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Just a few household items... | |
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Colt comes back with some food, and he and Ethan talk about Ethan's adjustment to his (relatively) new life as one of the Uratha. They go over the events of the prior night, and come up with a battle plan to field-test a possible solution. All they need is a few simple items... Mentioned But Not Present: Alex, Aleks, Ashlyn, John, Jordan, Nick, Xavier |
This Ten-Plex may or may not be in West Pullman. The fluid nature of reality says that it exists somewhere, but when an archmage causes aponoia and alters reality next week, it may end up moving entirely. Colt opens the door, the bag of groceries held carefully in one arm as he stuffs his keys back into his pocket, closing the door behind him with a foot and a maybe-just-a-bit-too-loud bang from not-quite-perfect application of force. Moving into the kitchen, he sets the bag on the counter, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer before starting the onerous task of putting away the hunter's gathered spoils -- mostly a variety of meats. Hamburger, steak, chicken, bacon, chorizo. Eggs, fish. Calling out through the apartment "Moon Moon. I got you your -- salad." He looks at teh little plastic container as if unsure what possible purpose it could serve, in much the same way one might look at deep fried grasshoppers. There was some soft exercising sounds as Colt came in, and there's a soft thump as Ethan lets himself down from the pull-up bar that he'd been working. He's wearing shorts and a tank top, bare footed and bare armed, and has the slight shine of sweat that says he's been at his workout for a bit. The apartment has older wood floors, but still wood floors. It hasn't been updated in a long time; late 70s or early 80s cabinetry and counters. Paint is fresh, because why wouldn't it be? The bathroom is reglazed because that's Apartment Turnover 101; you reglaze the bath before you rent it out again. But other than that it's an unremarkable three bedroom affair. And while Ethan doesn't let his fitness equipment get too out of control, it's still something of a presence. "Thanks," he says, still close enough to his human side to think about calories and vegetables and vitamins and things. But he likes the meat too. He grabs a glass of water and tosses it down. "I appreciate you going after them." When Colt had left Ethan had been under Mrs. Haggerty's sink in unit 4, swearing up a blue streak while her garbage disposal replacement continued to piss him off. Apparently he got the job done though. At least the dust up at the hangout didn't leave him permanently irritated about the nick name. Or at least, he doesn't outwardly react to it. He doesn't toss off the smart ass remark he usually offers but it seems the beer-based apology was accepted and approved of. Not that Colt has to worry about the fitness equipment. It's not *his* apartment, after all. He has the one across the hall in the 10-plex. One might wonder why he actually has keys for this door, but one of the first things that anyone learns about the Irraka is that he has a habit of having things one might not expect him to have. Probably through theft. "Pretty sure that the checkout guy at the market is gonna piss himself if I keep showing up," he tells Ethan. "All I have to do is get in the line and start reaching for my wallet and he's ready to hit the alarm button." There's the faintest ghost of a smile in that, the aura of the Predator almost palpable around Colt. Has been for years, and just keeps getting stronger. "It'll be fun if he ever decides to nut up and try something. If he just faints or something -- well. That'll be annoying. By the time I get him set back up the damned packages would be leaking." Because that's the main concern. Naturally. "You get Mrs. Haggertys plumbing sorted?" That ghost of a smile again, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting some manner of double entendre there. Handyman is a trope for a reason. Ethan lets out one of those chuffs of air that's almost a laugh, but this time there's real humor in it. "You're the reason why grocery delivery was invented, Colt." Maybe someday he will be too...but at the moment he is causing none of these effects. His lips do twitch at the double entendre. "She's not bad-looking for 86," he says dryly, "but...if she just faints or something, that'll be annoying." Not that he's particularly discerning in that arena. If he likes someone he likes them, little things like whether they're older or what gender they happen to be or whether they're a tenant don't really stand in his way. Though sometimes *he* stands in his way. "Not to mention her goddamn tiny dog seems to think that he needs to bark aggressively at me and nip my boots the entire time just so I understand who is supposed to be in charge." He goes for the salad, opening it up, dumping the dressing in, stirring it around. He's hungry right *now.