Lucky.

[kiananlogs]

Monday, 28 November 2016
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (4% full).

Evening finds Trace in the open area near the mat, but although some of the weights are nearby, they're currently abandoned. Instead, the ahroun is on the phone, talking fairly quietly. And there's a movie playing on the television, although for the moment it's muted. Probably because of the phone call.

The woman who comes in... well, she's unassuming in physical size, but in just about every other sense she takes up more than the allocated space. There's a sharp energy about her, a purposeful way of moving, and she scans the place as soon as she comes in. It's a routine look around, but that routine jerks to a halt when she spots the stranger. She paces toward the monitor array, but keeps a weather eye on him.

For all that the moon is new, rage still radiates off of the young man, not quite in waves. The phone call doesn't seem to make it worse though, and a minute or so later he puts the phone back in his pocket as he notices the newcomer. His free hand comes up in half a wave, and he takes a breath in, watching for a minute before offering an introduction. "Trace. Called Six-Shooter, fostern and ahroun, packed under Coyote, I uh..." It trails off just a little bit, and then he gets to his feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice you come in."

She turns and heads his way almost as he's hanging up the phone. The introduction brings an arched brow— and closer in, she's older than he would have first thought, definitely at least in her thirties. "Rina Vencenzo," she says succinctly, offering a hand. "Kin. Where'd ya come from?"

Trace settles his feet and doesn't quite assume an attention posture, but he does straighten up a little bit. The handshake is returned, carefully, and there's a nod. "Los Angeles, by way of Western Eye, back in May actually," he says, nodding. "But then I spent a stint out as a Guardian on the Bawn, until earlier this month."

Rina's mouth tugs up at one corner. "Good on you," she says with a touch of amusement. "Managed not to get poison oak?"

"Managed to not get it more than once," Trace says, a bit sheepish. "Honestly, hadn't really seen poison oak more than twice in my life before I came here." Trace shakes his head, and tucks his phone further into his pocket. "It's definitely something, but all summer in the woods? I never did summer camp much either, you know."

She looks amused, but doesn't do more than smile. "Y' know any of our people down in LA?" Rina asks.

Trace lets out his breath, and takes a step backward from the kin. Just in case. Tension flares for a moment, but it's just as quickly reined in, not more than a brief flash of anger and certainly not directed at her. "I was rited there," he says, by way of an almost sideways answer. "Grew up there." Another breath in, and he lets it out slowly.

She's sharp enough to notice those shifts, glancing up to his face with a touch of curiosity. "You aright?" she asks quietly.

The ahroun takes another breath in, and lets there be a moment of silence after the question, before he nods. "Sí," he answers, and then lifts his shoulders. "I miss people, you know?" He looks over at Rina, "Probably will for a damn long time. Sorry. I didn't mean to get all moody ahroun on you or anything."

Something changes around her eyes, a tension that she covers with a small smile. "That's aright," she says easily, turning to head for the kitchen. "You wanna beer or anything?"

Trace grins a bit, and shoves off the wall lightly enough to head for the kitchen, although he does give the kin her personal space. Or maybe he's just maintaining his. "Sure," he responds, and nods, and glances towards a window before a few quicker steps to catch up. "What's the saying, it's five o'clock somewhere?" He grins, then continues. "Or is that only when it is before five o'clock where you are?"

"Usually. Not like we need an excuse around here." She pulls a Stella from the fridge, and leaves the door open for him when she steps aside to open her bottle. "What are you good at, other than straight-up mayhem?" she asks.

He moves over to the fridge, grabs a beer, and shuts the door, before pulling out a pocket knife to crack the beer open. With the knife, of course. "But I like mayhem," Trace says, grinning. "Those are great commercials, the Allstate ones with Mr. Mayhem in them?" He leans back on the counter, and shrugs. "I'm good at guns. And at shooting things, and getting more guns... well, then again the name probably gave that away?" He pauses, and adds, "Oh, and yoga."

Rina blinks, both eyebrows raised. "Seriously? We should practice together sometime. What's your poison?"

Trace raises an eyebrow, and takes another sip of beer before he pulls the gun from his waistband. British Navy Colt 1851 revolver, though on closer inspection not wholly original. "What," he says, trying not to laugh, "I don't look like I do yoga?" The revolver is spun once, in what is clearly a practised motion, and the bullet removed from the cylinder before it's offered for the kin to examine. It's a pretty gun, as they go, with a mother-of-pearl inlay on the wooden handle, clearly well cared for.

The dark eyebrows climb a little higher, as she looks over the Colt. "Damn," shed says quietly. "That's somethin' else."

There's an actual matter-of-fact smile from Trace, after that. "Bought it at an auction a few years ago," he says, quietly. "Th' money was a gift from some of my elders." The smile continues. "I dunno, kinda guess it's lucky. At least, it's been lucky for me these past few years."

Rina nods. "Gorgeous," she says, handing it back to him and giving him a faint smile. That tension remains, around her eyes— a trace of pain, maybe. "Lucky is good."

Trace tucks the gun back where it came from after running his fingers over the inlay, and lets out a breath. While his own tension hasn't quite gone away, it's controlled with seeming ease. The ahroun takes another sip of his beer, his slightly too tight grip on the bottle a giveaway that the tension remains. "Yeah," he says. "Got a bunch of guns, actually," he says, "but usually just this one that I carry unless I'm out looking for some of that mayhem."

"Don't we all," Rina murmurs. Something dark seems to have settled over her; her expression remains tight and sober.

Trace takes another long sip from his beer, watching the kin from behind a stray strand of messy hair that's fallen into his face. "¿Estás bien?" he asks, quietly, teeth tugging at his upper lip for a moment.

"Yeah," she answers, throwing him a swift, tight smile the way one might toss a scrap to a dangerous animal as a distraction. "'S'all good." She takes a swig of the pale beer, though, to give herself time.

The ahroun looks, past Rina now and back out towards the main room, and offers a half-smile in return. It's not quite a real smile so much as a social one, and he takes another sip of the beer. "Was nice meeting you, ma'am... I prolly ought to get to bed, though. Something about th' new moon and my illustrious pack totem tomorrow..." He stands up from leaning on the counter, though doesn't move for the door quiet yet. "Thanks for th' beer."

"Good t'meet ya," she answers, watching him for a moment, pain hidden behind her eyes. The small smile, though, is genuine. "Sleep good."

Trace gives a final nod, and then moves past Rina— without moving towards her at all, without any movements that could seem aggressive— and out to the main room. "You too, when you get there."

It looks like it's going to be quite a while.