The library's ground level is one large room punctuated by even rows of pier columns that confidently hold the weight of the upper floors. The building is old but solid, its lath and plaster walls dark with age. Here and there some of the plaster has worn off to reveal the wooden slats beneath. Heavy, dark grained and decorated mahogany wainscoting runs the length of the walls, complimented by thick, ornate crown molding along the ceiling and each of the columns. It's clear from the dilapidated condition that the building's been abandoned for decades. There is a somber, sepulchral quietness to the place, even when alive with people, that is perhaps a ghostly echo of the rigid, required silence that its wardens demanded when the library was in its heyday.
The room is fairly large, once the home of all the library's materials that fell under the heading of 700: Arts. Nearly all were taken along in the move to the new library, although a few particularly tatty specimens appear to have been left behind on one of the remaining bookshelves, of which there are several. One other is also still actually being used for its original purpose, bearing a collection of rather newer books in varying condition. Another seems to have become an ersatz dresser, with neatly folded clothing on the shelves and a towel hanging over one corner to dry. A wheeled suitcase seems to be acting as a drinks cabinet next to a desk and a pair of rickety chairs; most of the other furniture has been removed or shoved against a wall, out of the way, including a stained and lumpy twin mattress sitting on its short end. It's a corner room, and there are two many-paned, arch-topped windows in each of the outer walls. On one side, a queen-size mattress in much better repair is laid on the floor between them, with pillows and linens on it suggesting it sees regular use.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in old black jeans with a rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off, and his lack of shirt displays a small collection of tattoos. On his left arm, just below the shoulder, is a parachuting rat holding a crowbar and wearing a pair of glittery-gold star-shaped glasses; on the right side of his abdomen, about where the waistline of pants sort of act as the ground, are a pair of rats with a mortar aimed up toward the left. Both tattoos are all in black (aside from the glasses) and resemble spray-painted stencils. His back is covered by a phoenix rising from flames, smoke, and ash, in suitably fiery colours and a completely different style. A reasonably close-up look reveals a number of scars worked into the design of that one. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a pair of dogtags on a length of ball-chain around his neck; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
Isabella is a tall and lean girl, built with a model's proportions. She'd be beautiful in many eyes if she wasn't often dressed in shabby, old Goodwill clothing that serves as a contrast to her more refined looks. If anyone ever properly dressed and tended her she could easily make magazine covers, but instead she looks like a lily growing in a trash heap. She's certainly as pale as one for all she sounds used to heat and sun, given her Southern good old girl accent. Her hair is long and straight, though usually done up in messy informal styles. It's a pale cornsilk blonde with slightly darker roots. Her eyes are expressive and brown in color, accented with a moderate bit of make up on an otherwise largely natural-left face.
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this young boy's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build that could use a bit of bulking upas he is built like a high school track runner. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement, and during the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. He looks like your average, ordinary American young teen that plays outside and is fairly active. Tall at five foot ten, he is a few inches higher than most his age for now.
"Unless it's all 'roids, then that's all shriveled like prunes." Isabella smirks right back and swings his hand. "Nope, Rats and Fenrir's do not a good pair make. We don't give a shit and they give way too much of one. I pity their kin, that's gotta be an exhausting lifestyle."
"I am sure he is not roided up. He's our age. Just works out a lot." Justin chuckles as he gives her hand a swing in return. "But yeah, I feel for their kin also. Constantly knocked up and yelled at by the meat heads. Freddy though seems to be different. I don't get that vibe from him."
Felix comes down the stairs from the second floor, wearing just his jeans and drying his hair with a towel as he goes. He's moving fairly bouncily and humming to himself, flashing a grin at Justin and Isabella when he sees them -- then glances again, noting the hands, and grins wider. "'bout time," he greets them cheerfully, as he heads toward the kitchen area.
