Logs:Ravaging Rune

Ravaging Rune

Players

Auburn Gresham
1 September, 2022

How to start a dumpster fire using two women and a dumpster.

At night, Chicago is much like any city - only largely dangerous if you take fear and anxiety with you, or are outright looking for trouble. But it can be lonely and cold, as the burbling murmur of massed civilization simmers down to a moody stew, bubbling away in preparation for the next day. Most are squirreling themselves away at this hour - well past midnight, into the small hours of tomorrow, either sleeping or having found their solitude, with whomsoever they share it with. It's a perfect time for those who can't - or choose not to - live during the daylight, to come out and play.

Even the staff of Satin & Savagery have all but gone, their work over and their play sought elsewhere. Only one remains, the tall, lithe form of Andreia slipping out through the double doors leading into the burlesque club. She closed the downstairs more than an hour ago, and now comes fresh from an encounter upstairs - clad in the same sweaty clothes she's been in all day, oxblood leather pants and a simple black tank top. Of more interest, to anyone who'd notice, are the cuts and bruises all over her body, knuckles and elbows scabbed over, and the odd addition of a few streaks of glitter on her bared skin. She's a bit of a mess, but this is not particularly unusual, to her; she oversees an underground fight club, after all.

A motorcyle helmet swings from one hand, momentarily, before it's set down on a metal stool parked inside the foyer. The Brazilian clears her throat with a husky rumble, turning to swing shut the doors and string a chain between the gilded handles, locking the portal shut with a jangling din and a firm snap of heavy bolts. She retrieves her helmet and performs a similar maneuver on the outer doors, also sliding into place the deadbolt and securing the iron cage, which falls with a careless clatter, setting off a series of yowls from the neighborhood cats. Andi doesn't seem to care.

With a sigh, she runs her hands through her dark, tangled locks, keeping the bike helmet stashed between her booted feet for a moment longer as she fishes into her back pocket for a beat-up pack of cigarettes. She's probably been hauling them around for a few days, by the look of them, and there's just one straight left. She pulls it out, straightens it, then jams it between her lips with a bit of a huff, sparking a flame with a cheap plastic lighter and taking a long, restless drag.

A cloud of smoke is exuded, her eyes lid for a moment, and then she retrieves her burden and strides on through the cloying gray tendrils, making for the alleyway beside the building - where she's parked up her Yamaha R1 beside the dumpster. She's stepping into the alley entrance when one of the aforementioned cats decides to stake its claim, emitting a hiss at the leather-clad woman, who turns with a dangerous creak to /growl/ right back.

The smaller beast is sent packing with a murmur of panic, and Andreia tosses her hair, puffing on the cig clamped between her lips. There's one thing left to do, and so she reaches for the dumpster, sliding it open enough to toss in the emptied packet. She's aggressive in doing so, and sends the whole receptable sliding back against the wall with a clattering thump.

It is the clatter of the lid of the dumpster that startles an exhausted Rune away, who had been huddled and tucked in the corner formed by the wall of the building and the side of the metal box for trash. Instantly, she is up and wide-eyed, a flash of something shiny in her hand as she stares at the face of Andreia for a good few hammering heartbeats before she lets out a pent-up, held, breath in a huff of relief. "Fuck," she gasps before taking a few more calming breaths, turning away from the corner of the dumpster to try and walk down the alley. She was not expecting to be found, surely, and now that she has been, well, she is humiliated. It's going to be hard to have any kind of excuse or reason why she was tucked into a dirty alley, so why even try to offer one? Wrapping her arms around herself in the cold night air, she just tries to slink away before the questions come. Maybe Andreia gives zero fucks, and that would suit Rune just fine... as long as this little discovery doesn't cause her problems with her new job!

The thing about being startled near a predator is, they notice. They /really/ notice. Andreia's dark eyes shift with a feral alacrity as the girl begins to move; really, it's a testament to her adaptation to her shitty life that it took this long for the Black Wolf to notice her. Hiding in dark alleys works with ample reason, secreted in plain sight amidst the hum of passing vehicles and the chaotic incessance of strays. But it only works for so long.

That stare is returned, with a defiantly lazy air, a brief battle raging across the Brazilian's deceptively-relaxed features. An eyebrow starts to raise, her mouth twitches faintly, and then she lifts her emptied-out hand and pulls the smoldering cigarette away, exhaling her last drag. Rune begins to walk away, and for a sweet moment she can taste the escape, the merciful allowance by the tall, intense woman behind her. Does she not care? Is she going to let it slide?

