Log:Dusk Court Meeting: March 2017
| Dusk Court Meeting: March 2017 | |
|---|---|
"Ahem." | |
| Participants
Katie Jones, Henrik Van Liere, Beau Desrochers, Veronica Alexander, Ridley Walkyer, Sidonie Glass, Kerrigan Desrochers |
2017.03.27 The Dusk meet for March 2017. |
| Location
Stoneheart - Dusk Hollow | |
| The Dusk Court cavern has been set up for as much of a party as the usually dour Dusk who put out the call for the gathering would deal with. That means no decoration has been laid out, but there is plenty of other things spread around the couches to more than make up for that. An aluminum tub full of ice cradles numerous bottles of beer, and a table has been set up with a good spread of edible treats. Crackers, cheese, and more interesting fare like bar-b-que ribs all lay spread out and ready to be devoured. The man that called the meeting lounges on one of the couches, an already open bottle of beer in hand, dressed in his overly typical jeans and black t-shirt, taking up as much room as he normally does. Everyone who enters receives the same casual greeting. "Grab a drink, some food and take a seat. Or stand. Whatever, I don't care." Kerrigan makes her way in alone. Or well, she's got her Hellhound with her. Alocer is a massive beast and they have a pack of Archway raspberry jelly cookies that they are sharing. She's dressed in black jeans, white t-shirt and a faded blue jean jacket with patches all over it. Her boots are dusty, but she doesn't seem to mind. She grabs a beer on the way in, then another bottle and then plants herself in a spot where she can see the entrance. "Beau." she gives a smile of greeting to her cousin. "Hey all," Veronica greets with a casual lift of her chin and a flash of a lazy smile that mostly curls up on one side of her face over the other. She arrives in dark jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, dark hair swept into a high ponytail. "That looks good..." Obviously hungry, she plucks up some ribs to toss onto a plate, and snatches up a beer on her way to a couch to slump on. She grins at Beau and Kerrigan, and lets her gaze finally settle curiously upon Alocer. Hey now; just because one knows there is no end but the grave doesn't mean that one can't sing, get drunk and wench with the best of them - just look at the Norse circa 800 AD. Ahem. Anyway. Right, Ridley. Ridley arrives whenever the hell Ridley decides he's going to arrive; but to his credit, perhaps, at least it's _around_ the time that the meeting/event/hoedown was supposed to get started. More or less. Give or take. Still, like the Gray Wanderer he's occasionally equated to, the Levinquick might well give the impression that he arrived precisely when he meant to and not a moment later; striding in to the hollow in a long-legged, easy sort of lope that might seem - at least fractionally - not entirely _attached_ to the ground. While he might not appear to be loaded for bear, exactly, he certainly seems a touch more armed than the average passer by - if not by virtue of the almost piecemeal reinforements of the long coat and clothing beneath, then by the two blades - slender, one longer than the other but otherwise seemingly a matched pair - that sit sheathed at his back; one over the shoulder, the smaller almost horizontally across his hips. And then there's the raven; a pale, white thing with jagged and heavy lines defining it, lending it the impression of being more a three dimensional Sume-i painting than a living being. This peculiar beast sits, idly, upon his right shoulder - glancing about every so often but otherwise keeping to itself. He never really pauses; not to glance around, not to change direction. Even in the occasional moment of stillness there still seems to remain that rippling breeze, the whisper of ozone and sharp tang about him like the moments just before a storm breaks - though, for the barest of heartbeats Ridley's gaze does seem to skim across the near edge of the horizon, fixating on each individual that's already arrived though, for the moment, only Beau's greeting is returned - and then only with a slight uptick of his chin in the other mans general direction - before the Squire continues on and slouches back into one of the nearby chairs.
