Chance; An Antonym

[Viola Jones]

It might have been a chance meeting, if Viola was anyone else.

With purpose Viola follows a scent.

When flat dead eyes catch sight, instead of just scenting her fellow Meninna, she moves. Not with words, but with actions. Shifting through the crowd until she knows her scent's carried on the wind, she waits there until Kid reacts, when his eyes travel her way she jerks her head. Showing a direction. Then, without a word she turns her back to the Herd and stalks away.

Fully expecting him to follow her, but If he doesn't, whatever. She didn't really care. She honestly didn't know why she was doing this....well, no that was a lie. He was Pack - or was going to be. They should, talk. Or exist in the same space for a few hours. Or some shit like that.

She leads him away from the bustle and sweat of the city and into the closes green space she knew was around because this was the opposite of a chance meeting.

She drops her ass to the ground, and debate whether or not to pull up her fur. On one had, she was harder to read in Hishu and but on the other paw, she was more comfortable as a wolf.

Moon Phase: Waxing Crescent

[Kid]

Kid's trying to talk to a girl. He'd met her at a bar. Well, a concert at a bar, a crust punk show. And now he's putting on the moves, all southern charm, goofy jokes, and wink wink.

The crowd has moved outside, onto the sidewalk and street, to smoke cigarettes and drink more beer out of cans. No cops yet. A good night.

He's about to ask this girl...What's her name? Sara? Yeah, that's it. Anyway, he's about to ask her if she wants to take off when Kid scents Viola. It doesn't take long to spot her. Standing there, those eyes making her look every bit the wolf among a herd of sheep.

"Well shit..." he murmurs. "What?" Sara says, a few drinks in and happy to be flirting. "Nothing, nothing," he replies. "Listen, I gotta go." By this time, Viola's turned and walked off, though Kid marks which way she's gone. "Really?" Sara asks, either disappointed or putting on a convincing act. "Yeah. But, uh, you think I can get your number?"

He does.

And after retrieving his bag, he walks his bike off into the night after his pack-mate, following his nose, finding her where she's taken a seat. Despite the interruption of his plans, Kid is happy to see her. And a little drunk. His smile is big, crooked, and endearing.

"Well lookit here," he says, his voice warm, slightly sing-song. "If it ain't my sister." He lays his bike on its side, and settles down next to her. The bag is unzipped and a small bottle of Jameson is produced. The bottle is uncapped and he takes a slug of the whiskey, offering it to Viola. "What's up?"

Assumed this was taking place at night, hope that's OK!

[Viola Jones]

Voila eyes Kid.

His scent mixed with sweat, smoke, booze and attraction of the women he was talking to before he spotted her.

"If I was you, and I had a girl pawing at me like that. I woulda ignored me, and followed her home." Dry and matter of fact.

Viola felt something.

(Not something warm and fuzzy when Kid dropped what was probably a sure thing to follow her into the woods. No definitely not.)

Probably indigestion.

She takes the whiskey, then she takes a swig. It'd help. Probably. Maybe.

"Nothing." short, clipped.

She gives the whiskey back.

"This is stupid." spoken out loud, but more to herself, "Whatever. It's nothing. Chase after what's-her-face and go get laid."

Totally okay!

[Kid]

After she takes the whiskey, he pulls a rollie from the breast pocket of the over-sized green button-up he's wearing and lights it. The pocket has an embroidered Mickey Mouse on it and is well-worn, clearly a thrift store purchase.

A plume of smoke is released from his lips when he speaks next, "What? That?" He asks incredulously, hooking a thumb back toward the woman in question. His laugh is a low, warm chuckle. "Well. I'll survive. Besides, got her number." He gives her sly smile and a wiggle of the eyebrows.

He watches her take a swig of the booze and then takes the bottle back, gulping some himself and taking another drag off his cigarette.

"Come on. You think I'm that desperate? That I'd run off after some chick when I can get some time with you. You're my sister, remember?" The herd don't come into it.

