[Emily] There's a full moon hanging over the city tonight, and she looks down at the rooftop patio of the Bronzeville club with a shining face. She gentles the lines of everyone's features. Paints them luminous. (Shining Host [glowing]). It's bright enough to bring out the shadows and texture of the corrugated brick wall, the grit-crunch of masonry, the twist-curl of iron along the table girters and railings. The moon is bright enough to throw shadows, and those are paled and cast in strange colors by the ritual and thrum of the dancefloor within.
It's started to cool off at night, so the perspiration that rolls down the neck of her bottle is an echo of the dampness that clings to her skin. Emily has the beer's neck trapped between two fingers; it's a practiced thing, it keeps its mouth cradled near her palm or fingertips so that nothing slips in unnoticed. She tips her head back until the curls (clustered at the nape of her neck) slide over the bare backs of her shoulders. Like caresses. Dark fingertips. Until the knots at the back of her neck begin to give way.
They've been here for awhile, now, long enough to find their way through the throng and up to the rooftop. Long enough for this to be not her first drink, but the first she feels on its way down. They'd traveled by El, by foot, by whatever means got them from the Chantry to Bronzeville, and the Orphans were out, for better or worse, in a place quiet like where she'd first met Declan.
Emily didn't count the night he was ill at Riley's flat. She counts the flicker-flash memory of him on the dance floor; moving like his body owned the very cadence of the music; like he didn't care if anyone was watching, if everyone was watching. She has this little memory, the flash of light on a belt buckle, something, something so thin and vague and niggling that it assumes for itself an importance. It wants to be remembered, this, and she can't remember it, and so it is there. A want.
But she knows he belongs here, in some ways, even more than she does. And she belongs in places where the sound washes over, where the feel of cooling Autumn air does little to spate the breathlessness of summer. She belongs where the full moon's fat fingers touch everyone's eyes with dew-bright, and where breathing out is akin to letting the whole world in.
These are the sort of nights that beckon for trouble, beg for it, borrow it, bring it in cold. She tips the beer bottle, pulls off it hard, rounds her shoulders a bit to feel the muscles stretch and pull and lengthen and then recant.
She glances over at Declan and wonders what it is that he finds on the rooftop. But she does ask. She just lets the corner of her mouth curl, wryly, at something unsaid.
[Declan] Emily possessed a memory of him that Declan himself did not have, and it was probably fitting that she should contemplate that memory now - imagine in her mind the image of a slightly younger version of Declan, who'd been thin to the point of seeming haggard, but had nonetheless possessed more fire and energy than most of the people in the club that night. He'd been free with himself that night in a way he seldom found himself able to achieve. The desire was there, of course, but there was also fear, and fear was the great enemy of freedom.
He hadn't been that man tonight, but he had seemed... at home, here. Well, perhaps not within the club itself. It was the music. He felt at home with the music. Never mattered much what it was. In places like these, it was the ever-present thrum of the bass, like a great, pulsing heartbeat. It made you want to dance, even if you had no idea how. He hadn't, though (danced, that is.) He'd remained instead on the sidelines, at the bar with Emily, and then later, found a more peaceful (less crowded) place to sit on the roof. Crowds still bothered him a little, and the anxiety had started to show.
He wasn't drinking as much as Emily, but nonetheless there was some casual indulgence. Declan had a little disposable income now that he was able to play for tips on the street, and he was only too glad for an excuse to spend some of it. The beer in his hand now was his second one, and it was about halfway gone. The brand was Dogfish Head - a New England micro-brew. His East-coast roots were showing.
"It's been ages since a girl took me to a club with her," he mused, smiling a little. He wasn't tired, but the pulse of the music below was something he found slightly hypnotic, and it lulled him. A flutter of blond eyelashes, and he rested his head on crossed arms set atop the table. Breathing. Listening. Just absorbing the world around him. "Almost feels normal."
[Emily] He mused and smiled a little, threw out a comment calling her a girl, and the lopsided smile she wore crept a little wider. It hitched up more on one side of her face than the other. It pushed a little more of the weariness from her eyes. Here her eyes were only dark, not blue-deep or grey-touched. In this light, with the dew-bright in them, with the flicker of colour and sound distracting, she was all manners of nondescript.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. slim silhouette. She reached over to toussel his hair, but just as her fingertips reached it remembered that Declan did not like to be touched. And that she was not prone to such fondnesses. So her hand came to rest on the back of his chair, instead, and she leaned a bit closer to him. It was an easy thing between friends, not an effort to escalate, attach in new ways.
