Encounterlogs
Antwons Odd Encounter Sr Tabitha
Antwon experiences an unsettling encounter with Cutty, a friend from his past who has been transformed into a werewolf with a lost handle on his transformation cycle. The tension mounts as Cutty enters Antwon's home uninvited, displaying aggressive possessiveness over Antwon's sister, Journi, and emits a feral attitude that hints at violent tendencies. Antwon, trying to protect his space and family, challenges Cutty's authority and behavior. The power dynamics between the two men are palpable, and Cutty recklessly brags about his newfound power and hints at crimes he has committed since his transformation. Antwon, trying to diffuse the situation and direct Cutty's focus away from his family, agrees to join him in a night of hunting to assert their dominance in the city.
The story concludes with a precarious agreement between Antwon and Cutty; they plan to meet under the guise of the night to hunt rival gang members, avoiding harm to their own family. Cutty departs with a lack of regard for the safety of Antwon’s family, carelessly leaving the door open, an indication of the chaos he now embodies. Antwon, despite trying to live a life away from violence and his past, feels drawn back into it as a way to shield his relatives from Cutty's unpredictable wrath. The episode ends with Antwon considering connecting Cutty with a Boston-based crew led by Desmond King, harboring worries about inviting more trouble into his life but seeing it as a potential solution to his current dilemma.
(Antwon's odd encounter(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sat Dec 30 2023]
In Room Three of Sigma Lambda Pi
The fraternity dorm room is a practical, lived-in space, reflecting the personalities and lifestyles of its college-aged inhabitants. It's furnished with the basics: a couple of twin beds, each with a mismatched set of bedding, and worn, overstuffed chairs that have likely seen many late-night conversations and study sessions. Posters - a mix of sports teams, music bands, and the occasional motivational quote - adorn the walls, alongside a whiteboard covered in doodles and reminders. The room is cluttered with textbooks, clothes, and various personal items, giving it a chaotic but homely feel. A mini-fridge in one corner, adorned with magnets and stickers, and a TV setup on a makeshift stand, suggest a space not just for sleep and study, but also for socializing and relaxation.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
(Your target and their allies are approached by a werewolf who has lost control of their transformation cycle. It is up to the characters to either help them regain control, or neutralize the threat they pose to the town. The werewolf is unpredictable and could transform at any moment, creating a dangerous and suspenseful situation.)
Antwon lounges in bed in Los Angeles: it's a twin bed in his high school bedroom, the room decorated with obscure hip-hop showbills and posters of gangster movies. The desk has some of his mother's sewing things on it, a testament to her colonizing the room in the years since he left, but a bookshelf is still crowded with trophies. He's awake, his phone in his hand, scrolling idly through social media.
Swipe, swipe, swipe. Antwon lounges half-propped up in bed, the blue light of his phone screen largely lost to the LA morning light that sneaks in around blackout curtains. He sends a text to one of his cousins, then swipes back to MyHaven, where he stares at a picture of a redhead for a moment before he frowns. Shifting to his messages app, he considers sending a text, dark fingers hovering, before he moves back to Twitter -- pardon, X -- to see if any shows are tonight.
Nearby, the clock shows 8:39, running slow behind the 8:45 time on Antwon's phone.
It's a rather bleak day in L.A. today. The temperature, while much warmer than in Haven, is chilly, and the skies are plagued with rain, which pitter patters on Antwon's windowsill in time with the beat of the hiphop music that he's got playing. All in all, it appears to be a rather simplistic kind of morning, running through his daily routines. There's the hollow sound of chatter coming from behind his door. Familiar voices, laughter. Family getting a late breakfast. There are scents of cooking meats.
More and more, smells prick at Antwon's nose lately, and his dark eyes look up to the door. There's a shift: even with an extra-long twin, his muscled form overhangs it, a little, and at the rumble of his stomach he considers food, strongly. He looks back down at his phone for a second, and then up at the windowsill. Rising, finally, he stretches, loping to the windowsill to make sure it's closed and no water is leaking in.
Antwon tries to send a text -- the contact is 'Tabs', typing out 'Raining in L.A.," but then there's a frown, as the message spirals endlessly without sending."
When Antwon peers outside of the window, he can see there are people milling about below, some with umbrellas to hide their faces, some with their hoodies over their heads, hands shoved into their pockets, deeply hunched over. There is a group of guys, looking to be about Antwon's age standing a little too suspiciously, huddled in a pack and occasionally looking to the home which Antwon's residing in. There's nothing that can be read on their lips, but they are definitely talking. A burst of happy laughter reaches Antwon's ears from somewhere in the house. The kitchen. One of his sisters, in fact. Then another, "Antwon Leonard Jackson you best not still be in bed, boy! Get your ass up and out here!" The message does indeed just linger somewhere in the electronic void.
