"'Ey. I'm looking for a Rina. She in?"
Oct. 10th, 2007 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretMouse arrives, eats donuts, tries to pretend she's competent, and learns she's, somehow, now the ranking Glass Walker in St. Claire. This is fine. This is all fine.
It's late afternoon when the call comes, and the number is entirely unfamiliar--and for that matter, not local, judging by the area code that flashes across the screen.
Rina answers after several rings--phone and computer searching for the number's source. "Vencenzo Studios, hello?"
The number isn't hard to trace--it's a New York area code, and for that matter, one of the ones from the Big Apple itself. No location...must be a cell. "'Ey. I'm looking for a Rina. She in?" The voice proclaims what the trace suggests--the accent is rather unmistakable, though not as heavy as it might be.
"Speaking." Rina's voice is somewhat guarded.
"Oh good." The voice sounds genial enough, though there's a trace of nervousness mixed in that she doesn't seem to be quite able to hide. Or she's not trying to. "We don't know each other, obviously, but I'm calling about that job offer you sent out not too long ago." There's the sound of a door, car door, being opened. "I actually just got into town. It still open?"
"Would this job offer have been passed along by Joe Provenzano?"
"Yeah," comes the reply. "Family, you know. In that extended, not quite actually related sort of way."
"Sure. Who's Joe's right-hand man these days?"
"Some ugly pitbull named Tony," comes the immediate reply. "And you can tell him I said so too." The tone is still light, joking, faintly nervous.
The woman on the other end laughs a little. "No thanks. I like my face the way it is. Should we meet somewhere f'coffee? Where you at?"
"Uh." There's a pause. "Bridge Street, according to the sign. Like I said, I /just/ got in. But name a place, I've got Mapquest and wireless, I can find it."
"There's a place on Bridge called Andy's Old-Fashioned Donuts." She names the cross-street, and says, "How about ...twenty minutes?"
The voice on the other end responds, "Check. Donuts, twenty minutes. I'll probably be the only schmuck inside wearing sunglasses, if I get there first."
"Aright. Wearing anything else? Or just the shades?"
"Lessee," There's a pause as she presumably looks down. "Oh hell, I'm going all Matrix today. Trench coat, black shirt, black shoes, khaki pants. Just call me Mouse, I'll know it's you."
"Got it. See you soon."
-------
Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts
A small quaint donut shop, tastefully done in blue and white. A glass case, showing a variety of fresh donuts stands at the back of the store. Standing behind the glass case, a small old woman, looking to be in her sixties, is busy with customers. A young girl, slightly taller than the old woman and looking to be around sixteen rushes back and forth through a swinging door, bringing out trays of donuts or coffee or other delicious smelling items.
A sturdy door to the south opens out onto the street.
Given she was already on Bridge, it's not much of a trip for the Walker to get to the donut shop, and certainly not much of a task for her to get there well before Rina. She's already settled at a corner table with both coffee and several donuts--way more than one helping, that's for sure. She is indeed wearing dark shades, and the trench coat ensemble mentioned over the phone. Even if she weren't, those scars tend to make her stand out a bit, even hunched down as she currently is with the coat collar pulled up.
Matilda(#1912Pc)
When she's not wearing sun-glasses, this woman's most obvious and noticeable feature is her eyes--they're a distinct golden yellow, feral and decidedly inhuman. Cosmetic contact lenses, surely. The rest of her face is fairly average, and it might even lean toward the faintly attractive side if it weren't for the scars. And there are scars: thin, spidery lines that trace over her nose and under her chin and down one side of her jaw. Several of them curl over one eye, and one even passes over an eyelid, though the eye itself seems undamaged. Her hair is unremarkable--brown, terribly short, with a tendency to stick out slightly in utterly random directions.
She's not really tall, maybe 5'7 or 5'8 at best, but there's a gawkiness to her body that creates an illusion of extra height, a sense of her torso being just slightly too long. She's stick-thin too, which only adds to the overall image. Beanpole for certain, this one.
As for the woman's clothing, it's functional, if fairly nondescript. She appears to favor loose and comfortable, button-up shirts and slightly baggy pants, with simple black street-walking shoes. What can be seen of her skin beyond her face seems to echo the motif above--thin spidery scars, mostly randomly placed, but a few seem to form meaningless designs. They're heavier and more intricate on the backs and palms of both hands, and perhaps for this reason she also seems to favor wearing gloves when she can get away with it.
Rina comes in not terribly late, and scans the interior; she studies the scarred woman for a time. One hand reaches to touch something at her chest, and then she walks toward the table, taking off her dark shades. Her eyes, interestingly enough, seem shaded toward amber--her pupils are contracted, and that makes the gold more prominent.
The same hoarse voice that spoke on the phone: "Mouse?"
Rina offers a hand.
