The GarouMUSH Log Page of Kevin Lockwood

Change of address

2007-10-28T17:34:00.001-07:00

Kevin's log page has migrated (yes, again) and may now be found at:

http://powerinthedark.livejournal.com

"If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made."

2006-07-28T15:44:00.000-07:00

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

2006-07-27T16:01:00.000-07:00

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.

"A little match can start a fire that burns a forest..."

2006-07-26T23:33:00.000-07:00

"Hey! KL! Quit the Steve McQueen impression and come let me in!"

2006-07-25T15:26:00.000-07:00

Greek House: Common Area(#2409RAJh$)
This is the central hub of the house. From here, you can still see the entrance foyer, as well as the stairway that heads to the second story. Towards the back of the common area is a set of glass doors that lead out to a courtyard. To the east, an arched doorway leads to what apparently serves as a library, office, and workroom, and to the west, an arched doorway leads to what appears to be a kitchen and dining area..
There are several chairs here, simple, elegant, yet functional in their design and intent. The room has a comfortable feel to it, but is a bit ascetic in design. The walls are off-white, the molding dark cherry wood and decorated with acanthus-leaf ornamentation at the corners. A pair of antique spears are hung crossed against each other on one wall, and a wall-relief depicting a scene of Grecian warriors hangs on the other. Above the mantle of the fireplace is a small statue of Artemis, on either side of that, dark metal candlesticks with ivory pillar candles. The entire room is a study in the contrast of light and dark.

This afternoon finds KL slumped on a seat, in the main room of the Fury house, facing a wall. On her left hand is a worn, battered, brown leather baseball glove. In her right is an equally worn rubber ball. Bounce, thump, catch. She throws the ball at the floor, making it rebound off the wall back to her waiting mitt. Rinse, repeat. Over and over. The sound of bounce-thump-catch is clearly audible through the front door.

Some people knock on the door when they want entry to a house. Others, it seems, possibly attracted to the window by the odd rhythmic noise from inside tap on it and shout through the open pane at the top. "Hey! KL! Quit the Steve McQueen impression and come let me in!" Kevin would appear to be one of the latter.

KL starts out of her reverie, and misses the catch, causing the ball to take her full on the face. Good job it's not travelling very fast. She bounds to her feet and opens the door. "Heya trouble," she says, managing a fairly warm smile. "What brings you out here?"

"Two reasons," Kevin says. "Well, three... One is it's always good to see you. The second is, it's less than a week now to the biggest fight of my life..." He looks rather pensive at the prospect, and doesn't go on to elaborate on the third reason.

"It is?" KL says, stepping back from the door to allow the Glasswalker entry. "Biggest fight? The Tire Fire?" She studies her fingers carefully. "And I only count two reasons. And although I'm fucking crap at Math, I don't think that equals three."

Kevin nods. "And as you doubtless know, for my many and manifold sins, I get to draw the fire. 'Fire' here being literal. But hell, I'm a garou, if I get turned to burnt toast, Gaia will gather my soul in and have me reborn someday." He shrugs, as though this knowledge doesn't go far towards consoling him. "Oh, the third reason. I saw Jacinta yesterday."

"Oh?" The Fury replies, throwing herself back onto her seat facing the wrong way. She gestures at a chair. "What did she want with a wyrmcomer?" She pauses. "I'll be there. The tire fire."

Kevin evidently draws much more consolation from that fact than he did his theological statement a moment ago. "No kidding? Oh, awesome. I'll look forward to it more if you're there. Jacinta-rhya asked me for something," he goes on, "something I no longer possess, because I judged myself no longer worthy to care for it, and gave it you."

KL looks confused. "You did?" She furrows her brow and wrinkles her nose up thoughtfully. "Hmm. Not sure I remember. What was it?"

"I used to wear it round my neck," Kevin prompts the ahroun. "The fetish which I gave you before I made my... abortive attempt to quit the Sept."

"Oh yeah. That." KL says, offhandedly. "What did I do with it?" She bites her bottom lip. "If you were me, where would you have put it?"

Kevin seems rather taken aback at KL's nonchalant forgetfulness. "You don't carry it round, KL?"

"Well, I was. I think I took a shower." She ponders. "That was a week ago. Hmm." She rubs her chin and screws up her eyes. "Maybe it's with my towel?"

"That thing never used to leave my body!" Kevin recalls, still clearly shocked. "You know... it shows you the Wyrm... the Wyrm that can come from any direction at any time? Sheesh." He shrugs. "Well, I guess if you value it so little, you won't mind letting Jacinta snag it."

KL's composure wavers, and she disappears in a fit of giggles. "You used to be so much easier to wind up, you know. Now all I can get is a "sheesh"." She says, between mirthful chortles. She reaches into a pocket and pulls it out. "What does she need it for?"

Kevin looks into space as he tries to recall. "She didn't say exactly, I don't think," he replies, "except I think it was something to do with the Guardians? And yeah, KL. Life's too short to get in a tizzy. My life especially."

The Fury sobers up, very quickly. "Getting in a tizzy is what I do best," she says, pointedly. "But Kevin. Don't give up. Surviving insurmountable odds. Pulling victories out from where defeat seems inevitable. It's what we do. We're the heroes, remember."

Kevin gives a half-smile. "Someone's gonna die this weekend. I just know it. Could be either of us, or Basil... or someone else. But no way are we coming out of this one unscathed. Oh, sure I think we'll kick its ass too, which I guess is all that counts... but I don't want to die, or lose friends."

"If someone dies, they die," KL says, with a little grimace. "But we gotta do what we gotta do. And... don't ever think that it's your time. Go kicking and screaming and die hard. Like..." She looks very sad, staring at the floor. "You know."

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light?" Kevin quotes, his inflection rising to turn the line of poetry into a query.

"Yeah, that sums it up quite nicely. Or possibly 'beat the crap out of anything that moves until it or we don't anymore." KL looks puzzled. "That didn't come out quite right. You get the point, though."

Kevin smacks one fist into his other palm gently. "Sure I get it," he says. "And they'll get our points. And my totem's. Wait till you see what Patches has up his raccoony sleeve. You'll puke, KL, it's so awesome."

KL looks interested. "I'll puke? I've not done that for ages. Not since the... well, there was lots of drink and the world went a bit spinny." She grins. "I just hit the thing I'm pointed at, but it would be nice to know the plan."

"Figure of speech," assures Kevin. "So... you gonna pony up to Jacinta, or do you want to give her the third degree first about what she wants the Wyrm's Tooth for?"

"Well, I assume it's a good reason," KL says. "I'll take it out to her. Any idea where I'm likely to find her? And any idea how urgent it is?"

"Guardian," Kevin says laconically, "hence bawn. And since this is Jacinta-rhya, it's as important as she decides it is at whatever moment you ask her. I don't think she's in a good temper at present. Some new guy from the Bone Gnawers stood up to her majesty."

KL nods. "I'll get it out to her as soon as I can. Unless you want to take it back?" She looks intently at the Glasswalker ragabash, leaning forward on her chair, eyebrows raised.

Kevin smiles slyly. "You know," he says in a sort of dreamy voice, the sort that hints that its user is working on a mental level of 'what if'. "If you were to give it me back now. And I were then to go back to Jacinta and tell her that you were no longer in possession of it. It would drive her completely nuts. And I wouldn't have had to tell a word of a lie." He sighs. "But that would be naughty of me, and more unforgivably, detrimental to the Sept."

The Fury continues to study Kevin, before nodding slowly. "Yes. And I'd get in a world of shit." She smiles. "So, yeah. One of us will have to beard the dragon in her lair. Or something. Shall I?"

"We could go together and lend each other moral support," Kevin suggests. "Give us time to catch up with each other s'more. Y'know I can't tell you how good it is," he adds, "to hear you sounding the way you ought again."

KL screws her mouth up. "Some days are better than others," she admits. "I'm still... upset." She looks sad, again. "I just wish... she didn't tell it all, Kevin. She was more interested in whether I'd done it deliberately." This last word is almost spat. "Not what I did when I found out. I deserved to be punished, because I screwed up. But I thought... I thought I had some more credit than that. And I thought I deserved to have the whole story told, rather than just the bad bit."

Kevin looks at KL with a long slow look. "Tell me," he invites her. "You know me. I'm not one to condemn you lightly. I know you too well."

"Alesia wanted to go to the caern. She was...troubled...and I thought it would calm her down. I assumed that someone else had her checked out, when she was at the farm. Thought it would be normal procedure. I should have checked, and I should have asked," she shrugs. "But I didn't. Anyway, remember that I had a row with Gunnar, and I fought him? And lost. And I crawled back her, and Laura was here, and she patched me up. And she'd checked out Alesia while I'd been gone, and told me. And I turned and ran for the door, still bleeding everywhere, and I sprinted and sprinted for the caern, howling for a Guardian. And Circle Keeper came and I told him everything." This all came in a rush. "I tried to make it right as soon as I could. Didn't hide it or anything. And I got smashed into next week. And nobody stood up and said "we screwed up too"". She looks thoroughly miserable at this. "I really did screw up, Kevin. I've never denied it. Told the whole truth the whole time."

Kevin winces at the mention of the fight with Gunnar. "That was my fault," he murmurs sotto voce as KL continues the story. When the ahroun finishes, he looks a mix of contrite and sympathetic. "I guess it's like nodding off at the wheel. Almost always you wake up again and you're fine. One time in a thousand you run into something. One time in a million, you drive onto a railway in the path of an oncoming train and wreck it and kill dozens of people..."

KL nods. "And I was lucky it was the middle option. I bumped something, rather than killed everything." She shrugs. "But it falls down, because I wasn't the only driver, if you know what I mean."

"Have you spoken to the other drivers since?" Kevin enquires.

"No," KL says. "I haven't seen them. Or looked for them." She shrugs. "Some of it is no longer relevant. One of the drivers has lost her licence, or something." She looks a bit confused. "I think I'm losing the thread of this."

The metaphor drops to the floor and expires. Kevin looks down as though watching its death throes. "Well," he consoles KL in a Job's comfortorish way, "you didn't come off the rails as badly as I did."

KL nods. "Kevin. Do you think what they did to you was right? I mean, really?"

For a moment, despite the thinness of Luna, a savagery comes into Kevin's eyes that might scare the boldest ahroun. And in another second it's gone again. "Strictly between ourselves," he murmurs, complete control showing once more, "I feel a little hard done by."

The Fury Ahroun blinks. "It just doesn't make sense to me. It's like...they couldn't punish some people, because they ran away, so they beat up the people who did stay still. And... it doesn't feel like justice to me. Any of it. It feels like a bloody overreaction. I mean, I'm not a philodox, I'm an ahroun. I see things in black and white. I hit things until they start making squishy noises. But it's like they didn't put you back on the rails, they blew up the bridges ahead of you. I always thought the first bit of the litany was..." She pauses. "Do you actually want me to bang on about this?"

Kevin waves a hand very graciously. "It's good to know someone isn't howling for my blood."

KL looks very pensive. "Can I tell you something?" She whispers. "You have to promise not to tell anyone else. Ever. Or I'll...well, do something painful."

Kevin's eyes narrow at that. "I don't have a good track record of keeping secrets, as you should recall given what we've just been discussing. But I'll do my best, for sure."

The Fury takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with Emma. Have been forever. It doesn't matter, cos she's not... that way inclined. And I wouldn't know what to do if she was. But I am. She doesn't know, I think. And I haven't done anything wrong." Her voice is very very quiet indeed, and she studies the floor intently.

Kevin's eyes close slowly and for a long half minute he seems completely motionless, rapt. "KL," he says eventually, "thank you for trusting me. You're a mad fool to do it, but thank you for it." His eyes snap open and with the motion comes an abrupt change of mood. "Yeah... Emma's a babe, ain't she?" he smiles.

"I've always trusted you, Kevin," KL says. "And yes, she is. But... she's more than that. She's one of my two best friends ever. And I'm not going to screw that up, because it's worth more than... other things." She shrugs. "I'd hate to lose the other one, you know."

One of Kevin's eyebrows lowers a tiny fraction as he examines the subtext in that statement of KL's. "Emma's been a good friend to me too," he confirms. "Sometimes she's a bitch, but isn't every garou when Luna tugs their strings? With her in charge this weekend, we must have as good a chance of offing that fire bane as any."

"Yeah. And I'll be at her side." KL says, with a grin. "No mercy." She throws a mock punch at mid-air. "It'll be glorious."

"And I'll be running round ahead of you," Kevin says, his mind's eye plainly visualising the scene. "Drawing fire, fast-footing it all over, so fast the bastards can't touch me... and you guys wipe them up from behind."

"And you'll survive. Because you won't let Emma down by dying on her big day." KL says with a grin. "And then we'll celebrate our victory." She leans back, and puts her arms behind her head.

"While we're talking wishlists," Kevin reminds KL, "let's have Basil in there fighting by you and Emma, kicking so much ass nobody can claim he's unworthy, and coming out without a scratch. Or a battlescar mebbe."

"Can I still find him irritating?" KL asks, still grinning. "But yes. He should be there too. We may be the number one criminals in this sept, but by Gaia are we going to kick some fucking ass."

"He gets on my last nerve sometimes," Kevin admits freely, "so sure you can. My whole pack is nothing but charachs and metis, but we'll damn well show them, charachs and metis can fight as well as any garou. Better."

KL says nothing, but raises an eyebrow and smiles, eyes suddenly bright.

Kevin cocks his head on one side in an equally silent query.

"Better?" The Fury Ahroun enquires sweetly.

Kevin gives a sly smile. "We're more used to having to be sneaky. Not just plowing in like a steamroller with teeth."

KL takes a very deep breath. "This is revenge for the fang thing, isn't it?" she says, obviously controlling her temper with an effort. "Fucking ragabash."

Kevin drops the jocular tone. "Hell, KL," he is quick to assure her, "I didn't mean you. No offence? Pax?"

"Pax," KL agrees. "Now, when should we get the fang to Jacinta?" She relaxes back into her seat, with a sigh.

"Sooner the better," Kevin decides. "Don't want to give her an excuse to come down on us breathing righteous Wendigo fire. Go look on the bawn tomorrow? I could do with chilling out for a bit."

KL nods. "Cool. I'll go out for a run tomorrow. These things sometimes take quite a long time, I've found." She shrugs. "I could use the exercise for sure."

"I'll run with you," Kevin offers. "And we'll face the bold bad Wendigo together? Should be practice for Saturday if nothing else," he adds wryly.

"For sure," KL says. "Well, hopefully not too good practice. It is only the bawn we're running on."

"Three moons ago, I was judged unfit to hold it by the most powerful of judges in the world... myself."

2006-07-24T15:09:00.000-07:00

"As a garou, you are half spirit yourself. So'm I."

2006-07-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

Odeon - Lobby(#4049RJ)
The Odeon's lobby is testament to a faded and perverted glory. The deep crimson carpet is thick in places but in others stubbly as velveteen, and the rich pattern of tangling flowers is everywhere marred by dark stains. The walls are clothed in kingly purple tatters of wallpaper, and covered with faded posters featuring women and men in various states of undress, posing with various degrees of tastelessness, and screaming out titles like "Male Service", "Bang Bang: a Sexual Explosion", and "A Slip of Her Tongue" in garish lettering. There's no light in the room but what comes in from the street, and during the day the actresses look grey and ghoulish, and the bright reds and purples of the room faded and dusky; and at night, the place might as well be covered in thick black paint.
Immediately in front of the entrance is dull matte turnstyle which no longer turns, where once tickets were taken. To the right are a pair of doors which some joker has labelled "Pimps" and "Hos" with red spraypaint: these are the washrooms. To the left are a pair of doorways which lack actual doors, and opposite is a grand set of boarded doors which lead into the theatre proper.

Edward, lounging as comfortably as possible against the theater's broken turnstile and using his folded-up sweatshirt as a makeshift headrest, takes advantage of the afternoon light filtering into the lobby to read through the stack of assorted recent newspapers piled beside him. He's currently reading a coffee-stained paper section from last Friday.

The front door to the cinema shakes back and forth, and the chains tying it shut rattle. A voice with an oddly mid-Atlantic accent then calls from outside "Kaz? Kaz, you home?"

Edward is startled by the jangling chains. He tosses the newspaper aside and scrambles up to his feet, approaching the door warily. "Who wants to know?" he replies.

A momentary pause from outside. Then, "Kevin," responds the voice. "That's not you, is it, Basil? Quit joking around and let me in."

"He's not here," Ed calls back. "Not Kaz, either."

An exasperated grunt from outside. "I didn't expect to see him in the city at this time of month, but I couldn't think of anyone else it could be. Now, do I have to stand out here with my finger in my nose all day, or are you gonna let me in?"

"I don't know if I should," the cub replies sheepishly.

"Oh for pete's sake," the voice outside says. "I've been coming here for years." The voice becomes quieter, as though its owner is speaking through the crack in the doors. "Years, I tell you. And Olga's never not let me in, nor Yi, nor Basil, nor Masao, nor Tommy Gun, nor Kaz. If you like I'll bring you a bag of broken computer bits to rummage through. Or pizza. But don't make me huff and puff and blow your house in."

The lobby is quiet for a few moments. Then the chains rustle, and the door swings ajar.
"Thank you," says the lanky youth revealed as the doors finally open, not without a hint of peevishness. He steps forward and eyes Edward. "Okay, you're not Basil," he agrees, "so who are you?"

A little under six feet tall, this teenager is squarely in the middle of his gangly, awkward phase, not looking especially strong or resilient judging by his thin arms, narrow shoulders or spindly chicken legs. His dark brown shoulder-length mop of hair is tangled and a little greasy; his light brown eyes are framed by a pair of thick eyebrows. His narrow, slightly upturned nose and wide, thin mouth are set on a round face specked with the peachfuzz stubble of adolescence. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt and a blue sweatshirt tied around his waist, and a pair of brown jean shorts with ragged hems.

Edward shoves his bangs aside. "My name's Edward," he replies. "I'm ... new here, I guess. New-ish." Impressive introduction thus complete, he offers his hand to Kevin.

Kevin cracks a smile at that. "Good to meet you," he says, shoving a hand out towards Edward's and gripping it in a tight but not bone-crushing grip for a second. He kicks the door shut with his foot as he does so. "Nobody told me you guys had a new recruit. I'm Kevin, and I'm a Glass Walker, if that means anything to you yet."

Edward's blank look reveals that it doesn't mean much yet at all. "So, uh, what brings you here?" he asks, making small talk as turns to lock up the front doors with the chain.

"I like to drop by regularly," Kevin responds. "I live not all that far away, and your guys Basil and Kaz are two of my closest friends. Kaz is helping me out with some stuff right now. Plus," he adds, "your people and my people don't tend to get on all that well, which is kind of crazy if you ask me, so I make a point of showing that I don't believe in all that nonsense by coming by when I can."

"Oh." Edward tugs on the chains to make sure they're tight, then pauses. "Your people?"

"Glass Walkers," Kevin repeats, a slight frown furrowing his brow. "Um, sorry to ask... you do know who these people are whose 'house' you're living in, yeah?"

"Oh, that kind of people," Edward realizes aloud. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean now," he adds sheepishly.

"Had me thinking for a moment you were some human kid the Gnawers had taken pity on," Kevin says with an exhalation of breath. "Though I couldn't see how they could have you here with Squeaks running around and all... but yeah. The Glass Walkers and Bone Gnawers are supposed to hate each other. When I was a cub, I nearly got my block knocked off for inviting Olga over to our house. I thought it sucked then, and I still think so now. City garou should stick together. Hell, all garou should."

Edward nods politely, turning his attention to his newspapers on the floor. "How many ... how many types of Garou are there, anyway?" he asks as he crouches, gathering up and folding the old paper into a neat pile.

"Depends on how you're divvying us up," Kevin replies with a grin. "Would you like it by tribe, breed, auspice or sign of the zodiac?"

Edward picks up the stack and places it on top of the turnstile. "By tribe sounds interesting."

"In that case," Kevin says with a gleeful grin, "there's twelve. Or thirteen. Or even fourteen. Depending on how you count."

Edward scoops up his sweatshirt from the floor. "That many?" he says, somewhat surprisedly.
"That many," Kevin confirms. "You Bone Gnawers and us Glass Walkers, that's two to begin with. And the third tribe that's mainly city-based, in this city if not elsewhere, is the Get of Fenris. Don't piss them off, they have shorter tempers even than the rest of us. Sheesh," he adds quietly, "I hate trying to compress every tribe down to a one sentence stereotype."

"Eh, I'll find out who they all are eventually," Ed offers. He wads up his sweatshirt and folds his arms over it.

"You'll have to," Kevin warns. "Do you want the full list from me, or would you sooner wait for one of your own people to deliver it? I'm happy either way."

"Either way, I don't mind," Edward says, shrugging. "If you don't feel like it, I won't bug you."

Kevin regards Edward with his head on one side. Then he makes a visible decision to change tack a little. "Never a problem to teach a newb," he assures the cub. "OK, how much do you know about your own tribe?"

"Well jeez, not much. Something about rats," the cub replies, drumming his fingers on his arms. "They haven't really talked too much about the history of it all."

"History's important, but not hugely so," Kevin says. "Time to learn history when you've learnt all about where your feet are planted in the here and now. Which in your tribe's case is right here, in the heart of the city's nastiest bits."

Edward nods thoughtfully. "I don't know much about St. Claire either," he adds. "I only moved here like a year and a half ago."

"Year and a half?" Kevin looks thoughtful for a moment. "Hell," he then says, "that's just about how long I've been living here."

Edward shrugs again. "I guess I've got a lot to learn, then," he concludes.

"Nil desperandum, kid," Kevin says, reaching out to punch Edward very lightly on the upper arm. "You'd be surprised how much of it falls into place once you start. Take rats," he goes on. "Why'd you think you Bone Gnawers have such an affinity for rats?"

Edward chews his lip as he thinks it over. "Well, uh, I guess rats are pretty good at living in cities, and Bone Gnawers live in cities too, maybe?" he offers.

"That's one reason," Kevin agrees. "But it goes deeper. Probably deeper than a non-Rat like me can know. But rats get everywhere," he explains, "you can't keep them out, try how you will. And you guys are like that too. You can get inside where you're not meant to be and mess things right up, which is a damn useful skill. Rats are pretty near impossible to kill, as well, and so are you lot. And... this isn't going to sound altogether complimentary, but rats breed incredibly fast, and so do Bone Gnawers. There's more of you than of almost any other tribe, I understand. Not every other tribe thinks this is a good thing, though, so don't be too smug.""

Edward makes mental notes of Kevin's points, nodding along as he follows along. After some thought, he offers a question of his own. "So if Bone Gnawers, like, are cool with rats or whatever, then what about, I dunno, Glass Walkers?"

"Another animal that's hard to kill," Kevin says, smiling once more, "is the cockroach. (Okay, it's an insect.) Roaches have been living in cities since cities have been there for them to live in, and Glass Walkers follow Mama Roach like you guys follow Mama Rat."

Edward doesn't look especially impressed with the reply, but his mild disgust passes quickly. "So all the tribes have an animal like that?"

"Totems, we call them," Kevin says, "though it's not a very good word. Makes me think of Indians. Totem spirits are more..." He shrugs for lack of words. "Intense?"

"Totem spirits, huh," Edward echoes, looking dubious. "Like, there's an actual rat spirit and roach spirit and all that, or something?"

"There's spirits in pretty much everything," Kevin confirms, "if you know how to look. As a garou, you are half spirit yourself. So'm I. We can enter the spirit world, the Umbra. But don't do that without someone else there. Can be dangerous." He tugs his tracksuit up and reveals a big, ugly scar on his midriff. "I got that in the Umbra."

Fred opens the door to the Odeon and pushes his way inside, mumbling the entire time.

Edward raises an eyebrow at Kevin's mention of the Umbra, then winces at the scar display. "It seems like almost everyone I've met here has a big scar like that somewhere," he notes. "Is that usual?"

"Entirely," Kevin says laconically, tucking his tummy back in. At Fred's entry, he turns, raising an eyebrow at the stranger.

A filthy well-beaten wide-brimmed hat is the first thing one is likely to notice about Fred. Followed by the fact that he is wearing a pair of equally filthy jeans, that are being held up by a pair of suspenders. A once white shirt is only partially closed due to missing buttons and is more of a grayish brown these days, the elbows having long since worn through. Easily visible under the shirt is a necklace made out of turtle shells, feathers, and sinew, that is easily visible to to a shirt that is lacking all but three buttons near the bottom. There are two small but clearly defined sigils on the largest and central shell. Fred's feet are adorned by well used leather boots, dark tan in color and lacking any laces. Across his shoulders, the fellow carries a well worn cloth bag that clearly holds a few items.
Fred stands at just under six feet in height and is Caucasian by descent, with a heavy brown beard that more closely resembles a small forest then facial hair. The parts of his face that are not obscured by the beard are heavily tanned and wrinkled and one would guess his age to be forty or older.

Fred continues his grumbling, tugging at his beard with his free hand. He doesn't seem to notice the others in the relatively dark Odeon, eyes focused on the floor.

"Uh, hi?" Edward offers a tentative little wave at Fred as he enters, squinting back at him.

Kevin clears his throat noisily in an obvious ploy to attract Fred's attention. "So, yeah. Me and my battlescar had better get back home," he goes on to Edward. "If Kaz or Basil show, tell 'em I'd like to see 'em?"

Fred looks up and squints into the darkness. "Howdy," he greets, tone on the surly side as he hefts the bag on his shoulder.

"Sure, sure, I'll tell them," Edward assures Kevin, smiling politely. "Nice to meet you, by the way." He then turns his attention back to Fred.

Kevin stands up and walks towards the doors, and towards Fred. "Howdy yourself," he says. "Just leaving here. Should be back later, so you know me if you need to open the door to me." He gives Edward a meaningful glance then continues doorwards.

"Kaz, I'm driving myself crazy... how the hell do I stop myself?"

2006-07-12T14:55:00.000-07:00

The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)
Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing, no more than an open space of grasses and beaten earth in the heart of the forest. Some pains have been taken to keep wear and tear on the area to a minimum, so the firepit tends to shift from time to time. The firepit, several sawn logs polished from use, and a stack of firewood discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp, are the only signs of constant occupation. However, a student of such things might think that some minimal landscaping or planning has been done, for the meadowlike profusion of grasses and other plants has an unusually high concentration of brilliant flowers, which attract a number of bees and butterflies.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.

It's a fairly nice morning. Or, at least, it's not raining. Kaz is taking advantage of this fact to roast some steak tips on the fire. She's just now taking one off the stick she had pierced it on, and carefully putting it on a piece of paper towel to cool.

The sound of piercing, tuneless whistling,as Kaz probably can't fail to know after packing with him for several weeks, often portends the approach of Kevin. This time is no exception. His 'music' sounds vaguely bluesish as he wanders into the clearing, a distracted look on his face.

Kaz gets the briefest of pained looks on her face, which, given the volume of her singing at times, is a bit hypocritical. But since she's not showing the look to Kevin, that hardly matters. Instead, she calls, "Yo!" just as he wanders into the clearing, and sticks another hunklet of meat on her stick. "'Sup?"

Kevin focuses back in. "Kaz!" he shouts, and runs over to her. "Hey, packie, just the person I wanted." He flops down to the ground on the other side of the fire from the metis, and looks at her pensively. He doesn't say any more, at least not yet.

"Yeah? What's up?" Kaz moves the small mound of steakettes closer to him, and offers, "You wanna steak tip're two, g'head."

Kevin reaches out and selects one small piece of meat, holding it in his hand. "Uh," he says lamely, then "uh," again. Then he goes on "Look, Kaz. If I tell you this, you must promise... secret. Utter secret, yeah?"

Kaz takes a nub of meat herself, and pauses in the middle of raising it to her mouth to look at him for a moment. "OK," she says, and then polishes her rather small chunk off. After a moment of thought, she rummages in her pack, and produces some bread. As she unties the wrapper, she asks, "So what's up?"

Kevin is silent for several more seconds. Then he pops the morsel into his mouth and chews, equally silently. Finally he swallows and speaks. "Kaz," he says in a half whisper, "I'm driving myself crazy... how the hell do I stop myself?"

There's a pause. And then she asks, "Well, I might be able to suggest somethin' if I knew what you was drivin' yourself crazy with."

Kevin makes another long pause. He seems unable to tell his story other than at his own pace. But eventually he comes out with "Basil," and sighs. "I have to stop kidding myself that I'm over him. I'm not. I'm... sorry if this sounds like, emo... but I love him and I can't stop thinking about him..."

"Mmmf," Kaz says. "I, yeah." She puts her stick down entirely (it starts merrily burning in the fire), and sighs. "I guess what it comes down to is, if you want to remain Pure As The Driven Snow and all that, packin' with him's stupid. 'Course, that's a big if."

"Well, yeah, that's it," Kevin blurts, going from silent to verbose as though a switch has been flicked. "He's my alpha so I'm meant to admire him, and his attitude and his scars and the way he just looks at you... " His fists clench up. "I know I shouldn't pack with him, Kaz, but who else'd take me now? I'm damaged goods."

Kaz quirks a grin. "I don't think he's hot stuff. But I don' swing that way." She sighs. "Honestly, Kev, I think a lotta packs'd take you. I think you got all kinds of clues, an' you're smart. People ain't gonna reject you, although you ain't gonna be no Beta nowhere other'n here, at least not right now. So I don' think that's actually as big a thing as you think it is. On th' other hand, I kinda like packin' with you."

Kevin gives a dry laugh. "Beta? I'm Omega. Through and through, baby, through and through. And I like packing with you," he confides, "else I wouldn't be talking to you now. It's not, I suppose," he goes on, "that I'm worried I'm going to fall back into bad ways... I trust Basil not to even if I don't trust myself. But I've got this tire fire fight coming up soon, and... well." He shrugs helplessly. "I guess I'm kind of... scared."

"Yeah, well. Me too." Kaz sighs. "Anytime I got too much time before a fight, I get to thinkin' too much, and scarin' myself." The Gnawer finds another stick, and pokes her old stick. It falls apart. "I tend to think you and Baz's old ways wasn't that bad, p'ticularly if you can get y'self to hang out with Aimee, too. But I'm obviously in the minority around here, an' anyway you gotta be all about appearances for awhile."

"Aimee and Basil," Kevin says with a jaundiced air, "have apparently been comparing notes about me. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or terrified. Or what to expect when I go back to town and see her again... Listen," he says, still in the low urgent voice. "It's not that I don't like Aimee. I do. A lot. I guess I must be... must be bisexual," he says, spitting the word out like an unpalatable bit of gristle found among the steak tips, "as opposed to gay. But that just makes it all more complicated. I keep wishing the whole sex thing would just go away," he concludes, "and leave me the hell alone."

Kaz stops poking the fire and really looks at him. "I guess you'd take it wrong if I thought two people who love you a lot conspirin' together was a good thing?" She sighs. "I guess I'm too far removed from th' confusin' self hatin' days to be much help, 'cause personally, I ain't found nothin' wrong with bein' bi. It's kinda interestin'. I jus' don' connect up so good to guys, emotionally. But you clearly do. Which is... really cool to watch, actually."

Kevin seems a little taken aback. He looks at Kaz, realises he's staring, looks away, then forces himself to look back. "I hadn't thought of any of it that way," he mutters. "You reckon it is because they both like me? Not because they're just trying to dig the dirt?"

Kaz can't help but smile just slightly at Kevin's double take, but she nods. "I really can't see Baz, at least, as tryin' to dig dirt on you. I ain't met Aimee, so I can't say, but it just don't seem to be in Baz's character. I mean, he's just as much of an asshole sometimes as anyone else is, but he cares."

"Yeah," Kevin says in a choked way. "He cares. If nothing else, Kaz... that I know. And that's the problem. Couple of weeks, we're doing the tire fire thing. Odds aren't good. Maybe both of us'll buy the farm, more likely at least one of us will. That's what's preying all over my mind. He's the ahroun. He's gonna be in there biting and clawing, right at the heart of it while I'm just running interference... maybe dying while I'm not able to help. And that's why I'm scared. I've never been scared of a fight before, Kaz," he pleads, "and it's freaking me out."

Kaz lets out a sigh, and closes her eyes just briefly. "Yeah," she says, a little tightly. "That one's never easy. You just gotta have faith that basically, packs are there to help each other out, so you really will have each other's backs. That... actually did help, th' last time I had people die on me."

Kevin closes his eyes for several seconds. His jaw works back and forth a few times as though he were chewing gum, though it's more likely his own emotional issues he's chewing on. Then he looks at Kaz again. "Be there for me, Kazza? I'll be there for you. I'm... pretty fighty for a ragabash," he says, in the air that someone might say who claims he's pretty tall for a dwarf.

Kaz watches him while he struggles, a fierce, sad little smile on her face. "Yeah," she says, that same tight, hoarse tone to her voice. "I'll be there for you. Def'nitely."

Kevin seems more than a little set at ease by her promise. "And did you know there's other garou want into Vendetta?" he says, as though surprised at this. "Morgan... and Reggie. What d'you think of them? I know you and Morgan get on, both being..." He doesn't say the fateful word which they both are, though it's probably not 'female'.

"I talked t'Morgan. She's a wacky kinda kid, but she tries hard, so I don' got no objections. As f'Reggie..." She trails off. "I'll have t'give him a sniff." She seems to mean this literally. "Ain't never had any actual problems with him, though, and he's a good guy in gen'ral."

Kevin seems glad to have an excuse to move onto a less fraught subject. "Reggie's kind of weird... I always get the impression there's more going on in his head than he ever shows... but maybe that's just Uktena for you," he shrugs. "Can't think of an ahroun less like Basil, mind. But maybe that's a good thing. Variety, yeah? I hope they let the whole pack fight together," he goes on, returning to the previous topic like a man with a sore tooth his tongue can't let alone.

"He's always seemed to be not to be able to connect to people so good." Kaz shrugs. "But like I say, I'll sniff him, and then see what's up. Variety's definitely of use." At his return, she pokes at one of the logs. "Yah. I don' know a lot of major operations where they /don't/ deal with th' whole pack."

"We need to fix up getting Morgan to meet Patches," Kevin declares. "Nice and soon so they're in tune by the time the fight comes. And Reggie too, if Basil doesn't pitch a fit at not being the only ahroun in the club."

"Yeah. I been wantin' t'do that since, uh, more'n a week ago." Kaz grabs a hunk of cold steak tip, now that the conversation is apparently less emotionally fraught, and encases it in a piece of bread. "I think Patches'll like Morgan, honest."

"I like her, mostly," Kevin says a little cautiously. "She kind of freaks me, but I guess if I pack with her I'll get more used to her. Like I have you," he says with a wave of his hand to Kaz. "Though you don't look... like her."

Basil walks into the area in his same shorts and t-shirt borrowed from the cub bin and a rifle on his shoulder, instantly smiling big when he stumbles across his packmates. "What's all this then? Having a bit of a party on the Bawn while I've been off talking to Emma? What're you talking about?"

Kaz says, "I still think she's mostly freaky 'cause of th' abusive upbringin', not 'cause of how she looks. Although that helps, I guess. Oh, hey, Baz. Morgan, just at th' moment. Other stuff, earlier."

