Scenario Entitled: Three Of A KindCharacters:
Sterling, Road-warrior. Blown into town to kick some ass.
Damion, Gun-slinger. Needs his ass kicked for him. Desperately. ;)
Rooke, Knife-fighter. Already got her ass kicked, thankyouverymuch.
Location: Freedom Plaza East - The Park
Date: Samhain 24th, 109 PA
Damion walks through the morning sun with something akin to annoyance, almost as if the light annoyed him. His hat is pulled low over his eyes and a cogar stub glows occasionally as he pulls on it. As he enters the Square he slows and starts to look around... obviously a 'crowd check'... but one done with an almost professional detachment.
It's parked near the statue. The automobile, that is. Parked right up onto the sidewalk, just slightly. A sleek, armored black-on-black two door sedan, chrome of it's engine sticking out of the hood, tinted windows, a siren, a ram-prow, a barrel on the side, protected by that ram, and all sorts of other niftiness. Quite a peculiar car. Leaning up against the side of it, is the wiry, compact youth in the leather driving suit. A new face. A different kind of face. For his part, he's just squinting up at the statue, scowling slightly.
Damion chuckles and steps toward the car... both it an the youth recieve slightly more attention than those quickly classified as 'straights'. He checks both out with both an attitude of caution coupled with the caution of a predator who's not quite sure what it's found. He nods after a moment "Mornin', nice ride mano..."
Jaw tensing rather absently, the spikey haired youth turns, leather making sleek noises against the well-polished car. Sterling eyes the new arrival - sizing him up, perhaps. Another wolves 'mongst these well adjusted sheep. ... uh, amongst other things. Like the gents with the goggly-woggly eyes, and the antennae and what have you. Sterling then cracks a bit of a smile, "Oi. Thank. Y'resident?" The few words he speaks are kind of touched by some awkward, non-familiar accent.
Damion shrugs "Been called worse by better and better by worse I'm sure... best bet's gonna be 'long term guest' tho'." He offers a hand in greeting "Name's Damion Blane... where you from mano?" No bullshit here, just a straight cut to what he wants to ask.
"Back'a Beyond, 'rig'nally," the stranger replies, all nicotine-stained, slightly crooked teeth in a smile. Arching forward, the slender stranger takes the hand, shakes it firmly. "Jus'bout figgered you folks dinn't do that sorta thing. This hand-shake whatwhat, that is. Back home-wise, even the mos' guts an'all bushie got the insides to give y'hand a squeezie-greet." The smile is low, sublime. Then, "Damion, oi? Good to know y'. Name's Tannin. Lotsa gents call me Ramblin' Jim... myself, I was given the name Sterling as a wee anklebiter. Call me whatcha care to."
Damion blinks a bit then let's his grey cells work over the words, finally he nods and gives a firm shake with a hand calloused by gunplay rather than by work. He nods, "Whichever then... most folks call me sir, my friends call me Damion and my enemies... well, who gives a rip about 'em eh?" He gestures at the car "Nice ride... she professional or just a toy?"
Well, then. For his part, Sterling's hand is just wrapped in that-there leather. Slippery, sleek - that's the general impress of the guy over all, really. "F'now? I s'pose I'll title y'Damion, oi? 's the mos' proper. Might's well start this business out right." Then, as the car comes up... the youth turns back to it... knocks his knuckles against the hood twice, rather fondly. The armor echos quite resoundingly, but with a tinny edge. Can't be too loud. "She's me life, this one... from bonnet to boot, I had a han' in 'er concept'on. Quite the sheila... a real goer. Rides like'a shower'a shit... takes me where's I need t' be... which is everywhere, right?" Looks real serious about it, too. More than a car. A way of life.
Damion can only chuckle as most of -that- obviously eludes him, still the idea comes through and he nods "Sounds 'bout like me & Satan, best partner to have... what'cha into Sterling?" He nods at the siren on top, "You some kinda sheriff or other... or... what?"
There's the stuff. A word he kind of gets. "Like the lawr, roit?" A pause, then he adds, trying to twist his mouth so the accent comes out correctly. "The law?" Then, Sterling offers up another thin smile. "In me way. In the way I know 'ow. I admit... not much f'... f' ol'-style reggalations like 'Doin' Process'... 'r 'Civilian Liberties'... but, yeh. Where I come from, I'm the law. One man, one gun. Mobile, compact. Ain't nobody recognizes us... no superannuation, when's we get ancien'. But we do the job, 'cause... well..." He looks geniunely perplexed a moment... then, with an honest smile - one that seems really, quite pleased with what he does, if not himself so much, "I do it 'cause it's the roit thing. F' once."
Damion smiles "Careful of doin' the right thing 'round here pal, it can get your ass slung quick-like... folks just don't appreciate justice as much as they do gettin' their own way." He -sounds- serious enough... he also sounds like he doesn't exactly -care- what's thought of him... or of much else about Tolkeen's civility for that matter.
