Gaia's Little Surprise
Mar. 26th, 2010 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 19:29 Pacific Time on Fri Mar 26 2010.
It's a pretty nice evening in St. Claire: the gibbous moon rose several hours ago, and as the day creeps on to dusk it plays peekaboo through high clouds. Friday night isn't exactly a hip and happening time at the Homestay Hotel. Those travelers who have another home to go to have left, and those whose home is the Homestay are out starting their weekend early. The cleaning staff is long gone and the young man at the front desk has settled down with his textbooks for an exciting night of test prep. That is, until someone turns their television up far too loud: the snarls and shrieks of an animal shatter the quiet. The sound is coming from somewhere near Shelby's room. They'd better turn it down fast, before the princess gets her panties in a knot.
Al was just heading out, shrugging a coat on over his usual mobster-thug suit; Shelby's room's on his way, so it's not entirely by coincidence that he's in her hallway. Especially since he's been making a habit of checking on the 'little dipshit'. He stops cold at the burst of animal noise, head jerking to the side. He squints, puts a hand over one ear. Did he actually hear that?
Tim is conscripted into driving Zosia's Audi for her, since despite some time to clean up at home she's in no condition to do it herself. After a halting comment about how long it's been since he's driven a car, he accepts the temporary job as a chauffeur with a bewildered look at it. (The guards all bob eyebrows at one another, anticipating the car's return with a dent or two.) Despite their expectations, he manages not to run into anything, and only earns one or two honks of annoyance when the Audi doesn't prove to have the pickup he's come to expect from a motorcycle. Thus do they arrive at the extended stay hotel in style. if not in a timely manner. He parks away from other cars.
...Wait. The idiot who's blasting Discovery Channel at 11 isn't just near Shelby's room. It is Shelby's room. And since the little dipshit isn't likely to be using the noise to cover up sounds of sex... There's another whine, and then a thump and a crash, followed by more anguished-dog noises. That's not Discovery Channel either. Nor is she trying to hide a Chihuahua in her room: those sounds come from an animal closer to Labrador-sized.
Zosia looks haggard and grim, staring out the window without a care or thought for the safety of her car. Her forehead presses against the cool glass and whatever she's looking, it isn't the passing scenery. She gives mumbled directions from time to time, only moving once the key turns off. Her hair still hangs in damp lengths down her back, acid burns and a few slashes visible on her arms when she moves. And she's most definitely spooked. Either way, she leads the way toward...well, both Al and Shelby's rooms. She's about twenty seconds behind Al at this point, though she doesn't know it.
"Ahh, fuck," Al groans, and jogs the few feet remaining to Shelby's door. One hand's already inside his suit jacket, reaching for the concealed weapon; the other forms a fist and bangs against the door. "Yo, Shel! You okay?"
From within, silence. Al's sharp ears can probably pick out another high-pitched whine just before something four-footed charges the door. There's a *thump* just below the level of the knob that rattles the door, but it doesn't open.
Tim does a turn midstep to check his parking job, then lengthens his stride to catch up with Zosia. "Not too bad for the first time in almost 13 years," he comments. Seeing Al making a beeline for Shelby's door, he frowns. "Something up?" he asks the Fang Elder.
Zosia hears the calls by Al and picks up her pace, leading Tim as quickly as she can without actually running. As she rounds a corner, her eyes search out the Ragabash. "What happened?" she asks in a very sharp and worried voice. Her eyes scan the halls ahead, looking for danger in the shadows.
Al jerks a glance over his shoulder at Zosia and Tim. He blinks owlishly, then shrugs. "Fuck if I know." He eyes the door, then puts his free hand over the lock. After a moment of squinting concentration and a faint click-click, he grabs the knob and SHOVES the door open and barrels through with the Glock out and ready.
Gaia's Little Joke
A creamy-pale wolf, long-legged and bright-eyed. She's a little on the small side, but if she hasn't come into her full adult weight yet she's almost there. Her undercoat is barely darker, dustier than the guard hairs, giving her a smoky look when she moves. Dainty ears and paws combined with the lines of her muzzle tell the knowing observer that this is indeed a bitch, and to those further in the know, an exquisitely well-bred Silver Fang.