There's a deep frown at the people outside, and then Antwon is heading for the door. He grabs his jeans, pulling them on as he goes, but he's still barefoot. Outside his room, he looks for the sister -- probably Journi, who with three little kids tends to spend a lot of time at Antwon's mom's house. "I'm here, girl," he tells her. There's a little tension. "But maybe have the kids play in the kitchen, aight?" he says. She has three, an 8-year-old girl Tyisha, a three-and-a-half-year old girl Tyanna, and an almost-one-year-old Tyshawn. Heading for the front room, he peers through the windows at the street, suspicious.
One of the men standing below Antwon's window makes eye contact with Antwon, a dark scowl on his face for the man. Maybe it's just the rain causing it. His hood dark with rain, and beneath it, a bandana about his forehead, the color of a gang the baller knows all too well. Before Antwon leaves the window, the man upnods to him, giving fist bumps to the two other guys who appear to be wandering off. Journi shoots a call-back, "Boy, they in the kitchen. Best get your ass here too. There's grits getting cold."
When Antwon walks to the front room, there's no sign of anything suspicious. It's just rain. Pitter patter. It's kind of soothing, really.
Stalking back to the kitchen, Antwon snags whatever food he can grab, handheld. "I gotta go out," he says to Journi, a little short, and then there's a look at her. There's something just flashed and predatory in it as he chows down on whatever food he can grab, and then he's back to his bedroom, pulling on his shoes. "I be back as soon as he can, sis," he tells her, called through the open door. Then, as soon as his shoes are on, he's headed for the front door and the street-corner.
Antwon does not actually get ass to the street corner, much as he probably would like to. He's got to get hisself dressed up enough to do so. Plenty of time, really, for kids to try to give him hugs and try to convince their tense uncle to stay and eat breakfast with them. But, it would seem Antwon would have none of it, pulling away and heading to the front door. When the door opens, there is the one man, hand pulled into a fist as if ready to knock on the door. The man grins, feral. "Yo, Twon!" the man says to Antwon, setting his fist at the door frame and his foot at the threshold. "Heard you was back in town." The man sniffs the air. "Shit smell good. Gon invite an old friend in?"
Suspicion, but some recognition, and then Antwon offers a handshake. "Damn, Cutty," he tells the man. There's a look over his shoulder. "Come in, come in. Moms out shopping, but Journi here with the kids." He's still got some wariness, but that relaxation goes down a little. He's got a kind of hyper-alert paranoia still that surrounds him. "How you been?" he questions.
The man, Cutty, takes Antwon's hand and leans in for a bro hug, one hand going about his shoulder for a back slap, one that, actually, is a bit too hard. The grip on Antwon's hand is strong. Stronger than he likely remembers. The man steps in, squaring his shoulders. Maybe Antwon couldn't tell at the window down to the street, but is this the same man that was scoping out the house to begin with? He probably has reason enough to still be suspicious. But not of the street nearby. "Damn, Twon. That Journi I smell." Not eggs, not biscuits, not bacon, or grits. The man's nostrils flare, and he's pushing deeper in. "What you got on the burner, girl?" he asks, heading toward the kitchen.
Journi is about 25, a little heavy around the hips but still shapely. This morning she's in jeans and a cropped top, with just a little of muffin-top over tight jeans. In the front of the house, though: Surprise at Cutty's grip, as Antwon looks him over. "Damn, bro," he says after that hug. "You been liftin', motherfucker." When Cutty heads for the kitchen, so does Antwon, his eyes on the man. There's still that tense worry. "What you been up to?" he questions.
"Ain't been up to shit you ain't familiar with, bro," Cutty replies, walking up to Journi and grasping her at the waist to pull her into his front, aggressively, possessively. All too familiarly? The man's nostril's flare, "Damn, girl, you looking fly as fuck. I could eat you." It is much to the woman's startle that he does this, given her sharp cry. But he lets her go, reaching for a piece of toast and crunching into it. "Heard you went way the fuck out East. But you know. You ain't really ever far from Family."
Antwon bristles at Cutty's invasion of the family space, and there's a step in his direction. "I been East, yeah," he says. "Played for fucking Duke a minute. Now I on a rehab year," he says. The set of his shoulders is threatening, protective, and there's a look between Journi and Cutty that has the promise of some violence. Breathing in and out, he moves so he's almost within arm's reach of Cutty. "I know," he says. "I hang out in Boston sometimes with some fools." Trying to change the subject? Trying to get him away from his sister, really.
Cutty gets himself a good handful of someone' ass, despite that her three kids are there in the room. The stance that Antwon takes has the other man bristling himself. "Calm you tits," the man says to Antwon with a darkness in him, beastly. "Journi here ain't mind. Might go put another bitch her belly." Maybe this is not the Cutty he remembers? There's something feral. A flare of his nostrils, a clear inability to control his actions. He bends down to talk to the 8-year old, "Yeah you like that? Another sis?" When he bends, there's a pistol tucked into the back of his sagging jeans. Back to his feet he walks over to Antwon, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, so you ain't out? Word on the street you turned pussy."