"Soun's roit f' the game they's playin' 'ere, oi," Sterling admits... stroking a hand through greasy hair, scratching his scalp absently. "This is... kinda like the Cities, where's I come from. Mebbe a bit smaller... Syd-style... but big. Big, Before-Time style. Just as selfish. Though... you folks seem't've taken in the natives with a bittamore... well... tol'rance, I s'pose, the word for it is." A quick nod to some pointy-eared gent, another absent gesture to a grey skinned, goggle-eyed family. "Funny place. Blokes don't seem to have you all much harm - not like I come from... though... looks like to balance, y'gotcherself some hefty monster-types. Musta come from Deep Dream Time, 'r somethin'." Another scratch at his scalp. "You fellas gotcherselves some -big- beasts, out in the woop-woop, far from the civvie."
Damion nods, "Aye, but they all get along 'cause nowhere else'll take 'em in. Nobody but a moron shits in their own yard right?" He shrugs indifferently "Not like I care, I get along with most folks so long as they leave me to my business... when they don't, well, last time I got charged with attempted murder" He grins and shrugs "The judges were prob'ly bribed pretty good... they blocked out evidence and totally ignored the fact that if I'd wanted the feller dead he'd -be- dead." He caresses the grip of one of his pistols, "These here do the job real good when it needs doin'... ever'thin' from dragons to Smilin' Jacks have been burned down." No braggin, just a pride in his skills rather than alot of boast... he means that. "Besides, the other guys are assholes so, misguided though they may be, the jerkwads in Tolkeen are about the best thing goin' 'round here"
Sitting up on the armored hood of his car, Sterling seems to be smiling rather mildly - gazing at Damion, probably, as a fellow traveller. Looks like the lonely road warrior done made himself a friend. "Ah... they got judges roun' 'ere? 'course they's biased! I heard a gent, out from th' Cities, one time, tellin' this story 'bout how's he got 'imself the big steel boot out into the woop-woop, with the brush an' the 'gangers... Said to me... says, 'Sterling, my boy, nev'r trus' a man what wears a wig on 'is head. Never trus' a man what got somethin' like that to hide.'" Sterling says it with a kind of... air of wisdom. Sure, he didn't understand alot of things Damion said - but there's some topics - violence, and distrust of the authorities, for instance - that are universal. "Yeh. I pr'fer to go out inta the bush, make up me own setta reg'lations." Pats one of his holsters fondly. "Not much'a defense y' got 'ere. City made me give up me shotgun an' me flamethrower. Me caltrops, even, which'll only cause a mite'f a staker, ay?" A helpless shrug. It happens.
Rooke traces the perimeter of the Plaza as opposed to plunging right in, sculpted hedges and market stalls a-flyin'. Virtually an unrecognizeable figure even to Damion (since the last time he laid peepers on her), and certainly a stranger to Sterling, the young woman ambles along with a slight limp, hands tucked away in her pockets. Her steps seem to want to take her to the eastern corner of the large site.
Damion says "They make lots of folks cough up their juice, once we had a chance to change the place... that passed" He shrugs "Now we just gotta keep it alive through the next time the bad boys come 'round kickin' folks in the nuts." He grins nastily in anticipation and his voice becomes a study in sarcasm, "Seems they're -real- glad to see you when it's their balls on the block... but that's normal I guess. Lots of the troops didn't like it when folks just cried about how badly the city was messed up after the attack. If... -when- it comes again we're gonna get screwed again. Why? Because we're no better prepared than we were before... same military, same laws and same old junk for 'tude."
"Oi," Sterling agrees, hastily, "but that's nothin' new, is it? Only 'ope we got, back home-like, is f' the decent people t' get far 'way from the Tech-Cities... get out, on they own, and start it over. White fellas... we been meddlin' with the earth too long. Wasn't -'anded- to us with a 'by your leave', neither... we killed lotsa Tribals for it, even /before/ the Before-Time. In ancient history-like. An' now," Sterling sighs, "we fumbled it, an' we's rebuildin' like it were just some Earthquake. Not the bleedin' Rainbow Serpent shruggin' off four hunnred years'a evil, whisperin' 'Bad Show Of It, Blokes', oi?"
Damion nods toward Rooke, though he doesn't recognize her at all, "That woman there... she's packin' heat. Why hide it though." He grins "I'll tell you why, 'cause the civvies get offended at the idea of a person who's willing to shoot to defend themselves... or others."
Sterling casts quick, hard eyes to the limping girl. "Don' blame 'er none. She's'a scared. They all is. That's why blokes like us - we gotta suck it up, do what's right. Ain't always convienient f'us... but if it were 'bout that... we'd just be maggots an' vermin too, y'hear?" Sterling looks back to Damion with that same... vaguely proud smile. "Folks like us... like me, at least... got lots to make up fer. Lotsa dark in me past - lotsa nasty I ain't proud'a. So I gotta..." He trails off... then nods to Rooke. "... I gotta fin'a way to make girls like her... feel safe, is all."
