4/7/2005

03:45 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning New Moon phase (10% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.75 and rising, and the relative humidity is 77 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 15:21 Pacific Time on Thu Apr 7 2005.

Medical Center, Near the Waterfront
From Riverfront Drive to Beaugregory Boulevard, the Hilliard Memorial Hospital rises, a massive building surrounded by well-tended lawns and tall trees. The Hospital spreads northwards to Hospital Drive itself; across Silver and Beaugregory from the hospital proper are research buildings and office buildings: billing offices, small medical libraries, and the rooms with classrooms and laboratories for medical students to learn and experiment. Along Riverfront, on its eastern side, food vendors have set up small stands which receive a brisk business in the noon hours, shaded under the trees lining the street. North of Hospital Drive, the administrative buildings continue, spreading another block or so north to I-90, which slashes across the city streets in an abrupt divider.
Contents:
Brom
Obvious exits:
St. Claire Zoo  Denny's  Hilliard Memorial Hospital  Parking Garage  Emergency Room  J. Walter Wilson Labs  Ramp to Interstate  South  North  West  

Last night was hell. And yet, after about a pack of beer later (the liquor store guy didn't bother asking for Brom's I.D. certainly), the Shadow Lord halfmoon had gotten absolutely raucous, able to celebrate, cuss, and threaten to kick anyone's ass - even a thin parking meter's. Lucky the Get was there to keep him from doing just that and perhaps losing to the inanimate object. The morning (or rather, late morning early afternoon) after, Kenneth woke up with a /killer/ of a hangover, and absolutely no memory of the night's activities past the point of the barfight. The halfmoon, after some cleaning up at Shadow's End and a few gulps of tasteless corn flakes, grabbed his tennis bag and rackets, and started for the gym. Brom was left to his own devices, and utterly ignored when the Get tried to talk about yesternight's actions. It was simply replied with, "Whatever."

Poor Ken, Brom mentioned something about him making out with a prostitute with an Adam's apple. He tried to warn him, but he'd hear nothing of it! Following after you, he is carrying his duffle bag over his shoulder. "So, what's up? You are going to play 'Tennis'?" He asks.

Kenneth has since for the whole walk replied nearly monosyllabically and incoherently, but at Brom's constant goading, well. The Shadow Lord stops in front of the gym that is located not too far from the hospital, turning around and giving the Get a rather Evil eye. "Yes. Yes, I'm going to go play 'tennis'. 'Cause unlike you, I get my kicks from beating people at a sport that requires a bit more coordination than fist-to-face contact." He pauses, regarding the other philodox. "If you're comin' in, cover charge is 5 bucks for gym use."

Snorting, Brom squints at the Gym. "Tennis requires no coordination at all. Its hitting a fucking ball. If you want to play a real sport, then play Rugby. That is coordination for ya. Trying to dodge twenty other guys who are trying to pound the hell outta you."

Kenneth eyes the Get some more, and then shakes his head with a rough snort. "If you're so good at it, then you can try an' play against me on the courts. But if you don't, I understand." Oh, is that a challenge?! The Shadow Lord turns, and heads for the double doors to the gym, not even particularly noticing what wide berth the two Garou are getting from the clientele that goes in and out.

"Hey, fuck you. I'll play you at your stupid pussy tennis game /and/ win." Brom says with a snort as he follows after you. "I'll pile drive that ball right down your throat, an then twist the racket about your ass." He shoots the guy at the desk a hard look. Five bucks? Riiiight.

Kenneth doesn't say anything in return and slips the guy a 10 anyway, though from where the Shadow Lord had gotten the money is a mystery. The two of them continue on, moving through the locker room where some of the guys just /stare/ at Brom rather than Ken. Others get the hell out of Brom's way. When they reach the small area of open air clay tennis courts, Kenneth looks about for an open court. Naturally, the one in the corner and furthest from the gym entrance is more open due to its less upkept state. "We'll use that court over there," he notes to the Get, heading through the cages. The 'thock' and 'thwack' sounds of rackets and balls contacting from people playing around them is heard. "You ever played tennis before? Or at least, watched it on TV maybe?"