It's hard to tell under those glasses whether or not the other woman is aware of Rina before she speaks up or not. She's facing the right direction, and there's no hint of surprise once the kin woman speaks--just straightening up from that slouch of hers. "Yeah." She takes the offered hand, perhaps not quite as firmly as might be expected, and shakes. Her hands are scarred too--the feel is rough when she touches Rina's. "I got us some donuts, but I dunno what kind of coffee you like."
Rina's hand is oddly calloused, and bears a few flecks of paint still. Her movements are just a little languid, as she takes a seat. "Black like my soul," she says dryly. "So did you come from the Green, or the Towers?"
An eyebrow appears over the top of her shades. "You want me to fetch you some? Figure this is my treat, tonight. --And the Green. Nice. Accent or phone number or both give it away?"
"Both." Marked, beautiful, obviously packing heat--and cagey, to judge by the way she studies the Garou through narrowed eyes. "So. What brings you? And what'd'you have t' offer?"
Mouse seems to be relaxing in small increments all the same, as if Rina were something familiar in a sea of strangeness, however dangerous. "Well, I could get real long winded about it, but the short story is I needed a change of pace, and after a while I realized that, and then your request came at a nice and convenient time." She reaches for her own coffee, and takes a small sip. "As for what I've got to offer, well, eh. I'm no /expert/ in those specific qualifications, but I've done a lot of work from time to time with it, so I'm pretty familiar. Mostly though, I'm here to help out wherever you need me. Granted, uh, before I go much further I should probably let you in on something, in case that turns out to be a problem."
Rina raises an eyebrow, and then waves down the teenager serving coffee. "Amy! Can I get some, gorgeous?" The smile she flashes the waitress is a rakehell's baring of teeth, the look enough to cause a blush. "Thanks, babe." Relaxing a bit into her chair, Rina returns her attention to the New Yorker.
Mouse waits until Amy has turned her back again, and then flicks a brief look over the rest of the shop. Satisfied, she leans forward just a little and pulls her shades down to her nose, just enough so that Rina can catch a glimpse of feral, golden eyes that are certainly not human.
Rina draws a breath through parted lips, and leans forward. One elbows sets itself on the table's edge, hand coming up to brush knuckles across her lips in thought. "Can I paint you?"
A second eyebrow lifts to join the first as Mouse slides the shades back into place, though she seems faintly amused. "Don't think I've ever been asked that question before. There's more to it than that, of course, but this isn't exactly the place to go into details. Just thought I should make it clear before people get huffy over not knowing."
Rina nods minutely. "Course. I doubt Jack will much care, or anyone else for that matter. We're a little too undermanned to cast aspersions on anyone's birth, or, yanno, discriminate."
Mouse gives a tiny, thin little smile. "Well, I won't complain about that. Our family's pretty good about that sort of thing anyhow, s'long as we make ourselves useful. Donut?" She gestures toward the spread on the table, and picks one out herself. Gnom. "Anyway, yeah. It's kind've common knowledge we're a little sparse out here. Not that we aren't everywhere these days, but more than usual."
Rina picks up a glazed, and tears it in half. "So. You do demo work?"
Mouse nods. "On occasion. Like I said, I wouldn't qualify myself as an expert, but I'm familiar with it."
Rina nods minutely. "Good... thanks, hon." She flashes that killer crooked smile to the hapless waitress, and takes the coffee from her hand without letting Amy set it down. Taking a sip, she looks across to Matilda again. "You a good shot?"
Mouse's lips purse just a little. "...Yeah," she says after a moment. "I'd say I was a good shot. Done some distance shooting too, though mostly I prefer handguns." She takes a bite of her donut.
Rina's eyebrows lift slightly. "Good," she answers. "I'm kinda done bein' in the line of fire, myself. Plus I won't hafta teach the boys..." She lowers her eyes, drinks down a swallow or two. "Great."
Her eyes are hidden behind those shades again, but it's not hard to tell that the metis is studying Rina. "Problems?"
Rina lifts a shoulder. "Just that we got two problem kids," she answers. "14 and 18. And me spendin' time alone with 'em doesn't seem like the best idea, especially when they already fuckin' hate me." She glances across to the woman with a humorless smile. "Plus I have a nasty fuckin' temper."
Mouse takes another few bites of donut, another sip of her coffee. "Hate you, eh? Should I ask why?"
Rina rolls her eyes heavenward. "So. They were stayin' out on the farm, where the country kids play. And the older one says, 'hey, it's my birthday, let's go party.' They got to the city, I don't know how, and I get this text message from the guy: we wanna party but we can't get booze, will you help out? And I, like, consider this for a while, but I mean, I was a hellion when *I* was 18, so. I didn't *know* they weren't s'posed to be in the city."
A tiny smile pricks at Mouse's mouth, there only a moment before it fades again. She gives Rina a nod, to show she's listening. Meanwhile, more of the donut is consumed.
"So then they show up--" Rina pauses for a strategic bite of her glazed monstrosity, washing it down with a sip of coffee. "And it's this one kid, right? But he brought *two* fourteen-year-olds with him, *and* his pretty little girlfriend, who by the way he's been forbidden to sleep with until /after/ he's been put through the rite." She shakes her head, rolling her eyes again. "So I took one look at that little posse and went, you know what? No fuckin' way. Go hang out at the Safehouse and play some nintendo."