First, there's one footstep, a single bold stride that flows nigh-instantly into another, and then a calloused hand is descending on her upper arm - if she doesn't try to squirm free, it most certainly grips /hard/, like an iron shackle. A failure to resist means she's spun around, then shoved against the wall of the building, none too gently it would seem...

But there's absolute control. If she's flung, it won't hurt. Just knock the breath from her lungs, lost to the chill air.

Shit. Rune's eyes close instantly at the grab of her arm, dreading what is about to happen, or could happen, at least in her head. Stopping and swinging around to face Andreia, she is braced for the worst, but honestly wasn't expecting to be shoved against a wall. That changes her attitude. Shock and anger are the first to show in her expression, her body tensing rapidly, "What the FUCK?!" she blurts. Self-defense at eleventy.

Staring at Andreia, "Just leave it alone, aright?" Up comes that knife in her hand, nothing fancy, probably stolen from a steakhouse cutlery tray, "I'm leaving, okay?" Yeah, she's scared. The girl isn't that big, some would call her petite, definitely nothing like the amazon Brazilian. Pushing off of the way, she makes to shove her way back past Andreia, to continue on her way and leave the situation.

Fear is the real weapon here, the spiking of off-kilter anxiety and defiant rage absorbed on a shield of absolute apathy as the Brazilian pulls back her shoving arm, palm out, barely glancing at the brandished weapon. She's not cocky about the situation, or her chances, just extremely self-confident - Rune wants to find some measure of control, Andreia simply /knows/ she's in control, so long as she wants to be. Her hand's already in place to counter the shove, and she does it, grabbing the girl anew and gently, but firmly, resetting her against the wall. If she gets cut, she gets cut.

"No, you're not," she mutters, matter-of-fact, not especially unkind in delivery - save that she's brusque by habit. "What's happening is, we're gonna talk, happy girl." So long as she's not being violently assaulted, she'll pause to take one last drag on the cigarette, then flip it over and offer it out with an arched eyebrow. "Don't think this is your deal..."

"But I wanna know /what/ your deal is. You were bright and bubbly as shit this afternoon, now you're sleepin' in a dumpster out back? Casing the joint? Waiting for someone? Or just nowhere better to sleep?"

Fear is now a fire in her belly, the fight-or-flight being decided by Andreia, no matter how 'nicely' she is taking away the option. Every sinew in her body is tense, and only gets tighter, the scent of real fear building as she stares into the taller woman's eyes. Defiance and anger are all that she tries to show, never let them see you sweat, right? The knife is white-knuckled in her trembling fist, unsure what to do. The calm voice, the use of the word 'talk', it's enough to stay her reaction for the /moment/.

It takes a moment to answer, her mouth is bone dry, her tongue thick. Finally, she swallows what little spit she can summon and whisper-croaks, "I didn't want to go all the way back to the Shelter." That should explain everything, right? All in one sentence. "I don't have the money, okay?" she becomes defensive, her gaze going from eye to eye as she watches Andreia for some sign of what is going to happen here, "And I wasn't in the dumpster, you know that. I'm not /gross/."

Andreia's nostrils flare, her inhalations growing deeper by no virtue of the tobacco. Like an animal, tasting fear in the air, and all too human in how she seems to quietly savor it. If anything she's growing more relaxed; a woman leaving work, enjoying her nightcap of terror and uncertainty. She even begins to smile, though it's distant and reads cold. Her forceful hand is nowhere near Rune, now, retreating once the point has been made, long-nailed fingers remaining open just above her hip. There's absolutely no mistaking that she can bring them back into play with alarming speed.

But she doesn't particularly want to, right now.

"Fuck."

It's a calm, long-suffering echo of the younger woman's opening expletive, coupled with a flickering upward roll of near-black eyes. The shift in posture is minute, once she puts the story together, but her weight does shift, falling more heavily into her back foot - the other tap-tapping impatiently at the filthy paving of the alleyway now it's no longer poised.

"Alright, 'Rune', do me a solid and don't try to run again. I fucking promise you, you'll only die tired and a lot more gross." Her stare is downcast briefly, taking in the skinny frame with an expert eye. "Look like a runner to me. Don't think it'll help, yeah? I'm the Big Bad Wolf, and there ain't no woodcutter to save you. Be real with me, and..."

She shrugs, and with a cursory flick, disposes of the cigarette - since it wasn't taken, she assumes the smoke isn't going to go down well. She pauses thoughtfully then, looking the girl right in the eye, silent in her ferocity and judgement.