"I hope not. It'll be a refreshing change of pace." Isabella glances over to the sounds of arrival and flashes Felix a grin. It turns teasing at the mention of 'bout time'. "Oh /is/ it now? So, did you win a bet or did I cost you money? You're welcome for the first, I have no sympathy for the second."
Squeezing her hand tighter, Justin gives Felix a 'look' before he glances up at Isabella. "Uh, no, neither. More like peer pressure from a certain Galliard with romantic tendencies." He lets go of her hand and uses it instead to slip about her waist. "We're going to go out and celebrate me getting Fostern."
"Actually, now you mention it, maybe I =shoulda= tried an' bet against him, mighta lit a better fire under his ass," Felix muses, and tosses his towel on a counter, laughing at Justin's explanation. "Ain't sure I ever been accused of that before... romantic tendencies, I mean; been accused of peer pressure plenty. But I =am= a Galliard, romantic tendencies're prolly in the job description somewhere. Prolly in the small print." He turns suddenly at Justin's last comment, pointing a finger at the Ahroun. "Ha! I told you you'd pass!" he exclaims, trajectory veering toward the pair of them instead of his original goal, to give his packmate a fist bump. "Nice."
"I'm a kin but yeah, Galliards /are/ known for that sorta stuff. Never kiss one on a first date. Or for that matter, any Garou. It inflates their ego too much." Isabella says with a sage-like nod before slanting a look aside to Justin. "So.. head's up there, champ. No offense. Kinlaw."
Justin reaches out with his free hand and returns the fist bump with a grin. "Yeah, yeah. I made it. Had to do some smooth talking though to convince him." At the news that he is not getting a kiss on the first date, he squints his eyes up at her. "Whaaaat? Seriously? But, I kinda been obsessing over it."
Felix smirks at Isabella's claim, shaking his head. "If that's law, tell you right now you got a =shitload= of kin out there you gotta go put under arrest. Or at least write a real stern ticket. For speedin'." He saunters toward the kitchen again, this time actually making it there. "...fuck, I am =starved=," he mutters, before adding more loudly, "Anyway, you really can't inflate our egos too much. We gotta have some sorta armor when we're out there on the front lines. Nice healthy ego's the best kinda paddin'."
"Figures." Isabella says with a lofty huff, though given the exaggerated roll of her eyes she doesn't exactly seem surprised. "Gnawers and laws don't much go together." She bumps her shoulder into Justin's and grins aside to him. "Hey now, how will I get a second date if I ruin all... well some... of the fun the first time?"
"It's not ruining anything! It's like.. um.. a free sample of .. bigger things to come?" Justin asks hopefully as he bumps his shoulder back against hers. "And yes, egos go a long way in battle! In fact, uh ... it's like kevlar!" He says as he winds his other arm around the kin, peeking up at her from behind his long bangs.
"Some of us more'n others," Felix agrees, poking through the fridge. One of the TV dinners goes into the microwave, and he grabs a beer and a good handful of what little remains of his ill-gotten Hallowe'en gains to tide him over in the meantime. He leans back against the counter while he opens the bottle, and watches them. "Hmm. You wanna follow the law against first-date 'rou kissin', he wants a kiss. I got a solution: just kiss him now. Ain't no law against THAT," he suggests, the soul of innocent helpfulness.
"Tut tut." Isabella says to Felix with a mock scolding look. "Then the rest of the date's a drag in comparison. You eat dessert first, dinner gets pretty boring. You want armor though, I probably have a coat that'd fit you. Might just be a bit short. You can look dashing in a petite leather jacket in battle. I'm sure no one will make fun of you at all."
"Yes, I like Felix's idea very much. You should kiss me now." Justin grins as he flops down into his bean bag chair, sprawling out upon it. "And I always eat dessert before dinner. Makes everything taste so much sweeter. Sides', I like to battle shirtless. Let everyone fear my rippling muscles." He says with a flex of his bicep that is hardly manly.
