~If you hold that to your lips you can make noises with it.~

This scene was played, OOC, on 29 July and set two days or so before (for lunar purposes). Kudos to Sai for playing Patches.

Umbra: Harbor Park
The Umbral ground beneath your feet here is lush with vegetation, an oasis of life amidst the concrete and webbing of the scab. Trees stand proud and tall here, their branches full of leaves. Shrubs line the outer edges of the park, tangled with encroaching webs. The fountain stands out boldly from even the surrounding area, the sleek lines sharper and more pronounced. Clean pure water roars and cascades from the figure in the fountain's center, falling into a cold clear pool that looks quite inviting. Spreading out from the fountain, the rest of the park is a green veldt that seems to radiate life and strength. The river banks the east shore of the park, bridged by a massive rusty bridge. On this shore, the glade seems to have spread out on to it, vines winding around the supports. Further across the river, the bridge melds into the scab again, flaked with rust and covered in webs. The river itself is clean within a few feet of the shore, but black ooze seems to encroach menacingly from the murk of the rest of the river.
A walkway leads out of the Glade-like atmosphere of the park from just north of the fountain. Eastward, the dark span of the bridge stretches over the vile river. Dark streets lead west and southwest into the blighted Umbra of the city.

The umbral sky is dominated by a half-moon that's an almost exact semi-circle as three garou step sideways into the umbra of Harbor Park in the middle of St Claire, the heart of the territory claimed by pack to which two of them belong and the third hopes to join. Kevin relaxes a little as he and Basil usher Morgan through. "Phew," he comments. "Always a bit nerveracking taking you through town, Morgan. In case your coat comes open at the wrong time." He pats her on the shoulder and shifts through the forms to hispo.

Basil is up and into Crinos almost as soon as his spiritual form fades in, the Garou clearly seeming a bit edgier than he normally does. Kills-the-Cries takes a good long look around them before he finally turns to Morgan, and manages an odd looking smile. ~You'll get along fine with him. I know it. Just remember, he's not very serious. Not really like Garou. But respect him.~

Song-of-Luna is already sliding into her birthform herself, and if Basil looks edgy, he doesn't have much on the metis. Her fur is raised, her ears are slicked back, and she looks as though she's expecting a root canal rather than a pack invitation. Her eyes scan the park carefully, nose twitching.

Power-Up is already running up ahead, slipping naturally into his usual pack position of scout and front-runner. His nose is to the ground like a bloodhound as he seeks out the scent of the raccoon totem.

~Wonder if he ran into trouble from the spiders.~ Kills murmurs, glancing around the back then over at Morgan. ~Easy girl. Keep yourself alert, but easy. Got to keep your wits about you.~

Song-of-Luna grunts in response to Basil's words, but says nothing else. Her two lower hands, carrying the prize she intends to deliver, are clasped tightly against each other.

A loud crack of something hard smashing against concrete, or something quite similar to it, disturbs the relative white noise silence of the city Umbra. Far off, there are some alien buzzings like the heart of the City's beating, but this sound is quite close. Closer to the river side of the park, in fact. The raccoon spirit isn't terribly hard to spot once they crest the mild bank and look down towards the sludge and slime filled Shadow river. The totem is quite large, in fact. And at the moment, smashing what looks like a mutated, red and purple lobster against the back of a sleeping rock-spirit. It squeals in his nimble claws and wriggles, and he smashes it a few more times until it stops. That's when he inspects his handiwork, and looks behind him to see the Garou coming over.

Power-Up puts his front paws up on the low barrier that separates park from riverbank and looks down at the scene. ~Patches!~ he calls out. ~You who we follow and serve! We bring you a new garou who wishes to join us in your pack.~

Kills-the-Cries looks over in the distance, seeming somewhat startled for a moment before he runs a paw across his face as if brushing hair that is no longer there. ~I didn't know spirits ate.~ He remarks a loud, then throws a salute in the Totem's direction. ~I'm glad to see you're doing well, Lord Patches. This is a good friend of mine.~ He gestures to Bug with the same awkward smile he'd shown her. ~She's a good egg, but a little unstable.~

Song-of-Luna jumps at the crack, though once she spies the large raccoon she actually does appear to relax, if ever so slightly. At Basil's words she looks at him, then at Kevin, and finally back to the spirit, who suddenly gets her complete and utter attention. She avoids his eyes out of habit, but she's clearly enthralled.

Patches eats alright. The giant raccoon stuffs the lobster tail into his mouth, chewing on chitinous spirit shell and juicy ephemera like it were oh so delicious. Addressed, the spirit gets up and ambles over with prey in mouth. His face mask squeezes a bit thinner around the edges as he regards all three of them. *The Lord greets you all,* he says quite pompously at first, taking a claw and waving it around like a scepter. *I know you, and you, and... who's this now?*
From afar, to the room, Patches eats Basil's fingers in the meantime.

Power-Up shuffles sideways to give Patches a clearer view of the new applicant. ~This is Song-of-Luna,~ he tells the totem. ~We all know her already, and like her, and shall guard her back as she guides ours.~

Kills-the-Cries nods assent. ~Introduce yourself,~ he prompts her, not unfriendly in his tone.

