[Imogen] The same pub, a few hours later.
A band has picked up on stage, raucous and loud, with simple musical arrangements and shouted, unintelligible words.
Imogen has a half drunk beer in front of her, and her eyes are on the stage. Her eyebrows have drawn in, a 'v' of distaste. Bob left some time ago.
"I don't know about you," she says, "but I believe I've given up on this band."
[Kora] "I think I've about given up on the bar," Kora adds, "no matter how decent the beer is. Though I could do with a breath of fresh air." Standing, then, picking up her own beer. She has had several, but the signs are minute. The glaze of light over her dark eyes, perhaps, or the loose way she stands, her shoulders level if not so straight, her spine easy, her stance more casual, more careless than it often is.
There is a small patio outside. It was popular at midday, when the sun was high and the air warm, but there is something cool about the breeze peeling in off the lake, now. Most of the remaining patrons have drifted inside, crowded together amidst the warmth and the light and the noise. Out here, someone has lowered and secured the umbrellas, lashed them up. Most of the chairs have been upended over the ironworked tables, the concrete swept clean. There are ashtrays here and there, scattered around as much for the convenience of the staff as the patrons. Kora carries her own beer loosely in her right hand, holding it against her torso as she walks, her elbow out, braced, to keep the changing crowd from bumping her drink and spilling it. That is a position of long practice, as is her ease of motion through the crowd, sinuous, sliding.
Outside, she finds a position against the still-warmed brick of the building, leaning back, dark eyes trailing up toward the sliver of the sky evident between the deep corridor of high-rise condos and office buildings.
[Imogen] Imogen has drunk more slowly than Kora. She is slighter, though her alcohol tolerance is high, she is not fond of inebriation in front of those of the Blood.
That is not to say that she is as sober as a judge. However, there is little to show for her consumption as she gets to her feet, and moves through the crowd, who parts for Kora like the Red Sea for Moses.
She breathes in deeply as they step outside, the exhaust-laced air far more pleasant than the heat choked air inside. She, too, carries her pint glass, and she sets it down on a nearby table as she reaches into her purse.
Far more attractive than fresh air: being able to smoke after hours of abstinence. She retrieves a cigarette from a bronze-plated metal case, and lights it with a matching zippo.
[Kora] The night air is blessedly cool after the bar, which was warm from the long, brilliant day - rich with all the promises of the summer to come - and grew only warmer as the ground grew, sifted together, filtered out. All those warm bodies in such a close space. All that hot air, the dilatory effects of alcohol - the air crowded with the noise of an indifferent band that gets by on sufferance - and the strength of the handful of Pogues songs they slip into an otherwise indifferent catalogue.
There is a quiet moment, then. Imogen lights her cigarette. The sharp scent of smoke fills the air, acrid and clear, cutting through the oily taint of car exhaust and chicken wings and fish and chips.
The street here is quiet; a sidestreet. Still, cars cut past them, windows rolled down, the music passing, an indistinct counterpoint to the rattle and hum of the band inside. "No more problems, then," Kora doesn't look at Imogen as she says this. She has one hand behind her, cushioning her stance against the brick wall, the other wrapped around the beer glass, held against her stomach. Her eyes are on the street, the shadow of the buildings against the orange painted sky. " - since the other night, yeah?"
[Imogen] She inhales deeply on her cigarette, turning her head slightly to exhale smoke, away and upward, her gaze moving to follow the smoke as it disperses.
Kora's question draws her attention earthward. "What problems should I ha' expected?" she enquires, rather than answering the question.
[Kora] "I don't know." It is a minute shift from her usual directness, but there's not sense of prevarication to the words. Kora is otherwise still as she lifts the glass to her mouth, takes a drink, an aura of meditation about her as she stares out into the darkness. "Out of the way crime scenes. No police support?
"Budget cuts haven't been that bad." Kora turns her head then, sidelong, her features sharp in profile, softened only by the neutral curve of her expressive mouth. Her dark eyes gleam with reflected light. The look back is clear, controlled. " - have they?"
[Imogen] "Ah."
The word is short, sharp, meaningless.
"I wasn't there on police business," she says, another drag and several seconds later. "The woman had a," her hand lifts to her mouth, gesturing aimlessly, "a forked tongue, and I saw it while I was out."
A pause, a shrug.
"I followed her back so I could find out where she stayed. Direct full-bloods to her later."
Her mouth twists.
"It didn't quite work out that way."
[Kora] "That's good to know," Kora returns, her voice rich and low as her attention shears away from the other woman. This is how she passes it off, now, her dark eyes rising upward again, toward the cut of the sky visible between the buildings. " - about the budget cuts."
That's all she says, before finishing up the rest of her beer. Setting the glass aside on a nearby table with a faint clink, drawing herself up to her full height. "Thanks for the company, doc," she finishes, the flash of her familiar, faintly edged half-smile clear. " - have a safe night."
[Imogen] That's good to know about budget cuts, Kora says.
Imogen smirks, faintly, lifting her cigarette back to her mouth again. "Isn't it just," she says dryly.
The Fenrir moves to make her leave, and Imogen's gaze follows her. "You as well," she says and watches as the Skald heads off the patio and out onto the sidewalk.
The kinwoman does not stay out much longer. She finishes her beer, she finishes her cigarette.
She walks home.
[Kora] (SCENE!)
