Happy Birthday, Marrick

[Drew Roscoe]

It took up until December for an appropriate sort of chill to set into Chicago, and even then the only thing that really made it chilly was the continual breeze and occasional hat-grabbing gusts that would sweep through the city, magnified and streamlined into something harder in alleyways and along streets downtown where the buildings tickled the bellies of the heavy clouds that were hanging overhead. Though it was day, and though clouds would obscure it even if it wasn't, the moon was full. This would eventually matter in one way or another, it always did when you were somehow related to werewolves. Drew stood still at the edge of a trail, rubbing the side of her face with one hand and holding a paper cup with a white plastic lid on the top of it that had steam billowing out of the small sip hole. She was dressed in a light-and-dark blue wool hat with little braided bits that dangled from the earflaps to fall down onto her shoulders, with a thick gray zip-up hoodie on along with jeans and fairly new looking sneakers. She was facing out from the path, into the large stretch of grass that, on warmer days, would have people picnicking, playing frisbee, and wearing out their dogs on. Something about her demeanor said that she was waiting for someone or something. Her mouth was tense. She'd been like this for about fifteen minutes, though, if she was waiting on someone they were late. She shivered once and took a drink from her cup.

[Laila Frolich]

~It is cold. A solid fact that is not lost on Laila as she moves down one of the many paths crisscrossing through Grant Park. In her hand is a brown paper bag that reads "Eleven City Diner" on the front in black cursive lettering. There's also a grande latte in her hand, steam pouring from a slit in the plastic lid. Laila is what a lot of people would consider short at 5'5. She's not wearing any sort of heels today, and her running shoes offer little to her height. Dressed in dark yoga pants and wearing a peacoat, the length of her now dark hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail: all of her pretty natural waves flat ironed straight. Noticing Drew she slows. Not because she knows the other woman, but because the other woman seems alone on such a cold day. She approaches Drew slowly, the cup drawn to her lips~

[Drew Roscoe]

Drew didn't seem to be paying much attention to her surroundings, her dark eyes were out of focus and rested away from the path. People strolled behind her in sweat outfits, jogging off extra calories picked up on in the holiday season. But that was something of an illusion. Drew always paid attention, especially these days. It was something her daddy taught her. Always be aware-- not necessarily on guard, because that made you paranoid and you wound up wearing unjust stress like a well-loved cloak, but aware. If you know what's going on around you and it's second nature then nothing can sneak up on you. These days Drew practiced this with caution, because things that want to kill her and take her away for their own desires lived in troves in this city. So when Laila slowed down with her eyes focused on her, Drew took notice. It wasn't only men that wanted her hurt and tormented, after all. In fact, it had been a woman that had driven a knife into her stomach a month or so prior and left her bleeding, nearly dead on the pavement while a battle raged over her unaware head. She blinked clear brown eyes once, then turned her head to focus her attention on the pretty woman in the peacoat with the latte in her hand. She blinked once, curled both hands around the paper cup to keep her hands warm, and lifted one eyebrow at the woman inquisitively. While this might seem haughty when executed by most, something about the air around Drew felt warm, everything that her face did was cute, open and welcoming. The lifted eyebrow, somehow, was friendly, an invitation to come talk. As smooth and cheerful as though she'd smiled warmly and asked 'yes?'.

[Laila Frolich]

~So far, Laila was ignorant to the dangers of being kin to Werewolves. At the moment, she hardly believed what Jeff had told her. Twilight was a movie. American Werewolf in London? That was a movie too. Werewolves certainly didn't have a place in real life and the idea - the thought - that she'd be related to them seemed strangely absurd. No one in her family had been remembered fondly. In fact, no one in her family had done anything at all remarkable except for embezzle money. She was sure that didn't count. So, when she looks at Drew it is with virgin bluish eyes that have yet to see the horrors of being Fenrir kin - or kin at all for that matter.~ Oh...yeah I'm sorry...~Her voice rings truly apologetic. While her appearance gave off the impression of money, the way she talked seemed very friendly and down to earth.~ You just looked...alone... ~That is said with the faintest marker of laughter in her voice. When had she become the patron saint of the lonely?~

[Drew Roscoe]

The woman didn't seem to think that she would be noticed so soon, judging by the apology and the faint hint of surprise in her eyes. Drew glanced her over real quick, not in the way that one young woman looks at another typically, judging, comparing... but instead hunting for danger. No knives, no guns, no teeth or claws or boils or fur. Looked like a normal young woman to Drew. So she passed inspection in a moment, and the petite girl with the dark brown hair and the blue winter hat smiled. The expression glowed so easily that you'd think the clouds had parted and the sun was shining just on the two of them-- Laila and Drew. "Oh. Yeah, heh, I guess I get that." Her shoulders lifted and dropped under the thick gray sweater in a shrug, and she sipped at her beverage before licking her lips, lowering the cup and continuing. "Was just thinking, actually. Hoping I'd spot something, but I think I missed it." Laila looked like money, Drew didn't. She looked middle-class, average. The hoodie had a brand name splashed across the chest that, while cute, was known to be inexpensive. The jeans were a little threadbare at the thighs and knees, and the hat looked like someone had knitted it themselves. She felt down-to-earth while Laila sounded it. There was a pause, then Drew glanced back to the girl with only the faintest furrow of her brow, an expression of concern rather than distaste. "You know, people are dangerous around here. I could've been some sort of crazy person that you were sneaking up on."

[Laila Frolich]

~There wasn't anything dangerous seeming about Laila. She looked very cool, distant even, but otherwise she seemed to be just another Chicagoan out on a chilly near winter afternoon - coffee and food in hand. Drew's presence makes Laila smile genuinely. Her eyes turn toward where the other woman had been staring as if she might see some trace of whatever it was that had been missed. Seeing nothing she takes another drink of her still steaming drink.~ Yeah....~She begins, her brows drawn together in a look that screams unpleasant thoughts.~ I'm starting to realize that. But you don't look so bad... ~Laila turns her eyes from Drew and moves her attention out over the park.~ I'm Laila ~It's said with a offering of a hand covered in a black leather glove.~

[Drew Roscoe]

"Appearance isn't everything, y'know." Drew grinned, and something in the expression was sharp and ironic, though not dominant enough to sour the warmth and cheer of her demeanor. For once, Laila wasn't aware that Drew was a wicked shot with a gun, that she'd gunned down monsters, stood over them while they bled out on the floor with a foot on their arm so they couldn't grab for her or anyone else, leveled the weapon and fired off another bullet that would spill brain matter on the floor beneath their skulls and her shoes. She also didn't know that it was a petite, somewhat pretty girl that had stabbed Drew on the sidewalk, that it was a kid that had later exploded into fur and fangs, that a gangly teenager in a hoodie was potentially one of the most dangerous, unhinged people that she knew, and that her idea of Death Incarnate had a boyish face and a gap-toothed grin. These were things that she would learn eventually, most likely. Probably not today, though. Drew's bare, red-knuckled hand clasped over Laila's glove-clad one and shook solidly. The smile never really seemed to leave her face, only changed in flavor and spice. Now it was greeting and openness. "Drew. Nice to meetcha."