Kevin's face sets into stony immobility as Basil approaches. "And Reggie," he adds to Kaz's statement. "Forgot to tell you yesterday, he approached me about joining Vendetta. What d'you think of that?"

"Oh, yeah. Fianna raise their Metis like soccer balls." Basil says, glancing between Kaz and Kevin. "I think I'll have to ask him. Isn't he kinda crippled for an Ahroun? It's not like he'll knock me off." Basil scratches behind his head. "You want him in? Or don't? Oh. Kevin, I've sent Tu a message about some experiments. I need you to help him, my Rage is too high to do it. You're going to be burning tires and seeing what puts them out the best."

"Well, in this case, Fianna raise their metis in basements and don't interact with them, but same thing." Kaz blinks. "Cri-- Oh, I suppose kinda. Everyone's got scars of one sort or another, though. His is just kinda more there."

Kevin raises an eyebrow. "I thought he was just a porky bastard," he says. "What scars has he got, then? I hear he's been cliath for years and years, so I guess he must have picked up a few dings?"

"I dunno, I'm just going by some stuff I've heard and all. Anyways, he honks a mean horn." Basil looks at Kaz. "You happen to know anyone that can drive a truck?" Basil looks at Kevin. "And you, you still got roach connections and stuff?"

"Well," Kaz says, with a slight grin, "I can. If you mean a van type've thing. If you mean an 18 wheeler, I know a few folks..."

Kevin laughs at the mention of Reggie's horn-blowing. "Oh man, that was such a great fight," he says fondly. "Wish I could believe the tire fire's gonna be as much fun... and have as few casualties. But yeah, I'll set fire to tires back home if it helps. I'm still a roachwolf, not going to change that. But you know I can't drive. Yet."

"I mean eighteen wheelers. Maybe a Ryder van. Heres the plan." Basil states, almost looking proud as he folds his arms over his chest. "I and Justin thought about it. We're going to test, or Kevin's going to test, and see what does well against fires. Tire fires. Go on the net and do a bit of research. Whatever they use for forest fires, liquid nitrogen, things like that and get it quick. If we find something works well, we swipe a truck or two or three of it, hit the fire with it, hit it with talens, and maybe rain if possible. And if that don't work, we create some sorta barrier between the tires we put out and the burning ones. But. First, we have to see how likely it is to work."

Kaz blinks. "Well, I can drive Ryders. And I did kinda once drive an 18 wheeler. It was fun! So, uh, yeah. Also I bet Reggie can, speaking of him. An'-- Sounds like a gen'rally good idea t'me."

"He can," Kevin agrees. "I'm sure I heard someone say he drives a truck. Maybe that's why he's so hard to get to know," he muses. "Back in England, truck drivers have this reputation of being loners. We had a couple of them who killed a bunch of kids." He shrugs. "Are they like that over here?"

Kaz shakes her head. "Nah, over here, they're just kinda assholes, most've the time."

Basil shrugs. "Ask Reggie if he likes killing kids if you see'm. I never paid much attention to truckers. People seem to dig the idea, or at least Justin did. Emma seemed to think it might work. The thing on the cake is, after we leave, we leave Green Peace shit around, like spray it on the trucks and stuff."

Kevin perks up. "Hey! That was my idea!" he proclaims proudly. "Diversionary tactics." He looks almost smug for a few seconds. "So, yeah, we say Reggie's cool by us if he's cool by Patch?"

Kaz says, "Works f'me, Kev."

"Yeah, yeah. I just want to talk to him first. Lets see... Me, you, Kaz, Bug, and Reggie. Pretty full pack that is." Basil grins. "We'll be getting along just fine, I think."

Kaz mutters, "Back in a sec," and wanders off to somewhere where she can't be reached by telephone.

"Still no theurge or philodoxes," Kevin ponders as he waves to Kaz and annexes the few remaining steak tips, "but you can't pick and choose always, can you?"

"Ah, you think a Philodox wants to pack with two Charachs? Or you think I want to pack with one?" Basil speaks, waving to Kaz as she wanders off. "Not the most popular with that auspice."

"I bet Grey wouldn't mind," Kevin points out, loyal to his tribemate. "Only Havoc already got ahold of him. Maybe Ken would, even. He's never been a great one for worrying about what people think of him, not when I was with him in Requiem anyway." He sighs. "You spoken to Aimee again since last time?"

"Ken's too pissy and angry and I don't want him in my pack. He's also all traditional and Shadow Lordy." Basil lifts his hands, then drops them. "No. I think I'm going to avoid her for a bit, and drinking with her." Basil grins at Kevin. "Otherwise I might get flashed again, and I'll never stop talking about your girl friend's tits."

Kevin's jaw drops, quite literally. "Flashed? She... flashed you?" The British garou couldn't look more astonished if the moon had dropped out of the sky and coshed him on the head.

"Don't be so silly. It's not like I pulled down her pants and fucked her on the couch. I told her it wasn't nice to tease the dog or something, I think." Basil grins, shaking his head. "You're lucky to have such a fun girl. If you're going to go see her, see her before you burn those tires. You'll smell like crap after."

Kevin makes a few more incoherent splutters. "Basil... I... have to go," he gasps and almost jumps to his feet, so vigorously that he comes close to overbalancing into the fire. "I'll be in touch," he promises hastily, "once we're back in town, yeah?"

Basil shakes his head at Kevin. "People do it all the time in New Orleans, you know! It's not the end of the world! How the fuck am I more comfortable with this shit than you." He wonders a loud, waving to Kevin as he runs off. "Yeah. Go see your damn girl friend!"

Kevin makes it halfway across the clearing before Basil's last words, which make him halt and spin round. "Yeah," he shouts back pugnaciously. "I'm gonna. I'm gonna do just that. See my girlfriend," he says with heavy emphasis on the possessive. Then he turns again and goes stomping off.

"So what do you use your voice for?"

2006-07-02T14:40:00.000-07:00

"Our new pack's starting to kick the shit off the streets."

2006-06-30T04:01:00.000-07:00

Brownstone -- Basement Apt.(#3328RJ)
The basement of the brownstone has been split into two sections. The stairwell leads down into the northwest corner section, which contains the boiler room, furnace, and the elevator shaft. The rest has been converted into another apartment, and Signe's made it into a rather fortified one at that. The only entrance is through a re-enforced steel door with no less than three dead-bolts. There are absolutely no windows at all in any of the four concrete and brick walls. It's a rather stark but functional space. Overhead, the air ducts and plumbing pipes are exposed, while the cement floor is covered by a ragged dark wine and gold Oriental throw rug. A makeshift shelving unit of two-by-fours and cinder block has been erected along the length of the wall with the door, and it houses a stereo, tv and old vcr. Directly opposite this is a beat-up leather couch and two mismatched recliners. The kitchen is small but functional, with a round wooden table and four chairs. Half of the back end of the building has been walled off for a private bedroom, while the rest is open to the living area. This space has been converted into a home gym--complete with wrestling mats, weights, and a full weight boxing bag.

A visitor has come to the Brownstone, Kevin showing up at the door with the sort of barely-repressed energy in his body language that usually means he either has news to impart or else wants to talk shop with someone. Or maybe he just wants to challenge Emma to DDR. Once inside, he gets straight to the point. "How's planning going on the tire fire, Emma?" he asks. "Because I've got some marginally good news."

Emma opens the door up to let the Ragabash in. "It goes well enough I guess. What's up? How's your ass?" she asks very bluntly, and ushers the boy in.

"My ass?" Kevin asks with a raised eyebrow. "...hell, I'm not touching that straight-line with a ten foot pole. The Great Hunt was a rocking success," he confirms, "and our new pack's starting to kick the shit off the streets. Which is what I wanted to clue you in on," he goes on.

Emma ponders that and then grins, genuinely. "I meant from the tire fire beast. Your wound... not.. your... anyway, yeah, what's up?"

"Oh, that," Kevin says airily. "That was ages ago. Laura fixed my 'extras'. I got a few maggot nibbles from the Great Hunt but they're fine too." He strikes a macho pose, then jumps into a chair. "Our totem," he says. "Has offered to help out at the fight. Apparently, Patches has a certain amount of control over the local atmospheric conditions in the Umbra. Clever little sod."

Emma perks up, "Patches? What.. I forget, Kev, sorry. What is Patches again and how can he help? This is good news." She moves in to sit down and listen to the other.

Kevin rolls his eyes slightly. "Raccoon spirit. Who can, if you think it useful, turn the umbra over the fire into a downpour of rain. Water. Wet. Get the picture?" He sits back in the chair grinning.

Emma blinks, "How does a raccoon pull that off?" she asks in shocked amazement. "Huh. Help me weigh the pros and cons. Pros... rain may take some of the sting out of the fire and give it some weakness. Cons, how much will that muddy up our footing?"

"It's a spirit, Emma," Kevin shrugs, as though that mere fact could entitle Patches to do anything. "And I don't know about you, but I'd sooner have some rain on me in that fire than worry about slipping. I don't recall the tire yard being muddy much."

"Wet rubber is what I am worried about. Though it's at least molten rubber at this point. Let me talk it over with Grey, I mean, gut instinct is saying yeah, do this, but I want to get his feeling on it. Hey, you know how to resist toxin? Or do any of your packmates?"

"Let's see," Kevin muses. "I don't, pretty sure Basil doesn't. Kaz might, have to ask. And there's two more who may be joining up... Reggie and Morgan. Hey, isn't that a Fianna gift? In which case Morgan might well."

Emma nods her head, "Yeah, see if you can learn it. We all should. And I'll let ya know on the verdict for your 'coon. Thanks Kevin."

"Not a problem," Kevin grins, rising to his feet again. "I need to find the Gnawers and tell 'em Reggie wants to join... they already know about Bug. I'll pop back again soon. You know what turf we're claiming, don't you? Waterfront, along the river. If you need any of Vendetta, come look down there. You're always a welcome guest on our lands."

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

2006-06-29T03:58:00.000-07:00

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.

"Morg, there's a space in a raccoon pack with a you-shaped hole in it."

2006-06-27T16:52:00.000-07:00

Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.

Kevin looks very pink and clean today, and well-scrubbed, as though he's been in the shower a lot. Or had one very long shower, whichever. He's sitting in a ratty dressing gown and boxer shorts in the living room of the farm, sipping a Coke over ice on this hot day.

As a direct contrast to the Glass Walker, someone who clearly doesn't know how to keep cool comes half slinking, half staggering through the front door. Morgan's hair is damp and plastered to her sticky forehead, and what little is visible of her skin is nearly as red as that same hair. The reason for this, beyond the obvious heat, isn't hard to discern--she's wearing that same oversized winter coat she always does, and is still clutching it very tightly about herself.

Kevin looks up from his coke and magazine. "Morgan!" he exclaims. "Great googly moogly, girl, you look roasted. What are you trekking round in that coat for?... ahh, I think I see," he answers his own question. "But surely you can take it off inside the house?"

Morgan gives a tiny jump at Kevin's initial exclamation, but once she locates the source she gives a sort of tired, slightly uneasy, but nevertheless gratified almost-smile. "Not s'pposed to," she mumbles, easing her way into the living room and eyeing Kevin's coke with a weary sort of interest. "Might see."

"Upstairs then? Though it's even hotter up there," Kevin warns. "But it couldn't be as hot as being wrapped up in that. Here, let me get you a coke and some ice. You're as red as a beet." His attitude towards the metis, sometimes uneasy, seems nothing but kindness today."

"Is very hot," Morgan agrees, stating the blindingly obvious. She gives the stairs a glance, and then starts toward them at a shuffle, licking at one corner of her mouth. "Is no remember this hot."

"Doesn't get this hot where I come from," agrees Kevin. He throws the magazine aside, hops out of the chair, and quickly runs into the kitchen to grab a cold can, a glass, and ice.

Attic(#1437RA)
Low-ceilinged and dimly lit by a window set low in eastern wall just above the stairs, the attic is permeated with a strong, lingering scent of herbs and the sense of old power. The only furniture is a large bed on the western wall and a full-length mirror on the northern one. A large pile of second-hand sleeping bags, a stack of washed sheets, and a jumble of pillows occupies one corner, usable by the temporary inhabitants of the farmhouse. A single globed light bulb dangling from the peaked ceiling is the only source of light at night.
A steep stairway leads down from here, the door at the bottom opening on the eastern end of the hallway.

For all her shambling, Morgan wastes very little time once she's in the attic to rid herself of her coat. She peels it off and deposits it carefully in one corner, then flops on top of it, panting. Her extra pair of arms move rather stiffly away from her side.

Kevin mounts the stairs seconds later and joins Morgan in the attic. "Wow," he says. "Months since I've been up here. Used to live in this room, you know. Here." He passes Morgan a glass with ice in, and cracks a second can of Coke.

Morgan takes the glass gingerly, with both of her natural hands, and presses it against one sweaty cheek. "Yes? I stay here too. This corner." She pats the coat under her. "Was less hot."

"Always hotter up here under the eaves," Kevin points out, "but if this is the only place you feel happy out of your coat... Well," he says. "Dunno if you heard, but the Great Hunt was a roaring success this year. Not one death, except the Wyrm's creatures. Spread that one around to see some happy faces."

Morgan's eyebrows jump into her damp hairline. "I tell," she says firmly, and finally ventures to sip at the iced Coke. "You fight?"

"Me fight," Kevin agrees with a big grin. "Good fight too, apart from the smell." His nose wrinkles at the memory. "Dillen got a bit chewed up, but that Silver Fang knife-moon healed him. I only got bitten a tiny bit. You should've come and got your claws red, Morgan."

Morgan scratches the back of her neck, and shifts her weight from one side to the other. "Yes," she agrees. "Watch bawn though. Watch Grotto. Fight next time."

"Yeah, well." Kevin pauses for a moment, eyes Morgan, then continues. "If you'd like some people to fight alongside, Morg, there's a space in a raccoon pack with a you-shaped hole in it." He gives her a welcoming, if slightly less than confident, smile. "Basil, Kaz and I agreed that if you'd like to join Vendetta, we'd be glad to have you."

Morgan looks up sharply, though her answer is more delayed. She waits until she's moved the glass to the opposite cheek, one eye squinting. "Want." Her answer is firm, though she does flick an uncertain glance toward the Walker. "Yes."

"Attagirl!" whoops Kevin. "Course, Patches has to like you, but I should think he will... bring him some shiny stuff, silver foil or loose change, he likes that..."

Morgan brightens considerably. "...That what I do? Have shiny." She pulls a fold of her coat towards her with one lower hand, fumbling for the pocket. "No meet Raccoon before."

"Y'ever see a normal one? Little cute things, facial marks like they've got a mask, stripy tails? Scavengers? That's a raccoon," Kevin explains. "Patches is the spirit version, bigger and smarter, but the same playful critter at heart."

Morgan nods sagely. "In book," she explains. "Nat-ion-al Geegraphic. There. See pictures."

"Then you know the basics," Kevin says. He raises his glass in a toast to Morgan, or maybe to Patches, or even both, and sips. "I'll tell Kaz and Basil you're interested, and we'll arrange a meeting. I wonder," he muses, "if the Umbra is cooler than the Realm in this weather... Have to wait a week or two to find out, though, not going in at this moon."

"Is probably same," Morgan replies drearily, looking for a moment even hotter than she has previously. "Maybe I go sleep in Grotto pond."

Kevin gives an appreciative grunt at the thought. "You know what I'm gonna do?" he suggests. "Gonna go sit under the waterfall by the caern for a while. You could come too... packmate," he says, using the term perhaps a little prematurely. "Nobody there to see anything they shouldn't."

Morgan looks directly at Kevin for only a half moment, but it's considerably more than her usual behavior calls for. "...Okay," she says after only a moment's hesitation. "Is good there."

Kevin drains his Coke and clinks the remaining ice at the bottom of the glass. "Let's go do it," he grins. "And we can talk more about where we're claiming territory, and our aims, and all that jazz. That's a figure of speech," he explains before Morgan can query whether he plans to play swing music on the bawn. "D'you know, we claimed a bit of woodland outside Kent Crossing just so you can hang out there away from prying eyes?"

~These weapons are always ready.~

2006-06-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.

The sky is dizzyingly wide. It's painter's blue from horizon to horizon, so bright and unmarred that it makes the Wyrm's touch seem not only distant but impossible. It's beautiful and endless, more vast than the ocean. Only the hard-beating sun provides any break in it. The ease and lethargy which pours down from above makes the solemn preparations below seem poignant but powerless, useless, like they're merely for display. Horace keeps a mime's silence as he moves around the Caern clearing, walking widdershins in a circle, carrying with him a brush of purple sage which he uses to beat down the earth to his left. It's strewn with fresh summer hay, specked with flowers and bright herbs, and it gives off an intoxicatingly stuffy scent, like the smell of a freshly cleaned barn.

Kevin seems quite at his ease as he watches Horace at his work. He turns to Vera whom he's standing next to. "Wonder if we're going fishing again," he speculates. "Perfect fishing weather, this. Unlike the last fishing trip."

Dillen finds his way down to the center of the caern. He's quiet as he walks down the way, settling near a tree to watch as things go on. He stays somewhat off on his own though.

Vera smirks, leaning most of her weight on one leg. "May not have been the best weather for fishing, but we certainly managed to land a rather large catch."

Howls-Accord watches Horace quietly. She's dead still, even a little stiff, entirely unlike her normally energetic self. Her tail is close to her body, her entire focus intent on the Ragabash's every motion.

Shield-Bearer down the train from the north, a wide shield on the metis' back. She's quiet, fidgeting as she doesn't seek out any contact with the others.

Kenneth stands himself out off to a side of the Sept Alpha's left, unassumingly. His eyes follow the Horace and his path as well, seemingly absorbed in the ritual than the rest of the gathering Garou.

Reggie walks slowly into the caern, feet heavy on the ground, his wolfskins hanging a little loosely on his well-padded frame. As he leaves the dark confines of the forest, he squints at the sun, taking its measures as if for the last time, then drops his eyes and studies the ground until he stops seeing spots. A sniff at the air brings him the scent of the sage, and he briefly looks over at the sage bearer, as he continues to blink sun spots out of his vision. He slowly looks around the small gathering, a frown crinkling his scarred face as he regards the Shadow Lords, and he takes a step backwards, glancing at the coolness of the forest, then reluctantly keeps his spot, and studies the rest of the caern for any late comers.

Shield-Bearer stands off by herself, looking vaguely uncomfortable. The Crinos takes the shield off her back, setting the bottom of it on the ground, holding the other end to keep it from falling over.

Horace continues his slow circuit of the golden circle of hay and continues to beat at it, loosing the scents entrapped within until the air is a heady mix of seed-spores and musk. Normally the Wendigo performing the rite would be calm and uglily composed as he performs this holy rite but today there's a nervous apprehension in his movements, a jerkiness in the sweep of his arm. Every so often, with guilty trepidation, he turns his soggy sweat-soaked face (looking like it's begun to melt in the summer heat) away from his ritual and at the Garou, all seven of them, gathered around.

Vera lifts her chin and scratches at her throat, then lifts her voice so that all can hear her. "Do we have a volunteer to lead this Hunt?"

Promises-Kept makes his way towards the Caern. He got special permission to stand on the holy ground for just this moment. The wolves white fur seems more or less clean, with only a thin leather necklace hanging around his neck. He keeps his tail low and submissive, listening and looking.

Howls-Accord jolts a bit as Vera calls for volunteers to lead the hunt. She cautiously raises her head and looks at the small gathering, trying hard to keep her ears pricked, while not looking too 'volunteerish'. Her nose twitches idly as she watches to see who steps forward.

Promises-Kept pauses, looking towards Vera, to the comment of a Volunteer. He takes a single step forward. One is of the alpha tribe, and is willing to lead the hunt, even if One is guest to the sept. Honor knows no boundaries, of septs and guests, nor does the prey find distinction between those who would hunt it.

Kevin grins as though the very thought of volunteering to lead would be amusing, then shakes his head in mock-reluctance.

Dillen steps up, pushing himself off the tree. He looks to Mathias with a raised brow. "I will do it." His hands coming from his pockets as he looks at Mathias and folds them across his chest. He lifts his head a little bit.

Reggie pauses in his survey of the caern to listen to the Alpha, then looks around a minute longer, before stepping forward, stating in his gravelly voice, "I will."

Kenneth doesn't step forward, but takes this moment to shift himself to the nearwolf. His ears swivel towards Dillen when the Get volunteers.

Leaves-None skitters and jumps her way down the trail by the waterfall, easing down to a trot once she draws closer to the Caern's center. Seems like this Gnawer is a smidge late to the proceedings, but at least she's shown up. Panting when she stops, she quickly takes in the gathered number and otherwise quietly listens.

Vera looks at Promises-Kept for a moment, lips lifting in an odd little half-smirk. When Reggie volunteers, she turns her attention toward the Uktena and nods in approval. "An Ahroun, the Traditional Leader of the Hunt has spoken up and will lead, unless there are any who would Challenge him?"

Shield-Bearer remains silent, herself.

Promises-Kept looks between Dillen and Reggie, before he submits and takes a step back. One submits to others more worthy to lead this hunt.

Dillen looks to Reggie and ponders. "His rank is worthy of following. Lead on." The Get speaks and lowers his head a notch as he steps back into the group.

Kevin looks sidelong at Dillen, tensing up a little, but relaxing when the Get doesn't force the issue.

Howls-Accord's ears lower as the issue is decided, and she gets to her feet. The Galliard shakes out her ruff, then stands ready.

A howl of greeting, new and unfamiliar to all but the Alpha, is heard at the edge of the Caern a moment before Brightside appears on the trail and makes his way on down into the Caern proper.

Horace pays no attention to the politics and positioning that goes on around him. There's still nerves in his step when he walks, though, nerves that even the strong hot ocean of blue above cannot soothe. Everything is bright and brilliant, and even moreso when the ritemaster's arm reaches out and with a small, quick, nervous release he hurls the brush of sage into the centre of the circle of hay. His step gets quicker, until it's almost a dance that draws him along the circle of bright hay. Slowly it grows faster until it reaches something frantic and earnest. Sweat drips from the young Ragabash' face and arms, it flies from him like water off a diver, and though he's unfaltering in his movements his eyes go listless and unseeing.

Promises-Kept gives a look towards the direction of the the howl, his ears moving quickly to check it out. He stays put, except for turning to face the new and possible threat. Even if it gave greeting, the silver fang is wary.

The wind, already strong, picks up and swirls around the caern's clearing, a quiet hurricane that gains more and more force and substance.

"A guest," Vera states after Brightside's howl. "He has been given permission to come." As the wind picks up, Vera falls silent and simply waits.

Kevin performs the homid equivalent of pricking up his ears at that howl of introduction, and he looks to Vera expectantly. Her explanation doesn't appear to fully satisfy him, but he doesn't say anything.

Far-Cry's ears lift up and attentive again at the howl. As the wind whips the sound away, the philodox licks the side of his muzzle, looking around at the others again. It is by Vera's word that the halfmoon looks placated. ~If he wasn't, the Guardians would deal with him,~ he adds on.

Reggie considers Dillen, sizing up the Get, and he slightly rises on the ball of his feet, increasing his height by just a fraction, then settles back on his feet as the matter gets settled without blood. He looks questioningly at Vera, then walks around the group, accessing them. "Are you ready to battle, Leaves-None? Are your claws ready for blood, Power-Up?" He looks at the ones whose names he doesn't know, Shield-Bearer, Promises-Kept, Brightside, and asks, "Who are you and do you fight with us today?"

Dillen looks to the newcomer and raises a brow. The winds picking up bring him to giving curious looks all around them. At Vera's words, he gives the alpha a look. He turns away, looking towards Reggie for any sort of guidance.

Howls-Accord watches Horace's dance, ignoring unimportant things like guests. Her nervous stiffness fades a bit as she watches her tribemate move. Wide eyed, she remembers where she is just in time to avoid jumping in to the dance, instead fidgeting a bit near the edge of the circle.

Leaves-None scratches one paw at the ground in a restrained display of eagerness, ears pricking towards the howl while her attention settles on Reggie. A gravelly, rumbling growl is her answer to the Ahroun as her tail lifts a fraction.

Brightside is careful to step down this new path for him with the wind, his fur blowing about him, mostly to the side. Soon he is down and he heads towards the center of the Caern and the group that has gathered as he melts into the homid just long enough to offer, "Bright-Side. Philodox and Cliath of the Silent Striders. The spirits put this place in my path and I believe today is among the reasons why." With that he melts down to the lupus and with a snap of his teeth growls in an uncomfortable sounding tone, eager and ready.

Shield-Bearer hefts the shield, putting it on her left arm, and then moves down closer to the center of the Caern. Her ears are perked, watching the Ahroun. ~I am Shield-Bearer, Fostern Metis Theurge of the Black Furies. I introduced myself several moots ago.~ He answers, eyes dropping.

Promises-Kept seems to calm as he hears Vera, but he still watches. When Reggie passes him, he shifts to that of crinos and replies. ~One is Promises-Kept, knife moon of the Alpha Tribe. I hunt today to perserve Gaia, ready to fight to ensure that Gaia may live another day.~ His tail remains submissive, but his posture suggests that he is ready.

Khem's first feature worth noting are his eyes. Not in and of themselves however. They are a striking dark green. This is not too impressive until you take into account the fact that the rest of Khem's physical appearance screams of a desert dwelling decent. His frame is lean and strongly bound in road-toned muscle, face giving an appearance of length and thinness. He has the sun-burned brown skin that seems the most indicative feature to showcase his possibly-Arabic genetic heritage. His hair is long and thin, black, and slicked back down to his shoulders.
Over this hair he wears a medium-brim tan 'cowboy' hat, just large enough around to shade his eyes. His other clothing generally consists of a comfortable pair of jeans and a collection of tight and thin gauzy shirts of various light color, mostly tans and creams.

Kevin shifts up to crinos form at Reggie's questions, apparently with the express purpose of showing the Uktena his claws. ~These weapons are always ready,~ he responds matter-of-factly.

The wind continues to curl around the Garou until it passes through them, tussling fur and stinging eyes. It finds its focus somewhere just south of centre, just outside the circle of hay; it forms a tornado for just a brief moment before it quickly topples like a downed beast and flails on its side, kicking and awkward until the eye opens up, stretches wide, and forms a yawning circle of purple and gold, the same colour as the sage and the straw. The moonbridge is ready. Horace continues his dance, a low moan stretching out of his lips, either a chant or just an animalistic groan of exertion. He no longer seems to notice even where he is.

The wolfskins hanging on Reggie's padded frame twist, merging, scars forming around their edges, and form Rags' fur, as the Uktena transforms into the Crinos warform, as he replies to the newcomers, ~Your claws are welcome in this fight.~ He raises his voice into a howl, ~We all fight in this together, we all go to war together, against the darkness of the Wyrm! Howl your defiance!~, he attempts to inspire the crowd into feeling war-like.

"Dillen Francis. Bane-Of-The-Bloodsuckers. Skald of the Get of Fenris. Cliath." The Get speaks to Reggie and gives him a bow of his head before he shifts into crinos, ~I am ready.~

Shield-Bearer's attention turns the moonbridge when it opens, before tossing her head back to howl.

Power-Up studies the moon bridge wide-eyed, as though he has never encountered one before, and for several seconds he does not join in the howl.

Vera shifts into Crinos, glossy-black fur whipping around in the wind. ~Let us Hunt!~ She howls out toward the sky, ~and destroy our enemies!~

Brightside is looking upon Horace as he can with the wind with apparent interest in the ritual. Once the path is ready the Strider looks to the one he knows, the Alpha, for cues on the next move. He doesn't look too impressed or surprised by the formation of the path itself. At her shifting he two rises up into his sleek crinos form.

Promises-Kept looks to the moonbridge himself, before he tilts his head back and howls out to the air, a long strong howl from the theurge as he proclaims himself to the world. ~To Gaia!~ He howls, the crinos giving it his all.

Howls-Accord steps from the circle, joining the howl the metis begins. Her reply is quick, a 'Yo!' sort of response, then she shifts to Crinos and sings again. This is a little closer to what it should be-a fierce, warlike howl. ~For Grandmother!~ she sings into the wind.

Rags' teeth gleam as he nods approval at the opening of the moonbridge, and he continues to howl to the crowd, ~I am Rags-torn-to-Rags, Ahroun of the Uktena! Follow me to go to war to fight the Wyrm!~. He sharpens his claws on the rock of the caern, and prepares to board to the moonbridge.

Leaves-None draws herself up into Hispo and lets out a gravelly, higher-pitched howl that is nonetheless sharp in its defiance as she joins in.

Shield-Bearer turns and jogs towards the Moonbridge, preparing to join the Ahroun also.

Dillen steps over and sharpens his claws as well. He gives a low and deep growl before he makes his way to the bridge with the others.

Promises-Kept gives a look, howling as he moves in Crinos, his claws leaving their scratches behind on the rock. By the time he makes his way to the bridge, it's a low level growl filled with anticipation.

Culls-The-Herd follows Rags toward the bridge, claws and teeth at the ready.

Howls-Accord dips down briefly to touch the caern's ground with her claws, then stalks towards the moonbridge. The freshly-cliathed Wendigo is all bluster and bravado as she enters the moonbridge.

Jihgfed's Abattoir(#3897RFJ)
It's black here, a blackness deeper than the insides of eyelids. Close your eyes and you'll see strange flashes of colour, muted sparks and half-scenes, the random firings of visual neurons, but here is a blindness which cuts right to the brain. Everywhere is a rich mulchy smell of wet earth and faeces. There's iron and rust and the squallid, penetrating smell of decades of unswept filth, slowly accumulating in the wet, thick sludge gathered in puddles here and there at their feet. Stretch out your arms and you'll feel wall on both sides; walking without stooping your head will dent pipes. The ground is a patchwork of slick brickwork engorged in algae and slime and raw, rank earth, loose in places so that a foot will sink into it up to its thigh. The corridor slopes erratically downwards. Other than that there is just darkness and the vile smell of the deepest, vilest sewers.

Shield-Bearer has arrived.
It appears Gaia started making an upright beast of burden, and became distracted with something else halfway through. Standing in excess of nine feet tall, the creature is a bizarre juxtaposition of features. While it stands on broad, uncloven hooves, the smooth-furred, black beast is topped by a lupine head and sports a similar tail. While its wide, three fingered hands lacks claws, it doesn't lack sharp, pointy teeth.
Carrying:
Elk Tooth Necklace

Brightside has arrived.
This large beast of wolf and man is tall and lean, with some elements of jackal blood coloring his features. The snout is large, almost over-long, and filled with what seems to be all dagger-point fangs, fit to bite and tear. His eyes seem close to that of a human's, inscrutable and intelligent. Tan fur runs along the back of the beast's head and down it's sides and the outside of it's limbs. Starting at the back of the beast's neck and along his back the fur is almost pitch black, this coloration continues down his tail. The underbelly of the jackal-wolf-beast is a bright white, this along the insides of the limbs as well.
That sense of intelligence from the beast's eyes also is seen in how this thing moves and carries itself. Very obviously aware of itself and all that surrounds it, this larger ears indeed seem to work just fine, active in swiveling and picking up anything that might be of interest. The beast stands tall, straight, and regal, and while he may give the appearance of being thin he is also, just by the nature of what he is, quite massive.

Far-Cry closes his eyes and concentrates on a gift before he takes steps to follow the others through the moonbridge.

Power-Up finally stops admiring the moon bridge enough to snap back into action and transverse it in Rags' footsteps.

The journey is a quick swirling blink, just three steps and they are there. There's not even time to get bearings before the Garou are spilled rudely out into a length of black filth. The sounds of running water and dripping pipes are loud as howls. The smell of the place in the Garou's noses is like suffocation. It clogs airways and deadens the brain. It's like being underwater, with that same sense of distance and numbness. They cannot see hands in front of their faces. The corridor is neither wide nor tall enough for even a human to walk comfortably. The claustrophobia is maddening.

Rags charges onto the moonbridge, not afraid of anything that might be blocking it, or of falls from high places.

Promises-Kept follows along, white fur marching. As he spills out to the filth, the crinos seems quickly disoriented, gaging on the scent, and trying to get something for his bearings.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Order may be important here. Reggie obviously went through first. As far as I could tell it's just a pellmell after that. Is anyone specific about where they'd like to be, or can I just use the order with which you entered the room?
From afar, to the room, Shield-Bearer'd prefer to be towards the front.
From afar, to the room, Promises-Kept would hope to be third?
Far-Cry pages to the room: Is there enough room to manuever around people, or is it strictly single file?
Brightside pages to the room: I would be in the general back, though not necessarily in the very back.
From afar, to the room, Howls-Accord is wherever she is.
You paged the room with 'I'm cool with wherever.'.
From afar, to the room, Leaves-None is good just about anywhere she needs to be, but tends to be in back.
Dillen pages to the room: Put me where you wish. If my stomach doesn't calm down I may have to get knocked out.
Jihgfed pages to the room: You can squeeze around each other, but you wouldn't really be in fighting form, and you'd have to be in Homid/Lupus.
From afar, to the room, Far-Cry can take right in the middle.

Dillen finds the small quarters not so nice and shifts into his lupus form.

Culls-The-Herd's muzzle wrinkles up and she shifts down into lupus.

Brightside almost seems to already be on his way to the lupine as he tumbles down into the muck. From which he stands tall, and counts on ears and what he can get from his eyes to tell him what he should be paying attention to just now.

Promises-Kept quickly moves and changes forms, to help reduce crowding, as he moves and becomes that of the near-man form. If nothing else, to help deaden the smell.

As nervy and overexcited as she is, Howls-Accord tries to stand tall. The whack she gets from the ceiling of the tunnel prompts an angry whine, and she slips to wolf form immediately.

Shield-Bearer shifts to Homid, the metis girl slouching so she can navigate through.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Here it is:
Reggie
Shield-Bearer
Mathias
Vera
Far-Cry
Dillen
Howls-Accord
Power-Up
Brightside
Dillen
Leaves-None

Leaves-None takes the change in scenery with a hastily muffled yelp that comes out as a faint whine. The closeness necessitates lupus and she takes the smaller form uneasily, hackles raised from the confining space alone. The darkness and stench leave her trying to move forward without sticking her nose up someone's rump.

Power-Up finds the moon bridge narrow and he takes on lupus form as the garou around him jostle. Finding himself directly ahead of the stranger, he peers round once or twice to satisfy his curiosity.

Far-Cry, stubborn though he may be, doesn't stick to a wolven form in this stench-ridden area. He shifts instead to the nearman, ducking his head and hunching defensively. A hand reaches up to feel for the ceiling, getting a feel for the space.

Bloods-Bane gives his head a shake and wrinkles his nose at the smell.

In Lupus the stench is even worse: it drives its way into the wolves' brains like thumbs going in through the nostrils. Concentration is intensely difficult. With only blackness at the eyes and only pain at the nose, the sound of water dripping is like a drumbeat, and the hoarse breathing and wretching of the Garou is like a bedraggled army on long march. There's a jostling nervousness but nothing to concentrate on, which only makes it worse. Rags-Torn-to-Rags is at the head of the pack, his paws thick in the dirt, staring at a long, black decline; Leaves-None is in the back, claws ticking against brick, watching she knows not what.

