Wolf's Den (Language, Substance Use)

Summary:
June 25 2014: Partisan and Aspect spend an almost normal evening at her house in Maine

Northern Maine

Quiet, nice neighborhood, the kind where folks don't mind leaving their doors unlocked at night.


Characters

NPCs

  • None

Mood Music:
[* None]


It's actually in Northern Maine, which conveniently enough does not represent a terribly long drive. In a sleepy high dollar neighborhood, big yards and big old construction mansions. There’s a garden stretching from one side of the house on back, vegetables mainly it looks like. Old growth fruit trees in the yard, and a large detached garage giving a view of the landscaped backyard and that large low deck stretching out amongst flowers and sculpted shrubbery. She sweeps the old BMW into the garage with a crack of her back, snagging the duffel from the trunk before heading towards the house. The garage doesn't look like, well the garage of a terrorist really. The concrete floor has been kept clean, the work benches are neat and orderly. The older M3 sitting aside today's whip seems wonderfully well cared for, and the newer M3 up on jack stands seems equally looked after.

"C'mon in punk."

There’s a jiggle of keys, followed by a tapping at the security system panel(a nice system for a home, actually). Inside it's like a time machine. Ancient hardwood floors, high ceilings, ancient furniture and dark leather. The Colors are not quite dark but let’s say, earthy and it's easy to call the place what it is. A wolf's den. There is also perhaps something utterly unexpected. Photographs, actual photographs. Young women with different faces with different groups of men, A few that look like they're from WW2, a few others with Vietnam tiger stripe and more still set in apparently the Jungles of South America.

"Sit'cher ass down in the living room, and get the fireplace started."

*

Jeri strolls in behind Partisan, looking around. Huh… Wow. This is… a really nice place. Clearly well kept. Nice neighborhood. Good lawn. The decor is very… Partisan but somehow that's all the more comforting, knowing that she is who she is and doesn't put up one facade in one place and another in her den.

"Nice place." He says. And he means it quite sincerely. It's about the nicest place he's ever been in. Growing up he never ran in anything remotely like 'nobility' circles and even after the Army when he had a comfortable life, he lived in a relatively plain, if nice, flat. This is another world entirely.

So he does as she asks, kneeling down by the fireplace to put some wood in it and casting about for some tinder and a match or two to get it all started.

*

There’s a pause, as she sets the stereo up. Throwing in, waaait MF Doom?

"I'll get dinner started, but I'm handing out the booze so away go the guns. Once you get the fire going, meet me in the basement alright? We'll put away the toys, we can get washed up and then we'll get dinner going. Sound like a plan?"

Not that she waits, but then again she is -the- Partisan right? Slipping down the basement stairs as she calls up after. "Oh and thanks, Bought this place in the eighties. Never got around to moving in until recently."

Jericho nods, forgetting for the moment that she can't see him. "Put a lot of work into it, it seems." He calls back as he finally gets the rolled up newspaper to take and start the first of the logs he's stacked on there. Then he stands and heads back toward the basement, pulling out his sidearm and checking the safety once more. He's never seen Parti go without at least a pistol in arms reach but, hey, her house her rules. It's pretty prudent not to have guns about if you're going to be plying alcohol after all and hey… it makes things seem a bit more normal, if only for a while. Or at least, as normal as being in a 19 year old/120 year old werewolf's house can be.

*

There’s a full bar, pool table, and a little home theatre (which is where Jericho will see the laptop he built for Part set up). More photos, and then through a door and…yeah It's the regular old partisan. It's a proper motherfucking armor, like, proper. Racks of high end 1911s, Revolvers, Browning High powers, CZs, SiGs. What looks like a complete AK collection, another full collection of ARs including the old top charging Pre-M16 AR-10 down to a proper fucking US GOVT marked DD-MK18. FALs, G3s, racks and racks of obscure long forgotten battle rifles and submachineguns.