* "Yeah. Well. When we marry rich and can afford the subscription fees and tips and shit, maybe we'll have groceries delivered," he quips right back. "Until then, this is what we have. Go find you a rich cougar and get us some nicer things." They both know that Colt's self-destructive habits and hedonism don't exactly come cheap, either, so it's not like he's got a lot of extra cash to spare. He rolls his eyes at the mention of the dog though. "Thing would barely make a snack compared to us," he mutters. He, too, hates that dog. "Half tempted to piss on the thing when she's not looking just to show it whose territory its in." But then Ethan is starting on on the salad. The *salad*. Colt watches with a combination of confusion and fascination. Leaves. Goo. No bacon. No chicken. Just -- leaves and goo. The look on his face suggests that this clearly does not compute. "Enjoy it while you can, I guess..." "What, the salad?" Ethan says, looking down at it in surprise. "Nobody eats salad because they enjoy salad, Colt." As if surprised that he thinks this is why he bought a salad. "How exactly do you get your antioxidants and fiber if you don't eat greens anymore? Multivitamins? They kind of help...Do you just...no longer need all that stuff?" Still he's eating it like he doesn't have any particular problem with it, either. Like it's just fuel, but it's inoffensive fuel. Something he asked for because he believed he needed it, and for no other reason. Important fact: he'd looked speculative when Colt talked about peeing on the dog. Then horrified at himself for looking speculative. Apparently he hasn't ruled out rich cougars cause he had no response to that one either way. "You only need antioxidants and multivitamins to fight aging and cancer," Colt deadpans right back. "And since you and I are going to be hot until the day we day, and the *Uratha* don't *get* cancer, you're just -- engaging in useless self-flagellation right now." A small shake of his head. "It doesn't even have bacon on it, man. Just -- why?" Self-restraint and temperance aren't exactly in Colt's repertoire. The concepts are as foreign to him now as they always have been. And the path of the Storm Lord is as completely alien as it's always been, too. The look of horror, though, gets a smile from Colt. "That," he tells Ethan, "is the predator's instinct kicking in. That'll happen a lot more as you come into your own more fully." Ethan looks down at his salad thoughtfully. "Well. No need to order more then, as there's no benefit, but no sense in wasting food, either." He actually finishes the damn thing, though he does it with efficiency that really does suggest it's not at all about enjoyment. And then goes right to the fridge for some meat, because now he's actually hungry for actual food. That bit about the predator's instinct gets a quick, uncertain smile out of him. Quickly wiped away of course. The hints of uncertainty, at least. And the long hesitation he gets while he weighs 'talking about a thing with someone who is practically pack' vs. 'thou shalt not suffer etc. etc.', and as usual decides it comes down to the phrasing and the approach. "That would be welcome," is what he says. "As it might actually come with a dose of feeling like I know how the fuck to respond to some of these weird-ass situations." Colt gives a snort. "Sorry, I said *predator's instinct*, not *higher reasoning*. The wolf only knows how to respond to things in a handful of ways. Fight it, fuck it, eat it. If you want a well-thought-out plan of action that has bullet points and little flags and arrows and sticky notes and mathematical proofs, you're not gonna find that there." he finishes his beer, tossing the empty into the garbage as he moves over to tear open the package of ham, taking out a few slices for himself in a little meat roll-up. Protein pinwheel. Something. Still, best to move on to subjects that Ethan will be more comfortable with. "So. What'd you think of the crew from last night?" "Nick's an asshole." Well, no punches pulled there. His mouth actually twists for a moment, and his jaw hardens before he relaxes it again. "I liked the Alexes." Because he actually could only distinguish the faintest pronunciation differences between the two names. "Ashlyn and Jordan seemed alright. John seemed like good people. That Xavier guy was weird and gave me big stay away forever vibes." He frowns. Did he miss anyone? That seems like everyone who was there. He didn't have time to get a good or a bad impression of Raven. Good molotov throwing skills. That was the whole impression. "What did you think?" Colt gives it a second to consider. "Nick chose to use his words and not his fists. *Tur* isn't as hard and fast as you might think," he admits. "It's more of a strong suggestion, but they can still smack you around a little if it's not intended to seriously hurt you. Usually. Depends on who's running the show and whose reputation is on the line. So... could have been worse." This isn't to suggest that Nick *isn't* an asshole. Just that the abuses were light, all things considered. "The Alexes seemed alright. And John -- kind of looks like a