"Maybe the wolf saves you from herself. You're on the streets. Got family? You a criminal?"

She cannot figure out if Andreia's words are bravado or true threat, and it does nothing to help her stance in this moment. Eyes cut to the left, judging her chances if she bolts. The girl has confidence in her abilities to run, dart like a rabbit, she has what it takes to evade almost anyone but an Olympian. That confidence is reflected in her eyes as she looks back at Andreia, disbelieving that the threat is a real one, but not willing to try her luck /just this moment/. There is still a chance that Andreia, whom she has been subtly warned about in various ways, mostly from her own highly-accurate read of people.

"Not a fucking criminal," the girl hisses, and with the vehemence of the words likely can be gleaned a good measure of truth, for she spits the words out like they were offensive. "I needed a job, I got the job," she says, measuring out her words carefully, "Won't be on the street for long." All of this in a tone of voice that hopefully conveys "don't fuck with me" as best she can. You know, that style of talking that is learned in highschool locker rooms? Now the eye contact is solid, measuring Andreia up, trying to ascertain what the woman is all about. Bluff or bite, but honestly, Rune cannot tell... and that surprises her.

It's been a long, long time since Andreia Lopes attended high school, and she did so in another era - but some things change less than others, and she recognizes the tone with all the air of a broken-down boomer. The mild deflation perhaps lends some credence to the other intricacies of her manner - she doesn't seem to be hiding a whole lot. And yet, there's also a sense that she's got a thousand things she could be squirreling away, behind those nigh-unreadable eyes. Nobody standing in a dark alleyway at night, making threats while covered in their own dried blood, has absolutely no secrets.

"Drop the attitude," murmurs the Wolf, resisting the urge to fold her arms beneath her chest, fidgeting a little instead, like she has anywhere else she'd rather be. It's a motion of restlessness, rather than nerves. "Found you sleeping /by/ a dumpster, kid." The emphasis is emphatic, and comes with a sardonic little smirk that doesn't quite reach her penetrating gaze. "Long or not, you're /on the street/, and the only person out here about to help is this dumb bitch in front of you."

She glances away, to the opening of the alley, and then quickly back, still more or less ready to pounce.

"Did you really get a job here?" The questions keep coming, relentless. "When do you start? Gonna turn up as you are now?"

Oh, so many things racking up negative points, in Rune's mind, for Andreia. Kid? Attitude?? Every instance heightens the anger in her eyes, empathy or not. She might not even much see any empathy, at this point. The abruptness and style of the "offer of help", even implied, takes Rune off-guard. Yet another hard left turn in the understanding of the woman in front of her. "What?" is all she can muster, eyes narrowing in confusion. "I... I think so," she blurts, "Luna said I'd be working in the changing room or something, and Bast said he'd train me, I..." now that she thinks about it, no. No, she wasn't never /told/ she was hired.

That takes the wind right out of her, and she slumps against the wall, now seeing and remembering the events earlier as they are and not shrouded in what she /wanted/. "I don't even know, now," she whispers, staring down at her hands and the knife, which she decides to slip back into the waistband of her pants.

The Black Wolf does have a bizarre way of expressing compassion - it lies more in what she doesn't do, than does, and she's currently reading every little nuance of Rune as best she can. She catches the indignation, and sees the slump coming, even rolling her weight back to the fore with the faintest hint of worry as a recent memory prompts her to act. Rune's loss of composure at least doesn't send her into a dead faint, and Andreia shifts right on back.

"Cool," she pronounces, as if it were anything /but/, the drawled syllable drenched in irony and a heaving sort of regret. "You're a fucking mess, yeah? Look. So was I, 'til a few weeks ago. Before that, it was worse. A whole lot worse than visible ribs and a cold sidewalk to sleep on." She rolls her neck, and then eases down into a squat, looking up at the slumping girl. Even reaching out, slowly, to take the hand now divested of the knife. Her grip is firm, and very /warm/.

"Point of this place ain't just to make money, in fact it's not that at all. Everybody you just mentioned, they're lost in their own ways. You wanna know something about beautiful, glowing Bash?" Her voice lowers, conspiratorially, and now the smile does reach her eyes, if only for a moment or two before she slides back into that resting scowl. "I just got done roasting his pretty ass for sleeping in the dressing room, cuz he's got nowhere better and won't ask for more. I don't /know/ you, and your name's fucking stupid, but maybe that's not your fault. I do know you look like you need a meal, and a proper rest."