Power-Up sneezes twice once he steps off the moon bridge and into the narrow, stinking passage. His body language displays utter distaste at the stench, but he keeps his place in line and moves along in pace with the rest.

Promises-Kept keeps quiet, luckily, his sense of smell is a bit more dead then as a lupus, and keeping some of the stench from slaughtering his senses, but, it's never enough. For a moment, he throws up in his mouth, before quickly swallowing it down again, trying to keep it from the others as a sign of weakness.

Thyra feels her way as she stumbles along after Reggie. For those who can see her, she's especially unnerved.

Rags finds his crinos form definitely too big to fit in this dank place, forced into a doubling-over and a sudden slowing of his charge. He shifts down into glabro, and is still nearly doubled-over, shoulders pressed against the ceiling, but marches forward into the darkness, his maimed right arm held in front of him, reaching into the unknown.

Howls-Accord picks up her paws like a cat with tape on its feet. Her eyes are closed, her ears flat against her head. Her tail twitches and irks, trying to express her utter disgust and anger at the tunnel and the reeking darkness that surrounds and blinds them. Her hackles rise.

Culls-The-Herd is making a point of breathing through her nose, for what good that does her. The darkness and stench remain overpowering, as the Adren plays follow the leader.

Kenneth stops as he bangs his shoulder, grunting at contact and turning quickly. His eyes squint at the light, finding the ladder. "Found a ladder," he reports. And if that wasn't enough. "Don't tell me we're in the fucking citysewers..."

Promises-Kept gives a look about, no doubt unsure where this supposed ladder is. He waits, looking to see how others deal in the situation.

Up ahead the Garou can make out, low but ominous, around the sounds of pipes and pressurized water and their own hurrying pawsteps, a quiet, relentless grinding noise, muffled by distance and obstacles. It's almost mechanical, an unstopping, muted thrum of object against dirt.

Promises-Kept suddenly gives a pained scream into the dark, finger-claws working his head over, trying to get at something in the dark. All rational movement lost as the Fang no doubt shoves into someone else, not caring whom it might be.

Brightside blows out his nose with a strong huff then takes on the homid form. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket the Strider flicks it open and pushes a button on the side, the large display panel on the front and smaller one on the back illuminating rather brightly.

Thyra stumbles down onto her knees, head jerking from front to back, somewhat panicked in the dark.

Power-Up hears a cry of pain (is it?) from up ahead, and lurches forward a moment, until he nearly runs into the back of Howls-Accord and desists from pushing forward, his ears flat in nervous distrust.

Rags halts adruptedly as he adds colour to the lightless surroundings with curses, ~Motherfucking spawn of the abyss!~. He struggles to yank his leg free and kick vigorously at the unseen object on the floor.

Howls-Accord gives a sharp howl, urging the group forward. She lunges, likely colliding with Bloods-Bane. Fight! Horned Serpent! There, there, hear it, there! she barks and huffs, backing off a bit to give the Fenrir some room.

Culls-The-Herd scrambles out of the way as Promises-Kept flails around, lips pulling back as she snarls at the Silver Fang.

Bloods-Bane lets out a growl of annoyance. ~On me.~ As he reaches with his hands to try and pull off the thing that gives him such excruciating pain, were he not using his gift. ~Light.~ He says to Brightside as he fumbles with whatever cut across his shoulder and is now eating at his chest. When he is collided into he grunts, still trying to get whatever it is off of him!

Leaves-None pads along cautiously but quickly with her attention shifting between the Garou ahead and the space behind them with equal wariness. The transition from one speaking voice to the scream and curses sets her even further on edge and brings her up closer to the group growling.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Please pose only what your character does, and not what's happening to him, if the latter wouldn't be obvious to others.

Kenneth bites back a curse as there's more jostling, squinting and focusing on what light there might be. The philodox grits his teeth, stifling his own annoyed feeling as he looks towards the front of the line.

Power-Up spins around when a light comes from behind him, and gives a menacing growl of warning, only to find that there's a homid-formed garou behind him casting the light. He backs away from Brightside, which makes him bump into Howls-Accord's rear again and maybe even knock her forward into Dillen again.

Promises-Kept has his own problem to deal with, still trying to rip something off him, his finger-claws digging into the skin near one ear as he tries to pry something loose. He gives a pained huff, as he stabilizes himself, trying not to knock into anything else.

The celphone's pale blue light only adds to the terror and hectic uncertainty. The screen at the back is as good as useless, but the front sheds a thin, weak cone about far enough forwards to shine off the fur of Culls-the-Herd's back, or as far back to faintly light up a couple metres of corridor, or high enough up to show the things lurking in the tangled maze of piping above. Each about a metre long, blind and wriggling like maggots, they dangle out of the ends of pipes or chew their way through the earthen walls. Higher above, where light glints of shimmering walls thick with slime, more can be seen of them, longer, stretched out lazily like pastey white anacondas, with mouths of three beaks that open and close like flowers in the sun. There's one attached to Blood's-Bane's, chewing away, just like that sound at the corridor's end, ferociously munching and grinding. Slowly more descend from the pipes above, or cawl up the passageway, or crawl through the pipes. They are hungry, and ahead and behind is only darkness.

Power-Up, in front of the light source, looks at the maggot-things with dismay, noting that even the ones he can see are considerably more numerous that might be desired. Rather than delay an attack by shifting back to crinos, he tries to find the nearest one within range of his lupus form, and bite at it fiercely.

Promises-Kept grabs something, and manages to remove it from where it was with a good deal of effort. The effort mostly being to get his arms there the get leverage in the dark. He gives a colorful curse towards the thing as it makes a wet noise next to him, the fang quickly stomping a foot to try and kill it.

Howls-Accord makes a split-second decision and lunges for Bloods-Bane again, aiming with wolf-jaws to rip at the thing on his chest and neck. She is loud as she does so, with big, threatening snarls.

Thyra can hardly see, but panic about her is enough to prompt the metis to return to her birthform. The Shield is raised to protect her head as she crouches.

Bloods-Bane continues to fight off the creature that chews at him. His claws try and sink into its flesh and tear it off of him.

Culls-The-Herd squints up at the beaked creatures in the darkness, posture going still as she focuses.

Rags stops his curses and stomping, and stands, panting from the effort, as he focuses on the conga line, their silhouettes black against the blue cell phone light,white maggots dripping above. ~The enemy lies ahead!~, he calls out. He moves down the corridor, nose wrinkled against the smell.

Kenneth's eyes widen at the sight of the giant creatures. At the call of the chosen leader, he shakes out of his staring and looks forward. He starts forward, keeping in easy reach of Culls.

Leaves-None backs up slightly and tucks her ears back, eyes watching the things as they writhe. Her progress forward is hampered by the others so she growls in frustration. With a moment's concentration her form begins to fuzz and blur at the edges and the Gnawer all but bounces back and forth as she paces in the close space.

As the group spreads out slight from moving on, Brightside hesitates for a moment to make room. He then takes on the glabro to continue with the group, claw/nails flashing out at anything that tries to get too close to him for comfort, more to bat them away than strike for the kill.

Promises-Kept's attempts at kicking the creature beside him resemble, vaguely, a paraplegic's animal's attempts at playing Twister, in the strobe light of Brightside's celphone. It's a wretched, wrenching affair, that leaves him almost doubled-over, and easily accessible to the thing he'd dislodged's return. Another one of them drops down on the Theurge's back, sinking its three beaks as one into the fur of his back, lodging there with desperate resilience. Shield-Bearer and Rags-Torn-to-Rags leave him behind, heading further into the darkness ahead of them. They, too, are assaulted by the creatures from above, as evidenced by a series of hard sharp clangs from hard metal of the Fury's shield, but no sound of complaint issues from the darkness beyond. Power-Up lurches and snatches one of the maggots from the pipe from which it's crawling: his teeth clamp down hard against its soft shell, and bile and white blood dribble down his muzzle as it flails in his grasp. Blood's-Bane's thrashing rips through the creature's shell like a water balloon, spilling over his fur, but it's Howls-Accord's deft snap that finally pulls it from him, and it hits the ground, dead, though for her efforts she pays dearly, as a pipe bursts above her, and three of the creatures spill down ravenously on top of her. She pulls back from one but the remaining two fall, mouths-first, against both sides of her back, just above her rear leg. More squirm out, unseen, along the edge of the tunnel: one lunges at Leaves-None but the sprightly, paranoid Gnawer swiftly retracts her paw. Despite his attempts at defence one of the things, in dropping from the ceiling, attaches itself quickly and painfully to one of the arms that flails out to stop it.

Promises-Kept gives another pained growl as a second one latches onto his back. Using his hands to balance himself from complete collapse, the theurge tries to stand back up and slam himself back against something. Wall, steam pipe...dosn't matter as the pain drives the theurge to try and crush it the only way he thinks he can.

Power-Up's teeth keep digging into the one he's pulled from the pipe. Still in lupus form, he tries to bring his front paws into play by clamping them on the soft purulent body of the thing and jerking his head back, aiming to tear it in half.

Bloods-Bane does his best to pay back Howls-Accord. His claws move in to skewer and pop one of the ones that latches onto howls. ~They pop like balloons.~ He says out as he tries to pop and pull at least one off of Howls.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Just to clarify, you can see (though only vaguely and with difficulty) everything that's happening from around where Vera is down the line. Only those past her are obscured.
Kenneth pages to the room: You mean past her up front, or past her as in behind her?
Jihgfed pages to the room: You can't see in front of her. I.e., you can see everything that's from where she is on, in the direction that the light actually is. The only light is still Brightside's cellular phone.

Culls-The-Herd's ears flatten back against her skull, as she does what she can to avoid being trampled by Promises-Kept. Hold still! She barks out at the silver Fang.

Howls-Accord's attempts to rip away her attackers are confounded by her lack of hands. Without them, she snaps her fangs at her back, trying with a modicum of success to give Bloods-Bane room. Diediediediedie! she yelps.
Leaves-None snarls sharply as she pulls her paw back, swelling up into Hispo before striking back at the offending thing with a larger set of claws. Any one of the squirming beaked appendages that come within reach are fair game for a clawing or biting.

Kenneth finally turns to look behind him, glaring around for the offending, loud lupus.

Shield-Bearer crouches even lower, recoiling as whatever hits her shield. She stops herself before she strikes back, peeking out from under shield to
see what's impacting it instead. ~Wyrmfoe! Above us!~ She hisses quickly.

Khem tosses the phone from hand to hand quickly, the light going crazy in the tunnel for the moment and aiming at only the wall directly to his left for now as his now empty hand reaches over to dig in and stretch the attacked creature out as teeth gnash down to 'chop' it in half.

~Above us? Around us? Below us!~, Rags snarls, as he stops squeezing into the ever-narrower space, and slams his fists into the offending, stinky region. ~Attack it!~

Shield-Bearer swings the shield around to use the hard edge as a cutting edge. She uses her other deformed hand to aid in the swing, so both limbs are used.

The light is wild and useless, all it adds is mood, a frantic, insistent sense of urgency. In the darkness, cut only fleetingly and at random, the maggots move. The walls come alive, the ceiling collapses in flashes of white movement and suckers. At the front of the pack fists and shield are driven fiercely down with squelchy, disgusting success, coming away with bruised flesh and blood. Just as it's done though, almost in response, the two at the front are beset: one crawls over the thing to jam its beak in the Ahroun's elbow, in the fleshy, sensitive funny-bone, while another gets him right where he'd been injured before, attaching to his shin and chewing away. Shield-Bearer brings down her shield hard, squeezing the thing's tail like a mouse caught in a mouse-trap, not severing it but making it limp and fractured; as she brings it down it's no longer protecting her, and one of the maggots falls right across her back, digging in just near the spine. A boulder's throw behind them, Mathias is occupied struggling to beat the thing on his back to death using his own body as a battering ram: it's hard to tell which suffers more damage in the process, but eventually the maggot goes limp. It's the end of the pack, though, that suffers the brunt of the assault. Blood's-Bane manages some small success, sticking his claws into a creature that just refuses to die, struggling to curl around to dig its pincers into his flesh, while Leaves-None just gathers one up in her jaws and bites: the vile liquid is like cough-syrup and shit on her tongue. The Silent Strider's still-humanlike jaws grind at the thing's flesh, puncturing it here and there and nearly making him vomit his lunch back up at it with the smell and the taste of fecal liquid, but it doesn't stop it, and though its rear half dangles limply, its teeth are still firmly lodged. The monsters swell out of the murky ground and spill from the ceiling, clamping onto the rear half of the group like leeches on a group of swimmers. Two more manage to clamp on to Howls-Accord: she can't reach them, the awkwardness of her form and the tight space compound. There's four on her now, jawing away, and the buffet shows no signs of ceasing. One falls on Dillen as the Galliard is distracted with his kill; one lurches up to clamp Power-Up mid-thigh. Two each manage to find fresh purchase on Khem and Leaves-None: the Silent Strider now sports three of the things, one at the arm, one at the small of his back, and one right on the crown of his head, worn like an odd hat, scraping away at the scalp; the two on Leaves-None have got her from behind, latching on to her belly and her left haunch.

Still in lupus, Culls-The-Herd snarls and tries to wriggle past Promises-Kept, to join Rags and Shield-Bearer.

Shield-Bearer pulls the shield up long enough to make a grab for the tail, before she strains to attempt to haul back the beast.

Bloods-Bane growls out and shakes his whole body, trying to throw them off so that he can slice at others. His claws then rip at the ones that have sung their teeth into him prying as he grows into hispo.

Howls-Accord's whining and snapping turn into screams of panic and anger as she shifts from her wolf-form to her glabro. With short, jagged finger-claws, she pulls on the things on her body, throwing herself to the side to try to squish them against the walls of the small tunnel. The thrashing Wendigo yelps louder still as the worms actually draw some blood.

Power-Up shreds the maggot in his mouth in a highly satisfactory way only to find that a second one has attached itself to his thigh. He shifts up to hispo form in order to gain bulk, and lets his newly heavier body flop down onto it in the hope of simply squashing it to death.

Promises-Kept more or less squishes the thing off his back, or so he hopes as he goes claws out towards the front, trying to help the three in front of him by clawing at things that get past them, or onto them.

Khem is glad he allowed for some room between him and other folk as he bursts into Crinos now, gagging loudly but not seeming to care that he does so. The cell phone's light is practically erradicated as the more massive crinos hand covers the thing almost completely. Brightside's teeth on the 'leech' on his arm turn to tearing fangs and his other claw reaches up to try and tear into, grip, and rip the one from his head... no brains for j00!

Rags yelps and snarls at the creatures taking him to be today's special on the menu.He grabs with his hand at the one munching on his elbow, squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste as he forcefully pulls it off, simulataneously dancing, making room for Vera.

Leaves-None bears through the foul taste with quite a bit of will and shakes her head violently around her mouthful like a chew-toy. As the two latch on to her, she gives a muffled yelp and spits out the mass in her jaws. She backpedals a bit and does a stop, drop, and roll maneuver in order to kick at the thing on her belly first. If she happens to even slightly squish the one on her haunch, all the better to her mind.

While Culls goes forward, Kenneth goes to help the back. Dillen's struggling and shaking this close lends for better access, and he turns around to help. Hands reach out in hopes of grabbing one of the offensive creatures to yank it off from the galliard.

Trying to squeeze past Promises-Kept is like trying to slip a microwave through a mailslot. The Crinos takes up too much space, and in his waddling struggle forward he's not making it any easier for the Ragabash behind him. Pipes and cramped space block his way, and the going is slow and arduous. They move together, and as they do, the creature's pull themselves out of pipes and onto their passing bodies: one attaches right beneath Promises-Kept's swinging arm as he tries to haul himself forward, and one gets Culls-the-Herd's haunch as, frustration mounting, she jumps awkwardly over the Silver Fang's hunched back and wriggles past him like a greased pig. Shield-Bearer's single-minded devotion to her quarry earns her another passenger, as another one of the maggots sucks onto the Metis' back. Despite all the strain and fierce effort, Shield-Bearer can't budge the monster she's grabbed hold of: its stiff coarse hairs dig into the earth, and it moves like rubber on cement. Rags-Torn-to-Rags manages to crush his intended prey, though one still clings to his leg. Bloods-Bane easily yanks one of the creatures free, but it is a battle against time and time just keeps crushing on, as two more just take its place, though Kenneth behind him picks one off and smashes it against a nearby pipe. Again the end of the pack suffers the worst of the onslaught, as more and more maggot leeches just come spilling from the ceiling, crawling from the pipes, all around, until the very air seems thick with them. Just as Howls-Accord (who finds the Glabro form she's adopted much more useful for detaching the suckers on her back) and Power-Up manage to pull the maggots off them, smash them into the ground, slice open their soft skins, another one takes its place, sucking and chewing madly at the Garou's flesh. Leaves-None and Khem are more unfortunate: they gains two for the one they lost, both of them at the shoulders, blindly, relentlessly eating. There's a sense of foreboding from the thickness of the air and the carnage of the battlefield, and as if to capitalize on it the grinding, munching sound in the distance intensifies, it becomes a fierce, grinding, chainsaw noise, and a faint, unsettling tremor resonates through the piping. Though the creatures are having difficulty getting through the Garou's hard skin, their numbers are many, and their hunger, unending.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Just a recap of how many of the suckers everyone has attached: Reggie: 1; Thyra: 2; Mathias: 1; Vera: 1; Kenneth: 0; Dillen: 1; Veronica: 4; Kevin: 2; Brightside: 3; Masao: 5

Promises-Kept gives a growling bark, as the crinos reachs a paw over to grab at the next one that bites onto him. Trying to grab a hold of the thing and to snap at it with his huge jaws, to destroy it.

Shield-Bearer continues to pull back on the creature, though not as hard, as she tucks her head to try and shield it before she invokes the Metis elemental gift.

Veronica keeps yelling and flailing, making plenty of noise to add to all of the other confusion. She tries to shake off the maggots, flailing and grabbing, and trying to struggle further along the passage to escape the onslaught of worms.

Bloods-Bane grows through his forms and into glabro and moves once more to swipe and slash at the creatures that gnaw upon him.

Culls-The-Herd snarls as her that beaked jaw sinks into her thigh, form instantly swelling into Hispo as she draws on her Rage. Jaws gaping wide, she does what she can to ignore the chewing beast and sink her teeth into whatever Shield-Bearer is attacking.

Leaves-None lets out a whine that is both frustrated and pained and blurs up into Crinos. The cramped space keeps her at least to all fours but she more avidly reaches for the maggots attached to her and tries to tear them off with all the strength she can pour into her limbs.

The demise of the sucker on his elbow allows Rags to pound freely on the large monster, like a boxer busy at his punching bag. He stomps his foot in annoyance, trying to shake off the sucker there.

Kenneth takes a step back to avoid any wild flailings from the Get Galliard, and then snarls out a curse. ~Going to be eaten alive here if we don't move!~ The philodox reaches out again, trying to grab onto another maggot clinging onto the galliard next to him.

Brightside growls out violently but focuses his rage and will into the new hitchhikers. His jaws and both claws going to the leech on the left shoulder while he attempts to slam his right shoulder through its critter and into the wall.

Power-Up roars out, his scent disappearing from the miasma of sickness that is pervasive in the tunnel as his fangs seek purchase on a sucker on his left shoulder, near to the 'head' of it, seeking to strip it to bits off of him. Meanwhile his powerful hispo claws on the left arm reach across and seek to rend the leech on his right shoulder to pieces.

There are now three in the far blackness, though Vera's arrival is awkward at best: with Shield-Bearer in Crinos, the Ragabash is faced with the same difficulty she had been trying to pass Promises-Kept. She manages it though it slows her forward assault, vaulting over Shield-Bearer's side, one paw skittering across the Theurge's metal namesake, gaining too more leechlike tagalongs in the process, before finally firm on the ground she bulks into Hispo. She is just in time for a facefull of fire. Singed eyebrows all around as yet another of Gaia's fickle gifts works better than intended. It's instantaneous: a searing, blinding blast of flame, and then nothing but the burning embers of moss, casting no real light. In the flash the dark corner is revealed: Rags-Torn-to-Rags, Shield-Bearer, and Culls-the-Herd are all crowded next to the body of a giant worm, which stretches out until it fills the whole earthen corridor just perfectly, and nothing can be seen beyond. There are no pipes here, no brickwork, just earth and roots tangled above. The Ahroun is smashing his massive ham-fists into it, eyes wild with rage, as another maggot crawls out of the earth beside him and latches onto his back. Shield-Bearer has the creature by its crusted tail. It's just a flash, and then it's darkness again. Deeper down the tunnel, once again the rear of the group is buffeted by maggots that fall from the sky as liberal as hail. They've gotten good, now, at dislodging the monsters form their fur, but more just keep piling on, bursting out of the ground or the pipes. Howls-Accord, Power-Up, Brightside, and Leaves-None all have a brisk exchange of gains and losses, though in the end the tally is more grim pain and the sucking, insistent chewing of maggots. Howls-Accord, Power-Up, and Brightside have three of the creatures while Leaves-None, exposed in the rear, has four; they show no preference for vitals or weak spots: they just lunge, as quickly and as suddenly as they can manage. One of the ones on Power-Up hangs from the piping above, long and thin, just like a noose.

From afar, to the room, Jihgfed apologizes for the vagueness towards the end: I'd upset my dice so couldn't remember how many you all managed to dislodge, and how many managed to grab on, but I still had my total tally, so I just went with that.
Jihgfed pages to the room: Damage: Howls-Accord: 2; Power-Up: 1; Brightside: 1; Leaves-None: 1

Promises-Kept manages to rip the little beast off his arm, as he suddenly finds himself in the middle ground between two groups. Specificly, in a rather good spot for what he's good at. He starts to move towards those in the front, actively trying to see how bad they are hurt, trying to figure who would be best to use his gift of the Mother's Touch on.

Shield-Bearer untucks her head once the small explosion is over, and continues to pull on the giant worm's tail. At the same time, she leans forward to bite down on the monster flesh as far ahead of her deformed hands as she can reach.

In the flash of light and as that he's not being gnawed on at the moment, Dillen makes a bolt for the big worm and the ones at the front of the pipe. He slashes at anything that gets into his way.

Culls-The-Herd gains two more passengers and yelps in pain as their beaks did in, then as fire sears the fur from her face. Rage filling her yellow eyes, the Shadow Lord lashes out with her teeth at the giant maggot.

Rags takes a pause from his pounding to howl his dismay at having been blinded by the sudden light. The eyebrowless Uktena shifts wildly into Crinos, slashing madly with his claws at the bruised flesh.

Leaves-None slashes and bites at each spot of pain that links to a maggot, the unrelenting assault starting to wear on her. Wordless growls and grunts of determination punctuate her movements.

Kenneth only just catches the flash of light, nothing more. He sidesteps as much as he can as Dillen lunges right for him, snapping out a quick ~Watch it!~ as the Get bullies past. The philodox turns his attention back towards the back half and makes to help the next one down the line. ~Move forward!~ He doesn't stop reaching for the next available maggot on the next one up.

Brightside turns to Power-Up who is already facing his direction. The two side by side seem to get the simultanious bright idea that they can more easily get to the leeches on each other than themselves. In particular the Strider reaches out for one on Power-Up's shoulders as the Glass Walker returns the favor. The two looking rather bizarre perhaps clawing and snapping and gnawing at leeches attached to each other.

Veronica continues to flail about, tearing at the maggots chewing away at her skin.

Suddenly the end of the tunnel is slick with the strange beast's blood, and footing is almost impossible to find. All at once claws and teeth snap and strain and the giant maggot's rubbery hide bursts from the pressure and the damage, and its blood is fast sinking into the now-dry earth. As if to protect it the Garou at that end are suddenly set upon by the monsters - although perhaps it's only the inevitable balance for the beating the others had received before. In the darkness, now, knowledge of the attacks on them comes only from the pain they bring: both Rags and Shield-Bearer, at the forefront, can feel two more of the things, on heads and paws, whatever's closes to the ground or the walls or the ceiling, to add to the two the both of them already have. They move now more sluggishly, carrying their cargo with them as they go. And boy, do they go - at least, Shield-Bearer does, as in that moment of rage and ferocity the beast finally stirs to sudden, manic life, and it is off like a shot, burrowing itself frantically away and dragging the Theurge along behind it, dangling awkwardly through the slick blood-soaking tunnel. It is gone before Blood's-Bane can reach it, which is lucky for Promise-Keeper, since the Theurge was in the way and the Galliard didn't look like he was going to ask him politely to move. Culls-the-Herd and Promise-Keeper are both attacked from below, the creature's burrowing up from beneath the ground to latch awkwardly onto their paws, though the connection is insecure. Mercifully, those in the rear, so maltreated until now, have a moment, at least, to catch their breath, lick their wounds, and pry the vile things from their flesh, all except Kenneth, who is rewarded for his generosity in pulling a maggot from Veronica's back by the thing turning on him instead, and being joined by another which coils down from the ceiling and attaches to the back of his head, trying to chew through the bone, and another, which gets him right at the ankle. Everyone else is freed to extricate themselves as best they can: Veronica manages to smack one off her, and Leaves-None does the same, killing the one on her haunch and dropping it to the ground. Brightside and Power-Up seem to have hit on an efficient way of going about it, and soon there's only one maggot in a hard to reach to reach space on each.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Damage: Reggie: 1; Shield-Bearer: 1; Brightside: 1
Promises-Kept pages to the room: Hmms, so that thing burrowed and came up to get at their feet? Or, just went along the ground?

Shield-Bearer snarls and barks as she's dragged along with the giant worm, but doesn't release her grip just yet. Pulling herself just forward, she bites down on the thing's flesh again.

Rags and Culls lash out in the darkness, the Uktena attempting to sink his claws into the retreating beast and the Lord charging after it with her teeth. Veronica tries to pull off yet another maggot, driven to near panic by the cramped conditions.

Bloods-Bane goes with flashing claws to try and free Shield-Bearer as she barks for help. His claws fly and he tries to dig her away from the beast.

Promises-Kept tries to go after whatever has him by the paws. Using his crinos like claws to try and rip into it's flesh and to rip it to serious pieces. Make it pay for biting him, and causing him pain, and being in this horrid stinky place.

Jihgfed pages to the room: No. As far as you can tell, what's nibbling at toes is just regular maggots, like all the others.
From afar, to the room, Shield-Bearer thinks she's long gone before Dillen reaches her.
Shield-Bearer pages to the room: Right?
Jihgfed pages to the room: This round, certainly, since he's got a wall full of Crinos in his way.

Leaves-None tries to make the removal of the remaining maggots as quick as possible since painless has long since been out of the question. The lack of more incoming attacks has her vainly looking around to gauge the situation and growling ineffectually at the darkness.

Kenneth snaps a hand to the back of his head, grasping for the maggot that's latched on. With a snarl of ferocity, he wastes no time to shift to his warform. Claws come into play, as he's digging into the maggot to rip it off. Then he's sweeping down to slice and dice the others in a mad snap of claws and teeth at the rest.

Brightside and Power-Up take the breather moment only for the brief respite that it is.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Okay, a quick recap, because apparently there's been some confusion: Reggie's at 4 damage, Dillen's at 1, Veronica's at 3, Masao's at 4, Brightside's at 3, Kevin's at 1, and Thyra's at 1.

Shield-Bearer trails along behind the thing like a skateboarder on a truck, hands fiercely wrapped around it to make sure it doesn't escape her, though her paws are doing most of the propulsion towards keeping herself at speed. She sinks teeth into it, leaving the others behind: as she goes, it's as if she's trolling for more of the worms, and it's miraculous that only two more manage to attach themselves to her. She's practically coated, now, and she can feel them all digging through her skin, pushing, straining to get at the softer flesh beyond. The worm streams out before Culls-the-Herd and Rags-Torn-to-Rags can reach it: they, too, go screaming through the infested tunnel, and they, too, are besot, though Rags, already slowed down by wounds and the leech's drain, is the only one who doesn't avoid the constant, darting grasp of the maggots. The others, clustered as they are together, used as they are to defending themselves and now, lately, each other, from the maggots flesh-sucking attacks, fight a holding battle that rarely sees them overwhelmed: even when Veronica has three drop on her simultaneously, they're so quickly pried gaspingly from her flesh that all she's left with are welts and bruises.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Reggie takes one damage, Thyra takes two, and Vera takes one.
Jihgfed pages to the room: To recap: Reggie has five of the maggots on him (ouch!), Thyra has six (double ouch!), and Vera has four (still not good). Everyone else has cleaned themselves up.

Bloods-Bane turns and as he missed the worm and has no maggots on him, he begins trying to clean off as many as possible from the others as he can. He heads for Thyra as she is the one who seems to have the most.

Shield-Bearer pulls her legs forward, digging her hooves into the ground to pull herself upright. Letting out a loud whoop from the adrenaline rush despite the pain and discomfort, she starts to run under her own power, moving at a unnaturally blistering pace along behind the worm. She stays low, half raising her now-scuffed shield to offer protection from more cling-ons, while her other deformed hand lets off the Worm and reaches over to start yanking off the maggots.

Promises-Kept makes his way as he can, trying to get closer to the others, clawing at anything that bites or moves too fast for being a Garou. He tries his best to kill like a proper Garou, but, he's having trouble finding valid targets.

Reggie seems to have had enough and attempts to dislodge the smaller maggots. ~Hey, the big one is over here!~ Culls continues to chase after the big maggot, jaws wide as she attempts to sink her teeth into it.

Veronica shifts down into lupus and prepares to give chase.

Far-Cry comes out of his whirling dervish attack with a sharp glare at the rest of the maggots continuously coming. Taking a moment to look for the front runners, the philodox snaps his jaws shut with a click and a growl. Any maggot coming close to him, Brightside or Power-Up gets quickly dispatched between them, but he's soon urging the back end of the line again. He seems all too eager to move after the bigger prey, especially when Reggie makes note.

Leaves-None helps to pull one of the maggots from Veronica, turning her head towards Reggie at his call. She does her best to move the back-end group further down the tunnel and make sure no one is left straggling.

Both Promises-Kept and Blood's-Bane are about to get their wish. It's like a car being hit by a freight train, like a pedestrian by an eighteen-wheeler, like a large bird by a baseball bat. Dillen barely even notices it coming. The creature comes out of the earthen wall beside him silently, without screech or anger or intent other than to feed. He tries to move out of the way but while his paws are nimble and swift he notices the thing too late, and then he's against the wall. It's teeth cut deep into his flesh, sinking past his hardy flesh, past ribs, past everything that might stop it. If he hadn't been able to get out of the way just that little bit, he might be dead; but as it is, he's merely pinned to the wall by his completely crushed shoulder, the thing's three great stone teeth hitting the opposite, brickwork wall, just missing lung. The other maggots seem to have slacked off - or perhaps they are simply more carefully choosing their targets. Two more lunge at Shield-Barrier, so that the Theurge is now wearing them thick and complete as clothing, they spill from her everywhere, crunching always, increasingly further into flesh. Two more find Leaves-None, almost a leader, now, believe it or not, sinking into her flesh.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Thyra takes two, Masao takes one, Dillen takes 4.

Promises-Kept tries to get closer to the sounds of whatever the big squishy maggot is, as he tries to make sure there are no Garou in the way before he slashes with his claws, trying to get as much of 'it', that he can manage.

The one usable arm that Bloods-Bane has is now slashing and doing it's best to get this worm from hell off of him. He opens his mouth in a mighty roar as every bit of him that doesn't flail, legs, teeth, and the one arm fight with the beast that has him pinned.

Shield-Bearer smashes into the suddenly stopped worm, her shield arm absorbing much of the blow as as she rams into its butt. Taking the opportunity the stopped beast provides, the Theurge begins yanking off maggots as fast she can before they dig any deeper.

Veronica voices a startles yelp as the creature comes bursting through the wall, then she shifts into lupus and charges toward the beast. Reggie continues to do the dance of maggot-removal, trying to get them off. Culls' continues to chase the creature through the tunnel it originally made, foam and spittle dripping from her jaws.

Leaves-None doesn't waste the effort to growl as she rips at the new maggots, simply intent on getting them off. Even as she tears at the biting mouths, she moves towards the Get's roar as fast as she can.

Far-Cry goes still for a moment as the big worm attacks from the side. Then with a roar, the philodox lunges forward for the Wyrmcreature, turning all weapons at his disposal on the monster. Brightside and Power-Up follow quickly, trying to manuever around the Shadow Lord and get in their strikes as well, no quarter given.

Promises-Kept is the first of the stragglers to hit the beast, with restrained Rage and caution: his claws find firm purchase in the soft flesh of the thing. Far-Cry is the second, though he replaces caution with fervour, and it's luck in his rage that he doesn't do more than scrape through the soft flesh of the Silver Fang's stomach as his claws go screaming into the thing. The two Crinos effectively block the passage: struggle though Howls-Accord does, she isn't able to get in much more than a nip. On the other side, Blood's-Bane does all he can, but even though he can barely feel the pain which would otherwise cripple him, angle and leverage keep him from exerting his full force on the thing, and though he tears his claws do not go deep. Behind the creature, more effort is put towards keeping themselves alive than killing the beast: Shield-Bearer and Rags-Torn-to-Rags both scrape themselves against the dirt and turn their claws to their own selves. Culls-the-Herd chases the worm but when she sees her way blocked by the Black Fury, she gradually, almost begrudgingly, begins to assist her in clearing herself from the creature's terrible grip.

The beast itself, however, begins to move. Just as it had eaten through the dirt all around it, it begins to eat through the brickwork and flesh that now keeps it from moving. It munches away, its great stone teeth working unthinkingly through Blood's-Bane's arm. It's slower, now, as it chews through Garou flesh and sewer wall, but it's definitely on the move.

Jihgfed pages to the room: One damage to Dillen (that arm's already so mangled that there's only so much more it can do to it), and, surprisingly enough, no damage to Reggie or Thyra, you lucky bastiches.
Jihgfed pages to the room: Oh, right! One damage to Mathias.
Jihgfed pages to the room: He got lucky, too.

Bloods-Bane still fights the good fight, swinging and throwing anything he can at the worm.

Shield-Bearer keeps trying to yank the remaining maggots that are coating her off, the Metis still frantic in her doing so. She uses teeth where she can, but her hands do most the work.

Promises-Kept sees the problem Blood's-Bane is in, as his claws work to try and scrape and cut and break whatever the monster may have there. Claws flashing as he tries to move quicker in a burst of rage, to try and free the garou, and not have that arm removed.

Far-Cry continues to carve away as best he can, mind settled on attacking what's within his reach. In the meanwhile, Brightside and Power-Up try to move around him, still looking for openings.

Leaves-None flashes her claws and teeth here and there, trying indeed to keep herself and anyone within reach in the here and now. If she can do little else than keep the smaller maggots at bay than she does her best at that.

Culls-The-Herd snaps at the maggots coating Shield-Bearer with Hispo jaws, doing what she can to remove the giant bugs. Rags continues to tear at the disgusting creatures attached to him, howling in pain. Howls-Accord whines in frustration, still trying to find enough room to attack the creature chewing on Dillen.