The room is in disarray, like Shelby had either one hell of a temper tantrum or a party in here. The kitchen light is on and the blinds closed; the bed is an absolute mess with blankets half on the floor. The heavy armoire that holds the television is still upright but the doors are open, and the beside table and its light have been knocked over with shattered glass glinting in the carpet. In the midst of it all, backing up with fangs bared, is a white wolf. Her tail is tucked, fur and ears slicked back, and she's obviously two steps on the wrong side of panic.
With Al and Zosia in front of him, Tim scans up and down the hall to make sure no one is looking on with too much interest. He gives the room a backwards glance as the door opens, though, and what he sees makes him pause. "You didn't say she was that kind of Kin," he says, confused.
"Oh shit." Zosia is especially eloquent tonight! "Get in, get in, get in, close the door." It appears that Shelby isn't the only one near panic--this may well be just one thing too many for the Silver Fang Elder tonight; the girl starts to shake as she pushes into the room and tries to slam the door behind her.
Al had taken immediate aim on the wolf, but he pulls it back, pointing the Glock upward. He sidles away from the door as the others move in, his face pulling into a grimace that's more irritation than sympathy. "Fuuuuuuck."
Gaia's Little Joke snarls again as her path to freedom is summarily filled and even more summarily closed. She continues backing away from the trio until she bumps into the armoire, freezes there and shows her fangs again to keep them away while frantically looking around for another exit. It's good the drapes are closed or she'd probably go for the window; as it is, she makes a dash for the far corner of the room, and the bathroom, scrabbling over the much-abused bed and throwing more blanket on the floor as she goes.
Tim leans against the door as proof against any intrusions. Rather than ask the obvious question, he looks out across the room, his eyes going a little unfocused as he concentrates. The wolf's mad dash doesn't distract him from his task, though he does blink once or twice as his attention wavers.
Zosia bulks up into glabro then, chasing after the cub in a mix of anger and an odd despair. She's going in after the cub whether it is a wise move or not.
Al hesitates, then flicks the safety back on and holsters the pistol. "Shit," he says, unhelpfully. "Someone fucked up. Hey, Shel!" He addresses the whoops-not-kin. "Calm the fuck down, okay?"
Gaia's Little Joke is almost to freedom (or the bathroom) when she's tackled by a decidedly unhappy Zosia. She and the Glabro tumble into the headboard with a thump that rattles the wall, but the older Garou is wise enough to keep on top of the wolf, and though Shelby thrashes and snaps, inflicts no worse than scratches on her Elder. Eventually her struggles cease; panting, eyes white and rolling from one threat to the next, she goes still save to bare exhausted fangs at movement from either of the men. At least she's sort of calm?
Tim shakes his head and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "No Corruption. And it doesn't look like she got anyone, at least," he says. Watching the unfolding drama between the wolf and Zosia, he asks Al, "You're sure that's her?" with raised eyebrows.
"Shelby. -Shelby," Zosia says in a voice tinged with hysteria, "You gotta calm down and relax. Then you'll shift back down." She glances over her shoulder as much as she's able. "They did the baptism of fire on her. The spirits said she was kin." Perhaps she thinks if she says it outloud it will still somehow be true.
Al shrugs. "Who the fuck else?" he answers Tim. "Fuck, she spazzes out just the fucking same. Just with, yanno, extra legs."
Gaia's Little Joke would undoubtedly like to be kin, thankyouverymuch. Let go! Zosia doesn't and the wolf shudders, surrenders utterly with her head hanging off the mattress. A second later the Theurge is nearly thrown off as the cub surges through the forms until a once-more homid Shelby appears, her face tear-streaked as she sags into the bed just as the wolf did.
The other Fang's indication of this being Shelby the apparently-not-a-Kinswoman is born out, and Tim nods. "Huh," he says, and fetches up a blanket to offer over. He is pointedly not looking at the now-naked girl.
"Jesus Christ," Zosia says while panting, staring down at Shelby where she still pins her. Easing back a bit since her bulky glabro form is rather heavy, she waits until she seems sure that the new cub isn't going to do anything else before shifting down to homid herself. "Oh my god." Which, admittedly, isn't very helpful.