There are gasmasks too, of course. From ancient cracked rubber models bearing a particularly simplistic skull to the increasingly modern examples. Perhaps the only hiccup here for the "expected" Partisan Experience? Well there’s a Photograph on a shelf above the work bench, a Pretty young Woman in a Police officer's Uniform next to a handsome latin fellow in a matching uniform. There’s a priest in the…oh Jesus Christ that’s a Wedding photo. Complete with a plain gold band set in front of the frame.

"Just put'cher iron on the work bench, No need to get all Nazi about it."

*

"Ja wohl." Jeri chuckles as he sets his SiG down.

He looks up at the wedding photo, clearly more interested in that than the expected portions of the room. He doesn't ask, though. He doesn't really have to. There's only one picture that could be, anyway. Instead he notes the band in front of it and nods, mostly to himself before looking back down and unloading his sidearm. It's a really nice picture. Sweet, almost. Now doesn't seem like the time to say that though.

"Right, well…" He turns back, his gaze sweeping over the gas masks and the little computer with a smile. "Now this looks like a wolf's den. You collect those? Or are those ones you kept from other… jobs?"

*

Partisan smiles "I collect, and I buy. "

She circles around to gently peel free an extra stubby M4 looking thing with a fixed A1 upper and a folding stock kept from collapsing further with a broad knot of 550 cord. A real deal, no bullshit Vietnam issued Colt Commando in person.

"I kept that from Nam, and a few AKs to flush out the Chinese part of the collection."

There’s a moment as she reaches through to the other racking. MAT-49, M24 sniper rifle, M79 Grenade launcher, oh fuck thats a god damned M60,E1,E2,E3,E4,E5 and E6.

"Got my first Stoner rifle there, always liked the idea of the Expeditionary rifle even if it recoiled like a bitch for just being 5.56. Anyway I picked these up in Nam alone, I'd see something I wasn’t familiar with or I didn't have. I'd pick it up. Some I used, some I wanted to have so I could understand the platform. Some I wanted just because I thought they were fucking cool."

Selecting a ratty wooden stocked rifle from a dimly lit rack, before rolling it around to expose the magwell which…oh hey it folds. There’s a slot cut in the forearm to receive the magazine and everything. "Danuvia, my first -favorite- gun. Shoots 9x25 mauser though, so ammo was never ever easy to come by in the field."

*

The hacker walks over to get a better look at the Danuvia. He's not so much of a weapons enthusiast that he's ever really heard of this thing, but hey, if it was Parti's favorite gun there must be something to recommend it, right? He leans in to examine the action and chuckles a bit when she mentions the round. "That's pretty far off the standard production lines to be sure. Haven't made much of that since what? The forties?"

He looks then at the six variants of the M60 and smiles. She does like LMG's doesn't she? Hard to blame her. if he could use them like rifles he'd like them too.

"It's a really impressive collection." Which may be a slight understatement.

*

Partisan nods softly. "Ballistics sort've along the lines of a 10mm, in a full rifle platform. Comfortable, accurate, powerful. Remember until the sixties, nobody -saw- the AK-47 or the SKS, or the M14. The FAL was coming around sure, but immediately postwar everything was submachine guns and bolt action rifles. This was a weird sort've, ancestral assault rifle in many respects. I didn't get my first AK until like, fifty six maybe Fifty seven? Between the Danuvia and the AK, I was just rocking submachine guns because that was all you could really find with any sort've rate of fire. The PPSH Russian guns were very good, but the drum magazines were fairly susceptible to damage and the guns tended to rust quite badly. The Finnish stuff was a little better, rocked a SiG MP-310 for a while, Thompsons were pretty overrated, everyone acts like they were great but unloaded the Tommy was a full two pounds heavier than the Garand. Put that drum mag in there, and you might as well just carry something belt fed for all the weight. I always like lighter, high rate of fire weapons for small squad work. The M16 was an early favorite of mine for that reason."

*

"Yeah, the US Army did eventually come to agree with you, though it's odd how we're swinging back the other way in some respects." Talk continues to abound of returning to a heavier weapons platform with a larger bullet, along the lines of an M14 simply because desert engagements don't always happen at that comfortable 300 meter mark. Of course it's the army and there's always more talk than action. Funny that.

