Place: Brownstone, Basement
Time: It is currently 14:55 Pacific Time on Mon Feb 28 2005.
Moon Phase: Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (67% full).
Weather: Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 56 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 18 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.90 and falling, and the relative humidity is 59 percent. The dewpoint is 42 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)
Brownstone -- Basement Apt.(#3328RJ)
The basement of the brownstone has been split into two sections. The stairwell leads down into the northwest corner section, which contains the boiler room, furnace, and the elevator shaft. The rest has been converted into another apartment, and Signe's made it into a rather fortified one at that. The only entrance is through a re-enforced steel door with no less than three dead-bolts. There are absolutely no windows at all in any of the four concrete and brick walls. It's a rather stark but functional space. Overhead, the air ducts and plumbing pipes are exposed, while the cement floor is covered by a ragged dark wine and gold Oriental throw rug. A makeshift shelving unit of two-by-fours and cinder block has been erected along the length of the wall with the door, and it houses a stereo, tv and old vcr. Directly opposite this is a beat-up leather couch and two mismatched recliners. The kitchen is small but functional, with a round wooden table and four chairs. Half of the back end of the building has been walled off for a private bedroom, while the rest is open to the living area. This space has been converted into a home gym--complete with wrestling mats, weights, and a full weight boxing bag.
At a little over five foot tall and with a slim build, KL is hardly
awe-inspiring on first sight. She appears to be around seventeen years
old and still carries a teenager's air of disenchantment and irritation.
Her mid-length mousy-brown hair is brushed back out of her eyes and behind her ears. It's not exactly styled, as it appears to have been hacked at without any hint of hairdressing expertise, but it's at least had contact with a brush at some point recently. She would be quite attractive - in particular she has a very cute, upturned, nose - were it not for the sullen and aggressive set of her mouth and the hostility of her gaze. Her hazelnut eyes look out with disappointment and poorly hidden anger, as if the world were a holiday villa that didn't match the travel agent's description. Her skin is oddly pale, and on her right shoulder-blade a two-inch-square tattoo of a winged horse visible. Physically, she's well proportioned, and her bare arms show a tight musculature that speaks of regular exercise.
She's got a habit of slouching and of leaning up against any available support. When she forgets to slouch, however, she moves with a surprising degree of grace and compact poise.
She is wearing a faded and beaten up pair of blue jeans that are just a little too large for her, and have holes in the knees, a pair of worn combat boots and a faded red tank top with "And your little doggy too!" emblazoned across the front. The tank top has a badly-repaired tear across the chest, causing the word "little" to be have its second "t" deformed. Similarly, the jeans have a set of unrepaired holes on her left thigh, pale skin showing behind the rents.
Standing tall about six foot five, Brom has the body of a brick wall.
He obviously works out on an obsessive basis. His arms are thick and
his chest broad, giving off the look of perhaps a well in shape
football player. He has a pair of intense blue eyes that always seem to
border on anger, and a well developed scowl.
Brom has long hair to about his shoulders, a dirty dark blonde that is typically tied up into a tight pony tail, pulled back from his head. He has a jagged looking scar along his neck that dips down into his shirt, and a few more along his arms that appear to have been made by claw marks. He tends to dress very plainly, a pair of beat up blue jeans with slashes and holes in them, a tight fitted black muscle shirt and a beat up looking leather jacket. Shit kicker boots adorn his feet and a large belt buckle with the picture of an axe on it.
Picture... Best reference I could find for him, for White Bear's relief, no, he doesn't wax his chest, he's manly and probably has hair. Also, he wouldn't have much of a beard, perhaps a scruff on his chin and not as old. Brom is in his early 20's.
There is a loud grunting noise from the back of the weight room, where Brom is spread out on his back, pushing up a good three hundred and fifty pounds of weight over his chest on the bench press. He is shirtless, revealing his scarred up chest and arms, sweat soaking his body, teeth grinding together. Despite the amount of weight, he handles it easily as the bar rises and falls with each steady rep.
There's a loud click as the door handle is turned, and KL slouches in to the apartment, a carrier bag from a local grocery store in one hand. She lets the door slam behind her, and says "Hi Gu..." in a cheerful voice, before doing a double-take. "You're not Gunnar." She lets the bag fall to the floor with a small thud.
Clink. The bar is set back in place as Brom stands to his full towering height, slowly cracking his neck from one side of the other. "I am indeed not Gunnar. Who are you?" He asks, leveling his intense blue eyes downwards towards the girl, arms crossing over his broad chest.
KL matches the stance, folding her arms across her chest, though the massive difference in height and size probably renders this gesture unimpressive. "I'm KL." she says. "A friend of Emma's. Who are you?" Her eyes are hard, staring up at Brom, and one nostril flares as lifts her head defiantly.