Mouse nods again. She finishes off her donut, swallows, and reaches for her coffee again. "And lemme guess, they weren't terribly thrilled about it?"
Rina nods. "Yeah. Got that right. And then, the /younger/ one makes some snide comment about me bein' stoned--" She holds up a hand, palm-out--"which I was, due to medical necessity. But still. I'm twice the boy's age, and you do *not* fuckin' talk to me like that. So the little hottie girlfriend pipes up with, 'hey, there's a party down the street,' and they all ditch, and I'mn left thinking 'Oh dear GOD these four kids are loose on the city, sans clue, and with only a freakin' teenager, from the Russian tribe mind you, as a 'responsible' party..." She lifts both shoulders. "So I call someone in charge, and ask if they're evn s'posed to BE in the city, and of *course* they're not. Told Jack where they were headed... and the upshot of it is, now we got two Walker kids who hate my guts." She purses her lips in a wry moue. "Which would be why I'm glad y'here."
Mouse wrinkles her nose. "Oh good fuck," she responds. "So what then, they get hauled back by their ears?" And then, as a curiosity strikes her, "The hell weren't they allowed in the city for? I mean, beyond that apparent demonstration of stupidity."
Rina throws up both hands. "No fuckin' clue. They're both intractable little /shitheels/, though, who somehow think that their lack of moon makes it okay to be disobedient fuckwits." She takes a sip of coffee. "I don't think Jack even *caught* them--at least, he hadn't when I got back to the safehouse later." She narrows her eyes. "But anyway, their whole ruined night is of *course* All My Fault."
Another glance heavenward for tolerance, and the Kin drinks down another sip of coffee, one hand waving to dismiss the whole fiasco.
There's a soft snort from the other Walker. "Great. I love the spoiled ones. Alright, well, like I said, I'm here to help. You guys need me to babysit? I'm a decent sitter."
Rina puts a hand to her heart, as if struck by a deadly arrow. "I do believe I'm *smitten*," she says, offering the woman a wry half-smile.
Mouse smiles this time, a faint grin. She takes another sip of her coffee.
Rina pulls a card and a mechanical pencil from her pocket, and scribbles something on the back of the card. "Safehouse address," she says. "Jack Salem's the one you want to meet, but there's a few others. And the open side of the house is kind of a zoo right now."
Mouse leans forward again, adjusting her shades as she peers at the card. "Got it. It alright for me to just drop by, or should I call? I don't really know what's considered mannerly around here."
"If it's fairly soon, before people's tempers get real edgy, you should be okay? Drop my name, or whatever. Or I can swing you by there now, if you want?"
Mouse reaches for the card, and shakes her head. "Nah, only if you're going that way anyway. I've got my own car."
Rina lifts a shoulder. "No skin off my back... there's someone I need to see over that way." She flashes a grin. "Plus I'd like t'get the introduction, you know?"
Matilda raises two fingers to her forehead in something resembling a salute, with the business card between them, before she slides the card away into a pocket. "Okay then. We can bring these with," she gestures toward the donuts, and sets about wrapping them up.
Rina polishes off her glazed, and licks the sugar from her fingertips. "Plus if I steal a ride from you, I don't hafta chase down a cab at dinnertime," she says lightly.
Another faint grin. "Yeah, that's a bonus. Alright. Mind it's nothing special." She stands up, donuts in one hand, digging into her pocket for keys with the other. "It's just out front." And she heads that way.
Rina pushes to her feet, a slight stiffness in the movement; she digs into her pocket for a few bills, and sets them on the table.
Safehouse: Porch(#3114RJ)
The front porch of this sprawling, multi-floored house is the decorated centerpiece despite being offset within the footprint, a two-story layer-cake structure replete with several support pillars and decorative eaves in contrast to the clean planes and angles of the rest of the building, the windows of a third story piled on top of that. To the porch's right is the jutting spire of a three+ story, castle-like octagonal tower, complete with tall pointed roof; to the porch's left, the roof decreases gradually in height to an end that is at most a story-and-a-half. Windows abound: down the face of the tower, in every level of the porch, to the two-story unit immediately next to the porch and even a few at ground level far to the end.
Access to the porch is reached from seven steps up from a walkway which runs most of the front length of the house, between the porch and the driveway to the house's left. Trees and bushes landscape the front lawn, and a tall hedge blocks most of the eyes of curious onlookers on the main street.
There are two discernible entrances to the structure, the most obvious being the twin doors on the front porch, the less obvious being a single door off a much smaller stoop just off the driveway. The footpath running alongside the driveway and the driveway itself lead to breaks in the hedge allowing an exit to the street.
