At first glance, this run-down efficiency seems barely lived in. The door opens onto a nearly empty living room, painted institutional white and containing only a lime-green couch with fuzzy yellow pillows and an oak coffee table. It is reasonably spacious, and is obviously intended to be the main room of the flat. The current light fixture is a hanging industrial fluorescent, which gives the room a slightly unhealthy, antiseptic feeling, unmitigated by the ancient blinds covering the windows. The left wall from the door shows signs of a mural in progress, though the faint pencil lines leave the intended design still unclear.
To the right upon entering is a small kitchenette, with barely enough space to stand between the stove and refrigerator on one side and the sink on the other. A boom-box style radio relaxes on the counter, broadcasting soothing celtic music. Just above the sink is what little cabinet space can be had. There is a small dining table and chairs right outside the kitchenette, defining an eating space.
Just past the kitchenette, still on the right, is the bathroom, then both bedrooms. Between them is a small coat closet, empty except for a surely breeding collection of wire hangers. The door to the closet is perpetually ajar, as it doesn't seem to want to latch properly.
In another era, she might have been considered terribly attractive. As it is, she sits just on the prettier side of average. At about 5'6", the girl looks to be carrying around a hundred and sixty pounds, giving her a rather full, hourglass figure unusual for a girl in her mid-teens. She has quite a pretty face; it's a bit plump and tawny freckles are scattered across her nose and cheeks, but otherwise her complexion is unblemished, and her features are well balanced. Full lips frame almost-straight teeth, often revealed in a cheerful grin, and large, almond-shaped eyes, the irises a warm, gold-flecked shade of brown and the lashes thick and dark, peer out brightly through wire-rimmed glasses. Her mass of unruly black curls falls untamed to the middle of her back, stray strands frequently dangling before her face. It looks as though she might be wearing an almost imperceptible bit of makeup, perhaps a light dusting of gold eyeshadow and some sort of very pale peach lipstick; the only thing resembling jewelry, though, is a silvery key hanging about her neck on a dog-tag sort of chain.
Her style of dress is equally unlikely to get her on the cover of Cosmopolitan, but it wouldn't be out of place in the average high school. She's clad in a deep green tanktop of some stretchy, slightly shiny fabric, which clings to her curves, the v-neckline scooping low enough to display quite a bit of cleavage. The shirt does absolutely nothing to disguise her bustiness, in fact playing it up for a change. The hem is tucked into a threadbare pair of baggy dark blue jeans, cinched tightly around her surprisingly small waist by what appears to be a seatbelt -- the buckle even reads "GM". The frayed hems pool around the ankles of her decrepit black Docs, laced with sparkly silver laces which have also seen better days. Atop all this is a huge and ancient black leather motorcycle jacket, the cuffs of which constantly fall down over her hands. Slung over her shoulder is a bulging canvas backpack, probably military surplus, dotted with patches and pins in various colours and states of repair.
Dark black hair falls in layers around Lyra's chin, brushing her shoulders, and slanted hazel eyes stare out brightly from high cheekbones in her pale face. She's a slim 5' 3", thin fingers and tiny feet, but for her eyes a typical Chinese teenager. She doesn't look very strong- she isn't -but she has an athletic look about her, a toned body rather than a muscular one. She wears a white hooded sweatshirt, with the zipper open, a faded red t-shirt with frayed edges, and dark blue jeans that Anneka had brought for her. Her clothes are decidedly dirty, and there are dried bloodstains on the left side of the hood. Her pink/red sneakers are still there, although rattier than when they first appeared.
At a little under six feet tall and wiry, Matt is trim the way a cross-country runner would be. His hair is white-blonde and short, gelled spiky. His eyes, the blue-grey of rainwater, stand out from his pale skin, the most striking part of his countenance. His hands are firm and workman-like, with scars on the knuckles from a few rows in his recent past, a motif that is echoed, for different reasons on his back. Starting at the nape of his neck, a maze of wire-thin scars trails onto his back, cris-crossing it like a road map. For the most part, they're hidden by his clothes.