"So come on, stop with the 'do your own damn thing' bullshit and let's talk." He's not so much chastising her as inviting her to let her guard down. Kid can see that his pack-mate is hard, but he won't quit trying. She needs to know that he puts the People, especially their Pack, above some likely prospect. Or most anything else, really.

"Tell me 'bout old Viola. How she's doing. How this town's been treating her." The cigarette is hanging out of the corner of his mouth now, perfuming the night air with a pleasant smelling smoke.

[Viola Jones]

The action proves that it wasn't just ambient smoke that'd threaded through his scent.

"I don't know are you that desperate?" Dead eyes, and flat voice, paired with an inquisitive tilt to her head.

Held for a moment before it passes and she snorts and rolls those corpse eyes of hers.

"Sure. Sister, right. Means I'll be around. But her, might not answer, or hell. That could be a 1800-get lost number. Works better then a jerk ring." Viola dryly points out, even as she knows that if Kid was really interested, he'd be able to track her down. Depending on the girl. She might think it was romantic, because an entire generation was poisoned into believing that following someone without their permission and sneaking up to their room to watch them sleep wasn't creepy as fuck.

Brow arches, "Since we're only sort of a pack, and no one's claimed alpha. You can do whatever the fuck you want." mostly said to be a little shit.

Shifts in place, moving so her ass wasn't sitting on the hem of her open green plaid shit. Then because it was bugging the fuck out of her, she pulls at the sleeves and rolls them up past her elbows. "What? Is this you needing stories? Shit. I thought you'd just....talk. Isn't that what you do?" left in a city with three Cahaliths, Voila figured she'd stand there and look intimidating. They could gab all they wanted, and leave her to be happily monosyllabic.

[Kid]

Kid shrugs, seemingly unfazed, "Maybe so. Hard to tell, really. Don't feel desperate, but maybe you don't always know when you are." He gives her a searching look. "How about you, Viola? Feeling desperate?" You sure act that way.

"And so what?" His laugh has a harder edge to it now. "It wouldn't be the first bum number that the Kid was handed, I can tell you that. Won't be the last either. Maybe I see her around, maybe I don't. The way I see it, there're plenty of the herd and only a few of Us. I always got time for the People, especially my People. That's what it's all about right?" Could be Viola doesn't feel the same way. And if she doesn't, Kid wants to know. Because that might just be a problem.

The shot about Pack Alpha wipes the typically casual, friendly expression off his face. Now he's serious. "So what? You gonna claim the spot?" His eyes shine in the ambient light, there's something there in those eyes, somewhere between interest and challenge.

Kid watches her fidget with her shirt, smoking and silent for the moment. Trying to read her, trying to understand what she's feeling. But it's difficult because she's intent on making it difficult. "This, m'dear, is called concern. Ever heard of it?" The words are pressed out of him by frustration and he takes a deep breath, trying to get himself in hand again. "Listen, I like to talk. I do. But part of talking is listening, being interested. And I'm interested in you, you know? We got a lot to learn about each other. Now, I understand if that's hard. For you. But you gotta know I'm not gonna stop trying, okay? And if you don't like it, well, you're welcome to try to stop me." His grin has become downright predatory now.

[Viola Jones]

"For some random piece of tail? No." which might mean she wasn't interested, or she wasn't interested in something random.

Voila frowns quite fiercely at Kid. "Generally. I'm not much liked. Normally. I'm everyone's last choice for....everything." the frown lifts, turning into something lighter, but still flat. "Besides tracking and killing shit. So this." she doesn't gesture, or move to indicate anything really, "Fucking. Weird."

Her intensity shifts. Lifting, as she snorts. "Everything I touch turns to shit. So. No. I don't want it." Commenting only for herself, leaving what Iseult said, to be said by her. Not really, realizing that with that admission she admitted to not wanting this, them. Their would be Pack to turn into shit.

"Been a while since I've seen it." once more, dry and matter of fact. Though, if Kid was looking close enough the light in her dead eyes, changes. Sparking with memories before it's smothered, and only twin dead orbs remain.