"Might not be anyone here," Rina says as she digs out her keys. "Idunno how late Jack works, these days. There's another guy you should meet... Cheung. Not Catches-the-Flag--dude, I *wish*--but his son." She gets the door open and leads the woman inside.
She wasn't back at the donut shop, by Mouse is moving stiffly now as they enter the safehouse. There's a small trace of nervousness to her again as she follows after Rina, a tiny amount of tension in her jaw.
"Bueller?" Rina calls out. "Anyone?" Leaving Mouse to shut the door, she prowls into the kitchen, peering into the computer room. "Oh well..." Coming back out, she flips a keycard into her hand and swipes it to open the Walker door. "Let's see if we got any friends around. Jack?"
Mouse shuts the door quietly behind her, and then moves a little further inward, peering over the half-wall into the living room, glancing up the stairs. That line of tension in her jaw grows all the more pronounced. "Uh, sorry. Do you mind if I...borrow your floor for a minute? I've just got to lie down, really fast."
Rina turns, alarmed. "Um, yeah, sure, or the couch?" Her brow furrows. "You aright?"
She waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. Just part of that 'other thing' I mentioned, besides my eyes." Mouse tugs the shades off, tucks them into a pocket, and then promptly chooses a spot on the living room floor to lie down on, flat on her back. There's a wince, followed by a sharp exhale and a visible release of that building tension. "...Sorry. Think it was the drive."
Closing the metal door, Rina returns her attention to the woman, searching her face for signs of distress. "Can I get you something? Make you some coffee better'n Andy's?"
Mouse certainly looks like she's feeling discomfort; her face is slightly pinched, her forehead wrinkled. Her hands are folded over her stomach now. "Nah, s'alright. It's getting better already."
Rina's brow is still furrowed, as she observes. "Aright," she murmurs. "Battle scar?"
Mouse gives a short, sharp 'heh', slightly strained, though she's starting to relax. "Nah. More metis fun. S'my fucking back, see. It's too long, and it likes to hurt all the fucking time, just to be irritable. But--" And she sits up, with a small amount of effort. "Anyway. And you haven't seen the tail, but I'll spare you."
"Thanks," Rina says dryly. "So... you don't hafta get up, or anything, but introduction? I presume you know who I am, from Uncle Joey..."
Mouse stands anyway, and most of that pain seems to have vanished from her face, lingering only slightly around her eyes. She leans against the back of the couch. "Yeah, introduction. I go by Mouse, but my real name is Matilda Knight--hate the sound of that--and then if you want to get into wolf names I go by First-Strike, or sometimes Gets-the-First-Shot. Glass Walker, obviously, Metis, more obviously, Theurge and Fostern."
Rina blinks. "You're Fostern," she says, after a moment, lamely.
Mouse can't help but look a little sheepish as she misinterprets. "Hard to believe?" Her tone's still half joking.
Rina's expression is almost guarded, and very serious. "No," she says quietly. "No, didn't mean it like that. Just that, ah..." One hand comes up to rub at the back of her neck, as she ducks her head--a scolded-schoolboy gesture. "We, ah, don't have any Fostern, see."
"You don't--" And the implications seem to dawn on her. "Ah. Fuck. Uh. Fuck." She rakes one hand back through her short hair. "Didn't realize you guys were that low on bodies."
Rina looks across to her, biting her lower lip for a moment. "At least please /meet/ Jack, before you run screaming for the hills? I don't think he'd have a problem handin' the tribe over, he *hates* bein' stuck as Don."
Mouse flinches. "Fuck, no. I mean. No, I'm not gonna run off. And I'm not here to take over or...anything. Yeah, I should talk to him. Fuck." And she actually manages the faintest, humorless laugh. "/I'm/ the ranking Glass Walker? The hell?"
"This ain't New York," Rina says dryly. "That, and..." She glances away. "We took some losses, five, six years ago."
Matilda's face returns to neutrality as she studies Rina, and a moment later her voice is a little quieter. "Yeah, I know how that goes. Look. I didn't come down here to take over. If that's what you guys really need, and lord help us all if so, then I will, and I'll do my best. But I'm here to help. That's all I'm here to do. I didn't come looking to pump my ego or beat my chest or anything."
Rina looks back to her, eyes narrowed. "Can you do it?" she asks, softly. "I mean, if *I* can do it, then you oughta be able to. If you made Fostern--" Something flickers across her features, too swiftly gone to interpret, a ghost of some dark emotion. "You must be good enough."
Matilda studies Rina again. "...I need to think about this," she says after a moment. "Before I can give you a really honest answer about that. Or at least, about what I think about that."
Rina nods, her expression thoughtful. "I gotta run... but if you wanna hang out here and see if Jack shows up, it's cool."
Matilda nods. She starts to reach toward her coat pocket, and then pauses. "This place smoking or non-smoking?"
Rina frowns. "No fucking clue? I'd say no, to be safe, but then you can't get back in... but I'm not sure if Jack would be cool with me leavin' a stranger here, what with the computers and everything.
