Letting it Lie [Erich]

Erich Reinhardt"Hey!"

Drew doesn't get very far when she hears the call behind her.  All things considered -- all things being how Erich and that other well-bred kin of Fenris were, quite frankly, all but openly flirting in their pointed glances and their sly quips and their near-nauseating love/hate banter -- it hasn't been very long at all.  A handful of minutes at most.  Possibly enough time to exchange numbers; nothing more.

Erich catches up, doesn't say anything other than hey for a while.  He's not really out of breath, so it's not that he can't talk.  He's just breathing a little harder, huffing faintly as he drops in beside Drew.  He still has his toolbelt on.  Screwdrivers and hammers and wrenches jangle around his lean hips, like some 21st-century builder's version of a gunfighter's gear.  His gloves are stuffed in his back pocket.  A good hundred yards or so go by; then he glances at Drew.

"Excused yourself right quick back there," he remarks.

Drew RoscoeWhen Erich ran to catch up with Drew, he'd find her on an increasingly familiar path out of Browntown proper and along the road that led to Drew's house.  She didn't manage to get too far ahead of him, just two blocks up and half a block after she turned onto the 'main road' that ran through the town.  She was jogging lightly still, and did so as though she was out for an exercise jog and should be wearing jogging pants and a sweater, not the jeans and down vest and hiking boots that she was.

The 'hey!' caught her attention, and she slowed to a walk and turned to look over her shoulder toward the jangle-jangle of tools bouncing about on a toolbelt as Erich ran to catch up.  She didn't stop entirely, but slowed for him to catch up.  When the tall blond Garou was near enough, the Kinfolk turned and found pace with his in an easy walk along the side of the road, boots crunching rhythmically on gravel that marked the shoulder of the road (because main roads like this tend not to have sidewalks in small towns, you see).
"Well, it's cold out.  If I've gotta patch windows or something I'd rather do so sooner than later-- keep the weather out of my kitchen that way.  You coming back to work on the car?"

Her hands were jammed into her vest pockets.  Her breathing was even, no huffing or small efforts to steady her breath after jogging.  She was athletic enough, and aimed to keep that way-- that's how you stayed alive in a world like this anymore.  ...Well, that, Garou, and Guns.

Erich Reinhardt"Nah.  Still gotta finish shingling the roof.  Just, uh..."

Erich trails off there, frowning.  There's something left to be said.  He doesn't quite know how to say it.  Her hands are in her front pockets; after a moment his slide into his back pockets.  It gives him a relaxed look.  Like he's out for a walk; ambling along enjoying the night.  That's not quite it, though.  He's thinking, gears turning, words shifting into place and out again.

Side by side, the both of them in flatsoled boots, their heights are night and day.  A full foot from her to him.  Any more and it'd be comical; the stereotype of strapping Garou, dainty kin.  After a while -- another twenty, thirty yards or so -- he adds:

"Look, maybe I read too much into it.  Just seemed like you were dropping out of the conversation even before you took off.  Weren't sure if you felt like you were a third wheel or what."

Drew Roscoe"Third wheel?"  Drew glanced over and up at the Shadow Lord walking along beside her.  He said that he still had to finish shingling the roof, so she slowed a little more every dozen seconds or so before just coming to a complete stop.  There was no sense in walking him out of town if he just had to go back in to finish up with what he was doing.  When she stopped, she turned to face him, and subsequently put her back to the vacant road.  The look she gave him was one part stumped, one part humored, and one part curious.

"I was just lettin' you two jibe it out at one another.  Anything I'd have to say would probably be to the tone of more refereeing.  Then my phone went off, so... here we are."  One eyebrow rose higher than the other, and she leaned forward just a touch, tipping her forehead forward for the sake of emphasis and humor-- she's obviously joking with him when she says:  "I wasn't aware there was anything happening for me to be third-wheeling to.

"You kin-thievin', Reinhardt?"

Erich ReinhardtErich's facing straight ahead.  Not stomping, no, but there's something determined in his walk.  When Drew stops, he's four steps away before he realizes it.

Turns, then.  She makes a joke.  He stares at her, unsmiling, for just a second too long.  Then his mouth relaxes just a touch.  His brow stays half-furrowed.  He comes back toward her, one hand thoughtlessly touching on the head of the hammer holstered at his hip.

"Like I said," he says, "I was just playing.  If I start kin-thieving, Ms. Roscoe, you'd be the first to know."
He nods back the way they'd come - the potholed road back to town.  "Introduced myself after I left.  Told her I was a Shadow Lord, not one of her boys.  We pretty much parted ways after that."  His mouth slants, sardonic.  "So rest easy.  No need to report wrongdoings to the leadership."