The beast surges on, but it doesn't get far. Dying of a thousand wounds, it doesn't get further than a foot into the side of the wall before it stops, bloodily and quietly, lost to the raking of a half-dozen Garou claws. Strands of Blood-Bane's arms are still half-mingled somewhere inches deep in the wall, as the creature dragged him with it as it went, though he remains blissfully unaware of the gritty, blinding pain he should be in. He can pull it out easily: the arm almost untouched from about halfway down the bicep on, however a thin strand of masticated flesh is all that attaches it to the rest of him. Slowly the other Garou extract the maggots from their flesh, but even in the silence of this victory there's a foreboding, undefinable threat, in the blackness all around, in the vileness in the air.

Shield-Bearer relaxes slightly when the worm goes lax, the Theurge finally clear of the of the attached maggots. She presses down low so to let the Adren pass over top of her to the worm.

Promises-Kept looks over Blood's-Bane, as he reaches in to touch his shoulder. A huge paw with claws as the Silver Fang growls and woofs, a mixture of the garou tongue. It is a call out to Gaia to heal her wounded warrior, to mend the flesh that had protected her, and to restore Blood's-Bane to his proper place as warrior among this hunt.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Three points healed.

Bloods-Bane manages to pull himself from the wall and looks at what hangs from his shoulder. He reaches over and pulls his mangled arm close to him. He looks about, giving a growl and then kicking the worm that had him glued to the wall. ~Fucker.~ At Mathias' touch, Bloods-Bane looks to him and then his arm to see if it mends. ~Thanks.~ He says, moving his arm about some.

Far-Cry continues to slash his claws through Wyrmflesh even as it dies, as if its very presence still lying in the sewers is offensive enough. He slows eventually though, when the sounds of battle and squishing come to a general stop. The stench-filled air filling his lungs quash any urge to howl. Brightside and Power-Up remain defensive, wary against any more maggots coming their way.

Culls-The-Herd does not go after the beast when it goes lax. Instead, she shifts into Glabro and removes the four maggots from her flesh.

Howls-Accord whines in frustration, suddenly lacking a target. Bleeding heavily, Rags removes the last maggot from his flesh and squashes underfoot.

Leaves-None, after making sure the others are all maggot-free, gives a low, grating growl and sinks down to briefly rest on all fours. The Gnawer is nowhere near relaxed and makes audible sniffing noises at the air.

Shield-Bearer starts her way back through the tunnel, keeping her sheild up above her to protect herself from any more raining maggots.

Promises-Kept starts to go among the other garou, doing quick triage of those present. Those who can barely carry themselves are the ones that Promises-Kept also calls upon Gaia's help to heal. And with that, he looks to return his way to the exit.

Shifting to his homid form, Kenneth eventually makes his way up the manhole and has a look around. The lid gets pushed against warily, and the philodox lifts himself out after. It seems to be a bit too long in waiting, before he calls down to the others. "Clear!"

Bloods-Bane eventually makes his way up the manhole and out.

"We are the epitome of an omega pack. Underdogs. Bite the Wyrm's ankles."

2006-06-21T15:53:00.000-07:00

Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.

Helen is muttering to herself as she heads down the stairs, pausing mid-way to glance back over her shoulder with a frown before heading into the living room.

There in the living room -- though he wasn't there when Helen went upstairs -- is Kevin, sitting with his feet swinging over the side of the best chair, intermittently chewing a pencil and making notes on a piece of dirty paper.

"Whoa, hi," says the Fury, stopping at the sight of Kevin. She sounds surprised to find him here. "What're you doing?"

Kevin looks over the paper. "Hey, Helen," he says. "You seen Emma? She's not around at her city place at the moment."

Helen shakes her head. "Haven't seen her in awhile," she says. "So...I don't know if you'd find her out here or not. I was just passin' through." She watches him for a moment before asking, "How're you doin'?"

Kevin favours Helen with a smile. "For a guy who's been held down and hacked at by members of your tribe with silver knives twice in a month, and then gone wading in wyrmy waters at midnight trying to go fishing for a bane, I think I'm doing okay. What about yourself?"

"That sounds...great," Helen says blandly, expression blank. She even looks a bit sorry for him but that doesn't last. She glances away from Kevin as she flops down into one of the chairs. "I'm alright. Started a new pack. Tryin' to figure out what the hell to do with a cub of ours. That's about it."

"I'm in a new pack too," Kevin says proudly. "Natalie always did insist I didn't belong in a war pack. Maybe she was right after all. What cub is this?"

Helen perks right up. "Really? Hadn't heard. With who?" She chuckles then, letting out a long breath. "Alesia. Don't ask. Just don't go there."

Kevin gives Helen a look from under a raised eyebrow, but he doesn't go there, instead confining his answer to "Basil, Kaz and Morgan. We are the epitome of an omega pack. Underdogs. Bite the Wyrm's ankles."

"That's pretty cool. I'm with Cole, Dillen, Blackriver and Leslie. Scares the shit out of me we all get along," Helen says. "You know, as opposed to killing each other or at least threatenin' to."

Kevin gives Helen a slightly narrow-eyed look. "Who's alpha of you guys? Dillen or Blackriver?" He evidently discounts any possibility of the other three, including Helen herself, claiming that role.

Helen tilts her head to the side, offering Kevin a lopsided grin. "Not me, huh?" she jokes. "It's Blackriver." At even saying the Silver Fang's name there's a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Cole's beta. The rest of us suck."

"I'm surprised Dillen isn't up there," Kevin comments. "Mmm. Maybe he had a bellyful of alphaness with Requiem being such a handful all the time. And hey, I'm a ragabash, you're a ragabash. We both know our place. It's only the occasional crackpot no-moon who thinks they can lead a pack. Or a sept," he adds meaningfully.

Helen lifts a brow and snickers. "I led a tribe, much as it was. Guess that makes me a crackpot." She grins widely at Kevin. "Complainin' about Vera-rhya, are we? Y'know, I bet Cole and Dillen had a drinkin' match or some shit like that, and Cole won. I should ask."

Kevin snorts with amusement. "I heard Cole pulled that one on Vera and won," he recalls. "Never let a Fianna galliard set challenge terms, is the lesson there, isn't it? And Vera... hell, I can't say I like her still, but after that fight on Sunday night I gotta say I respect her. Hard to fight for your life alongside someone and not feel something good for them after, assuming you do both survive."

"Really?" Helen is very amused by this, as evidenced by the fact she's still grinning. "Damn, that's funny, gotta ask him about that one." She stretches out her legs, leaning back, watching Kevin. "Gotta say I agree with you there. Sucks having to respect someone you don't like but that's life."

Kevin gives a languid, easy shrug. "Does anyone ever truly like an alpha? Respect is one thing, but like?"

Helen purses her lips. "Yeah," she says quietly, "you're right. I haven't had much contact with her, really. I just tend to stick with my packmates now, or Laura." She sighs. "So what're you doin' with that?" she asks, glancing to the paper Kevin was writing on earlier.

"Sketching out the tire fire site," Kevin replies, showing Helen the paper on which he's drawn a rough map of the area with a few arrows, letters, and squiggles. "It's going to be a hell of a fight, that one, and I don't like the odds, so I'm trying to improve them by meticulous forward planning. Emma is too, which is one reason I want her... though I don't know whether she's got time for that with her packmate dying like that."

Helen leans forward to examine the piece of paper, quiet as she takes it all in. "Maybe not," she muses. "I could help, maybe get my pack involved if you need more people, 'cause I'd like to. Help that is."

"Emma's the one to speak to," Kevin repeats. "Maybe Laura or KL could help, they're in her pack, aren't they? Me, I'd say 'send all hands on deck', but I'm not officially in charge of strategy. Being, as I said, a ragabash. I just get to run around and risk my life trying to draw fire."

Helen laughs at that. "The life of a ragabash, be the bait," she says, leaning back again. "I'll talk to her. If I find her I'll tell her you're lookin'. And yeah, they are -- so I guess they'd wanna help. Good goin' of you, though, not something I'd think of," she adds, gesturing to the map.

"Well," Kevin says with an air of frankness, "I'm trying to think things through more and act on impulse less. You may have noticed I can be impulsive," he understates. "Gonna get myself killed one of these days if I don't learn to think twice... don't think twice, it's alright..." he bursts into song briefly. "Think twice before I go running off in all directions."

Helen chuckles at Kevin's response. "Clever boy," she jokes. "I could learn somethin' from you. I'd like to think I'm not that impulsive, but who the hell knows."

Kevin looks a touch shocked. "You? Learn from me? You're elder of your tribe," he protests, "I'm about as low as you can get in this sept."

Helen shrugs. "I'm not elder anymore," she points out. "Laura is. But hey, you not bein' impulsive and stupid like I can me at least makes me think, right?"

"I don't ever remember you being impulsive and stupid," Kevin points out. "I remember you being damn nice to me when I was freshly firsted, and I remember that time in the warehouse with the rats when you gave those things what-for..."

"Thanks," says Helen with a small but genuine smile. "But I've had my share of stupid moments. Guess it just takes some shit to grow up. You may the lowest of the low here, Kevin, but hey, thinkin' all that through--good idea."

"Nothing makes you think," Kevin drawls in a too-casual voice, "like having your balls cut off in front of the sept. Mainly makes you think 'I'm not gonna get in this position again'."

Helen cracks her knuckles, nodding at Kevin. "Yeah, that'd do it," she agrees quietly. "Kinda sucks that no matter what we do sometimes it takes somethin' that shitty to make you think, huh?"

"Everything is a learning experience," Kevin says sanctimoniously. "The really great thing is, it's finally kicked Basil into gear. I always did know that guy was awesome... but he's stopped trying to hide it and pretend he's a slacker now. He was there at the bane fight too, and he kicked ass. He's gonna end up an awesome alpha at this rate. If Brom could only see him now, he'd not recognise him."

Helen smiles. "Good for him," she says. "Sucks it had to be that to kick his ass into gear, but maybe in the long run it's good 'cause it did. I hope that made sense. I, uh, obviously can't really identify with either of you but..."

"We're probably not good people to identify with," Kevin says slyly. "Follow your goddess instead like a good Fury. But if you guys," he goes on pensively, "wanted to get together with us guys, maybe, I dunno, stage a mock-attack operation, or just some kind of strategic exercise... something that'll get us all honed..."

"Yup. I'll be a good Fury. Pretend I don't talk to you or anyone else who isn't a chick," Helen jokes. "I'll talk to Laura and KL, see what they have in mind, if they'd be willing. You'll need all the people you can get, but Emma's gotta have to say it's alright, so." She ticks off on her fingers: "Step one, talk to the other gals. Step two, talk to Emma. Step three, talk to my packmates. Step four...there is no step four."

Kevin shakes his head sternly. "Can't have a twelve step program for garou," he says, "if we can't work out more than three steps..."

Helen rolls her eyes. "How about a ten step program?" She pushes herself up off the chair. "I am going to go get looking for any one of those people I mentioned. And if I find Emma I will let you know."

Kevin remains slouched in the chair, but raises one hand to his brow in a kind of salute. "I'll be here for a while," he promises, "and if not, you can most always get me at my tribe's place in town."

"Cool," Helen says, smiling. "Seeya later."

"Basil, meet Aimee, my girlfriend. Aimee, meet Basil... my boyfriend."

2006-06-19T15:35:00.000-07:00

On Monday morning, a card arrives in the post for Kevin. The card is a fairly typical belated card, with a sheepish looking turtle on the outside. Inside are two items: a gift certificate to Runnningshoes.com for $30, and a letter. It reads:

Kevin - sorry I forgot your birthday again. Hope this gets to you in the right month, anyway. I haven't rejoined the family business back here, so I'm pretty out of the loop. Pop's doing pretty well, the doctors say. He's already hung on longer than some of them predicted, so that's good. I found this website that just screamed your name, so that's what your present is. I checked it out, but it wasn't power tools. If I knew better what was good and what wasn't, I'd have gotten you something more personal than a gift certificate.
I didn't hear if Grey got his present - do you know if he did? Bug him to let you read the books. They're really good. Say hey to Emma and Signe for me, and give Scratch a beer. I miss you guys.
- Nat

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)
The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a wooden door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen.
A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there.
Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Aimee's expression goes through relief, concern, and relief again before slipping back into some degree of anxiousness. "He is?" she says softly, looking around quickly and chewing on her lower lip. "He 'round right now?" Wrinkling up her nose, she shakes her head and frowns over a gusty sigh, "You're a grown woman, Aimee. Act like it."

"There is nothing wrong with being worried about the one you love. But there is with not caring about the ones that love you. I'm going to beat his ass if he keeps ignoring you." Basil grunts, turning his attention back to the TV. "He's probably around here somewhere, watching soccer maybe. You can hang out here til he gets back."

Basil pages to the room: Basil is wearing nothing put his pants, and headband, Kevin. Which has 'Born to kill' written on it. And his eye patch now has a peace symbol.

As if on cue, the door from the Glass Walker house opens up and there's Kevin now. He's looking very bleary indeed, as though... well, as though he'd been up all night fighting and then had to endure an eight-hour drive home. He blinks at Basil and Aimee like a deer caught in headlights, and takes a nervous step back, as though this warrior of Gaia who was so recently risking his life against the Wyrm without flinching finds the thought of having to deal with these two more terrifying still.

Aimee smiles a little at some of that, "That doesn't surprise me, the soccer stuff. And...thanks." One foot moves to take her towards one of the recliners when the door opens. The turn of her head is perhaps less dramatic with her familiar long hair chopped off, but the look on her face adequately mimics Kevin's. Licking lips gone dry, she calls out softly to him to keep her voice from cracking. "Hey, Cowboy..."

"She calls you the same thing I do. Funny, ain't it?" Basil asks Kevin, rising up to walk over next to Aimee. "Kev, you need to come down here. And you need to talk to her. If you can stand up to a Wyrm thing, you can get down here and explain yourself to the girl that's been waiting for you."

Kevin gives a nervous and horribly false-sounding little laugh as he inches into the room. "I guess I oughta," he agrees, his face already flushing that familiar embarrassed pink.

Aimee swallows sharply and looks from Basil to Kevin and back, curling her hands around the strap of her bag tightly enough to whiten her knuckles a bit. "This isn't gonna be simple, is it? Nothing with Garou ever is...." she murmurs to the newly-met Basil sidelong.

Basil lifts up a hand and gently pats her on the shoulder, then gestures to the couch. "No." He responds with a murmur. "You two have a seat together on the couch. And you tell her, Kevin. Truthfully. And if you're sorry, you tell her that. And if you love her, tell her, stupid. And if you run from this now, I'll tie you up until you do explain." Basil glances between them, then asks. "Can I get you anything?"

"It's not a garou thing, for once," Kevin offers his opinion as he comes and sits by Aimee and looks from her to Basil. "It's... well. It's..." He seems to be having trouble here. "It's... a me thing." He folds his hands together tightly. "A selfish thing, I guess."

Aimee directs a look of mock-disappointment at Basil and blows her breath out through her lips in a fluttery sound. Settling down on the couch with Kevin, bag laying forgotten on the floor at her feet, she watches him with an uncharacteristic stillness. "Go on...."

Basil stands where he is and watches the two quietly, his hands folded in front of him, his face a blend of neutrality and guilt.

"What were you two talking about before I came in?" Kevin prevaricates.

"You. Guess it was kind of a 'speak of the Devil' moment, if you wanna think of it that way." Aimee responds, one hand fluttering vaguely at the topic. "I'd only been in the door a couple of minutes and we'd just met. Figured classes were over and I couldn't hide in my room forever." Her hand stills and she looks down at it slightly then back at Kevin. "So, yeah. We were talking about you."

"Seems you're all either of us can talk about, Kevin." Basil responds with a slight smile, shaking his head a bit. "Now go on. Quit dickin' around."

"Oh for pity's sake, Basil," sighs Kevin. "That's a fine choice of words in the circumstances." He sneaks a sidelong glance at Aimee before turning to look at her properly. "You do know Basil don't you, 'Ton?"

Aimee raises an eyebrow slightly at the exchange, but doesn't comment on it directly. "I know bits an' pieces, can't recall much at the moment. You'll forgive me if I had lotsa things on my mind with school." Wrinkling her nose again, she purses her lips and makes quite the face. "It's kinda like when I'm owning in games, stuff goes back-burner and I forget about it until it's burnin' down the house."

Basil smirks a little at Aimee and shakes his head. "Kevin, you really do need to appreciate this girl more. And no, we haven't met before just now. So go on. Go. Speak."

Kevin is now a bright shade of crimson and completely mortified. He takes a deep breath and manages, somehow, to tap into the deep-running vein that's always there inside him, the one that makes him play the fool even when it puts him in danger or when the situation is utterly unsuited to it. "Oooookay," he says in an approximation of his normal nonchalant drawl. "Basil, meet Aimee, my girlfriend. Aimee, meet Basil... my boyfriend."

Aimee just...blinks, or at least that's her first reaction to the words. Her eyes go to Basil, then back to Kevin, then engage in a repeat of the motion. Some small bit of tension eases out of her posture and her head drops for a long breath or two. Then, she brings her head back up to reveal a warm smile, "Is that all? Is that what was wrong?" Scratching the back of her head, she chuckles and shakes her head, "I may be straight, but I'm not narrow. I mean, goodness...and I'm not the jealous type, either..." Then something seems to dawn on her and she looks between the two with a sharper concern. "But....you two....the Litany...."

"Former boy friend." Basil says with a bit of relief at Aimee's reaction. "We still think about each other." He glances at Kevin. "I think. But he broke down in front of the entire Sept and told them what we were doing. And then, all hell broke loose. I guess we have something in common though. We've both fucked him, eh?" He chides to Aimee, giving her a light, playful push on the shoulder. "If he decides he wants to come back to you, and he's stupid if he doesn't, I promise you. He'll be a lot better in the sack than he was before."

"Okay," Kevin says, still in that drawl, "I should have said ex boyfriend." He gives Basil a smile that's rueful, longing and sardonic all at once. "These days it's just packmates, honest injun. Though I still can't help but think we work better together even than the average packmates, because of our history..." He turns to Aimee again, and his attempt at a poker face doesn't succeed in hiding the guilt and concern he feels.

Aimee pales a little bit at the first bit of what Basil says and hitches a breath slightly. Then, between the chiding comments and the push, she grins a bit brighter and chuckles a little. "You always work better with peeps you know close. S'always been true." She falls silent again when she looks at Kevin, thoughtfulness tinged with a spark of hope. "I don't love you any less. You'd have to do a lot worse to get rid of me. A lot worse. Like disappearing and never coming back."

"Nah. He's my packmate. And I won't let him die while I still draw breath. So uh... " Basil leans over the back of the couch between them, placing a hand on both of their shoulders. "Kevin, what do you say? You gonna be her's and treat her like she oughtta be treated?" He glances at Aimee. "And are you going to treat him good too? It's obvious she still wants ya, Kev."

Kevin winces as though Aimee has struck him a palpable blow. "We did come about the thickness of a gnat's whisker from quitting town," he confesses. "But even after everything I'm glad we didn't... I am now, that is." Slowly his hand steals towards Aimee's, and he gives Basil a peculiar look that's midway between concern and resignation.

"I'm glad you didn't, too. I've already had one friend do that. I don't know that I would've taken another." Aimee admits readily, one hand raising to curl against her breastbone. "Especially if it was you." she says firmly, reaching over and taking that creeping hand in hers. Glancing at Basil, she quirks another grin, "As if I could do any less for him? I don't do anything by halves."

Basil lifts up his hands and ruffles the hair of both, smiling, though it appears to be sadly. "You two have good luck, eh? You're tame enough, Kevin, that if you wanted to you could even be around your son if ya ever had any kids. That makes you very lucky." Basil rises up from the back of the couch, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I got a feeling you two will get along just fine now."

Kevin opens and closes his mouth a few times without any sound coming out. "I," he finally manages to splutter, "I don't believe this is happening... You two set this all up beforehand, didn't you?" he accuses, blinking suspiciously at the other two.

Aimee is not the most perceptive person, but Basil's demeanor is certainly not lost on her. She gives the boy a long, concerned look before turning to deal with Kevin. "Shit...I just met him, how could I have planned this? Hell, I always left all the truly devious crap to Jeremy before. You're giving me waaaay too much credit, Kev."

"I know you've got some Get blood, Kev, and this might be hard : But don't be dense. I just said I just met her, and you know I've never lied to you." Basil turns his back on the two, leaning against the back of the couch, though his voice remains unchanged. He lights up a cigarette, and blows the smoke away from the two behind him.

"In that case," Kevin says in a rather wavery voice, "you two are better people than I deserve, and I'm lucky to have you in my life, both of you."

Aimee smiles and uncurls her hand from her chest, leaning forward and reaching out to rest the flat of it against the side of Kevin's face. "I think we're -all- lucky...to have each other. And yes, I'm including you in that, Baz. You're good people, too." she directs this with a firm emphasis at that shirtless back.

"You obviously haven't talked to other Garou about me, then." He murmurs, then walks over to a recliner without turning around go grab his shirt. Basil pulls it on, then walks off into the kitchen for some reason or another.

Kevin squeezes Aimee's hand as Basil leaves. "You're sure you're not the tiniest little bit freaked out by all this?" he asks he again, solicitously.

Aimee looks after Basil for a moment in faint confusion and blinks, the squeeze on her hand bringing her back to the present. "I'm Kin...we learn to deal with a surprising amount of freaky things growing up. You have to in order to get by with Garou in your family." Shrugging a little, she regains her smile and continues, "Besides, if you are or were happy at some point in all this, then that's all I could ever hope for. I may act all tough and shit, but I like seeing my peeps happy."

"I was happy," Kevin says. "For about a month... I think. Then the guilt started to get on top of me... and then of course after I blabbed there was the punishment time. That wasn't much fun."

Aimee winces and shakes her head, "I can't imagine that it was. Well...yes I can, but that's because my mother is a Philodox. Nuff said." Returning the hand-squeeze, she lets out a tiny sigh and relaxes visibly. "Guilt's a killer. Don't hold stuff like that in with me, kay? Sure, you might find something that'll trip my freak-meter, but I can take a lot."

Kevin is still looking shamefaced. "I just never dreamed I could talk to you about this kind of thing without you flipping out totally. I know I would if it was me."

Aimee smiles and taps one of her fingers very gently against Kevin's nose. "That's because you're so whitebread sometimes that it hurts, hon. Don't wanna use the age card, but I do got some years on you so I've seen a lot more." Musing a moment, she flushes faintly and amends that, "A lot more on the human side of things. There's shit that you all see that I never want to."

Kevin gives a dry, humourless laugh in response to that. "Yeah, well. If you were wondering why Basil and I smelt of fish today..."

"I wasn't going to ask, really. Some things a girl just shouldn't ask." Aimee says, wrinkling her nose and chuckling, "As long as you don't keep smelling like fish, I'm happy."

"I am so leaving that line alone," Kevin vows. "So... your finals went okay? You're able to hang out here s'more?"

Aimee nods and leans into the couch a bit. "Yeah, they went well. All cool until next semester. I am mighty, I have focus. And yeah, I'll be able to come 'round a lot more. Don't know if I'm going to try finding some work or such over the summer. Yet."

"I bet Tu could use a little extra help in his 'business'," Kevin suggests. "Well, okay... do you wanna, uh... see me?" he goes on to ask hesitantly.

"God, you're cute when you get all tentative." Aimee blurts, then claps a hand to her mouth when she realizes that she did. "Brain before mouth, genius. Brain before mouth. Yeah, I do. I think I can be a bit more obvious about it."

Kevin gives Aimee a hug. A tentative one, but it's a real proper hug. "Wow," he says. "I don't know how it'll go, but I'll damn well find out or die trying."

Aimee returns the hug warmly and smiles, "I don't think it'll kill you, but only time will tell."

"And if I treat you wrong Basil will kill me," Kevin adds thoughtfully, "so..."

Aimee chuckles at that and shakes her head slightly. "I can think of lots of things that'd be worse. We'll work on it together, kay?"

"Kay," Kevin concurs. He gives Aimee a peck on the cheek, then looks behind him as though to check whether Basil is watching.

Basil pages to the room: He isn't, no.

Aimee takes advantage of the imagined watcher to kiss Kevin's cheek in kind and give a small giggle.

~I bet I get the fish and you get an old boot.~

2006-06-18T15:17:00.000-07:00

Porch
A lathe-turned wooden railing runs the length of the porch save where the steps are, well-worn with use. To the right of the stairs, a wide swing is suspended from the overhang which shelters this area; to the left, a small table is the centerpiece for several chairs pulled around it, all of which face out to the front yard and the fields and trees beyond. The spring breezes which blow through hold the promise of new growth to come, filling the space with an openness that includes all of the farm. The low shrubs planted in the rich bed of earth beyond the railing hold new leaves and tiny buds which threaten to burst into color at any moment.
An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.

Vera rubs at her jaw and stands. "If it is, we will make do. If all works well, we will have a distinct advantage."

Vera takes the few steps necessary to leave the porch. "Can anyone here drive?" She asks. There are actually, two cars in the driveway that are normally not there. One is a minivan, sorry folks, no SUV, and a small jeep. There is some sort of straw-man poking out of the jeeps' back seat.

Abraxas eyes the cars dubiously, but shakes his head. "No."

Thump-rattle-rattle-rattle. Thump-rattle-rattle-rattle. The sound of KL's approach precedes her appearance by some moments, but eventually the teenage Ahroun hoves into sight. The sound is caused by the stone she's punting in front of her, her hands shoved into her pockets and her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. A metaphorical raincloud hangs over her, a disconsolant expression on her face. When she gets close to the porch, she finally notices the assembled multitude, and ejaculates a "Fuck me!" of surprise.

Katya doesn't understand the question, but then, it probably wasn't directed towards her anyways. She growls softly at the cars as something dawns on her.

With slow treads, Reggie crosses the road, avoiding the traffic, and walks up the lane to the porch. He's hot, even for the moderate temperate for today's summer day, under his wolfskins, but sweat dots only his head and legs. His scarred brow creases as he performs a headcount of people on the porch, and he declines to add his weight to the porch, standing by the steps instead.

Emma has been there, though quiet, and when she spots the Fury Ahroun, she moves quickly in her direction. A firm look in her gaze, but one of relief as well as she leans in to whisper something to the other.

The two homid-born members of Vendetta show up together, Kevin and Basil walking up from the lane, the two of them keeping a decorous few paces apart yet obviously linked in some way. They arrive just in time to hear Vera's question, and Kevin shakes his head. "Not me," he says, "but Basil, your bike...?" He turns to his pack alpha.

Justin shakes his head, "Can't drive." He says softly then eyes the cars and the newcomers. "Tight fit."

Reggie crooks his head at Vera's question, and offers, words slowly spaced apart, as though he's reluctant to part with even one, "...I have a truck. An eighteen wheeler."

Basil glances at Kevin, with his hands in his pockets and what appears to be a lollypop stick sticking out from his lips. "Yeah. I can drive. I've driven before, and I'm more used to a bike, but I can drive." His posture is a bit more tense than usual, and on this day, he wears a pair of sunglasses.

KL smiles an unhappy smile at Emma, in response to the whisper, and shrugs. She peers at the cars. "I can't drive. But... how hard can it be?"

"I have my car, if necessary," Vera states evenly, in response to Justin. "All I need is someone to drive the van, Reggie. Looks like you're the only one who can." The Adren flashes a grin.

Kevin eyes Reggie's corpulent form at Justin's comment, and suppresses a smile. At KL's words, he suppresses another one. "Bags I not go in her car!"

Vera looks over those gathered and after a quick head count, starts giving orders. "Reggie, you will drive the van. Basil, Kevin, Emma, KL, Blackriver, and Justin will ride with you. Ethan and Abraxas, you will come with me in the jeep. Any complaints? No. Then get moving. It's an eight hour drive."

Kevin emits a low whistle. "I wish I'd brought the travel scrabble," he comments drily.

Reggie resigns himself to a ride of hell at Vera's words, walks about the van checking the tires and any loose pieces liable to fall off, then gets into the van, cranks the A/C, waits for the rest to file in, and drives the van after Vera's car, making pit stops only when Vera's car does, to the dismay of the women.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Emma's the only one who has to spend a Willpower point to push down the beast. Maybe she sat on a frog? The rest of the trip goes along without incident. :)

Abraxas sits as far away from the others as he can manage--which, is to say, not very far at all--and scowls the entire journey. To say he's being un-talkative would be an understatement. He looks as though he's ready to bite the first person to address him.

Katya looks very, very unhappy at the prospect of going in the car, almost not getting in. She then proceeds to grab a window and seat and glares at everyone during the ride. About half a hour in, she begins to stare out the window and he eyes glass over as her breathing settles into a rhythm.

Emma sits tightly coiled and oppressively quiet. There is a line of tension across her brow through most of the ride, and it seems she has the energy only to focus on keeping herself under control.

Justin does his best to catch a little sleep on the way down there, 8 hours is a long drive and best to be rested when the group arrives.

Ethan is like Abraxas' bookend--scowly and silent. He doesn't seem any more pleased to be grouped with the metis Lord than the Lord is with him. The ride in the jeep, from their parts at least, goes by quietly.

Kevin spends most of the journey staring out of the window. At one point he remarks quietly to Basil, "Where I come from, drive for eight hours, you'd end up in the sea."

KL spends the journey slumped down, leaning against the side of the truck as if half-dead, contributing to the companionable silence with her own brand of slowly seething quiet.

Basil takes the easy way out during the ride. Proving that a Bone Gnawer can sleep anywhere, about an hour into it, Basil settles in for a nap that lasts on again and off again for half the ride. "Or in France." Basil mumbles groggily to Kevin.

Vera drives in relative silence, only stopping once for gas and once for food and gas. She gives everyone a chance, a whole 30minutes, to get food and maybe use the bathroom. Feel pity for the fast food staff. Then they are back on the road again and Vera does not stop until she reaches a dirt road in god only knows where.

"I think I'd prefer the sea to France," Kevin replies, like the true Briton he is.

Never has the Denny's waitstaff faced such challenge as this. A dozen children of wolf and wolverine come sloshing through the door like an unwelcome tidal wave crashing over the hastily erected barricades of civilization - or something similarly dramatic. They flash hateful glances of fear and perplexity at the corner table, thick as it is with the musk of rage, testosterone, estrogen and plain bizareness. The truckers tucking into a late breakfast make their hasty exits; a pair of round-waisted, grizzle-haired fellows in leathers and tattoos spend their meal watching their red shoelaces and not daring to be the first to leave; the girl at the counter keeps the numbers '9' '1' readily entered on the nearby phone.

Reggie assigns one of the van's passengers to do the work of filling up, trusting that even if they're unable to drive, at least one seems able to operate a pump, as he orders a mountain of takeout, filling up the van.

Katya clearly doesn't want to be here. But neither does she want to be outside, alone. And so he sits next to Justin, looking pissed off and miserable, during their stop.

Kevin appears to approve of the late-night hours kept by American diners, and orders himself a hearty meal on Vera's tab, the ragabash as ever giving every appearance of having hollow legs. Unlike many of those present, the low-rage Briton seems to be enjoying this trip, as though it were a school outing rather than the prelude to a dangerous battle.

Justin eats lightly, as if he knows a big meal before battle might not be the best idea for him, particularly with what they are about to face. He does offer to translate for Katya however.

Abraxas eats very, very little, and what he does eat, he doesn't seem to enjoy at all. He keeps poking at the food, tearing it to little bits, peering at it suspiciously, as if he expected to find something else inside.

KL stares at her food, before picking at it rather gingerly, and staring off into space between small mouthfuls as if her mind is a very long way away indeed.

Basil takes a seat right next to Kevin, and has ordered a large patty melt smothered in cheese but minus the onions with fries. The takes his time dining, and enjoying every bite of his meal. He washes it down with coffee loaded with sugar, and remains mostly quiet, aside from occasional bits of chatter to Kevin, and Emma, to a lesser extent.

Once everyone has had a chance to get some food, Vera herds everyone back into their prospective cars. Its about another hour before she pulls up along a dirt road and orders everyone out. "Okay, here is the deal, this is where we start walking. Well, most of will be walking. Justin knows where this place is, so he will lead you to where we went earlier this week. Abraxas, Ethan, and I will be taking the jeep and starting set up on that end. Let's go." And back into the jeep she goes, taking it off road and across some pre-development land and avoiding the odd tree.

Abraxas doesn't seem in the slightest bit opposed to not having to walk the final distance--or maybe just being out of most of the other Garou's company--but he does shoot a few wary, suspicious looks at Ethan as he climbs back into the jeep and crosses his arms over his chest.

Ethan tells the others, "Enjoy the Walk," as he climbs back into the Jeep's front passenger seat. Abraxas' look gets a scowl in return, but he really has no words for the metis otherwise.

Justin grabs a small pack that he tucked under his seat and slings it over a shoulder, "Come on, its a bit of a hike." He says as he looks around to make sure the van is well hidden from the main road. He waits for the jeep to head down the dirt path before he starts down the same route.

Kevin raises one hand in farewell as the jeep party gets back into their vehicle. "Let's start yomping," he suggests to the foot-sloggers.

Reggie looks mournfully from the van to the prospective walk, as he locks up the van, checks the van's empty, and pockets the van key. He looks at the surroundings for evidence of any traffic or members of the public, before he shrugs and starts off after the jeep with slow steps.

Katya is all too happy to get out of the van, and eagerly follows Justin along. "Okay shift?" She asks him in Russian, looking around as they go down the trail.

KL glares balefully at Kevin's cheerful suggestion, and then steps closer to Emma, standing slightly behind her, obviously ready to walk to wherever they're going.

There's not far left to go. The jeep grinds through the soft mud of the pre-development landscape of stunted trees and muddy tire-marked ground. All around is the deep indigo of night, the sun's fingers having lost their grip on the edge of the world long ago. The river's stretched out from one horizon to the other, a mile and a half wide and deep and sluggish as ocean. There's an inlet pressed against its length like a tumour, separated from it by lines of marsh and stone: this is their destination. The inlet cuts into the land and the land cuts into it. The current there is still and stagnant, collecting the river's effluviam. There's no blue in the water there, it's brown and black and covered with a thin sheen of the river's spit. White speckles it, upturned bodies of fly-covered fish and boats of broken styrofoam, and amalgams of bubbly froth and diapers which drift across it looking like ghosts sucked down by gravity. A faint glow, nauseating and gently fascinating the way vomit is, drifts up off the black. Clinging to the northern edge is a recent build-up of gelatinized rubber, the tire yard's gift to this fine assortment. The stench clogs nostrils and claws at the brain, it blots out the river, the dirt, everything clean. It's chemical and rot, ammonia-soaked death. The ground for a quarter mile is blackened and bare, everything that grows there is fried and twisted, and the only animals which limp and spasm through it are the spare parts of frogs somehow melded together, legless or tumoured, bloated or with thirteen eyes.

Emma gives Ethan a smirk as he offers his best wishes to the other group, then moves to walk beside KL. The two packmates move in tense, but ready silence as they follow the leader.

Basil pitches the lollypop stick onto the floor of the van, and lights up a cigarette as the jeep drives off. "Anyone else want a cigarette before the fight?" Basil offers, gesturing the cigarette pack around, moving to walk nearly beside Kevin. He takes off his sun glasses, then simply enough, tugs down his head band enough to cover his eye.