Matilda ponders this for a moment. "Yeah, alright. I'll try to keep it to one, and I'll buy some febreeze and grovel a lot if I'm not supposed to. I just need to think."
It's late afternoon when the call comes, and the number is entirely unfamiliar--and for that matter, not local, judging by the area code that flashes across the screen.
Rina answers after several rings--phone and computer searching for the number's source. "Vencenzo Studios, hello?"
The number isn't hard to trace--it's a New York area code, and for that matter, one of the ones from the Big Apple itself. No location...must be a cell. "'Ey. I'm looking for a Rina. She in?" The voice proclaims what the trace suggests--the accent is rather unmistakable, though not as heavy as it might be.
"Speaking." Rina's voice is somewhat guarded.
"Oh good." The voice sounds genial enough, though there's a trace of nervousness mixed in that she doesn't seem to be quite able to hide. Or she's not trying to. "We don't know each other, obviously, but I'm calling about that job offer you sent out not too long ago." There's the sound of a door, car door, being opened. "I actually just got into town. It still open?"
"Would this job offer have been passed along by Joe Provenzano?"
"Yeah," comes the reply. "Family, you know. In that extended, not quite actually related sort of way."
"Sure. Who's Joe's right-hand man these days?"
"Some ugly pitbull named Tony," comes the immediate reply. "And you can tell him I said so too." The tone is still light, joking, faintly nervous.
The woman on the other end laughs a little. "No thanks. I like my face the way it is. Should we meet somewhere f'coffee? Where you at?"
"Uh." There's a pause. "Bridge Street, according to the sign. Like I said, I /just/ got in. But name a place, I've got Mapquest and wireless, I can find it."
"There's a place on Bridge called Andy's Old-Fashioned Donuts." She names the cross-street, and says, "How about ...twenty minutes?"
The voice on the other end responds, "Check. Donuts, twenty minutes. I'll probably be the only schmuck inside wearing sunglasses, if I get there first."
"Aright. Wearing anything else? Or just the shades?"
"Lessee," There's a pause as she presumably looks down. "Oh hell, I'm going all Matrix today. Trench coat, black shirt, black shoes, khaki pants. Just call me Mouse, I'll know it's you."
"Got it. See you soon."
-------
Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts
A small quaint donut shop, tastefully done in blue and white. A glass case, showing a variety of fresh donuts stands at the back of the store. Standing behind the glass case, a small old woman, looking to be in her sixties, is busy with customers. A young girl, slightly taller than the old woman and looking to be around sixteen rushes back and forth through a swinging door, bringing out trays of donuts or coffee or other delicious smelling items.
A sturdy door to the south opens out onto the street.
Given she was already on Bridge, it's not much of a trip for the Walker to get to the donut shop, and certainly not much of a task for her to get there well before Rina. She's already settled at a corner table with both coffee and several donuts--way more than one helping, that's for sure. She is indeed wearing dark shades, and the trench coat ensemble mentioned over the phone. Even if she weren't, those scars tend to make her stand out a bit, even hunched down as she currently is with the coat collar pulled up.
Matilda(#1912Pc)
When she's not wearing sun-glasses, this woman's most obvious and noticeable feature is her eyes--they're a distinct golden yellow, feral and decidedly inhuman. Cosmetic contact lenses, surely. The rest of her face is fairly average, and it might even lean toward the faintly attractive side if it weren't for the scars. And there are scars: thin, spidery lines that trace over her nose and under her chin and down one side of her jaw. Several of them curl over one eye, and one even passes over an eyelid, though the eye itself seems undamaged. Her hair is unremarkable--brown, terribly short, with a tendency to stick out slightly in utterly random directions.
She's not really tall, maybe 5'7 or 5'8 at best, but there's a gawkiness to her body that creates an illusion of extra height, a sense of her torso being just slightly too long. She's stick-thin too, which only adds to the overall image. Beanpole for certain, this one.
As for the woman's clothing, it's functional, if fairly nondescript. She appears to favor loose and comfortable, button-up shirts and slightly baggy pants, with simple black street-walking shoes. What can be seen of her skin beyond her face seems to echo the motif above--thin spidery scars, mostly randomly placed, but a few seem to form meaningless designs. They're heavier and more intricate on the backs and palms of both hands, and perhaps for this reason she also seems to favor wearing gloves when she can get away with it.
Rina comes in not terribly late, and scans the interior; she studies the scarred woman for a time. One hand reaches to touch something at her chest, and then she walks toward the table, taking off her dark shades. Her eyes, interestingly enough, seem shaded toward amber--her pupils are contracted, and that makes the gold more prominent.
The same hoarse voice that spoke on the phone: "Mouse?"
Rina offers a hand.
It's hard to tell under those glasses whether or not the other woman is aware of Rina before she speaks up or not. She's facing the right direction, and there's no hint of surprise once the kin woman speaks--just straightening up from that slouch of hers. "Yeah." She takes the offered hand, perhaps not quite as firmly as might be expected, and shakes. Her hands are scarred too--the feel is rough when she touches Rina's. "I got us some donuts, but I dunno what kind of coffee you like."