A band has picked up on stage, raucous and loud, with simple musical arrangements and shouted, unintelligible words.
Imogen has a half drunk beer in front of her, and her eyes are on the stage. Her eyebrows have drawn in, a 'v' of distaste. Bob left some time ago.
"I don't know about you," she says, "but I believe I've given up on this band."
[Kora] "I think I've about given up on the bar," Kora adds, "no matter how decent the beer is. Though I could do with a breath of fresh air." Standing, then, picking up her own beer. She has had several, but the signs are minute. The glaze of light over her dark eyes, perhaps, or the loose way she stands, her shoulders level if not so straight, her spine easy, her stance more casual, more careless than it often is.
There is a small patio outside. It was popular at midday, when the sun was high and the air warm, but there is something cool about the breeze peeling in off the lake, now. Most of the remaining patrons have drifted inside, crowded together amidst the warmth and the light and the noise. Out here, someone has lowered and secured the umbrellas, lashed them up. Most of the chairs have been upended over the ironworked tables, the concrete swept clean. There are ashtrays here and there, scattered around as much for the convenience of the staff as the patrons. Kora carries her own beer loosely in her right hand, holding it against her torso as she walks, her elbow out, braced, to keep the changing crowd from bumping her drink and spilling it. That is a position of long practice, as is her ease of motion through the crowd, sinuous, sliding.
Outside, she finds a position against the still-warmed brick of the building, leaning back, dark eyes trailing up toward the sliver of the sky evident between the deep corridor of high-rise condos and office buildings.
[Imogen] Imogen has drunk more slowly than Kora. She is slighter, though her alcohol tolerance is high, she is not fond of inebriation in front of those of the Blood.
That is not to say that she is as sober as a judge. However, there is little to show for her consumption as she gets to her feet, and moves through the crowd, who parts for Kora like the Red Sea for Moses.
She breathes in deeply as they step outside, the exhaust-laced air far more pleasant than the heat choked air inside. She, too, carries her pint glass, and she sets it down on a nearby table as she reaches into her purse.
Far more attractive than fresh air: being able to smoke after hours of abstinence. She retrieves a cigarette from a bronze-plated metal case, and lights it with a matching zippo.
[Kora] The night air is blessedly cool after the bar, which was warm from the long, brilliant day - rich with all the promises of the summer to come - and grew only warmer as the ground grew, sifted together, filtered out. All those warm bodies in such a close space. All that hot air, the dilatory effects of alcohol - the air crowded with the noise of an indifferent band that gets by on sufferance - and the strength of the handful of Pogues songs they slip into an otherwise indifferent catalogue.
There is a quiet moment, then. Imogen lights her cigarette. The sharp scent of smoke fills the air, acrid and clear, cutting through the oily taint of car exhaust and chicken wings and fish and chips.
The street here is quiet; a sidestreet. Still, cars cut past them, windows rolled down, the music passing, an indistinct counterpoint to the rattle and hum of the band inside. "No more problems, then," Kora doesn't look at Imogen as she says this. She has one hand behind her, cushioning her stance against the brick wall, the other wrapped around the beer glass, held against her stomach. Her eyes are on the street, the shadow of the buildings against the orange painted sky. " - since the other night, yeah?"
[Imogen] She inhales deeply on her cigarette, turning her head slightly to exhale smoke, away and upward, her gaze moving to follow the smoke as it disperses.
Kora's question draws her attention earthward. "What problems should I ha' expected?" she enquires, rather than answering the question.
[Kora] "I don't know." It is a minute shift from her usual directness, but there's not sense of prevarication to the words. Kora is otherwise still as she lifts the glass to her mouth, takes a drink, an aura of meditation about her as she stares out into the darkness. "Out of the way crime scenes. No police support?
"Budget cuts haven't been that bad." Kora turns her head then, sidelong, her features sharp in profile, softened only by the neutral curve of her expressive mouth. Her dark eyes gleam with reflected light. The look back is clear, controlled. " - have they?"
[Imogen] "Ah."
The word is short, sharp, meaningless.
"I wasn't there on police business," she says, another drag and several seconds later. "The woman had a," her hand lifts to her mouth, gesturing aimlessly, "a forked tongue, and I saw it while I was out."
A pause, a shrug.
"I followed her back so I could find out where she stayed. Direct full-bloods to her later."
Her mouth twists.
"It didn't quite work out that way."
[Kora] "That's good to know," Kora returns, her voice rich and low as her attention shears away from the other woman. This is how she passes it off, now, her dark eyes rising upward again, toward the cut of the sky visible between the buildings. " - about the budget cuts."
That's all she says, before finishing up the rest of her beer. Setting the glass aside on a nearby table with a faint clink, drawing herself up to her full height. "Thanks for the company, doc," she finishes, the flash of her familiar, faintly edged half-smile clear. " - have a safe night."
[Imogen] That's good to know about budget cuts, Kora says.
Imogen smirks, faintly, lifting her cigarette back to her mouth again. "Isn't it just," she says dryly.
The Fenrir moves to make her leave, and Imogen's gaze follows her. "You as well," she says and watches as the Skald heads off the patio and out onto the sidewalk.
The kinwoman does not stay out much longer. She finishes her beer, she finishes her cigarette.
She walks home.
[Kora] (SCENE!)
Post a Comment