Matt is dressed comfortably for the weather in a t-shirt and his ubiquitlous jacket, covered in embroidered patches from British punk bands like the Sex Pistols and the Stigmasochists. His face is decorated with what looks like dark blue make-up, a large triangle from his left temple to right cheekbone to hairline is covered in the stuff, and a fianna glyph is drawn on his left cheek.
No more is there a curious innocence about her, just a feeling of cautious vigilance. Almond-shaped coffee brown eyes gaze out evenly for awhile, until they seem to disengage from active surveillance and turn inward to watch the soul. A short cascade of highlighted brownish black hair layers off to outline the curves of her face and mask the true hints of emotion in her eyes. The scars upon her body tell quite an enigmatic tale. (+detail Yi's scars) The wounds, though healed, seem to cut much deepest regions of her spirit. Despite the mended wounds, Yi moves with a natural grace of one whose life rides upon concealed shadows.
Her dark clothes add their colors to a quiet demeanor. Often she wears a black leather-quality jacket over a dark colored shirt. The black pants on her are form-fitting but comfortable and loose in the right spot, held in place by a steel-buckled belt. Finishing off are a pair of black boots, the recent shine to them show she's taken care of their presentation. The only things that would seem ever out of place with her modern, sombre look, is the pendant worn around her neck. (+detail Yi's pendant)
Matt nods. "Good. Wanted ta make sure. Oi 'aven't taught anyone really since I left th' farm'ouse. Most new Gnawers go to th' Church fer safety, though they'd be welcome 'ere. An' o'course Oi'd take Fianna in anytime. Just feelin' a bit useless sometimes, s'all."
Lyra smiles and reddens at the compliment, then resumes her hunt for silver- er, utensils. "Not really that fast, am I," she says modestly, opening a drawer and finding forks and knives. "I just get saddled with good teachers." She looks up and grins at Matt, three sets of forks and knives in hand. "You're not useless. You let me go to the Umbra, remember? Not before a Litany Lesson, too."
Yi nods at Matt, taking a few of those shishkabobs from the grill now that they've got some pretty stripes on them. "Well, I would be appreciative if you could show Lyra some more of the philodox ways of course. My teacher was a halfmoon, but it wasn't my place, na?" The Gnawer slips some more kabobs on, taking the done ones to the table to set down.
Pack> Matt says "Tens? Oi 'ad an intrestin' encounter today. You know a mousy bloke named Carter?"
Pack> Kaz says, in an IC sense, "John's all rabid about him. 'parantly, he's a mage. What about him?"
Wait, wasn't that door locked? Apparently, it isn't now. The knob turns, and the door begins to move inward. Swing inward, really. No jingle of keys. There is, however, a quiet, dark muttering that might sound familiar to one or two of the occupants before the door's open enough to reveal one deeply annoyed looking Bernie. And then a deeply startled looking one. "People. Hey."
Pack> Matt says "splains much. Bloke wanted our permission ta 'ang out by th' fountain at 'arbor Park. oi said Oid get back to 'im."
Pack> Kaz says, "Huh." There's a pause. "On the one hand, John says he's whacked. On the other hand, if we know where he is, we can keep an eye on him."
Pack> Matt says "He seemed pretty polite. I dunno. Maybe we should talk wif 'im again. Didn't wanta just say no wifout knowin' 'is story."
"Books!" Matt exclaims. "Yer 'ome early. In time fer jim, though. Oi shouldn't be surprised." He indicates the new cub. "You know Lyra?"
Pack> Kaz says "Yeah, talkin'd be good."
Yi looks up at the door, and then over as Matt exclaims the name of her fellow raggie. "Bernie!" The canto-raggie sets the kabobs down on the grill, abandoning them for the Stomper. In those rare instances of her open bonds, she reaches out for a hug.