[Marrick Fisher]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [how is she doing today?]

[Laila Frolich]

~There was something unsettling about the way Drew warned her. Whether or not the other woman had meant her statement as a warning, it had been taken to heart as such. Laila carries herself in a very aware and practised manner. Her posture is near to perfect, her gait a neat heel to toe when she walks. She tries very hard to make the entire package that is her seem natural - bred into her genetics - but the more a person is around her the more it seems learned from repetition or a great amount of study.~ Drew - is that short for something or are you just a Drew? ~Her smile is easy and the now cooling drink is drawn to her lips once more.~

[Drew Roscoe]

"Nah, just Drew. Drew Beatrice." She released Laila's hand and returned hers to her cup, warming it further and licking at lips that were always threatening to dry up if she didn't keep slathering them with chapstick at every given opportunity. "My dad's pretty straight-forward. If he likes a name, that's the name. Like, if he wanted to call a kid Jim, he wouldn't name him James, y'know?" Again a shrug, something dismissive. Drew nibbled on her lower lip before realizing that she was doing more damage than good, scolding herself mentally, and tipping her head back some so she could finish the contents of her cup before they got too cool and went to waste. Normally around this time she'd sniff and call her dog back to her side and head home, but Basil hadn't come out with her today. So instead she glanced up the path, out to the grass, then to Laila once more. "So what's your story? College student?"

[Marrick Fisher]

She was out with Boy. They were, at that moment, very difficult to separate. She had no idea what would come of the moot, she had no idea that, for a time, a large portion of protecting their home would rest on her shoulders. For now, Marrick Fisher was content to spend time with her brother. She was nineteen today. She had informed him of this, rather matter-of-factly, and promptly ended up sitting on his chest and grinning like a madwoman. She had informed him that, since it was her birthday, she demanded presents. Good ones. She had informed him that they would be running today, and that would constitute as a good present. The end. She hadn't said when, either. Just that they would be running. The Fury looked down at the hotdog she'd been eating- third one today. She eats like a linebacker. "You know, I know what's in these," she starts, "and I still don't care."

[Laila Frolich]

~The girl standing almost next to Drew nods her reply. The food in her bag is cooling, her coffee is almost gone. Technically she should have been headed back through the park toward Michigan Ave and her home - but she wasn't. Instead she remained standing next to a stranger, staring out at nothing.~ No...~Laila shakes her head, a smile dusting over her lips. Her face looked young, hiding a few of her twenty three years through good skin care care and expensive peels.~ I attended USC in L.A. for about a year before I decided it wasn't for me...how about you? Are you a student?

[Boy]

"Its all just meat." He says. They'd been running. Running was something he did with purpose. He either ran after things or away fro them. Running just to run, and keeping a steady pace while doing it, was a challenge. So, for Marrick, running with her brother meant starting out with a steady jogging place, and eventually sprinting through the park. That meant sweating so much that your shirt clung to your skin and your hair pasted itself to your neck. And it all felt so exhilarating. He stood, picking bodies through the crowd. Planning routes and eying possible targets. If he had less intelligence he'd probably be chasing the leaves as they tried to get away. And it made his voice come out in something strong and quick. "Chicken butt, pig butt, whatever. Its all just meat. I used to live on cold sausage franks an macaroni. That shits good for ya."

[Drew Roscoe]

Drew laughed, and the sound was a little modest, a little sheepish. One hand lifted to touch at the back of her neck awkwardly, then fell to toy with the braid of dark blue wool that was hanging over her shoulder along with her wind-tossled hair. "Well, I'm trying to be. Two years of schooling, got my generals almost done, and I still have no idea why I'm there, heh." She shrugged and answered her own half-an-inquiry about the purpose of college. "Guess I just want a job that gives me more than an apartment and stress over bills. And hell, I'm halfway there, so why not keep at it?" A glance was cast away from the pretty face with pretty blue eyes, and a familiar figure hopped up in her eye. Marrick and Boy stood out in the first place because of the fact that they were sweaty, huffing a little, and because people that came across their path would veer out of the way to avoid them. Boy, however, flashed a memory in her mind. Woods, a roaring fire, figures standing in a group in an open patch of grass and weeds waiting, watching on half-expectantly while she struggled and kicked and cried against being dragged off to what she had been convinced was death, or at least a good long stay in the hospital. Her head tipped to the side a little, and she stared a little longer than polite while searching for identity beyond "one of the wolves".

[Marrick Fisher]

She nods. "Well-hey, are you growing a mustache?" she looked at him mid bite. Running with Boy was fun. Something she enjoyed doing because he could keep up with her. He was tireless, and she continued on simply because it seemed that she wanted to keep going. Her attention wandered, briefly, and instead she found herself turning and looking at a pair of Fenrir on the street. The moon was full. She was nineteen years old. And she was tense. But she was running, or had been, so the world was looking up.

[Laila Frolich]

~Laila listens and smiles. She can't be much older than Drew but she reflects on what the other woman had said with a sort of ah...I've been there expression on her face. Still, Laila doesn't look as if she's hurting for anything: her sneakers are high end, her yoga pants are not made of cheap material and the peacoat is the sort that probably cost her a decent amount of cash.~ I get it. ~It's said with a nod~ I fell into a line of work that ... is pretty forgiving when it comes to my sometimes laziness and want to sleep in most days.. ~Her eyes then follow Drew's and she is for a moment reminded of the very scar and very strange man she'd met in this very same park just twenty four hours earlier.~ Do you know them?

[Drew Roscoe]

Drew glanced back to Laila and lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully, trying to puzzle out what line of work let you skip days and sleep in. She thought about that woman with the red hair and glasses, the photographer. She bet that was pretty cushy. And it paid nicely, no doubt. Drew found that completely unfair, that people that made all kinds of money had easy jobs that let them take days off and sleep in and what have you, but Drew was scraping the bottom of the barrel, struggling, and she had to work two jobs and almost never got a day off. That on top of college? Let's just say that she was ridiculously glad that she'd finished up this semester and was going to suck up her winter break with as much enthusiasm as she could. Then inquiry then came as to whether she knew the two that she assumed to be werewolves, and she blinked once, then lifted and dropped one shoulder uncertainly. "I think I might. Kinda recognize the guy."

[Boy]

Boy touched at his upper lip as if he'd just been told he had barbecue all over his face. A moustache? Was that even possible? How old did you have to be before you started shaving anyway? "Shit. You're messin' with me. My grandaddy had a moustache. And a beard. Shit...shit, i'm gonna look like my grandaddy now." He looked up at Marrick with dread, but followed her momentary gaze to the two women, forgetting all about the moustache for a moment. His eyes settled on Drew. "That's the girl that Decker made cry." He informs Marrick softly.