Drew RoscoeDrew cracked her joke about stealing Kinfolk and poked fun, implying that he and Anneliese had a thing going on.  Erich answered the joke with a straight face, boaderline scowl, and a sincere explanation of how the conversation between he and Drew's tribemate went.  All was innocent and honest, so Drew didn't have to go tattling on the Shadow Lord-- or so he informed her.

Drew's reaction to his intense lack of humor was to straighten her stance back up and lift her hands out of her pockets, holding them in front of her at rib-height with her palms facing the Garou.  The gesture is the classic 'whoa now, easy', but her elbows and shoulders are relaxed enough to reflect that the Kinfolk wasn't actually concerned that the situation would become heated and angry.  She was in an easy-going mood, and she was used to that influencing the attitudes of the people she was with.

"Even if you did, I wouldn't go telling on ya.  Way I see it, that's not my job or really my business.  I ain't here to keep track of who's poking who and whether they should or not.  If someone wants to get mad about it on their own, I can't and won't stop them, but I don't see a need to stir up drama that I'm not involved in in the first place."

Hands went back into the vest pockets, and Drew leaned back just a little, though her feet stayed planted firm and steady in the gravel.  Her expression was a bit more cautious, a touch concerned too when she asked, "You ran after to make sure I didn't feel excluded, or to make sure I wasn't making assumptions and phoning someone up to tell 'em to?  'Cause you don't have to worry about either, you know."

Erich ReinhardtErich grimaces; he can feel the conversation derailing further and further.  That hand that had rested thoughtlessly on the hammer comes up, paws back over the curvature of his skull.  His hair is shorn short, but not so short that its color can't be seen -- a ripple of light deflecting where the hairs bend under his passing palm.

"What the fuck, Drew.  Of course I didn't come after you to shut you up.  And I know," he goes straight into this, says it like he expects her immediate protest along this vein, "I know I just snarked at you about reporting wrongdoings.  I was just -- " a pause as he looks for the word, fails to find it, settles for this mediocre one instead for the third time: " -- just playing.

"I didn't think you were gonna tattle on me.  I just came after you because I didn't want you to think I was sniffing around Anneliese's skirts.  I didn't want you to think I was ... interested or something."

Drew Roscoe[Perception 3 + Empathy 2: You okay there?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 9, 10) ( success x 1 )

Erich Reinhardt[Here's a relatively superficial read for you: Erich is frustrated, uncertain, a bit embarrassed; feels like he's sticking his foot farther in his mouth with every passing moment.]

Drew RoscoeThe point of the conversation seemed to be missed, and in missing it Drew was pulling their words further and further off track by joking around and not understanding intent.  Erich was growing frustrated, it seemed.  His Rage didn't flex and snap, the moon wasn't near full enough for such minor irritants to be so inflaming.  But he did scrape his hand through his short blonde hair and do a fine job of trying to explain his actions.  Sure, he'd lose words and settle for something not quite as suiting in the middle of his sentence, but Drew was a willing listener, and able to read between the lines-- usually.  In this case, she's more able to skim the surface than anything else.

The brown-eyed girl's expression shifted while he went on to explain that he didn't want her to think that he was interested in pursuing Anneliese.  The humor was steadily leaving her pretty round face to look concerned over any other emotion.  Her brows knitted together some, and she straightened her posture again, standing upright rather than leaning forward or backward anymore.

"Erich.  It wouldn't be my place to judge."  She says this evenly, in a low and gentle tone of voice.  She could tell that Erich was off, but she couldn't put her finger on why.  All she sensed was frustration and a bit of embarrassment in the way he held himself and snapped his responses initially, but failed to carry that same tone through the rest of them.

There's a moment's pause-- not hesitation, not really, and Drew took her right hand from her vest pocket to reach across and lay it on the outside of Erich's arm, just at the joint of his elbow.  She still wore the tan wool fingerless gloves, but bare fingertips were warm through his shirt at least.  "Is it out of line to ask why you're so worked up over this?  You're fine to say so and go back to work, I'll let it be if you'd rather I mind my own damn business."

Erich ReinhardtContact draws his eye.  He looks down, his face an impression of deep, furrowed brow and straight nose for a moment.  Then a shake of his head.

