen: a fridge, a sink, a stove, a table that could seat four with a bit of squeezing, but has only one chair before it. The only decoration she can see - if you could call it that - is a largeish wood cross, little more than two uneven sticks joined at right angles, hanging on the wall, out of the way, over a small endtable at the far end of the couch that holds an old-fashioned clock and a phone.

Off to the right side there's a door to, presumably, the bedroom and bathroom. It's ajar. Everything is shrouded in gloom as he walks halfway across the living room before realizing that his unexpected guest might prefer a bit of light. He treks back to the center of the room. Reaches up. Pulls the brass cord and clicks a dim bulb on.

More light spills out of the refrigerator as he opens it and steps aside. "Take your pick." Not much in there. Meat, vegetables, milk and pepsi. No sweets, no alcohol.


Kennedy

Fri 05:58AM EST
"Kennedy." one word answer to mimic his. He seems easy going enough to set her at ease. She enters the cabin, her head moving all over to let her eyes drink in every tiny detail. Nothing of value in this place. Not even a priceless dust bunny to scope out. If felt like she was teleported back in time. Where style and taste didn't even bother to provide a decent furnishing. Sooo, unlike the posh condo of those city wolves. "You country folk like to live a simple life." the comment is let slip in a casual voice. The odd cross slides along her vision, catching her attention and warrants a second look. "You a religious man, Santiago?" A glance back at him, the dim light filtering from the bulb and refrigerator cast shadows to play across her sun-kissed face. Skin weathered and worn, by travel more, than time spent on the streets. She starts to peel the trenchcoat off, seeing no need to wear it. It folds up over her left arm. The short sleeves of her shirt, riding up a muscled bicep on her right arm to reveal the tribal slashes of a tattooed glyph peeking out. "Pepsi is fine. I see. you live alone? No pretty lady to keep you company?"


Santiago

Fri 06:09AM EST
Santiago shrugs smoothly. Long, deft fingers snag up and Pepsi and flip it her way. He nudges the door closed with his other hand and takes another sip out of his own red, white and blue can. "I think it's just me." This answer has the well-worn sound of a tried-and-true response. "My neighbors have a little more in the way of creature comforts. I just moved in."

Somehow, she probably doubts this place will get any more furnished even if he lived here a hundred years.

There's no wall between the eat-in kitchen and the living room, so he leans his shoulder against the woodplank center wall of the cabin - the one dividing the outer rooms from the inner. The position skims one half of his shirt against his body, but the other half falls away a distance. One side of the matched set of tattoos is revealed in greater detail - not glyphs, but a fanciful, vivid series of curving and intersecting black lines, nearly as complex as a Celtic knot but more fluid, more liquid, climbing the ladder of his ribs to curve over his shoulder and disappear around back. Like a harness, almost.

His regard, dark as a nighthawk's and about as piercing, follows her glance to the cross. He shakes his head. "My father was. Before I was born." He adds a smile to the explanation. "It's a keepsake of him. He was a good man." Then he breaks into a laugh, shaking his head again. "I'd bore a pretty lady. Anyway, I like to live alone."

Another sip. He nods at the glyphs halfshown. "What's that?" Leave it to her to tell him or no. He has a side to him he does not show anyway, and so, he allows the same in others. Santiago is, if nothing else, fair.


Kennedy

Fri 06:26AM EST
The Pepsi flies towards her, hands snare upward into the air with a sudden quickness, (not quite found in most normal folk) to catch the can. Fingers curling, a talon-like hold, on the cold, wet metal. Perhaps to keep it from slipping in her grip, or just out of habit. The trenchcoat sways against her arm, feeling heavy as she lowers her arms. One hand releases from the can, yanking the coat off. She moves closer to the table, dropping it on the corner. It dangles over the edge, the fabric rubbing together as it settles.

"How long have you been living here? Doesn't seem like a long time by the way the dust has settled. Not that there is much of any." A slight smirk.
Her eyes turn up, following his movements, her head angled to the side a little. She studies his frame, drinking in the details of his appearance, taking note of the way the shirt settles on his frame. The dark shadows of tattoowork that reveal themselves along his ribs.

"I can't see how you would bore a pretty lady. A man that is eye candy like yourself." She chuckles, wiggling her brows at him. Before turning her attention to her right shoulder. "This ol'thing?" The can remains unopened, held in her right hand. The cold wet fingers of her left hand run up her arm to pull back the sleeve, turning to show him more of the tattoo. Black lines flow in a tribal pattern. The detail of the glyph was unmistakeable to the tribe it paid homage to. Any Fenrir or Garou would know. "Something I picked up when I was younger."