[Laila Frolich]

~There was enough distance between Boy and Marrick and herself that she felt comfortable to continue standing in the cold and talking to Drew. At this point, the tips of her small ears are red as is the tip of her small nose. It would be cute were it not so uncomfortable.~ I met some guy and girl here by the cloud gate yesterday...~There's tension in her voice, riding her words heavily.~ They were weird enough that I went out after immediately and bought a can of pepper spray.... ~This is all said as she keeps a watchful blue eye on Boy and Marrick~

[Marrick Fisher]

"No, you're not," she tells him, "you're going to look like you with a moustache." She looked at the kinfolk again, and now her attention didn't travel back. Hands rest comfortably on her hips. She observes them with mild curiosity, as though this were an exhibit at an aquarium, "what was her name again?" She asks and it is quiet. "Don' think Decker's much on tact." Hi, pot. I'm kettle.

[Boy]

"Crack Shot. Or...somethin' like that." He was touching at his entire face now, fingering the fuzz above his upper lip, trying hard to locate something along his chin and cheeks. "I can work with a beard. Beards are manly. A mustache though? I dunno."

[Drew Roscoe]

Drew's eyes, a bright and obvious sort of brown rather than dark with ethnicity or murky with greens and oranges that would make them hazel, slipped over to Laila again, studying her for a second before she simply nodded. "Not a bad idea." Not that pepper spray would do her any good against the monsters that saved their wrath for her and other Kinfolk, it felt like. Drew kept her gun with her all the time. Matter of fact, her Colt was riding on her side under the bulk of her hoodie at this very moment, just in case. It was, after all, this park that she'd been in when crazed bad guys tried to kill her and the tall bespectacled Kinfolk, when Bad Wolf Monsters had charged... Why did she come here still? Marrick and Boy were staring, and Drew picked up on that easily enough. Her lips pulled funny as she nibbled on them further, then she forced a smile and lifted a hand in greeting. Hi, how are you?

[Laila Frolich]

~Laila smiles at Drew's sort of approval at her idea of 'protection' against monsters (heroes?) like Daniel - like Werewolves. Blue eyes follow the small wave of Drew's hands as she greets Marrick and Boy. This draws Laila's back even straighter than it had been. It brings about a line of tension in her pretty jawline that wasn't there moments ago.~ It was nice to meet you Drew...I really should get going...it's getting cold ~She smiles and tosses the latte cup in the nearest trash can.~

[Boy]

Boy forgets his potential facial hair for a moment to stand with squared shoulders, facing Drew fully as she waves. At first his head tilts to the side, trying to make sense of it, and then he juts his chin out at her in an upward nod that's a bit more abrupt than it should be. "I think you got a friend, Bones."

[Marrick Fisher]

Drew, in return, received a smile and a thumbs up for her response. Then? There was a wave, a wave on over, as though they didn't bite... well, not hard. The Fury starts on her way over. "Dunno who she is, but hey, could always use friends."

[Drew Roscoe]

Laila made her exit statement, polite to a fault. But Drew noticed the tension, noticed how she straightened, how muscles tightened and joints tensed. She recognized that, vaguely, and glanced toward Marrick and Boy again. A reasonable reaction to such monsters, she supposed, especially seeing how most 'normal' people avoided them as much as they possibly could. She remembered a conversation with Abe that had taken place after Joe had broken his jaw. "What the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you just run away?" "Are you stupid? He would've killed you!" "...Yeah, but you hit him. That took serious balls, Drewby. Balls or stupidity." "Or love." "....Ugh, I think the fucker broke my face." So Drew sniffed against the chill and smiled, nodding. "Yeah, wind's picking up. Nice to meet you too, Miss Laila." Her smile was bright as ever as the woman she was unaware of being Kin made her escape.

[Boy]

Boy is quick to follow, and in fact, overtakes. He trots on ahead, meeting with Drew personally and walking backward with her as she continued, if she continued. "Hey." His voice comes quick and heavy. Or as heavy as any 17 year old can manage. "I'm Boy." He continues proudly, and jerks his head toward Marrick. "That's Bones."

[Marrick Fisher]

She smiled contently, and waved. She is intense, there is a need and a want for movement in every inch of her body. She was tense, buzzing the need to run, even if she had just done it. To jump, to hunt, to kill, to do whatever it is that she does. "Sup?" ever the articulate one.

[Doodle]

...A long single note, sort of like a whine, creeps into the attention span: It is a high pitched thing, though not enough to warrant a grinding on the nerves, more a subtle squint and curious 'what the...'. It steadily grows louder as time progresses until eventually it becomes an incomprehensible word and from that? A more comprehensible thing that has one guessing for clarity. Finally it stops, takes a breath...and starts back up again, louder or rather closer, the source coming around the nearest block corner at a fumbling run, with a single word at the top of his puffing lungs- "......Boooooooooo-" The Surplus army bag is bouncing around awkwardly on one shoulder, dragging him in a zig-zag pattern, arms flailing to maintain his gait's integrity, bushy hair clumping together, uncombed and scattered like a flame, leaning to one side. The gray pea coat is open and flapping behind him, while the dark red hoodie is sporting a half dozen dark stains of various foodstuffs, the cargo pants much the same. He'd yet to take them off for Wendy to do a load of washing it would seem. The new sneakers slap loudly on the concrete. "-yyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

[Drew Roscoe]

The pretty young Kinfolk, young but older than the trio that had come together by a handful of years anyways, vanished. Headed up the path without glancing back. Smart girl. Drew peered after her for a few moments before Boy surged ahead of Marrick and came to a stop a few feet in front of her. His chin was parallel to the ground, voice heavy and posture proud. Every bit the teenage monster that she expected-- self-certain and unabashed. He introduced him and the blonde as Boy and Bones. Drew smiled the same friendly room-brightening smile that she always seemed to have in large supply and tossed her empty cup into the same trash bin that Laila had used before taking her leave. Her hands would fall into her hoodie pockets once freed up. "Boy and Bones, huh...? Original, at least. I--..." She paused, trailed off, and furrowed one eyebrow down while flicking the other one upward. Someone was whining Boy's name, calling it out like how she'd heard farmers call in cattle (Come Boo-ooossss!) and that someone turned out to be a scrawny boy nearly tipping over from the weight of a bag he kept with him when he rounded a corner. She was honestly surprised that he didn't wipe out and go rolling in the grass. She blinked, then quirked a grin that looked highly amused. "Let me guess. This'll be Bog?"

[Boy]

His ears couldn't twist and turn in this form, but his attention grabbed his gaze and forced it upward at first, then down and around until he was facing the source of the sound, and watching their even younger packmate round a corner at a frantic pace. Drew guessed 'Bog'. Boy corrected her with a quick 'What the fuck?' look before raising his hands, waving and shouting the correction. "DOODLE!" He shouted with a form of excitement usually reserved for positive expletives like 'Kickass!' or 'Fuck Yeah!' "DOODLE! HEY MAN!" And there was a sharp and abrupt whistle that joined the attention grabbing motions.

[Marrick Fisher]

"Nope," she tells Drew with a grin. The (now) nineteen year old looks down the way at the Bone Gnawer. She grins something too bright, too sharp, and too feral. The moon is high in the sky, and she is a limitless, boundless supply of energy. "Doo-duuuuuuhl!" she calls out, and she waves like it's important, "I'm old!"