"I don't know," he says.  It's honest, and frustrated because it's honest.  Erich is a lot of things.  Solitary, sardonic, sometimes callous, not particularly softhearted or merciful.  Just look at the way he'd laughed, earlier, when he damn near gashed some innocent passerby's head open with a flying roof-shingle.  But what he's not is timid, or diffident, or shy, or uncertain.

"I wasn't," he tries to explain.  "I just watched you walk off and felt bad.  Which I wasn't expecting.  So I came after you.  And I have no idea how we got from that point to this, or what we're actually talking about, or why everything's all tangled up and sideways."

Almost snapping by the end of it.  He falls silent as he hears himself.  Jaw set, mouth a line.  A moment passes.  Then he reaches across his body and takes her hand from his arm.  Even bare, her fingertips were warm.  His hands are warmer, his heat fueled by something more than mere muscle and bone.

"You oughta see about that rampaging deer," he says; quieter now, but firm, "and I got shingles to install."

Drew RoscoeSomehow his face seems not only sucked dry of humor, but seems to be influencing all of the humor out of Drew's as well.  He looked down at where her hand settled on his arm in an effort to close distance and indicate comfort.  Hey, you can trust me so relax, said the gesture.  It stayed as he went on to explain in utter honesty that he didn't quite understand the impulse to chase her down and make sure that she wasn't upset.  He said he didn't mind if she pressed the topic, answered that he didn't understand why he was worked up.
The Kinfolk's face was a flurry of easily readable things.  First came a melding of confusion and still-lingering concern.  Then came the furrowing of a brow that accompanied serious thought.  Then her eyebrows rose together, eyes widened just a little, and her lips parted some with a silent 'ohhh'.

She glanced down when he took her hand up with his and removed it from his elbow, then back up to his face when he suggested she should be on her way, and that he should be on his as well.  She still held a look of realization on her face, and took a second to analyze his for a moment before simply nodding and drawing her hand back.  She didn't quite start walking away though, not just yet.  Rather, she let quiet linger there for a second (unless Erich snapped it away for being uncomfortable with it) before asking, seemingly out of nowhere.  "Erich, you're, what, twenty-three?  Twenty-four?  Something like that?"

Erich ReinhardtAlmost in spite of himself, Erich smirks.  It's faint, but it's there: that familiar, crooked humor that never quite brightens his face.  Just takes the edge off.  "Oh boy," he says.  "Can't wait to hear where this one's leading."

Drew Roscoe"If you ain't answering that means you gotta be either seventeen or thirty-three and I've utterly missed the mark."  Her tone has snapped back to normal-- relaxed and casual with a touch of rib-jabbing humor to match the smirks and comments that Erich spoke with.  Her posture relaxed again, right hand going back to her pocket to match the left, and her weight shifted so that her weight rested more dominantly to one side than the other, causing a denim-clad hip to jut more drastically to that one side.

It's easier this way.  All it takes is once icebreaker, one taste of normalcy to bring Drew back to a place of comfort and familiarity.  It's easier to talk this way, with words rolling off the tongue without concern for repercussions.  Much easier than tip-toeing around a Garou who's frazzled and unsure and left in a place of embarrassment from acting on impulse.

"I was askin' to have a point of reference for how often you've dealt with lady-kin before.  You seem awful stumbley about it out of nowhere."

Erich ReinhardtThat quirks Erich's eyebrows right up.  A beat of pause.  Then they come back down, and he's smirking in earnest now, a touch of swagger in the folding of his arms across his chest.

"Drew," he says slowly, "I'm no rookie at that rodeo.  I'll spare you the shocking details, but I have, in fact, 'dealt' with 'ladykin' before."  And now he's just putting her on the spot on purpose.  Being quite the unrepentant bastard about it, too.  Maybe it's just fair play, after all.  Up until a minute ago, he was the only one getting caught up in the webs of his words.

"But go ahead," he invites.  "Lay your theory on me."

Drew RoscoeThere we go.  That was the Erich Drew knew.  Smirks, swagger, and just enough unapologetic wordplay to put someone on the spot.  That made a lot more sense than the man who was half-certain of his own words at best and failing to explain effectively why he'd caught up with her to make sure she didn't think he was flirting with some other Kinfolk.

Go ahead, lay your theory on me.

Drew looked him in the eye, probably trying to read what was happening behind them, to know if she was walking into a trap or brick wall or not.  Then, unclimactically, her answer came as a shake of the head.

"No."  She shifted her weight again, this time taking one small half-step to the side, away from the edge of the paved road she stood so near to.  In doing so she put her back to the direction of her house and her front toward the town.  "I think I'll pass on that.  We don't both need to be flush-faced and embarrassed tonight.  I'd rather come out on top in one of our talks for once."  This is accompanied by a grin that's small, but as all of her smiles are, is genuinely felt anyways.

