Grovelling

[Boy]

By now it wasn't weird seeing Boy around. Every Chicagoan in the nation had probably met, seen, or at least heard of the youngest Alpha in the city by now. But, it was a little strange seeing him around the Brotherhood. Hadn't he cut his ties with this place a long time ago? He was out. His packmate was out. His mate was more or less banned (or so the rumor went) and they all had their own concerns, many a bus and train stop away in Lincoln Park. So what was he doing here? At the Brotherhood of thieves? And what the hell was he doing knocking on Alexander Vaughn's door?

[Boy]

to Alexander, Rory O'Bryne ((Well my char is here with a specific purpose, but your free to enjoy the hilarity that's about to ensue. :p))

[Alexander]

Amazingly, the drums aren't going tonight. It's actually quiet in front of Alexander's door. Boy has to knock twice; the first time, there's no response, though he can hear the kinsman cursing inside. The second time, there's a "OKAY, OKAY, WAIT." Twenty seconds later, the door flies open. Alexander bursts into the doorframe, looking pissed. There's a headset hanging from his neck, cord dangling. He looks Boy up and down. If he's surprised to see him, it manifests only in an expression of -- well, anger. "What the fuck. I got headshot."

[Boy]

Of course it was anger. Of course. Vaughn was involved. There had to be anger coming from somewhere. In this case though, it wasn't coming from Boy. Other than the constant smoldering heat of the seventeen-year-old's Rage, he was calm. And, if the slow draw and release of breath was any indication, he was trying hard to remain that way. "Hey, Alex. You got a minute. There's something I need to say."

[Rory O'Bryne]

Most would think the pingpong table would be used for it's obvious intentions - but that is not true tonight. Tonight, a chair has been drug up to the side and in it sits one fire-haired kin. On the table is any manner of things, bits and bobs and little parts and bigger parts and a whole bunch of pieces that might be able to come together to make some kind of whole - the questions is.. what kind? While Boy pounds on a door, and someone answers angrily, Rory works steadily on the mess before her. She's clearly building... something. Heaven knows what it is, though. I got headshot. Rory looks up, and to the right, as if she could see who's talking through the walls. She can't, and a moment later curls slide forward to cover her expression as she bends her head to her task once more.

[Alexander]

Alexander snorts, shifts from foot to foot -- a pit bull of a man, compact and muscular, bursting at the seams with obvious aggression. "Oh, this oughta be good. Am I gonna hear a long rant about how you love Wendy, you're not coddling her or setting her up for a world of disappointment when you finally lose your shit on her ass? Or, oh wait, I know. It's gonna be a rant about you and Marrick! Or just Marrick!" He pulls the headphones off his neck, whips it backward without looking. It smacks into the wall, thumps onto his bed. "All right, let's hear it."

[Boy]

"All right, let's hear it." And there's a dozen things going through his mind, playing out on the tiny movie screen behind his eyes. They dance, those eyes, flitting between Alex's eyes and something else, some visible, visualized thought that didn't require focusing. He swallowed. So much to say. He breathed. So much to tell this...this...motherfu-- "I'm sorry." Well that was right out of left field. "I'm sorry about...attacking you. I was angry and...I had no real reason to other than...my own pride...and being..." He swallowed again, harder this time. "Being stupid. So. I'm sorry."

[Alexander]

There's a second, a beat, in which Alexander is very clearly taken aback. Then the breach is sealed. A smirk resettles itself on his face, familiar as an old jacket. He leans his shoulder against the doorjamb. Built as he is -- and Alexander is built, the sort of physique that humans only manage to develop by slaving away at irons and machines for hours and hours a day, obsessively -- his frame simply isn't enough to fill the space there. He's not a tall man. His shoulders are broad in proportion; they're not broad in absolutes. Standing in the doorframe, which a larger man would loom in, which several of the occupants of this very rooming house would loom in, it's easy to see the size that his aggression and arrogance belies or compensates for. "Well, thanks so much, kid," he says, far too pleasantly to be sincere. "Now we can have our kodak moment and hug. And then you can feel better about yourself and go on back to telling yourself you're not a goddamn monster. "Lemme ask you something. Why do you try so damn hard to be a goddamn goody two-shoes?"

[Administrator]

Breeze, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Boy]

Its called chuffing, the sudden spurt of air that errupts from him. Cats did it. Big cats that ruled savannas and were rumored to eat men. Dogs did it too, a precursor to annoyed barking as a result of someone trespassing on the territory just outside fences (yes, its my territory! I can see it!) Wolves did it too, only they didn't do it to intruding wolves. No, intruding wolves were howled at from afar, and if they persisted they were set upon. In the wolf world, chuffing was reserved for familiar wolves. Packmates. In the wolf world chuffing meant 'I wont kill you, but we're about to have an argument.' Boy chuffed at Vaughn's mention of the word 'Monster' and again, louder, at his question. His jaw flexed with that obvious annoyance and his eyes danced again with the image of who knows what he was imagining. "Because I know I'm a monster. But only to the ones that really deserve it."

[Alexander]

"And who decides who really deserves it?" There's mockery in the way he drags the adjective out. "You? Convenient system."

[Boy]

"Not exactly." Why are you still speaking? "A lot of times its..." Shut up. Shut the fuck up! "Its murder." He's pulling you in. This is what he does! Get out! Get out now! "But there's monsters out there anyway. Wouldn't you want a few on your side?" Oh christ, you just had to go there, didn't you?

[Alexander]

Alexander stares for a second. The aggression's burnt itself out into something else: something like amazement and bemusement, right now. "Christ, you are a dreamer." It's shifted. Derision, pity, or maybe a strange breed of envy. Alexander tips his head back, knuckles himself under the jaw. "You're not on my side," he says, as though explaining a difficult concept. "It's not about sides, 'least not down where I am. It's a goddamn food chain, and you, my idealistic little friend, are an apex predator in the making. You go on and delude yourself about being a protector or a righteous killer, but I know where you stand. Above me. "Doesn't mean I don't have teeth, though. And it sure as hell doesn't mean I'm gonna count on you and your friends to do anything for my safety and wellbeing." He straightens up. "Anyhow. Thanks for your nice little apology. Gotta say it's nice to hear a little groveling once in a while."

[Boy]

Grovelling? His jaw tightens again, lips pursing, but closed tight around teeth. "Anytime." And while he still had the will to, Boy stepped back, turned, and headed for the exit.