"Okay," Kevin says, waving the cigarette away, and walking along beside Basil, with that just-larger-than-normal gap still between them. "I wish we'd brought clothes-pegs for our noses as well as the Travel Scrabble. Shall we shift, or wait?" The question's addressed to Basil, but he glances round the other garou too, unsure who's leading this party now Vera has driven onward.

Justin eyes the burnt looking ground, "You might want to hold off shifting for a while, this stuff can burn your feet and will suck in lupus to have your paw pads half rotted through before we even get there." He repeats this in Russian for his elder. "This thing might be flamable but I don't really want to fight a burning toxic monster. Also watch out, it can play with your emotions, so you might feel drained of energy. I felt it but Vera didn't seem to be effected. Not sure if it's because of her rank or if its a male female thing."

Vera has parked a good hundred feet from the river and is getting Ethan and Abraxas help with some sort of set-up. When everyone else gets there, there are two bright yellow dinghies that have been inflated with CO2 canisters, and a truly massive hook attached to a heavy length of chain. There is also that straw dummy that some may have spotted earlier and it appears to be the bait for the hook.

Katya looks disgusted by her surroundings, but gives Justin a shaky nod. Still not comfortable in homid, she shifts into glabro, boots growing to match her new shoe size.

Ethan shuts the thin Jeep door, gritting his teeth at the stench that claws at his senses. He tries to shake it off, but even the ragabash can't find anything humorous to say as he gauges the scene.

Reggie looks at Basil's offer as though it's a lifesaver, and holds out his hand for a cigarette, then he turns slowly around with uncertain movements, to face the river and crooks his head in the posture of listening. When the rest of the group continues walking onwards, he comes to himself with a jolt and resumes walking with them.

There's not a soul to be seen - it's all quiet except for the broken ribbits of broken frogs, and the violin-strum of crickets.

Abraxas is eyeing the setup with the same suspicion he gave Ethan, and the food. Invisible hackles are most definitely raised.

Emma clenches her jaws as the scene and stench hits her. "Fuck man.." she eyes KL and then Kevin and Basil. For now she seems focused on keeping herself in some kind of forced calm, waiting for the actual action to start.

Basil pauses in his step, staring out over the water for about a minute before turning to Kevin. "Stay away from the water." He mutters, then turns to Justin. "This thing." He asks, with a bit of disgruntled sounding voice. "It's a water thing, right? Like a killer whale? So it could dive at us from the water."

"Righty-ho," Kevin nods, and obediently moves about five feet further from the waterline. He peers out over the river and the inflatable dinghies upon it with interest.

Vera busies herself with putting the dummy on the hook, then she doubles up the dinghies and drops the hook and bait onto that. "Reggie, hook one end of this chain to the jeep and get ready to throw it in reverse. Everyone else, I want you in crinos and get ready to play tug of war with this thing. If this works and we can get it onto land, we'll have the advantage."

KL is distinctly underprepared - she's giving off the air of teenage-daughter-dragged-on-family-hiking-trip, but Emma's probably alert enough for the both of them. She peers at the boats with mild interest. Then her gaze moves to the frogs. "Amphibious operation," she mutters, before shifting up to Crinos at Vera's order.

Justin nods, "The ooze thing is in the umbra, nasty piece of work. The thing here should be... well, hell, I don't know. Maybe part shark part whale? Wouldn't want to fight it in the water." He keeps a bit from the edge, and moves over to the chain. He sets his pack aside, back from the water first. Then he returns to the chain and shifts upwards into crinos.

Abraxas slides up to his birthform with a low, continuous growl that begins building before he's even finished shifting. That tongue of his is quite visible in all its detestable glory, even though he's trying to keep it mostly behind his teeth.

Katya squints at the hook and Vera, as she speaks, and soon follows the other's cue and shifts into her silvery crinos form.

There's a splash in the water, followed by another. Suddenly everything's alive: animals come out of the ground like bubbles. The inlet's shore is alive with movement, as one-legged frogs hop lopsidedly out of the shallow hollows, like tidal pools, that line the water's edge, though none emerge from the black coast itself. Rats and prairie dogs, emaciated, with ribs that could be played like xylophones and eyes as weak and watery as broken eggs, come out of their holes, out right beneath the Garou's feet.

Kevin takes the war-form also. ~Where are the ropes?~ he begins to ask, but as he speaks, the ground suddenly seems to come alive with little creatures darting round his feet, and the sentence ends in a yelp of surprise.

Ethan backs up to behind the Jeep and finds a convenient rock on which to sharpen his claws. The ragabash blurs, twisting up into the war form as ordered. Once his body has filled out and he's stretched and flexed his muscles, those claws are scraped against the stone, sending brief sparks into the night as his gift is activated.

Vera is making one last trip toward the jeep when the ground erupts with dead zombie-like animals. "Ignore them!" She shouts at the top of her lungs, "they did nothing the last time and only serve as a distraction."

Bitter-Harvest curls his lip at the animals, clearly fighting the instinct to squish them. He trails after Ethan, giving the Get a wide berth, and then rakes his own claws against the same rock once he's finished.

"Do you have anything you can lay down for traction in that jeep? Like a couple bags of kitty litter or something, so it doesn't turn into a furry slip and slide?" Basil startles a little when what remains of the wild life at the shore comes bolting out of his feet, then shifts up into Crinos. ~If the animals are controlled by it, can't it see us?~

Emma draws herself up into Crinos, snorting at the smell as it overwhelms her senses. It takes her two sneezes before she can tolerate it, and then she stands at the ready, watching the tow line and standing in a place to be able to grab it quickly.

Reggie continues walking past the jeep, towards the unnaturally black water, stopping when his name's used by Vera, and he looks momentally confused. "What?", he inquires, then reacts with a jolt, "Uh, yes, yes!", suddenly eager to do the bidding, taking the chain and hooking it up to the winch of the jeep.

Truth-Stalker cringes at the emergence of the critters, clearly distracted by them indeed. But he gives a grunt and tries to stomp on any of them right under his feet then looks for the chain, for his spot to hold it to pull, when it comes to that.

Blackriver looks positively distressed by the strange animals, and begins to stomp on them with vigor.

KL joins the claw-sharpening queue, waiting until Brax is finished before attacking the rock herself, her claws striking sparks off it as she hones their edge.

There's no attack, just a look of weak, stunned confusion from the creatures underfoot. The ground wriggles with them, and they quiver with excitement, fear, or hunger; like beaten dogs they cringe before the stampede of Garou, except the frogs which hop madly, erratically, with no apparent purpose. Soon the sound of their croaking blots out the wind, it thumps against the air like a thousand drums and plays in the ear like a beating heart. Dozens of rodents scamper slowly out of the Garou's way as they advance towards the water, and dozens more just lie there, too ill or starved to hide. Those behind them, though, close in, slowly, greedily. They watch the Garou like vultures. Occasionally one slips listlessly away from the group and slinks soundlessly beneath the black water, and does not emerge.

Culls-The-Herd gets a bucket out of the back of the jeep and carries it over to the dinghies and dumps the rather nasty contents over the straw dummy. The smell of fish starts to permeate the air. ~Everyone, grab the chain now. No excuses!~ Order barked out, the Adren pushes the boat out into the water and takes several steps back, getting a grip on the chain is hooked up to the jeep and dummy/hook combo.

Stone-Spirit reaches out and wraps her paw-like hands tightly around the chain, bearing down in a tug-of-war stance as she waits.

Bitter-Harvest slides in not far from Stone-Spirit, and snatches at the chain. He gives the female Get a glance, but his focus is clearly on the chain and the swarming animals.

Blackriver flicks her ears and looks towards the water, almost tentatively taking a step forward. But Cull's order snaps her out of her trance, and although she still seems a bit distracted by something, she grabs a hold of the chain a moment later than everybody else.

Truth-Stalker has already reached out for the chain and makes doublely sure of his grip at the orders by the Sept Alpha. His body tensing a bit as he gets ready to pull his weight in this odd tug of war.

Power-Up's already-wrinkled nose displays a little more distaste still as he steps up to the chain and plants both his huge crinos hands firmly upon it.

Kills-the-Cries moves forward with Kevin, glancing briefly at the rodents and other animals before taking up his stance, and a good grip on the chain, his eyes now on the water and the dummy.

Voice takes his place in line, wrapping the chain around his arms before clamping down--for more traction--and spacing his feet in a wide, sturdy stance.

KL obeys Cull's order, gripping the chain carefully so that her razor claws don't accidentally cut through it, or any similar disastrous mishap.

Reggie settles himself in the jeep, placing his mangled hand on the gearshift and his other hand on the wheel. He braces for action, as he watches what's occurring in front of him, most of his interest on the people who're holding onto the chain. He revs the engine lightly, without moving the jeep, and secures the gearshift into reverse.

As the Garou come to a stop so do the small mammals behind them, slowly, watching, eager. They line up, more coming in behind, metres deep. Rabbits so skinny a child's hand could clench around their bellies lift themselves up on their hind legs, turning their shiny glassy eyes towards the Garou, as groundhogs whimper and mewl. Like the animals clustered around Snow White they wait, eager but patient, curious, and terribly hungry. Above crows begin to gather, darker, blacker shapes against a dark sky, flitting movements against the cloud-wrapped half moon. From the inlet a creeping, quiet song begins to sound: it's humming, soft and tuneful, between lips neither male nor female, and it calls to the Garou, gently, asking them in. The Garou respond with a gift of metal and straw; for long seconds the only sound is the river's and the broken animals' bent whines; then with disconcerting swiftness the river opens for the boat and pulls it in. There's a bristly flash of white just at the edge of the boat, and then it's all lost in the darkness again. Only bubbles remain, limply, lugubriously drifting up to the surface.

~PULL!~ Culls-The-Herd cries out, as she pulls back on the chain. ~Lets hook this fucker!~

Power-Up digs his feet into the moist earth beneath him, and with a snarl, he pulls for all he is worth.

Truth-Stalker throws his weight, in full crinos that is something, into pulling on the chain with a heave, following the barked orders.

Stone-Spirit lets out a fierce growl and then buckles down, legs planting firmly as clawed feet dig into the ground. She pulls with all her strength as the Adren's order, snarling with the effort as she moves.

Blackriver grits her teeth and leans back with all her weight.

Bitter-Harvest snarls, digging his feet into the ground and tugging with every bit of strength he can manage.

KL bends her knees and leans back, taking the strain and then exerting all the force she can muster on the chain, giving a grunt of effort.

Voice digs back claws into the thick mud and rock and pulls back on the chain with everything he has. A snarl escapes the Get's muzzle as he continues to try and drag the thing from its river lair.

Kills-the-Cries jerks on the chain at the alpha's command when the boat sinks beneath the inky water, half-grimacing, half snarling and he pulls.

Reggie releases the brake of the jeep and stomps on the gas, sending the revving jeep backwards, wheels spinning over the mud.

There's a brief moment of tension on the line. It only lasts a second but it's a second of wrenching force where the screech of the chain itself blocks out the river's siren call, it screams like a man drawn and quartered. The jeep matches it with a mellow, sluggish roar, kicking up on the hindmost Garou a thick film of filth and small stones. Then with sudden place-slipping give the hook comes slapping up along the water, sliding wetly through the soft ground on a rolling carpet of seaweed and slime. The Garou nearly topple over themselves at the sudden snap but the hook has drawn blood, or at least liquid, with small chunks of white and shiney flesh, scale-covered, embedded in its talons like skin caught beneath fingertips. The animals are unfazed: their ears do not twitch at the metal screams and they do not flinch at the shower of mud and rocks, or the tumbling of Garou, they just stand there, expectant and dead-eyed.

~Fuck.~ Escapes says, succinctly, when she's regained her balance. She looks expectantly at Culls-The-Herd, her lips curling into a snarl.

Bitter-Harvest scrambles back up, abandoning his grip on the chain. He says nothing, but his bared teeth would seem to echo KL's sentiment.

Truth-Stalker eyes the situation as he rights himself, and tries to brush off the worst of the muck he no doubt has gained. ~Re-Bait the hook, try again.~ He grunts as he glance around. ~Use the critters?~

Power-Up teeters for a second, regains his balance, and growls, letting the chain drop. At the Silver Fang's suggestion, though, he moves straight back into action, and makes an attempt to pounce on the nearest small creature within his reach.

Voice offera a dissapointed growl, but little else. He eyes the blood and flesh torn from the beast and grins a little. But, it's not enough.

Culls-The-Herd snarls savagely. ~Gaia give me strength.~ Picking up the hook, the Adren eyes the water warily. ~Those who fought this beast before said that the water was not all that deep. While I had hoped to have talens for this battle, they were never made as they should have been. It seems that we shall have to rely on our claws. Reggie, Stay in the car and be prepared to use it. I am going to hook the fucker manually. I need the rest of you to pull me out if this goes badly. Power-up, get me the thick rope from the jeep.~

Bitter-Harvest glances sharply toward Culls-the-Herd, looking as though he's not quite believing what he's hearing. Still, he reaches down for the chain again, without looking.

Blackriver blinks up at Culls-the-Herd, before flicking her ears in understanding and grabbing onto the chain.

Kills-the-Cries nearly falls on his ass at the sudden jerk, but remains on his feel with a frustrated growl. He glances at Justin when he speaks, then at Kevin and back to Culls, tilting his head briefly to one side. ~Good luck.~

Reggie jams on the brakes after seeing the hook waggle its way free across the mudlands, and the jeep shudders to a stop. He leans forward across the wheel, a brief look given to the muddier of the Garou with an awkward, brief grin, then a long, intent, stare at the movement of the black water. After Vera outlines Plan B, he starts inching the jeep forward, giving slack to the chain.

Truth-Stalker eyes Culls-The-Herd as if he can't quite believe what she's saying but only hesitates a moment before quickly picking back up the chain into his crinos claws.

Power-Up abandons his pursuit of a rabbit, and instead strides to the jeep and collects a coil of thick rope with a grim smile to Reggie, then trots over to Culls-the-Herd with it. ~May you have fortune equal to your courage,~ he says as he passes it to her.

Voice does the one thing you should never do in battle--argue with the alpha. Unless perhaps you're a ragabash. ~What the fuck are you doing?~ he asks Vera, though it's not her plan he objects to, apparently. ~At least let me go. Or better yet, the metis.~ He gestures at Abraxas. ~Not you.~

Escapes takes up the chain, and mutters ~Gaia be with you~ at Culls, and then pushes her feet into the mud ready to pull.

Bitter-Harvest gives Voice a look that could curdle milk, but shockingly enough nothing in his body language indicates disagreement. He looks from the Get to his Alpha, expectantly.

Stone-Spirit stands by, still gripping that chain as if it were the only thing keeping her from launching herself dead into the water. She looks to Voice when he offers himself and gives him a hard glare, but otherwise remains silent.

Culls-The-Herd nods her head, lips pulling back in what could be taken as a savage lupine grin. ~Almost a shame that it is another Ragabash, that is showing the most fucking backbone in this party.~

Bitter-Harvest curls his lip back. ~Order me then. I'll do it.~

Power-Up stands up a little straighter at those words of the Elder's. ~Any Ragabash would volunteer,~ he snaps. ~I would.~

Blackriver cants her head to the side and gives a look around. ~Any of us would do it.~ She snaps.

Truth-Stalker gives a bit of a sudden growl, ~There are things to use as bait that would not cost us so much if lost. Use them first. If that fails then one of us should go.~ He says firmly.

Kills-the-Cries scowls, first at Voice, then briefly at Kevin before looking pointedly off elsewhere, bracing himself for yet more tugging at the chain.

Culls-The-Herd is really grinning now, savage satisfaction on her black-furred face as she glances at Blackriver. ~If all would go, we will all go. Line up folks, we're going in for a swim.~

Bitter-Harvest drops the chain and starts forward at a swift, predatory stalk. His hackles are up, and he joins Culls-The-Herd without looking at her or anyone else.

Stone-Spirit gives a snarl at the new command, throwing her hold on the chain so that it clatters to the ground below. She moves quickly then, her tension and rage nearing its peak as she moves in. She finds KL and moves to run at her side. ~Stay close. We'll work together.~

Power-Up is already standing by Culls-the-Herd, so doesn't need to step forward into line. He meets Kills-the-Cries' glare with a feral toothy grin before turning to face the ominously dark water. ~Travel games, clothes pegs, and swimming trunks,~ he observes.

Only now, though at no apparent incitement, is the fear put back in the long thick rows of animals. They scatter, finally like prey, beating fast retreat towards far off holes in the ground. Famished stragglers struggle away at the speed of a roll, a rabbit pressing hard with its one good back limb, a flutter of useless movement and wasted energy, an eyeless frog moving in black broken circles.

Voice drops the chain and moves to follow Culls. ~What's that quote form Moby Dick? From Hell's heart I stab at thee?~ He gives the metis a white-toothed grin.

Truth-Stalker glares at the sickly water. ~We should try the hook at least once more. Even the best fisherman loses fish occasionally.~ He grumbles but despite that grumble he is follwoing orders and steps up to the edge of the pool, glancing at the other Garou.

Bitter-Harvest snarls in return to Voice, a fast, grating version of Melville--except Melville never hissed. ~To the last, I grapple with thee; From Hell's heart, I stab at thee; For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.~ Maybe that's not entirely a quotation. He turns to face the water.

Blackriver drops to hispo and lightly pokes Truth-Stalker with her nose. ~We should fight together. Safer. Better~ She follows the crowd, looking happy to finally get to the fight.

Reggie, secure in the jeep, begins to grin when the stranger suggests Abraxas, and he leans forward over the steering wheel, intent on the play much as a baseball fan would watch a dramatic attempt at a homerun, then he settles back in his seat, as the game takes a new turn, and Abraxas won't go alone.

Escapes doesn't say anything, but steps to the edge of the river and flexes her claws, then checks over her shoulder for Stone-Spirit.

~Maybe one of us should still carry the hook, Reggie or someone sits in the car, and we can hook it if we get a chance during fight.~ Kills-the-Cries suggests, his displeasure with the plan obvious even as he takes up a spot of his own, readying himself.

Voice rumbles out a thick laugh, nodding to Bitter-Harvest. It seems the Get understands, either way. ~Yeah, that,~ he says, and his eyes gleam golden in the night as his taloned feet hit the water.

~Suck it up, Silver Fang,~ Culls-The-Herd snaps in Justin's direction. ~Reggie, stand ready with the car. Everyone else, line up.~ Once the Garou have formed a fairly straightly line at the water's edge, Vera starts to wade in and expects the others to follow.

Bitter-Harvest seems all the more furious at Voice's laugh, but his attention is elsewhere now. He wades after Culls-the-Herd--quite close, in fact, though not enough that he's treading on her toes.

Power-Up, almost certainly not by chance, finds himself alongside Kills-the-Cries. ~Here goes nothing,~ he comments to the Bone Gnawer. ~I bet I get the fish and you get an old boot.~ And he steps blithely into the water in the wake of the two Shadow Lords.

Voice matches the Shadow Lord metis' steps, bookending Culls the Herd.

Truth-Stalker does indeed seem to suck it up, as he has to steel himself to putting foot in the gunk. He takes a deep breath, which is probably a bad idea, then concentrates hard as he steps forward into the ooze, moving along with the group.

Blackriver makes sure Justin is near her, and eagerly wades in.

Stone-Spirit moves into the water with her packmate at her side. She snarls viciously as the disgusting filth of the water soaks up over her fur, and watches intently both the water, and the alpha.

Kills-the-Cries settles into the grim walk into the water, waiting one moment before striding forward as to not gather up with all Vera and Abaraxas in one spot. ~Reverse Normandy.~ He mutters to Kevin.

Reggie's grin disappears, and he snaps his hands to the wheel when Vera addresses him. He relaxes slightly enough to be able to flex his fingers after Vera turns his attention off him, and he watches the march of the swimmers.

Escapes follows her pack Alpha in, hissing as the disgusting water strikes her fur. Her claws are stretched out ready to strike...assuming anything she can actually hit appears at any point.

Power-Up> There's a hand at your calf, or perhaps it's a bear trap. Its grip is hard as iron, and then suddenly everything beneath you is slippery as oil, but solid and vile, like you're standing on a carpet of the bodies of dead fish, still slick from the sea. It struggles to pull you down and your footing goes off: soon more is on you, a rush of thick water and seaweed fingers, all sucking you beneath.

Jihgfed pages to the room: Since you're all in a line, I propose the following somewhat arbitrary setup, unless someone objects: from left to right, Vera, Abraxas, Emma, Kevin, K-L, Blackriver, Basil, Justin, Ethan.
You paged the room with 'Kevin did say he was next to Basil as they went in.'.
Bitter-Harvest pages to the room: Okiedokey.
Truth-Stalker pages to the room: I think Blackriver was going next to Justin.
From afar, to the room, Blackriver would be next to Justin.
Stone-Spirit pages to the room: Should I then wait to pose until after Vera and Abraxas?
Reggie pages to the room: He's setting the order of people going into the water. Would Jihgfed also like that to be the pose order?
Jihgfed pages to the room: Okay, sorry. I just arbitrarily pulled it from the order of people coming into the room. Left to right: Vera, Abraxas, Emma, Kevin, Basil, K-L, Blackriver, Justin, Ethan.

As the line of garou wade in, Power-Up suddenly lets out a sharp wordless cry, and he bends at the waist, his hands entering the water in an evident attempt to attack someone or something that's just below it by where his legs disappear under the surface.

Stone-Spirit lets out a snarl and starts flailing and slashing at the water immediately around. ~It's on me. Has my leg,~ she calls out. And then she starts really focusing her attacks, sending those sharpened claws down into the water to try to slash at the ooze and slime grabbing her leg.

The water is still and thick with sludge. It's warmer than it should be, an unhealthy heat comes from it, radiating off the surface of the water, making things blurry and indistinct. The smell is oil and chemicals, a deep, nauseating, inorganic smell. As they move deeper diapers butt against them like small aimless boats. Despite the complaints of a few, the water is still, and thick.

Blackriver's body tenses as she's covered in the slick, oily water, the smells and feeling irritating her skin and brain. When Kevin and Emma call out she eagerly runs to claw at the water around their feet.

Truth-Stalker goes on heightened alert, as he stays keenly aware of anything near him and looks to the water's surface to find a target. The line as it is, means that he can't get down to help Power-Up or Stone-Spirit without breaking the line and for now he holds his place and moves forward in the muck. ~Better not be a prank.~ He grumbles as he glances down the line to watch for anything obvious.

Bitter-Harvest turns his head sharply, growling in the direction of the two that have apparently been snagged. He gives a little jerk in place, as if just stopping himself from moving toward them, and curls his claws.

KL slashes away at the area that Stone-Spirit is attacking - it's rather undirected, but she's putting a lot of effort into it, anyway.

Kills-the-Cries doesn't hesitate at all when he sees his packmate in trouble after hearing his cry, and steps forward a few sloshing steps to strike into the water with his clawed mitts with a snarl.

~Abraxas, try and grab the Walker,~ Culls' orders, eyes fixed on the water. ~Justin, KL, help Blackriver.~

Bitter-Harvest needs no further encouragement. He bolts toward Power-Up, teeth bared, and attempts to latch onto his middle and pull.

As the center of the line is attacked, Voice speeds up a bit, curling inward to hopefully help encircle the metaphorical Moby Dick. His claws plunge into the thick, murky depths hoping for a strike.

Truth-Stalker moves to help Blackriver as ordered but snarls out, ~Who feels something, who is under attack, or is it just trash under the water?~

The stillness of the water is suddenly broken as the mild thrashing of Garou struggling for footing is replaced, on one end at least, by the massive, bludgeoned uprooting of Voice-of-the-Unspoken tumbles nearly out of the water, slung backwards five feet; he goes under but snaps up immediately, luckily finding his paws against the sharp rocks of the riverbed. Two Garou converge on Power-Up, while Stone-Spirit only gets one: there is a tug-of-war at work with werewolf flesh as the rope, and though the strain is fierce no ground is gained or lost, though the ground is slippery with grease and algae. There is, still, a sense almost of expectancy over the place, a dead, dreary kind of calm.

Jihgfed pages: You take a point of non-aggravated damage from the wrenching.

~Something has me,~ Power-Up gasps a little redundantly as he continues to slash at the water by his legs, while he tries to yank the leg which is evidently being attacked free by bracing his other leg on the riverbed and pulling with all his strength.

~Shut up and fight Clean-Claws!~ Kills-the-Cries shouts without turning around, slashing at the water with his claws in an attempt to hit whatever is beneath it, working closer to Kevin. Despite not hitting anything to his knowledge, the Garou succeeds in kicking up a torrent of water. ~Tentacles!~

Culls-The-Herd snarls silently and trudges forward, aiming for the center of the inlet. Her hands search through the muddy water, looking for a target to ram the giant hook in to.

Bitter-Harvest shifts his strategy, shouldering into Power-Up while sliding into a crouch, one arm wrapped around the Ragabash's waist. The other grapples for whatever has his leg.

Truth-Stalker lunges deeper into the water, not going to pull on Power-Up but instead trying to move further in to target a body length or more down to try to target what likely as a grip of Power-Up.

Voice shakes the little birdies out of his eyes and tries to draw a breath. It takes the stunned garou a moment or two before they will obey, but he is soon back on his feet and moving back toward the line.

Stone-Spirit continues her snarling as she is aided by her packmate. Claws continue to strike down into the water as she seeks to tear and thrash apart the slime below. ~Yes. Something is *grabbing* me,~ she replies with effort strained through her voice.

Blackriver continues to slash and tear at the black slime below her, snarling and tossing her head in mock bites at the air but not daring to put her head under the water.

Reggie watches the bathers play in the water, as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

Escapes seems confused about what she's supposed to be attacking, but decides to strike at whatever Stone-Spirit is attacking, for the moment.

It doesn't take long for the wet battlefield to erupt in chaos. The enemy is invisible but everywhere: they can all feel it now, beneath the thick foam and detritus, roiling around, mad now. In a half a second, with a sudden wrenching show of force that nearly pops limbs from joints, Stone-Spirit disappears in a cloud of bubbles. Voice is on his feet and ready to go; Power-Up is fighting an even struggle though the sound of wrenching stretching muscles seems almost audible even beneath the terrible splash of black water. Everyone who wants one has a piece, now: claws tear bits of flesh and bone, full of fur and scales, superficial though at least clear filmy blood is drawn. A rat, slung about by its tail by the fury of Kills-Cries' claws, goes slinging from beneath the water's surface, to crumple on the land not too far distant.

~I've found it!~ Culls-The-Herd bellows at the top of her lungs and placing both clawed hands on the hook, drives it into the water and her target. She is attempting to shove it as deeply as she can manage into the soft flesh she has discovered, rather then 'hook' it.

Bitter-Harvest seems only more enraged by the struggle, though he keeps an even effort on clawing at the water and holding onto Power-Up.

~Told you... I'd catch it!~ Power-Up howls with wild gallows humor to Kills-the-Cries as he abandons trying to keep his balance, relying on Bitter-Harvest's strong arms round his waist to hold him upright, and redoubles his efforts to either free his leg or else haul the part of the subaqueous creature that grips it above the surface so he can take a free slash at it with his claws.

Escapes drops to her knees, trying to find her submerged packmate, clawing at anything that feels tentacly, and reaching, intending to tug Stone-Spirit back to her feet, or at least clear of the water.

You paged Jihgfed with 'At the risk of complicating things, this would seem an appropriate time for Kevin to have a pop at calling on his Get past-life?'.

Truth-Stalker does his best to wade through the madness, doing his best to get to where Culls-The-Herd is, focused on trying to help her since she seems to be a bit off on her own as these things go. He gives a roar and a growl as burns rage to try to get to the Sept-Alpha's side to aid her in her fight against the body of the 'thing'.

Blackriver lets out a roar as she continues to slash and claw at the fish thing, putting more energy into her attacks. She glances once at Truth-Stalker, making sure that he's alright.

Stone-Spirit finds herself submerged in the vile waters, but it doesn't stop her attackes. Wherever she is held, she thrashes at, claws propelling through the water in an attempt to damage it enough to find release from it. If she's stuck below with it, then she'll at least kick its ass before she's done.

Voice sees Stone-Spirit go under, and whatever sluggishness remained in him disappears immediately. He lets out a roar that rivals Culls' call, and then he launches himself toward where the other Get was. He goes under after her, adding his own claws, and teeth, to the effort to free her and pull her out.

Kills-the-Cries doesn't even notice the unfortunate rodent he sends sailing through the sky, and redoubles his assault on the unseen beast. He leans forward further and cries out in a rage, focusing rather intently on freeing his packmate of the terror from the shallows.

Jihgfed pages: Ah, Scandinavia. Land of vikings, sea-monsters, and a certain Ahroun named ~Cleaves-the-Sea-in-Two~ who fought her way to Adren diving head-first into Wyrm-infested waters. Some even argue that parts of the Beowulf story are based on her, though that's besides the point. At any rate Kevin is suddenly and strangely invested with a bizarre clarity: his panic lessens, his movements smooth, it's like he knows what to do - like he's been doing this all his life.
Jihgfed pages: Holy crap, two successes on two dice, difficult 8.
You paged Jihgfed with 'Woo! Not Hjalmar Claws-of-the-North. Kev will be amazed to find he's got another one in there!'.

And as Power-Up struggles, suddenly his body seems to jerk, and take on an extra level of strength. He no longer relies on Abraxas for balance; instead he plants his free leg firmly on the river bed once more, and his claws, instead of flailing at the water rather wildly as they have been doing, strike into the oily liquid, more focussed, more targeted. There's rather a strange look on his face.

Whatever the cause, Bitter-Harvest doesn't seem to care. He frees the arm around Kevin's waist and burrows headfirst into the water, trying to reach the enemy.

Stone-Spirit comes thrashing up back above the water line like a fish at the bottom of a boat, a wild flipping slapping motion that allows her another breath but doesn't free her, and she sinks back down; her efforts though have given Escapes time to slide in after her, almost underneath, and though the water slows her limbs her sharpened claws slit through fur and scale like they're slicing ribbons. Voice, with a mad thrashing rush like a child storming through the shallow end, all white water and fury, comes down almost on top of her: he sinks his claws deep into its flesh and comes out with handfuls of dead rivergulls and spine-snapped toads. Kills-the-Cries rakes ribbons of flesh away from the top of the creature, where it's close to the surface and his arms can snap like pistons, trying to peel it from his packmate; though Power-Up doesn't need the assistance. With one quick, surgical move he snips down like a heron taking a fish and though there's still an iron grip like a neanderthal's arm against his leg, it's an arm now severed at the shoulder. Blackriver goes diving and gets a mouthful of water and filth and filmy blood. Culls-the-Herd has landed her hook.

Truth-Stalker growls a warning. ~Culls-the-Herd! It's surrounding you!~ Even as he continues his mad lunge deeper to try to get to the side of the very person he just warned, cutting his way with his claws if he as to, doing all he can to fight forward through the muck and the creatures.

Once more pulled under, Stone-Spirit is fueled by rage as and frustration as she becomes like a giant rag doll to this beast. Unleashing that rage upon it, she drives her free limbs into a whirlwind of attacks upon anything that ends up remotely solid and beneath her.

Power-Up howls out in triumph in strangely archaic, though comprensible, Mother's Tongue. ~Die, thou evil creature, and let this place be cleansed of your deviltry!~ He goes splashing through the water towards Culls-the-Herd, the severed thing still gripping his leg and trailing in his wake. ~Do thou pull up thy fish, Warleader, and I will pull with thee!~

Since his original target is moving, Bitter-Harvest comes up out of the foul water with a snapping, growling start, and plunges after Power-Up. He's going to his alpha.

Blackriver looks up and sees the Get and Fury pileup on the creature from the deep. Eagerly, she begins to head towards it until she hears Truth-Stalker's cry, and turns to rush to aid him and the sept alpha.

~No fucking shit!~ Culls howls out in return. ~Reggie, the truck!~ Even as she calls out, the Adren lashes out at the soft flesh of dead-things that surrounds her. Claws driven by Rage and frustration.

Voice pushes the dead foul and frogs out with gushes of black and white water. Dead legs and wings flip upward, surreal against the night sky for a moment before landing with dead splashes. The Get does not stop. He digs like a mole, trying to gut the miserable thing.

Escapes continue her efforts to free Stone-Spirit, letting out a roar of pure rage as she redoubles her exertions, her arms driving spray in all directions, like grizly hunting salmon.

Jihgfed pages: Oh by the way, you heal another non-agg.

Kills-the-Cries looks up when he hears Power-Up's odd call, then look towards the others. The Garou starts down further into the muck with the rest, following where he thinks the tentacle was, yelling to echo Vera. ~Step on it!~

At the cry, Reggie sets the jeep into action, starting it rolling slowly backwards, taking up the slack until the chain turns taut, then he presses on the gas.

More than one Garou follows Kills-the-Cries' order: very gradually the chain goes taut, arching up above the water line like a tug's tow, filthy now with foam and polystyrene; also Bitter-Harvest's paws come down straight on the creature's slimy skin, slick and lumpy as pomade, like he's walking on a carpet of dead fish. He finds no traction and he hits the water hard, four-legged now and with the thing slipping chains of flesh around his arms. Power-Up, unlike Bitter-Harvest, makes his way neatly, almost mincingly, with practiced ease slicing through the water like the Cutty Sark, passing the Shadow Lord with ease if he chooses. Culls-the-Herd lays into the thing that's squeezing her like a fist, her palms hitting water with a resounding slap that's more sound than fury, despite the rage in her eyes; it's Clean-Claws who really gets his hands dirty, digging in deep and carving his way through small dead things, their round black eyes dark as the water. The two members of Havoc endeavour to do their totem proud, and the fierceness of their assault sprays water as hard and wild as a weedwacker in a swimming pool - the efforts of the Fostern Get are almost an afterthought; Stone-Spirit's paws find the ground and she emerges in rage and fury, draped in a cloak of rodents and fish, sewn together in long looping scintillating rings and hanging luxuriously from her shoulders, all fur and scales and dead wild eyes.

The insult rather than the injury seems to drive Bitter-Harvest into a snarling fury of teeth and claws. He turns on whatever bits of the monster he can reach, straining against whatever hold it attempts.

Finally free of the waters, Stone-Spirit takes in large, gulping breaths of air; which while not the freshest, is still a far cry better than the plagued water she was submerged in. Clueless to the plans that erupted while she was underneath the surface, she scrambles and looks posed to continue going back to shred at the beast that had tortured her so.

Truth-Stalker is doing his best to carve his way through the flesh to get to Cull's side, and release the squeeze on her. His claws digging and slashing with a fury most might not imagine 'clean-claws' capable of, and with a hint of desperation in his actions as he tries to carve a route.

Blackriver lets out a roar and runs towards where the monster seems to be. She claws at in wildly and moves to sink her razor sharp teeth into its rotten flesh.

Kills-the-Cries seems to have given up on the tentacles and is charging head long into the water as fast as his water logged legs will carry him, sloshing on the right, trying to move past both Truth-Stalker and Vera.

Voice gets one look at Stone-Spirit and proclaims, ~All you need's an Easter bonnet, now.~ The quip is accompanied by a grimace of teeth and then the Get is off, sludging through the toxic bath to the alpha's aid. He picks and chooses now, aiming his strikes more carefully to try and help cut her free.

