Like most of the roads in the area, this one is comprised of flat space and some asphalted gravel. The lowlands are taking back their own space: trees, shrubs, and weeds are dutifully cracking what little pavement there is left. Unlike the road south of town, this by-way is nearly unused and thus, is nearly unusable. Certainly an automobile would never make it through here, although a horsecart might -- and evidently has, to judge by the ruts. Some homesteads and small farms lurk along this road, hiding in the shadows of the forests. Ancient shacks, part of some long-gone resort or campground, huddle here and there under the assault of nature. Just visible through the trees to the west is the vast Lake Millinockett, a vista that opens up at the northernmost extreme of the road, where a dilapidated bridge crosses the Mud River just below its emergence from the lake.
On the far side of the bridge, the road peters out into a dirt trail, the pavement vanishing at last.
You step onto a cracked but clean tile floor that was probably once red, but is now a faded salmon pink. A large, rectangular communal table seating about 10 takes up the middle of the floor, with mismatched smaller tables arranged near the large front windows. The long counter in front of the kitchen door sports plates of fragrant bread, cookies, and muffins and bowls of fresh wild fruits. A small, rattling fridge in the corner holds a selection of juices and cold spring water in reused bottles and jars. Atop the refrigerator is a can for cash donations; next to it is a box for barter payments. Scrawled on the box in black marker are the words "Pay what you can, when you can."
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt is tucked into them at the waist; the collar of it's left mostly unlaced, the ends of the cord hanging down. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops.
This young man is obviously a traveller, and most likely a rogue, of some sort, with the too-frequent calculating glances he sends around himself, and the easy, unconscious grace of his movements. Probably in his mid to early twenties, nature seems to have favoured him with height (6'3"), a decent build, and looks to match. Dust and grime sit on a sharp, well-tanned face, with relatively few lines. Short, thick black hair hangs over a faded, dirty red head-band.
A long-sleeved shirt that might once have been white (but would now settle quite happily for 'cream') covers his body, with the sleeves rolled up. A brown leather vest hangs open, over the shirt, with numerous pockets visible on both the inside and outside. His pants appear to be a very dark grey, and woven very tightly in some unidentifiable material, not unlike canvas. Heavy black leather boots bear all sorts of dark stains and dust - they've seen a lot of use, but also look strong enough to see quite a lot more.
The man carries what are obviously long, projectile weapons on his back - slung in leather cases with straps over his shoulders - and he has the look of someone ready to use them. A couple well-placed, faded knife-scars on his face lend a little weight to that assumption, and a little age to the man's obvious youth.
Unruly black hair, long enough to nearly reach the girl's waist, falls in tangles around a gypsy's face. Both the shade of the girl's skin and the cast of her features speak of a Mediterranean heritage: her nose is a little long, her cheekbones high, her complexion a mild olivine tan. Her eyes are not dark, but a peculiar shade of hazel-green. She is of a middling height for a woman, perhaps five and a half feet, lithe and lean, all whipcord muscle with barely an ounce of softness.
A sleeved tunic of pieced deerskin and rabbit fur covers her from throat to midthigh, with a strip of leather for a belt. Below it, her legs are wrapped in soft-tanned hides and furs, strapped on to above the knee.
Laughter and snowy, light footfalls ring through the woods, along the trails. It sounds like it might be Safi--at least, that carefree sound brings her to mind.
Serendipity is wandering idly around beneath the lowland trees, looking up into their branches, through into the forested area behind them; he pauses, every so often, and eventually stops, dropping down crosslegged on the ground, back to one of the biggest trunks.
A small grey streak darts across the trail... and then Safi bursts from the woods at a full sprint, and makes a flying leap as the rabbit darts into a snowbank.
The snowbank is, unfortunately, not the wisest choice for the poor rabbit. Safi hunts, but not alone. A large grey wolf, almost invisible, til it moves, surges forward to leap onto the rabbit with his paws, and powerful jaws close expertly around the doomed creature's neck.