"Like they say: life's uncertain, eat dessert first," Felix retorts, with a nod toward Justin, and punctuates it by popping a peanut butter cup into his mouth. He grins again, wickedly, adding, "...an' anyhow, kissin' ain't dessert. Kissin's an apertif."
"And maybe because shirts don't come in Chewbacca sizes?" Isabella says with a playful chuckle. "Nope! Girl's gotta keep her standards. /If/ I decide to break the law after tacos and a movie, then I'll do that, but we're not skipping to that first. You need something good to cap off a night out."
"Well, at least the door is open." Justin says as he peels out of his shirt and then stretches his arms back and behind his head. "So, how about in an hour or so? I should take a shower and throw on some of my nicer clothes if I am going to treat a girl like you out for Bell and a movie."
Felix sips his beer, and unwraps the rest of the candy he grabbed all at once. "There's still an awful lot of somethin' goods left to cap a night with even if you did skip to the kissin' early," he says, but gives a slight shrug toward his packmate -- hey, I tried. Not, possibly, as hard as he could, but a guy's gotta do some things for himself, after all. He settles back into lounging, with a glance at the microwave to check just how long it's still going to be; apparently it's still long enough that a KitKat needs to fill the gap. Also a Snickers. He seems about to say something to Justin, then glances at Isabella and decides against it, for some reason. Even if she might've now been too distracted by being surrounded by shirtless men to notice! Stranger things have happened. Now and then.
The Final Countdown has yet to play, so the meal is certainly cooking. "Sure, hour sounds good." Isabella says to Justin with a nod. "Gives me time to clean up too and dig out some of my classier duds. We need to fashion up the Bell some, show them how to eat tacos in style. I'll dig out the snacks in the van for the movie and collect up the spare change for the tickets. Um..." A thought dawns and she looks between the two Garou. "...what the heck is playing anyway?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Justin says, "Doesn't matter what's playing as the only thing I'll be watching is you." BOOM. NAILED IT. He gives a mental fist pump at how awesome that sweet zinger was. "And I got money, don't worry about it. I got a buncha cash left over from some sales I made when we were clearing junk out."
"Might still matter to her," Felix teases, and digs in his pocket for the Altoids tin that holds his smokes and lighter. "Though, 'less you're picky you could just let destiny decide an' see whatever happens to be playin' 'bout when you get there. ...an' if you don't like it, just walk into somethin' else, prolly be four other things less'n half over. No problem."
"Oh that's pretty much what we're doing." Isabella says to Felix with a shrug. "Beggars can't be chosers and all that jazz. Just so I know what to expect! But hey, I guess surprises are cool too. I'm just excited to know there's still drive-ins that aren't where folks go to shoot up and do illicit.. weeelll... hm. They probably do. Unless cartoons are playing."
"Uhh.. the new Snoopy movie is playing there." Justin gives a crooked grin at them. "We can see that one. I always loved Peanuts as a kid. My favorite cartoon and comic strip."
Felix lights up, both the cigarette and figuratively, "Wait, we got a drive-in? Awesome. Where we hidin' it? I might hafta go investigate that sometime soon." Another glance to the microwave, as though the musical announcement of finishing might have broken, rather than him just being impatient. More chocolate fills in to keep him alive through this difficult time. "Do they do flea markets an' shit there when they're not showin' movies?"
"Peanuts it is!" Isabella says with a thumbs up. "Maybe we can do a double-date night here for the holidays, have a night out. IF someone earns a second date." She says with a wink to Justin. "Huh, mebbe they do! I'll have to see. Alright, I'm going to get tidied up. Be back!" And she heads off for the upstairs and the room she claimed as her's.
"What? If /I/ earn a second date? What if /you/ bomb this date?" Justin gives an indignant sniff. "I'm awesome at dates. Really. I've been on tons." Seriously, this is his first date. As he watches her go, he grins widely, then nods his head to Felix. Fist pump.
<OOC> Felix hugs! Don't run off yet ;)
<OOC> Justin RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNOKWAITS.