Her packmate having escaped the clutches of the evil rivermonster, Escapes turns her attention to the Sept-Alpha, at the centre, striding towards her, hoping that that's where the vulnerable bits are. If it has any.

Reggie studies where the chain's disappeared into the water, and slowly increases the gas to ease the thing out of the water without, hopefully, just ripping another chunk out of it.

Culls-The-Herd's attention is very focused on the thing squeezing her legs and drives her claws straight into the water, digging deep in an attempt to pull out chunks of the things hide.

Sure-footed still, almost unbelievably so, Power-Up stands shoulder to shoulder with Culls-the-Herd. ~Here lies our foul target!~ he roars out in tones loud enough to raise echoes in the night, and once more his claws slash into the water, close to the Shadow Lord's.

Small animals continue to be tossed from the water, carved from the thing with heat and hatred. With a crunch and a heave Voice pulls from the thing the entire carcass of a dead dog, its hindquarters showing bone, its face still perfectly preserved in dull, lolling blankness. It's apparent now just how large the creature is, it spans dozens of square feet, spread across all the Garou there, amoebic and vile. Slowly, slowly by inches, it crests the water line, the rodents and amphibians falling away from it like dried up flakes of skin.

Her odd cloak still about her, Stone-Spirit thrashes wildly once to try and shake them free from her, then nods to Escapes and moves to find a meaty part of the emerging beast. With a visual to what she wants to attack, Stone-Spirit goes no holds barred on the beast now. ~Tear it into shreds!~

Culls-The-Herd abruptly howls out in pain, clawed hands thrashing out at the bits of monster around her legs.

The insult rather than the injury seems to drive Bitter-Harvest into a snarling fury of teeth and claws. He turns on whatever bits of the monster he can reach, straining against whatever hold it attempts.

Voice wrinkles his muzzle at the sight of the half-dog. It gets tossed to the beach with the rest of the detritus, and he continues with his work. As the black veil of water reluctantly reveals the size of the thing responsible for all this, he mutters a curse, ~Great Gaia's tits, this is a mess.~ He licks his muzzle in distaste and sets to work yet again.

Kills-the-Cries doesn't hold anything back as he finds himself on the creature's side. With his heavy, glove coated paws, the Ahroun lets out a mighty roar and starts in on the creature with all his might, digging into the dead bodies of creatures long expired and sending them flying in all directions.

Blackriver is a snarling bitting clawing machine at this point, rending and tearing as she digs her way in deeper.

Truth-Stalker is doing his best to aid Culls, claws digging into the gunk, but not biting. Definately not using his mouth but eagerly digging his claws into the gunk to try to aid the Alpha and free her from the center of the beast.

Not going psychotic isn't Reggie's strong point, but then it's not any Garou's strong point. Reggie roars out as the jetsam of the river makes its appearance at the surface, and he pounds the horn irrationally.

It's hard to tell how much damage is done, as the creature is underwater, the riverbed's now littered with the corpses of small broken animals. With a great deal of speed and suddenness, the bulk of the thing starts moving, trailingly uglily and awkwardly and rapidly through the water, Vera still in tow, gathering up any Garou in its path. As it moves into shallower and shallower water more and more detritus collapses from it; claws everywhere cut into it and leave glistening lines, wild cleaves, seeming to cleave empty spaces into the water itself as rage and spite digs holes. About halfway to the shore Culls-the-Herd tumbles from her rapidly disintegrating prison and into the shallow water. Once again, with a strange, almost unsettling suddenness, everything is quiet. All at once with a nauseating rush a thousand small bodies all shoot to the surface like bullets, bouncing up from momentum and then just hanging there, bobbing, waiting, stiff as taxidermist's dummies.

Culls-The-Herd falls into the filthy body-riddled water and pops back out, sputtering and gasping.

Truth-Stalker looks around to make sure there is no target left, and takes a little swipe at some of the dead things to make sure they really are dead.

Bitter-Harvest continues clawing at the thing, heedless of whether it's dead or not.

Blackriver continues her biting and clawing until it is very clear there is no more motion.

Power-Up gives another triumphant howl and splashes around in the water with a kind of victory dance, kicking at the bodies and body parts around him in the shallows, uncaring of that severed gripping thing still wrapped round his leg.

Kills-the-Cries pants for a brief moment before kicking at the water in front of him, before raising a hand into the air. ~Today, Gaia triumphs! We are victorious in Her name!~

Truth-Stalker staggers to the shore and tries to shake the worst of the stuff off of him. He looks around, as if still unsure the battle is over.

Culls-The-Herd looks around herself and snarls softly. ~Anyone care to give me a hand... Having a little trouble just standing over here.~ The Adren's words are strained and she does appear to be in a fair amount of pain. ~Someone else will have to drive the jeep back.~

Bitter-Harvest gives the thing, or things as the case may be, a few final clawswipes, and then begins wading through the bodies toward Culls-the-Herd. He's looking generally murderous.

Truth-Stalker moves over to that pack he had set to the side and digs out a yellow container of something. He opens the lid and starts to clean up... apparent the philodox brought soap! And clean water and a towel and a change of clothes...

Power-Up splashes over to Culls-the-Herd to offer support, his steps becoming distinctly shakier as he moves now the fight's over and his face taking on rather a stunned expression. ~Kills-the-Cries, we may need your driving skills yet.~

Truth-Stalker brings the water over to Culls-the-Herd. ~Need to clean those wounds.~

Reggie bursts out of the jeep, leaving the engine running but out of gear, and waddles through the sea of corpses towards the jetsam, where he gives it a resounding kick. "Ha!"

"It's easy to forget how to be a person."

2006-06-16T15:43:00.000-07:00

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)
The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a wooden door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen.
A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there.
Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Kevin is sitting with his feet up on the couch, watching the widescreen TV upon which a lot of little men are running around chasing a tiny dot of a ball. The World Cup. Every now and again he lets out a whoop or a groan, depending on who's done well.

Kaz doesn't, lately, come to the Safehouse at all often. But she clumps in the door, small bag in hand, and trails down to the Common Area, calling a friendly sort of "Yo!" as she goes.

Kevin looks as though he'd like to tell Kaz to ssh, so intent is he on the soccer, but he manages to peel his eyes off the screen for a moment. "Kaz," he greets her. "Don't suppose you've come to watch Holland play Ivory Coast?"

Kaz says, with a small grin, "Not so's you'd notice. Mostly, I came over to harass you, but I can siddown and shut up if you wanna watch people kickin' little balls." She plops the bag down on the table and flops into one of the recliners.

Kevin gives Holland a lingering regretful look but turns away from the TV. "I got something to hassle you about too," he says, "but you hassle first?"
Kaz shakes her head and sits forward slightly. "Nah-- Mine ain't much. What's with you?"

"How sussed are you," Kevin asks the Gnawer, "about the homeless and street-people in town?"

Slowly, Kaz says, "Used t'be more'n I am. But kinda am now. 'Sup with 'em?"

"One of them had a kind of fit in the park yesterday," Kevin explains. "Jumped into the fountain, started yelling. Couldn't understand most of what he said. Then he cracked his head, he'd have drowned himself if I hadn't dragged him out. He didn't smell drunk. I guess he's a bit cracked... maybe he got turned out onto the streets when the hospital blew up."

Kaz says, "Yeah, lotta them guys got fucked by that. An' it ain't like the system wants t'deal with th' long term schizophrenics." She sits back again. "What's he lookin' like, so I can maybe see what I can do for him?"

"Maybe it's being part of Vendetta instead of Requiem," Kevin explains parenthetically. "I can't truthfully say I'd have paid any heed to him before... but now... Uh, well. He was like tall, and thin, big beaky nose, long hair. And oh, yeah. That was the creepy thing. He had these scars on his hands. Like, satanic symbols."

Kaz says, "Sca-- Huh." She sits forward again, not urgently but more energized than before. "Did he have one've them jackets with elbow pads on?"

"I... dunno," Kevin replies. "He was tearing his clothes off like they were on fire. I think he had a jacket, yeah. You know the poor geezer?"

Kaz laughs, sitting back and whocking her head by accident. (Luckily, it's a padded recliner.) "He's one've us folks. I knew him in Portland. He ain't real stable, but he also ain't totally stupid. So if he's mutterin' stuff at you, he might actually have good shit to say, if you can translate from his brain to your brain. On the other hand, he might not."

"One of us?" Kevin blurts. "You mean, uh. Garou? Well, I'll say this, he was madder than a wet Silver Fang... He was saying something about things going down. Buses."

Kaz nods. "Yeah, Garou. He's a Gnawer, in case that ain't obvious." She laughs again and shakes her head. "I really gotta find him. I knew he was in town, but--" She shakes her head. "Well, anyway. His name's Giles. An' he's kinda freaked about them Dancer buses, or at least th' Chain said so. So I'd bet that's part of it."

"Dancer buses?" Kevin asks, his brow furrowing till two lines appear in the middle of his forehead.

"Yeah," Kaz says, darkly, rolling up out of the chair and starting to pace. "Th' bus system's got this shiny new logo, an' it's the damn Dancer glyph. We're, uh, kinda worried."

"How the hell did I not notice that?" Kevin says, looking annoyed. "I patrolled yesterday afternoon, right along our city turf from the marina to the park... that's where I ran into this crazy guy I told you about... and I didn't notice anything funny."

Kaz shrugs, as she flops back into a different chair. "Sometimes you don't notice shit that's right in front of your nose. Busses is just background noise, y'know?"

Kevin grunts, discontentedly. "Should still have spotted it. So what the hell is the logo of the Fallen Ones doing on a freaking bus?"

Kaz is up and pacing again. (It is, after all, her moon.) "Iiiii dunno. I sure the fuck wish I did. Are they connected to them guys that was throwing heads at us? Is it the design company, or the higher-ups at Country, or what? I got no goddamn clue. I hear Aaron's got some info, but I ain't had a chance to bug him yet."

"This is the sort of thing that the city packs should be onto," Kevin opines. "Though I don't know how operative a force Havoc is right now, they've taken a bit of a pounding lately. It may rest on us. We should tell Basil."

Kaz nods. "If he ain't already noticed. I gotta bug Yi an' Masao, too. Them bein' the actual scouts an' shit."

Kevin rubs his head, glances at the screen to check the score, then looks back to Kaz. "Okay. Now, what were you coming here to bug me about, Earsy?"

Kaz mutters, "That's a new one on me," and then shrugs. "Gotta introduce Morgan t'Patches someetime. That's all."

Kevin nods, slowly. "I wish I could make my mind the hell up about Morgan," he mutters. "Whether it's a good idea or not."

Kaz tilts her head. "Other than her bein' kinda whacked some of the time, why would it be a bad idea?"

"There's two reasons," Kevin replies, slowly. "And you won't like either of them, so perhaps I ought to shut up."

Kaz shakes her head. "No, g'on. I ain't gonna jump on you. Honest."

"One; what will the sept make of a pack with two charach and two metis?" Kevin says. "And two, I hate to say this, especially to you, but she freaks me out in a way even other metis like you or Peter don't."

Kaz says, "Well, honestly, she kinda freaks me out sometimes, too. But a lot of that isn't her being a metis, per se, it's her being raised in a basement with no contact with anyone. She's got thinkin' issues an' shit like that-- if you don't have the right kinds of contact at the right times, you ain't gonna develop th' same way other people do. So... I dunno. I honestly don't think she's ever gonna be completely right. So in a lot of ways, yeah, she ain't gonna be able to fit in th' way anyone else would. But there's a lot of things to do t'help her, I think, too, even if some've 'em might better be left to a trained teaacher." She shrugs. "But what we got is us. Now-- I can see not wantin' to take on this kind of reclamation project, an' I don't at all blame you. As f'th' other thing--" She shrugs. "I've got the luxury of not givin' a shit about how they see us, because I'm a fuckin' Bone Gnawer metis an' I've always been lowest of the low. What matters, to me, is what we do, not how they see us. But that's just me."

"Yeah. Just you," Kevin repeats. "Not that I'm not glad you're you. But I don't want people to write us off without giving us a chance, and I just bet that some people will if we set one step wrong. And Morgan... well, she's even more likely than the rest of us to give them an excuse, if you follow me..."

Kaz grabs a Coke out of her pocket. "Yah. She ain't exactly your restrained kinda person." Kaz trails off, and looks at nothing in particular for a moment. Then she refocuses. "Y'know, I admit, I am kinda uncomfortable with some of what you're sayin', but it ain't because you're offendin' me or nothin'. Mostly, it's because, when I've made packs before, it's ain't been based on how other people saw us, but on how we saw each other. We were what mattered. And if you don't like her or are freaked out by her, that's a perfectly good reason not t'add her in. And it is a good reason. But if you define your pack by other people's opinions, you can't live. You can't do shit, because you'll always be checkin' yourself."

Kevin frowns quite savagely at those words. "Yeah? Well, you know what, Kaz? Ever since I found out I was one of those crazy wolf-men, I've been defining myself by other people's opinions. Natalie's. Brom's. Dillen's. And then, when for once I actually put that aside and did something I wanted for the first time since Christmas 2004, I end up having my balls chopped off in front of the sept for it. Is it any wonder I worry what people think?" His jaw juts out defiantly at the metis. "About me, and about my packmates? About Morgan?"

Kaz takes a breath, and then lets it out. "Yeah, well, there's a few things here. I got other stuff to say, but now that you've brought it up... You have this perfect situation with you and Baz, you're perfectly fine, no one's noticing-- and then you go and fuckin' tell the world at Moot? What the fuck?" The breath she took doesn't seem to help much, as she's incredulous and somewhat pained and showing all of it.

Kevin's temper doesn't improve any at that. "We had a plan!" he snaps. "We were gonna make a break and head east. It's not my fault if Basil got cold feet at the last moment!"

Kaz says, "Uh-huh. Why tell anyone about it, though? I mean-- Fuck." She stops abruptly and sighs. "I just-- I just wish, is all. Wish you coulda not hurt y'self doin' it. Y'know?"

Kevin subsides back into his seat. "I was guilt-tripping myself out," he says. "Hell, Kaz, you're talking like we were just any old two guys, not two garou breaking the litany."

Kaz says, slowly, "I guess I ain't familiar with that level of self-sabotage. I'm... Well, I'm sorry you had that much guilt piled on you. I keep forgettin' what it's like for people that don't grow up in Gnawer Septs."

"I was being cast as the golden boy," Kevin grumbles, "and that's so not me. I've got this... destructive streak. Why I went down so well with Brom, and in Requiem. Jump straight into any fight. Wait till you see me at the weekend with that river bane, splashing away like a kid in a paddling pool."

Kaz pops her Coke open. "Yeah." She takes a sip. "Well." She shrugs. "OK. I can buy that. But the thing there is, I don' want you dyin' on me, kid. I've had enough people die on me in the past few years, an' you can talk all you want about golden boys and pressure and stuff, but you'll excuse me if I root for you not to screw yourself up?"

Kevin nods slowly. "I don't want to die," he says, "not when I think about it. Just sometimes I... do crazy stuff, okay? I'm working on trying not to..."

Kaz quirks a smile. "Yeah. Well. Good." She regards him for a long moment, silent, and then she breaks the contact and takes another swig. "So anyway, about that other stuff-- yeah, people do and are Pay Attention To You. Put pressure on you, thrust their opinions at you. It's a reality, and one I guess it ain't realistic of me to ignore. Do you want to let it define what the pack's gonna be, though?"

Kevin thinks about that one for a long moment. "Probably not," is his answer. "But if not, then what will our focus be?"

Kaz shrugs. "Us. Helpin' each other be different people. Family." She puts the Coke down. "At the larger level, Healin'. Kickin' ass in the service of healin'. That kinda stuff. All the stuff you folks was talkin' about b'fore. It ain't none of it gone away."

"Oh, yeah," Kevin says, as though he'd forgotten that he himself had told people that that was Vendetta's focus. "OK, how do we go about it, oh fostern?"

Kaz quirks another smile. "Keep doin' what we've been doin'. Work on our territory, together. Get to know each other, our fightin' styles, our styles when we can't cope, emotionally. Jam t'gether, get drunk t'gether, what all ever. Live."

"Jam?" Kevin asks, perking up a little. "You do music? I play keyboards some. That guy Tommy Gun was meant to be starting a band and I was interested, but I heard he went back to New York instead..."

"Me? Music? Nahhh." Kaz snorts. "Yeah, I play shit. I mean, f'one thing, I sing, but also flute, saxophone, whatever. I'm woodwind gal, atcher service. I busk a lot, up at the Rat'n Raven, actually."

Kevin whistles. "Don't think Basil plays a thing... but I know Bug has a kazoo. We can be a band as well as a pack. Jugband. Ragtime. Come on and hear," he sings, "come on and hear, it's Vendetta's wolf pack band." The tune is "Alexander's Ragtime Band" of course.

Kaz sings, with a credible harmony, "It's the best pack in the land," grinning as she does so.

"And when you hear those garou howlin' Dixie..." Kevin laughs, and breaks down. "Well, hell. You know, Kaz, I like you. I can relax round you. Can't always do that. Couldn't ever do that in Requiem, really. Too much pressure to be fighty-bitey."

Kaz looks a little sad to stop singing, but it's brief. "Yah, well, me. I'm all for bitin' things, just not all the time. I'm a person, too, an' I do my work better if I can be a person, some of the time, an' not just some automaton of a killin' machine, y'know?"

"It's easy to forget how to be a person," Kevin says wistfully, and looks at his fingernails as an excuse not to look at Kaz.

Kaz's smile is almost fond. "Yeah. Well. I ain't gonna let you forget, an' I bet Baz ain't, neither. So resign y'self t'havin' an actual life, hey?"

"Basil," Kevin remarks, "is like my conscience these days. He's Jiminy Cricket to my Pinocchio... and if that simile breaks your brain, imagine how it makes me feel."

"I can see that, actually..." Kaz trails off. They continue the discussion, touching on various issues, and then Kaz, unable to resist, breaks back out in more ragtime. Kevin joins in, and the conversation fades naturally to a close.

"If I thought I could do it safely I'd call 911 for you."

2006-06-15T20:07:00.000-07:00

Harbor Park -- Fountain
Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.
The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its feet.
Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.

It's good to be in a pack again, on the whole. But a pack has responsibilities as well as benefits, and Kevin isn't unaware of that, neither is he inclined to shirk his duties. And so it is that he comes walking along the road which fronts onto the river, sauntering at a quick easy pace towards the park, eyes flickering back and forth to look for anything which is out of place or abnormal in this, Vendetta's newly claimed territory.

The park is less active than it might be this afternoon, thanks to the steady rain that's been falling most of the day. Only a few umbrella-wielding dogwalkers and rain-heedless joggers can be seen. Them, and one single sodden, shabby figure sitting hunched on the lip of the fountain, head bent and arms folded close against his chest, muttering and mumbling. Nobody's near him; nobody seems to want to be near him.

A guy who's been burnt by balefire and castrated by silver isn't going to be disheartened by a little rain, or even a lot. Kevin strolls on into the park, looking quite nonchalant. Once inside, he slows down somewhat, walking towards the middle of the green space. At one point he pauses and stoops to pick up a small object from the ground -- a bird's feather.

An inarticulate cry goes up from the bum at the fountain, and then there's a splash as the man throws himself bodily into the five-foot-deep pool surrounding the concrete and steel ornament. More than one rainy-day parkgoer pauses to look in that direction as the man thrashes about mirthlessly, teeth bared in a rictus.

Kevin's attention can hardly fail to be drawn by that commotion. He pushes the feather inside his tracksuit and takes long strides towards the fountain, not quite running, but moving almost as fast as the average person's run, to investigate.

Some people point. Others turn uncomfortably away and hurry onwards, not wanting to get involved. Giles, paying no attention to any of them, continues to thrash about, grunting, grimacing, tearing at the buttons of his shirt and the knot of his tie. As Kevin draws close, the madman cracks himself a good one on the back of the head against the lip of the fountain and sags back in a daze, his prominent nose slipping under the surface of the water.

Kevin arrives just in time to see the tattered lunatic knock himself well-nigh cold in his fit. "Whoa," he comments, and jumping up onto the stone surround of the fountain, he tries to grab hold of the dazed man and pull him above water before he can drown. He looks round for a moment as he makes the attempt, either looking for help or checking whether people are watching, or maybe both.

Those who looked remotely concerned seem satisfied that someone is taking care of the problem and are relieved it's not them. Chalk one more up for urban indifference. Giles is a tall fellow, but bony underneath his cheap clothes, and Kevin has no trouble hauling his head above the water's surface. Gasping, Giles fixes wide, wide eyes on Kevin, his mouth opening and closing like that of a drowning fish.

Kevin grunts with the effort of hauling the madman out of the water. "Breathe, dude, breathe," he instructs. "Damn, how much have you had to drink?"

The man's breath is bad, worse than a dog's, but he doesn't smell of drink. He gawps at Kevin for a few more seconds, and then manages, "How, how-how, how-ow-ow--" Another thrashing movement nearly pulls him out of the youth's grasp, and he claws again at the front of his shirt with a cry, popping a few buttons as he rips it open like Superman. Only without the spandex. Or the muscles.

Kevin seems to make a quick revision of the soaking wet man in his hands, from drunkard to psychotic. "Oh man," he says, "I am so close to calling 911 on you... Get out of that water," he commands, pulling at him to try and extricate him from the fountain, "take a deep breath and tell me who the hell you are and what you thought you were doing."

"Out," gasps the madman, splashing away from Kevin, struggling out of shirt, tie, and suitjacket like the touch burns him but he can't quite remember how to get the damned things off. "How how, how... how out, out out!" The long 'o' words are barked out, ripping forcibly out of his chest and past his teeth. Underneath the soggy dress shirt, a secured, plastic harmonica case dangles from the end of a thick cord; free of its bindings, it swings with the violence of its owners motions. "Out-out! Out-out!" He gets one skinny, scabby arm free, and the limb is marked with long scratches, as if he'd been playing with a mighty big cat.

"Out, yeah," Kevin repeats as the man struggles out of his hands and starts tearing at his own clothes. "Out of that water before you drown yourself. God," he adds, as much to himself as to the crazed one, "I hope they didn't just throw you out on the street when the hospital went up."

Giles abruptly stops struggling with his attire and stares at Kevin, nostrils flaring visibly. "...Up," he says softly. "It went up, up, up, up, uh--" He claps his free hand over his mouth, muffling himself.

Kevin inadvertently looks up at the sky and gets a raindrop right in the eye. "Man," he grunts, "you are really on another planet." He makes a movement as if to leave, but pauses. "You got someone who looks after you?" he asks, reluctantly, as though talking to the madman is an unpleasant experience not to be prolonged.

Giles splashes his way to the edge of the fountain pool, leaving his shirt and jacket behind (the tie, somehow, manages to stay on, albeit loose and dead-crooked) and reaches a pentagram-scarred hand toward the young man. His expression is urgent. "The bus," he says insistently. "The bus is down."

Kevin looks at the man's scarred hand and his face twists in distaste. "Down? Down where? Downtown? Down with a flat tire? Down?"

"Down," Giles repeats, looking antsy. He looks around, past Kevin, and even up, toward where the moon would probably be visible if not for the overcast, drippy sky.

Kevin shakes his head in incomprehension. "You've lost the plot, man," he says in a voice of sympathy which overlies disgust. "If I thought I could do it safely I'd call 911 for you. As it is... don't jump into fountains and drown yourself." With another grimace Kevin turns to go.

Thankfully, the madman doesn't pursue, but he does continue to stand there in the water, in the rain, shirtless and shivering, looking vaguely helpless and lost. His lips move, but he speaks too softly for the departing Glass Walker to hear clearly. Something about the color yellow.

Kevin chews his lip very thoughtfully as he walks away. He too says something that's hard for the other to hear. It might contain the name 'Olga'.

"The only implications in my words are those you choose to see."

2006-06-14T16:29:00.000-07:00

Burial Mounds(#3207RJ$)
This wide clearing in the midst of short, dark pines is rough with wild grass and bare stone. The air is a bit cooler up here in the foothills than below, and the majestic peaks of the nearby mountains rear up over the eastern treetops. There is a vine-covered boulder standing under the edge of the somber evergreens to the east. The air here is prenaturally still and the grass waves not at all for there is no breeze that blows through the pines. It is silent, no call of bird thrown from the treetops to dance gaily in the open spaces. Occasionally chill fingers run up your spine.
There are +views here.
A faint path leading downhill to the west is the only exit from the clearing.

Small ceramic bowls with pungent herbs burn around the body of the fallen Silver Fang, warding off flies and making the worst of the smell. Vera is seated a small distance away and reading a book, not paying much attention to anything else at the moment.

Treading quietly as befits this place of the fallen heroes, Kevin comes slowly walking through the woods and towards the place where one garou sits guarding another's body.

Vera looks up from her book, slipping a book mark into place as she does so. "Hello."

Kevin looks at Clemency's lifeless body, and then back to Vera. "I heard," he says sadly. "I thought I'd come out and make sure it was true."

The body itself is surprisingly clean and any visible wounds have been carefully stitched closed. "Death claims us all eventually, Ahrouns more quickly then most," Vera states evenly, setting her book down on the ground beside her.

"By that argument, we ragabash should have the longest lifespans of all," Kevin points out. He seats himself, careful to ensure that the tussock he sits on is a mere swelling of earth and not the grave of some hero or heroine. "Were you there?" he asks. "I heard from Dillen and Grey, but neither of them was."

"I was. I carried her back here," Vera replies easily. "Why do you ask?"

"I suppose," Kevin drawls slowly, "I was curious to know what could kill someone like Clemency. It seemed to be a general opinion that she was one of the top two or three cliaths in the sept when it came to a scrap."

Vera says "There were four or five of them, but only one Clemency and a Fostern Ragabash to aid her."

"'Them', I assume, being the Dancers." Kevin pulls a face of distaste. "Still never looked one of those in the eye. I almost feel sorry to have been in the city when this fight went down. Almost," he repeats looking at Clemency's corpse once more, "but not quite."

"Would you run from them instead, tail tucked between your legs?" Vera asks, a touch of impatience entering her voice.

"No," Kevin says in carefully measured tones. "No, I like to think I would not. Any more than I intend to do so when the time comes to serve at the tire fire, as has been ordered. With respect, Vera-rhya, I find the implications in your question uncalled for."

"The only implications, are the ones you choose to see," Vera responds easily. "You are the one who implied having no desire to fight them. But perhaps, I am viewing the implications in in your words incorrectly."

Kevin frowns at Vera for a moment and seems about to make an angry retort, but then he laughs instead. "Vera-rhya," he says, "I bow to you. Your control of words is something I can only aspire to feebly, great ragabash. But truly and seriously," he goes on, "I am not a coward. Ask anyone in this sept if they have ever known me flee from fighting the Wyrm or its creatures. You won't be able to find one."

Vera chuckles dryly. "I will accept your word for that. Is there anything I may help you with?" The Adren asks, brushing aside a fly that buzzes to close.

"I thought I should be asking you that," Kevin says. "They said at the farmhouse you'd been here pretty much since the weekend. Guarding, uh... her. Do you... need anything? Food? Supplies? A sleeping bag?" Kevin seems eager to please; perhaps a little too much so.

Vera's weathered face produces a few more wrinkles, as she peers at the young Walker. "I sleep in lupus, while Dillen and Laura have been relieving me often enough to eat. Although, I thank you for your offer."

Kevin nods, and is silent a few moments. Then he blurts out "Why?" and looks at Vera with a look midway between puzzled and angry. "Why're you sitting shiva for her like this? If you were packmates or something I'd understand... but your tribe hates hers. Everyone says so."

"Because I am Alpha of this Sept," Vera states, flatly. "I am responsible for all of you, in life and in death. I don't care if you don't like me, or even if you hate me, I know my duties and I intend to fulfill them."

Kevin falls silent again before responding, eventually, with "Good answer." He fidgets round to face Vera. "Either you truly believe that, or you can say it in an impassioned enough way that it sounds like you do. Either way, you rock, Vera-rhya."

"I have seen too many packmates and good Garou fall around me to think otherwise," Vera continues, tone darkening some. "I will not see any more fall then is unavoidable and I will always honor those that do."

"And if I die at the tire fire, as seems entirely likely," Kevin goes on, in a jaunty air that belies the sombre subject of his words, "will you honor me? Or will it be a matter of, thank goodness that nasty charach's dead, let's dump his corpse in the river and forget about him?"

Vera snorts. "You've been punished. I will honor all who die a good death. All stand a chance of being redeemed, if their crime is not so great that they are put to the death."

Kevin digests that with a thoughtful look. "Okay," he says. "You've given me some answers and I'm grateful. If I do make it through the fire, who knows, I may yet amount to something. Will you be there at the battle, do you know, Vera-rhya?"

Vera leans back a little, watching the Walker for a moment. "I will be there." The Adren continues to study Kevin. "You were weak, in that you allowed your feelings for the Gnawer to take precedence over your common sense. You have learned what happens when you give in to weakness. Let me tell you of a Glass Walker Theurge by the name of Jason Speaks-With-Spiders. While your weakness lay in your lust, his lay in his pride."

Kevin sits forward with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He appears to be listening intently.

"While Jason Speaks-With-Spiders was able to pass his Rite of Passage, his skills were poor. He lacked the patience to deal with any of the more volatile spirits," Vera begins. "He hated that there were Cliath Theurge in the Sept that were far better at dealing with the spirits. For the most part, not many payed attention to him and in time, his skills seemed to improve. He created a number of Talens that proved very useful to the Sept and earned him great Wisdom."

Kevin nods approvingly, but otherwise keeps silent.

"He joined a pack and even started bucking for Fostern, by the time I made my Adren Challenge," Vera continues. "I challenged a Theurge of your Tribe and he laughed at me and set me a task he thought that I would never complete. Many Walker kinfolk, mostly female, had disappeared over the last year and no-one could figure out why. The Adren himself has been searching for answers for many months, but had found none. His weakness, was his unwillingness to look beyond the spirits for answers."

Kevin shakes his head sadly. "Tunnel vision is a sad thing," he says sanctimoniously.

Vera draws in a breath and continues. "I looked to the Sept and not its spirits for answers. With the aid of my packmates, I found what had happened to the kinfolk. Jason Speaks-With Spiders had been trading them to the Spirals in return for Talens and information that made him look good in the eyes of the Sept."

Kevin gives Vera a very reproachful look at that. "I hope you do not think for a second that such shameful deeds are in any way typical of Roach's followers," he protests.

"All but one of my old pack were of Roach's brood," Vera snaps in return, moon clearly weighing on her temper. "Do not assume to know my thoughts and beliefs."

"The only implications in my words," Kevin fires back with a triumphant grin, "are those you choose to see."

Vera's lips purse and the lines around her mouth eventually ease. "I am sensitive when it comes to my old pack," she admits.

"We are all sensitive in our own way, Vera-rhya," Kevin points out. "I don't know about you, but I've found that being a ragabash, half the skill of your auspice is finding out other people's sensitive points, and the other half is learning when it's safe to poke at them and when it's not."

"That is one point I would recommend not poking at all," Vera suggests. "I held them all in high regard and I still hold a great deal of respect for those that remain alive."

Kevin's eyes narrow a little, and he nods. "If you chose to pack with them, Vera-rhya, they must have well deserved their good reputation. What became of Jason Speaks-with-Spiders?"

Vera says "He was sentenced to Gaia's Vengeful Teeth. Those that had lost family members, were permitted to wield the silver-tipped whips."

Kevin's eyes remain narrow. "I don't believe I'm familiar with that punishment," he says, "and perhaps that's just as well. It sounds most unpleasant."

Vera's teeth flash in a savage grin. "The Rite turns the ground itself into blades of silver and the punished is forced to run across it until they fall, driven on by those holding the whips."

Kevin has been fairly obviously sitting beside a facade of composure and restraint through most of this encounter, but at Vera's latest words, it slips away completely and he looks completely sickened and, for a few moments, more like a child than a seventeen year old. "That... that's... horrific..."

"And what do you think happened to the kinfolk that were given to the Spirals?" Vera asks bluntly. "All because of Pride."

"Call it pride, call it sick," Kevin grates, "it's still vile. And what he did was vile too. It's all vile." He turns away from Vera angrily and finds himself confronted with the body of Clemency again, at which he hides his head in his hands.

Vera snorts softly. "You are looking at it with human eyes, not Garou."

"Yeah, well," Kevin grunts in his best passive-aggressive style, "maybe a little more of the human viewpoint wouldn't go amiss sometimes."

Vera quirks an eyebrow at the young Walker. "No. It is that attitude that sees our lupus numbers so low. But, you are a Glass Walker and far closer to your human half then most of the other Tribes."

Kevin's head comes out of his hands. "Any idea what I can do about this?" he asks. It's hard to tell whether he means the question seriously.

Vera's eyebrows come together. "I'm afraid that I do not gather your meaning."

"I'm looking at things with human eyes," Kevin clarifies. "I'm a Glass Walker, an urban wolf, and you think I need to look at things more like a Garou. Any tips?"

Vera sighs softly and falls silent for a moment. "We are not human... Yet some try to hold up human morals. Morals that change with every different community, every different group of humans. Wolves hunt the old, the young, and the weak. Humans look at such things with distain and go after the strong instead. The want everything to be 'humane', but that is not Gaia's way. Gaia is not a gentle mistress, but she is our Goddess. If the world were in balance, it would not be the paradise that the human side of us would wish for."

"Maybe it wouldn't be," Kevin says, "but what would it be?" He looks at Vera with a surprisingly keen, bright-eyed look.

Vera leans back and closes her eyes. "There would be balance. There would be life, but a life that was always changing. Species would come and go, Gaia would shift and the ground would shake. No more unchanging cities, no more infestations of the Wyrm. The Wyld would bring constant change, the weaver would give that chaos form, and the Wyrm would break everything down again, so the process could start over once again."

For the second time in only minutes, Kevin looks slightly wide-eyed at Vera, and gives the impression of seeming younger than his years. "Yeah," he says slightly awkwardly, "yeah, that'd rock, all right. Shame about the cities but I guess we wouldn't miss them if everything else was like so... I wish there was a way of getting there from here to this perfect world where the Wyrm knows its place and we all balance like a gyroscope." He sneaks another quick look at Clemency's body. "Too late for some of us though."

Vera glances over at the Fang's body. "We are losing this war, Kevin. In time, we will all fall. That is why we fight and fiercely as we do. The harder we fight, the longer Gaia survives."

"I know we're damn well losing," Kevin says with a spot of irritation. "Doesn't take an Adren to make me realise that, Vera-rhya."

Morgan slips into the area without any fanfare. In fact, about the only thing visible is her mop of red hair, as she's hunched down about as far into her old, oversized coat as she can get and still see. What's visible of her features is the usual blank expression, with the faint strain one might expect given the size of the moon.

"And what makes you think my words deserve such a volatile response?" Vera asks, still looking over at Clemency. "Hello Morgan."

"It's one thing to say we're losing the war," Kevin points out, "another matter entirely to come up with a strategy that wins it instead... Oh, hiya, Morgan."

Morgan regards first Vera, and then Kevin--though in her case, 'regards' pretty much means she glances toward their chests and looks away rather quickly. "Hello," she replies. The greeting is stiff, and rather dull in tone. There's no enthusiasm there. "Vera-rhya, Kevin."