Snorting again, Brom says. "No, I just know you hit the ball inbetween the lines over the net and you run around back and forth and grunt as loud as you can." He says as he continues to follow, swinging his arms back and forth, brows knitted tightly together as he sniffs the air, smelling the clay from the floor.

Kenneth nods once, opening the cage door to the far court and stepping in. He heads for the bench, where he sets the bag down and withdraws two rackets out of three. There's a bit of a pause, before he hands a blue racket to the Get. "That's basically it. But, on serves, you hit it cross court, and you gotta get it inside the box diagonal of your opponent. If you hit the net or hit it out the first time, it's a fault, and the second time, I get the point. Since we're playin' singles, you gotta hit it inside the smaller box on the court." The Shadow Lord gestures at the indicative lines. "You don't /always/ have to hit it over the net strictly. It just has to land in the court on the other side. So it could swing out, but curve back in and hit in, and it'll be counted as your point if the other guy misses the return." He glances at Brom, wondering if the Get is even paying attention at this point. "Anyway," he continues, withdrawing a can of balls. "You want to serve, or should I?"

"Uh.. you serve." Brom says as he swivels the racket back and forth in his hand, giving it a few practice swishes, then heads around the court to his end, glancing about the white lines. He looks back across the distance at you, then nods his head confidently. Everyone else seems to be hitting the balls decently.

Kenneth nods, popping open the ball can and withdrawing a couple, leaving the third inside. He heads to the opposite side, twirling his red racket in his right hand. With his back to the Get as he walks, he allows himself small smirk. It disappears as he turns around and gets serious. Pocketing one ball on his left, the Shadow Lord moves to the opposing base line and stands appropriately. "Ready?" he calls out, but not exactly waiting, tosses the ball into the air and serves. Here the ball is hit with a resounding thock! and whizzes down at an incredibly faster speed than one thinks, hitting easily inside the smaller box and bouncing Away from the Get rather than towards him. Tennis is definitely a sport where you have to run.

Anticipating, Brom is already on the move, his feet abling him to sail across the cort. He winds up. Here's the pitch. WHAM! He sends that ball to the fucking moon with a brillant uppercut. It doesn't just soar, it flies.

"Holy shit! You see that shot!?" One guy calls out, motioning to his partner.

"That just hit the next zip code!" Another calls out.

Brom stands at the court, grinning quite proud of himself as he twirls the racket about in his hand. "Ha! One point for me!"

Kenneth had expected the big guy to get it. He hadn't expected him to send it for a grand slam orbit around the world. The Shadow Lord cranes his head up after the ball, watching it fly out of the gym's outdoor cage. Kenneth waits a touch, waits... waits some more. Then, CLUNK, Crash! BEEP beep beep Woo woo! Blare! Hanging his head and then shaking it, Kenneth puts a hand to his face to cover it. A few of the players at the nearby courts start laughing, calling out, "Oh my god! He just trashed someone's car with a tennis ball!" "Holy shit someone's gonna be PISSED! Hahaha." Kenneth sends a glare at the other players, before turning back to Brom. "You're supposed to hit it in the court. So that's out, and the point is mine." This is said with a bit more straight and serious of a face than before.

"HA! Take that car!" Brom calls out over the court, puffing up a bit as he swings the racket again a bit harder. "Can -you- do that, Kenneth?" He calls over tauntingly, readying himself for the next serve as he grins even broader. He doesn't appear to be ruffled that he is down a point.

Kenneth looks across the court at Brom with a blink and a slightly longer stare, before shaking his head and going back to the base line. "I don't got enough balls for this," he utters under his breath to himself, bouncing the second yellow-green ball down against the court a few times before throwing it up and serving it. This time the shot is at a much, much sharper angle, hitting the ground hard and bouncing high, not allowing for any kind of uppercut shot like last time. Kenneth appears to have excellent, practiced control of his shots.

Moving in motion, Brom whirls out and slams the ball back, actually getting it over the net and back into the court in your direction. For someone without much practice, he can sure nail that ball hard. He tries to slow himself down, but inertia and boots don't allow him much as he goes tumbling over as he tries to skid to a stop. Thump! Tumble. "Fuck!"