Rina's hand is oddly calloused, and bears a few flecks of paint still. Her movements are just a little languid, as she takes a seat. "Black like my soul," she says dryly. "So did you come from the Green, or the Towers?"
An eyebrow appears over the top of her shades. "You want me to fetch you some? Figure this is my treat, tonight. --And the Green. Nice. Accent or phone number or both give it away?"
"Both." Marked, beautiful, obviously packing heat--and cagey, to judge by the way she studies the Garou through narrowed eyes. "So. What brings you? And what'd'you have t' offer?"
Mouse seems to be relaxing in small increments all the same, as if Rina were something familiar in a sea of strangeness, however dangerous. "Well, I could get real long winded about it, but the short story is I needed a change of pace, and after a while I realized that, and then your request came at a nice and convenient time." She reaches for her own coffee, and takes a small sip. "As for what I've got to offer, well, eh. I'm no /expert/ in those specific qualifications, but I've done a lot of work from time to time with it, so I'm pretty familiar. Mostly though, I'm here to help out wherever you need me. Granted, uh, before I go much further I should probably let you in on something, in case that turns out to be a problem."
Rina raises an eyebrow, and then waves down the teenager serving coffee. "Amy! Can I get some, gorgeous?" The smile she flashes the waitress is a rakehell's baring of teeth, the look enough to cause a blush. "Thanks, babe." Relaxing a bit into her chair, Rina returns her attention to the New Yorker.
Mouse waits until Amy has turned her back again, and then flicks a brief look over the rest of the shop. Satisfied, she leans forward just a little and pulls her shades down to her nose, just enough so that Rina can catch a glimpse of feral, golden eyes that are certainly not human.
Rina draws a breath through parted lips, and leans forward. One elbows sets itself on the table's edge, hand coming up to brush knuckles across her lips in thought. "Can I paint you?"
A second eyebrow lifts to join the first as Mouse slides the shades back into place, though she seems faintly amused. "Don't think I've ever been asked that question before. There's more to it than that, of course, but this isn't exactly the place to go into details. Just thought I should make it clear before people get huffy over not knowing."
Rina nods minutely. "Course. I doubt Jack will much care, or anyone else for that matter. We're a little too undermanned to cast aspersions on anyone's birth, or, yanno, discriminate."
Mouse gives a tiny, thin little smile. "Well, I won't complain about that. Our family's pretty good about that sort of thing anyhow, s'long as we make ourselves useful. Donut?" She gestures toward the spread on the table, and picks one out herself. Gnom. "Anyway, yeah. It's kind've common knowledge we're a little sparse out here. Not that we aren't everywhere these days, but more than usual."
Rina picks up a glazed, and tears it in half. "So. You do demo work?"
Mouse nods. "On occasion. Like I said, I wouldn't qualify myself as an expert, but I'm familiar with it."
Rina nods minutely. "Good... thanks, hon." She flashes that killer crooked smile to the hapless waitress, and takes the coffee from her hand without letting Amy set it down. Taking a sip, she looks across to Matilda again. "You a good shot?"
Mouse's lips purse just a little. "...Yeah," she says after a moment. "I'd say I was a good shot. Done some distance shooting too, though mostly I prefer handguns." She takes a bite of her donut.
Rina's eyebrows lift slightly. "Good," she answers. "I'm kinda done bein' in the line of fire, myself. Plus I won't hafta teach the boys..." She lowers her eyes, drinks down a swallow or two. "Great."
Her eyes are hidden behind those shades again, but it's not hard to tell that the metis is studying Rina. "Problems?"
Rina lifts a shoulder. "Just that we got two problem kids," she answers. "14 and 18. And me spendin' time alone with 'em doesn't seem like the best idea, especially when they already fuckin' hate me." She glances across to the woman with a humorless smile. "Plus I have a nasty fuckin' temper."
Mouse takes another few bites of donut, another sip of her coffee. "Hate you, eh? Should I ask why?"
Rina rolls her eyes heavenward. "So. They were stayin' out on the farm, where the country kids play. And the older one says, 'hey, it's my birthday, let's go party.' They got to the city, I don't know how, and I get this text message from the guy: we wanna party but we can't get booze, will you help out? And I, like, consider this for a while, but I mean, I was a hellion when *I* was 18, so. I didn't *know* they weren't s'posed to be in the city."
A tiny smile pricks at Mouse's mouth, there only a moment before it fades again. She gives Rina a nod, to show she's listening. Meanwhile, more of the donut is consumed.
"So then they show up--" Rina pauses for a strategic bite of her glazed monstrosity, washing it down with a sip of coffee. "And it's this one kid, right? But he brought *two* fourteen-year-olds with him, *and* his pretty little girlfriend, who by the way he's been forbidden to sleep with until /after/ he's been put through the rite." She shakes her head, rolling her eyes again. "So I took one look at that little posse and went, you know what? No fuckin' way. Go hang out at the Safehouse and play some nintendo."