"Seem to have branched out a lot though." He says, eyeing some of her heavier weapons. Makes sense though. Making a bang is a good way to up the violence and confusion on someone.

*

Partisan shrugs. "Well the M16 can't be blamed for Vietnam, that wasn't the gun's fault. "

She selects an M16 off the rack, and offers it over. A full tilt first generation M16. No forward assist, pencil thin barrel, slender hand guards, It's lighter than an M4 even by some margin.

"This is what they sent us. That’s literally everything, sling and twenty round mags. No cleaning kit, no field manual nothing. The internals, not chrome plated or even phosphated they're steel in the white. The Flash hider, totally ineffective and the cyclic rate is about fourteen hundred rounds due to improperly manufactured buffers that were under weight. So you would pour fire out, and the ammunition was stick not ball and had corrosive primers. Well shit rusts in the jungle just sitting there, never mind shooting an M16. You ever heard the story of how this came to be issued?"

*

Jericho shakes his head. "No actually. Weapon history wasn't something I studied that much in depth. Bit more up on current weapons and their foibles but not older ones like this." He does take a few moments to admire it all though. Piece of history this thing. And yeah, he can see how going from an M-14 to this might make you think you were holding a toy gun, never mind the size of the round. Ah well.

He returns the weapon to the rack with a bit of a smile. "How did that go down?"

*

"Well Stoner makes the AR-10, and it's a .308 and it does alright. The Army looks, but says "That’s interesting, please keep working, here’s money but middle of a war here". Stoner, is used to aircraft procurement however because…" Part pauses to select an AR-10 in a wood stock, and points to a marking on the receiver ‘Fairchild Aircraft Corp.’ with a nod, she continues. "So they decided the only way to move forward, would be to play hardball. They got it issued to Air Force security personnel, the AR-10W. Which was a 5.56, in the bigger receiver. Well President Johnson, was hearing troops were unhappy with the M14 and were asking for carbine and synthetic stocked models but the Air Force already had this lightweight rustproof rifle. So he had this group of Harvard professors called the "Wizz Kids", look into it. Well they'd never held a rifle in their life. So they make the US army test the AR-10W, and they returned a list of like 300 things wrong with it. Some of it was like "Cleaning kit not adequate" but other shit was a big deal, like "lacks forward assist" or "Barrel profile not suitable" or "Internals not corrosion resistant.” So They looked at this list, and saw "Chrome plated barrel and bolt carrier group" and just assumed the Army was fucking with them entirely. So they issued the thing, and told the Army to go fuck itself."

She slips over to produce an M.63 Stoner, which is boxy and sort've ugly in a good way. "Colt had the rights by then, and they didn’t wanna say shit. Stoner, had gone on to design -this- by the time the m16 was undergoing trials and…" Plucking an AR-18 from another rack to lay the three siblings out… "So They had three rifles designed by the same man, who was telling everyone he could that the AR-15 and 10 were developmental prototypes never intended for full scale production. The 63 here, was issued in Vietnam and man it was the fucking tits. I had an early M.63 Carbine and I loved the -fuck- out of that thing, but only Special snowflakes like SOG or the CIA's goons like me ever got it. it was overly complicated, but reliable, accurate and highly modular. You could turn any M.63 into a carbine, a DMR or a belt fed or magazine fed LMG or any combination of those without tools. So Colt, just shut the fuck up and let the rifle get jammed through."

*

"Yuck… Well… that sounds like Bureau of Ordinance procurement alright." Same organization, let's recall, that refused to issue Union soldiers during the civil war the new Henry lever action repeater rifles on the grounds that the high rate of fire would simply encourage soldiers to waste ammunition. "The procurement process has to be my least favorite thing about weapons. Always seems to be as much if not more about politics as it does about what weapon is actually the best one to issue."

Jeri shakes his head and looks up at some of Parti's heavier ordinance. "Ah. M82A. Everyone's favorite, that."

