9/3/2004

12:15 AM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Regan Avenue, Downtown
Tenements, small businesses, and tiny restaurants line the street. Heavy metal bars encase the glass fronts of the stores. Battered cars, almost falling apart with rust, are parked haphazardly here and there along the sidewalks. People travel in groups, here, wary of the small gangs of young boys at street corners. Several blocks have the same dull repetitiveness, from Fifth Street all the way to Twelfth. Only the graffiti marks a difference between the blocks, the occasional rudeness sometimes broken up by light colors and strange designs.
Contents:
Rina
Obvious exits:
Dark Alley Old Cathedral Tin-Yen Chop Suey Pool Hall South North East West

Barely a clock's strike after midnight, the official herald of Friday is evidenced not by wristwatches, but by the enlarging crowd hanging about in front of the Cathedral turned club. Youngsters hang around outside smoking and chatting it up, but one shadowed figure stands not even a part of the fringe. Kenneth leans against the side of the building next door, head leaned back against the bricks and concrete.

A vision from the Matrix stalks out of the club, practically jerking her shoulder from a young man's outstretched hand. "I /said/ don't /TOUCH/ me, Paige," she snarls vehemently.

The blonde, effeminately dressed as a full-on 1700s fop, spreads both hands open. "Just worried, is all, okay?"

[Rina]
Dark-brown eyes, touched with amber, look out from a pixie-sharp face. Rina's skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive from generations of pure Italian ancestry. Her black-brown hair is left just long enough in the front to fall almost into her eyes; the butch cut tapers to an army-short buzz at the sides and back, hardly more than a velvet fuzz covering the nape of her neck. Her chin is delicately-boned, her mouth small, the line of her jaw well-defined. Her eyes have a shadowy, bruised look, either from fatigue or the artful use of makeup; save for that Gothic touch, she might have stepped from a pre-Raphaelite painting. She can't be more than twenty-five or so, but in that youthful face the eyes are cynical, brooding, world-weary. Athletic grace and a certain streetwise confidence show in her movements, but there is often an element of tension as well.
A black barbed-wire tattoo encircles her neck, and matching inked bracelets are visible on her wrists. There is another marking visible at the nape of her neck, not ink but a scarred-in symbol that looks as if it was branded into her skin. (page for details if taking a closer look)
She wears two rings, both a silvery white gold. Her right hand bears a single diamond framed by two smaller ones, the decorative work on the ring elegant and subtle, perhaps Art Deco. On the left she wears a simpler band decorated with letters and scrollwork.

Recognition is near instant once the wolf hears the voice of the rabbit. Black eyes turn in the direction of the sound, the youth looking on from afar. For the moment that passes, Kenneth watches the expression of the blond, then back to the original target. Pushing off the wall, he sets his gaze intently on the woman, though doesn't make any approach.

Rina's snarl fades into tired neutrality, and she rakes a hand back into her hair, turning from him. "Just leave it alone," she mutters. "Just leave it. Go dance."

Kenneth starts his approach, stalking his way through the crowd as he makes his way closer. By sheer proximity of Rage, he parts a few of the smokers in his path who spare a glance his way, deeming some other spot a couple paces off to be 'safer'. Yet, by the time he's sure that the woman and her concerned friend could see him if he were to call out, Kenneth doesn't say anything to let them know he's there. Again, another fleeting glance is given to the Austin Powers extra.

Dark worry shows in the young man's eyes. He doesn't even sketch a bow, before stepping backward. He lingers with the bouncers until he notices Kenneth--and then he pales. Despite an effort to hold his ground, the boy ends up taking a step back.

Rina doesn't go far--several steps toward the curb, one hand rubbing at the back of her neck. She closes her eyes for a moment, fighting a wave of fatigue, shaking her head at an inquiry from one of the bouncers outside.

"Hey Rina," Kenneth says evenly, keeping Paige just within his peripheral view only because the bouncers are there as well. He looks at you with a scrutinizing, but distant examination - like there is an invisible wall purposely erected. Perhaps, the bandages around the youth's arms don't help soothe the bad boy image from him.

There's a noticeable jerk, a return of tension, and she turns quick and alert to stare at him. Her eyes are strange, dilated.

"You don't belong," the woman says hoarsely. "Here. Do you?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Kenneth gauges the kinswoman's reaction to him. "No one said beat it yet," he replies in answer.

Rina's brow furrows. "I didn't mean that," she murmurs. Alarm flickers into her eyes, and she steps closer, suddenly radiating a protective aura as she reaches out and actually touches his arm. "Y'not hustling, are you?"

Kenneth doesn't flinch on his facial expression, but the woman could feel his arm tensing for a short-lived second when she steps close and her hand makes contact. "Don't know what you're getting at," he replies, frowning slightly.

Rina gives a tiny shake of her head. "Nothing," she answers tersely. Confusion touches her expression, and something strangely vulnerable. She withdraws her hand. "Do I... I mean, I know you... don't I know you?"

Kenneth flicks his gaze briefly to Paige again, before turning his back to the blond. "Yeah, you should. I'm one of the boys from the farm." There, a hint given. "It's been awhile."

Rina nods minutely. "Yeah." Her voice is quiet. "You... okay?" A flicker of her eyes toward the bandages, then.

Kenneth lifts an arm, looks at it, and nods once. "Were you headed home?"