Cutty gets himself a good handful of Journi's ass, despite that her three kids are there in the room. The stance that Antwon takes has the other man bristling himself. "Calm you tits," the man says to Antwon with a darkness in him, beastly. "Journi here ain't mind. Might go put another bitch her belly." Maybe this is not the Cutty he remembers? There's something feral. A flare of his nostrils, a clear inability to control his actions. He bends down to talk to the 8-year old, "Yeah you like that? Another sis?" When he bends, there's a pistol tucked into the back of his sagging jeans. Back to his feet he walks over to Antwon, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, so you ain't out? Word on the street you turned pussy."
The man's eyes flash, and there's a ripple in the man's muscles. Straining to keep his composure? Daring to bring out the beast?
A step again, closer to someone. "You fucking out of line, nigga," he tells him. His eyes see that pistol, then back up to Cutty. He inhales: scent matters to him, too, and now he's focusing on all the scents in the room, especially on Cutty, those dark eyes focused on the other man. The tension in him, the violence, is palpable: Antwon is a coiled spring, about to unwind.
A step again, closer to Cutty. "You fucking out of line, nigga," he tells him. His eyes see that pistol, then back up to Cutty. He inhales: scent matters to him, too, and now he's focusing on all the scents in the room, especially on Cutty, those dark eyes focused on the other man. The tension in him, the violence, is palpable: Antwon is a coiled spring, about to unwind.
The man, ready to pounce himself, gets right up into Antwon's face, "Yeah? What you think you gon do about it..." He tilts his head to the side, neck popping with the strain put to his muscles, "Pussy." Journi's got her kids rounded up, and she's trying to get out of the kitchen with them as the bacon on the burner starts to burn, filling the air with acrid smoke to match the acrid violence. "You gon go back to your pussy life out East, and guess what? I'm gon still be here." His eyes flash to Journi, "Stay the fuck put." There comes a moment that the man takes a breath, as if to calm his own damned tits. He steps away from Antwon, unless he is stopped. "We gon eat. Get that bacon off the stove."
There is a familiarity that Antwon and Cutty share. Perhaps Antwon wasn't the only one retaliated against from that night out at that fateful club.
Antwon looks between Journi and Cutty with concern. "We gonna eat," he agrees, his nose full of werewolf. "And then after that," he tells Cutty, "You gonna have a long talk with ol `Twon in the back yard." His voice is tense, low, but in addition to being full of threat it is full of some power: White Oak, perhaps, has taught him a thing or two. He takes a seat at the table, waiting for Cutty to do the same. He raises his voice. "Tyanna," he tells the 8-year-old. "Take Tyisha and Tyshawn and go watch TV." Kids first, out of the firing line.
Antwon looks between Journi and Cutty with concern. "We gonna eat," he agrees, his nose full of werewolf. "And then after that," he tells Cutty, "You gonna have a long talk with ol 'Twon in the back yard." His voice is tense, low, but in addition to being full of threat it is full of some power: White Oak, perhaps, has taught him a thing or two. He takes a seat at the table, waiting for Cutty to do the same. He raises his voice. "Tyanna," he tells the 8-year-old. "Take Tyisha and Tyshawn and go watch TV." Kids first, out of the firing line.
"Journi staying the fuck here," Cutty says, not seeming to mind that the children are told to go and watch T.V. "Best turn those toons up real nice and loud." he warns, picking up his previously bitten toast and biting into it again. He slaps his knee for Antwon's sister to sit there. His nose seems to be filled with her, fixated on her. "Ain't see no reason to talk right here, yeah?" He gestures for Journi, "Dish me up, bitch. Know you fucking place." There is a flash in the man's eyes again, that gaze, stone cold, killer, on Antwon. "So tell me bout more about what you up to."
"Same fucking shit you are," Antwon tells Cutty in a low voice. He looks over at Journi, then back at Cutty, and there's a low, uneasy growl. "She need to not hear this shit," he tells the man, leaning in. "And you need to simmer the fuck down, Cutty. Let me fucking guess: you remember that scrap we was in, last time we were together?" His eyes fix on the man. "We won it in the club, ain't we?"
"No. I think she do." Cutty says. "She can sit her fine ass down right here on my lap. Got a good place for her, you see..." The man leans back and cups his manhood through his jeans. "If you get me." When Journi places a bowl of grits in front of him but doesn't take a knee, he say again, muscles growing thick and tight. "Sit." The man cuts a large grin, flashing gold there in his mouth. "Yeah, we won that shit right. Popped a cap in one of them assholes later." Cutty makes an air pistol, acting like he's cocking a hammer back. One eye is closed, and his aim is focused on Antwon.
Now Antwon is standing, and his voice booms again with some psychic power. "Get the fuck out, Journi," he barks at his sister, and he's taking a step to be right in front of Cutty, challenging him. "We won it fucking them, but then some shit happened." His voice is low. "Didn't it, motherfucker?" A look over at someone. "Go!" he barks, on the edge of fight or flight.
Now Antwon is standing, and his voice booms again with some psychic power. "Get the fuck out, Journi," he barks at his sister, and he's taking a step to be right in front of Cutty, challenging him. "We won it fucking them, but then some shit happened." His voice is low. "Didn't it, motherfucker?" A look over at Journi. "Go!" he barks, on the edge of fight or flight.