[Doodle]

"What?!" It is brilliant shock that brings the youngest of the gathered here up short, bag flinging hard forward with the sudden momentum, propelling the strap into his shoulder and dragging him from his standstill before the Trio with an awkward squawk that ends with him nearly face-planting effortlessly. He rights himself with a few wide-spread hand and arm gestures, legs spread a little wide and lungs heaving for more oxygen then his little body could possibly hold. He stares at Marrick like he was going to reply to her outrageous comment and instead- "Holy Crack Monkeys do you have any idea how hard it is to find people in the Physical? Like seri-" He freezes in place, lips half-formed into an 'o' shape as his gaze finally registers Drew, eyes snapping wide and chest still working the billows. Without moving an inch, his gaze flicks back to Boy and Marrick, hand coming up close to his chest, index finger creeping out to indicate the young woman, with a quizzical sort of 'Did I just fuck up?'.

[Boy]

Boy shrugs at Doodle's complaint. "I just follow my nose, man. Oh hey, no worries. This is Hot Shot. Decker made her cry once." Boy circles around, draping a sweaty arm over the youngest pack member as a way of pointing him out. "This here's Doodle. He's our bro."

[Drew Roscoe]

Drew had pressed her lips together and pushed them to the side when Boy cast her a quick, sharp 'what the fuck?' expression. Her eyes closed and shoulders shrugged. She thought it was kind of funny-- a triad of 'Bo' names. Apparently they didn't get it, though. Or they didn't take the time to think about it, too busy were they with shouting to one another. It was textbook, really. Wolves howled to communicate, and teenagers howled to be young and rambunctious. This qualified as both, and they all seemed to be precisely that-- teenage werewolves. Every single pun in the universe fell down on Drew's head, she was pretty sure, at that thought. They were brushed away, though, and instead she held her silence and observed as Boy and Bones yelled at this fluffy-haired kid who had to be 'Doodle'. He came huffing and puffing to a stop, screeched a little bit when that massive bag almost pulled him to the ground yet again, and started yammering on about how hard it is to find people in the 'Physical'. Which Drew assumed was this world right here. After all, they could pop in and out of a second world, something someone had called an 'Umbrella', or something. Spirit world was easier for her to remember, though. He stopped mid speech and looked at her like he'd just farted in class and laughed about it only to find that the teacher was standing right beside his desk. She grinned and nodded her head, wiggling fingers at him from the pocket of her hoodie in greeting. She was about to open her mouth to speak when Boy spoke up instead, and she cast him a look that was difficult to place, but certainly wasn't pleased. "First of all, it's Drew. Not 'Hot Shot'. Sounds like a stripper name. Second of all, thanks for bringing that up. 'Ppreciate it. Best damn introduction I've ever gotten." Twerp. She huffed indignantly and nodded to Doodle. "Nice to meetcha."

[Doodle]

Nice to Meet yo- "She's not a-" Interruption, pointing at Drew still while looking up at Boy "-She's not a Stripper, Boss. Strippers have big Heels and funny walks and call you honey and sugar a lot, while bending forward so you can get a look at their jugglies and st-" A flicker flash wince is cast at Marrick, followed by a mouthed 'Sorry!' and then around on Drew again, with a crooked sort of grin and a hand that thrust's out toward Drew. "Hi!" Pause. "You're pretty" Pause. "Heeee..." Looking up at Boy with a nod and a nudge in the ribs with his elbow, followed quickly by a- "...Why they call you Hot Shot?" Pause. He's done.

[Marrick Fisher]

"Drew? It's nice to meet you," she says. She offers the Fenrir kin a hand. She's too tense, too intense, too much of a lot of things, but... what she lacks in the general, she makes up for trying. An overeager, rabid puppy.

[Marrick Fisher]

She looked at the boys for a second, mouth set and the Fury raised a brow. She didn't adopt this expression often, but it didn't seem to matter. She observes, and suddenly looked like she might crawl into a hole and die. "Doodle? Who took you to a strip club?" So that she may find them and subsequently maim them.

[Boy]

That telling off leaves Boy balked, and visibly so. But luckily Doodle was talking. Luckily he had the young Bone Gnawer to correct him, and then some. Boy's expression turned from a look of shame to--Wait a minute, hold the phone! "How the hell do you know about strippers?" Boy demands, and with a slap on Doodle's shoulder, he jabs a thumb in Marrick's direction. "Wish her a happy birthday." Coming back to Drew, he frowns softly, and runs a hand swiftly through still wet hair. The chill was coming down. They might catch their deaths out here. "Sorry. 'Sall I really know about ya, that's all. I didn't mean nothin by it."

[Boy]

((Alright folks, on battery power now so I have roughly an hour. Just a heads up.))

[Drew Roscoe]

Drew seemed a little bit taken aback by the enthusiasm and the two hands thrust in her direction. She blinked, glanced between the two, then accepted Marrick's hand first. She felt like she outranked him, and so Drew figured it best to defer to her first. Her grip was firm enough, not crushing, not trying to prove anything though. Just enough not to be a flimsy fish-handed thing. She shook Marrick's hand twice, solidly, then took Doodle's instead. Awkward kid, she thought, but smiled anyways. "Thanks. I like your hair." A compliment for a compliment, after all. He nudged at Boy as though there was a joke to be had, like he was daring Drew to spell 'i cup' out so that he and Boy could giggle about what they just convinced her to say. He asked how she got the name Hot Shot. She corrected and explained. "I think what you're talking about is 'Long Shot'. That Curata guy calls me that. I think it's because when I shoot bad guys I tend to hit them here." And she reached out and tapped two fingers between Doodle's eyes. Her hand went back to her pocket, and she returned her gaze to Boy. "S'alright. Just pointin' out, it wouldn't be cool if Bones here introduced you as the kid who used to piss the bed when he was seven."

[Boy]

Boys brows furrow quickly at that, instantly upset. He glances at Marrick, then back to Drew, and his hand finds the back of his neck. "Point taken." he says grimly.

[Doodle]

Doodle balks quickly and in several successive instances: "It was just the once, Marrick, Jukebox said-" "My Hair?!" A quizzical pat of his head, feeling out the tips of the Einstein spread to the left- "It wasn't nothin' I swear!" Up at Boy as he repeat's Marrick's claims. "Wha- Huh?" As Drew pinpoints him between the eyes, forcing him to lean his head back at stare at the tip of her finger a moment- "Oh! Wait..." A Frown, the young Theurge stepping closer to Drew, eyes narrowed in a firm (for him) regard, gaze leveling with Drew's features, before he leans out, picking up one of her hands and inspecting the inside suspiciously. "Uhhh..." He leans back again, eyes still on the hand for a moment longer, then up at Drew, face frank and a little skewed with one eye closed, tongue in cheek. "...Why you Shootin' Bad Guys? That's our job."

[Doodle]

"I mean we don't shoot-...Well I don't shoot, I don't know if Marrick or Bo-" Eyeing the other two, quizzically "Do you shoot-" Then around on Drew quickly, hands to his chest "I don't shoot or...well..." Tapping his chin, eyes skyward "...Do much else either but...make things out of other...things I can find and..." Hands and shoulders finally begin to slump, fingers tapping idly against one another infront of him, a faint frown on his features. "...And Oh! OH!" Excited again, eyeing Drew. "I Can Draw!" Flustered shaking of the head. "Sketch! I said Sketch. I can sketch...stuffs...too.." Wince that refuses to leave his features.