Damion mumbles quietly as he considers "Dark pasts make folks better warriors, also makes us willing and able to use hard justice where it needs usin'... lots just don't get the clue I guess." He glances back at the woman and scowls "Dearly love to find whoever did that... takes a real shit to pound a girl that way"
Rooke gets about halfway along to the east, when she's just about spanged in the head by a beam of morning sunlight that escapes from between the decorative trees that line the promenade she treads upon. Tipping her head back, she narrows her eyes to slits and gazes upwards at the sun's position. Is she a gen-yoo-ine human sundial? It seems so, as she abruptly turns away from her original route and strikes out across the park, making for the open air market place. Smells of such likely things as A Spot o' Brekkie, and Gunslinger Hash seem to have caught her interest. That's right, in addition to being a gen-yoo-ine human sundial, she is also a city-bred creature with a cast-iron stomach when it comes to the dubious Plaza fare. Unidentifiable-Bits-o-Meat-Onna-Stick, here we come! Her path takes her a bit closer to the bloke with the bang-up car, and his new friend.. her old friend.
Damion's eyebrow arches as the 'girl' decides to drop in for a word... "Maybe we're 'bout to find out" He glances down to check his pistols then slips a hand under his duster to make an adjustment to his belt. Once all -that- drama is finished he simply watches her approach with an expression of half-anticipation and half professional detachment. The stub of a cigar is discarded with a casual flick of his wrist in the vague direction of the gutter.
Eyes like ice chips watch Rooke carefully. Sterling reflects. Damion did say she was packing. Probably afraid to use it. Probably aiming to shoot this poor, troubled Fellow Traveller right in the spine. As he watches her, Sterling continues, "Yeh, those of us with the worst'a it behin' us... we do it right. We unnerstan'... those petrol-heads out in the wastes, they ain't never gonna stop, nor quit-it-out 'til they been madeta. 'Til you either break 'em, or end 'em." Not much emotion as he considers the death of a human being. Well, what -most- might consider human. Just a vulture to him. Finally, he adds, about as sotto voce as he gets, "You'll fin' one who diddit. T'her... t'someone else. Don't matter none - 'cause that bloke... he's bastard enough." Yeah. Rather nonchalantly, one of his hands has slid to the holster - unbuttoned it. The other one slides back up into his hair, scratching that one -spot- he can't seem to get.
At first, Poor Victim Rooke (hey, it had to happen someday, right?) doesn't seem too interested in two people who don't immediately smell of edibles. This one is serious about her foodruns, she is. She gets within a dozen feet of Sterling's car, when her gaze is inexorably drawn to the side. Yanked, really. Oh. My. Heavenly Stars. What the hell is it? Most folks would venture: ...a car? Rooke, who may or may not be so presumptuous, slows down and takes some time to -look- at that baby.
Yup. Sleek, black-on-black. Light armor plating. An empty turret emplacement on the roof, unarmored but hatched shut. Tinted windows. A tiny dog, more fur than body, curled up and sleeping soundly in a baby's seat in the back. A chromed engine jutting out of the hood - too big for it's britches. A spiked ram-prow, right in the front. A well-protected nozzle of sorts sticking out. A siren, a bubble on top of the car. Quite a piece of works.
Her gaze flickers up to the owner, or who she perceives as the owner. They seem to fit together. Then her eyes slip to the side, to the someone else who stands within her periphery.. and she stops cold, jaw unhinging. What does she see in this rangy westerner?
Damion smiles, nods and even manages a slight tipping of his beat up old hat, "Mornin' Sunshine... 'sup?" He chuckles softly, gravel grinding away in a mixer might sound more friendly but he never claimed to be nice did he... "Looks like somebody whomper yer ass, what happened?" Straight to the chase again, normal for him.
There's this... odd edge to Sterling's voice. Folks who have known the occasional English traveller (not uncommon) might think it's like that - but if the accent, speeding about in its horridly proper Astin-Martin, got mangled in some sort of automobile accident. The man, whoever... whatever he is, lets his eyes flicker up and across the strange woman. All hard edges, angular. All bone, and skin. Built like his automobile - for efficiency and action. Extends as kind a smile as a gent like himself can allow. "Oi," he greets, with a tilt of his head. "Mornin' t'y', missy. An' a real romper'a one, at tha'. Goin' f' a bitta walkabout?" The hand on his holster rebuttons it, without a thought. He wouldn't need a gun to deal with this sheila.
Don't ya just love those scenes in the movies (the Moving Pictures, for you low-brow orcs out there), when the girl and the guy see each other across the bloody chaos of fighting.. or dancing, depending on whether it's a Chick Flick or not. And with just one look, they Just Know. That flash of recognition in their eyes. Recognition of that One Person in the Universe that they've been waiting all their life to see.