*

There’s a Boys anti tank rifle, about six similarly period weapons with cyrillic markings, a Mcmillan M87R, and then the collection has a gap, thats an M82A1 but no M82. Geopard anti tank rifles, a Denel NTW-20, DTAs, an endless series of bolt action precision rifles and so forth.

"Well the 63 lives on, You can buy a Civilian variant if you want. KAC also makes an LMG based on the M.89 which evolved from the M.62, bout ten pounds and comfortable as fuck. Anyway yeah, the resurgence of AM rifles happened whilst I was in lockup, but I wasn’t really all that surprised myself."

*

"Seriously good stuff though. Reach out and touch someone from a couple miles away if you're good enough to make the shot." Which she is. He's seen her do it.

"I guess having all the fun toys is a benefit of having been around long enough to collect them." Man he knows some guys who would kill to look at this. Though… he can't think of a one that probably wouldn't seriously piss Parti off… mmmm… nope.

*

Partisan nods politely. "Thank you, now why don't you go get a nice long bath. Pitch your clothes in the chute, and I'll take care of everything alright? Being pampered every so often helps doesn't it, makes you feel a little more like yourself? Now off with ya."

*

It's probably a solid hour… hour fifteen later that Jericho is done with the bath, finally to the point where he's toweling himself off. Now that he's managed to loosen up a bit and isn't emoting to make himself as uninteresting as possible, it's now easier to see that the guy's not nearly so boring as he makes himself look most of the time. Sure, not turn your head in traffic super interesting either, but clearly someone with a few stories who knows how to have a good time. Well… knew. His idea of a good time these days still involves C4 and an encryption algorithm. He does have the slight problem now of figuring out where his clothes are. Parti said she'd handle it so maybe they're outside the door. He peeks out to check.

*

The aroma, is pretty nuts no joke. It fills the whole house, and makes it feel suddenly far smaller and more lived in. Lamb, Pork, Beef, vegetables and of course Rakia (and cigarettes but of course.) She's layed out a lovely table too, Supa Topcheta (A meatball soup basically, in an extra thick rich broth), Palneni Chushki(Bellpeppers stuffed with rice and lamb, then baked together), Zelevi Sarmi (minced lamb, rice and a spicy sauce wrapped in baked lettuce leaves). Theres Rakia the dangerous Bulgarian spirit, and well in a nod to her American guest Theres even a proper fucking apple pie.The aroma is, memorable.

The clothes are indeed freshly cleaned, ironed and mended and neatly folded infront of the door. Shoes cleaned, buttons mended. Down in the kitchen she's just tossing things in the Sink, wearing a fairly casual looking white blouse and a sort've multihued red gypsy skirt. Shoes, nope but then again she hardly thinks Jeri would care and even if he did the fuck is he gonna do about it. "Get'cher ass down here, you're a guest in what is a Bulgarian household. You can't leave until I've fed you entirely way too fucking much."

*

He doesn't mind. He's already seen her in a skirt once today, though this is considerably less tactical and the lack of shoes… it's a good thing he has some survival instincts. Anyway it's not nice to tease the person who has invited you to their house and cooked you a delicious smelling meal. And by the way, it does smell delicious. So he gets his ass down there, coming around the corner in socks. No shoes on the carpet as one of the rules in his house so he places those by the door and leans into the kitchen.

"Wow Parti, I don't think I've ever smelled anything quite like that before. Need any help settin' the table?" Dooooooesn't look like it, actually… But it's polite to ask.

*

Partisan waves dismissively. "No men in the kitchen you fucking philistine motherfucker, go sit'cher ass at the head of the table and get yourself started. I'm Bulgarian, not French. We don't do formal dinners, we do good food and a fuck ton of alcohol. Now if you're a good little boy and clear the plate, I'll bust out the pot to wind us down afterwards."

*

Pot. There's a new after dinner chaser. Well he's certainly not going to complain about making a run at cleaning off a couple plates full of food this delicious. It doesn't feel quite right to start without Parti, but that's just his own upbringing. Her house, her rules. So he sits down in the indicated seat and fills his plate with a little bit of everything conveniently to hand and starts right in. Good… God this stuff tastes good and he's not just saying that because he hasn't had a proper home cooked meal in a year. This stuff would taste good at any time or place. Partisan could probably open her own restaurant… if the idea of her doing so weren't fairly laughable. Still… it's good food. And he's not shy about tucking into it until she decides to come join him.