Since Henrik can't be reclusive, he's got to dress it. When the mottled skin of the Chimera strolls into the caverns, he's kept his black ballcap on low over his eyes. The light glints off of the top, metal cover of a cigarette lighter stomped onto the bill. A 'gutterpunk', it's called, and it's a match for the old parka and even older service station shirt he wears. He trails a line of cigarette smoke and tucks the metal collar around his neck a little closer to the neckline of his shirt. "..." Henrik looks up and waves, nodding upwards to Kerrigan as he steals a beer for himself. Kerrigan opens one beer for herself and the other for the hedge beast that plops down next to her. She takes a drink of her own and then tips Al's bottle up for him when he wants a drink. Is this animal cruelty? Not really. There's a smile and a wave of her free hand to Veronica, "Hola." she tells her. Then there's a look to Ridley as he comes in and she gives him a smile as a greeting as well. When Henrik comes in there's a wave to the Beast and she points to a seat next to her and the hellhound shes helping drink. Sidonie has been part of the Freehold for just shy of a year. This means she can largely navigate Stoneheart without needing too much guidance. The woman is in a black skirt, legs bare until boots. A gray blouse is visible beneath a dark red jacket. Her hair is in a decidedly sloppy bun, bits of starlight draped around her features. Her eyes are open and whether they roam or not is unclear, for all one can see is the universe beyond. Most who have been around, however, know that she's blind. The rest? Will learn it as she wanders into the Dusk cavern and right into one of the tables. "...this is new." Her hand sort of drops down, finds a bit of cheese. "Ah." Both Kerrigan and Veronica get nods of acknowledgement from Beau. He takes another sip of beer, his eyes trailing after people as they slowly filter into the cavern. After a few moments of silent, sullen staring he finally gets to his feet, tapping one of his claws against the beer bottle in his hand, a gentle ringing noise to get everyone's attention, especially since there's no need to speak over conversation. "Welcome Dusks." Beau doesn't sound particularly warm in his welcome, but he does manage a mild smile. "Everyone make yourselves comfortable, help yourselves to food and drink and get to know one another. We're all together in this, so we might as well get to know one another and work together for the Freehold, or something like that. Or just get drunk and enjoy some good company." "Cheers," Veronica lifts her beer toward the other Dusks. Her gaze lingers a beat longer on the hellhound, with a wider smile for Kerrigan, before she looks to the others arriving with an inquisitive expression. "Evening," she tilts the neck of her bottle toward Ridley, Sidonie, and Henrik. As Beau lays out the evening, she bobs her head a few times. "I got a question. Anyone bump into any of those 'Soundless' yet?" she asks, fingers curling in air quotes before returning to grasp the bottle briefly held between her knees.
Ridley seems to have, at least for the moment, somewhat tuned out of his surroundings - though the same cannot be said for his companion. The raven-drawing-thing hops down from the Squire's shoulder to advance along his thigh, eventually coming to a stop at the crest of an upraised knee to cast a silver-eyed glare around the room as a whole. A second later it takes flight, spanning the short distance to Ridley's shoulder once more; whereupon it lets loose with a rapidfire series of... words, perhaps; scratchy, hoarse-voiced sounds that might well sound like some form of archaic Gaelic; all the while gesticulating madly towards the woman, her beer, her hellhound and, ultimately, the woman feeding her beer to her hellhound. It probably doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure that _someone's_ jealous. For his part, though, Ridely gives the thing a somewhat long suffering, though otherwise blank look - as if he did not, in fact, know what the hell the bird was on about; before shaking his head once as if to clear it then returning his focus to the room as a whole. Rolling his shoulders back again, then squaring them off with a vague canting of his head from one side to the other the Levinquick's bright blue eyes eventually come to rest on Veronica. "Ah, no." That accent - the deep tenor carries with it a most definite Scottish brogue, just in case people pay attention to such things. "Trouble? Or no?" Kerrigan gives a smile to Henrik when he joins them and she offers him a cookie from the Archway pack. The woman then looks up to the bird that is giving someone guff. Or just complaining. There's a little shake of her bottle at it. Then she looks over to Ridley to see if he's going to toss a chair at her for offering to give his bird alcohol. When Beau asks a question of the Soundless, she shakes her head, "I haven't gotten into anything involving them yet." she tells her cousin. Katie Jones' arrival is quiet as a settling fog, enough so that she may well go unnoticed until she drops herself down into the corner of one of the couches, denim-clad knees crossing one over the other. She sinks rather comfortably into a low slouch as her misty grey