Kenneth adjusts his running speed accordingly, sprinting to catch up and easily return the ball over the net. 30-Love, Service. The ball goes bouncing past Brom and hits the cage behind, bouncing a few more times back and rolling to a stop at the other's baseline. Kenneth is by then at the net, and tilts his head at Brom's fall. The Shadow Lord seems unamused. Either that, or he's really trying hard not to laugh and succeeding. "Thirty-love," he notes. "You al'right?"

Brom pushes himself up and snarls as he pokes at a new hole in his jeans, hearing the laughter of a few other players in the court over. Jerking his head over, he gives them a long stare which promptly shuts them up. "Thirty what? What the fuck is this love shit? You can't just call it two to zero? Where the fuck did you get /thirty/ from?"

Kenneth blinks slowly, still remaining at the net as Brom glares death at the other players. "It's just how score's kept. Zero is called Love, and every game goes by with four points, starting from Love, to 15, 30, 40, and then that's the end of one game." Kenneth says all this like it should make sense of course. "I'll... get the other ball," he adds after, going to the bench to withdraw the spare ball from the can. He pauses at the bench, before turning around. "Unless you wanna do somethin' else, like hit the weights inside instead of playin' out here."

Brom snorts and shakes his head, then bends a bit at the knee again. "Just serve the fucking ball." He says as he eyes the Shadow Lord, loosening himself up a bit. He looks determined.

Kenneth nods once, turning back to return to his side of the court. "Riiiight," he utters to himself again, really working down the urge to laugh or even smirk. Once again, at the base, back on the side of starting point, the Shadow Lord throws, and hits the ball towards the Get. It's not as quick as last time, nor as powerful. A soft serve, so to speak, easily gotten and returnable for even beginners.

The Half Moon sees that its a baby hit and catches it with his palm, grunting. He throws it back at you. "Hit the fucking ball like you did last time. Don't pull any punches with me Ken. I'm not going to get good if you go easy on me." He says, snorting out a loud breath of frustration.

Kenneth tilts his head as the ball is thrown back, catching it with his racketface rather than his own hand. He sighs out and shrugs, calling back, "Alright then..." And Brom as well as the others who have suddenly taken to watching part of the match between the two Garou, that Keneth switches the hand he holds the racket in. "Dude, he's a southpaw!" mutters one spectator aloud to his companion. Other murmurs are lost to the service, as Kenneth throws up the ball and smacks it with a resounding thwack against the gut of the racket. The ball zooms forward again at speeds of a car on a freeway, bounces for a millisecond on the court surface and then abruptly changes its straight course to bounce towards the Get's big body instead of away.

Shifting his weight to one side, Brom swivels his arm back and throws it forward, snagging the ball in mid air with the racket, sending it soaring back. This time he doesn't topple and the ball pings the middle of the court, bouncing at a high speed. He grins to himself proudly for all of that split second, before shifting his weight once more.

Kenneth is behind the ball just as it reaches its spot down on the court, and backhands it right back across the net at a sharp angle drive. The Shadow Lord's experience in the sport shows itself in how well he controls the ball, sending it with a slight curving arc back at the Get's side. The ball doesn't exactly hit the line, but a few inches in front of it and sails up.

Only needing to step over a bit, Brom winds up and rockets the ball back, aiming for the Shadow Lord in what appears to be a game of Tennis dodgeball. It seems that he doesn't have a bit of control and can only hit back in a straight line. Despite the fact he's at least hitting it, he looks... nervous? He's glancing at his feet often as he moves and skitters, gripping the racket hard.

Kenneth is once again in excellent position for a return, behind the ball as it's heading straight for him. The powershot though, just as it is about to make contact, is indeed dodged out of the way. The shot doesn't touch ground, instead flying out like a bullet from a gun all the way back to the court cage and spinning insanely before getting firmly lodged in the chainlink fence. A chorus of whoas and whoops go up from the meager spectators, some of them still snickering amongst themselves. Kenneth bends himself back straight, looking from the stuck ball back to the Get. "Nice, but... out. 40-Love." The Shadow Lord in turn isn't nervous at all, and looks utterly at home in these conditions. "This's game point. If I get it, I win this game." He turns, and starts back towards baseline with the last ball getting extracted from his pocket. He pauses briefly, noticing that the car alarm set off has been turned off.