Al, surly and rough, says, "Get some fucking clothes on her. Where you wanna keep her now, Zosia?"
Shelby manages, by swallowing hard and undoubtedly calling upon her inner reserves of Silver Fang snootiness, to not burst out crying, but takes the blanket from Tim with a shaking hand. "I'm a," she tries, then goes for, "That was a," before aiming for the trifecta of obviousness with, "I'm naked!"
"It's fine, everyone here's married," Tim assures Shelby. "Or as good as," he adds as an afterthought.
"Yeah, but you're Garou like us apparently so it doesn't matter," Zosia says. The statement is completely illogical but she's taken to staring off into space now, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks. "Shit."
"Kaz moved Roscoe," Zosia says after a long, very spacy moment. "You can take her to the Kent Crossing house."
"Jesus fuck," Al mutters, when Zosia spaces out. When she comes out of it, however briefly, he looks a bit relieved. Still pissed off, but relieved. "Okay. Yo, Shel!" He snaps commandingly at the naked teenage girl. "Put on some fucking clothes, get your fucking toothbrush, and let's get moving."
Shelby scrabbles upright, the blanket clutched to her chest, and stares at Tim, married (or as good as) or not. Zosia's vagueness gets a wide-eyed look, but it's Al's vulgarity that jerks her attention to the older man. "What? My... they're...," she raises one shaking arm to point at the bureaus behind the Ragabashes. "I, can I." She swallows hard and climbs to her feet, pulling dignity around her along with the blanket. "If you'll get my suitcase out of the, the closet, I'll pack. It won't take me fifteen minutes."
Seeing Zosia a bit overwhelmed, Tim gets out of Shelby's way and fetches the Theurge a pillow. He directs her to the couch for a lie-down with one of the many blankets strewn about the room. "I'll call Tristan or one of the others to come and get you once we've got the kid squared away," he tells her. Whether or not she hears him, she falls asleep quickly. It's been a rough day.
Al grumbles. "Oughta make you get your own goddamn suitcase," he mutters, but goes to the closet while Tim gets the exhausted Theurge squared away. The suitcase hits the bed with a thump; then Al retreats to the door, standing with his back to it, glowering.
Country House
An unassuming gravel lane leads up and up the hillside, allowing vehicle access to Suchandsuch whateveritis street. Surrounded by a semi-landscaped stand of stately, mature second-growth Douglas fir trees, this old country house is unremarkable, yet somehow slightly imposing. Perhaps it's the Victorian features of the 1920s-era construction, the nigh-weathered dark brown paint of the exterior, or the haphazard angles of the limestone masonry creating the ground level walls and chimney. The house has two floors, and is modestly sized. On one side, the driveway passes beneath a large carport, constructed of sturdy cedar. This seems to be a later addition to the original structure. The front door sits in a deeply recessed Roman arch, and all the lower-level windows are obscured by greatly overgrown madronas and rhododendrons.
Inside, one immediately comes to a small foyer, and a sunroom with leaded glass windows, perfect for the plants of all sorts that make their home there. Past the foyer, the space opens up into a great room, the stone fireplace and hearth dominating the space there. On one side, creaky wooden stairs curve up to the second floor. Here there is a master bedroom, two other bedrooms, and a vintage bathroom, complete with separate taps for hot and cold water and a claw-foot bathtub. And downstairs, on the other side of the hearth, French doors open to the dining room. Beyond that are the kitchen, the back door, and a spacious closet large enough to have been made over into a spare sleeping space. The backyard boasts wild patches of rosemary and lavender, lending a pleasantly crisp and sweet fragrance to the area. Numerous footpaths weave from the overgrown garden, into the trees beyond.
Obvious exits:
Out
While Al gets the suitcase Shelby disappears into the bathroom and the sounds of tiny glass bottles. She returns to the trashed main room a few moments later with a makeup tote in hand; smiles thinly at Tim and manages a slightly more genuine one for her tribemate. She's not kidding about the packing, either - after slipping into a cute little dress it only takes her a little bit longer to collect her things. Al packs Shelby into his car for the trip to the cub house, leaving Tim to deal with Zosia and her Audi.