"Are you world-weary from all the weirdness?" she asks, her voice a little more flawed than usual, less tightly kept to the predominant accent. It curls the words playfully, a little like a challenge. She watches him for a moment, then turns her attention away, toward the door where people wandered in and out without any seeming aim. Emily exhaled as if she were pushing smoke from her lungs, pushing it upward, watching it curl, but as far as Declan knew, she'd never smoked.
"If it's been ages, lovely, then we should dance... that is, if you want to. Or at least let me buy the next round. Something." The thought faulters here, but Emily doesn't seem to mind or notice overmuch. "You make it sound like an occasion."
[Declan] She changed sometimes, just like he did. Both of them could be prone to the ever-shifting flow of emotion. Tonight, Emily was daring. She wanted to dance. There was flirtation in her eyes when he looked up at her - the kind of flirtation that was its own end. It was a kind of distraction, that playfulness, but there were worse ways to escape the world.
His eyes lit upon hers for a moment, and there was a kind of muted fascination in the way he looked at her, as if noticing for the first time the way that her irises changed color depending on the light. Late at night, and after a few drinks, small details could easily captivate one's attention.
"No," he answered her question quietly. "I suppose I'm weary from being alone." Nonetheless, he hesitated when she offered to dance, as if the notion of melting into a crowd of people both thrilled and terrified him. "Maybe after I finish my drink." (Maybe the buzz would make him forget the instinct that told him such proximity with strangers was dangerous.) He spoke with a falsely optimistic tone, in the hopes that it might encourage the real thing.
But whatever plans either of them might have tried to formulate for the evening, they were ill-fated for interruption. Sounds of heavy footsteps and laughter precipitated the arrival of a pair of college-aged men. They both had dark hair and looked to be in their early twenties. One was a bit larger than the other (built like an athlete), where the first was more of a sleek, attractive sort. The outfit he wore was consciously casual, all expensive name brands, and when he looked over at Emily, he smiled to reveal rows of hyper-whitened teeth.
Without asking for an invitation, this one walked over and pulled out an empty chair at the Apprentice's table, flipping it around to sit backwards and rest his arms on the frame. "Naturally the prettiest girl here would be hiding on the roof."
[Emily] It wasn't that they changed color, so much as the shadowplay left them colorless. It was a trick of the low-light, nothing more. Her eyes were not a luminous blue, pale blue, bright light, that would seem grey in low contrast. Dark blue, brown, black -- nuances faded away in the darkness. Color, like so many other cues, were lost to the night.
Declan watched her with fascination, but not with longing, not with desire. It was a comfortable attention, this, then. She didn't begrudge him it. She could learn to like it, and possibly learn to let him in. It would be slower going, now that she'd been left behind (again), but the route was not impassable. Not for him.
At the sound of heavy footfalls, Emily glanced over at the approaching frat brothers. Her attention flicked over them, head to toe and back again, quick and appraising. She saw nothing there to dote upon, linger on, pine after. She wasn't looking for company --
-- and yet there it came. There was a scrape of metal on floor as he turned the chair around, and it was grating enough, dischordant enough with whatever beat flooded the dancefloor that Emily's eye twitched, slightly.
She took another pull from her beer, rather than answering him directly. It was a stall, but an unremarkable one. Emily tipped her bottle from side to side, decided it was empty enough, and leaned forward to place it on the table. As she set it down, she looked around the roof top to see who the uninvited man might be talking about.
There was a couple, wrapped up in each other's shadows, at the far corner, away from the lights. No one readily to pin her redirection onto. Nothing to tether it.
"Love," she said, overtly to Declan. "If I go grab another, what would you like?" Her hand, now, does rest on his shoulder. For a moment. Affectionate. It misrepresents their relationship, as subtly as she can manage this late.
This guy's buddy, though, is lingering near the door back into the bar. He's leaned against the wall, as if he were waiting on someone. There's enough moonlight and ambient glow to tell that his frame is solid, that his crossed arms are strong. The Wingman.