"You bloody bastard," Rooke utters.
This is not one of those movies.
If she has a friendly greeting or something similar to the first one, for Sterling, it's likely still to come in the script.
"...how've you been?" she continues with her warm growl of a voice after the shock value has worn off. The victim facade washes off rather quickly from this point on, believe you me.
Damion smiles and nods sideways to Sterling "M'lad... you remember what I said about worse by better?" He gestures to the woman "Here she is" He half smiles and reaches a tentative hand toward the purpling spot(s) on her "Who... or -what- did that to ya Rooke?" Maybe he didn't recognize her looks, but the voice and greeting are unmistakably Rooke "Good t'see ya again Lady Bluehair..."
Ah, Christ Jesus!
Marvellous. A shiela who seems to speak a -bit- of the correct Queen's English. (Oh, right. And it turns out the 'rangy westerner' is Damion. Makes sense. Considering. Let's not talk about that. Again. Mistake in perception.) Well, at any rate - the hard-edged gent sitting on the armored hood of his car shoots a quick look to Damion, brow all furrowed up. Then, with something of a weird smile-thing, back to Rooke. "This bloke... you two real boon companions?" Then, back to Damion, "You know this poor, roughed-up dame?" The tension in his jaw relaxes as Rooke eases up. "Worse by better, oi...?" Then... 'Lady Bluehair'? Her hair... isn't blue. Someone needs to teach these primitive savages the Queen's Own. For his part, the driver just takes a breather and a moment to himself. Let these two bloody nutters sort it out themselves. Just a quick nod to Rooke, a light smile. Almost a -shy- smile from the young man.
Rooke tilts her chin up a bit more, and her head draws back from Damion's fingers as they graze her face. Standoffish as ever, holding him at bay with her eyes... maybe? Never could tell with the likes of Damion Blane. "Right, I see you too, Damion.. though I'll let you know just -how- good that is.. in another little bit." She smiles lightly. "And about my face.. would you believe, a bunch of faeries with big sticks, who disappeared again as suddenly as they appeared?" she quips with an expression as guileless as an infant's. From this close-up angle, the irregularities under her clothing don't appear to be firearms at all. Maybe packs of C-4. That's right, when threatened, she goes to pieces so fast, people get hit by the shrapnel. Dangerous lady, this. "Fine set of wheels there, Mister," she adds in Sterling's direction. She sees his smile, raises him two straight-ish eyebrows, and although that does -not- qualify as a pokerface on her part, damn it was a fine pun.
Damion laughs and brings out another of his seemingly unending supply of cigars to chew on, "I know her, we once ruled the city together... the Chosen and the Defender" He winks at her, "I had the easier job, all I had to do was get the attention of the entire Coalition war machine." He shrugs slightly "I -could- believe almost anything given the world we live in... but what's the truth, that's what I want... that or nothing. As usual"
Oh... Christ.
No wonder this place is in such a bloody ruin.
With tints of disbelief in his eyes, Sterling looks from Damion, to Rooke, to Damion, to Rooke again. A subvocalized, "... izzat a joke?" Then, finally, she says that bit about his car. Doesn't entirely understand the bit about the faeries with cudgels... but his auto? He'll understand that. "Yeh? Thanks, I know," he remarks, all beaming pride, as if you'd just told him what a lovely child he had. "Me an' Rosie, 'ere, she seen me through many a tough little spot, oi?" The man smiles more boldly - shifting forward on the car, and offering out a knotty hand on the end of one of those long arms. "Name's Tannin. Lotsa folk calls me by the name'a 'Ramblin' Jim'.... Sterling's what me mum usta call me, when I was still poopin' me britches. One's as good's the next, miss."
Damion says "Oh yeah, Rooke Sterling" he gestures introductions "Sterling, this is Rooke"
Rooke doesn't trade anything of hers for Damion's wink, and gazes at him coolly through his jawing over a war long over and best forgotten. No, not everything about it, of course. Just the part that turned a perfectly tolerable man into a lunatic (whispered out of his presence, of course), and a perfectly focused woman into the mess of idiosyncrasies you see now, friends and neighbours. To Damion's final remarks on her choices, she also remains silent, answering to that one, too, without having to say a word. Her eyes slide off his face after a moment, and she turns back to Sterling to hear his odd speech out. Fortunately, she's had a lot of practice deciphering strange european dialects that sound like they were negiotiating their passage out of a fury beetle's intestines (or was that because Gareth was eating a stick of celery at the same time?), and this different still further, but -somewhat- similar accent, only takes her a second or three to come to terms with. At least enough to get the gist of what he's said. Damion's sudden intro helps things along, too, and presently she's reaching over to grip Sterling's hand in a firm two-shake kind of deal on her part. "A real pleasure," she smiles, before pulling back.