<OOC> Felix is willing to just say OOC instead of posing, to be faster: Justin's hair is finally getting cut, dammit. ;) Also he's getting outfit advice whether he wants it or not.
<OOC> Felix says "NOW you can run off. Sleep well!"
Oh, blessed mercy: the microwave goes off, and Felix is finally allowed to retrieve his food. Angels sing from on high. Also, a Lilah, who he may hear in the shower now, singing 'E.T.' by Katy Perry a little louder than she might usually. She can't *quiiiiiite* hit all of Katy's notes, but she's fairly close. She's a pretty good singer, all told-- not in Felix's weight class certainly, but pleasant to listen to most times.
Halleluiah! Felix leaves off advising -- okay, instructing -- Justin on what he should wear and lets the Ahroun go shower, abandoning him for delicious chicken fingers, corn, and brownie. He listens to the singing while he eats, looking quite happy to be doing both. ...and smoking, and finishing off that beer, but who's counting? Lilah's ability to sing is one of the many reasons they made it as far as they did.
Although E.T. is only about three-quarters finished, Lilah suddenly turns off the water, and he can hear her getting out of the shower. She keeps singing as she presumably towels off, albeit much softer, and eventually he can hear her step out and into their bedroom. 'Firework' follows 'E.T.'
Felix finishes off his meal, then pauses. Hmm. He puts another meal in to nuke, eats the last of the chocolate he denuded, and heads off to deal with Justin's hair. When the microwave goes off again, he snags the meal, two beers, and a pocketful of candy, heading back up to the room, his used towel draped over his arm.
"...of reckless that should send me runnin'," Lilah is singing by the time he can hear her again. She's moved on to Taylor Swift by this point, yes TAYLOR SWIFT. "But I kinda know that I won't get far, and you stood there in front of me, just close enough to touch. Close enough to hope you couldn't see what I was thinking of..." Lilah's got her back turned to the door when it opens, and she's only about half dressed-- bra and t-shirt that reads, 'WAR IS OVER,' on a sign held by Yoko Ono and John Lennon. It looks pretty faded, but it's still legible, just barely. She's also got on a pair of her ubiquitous white cotton panties, but her jeans are held in her hands. She turns at the sound of the door opening, and smiles softly to him as she starts slipping into one of the jean legs. She glances at the beers, her smile growing, and teases, "Ya never did pass up yer duties as beer-provider. I reckon there's somethin' to be said for that."
Felix leans against the doorframe, watching her, and smiles back, a wide, warm one that turns into a grin at her teasing. "Well, Mrs. Sinclair, I reckon I signed on for a duty an' what kinda man'd I be if I didn't live up to it? Can't have you cryin' future tears or nothin'." He steps in, kicking the door shut behind him, and heads over to the desk to put things down on it, then hangs the towel over one of the chairs to dry more. "Broughtcha food, too." He turns, half-sitting on the edge of the desk, and his gaze sweeps slowly down and up her. "Y'look beautiful. Sound it, too."
"You're a real hero, y'know that? Makin' sure I don't cry no current 'r future tears, bringin' me food. I reckon I could get used t'this." Lilah smiles back to him softly, and finishes putting on her pants right as he's looking her over. The nerve of some people! His words make her blush, naturally, and she cants her head to the side before walking up to him and wrapping an arm around his waist.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," Felix says to her first comment, grinning again. "I'm practically a saint, I reckon." When she approaches, he slides an arm around her waist as well, drawing her in. "You oughta eat your dinner 'fore it gets cold. An' your beer before it gets warm." Not that that's ever stopped him, but still!
"Now why you gotta sell yourself short? Practically?!" Lilah grins at him, pressing her body up against his lightly. "Reckon it's gonna be hard t' eat 'n drink m'beer, with you pinnin' me here." She punctuates that by attempting to pull away toward the desk.