There is a few solid knocks on the door from outside.
Bernie squeaks as Yi approaches, and grins, giving her a big, tight hug in return. "Hey," she repeats, more conversationally, and looks up over Yi's shoulder toward Matt, "I think I oughta resent that remark or somethin', but I'm not up t' it. You luck out t'night." She releases Yi, and glances around again. "What's th' occasion?" No sooner has the door fallen shut behind her but the knocks sound, and she turns to glance through the peephole. "...no fair having a party an' not invitin' me."
Yi hugs fiercely and quickly. She nods, then turns to go tend those kabobs that cook way too quickly. "I didn't know Matt invited more than just Lyra and I..." she glances up at the Fianna before sending a smile to the halfmoon cub.
Alicia is standing outside the door, hands shoved into her trench coat, blowing out a soft breath to remove the bangs from her face.
Matt grins, shrugging in Yi's direction. "Didn't. Maybe it's a /very/ polite Dancer." He teases, and has the kabobs covered. "Books, given the number o' times you've gotten me back fer fings Oi 'adn't done yet..."
"But you were =gonna= do 'em," Bernie retorts, "And y'know, like the scouts say, Be Prepared... whoa, it's Alicia." She turns the knob, opening the door a bit, and declares, "We gave at the office!"
Yi looks over from her kabob observations to the doorway again, at mention of the Gaian's arrival. "Alicia too?"
"Hey." Alicia says as she slides her hands out of her pockets, lifting up a brow slowly, then peering just past the Gnawer's shoulder to those who vacate the apartment. Nose twitching a bit, she lets out a soft breath.
"Alicia?" Matt calls. "Oi doan't know any Alicia!. Wait, is that that trollop of a Gaian? Whot's she want?!"
"Hey," Bernie replies, peering at Alicia, and opens the door a bit more, enough to let her in. "We're just havin' dinner. Apparently."
Yi smirks at Matt's remark, before slipping over to the galliard and bumping shoulders with her as well. Well to a degree since Alicia is taller. "There's food and drink, and of course stuff to talk about." The ragabash seems to be in a pretty good mood herself. Then again, it could be the beer in her hand. This Fianna stock liquor...stuff.
The Gaian shrugs her shoulders slightly, indifferent. "Yah.. I um.. didn't plan to stay long." She says, glancing just slightly within. "Just wanted to make sure Bernie was still alive and well, ya'know... And, I guess she is." Shifting a bit on her feet, she glances over her shoulder, shrugging her jacket up about her shoulders more.
Matt is still shouting from the kitchenette. "Fer fuck's sake, get 'er in here. She needs food an' company. An' a beer!" He brings one of the latter to the door, slipping around Yi and leaving enough room for Bernie to open the door the rest of the way.
Bernie pulls the door the rest of the way open, and gestures into the room. "Alive, an' mostly well. You too? C'mon, come in. There's a draft..." She reaches out and pulls gently on Alicia's coat to bring her in.
Yi hms around the dregs of the bottle in hand, finished with it and moving to slide into a seat at the table. "Well I have good news too. Remember that man from yesterday? The one that was beating on the puppy? He's gotta new dog this time. Thick-Skull, the mutt who ran away from one member of the Blades. The one living behind the grocery store. He is the new, proud owner of that man. Has good living ahead, I think. Lyra and I went to take a look. And Blondie is uptown now with a nice girl and her parents. No chains now. Worked out for both sides."
Being tugged inside and being hammered by conversation on all sides, Alicia takes a few moments to process it all, then glances over to Yi. "Oh.. thats great." She says, offering only a tinge of a smile. Eyes fall upon Bernie and Matt now, shoulders lifting. "So..um... how is everyone?"
Matt's smile is overshadowed by the aroma of scorched meat. "Famished. But we've plenty o' meat an' veggables. You /will/ stay for dinner, won't you?"