[Boy]

"Wendy shoots." Boy says matter of factly, and crosses his arms over his chest as he does so, sniffing quickly. "When she has to. Its a good thing for kin to know. Long as you don't go all Vigilante 'n shit."

[Drew Roscoe]

Boy frowned hard, glancing from Marrick back to her. He looked properly shame-faced, and that was enough for Drew Roscoe. She smiled brightly, hard enough that her eyes closed for a second, and nodded happily. "Good!" It seemed that all was forgiven and forgotten. Drew was a big advocate of putting things in the past. She's put much, much worse behind her, after all. Like having her boyfriend's jaw broken or having a monster drip hot breath and saliva on her shoulder and arm, a hair's breadth away from taking her life and god knows what else with it. Doodle floundered, edged closer to her, and it occurred to her that they were the same height. A rare find. She blinked, thought about saying something, but cut it off when he plucked her hand away from her pocket and studied it. She didn't snatch her hand away, perfectly fine with contact so long as he didn't try and lick it or bite at her fingernails or something. Rather than either of those, he talked himself in a circle so quickly the ground beneath him all but collapsed and he was left wincing and stammering about drawing. She blinked once, then shook her head. "Shhh," was the initial statement. Not a 'shut the hell up' sound but a 'calm down' sound. "I'm shooting bad guys because if I don't they'll get me, and if I hadn't I'd probably be captive or dead right now. I'm kinda fond of life and free will, myself." And he can draw. Poor kid needs what reassurance he can get. "I'm pretty sure that just being what you are makes you a hell of a lot more useful than what I can claim to be, kid."

[Marrick Fisher]

(skip me, loves, phone call)

[Doodle]

"NAHHHHHH!!" He flaps a hand at Drew, a sheepish grin splitting his features, leaning off to one side, stiff-legged and hands jamming into his pockets. He turns back to Boy and Marrick, stepping away from Drew out of some courtesy intent, taking up Boy's right side again. "...That's cool though. Shooting...bad guys that is...Fair's fair like Eyes 'n Teeth...Keep 'em dead so you ken live, yeup.." He nods, sagely for a Fifteen year-old. Then 'round on Boy, a matter-of-fact tone creeping into his voice. "...Came to tell ya I renewed the Pact with the Rats in the Walls, digging out Spiders for us. We're good for another few months at least and Oh! Told me about some stuff kickin' 'round ten blocks down. Basement party for the-" And he hisses loudly and scratches at the air, making 'evil' faces that look at lot like the vampires from old black and white movies, combined with some gestures that could be tentacles or replicas of a fish swimming.

[Marrick Fisher]

She looks at Doodle, and she hasn't wiped that ever-so-vaguely predatory grin off of her face. He's talking about something and the Fury perks up. She is pleased, she is anxious, she is ready and looking to burn off some of that Gaia-given rage that she was so lovingly blessed with. Control was key, and idle hands were the devil's plaything. "Well, that sure sounds like a decent birthday present."

[Boy]

"Shit. Right." He nods to Doodle, and his voice takes on a conspiratorial tone. "Great work man. Callie and me can scope it out and we'll work up a plan of action. You guys down for that?"

[Doodle]

"Yep!" Pause. Blink. Turning to Marrick. "Happy BIRTHDAY!" And he lunges forward to wrap his arms around her waist, a grapple hug ensuing with ferocious good cheer and broad grins. "Ya old battle ax, you..."

[Drew Roscoe]

And so they turned to talk of battle and planning and other such items of mayhem that Garou tended to fall to. Things that Drew couldn't really participate in. She licked at her lower lip, then sighed quietly, at herself, and produced a tube of chapstick from her pocket. This was applied generously to her lips because god damnit this year she wasn't going to chew them to shreds just because it got cold and they got dry. She shifted her weight back, but didn't actually back away. That'd be weak, and her people frowned on her for acting or appearing weak. Instead she smiled, though the expression was faint now, and lifted her eyes to Marrick's face. "Well happy birthday, then."

[Marrick Fisher]

She doesn't quite squeek, though she does make a little noise upon the initial hugging. She wraps her arms around Doodle, holds and rocks back and forth like she was going to keep him forever and always. The Fury hugged like War, but it was an affectionate sort of war. "Weeee can do that, you two go do your thang," she tells Boy. She's yet to let go of the poor, unfortunate Gnawer. She looks at Drew and grins, "sorry, only hit nineteen once. I'm feelin' pretty ancient."

Valkenburg

[Muerte Fria]

Again, the Uktena is quiet, and her gaze grows flat. This is an improvement, truly. A display of how she has changed over the last few months. Earlier, before the Stone of Scorn had been laid upon her, before Lukas tore into her throat and dragged her before Boy for caretaking, Soledad would have snarled defensively and lashed out at the Ahroun, despite his having rank over her. She would have insisted that it was none of his fucking concern, that she was an Ahroun, that she'd taken care of herself before and would continue to do so because she was strong and she was a warrior and nothing could steal that away. Instead, she answered in a flat tone made to seem all the more so by her low voice and slightly monotone way of speaking. "No, on all accounts. Do Not Suffer Thy People to Tend Thy Sickness. I will not press others to tend to me, I will do so myself." Even if she was failing at it, and hard.

[Curata]

The flatness of her tone draws out the coldness in his, he angles his head. Gaze narrowing as the smooth skin over his forehead puckers and wrinkles with growing frustration. She recants the litany to him and Curata clucks his tongue at her. “There’s a difference, Muerta Fria, to pregnancy and to being sick. Ye aren’t tending to a sickness, ye ‘ave a wee babe growing in yer belly for the luve o Gaia, possibly a future warrior…” He speaks to her without tearing her down or disrespect, just an expression of concern for another warrior. He nods his head once, “Very well then, I recommend ye find a place o proper shelter for the winter. I shall ‘ave words wi’ the ahroun elder o yer condition. I won’t let one o’ m’warriors go uncared for if’n she needs ‘elp and doesn’t want to ask for it.”

[Boy]

This place wasn't meant to be a home. The warders remained here out of duty. They slept on the hard floors in drafty hangers. They ate among desperate spirits of the city. They stood watch over this boneyard of ships. That was their sacrifice, to remain here and guard and never leave. He was here for other reasons. But punishment didn't mean his duties ended. Boy had lent his hand to the caern just as he would have for his own territory. And up until a moment ago he was standing at the edge of his territory, talking to another Fianna, and keeping abreast. He was also receiving something. Something he now wished to share. Boy approached the odd duo of Curata and Soledad in his breed form, coming near enough to be within earshot. He doesn't speak, however, or do anything else to get their attention. He just...stands there.