gaze scans those gathered. For the moment, the blonde says nothing, content to observe, to lurk, to be around her people. Beau shakes his head as he steps away from the couch. "No, no run-ins yet. At least not that I know of. But I suggest passing any you have on to whatever member of the council you feel comfortable with." He heads over to the table, grabbing a beer from the tub and placing the chilled bottle against the back of Sidonie's hand. "Beer?" He tips his own bottle back for a sip, turning around to peer across the room. There were greetings given. General sort of ones. Meaning Sidonie? Has no idea who is who, what, or where. So she has cheese on her hand and no idea which way to go. The woman licks her fingers clean and smudges her hand against her skirt. She follows that by rifling in her pocket and pulling out a phone. The classic sound of Siri activated comes up: "Siri, call-" then a pause and she shuts it off. "Right. Hedge." And then she's flushing, though on her skin it comes across as a darkening of the starscape across her cheeks. Maybe no one saw that. Heard that. So she just sort of starts... grabbing around the table, after putting her phone away. When the cold touches her hand, she jerks away slightly. Not far, not long, before she grabs it. A lot of the building anxiety leaks out of the introverted Telluric. "Thank you," she says, finally, relatively quietly to Beau. "The couches? I used to walk straight here and there'd be one to the left..." Veronica rubs her fingertips against her cheek, dark eyes narrowed slightly as the other courtiers chime in. "Well that's a bummer," she says, rolling a shoulder back in a more casual fashion. "Guess it's probably only a matter of time before one of us does. Yeah," she gestures toward Beau with her bottle. "You seen any of these 'Soundless' jerks yet, Katie?" she asks their councilor, a brow lifting inqusitively. "Or heard anything you can share?" "So I've heard they're saying we're squatting on their turf." Henrik mutters a thank you to Kerrigan, interrupting himself while he takes the offered cookie. Looks like the bake sales started early. He hops in his seat, scoots back into a recline, and flops one leg consisting of old blue jean material and a heavy boot, over his knee. "And I've heard we're supposed to play nice and not start a war or whatever, be nice to the envoys, but no one's going to pack up and leave and the Queen isn't going to roll over." Henrik pauses to crunch down on the cookie. His eyes remain low, hidden beneath the brim of his ballcap. "We should be ready for that." Henrik's voice is muffled by his chewing. "Fock-all knows Summer will be." Katie's habitual smirk grows a touch at Beau's mention of councilors, but she doesn't comment. Not until Veronica asks her directly. With a shake of her head, she says, "Nope. Council voted that we're to leave them alone for now, to keep our distance as if we're so damned important. Waykeepers and Custodians are handling investigations. There's talk of organizing scouting parties, seeing if we can figure out where their little playground twenty-miles out might be. Ava, Ashe, AJ." Points of contact, but she doesn't explicitly specify what the list is meant to be. Instead, she tips her head toward Henrik. "It doesn't sound like they came to play nice. Until we know what we're up against, though." She flashes a grim smile, playing grudgingly patient, sure they'll have a chance to do something before this is all through. Ridley throws nothing; rather, the bird jerks it's beak towards Kerrigan at her office - then, turning back to Ridley, it ... baps him across the back of the head with one wing before taking off and fluttering towards the woman in question. Perching on the table a foot or so infront of her, the charcoal-drawn raven gives her another once over, then the bottle she had been shaking before offering a rather formal sort of bow; one wing extending, the other tucking across it's breast as it tips forwards bodily. For his part, Ridley just gives the thing another long suffering, sideways look even while reaching back in a patently useless attempt to straighten his hair again. Sniffing once more, though, the Squire turns back to the rest. "Squatting on _their_ turf? Wasn't aware this was anyone's turf ahead of this - who the hell are these people? Things? People-things?" Beau reaches out to take Sid by the hand. "Sure thing, there's a free seat there." He helps to guide her to the seat in question, keeping his pace matched to hers. "I'd still like to punch one of those damn Soundless right in the mouth. See how soundless they are then." Even though the words lack the heat one might expect from the vehemence, he certainly looks ready to do violence. Kerrigan gives a bit of a smile to Henrik when he thanks her for the cookie, "No problem." she tells him. When the raven settles on the table in front of her there's a bit of a smile and she dips her head at the bow. After that she pours some of the beer out so it's easier for the bird to drink. She then listens to the rest of them talk about the Soundless and keeps notes. "Thank you," Sidonie offers to Beau as he guides her towards the couch. "What sort of snacks did you bring? That cheese isn't bad." Once seated, she takes a long sip of