lawyer?" He gives a little shrug. "Good people but like -- very well polished. Not sure if I need to avoid him or hire him." "Didn't get much of a chance to talk to the others. I came back from taking a piss and everyone was out the door." "If he'd used his fists, I'd have been happy to suggest it was time to take it outside," Ethan says, with a hint of a growl in his voice that suggests yes, there's a wolf in there. A wolf who almost would have preferred the attempt to smack him around, so he could at least hit the man back. Unwise, probably; the fellow probably outranks him by some considerable degree given he seemed an experienced sort...well, and doesn't everyone right about now? But a fight he would have felt entitled to get in there and *have*. "Fucker was wasting time. Some sort of body eating monster, and he wants to act like a motherfucking sixth grader." Ethan also has issues about being laughed at. He takes Colt's teasing because he trusts that's all it is, that the spirit of it is not malicious. Some other dude though, even if it's his tribesman...yeah. And for a minute there was a risk he was going to walk away with a bad impression of all lof them. He exhales and adds: "I don't think they got to any kind of a workable plan about that thing, but I guess we were really only seeing some extension of its power, if I understood what the hell was going on correctly." Colt levels a flatter look at Ethan. "Not everything is as simple as 'go in and fuck it up'," he reminds the other man. "The Lunes appreciate wisdom and cunning as much as glory. Going in and pounding it to a paste might feel good, but you can't be sure that you finish it that way, or that you're even gonna be able to pound it to paste unless you have a strategy. And often that means figuring out what to use against the damn thing in the first place. You feel like a badass until you waltz in and can't lay a hand on it, and some old woman has to tell you that your idiot ass was supposed to take a switch from a peach tree covered in powdered willow bark to the damn thing." Not that that exceptionally specific example ever happened to Colt. Nope. He's just gonna move right on past that, it seems. "If you understood what the hell was going on, that makes one of us," he sighs. "That's the thing about all this weird spirit shit. They all have to follow the damn rules, until they don't. And then it's anyone's guess what the fuck to do from there." Ethan's mouth twists briefly in frustration. "I suggested a cunning plan. Nick shot it down and made sure to let everyone know he thought I was a fucking idiot while he did. But you weren't there for that. And admittedly, nobody had the skills or the resources to pull it off, but I don't know how the hell I was supposed to know that until I brought it up. Maybe one of them was a secret bomb expert or something." Did he miss that maybe he should apply some of that wisdom or cunning to *Nick?* Hard to tell. He finally starts baking up bacon, making enough to share, and while it is inevitable that he caught on to the highly specific example, he doesn't call Colt on it either, or tease him about it in return. It's not that he never teases; he's just gentle about it, and careful about it. "I mean all I gather is that wasn't the real fight or the real thing. If it was, one molotov couldn't have gotten the job done right? And there was that...cord. John had to pull on. He called it an umbilicus. That implies a line back to the actual thing in its actual nest." "Yes," Colt answers, patience in his voice, like a teacher explaining something to a student that's starting to catch on. "You put forth a plan, and someone challenged you and shot it down." A little nod to that. "Do you defer to Nick?" A raised eyebrow here, cocking his head to the side. They both know the answer to it, though. "So he challenged you on your plan. What do you do then?" Colt spreads his hands on the counter. "Luna chose to gift you with the blessings of the Cahalunim. People are going to look to you for inspiration. Leadership. And that isn't always going to just magically happen," he tells the other man. "Like anything worth doing, it's something that you'll have to fight for. To show them why your way is best, even when they push back. Glory, Wisdom, Cunning -- they're about overcoming the obstacles in front of you as they exist," he assures. "Not as you want them to be." "I deferred cause nobody could do the thing," Ethan mutters, flushing with embarrassment as he turns the oven on. "And I had only half-formed ideas on how to make it happen. And because I had known about the problem for 5 whole minutes and they'd seen it and fought it and dealt with it so it wouldn't have been right to push forward." Unsure. "Or...would it have? I mean if I'd had a full plan and not some vague memory of seeing them put nitroglycerin in corpses...robot corpses...in *Westworld* maybe I could have led everybody to victory, but..." He blows out his cheeks. "Sorry. I...sorry." He flushes more, as if Colt having to explain any of this, all of this, represents some