Serendipity's head jerks up instantly at the blur of the rabbit and the sound of pursuit, but his shoulders drop slightly again when he recognizes Safi, and the sudden arrival of the wolf. "...hey, beautiful," he greets her, letting the cold air carry his unraised voice, "Goin' for dinner out t'night, huh?"
Safi ends up thrashing in the snow with a wolf and a dead rabbit, but manages to prop herself up with both hands, her legs akimbo in the white drifts.
The wolf, for his part, jerks his head up - blood staining the fur of his muzzle - and locks his gaze onto Serendipity. He gives a soft chuff, tilting his head up in a half-nod greeting, then lets his tongue loll as he pants and pushes the rabbit to Safi.
Safi pages: Nice... view. Is that--yeah, that's bare thigh. mmm.
Safi pages: Kind of sprawled, knees up and apart, propped on her hands...
Serendipity nods to the wolf, and then admires the view of Safi, as it's rather more appealing, frankly. He doesn't make any move to get up, at the moment, however.
Safi shakes snow out of her hair, and grins. "Hello Serendipity." The long name is far from fluid, but she gets through it somehow. She looks to the wolf, then, sitting up crosslegged and reaching over to rumple his fur.
The grey-furred beast simply gives a soft rumble of satisfaction and lowers its head, half-lidding blue eyes.
Serendipity grins back, briefly, and half-smiles at their interaction, tilting his head back against the tree-trunk and closing his eyes. Not at his most loquacious, tonight.
Safi keeps petting the beast, looking over to Serendipity. "Are you... o.k.?"
Concern skitters across Safi's expression, and she lets go of Jack to roll smoothly to her feet. "Serendipity, you are sad, why?" She takes a few steps across to him, to stand right in front of him; there she drops to an easy crouch, a hand splayed on the ground for balance.
Serendipity shrugs without opening his eyes. "Eh, nah. I'm fine. Prolly just got too much blood in my alcohol system," he replies, cracking a quick grin, and absently rummaging around in his coat. Eyes opening, he blinks, then laughs once. "...Unexpected close-up. Hi."
Jack rises onto his haunches, resting a paw on the kill, then rolling it before him, as he tilts his head to regard Serendipity thoughtfully. And the boy's reactions.
Safi catches her lower lip between her teeth, studying Ren's face. "Why you are-- why are you sad?"
A soft voice - Jack's - sounds from seemingly nowhere. It's not sound moving through air, but a voice, quiet and calm, in his mind. It murmurs, 'Safi sees more than most... for this reason she is unused to deception. And it is why people confuse her. She cannot understand saying what is not real.' The wolf just watches, quietly. There's a hint of concern, not as much as Safi, but concern nonetheless.
Serendipity starts to wave a hand dismissively, and then stops, glancing sideways and startled at the wolf. After a moment, he shrugs again, and half-smiles at Safi. "I dunno, lovely. Even I'm not laughing =all= the time; what can I say?"
A glance over her shoulder, to the wolf; then Safi looks back to Ren, and offers a gentle smile. "You do not have to be lonely. You have friends, always. I do not want you to be sad... you want to dinner wis' us?"
Jack's jaw drops open in a distinctly wolfy and friendly smile, and the tongue lolls. His paw pats the rabbit demonstratively.
Safi laughs a little. "I sink we are having rabbit."
Serendipity hehs, and regards the pair of them for a few moments. "...thanks," he replies, then. "I dunno, but thanks."
The wolf tilts his head blinking curiously.
Safi blinks. "You do not want?" She tips her head, regarding him with gentleness in her eyes.
Serendipity reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, taking the leather tie with it; the hair hangs free for a few moments, before he reaches the end, and corrals it again. There's really a lot of it. "...I dunno," he repeats, with a sigh. "I mean, I don't wanna impose on your dinner, y'know? Plus, not sure there's enough for three." He grins faintly.
The wolf shoots a look Safi's way, maw closing and expression turning somehow... wry.