Letting out a loud breath, Brom steps back a bit more so that his feet are on the back edge of the fench, then narrows his eyes, watching and waiting carefully. His eyes are on the Shadow Lord, watching like a hawk, shifting the racket from one hand to the next.

The air is filled in anticipatory tension as the Shadow Lord tosses the ball up and smacks it. The ball sails over the net easily, speed quick but not too quick, and this time no-nonsense curvings or special behaviors. The moment the ball is hit, Kenneth drops to a loose and flexible stance, gauging the Get on the other side of the court rather than the ball's movement.

Shifting his form, Brom does something surprising. He swings and hits it in the 'other' direction instead of back at you. He times it just right and the ball ends up sailing across court at its typical high, fast speed manner. He lets out a loud grunt, obviously having put a lot of power into this shot and it kisses the clay. Bert! Its hopping up.

Kenneth finally looks to be enjoying himself a touch, getting a chance to run after the ball. His wits and flexibility on the court come into play as he shifts back, accomodating the power behind the shot. When he reaches and hits the ball, it definitely seems like Kenneth's outmatched in the strength sector even in this game, and rather than adding power to power, swings and directs the ball into a topspin ricochet off his racket. The ball is lobbed up high, an opportunity for a smash.

I got it! I got it! Brom watches the ball soar upwards as he rushes forward, then WHAM! He slams the ball, hard. POING! It nails the clay in front of the net and shoots straight up into the sky once more. He tilts his chin up as he watches it go, as well as the spectators who just stare in mixed amusement and awe of such raw power and 'beginners' luck.

Kenneth is at midcourt as the ball slams down and shoots skyward, high and over his head. It comes back down and lands just before exiting the cage, hitting near the top and dropping back down near the chainlink inside the tennis territory. A few cheers are given to Brom as he finally has earned himself a point, and Kenneth dips his head once. "Nice smash," he tells the Get halfmoon before turning to retrieve the rolling ball. Neatly coaxing the ball back onto his racket, Kenneth returns towards the baseline with a call of "40-15" to set the score. As he does, though, a loud and angry toned voice bursts out from the double glass doors leading from the gym to the court. "I don't care if your gym's got a no-responsibility clause! My car's windshield is cracked and /someone's/ gonna pay for it!" The Caucasian man who enters looks middle aged, dressed in business clothing rather than workout clothes. He is trailed by a couple of gym employees, trying their best to soothe the skulking businessman as the latter glowers out over the tennis courts.

"Yeah! That's right. I got fifteen fucking points!" Brom says with a loud shout, pumping his racket in the air, looking as if he is about to break into a dance. For him, that single point meant the world. It mean that he's /not/ a complete loser. As he gets ready to stance up once more, the shouts cause him to groan, eyes shifting over, then looks back to the Lord, motioning him to play on.

Kenneth watches, as do some of the spectators, the businessman as the balding head swivels this way and that in attempt to find the car-cracking culprit. Some of the spectators break off from watching the match to going back to their own practices, and for the moment it seems the businessman isn't about to point any fingers in anyone's direction. Kenneth looks back to Brom, catching the play on motion and nods. With a toss and a strike, the serve is again straightforward, and of medium speed with a bit more power behind the control of the ball.

Shifting his weight again, Brom lets out another grunt as he hits the ball back towards Kenneth, but this time, up and over in the air. Right back into orbit. Nyeeerrrrum! Clank, Crash. Bwoop Bwoop Bwoop! A solid grin forms over his face as he stares over at the Lord, then slowly twists his head around to stare over at the guy in the suit, brow lifting upwards.

Kenneth jerks his gaze up as once more, another ball goes sailing overhead. This time he doesn't contain the slight annoyance that forms over his features, and winces right along with some of the other players at the once-more familiar sound of a car alarm going off. Businessman Barry, however, doesn't wince. In fact, he looks absolutely irate. Perhaps because he hadn't moved his car from the parking lot yet and 'by chance', that second ball has hit exactly in the vicinity of the last one as well. "You!" he shouts out, storming towards the far court's cage door. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Protected by chainlink and witnesses, Righteous Indignation Barry slams his palm against the chainlink and glares at Brom, his better conscious temporarily replaced by human temper. Kenneth closes his eyes and sighs aloud, laying the racket frame on his shoulder and proceeding towards the bench. At least the game is over and he's won.

