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.
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 a well-worn biker jacket of the traditional sort, all fairly closely fit black leather and silvery zippers and snaps. Beneath it, he's got old black jeans with a rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off, and a simple white t-shirt which fits rather snugly in a flattering sort of way. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; 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.
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.
Slug's frame is tall and lanky, somewhere in the neighborhood of six feet tall and just under two hundred pounds... But it's hard to really pin down the particulars. His semi-loose, dull orange hoodie hides much of his body and breaks up his frame, hiding the outline of his body. The hood is almost always up, and he takes pains to use it to obfuscate as much of his face as possible... And it isn't hard to see why. The right side of this young man's tan face has been torn up something awful. Deep troughs of keloid tissue run from just beneath his wild red bangs, across his high cheek, and terminate somewhere on his slender, stubbled jaw. It's hard to tell when he's got his yellow sunglasses on, but not both of his blue eyes move. It's likely the right one is severely damaged in some way, or false.
Beneath the hoodie's neckline, one might get a flash of the white tank beneath, especially on a hot day. The zipper on his hoodie has been rubbed with grit and dirt to take the shine out of it, and so has every other bit of metal on him, from hoodie right on down to his black zip-up boots. His jeans are significantly tighter than his hoodie, and often stained with something or another. On his hands he wears a pair of black fingerless gloves, something cheap and throw-away.
Now that the Mage-killing crew have been okayed to return to civilization, at least some of them have promptly done so. Felix gave anyone who wanted one a ride back in the stolen sedan, dropping them off by Harbor Park, then headed off to dispose of the car. When the Library door opens, it's him, preceded slightly by the smell of his cigarette as the wind blows the smoke in that direction. It's finally quite warm out today, and he's carrying his jacket instead of wearing it, now.
Sprawled out on his bean bag chair is Justin, who is still as weak as a kitten and still having a struggle moving about. He is on his stomach this time, instead of on his back, and he has a dour look on his face. As the door opens, he peeks up at his packmate, then groans out. "Friiiiieeees.... Freeench Friiiiieeees."
Slug comes down from upstairs with a glass bottle Coke, sipping from the dark cola with a small smile on his face. He peers downstairs from up high, glancing at Felix, and then at Justin. "Hey boys," he calls, taking a seat on the bannister.
"You couldn't've gone zombie at me while I was still out there?" Felix complains to Justin, shaking his head. He glances to the stairs at the sound of feet, and flashes Slug a grin when the Ragabash appears. "Hey," he replies, with a chin-lift of greeting, and heads toward the beanbag, dropping his jacket on Justin's back when he gets there. "A'right, what you want, then? Fries an' what?"
"Friiiieeees." Justin moans out again, then blinks as the jacket is dropped over him with a grin. "... Biiiig Maaaac." He says as he peeks out from under the jacket at his packmate. "Dude. I'm like ... old now. I'm still tripping about that."
"I know. I spent the night on the island with the rest of you," Slug says to Justin, his legs curled around the bar beneath his butt. "After you get yourself back together, you'll need new clothes. And then to get those clothes dedicated, so you don't go all Hulk Hogan every time you shift."
"You ain't old, you're just gonna get carded less aggressively," Felix replies, flopping onto the couch and stretching out. "AND it's finally gettin' nice out." Slug's remarks make him brighten further, and he nods. "Yeah. Once you're back on your feet proper we gotta go shoppin', J. Find you some decent shit. Hey, Slug. You want anythin' when I hit MickeyD's? I got some cash."
Pushing himself up slowly on shaky arms, Justin lets out a pained grunt as he makes his way to his feet. "Yeah, maybe. Uh ... heh.. I'm not like ... ugly am I?"
Slug shakes his head at Felix. "I don't eat as much as I used to. Now I'm like a snake. One big meal every now and then, with a whole lotta nothin' in between." Slug looks down at Justin and takes a swig of soda, barely restraining a laugh. "Sure, ask the guy with hideous scars if you're ugly."
Felix gets up again when Justin starts moving, and snags his jacket off the Ahroun, offering him the other hand up if he wants it. "What, more'n before?" he teases. "Nahhhh, you look fine, man. Just older. Ain't no one gonna be making the sign of the cross on seein' you or nothin'."
Smirking at Slug, Justin says, "Whatever, we know you think I'm hot." He grasps Felix by the hand as he steadies himself, then grunts as he ambles for the bathroom, huffing to himself. "Alright, we'll get clothes tomorrow then. I got cash for that at least."
"I can dedicate them for you, assuming your packmate doesn't wanna do it for you." Slug says, kicking his heels on the railing supports. He watches Justin walk off with a roll of his eyes, then looks down at Felix. "How'd you come out of things? Not hurt, are you?"
"Either way, I'm easy," Felix says about dedication, and tosses his jacket over to the couch before heading to the fridge to come up with his own Coke bottle. His is a plastic 20oz, though, one of the previously-opened ones he tends to keep on the very bottom shelf of the fridge. Much less stylish-looking than the glass ones. "Nah, not hurt. Never got touched," he says, "'less you count me bitin' him, I guess. 'bout you? Looked like y'all did good with those Fomori."
"It's cool, you can dedicate them for me, Slug!" Justin calls out as he heads into the bathroom, then stares at himself in the mirror, before hitting the toilet and taking a piss.
"Only because there were other people to take their attention off of me. I never like going into combat outside of Glabro or Crinos," Slug says. "The fomori on the car could have done a lot to me, if he'd come through the windshield. Or landed on the roof. I might be dead, or worse, fifty years older. Then I really would be the Gnawer elder." He swings both legs back over the railing and strolls down the stairs, calling, "Sure!"