Cutty stands too, his hands grabbing onto the table, the family table, and it starts to creak under the pressure. His focus is full on Antwon, letting Journi do as she is bid. And bid she does, she runs from the kitchen and there can be sounds of harried movement from the living room, and some children's complaints about not wanting to go out in the rain and that Spongebob was on. There is a snarl from Cutty, a gutteral growl coming now from his chest. "Fuck right it did. And I feel fucking great."
Antwon's growl answers Cutty's, and then it's all tall, black man staring down his friend. "Yeah?" he tells him. "You like it? The feel of the moon in you?" he says. "The taste of fucking blood on your jaws," he says. "The sound a howl makes when it leaves your chest?" It's a pause, low. "You feel fucking powerful, C: ain't you?"
"Always took what I wanted anyway, but now I can feel this in my blood." Cutty flexes, "Tore some bitch right the fuck up givin it to her real nice. She howled til she scream." A threat forthcoming from him to Antwon about Journi? A brag? "You like it. I feel it you. I smell it." The man's nostrils flare again, wide, taking in Antwon's scent like he were meat, too, or he was getting his scent like he'd set upon Journi.
"You ain't shit where you eat, Cutty," Antwon tells the man. "But you and me, we go hunting tonight." It's a promise. "We find some people, we get into some shit: we make the city ours, motherfucker, like old times." He's up in front of him. "But not family," he says. "Not our family, bro. That ain't how we do it."
Cutty leaves imprints of his fingers in the kitchen table. Something that someone's going to have to explain at some point. Journi could, probably. But she's now out there in the drive way, fumbling around for her keys and getting her youngest into the shitty car seat she's got. "Like fucking old times. Grab a bitch or two, too. Got me an idea. I think you'll like. She a sweet ride." He stands upwright, rolling his powerful shoulders. "Find the rest of them assholes, too. Show them real power." The man snorts out hot air through his nose. "Won't know what fuckin' hit him." The man claps Antwon hard on the shoulder. Too hard. Like steel. "Good to have you back, Twon. You fuckin' missed."
Inhaled, feral breaths. "Only for a couple more days, bro," Antwon tells Cutty. It's a step close and then a step back as he offers the man a fistbump. "Find some Neighborhood motherfuckers --" The rival gang to Antwon and Cutty's Rolling 60s "-- and fuck them up," he says. "We gonna own the fucking night, bro," he tells the man. "We gonna..." His nostrils flare. "It gonna be like it was."
Cutty fistbumps Antwon in return, then reaches behind him to pull out that gun he'd been packing the whole time. "You ain't got yourself a pole, I'm guessing, all pussied up at your moms." It gets set on the table. "I got another in my car." The man shrugs his shoulders, jostling his large coat up around his shoulders. "Not like we need them." He picks up the bowl of grits and takes a bite. "Shit, Twon, your sis still makes good ass food." He tosses the bowl into the sink. "Be seeing you. Be knocking later tonight. Ain't you be running out." There is trust there, given he's left a pistol, likely loaded, on the table for Antwon to pick up if he wanted to. "You got a name to live up to."
Laughter, as Antwon picks up the gun, slipping it in his jeans with some practiced ease. "Fucking TSA," he agrees with Cutty. There's a move to let the gun settle: with just his tank top on, there's no real hiding it, but he makes an effort, untucking it before he tucks it over the handle. "And yeah. I end up leaving shit all over the place," he agrees with Cutty in some low complaint. "But I do got a name, boy. I ain't so far gone I ain't remember it." His eyes are bright as he looks at his friend. "Meet you down by the Gardens when the moon fucking come up," he tells the man. "Dress light."
Is some part of Antwon discomfitted by this? Perhaps, deep inside. He has been trying to avoid this life, this week: trying to pull his brother out of it, but there are always prices to pay for past sins. Besides: pacing the streets with Cutty is a price to pay to keep his sister safe, even if it draws him in a little more to a world he's trying to leave behind.
Cutty steals a steely glance behind him at Antwon, chin upticking at the man. "Shit gonna be -tight-," he claims, giving a clap of his hands, looking far more at ease than a man should at the thought of violence against ... anyone. Man, woman, child. He's already mentioned it a few times now, about women. The man doesn't use the front door to leave, this time, he heads to the kitchen door, leading to the backyard. The man leaves the door wide open, it having slammed against a counter to cause the glass panes to rattle, but luckily not crack. "I ain't shit where I eat, man." But he has no regard for it either. The man hops the fence line with upmost ease, as if it weren't even there. He pauses on the road, sniffs, and heads off in the direction of where Journi's car has headed.
There's a look out at Cutty as he goes, and then a text fired off. That night, when they hunt, perhaps Antwon will drop hints: if LA life is lonely for a wolf, Antwon knows a friendly operator in Boston, Desmond King. His crew always down to take a Rolling 60s in, and they are a little closer to the action. Even when he tells Cutty that, he has some worry, bringing that life closer to his in Haven.