She snorts, her nostrils flaring, tilting her head up at the girl, all feral-like as she /grins/.

"Maybe a job, too. Something more than you've got, which looks to be nothin'. That about right?"

So different from what she has expected, or experienced, from people along the way in her life. It is quite confusing, this level of antipathy and detached aloofness, coupled with the constant antagonism. Swallowing, she shuts her mouth because she has to, she cannot get away from this woman. That thought is the thing that roots her to the spot, and she has never felt so vulnerable.

Fucking mess. That hits hard and visibly, and she ducks her head to stare at her hands again. Sighing, she just nods. The true bared to see, and having it thrown in her face so coldly causes a wrack of a shiver to race through her, the first tell-tale signs of a sob long-coming, long-shoved-off. "Yes," Rune barely hisses, beaten and exposed, even as her hand is taken. More confusion, a furrowing of her brow as she stares at that hand now, unable to understand what it means.

But the attack on her name is too close to her core, and Rune's /other/ hand makes a wild but instant open-handed swing at Andreia's face but it was a bad judge of distance, and she whiffs it. Bad. Totally not a fighter. Andreia might prove a point by catching Rune's wrist and completing the slap for her, but that is just further humiliation. But she can snarl, "You have no right to judge me or my name! I /earned that/, goddamnit!" Oh, THAT pissed her off.

She fights to wrench her held hand out of Andreia's grasp and once again, go to bolt.

There's tough love, and then there's insistently keeping a scared young woman against her will. It's not that Andreia gives her literally no choice - it's just a /bad choice/. Stay put, and talk, perhaps be insulted and fed the painfully hard truths, or attempt to run and be subdued. She's not exactly expecting what happens, or how severe the triggering comment is going to be, the dagger sliding in through a chink in the armor she didn't pre-empt. But it's not entirely surprising, either, those dark eyes narrowing easily as the swiping hand comes in, and is immediately grabbed by the wrist.

The grin fades before it truly begins, and it's with the typical dour line to her mouth that Andi shifts grip and brings the girl's digits against her cheekbone with a pronounced smack of flesh-on-flesh. She stares at her, eyebrows raised, as if to say, 'really?' There they might remain, if she weren't also attempting to wriggle free, and she's all but captured to begin with. There's still a dynamic /surge/ from the Black Wolf, her twitch muscles all firing in perfect synchronicity, a century of honed fighting instinct twisting the wriggling girl around by the arm.

The other hand slips up under her shoulder, and without tightening her grasp in the least she pilots Rune around, deeper into the alleyway, plunging her headfirst into the gloom. It's not comforting, or comfortable.

"I told you not to /fucking run/," hisses the Brazilian, absolutely able to speak and remain as calm as she wishes - there's the impending sense she could do a lot more, is being entirely merciful in her ministrations. She's in control immediately and easily. "You want me to apologize? I'll do it. Just /don't/ make me hurt you. Reckon you've been through enough."

So now she is being led into the darkness, probably to get the shit kicked out of her away from the front door so that no one hears or sees. Rune is panicked, startled and pissed, and wrenched and shoved doesn't help this. Not that she has a choice, there is no way she is going to outpower Andreia on her best day, let alone dehydrated, starving and weak from the cold.

"Let GO OF ME!" the girl tries to scream, but it just echoes off the walls of the buildings, probably lost in the fog and gloom and darkness of the night. Besides, there isn't like there is anyone around in the district area to hear, much less anyone that might feel compelled to come to her aid.

Sense out of necessity creeps in, and Rune sobs, "FINE. Fuck. FUCK! Fine!" She's backing down, letting up, going to take a few breaths before she hisses, "Let go. I ... I won't run. Just don't hurt me."

It's like hauling around a child, the hint of malnutrition in her already slender frame making Rune frankly laughable, as any kind of threat to the mongrel monster on the verge of restraining her. The hand digging into that underhook could turn it painful at any instant, and there's a flexion of the fingers, a consideration of what could be done from here - for starters, at least. There's a hunger in her motions that's nothing to do with being /starved/, in the traditional sense.

"People scream 'round here all the time, Rune," assures the Wolf, unable to keep the threat from the words - but the tone, it's dissonantly soft, wound around a heartfelt sigh. The Brazilian isn't over-clad herself, the nip in the air tearing at the meagre hem of her tank top, and though it's not at all obvious from her actions, she's all but melting with sympathy. "Sorry about the name. Obviously, it means somethin' to you. And sorry for calling you a /kid/."