Kid keeps talking and Voila's frown grows again. After his words stop, Voila's silent. For a long drawn out moment all Voila dose is stare at the Cahalith across from her. Her jaw clenches, teeth grit. For a moment it seems like she'll grow out something including 'fuck' and 'it' and maybe a few other words thrown in for flavor. Then leave in a huff.

But she doesn't move, and while she does huff, it's more of a sigh which precede two words.

"Twenty questions."

  

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2017-08-31 17:12:04		Viola Jones rolls 2 to Is he for real? take 2 (Wits 3 + -1Empathy(unskilled)) (10 Again)		10, 5, 8		2 successes
2017-08-31 17:11:00		Viola Jones rolls 2 to Is he for real? (Wits 3 + -1Empathy(unskilled)) (10 Again)		3, 1		failure

[Kid]

Kid winks, actually winks at this dead-eyed Wolf. His own eyes shine with a merry, if challenging light. His smile is a bit bemused. The whole effect seems to communicate this one thought: Oh, not that kind of desperate. But you know what I mean, don't you? ​He doesn't push it, though. If only because he's pretty sure that Viola is desperate, even if he's not sure why. And it ain't smart to poke a cornered wolf with a stick. Still, he wishes, sincerely wishes, he could make her see that she's not actually trapped.

Rolling his shoulders, as if to shake off the tension in the air, Kid takes one last drag off his cigarette and then stubs it out on the ground beside him. Another nip off the bottle before it's set between them, fair game, and then he stretches his legs out and leans back, propping himself up with his elbows.

"That so? Why you reckon that is?" Is he being sarcastic or glib? No. There's a touch of humor in his voice, but the overwhelming effect is one of honest curiosity. "Anyway, me? I'm not sure about you myself. But I'm pretty sure how that's how you like it. And I don't give up that easy. So yeah, this?" He nods to her, indicating their conversation, "Seems like it should happen. Weird or not." And he's been in stranger situations, that's for damn sure.

Everything I touch turns to shit. He's struck by how juvenile the sentiment is. A high school feeling, really. But it also hints at a very real thing, a world of hurt in his pack mate. Some subbasement flooded out with pain and guilt. And speaking of guilt, he feels a twinge of his own: at the judgement he's passed on her emotional state. And the brief flash of glee that her denial of Pack Alpha sparks in his chest. Real nice guy you are, Kid...

"Well, here it is: I wanna know about you. Wanna know how you're getting on. Guess you could say I give a shit. Is that so bad?" He responds, perhaps trying to assuage his own guilty conscience, though it doesn't show.

He stares back, fully expecting her to hurl those two words at him. Get up, stomp off. And when she doesn't he's pleasantly surprised.

"Ok. Twenty questions, then. We'll go tit for tat. Me first." Kid sits up again, locking eyes with his pack mate. "What's up with this whole 'everything I touch goes to shit' deal?" Because, while Kid appreciates there are very real reasons for it, and doesn't dismiss them, he's heard a lot of stories of the People. A lot of bad stories. Painful stories. And yet, often times, the Wolf takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Something he's quite sure she can do as well. It's not so much that he thinks Viola should quit belly-aching. Ok, maybe a little. What he really wants, though, is to figure this out so maybe, just maybe, he can help her move on.

[Viola Jones]

"Cute." her dead eyes turn sharp, "I'm not an idiot. I know I'm not making it easy. That's the point." she admits through gritted teeth. It seems that even that admission was painful.

"So you're a stubborn ass who wants to voluntarily spend time with me. You've made that clear." but this time, her continued words, her 'but I don't know why' are swallowed before they could tough her teeth or tongue.

"You give a shit?" you could be blind, deaf, and dumb and still feel the disbelief come off of her. She rolls her eyes, "Sure."

"Tit for fucking tat alright. If I'm answering questions, you're doing the same."

Question One. Well, she did give him that one.

Refusing to look at the whiskey between them. Refusing to make it seem like she needs it's burn to talk about the scabs on her heart.