The eyes of the Get are unwavering as he gazes back at the Fury, tightly furrowing into a hard glare. "I am Brom. I am staying here and family to Emma. If you are here, then you have more to your name then two letters. So what's the rest of it?" He asks with a thick rumble echoing in the back of his throat.
"I don't give full introductions to people who might be fucking burglars." KL says. Obviously, a burglar who's come to...use the gym equipment. "I am KL Cole, rited Escapes-From-Money originally in the Sept of the Broken Circle in Denver, Colorado. I am a Cliath Ahroun of the Black Furies." She grins, somewhat unpleasantly. "Your turn?" This is said with an insolent flick of her head, her mousy brown hair bouncing with the motion.
".. Fury?" Brom says with disbelief. "I think you are in the wrong spot in the city. Don't you have a house sitting near the bawn for you to go and bake brownies at?" The tone is condescending, crude and rough as he growls out his own introduction. "Brom Gustaffson, Rips off the Face of the Forath, Forsetti Cliath for the -Great- Get of Fenrir of the White Oak Sept in Ohio, once Alpha of the mighty Duatha-Bloth pack, son of Samson Gustaffson, Voice Which Cries Havoc Adren Skald, Grandson of Thorn Gustaffson, Claws which deliver the final blow, Modi Hero who gave his life destroying the Broken Handed Hive."
There's a moments pause, KL is frozen in the spot. She blinks twice, disbelief evident on her face. "Bake...fucking...brownies?" The words come out slowly, with a hint of wonderment about them. Her cheeks redden, and the muscles on her arms tense. "Fuck you and the poor fucking horse you rode in on. You fucking testosterone-loaded regressive fuckwit." Arms drop to her sides, and she kicks the bag of groceries against the wall behind her. As it settles, milk starts to flow out of it and onto the floor. She glares at Brom, chest heaving as she breathes deeply, eyes misted with fury.
"Reg... re.. whatever fuckwit?!" Brom grunts, watching the groceries fly across the room. "I don't ride a horse, I ride a fucking Harley, you stupid, short... woman." Obviously, he isn't the greatest when it comes to insulting others and 'name' calling. "Fuck you too." He finally spits out, then makes his way to the bag, grumbling, starting to pick up the mess.
"That's fucking fine. You go and do the fucking chores, tidy and clean...because you're fucking scared to actually face me like you had any fucking honour." KL spits the words, turning to follow Brom's movement. There's not much trace of rationality on either her face or in her words.
Twitch. "Are you challenging me?" Brom asks, dropping the milk jug with a thump upon the ground as it splashes out across his boots. Turning, he whirls on her, eyes blazed over in fury, then starts over towards her. "For your sake, it better not be, because I don't like to beat up on midgets." He says with a growl, eyes narrowed to blue, rage filled pin pricks.
"Like you fucking beat up on Kevin? Breaking his fucking leg? I think you like beating up on midgets fucking _plenty_." KL is starting to lose it rather. Her hands clutch reflexively at thin air and her eyes are fixed on the centre of Brom's chest.
Blink. "I didn't beat up on Kevin! I was teaching him how to fight properly and to protect himself in Crinos! I broke his leg an he fucking healed it right back up! What did he do, cry to you? That fucking pussy. He deserves to be with the Nintendo tribe if he's going to cry about it!" Brom roars out, his chest swelling up. "I really liked that fucking kid and I was hoping he'd turn out to be a fine Rotagar, its not my fault he has balls the size of fucking peas."
KL looks confused, the anger momentarily subsiding. "He joined the fucking glasswalkers? Why? I thought he was all set for you guys?" She shakes her head. "I knew he was a whiner...but..."
Punching the wall as he storms past her, Brom growls loudly. "I even let him stick a knife in me so that he can see that taking a deadly wound won't fucking kill you!" He grips his fists together tightly, then hisses out a loud breath, seething. "Fucking.. fuck fuck... FUCK!" He makes his way back to the weight room and starts hammering into the small bag.
KL looks around her. "Excuse me...weren't we discussing something?" she says in a low voice. "Before you brought that fucking cub into it?" She's still standing in the middle of the floor, half in a combat stance.
"I didn't bring up Kevin, you did." Brom says as he throws one hard punch after the other into the bag, sending it careening side to side with each focused blow. "An I forgot what we were arguing about." He grunts out. ".. fucking pussy cub.. ganna fucking ..knock him out soon as he becomes a Cliath." He lets out a hard, angry breath.