Turning around, Brom drops the racket and starts moving towards the chain link fence, all six foot five of him, sweating and growling under his breath. "If I were you, I'd get back in your car and 'move it', because its in my fucking way. Trust me, for your health, tubby, its the best thing to do." He says, standing an inch from the chain linked fench, intense blue eyes staring back.

At the sight of Brom, Suddenly Intimidated Barry takes a step back. Make that three steps back. "You cracked my Benz's windshield! I'm gonna sue you for the damages buddy!" A pause of hesitation, and then, "I-If you hit me, I'll get you arrested for assault!" he threatens, swallowing down and gripping onto what bit of nerve he can muster. Kenneth tenses from his position at the bench, more likely because his racket has just been dropped onto the court roughly. In reaction, Kenneth starts forward as well and bends to pick up the equipment. He's just a random player here, really.
"Right. An you parked your Benz in the parking lot of the Gym, dressed like 'that' for what reasons?" Brom says with a sneer on his face. "Shouldn't you be at work or something? You got insurance that'll cover it, so get the fuck out of my face. I don't need to 'hit' you to make you piss your pants." A slight growl echos in his throat, eluding to something even more dangerous. "Got it? Now git', I got a game to finish."

"Let it go Barry," says one of the gym employees, clearly indicating more to Brom than the businessman just the importance of Barry here as a customer - a rich customer. But, none of the gym employees are looking for trouble, and by now the tennis matches on going have slowed to a stop. People are watching. Kenneth moves back towards the bench and his bag, slipping the blue racket in, not saying a word. "What... who do you think you are?" Barry asks Brom, again the indignation getting fired up. Perhaps Brom hit a sore spot.

"He said to let it go, Barry." Brom says with a rumble. "Because if you don't, I won't. It looks like they know you here. Looks like you're a good customer. So why don't you go walk back inside and get back on the weight machines and work off some of that gut of yours, maybe buy yourself a toupe'. Does it look like I'm the kind of guy who gives a fuck what 'you' think?" He asks, slamming his hand hard on the chain fence, then starts for the opening. "If you aren't gone by the time I get around this fence, I'm going to do something to you that will resemble your windshield."

Oh that would be clear enough. Barry might care about his car, but he cares more about his body. Comparatively, anyway. Barry flinches and retreats a bit more, but it's the gym employees who are moving faster than Brom is by far. Further down at the double doors, there seem to be more witnesses peering through the glass. Kenneth comes up from behind Brom, looking rather unimpressed at the retreat of the people. And still, the Shadow Lord says nothing. "You all hear him!" Barry then changes tactics, still stepping back and giving ground. "You can't hit me! Not in front of all these witnesses." Ha! Ha. Ha?

"Look at me buddy, you think I haven't been in jail before?" Brom rips his shirt off in front of them, revealing the dangerous, jagged scars of wounds that would have killed a man. Maybe he tangled with a bear, and /won/. "What the fuck you ganna do? Put me in jail for two nights, I get out.. find you later, finish the job? Or are you ganna shut the fuck up and piss off?" He asks, almost to the door.

Kenneth sighs aloud, loud enough for people to hear. "Christ on a popsicle," he mutters, moving around Brom. It is the Shadow Lord who opens the chainlink fence door, stepping out with his tennis bag zipped up and in tow. "Hold on a sec Brom, I'll be back..." he grunts to the Get. Like a billowing dark thundercloud Kenneth heads straight for Barry, black eyes locked on the older man's now surprised (although what surprises him more, Brom's multitude of scars or Kenneth's approach) face. The Shadow Lord passes Barry, reaches behind him and grabs on firmly to the other man's shirt collar and drags him away from the Get's vicinity. The initial jerk catches Barry off guard, and the businessman is taken further back a good few more feet before he starts to resist. Kenneth turns and snarls an angry, "SHUT THE FUCK UP" at Barry, passing through the double doors of the glass with a sharp kick of the double doors open. Barry only manages a short squeak of 'Help!' to the other people witnessing, but everyone seems a bit stunned, either staring at Brom's horrific injuries or at Kenneth's sudden sharp actions.