Santiago

Fri 06:34AM EST
Her teasing compliment gets a slight smile out of him, but little else. Maybe he just didn't care to go to jail for flirting back at someone ten years his junior. Santiago takes another sip, this one tilting the can far back, draining the last of the soda. He crunches the can between his hands without too much trouble, but it's certainly not the effortless squish that one might expect from the more - er - exemplary members of his tribe.

"That's an interesting mark," he comments lightly. "Where did you get it?" ...the weight of Gaia's eyes suddenly seems to fill the air. Take a breath, though, and the illusion passes. It's only Santiago's cabin, which is really Kimber and Corran's cabin. The interior is small and plain, but the furnishings are sparse enough that there still seems to be a lot of room left over.


Kennedy

Fri 06:49AM EST
"How did I get it?" thin, dark brows, an odd contrast to the pale blond hair that frames her face, rise upward in a quizzical expression. "Well... I sat down in a chair. This guy, a friend of mine, really big guy, took some ink in this little metal gun that had a motor and drew the tattoo on my shoulder. That's how I got it. Cost me a five bucks and a bottle of Thor's Hammer Vodka.. Course he was smart enough to pencil in the pattern first on my arm. All free hand. Just wish the guy could pencil in his dick the right way..." She shrugs her shoulder, dropping her hand away, cold fingers slide down his arm.. There was truth in her words. Every last little detail as the weight of Gaia's eyes could determine.. Gaia's eyes... Kennedy would have fallen to the floor laughing if she knew what he'd done. But she is clueless, seeming innocent in her talkative explanation to his question. Her eyes drop to the sweating can in her hand. She pops the tab back, opening it. The can is lifted up to her lips as she takes a looong pull from the can.


Santiago

Fri 06:55AM EST
And the can is, of course, a can of pepsi. Totally normal and all that. Santiago isn't in the habit of keeping cans of arsenic in his fridge. Seeing her drink seems to remind him. He turns around and heads into the kitchen, dropping the flattened can into the recycling bin. Live in a Coggie's cabin and you have to get used to their treehugging. Kimber got all huffy if you didn't put out your recycling bin every week for collection. Santiago suspected part of that had to do with the five cents a can the recycling center paid Kimber. But considering how cheap the board was here, he wasn't complaining.

His voice is a little muffled by the cabinet the recycling bin is stored in, "Why would you get something like that?"


Kennedy

Fri 07:04AM EST
The contents of the soda are drained before she even answers him. Her hand drops down, holding the empty can now. She looks over at him, "My dad had one. It looked cool. I like it... it has senitmental value if nothing else. Though, I'm not really hardy like those blokes. I can drink sorta.. but not fight. I'm in no way Jose a fighter. Too chicken for that. I got better uses than being all big and butch"


Santiago

Fri 07:16AM EST
"Kin to the Fenrir, then?" - tossed off casually as he rises. Something he's learned living his twenty-six, twenty-seven years. You can say the craziest things, and as long as you take a casual enough tone to it, most people would be more than willing to believe they heard something else if they didn't understand you.


Kennedy

Fri 07:19AM EST
She laughs a little, nodding her head. "Aiyup, about as close to kin that I am ever gonna get. Get it.. GET.." she chuckles, shaking her head. "Ah, god... I kill myself sometimes.. Ok so it wasn't that funny."


Santiago

Fri 07:23AM EST
He turns around. Some crackling mysticism seems to leave the room, noted only in its absence. "As you're ever going to get?" Risen eyebrows as he pulls the fridge open again. About time for a early-morning snack for him. A package of sausages removed, and the jug of milk. He pulls a skillet off its nail on the wall and fires up the gas stove, the flames blue and nearly invisible in the early morning light. "Want breakfast? Out of eggs, sorry."


Kennedy

Fri 07:29AM EST
"Well yea, it's not like I grow 9ft tall with fur and stuff. So, I'm going to be close to kin. Well.. am kin. Dunno. It's all complicated-like.. Then again I was never a normal child." She perks up at the offer of breakfast. "Suuure... I'm famished I would love some.." Her eyes turn upon the refrigerator, staring into it. She looks the kitchen over, walking over, her hands cup the can, trying to make some effort to crush it. "You got a waste bin?"


Santiago

Fri 07:38AM EST
Santiago lets it rest there. If he kept this up, he'd be parroting her for hours. Complicated-like? Close to kin? Dunno?

Unwrapping the tray of sausages, peeling four off, thinking better of it, adding another four. A nod of his head toward the cabinet down by his left leg. "Recycling bin in there." Back to her, sunlight sets irregular points of light into his short, roman-cropped black hair, each hair lying close to his skull, brushed forward. It casts the shadow of his body against the unbuttoned, looser fit of the shirt. With his back to her the tattoo is covered, but what she's seen of it shows that the two halves nearly - but not quite - mirror one another.