The reply back to Antwon from someone, either by text or in person, is a rowdy Yes. Spread the love, so he said. Maybe find out what Antwon's been doing all this time out East. Who he's doing. Afterall, he just wants a little taste of some good life. Deserves it.
The reply back to Antwon from Cutty, either by text or in person, is a rowdy Yes. Spread the love, so he said. Maybe find out what Antwon's been doing all this time out East. Who he's doing. Afterall, he just wants a little taste of some good life. Deserves it.
The story concludes with a precarious agreement between Antwon and Cutty; they plan to meet under the guise of the night to hunt rival gang members, avoiding harm to their own family. Cutty departs with a lack of regard for the safety of Antwon’s family, carelessly leaving the door open, an indication of the chaos he now embodies. Antwon, despite trying to live a life away from violence and his past, feels drawn back into it as a way to shield his relatives from Cutty's unpredictable wrath. The episode ends with Antwon considering connecting Cutty with a Boston-based crew led by Desmond King, harboring worries about inviting more trouble into his life but seeing it as a potential solution to his current dilemma.
(Antwon's odd encounter(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sat Dec 30 2023]
In Room Three of Sigma Lambda Pi
The fraternity dorm room is a practical, lived-in space, reflecting the personalities and lifestyles of its college-aged inhabitants. It's furnished with the basics: a couple of twin beds, each with a mismatched set of bedding, and worn, overstuffed chairs that have likely seen many late-night conversations and study sessions. Posters - a mix of sports teams, music bands, and the occasional motivational quote - adorn the walls, alongside a whiteboard covered in doodles and reminders. The room is cluttered with textbooks, clothes, and various personal items, giving it a chaotic but homely feel. A mini-fridge in one corner, adorned with magnets and stickers, and a TV setup on a makeshift stand, suggest a space not just for sleep and study, but also for socializing and relaxation.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
(Your target and their allies are approached by a werewolf who has lost control of their transformation cycle. It is up to the characters to either help them regain control, or neutralize the threat they pose to the town. The werewolf is unpredictable and could transform at any moment, creating a dangerous and suspenseful situation.)
Antwon lounges in bed in Los Angeles: it's a twin bed in his high school bedroom, the room decorated with obscure hip-hop showbills and posters of gangster movies. The desk has some of his mother's sewing things on it, a testament to her colonizing the room in the years since he left, but a bookshelf is still crowded with trophies. He's awake, his phone in his hand, scrolling idly through social media.
Swipe, swipe, swipe. Antwon lounges half-propped up in bed, the blue light of his phone screen largely lost to the LA morning light that sneaks in around blackout curtains. He sends a text to one of his cousins, then swipes back to MyHaven, where he stares at a picture of a redhead for a moment before he frowns. Shifting to his messages app, he considers sending a text, dark fingers hovering, before he moves back to Twitter -- pardon, X -- to see if any shows are tonight.
Nearby, the clock shows 8:39, running slow behind the 8:45 time on Antwon's phone.
It's a rather bleak day in L.A. today. The temperature, while much warmer than in Haven, is chilly, and the skies are plagued with rain, which pitter patters on Antwon's windowsill in time with the beat of the hiphop music that he's got playing. All in all, it appears to be a rather simplistic kind of morning, running through his daily routines. There's the hollow sound of chatter coming from behind his door. Familiar voices, laughter. Family getting a late breakfast. There are scents of cooking meats.
More and more, smells prick at Antwon's nose lately, and his dark eyes look up to the door. There's a shift: even with an extra-long twin, his muscled form overhangs it, a little, and at the rumble of his stomach he considers food, strongly. He looks back down at his phone for a second, and then up at the windowsill. Rising, finally, he stretches, loping to the windowsill to make sure it's closed and no water is leaking in.
Antwon tries to send a text -- the contact is 'Tabs', typing out 'Raining in L.A.," but then there's a frown, as the message spirals endlessly without sending."
When Antwon peers outside of the window, he can see there are people milling about below, some with umbrellas to hide their faces, some with their hoodies over their heads, hands shoved into their pockets, deeply hunched over. There is a group of guys, looking to be about Antwon's age standing a little too suspiciously, huddled in a pack and occasionally looking to the home which Antwon's residing in. There's nothing that can be read on their lips, but they are definitely talking. A burst of happy laughter reaches Antwon's ears from somewhere in the house. The kitchen. One of his sisters, in fact. Then another, "Antwon Leonard Jackson you best not still be in bed, boy! Get your ass up and out here!" The message does indeed just linger somewhere in the electronic void.
There's a deep frown at the people outside, and then Antwon is heading for the door. He grabs his jeans, pulling them on as he goes, but he's still barefoot. Outside his room, he looks for the sister -- probably Journi, who with three little kids tends to spend a lot of time at Antwon's mom's house. "I'm here, girl," he tells her. There's a little tension. "But maybe have the kids play in the kitchen, aight?" he says. She has three, an 8-year-old girl Tyisha, a three-and-a-half-year old girl Tyanna, and an almost-one-year-old Tyshawn. Heading for the front room, he peers through the windows at the street, suspicious.