*

Partisan isn't long in coming, thank goodness. Pouring the Rakia out and getting a tumbler emptied before she starts loading up her plate, and well taking the opportunity to load up Jericho's as well reguardless of his own thoughts on the situation.

"Nice to have the opportunity to cook for someone besides myself again, Haven't had the chance since Ed. Well I made Steak and Eggs for Nancy, but that's different. She never got the good stuff."

*

"I'm honored." He says it with a chuckle, but he means it rather sincerely. "And this is…" He watches as his plate is loaded up again. "Delicious."

Well, he was gonna do that eventually himself, right? So he tucks back into the food, really enjoying that Zelevi Sarmi. A drink of that Rakia causes his eyes to widen, but a moment later he's taking a second.

"Whew. That stuff packs a punch." Oddly, lots of things Parti likes do that. Strange, right?

"Never really have company over?" It's not like he'd expect her to keep a facade up for appearances sake, and he imagines she's the kind who is picky about who she's friends with but… well come on. It's been just a little while since Ed. One or two friends he'd have expected at least.

*

Partisan shakes her head. "Cooking and the whole hospitality thing is a big deal. For the time you share your food with someone, and seat them at your table there is no boundary. You're family, you're whatever but there are no like barriers between. So if I don't want them as family, I don't invite them over to eat my cooking." Pausing as she nomf herself, moving between the dishes with equal gusto it seems.

"Colombians are exactly the same way, which is why I ended up with a Colombian man I guess. Very similar cultures in alot've respects, even though our food is different the sort've flavor profile is pretty similar. We're both cultures who's cooking is the product of rural farming traditions, and extended families. You go to France or England or America, people want to eat whatever the rich people eat. The food may be good, but it's uniform. There is a specific way to make this or that, there is a recipe that must be followed. Well, that's not good food. Every time it should be a reflection of who made it, you need to invest in your cooking. I'm not just feeding you, I'm sharing hospitality with you."

Pouring more booze for Jericho and then herself quite casually. "I'm not an overly social sort've girl, I don't have the tolerance for phony bullshit. I don't want them to bring wine and a dish, that's not how we do it. I bring you over, I sit your ass down and then I feed the shit out've you. Don't go bringing your fucking cassarole shit up in here."

*

"You wouldn't like it anyway. I can't cook worth a damn." Well okay, he can cook acceptably, but it's nothing like this. And casserole. Ick. No. He can't make one worth eating. One worth shooting, yeah, but not worth eating.

"Well I appreciate it Parti, and not just because it's damn good food." Parti doesn't seem like someone to go all soppy on which is fine cause Jericho can't lay it on that thick anyway, but it's nice to have someone looking out for you. Someone who thinks enough of you to invite you over to their house for something other than most assuredly fatal invasive surgery. He takes another drink of the booze and a sharp breath. Yep. Still kicks.

*

Partisan refills that glass immediately, like a proper Bulgarian hostess. "Don't be so uptite, we're family enjoying a meal together alright? I'm like your great aunt or something, or is that gonna fuck with your brain too much? Older sister a little easier to swallow perhaps?"

*

"I can deal with either." Parti gets a speculative look for a moment and then a grin. "Though you look more older sister than great aunt at the moment."

Actually she looks younger sister. Very younger sister. But hey, it's Parti. He can think of her as an older sister… odd as that phrase seems when he actually says it in his head.

"So where'd you learn all of this? You said you were twelve when it… all went down. Had you been taught this before then? Or did you educate yourself later?"

*

Partisan nods. "I worked as a cook in town to earn a bit've money, and whilst mom died when I was born all the neighbors would come over to teach me how to cook. Every night some grandma would drop by, partially because dad was a nobleman living alone which was unusual. Partially because they understood I had nobody to teach me woman's work. So they were my mothers growing up, how to cook, how to clean, how to sew, how to yell at men, how to make illicit booze, how to hunt, how to clean what I'd killed. I bet even now, we could go into ten random houses in Bulgaria. Nine would have girls my age or younger, who can cook better than I can."

*

'Girls my age or younger.' Jericho very much doubts there are any hundred and twenty year old 'girls' in most Bulgarian houses. But he knows what she means. "Probably, though to be honest I'm perfectly content to sit here and nosh on this soup." Which kind of reminds him of Sopa Albondigas… vaguely. Okay not really, but very good and with meatballs.

"So you knew most of this before becoming the Partisan. I guess you wouldn't have had much of a chance to learn immediately after." Mostly because, as he gathers it, she was busy killing for a few decades.

*

Partisan nods "I didn't cook nothin’ but ya’know, partisan food for a long time. Venison and whatever vegetables we could find, bread made with wild yeast and so forth. That's purpose food, not yaknow..dinner food."

*

"Yeah. Soldier fuel, they call it now. Just stuff you shovel down your mouth to give yourself energy for what you have to do next. I like food, Parti. I'm a good soldier. I can eat bugs and raw rabbit and crap like that, but I'd much rather eat something like this. Kinda one of those things that makes you feel like a human being and not a meat machine with a gun, y'know?"

*

Partisan nods softly "Why ya think I dragged your ass over here and made you this spread, ya'll ain't no Partisan. You're Jericho, you're Aspect way too fucking much for your own good. Why I been telling you to get yourself a fucking mask, it sounds dumb but it helps seperate things for your noodle."

*

"Wears you out, I'll give you that." He looks a lot less tired than he's been looking. Not, like, lack of sleep tired. Just tired. Less of that now, but more of it present than is probably healthy.

"I'd been thinking about it. Gas mask is a little impractical for some of the work I do… though I've got a couple notions. How long did it take you to learn how keep it separate?"

*

Partisan shrugs. "Well for years I didn't, I was just the partisan every day. I was always super busy, I had things to do. Even if I took a flight or a ship somewhere, I needed that time to learn maps or try and pick up a new language or get my kit sorted out. When I would have down time, it was devastating."

Pausing to sip quietly. "I filled that void up with coke, but the first time I unplugged and was clean? I walked into this big grocery store and I was standing there looking at all the cereal. Like a hundred thousand different kinds, and I had this break. I wanted to scream and run and cry and just burn everything and kill myself and mostly just get back to the field. Felt like, I'd done all that shit. I'd survived all of that, done all that horrific shit so people could have a hundred different kinds of cereal to pick from. I'd be restless, wired up drum tight. Angry and I wouldn't know why, Lonely but I couldn’t stand to be near anyone, scared but I couldn't tell you of what. So before Colombia I'd worn gas masks only because it was a useful thing, kept me focused. Too much sensory information in a gunfight for me to be a thousand percent right?"

Setting that glass down with a little swirl. "So I started using the mask to separate shit, and like within a week I felt I dunno. Normal for me is weird for you, but I didn't feel like I was going to explode."

*

"Only weird to me because I don't think of you as normal, so when you go around cooking dinners and wearing skirts it I have to adjust my mental image of you. Which is just me being… well not even a man. Just me being me, really. I categorize things. Part of what makes me a good hacker. Doesn't always make me a good anything else though."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, than sip some more booze and eats a few more bites. "Gods that's good. Anyway yeah… I get… dead. Stop caring why I'm fighting, why I'm doing the things I'm doing. Feels like I've done them my whole life and I always will. I don't really know how much longer I could have fought solo without just giving up or going psycho."

*

Partisan nods softly. "Thus, you get your ass a mask. You keep going like you’re going, and I'll break your leg so it never heals right and then you ain't gonna be doing anything -but- being Jericho. The damage you could do if you went off the rails, would be very bad Jerry."

*

"I'm not sure whether to feel complimented or worried that the deadliest soldier I know thinks that of me. A bit of both, I suppose. Here, let me show you something." Jeri raises his arm up and projects a display of a cowl from it. Neck gaiter, really, meant to cover the mouth up to the nose.

It has an odd logo covering most of the front. "Been thinking something along those lines. Would also conceal some of my traces until I have to start really projecting things."

*

Partisan shrugs "I don't care what is is, as long as you don't go doing shit without it on. The seperation has to be sharp, and legitimate. If you just halfass this shit, it won't work alright?"

*

"Yeah… that's a fair point. Though I mean, other reasons to do it to. I'm tired of people recognizing my face. At least if it's covered with something they won't know it's me until I start projecting. I mean sure Sara isn't that bad and May's been… reasonable… I'll introduce you at some point. But yeah… gettin' a bit tired of that. More work to erase my trace than simply not leaving one."

*

Partisan nods. "You need a symbol, not a name. The Wolf's skull can't be argued with, it can be erased but it can't be twisted. My name is a non-name, it's a description. Not something trendy, but something you can leave behind. Something distinctive, and easily drawn by punk kids who think your shit looks cool."

*

"I'll put some cycles to it. Soon." Jeri promises, pushing his now empty plate back.

"Right now I'll settle for a mask. I'd really prefer that Aspect remain just a whisper on the internet but it's already a little late for that. I mean it's not like many people know it. You, Sara and May mostly. But still."

In the cyber world, though, Aspect kind of is a symbol. Hackers use aliases like gang bangers use graffiti tags - to simultaneously identify themselves and hide behind. More than one network IC has been caught spreading rumors about what the Tag did to a server farm or a data center on this or that occasion.

*

Partisan nods, rising with an audible crack in her spine before rolling up her sleeves.

"Let’s go young man, I need to get your ass stoned." She snags the bottle and those glasses before heading towards the living room. "Well first one I tried, was text based. Sort've the 1920's variant of "you mad" and shit. I'll probably retake doing something similar once we form our little team, and I let the skull rest for a while." She sets the bottle down in front of the couch, before those glasses and out comes the stash.

"I'll probably use some my little pony shit, just to further fuck with people. Saw a good one the other day, big purple pony and "Thou furious" in block text."

*

"Word of warning, I have never been stoned in my life." He says as he rises and follows her over on silent, stocked feet.

"Big Purple… my little pony." Has to be. It's the only thing of that description that has that kind of internet cachet and really the thought of Parti using Luna as her icon is funny enough that he just starts to chuckle softly as they transition into the new room.

"Ah yes. Well you given any thought as to what to call it?"

*

Partisan passes over a joint and a lighter, before lighting up herself. "Well I like descriptive names, which make sense. So I was thinking, I dunno. Bad Samaritans, not sure about what to do for the symbol but I'm working on it. I have some sketchy stencils I experimented with if you wanna see."

*

"Bad Samaritans." He nods and rolls it around in his head. "Not bad. Sure I'd love to see 'em." He gives the joint a dubious look and lights it.

"Just don't be too upset if it doesn't take me long to be not that with it."

*

Partisan waves a hand "That's good shit but it's cut with Tobacco, it'll loosen you up not lift you off your feet." She digs about in a backpack near the couch, before producing a stack of stencils. She lays them out on the coffee table, lots of designs here. There’s a pony themed one, but most are more classical. A pair of big gears with a skull falling into them, another with a wrench falling into the gears. Another with a grenade fuse mounted onto a donut, another still with a cat in a tophat above "FUCK YOUR SHIT." and well there’s like sixty of them.

*

It's not a bad way to pass the night and while Jeri will freely admit that he's not much of an artist, he does lean forward, going through each one with her in turn, discussing which ones he likes and why and what might be suitable. Possible as his relaxation goes up (and his filter down) that he also suggests the names Wolfpack or Werewolf (As in the historical post Occupation Nazi Resistance group, for a bit of irony) might also serve. Depending on who else is out there who might be interested…

*

Partisan waves a hand. "Naw, I like more descriptive names. We're Samaritans, but we're not law abiding." Holding up a two color stencil. A couch, and flames and the text "Fuck yo couch" beneath it. Seems She has been watching more modern media.


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