her beer. There's a tilt of her head as she considers. "I think their home is Soundless, not them. But how a home is without sound..." and then she's off, sort of mumbling to herself. "Think about it," Katie chimes in again. "We've been up and running for a year now, with plenty of us present before then. If this was their territory, what were they doing to maintain it? Why weren't they here to help any of us out? If they want to say this land is theirs, they've been doing a piss poor job of looking after it, which I say invalidates their claim." The words come with a shrug and an eye for the beer. Pushing to her feet, she heads over to grab herself a bottle. "No kidding," Veronica frowns, but she tips her head in agreement toward Katie. "Thanks for the beer and food, gang, I gotta jet." With a sarcastic salute, but a far more genuine smile, she waves at the other Dusk courtiers and shoves off the couch to take her leave. "I'm more concerned about jailhouse bullying," Henrik lifts his cookie in salute to Veronica as she takes her leave. "I'm sure the Queen can see it coming from a mile away if that's what this is." Henrik takes another bite from the cookie and looks from Kerrigan to the bird, ever-curious. Beer drinking bird? Oh, right, Hellhound, too. His lips flatten while he chews. "Walk up to a guy at a table in a prison cafeteria? You're in my seat. He moves a seat down? You're in my //other// seat." Henrik pauses, a beat. "You're either scooting down seats until the end of your term, or you're throwing a punch and getting shanked." "Life is too short to not keep track of where your shit is. And if you misplace your territory...then you are doing something wrong." Kerrigan states as her glowing eyes flick to the other Dusks. "They don't have a leg to stand on really. Unless they built their freehold underground where we are." she shakes her head. Then she looks to Henrik and squints at the man, "I have questions later." she tells him. Beer drinking, chalk drawing sort of bird. The thing's all heavy black lines and sharp angles, while the core of it is all but paper white. Likewise, there's very little in the way of shadow and shade about it - resulting in an almost two dimensional, high contrast effect save for the mercury-bead eyes. Said bird returns to fully upright a moment after Kerrigans response - then tips his head forwards and pokes his beak into the little container of beer. And there said beak stays. For an inordinately long time. Ridley seems to have lost interest in the thing once it flew off; instead, the Levinquick's attention returns to the room as a whole. "Aye. I've only been about for a few months now; but I passed through here often enough in years past. This is the first I am hearing of this - and surely the first I've heard of some laying claim to the area. Were I a pessimist, I would think that it was just a group who lurked in the background and let us do all the work clearin' and sorting the place - then decided to walk in and claim eminent domain." Pause. Beat. "As it stands, though; I just think that it was just a group who lurked in the background and let us do all the work clearin' and sorting the place - then decided to walk in and claim eminent domain." "I'll grab you a plate." He mutters to Sid, Beau being nice, who'da thunk. "Are we sure they're not a bunch of loyalists?" The fairest is headed back over to the table, loading up a plate with goodies like he promised. "Wouldn't it be in their interest to work their way in then start eating the freehold alive from the inside?" This is why you keep Dusks around, for their cheery optimism. "The whole thing stinks." Veronica heads out through the tunnel toward the main cavern. "It could be that they just don't pay attention to their territory and now they're jealous they've been caught... how does it go?" Sidonie's French accent doesn't entirely pair with the beer she's drinking. Nor with the cadence of how she speaks. But there it is. "with their pants down?" Yes, she seems satisfied with that. And oh, plate of food! Hooray. "It could all be a lie, also. They may be expanding territory and hoping that we don't call them on the ruse." Katie Jones taps a finger to the side of her nose at something Ridley says, right around that bit about eminent domain. She flops back into her seat, settling right on down into that same lazy slouch, and getting back to her listening. Beer sipped, people chatting, the usually smug elemental almost looks like she's smiling. Maybe. The bottle comes up again, and her expression is right back to resting bitch face by the time it's brought back down to her lap. "Lots of fun possibilities." With a cant of her pale-tressed head, she asks, "You lot been up to anything else? Need help with anything? Not sure I know all of you personally." Henrik peeks an eye out from under his cap, casting it Kerrigan's way. The lift of his lips to one side, breaking the seal of his mouth in a toothy little smirk is the most childlike grin the Chimera could muster. The steel collar trapped around his neck makes him look all the more like a junkyard dog. "I'm sure you do have questions. We'll talk." Henrik taps his boot against hers and then swings his attention to the others. He points to Ridley. "I'm with the non-pessimist