So, there it goes. Gripping Rooke's hand rather tightly - a decent kind of shake. The kind you'd expect beduins, traders, and other vague nomads to have. All off-center teeth and nicotine stains in a pleasant kind of smile. "An' you too, Rooke. An' you, too." The hand is... well, hard to tell, about it. It's covered in sleek leather, mostly. Retracting his hand, he sprawls back onto the hood some. "Don' s'pose you two'd mind... y'know... sharin' some tasty bitta inf-ero-mation, oi? 'bout this... ah... Tolkin, was it?" A vague gesture with the left hand to his general surroundings.
Damion shrugs and begins rolling a silver coin through his fingers, "Like you wouldn't believe Lady Bluehair..." he grins as she shakes Sterling's hand "See m'lad, not all of us are utter barbarians. You just gotta find some of us who've been around" He tilts his head slightly at Rooke "So you ain't gonna spill on the nutcase who beat on you... or was it a bunch of faeries for real?" He chuckles softly (read dangerously) "Your call sugar, always was. You still pissed at me for beating the snail-snot out of Doc or have you finally realized he got what he needed and nothin' more?" He glances at Sterling and grins "I don't think she'd approve of anything I told you mano... I'm far too warlike, opinionated and not-so-borderline psychotic for most folk's tastes. That means I beat those that need it, intimidate those who don't merit the effort of a beating and damned well shoot the ones who won't behave correctly according to the gospel of saint Damion..."
Rooke settles back away from the both of them, returning her gaze to Damion after a moment, simply to look the man over again. Whatever can be said about the relationship between these two, there is a sort of invisible bond between them that Rooke is loathe to ignore.. or perhaps she's just too tired (read: beat up by faeries) to fight against it today. Does she like him? Doubtful. Would she speak for his soul beyond the burial grounds? ....perhaps. Of course, the 'slinger would have to go and ruin the moment by -talking-, wouldn't he? Rooke's gaze glowers hotly as she is abruptly reminded of times past. She casts a schewed glance his way, jaw muscles jumping under the bruises. Yak yak yak, why won't he stop? Presently, when the chance is presented, she growls, "-Don't- talk to me about that time, Damion. You make me want to scream. Be proud of that fact, if you want.. no opinion you could make would surprise me." Tersely, she jerks into motion, a decision made in her mind to get the hell away before her body was ready. "And you can tell our new friend Tannin here.." she says in passing. "..anything you damn well please. He appears to have a good enough head on his shoulders to help him sift through all the crap for that kernel of truth. Good day." This last to the both of them, as she turns to go, her limp now barely perceptible in her quiet fury and pride. So much for joyful reunions.
"Y' sound's'if you'd make it awright, where's 'bout I'm from, mate. Either a 'ganger, or a Sentinel-type. Like me." Sterling sits back some, gives Damion a quiet, careful visual appraisal. "Fall somewhere in th' middle, I s'pose. Gents like you... quick on th' trigger, eager to take it t' th' source." The un-gloved fingers slide into his hair... absently scratch near the temple, as he scowls faintly. "As for this 'Doc'... pro'bably had it comin'. Thing I find 'bout white fella heal'rs... act'sif they bloomin' well pulled'ja outta the Dark an' Nuthin' with their own two 'ands. Real... professional, artiste-like." Sterling slides off the car, boots thudding on the bitumen. That's pavement to you folks. The car bounces slightly, shocks responding to the movement. "S'pose that ain't quite a fair 'sessment, considerin' I don't know this poor bastard doctor. He sew yer tenders back on so'as they're useless as an ashtray on a motorbike?" Then, he cants his head to departing Rooke, with an even smile, maybe trying to smooth things out a bit. "'s a true story. Practically a bloody hangin' offence, where I'm from." Then, well, since it's probably not working... he smiles faintly after her and replies, "Well... I... roit, thanks f' the compliment... if tha's whattit was. Sorry 'bout the bitta rough an' tumble. Looks like it'll heal awright, if's any consolation t'ya." Then, he turns to Damion and shrugs rather absently, once more taking his fingertips to that itchy spot.
Damion says "Rooke, you don't have to go. I don't understand why you hate that period of our lives so much... we both did what was needed at the time. I haven't changed and deep down I don't think you did either... maybe you want to but you -know- we did right back then and we were doing right most of the time after that." He snaps the coin to an abrupt halt between his fingers then folds it into his fist and nods at Sterling "That's why I wanted you to tell him love, he's -like- me... younger maybe, less experienced... but if I went wrong then maybe you can save him." He stares at her back, half hoping she'll stop... "Or do you so like 'what I became' that you want another one around?"