Song-of-Luna licks her muzzle self-consciously, and straightens up a very little. ~I am Song-of-Luna,~ she says. Her tone isn't exactly proud, but at least she manages to keep any note of apology out of it. ~Fianna Metis Galliard Cliath. Sometimes called Bug.~ Her nose twitches for a moment, and then her lower, deformed pair of hands clench a little more tightly. ~I brought presents.~

*Hmmm, curiouser and curiouser,* Patches declares with the sense that yes, he is particularly drawn towards those little hands so out of place on the metis. Shambling around her like a fat and furry drill sergeant, Patches remains all serious up until she mentions, *Presents?! Ooh, do tell...* The metis finds her body being quite thoroughly inspected with the spirit's greedy claws, rubbing her ears, rifling through her fur, all around having very little sense of propriety.

Power-Up gives the faintest of woofs of encouragement to Morgan to co-operate with Patches.
~We have been leaving you small shiny items,~ Kills-the-Cries reminds Patches, ~since you told us you like those. If she joins us, she will leave you more.~

Touching, touching, argh. Song-of-Luna shudders under the inspection, but she manages to hold herself together, and, after a few moments, she opens those hands so that Patches can see what she's brought. There's a rather battered harmonica, metal, but not terribly expensive in the slightest. A beer bottle cap. A tiny piece of quartz. And a Reese's peanut-butter cup foil wrapper.

Patches examines more thoroughly than any airport security guard. *Yes, yes, yes,* he replies towards the Gnawer ahroun, *But you need to be more clever! The crows, the rats, they keep stealing it away before I see it. Bad, very bad. Good thing they don't know where the ones I do have, the best ones, are...* His mutterings dissolve away as the Fianna opens her hands. It's the harmonica that catches his attention, gleaming when exposed to the umbral light. Patches hesitates for a split second, and then quick as a bird, snatches the implements away. The three Garou can hear his mutterings more as he looks the gifts over, turning them around, feeling the textures. Then he looks pointedly at the pack. *Anything else?*

Power-Up fidgets in a disconcerted way. ~If you hold that to your lips you can make noises with it,~ he points out, which of course is far from an answer to the question.

~That is all for the present,~ Kills-the-Cries responds. ~We can bring more at next full moon?~

Song-of-Luna scratches her neck with one of her natural looking hands, and tips her ears back more. ~The other rocks don't shine so much,~ she explains, and this time she does sound very apologetic indeed.

Patches pauses in the middle of tasting the bottlecap. Lips? Since when do raccoon have lips? The harmonica is looked over, flipped over, turned over again. Then, he shoves the harmonica back towards Morgan insistently. Glancing between the three, the totem says all too like Morpheus, *Show me.*

Power-Up looks to the galliard expectantly. ~Give us a tune, Song-of-Luna.~ The big hispo wolf then checks around, making sure that any music-making here in the umbra will not attract immediate unwanted attention. Nothing larger than the ubiquitous city spiders surrounds the empty space of the umbral park.

Harmonicas aren't exactly easy things to handle with crinos claws. Given that Song-of-Luna is still able to, one might suspect she's done this before in this form. She clutches it thickly, and plants it right up against her mouth. Lupine lips don't exactly pucker, but she puffs a very heavy breath through the battered instrument. The sound that comes out is very like "PBBBBBTHTTUTTH." Elephant farts. Hardly musical, but loud enough to make up for it.

Kills-the-Cries tries to suppress a negative reaction at the noise, and almost succeeds.

Patches, for the moment, looks... unimpressed. The spirit's eyes shift towards the current two packmembers.

Power-Up stands up to his full hispo height. ~You will like her, Patches,~ he declares. ~Her mind runs along lines which ours do too.~ The ragabash sounds fairly confident for once.

Song-of-Luna puffs again, with less than stellar results. She seems pleased, however. And after a moment she shrinks in size, down to a scraggly, four armed girl, and even manages to get some kind of note out of it. Some kind of ugly note anyhow. "Is called radio," she explains.

Kills-the-Cries seems on the point of correcting the metis, but thinks better of it.

Patches is /clearly/ mulling it over. Clearly. A foreclaw comes out, asking for the harmonica again. *You promise to bring many more things like this...?* he queries the metis, ears and nose twitching expectantly. Somehow that bottlecap doesn't impede the spirit's ability to speak at all.

Power-Up gives a small involuntary nod as though answering for Morgan.

Morgan offers the harmonica up again willingly. "I bring lots," she states.

~We can help you collect some,~ Kills-the-Cries promises Morgan. It's plain that he is keen for her to prove acceptable.

Patches takes the harmonica and uses it as a neckscratcher, stalling for time on making any sort of decisions. Then, stuffing the harmonica in his mouth as well, the raccoon makes a grab for the metis' tinier hands with his own claws.

Morgan trembles again, but she doesn't pull her hands away. Still in homid, she lifts her head again, and sniffs at the spirit, eyes wide.

*Four arms. Four hands. You collect twice as much,* Patches states, eyeing the three with a beady, and a bit greedy eye. *You do that.* And with a change of facial expression that can only be called the smile of a thief, Patches lets go and scuttles back a few steps. *She's good. See ya!* And just like that, the raccoon scampers (as much as a large furry animal spirit is capable of doing) on off through the meadow.

Kills-the-Cries grins savagely. ~He never misses a trick,~ he comments, ~and let's hope we don't either.~

Morgan looks after Patches until he's gone far enough that she can't clearly see him anymore, and then she looks toward her two companions. Her two packmates. Her eyes are still wide, but there's a look of tense...what? Tensed something. Like she were trying to smile and not to smile all at the same time.

Power-Up walks towards Morgan. He doesn't quite lick her, but he comes close. You are one of us now, yes, yes, yes! he triumphs in wolven language.

And somewhere in the meadow, a loud PHBBBTHTTTTHHTH! of a harmonica being played by a being not meant to play such an instrument acts as a send off.