[Muerte Fria]

Curata grew stern, and of all of the things she could do to respond to that, she relaxed. The cold of his voice was comfortable, the scowl on his face familiar. Assertion of dominance, being put in her place, these were things she was accustomed to. She didn't particularly enjoy it, don't get her wrong, being corrected was far from the highlight of her day. But things like kindness and warmth were alien to her, made her uncomfortable and anxious to escape. This? This was the life she knew. He still managed to sound more concerned than angry, though, and perhaps this is where she recognized the difference, knew to settle rather than rile up. He would have words with the Ahroun elder-- with Marrick. Marrick would grumble and come to fetch her, bring her back to La Familia's packhouse. This was not immediate, though, something she would have to deal with when the time came. Rather, the Uktena simply huffed, did not agree or disagree with the Fianna. Instead, she turned the subject around, off of her, back to Gina. Something she was comfortable to speak of-- which is to say anything that wasn't herself. "Thank you for your kindness toward Gina, and for stepping up to care for her when I am unable to do so."

[Curata]

"Ye are welcome," he huffs out at her, flowing with the change of topic. He can feel the presence of the other, of Brother of the Lost, alpha of La Familia. The corner of his mouth quirks in an odd smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He grunts and nods his head to Boy in acknowledgment of his presence. "I was glad ye agreed to it, I dinnae want to 'ave to challenge ye for Gina's wardship, though I will do it if'n ye aren't capable o caring for 'er as I am." He says this without insult to the Uktena, just a statement of the fact. "Ye 'ave wish for words, Brother o the Lost?" He turns now, regarding Boy with interest, hoping that the Philodox had caught parts of the conversation.

[Muerte Fria]

Curata spoke of guardianship of Gina as though it were something flimsy, that he would take from her in a heartbeat, on an impulse. Soledad hardened back up, shoulders tightening and squaring, drawing attention to how sharp they'd become. It was difficult to say how skeletal she was getting under the loose sweatshirt, but one could rest assured that she was far from as healthy as she could be, ought to be. Her jaw tightened, teeth ground, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned her head to look to Boy when Curata addressed him and held her tongue.

[Boy]

Having been noticed and addressed, he steps even closer, speaking in a quiet voice, just for them. "I do. You guys remember how, not too long ago, we found ourselves on a certain task. I'm sure you'll remember. I know I'll never forget."

[Muerte Fria]

Soledad's eyes followed Boy as he approached, and her hands pulled out of her pockets so they could rest at her sides instead. Something flickered across her face, a hand moved to touch the underside of her swollen stomach, having to push the sweater in to do so, drawing into sharp relief how much she really had grown. It seemed like the change was drastic and overnight. "What is your intent, Boy?"

[Curata]

It is easy to misconstrue what the Fianna says, thinking that he may not treat it seriously, given his tricky demeanor. His features harden, all smiles fading the moment Soledad tightens up and he folds his arms a little looser across his chest. Boy speaks, cryptically, and it takes Curata a moment to process what he means, rolling his head back and forth on his neck, popping the vertebrae of his spine. “Wha’ o it?”

[Boy]

For a moment, his open mouthed intent to speak falters, and his eyes widen at Soledad's swollen belly under her clothes. He shakes it off quickly, but not quickly enough. "There was...hardly anything left of the Shadowlord sinner. But from what was left, I got this." And from his pocket he pulls a small scrap of paper, thin enough to see through, which he had rolled like a scroll. He opens it out with a gently plying of fingers, and reveals the traced glyphs which he himself had only barely recognized. "I still don't know what the rest means, but this one--" Boy slides his finger along, indicating a rune that looked vaguely like an hourglass. "This mark is from the Valkenburg. It was a prison. No a...what's it called." He thinks on this for a while, and his eyes light up when he has his answer. "A nut house. A loony bin for garou."

[Muerte Fria]

"Garou do not have asylums." Soledad stated this blandly, but looked upon the paper that Boy had produced with the sort of knowledge lust that Uktena were uncannily known for. She leaned forward some when the glyphs sketches into the fragile paper were displayed, studying them for herself. These were what she sought when she swung by La Familia's packhouse a few days after the night Boy had mentioned. Wendy had been there, had invited her to the fridge and the bathroom. Soledad had taken a shower, eaten her fill, and waited for Boy to turn up. He had not arrived in time to catch her, she'd departed despite Wendy insisting that she stay and rest, that Boy would return. Soledad had instead tried to move on. But when something like this was laid out before her eyes? It was like bait before a trout. She pressed a hand up into her stomach, frowning just a little bit while doing so, as though trying to appease a stomach ache or push away a burning in her chest, then lifted her eyes to Boy. "What do you know of Valkenburg? Where was it? Does it still stand?"

[Curata]

The Fianna remembers the incident like it was yesterday. The events had left him a bit changed in what had transpired with the Shadow Lord and made him face demons he has not done so in months. He listens, pulling his right hand up to scratch at the underside of his jaw, lifting an eyebrow towards Boy as he held up the sheet of paper that bear the traced glyph of the Accused. Insane asylums. Soledad echoes his own thoughts, snorting loudly in agreement with her. He remains silent as the questions roll off the other ahroun’s tongue.

[Boy]

"And spirits don't ask for aid from those outside of their tribe. But you were there, Soledad." His gaze shifted quickly with Curata's snort. "And you as well. In fact, there wasn't a single Shadow Lord with us that night, other than the one we judged. "I don't know about the Valkenburg itself. Only rumors. They kept garou imprisoned there because they couldn't decide what to do with them. But, like I said. Only rumors. Bone Gnawer stories. But there is something else. A company called Modern Efforts Inc. Its in a town called Kenilworth just north of the city. Supposedly that's all that remains of the Valkenburg Foundation."

[Muerte Fria]

Ironic, isn't it, that the stoic figure of the Caern has suddenly taken up speaking for herself and the Fostern that had just been admonishing her about not taking enough care of herself? She eyed Boy now, eyes having taken in as much of the glyphs as she needed for the moment. Her expression was as hard as it ever had been, this was no topic for leisure. "You wish to go, and you wish for all that had part in that Fallen Lord's trial to come."

[Curata]

"It would seem fitting if'n ye think about it." He was mulling over the conversation, continuing to rub at the underside of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble of beard growth. He doesn't reach for the glyphs, his knowledge in all things of the occult were limited to basic things. "We were there to judge him. Almost seems as if it were planned out. Did ye get any other details about this company?"

[Boy]

"Yeah, I wish to. But I can't. I've been bound to the bawn as punishment. Those birds? They were the servants of Grandfather Thunder. Before we left that night they gave a message. They said "Do this for the others." I think Valkenburg still stands. I think the garou there await judgement. And I think...I..." He falters slightly, and suddenly doesn't seem as confident as he had previously. Boy rolls the scrap of paper and places it back into his pocket. "I think if what we did...was harder than any of us would like to admit. If that night was any indication, I think there's a chance we may go crazy with outrage. Swimming in our own righteous Rage...until we're swallowed up by it. So...I'll leave the choice to you."