pessimist." Henrik speaks up a little. "Any way you cut it, there's some muscling going on here. "Kerrigan's right, too. They don't get to keep shit they can't keep their hands on. Whatever the ruling courts are going to do, we're the paranoid ones who plan for the worst. We should. Aside from that," Henrik motions to Katie. "My schedule's free." One bottle of beer has been drank soley by the bird and the hellhound. Sorry, Ridley! Alocer's big frame leans on Kerrigan and she reaches out to pat his head, "There there." she murmurs to the Hellhound. She then gives a look to Katie, "I've been doin' alright, ma'am." she tells her. Then there's a look to Henrik and she gives him a smile when he speaks up. "Everyone thinks territory wars are all fun and games; then someone invades Poland and suddenly people start taking notice." Ridley's response seems, largely, directed as an aside to Henrik; though it comes with an almost offhanded drag of his fingers up and through his hair - the motion not affecting the constantly windblown silver-white locks in the slightest, it might be noted - then, settling back, the Levinquick rolls that attention back towards Katie. "Ah; Ridley Walkyer;" despite the omnipresent Scottish accent, the surname comes out with a decidedly Germanic twang, almost to the point of 'Vulkeer' or 'Valkeer' or something along those lines. "Harvestman private, Squire of the Broken Bough, general nuisance." That last? Said with as much pomp as the other two titles. General's a rank, right? "And no, I don't believe our paths _have_ crossed before this." As to the bird? Oh yes, it drinks. It drinks whatever is put in front of it - and when it's done, it starts poking around for more. More to the left of it. More to the right. More, perhaps, underneath it - because much like one of those peculiar drinking bird toys, the chalk and charcoal raven tips _all_ the way forward, dipping its head between its own feet in an apparant attempt to check its own tail for stashed booze; an act which only results in it teetering off to one side and abrubtly off the edge of the table, trailing a slew of Gaelic... curses? Love poetry? in it's wake. Katie Jones puts a hand up the instant 'ma'am' comes out of Kerrigan's mouth, that pretty countenance of hers going full-scowl rather quickly. "Katie," she corrects. "Councilor if you've got to be formal. Lady of the Many Dooms. I dunno. But not ma'am." With Ridley's introduction, her expression settles back into its usual undue smugness, and she lifts her beer to the man, issuing a silent toast to their meeting, and offering her own proper intro only after a swig has been swallowed. "Katie Jones. Nothing fancy. Just your representative to the Council until you all elect someone you find more fitting to the task." The descending gaelic earns a curious pass of mist-grey eyes, but her attention passes on to Henrik, and she asks, "What's your worst case scenario? Bad as it can get?" "Loyalists, slavery, four-seasons putting their interests first and leaving the rest to the Polish ghettos?" Henrik sways his eyes from Kerrigan, over to Katie, and the words come out without a second's hesitation. He does, however, make a gun hand and k-pow at Ridley at the mention of Poland. Henrik pauses for a sip of his beer and leans back against his chair, lifting his head enough to make eye contact with the Dusk's elected leader. "I've seen Apartheid, Katie." Henrik shakes his head a mite. "We dabble in darker shit than Apartheid and the Queen hasn't had his spine tested. If they want land and he bends, we'll feel it first." His head ticks a little further. "If they're loyalists or mad enough to make a few good deals over privateers to bump us off? Smaller courts go first. Fringe gets fokked." A beat passes. "You know how it is. They love us Dusk downhill when they want to escape big clouds n' shit." "Cheese on that, please-" Sidonie calls in what she's assuming is Beau's general direction. "Lots of cheese. And anything sweet." Because gatherings with food always have sweet things, right? Otherwise the oracle is largely just listening. Kerrigan gives a dip of her head when Katie puts the hand up and an apologetic look, "Alright Katie." she tells her. Then there's a look back to the Henrik when he gets asked a question and she settles back to see what he says. When that bit of news comes out though she looks at the man thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything. Beau says, "I prefer the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities if we're handing out titles." Beau returns with the plate of goodies and places it in Sid's hands with a, "Here you go." He finds his old place on the couch, dropping down and probably shifting the furniture a bit from his bulk hitting the couch. "Even if they are going after the smaller courts first, you know we Dusks aren't going down without making them pay for it. That's what we're for."" "They elect _me_." The response is abrupt, almost knee jerk, as Ridley casts a glance towards Katie once more; sideways, though otherwise neutral in both expression and delivery. It fades a heartbeat or two later, though, into that lopsided little half smile of his as he first rolls his head to the opposite side, then angles forwards to brace his heels on the ground and jack-knife to his feet. "Oh, sorry; you meant the _other_ worst case scenario, didn't you?" While that comes with a differntial nod towards Henrik, and his response, Ridley's tone does remain in that peculiar sort of neutrality that might make it somewhat unclear if he was being facetious or not. "Still, as to that lot; I think you've got the right of it." That, with another tilt of his chin Henrik-wards. "Destabilization always works best when one's fighting a covert war against a larger enemy force. It sows confusion and misinformation. 