[Declan] Declan seemed to tense when the man sat down. It wasn't an obvious thing, but the muscles along his spine coiled tightly, causing him to straighten his back. Emily would feel it, too, when she touched his shoulder, but he didn't flinch away from her (as he might have, once.) She was not the thing to be afraid of. They had solidarity in their mutual apprehension. His eyes flicked toward her, and there was understanding there. A hesitant (forced) smile, then "Another beer would be great, thanks."
This was a ruse that he could play along with, but the intruder had either picked up on the fact that they were just friends, or (more likely) he just didn't give a shit, because he laughed (a little too loudly - and there was alcohol on his breath) and reached out to grab hold of Emily's wrist. "Oh come on, he doesn't mind, do you?" That was to Declan, but the man didn't wait for a response. "I'll get your drinks of you dance with me."
Point in fact, Declan did mind. And despite his anxiety, he stood up and leveled a gaze at the intruder. "Seriously, dude. Just leave."
[Emily] He caught her wrist, and there's a tiny flicker, a heartbeat, then, when Emily went perfectly and utterly still. When her other hand tensed, just fractionally, on Declan's shoulder before sliding away as he stood up. It's not even long enough to draw a sharp breath, this innate, intrinsic response, before she's shifting away -- trying to, from the stranger.
"Hey, now," it's light, a little disapproving, but not an outright denial. (Not so fast [Not without a little foreplay). She goes to pull her hand away, to disentangle from his hold, shake him free a bit. "That's not friendly."
It's still not an outright no, but it's clear than he's going about things the wrong way if he wanted her to dance with him. When Declan pushes to his feet, Thing Two steps away from the wall. He crosses to the table in a couple steps, his arms falling away from their cross and down to his sides as he walks. He stops just a little behind his buddy, at the side that isn't holding fast to the young girl's arm, and looks to Declan. There's no outright menace, but the promise of it looms in his broad shoulders. The show of solidarity.
Thing Two reaches out for the last empty chair at the table. Purposefully drags it over. Rests his hands on it instead of sitting down. Just leave? Nah, they think they'll stay awhile, thanks.
[Declan] [Oh Derangement roll, we knew you were coming...]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Declan] And just like that, quicksilver.
Something happened in his eyes. They grew dim for a second, as if he was looking at something far away. Then something bold and bright took its place - a flash of rage.
Across the table, the intruder (Thing One) let his hand shake free, but it was only to use it to push up from the chair so that he could join the other males in standing. "Well then," he grinned (more teeth - predatory), "what would you consider to be friendly? Cause I wouldn't mind being your friend, sweet thing." He loomed. He closed in.
And Declan lunged.
[Inits!]
[Declan] [Declan +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Emily] [Emily +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Declan] [Thing One +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Emily] [Thing Two +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Declan] [Order!
The Asshole Brigade - 14
Declan - 9
Emily - 7]
[Declan] [Declan Declare: Punch Thing One. Like, hard.]
[Emily] [Emily Declare: Break away from grab!]
[Emily] [Thing Two Declare: Oh, no, buddy. Shove Declan.]
[Declan] [Thing One Declare: Grab Emily!]
[Declan] [Thing One - Str+Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily] [Thing Two - Dex + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Declan] [Dex+Ath, diff 6 (cuz, uh, it's not a sweep, and I figure a shove is easier to not fall from?)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily] [Emily: Leggo! Str + Brawl (0)]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Declan] [Thing One has grabbed Emily]
[Thing Two has shoved Declan away from Thing One, changing action to punching Thing Two at +1diff]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Declan] [Str+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily] [Emily Declare: Break away for reals! +WP!]
[Declan] [Declan Declare: Sweep on Thing Two (get out the way!)]
[Thing One Declare:
1a - Kiss Emily
1b - Hang on]
[Emily] [Thing Two Declare: 1a Punch Declan; 1b Dodge sweep]
[Emily] [Thing Two: Punch Declan, -2 dice for split action]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Declan] [Thing One - Thinks he's all smooth, kisses like a champ
Str+Brawl -3 to keep hold]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Declan] [Declan Sweeps - Dex+Brawl diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 7)
[Declan] [Well that sucked - Damage to self!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Declan] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Emily] [Thing Two: You're down? Great. I punch you. I'd kick you, but that's harder, and I'm a lazy NPC. -3 dice, split action. +1 diff, changing declared action.]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 10 (Failure at target 7)
[Emily] [Emily: LET ME GO! +WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Emily] [Emily Declare: I kick j00, asshole. +WP]
[Declan] [Declan - Oh really, you think that's funny, huh? I HAVE A GUN! (Pull gun, brandish it menacingly at Thing Two)]
[Thing One - Yeah, we're just gonna keep kissing]
[Emily] [Thing Two: You have a gun? No, no. I take your gun. Yes pls.]