"And we always fight as fiercely as we do," Vera repeats without looking at the Walker. "Is there anything I can help you with, Morgan?"

Kevin just nods in reply to Vera, and looks expectantly at Morgan.

Morgan shakes her head several times in succession, now avoiding looking at any of them. "No," she adds, unnecessarily.

Vera sighs and rises, dusting the grass from her pants. "May I ask you two to watch over Clemency for a time?"

"See," Kevin can't resist saying, "there is something I can do for you. Of course I will, Vera-rhya."

Morgan nods this time. It's a jerky, almost-but-not-quite-natural motion.

"My thanks," Vera states politely and begins to make her way out of the clearing.

Kevin gives Morgan a tight smile as Vera heads off. "Hello, packie," he says to the metis.

"Hello," Morgan repeats, and to her credit, this time it's a little less stiff. She lifts her gaze to Kevin, settling it about chin level.

Kevin nods to Clemency's body. "You... liked her, didn't you?" he says in firmly emotionless tones to Morgan.

Morgan's eyes start to slide toward the fallen Fang, but she stops herself before she actually looks at her. The metis' jaw tightens a little. "...She good," is the mumbled reply.

"Mmm. Yeah, I guess she was," Kevin says. "Anyone who can take on a row of Black Spirals without flinching, one after another bang-bang-bang, must have guts." Unlike Bug he doesn't keep his eyes off Clemency: he looks at her body, and raises his hand in a quiet salute. "Respect."

Morgan bites rather suddenly and sharply at the knuckles of her left hand, and looks at Kevin more intently, jaw working. "Kaz-rhya tell you then? I want join?" She pauses for a moment, and then, "Is okay?"

Kevin pauses, and speaks in the slow way he has which usually means he's choosing his words carefully. "As Vera was just lecturing me, we are garou. Part wolves, and like wolves, we belong in a pack. So yeah, it's okay to want in. But it's not me who gets to give you the nod, not even Basil. It's Patches."

Morgan bites her knuckles again, slowly this time, almost ponderously. "Yes," she replies, her speed matching Kevin's. "That not what I ask though. I ask...is okay. You."

Kevin's head swings up and he looks at Morgan, quite deliberately raking her with his gaze. "Right now," he says coldly, "I'll pack with anyone who'll take me."

Morgan's face goes a rather dark shade about her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The knuckle of her thumb is bitten extra hard. "Oh." Her voice has returned to it's previous dullness. "Okay."

Kevin doesn't speak again. He sits there gazing into nothingness over the body of the dead Silver Fang, lost in thought.

Morgan finally looks toward Clemency. She looks for a long time...a long time, but she doesn't say anything either. And then, without a word, she turns and makes her way back the way she came, huddling down in her coat.

"If she can fall... any of us can. Coffee, for the love of Gaia."

2006-06-11T14:59:00.000-07:00

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)
The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a wooden door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen.
A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there.
Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Kevin is sitting cheerfully with his feet up on the couch, in front of a wide-screen TV on the common side of the safehouse. The beauty of cable is that with all those channels you can find most anything you like -- Kevin has even managed to find one that's broadcasting the soccer World Cup live, and he's glued to the Portugal-Angola match.

Dillen steps up to the door of the Walker safehouse and knocks upon it. He's got a limp to him and he waits for someone to come answer.

Kevin sighs, swings his legs to the ground, and goes to open the door. "Dillen!" he greets the Get as he finds his former pack alpha in the porch. "C'min, man. How's it going?"

Dillen scratches a little bit at the bank of his neck and looks at Kevin. "Um. Was checking in to see if the cubs were okay and to find Grey..." He's somber and doesn't look like he's having a good day. In one hand, he holds with white knuckles a satchel. A satchel that belonged to one garou named Clemency.

"Ruth's great," Kevin says blithely. "She's cooking like some kind of cookery machine. Grey doesn't live here nowadays..." He peers at the bag Dillen holds. "Where've I seen that before?"

Dillen holds the bag up slightly. "Belonged to Clemency. She asked me to give it to Grey if she died." He pauses in his words and lowers the bag. "Tried to find Kristin to get her here." Yeah. Change of subject. "She ever make it?"

Kevin shakes his head. "Ruth's the only guest we have right now," he says morosely. "So Clemency, uh, is dead?"

"Yeah. Spirals killed her. Don't know. Wasn't there. Was put on guard duty." Dillen grips on the bag tightens. "Where is Grey nowadays?"

"He lives downtown," Kevin says grimly. "In a vile grimy little apartment. Are you telling me," he goes on, rising to a crescendo as though this is far more important that address queries, "that there are Black Spirals in town?"

Dillen looks to the fact that he has just been standing in the doorway and then steps inside the safehouse. He moves across the way, limping some and finds his way to a chair. "ON the bawn. Dead now. And Clemency with them."

Kevin shuts the door behind Dillen with an ominous click before striding to the television and turning Angola versus Portugal firmly off. "That isn't good," he says in the same grim voice.

There's a shuffling on the stairs, suddenly more audible with silence left behind when the television is switched off. Ruth appears at the bottom, book in hand, blinking sleepily at the occupants of the room. "What isn't good? Or is it something cubs shouldn't know," she asks, resigned rather than sarcastic.

Dillen looks towards the cub, "Clemency-yuf, of the Silver Fang is dead. She died last night in an attack on the Spirals. It's why you were sent away from the farmhouse."

"They came to the farmhouse?" Kevin exclaims. "Why the blue blazes did we not hear about this? The Silver Fangs," he adds in an aside to Ruth, "are an old and very noble tribe of garou, though most of them are a bit cracked from inbreeding..."

Dillen shakes his head, "No. We sent some of the cubs away just in case." His fingers tighten on the bag again.

"Clemency-rhya?" Ruth takes a couple of steps away from the stairs, towards the others, and stops again. It takes her a few moments to find her voice again. "Fire-Burns-rhya?" She frowns, and her lips move silently for a moment. Abruptly she turns towards the kitchen. "I'm going to put the kettle on, anyone want a drink?" she asks, moving before anyone answers her.

"That's her," Kevin says. "Hell. I didn't know her hardly at all, but I fought alongside her enough to know she was damn good. If she can fall... any of us can," he says morosely, his arms moving into a self-hugging position. "Coffee, for the love of Gaia," he calls after Ruth.

Dillen nods his head, "If there is a beer... Sure." He lifts the bag and looks at it, shaking his head.

"White or black, Kevin? Sugar?" Ruth calls back, her voice sounding croaky.

"White, no sugar," Kevin shouts through, "and get Dillen a beer. Michelob," he adds, with a glance to Dillen.

"Michelob?" Dillen looks to Kevin as if he is nuts. "At least I hope it's dark."

The growl of a Torino motor announces Grey's arrival. When the man himself enters the house, letting himself in with his copy of the key, he looks a trifle haggard, as if he hadn't slept, and his clothes are the same as they were yesterday when he went out to the Bawn to help guard the caern.

The sounds of fridge-raiding, cupboard-exploring and kettle-filling filter back from the kitchen. Ruth doesn't seem to be in any hurry to return to the seating area while the kettle boils.

"The Mexican beer is Scratch's," Kevin explains, "and even though I hardly ever see him here, it'd take a braver garou than me to drink that guy's stash." Before he can go into any more details regarding the veteran ahroun and his taste in beer, the door opens to admit Grey himself. "Oh, hey, Thomas," Kevin says with amomentary flash of brightness before his face returns to morose gloom, "you sure have good timing today."

"Bring one of those!" Dillen yells to the kitchen. The door that opens causes Dillen to look towards the man. "Grey." He says quietly. "I have something for you. Timing is maybe not so good..."

Grey looks at the pair of them somberly, then pushes the door shut behind him and stalks over to join them in the sitting area. Brusquely, he asks, "Which one of us died?"

There's a sound from the kitchen than might be a hiccough, followed by a loud nose-blow. Ruth fails to appear with any beer.

"Clemency," Kevin is the first to blurt out. "You know, Silver Fang elder, your --" And the penny drops belatedly for the ragabash. "...your packmate," he concludes in a horror-stricken voice.

Dillen licks at his lips and holds the bag up, "Clemency-yuf asked me to give this to you if she died." His face is stony as he says it. "The spirals killed her last night."

Grey takes the bag rather automatically, his expression unchanging, then sits down, slow and heavy, into a chair and sets the bag down between his feet. "Tell me." This is directed at Dillen, the Galliard.

With a final sniff and a surrepticious swipe at her eyes as she reaches the doorway, Ruth emerges from the kitchen, carefully carrying an armful of beers towards the other Garou. "Uh... I didn't know if Kevin meant the Michelob or the other one..." She gulps as her voice goes squeaky. "So I brought two of each." She doesn't actually hold them out; probably a good idea, as they look in danger of falling as it is.

Kevin looks at Ruth and the absence of coffee, and he silently vanishes towards the kitchen, leaving Dillen to make explanations to Grey.

Dillen runs a hand through his hair and reaches for one of the good beers. "Hope you don't mind. I know this is your stash." He says before he opens it. "To tell the truth, I was not there. I was told to stay where I was and guard. Kaz was the only galliard there." Dillen grinds his teeth for a bit. "All I know is that they came back and told me Clemency was dead. She had asked me before she went to give you her bag if she fell."

Grey gives no obvious objection to the beer-drinking, either verbally or with body language. He grunts an acknowledgement to Dillen's words and asks, in that same somber, flat tone, "Any other casualties?"

Dillen shakes his head. "No." And pops the beer open and takes a long drink of it.

"Injuries?" asks Grey, his gaze still on the Get. "And was the fight successful?"

"They are all dead, the spirals." Dillen takes in a breath, "Plus about ten zombies that headed for the main fight that Cole, Morgan, and myself took out." He then describes the obvious wounds he saw on the garou as they came back.

Ruth stoops to let the beers onto the coffee table, setting them upright afterwards, hastily enough that she knocks one back over. She rights it again, leaving a damp smear across the table from the cold beer, and turns away again. Hesitating between returning to the kitchen and staying, she compromises by curling herself into one of the more distant chairs, feet on the seet, hugging her legs.

No sound from Kevin in the kitchen at all.

Grey's eyes flick sideways, his gaze spearing Ruth for a second or two before turning back to Dillen. He grunts again, then drops his head to rake fingers through his thick, greying hair and stare down at the bag between his feet.

"She was writing something furiously before the fight. She shoved it into the bag before she stashed it and told me to give it to you if she fell." Dillen leans back in the chair, looking to the elder Walker.

"Kettle," Ruth says, and slides gracelessly out of the chair, ehading for the kitchen again.

"Another damned letter," Grey mutters. He grimaces, then, and pushes smoothly to his feet, one hand closing around the handles of the bag as he rises. "Excuse me," he says, and then walks out the back door, passing through the kitchen on his way out.

"Grey. I'd like to know what it says... If people should know more about her." Dillen tries to get the words out before Grey disappears.

Kevin is lurking in the kitchen, possibly trying to prove the old adage that a watched pot never boils.

Grey doesn't answer Dillen, nor look at Kevin and Ruth, hiding in the kitchen. The back door swings shut behind him.

Dillen lets out a deep breath and runs his hands over his face. "Fuck." He can be heard to mutter. The beer is swallowed down and the bottle is set on a table. He rises up and heads for the door.

"I liked Clemency-rhya," Ruth croaks, fumbling in her jeans pockets and dragging out a crumpled tissue. "S... sorry. Kettle hadn't boiled." She wipes at her eyes again. "I'll do the coffee. And... and maybe he'd... like to be alone?" she adds hesitantly as Dillen appears in Grey's wake.

Kevin turns to look at Dillen. "It's your call," he says quietly. "We may not be packies any more but I hope we're still friends, if you want to let anything out."

Dillen looks to Kevin. "Friends?" Dillen considers this. "I learn about your charach in a moot. I get called down for defending your life because I believe it is wrong to just kill someone without giving them a chance to defeat the wyrm. Yeah. I suppose I am still your friend. Still gonna take me a while to forgive you." He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, walks through the door and outside."

The sound of the Torino starting up again give note of Grey's departure. He peels out rather quickly.

Ruth sniffs loudly, and blows her nose again. "Still want that coffee?"

Kevin doesn't pursue Dillen, or respond at all until the galliard is outside. His face remains a smooth bland mask as he reaches into a cupboard, and pulls out two coffee mugs. He stands there holding them for a moment, then with a bitter-sounding but incoherent snarl, he lifts both above his head and hurls them both as hard as he can to shatter on the floor.

Ruth flinches, then gives up all attempt to stay strong, slides down the wall to sit on the floor, and buries her face in her hands to howl.

Kevin gives a dreadful twitch as Ruth starts to weep bitterly. "I'm sorry," he croaks, "I'm sorry I'm sorry." He makes a step towards her as though to comfort her, then retreats nervously, dithering for a few seconds before he finally gets the courage to squat down by the cub and place his arm cautiously round her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he keeps on repeating.

Ruth leans into the Cliath, rocking slightly, as her sobs begin to quiet. The cub begins to shake, her shoulders tensing. She lifts her head suddenly, which is not an attractive sight, flushed and damp with strands of hair plastered across one cheek. "Why?" she screams, still shaking. She screams again, a sound of rage and sorrow and helplessness.

Kevin speaks in a low and affectless tone to Ruth. "You remember I said I'd tell you some things that cubs don't normally get told," he says. "This is one. We're in a war. We're soldiers. Soldiers die. Sooner or later, every soldier meets a bullet with his name on. Today it was Clemency. The thing to do," he grits, "is to make sure it's not got your name on tomorrow."

Ruth stares at Kevin for a long moment, her breathing growing slower, one last renegade tear coursing down her already wet cheeks. There's no sorrow in her expression now, just determination. "Who'd know what happened?" she asks the ragabash, her voice rough but insistant. "You weren't there, were you? So who'd know?"

"Not this time," Kevin says. Releasing Ruth, he uses his hands to pull his t-shirt out of his tracksuit pants and haul it up to expose his abdomen, across which run a series of jagged, pink-red, brutal scars. "But garou can survive a wound like this. So whatever got her was worse."

Ruth leans away as Kevin starts to pull up his shirt, then leans back again, staring at the scars. "So what did... no. wait," she stops herself, and carries on calmly. "Can you tell me what did that to you sometime, but not now, and tell me who else was in that fight, if you know? Please?"

"I haven't any idea," Kevin says hopelessly. "How would I know? I wasn't there." He pulls his shirt back down angrily. "If you don't mind, Ruth," he says then, "I'm going to get that coffee at last, and go to my room with it."

Ruth shakes her head. "I don't mind. If you do, I mean. I'll get that coffee for you too if you want." She starts to clamber back to her feet. "I'm sorry, it's... You know what it is. You've done this all before. And... and thank you, too." Her feet crunch over fragments of the broken mugs as she heads to the cupboard and reaches to get two more. "I'll clean up."

Kevin gives a small nod and waits for Ruth to pour out the coffee. "I'm sorry you had to witness all this," he says as she hands it to him, "but... it had to come sometime." With a thin humourless smile he walks out of the kitchen.

"One nil! O-o-o-ne nil! Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land!"

2006-06-10T15:16:00.000-07:00

"Should have said 'I haven't the balls for it' shouldn't I? That would've worked on so many levels."

2006-06-08T15:24:00.000-07:00

Safehouse: GW Main Area(#3997RJM)
Like the public safehouse, the foyer of the Glass Walker's private area is set off from the living room by a four-foot-high half-wall. The steps to the second floor disappear off to the right, mirroring the other set. There the similarities end - where the public area is painted unoriginal white, the walls of the Walker house are a dusty pastel teal above polished maple hardwood floors.The living room holds a comfortable couch and a pair of easy chairs, a maple coffee table matched by side tables beside both of the chair. A large plasma television holds pride of place along the far wall, flanked by maple glass-front cabinets that hold assorted media equipment.
The hallway leads back toward the kitchen, pausing at a computer room on the left outfitted with enough bells and whistles to satisfy a small LAN party. At the back of the house, through an arch, the kitchen is big enough to comfortably allow two active cooks and boasts a half-sized refrigerator and full pantry in addition to the usual stove/fridge/sink combination. A dining room, nearly as large as the kitchen, is set off by another half-wall like the one in the foyer. The table is in the Mission style, all clean straight lines, and currently seats six, though there's evidence of another leaf to make it larger.
Stairs in the foyer lead up to the second floor, while a doorway tucked under the curve of the stairs heads down to the basement. A heavy door in the foyer with a monitor and intercom beside it goes back to the area set up for communal use by the Sept's Garou.

Lunchtime in Glass Walker territory, and from the computer room drifts the faint tippy-tapping of typing as Kevin sits at one of the computers, eyes fixed on the screen.

Derek is, perhaps surprisingly, not all that interested in computers, beyond the most superficial levels. He's avoided them, since he's not even sure he's supposed to use them yet. He happened to be passing through - or starting to anyway. He found an IPod somewhere, and he's got it turned up WAY too loud - the faint echoes of music from the headphones herald his arrival. He spies Kevin and abruptly backs back up to the doorway.

Kevin spins round in his smart black leather chair to face Derek like an interrogator confronting a prisoner. "Well, well," he drawls. "Long time, no see, Mr Crestmere. How's life treating ya?"

Derek watches Kevin for a drawn-out moment, and then reaches up to take his headphones out of his ears. "What?" He asks, brow crinkling.

Kevin rolls his eyes and repeats. "How is life treating you?" he repeats, slowly, with hand gestures, as though speaking to a foreigner he's trying to make understand him.

Derek shrugs. "...Fine." He says, as if this is a chore he's got to endure. "...Just fine." He looks around for a moment and then down at his IPod, before he begins to fiddle with it.

Kevin nods to the iPod. "See you got the badge of the Glass Walkers. What're you listening to?"

Derek looks down at the IPod and then back up at Kevin. "Nunya Bidness." He says, before he goes back to tinkering with the ipod.

Kevin nods, as though he's not particularly interested in the answer. "So what'cha been learning? And who've you been hanging with? Been a while since I was around to take an avuncular interest in your welfare," he says, the long words rolling round his mouth and giving him an air of dry humour.

Derek looks up at Kevin. "What's it to you?" He asks, finally, his expression going somewhat dour. He turns off the Ipod now and lets it dangle from one hand.

"It's significant to me," Kevin replies mildly, "because you are a cub of my tribe and it is in my interest to see you turn from a cub into a cliath. And the interest of the whole garou nation, come to that. "

Derek tilts his head at Kevin. "Like..." He says, "I don't buy it." He turns to walk out of the room. "Not for one itty-bitty-ditty second do I buy that comin' from you, man."

Kevin rises to his feet. "Buy it or not," he says, still in that deceptively mild tone, "it's a fact. Okay, what do you think I'm asking you for?"

Derek looks over his shoulder. "I THINK you're trying to piss me off, because you want an excuse to try and beat the holy fuck out of me." He says, his own voice growing mild. "Or an excuse to finger-wag at me again. Or whatever. I don't know if I care, man."

Kevin lets a small sigh escape. "Listen, Derek," he says. "I dunno if you heard about all the stuff that went down for me lately, or whether you care about it if you heard. I was not in a good place mentally when I first met you. I was, no doubt, kind of an asshole to you."

Derek finds a place to sit down. "Yeah, I heard about it. How could you NOT? I'd have to be in a cave in the middle of the woods with my ears plugged and even then I'd probably get a postcard about it." He says. "For what it's worth, what they did to you wasn't fair."

Kevin makes a waving-away gesture with his hand. "Whether it was or wasn't fair isn't what I wanted to talk about," he says, though the tenseness that comes to his face makes it plain that he has opinions on the matter too. "Listen here, Derek. If you've been learning while I've been away, I should expect you'll be well on the way to your Rite of Passage. Once you're a cliath, you'll hold the same rank as me. You may still live here in this house with me. If we were on some kind of speaking terms... it'd make both our lives a lot less fraught, I reckon." He favours Derek with a wan smile.

Derek thinks about that and then shrugs. "So what do you want, then? I can't read your mind, not even if there's some funky werewolf magic shit for that." He leans against the doorframe.

Kevin raises one eyebrow and his calmness seems to come under further strain. "I just said, man. I want us to respect each other. Be able to talk without yelling. Even if we don't ever like each other."

Derek thinks about that, and thinks about that, his brow furrowing. "Oh, is that all?" He says, before he takes the Ipod off. "...Okay then, fine. I only want one rule - we keep it man-to-man. No dogs allowed." He sets the Ipod down onto the nearest desk. "And we stop when one of us says 'uncle'. That's how this is supposed to work, isn't it?" He rocks backwards on his bare heels.

Kevin shrugs. "I dunno. In England we'd say 'pax'. And as for dogs... it's no fun being a wolf in the city. Can't run properly." He sits back down in the leather chair, and spins round in it idly. "You play any games?" he asks hopefully.

Derek shrugs. "You're not gonna respect me if I beat you in a game of clue, man. Besides, the way the moon is right now, we'd, like, wind up trying to strangle one another over whether Miss Scarlet did it in the Billiard Room with the rope or whether it was Professor Plum."

"To hell with Colonel Mustard and the dagger in the library." Kevin jerks a thumb at the computers. "Proper games. Modern games. The sort where you get to shoot or chop people with your buddy. Or chop your buddy if that's what floats your boat. Since Jeremy blew town and Aimee and I split, I've had nobody local to play with."

Derek rubs his chin and thinks about that for a long time, yet again. "You sure you wanna pass up a chance to try and beat the hell out of me, dude?" He asks. "I... uh. I played Halo with you before, didn't I? I don't actually like video games all that much..." He rolls his eyes upward. "Lemme think."

"Yeah, yeah you did," Kevin recalls. "I forgot, man. Lot's happened since then. If you're not up for it," he says, plainly eager not to pressurize Derek, "it's cool."

Derek lets out a small grunt. "No, no, It's cool. I'm just not very good at them. Listen... why don't we just..." He walks into the room and offers his hand, "Y'know... shake on it. Like men would. I wasn't a happy camper and neither were you. Let's just forget about that. Okay? We can't afford to act like.. like stupid kids, y'know?"

Kevin eyes Derek's outstretched hand for a moment, then speaks, seeming to address the whole room rather than Derek in particular, though the theurge is the only other person in the house. "A few days ago," he says in a studiedly neutral voice, "I turned seventeen. I don't know if I'll make eighteen, but if I do, I'll be legally a man as well as one in the eyes of our people..." And his hand comes up from his side and smacks firmly into Derek's, gripping for a moment. "You're invited to my eighteenth birthday party. Here, next June. Bring booze." The ragabash grins wildly.

Derek gives Kevin a slight smirk. "I'll bring weed, too, but I'll understand if you don't partake. Basil told me about the uh-" He mimes putting a horned helmet onto his head. "That's fucked-up, man. No offense."

"That isn't actually the reason I don't go near cannabis," Kevin clarifies, releasing Derek's hand again. "I'm kind of anal..." He gives Derek a warning glare not to make any smartass remarks at that. "I like to look after my body. Keep it in tip top shape. Getting drunk and stoned isn't good for the human body, or the garou one for that matter. I appreciate," he adds, "that I'm in a minority opinion there."

Derek holds up his hands. "Hey... I can't make any jokes Basil already didn't. Cool guy, but he is crazy. Reminds me of a couple of my friends back home." He wrinkles his nose. "I love the chronic, man. Especially now. It takes the edge off the rage, man. Makes me feel all peaceful. It might actually save my life one of these days."

"Whatever gets you through the night's alright," Kevin quotes. "Me, I hated the feeling of losing control... even before I zonked out and Snowy-Toes took over. I hate to think," he says pensively, "what Hjalmar would think of me after everything that went down. He'd probably throw the body over a cliff or something. Which is another reason for me not to get drunk or wasted on weed."

Derek gives a slight shrug of bony shoulders. "...Well dude, he can judge but I'm not gonna." He gestures to himself with a thumb. "California, born and bred. You could dress up like Carmen Miranda and I wouldn't say a word."

"I haven't the legs for it," Kevin quips, deadpan. Then he chuckles, which spoils the effect. "Should have said 'I haven't the balls for it' shouldn't I? That would've worked on so many levels."

Derek wrinkles his nose again. "I'm not gonna go there, man. If the wrong people heard what I had to say about how they treated you and Basil, they'd probably squash me like the bug they think I am." He gives a disgusted sigh. "Back home we had a word for people like that. We called 'em 'Republicans'."

Kevin makes a little 'ooooo' of dismay, and when he speaks, it's in an assumed (and very bad) redneck accent. "Why, are you a-tellin' me you bein' one of them lib-uh-rals?"

Derek puts a hand over his heart. "Cali-forn-i-a Liberal, man. I smoke weed all the time, and I've got a whole army of drag queen 'Aunts' back home." He coughs. "...Ma hung out with them in college."

Kevin laughs heartily, and somehow the laugh sounds more natural than any display of amusement Derek has probably seen him give so far. "So," he says as he regains speech, "why'd you --" And he cuts himself off short.

Derek shrugs. "Why'd I come up here?" He says. "...That's personal, but Basil knows. I don't wanna talk about it right now, but you can ask him."

Kevin's cheeks flush red. "I... didn't mean to pry," he says, slipping out of his chair and his eyes turning away from Derek in embarrassment. "I, uh. I'll be going now."

Derek shakes his head. "Whatever, dude. I think you've got more issues to settle with him than you ever did with me." He grabs his IPod and puts it back on. "And 'Nunya Bidness' is a rapper from out of L.A."

Kevin gives Derek a look as he slips past him and out of the door, that's pure Anglo-Saxon white-boy terror of the ghetto. He doesn't speak again as he scoots across the living area and up the stairs.

"Who did you think I was, the King of the Spirals?"

2006-06-06T15:30:00.000-07:00

Big Red Barn(#3420RA)
The barn is built in the old style, a vast three level structure that is greater in height than a mere three stories, actually closer to five. Great wooden posts support the weight of the upper levels and roof, sunk into the hard-packed dirt floor of the first level like a sparse forest of regularly spaced, naked trees. The stalls and flagstones which once were here have been torn out to leave a rather open area where even crinos Garou may roam freely without fear of running into anything but the supports or the walls or the ladder at the back which allows access to the other two levels.
The first two levels are relatively open to each other, the second being only little wider than a catwalk going around all the walls but the front one, which has massive, twenty foot tall doors set into it. The third level is a true second floor except for a place cut out that allowed hay to be tossed down to the ground floor when the farm was actually worked. Now, it is a hayloft where Garou can sleep outside of the house.

There's a deep growl from near the back of the barn, and then a sudden explosion of hay as a grey wolf launches herself through a half-destroyed bale. Missed me!

Fears-Pain rolls to avoid being tackled by her 'sister'. She ends up flat on her back tail wagging happily. Weee! her body seems to say as she scrambles to get up. she races round to try to 'ambush' the other cub.

Trips-Over-Paws is bowled to one side as the white wolf scrambles up from almost underneath her. Claws scrabbling on the dirt floor, she rights herself, tail blurring in the air as she looks around. Where'd she go?

A tuneless whistling outside presages the entry to the barn of a lanky teenage boy dressed in a dirty track-suit. He's evidently heard the racket of young wolves at play, because as he comes in his head's turning from side to side, looking for the source of the noise. "Who's home?"

Fears-Pain blinks. She watches hears the noise and smells the strange scent almost immediate. She barks softly. Follow me! Hide! She communicates as she ducks into a pile of hay. Hide, then attack...

Trips-Over-Paws's head snaps up, nose towards the new voice. Ooops, a stranger! Oh... At the bark from Fears-Pain, she blinks that way, then copies the other cub in diving in amongst the hay.

Kevin evidently notes the suspicious rustling as two figures disappear into the hay. Still whistling, he moves through the barn and round the punchbag, heading for the loose hay that's piled at the back of the barn, still glancing about curiously.

Fears-Pain pauses, she tenses and then like a white-streak of lightening, she leaps from the hay. NOW! Her growling is a warning as she lands near the 'intruder'. Who? her posture demands.

A little belatedly, Trips-Over-Paws scrambles out of the hay behind Fears-Pain. With a growl she jumps clear of the troublesome dried grass stalks, and scurries around between Kevin and the door.

"Whoa there!" yelps Kevin, confronted by not one but two wolves suddenly scurrying round him. He doesn't seem at all surprised to see them there, though a brief look of discontent shows on his face when he realises that their movements aren't random but are designed to cut him off from the only exit. "Okay, guys, calm the hell down," he says in a sardonic voice. "Who did you think I was, the King of the Spirals?"

Fears-Pain crouches growling still more fericly. WHO? she asks again, eyes fixed on him. To her lupine companion- Move in.

Trips-Over-Paws takes a step closer to the stranger, and growls again. To the experienced ear, there's as much fear there as anger... but that doesn't make the threat behind it any less.

Kevin gives an ostentatious sigh, looking from one wolf to the other, and places his hands on his hips. "Kevin Lockwood, Power-in-the-Darkness, cliath ragabash of the Glass Walkers, and not as you seem to surmise an Elder of the Black Spiral Dancers or a hyper-muscular fomor. Who the hell are you two?" he goes on, carrying the war (as it were) into the cubs' territory.

Fears-Pain pauses. Stand Down, she tells the other cub. The white-wolf, sits stands down herself, less afraid though no less weary. Who is the Elder of the Children of Gaia? the young wolf asks, still redy to attack or flee if need be.

Trips-Over-Paws tilts her head at Fears-Pain, her growl wavering. Huh? What did that mean?

"Stacey Walks-The-Middle-Road," Kevin responds promptly. "Go on, ask me another. Who's buried in Grant's Tomb?"

Trips-Over-Paws stops gowling and sits down, looking embarassed. Her canted ears and shifting tail make an apology for the earlier threats.

Fears-Pain realxes. HE's good. She says calmly. No more questions, the she wolf, stretches and yawns, showinging her teeth before turning over on her back and scratching the itchy places-she's definately relaxed enough showing her belly.

Kevin concludes his display of bona-fides by shifting through the forms and adopting lupus himself. See, see, he crows. I am one of us, a warrior of Gaia. He sniffs in the direction of each cub a little ostentatiously, then comments that he does not know the scent of either.

Trips-Over-Paws wishes she knew WHY they had to do that, and submits uncomfortably to the sniffing. Trips-Over-Paws, she indicates, and seems rather flumoxed as to how to do any more of the introduction.

Fears-Pain bounces a bit noting the shift and scent change. She hops back on to all fours. Fears-Pain, she begins to receite the near ritual-greeting of the Garou. Child of Gaia, Theuge, my human names... Kristin... the human name sounds very strange coming out of the wolf mouth and she drops her head to her paws. Why couldn't I have been given a cooler name like... like... like... um? Her tail slpams the ground with each like.

You will have a better name once you are adult, Power-Up assures Fears-Pain. As a cub all of us must endure names that mock or belittle us. You are both very new? I do not come to this place often but I do not think you were here the last time I was.

Trips-Over-Paws's small whine and briefly drooping ears indicate that she is a cub, she feels very new, she's glad that the older Garou is not a bad one, and she does, indeed, trip over her own paws.

Power-Up's ears twitch. Not bad, me? That is not what every garou would say about me, no, no.

Trips-Over-Paws looks confused now, raising into a semi crouch and backing off a couple of steps. You bad?

Power-Up assents with a hangdog look, pacing forwards. Yes, yes, I am sometimes bad. Sometimes very bad, yes.

Trips-Over-Paws's ears twitch forward. Her tail waves a little. Naughty-bad. Her lips peel back into a tiny snarl. Not bad-bad.

Then you heard, Power-Up concludes. His ears lie flat. There is no difference, or so they say, between bad-bad and naughty-bad. All is bad, bad, bad.

Walks-Middle-Rhya wouldn't chase you away? Trips-Over-Paws mananges to ask, after several false starts trying to convey the question while in lupus form.

Power-Up looks at the curious cub for a moment, then shifts back into homid. "I'm a dangerous influence," he says, his British accent a little more pronounced now. "I ask questions that shouldn't be asked even by a ragabash. Like, what will happen if the Wyrm wins and the Apocalypse comes?"

Ruth blurs abruptly into her birthform. "You're from England too?" she asks, absurdly happy to hear the accent, everything else forgotten for at least a few moments.

Kevin drops all pretence of trying to sound local and speaks in what is evidently his natural voice, which Ruth may recognise has a distinct west-of-England burr. "Uh, yeah, sure I am," he says, surprised at Ruth's own accent. "Don't tell me you are and all?"

Ruth nods. "Near London. But why are you here? I mean, I came for an educational school trip, only I don't think the teachers were thinking quite this sirt of education, but what about you?"

"I'm from Somerset... Yeovil," Kevin says, still looking shocked. Or as this is British reunion day, perhaps he's gobsmacked. "I was over for a junior athletics tournament, as it happens... and I Firsted during the hundred metres relay." He gives a wicked grin. "Lucky I wasn't running in it, really. I didn't make it out of the reserves, and I stamped off in a huff and... well, it's a long story."

Ruth has to giggle at the thought of someone actually Firsting in a race. "I'm sorry, it's not really funny I know, but, well, it is, in a cartoon sort of way." She manages to sober heself again. "You said something earlier. About the Apocalypse?"

Kevin's expression regains the grim look which it lately wore in lupus. "Yeah, the fast-approaching end of the world. What about it?"

Ruth looks down a bit. "More things I haven't learned about yet," she says. "Except that bit sounds like something I've heard before."

"Yeah. The Apocalypse is..." Kevin begins, and then interrupts himself. "Is something I shouldn't go into with you unless Stacey says I can, which is probably very unlikely given my general omega bastard status round here. In fact," he says, "I probably shouldn't be seen with you at all. Though if you want," he adds with a dark smile, "and if you're not too scaredycat, I can catch up with you from time to time and teach you the real stuff. The stuff they don't tell cubs usually." There's a strangely gleeful expression on his face as he makes that offer. "Don't answer me now, think about it..." And he turns away from Ruth with a wink to head for the barn door.

"I wanted to s-show them that their damn golden boy wasn't as g-g-golden as he looked."

2006-05-29T15:42:00.000-07:00

Tenement Building(#2451RJ)
The lobby and first floor of the five-story building are quite dingy, but here at least are the most obvious signs of renovation and cleaning. The further one goes up, the more chaos and decay reign, the ravages of years of abandonment and the abuse of squatters. The lights don't work up there, and many of the pipes -- rusty and old, like the rest of the building -- have been blocked off until they can be replaced. The vast majority of apartments are still quite trashed and unlivable.
Thomas Grey lives in the basement-level super's apartment; the spacious floor plan and privacy make up for the lack of windows and the neighboring boiler. It's sparsely furnished and vaguely dingy, but cleaner than the rest of the building. Also, the lights and water work. More so than anywhere else, the basement area is a haven for cockroaches, but the rats keep their distance, and their numbers are dwindling.

Grey meets Kevin outside the decrepit tenement building, wearing camo pants and a chambray shirt open over a black t-shirt. Hardly fashionable, but all the evidence points to these being working clothes; the Philodox appears to have already been many hours busy with cleaning duties. He leans against the front doors, smoking a cigarette and watching the street like an ill-tempered guard dog.

