spam; the last journal post

[ukan]

[Getting on board was a moment of chaos. He remembers turning a corner, expecting to find fur and blood in his mouth, expecting maybe to get torn up in return, expecting maybe a bullet from above to take him down, too-

But instead he's somewhere metal, somewhere that smells of strangers and strangeness, and he's bleeding a trail but he runs for safety anyway. If there is any. If there are doors, anywhere, that he can open without changing back, because this has to be the FBI's work and so long as they think he's just a wolf, maybe they won't slit him open and poke around inside.]



[ooc: Lark is a wolf, for now. He'll have to change back sooner or later even if he doesn't want to, so feel free to tag him as human or wolf, just lemme know which.]

Comments

[bleak_midwinter]

[He smiles at that, short and sweet, then looks down at the ground when he crushes his own butt beneath his heel.]

Read books, I suppose. Take long walks along the river. Pray.

[ukan]

[The thing is, Tommy probably does. Maybe not pray, but you never know. He's from an odd time, judging by his clothes.]

No darts? No cards?

[bleak_midwinter]

[Tommy hasn't prayed in years, but he does walk along the river when he needs to inspect his smuggled wares and the occasional stolen armory.]

Oh, cards are of the devil, Mr. Lark.

[ukan]

So are a lot of your vices, Tommy.

Why not add one more?

[bleak_midwinter]

[He smiles a little, still looking down at his boots.]

And what vice would you have me pick up? Cards, or something else?

[ukan]

[There's something comical about all of this that Lark can't quite put a name to.]

Well cards is probably a better fit for you around here than prostitution or bootlegging.

[bleak_midwinter]

I leave the bootlegging to the Americans, and the prostitution to women.

Cards it is, then. Show me your wicked ways.

[ukan]

[He pushes off the railing to lead him to his cabin first to get the cards; from there he plans to take them to the bar, where it's at least semi-neutral ground.]

[bleak_midwinter]

[He follows-- not inside the cabin, though he peeks inside, but to the bar. He opens the door using his pocket watch, and goes up to the bar. He orders a whiskey-- Irish, always-- then sits down at a table with Lark.]

Tell me, what games do you play where you're from?

[ukan]

[Lark's cabin is dark, but done up in deep blues with sparse white walls. There's no table, just two chairs, a narrow bed, and two framed photos on the walls.

In the bar, he orders a ginger ale.]

Poker, black jack, pinochle, Bullshit. I learned bridge about a year ago but haven't played it since. What's your game?

[bleak_midwinter]

Poker, mostly. [It's not that difficult to believe; he has a pretty excellent poker face.]

You're a teetotal man?

[ukan]

[He starts shuffling the cards]

I am now. I wasn't always.

[He'd liked good whiskey in his day, and he can smell Tommy's, the vapors of it cloying around the glass]

Good taste. They have a lot of pisswater here.

[bleak_midwinter]

In my experience, few men start out that way.

[He leans back, waiting patiently while Lark shuffles and deals.]

And I've had my fair share of pisswater. Enough so that I don't drink it when I don't have to.

[ukan]

[He smiles; that's true enough.] I've known a few who did but they were all doing it for religious reasons.

[He deals them their hands, sips his drink, nods to Tommy.

Yeah, he thinks, the man does have a poker face on him.]

[bleak_midwinter]

Religion can inspire a need to drink as much as it can keep you off it. [And when that religion abandons you, there is very rarely any more reason to keep that whiskey locked up.

He plays his hands without a break in the conversation, considering his moves without a single tell. It's clear that this was one of his vices before, and has been for a long time.]

[ukan]

I never had religion. Part of me has always been glad. But then another part of me is fascinated by ritual, and no one loves ritual like a priest, rabbi, or monk.

[He looks up at him, slower in his movements and less sure of his hands (or at least he lets himself seem that way).]

When I said 'bootlegging' before I meant something else. Was there prohibition in your world? Your time?

[bleak_midwinter]

[He smiles a little at Lark's comment, but doesn't choose to elaborate- he's far from comfortable enough with the man to share his own thoughts on religion.]

Yes. In various places, and most recently the United States of America. [He says the name with the sort of amusement people reserve for children's fancies.]

[ukan]

And the War?

[When one talks about either of the World Wars it comes with an almost audible capital letter. So either Tommy's world has had it, or it hasn't, but it'll be clear Lark means something significant when he says it.]

[bleak_midwinter]

Yes. [He says this casually, as he puts down a card, without looking at Lark. He's proud of his service, and it's a presence in his everyday life, but it's not something he has to brag about.]

Though I hear the Germans will come back for more in a few decades.

[ukan]

Mm. With friends.

[He deals him a card to replace it.]

Cards are of the devil; what else offends your sensibilities?

[bleak_midwinter]

Perhaps you should guess, you seem quite fond of doing so. [He shifts his cards to one hand, takes a sip of his whiskey.]

[ukan]

Mm, it's lost its charm.

[bleak_midwinter]

[He smiles a little at that, slow and indulgent.]

Can't abide gambling.

[ukan]

[He doesn't look up from his cards.]

For yourself or everyone else?

[bleak_midwinter]

Hm. [His smile changes to something smaller, private, looking at his cards with some amusement. He'll elaborate if asked, but it seems he won't be offering up all that much himself.]