Al doesn't say much -- or anything, really -- as he drives the two of them out of the city and into the sticks. His brow is furrowed, his mouth twisted into a grimace, and even the dulcet voice of Karen Carpenter -- clear as crystal from the sedan's speakers -- is helpless against the man's sour mood and mien. When they arrive, he turns the engine off with a savage twist of the ignition key, then turns a pale, baggy eye on the teen. "Welcome home."
Shelby spends the drive as though she's modeling for a car company: perfect posture, looking straight ahead, seat belt fastened. She doesn't even make a move on the radio. "I'm kin," she says into the silence, glances over and corrects, "I thought I was kin." She swallows and her chin comes up as if daring Al to say something when she adds, "I'm a Ragabash."
Al squints. "You sure about that?"
The new-fledged cub meets his eyes square on though her tongue makes a nervous appearance, here and gone. "Of course I am. We all... looked. Even those of us." 'Us' no longer, but it rattles her for only a second. "June 29, 1992." Firmly. "Ragabash."
Pale eyes narrow. "Shit," he pronounces, and then unbuckles his seatbelt. "Geddout." He pops the trunk so that she can fetch her suitcase from it.
Shelby's chin jerks like she'd protest, but she doesn't, only obediently gets out of the car and pulls her luggage from the trunk. "It's nice," she offers about the house, sounding only a little uncertain about the whole ordeal.
Al leads the way into the house with a grunt. "So, what set you off, princess?" He barely looks at her.
Shelby trails behind, wheeled suitcase rattling and bumping along as their caboose. "I don't know." It's so obviously a lie that he doesn't even have to look.
Al whips around, the Glock appearing in his hand as if by magic. "Say again, princess?" His voice is rough, his aim steady and right in her face.
Shelby squeaks and tries to scuttle backwards, ends up tripping on her bag and lands on her rump, staring at the gun all the while. Most undignified. "What are you doing! Are you insane? That's a gun!"
"No fucking shit it's a gun," Al says, sounding disgusted. "And guess what, princess? A bullet ain't gonna kill you anymore. Not unless it's silver, and this ain't loaded with silver. That means, also, that if you fucking lie to me, I'm gonna put a fucking bullet in you. It's gonna hurt like fuck, and you're gonna have to clean the fucking blood up afterwards. Do you fucking understand me?"
Slowly, carefully, blue eyes never leaving the gun, Shelby crab-walks off her bag and just as slowly and carefully stands. "I'm not," she starts, and immediately thinks better of it. She just as obviously considers saying nothing, but swallows, sets her chin, and says clearly, "They said no. SCCU. I can't attend summer session."
Al lowers the 9mm slowly, his expression incredulous. "That's it?"
Shelby doesn't back down, only tightens her arm across her body. "Yes, that's it. It means I'm stuck - I was stuck - in that hell-hole of a hotel until August, living off whatever scraps Zosia deigned to throw me." She sniffs and finally looks away from him, checking out the house again. "I suppose this is better." But she isn't sure how.
"Shit." He was disgusted before, and her answer hasn't changed that at all. "Yeah, well, now ya aren't going to school ever. You know that, right?"
Does Al enjoy kicking puppies? Her shoulders and face tighten. After a long handful of seconds tick by she nods, still not looking at him.
Al holsters the gun. "...Yeah," he grunts. "Better get used to that idea. Learn it, live it, love it. That, and the fact that I'm gonna be your primary fucking teacher, since I'm the only fucking Ragabash in the fucking tribe. Fucking hooray for you." He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, then gestures toward the stairs. "Might as well go get yourself settled in. Fuck."
Shelby glances away from the sunroom, essaying a subdued smile for her new bestest friend. "I guess we're not going out for coffee on the seventh, either. I - I'm sorry." For being a ragabash? For messing up her room? For canceling their date? She doesn't explain, only catches the handle of her bag and heads for the stairs, pausing at the foot to look back again. "Thank you."
Al scowls. "Shit," he pronounces, then stomps off into another part of the house.