"If I remember correctly," KL says, sounding rather disgruntled. "You told me to go bake fucking brownies, and I told you...something about a horse." She re-folds her arms across her chest. "And I think I'd prefer it if you came and took a swing at me rather than that fucking punchbag." A little of the old flame kicks into that, but the moment of fury has passed, rather.
Brom catches the bag on rebound and turns around, letting out a quick breath, then looks her up and down. "You want me to hit you?" He asks, looking a bit confused.
KL looks Brom up and down. "Look...I can't go and live in the Fury house because I can't get a fucking key because I've not managed to meet up with the fucking Elder since I came back. So I'm going to be around here a bit, when I'm not sleeping in a hedge. Now...we can go at it a couple more times, or we can go at it now. Your call."
"What is up with this Sept an the fact the Elder's are never around? It took me nearly a week and a half to finally meet Signe-Rhya." Brom grunts out in a snort, then lets out a breath. "Look, as much as I'd /love/ to go at it with you, for the sake of Signe's home, we probably shouldn't. I came to the West to start my life over and that even means changing my ways. As a Half Moon, I am entitled to live up to my New Year's Resolution. How about if we start over and I pretend to not be a jackass for ten minutes?"
KL considers this offer, cocking her head on one side. "Yeah. Sure." She sticks out a hand, leaving the other arm across her chest. "Pleased to meet you. I'm KL Cole, Cliath Ahroun of the Black Furies." She pauses, a rueful grin appearing on her lips. "Are you sure we can't spar a bit?"
Brom reaches out and takes the Fury's hand, giving it a firm shake, then steps back quickly, almost as if he was expecting a sucker punch of sorts. "You're making this hard for me to hate you. If you want to spar, I suggest we go to the Barn, that way we don't destroy anything of the Jarl's. I do not wish for Signe Rhya to come after me with a big knife."
KL nods slowly. "Yeah, you're probably right. I rather want to get into her good books, and I've only seen her to wave at a couple of times. Tearing up her house would be a real bad start." She glances over at the grocery bag and its trail of spilt milk. "Fuck..."
Brom glances to the groceries, then makes his way over, snagging up the bag on the way to the kitchen. "I'm sure the rest of your brownie mix is intact." He shoots her a quick grin over his shoulder before disappearing around the door way.
Foot stamps on floor. "I do not make _fucking_ brownies." KL says angrily. There's a pause. "Oh. Joke. Yeah. Well...I still don't make them." She reddens in embarrassment, then slouches over and picks up a cloth. "Better clean up the milk slick."
"Too bad, I like brownies." Brom says with a chuckle as he starts to unpack your things, sniffing some of them, then starts to stick them in the cupboard and fridge. "So KL, how did you manage to get on the good side of the Get here? Am I right in assuming that the West /is/ completely relaxed?"
"I met Emma. We had a discussion in the barn...which left us both at a standstill." KL shrugs. "I don't know. I've not been able to talk to the Fury elder about it. All I know is that I quite like Emma." She starts mopping up the milk with her cloth, somewhat lacksadaiscally.
Brom nods his head slowly as he thinks of this. "Emma seems to like everyone." He flashes a quick grin, then rolls his broad shoulders back a bit. "We did not have many Fury in the White Oak. I've only had a few encounters with your tribe in the past and they never been on good terms." He pauses for a moment, then grunts. "You guys are good fighters." He admits.
This gets a genuine grin from KL. "I try to live up to the standards of my tribe." She says, from her crouching and mopping position. "It was probably good for you that you didn't take that swing." The grin becomes more cheeky. "Yeah. Our tribes have a history that will colour...stuff. But I'm not overburdened with friends here."
Brom smirks slightly at that. "It was good for me to not take that swing? I already knocked out Dillen, Emma and some guy named Auggie, who's a Hippie Ahroun. I'm no slouch. I've been a Get of Fenrir, rited five years now in a very violent Sept. Fighting is all that I know, even if I am a Half Moon." He shifts his shoulders back a bit. "At least you are confident and I like that. We definitely will have our spar soon." He says with a big grin. "An if I knock your ass out, I promise to not brag about it."
The "knocked out Emma" bit causes KL to blink a couple of times. "Yeah - I'm looking forward to it." Is there just the slightest hint of uncertainty behind this? Nah...surely not. Anyway, she finishes mopping up the spilt milk and flips the cloth back onto the kitchen sink. "There. All cleared up." She grins. "So don't let anyone say I never clear up after myself."
Grinning, Brom nods his head, then makes his way past you, giving your shoulder a thump as he goes. "I need to get out and stretch my legs some. It was good meeting you KL of the Furies. Hopefully you can knock your Elder out on her ass for not seeing you sooner."