A slight grin tugs upon Brom's face as he shifts his shoulders a bit, tossing his shirt around his neck, heading out and closing the door behind him. "Hmf. What a fatty." He rumbles in his throat, then flexes an arm for the crowd, revealing the big bicep that bulges. "See these muscles?!" He calls out. "You keep working out every fucking night and you'll look like me, and /then/ you'll be a real tennis player." With that, he starts out the glass doors after Kenneth and Barry.

The rather girly scream of Barry follows after Brom's 'helpful tennis workout tip of the day', which in turn is added to by a sharp SLAP! of flesh and flesh. As Brom leaves the court area, people look at their friends and either grin or laugh nervously, no doubt going to have a story to share at the dinner table tonight. Inside the gym again, moving past cardio machines and treadmills, Kenneth drags Barry all the way towards the front desk and jerks him hard against the counter. The balding man's face is sporting a red hand mark, and he is quite on the verge of tears even. Pathetic sight indeed, which has drawn people's attention - those on earphones even have noticed some of the activity going on. "Please tell Barry," Kenneth growls audibly, "That 'We Are Not Responsible for Damaged, Lost or Stolen Items on the Premises.'" The Shadow Lord's eyes stare at the girl behind the counter, and she repeats what is said, additionally pointing slightly to the sign behind her on the wall that also confirms the fact. At this point Kenneth lets Barry go, and pushes him hard down to the floor. "Now for the Love of GOD, fuckin' shut the fuck up and move your fuckin' car!" Barry just sits there stunned at the young Shadow Lord, staring. As Brom comes through the double doors, Barry's jaw drops and he cringes like a mouse between a cat's paws. Kenneth sneers in loathing, and turns to leave. "I'm goin'," he announces to Brom and anyone else in the vicinity.

"I'm coming." Brom says, tossing a tennis ball towards Barry lightly, watching it bounce off his chest and roll to the ground. A smirk tugs over his lips as he moves, arms crossing over his chest. "See ya tomorrow Barry." He days with a dangerous look in his blue eyes, whether or not he means it. "So, want a beer?" He calls after his pack mate as he exits the Gym with him.

Kenneth seems to bleed out the rest of his temper the further he gets from the front entrance of the gym, slowing his furious pace up to the sidewalk. Taking a look back, then to the Get, he eyes the bigger philodox up and down. "Christ, Brom. If we don't get cops called on us we'll be lucky. /You/ might be fine with spendin' a couple nights in jail." He pushes the tennis bag further up his shoulder, walking along the side of the small parking lot. "And... no, I'll pass on beer. But I think I do want a drink now, after that." He roughly sighs out, hand raking through his hair in frustration.

"Got some Vodka if you want that." Brom says with a shrug of his shoulders. "I wasn't going to hit him though." He says as he follows after you with a huff. "The last thing I need is to go to jail myself. Regardless of the moon." He says with a soft breath. "Calm down some man, don't be all on edge. Sides, you beat me at Tennis. That should be something to celebrate an get drunka bout."

Kenneth stops walking for a moment, doing his best to 'calm down some'. At least he can turn the flames on and off usually. Wetting his lips again, the Shadow Lord slips the tennis bag further up his shoulder again and looks out over the parking lot. There's a moment of silence, before Kenneth observes, "Damn, you hit those balls far." The halfmoon points, first to the direction of the courts, and then to a lone Mercedes parked quite a ways from the cages.

"Yeah. I can hit a car with a ball, I just can't hit the court with it." Brom says with a shrug. "Go figure. I'm power hitter, not.. good at tapping things and aiming low. Still.. it was sure fun." He says. "We gotta do it again, tomorrow maybe." He says with a firm nod of his head, then starts off again, reaching over to swipe a tennis ball as it had bounced off the car and rolled to the side.

Kenneth can't help but laugh, even if it is more of an amused cough. "Hell no," he states firmly at the Get. "That's the last time you're gonna use my rackets." He starts walking again, glancing over at the retrieved one ball. "You're probably a helluva lot better on the baseball field than on a clay court."

"Hey, I didn't break your racket. I just slammed a fucking ball over the fence." Brom says with a bit of frustration, eyes narrowing some. "I never played baseball either. I did football and wrestling in school. We didn't have much other sports there, except archery and horseback riding."