Shelby disappears up the stairs and doesn't come down for the rest of the night. The shower runs for quite a long time, though.
It's a pretty nice evening in St. Claire: the gibbous moon rose several hours ago, and as the day creeps on to dusk it plays peekaboo through high clouds. Friday night isn't exactly a hip and happening time at the Homestay Hotel. Those travelers who have another home to go to have left, and those whose home is the Homestay are out starting their weekend early. The cleaning staff is long gone and the young man at the front desk has settled down with his textbooks for an exciting night of test prep. That is, until someone turns their television up far too loud: the snarls and shrieks of an animal shatter the quiet. The sound is coming from somewhere near Shelby's room. They'd better turn it down fast, before the princess gets her panties in a knot.
Al was just heading out, shrugging a coat on over his usual mobster-thug suit; Shelby's room's on his way, so it's not entirely by coincidence that he's in her hallway. Especially since he's been making a habit of checking on the 'little dipshit'. He stops cold at the burst of animal noise, head jerking to the side. He squints, puts a hand over one ear. Did he actually hear that?
Tim is conscripted into driving Zosia's Audi for her, since despite some time to clean up at home she's in no condition to do it herself. After a halting comment about how long it's been since he's driven a car, he accepts the temporary job as a chauffeur with a bewildered look at it. (The guards all bob eyebrows at one another, anticipating the car's return with a dent or two.) Despite their expectations, he manages not to run into anything, and only earns one or two honks of annoyance when the Audi doesn't prove to have the pickup he's come to expect from a motorcycle. Thus do they arrive at the extended stay hotel in style. if not in a timely manner. He parks away from other cars.
...Wait. The idiot who's blasting Discovery Channel at 11 isn't just near Shelby's room. It is Shelby's room. And since the little dipshit isn't likely to be using the noise to cover up sounds of sex... There's another whine, and then a thump and a crash, followed by more anguished-dog noises. That's not Discovery Channel either. Nor is she trying to hide a Chihuahua in her room: those sounds come from an animal closer to Labrador-sized.
Zosia looks haggard and grim, staring out the window without a care or thought for the safety of her car. Her forehead presses against the cool glass and whatever she's looking, it isn't the passing scenery. She gives mumbled directions from time to time, only moving once the key turns off. Her hair still hangs in damp lengths down her back, acid burns and a few slashes visible on her arms when she moves. And she's most definitely spooked. Either way, she leads the way toward...well, both Al and Shelby's rooms. She's about twenty seconds behind Al at this point, though she doesn't know it.
"Ahh, fuck," Al groans, and jogs the few feet remaining to Shelby's door. One hand's already inside his suit jacket, reaching for the concealed weapon; the other forms a fist and bangs against the door. "Yo, Shel! You okay?"
From within, silence. Al's sharp ears can probably pick out another high-pitched whine just before something four-footed charges the door. There's a *thump* just below the level of the knob that rattles the door, but it doesn't open.
Tim does a turn midstep to check his parking job, then lengthens his stride to catch up with Zosia. "Not too bad for the first time in almost 13 years," he comments. Seeing Al making a beeline for Shelby's door, he frowns. "Something up?" he asks the Fang Elder.
Zosia hears the calls by Al and picks up her pace, leading Tim as quickly as she can without actually running. As she rounds a corner, her eyes search out the Ragabash. "What happened?" she asks in a very sharp and worried voice. Her eyes scan the halls ahead, looking for danger in the shadows.
Al jerks a glance over his shoulder at Zosia and Tim. He blinks owlishly, then shrugs. "Fuck if I know." He eyes the door, then puts his free hand over the lock. After a moment of squinting concentration and a faint click-click, he grabs the knob and SHOVES the door open and barrels through with the Glock out and ready.
Gaia's Little Joke
A creamy-pale wolf, long-legged and bright-eyed. She's a little on the small side, but if she hasn't come into her full adult weight yet she's almost there. Her undercoat is barely darker, dustier than the guard hairs, giving her a smoky look when she moves. Dainty ears and paws combined with the lines of her muzzle tell the knowing observer that this is indeed a bitch, and to those further in the know, an exquisitely well-bred Silver Fang.