Safi's brow furrows. "Come," she says stubbornly. "You come eat. Zere is plenty, at ze cook-- ze kit-chen."
Serendipity hesitates, then shrugs again, and nods, acquiescing. Twist his rubber arm. "Well, y'know. If you insist." He grins crookedly again. "...should I be bringin' anything?"
Safi shakes her head, her face lighting. "Just you and your good words." She pops up to her feet, and steps over to fetch the rabbit--if the wolf will give up his kill to let her carry it. Then she leads the way down the trail.
Jack pads along after Safi like a dog after its mistress, his tail held high and his steps light.
Serendipity rises, thrusts his hands into his pockets, and follows the pair.
Safi walks fast, the slain prey barely dripping, carried by its hind legs. She heads for the Diner, with its cooking facilities.
A few drops of blood mark Safi's progress to the kitchen, where she starts dressing the kill with competent hands. "It is... just lonely, Se-ren-dipity?"
The grey wolf eyes the spots of blood the drop to the floor, but he doesn't bother to stop and clean them up. He simply perches near the girl, resting on his haunches.
Serendipity rests on the edge of the table, hands playing restlessly along the back of a chair, glancing into the kitchen. "'sokay t' just call me Ren, if y'want," he offers absently, "...though Serendipity's fine too." He doesn't answer the question for a few more seconds, and then it's with: "What is?"
"Your... sad feeling." Her eyes are intent on her work with the knife; it seems to have appeared from somewhere in her clothing.
The wolf just watches Ren, perhaps unsettlingly with all too human blue eyes.
Serendipity lets a puff of air out, upward -- it moves the stray strands of hair that don't make it into the ponytail -- and shrugs again. "...yeah, I s'pose. Miss people sometimes. Y'know... stuff like that."
"I do not know... miss people, how?" Her brow is furrowed, as she skins the rabbit and cuts a few bits from it.
The Garou shifts, rising up into the human form, and wandering over to Safi to give her a gentle nudge in the shoulders with his head. He turns and moves to take a seat, as Serendipity has, at a table near. He yawns, and reaches up to wipe blood from his mouth, idly.
Serendipity pushes the chair out, and actually sits on it now, though backward, straddling it with his chin on the top of the chairback. "Missing people, it's when someone y'know isn't there, but you'd kinda like to see 'em, y'know?" he explains.
Safi frowns. "I know zis. I know... I miss one person, some time. But... but it is good to be... away from people. You miss... one person?"
Jack's as silent and watchful in homid as he is as a wolf.
Serendipity looks sidelong at Jack. Not that being watched feels weird or anything. "...sometimes. Sometimes miss lotsa people. I know a lotta people I'm not seein' at the moment, an' all."
Safi finds a pot, and puts the rabbit in to brown a little. Then she hunts for some vegetables, wizened by months of storage. There may not be much green, but a few potatoes and carrots get chopped up on the board. "How many people can you know?"
"Whereat?" There's a sudden, wry smile from the Garou. "You strike me as a city boy," he murmurs vaguely. "Folk like us who like to think they have a reputation usually are."
Serendipity laughs, rather suddenly. "Thousands, beautiful. I know thousandsa people. Or've known 'em, at least. And everywhere," he adds, to Jack. "I think I was born somewhere in the southwest territories, but it's hard to say. My people move around a lot, an' I've kept going since I struck out on my own, too. Do like cities, though... so many people in 'em, y'know?"
A grin, from Jack, genuinely amused. "Yeah, I know..." He murmurs, with a suggestion of definite fellow-feeling. "Very well."
Safi looks over her shoulder, staring at Serendipity. "Thousand? So many?"
Serendipity grins back at Jack, and nods to Safi, "...oh, yeah. Thousands, for sure. Not that I ever miss, mind, just that I've known. Lotta people out there, see. Lotsa towns like this, a few cities that're much, much larger. Plenty in between."
