That Sister of Mine Got Me Punched

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s actually semi-up. By “semi-up,” that means that she’s in the common room, half-dozing and half-staring at the television. Sarita has problems sleeping in a room by herself, with the amount of traveling she’s done with her sister these days. God have pity on her poor sleep schedule if one of them ever moves out and leaves the other one behind.

At this point, it’s informercial time. She’s blinking, awake JUST enough to be flipping through the channels and mumbling.

“Don’t need a bigger dick…don’t need jullianne fry maker…don’t need Soft Rock of the 70s…don’t need industrial-strength carpet cleaner…”

And so it goes.

[John] In about twelve hours, the males of Defiance will be incapable of going out in public without scaring the majority of humans whose paths they come across.

That isn’t what the Fenrir of the pair is thinking about as they mount the stairs for the second time in twenty-four hours, he once again taking the lead, as if acknowledging that this is his bed that he has made, that he is the one who has to lie in it. At this point he just wants to push the bed into the fucking river and start sleeping on the floor like he used to, but that’s neither here nor there. He isn’t here to talk to Amy. He has determined already that there is absolutely zero point in talking to Amy.

It’s hard enough to get other people to listen to him when he can’t fucking talk, but when they won’t read what he writes, either, that makes the endeavor all the more fruitless and frustrating.

At any rate, the two males–one green-eyed and bulky and the other blue-eyed and unshaven–appear at the head of the stairs as Sarita is bemoaning the lack of engaging programming at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning. John’s eyes only briefly flick to the large television to frown at what it is she’s doing, then lifts his head in a nod. It isn’t as gregarious as the one he tossed her the last time they met, yet he isn’t slinking, either. He simply isn’t in a mirthful mood this morning.

He gestures between the Ragabash and himself with a questioning expression, then furrows his brow and makes a gabbing motion with his left hand. The closest translation is Can we talk?

His Alpha and translator’s presence wouldn’t suggest that it’s actually a choice she has, but at least the hulking Modi is attempting diplomacy.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She blinks twice, sitting up when she hears footsteps coming up to the landing of the common room. She looks over John and Hunter and then rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Oh hey, hola…” She yawns and pops her neck to either direction.

When she realizes that this isn’t a casual ‘Yo, what’s up’ type visit, she blinks once more to get a little more alert. As John does the gesturing, she seems to get the gist of it and sighs. She has that look on her face of weary resignation, like you know that a piece of birdshit is about land on your head, but you also know that you can’t avoid it. Might as well put of the Wile E. Coyote sign that says “Ulp!” and get the shampoo ready. Sarita sighs and nods in acknowledgment of the request to talk.

“What did she do this time?”

[Hunter] “Let’s get some air ye’?”

He says this to Sarita, flicks his head towards the stairs and then waits for the two of them to hustle their way first up towards the roof. The door pushes open and there’s actually the faint glow of sun on the horizon, today might be a nice day despite the fact that it is freezing cold. The weather doesn’t bother the Modi nor the Gnawer though he tips his chin down into the popped collars of his coat and reaches inside his pocket.

A packet of cigarettes is taken out, Camel no filters and a worn zippo. He pops one in his mouth, lights it and then offers the pack to the two of them once the door has closed behind him. The rooftop has snow in places, a lot of it has been lost by the few reasonably pleasant days since the epic storm but it is there in patches, in the corners and shadow of the building. There are blood stains up here, tales of fights long since passed.

“So we gots ourself a problem.”

[John] John accepts the cigarette. Knowing sign language from any country known to man would not help him if the rest of the Nation doesn’t know it, either; his hands are as useless as his throat in engaging in a conversation like this, and as much as the stereotypical Modi loathes asking for help, asking his people to tend to his sickness, this isn’t a sickness. That’s on his parents, so far as most emotionally stable Garou are concerned, and he does the best he can with what he has to work with.

Unfortunately, this means using his bound packmates as a mouthpiece when he has to have a serious discussion with another Garou. For what it’s worth, he looks at Sarita when Hunter talks, and at Hunter when he’s relaying what it is he wants said. He doesn’t wince when Hunter speaks, though he knows damned well that he’s going to put his own delightful flourish on the information.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She follows along to the outside, popping her own cigarette into her mouth. She squints, looking around the outside as she lights up. She has a feeling this is not going to be a very pleasant conversation, but she’s an optimist. She’s hoping to be surprised.