[Muerte Fria]

Boy spoke of the judgment being hard, that any who go to visit what is left of Valkenburg may very well go insane with outrage, with the emotion that seemed to strike through the hearts of everyone when the earth opened up, the Stormcrows sneered, and the Shadow Lord was pulled down into Erebus. He failed to recognize where Soledad had already been. Soledad, the cub who had studied what it was to be an Ahroun in the Atrocity Realm, who had calloused herself against emotion outside of her own Rage, felt no despair, no sorrow, no hopelessness for the Garou as he cried out 'what did you do?' and fell to his own demise-- a punishment worse than death. The Ahroun had observed, sniffed, and been contented to know that he would no resurface someday seeking to rain revenge upon her head. That was all for her. She scoffed quietly at Boy and shook her head. "Speak for yourself. You may fear insanity, Boy, I do not. I will go."

[Curata]

“This is a serious matter that needs to be dealt wi’, perhaps speaking to Katherine, she’ll wavier the ban o punishment long enough to deal wi’ the situation. Can explain to ‘er it’s a matter o importance, ye beta is the war leader, if Marrick deems it necessary for ye to go, Boy, Katherine may ‘ave to relent.” Curata knows what personal hell is like, he has been living it for the past year now. His expression grows hard, cold and flat. His voice dropping to a low bass that held a grim tone, going to this place could very well lead to his insanity. He weighs the new prospects of what has transpired, wants to go and see this to its end as much as it intrigues him. Joss would kill him if he came back any less that he was now. “I’ll go.”

[Boy]

He nods at the two of them having made their decisions. "Only Marrick...and the young Gnawer are left." His lips purse slightly, and Boy turns to Soledad, patting his pocket. "I think we should share this."

[Curata]

"Now is it only us ye want to go along? I think... we could use the aid o a Godi. I can ask Joss for 'elp seeing as she's me beta and all. We didn't 'ave a Theurge wi' us last time, perhaps one will be good, aye?"

[Muerte Fria]

Soledad shook her head when Boy turned to her with his hand tapping at his thigh, where he'd tucked the paper with the glyphs sketched onto it, and suggested they share. Her hands spread in front of her, indicating herself. Whether she's trying to draw to attention her pregnancy, her lack of health, or the shabby condition of her clothes, it's difficult to tell. Perhaps she's pointing out all of them. "I am in no condition to safekeep such a thing. Put it somewhere better." There's a pause here, a reconsidering. "Unless you mean share it with the rest of the Sept, which I have no qualms with. Grandfather Thunder is not my Totem to follow, his fickleness is not my concern. If he wants a job done by any number of Maelstrom's Garou, than it will be done by any of Maelstrom's number."

[Boy]

"I meant with the tribe. With Bai and Adam. But...you're right. Perhaps we should inform the Shadow Lords. And...yes, Rhya. A theurge would be helpful. Not that we're not grateful for the spirit negotiations we had last time. But, whoever ask to join us should be told about the danger involved."

[Muerte Fria]

"We will not bring an army." This is stated almost sharply, and the Garou wavered a touch, slid a foot outward to widen her stance, correct her balance and rediscover where her center of gravity was settled at current. She was a Garou, certainly. A warrior that could not be taken by sickness, that refused to fall in battle. But she was not immune to starvation and the elements. A faint shiver crawled over her skin, she shook her head, and ignored it as she ignored everything her body did these days. "Nightcrawler is Uktena only by his own claim, I do not acknowledge him." This was stated plainly, as clarification, before she pushed on with her first statement. "We bring only what we ought to need. Enough to fight our way out if necessary. We expect to do a job, not to wage a war. We will not tear down the walls and slaughter every soul inside. We will carry out the duty bestowed upon us. If need be, we can go back. But we do not draw more attention than we must."

[Curata]

Curata drops his hand away from his chin, he narrows his eyes a moment, seeing past the Uktena. His focus is drawn to the curve of a metal hull on a ship that lurks behind them in the water. Sliding his eyes over its symmetry and structure, their words carried into his ears, rolled around in his thoughts. “It is wise?” he questions the Philodox. Muerta Fria speaks, weighing in her thoughts. It was not a war they were waging, “Take only wha’ we need, who was there at the start.”

[Boy]

"Mostly." He answers flatly and crosses his arms over his chest, burying his head in pondering what she's said. "I'll let Marrick know. And I'll send for Going-Down-Yuf. I'll ask Truth's-Meridian for a reprieve when the time comes and...We'll talk about tribe business some other time. "I'll let you too get back to whatever it was you were doing. Thanks for listening." And without any further delay he steps back, and wanders off.

[Muerte Fria]

Again, the Uktena is quiet, and her gaze grows flat. This is an improvement, truly. A display of how she has changed over the last few months. Earlier, before the Stone of Scorn had been laid upon her, before Lukas tore into her throat and dragged her before Boy for caretaking, Soledad would have snarled defensively and lashed out at the Ahroun, despite his having rank over her. She would have insisted that it was none of his fucking concern, that she was an Ahroun, that she'd taken care of herself before and would continue to do so because she was strong and she was a warrior and nothing could steal that away. Instead, she answered in a flat tone made to seem all the more so by her low voice and slightly monotone way of speaking. "No, on all accounts. Do Not Suffer Thy People to Tend Thy Sickness. I will not press others to tend to me, I will do so myself." Even if she was failing at it, and hard.

[Curata]

The flatness of her tone draws out the coldness in his, he angles his head. Gaze narrowing as the smooth skin over his forehead puckers and wrinkles with growing frustration. She recants the litany to him and Curata clucks his tongue at her. “There’s a difference, Muerta Fria, to pregnancy and to being sick. Ye aren’t tending to a sickness, ye ‘ave a wee babe growing in yer belly for the luve o Gaia, possibly a future warrior…” He speaks to her without tearing her down or disrespect, just an expression of concern for another warrior. He nods his head once, “Very well then, I recommend ye find a place o proper shelter for the winter. I shall ‘ave words wi’ the ahroun elder o yer condition. I won’t let one o’ m’warriors go uncared for if’n she needs ‘elp and doesn’t want to ask for it.”

[Boy]

This place wasn't meant to be a home. The warders remained here out of duty. They slept on the hard floors in drafty hangers. They ate among desperate spirits of the city. They stood watch over this boneyard of ships. That was their sacrifice, to remain here and guard and never leave. He was here for other reasons. But punishment didn't mean his duties ended. Boy had lent his hand to the caern just as he would have for his own territory. And up until a moment ago he was standing at the edge of his territory, talking to another Fianna, and keeping abreast. He was also receiving something. Something he now wished to share. Boy approached the odd duo of Curata and Soledad in his breed form, coming near enough to be within earshot. He doesn't speak, however, or do anything else to get their attention. He just...stands there.

[Muerte Fria]

Curata grew stern, and of all of the things she could do to respond to that, she relaxed. The cold of his voice was comfortable, the scowl on his face familiar. Assertion of dominance, being put in her place, these were things she was accustomed to. She didn't particularly enjoy it, don't get her wrong, being corrected was far from the highlight of her day. But things like kindness and warmth were alien to her, made her uncomfortable and anxious to escape. This? This was the life she knew. He still managed to sound more concerned than angry, though, and perhaps this is where she recognized the difference, knew to settle rather than rile up. He would have words with the Ahroun elder-- with Marrick. Marrick would grumble and come to fetch her, bring her back to La Familia's packhouse. This was not immediate, though, something she would have to deal with when the time came. Rather, the Uktena simply huffed, did not agree or disagree with the Fianna. Instead, she turned the subject around, off of her, back to Gina. Something she was comfortable to speak of-- which is to say anything that wasn't herself. "Thank you for your kindness toward Gina, and for stepping up to care for her when I am unable to do so."