Felix tilts his head, keeping his arms around her, and essays to look considering. "...nah. You got long enough arms, you can get it from here. Here, I'll be your table even," he says, picking up the tray from just behind him and leaning back a bit to balance it on his chest. The arm around her stays there, and he looks unreasonably pleased with himself; the glint of amusement in his eyes is somewhat subtler. In truth, she probably can also reach the beer, although neither bottle's been opened yet.
Lilah laughs at him and his 'table,' then nods her head with a far too serious expression. "I will graciously accept your chest-table, but it's gonna cost ya," she murmurs, and here there's amusement in her eyes as well, even if she keeps up the facade of srs bsns. She leans to reach out for the beer, standing on her tippy-toes, and looks triumphant when she has it in her grasp. The bottle's cap is eyed consideringly.
"Oh, yeah? What's it gonna cost me?" Felix asks, and he lets her just eye the bottle cap for a second or two before he takes his free hand off the desk -- which means he has to support that lean with just his abs, which isn't a half bad sight if one likes that sort of thing -- so that he can reach in his pocket and get her his pocket knife. The bottle opener on that thing probably sees more use than any other tool.
Lilah opens her mouth to answer, looking sly, and then pauses. There's ab-watching to do! She clears her throat to announce, post-bottle opening, "Well, I was gonna make ya open m'bottle, here, but now I got the means t'do it m'self." She couldn't possibly look more smug in that moment. "Reckon now I better up the stakes." She bends forward to press her stomach to his, and has a small bite of her food. "Reckon it's gonna cost ya an arm, a leg, an' possibly other selections of anatomy." She arches a brow almost challengingly, and pops open her beer.
Felix looks a touch smug himself when he catches her doing that watching, and possibly doesn't resettle his hand quite as swiftly as he might have otherwise. "Seems to me you already got an arm," he says, tightening it around her waist in demonstration, "an' I suppose I might could lend you a leg." He shifts his weight, still resting on the edge of the desk, but now sliding his leg to try to slip his knee between hers and work his leg in until he can get his thigh pressed up against the inner join of those jeans, and pull her down a bit against it. "Now, what other bits of my anatomy you got in mind?" he asks, arching a brow himself, and it's edging right over that challengingly line, albeit playfully.
"I feel like I'm playin' a game o' Twister, an' you're losin', no question," Lilah laughs softly, and bends to have another bite of her food. She's possibly bending a bit more than strictly necessary, but it's hard to tell. She chews at her food, and then her lower lip, as he pulls her down against his thigh. Despite specifically bringing up the anatomy issue, and giving him that arched brow, she shifts her gaze away from him when he meets the challenge, her cheeks flushing just a bit. "I reckon I was gonna leave that up to you," she says quietly, full of false bravado.
"That's funny," Felix murmurs, "'cause I definitely feel like I'm winnin', somehow." He sets the sole of his foot against the side of the desk for support to let him rub the leg against her a bit more firmly, albeit not with any notable speed. He does watch when she bends over, though, despite the fact that the t-shirt obscures what would probably be his preferred view. "Leavin' that up to me ain't real good negotiatin'. I could give you a toenail. Drop of blood. Strand of hair. Gotta be parts you'd prefer."
Speed or no, the feel of his leg makes her blush further, and somehow Lilah 'forgets' to comment on whether he's winning or losing. Another bite later, and she's licking her lips, eyes lifted to consider him again. She swallows, then says quietly, "I reckon anything ya'd actually offer is gonna be somethin' I'm interested in." She's definitely bending forward more than necessary this time, as she takes the latest bite.
Felix is definitely still watching as well, and his thigh keeps languidly rubbing against her. He studies her after her reply, seeming to consider, and after a moment the rhythm changes a bit. The reason becomes clear enough, since it matches up when he sings to her longingly, "All of me, why not take all of me? Can't you see I'm no good without you?" There's too much of a playful spark in his eyes -- plus, that whole leg thing -- to come off as serious, really, but if one could only hear him... well, it might be pretty convincing.