One of the men standing below Antwon's window makes eye contact with Antwon, a dark scowl on his face for the man. Maybe it's just the rain causing it. His hood dark with rain, and beneath it, a bandana about his forehead, the color of a gang the baller knows all too well. Before Antwon leaves the window, the man upnods to him, giving fist bumps to the two other guys who appear to be wandering off. Journi shoots a call-back, "Boy, they in the kitchen. Best get your ass here too. There's grits getting cold."
When Antwon walks to the front room, there's no sign of anything suspicious. It's just rain. Pitter patter. It's kind of soothing, really.
Stalking back to the kitchen, Antwon snags whatever food he can grab, handheld. "I gotta go out," he says to Journi, a little short, and then there's a look at her. There's something just flashed and predatory in it as he chows down on whatever food he can grab, and then he's back to his bedroom, pulling on his shoes. "I be back as soon as he can, sis," he tells her, called through the open door. Then, as soon as his shoes are on, he's headed for the front door and the street-corner.
Antwon does not actually get ass to the street corner, much as he probably would like to. He's got to get hisself dressed up enough to do so. Plenty of time, really, for kids to try to give him hugs and try to convince their tense uncle to stay and eat breakfast with them. But, it would seem Antwon would have none of it, pulling away and heading to the front door. When the door opens, there is the one man, hand pulled into a fist as if ready to knock on the door. The man grins, feral. "Yo, Twon!" the man says to Antwon, setting his fist at the door frame and his foot at the threshold. "Heard you was back in town." The man sniffs the air. "Shit smell good. Gon invite an old friend in?"
Suspicion, but some recognition, and then Antwon offers a handshake. "Damn, Cutty," he tells the man. There's a look over his shoulder. "Come in, come in. Moms out shopping, but Journi here with the kids." He's still got some wariness, but that relaxation goes down a little. He's got a kind of hyper-alert paranoia still that surrounds him. "How you been?" he questions.
The man, Cutty, takes Antwon's hand and leans in for a bro hug, one hand going about his shoulder for a back slap, one that, actually, is a bit too hard. The grip on Antwon's hand is strong. Stronger than he likely remembers. The man steps in, squaring his shoulders. Maybe Antwon couldn't tell at the window down to the street, but is this the same man that was scoping out the house to begin with? He probably has reason enough to still be suspicious. But not of the street nearby. "Damn, Twon. That Journi I smell." Not eggs, not biscuits, not bacon, or grits. The man's nostrils flare, and he's pushing deeper in. "What you got on the burner, girl?" he asks, heading toward the kitchen.
Journi is about 25, a little heavy around the hips but still shapely. This morning she's in jeans and a cropped top, with just a little of muffin-top over tight jeans. In the front of the house, though: Surprise at Cutty's grip, as Antwon looks him over. "Damn, bro," he says after that hug. "You been liftin', motherfucker." When Cutty heads for the kitchen, so does Antwon, his eyes on the man. There's still that tense worry. "What you been up to?" he questions.
"Ain't been up to shit you ain't familiar with, bro," Cutty replies, walking up to Journi and grasping her at the waist to pull her into his front, aggressively, possessively. All too familiarly? The man's nostril's flare, "Damn, girl, you looking fly as fuck. I could eat you." It is much to the woman's startle that he does this, given her sharp cry. But he lets her go, reaching for a piece of toast and crunching into it. "Heard you went way the fuck out East. But you know. You ain't really ever far from Family."
Antwon bristles at Cutty's invasion of the family space, and there's a step in his direction. "I been East, yeah," he says. "Played for fucking Duke a minute. Now I on a rehab year," he says. The set of his shoulders is threatening, protective, and there's a look between Journi and Cutty that has the promise of some violence. Breathing in and out, he moves so he's almost within arm's reach of Cutty. "I know," he says. "I hang out in Boston sometimes with some fools." Trying to change the subject? Trying to get him away from his sister, really.
Cutty gets himself a good handful of someone' ass, despite that her three kids are there in the room. The stance that Antwon takes has the other man bristling himself. "Calm you tits," the man says to Antwon with a darkness in him, beastly. "Journi here ain't mind. Might go put another bitch her belly." Maybe this is not the Cutty he remembers? There's something feral. A flare of his nostrils, a clear inability to control his actions. He bends down to talk to the 8-year old, "Yeah you like that? Another sis?" When he bends, there's a pistol tucked into the back of his sagging jeans. Back to his feet he walks over to Antwon, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, so you ain't out? Word on the street you turned pussy."
Cutty gets himself a good handful of Journi's ass, despite that her three kids are there in the room. The stance that Antwon takes has the other man bristling himself. "Calm you tits," the man says to Antwon with a darkness in him, beastly. "Journi here ain't mind. Might go put another bitch her belly." Maybe this is not the Cutty he remembers? There's something feral. A flare of his nostrils, a clear inability to control his actions. He bends down to talk to the 8-year old, "Yeah you like that? Another sis?" When he bends, there's a pistol tucked into the back of his sagging jeans. Back to his feet he walks over to Antwon, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, so you ain't out? Word on the street you turned pussy."