Kevin approaches the dingy tenement watchfully, perhaps remembering his encounter with drug-dealers down here some months ago. He spies Grey slouching outside and increases his speed a little to get to the philodox. "I'm here," he announces redundantly once in earshot.

Grey rakes an eye over the Ragabash and nods. "Come in. Mind the dust." And he lets Kevin inside, to a front hallway that, in the two months plus that he's been vanished, has gone more or less back to pot. As Grey leads them downstairs to his own apartment in the wreck, a one-eared bastard of a tabby cat stares balefully at them, then zips off in the opposite direction.

Kevin waggles his fingers at the cat as it scoots. "Hi, Greebo," he murmurs, revealing himself as one who's read at least some Terry Pratchett, before he follows Grey into the apartment and closes the door. "Thanks for agreeing to see me," he begins slightly stiltedly, as though unsure how to get the conversation going.

"I thought you might want to talk," says Grey evenly. The apartment has an aura of cigarette smoke and several cockroaches scutter out of sight when the light gets turned on. "Dillen told me about you and Basil."

Kevin goes that shade of pink he so often does whenever the subject of a conversation approaches romance or sex. "Ah," he says. "I was hoping to break it myself... but we don't always get what we want, do we."

Grey snorts. "A fact of which I'm well aware." He eyes the Ragabash a moment, then shrugs and starts toward the kitchen. "Get you a drink? Coffee, juice?"

"Coffee'd be good," Kevin sighs, brushing some dust from the table idly. "So what happened to you?" If he's aware that that question is imprecise, he doesn't show any sign of refining it to specify what events he's referring to.

Grey moves about the kitchen, preparing a fresh pot of java. "A coyote spirit accosted myself and several other Garou and entreated us to help protect a fetish. It led us to a spot in the Umbra and told us to touch a particular tree with a mark on it. We did so, and the next moment, I'm several miles away in the Umbra, under a new moon, and it's over two months later." He grimaces.

"What a bastard," Kevin comments. "All a hoax, then? Or do you think there was something more to it? Maybe this spirit was trying to take four of the sept's strongest defenders out for a reason?"

Grey grunts. "Who can tell, with coyote spirits?" He turns the coffee maker on and leans against the counter nearby, arms folded across his chest.

Kevin dusts off a chair and sits down on it, uneasily. "Well," he says, "there weren't any major attacks I know of while you were gone, so all's well, anyway. At least, so far as that goes." A pregnant pause, then: "Just what did Dillen tell you?"

"That you stood up in the middle of the Moot and announced that you were charach, and then ran off. That Basil was your... lover... and that Requiem was no more." Grey delivers this in quite a deadpan fashion, with only minor hesitation over the l-word.

Kevin considers a moment. "That's about right," he concedes. "I thought that announcing it like that would shake the complacent bastards up and shock them enough that I could make a run for it... we were going to quit town on his Harley and head east. But... well, it seemed a good idea at the time. Vera got to us first. I still don't know how she managed that."

Grey's mouth thins. "She's an Adren Ragabash. They have ways of finding their prey that are far superior to that ritual I tried to teach you." He shakes his head. "Why announce it at all?"

Kevin's cheeks are now a pretty fair shade of red, and his only response to that question, for a moment or three, is a faint, incoherent splutter. "I... I..." He confronts at Grey with a look that's almost defiant. "I wanted to s-show them that their damn golden boy wasn't as g-g-golden as he looked," he manages to stammer out. "I was so fed up with them all. Their p-patronising. Little pats on the back, good old Kevin, such a worthy garou. And Basil... none of them cared a highly-coloured damn for him."

Grey rubs a hand over his beard and looks ruefully at his tribemate. "Do they care for him now?" He shakes his head. "You're lucky the both of you weren't killed. But I suspect that you know that. I was fortunate to be judged by a Child of Gaia who cherishes Garou life, and even then I hardly got off soft."

"I heard there was an argument for killing us," Kevin scowls. "For a while I wished they had, but I'm... over that now."

Grey's jaw tightens. "You're very lucky. Of course, we might all still die getting rid of the tire fire, but..." He pushes a stray lock of hair out of his face. Dryly: "The least you could have done was wait until I was around to put my voice in."

"I had a hard enough job persuading Basil to wait as long as moot," protests Kevin. "He couldn't wait to be gone. Ride off into the sunset and live forever after." His lip curls in a bitter sneer. Then he looks up at Grey with a sudden bleak expression. "Thomas? ...When you, uh, did it? Did you feel... guilty? Did it feel wrong?"

Grey purses his lips, his eyes going hooded and distant. "The first time was a mistake, I told myself. We were drunk, and the time... it was an unusual summer. The second time it happened, many months later, I had no such excuse." He tugs absently at his beard. "I worried about getting caught, and I worried about her welfare when we were apart, but guilty? No. I loved her. I still love her." He folds his arms again across his chest and looks directly at the younger cliath, unsmiling. "More than anything."

"I tried to tell myself that because we couldn't make metis, it wasn't wrong," Kevin recalls. "But... I never quite succeeded." Again he falls silent a moment, then he suddenly begins speaking quickly. "I loved him," he blurts. "I'd have done anything for him. I would have died for him. When I thought they were going to kill us both, I was ready to plead for them to let him go if they'd kill me... claim I'd led him on, claim I'd persuaded him against his will --" He cuts himself off with an almost physical effort, his fists in front of him and clenched on the dusty table.

A flicker of sympathy crosses the gaunt, scarred face. "The First Law is there to prevent the creation of Metis. To a lesser degree, it's to remind us to stay connected with our kinfolk and to consider the conception of the next generation. So. You made no sterile halfbreeds, and you've always had good relationships with our kin. I could fault you on not siring offspring, but..." He shrugs. "You're young, still." Grey adds, sourly, "Unfortunately, the vast majority of the Garou Nation takes a more narrow view."

Kevin's fingers very slowly unclench a little, and his knuckles unwhiten, though his fists stay clenched. "This sounds so completely selfish," he mutters, "but I wish you'd felt the guilt. It was killing me... it still is... that's why --" Again he breaks off, then forces himself to go on. "I guess that's why I told them at moot. I needed to... to confess it."

Grey exhales a breath, then shrugs. "You, at least, can still be with him. Lara and I have the width of the continent between us. If things had been different, I would have married her." He shrugs tersely and turns away to deal with the coffee maker, which has now filled the pot with fresh brew.

Kevin doesn't seem to take much consolation in that. Indeed, he gives Grey another bleak, hopeless look. "Or to put it another way," he says, "you don't have to see her every day, be able to talk to her, be able to touch her... and not be able to go beyond because you know, for the rest of your life, if you so much as hold hands the philodoxes will be down on you like greased lightning and calling for your blood. Think of it that way, Thomas."

Grey, his back to the Ragabash, nods. "You have a point. Rather a shit situation either way, isn't it?" He gets out a couple of mugs and fills them. "Milk? I'm afraid I don't have any sugar."

Kevin seems to have had the wind taken out of his sails when Grey readily appreciates his point. "Uh. Yes, please. Milk's fine." He rubs his chin. "Whichever way up you hold it, yeah, it sucks," he agrees. "Still, if nothing else, it seems to have given Basil a real kick in the ass. You remember what he was like before..." Kevin eyes Grey cautiously. "He's keen as mustard, now."

Grey sets a mug of coffee and a quart of skim milk in front of Kevin, then sits down opposite him with his own cup of unadulterated coffee. "He seems to be. He was interesting in learning the Rite of Wounding and asking Morgan about joining your new pack."

Kevin adds milk to the coffee and drinks some of it, gratefully. "Well, yeah, maybe Natalie was right about me not fitting in a war pack after all," he says with a deadpan expression. "We'll see how we get on under Raccoon... if we survive the tire fire," he qualifies. "But Emma really got righteous at the philodoxes when they tried to tell her we should get thrown in at the front of the fight like Uriah the Hittite, and she told them she'd use us where she damn pleases... I love that girl, she must be a great alpha for you to pack with... so I guess we've as good a chance as any garou."

Grey actually smiles a bit at this. "Good girl," he murmurs, approvingly.

The level of coffee in the mugs drops steadily, is replenished, and drops again as the two Glass Walkers continue talking. The atmosphere between them remains fractionally tense, but less so than has often been the case in the past between the two, as the conversation goes onto other things and Kevin updates Grey with various snippets of news from the last two months. He concludes with a blow-by-blow account of the tire fire scouting and the vicious balefire burns which caused him to grow extra tails. "...and so I had my second encounter with a Black Fury wielding a silver knife in a month," he smiles darkly. "But you know what? Back at the farm, hidden on the top storey of the barn in the hay, and wrapped up in saran wrap... there's a bucket. And in that bucket are those four extra tails Laura cut off me. And when we kill that thing in the heart of the fire... I am gonna ram every one of those tails down its throat before I leave that place." He folds his arms with an air of determination. "I'm guessing Havoc will all be there, as your alpha's leading it all?"

Grey finishes off the last of his current cup and pushes his chair back as he stands. "Naturally. I don't plan to miss this."

Kevin grins as he too drains his mug. "I can't wait to get this out of the way," he says. "Having a punishment hanging over me isn't a pleasant feeling. Well... I'm going to go off and see whether Basil has managed to talk Morgan into joining our little pack of metis and omegas. Did you say you were gonna teach him something?"

Grey carries the mugs to the sink. "Basil wants to learn Rite of Wounding. And Morgan, I think, is interesting in learning Talisman Dedication. Which you were thinking of learning as well, I think?"

Kevin nods. "Having failed to dismally to master Questing Stone... Never try to learn Gifts when your mind's too ridden with guilt to focus," he says with ironic cheerfulness. "No hurry, though. Plenty of time once we know I've survived the fire."

Grey nods. "Indeed." He offers to see the Ragabash out; the one-eared tabby is nowhere to be seen as they pass back through the front lobby.

"And get some damn clothes on!"

2006-05-28T15:50:00.000-07:00

Barnyard
The lane wends its way back and around the farmhouse to here, where it widens into a broad, grassy sward contained only by the woods which encircle it on three sides. Buildings break up the purity of the landscape: an open-sided structure which serves as a garage and the big barn, empty of livestock, to the east. A good-sized vegetable and herb garden furrows the land south of the barn, while a pyramid-like pile of rocks, of similar consistency to the gravel of the lane, rests a few yards south of the garage.
North of the buildings, the fields have long been fallow, hastening a conversion from farmland to natural prairie. A sliding glass door allows admittance to the farmhouse, the interior obscured by Levolor(tm) blinds in a wood-grain pattern. The lane leads out around the house to the southwest. The discerning can just barely pick out the beginnings of a faint path into the woods towards the southeast.

Morgan's mouth twitches a little, as her gaze catches on Dillen and his nod first. Then it shifts. To Grey. And her eyes get very large, with her eyebrows nearly disappearing in that mess she calls a head of hair. "Grey-rhya!"

Some -- though not all -- of Grey's seething, simmering anger subsides as he turns and sees the once-cub. He greets her with a curt, "Morgan." A glance at Dillen and then back again. "I hear that you passed your Rite." It's not easy to be pleasant when there's a white hot fury clawing at the back of your eyes.

Dillen leans against his bike once again. "Morgan did well on her rite. I see her becoming a great garou." He gives the metis a slight smile and then look back to Grey. "It is good to see you back, Grey. Even if I must be the bearer of bad news."

The farmhouse's back door opens to admit Kevin to the farmyard. Outwardly at least, he looks very much the same teenager he has for the last several months; he's still clad in his sempiternal track-suit and running shoes, and still seems barely in need of a razor for the sparse outcrop of hairs on his prominent chin. He comes out of the house in rather a hurry, as though in a rush to be somewhere, and looking less then pleased, but as soon as he catches sight of Thomas Grey the discontent vanishes from his face. "Grey!" he yodels, and his hand shoots from his side to point at his tribesmate.

Morgan's eyebrows twitch a few times now, and she looks pleased, if slightly, vaguely. One hand finds its way up to her mouth. "Grey-rhya, you gone very long time. Is lots lost. Is okay?"

Grey grimaces at Dillen and gives a bit of a shrug. "I know, Morgan. And let that be a lesson to you. Never listen to a coyote--" The last word is cut off right at the end, thanks to Kevin's yodel; the Glass Walker turns quickly at the sound of his name.

Dillen looks to Kevin and gives a slight wave of a hand. "Hey Kevin." And then his gaze goes to Grey, awaiting what may come.

Reggie waddles around the barn from the field chewing on a sloppily made bologna sandwich, bright yellow mustard leaking in slow drops down his hand, one stray drop making the leap and burying itself into the fur of his wolfskins making up his ragged appearance. Accompanying him is Cricket.

Kevin's initial look of delight becomes slightly modified, as though, while glad to meet Grey for the first time in weeks, he would sooner have done so without the metis and his former pack alpha as spectators to the reacquaintance... not to mention the two further garou who choose this moment to appear from the fields.

Morgan bites at the joint of her left middle finger, eyes flicking from Grey to Dillen, then over to Kevin, and finally to those quickly approaching. Her fidgeting, always slightly present, only escalates.

Cricket follows behind Reggie, standing out like a sore thumb among all of the white-skinned Garou. Her brow develops ceases when she notices something going on in the barnyard.

Grey notes the arrival of Reggie and Cricket -- no recognition for the latter -- with a grimace of irritation, then excuses himself and heads over toward Kevin. As with Morgan, he mollifies his anger somewhat, as best he can anyway, and rakes an eye over his tribemate consideringly. "You all right?" he asks, in a tone of curt concern.

Basil drifts from the back door of the farm house in a set of olive drab clothing that makes him stick out like a khaki blemish on the horizon. It's almost as though he doesn't notice the others as he drifts along towards the farm yard, trying to light a cigarette as he makes his way towards the barn.

"And now we see Reggie has returned as well." Dillen nods his head, "Welcome back. Got some things to tell you..." He is quiet enough about it, not wanting to interfere too much. A glance is given to Basil as he makes his way towards the barn.

No-Step emerges onto the farmstead from the woods, the wolf trotting along briskly - he pauses when he sees the gathering and approaches, but only slinks around the edges, letting out a chuff to herald his arrival. Beyond that, he decides it would be wisest to stay out of the way.

Catching the sight of the crowded barnyard, Reggie hesitates in his steps, then jolts to a stop as he recognizes one missing face, and he lifts his gnarled arm up to point at Grey. "Y-you!", he gasp, as though he's just seen Grey's shade instead of Grey himself. "Wha--? Have you been here all this time? Did you even touch the tree?" he splutters.

"I'm just fine," Kevin assures Grey. "All the better to see you safe and well. I know you're indestructible, but it's nice to be proved right." He raises one hand to give the philodox a cheerful, light shoulder-thump, and then he looks round at Reggie -- his eyes pausing on Dillen en route, giving him what is plainly meant to be a Significant Look.

Cricket looks towards Reggie before following his finger-pointing towards Grey. She lifts a brow in silence as she remains perfectly quiet as she looks around. She could very well just be Reggie's shadow for the meantime.

Dillen runs a hand across his head and looks about. "This is gonna get sticky. Perhaps I should take Reggie somewhere and fill him in." The look from Kevin is given back, a nod of his head. He opens his mouth to speak to his former packmate but instead the words come out towards Reggie once again. "Farmhouse?" As it seems the voices from inside have subsided.

Grey turns to give Reggie the sort of look you'd give to a dog that just up and took a shit in your favorite shoes -- and it's not even a dog that you like. Then he turns his back on the Uktena to focus on Kevin. "Dillen said you'd scouted out the tire fire."

Basil finally lights the cigarette with a broad grin about the time he gets to the edge of the barn yard, and lifts his gaze to glance at the people around him. First to Reggie, his friend, Kevin and Grey, then to Dillen. He doesn't say anything yet, but eyes the group warily from his position.

Grey has not, unsurprisingly, noticed the wolf slinking around the barnyard yet.

"I did that," Kevin retorts, not without a certain pride. "Got every hair singed off my hispo butt for my pains, not to mention other annoyances... but I know that place like my own back yard now, and we can take it if enough of us go in together." He turns as he hears familiar footsteps approaching and gives Basil a casual -- possibly too casual -- wave. He too shows no sign of having spotted the lupus cub yet, his attention focused on the other homid garou in the yard.

No-Step sits and puts his ears back, taking the moment to very quietly watch the assembled group. Though it doesn't quite last - after a minute or so he yawns and sits there with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

Reggie gapes at Grey like a large mouth bass flopping on a riverbank, out of its element of water. "You--you didn't--the red tree--", he splutters, before he notices Dillen's addressed him with something. He blinks as he refocuses on the Get. "Uh, what? House? What?" He looks wildly around, catches sight of Cricket, grimaces as he shrugs, mouth pulling to one side in confusion, then he tends a tentative step towards the farmhouse, and another after seeing if Dillen's also moving.

Dillen gives a nod, mostly to himself and lets out a slight breath of relief. It's not too noticeable unless someone was focusing on him. The wave towards Basil is met with a slight curl of a lip. He then moves towards the farmhouse, motioning for Reggie to follow. "Come on. Will fill you in on the past two months."

Grey looks over at Basil after Kevin does, his gaze drawn by his tribemate's attention, and he gives the Bone Gnawer a nonhostile nod, or starts to, for that's when he spots No-Step lounging around on four legs. His eyes narrow. "Have the farmhouse rules been changed?" he asks Kevin, while staring directly at No-Step.

Cricket follows Reggie when he takes a step forward. The young Uktena appears stunned like the deer in headlights and wouldn't be left alone for a second with these Garou.

"Eh? No --" Kevin turns to look in the direction Grey's staring in. "No," he repeats with a frown. "Hey, you, wolf. No running round the yard looking like tha... oh hell," he interrupts himself. "Is that Derek?" Cricket earns a passing scowl from him as she follows Reggie, but No-Step catches the full glare of his discontent.

Basil eyes Dillen and Reggie when they pass by, then turns his attention to Grey when he catches the nod. He hesitates, then returns it and starts to slowly creep closer to the two. "So, uh. You did do the scouting? How does it look? Uh.... Bad?"

Morgan looks as though she too, would like a smaller gathering. She continues biting at her fingers, even harder than before, and glancing equally between each and every Garou present.

No-Step contorts, going through the rigors of painstakingly shifting back up to Homid. No clothes, but he doesn't really seem to care anymore. He brushes his hair back. "I was out in the woods on the Bawn, having a run, and trying to master having an extra set of legs. I came back, saw a bunch of people gathered around, and got curious." He looks at Kevin out of the corner of his eye, and then back to Gray. "If there's a rule, I didn't know about it."

Dillen gives a growl towards Basil. "You should have been there too." And then a flash is made towards the lupus wolf. "Jeez! You don't do that sort of thing out here where people can see!!" He slaps a hand to his forehead. "Go look upstairs in the infirmary. Pretty sure there are some clothes up there..."

Reggie's pace after Dillen is glacial, as he gawks at the other people present as though they're exhibits, giving people he knows a brief look and nod, and the cub changing out in the open of the barnyard a long stare, before leaving the cub to his elders as he follows Dillen. Cricket gets the occasional glance as he thinks to check how she's taking in things.

Kevin gives Derek a horrified look as he starts shifting in the yard. "Whoa! Whoa! In the barn, damn it!" he gasps, waving his arms like a windmill at the cub. "And get some damn clothes on!" he adds, going pink in the face as the cub's transformation is completed and he's confronted with Derek's naked form.

Grey's fingers twitch. Though his voice has been fairly calm, that aura of repressed fury hasn't gone away. In fact, it's slowly becoming less repressed. "Who is he?" the ex-Ahroun asks.

"Our fault for not telling him, not his for breaking it." Basil speaks up, coughing a little as he grows closer and closer to the duo. Then he looks at Dillen, and back to Kevin. "It was a scouting mission, not an assault. I was getting payment for the Totem we got. For tire fire attack. Patches said he'll help us." Basil passes his cigarette to Kevin, then strips off a tank top that had been tucked into his pants. "Wear this for now." He speaks, balling it up and tossing it at the cub.

"He's ours," Kevin growls, "and he should know better because Tu and I have hammered the litany into his stupid skull hard enough. What does it say about the Veil, you nitwit? It shall not be lifted/, and that means no changing in public." He waves a righteous finger in Derek's face.

No-Step looks up at Gray, as he snags the shirt, and tosses it back. "I put a change of clothes in the house," He says. "No problems. My name's Derek, and they tell me I'm a Glass Walker Theurge." He turns to give Kevin a bland look - totally flat - and then says, "I'll go in the house to change, now, since I seem to have fucked up." He looks to Grey. "Whatever I did that's pissing you off, I'm sorry, man." And then he trots away.

Grey grimaces and says a few words in Serbian, sounding at once disgusted, angry, and tired.

Dillen growls low at Basil and scowls. "Reggie. C'mon." Another flash towards the naked cub and a shake of his head. "And we don't break the litany..." Dillen adds, a little bitterness in his voice. With that, he moves towards and into the farmhouse.

Morgan winces, and bites into the side of her hand this time, rather than a finger joint.

Reggie slides the glass door at the rear of the farmhouse open, and walks inside.

"Insolent little sod," Kevin comments loudly as the Walker cub disappears inside. "Please tell me I was never like that, Thomas?" He looks at Grey with a tired look of his own.

Basil uses both hands and steps into the shirt when it comes back towards him, then puts it on, hiding away his branding once more. "He's not so bad. At least he's not Andrew. Or like me. Count your blessings, Kevin. And remember, he's a cub like we were. Gettin' angry at him won't solve nothing."

"Morgan, stop biting yourself," says Thomas Grey, in the automatic tones of a parent. One hand comes up and rakes back through his overlong hair. "Who's been teaching him?" He looks at Kevin. "Who's left, of the tribe?"

Cricket stares in shock and gives the undressed cub sometime to vanish into the farmhouse before she follows the other two in.

"Hard to say," Kevin drawls in a voice more akin to his normal tone. "Tu's still elder, I'm still resident smartass... Scratch and White Rabbit may still be around, but I never used to see them from one week's end to the next, so I wouldn't know if they had quit town. I think that new girl Ramona took over the spare room at the house. And him," he concludes with a jerk of the thumb to the back door through which Derek just vanished. "Tu and I picked him up from the truckstop on the interstate. Fetch came all the way to the house... which is why I knew there was something wrong with you," he adds. "Your place was way nearer, so I knew the spirit couldn't find you, so I knew you were somewhere a long way off."

Basil looks over at Bug, then smiles and taps his forehead with a single finger. "Didn't see you there, Morgan. C'mere. I have something for you, if you want it. It's another instrument." The Ahroun almost murmurs, barely repressing a small smirk.

Grey grunts. "If only. More like a time slip. Coyote spirits are worse than lunes and Wyldlings. Gaia only knows what it's purpose was." Fingers drag back through his hair again. He glances toward Basil and Morgan, then looks back at Kevin, studying the Ragabash for a moment. "You're sure you're all right?"

Kevin meets Grey's eye just that little bit too readily for it to be entirely natural-seeming, and the response of "Never better, I promise," is just that little bit too glib. Then he looks at Basil, and gives him the same brief meaningful glance that Dillen received from him a moment before. "As I was about to say before our cub started his striptease... the fire's nasty, and we may get hurt, even lose some. But it's got to be done, so..."

Morgan grimaces at Grey's order, but tugs her hand away from her mouth immediately. To Basil, she looks warily, then meanders over toward him, still making a face.

Grey squints at bit, but keeps to military subjects. "Dillen mentioned balefire."

"The least we could do is give putting the fire out a shot. In the physical realm, I mean. Maybe see if the people in charge of it started it on purpose... " Basil suggests, then turns to Bug with a smile, reaching into his pockets. The Ahroun pulls a plastic five-set of multicolored, still packaged kazoos from his pocket, and opens them. "Like this." Basil demonstrates, playing a brief 'tune' before offering them to Bug.

Kevin looks puzzled at Basil's gift, then gives a short harsh laugh when he realises its nature. He turns back to Grey. "Dillen wasn't there," he says. "Emma, Laura and I did it... but he's right. I got burned." A frown comes onto his face once more. "Closest I've come to going back to Gaia since that time I got run over by the Umbral truck. But they got me out of there, and Laura... well... she made it all right." He's flushed again, and his eyes keep going to Morgan for some reason.

Morgan's eyes widen considerably at the 'instruments', and she reaches out one finger to touch, first the bag, and then one of the kazoos themselves. Her nostrils flare. "Radio!" she says, sounding very pleased. "Is harm'ca, yes? Red. Blue. Yellow..."

Grey pinches the bridge of his nose. "Putting the fire out in the Realm would be useful, yes, but if there's something nesting it'll need to be attacked and destroyed in the Umbra. Balefire..." His hand lowers, fingernails tugging absently at the thickening, greying beard. "I heard once that the Gift that Fianna have that lets them throw off alcoholic effects lets them resist the effects of Balefire..." He's thinking aloud.

Derek comes back out, now fully-dressed, though he once again sticks to the fringes of things. He looks around and then proceeds to head to the nearest shady spot and sit. One knee goes up, one arm gets wrapped around it. He'd look lazy, if he wasn't watching everybody around him as if they were about to jump him and rip off his head.

"Like har-mon-ni-cas, only simpler. Be careful with them, ok? And don't lose them." Basil coos to the Fianna Metis, just smiling at her for a few minutes before turning to Grey. "I did a little reading when I was in the city, after I was condemned. Sorry." He smiles thinly. "Sentenced. It seems tire fires are hard to start. And hard to put out. I think the company may have done it on purpose. I was also thinking we could get some talens or something to help put out the fire."

Kevin's eyes still return to Morgan, time and again. "You're the Fianna," he says to her, addressing her directly for the first time since he entered the yard. "Is that so?" When Derek comes back out of the house, clothed, he gets another dirty look at first, but then Kevin forces a sort of smile onto his face. "Derek," he invites, "don't lurk over there. Come and meet someone you need to know." He indicates Grey.

Grey nods to Basil. "We'll need talens if we've any hope of fixing this. Fire's bad enough. Balefire's worse than silver." No rest for the wicked, and he didn't even get to experience the time that he was away. With a shale of his head, he turns an eye back over to Derek, sizing the boy up.

Derek gets up and walks back over to the group. He casts another bland look at Kevin, and then looks up at Grey. He brushes under his nose, and then stifles a slight tremor in his hand. "You know," He says to the Philodox, "Ever since I got here people have..." His eyes slide to Kevin, then back to Gray, "like, expected me to be piss-my-pants batshit terrified of my own shadow. You know? Then they get mad when I'm not. I'm a lot happer being scared of everybody but still tryin' to think straight. Sorry about that," He mumbles. "I did forget the rules. I'm Derek," He adds, quietly.

"I'm going to look into physically investigating the company itself. I've set Kevin on getting information about it, where it's located, and so on. If they are Wyrm tainted badly, we could stage a bad looking robbery or a eco attack on the offices. Cut power, go in with Crinos armed with human weapons. Only if we're sure though. I don't like the idea of killin' innocent people. Anyone got that sensy Wyrm thing besides Kaz?" Basil asks, glancing between the two.

"As it happens, nobody who saw you shouldn't have seen you," Kevin says sternly. "But you can't always count on that, even at a place as safe as this farm. It's not his fault really," he says to Grey somewhat unexpectedly. "With you being gone and me... indisposed, he's hardly had chance to be taught much beyond the basics. I did try and rope in a Silver Fang to help, but that seems to have gone to pot."

Grey's gaze shifts from Derek to Basil, and again he gives the Bone Gnawer a nod. "Sound idea. And sensing the Enemy's a common enough Gift, though no one in our tribe knows it." He grunts, acknowledging Kevin's words, then notes to Derek, "There are two parts of the Litany that are never argued or doubted. Never let a caern be violated. And never let the Veil be lifted. If you remember nothing else, remember that."

Morgan looks a little taken aback, with one kazoo partway in her mouth. She chews on the end of it, frowning. "...Not know if balefire. I no try yet." She glances between those still here. "Can smell Wyrm."

Derek scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah. I remember the first one. I just figured everybody here would be a wer- Garou. To assume makes an ass out of u and me." He says, before he quirks his mouth. "It wasn't his fault. He got into a fight with another silver fang and - uh." He rubs the back of his head again, as if he's rethinking what he wants to say. "Nevermind."

Basil smiles somewhat at Grey, though his nervousness still doesn't fade away completely. "Kevin came up with the robbery idea. I was thinking eco-terrorism." He glances at Derek, then looks at Bug and shakes his head a bit. "Hum into it." Basil speaks, softly, then turns back to the two Walkers. "I... Could teach him, or help anyways. I know a bit of lore and the laws and how to throw punches, lead, and swing a sword around."

"Excellent!" Kevin grins to Morgan, before facing Derek again, and, in the absence of an introduction from Grey, making one himself. "Derek, this is Thomas Grey, philodox cliath of our tribe. He's forgotten more about the Wyrm than I shall likely ever know, so take my tip, and when he talks, listen, mmkay? I don't mind admitting that I feel a lot... safer... with him around again." He flashes Grey a quick look. "Yeah, like Basil said -- if we do some nosing around into the owners online we might turn some useful stuff up, and even if we don't we're no worse off."

"I figured I'd need a Theurge to teach me, but uh... from what I've been told, when it comes to Glass Walker Theurges in this town," Derek looks a little glum, here, "I'm it."

"One of my packmates is a Theurge," says Thomas Grey, "and unlike some Black Furies," -- was that a hint of anger again? --"has a level head."

Morgan blows into the end she's chewing on, but rather half-heartedly. It makes a noise equally half-hearted, a rather quiet sounding fart. She seems far more content to chew on it like some kind of plastic cigar.

"Maybe I should get her a chew toy." Basil half wonders aloud, scratching behind his head while watching the Metis. "I guess Walker Theurges are kinda sparse, sorry kid. Anyways. Someone should also be looking in real life. We have the firm's name, right? Call up, sound official. They probably do waste management. Talk about being interested in a deal or something."

"Until and unless White Rabbit shows her face, it's just you," Kevin agrees. "But if you're thinking of farming him out to Laura, Grey, I couldn't agree more. She's keen as mustard... even when she's hacking at you with silver," he adds with a sudden twist of pain coming to his face.

Grey grunts. "She's a healer. Sometimes, surgery hurts." He brushes back a stray lock of hair and looks at Derek. "What have you learned so far?"

Derek looks up at Grey. "I've got the Litany down pretty good," He says, "And I can shapeshift pretty well, and -" He thinks. "Other than that I've just been trying to stay out of trouble. People have bigger problems, right?"
"I wouldn't wander the woods alone if I were you. There have been occasional attacks on and off again in the woods by tainted animals for a few months." Basil stubs out his cigarette on the side of his boot, then takes out a folded paper cup and puts it inside. "Alone, they'd make mincemeat out of you. The strength of a Garou is in your brothers. That's a good first lesson for you to remember."

Grey grunts. He gives Kevin a glance, then turns back to the cub. "You're one of our 'bigger problems'. Or at least one of our concerns. Are you staying at the farmhouse?"

Morgan looks up at Basil, her lips twitching around the kazoo. She says nothing, but she does stop chewing on it quite so much, and her attention shifts to Derek, as the slightly less familiar of the group.

"How much did you manage to get out of Tu since I last saw you?" Kevin asks Derek with a frown.

Derek looks from Gray to Kevin, and then shakes his head. "I mostly stay at the house in town, but as long as I do my best to stay out of trouble, I'm allowed to come here, too." He looks as if he'd really like to shrink.

Grey grunts. "Bit of a long trip," he notes, after a brief glance at Kevin for confirmation. "All right. Obviously, Tu trusts you enough not to run off on us. Did he provide you with a cellphone?"

"Don't I know it," Kevin says with a nostalgic sigh. "But it helps keep you fit, right, Derek?"

Derek shakes his head. "Nope." He says, before he digs one out of his pocket. "I've got one of my own." He looks over to Kevin and then he just shrugs, once, before he offers it to Grey.

Grey shakes his head, not taking the cub's phone. Instead, he reaches into his coat and takes out a small notepad and pen. "I'd prefer you memorize this rather than program it into your cell," he says as he writes. "I don't want to get any prank phone calls because someone's managed to steal your phone." He rips off the page and offers it to the cub. "Also, you need Dedicated clothing. How attached are you to what you're currently wearing?"

Derek looks down at his getup, and then tugs on it. "It's... you know, clothes." He says, before he examines the number and then folds it up, before he stuffs it into his pocket.

Kevin coughs pointedly. "Given that he just five minutes ago got them out of the stash upstairs, I doubt he's had chance to grow very fond of them yet." He gives Basil a quick grin at his own irony.

Derek mumbles. "I stashed my own," He says. "Tu gave me my money back."

Grey lifts an eyebrow at this, but lets it pass. "Into the barn. Kevin, Basil." He pauses a beat. "Morgan. Have any of you learned Talisman Dedication yet?"

Basil glances at Kevin, looking as though he's going to comment about something before he sees Grey, and thinks better of it. "I haven't. I've seen it done, but I've never done it. I never had a reason to."

"Not me," Kevin confirms. "I seem to recall it being discussed for after I'd shown you how to control small machine-spirits, but then things got in the way..."

Morgan shakes her head as well, pulling the kazoo completely away from her mouth, finally. "Cole-rhya do it for me. I not learn."

Derek looks around. "I'd like to learn," He says, "Though I guess since I'm not rited, like... I'm probably not allowed, yet."

Dillen exits the farmhouse and heads back towards his motorcycle. He is quiet as he passes through. He searches the cycle for a second, pulls out something from a bag on the side and then sets for the bawn. He doesn't really look at anyone as he moves his motorcycle closer to the barn and out of passer by sight.

Grey tucks the notepad and pen back into his coat. "You're not ready to learn proper rituals yet," he confirms. "Often, the spirits won't even respond to a cub." He shrugs, then turns toward the barn, gesturing for Derek to follow. "But I can Dedicate your clothing, and whoever wishes to watch may do so."

Kevin glances at Dillen as he comes out of the farm, and seems to decide something. "I really should get back to town and start on that research for Basil," he demurs. "I know how it works (you'll be fine, Derek), I just don't know how to do it myself. Like driving cars, kinda... But, Thomas. Any chance I might get to see you at my place in the next day or two? Or yours even?"

Grey nods to Kevin. "We'll catch up," he says simply, his expression terribly neutral.

Derek snorts. "Man..." He trails off whatever he was going to say.

Morgan glances toward the barn, as if considering the location rather than the offer to watch. However, it's not much of a bet that she won't tag along, and sure enough, a moment later she turns, clearly intending to follow Grey.

Dillen looks towards the others and takes in a breath. He's got something clenched in his hand and some may see the glint of gold. He turns away and heads off towards the bawn.

Kevin turns away from the barn. Grey is favoured with an equally neutral gaze in farewell, Basil with a slightly longer but equally neutral one. Dillen gets a repeat of the Meaningful Look he got earlier. Derek gets a very slight frown, and Morgan... is passed over entirely. He heads off down the lane.
You paged the room with 'Sorry to depart abruptly. Byee.'.

"I might as well come along. I really haven't got anything better to do until Emma turns up." Basil states, glancing again towards Bug with a small smile. "Morgan? Have you ever met a woman named Kaz?"