“What, because my sister has a thing for you and doesn’t know how the hell to deal with it?” She gets the just of what’s going on here, and she’s looking at John when she speaks, though she throws an occasional glance to Hunter so that she’s not ignoring the Gnawer. She’s not hostile or defensive around these two. She’s just a little tired at the moment.

[Hunter] He nods his head to Sarita’s words, hands over the lighter to John and pulls his own cigarette from his lips after inhaling. A breath of smoke filled with frosty steam, bill hicks would be waiting for Hunter to pass out from exhaling. He doesn’t.

“S’part’a it. She knows what John here is, keeps on houndin’ him anyway.”

His eyes flick to John and he nods confirmation.

“John gotta’ text ta’ show ya’. Says it’s dishonourable for her ta’ be tryn’a get more’n a mistake outta’ John, dishonourable for ya’ ta’ let her.”

A quick puff.

“I agrees.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She frowns. Trying to get more than a mistake out of John? Something about that sentence doesn’t seem to register to the woman. Whatever it means, she’s sure that she’s going to find out, so she doesn’t bother asking. She just gives a little nod, exhaling a drag of smoke, and holds out her hand.

“A’ight. Let’s see it.”

[John] The Modi plugs the cigarette between his lips and pulls the cell phone, already scratched and battered despite being less than a week old, out of his hip pocket. Frowning against the drifting cigarette smoke, he awkwardly pecks through the screen with his index finger until he finds the last message he received, sometime yesterday afternoon. Rotating the phone, he hands it off to Sarita.

From Amunet, it reads:
Just.. fucking let me know if you want this to be something or not. I’m not going to make an ass of myself any more than I already have. I told you how I feel. Ball’s in your court. Text me back if you want something. Don’t bother if you don’t.

[Hunter] “This from yesterday,” Hunter adds.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the phone, reads the message. Her brow furrows, a bit of a frown coming up on her face. She looks between the two, eyes hitting John first, then Hunter and back to John. And then she hands the phone back to John. The Strider obviously understands the words on the phone, but there’s confusion there.

“So you guys think it’s dishonorable…what? That she’s interested in John and wants to be in a relationship with him? That she’s chasing him? I’m not getting the dishonor here.”

She looks at John. “She has a romantic interest in you. She knows what you are. It doesn’t matter. She has problems expressing such a thing, and as such she may be a bit…” She pauses. “Poorly-worded about it. But she’s asking if you are interested in being involved with her. If you don’t want to be, then tell her that. Just please don’t NOT tell her. Because all that does is leave her hanging.”

[Hunter] A tick across Hunter’s jaw as it clenches, eyes narrowing upon the Ragabash and his nostrils flare to the smells of cold wind and cigarette smoke.

Eyes turn to John.

“It does fuckin’ matter cause there ain’t no sumthin’ ta’ be had. It’s dishonourable cause he can’t give her what she wants but she keeps fuckin’ askin’ for it anyway like that’s somehow gonna change anythin’.”

A pause, he licks over his teeth.

“John wants ta’ know why she think it don’t matter what he is.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Because she’s not looking to be mated and settle down and have kids.” She sighs and shakes her head, looking at the ground. There’s something a little bit angry there…not at Hunter and not at John. Not at anyone, really, just…generally so. She takes a drag off the cigarette and looks up.

“Listen, my sister? She’s not like normal kin. She doesn’t want what everyone else wants, and she’s not going to have a normal kinfolk’s life. When she was growing up? She earned her way into going out to do certain missions with the Cliaths. And that wasn’t even enough for her. But the point is, she had earned it back at her home sept. And because of that, she’s never going to be the stay at home, raise kids and such kind of girl. You dig?”

She shrugs. “She wants someone who she can spend time with. Who she can care about and who respects her. It’s not dishonorable any more than it is when two kinfolk get involved. There’s not going to be any of us bred from that. Does that mean it’s wrong? No. She doesn’t want what John can’t give her. She wants what he can. If you think that’s dishonorable, then fine. But don’t do her the disservice of figuring she’s like every mousy kinfolk out there who just wants security and a home. Truth be told, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that she might die before I do.” Her jaw juts out a bit at that.

“And I’ve had to accept that. Because that’s who she is.”