With that word exuded, she lets go, opening the iron clamps of her digits and skidding a half-step back. Her stance is ready, weight shifted into her thighs, still ready to pounce. But she holds her hands up, palms out, as innocuous as they can be.

"Can we start over? I'm Andi, and I run the bar downstairs. Down there, we fight, and we don't give a fuck. But I do. I give a fuck. About Bash, and Luna, and anyone they care about. You liked /them/, yeah? I want to help, like they do. I'm just..."

An asshole.

"An asshole. That's my /job/. To protect these people, my family."

She knows none of this is convincing, so she pulls a hand back, cautiously, so Rune can see what she's doing - sliding a couple of fingertips just inside the right pocket of her leather pants, pulling out a small stack of bills. She doesn't count them - it's maybe one or two hundred, at a glance. She displays it, but doesn't offer it out just yet.

"You'll take money, yeah? If you won't let me help you properly, at least... go help yourself. I don't need it."

Apologies are, frankly, confusing. Pieces of your behavior and words mish-mash, don't connect in her brain, and therefore a different image of you is emerging. A meanie with a heart, slowly, is becoming the tagline for Andreia. Rubbing her wrist, glaring and breathing heavily, she stares at you with animosity for a long moment. "Why?" she snaps, "Why be a bitch like that? Really?" You wake her up (accidentally) and are instantly on her, just to somehow put her in her pecking-order-place? Oh, she recognizes it as some super-amped-up version of high school (really her only reference at this point). "You /clearly/ have to protect them from little ole me. You know, the /smallest one in the room/," she hisses, "You're just a bully, and you /get off on it/."

The producing of the bills causes her to laugh, "You really think I'll take that? I know better, chica. I grew up in LA with the dealers on the corner, taking that would indebt me to you, and I'm very much rather not. Thank you, no thank you."

"Yeah."

There's absolutely no denying the fact that emerges through all the confusion. Andreia admitted it herself, just an hour or two ago, and she'll speak it plainly now, the acknowledgment coming without any real hesitation. "You're right, been pushing people around since I had the power to. Cornering 'em, taking what I wanted - or was told to take. /Weak/. Still my instinct, sometimes. Still working out how to make people listen and help themselves; it's either drive them away, or..."

Her shoulder shifts in a shrug, and she flicks out her own wrists, examining the smaller, younger woman in front of her with a slight upturn of her chin. It's defiant and challenging, though there's nothing to really challenge her /on/. All she's defying right now is the forbidden urge to do awful, terrible things because she CAN.

"Just said I was an asshole." She draws and releases a breath, then steps over to the dumpster, bending down to shove the assorted wad of bills under one of the dirty wheels. "Take this or not, doesn't make a difference. What're you gonna give me I couldn't just take? Only thing I can't make you give me is trust, only thing I can't force-feed you is charity. Take it and disappear, for all I care. Kill yourself with pride, or get stronger."

The tip of her boot rolls against the motorcycle helmet, left behind on the floor, and she flicks it into her hands, rolling it the right way up with a considerate glance of dark eyes, that are subsequently fired back to Rune.

"Don't let one asshole put you off the fact there's decent people in this world, and they won't always be the ones you think."

With a half-hearted snarl she moves over to her bike, ensconced in the shadows opposite the dumpster, calm and inattentive of the girl behind her as she slots in the key, checks everything over, and then fires up the ignition.

She softens a bit. Confessions can do that, admitting fault can desescalate any situation, and frankly, she wasn't expecting that. Once more, she is on shaky ground, unsure where she stands with you at this moment. Either you'll kill her here and now, or she'll walk away from this with a profound "What the fuck" permanently embedded on her brain. And to think - it all started with a loud bang of a dumpster lid.

"Sooooo," she says in a low voice, "Don't judge Bast and Lana because of you? Is that what you're saying?" A snort, "I don't judge others on the actions of someone else. That's a shitty way to live life." But you probably can't hear her, you've fired up the bike. She watches you ride off before slumping against the wall and all that fight-or-flight tension bursting out of her in tears, wracking sobs of relief that whatever the hell just happened didn't end with her face-down in a spreading pool of her own blood, posing for the chalk outline.

After a good, twenty minute cry, she gathers herself up and scrambles to the wheel of the dumpster to dig out that money and then she is running. Running running running through the Chicago night like hellhounds were on her ass.