Safi stands wide-eyed for a moment, the knife at her side. Then she shudders, and turns around again, chopping up potatoes. The smell of cooking meat comes from the pot, and a sizzling.
"They're... amazing places," Jack murmurs, looking off to one side. "Not very 'nice', though. The more people you cram into one place..." The Garou's wry smile turns more rueful. "More employment opportunities, though. Lots of easy money."
Serendipity nods. "Lotsa easy everything," he agrees idly. "Lotsa =interesting= stuff... always something t' do. Don't get me wrong, I like the country too, but yeah, I like the cities." He considers a moment. "Not sure I've got a reputation, though. At least, not in more'n a handful of places, not yet. And half of 'em prolly wanna shoot me on sight." He grins again, almost proud of it -- certainly amused by it.
Safi pours water into the pot, and shakes her head ruefully. "No, I cannot think zat is true..."
Jack narrows his eyes, wiping the last of the blood from his mouth and leaning over the back of his chair. "I can."
Safi shoots Jack a narrow-eyed look that says, 'Be nice.' Not quite scolding, but a little reproachful.
"Some people," Ren remarks with solemn pity for those so afflicted, "can't take a joke, see." After a moment he adds, "...and some people're way too concerned who other people take up with." Shrug. Hey, what can ya do?
Jack looks over his shoulder, to the kitchen, sending Safi a slow wink, and returns to looking over at Ren. His arms fold over his chest, as he rolls his shoulders. "Mmm," he murmurs, noncommittally.
Safi turns, leaning against the counter, blood on her hands. She blinks at Ren. "What is take-up-with?"
"He's trying to buy himself excuses, saying he knows how the world should be," Jack grins, rising and moving to drift into the kitchen.
Serendipity hesitates a moment, thinking on definitions, and gives up with another faint shrug. "Fuck," he translates, matter-of-factly. "...usually implies a kinda spending-time-together-romantically kinda relationship, but it's the same thing if you boil it down. For some reason some people's fathers 'n' such don't think I'm good enough for their kids or whatevers." Another shrug. Lots of shoulder exercise tonight. "You'd think they'd let 'em run their own lives, but hey. And no excuses... I =do= know how the world oughta be."
Safi's brow furrows, and she frowns slightly. Then she turns back to check on the water.
Jack grins toothily, the smile of the predator. "See, people who think like that only realise they're wrong, when they're dead. Some of us get lucky and get to reconsider." He slips his hands around Safi's waist, absently.
Serendipity arches a brow, adjusting his seat more comfortably, with a bit of a slouch. "Like what?" he inquires, casually.
Safi lets out an explosive breath. "I do not undair-stand, what you are talking about. I do not undair-stand take-up-with, or anysing after zat."
She scowls at her soup. "And Justinn, could make water go hot faster," she mutters.
"People who think they know how the world should be," Jack states simply. He turns slightly to get a look at Ren. "Not to press the point." He takes a greater interest in Safi's soup. "Take-up-with means to get involved romantically. Like us, baby," he explains. "Serendipity likes to chase girls whose fathers who don't want him to just show them a good time and then leave. Which may or may not be fair. Such people often wind up washed up on the rocks, though. Put a few there myself. All part of the great mystery that is 'life'."
Safi's brow furrows as she begins putting in the vegetables. "Fuck is not ze same as take up with, zen," she murmurs. "You be nice to each ozzer. No getting... thorns."
"That's not a fair characterization," Serendipity protests, all wounded pride, and then smirks. "...I chase boys, too. And whether their parents or other associates are against it isn't involved in the choice." Hmph. "...and I've done fine knowin' how the world oughta be for nineteen or twenny winters now, so I figure it'll work for me a few more." He shakes his head at Safi, "...nah, it's the same thing. Just put prettier for people's maiden aunties."
Jack rolls his eyes heavenwards, muttering, "True enough, that."
Safi shakes her head. "Is not," she murmurs, but doesn't argue the point. Words are not her strong suit. She slides a hand over Jack's, and gently removes it so that she can look for the proper spices.