Kenneth turns his gaze on the Get. "I didn't say you broke it, but it's obvious that tennis ain't your sport," he states. "Definitely football or wrestling. Not tennis." The Shadow Lord lifts a finger and scratches lightly at the space between his eyebrows. "Where the heck is Dillen?" he asks aloud, suddenly and randomly.

"So just because I suck at Tennis you are going to give up on me like that? I was having fun playing with you, even if I did lose. I can take losing just fine you know." Brom says, continuing to look frustrated. "But, fine.. -whatev-," He says, repeating you.

Kenneth stops walking again, furrowing his brow at the Get. "I didn't 'give up' on you. I never ever 'started' on you," he growls back. "Y'wanna play, fine. We play. But next time, you bring the balls if you're gonna lose 'em like that." He starts walking again, a hand shoving into his pocket. "Tennis is tennis. It's not fightin' the Wyrm," he mutters.

"I know its not fighting the Wyrm, but, shit Kenneth. I'm trying my best here.." Brom says as he stops, then shakes his head. "Nevermind, I'm going to the pool hall. I got some drinking to do." With that he cuts a turn, dropping the tennis ball to the ground as it bounces a few times and then rolls off to the side.

"What?" Kenneth stops, turns, and watches the Get walk off a pace. "What are you trying to do, huh?" Bending to swipe the ball up, he shoves it in his pocket, following after the Get.

"Just trying my best to get along with you and everyone else in this backwards fucking Sept." Brom says as he continues to walk, pulling his shirt back on over his body. "The only thing I'm good at is being a Get. I hardly pass for being a human or doing anything normal. Its aggravating for me."

Kenneth outright laughs then, though while it seems condescending, must have struck him as funny anyway. "God you are such a meathead," he says, moving to catch up. "You're right. You're a Get. And that's all you can be. But it shouldn't stop you from operatin' will it?" He walks on, past the other philodox a ways before glancing back over his shoulder. "The whole world has it's quirks. Nobody's normal in this town, or any town, Brom."

"My every instinct screams war and to kill or be killed, even in something as stupid as tennis. I'm not going to stop operating, I'm just saying that maybe you can cut me some slack and realize that I'm not shitting you when I say I'm trying to be your friend." Brom says with a snort. "You're my pack brother now and that should bring us closer, despite whatever bad blood we have or whatever happened in the past with Lucas. I am indeed trying my hardest to be easy to work with. I know I can be impossible."

Kenneth shrugs his free shoulder, still walking on. "An' I'm not used to /any/ of this yet. My instincts tell me not to trust. Pack, tribe, sept, don't matter to me." he replies firmly but quietly, making sure their conversation doesn't float off too far. "I learned it the hard way. I ain't gonna make mistakes like that again." He doesn't meet the Get's eyes, or even look back at him as he walks. "I lost everything once. I don't want to see my friends die in front of me again. And the only way to do that in this world, is to not have any."

"You know how many people I've seen killed in my life, friends, family alike? Ken, its something you have to move on. If you were to die tonight, I'd have a beer for you tomorrow, beat the Wyrm up and go on with my life. I wouldn't sit around and dwell on it. I know I'm a Garou, I know I'm a Get. I know that when I die in a blaze of glory my soul will be recycled through Valhalla's gates and I will wait on Ragnarok's doorstep." Brom says with conviction in his voice. "An I wouldn't look back for a moment or regret a single thing I did, or anyone I packed with."

"I'm not afraid of death," Kenneth notes evenly, gaze moving to and fro now that he's settled into a certain pace. As he stops at a light, waiting for it to change, he looks back to the Get. "I don't expect a thing from anyone. As long as I can accomplish whatever it is I want to put my mind to, I'm fine." He looks up, black eyes gauging the Get's reaction. "You live for glory and a chance to strike your enemies down whether in this life or the next, or the one after... I live, simply to live. It isn't a matter of regret, or dwelling."

Letting out a breath, Brom waits at the light with you, arms crossing over his arms as he peers down at you, squinting his eyes. He turns back to settle his gaze across the street, then murmurs. "You play good tennis."

Kenneth waits awhile longer, and crosses the street with the light change. When they're on the other side and walking again, he replies, "I had time to practice." He doesn't look to the Get, but once they finally reach the pool hall, the halfmoon seems to be a bit more wary of the joint itself.