'Das Dicke Ende Kommt Noch', wasn't it?" So his pronunciation is off - spoken more as someone reciting a phrase from memory than a native - but the Levinquick does seem to at least know the reference well. Or well enough. "Anyroad; I'd best get this one out of here before he proposes marriage to the vitrine again." And that, spoken as if it was something that happened often enough to be wearisome - as he scoops up the somewhat floppy - and still muttering - raven-thing in one hand and begins to make his way towards the door. "Marriage is not so bad." Sidonie offers this in parting words to Ridley. She balances the plate carefully in her lap after Beau has provided it. "Thank you." She then lapses into just sort of snacking on whatever's been provided... while being careful in case it's a messy fingerfood. Katie Jones makes a quiet sound that might pass for laughter, some of that mist which clings to her rippling with what might be mirth, the look angled Beau's way suggesting he might be the inspiration for that hint of humor. A more obvious snort of amusement comes for Ridley's worst case scenario, an actual smile taking shape. With a bow of her pale-tressed head toward the man saving the sort-of-raven from a life of wedded not-so-bad, she lifts her beer, drinks to him again, then settles her attention back on Henrik. "Then we make ourselves invaluable. We make sure there's unity, that our message is heard and our assistance noticed." Henrik watches Katie, then begins a slow nodding of the old, black Bruins cap on his head. The stylized 'B' rises and falls while he considers her words, openly agreeing with them. "Wise. Fuck, this means that I'll have to be social." Henrik looks over to Kerrigan at his side with a faint smirk, like a cowboy that doesn't ever smile //too// much if he can help it. "I'll make sure everyone's got my cell and hang out around their businesses. Free set of eyes, but like my man over here," Henrik looks away from his stare at Kerrigan to point to Beau. "Any of these Soundless break the no-touch rule I'm gonna want to touch them back." Kerrigan looks over to Ridley and there's a laugh, "I think you'd be fine." she tells the man. Then there's a wave as he takes the bird and goes. "And I agree, Marriage isn't so bad." she nods. When Henrik is all talkative, the Nightsinger seems to be happy with it. "We'll just have to be careful and not break any of the no touch rules." she agrees with Henrik and the rest. When Henrik mentions a free set of eyes, Sidonie's expression goes into a bit of a moue. She doesn't say anything, no. She just eats a bit more and drinks her beer. "Tch. Her family's Anglican, his is Aghori. It'd never work out." Ridley's response might seem a bit more than a little dryly amused - offered as it is towards both Kerrigan and Sidonie. "Though by and large I'd agree with you; providing one can find the right china cabinet. Good evening, the lot of you. I'm sure we'll run across one another again." And with that, he heads towards the egress; only to pause, abrubtly, as if striking an invisible wall. That hold lingers for a breath or two, before he chimes in "Unless we don't." Whatever that was, it seems to hold his attention for a few seconds longer - so much so that the Levinquick seemingly tunes out of the world again whilst crossing the threshold and exiting. "Or a set of ears, fuck," Henrik's voice sounds like laughter, even though his face doesn't show it. All of it seems to bring the Chimera to a place where social life leads to to exhaustion. He sips the last of his beer, sets it down, then rubs the back of his neck above the metal collar that's stuck on him. "Everybody make sure you've got my number before you leave. I'll never //not// answer a nine-one-one, just don't call me for marriage advice at two in the morning. Please." Crunch. Henrik shuffles back into place, eyes under his hat, and jams the last of the cookie into his mouth. Beau must have been up pretty early, or maybe was more beers in than was obvious. He's shut his eyes, just listening to the conversation and inserting the occasional grunt of agreement or disagreement. Fairly soon he's slumped a bit on the couch, a soft snoring coming from him.
"He'll fit in the jeep." Henrik looks down to the hellhound and sizes the thing up. He rolls his lip piercing against his teeth, head shifting left and right to calculate just how he's going to carry the thing. Freed of his beer, the large, muscular Chimera brushes cookie crumbs off of his hands and waves to Katie in her exit. "He'll prolly wake up if we stop for food." Grunt. Henrik crouches down and gathers the hellbeast in his arms and turns, heading for the door. "Shit. Keys. Right pocket." | |