Felix puts out the last bit of his cigarette and leans against the counter, opening his drink. "Is that worse'n bein' dead?" he asks, looking as though he's genuinely considering the question, "...might depend how good you aged, I guess."
The toilet flushes, followed by the sound of running wate and Justin makes his way back out with a slow lurch to his step. "Ugh. I feel like crap." He groans out as he rubs a hand along his face. "It's like all of my muscles have been sucker punched on the funny bones."
"A Garou that is too old to fight is dead, the moment he is alone," Slug says to Felix, his lips pursed. "But as long as your legs work and your head's on straight, you can hobble on." He looks off in Justin's direction and sniffs. "I could get you some painkillers."
"Yeah, but ain't like there ain't no old folks who can still fight," Felix says, shrugging, "There was one MMA guy few years back was 70. Won, too. I mean, he weren't fightin' on the regular, but still. An' you got your brain. I dunno, either one'd suck, but." He looks over as Justin emerges, and nods after Slug's offer, "Might be a plan."
Inching back down to his bean bag, Justin lets out a loud groan. "None of us are gonna live until we're old anyways." He grumps out with a loud sigh. "Probably gonna die when the Queen finds us all and sucks our brains out."
"Are you sure it wasn't Salem?" Slug asks Felix, as straightly as he can. He looks over at Justin and laughs. "Don't be such a Debbie Downer. Hold on." And with that, Slug takes a swig of Coke and starts upstairs again, almost running, taking them in twos and threes. "Be right back!"
Felix laughs at Slug's question, and grins to Justin, shaking his head. "Yeah, odds ain't with us, but what the fuck. No reason to quit, right? Might as well have fun." He has a good swig of his drink, and stretches. "You still want a Big Mac meal?"
"Uh, yeah. I totally want a Big Mac meal." Justin says with a laugh as he sprawls out in an awkward manner. "It'll make me feel soooo much better."
Slug comes back a few minutes later with a bottle that looks suspiciously like a small Advil bottle. "Hey," he calls to Justin. Then he throws it, pitching it accurately right into the Ahroun's lap. "That's a little vicodin. Don't take it all at once. Shit isn't cheap."
"So would gettin' your queen to suck your brains out," Felix replies to Justin, with another quick grin, "Just sayin'." He closes up his drink and lets the bottle dangle from his hand, giving the bottle of painkillers an approving look. "If you need more after that... lemme know, see what I can do."
Thump. The bottle lands right in his lap and Justin smirks. "Thanks. I'm sure I'll be fine, brains or not. I'm all brawn and stupid anyways." He twists the bottle off and knocks a pillow back dry, then swallows. "So what's the plans for tonight?"
"I can buy a lot of things like that, but they aren't cheap, and some of them take time. A few pills aren't expensive, and I keep'a couple around for stuff like this, but..." he shrugs at Felix. "I'll give you prices if Justin doesn't heal up." He comes down the rest of the stairs, polishes off his bottle of coke, and then strolls off into his little 'cave' between the bookshelves. There's a hiss that sounds suspiciously like a soda fountain, and then Slug walks back out with a full bottle and glances between the two of them. "I dunno. Gnawer stuff?"
"Gettin' your queen to-- nah, just kiddin'," Felix says to Justin, grinning more toothily, and he nods at Slug. "I know a couple folks," he says, "but don't never hurt to know more. So yeah, lemme know. Plan... I dunno either. Oh, 'cept, right." He sets the bottle on the counter, leaning there as he pulls out his phone and dials. A second or two, and he breaks into a smile. "Hey, doll. You 'bout gettin' off work?" he asks, speaking a little more quietly than he had been.
"Mmm... I love vicodin." Justin says as he lets out a heavy sigh, then rolls his eyes upwards as he stares at hte ceiling for a few moments. "And I wouldn't mind just about anyone sucking me off. Brain or not. Would probably loosen me up some."
"Ain't a Garou alive that don't have sex on the brain," Slug muses to Felix, shaking his head. "If Isabella comes over, we can all clear out to upstairs for a while and give her some time to help you loosen up. He quiets down as Felix gets on the phone, heads into the kitchen, and snags himself a donut that's only slightly moldy.
Felix glances toward the ceiling for a moment himself as he listens to the reply. "Awesome. Do me a favour? Pick me up two Big Mac meals on the way? An' milkshakes. An' whatever you want, 'course." Pause. "Thanks, beautiful. See you in a few." The phone disappears into his pocket once more. "What he said," he agrees, pointing to Slug, and the grin returns, "You oughta call her, give her a chance to take care of you while you're sorely laid low an' shit."
"Naaaah.. if I'm gonna show off my newer and improved dick, I wanna do it sober and not hopped up on vicodin." Justin says as he gives a loopy grin on his face. "I'm six foot tall now I think or something. Maybe a bit taller. Heh... this is awesome. WOoooooOoO..." He trails off as he rubs a hand over his face.
"Good to know your girlfriend delivers," Slug says, with only a tiny bit of tease in his tone. He is, after all, a Garou. And a guy. Gotta bust balls a little bit. He shakes his head at Justin and leans on the counter, his head braced on one of the cabinets. "Maybe we shouldn't have given that to him on an empty stomach."
"She deeeefinitely does," Felix replies, and saunters back over to the couch, soda in hand, to flop there comfortably again. Justin and his woooooos get eyed. "Yeah, maybe so. See if gettin' somethin' in there after makes any difference, I guess."