sort of failure on his fault. "John didn't use his people. It was an emergency situation but there was time to strategize. To send you in first for example. As we crossed over into the building. That Xavier dude was utterly lost. It was almost anticlimactic but it could have been really bad." It's not *entirely* a skip in subject, it's him trying to evaluate all of that, or maybe...grasp towards some sort of competence by evaluating what happened. But it doesn't stop another quick: "Sorry," from coming out of his mouth, with another wince. "I don't...really...Christ." Colt just listens, giving nods as Ethan works it out on his own. Half of the experience of being a teacher to a younger wolf is just acting as a sounding board while they work it all through. "That's a good thing to acknowledge," Colt suggests, careful of the other wolf's ego. "Knowing what you don't know is the first step to strengthening your knowledge. So you made a suggestion, and they shot it down. I'm guessing that someone then filled you in on what they'd already tried? So that you could use that in the future?" Maybe. Maybe not. But the seed is out there nonetheless. At the mention of John, though, he gives another nod. "John was certainly -- passionate." That's what he has on that part. "I think he's one of the Ralunim. They aren't exactly big on grand strategy when they're hackles get raised. It takes a firm hand on their tiller to keep them on the right path. Sometimes literally. But he wasn't *leading* just because we were *following*. Hell, I think we were half *chasing*." "No. In fact everyone but Nick liked the idea. The Alex with the beard even thought it was awesome. The idea specifically was if it eats bodies, put fire in bodies. Everyone gave it serious consideration, but once Nick said no everybody shut up. But only..." Ethan admits, with a slight tilt of his head, "Cause nobody had bombs or grenades or...fire talens maybe, which was what I thought the Alex with the tattoos might offer, but I am not sure what constraints would exist to keep fire talens in body bait from working. I think it would work...if we could ensure the fire *started* inside of the beast's body." Ethan is a mercurial soul. He was seething mad, now he's just thoughtful, and only a minute has passed. If asked he'd say he's utterly steady. Damn it. *At all times.* He pulls out a cigarette though and offers one to Colt while he lights his own. He opens a window but that's his concession. He's home. Colt's the only one here. He can cigarette. He also chuffs out a soft laugh. "We *were* half chasing," he admits. "Like oh shit. Guess he's going." "Nitro might be a little iffy," Colt adds. "But gasoline could work. Steal a couple of corpses from the morgue, or the university medical center. Or just go -- make a few. Or find a few. It's Chicago, they won't be hard to find. Funnel and a hose and a little bit of gross work, and you've got yourself a gasoline water balloon that just happens to look like a tasty treat for blobs." Colt takes the offered cigarette, though. No vice too large or small, after all. And it's not like he has to worry about lung cancer. The benefits of being a fucking werewolf. "Yeah. The Ralunim are kind of notorious for just -- diving on in if you don't keep a hand on their leash. He's probably a good guy. Just maybe needs to not be the one making the plan in the future." "That gives us corpses with gas. How do you get them on fire once he eats them? Nick was all worried that bombs would give it new powers or whatever but corpses full of gas doesn't give it new blood or brains. You'd have to put...just enough blood on it to make it want to eat it I guess. Though I guess once it's eaten a bunch of gasoline theoretically we could just shoot it with the flare guns and have a nice day. Boom. Time to do the spirit-shit." He frowns thoughtfully and says, "Wish there was a way to test the proof of concept though." He shakes his head, as if not sure why he's still pursuing this when the idea was asked and answered...except every other plan he heard sounded...clunky. And problematic. And this...if this can be made to work...and if he can sell them on it... Colt listens, thinking it over. There's a certain Hollywood appeal to the plan, certainly, just based on a combination of how simple it is to put together and how dramatic the effects could be. It's only when Ethan mentions that it'd be nice to have a way to do proof-of-concept that he chimes in with his own thought: "You could get a whole big from one of the local butchers and toss it in a vat of gelatin that -- you could -- also get from the local butchers." The Irrakas are widely known for being the ones in the room with the most plans to murder every person in it. And this isn't *that* far from an elaborate murder plan. The only difference is their victim is already dead. Ethan thinks about it for a moment. And then something rare happens. A grin. Genuine. Sparkling with humor and excitement and something that says he hasn't gotten old in his heart yet. "You know what? Fuck it. I wanna do that just to