The man's eyes flash, and there's a ripple in the man's muscles. Straining to keep his composure? Daring to bring out the beast?
A step again, closer to someone. "You fucking out of line, nigga," he tells him. His eyes see that pistol, then back up to Cutty. He inhales: scent matters to him, too, and now he's focusing on all the scents in the room, especially on Cutty, those dark eyes focused on the other man. The tension in him, the violence, is palpable: Antwon is a coiled spring, about to unwind.
A step again, closer to Cutty. "You fucking out of line, nigga," he tells him. His eyes see that pistol, then back up to Cutty. He inhales: scent matters to him, too, and now he's focusing on all the scents in the room, especially on Cutty, those dark eyes focused on the other man. The tension in him, the violence, is palpable: Antwon is a coiled spring, about to unwind.
The man, ready to pounce himself, gets right up into Antwon's face, "Yeah? What you think you gon do about it..." He tilts his head to the side, neck popping with the strain put to his muscles, "Pussy." Journi's got her kids rounded up, and she's trying to get out of the kitchen with them as the bacon on the burner starts to burn, filling the air with acrid smoke to match the acrid violence. "You gon go back to your pussy life out East, and guess what? I'm gon still be here." His eyes flash to Journi, "Stay the fuck put." There comes a moment that the man takes a breath, as if to calm his own damned tits. He steps away from Antwon, unless he is stopped. "We gon eat. Get that bacon off the stove."
There is a familiarity that Antwon and Cutty share. Perhaps Antwon wasn't the only one retaliated against from that night out at that fateful club.
Antwon looks between Journi and Cutty with concern. "We gonna eat," he agrees, his nose full of werewolf. "And then after that," he tells Cutty, "You gonna have a long talk with ol `Twon in the back yard." His voice is tense, low, but in addition to being full of threat it is full of some power: White Oak, perhaps, has taught him a thing or two. He takes a seat at the table, waiting for Cutty to do the same. He raises his voice. "Tyanna," he tells the 8-year-old. "Take Tyisha and Tyshawn and go watch TV." Kids first, out of the firing line.
Antwon looks between Journi and Cutty with concern. "We gonna eat," he agrees, his nose full of werewolf. "And then after that," he tells Cutty, "You gonna have a long talk with ol 'Twon in the back yard." His voice is tense, low, but in addition to being full of threat it is full of some power: White Oak, perhaps, has taught him a thing or two. He takes a seat at the table, waiting for Cutty to do the same. He raises his voice. "Tyanna," he tells the 8-year-old. "Take Tyisha and Tyshawn and go watch TV." Kids first, out of the firing line.
"Journi staying the fuck here," Cutty says, not seeming to mind that the children are told to go and watch T.V. "Best turn those toons up real nice and loud." he warns, picking up his previously bitten toast and biting into it again. He slaps his knee for Antwon's sister to sit there. His nose seems to be filled with her, fixated on her. "Ain't see no reason to talk right here, yeah?" He gestures for Journi, "Dish me up, bitch. Know you fucking place." There is a flash in the man's eyes again, that gaze, stone cold, killer, on Antwon. "So tell me bout more about what you up to."
"Same fucking shit you are," Antwon tells Cutty in a low voice. He looks over at Journi, then back at Cutty, and there's a low, uneasy growl. "She need to not hear this shit," he tells the man, leaning in. "And you need to simmer the fuck down, Cutty. Let me fucking guess: you remember that scrap we was in, last time we were together?" His eyes fix on the man. "We won it in the club, ain't we?"
"No. I think she do." Cutty says. "She can sit her fine ass down right here on my lap. Got a good place for her, you see..." The man leans back and cups his manhood through his jeans. "If you get me." When Journi places a bowl of grits in front of him but doesn't take a knee, he say again, muscles growing thick and tight. "Sit." The man cuts a large grin, flashing gold there in his mouth. "Yeah, we won that shit right. Popped a cap in one of them assholes later." Cutty makes an air pistol, acting like he's cocking a hammer back. One eye is closed, and his aim is focused on Antwon.
Now Antwon is standing, and his voice booms again with some psychic power. "Get the fuck out, Journi," he barks at his sister, and he's taking a step to be right in front of Cutty, challenging him. "We won it fucking them, but then some shit happened." His voice is low. "Didn't it, motherfucker?" A look over at someone. "Go!" he barks, on the edge of fight or flight.
Now Antwon is standing, and his voice booms again with some psychic power. "Get the fuck out, Journi," he barks at his sister, and he's taking a step to be right in front of Cutty, challenging him. "We won it fucking them, but then some shit happened." His voice is low. "Didn't it, motherfucker?" A look over at Journi. "Go!" he barks, on the edge of fight or flight.
Cutty stands too, his hands grabbing onto the table, the family table, and it starts to creak under the pressure. His focus is full on Antwon, letting Journi do as she is bid. And bid she does, she runs from the kitchen and there can be sounds of harried movement from the living room, and some children's complaints about not wanting to go out in the rain and that Spongebob was on. There is a snarl from Cutty, a gutteral growl coming now from his chest. "Fuck right it did. And I feel fucking great."
