"Charachs and metis. Not much honor to be found in Vendetta."

Sunrise Road, South of I-90
Sunrise Road is a two-lane asphalt road that has been recently lined to accomodate the steadily growing level of traffic. Formerly poor farmers, hermits, and homesteaders have suddenly found themselves sitting on a small fortune as property values skyrocketed with the encroaching suburb developments. Most are selling their land or large portions of it to developers, cashing out and moving to warmer climates. Sunrise Road is still predominantly flanked on both sides by evergreen forest and punctuated by an occasional mailbox and driveway leading back off the road. But every so often large swaths of forest are in various stages of being cut down and cleared for new housing developments as Kent Crossing becomes a more and more popular "bedroom community" for people that work in St. Claire but don't care to actually live within the large, crowded, and troubled city. The majority of construction is occuring to the south where Sunrise Road connects with Highway 22 near Kent Crossing, growing less and less the further north one travels.
The road runs north toward I-90, and south into the woods. On the eastern side of the road, a gravel lane extends to the east before turning north and running parallel to the road.

A tuneless whistling precedes Kevin up the road which leads from Kent Crossing to the farm, past what were once woods and what are now increasingly becoming building sites. The ragabash has his hands in his pockets and seems to be in good spirits.

A battered, bruised Reggie isn't taking the day off to rest, but is instead battering at a bruised mailbox post that's leaning at a precarious angle. The chains intended to hold the mailbox are dangling loosely, the mailbox itself lying on the grass, quite flat with marks of a violent impact across the box.

Kevin walks over towards Reggie, his normal quick pace slowing. "Well, hello there, it's Reggie himself. What gives, man? You knock over someone's mailbox with your truck?"

The husky Uktena, more than overdressed for summer in his wolfskins, straightens up slowly from trying to convince the post to go back up straight, and mops copious sweat on his face with his sleeve. "School's out." He prods the mailbox with his foot. "Going about with a baseball bat and a car's the traditional summer sport."

Kevin grins at the big guy. "All fixed up now after the thrills and spills of the hunt, man? That was one awesome night. Did I stink after, though. Had to shower about eight times and bathe in the waterfall out at the caern before I got it off me."

Reggie begins to reach for the broken mailbox on the ground, thinks twice of it, and turns his reaching motion into a stretching motion in an attempt to make it appear he meant to stretch. Large areas of his ass appear between his pants and the inadequately roomy wolfskin in a phenomenon known popularly as 'plumber's crack'. "Ah", Reggie says, and makes an overt sniff at Kevin from several feet away. "Ah, you did. It was a good one, wasn't it?", he cracks a grin. "The Wyrm mourns their kind, instead of us ours."

Kevin very casually looks away from Reggie's ass at the fence alongside the road. "Makes a nice change. Everyone who went came back. If we did that every time," he points out, "we'd vanquish the Wyrm and live happily ever after."

Reggie straightens back up, rubbing sore spots and pulling up his pants to their usual resting place. "A nice dream", he nods. "May the tire fire go the same way. I've heard Emma's put a call out for people to come."

Kevin's good mood takes an instant drop in temperature. "It's finally happening? That damn thing's been hanging over my head for weeks. I'll be there, as I'm sure you're aware. You coming along? Get yourself singed for Gaia?"

Reggie shakes his head, as he snarls, "You can't keep me from a fight", as he postures with his scarred arms, curling them into a boxer's stance. He eases out of the posture, concern crossing his face as he asks, "What are you doing for the fire? Precisely? I hear one thing then another--the wildest being like the tale of tossing maidens into a volcano."

Kevin puts his head on one side and gives Reggie a silent, expressive look. "All I know is that I'm doing what Emma tells me to do," he then says, "whether or not that's what the philodoxes planned as my punishment. And it's likely to involve running interference and speed, because that's what I do well in open combat."

Reggie walks over slowly to the destroyed mailbox, and scoots it over the ground with a kick. "You're fast, kid--", he states as he regards Kevin. "I can't offer speed, but I'm the strongest person I know, and I'm looking for a pack that can use what I can offer."

Kevin gives Reggie another silent look. Then he stoops and picks up the damaged box, peering at it as though it may contain some secret of the universe. "Are you suggesting," he asks, still looking at the box and not Rags, "that you might like to join up with us in Vendetta?"

The damaged box contains on its side most of the letters of 'Denton', as though punning about its own state of being badly dented. Reggie, although also in a state of being badly dented, sounds too serious to be considered punning, as he looks soberly at Kevin, "I'm looking for a pack. Yours got any space?"

"We're missing theurge and philodox at present," Kevin says, "but I'm sure there'd be room for another full moon, especially if it's you. Only, dude. You do know who you'd be joining up with? Charachs and metis. Not much honor to be found in Vendetta. And Basil's the boss man, do you get along with him?"

Reggie's face darkens, "At one time I thought I'd follow honor. I found she doesn't know its meaning. That route is closed." He swings his hand through the air, cutting it in half. "I'll follow another. I get along fine with Basil."

Kevin takes the mailbox between both hands like a football, and giving it a good kick, sends it flying into the ditch by the side of the road. "Then go see Basil, Rags, and tell him if he's cool with you and Patches will have you, I'd be glad to run with you." He gives Reggie another, even wider, grin. "Honor is all very well, but honorable dead garou can't fight the Wyrm. Live, dishonored ones can. We know that, and so does Raccoon."

Reggie puts his hand on the post, giving it a good shake. "Broken posts can't receive the mail, either", he regards the post, before nodding, then grinning, at Kevin. "I'll go look for him."

"If I see him before you, I'll tell him," Kevin promises. "Sorry, dude, but I've got to get on up to the farm. There's another applicant for the pack I need to talk to some more... Morgan." With those words, he heads on up the lane, and the tuneless whistling begins again.