The room is in disarray, like Shelby had either one hell of a temper tantrum or a party in here. The kitchen light is on and the blinds closed; the bed is an absolute mess with blankets half on the floor. The heavy armoire that holds the television is still upright but the doors are open, and the beside table and its light have been knocked over with shattered glass glinting in the carpet. In the midst of it all, backing up with fangs bared, is a white wolf. Her tail is tucked, fur and ears slicked back, and she's obviously two steps on the wrong side of panic.
With Al and Zosia in front of him, Tim scans up and down the hall to make sure no one is looking on with too much interest. He gives the room a backwards glance as the door opens, though, and what he sees makes him pause. "You didn't say she was that kind of Kin," he says, confused.
"Oh shit." Zosia is especially eloquent tonight! "Get in, get in, get in, close the door." It appears that Shelby isn't the only one near panic--this may well be just one thing too many for the Silver Fang Elder tonight; the girl starts to shake as she pushes into the room and tries to slam the door behind her.
Al had taken immediate aim on the wolf, but he pulls it back, pointing the Glock upward. He sidles away from the door as the others move in, his face pulling into a grimace that's more irritation than sympathy. "Fuuuuuuck."
Gaia's Little Joke snarls again as her path to freedom is summarily filled and even more summarily closed. She continues backing away from the trio until she bumps into the armoire, freezes there and shows her fangs again to keep them away while frantically looking around for another exit. It's good the drapes are closed or she'd probably go for the window; as it is, she makes a dash for the far corner of the room, and the bathroom, scrabbling over the much-abused bed and throwing more blanket on the floor as she goes.
Tim leans against the door as proof against any intrusions. Rather than ask the obvious question, he looks out across the room, his eyes going a little unfocused as he concentrates. The wolf's mad dash doesn't distract him from his task, though he does blink once or twice as his attention wavers.
Zosia bulks up into glabro then, chasing after the cub in a mix of anger and an odd despair. She's going in after the cub whether it is a wise move or not.
Al hesitates, then flicks the safety back on and holsters the pistol. "Shit," he says, unhelpfully. "Someone fucked up. Hey, Shel!" He addresses the whoops-not-kin. "Calm the fuck down, okay?"
Gaia's Little Joke is almost to freedom (or the bathroom) when she's tackled by a decidedly unhappy Zosia. She and the Glabro tumble into the headboard with a thump that rattles the wall, but the older Garou is wise enough to keep on top of the wolf, and though Shelby thrashes and snaps, inflicts no worse than scratches on her Elder. Eventually her struggles cease; panting, eyes white and rolling from one threat to the next, she goes still save to bare exhausted fangs at movement from either of the men. At least she's sort of calm?
Tim shakes his head and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "No Corruption. And it doesn't look like she got anyone, at least," he says. Watching the unfolding drama between the wolf and Zosia, he asks Al, "You're sure that's her?" with raised eyebrows.
"Shelby. -Shelby," Zosia says in a voice tinged with hysteria, "You gotta calm down and relax. Then you'll shift back down." She glances over her shoulder as much as she's able. "They did the baptism of fire on her. The spirits said she was kin." Perhaps she thinks if she says it outloud it will still somehow be true.
Al shrugs. "Who the fuck else?" he answers Tim. "Fuck, she spazzes out just the fucking same. Just with, yanno, extra legs."
Gaia's Little Joke would undoubtedly like to be kin, thankyouverymuch. Let go! Zosia doesn't and the wolf shudders, surrenders utterly with her head hanging off the mattress. A second later the Theurge is nearly thrown off as the cub surges through the forms until a once-more homid Shelby appears, her face tear-streaked as she sags into the bed just as the wolf did.
The other Fang's indication of this being Shelby the apparently-not-a-Kinswoman is born out, and Tim nods. "Huh," he says, and fetches up a blanket to offer over. He is pointedly not looking at the now-naked girl.
"Jesus Christ," Zosia says while panting, staring down at Shelby where she still pins her. Easing back a bit since her bulky glabro form is rather heavy, she waits until she seems sure that the new cub isn't going to do anything else before shifting down to homid herself. "Oh my god." Which, admittedly, isn't very helpful.