Antwon's growl answers Cutty's, and then it's all tall, black man staring down his friend. "Yeah?" he tells him. "You like it? The feel of the moon in you?" he says. "The taste of fucking blood on your jaws," he says. "The sound a howl makes when it leaves your chest?" It's a pause, low. "You feel fucking powerful, C: ain't you?"
"Always took what I wanted anyway, but now I can feel this in my blood." Cutty flexes, "Tore some bitch right the fuck up givin it to her real nice. She howled til she scream." A threat forthcoming from him to Antwon about Journi? A brag? "You like it. I feel it you. I smell it." The man's nostrils flare again, wide, taking in Antwon's scent like he were meat, too, or he was getting his scent like he'd set upon Journi.
"You ain't shit where you eat, Cutty," Antwon tells the man. "But you and me, we go hunting tonight." It's a promise. "We find some people, we get into some shit: we make the city ours, motherfucker, like old times." He's up in front of him. "But not family," he says. "Not our family, bro. That ain't how we do it."
Cutty leaves imprints of his fingers in the kitchen table. Something that someone's going to have to explain at some point. Journi could, probably. But she's now out there in the drive way, fumbling around for her keys and getting her youngest into the shitty car seat she's got. "Like fucking old times. Grab a bitch or two, too. Got me an idea. I think you'll like. She a sweet ride." He stands upwright, rolling his powerful shoulders. "Find the rest of them assholes, too. Show them real power." The man snorts out hot air through his nose. "Won't know what fuckin' hit him." The man claps Antwon hard on the shoulder. Too hard. Like steel. "Good to have you back, Twon. You fuckin' missed."
Inhaled, feral breaths. "Only for a couple more days, bro," Antwon tells Cutty. It's a step close and then a step back as he offers the man a fistbump. "Find some Neighborhood motherfuckers --" The rival gang to Antwon and Cutty's Rolling 60s "-- and fuck them up," he says. "We gonna own the fucking night, bro," he tells the man. "We gonna..." His nostrils flare. "It gonna be like it was."
Cutty fistbumps Antwon in return, then reaches behind him to pull out that gun he'd been packing the whole time. "You ain't got yourself a pole, I'm guessing, all pussied up at your moms." It gets set on the table. "I got another in my car." The man shrugs his shoulders, jostling his large coat up around his shoulders. "Not like we need them." He picks up the bowl of grits and takes a bite. "Shit, Twon, your sis still makes good ass food." He tosses the bowl into the sink. "Be seeing you. Be knocking later tonight. Ain't you be running out." There is trust there, given he's left a pistol, likely loaded, on the table for Antwon to pick up if he wanted to. "You got a name to live up to."
Laughter, as Antwon picks up the gun, slipping it in his jeans with some practiced ease. "Fucking TSA," he agrees with Cutty. There's a move to let the gun settle: with just his tank top on, there's no real hiding it, but he makes an effort, untucking it before he tucks it over the handle. "And yeah. I end up leaving shit all over the place," he agrees with Cutty in some low complaint. "But I do got a name, boy. I ain't so far gone I ain't remember it." His eyes are bright as he looks at his friend. "Meet you down by the Gardens when the moon fucking come up," he tells the man. "Dress light."
Is some part of Antwon discomfitted by this? Perhaps, deep inside. He has been trying to avoid this life, this week: trying to pull his brother out of it, but there are always prices to pay for past sins. Besides: pacing the streets with Cutty is a price to pay to keep his sister safe, even if it draws him in a little more to a world he's trying to leave behind.
Cutty steals a steely glance behind him at Antwon, chin upticking at the man. "Shit gonna be -tight-," he claims, giving a clap of his hands, looking far more at ease than a man should at the thought of violence against ... anyone. Man, woman, child. He's already mentioned it a few times now, about women. The man doesn't use the front door to leave, this time, he heads to the kitchen door, leading to the backyard. The man leaves the door wide open, it having slammed against a counter to cause the glass panes to rattle, but luckily not crack. "I ain't shit where I eat, man." But he has no regard for it either. The man hops the fence line with upmost ease, as if it weren't even there. He pauses on the road, sniffs, and heads off in the direction of where Journi's car has headed.
There's a look out at Cutty as he goes, and then a text fired off. That night, when they hunt, perhaps Antwon will drop hints: if LA life is lonely for a wolf, Antwon knows a friendly operator in Boston, Desmond King. His crew always down to take a Rolling 60s in, and they are a little closer to the action. Even when he tells Cutty that, he has some worry, bringing that life closer to his in Haven.
The reply back to Antwon from someone, either by text or in person, is a rowdy Yes. Spread the love, so he said. Maybe find out what Antwon's been doing all this time out East. Who he's doing. Afterall, he just wants a little taste of some good life. Deserves it.
The reply back to Antwon from Cutty, either by text or in person, is a rowdy Yes. Spread the love, so he said. Maybe find out what Antwon's been doing all this time out East. Who he's doing. Afterall, he just wants a little taste of some good life. Deserves it.