watch what happens, whether this helps the goo plan or not. We should buy this shit and do it." He has *some* income, after all. Not a lot. But some. "Not sure where we'd get a vat. Maybe a kid pool. Out back of the complex." Sure, the residents will blink, but that's why their rent is low. Or one of the reasons. So that when Ethan and Colt shoot flare guns into a vat of gelatin, they'll blink and accept it when Ethan says, "For my new YouTube channel." Colt holds up a hand as Ethan starts to get all worked up, his own smile blooming too. "Or," he offers, a clear alternative coming. "We wait until night. We find one of the empty buildings, and grab one of those old bathtubs out of it. The kind that aren't cemented in, and just kind of sit on the legs. And then we take that shit to one of the abandoned buildings and do this out of sight of everyone else so that we don't get cops and firefighters showing up wanting to know why we're desecrating a corpse in a pool full of gasoline goo." Colt, after all, already has an extensive criminal record. Possession. Dealing. Prostitution. Indecent exposure. The list of his various run-ins with the legal system of New York City are something to behold, really. And he isn't really looking forward to continuing that here -- even if they both know that it's all but inevitable. "Oh you meant some sort of *underworld* butcher with an actual body," Ethan says, blushing. "Not...grab a big hunk of cow meat and fill it with gas cause close enough. Yeah. Yeah that's all a better idea. You uh. Know where a guy like that is? Honestly I figured there were enough dead bodies in this neighborhood to get enough for the actual plan but I didn't give a lot of though to finding, storing, and transporting bodies. I was still back on *fire.* But...I mean. If you know a guy like that, great, we've got a body source." He clears his throat. What he did in foster care was grit his teeth and *study.* He went to college. He tried to carve a decent career out for himself. He saw crime. He brushed up against it. But he never *did* crime. But neither does he shrink from 'yeah we need a corpse and some crimial has one.' Colt gives a shake of his head. "No. I meant like a hunk of cow meat. Or, specifically, a pig," he says. "It's pretty close to a human. And not illegal. Cheaper to get your hands on too. But as it turns out, there are *laws* about what you can use a pig carcass for if you aren't going to eat it." He spreads his hands to the side, in a 'what can you do' sort of gesture. "And it's generally frowned upon to have smoking, burning chunks of pig-fat go everywhere. So. We maybe don't do it in the back yard. Where the people that pay you rent can see. Assuming you want them to *keep* paying you rent, and we don't start a fire with this crazy-ass fire plan." "Why the fuck are there laws about...well that's okay. There are. That's fine. And you're right on all counts. So. Pig, gas, *lots* of jello, and several flare guns. This is gonna be fun. Hoses? We need hoses too I guess. Can't just cut it open and dump the gas in with a gas can." There's maybe a hint of the question on that as he makes this shopping list. Oh hey. Speaking of pig, the bacon's done. "And an abandoned building and its abandoned building bathtub." The last time he said the word fun was for some extreme sport thing he wanted to try; weird experiments involving fire or explosions and crazy shopping lists? Clearly this makes the cut. The guy isn't bouncing on his toes, but he's radiating something of that energy. He's happy right now. "Well," Colt notes. "Maybe just the one hose. We can cut it down into smaller ones if we really need to. Gotta be practical about these things." About -- exploding a pig-corpse. With gasoline. Nothing could possibly go wrong here. Still, Colt knows exactly what it feels like to be breaking the rules, trying new things. That little rush of anticipation and excitement you get from it. It brings a smile to his face to see the younger wolf feeling all the same things. "Alright. I'll go scout for a place, then," he says, moving over to steal some of the bacon off the plate. "Think *you* can handle the shopping list this time? Funnel. Hose. Gas. I'll text you if I think of anything -- oh. Plastic tarp." He snap-points his fingers at that one. "We don't want that thing, uh. Leaking. Anywhere." "Yes," Ethan says with a laugh. "I can manage some shopping." He crunches a few pieces of bacon, but he's already moving towards things like shoes and his wallet and things he will need to buy a whole hecking pig. "And camping wipes. Some of this shit might get on us and we don't wanna be covered in it when we leave. A fire extinguisher. *Four* fire extinguishers." He'll happily break the rules it seems but he'll try to be responsible about it. "I don't even care what the result is," he adds, with some of the zest for life that he just *buries* so often but is letting himself feel, fully, now. "This is going to make one hell of a story later no matter what happens!" They can regenerate their eyebrows later, if necessary. | |