"Everyone I have ever known and loved is dead." she says with a smile so wide, it's a wonder her face hasn't cracked. Then suddenly it's gone, leaving her lips once more in their accustomed flat line. "And I'm not just talkin' about my old Pack," Which she offers up, but refuses to add anything more. If he wants more, he'll have to use up another question.

More then a handful of questions travel through her mind, but she settles on two words. They, of course come out short and clipped. "Why Meninna?"

[Kid]

"And what's the point of that?" Kid looks genuinely confused. Maybe he's naive. Or maybe, for him, emotional openness, directness, is a kind of ethical imperative. 'Making it hard' seems at best a waste of time, at worst a reason for mistrust.

He takes the jabs, the sarcasm, the cynicism of her next few comments with relative ease. He's getting used to her now, to the poisonous cloud she travels in, uses for defense. If she won't hit the bottle, he will. And he does while she speaks. Placing it back in its original position when he's done.

Her answer to his question is horrible, but what's worse is that smile and the way it disappears. To Kid, it's evidence that she is not only in great pain, but that she somehow enjoys her suffering as well. It's a bad state of affairs, the kind of thing that could get Viola hurt. And they're Pack now, so he's not willing to see that happen. What's called for her, he reckons, is a bit of tough love.

And so he asks it right out: "What, and you think you're the first? You think others among the People ain't seen the same thing, suffered the same thing? You think you're special?" His voice is soft, but insistent. His big, blue eyes meet hers, completely unguarded. He knows it's a gambit, a risk. But it also needs to be said. She has to be made to see.

Well, we'll see what she makes of that... He thinks, already mentally preparing himself for a verbal, even physical, assault.

Her question is a good one. He's thought about his tribal affiliation long and hard. And he's ready to answer: "It could be as simple as the Pack that found me were all Meninna. But it ain't. It goes back longer than that. Maybe it was the place I came up in Florida, or the people that brought me up. We were close to the land, the water. We were swamp folk, you know? And I always knew we belonged to the swamp. And that it was for us to know it, to love it, to protect it...And so when my time came, and they found me, it seemed right: 'Let no sacred place in your territory be violated.'"

Kid pauses, seeming to think. "As I grew, I started to understand that our stories were like Sacred Places too. They were places we returned to over and over again in our words and in our minds. Places of knowledge and strength and sustenance. Back in Boston, when I passed through, I met this other Cahalith, he was a poet. And he told me about this one poem, by a guy named Robert Duncan. 'Parently he was cross-eyed." Kid chuckles at the silly detail, and the fact that he never can seem to forget that bit of trivia. "Anyway, in that one poem he talks about being able, when he's reading or writing a poem, to return to some place, a sacred place..." Another pause, as he calls up the lines in his steel-trap memory:

  Recitation, 1 suxx

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2017-09-02 13:09:28		Kid rolls 6 to Pres3 + Expression3 (10 Again)		8, 4, 3, 5, 1, 4		1 success

Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow
as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
that is not mine, but is a made place,

that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
an eternal pasture folded in all thought
so that there is a hall therein

that is a made place, created by light
wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.

Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.

She it is Queen Under The Hill
whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words
that is a field folded.

It is only a dream of the grass blowing
east against the source of the sun
in an hour before the sun’s going down

whose secret we see in a children’s game
of ring a round of roses told.

Often I am permitted to return to a meadow
as if it were a given property of the mind
that certain bounds hold against chaos,

that is a place of first permission,
everlasting omen of what is.

In his charming, southern drawl, the words are strong and fine. They seem to hang in the air after he finishes reciting them. There's a long silence as he considers their meaning again. As always they feel right, true. "It helped me, to think that way, when I was forced to leave my Pack's territory. After the Pure took them away from me. Even when I was wandering, I knew I was still Meninna at heart. Fulfilling my vow, protecting out Sacred Places."

He draws another rollie from his breast pocket and lights it, blowing smoke. "Well shit, I guess you're right. I do talk too much." That warm laughter comes again, in the dark. "Ok, my turn: what's the point of packing up if you ain't willing to let anyone get close?"