Good thing Rooke was moving slowly enough throughout the subsequent chatter, or she might have pulled out of range none the wiser. As it is, Ramblin' Jim is definitely earning his name, and she's starting to feel a tad bewildered on top of the rapidly diffusing anger. That's one thing that could be said for her... temper like a speeding train, but afterwards, if you're still alive, there's nothing more to worry about until the next time. "Oh please," she mutters, stopping with her back still to the gents. She raises her gaze to the sky, pained and very reluctant to be touched by any of Damion's words. Raising her left hand, she scrubs a fist through her short hair, and slowly wheels around to face them. "Are you -trying- to get me to really scream, Damion? Another one of you.." She blinks, and sets her teeth in a hard grin. "Only if the devil himself came crawling out of hell, 'slinger." She says it feelingly, though her wariness of him still shows in her eyes. She takes a few steps back towards Sterling. "I apologize for the outburst, Tannin. What kind of information were you looking for?" she asks as mildly as if nothing'd happened at all.
Damion nods briefly and wanders off toward the Druid's Grove "I'll be right back... you two talk for a minute"
Rather adeptly hiding a smile that threatens to blossom, Sterling furrows one brow down. The other, through some accident of anatomy, spocks upwards. The man eases back into sitting position on his car, eyeing Rooke idly as she comes'a wanderin' back. As she asks her question, he listens intently. Apologize? Not a word he hears everyday. And listen to her mangle 'information'! Women. Foreigners. Sheesh. So, he smiles a rather absent, even smile Rooke-wards. "Well... s'pose that depends," he begins. Always a good, cryptic start. Finally, he shrugs quite helplessly, leather creaking as he does so. "I s'pose... you could start, if'n it wasn't too painful-like... by tellin' me where, in bloomin' Jesus' 'oly name... I am. 'side from jes' 'Tolkin'."
Rooke places her hand back snugly into her jacket pocket after mussing her boyish hair, and studies the young man, her gaze barely flicking over to note Damion's sudden departure. She starts to nod, encouragingly, as he seems to get shy.. but in the end, it bites her in the ass, his question revealed. Uh.. "...where.. you.." she repeats, staring stupidly at Sterling for a while.. must be quite a while, really, to have Damion making a reappearance with flowers. Then the lightbulb goes on over her head. "..ah. Let me venture a guess. You fell outta the sky, something like that, right? You and your auto." She's heard urban legends about that sort of thing.. perhaps witnessed a few of them firsthand. This guy seems to fit the bill for one of those phenomena. Just needs a chainsaw in place of one of his hands, though.. and we're all set for some zombie-blasting fun!
Damion steps inside the grove for a minute or so before reappearing and ambling back across the distance to rejoin the discussion. Without speaking he reaches up and slips a small bundle of blue flowers into Rooke's hand "Sorry, didn't mean t' piss you off..." he grins impishly as he adds "But you wouldn't get so angry if you didn't give a damn so I guess we're still caring friends after all"
Her daydreams are interrupted by the appearance of the flowers in the hand she pulled from her pocket to rub at a bruise. She looks down at the late blooms, and slides her gaze over and up to Damion. The corner of her mouth quirks up, and she gives a couple of minute nods, her eyes hooded. o O (Yeah.. okay. Keep reminding me and I'll make you eat these friggin' pansies.) What an eloquent set of eyes she has!
"Nah! Jes' rode inta onna th' blue-an'-sparklies. I was still on groun', mos'ly. Jus' speedin' through a war-zone," Sterling scowls, "like th' ol' Before-Time cities. The ones what got ruined in th' Pocky-Clipse, what have ya'." Sterling offers up a not entirely elegant shrug - a little more on edge, now, as he peers intently at Rooke. All well and good for Damion to get her flowers, but... "Where... 'sactly... -am I-, anyhow? 'side from totally lost."
Damion chuckles and steps back "Used to be called North America, I think we're in 'Minnesota' or somesuch... but that doesn't matter much anymore. Tolkeen is a powerful city of magic. We've got lots of assholes who'd like nothing better than to kill me and the others who can and will happily fight to protect the place so they can finally get at Rooke's cute lil hiney for less than kind reasons." He smiles "As for the war zone, that didn't change. One of our biggest enemies is a group of powerful technological cities called the Coalition States... the details you'll have to get from a scholar but the important parts are that it gets cold in winter, hot during the summer and these assholes soldiering for the Coalition will kill you just for having visited. Clear as mud now?"
"..as a good friend of mine is wont to say," Rooke adds dryly on the heels of Damion's sociopolitical lecture, "Yew be ah-cross tha' great big blue wobbley, S'truth." She gives a fairly passable imitation of a euro accent, picked up from said acquaintance by the sounds of it.