The sausages start hissing in the pan. He pours a glass of milk, and then finds another from a high cabinet. Looks at it in the sun. It's obviously not seen much use - the dust is thick on it. He rinses it off in the sink and pours a second glass for himself. The first glass he hands to her.

Rolling the sausages slowly in the pan, he sips milk. "You should probably know this. I'm a Get of Fenris myself. Just moved here last month." He nods at the ceiling light over his shoulder. "Turn that off for me, will you? Save energy and all."


Kennedy

Fri 07:45AM EST
She comes over to the cabinet, bending down to open it and toss her can inside. She looks up at him, studying him again. Her body straightens up, head turns to dart black eyes to the wet glass, the first rays of sunlight, dance off a wet droplet holding her attention. She looks out the window for a moment, as if spellbound by the dawn. A smile touching her face. "Really? You wolf or kin?" The first glass of milk accepted gleefully. Drinking some of it down as she walks over to do as he asked. A free hand reaches up to grab the cord and tug, turning off the light.


Santiago

Fri 07:51AM EST
A glance over his shoulder: sunlight burning deep in the black eye, smile parting the neatly trimmed goatee. "Wolf." He trusts his own easily enough. Shaking the pan to flip them all at once, he lets them sizzle another moment before scraping the sausages out on a plate. Before the oil starts to drip, he tips the skillet back to horizontal, sets it in the sink, plugs the drain, squirts soap in liberally, and turns the water out.

While the sink fills, he holds the plate out to her. All six greasy sausages (...and a glass of ice-cold milk. surefire stomachache for 90% of the population.) are for her, apparently.


Kennedy

Fri 07:56AM EST
"Whoo hooo..Food!" The glass of milk is set down on the table. She reaches for the plate, picking at the hot links with her fingers gingerly. "Mucho gracias, Santiago." not even bothering with a fork.. The link is plucked up, hand raises up as her head tilts back, swallowing half the link before she bites down on it and chews..before popping the rest in her mouth. The sausage links are devoured rather quickly, you'd think the girl hadn't ever eaten a thing in her life.


Santiago

Fri 08:04AM EST
"De nada, Kennedy." The ease with which the spanish rolls off his tongue gives some hint to his mothertongue. The water goes off, and there's only the sound of scrubbing and eating, then rinsing and draining. By the time the skillet is washed, her sausages are long gone. Santiago looks down at the dripping clean skillet, up at her. "Should I make more?"


Kennedy

Fri 08:08AM EST
"Noo.. I'm good." She smirks, picks up the glass of milk to polish it off, something to help the wash the grease away. She licks her lips, walking over to set the dirty dishes down in the sink. She smiles up at him. "My thanks for the hospitality. It is mighty generous of you.. I don't see that too often. It's nice."


Santiago

Fri 08:13AM EST
More soap. More water. The process starts again. While he's waiting for the soap to sud he turns to her, one hand dripping into the sink, the other to the floor. A brief, quizzical quiet. Then he shrugs, turns back and strikes the water off in the same wasteless gesture. Move silent, move swift: graceful like a hunting-hawk. "Like I said. De nada. It's nothing. You're family. Even if you eat like a terror." A brief grin as he picks up the sponge to clean her plate. Since there was a goodbye implicit in her words he adds, watching her reflection in the window over the sink, "Come by again. Nighttime. I sleep in the days."


Kennedy

Fri 08:17AM EST
"Funny... I tend to up during the day more than the night. I'll have to do that though. It isn't too far out of my way.." She flashes him a toothy grin, turning back for her trenchcoat, sweeping it up off the table. She looks back over at him. "I might eat like at terror, but that was about the best I've had in quite a while. Better than my normal food consumption.. I should go though. Sun is up, I can see better by day. Gotta get back to my hovel."


Santiago

Fri 08:23AM EST
"Most people are," he returns. A glance over his shoulder, a nod sufficing for a goodbye. He didn't want to wave and fling soapy water around. "See you around, Kennedy."


Kennedy

Fri 08:28AM EST
Kennedy smiles, her head bobs in a quick nod as she slides the trenchcoat back on. "See ya, Santa." She giggles, a bounce in her step as she heads for the door. She scampers out quickly to the porch, taking a leap off the top porch step to jump down. She lands in a crouch in front of his porch, sitting there for a moment, elbows rest on boney knees. She looks up, turning her head to glance back at the door. Her left hand drops down, a finger drawing strange glyphs into the gravel dirt. She slowly stands up, looking down at them with a smile.Kennedy starts to walk away, mumuring in a soft yet strange dialect to the wind.