Al, surly and rough, says, "Get some fucking clothes on her. Where you wanna keep her now, Zosia?"
Shelby manages, by swallowing hard and undoubtedly calling upon her inner reserves of Silver Fang snootiness, to not burst out crying, but takes the blanket from Tim with a shaking hand. "I'm a," she tries, then goes for, "That was a," before aiming for the trifecta of obviousness with, "I'm naked!"
"It's fine, everyone here's married," Tim assures Shelby. "Or as good as," he adds as an afterthought.
"Yeah, but you're Garou like us apparently so it doesn't matter," Zosia says. The statement is completely illogical but she's taken to staring off into space now, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks. "Shit."
"Kaz moved Roscoe," Zosia says after a long, very spacy moment. "You can take her to the Kent Crossing house."
"Jesus fuck," Al mutters, when Zosia spaces out. When she comes out of it, however briefly, he looks a bit relieved. Still pissed off, but relieved. "Okay. Yo, Shel!" He snaps commandingly at the naked teenage girl. "Put on some fucking clothes, get your fucking toothbrush, and let's get moving."
Shelby scrabbles upright, the blanket clutched to her chest, and stares at Tim, married (or as good as) or not. Zosia's vagueness gets a wide-eyed look, but it's Al's vulgarity that jerks her attention to the older man. "What? My... they're...," she raises one shaking arm to point at the bureaus behind the Ragabashes. "I, can I." She swallows hard and climbs to her feet, pulling dignity around her along with the blanket. "If you'll get my suitcase out of the, the closet, I'll pack. It won't take me fifteen minutes."
Seeing Zosia a bit overwhelmed, Tim gets out of Shelby's way and fetches the Theurge a pillow. He directs her to the couch for a lie-down with one of the many blankets strewn about the room. "I'll call Tristan or one of the others to come and get you once we've got the kid squared away," he tells her. Whether or not she hears him, she falls asleep quickly. It's been a rough day.
Al grumbles. "Oughta make you get your own goddamn suitcase," he mutters, but goes to the closet while Tim gets the exhausted Theurge squared away. The suitcase hits the bed with a thump; then Al retreats to the door, standing with his back to it, glowering.
Country House
An unassuming gravel lane leads up and up the hillside, allowing vehicle access to Suchandsuch whateveritis street. Surrounded by a semi-landscaped stand of stately, mature second-growth Douglas fir trees, this old country house is unremarkable, yet somehow slightly imposing. Perhaps it's the Victorian features of the 1920s-era construction, the nigh-weathered dark brown paint of the exterior, or the haphazard angles of the limestone masonry creating the ground level walls and chimney. The house has two floors, and is modestly sized. On one side, the driveway passes beneath a large carport, constructed of sturdy cedar. This seems to be a later addition to the original structure. The front door sits in a deeply recessed Roman arch, and all the lower-level windows are obscured by greatly overgrown madronas and rhododendrons.
Inside, one immediately comes to a small foyer, and a sunroom with leaded glass windows, perfect for the plants of all sorts that make their home there. Past the foyer, the space opens up into a great room, the stone fireplace and hearth dominating the space there. On one side, creaky wooden stairs curve up to the second floor. Here there is a master bedroom, two other bedrooms, and a vintage bathroom, complete with separate taps for hot and cold water and a claw-foot bathtub. And downstairs, on the other side of the hearth, French doors open to the dining room. Beyond that are the kitchen, the back door, and a spacious closet large enough to have been made over into a spare sleeping space. The backyard boasts wild patches of rosemary and lavender, lending a pleasantly crisp and sweet fragrance to the area. Numerous footpaths weave from the overgrown garden, into the trees beyond.
Obvious exits:
Out
While Al gets the suitcase Shelby disappears into the bathroom and the sounds of tiny glass bottles. She returns to the trashed main room a few moments later with a makeup tote in hand; smiles thinly at Tim and manages a slightly more genuine one for her tribemate. She's not kidding about the packing, either - after slipping into a cute little dress it only takes her a little bit longer to collect her things. Al packs Shelby into his car for the trip to the cub house, leaving Tim to deal with Zosia and her Audi.