Well, then. This is... not the Back of Beyond. That'd be comforting. See, you can drive there from here. But... North America? With a kind of blank look, Sterling takes to idly considering his fate... hand on his jaw. Finally, he looks up at Damion, brow furrowed. "Honest-like? That's 'bout as useless as the bottom-harf of a mermaid." A weak chuckle... then, "You gotta road mappa this place? An' where these Coalition States is?" Then... quieter, "You got Tribals 'roun' here? Or... jus' the odd white fella dabblin' in what he don' understan'?" Some silence... before, finally, he indulges in idly giving Rooke a kind of clinical once-over, Sterling squares off his jaw. "Gents kill for you, Rooke? No 'ffence... but... I mean, y'awright lookin', sure. Don' get me wrong. Jus'... a bit curvy f' me tastes, I s'pose." Easier to focus on that. Then, quieter - as if Damion couldn't really hear, he adds, gently, "Lil'... top-heavy, ain'tcha?" There, he's said it. After all - someone ought to tell the poor girl. Her 'friend' Damion obviously won't. Someone's gotta do it. That man? Ramblin' Jim. Vigilante, Driver, All-Around Good Guy.
Damion chuckles "Ol' son, I'm proud of ya... less tact than even me and that's somethin' to be sure." He shakes his head "Not specifically -her- but the women in general, maybe that's a man's view but hey... that's where I'm comin' from right? We got tribals, indians and some others like the cloud people... everybody has different ways of lookin' at magic though. Our city magi have little trouble doing their thing and coupled wit' the indios they can get really nasty even without normal sods like me & the troops... and no, I don't have a map. I just look around and if there's a bunch of guys wearing black skull lookin' shit I think of them as CS troopers and blow 'em away."
Rooke takes no amusement in Sterling's confusion, gazing at him soberly with one hand in her pocket, and the other holding a bunch of blue flowers like a dagger. While the gent puzzles it all out, she tips her head back and squints up at the sun. So, when her attention is directed back downwards at Sterling, her expression is already narrow-eyed, setting her up nicely for his frank remarks on the... flaws.. of her figure. She can't argue it, really.. she looks like she's gone a few rounds with the 5-armed D-Bee version of Joe Louis, -and- her wardrobe choice is nothing to scream over. Nothing lady-like to see, here. "Yeah yeah.. but I have a nice personality," she retorts goodnatured-like to Ramblin' Jim, in between Damion's praise and the rest of the clarification. Her mood puddles around her feet for a few moments, then she glances wryly up at Damion and remarks again on the heels of his speech, "All Hallow's Eve is coming up.. guess we'll have to warn the costumed party goers about that little tendency of yours."
Damion grins and nods "Important safety tip... I'm sure it'll be necessary. Unless things have -really- changed while I've been gone I don't know anybody who'd have the poor taste to dress as a stormtrooper." Seems obvious that the idea of people dressing as the Coalition... -offends- him somehow. "Besides Rooke, I'd hop you in a heartbeat... some guys like a girl with something in addition to a brain." He winks "I'm the type of psycho who don't even mind all that explosive you're wearin'..." He tilts his head curiously "Ummm, why -are- you wired to blow up like a Smilin' Jack anyway?"
"Good t'know you, uh... Nordamericanos," he murmurs, kind of aping Damion's accent, "gotcher priorities in order, oi?" With a sheepish smile to Rooke - perhaps detecting the offense... or maybe, just the youth trying to get into her good graces... he murmurs, "On basis'a personability? You'd be high on me list f'r a girl f' the win-on, f'certain. Nicest one in North 'Merico I met as of so far." Then, a quick glance to Damion, inclining his head - rather relieved. "Yeh. Soun's a bit reassurin', mos'ly keepin' white fellas outtait. We outsiders - we don' quite unnerstan'." A pause as he thinks of something... then murmurs, quite seriously, "Why... hell! I done it... I done it!" A more triumphant smile. "This -ain't- home... which means I ain't an Outbacker no more. I'm..." He looks to Rooke, to Damion, "Aw, hell," he smiles, "I'm wif' me people again, it seems it."
Rooke kinda meant various youths with skeleton paraphenalia.. or just really ghoulish but innocent people in general.. but she drops that subject in order to regard Damion with pure unadulterated disapproval. "Let's... just move this subject along.. off the Top Ten Things That Will Get You Castrated circuit, why don't we," she says softly, with a deceptively charming smile. "And what the hell are you talking about now?" She falls silent, pondering Damion's explosives comment, her gaze only raising slightly to acknowledge Sterling's earnest, yet lacking compliment.
Damion claps Sterling on the shoulder "Yeah, well... don't go figuring we make huge diffs between D-Bee, Human or whatever. No stress about whether you're a slicker, a gangbanger or what... we're either human or D-Bee and -that- doesn't make a snit's bit of difference 'round here. We're equilateral... or somethin' like that" He glances to Rooke for some help with the word... "Right?"