Rina swallows, and looks over her shoulder to the club. Then her eyes skim across the street. "Yeah, I think so," she says quietly. "You live in the city? need a ride home?"

Kenneth smirks wryly at the question. "Depends where I consider 'home', wouldn't it?" The youth's left hand touches a section of his bandaged arm. "I'm over at Jarred's. But, don't waste your gas on me. Walked out here, I could walk back."

There's a small twitch in the woman's jaw, a telltale way in which her expression goes dead. "I'll drop you off. Just don't mention my name around him. I don't need him comin' after me for corruptin' his innocent youth."

"Pssh. Like I tell him anything," Kenneth blows off the woman's worry, an all too nonchalant wave of his arm expressing his lack of concern. "Maybe if it were Cutter." The youth inclines his head a degree. "Where do you stay?"

Rina lifts one shoulder, and lets it fall--just as unconcerned. "Wherever. I have a studio, in the Montrose, and another place where I can stay further north."

"Up near Montrose?" Kenneth echoes, recognizing the area. "Hunh. You didn't happen to read the paper about that explosion near there, did you?" His head inclines even further, this time accompanied with an upraised brow.

Rina's brow furrows slightly, and she looks away. "Yeah. Wasn't far from me. Anybody got anything on it?"

Kenneth rights his spine and shakes his head. "Got me. There ain't much Lucas and I do except sit around being bored outta our skulls waiting or training." His statement seems to validate the bandages on his arms. "Heard things were shakin' up on your side of the rainbow too. Change of authority and all."

Rina's jaw tightens. "Yeah. You guys need more attention? I can take the whip to Cutter for ya..."

A flash of confusion crosses the youth's features, but just as quickly exits his expression, replaced by the typical teenager's adaptation of apathy. "Whatever. Not like we can't take care of ourselves. I figured Cutter didn't come around because it was Jarred's territory or something. It'd be nice to have a ride to the farmhouse though." He shrugs once. "Jarred's got 'business' to handle and I'm not old enough to have a license, let alone own a car."

She gives the boy a reassuring, slightly wistful smile. "Cutter and I go way back. And if you boys need attention, I can make sure he gets out there to do some work." Her head tips to one side, and she kicks at the curb. "You mean you wanna head out there tonight? Or just whenever?"

Kenneth shifts his weight off a foot. "Pretty much whenever. Don't know if Lucas would want to go out there tonight. Probably sleepin' already, lazy bastard." The name-calling, though said harshly, carries just as much evidence of a bond between the two boys as it does the simple 'tough' and 'cold' front Kenneth adopts. He glances around on the street. "So where's your ride?"

Rina gives a jerk of her head toward the other side of the street. "Bike," she says, slinging on her leather jacket as she heads that way.

Kenneth raises his brow again, looking in the direction of said vehicle before following after the kinswoman. He looks down at the motorcycle with an appreciative nod followed with an extra, small shake of his head. "Figures you'd ride one of these," he says in passing commentary. He doesn't make a move to get on, however.

It's a steel-grey Ducati Monster, sleek and muscular--definitely more muscular than the woman herself. "What, you don't like the Duke?" she says teasingly. "C'mon." There's a helmet hanging from one of the bars; she hands it off to him dutifully, and dons a pair of demonic red-tinted shades for herself. Swinging a leg over, she rocks the motorcycle back off its stand, and motions him to the space behind her.

"You even named it." The comment is blandly made as the woman puts on her demon-red shades. Stuffing down his other comment about shades and darkness of night, the youth looks the motorcycle over once more. Not to be called chicken though, Kenneth dons the helmet and clambers on. Experienced riders could easily tell that he's never ridden on a motorcycle before, even though he knows where to sit.

Before starting the engine, she yells back to him, raising her voice a bit to get through the helmet. "Just keep your body in line with mine. Holding on will help. Don't try to lean or anything... just stay with me." Then she brings the engine to life, and pulls out.

Kenneth doesn't reply with any unnecessary yelling back. Holding on is what he does alright, and as the machine roars to life, she could feel the tensed grip of the youth around her waistline throughout the ride back.

It's a little unnerving, but she seems to drive with some care for her passenger, taking him to the general area of Jarred's apartment rather than getting too close.

Soon as the bike comes to a stop in the drop off 'zone', Kenneth slides off with a couple of steps back. Hands come up to peel the helmet off his head, and not even shaking his hair back into place, he offers the head protector back. There's an uneasy smile on his features - a mix of pleasure and maybe a nervous nausea. "Thanks," he says monosyllabically, before adding over the engine, "See y'round sometime. I mean, you can talk to Cutter, and ...stuff."

Rina folds the shades and sticks them in a jacket pocket, then takes the helmet from him with a crooked smile. "Yeah. No prob. Justasec..." She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a grey business card, offering it out to him. "Here y'go. Call me if you need a ride."

Kenneth trades off helmet with business card, and has a look down at it before glancing back up with a short nod. "A'right. Well... catch ya later then." Slipping the card away into a pocket of his jeans, he takes another step back away from the Duke, watching it with a sort of dubious gaze.

After putting on the helmet, Rina pulls out /much/ faster, taking off at insanely illegal speeds down the deserted city street.

Yeah, that's what he /thought/ he was missing. Kenneth watches the bike take off like a jet off an carrier, and nods to himself slowly before turning to head back towards the loft. By the time he gets back up the elevator, the uneasy look he was holding back has surfaced and dissolved back to its normal neutrality.