Al doesn't say much -- or anything, really -- as he drives the two of them out of the city and into the sticks. His brow is furrowed, his mouth twisted into a grimace, and even the dulcet voice of Karen Carpenter -- clear as crystal from the sedan's speakers -- is helpless against the man's sour mood and mien. When they arrive, he turns the engine off with a savage twist of the ignition key, then turns a pale, baggy eye on the teen. "Welcome home."
Shelby spends the drive as though she's modeling for a car company: perfect posture, looking straight ahead, seat belt fastened. She doesn't even make a move on the radio. "I'm kin," she says into the silence, glances over and corrects, "I thought I was kin." She swallows and her chin comes up as if daring Al to say something when she adds, "I'm a Ragabash."
Al squints. "You sure about that?"
The new-fledged cub meets his eyes square on though her tongue makes a nervous appearance, here and gone. "Of course I am. We all... looked. Even those of us." 'Us' no longer, but it rattles her for only a second. "June 29, 1992." Firmly. "Ragabash."
Pale eyes narrow. "Shit," he pronounces, and then unbuckles his seatbelt. "Geddout." He pops the trunk so that she can fetch her suitcase from it.
Shelby's chin jerks like she'd protest, but she doesn't, only obediently gets out of the car and pulls her luggage from the trunk. "It's nice," she offers about the house, sounding only a little uncertain about the whole ordeal.
Al leads the way into the house with a grunt. "So, what set you off, princess?" He barely looks at her.
Shelby trails behind, wheeled suitcase rattling and bumping along as their caboose. "I don't know." It's so obviously a lie that he doesn't even have to look.
Al whips around, the Glock appearing in his hand as if by magic. "Say again, princess?" His voice is rough, his aim steady and right in her face.
Shelby squeaks and tries to scuttle backwards, ends up tripping on her bag and lands on her rump, staring at the gun all the while. Most undignified. "What are you doing! Are you insane? That's a gun!"
"No fucking shit it's a gun," Al says, sounding disgusted. "And guess what, princess? A bullet ain't gonna kill you anymore. Not unless it's silver, and this ain't loaded with silver. That means, also, that if you fucking lie to me, I'm gonna put a fucking bullet in you. It's gonna hurt like fuck, and you're gonna have to clean the fucking blood up afterwards. Do you fucking understand me?"
Slowly, carefully, blue eyes never leaving the gun, Shelby crab-walks off her bag and just as slowly and carefully stands. "I'm not," she starts, and immediately thinks better of it. She just as obviously considers saying nothing, but swallows, sets her chin, and says clearly, "They said no. SCCU. I can't attend summer session."
Al lowers the 9mm slowly, his expression incredulous. "That's it?"
Shelby doesn't back down, only tightens her arm across her body. "Yes, that's it. It means I'm stuck - I was stuck - in that hell-hole of a hotel until August, living off whatever scraps Zosia deigned to throw me." She sniffs and finally looks away from him, checking out the house again. "I suppose this is better." But she isn't sure how.
"Shit." He was disgusted before, and her answer hasn't changed that at all. "Yeah, well, now ya aren't going to school ever. You know that, right?"
Does Al enjoy kicking puppies? Her shoulders and face tighten. After a long handful of seconds tick by she nods, still not looking at him.
Al holsters the gun. "...Yeah," he grunts. "Better get used to that idea. Learn it, live it, love it. That, and the fact that I'm gonna be your primary fucking teacher, since I'm the only fucking Ragabash in the fucking tribe. Fucking hooray for you." He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, then gestures toward the stairs. "Might as well go get yourself settled in. Fuck."
Shelby glances away from the sunroom, essaying a subdued smile for her new bestest friend. "I guess we're not going out for coffee on the seventh, either. I - I'm sorry." For being a ragabash? For messing up her room? For canceling their date? She doesn't explain, only catches the handle of her bag and heads for the stairs, pausing at the foot to look back again. "Thank you."
Al scowls. "Shit," he pronounces, then stomps off into another part of the house.
Shelby disappears up the stairs and doesn't come down for the rest of the night. The shower runs for quite a long time, though.