She almost about loses track of the conversation, until her name is said again. That has her regarding Damion curiously for a moment, before she ohs, clears her throat, and says, "Right.. tolerance, if not all-out acceptance," she mutters, and reaches up to scratch lightly at the bulking thing under her clothing, and we're not talking about her breasts at the moment, dig? Yes, it's the C-4 bundle above them, and she's gonna take you both out for being male chauvanist piglets!
Damion points, "That, right there..." the C4 being scratched "unless you'd prefer me to physically point it out or to grab a block to show you..."
More earnest silence from Sterling... a rather honestly, deeply pleased smile on his face. Things are well, after all. He's no longer a plague on the Tribal folk. He done took his heart of darkness elsewhere. Seeing as this C-4 business doesn't affect him none, he just shifts up onto the roof of the car and watches the two with his slim smile.
Rooke looks down, then taps the padding with a forefinger and cocks her head back up. "This? If you must know.. it's bandaging. Gauze, and wrappings." She pauses. "I'm dressing up as a crypt-keeper for the Hallow's Eve bash." Of course. One that's been set upon by a gang of faeries. Before Damion goes grabbing at anything, she tugs the neckline of her shirt down a few inches, exposing the heavy layers of white wrap. "Explosives.. please. These were on -before- I knew you were back in town. Otherwise, I would -considered- slipping some nitro-tubes in there and finding an excuse to give you a big ol' hug." But she smiles as she says it.
Damion laughs and shakes his head "I'd have enjoyed it too much and you know it... you always did have an explosive personality after all." He grins "Might not have noticed" He tugs a big shell from his belt and offers it over "Strap this on, we'll try and see"
Rooke smiles thinly, and waves it away with her flower-laden hand. "Maybe later. I've had enough western gentility for one day. Tannin," she turns to look at the younger (she supposes) man. "There's a bunch of boarding houses and motels along the first bits of this strip," she uses the flowery hand again to indicate the Freedom Way line. "The Succubus in the same area also does rented rooms. If you didn't want to live out of your car." She thinks a moment. "If you need to find me, I'm 'normally' on the west side.. got a business called Random Acts on the corner of Brimstone and Lazlo."
"Nah, 'sa'right," Sterling replies with a goodnatured smile - waving a hand at Rooke once or twice on the score of boarding houses, "I got'nought trouble, without worryin' 'bout that. No, me car's jus' fine, f' the nonce, an' all." Some more silence as he adds, absently, "I'll track y' down, if I got any quezzies f'yeh, sure's pie. Noddanissue." A lazy smile. (For those who wondered... when the neckline went down... -did- he look, or -didn't- he? Didn't -see- anything... but did he? Let's leave it this way: it gets lonely on the road, dunnit?)
Damion examines his fingers clinically and nods, "Speakin' of which, I should get some rest... odd how all this crap goes on in your quarter and I never have any trouble. Even when I'm hoping to find some" He shrugs "I need to roll over and die m'self so I can go hunting again tonight. The Succ is a great spot... right near the gate and convenient to most of the trouble we get, got, whatever." He spares a glance to Rooke then goes ahead and adds "Happens it's the only tavern that ever had a price on it, we both used to live there and some other friends did too... we'll have to catch up on some of those guys when you're up to it Rooke, deal?" He offers a hand to Sterling "Nice meetin' you mano"
Rooke actually smiles at Damion.. really smiles. They do have friends in common, there's definitely that. "Sure, it's a deal," she responds, shrugging a little and reaching up to scratch a spot along the side of her head, that sets the flowers nodding and bobbing in her eyes. "Take care." She glances at Sterling on his car again, as she herself turns to continue on to the marketplace. "Good luck."
Sterling takes Damion's hand - shakes it firmly, easing off the auto. "Damn right, yessir. Good to know ya', Damien. I'll keep an eye out f'yeh, in the days that follah this one 'ere." Then, he turns a smile on Rooke, not quite sure if NorthAm girls shake hands or what. "Good knowin' ya', too, Rooke. Ya' seem like... well... an' alright kinda sheila, all things bein' equal."
Damion laughs as he turns away and walks south "They ain't mano, them was some truely bad-assed faeries to whip on her like that." He lifts a hand in farewell "Catch up to you guys later!" With that he disappears into the morning crowds that always fill the Square...
Rooke did shake his hand less than twenty minutes ago, but she doesn't seem to have enough spare hands to conduct that kind of nonsense this time. She simply nods as she wishes him well on his explorations of the city. She pauses over Damion's last words, smile fading to a bemused quirk of the lips, before she offers a small shrug to Sterling - eh, a miscommunication? "Thanks for that, Tannin. Same goes for yourself." Speaking of miscommunications.. when did Sterling get to be a sheila? Nevermind though, she's gone.
For his bit, Sterling just ambles around his car and slides in through the open window. With a roar of the engine (and a yipe-yipe-yipe from the terrier in the back as it wakes), Sterling jerks the vehicle off the sidewalk and roars south at a diminished speed.
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