[Emily] [Thing Two: Your gun = my gun. Dex + Brawl dif 7, WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Declan] [Declan changes second split to avoiding the disarm at +1
Dex+Dodge -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily] [Emily: KICK! +WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Emily] [Emily: Damage! Str +1 + 1 sux]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily] [Emily: Kick j00 again.]
[Declan] [Declan - Are you kidding me? Give it back! Disarm Thing Two!]
[Thing One - More of the same, and some groping as well]
[Emily] [Thing Two: No, buddy, you can't have it back. It's mine now. Defend against disarm.]
[Declan] [Dex+Brawl, diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7 (Failure at target 7) [WP]
[Emily] [Thing two: Punch Declan. +1 dif to redeclare]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Emily] [Thing Two: Damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily] [Emily: KICK!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Emily] [Emily: Damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Declan] [Thing One soaks!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Declan] Unfortunately for the two Apprentices, Declan's martial skills didn't exactly live up to his zeal. He attempted to lunge at the man who was accosting Emily, but the larger of the two got in the way and shoved him back. Meanwhile, his buddy managed to get a hold of Emily, and once he'd captured his prize, he proceeded to force himself upon her, crushing his lips against her own.
Frustrated (and evidently trying to play the hero), Declan swung out with one of his legs in an attempt to trip the football player blocking his path, but he ended up catching his foot on the table leg and knocking himself to the ground instead. His head smacked roughly against the floor, and with a snarl of frustration, he reached down and pulled the gun out of his pocket, pointing it at the man above him. Emily struggled against her own attacker, but couldn't manage to break his hold, and then she directed a series of kicks at him. They connected, but she couldn't get enough leverage to do any damage.
The gun was meant to be a threat. A normal person would back off. Not this guy. The nameless thug, in a fit of misplaced heroism, reached out and snatched the gun away from its owner. Declan looked up in shock, then tried to grab it back, but failed. The thug swung at him, but his fist only glanced off the Orphan's shoulder.
[Emily] By now the sounds of fighting on the roof top have reached into the club. Someone has said to someone else who turned and told the barkeep that someone has a gun; and whispers like that hardly go unnoticed. The football player -- Who is undoubtedly named Steve, which is a good assholic name -- is broad shouldered, but club bouncers make a career out burly and immovable.
Two of them move out onto the patio with the close-cropped haircuts and efficiency of ex-military personell. Or just well trained civvies with no alcohol in their system. It doesn't take much to recognize Steve, brandishing the firearm in his off hand and looming over Declan, as a threat. And Thing One, there -- let's call him Patrick -- his advances aren't entirely welcome, if the girl is fighting back and kicking him.
With the upper hand of experience and sobriety, the bouncers verbally and physically manhandle Steve and Patrick out the door, through the club and back out onto the street. Sans Firearm. There's a fair bit of harsh language as their unceremoniously dumped on their asses.
No one stops to ask Declan or Emily if they are okay. There's a stunned and horrified quiet to the patio now, as the door between the rooftop and the club has closed in the struggle to remove the Asshole Twins from the party.
Emily is standing where the bouncer left her, with one arm wrapped across her middle and the other hand covering her mouth. It takes a full minute, maybe two, for her to find her feet. If Declan hasn't found his, by then, the she'll bolt. There's no reason to linger here and so very many to bail, find her way home, and get as far from what just happened as she can.
[Declan] Declan did find his feet, but he was torn between catching up with Emily and retrieving his gun from the bouncers. Had this been the real Declan, there would have been no question, but this version of him (that swore loudly and easily - and in a Texan accent - and had more balls than common sense) hesitated. This one went first for the gun (because the world was a dangerous place, and he needed a way to defend himself), running after the guards to flag them down and smooth-talk his way into getting his weapon back. This was something he was better at than fighting, and soon enough the bouncers (who would have rather not dealt with the thing anyway) handed the glock back over.
He looked for Emily then. Looked all over the club, and outside. But she was gone. With a sigh, he headed home alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment