Yonov252003.htm

Klub SlamJam...

Yosannah is seated next to the lifeless form of a young man, her arm resting on the knee that she has propped up in the booth when Jurt arrives. Half-heartedly, she shoves the man in an effort to make room for Jurt. He slides sideways, limp, down the length of the booth, head landing against the wall with a *thud*. If he weren't unconscious a moment ago, he is now. As he approaches she yells, over the sound of thudding music, "I saved you a seat."

Jurt tugs down on his jacket, popping in with little fanfare right in a mess of people who are probably too drugged out to notice. Extracting himself from them takes him a mere two light shoves, placing him just a few feet from her, where she promptly addresses him. With a lick of his teeth, he moves for the booth, eyeing the unconscious fellow dubiously.

Her gaze is lazy, green eyes peering out from under drooping lashes, laced with mascara. She leans in close, glossed lips lingering at his ear. "Welcome to my latest experiment," she intones, her voice a tenor followed by chuckle.

Jurt squints at the man, disdain in the slight curl of his lip. "I hadn't realized you were much of a scientist."

She slides her tongue over her lips as her gaze takes in his form, "Scientist. I like the sound of that. It would appear that me and my symbiote are not," she lifts a finger to articulate her point, "in fact, immune to the effects my dealer's latest prescription as I had hypothesized." She tilts her head in the direction of the lifeless man who is slumped against the wall, "He, apparently, isn't either it would seem." Another chuckle escapes her lips though it is seen rather then heard over the loud pumping of base. She reaches for the beer bottle that sits on the table.

Jurt's hand snakes over along the table's surface, stealing the bottle just before her fingers closes. "Huh." Two quick swigs, then he offers the bottle to you. Lacking visible interest, "Whoopdee doo. You found a chump Shadow whose constitution is lacking. And you got a beefy immune system, like most Shadow travelers. I don't see the novelty."

Yosannah's jaw works as he snatches the bottle from her hands, "The novelty," her voice drawls on this last word, "Is that I do /not/ have... what did you say... beefy? I do not have a beefy immune system. At least not in the way I thought I would." She eyes the beer, crease forming in her forehead.

Jurt snorts lightly. "How's that? You've never looked particularly sickly to me." A little sly. "I'd certainly declare you 'healthy'."

She reclaims her beer, muttering something about backwash before drinking, "Not exactly. But that's not important. What is important is that you probably didn't realize that you were having an affair a bonifide Saint, didja, Jurt."

Jurt hahs, amused. "Saint Yosannah. Right. I must have missed that one in Sunday school awhile back. My attendance was always shit."

Yosannah lifts her finger again, "Well there you go. But Magnus told me so. Praise the Serpent, Amen."

Jurt rolls his eyes. "Yeah well Serpent shit, /Magnus/ said it, so it must be true and I should just choke myself on a big ass full of humble pie. Riiight."

The man slumped against the wall at the end of the booth stirs, moaning. She casts a glance in his direction, frowns, and lifts her foot, kicking him off the booth. He crumbles onto the floor. She turns back to Jurt and points out, "You owe me, by the way."

He watches her kick the man out, a look of agreement, then skepticism on his face. "For what, saving me from that choad's breath?"

Yosannah casts a sidelong glance at him as she drums her fingers against her lips, "A trump. You owe me a trump. And not just any trump. Yours, in particular. How soon we forget."

Jurt ohs, sobering a little, having indeed forgotten. "Shit, right, that." He starts to pat himself down.

She purses her lips into a crooked smirk, regarding him skeptically now. "Mmm hmm. I suppose you're going to tell me that you put the damn thing in the same place as your wedding ring now, right."

Jurt digs in his leather jacket pocket, replying glib, "No no, I know right where that is."

Yosannah offers, "Of course you do." She nods, serious. As he digs around looking she fidgets with her knit hat and scratches at the back of her head.

He pulls a card out of an inner pocket.

"Ah ha." She leans in close to regard the image.

Jurt pulls the card out of reach and leans just a little instead, "Eh." He makes a kissy face.

Yosannah's gaze drifts away and, eventually, she chuckles, a single short exhilaration of breath, disapproving. She seems to consider for a moment before regarding him again, coy. She slides her cap from her head and leans nearer, hand reaching under his chin in an effort to draw him close.

Jurt falls for it, looking greedy in the eyes for a kiss.

Yosannah's parted lips find his, this game becoming all too familiar. Her fingers inch away from his chin and slide down the length of his arm to the tarot held in his hand.

Jurt is fair enough, taking full advantage of the kiss but allowing her to draw the card out of his grasp.

She tugs the card free from his fingers, distancing herself from his lips just enough so that she can catch his gaze, "I'm on to you. But you don't have to do that to get my attention, Jurt." A smile plays on her lips as she brings them to his ear, "Your a force of nature, darling." There's long inhale of breath before she intones, "And you make me sing."

Jurt, agreeable, leans back. "I am what I am."

Card safely secured, she stretches the length of her body, legs sliding under the table so that she might tuck the item in her pant's pocket.

Jurt inquires, "We square now? Isn't maybe my card worth a little more than yours? I am Jurt, after all."

Yosannah nods, "Oh, absolutely." A little more thought and, "Though, I am a Chaosian Saint. That must count for something." She runs her hands through her hair and restores her cap to her head.

Jurt amends, "Alleged Saint." He considers.

Yosannah waves her hand, dismissive, "Eh, whatever." Her beer is collected again, "'Sides, I don't know what else to give you that you don't already have. Gee, you must have everything you could want." There is subtle sarcasm laced in her voice.

Jurt seems about to agree, on the verge of one of his wide smiles, but stops short. Hesitates. "Uh well, you know..." A glance over his shoulder. "How about we go romp in the hay and call it even?"

Yosannah repeats, testing, "Romp. In the hay. Your words are pure poetry. What's a girl to do." She tilts her head back and gulps at what remains of her now piss warm beer.

Jurt says "Come on - I got cold beer."