Erich ReinhardtThere's the Erich Drew knows.  A hint of savagery and a touch of swagger.  A wit that takes no prisoners and sometimes strays a little close to cruelty.  There's the demeanor he dons again so easily, so familiarly, as though the other Erich --

the one that gave her a fish to blow bubbles at her, the one that saw through her good little kin act to the ache that sits like a stone in her heart, the one that followed her halfway to the edge of town for no good reason at all that he could verbalize

-- doesn't even exist.  When they both know he does.

Her answer surprises him; disappoints him and relieves him at once; disarms him.  Makes him respect her in some odd way.  She can see that, a progression in his eyes.  She smiles.  A moment later he returns it.  It's small, too, and still a little lopsided.  But this time his teeth aren't flashing.  He doesn't bite with his words.
"If anyone's keeping score," he says, "I think you'd come out on top plenty of times.  But I'm not keeping score, Drew."  A small pause.  Then an oddity, quiet, a naked acknowledgment that's probably better left unsaid.  Probably best forgotten once it's said: "Thanks.  For letting it lie."

Drew RoscoeThere's a train of expressions that runs across Erich's face in reaction to her declining his challenge to share her theory.  There's a let down of both disappointment and relief that shows in his face and shoulders both relaxing.  He's surprised, though, was quite apparently expecting that she was going to go forward into the realms of stating the obvious.  When she doesn't it catches him off-guard and has him returning the small smile she'd given in the first place.

But, well, someone has to say something, right?  Since Drew wouldn't, Erich did.  It was simple and subtle, but they were both intelligent people.  They both knew very well by now what she was refusing to say and what he was thanking her for letting lie.  The Kinfolk just smiled back at him, this expression an extension of the initial one just spread wider and warmer on her face to crinkle the corners of her eyes a bit.

"Of course."  She canted her head to the side and gave a small shrug up into her own jawline, making a point of being as casual on the topic as possible.  "If there's a time it shouldn't lie, it'll get to its feet on its own."

And, to prevent the situation from pressing further, outside of this realm of understanding that they'd come to find themselves in, Drew took two steps backward, stepping away from Erich and starting momentum in the direction of her house.  "I'll see ya around.  I might need help patching up windows if that deer actually did trash the place.  Not urgently, but when it comes to actually replacing instead of just patching.  I'll let ya know if that's the case."

Erich Reinhardt"Well," Erich replies wryly, "you know where I spend most my free time."

She does know.  It's next door to her house, after all - that little shed that has its door closed most the time now, its windows open.  Work's progressing slowly, but it's progressing.  The original black coat is gone now.  The primer coat is laid on, and the first of several layers of white is going on, little by little.  She sees him going in there to work sometimes.  He doesn't always say hello when he shows up, but he usually says goodbye when he leaves.

And sometimes he doesn't leave.  A couple times she's woken up in the morning to find a houseguest in one of her spare bedrooms.  Erich supposes after tonight that won't happen as often anymore, if at all.  Might get a little awkward.

It's already a little awkward: somehow, quite without his really noticing it, an elephant has entered the room, and they're both pretending not to see it.  So much has been left unsaid that he has no idea where they stand.  There's some regret in that.  It's nice having her as a friend.  It's nice having a friend at all.  Loner like him doesn't have very many.

The silence has gone on too long.  Erich nods Drew on down the long deteriorating road to her house.  "Go save your porch," he says.  "And Drew.  I turn twenty-three next February."

Drew Roscoe"February, got it."

She notes the month in a tone that suggests she's remembering it-- probably to do something silly like present a birthday cupcake around that time.  It suggests that she's already quite convinced that the Lone Wolf will be sticking around the area long enough to pass another year-mark in his life here.

"I'll see ya," she said again, and with that she turned about completely, ceasing her backward walk up the road and headed home at an easy pace instead.

Sure, there's plenty left unsaid.  It was hard not to feel any kind of connection when you meet someone that manages so easily to see through your barriers to what was damn near the very core of you.  As it stood, they were friends, undoubtedly.  Drew would happily share a beer and a dinner with the man, and would no doubt be just as content to spend the remainder of the evening out on the porch talking all kinds of shit.  The elephant was drawn to the room by that kind of simple companionship, but Erich and Drew (thus far) did a fine job of dancing around the pachyderm and keeping things normal.

Thus far, anyway.