Mouse nods again. She finishes off her donut, swallows, and reaches for her coffee again. "And lemme guess, they weren't terribly thrilled about it?"
Rina nods. "Yeah. Got that right. And then, the /younger/ one makes some snide comment about me bein' stoned--" She holds up a hand, palm-out--"which I was, due to medical necessity. But still. I'm twice the boy's age, and you do *not* fuckin' talk to me like that. So the little hottie girlfriend pipes up with, 'hey, there's a party down the street,' and they all ditch, and I'mn left thinking 'Oh dear GOD these four kids are loose on the city, sans clue, and with only a freakin' teenager, from the Russian tribe mind you, as a 'responsible' party..." She lifts both shoulders. "So I call someone in charge, and ask if they're evn s'posed to BE in the city, and of *course* they're not. Told Jack where they were headed... and the upshot of it is, now we got two Walker kids who hate my guts." She purses her lips in a wry moue. "Which would be why I'm glad y'here."
Mouse wrinkles her nose. "Oh good fuck," she responds. "So what then, they get hauled back by their ears?" And then, as a curiosity strikes her, "The hell weren't they allowed in the city for? I mean, beyond that apparent demonstration of stupidity."
Rina throws up both hands. "No fuckin' clue. They're both intractable little /shitheels/, though, who somehow think that their lack of moon makes it okay to be disobedient fuckwits." She takes a sip of coffee. "I don't think Jack even *caught* them--at least, he hadn't when I got back to the safehouse later." She narrows her eyes. "But anyway, their whole ruined night is of *course* All My Fault."
Another glance heavenward for tolerance, and the Kin drinks down another sip of coffee, one hand waving to dismiss the whole fiasco.
There's a soft snort from the other Walker. "Great. I love the spoiled ones. Alright, well, like I said, I'm here to help. You guys need me to babysit? I'm a decent sitter."
Rina puts a hand to her heart, as if struck by a deadly arrow. "I do believe I'm *smitten*," she says, offering the woman a wry half-smile.
Mouse smiles this time, a faint grin. She takes another sip of her coffee.
Rina pulls a card and a mechanical pencil from her pocket, and scribbles something on the back of the card. "Safehouse address," she says. "Jack Salem's the one you want to meet, but there's a few others. And the open side of the house is kind of a zoo right now."
Mouse leans forward again, adjusting her shades as she peers at the card. "Got it. It alright for me to just drop by, or should I call? I don't really know what's considered mannerly around here."
"If it's fairly soon, before people's tempers get real edgy, you should be okay? Drop my name, or whatever. Or I can swing you by there now, if you want?"
Mouse reaches for the card, and shakes her head. "Nah, only if you're going that way anyway. I've got my own car."
Rina lifts a shoulder. "No skin off my back... there's someone I need to see over that way." She flashes a grin. "Plus I'd like t'get the introduction, you know?"
Matilda raises two fingers to her forehead in something resembling a salute, with the business card between them, before she slides the card away into a pocket. "Okay then. We can bring these with," she gestures toward the donuts, and sets about wrapping them up.
Rina polishes off her glazed, and licks the sugar from her fingertips. "Plus if I steal a ride from you, I don't hafta chase down a cab at dinnertime," she says lightly.
Another faint grin. "Yeah, that's a bonus. Alright. Mind it's nothing special." She stands up, donuts in one hand, digging into her pocket for keys with the other. "It's just out front." And she heads that way.
Rina pushes to her feet, a slight stiffness in the movement; she digs into her pocket for a few bills, and sets them on the table.
Safehouse: Porch(#3114RJ)
The front porch of this sprawling, multi-floored house is the decorated centerpiece despite being offset within the footprint, a two-story layer-cake structure replete with several support pillars and decorative eaves in contrast to the clean planes and angles of the rest of the building, the windows of a third story piled on top of that. To the porch's right is the jutting spire of a three+ story, castle-like octagonal tower, complete with tall pointed roof; to the porch's left, the roof decreases gradually in height to an end that is at most a story-and-a-half. Windows abound: down the face of the tower, in every level of the porch, to the two-story unit immediately next to the porch and even a few at ground level far to the end.
Access to the porch is reached from seven steps up from a walkway which runs most of the front length of the house, between the porch and the driveway to the house's left. Trees and bushes landscape the front lawn, and a tall hedge blocks most of the eyes of curious onlookers on the main street.
There are two discernible entrances to the structure, the most obvious being the twin doors on the front porch, the less obvious being a single door off a much smaller stoop just off the driveway. The footpath running alongside the driveway and the driveway itself lead to breaks in the hedge allowing an exit to the street.
"Might not be anyone here," Rina says as she digs out her keys. "Idunno how late Jack works, these days. There's another guy you should meet... Cheung. Not Catches-the-Flag--dude, I *wish*--but his son." She gets the door open and leads the woman inside.