[John] John looks absolutely flummoxed. He looks between Sarita and Hunter not as though she has started speaking Spanish. Even Spanish, incomprehensible to him, seems to make sense, its cadence and intonation getting across that some human thought is occurring. This doesn’t translate at all even though it’s in a language he has been exposed to his entire life and speaking for half of it.

The largest of the three of them scrubs his face, as if he’s developing a headache, and looks at Sarita with a look that’s part plaintive and part flint as he talks to Hunter.

[Hunter] How brow creases, eyebrows narrowing along with his eyes when Sarita begins to talk about what it is that drives Amy, what the kinswoman really wants. John’s voice sounds in his head a moment later and he doesn’t take his eyes off the Ragabash even in the silence.

“John don’t like it, her thinkin’ it’s okay ta’ bed a Metis n’tha Nation won’t care. Does she care about John? Would she care what fuckin’ Katherine Bellamonte would do ta’ him if she knew bout’ some Metis bangin’ kinfolk? I know Kate, fought with her before many times, she’s a good chick but she’d have his fuckin’ balls for bangin’ a bred kinfolk.”

A brief beat.

“No offence John.”

“If she cares about him she needs ta’ get this foolish shit outta’ her head cause it don’t matter what she thinks it should be like, it only matters what it is like.

If she cares about him she needs ta’ leave em’ tha’ fuck alone. N’I swear ta’ fuckin’ god Sarita, if ya’ stupid fuckin’ sister fucks with one’a ma’ pack n’gets him inta’ trouble I will smear ya’ fuckin’ brains all over fuckin’ bronzeville till ya’ given what ya’ cost ma’ pack.”

His finger points at her, but it falls now and his expression softens.

“None’a this needs ta’ be done. She just gotta’ accept that tha’ Nation don’t think it’s right – what she’s askin for n’all – n’that she’s fuckin’ puttin’ his life on tha’ line with her thinkin’.

She needs ta’ fuckin’ quit it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] None of it seems to faze her. The statement of what Katherine would do, the threat, she listens to it all. Her jaw is still set solidly from when she spoke, like she knew this was coming. The most reaction they get is a hardening of her gaze when Hunter places a threat on her life. When it’s all done, she just smirks and shakes her head, giving a little chuckle.

“And of course, since you guys don’t want to be the one to tell her, you’re telling me to tell her.”

She gives a little shrug, taking a drag off of her cigarette, and looks between the two. There’s been something lost here, no doubt. She exhales the smoke into the air, where it dissipates into nothingness, and nods.

“Fine. I will tell her. I’ll say this, though. This wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t decided to play bounce the bed back and forth and kiss her on top of it like it meant something. While Katherine’s packmate was in the other room with me, no less. She could have let it all go, but she’s felt something she hasn’t felt before. Ever. So before we all go about talking about how my sister is the bitch here for putting John in a tough spot, let’s remember that it takes two to tango, and that the blame isn’t all on her. She’ll be upset and I’ll clean up the mess, that’s fine. But don’t you fuckin’ threaten my ass again. I may seem all happy and big with the jokes, but I don’t expect to have my hide threatened by those I fight alongside. And I take that shit seriously.”

She licks her fingers and snuffs out the cigarette, pocketing it to be deposited somewhere later.

“We done?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[John] [I’M SORRY SAM 😦
+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Hunter] [Sarita
John]

[John] [Kahseeno knows his cause is unjust.
1: shove. Don’t ask me what this is supposed to accomplish besides looking manly and intimidating.
R1: punch.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[No dodge. She’s not moving, even though she sees it coming.]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] When she gets shoved, she kind of expects it. She she sees the punch coming. She doesn’t dodge (though she is glad she snuffed the smoke so it doesn’t roll away or get in anyone’s eye–that shit fucking SUCKS). Instead, the corners of her mouth twist up in a trademark, faint lopsided grin.

[John] Which apparently just makes him want to botch EVEN LESS.

[Mod’s telling me nix the R1, have 1 be the punch.
1: Brawl+Dexterity: I’M SORRY 😦 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[John] [Strength +3 (Eagle) +0] [B]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Soaky soaky, artichokey?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[John] The only time Hunter has seen John strike another Gaian was the night he called him “Dibs” in the coffeehouse and he attempted to punch him in the throat instead of saying Hey man I hate that name. Granted, that night he didn’t have someone there who could translate for him, and he was bereft of pen and paper and the patience to procure some just to make a point. His fists, he felt, would suffice, and he was accused of not being kept busy enough by an Adren he has not seen again.