She wasn't back at the donut shop, by Mouse is moving stiffly now as they enter the safehouse. There's a small trace of nervousness to her again as she follows after Rina, a tiny amount of tension in her jaw.
"Bueller?" Rina calls out. "Anyone?" Leaving Mouse to shut the door, she prowls into the kitchen, peering into the computer room. "Oh well..." Coming back out, she flips a keycard into her hand and swipes it to open the Walker door. "Let's see if we got any friends around. Jack?"
Mouse shuts the door quietly behind her, and then moves a little further inward, peering over the half-wall into the living room, glancing up the stairs. That line of tension in her jaw grows all the more pronounced. "Uh, sorry. Do you mind if I...borrow your floor for a minute? I've just got to lie down, really fast."
Rina turns, alarmed. "Um, yeah, sure, or the couch?" Her brow furrows. "You aright?"
She waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. Just part of that 'other thing' I mentioned, besides my eyes." Mouse tugs the shades off, tucks them into a pocket, and then promptly chooses a spot on the living room floor to lie down on, flat on her back. There's a wince, followed by a sharp exhale and a visible release of that building tension. "...Sorry. Think it was the drive."
Closing the metal door, Rina returns her attention to the woman, searching her face for signs of distress. "Can I get you something? Make you some coffee better'n Andy's?"
Mouse certainly looks like she's feeling discomfort; her face is slightly pinched, her forehead wrinkled. Her hands are folded over her stomach now. "Nah, s'alright. It's getting better already."
Rina's brow is still furrowed, as she observes. "Aright," she murmurs. "Battle scar?"
Mouse gives a short, sharp 'heh', slightly strained, though she's starting to relax. "Nah. More metis fun. S'my fucking back, see. It's too long, and it likes to hurt all the fucking time, just to be irritable. But--" And she sits up, with a small amount of effort. "Anyway. And you haven't seen the tail, but I'll spare you."
"Thanks," Rina says dryly. "So... you don't hafta get up, or anything, but introduction? I presume you know who I am, from Uncle Joey..."
Mouse stands anyway, and most of that pain seems to have vanished from her face, lingering only slightly around her eyes. She leans against the back of the couch. "Yeah, introduction. I go by Mouse, but my real name is Matilda Knight--hate the sound of that--and then if you want to get into wolf names I go by First-Strike, or sometimes Gets-the-First-Shot. Glass Walker, obviously, Metis, more obviously, Theurge and Fostern."
Rina blinks. "You're Fostern," she says, after a moment, lamely.
Mouse can't help but look a little sheepish as she misinterprets. "Hard to believe?" Her tone's still half joking.
Rina's expression is almost guarded, and very serious. "No," she says quietly. "No, didn't mean it like that. Just that, ah..." One hand comes up to rub at the back of her neck, as she ducks her head--a scolded-schoolboy gesture. "We, ah, don't have any Fostern, see."
"You don't--" And the implications seem to dawn on her. "Ah. Fuck. Uh. Fuck." She rakes one hand back through her short hair. "Didn't realize you guys were that low on bodies."
Rina looks across to her, biting her lower lip for a moment. "At least please /meet/ Jack, before you run screaming for the hills? I don't think he'd have a problem handin' the tribe over, he *hates* bein' stuck as Don."
Mouse flinches. "Fuck, no. I mean. No, I'm not gonna run off. And I'm not here to take over or...anything. Yeah, I should talk to him. Fuck." And she actually manages the faintest, humorless laugh. "/I'm/ the ranking Glass Walker? The hell?"
"This ain't New York," Rina says dryly. "That, and..." She glances away. "We took some losses, five, six years ago."
Matilda's face returns to neutrality as she studies Rina, and a moment later her voice is a little quieter. "Yeah, I know how that goes. Look. I didn't come down here to take over. If that's what you guys really need, and lord help us all if so, then I will, and I'll do my best. But I'm here to help. That's all I'm here to do. I didn't come looking to pump my ego or beat my chest or anything."
Rina looks back to her, eyes narrowed. "Can you do it?" she asks, softly. "I mean, if *I* can do it, then you oughta be able to. If you made Fostern--" Something flickers across her features, too swiftly gone to interpret, a ghost of some dark emotion. "You must be good enough."
Matilda studies Rina again. "...I need to think about this," she says after a moment. "Before I can give you a really honest answer about that. Or at least, about what I think about that."
Rina nods, her expression thoughtful. "I gotta run... but if you wanna hang out here and see if Jack shows up, it's cool."
Matilda nods. She starts to reach toward her coat pocket, and then pauses. "This place smoking or non-smoking?"
Rina frowns. "No fucking clue? I'd say no, to be safe, but then you can't get back in... but I'm not sure if Jack would be cool with me leavin' a stranger here, what with the computers and everything.
Matilda ponders this for a moment. "Yeah, alright. I'll try to keep it to one, and I'll buy some febreeze and grovel a lot if I'm not supposed to. I just need to think."