What his problem is right now, Hunter could articulate even without John repeating it for likely the nineteenth time this week: he told Amy, the best way he knew how, that he could not be with her. Even if the best way he knew how was to tell her he was metis, or to tell her to date Leon, he made the attempt.

With Hunter right there, he could have repeated this without punching Sarita in the eye, which is what he ends up doing. When he turns away from her he doesn’t look victorious, or mindless, or even irritated. He doesn’t look like anything. The Modi draws a heavy breath, shakes out his hand, and walks–not storms, or stalks, or stomps, but walks–back to the doorway leading downstairs.

[Hunter] Hunter’s stance becomes alert as soon as the Modi pushes Sarita, maybe even before. He prepares for a fight but it becomes obvious that the Strider isn’t going to fight back, at least not with her fists. She gets socked in the eye and then John turns around and walks calmly back towards the doorway.

The Gnawer crosses his arms over his chest.

“That was him tellin’ ya that he told her. Came ta’ ya’ because she ain’t gettin tha’ message.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And just like that, she’s spun around and on her knees a stunned squawk. She stays there, motionless for a moment, and wipes at the blood coming from where his knuckle made contact with bone and cut her. She takes a beat, and then looks back. She’s not angry about the punch. She expected that. She just looks up at him.

“Funny, she seems to have thought otherwise. Because he never said, from anything I’ve seen or heard, ‘I don’t want to date you.’ I guess that would be too easy. And none of it changes the fact that he got down and to my knowledge, he didn’t have a gun to his head.”

She shrugs. “I ain’t saying Amy isn’t at fault. She deserves her share of the blame. But if it had been spelled out this way to her? We’d have never had this conversation. Now, if you don’t mind, I hear a Cialis informercial calling my name.”

[Hunter] “Ain’t my job ta’ be teachin’ kinswomen how ta’ act. Ya’ should have explained it to her if she didn’t get it.”

Now that John is out of earshot he speaks plainer.

“You got any fuckin’ idea what it’s like ta’ be a Metis? Cause I sure as shit don’t but I’ve known quite’a few of em, respected quite a few of em too. Maybe ya’ should think bout how it is for John ta’ be asked ta’ explain himself bout’ what he is n’why he can’t have what he wants.”

He raises an eyebrow.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She leans in a little. “And do YOU have any idea what it’s like to be a kinfolk who was constantly told she was less then a sister she never met for over twenty years and tried to be greater than anyone said she could be, and has actually been able to accomplish what most kinfolk can’t? I don’t, but I’ve know one for the last fuckin’ year, and I love her to death. Maybe YOU should think about what it is for Amy to not even be told why she can’t have what she wants.”

She’s defensive, yes. You can do whatever you want to her, but her sister, she takes punches for without batting an eye…even when it’s been beaten in. “You just try and tell someone who was allowed to accomplish what people told her was impossible that she can’t be allowed to care for someone. And it’s not your job to teach Amy how to act, true. But if you’re his alpha, I sure as fuck hope he at least got bitched at for actually fucking her in the first place. I’ll do my part, but I will not let you demonize my sister and sanctify him. He could have said no when they were in our bedroom.”

[Hunter] With that he sighs, turns around and walks towards the door. “Fuckin’ ain’t tha’ problem Sarita.” He pries it open with one hand. “Plenty’a people be fuckin’ n’keepin’ behind closed doors. Not expectin’ anythin’ that ain’t possible.” It sounds like he speaks from experience and his head turns over his shoulder to look at her again.

“If she ain’t got told ya’ only got ya’self ta’ blame.”

He disappears down the stairwell.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She makes a strangled sound, hands clenching. “Satan in a handbasket boning Saddam Hussein with a pineapple…Hunter!”

She moves to the stairwell, but doesn’t go down. She’s not going to chase after them, but the sound of his name does have a ‘come back’ tone to it.

[Hunter] He emerges from the stairs, eyes find John and he nods his head to that drinking motion. Hunter could use one despite how fucking early it is. The bar isn’t usually serving people this early but there will be workers down stairs for breakfast, a beer won’t be hard to find.

Steps don’t take him far from the stairs, instead he just rounds the corner and starts heading down towards the kitchen.

[John] [Thanks, Sam!]

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