[Curata]

"Ye are welcome," he huffs out at her, flowing with the change of topic. He can feel the presence of the other, of Brother of the Lost, alpha of La Familia. The corner of his mouth quirks in an odd smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He grunts and nods his head to Boy in acknowledgment of his presence. "I was glad ye agreed to it, I dinnae want to 'ave to challenge ye for Gina's wardship, though I will do it if'n ye aren't capable o caring for 'er as I am." He says this without insult to the Uktena, just a statement of the fact. "Ye 'ave wish for words, Brother o the Lost?" He turns now, regarding Boy with interest, hoping that the Philodox had caught parts of the conversation.

[Muerte Fria]

Curata spoke of guardianship of Gina as though it were something flimsy, that he would take from her in a heartbeat, on an impulse. Soledad hardened back up, shoulders tightening and squaring, drawing attention to how sharp they'd become. It was difficult to say how skeletal she was getting under the loose sweatshirt, but one could rest assured that she was far from as healthy as she could be, ought to be. Her jaw tightened, teeth ground, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned her head to look to Boy when Curata addressed him and held her tongue.

[Boy]

Having been noticed and addressed, he steps even closer, speaking in a quiet voice, just for them. "I do. You guys remember how, not too long ago, we found ourselves on a certain task. I'm sure you'll remember. I know I'll never forget."

[Muerte Fria]

Soledad's eyes followed Boy as he approached, and her hands pulled out of her pockets so they could rest at her sides instead. Something flickered across her face, a hand moved to touch the underside of her swollen stomach, having to push the sweater in to do so, drawing into sharp relief how much she really had grown. It seemed like the change was drastic and overnight. "What is your intent, Boy?"

[Curata]

It is easy to misconstrue what the Fianna says, thinking that he may not treat it seriously, given his tricky demeanor. His features harden, all smiles fading the moment Soledad tightens up and he folds his arms a little looser across his chest. Boy speaks, cryptically, and it takes Curata a moment to process what he means, rolling his head back and forth on his neck, popping the vertebrae of his spine. “Wha’ o it?”

[Boy]

For a moment, his open mouthed intent to speak falters, and his eyes widen at Soledad's swollen belly under her clothes. He shakes it off quickly, but not quickly enough. "There was...hardly anything left of the Shadowlord sinner. But from what was left, I got this." And from his pocket he pulls a small scrap of paper, thin enough to see through, which he had rolled like a scroll. He opens it out with a gently plying of fingers, and reveals the traced glyphs which he himself had only barely recognized. "I still don't know what the rest means, but this one--" Boy slides his finger along, indicating a rune that looked vaguely like an hourglass. "This mark is from the Valkenburg. It was a prison. No a...what's it called." He thinks on this for a while, and his eyes light up when he has his answer. "A nut house. A loony bin for garou."

[Muerte Fria]

"Garou do not have asylums." Soledad stated this blandly, but looked upon the paper that Boy had produced with the sort of knowledge lust that Uktena were uncannily known for. She leaned forward some when the glyphs sketches into the fragile paper were displayed, studying them for herself. These were what she sought when she swung by La Familia's packhouse a few days after the night Boy had mentioned. Wendy had been there, had invited her to the fridge and the bathroom. Soledad had taken a shower, eaten her fill, and waited for Boy to turn up. He had not arrived in time to catch her, she'd departed despite Wendy insisting that she stay and rest, that Boy would return. Soledad had instead tried to move on. But when something like this was laid out before her eyes? It was like bait before a trout. She pressed a hand up into her stomach, frowning just a little bit while doing so, as though trying to appease a stomach ache or push away a burning in her chest, then lifted her eyes to Boy. "What do you know of Valkenburg? Where was it? Does it still stand?"

[Curata]

The Fianna remembers the incident like it was yesterday. The events had left him a bit changed in what had transpired with the Shadow Lord and made him face demons he has not done so in months. He listens, pulling his right hand up to scratch at the underside of his jaw, lifting an eyebrow towards Boy as he held up the sheet of paper that bear the traced glyph of the Accused. Insane asylums. Soledad echoes his own thoughts, snorting loudly in agreement with her. He remains silent as the questions roll off the other ahroun’s tongue.

[Boy]

"And spirits don't ask for aid from those outside of their tribe. But you were there, Soledad." His gaze shifted quickly with Curata's snort. "And you as well. In fact, there wasn't a single Shadow Lord with us that night, other than the one we judged. "I don't know about the Valkenburg itself. Only rumors. They kept garou imprisoned there because they couldn't decide what to do with them. But, like I said. Only rumors. Bone Gnawer stories. But there is something else. A company called Modern Efforts Inc. Its in a town called Kenilworth just north of the city. Supposedly that's all that remains of the Valkenburg Foundation."

[Muerte Fria]

Ironic, isn't it, that the stoic figure of the Caern has suddenly taken up speaking for herself and the Fostern that had just been admonishing her about not taking enough care of herself? She eyed Boy now, eyes having taken in as much of the glyphs as she needed for the moment. Her expression was as hard as it ever had been, this was no topic for leisure. "You wish to go, and you wish for all that had part in that Fallen Lord's trial to come."

[Curata]

"It would seem fitting if'n ye think about it." He was mulling over the conversation, continuing to rub at the underside of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble of beard growth. He doesn't reach for the glyphs, his knowledge in all things of the occult were limited to basic things. "We were there to judge him. Almost seems as if it were planned out. Did ye get any other details about this company?"

[Boy]

"Yeah, I wish to. But I can't. I've been bound to the bawn as punishment. Those birds? They were the servants of Grandfather Thunder. Before we left that night they gave a message. They said "Do this for the others." I think Valkenburg still stands. I think the garou there await judgement. And I think...I..." He falters slightly, and suddenly doesn't seem as confident as he had previously. Boy rolls the scrap of paper and places it back into his pocket. "I think if what we did...was harder than any of us would like to admit. If that night was any indication, I think there's a chance we may go crazy with outrage. Swimming in our own righteous Rage...until we're swallowed up by it. So...I'll leave the choice to you."

[Muerte Fria]

Boy spoke of the judgment being hard, that any who go to visit what is left of Valkenburg may very well go insane with outrage, with the emotion that seemed to strike through the hearts of everyone when the earth opened up, the Stormcrows sneered, and the Shadow Lord was pulled down into Erebus. He failed to recognize where Soledad had already been. Soledad, the cub who had studied what it was to be an Ahroun in the Atrocity Realm, who had calloused herself against emotion outside of her own Rage, felt no despair, no sorrow, no hopelessness for the Garou as he cried out 'what did you do?' and fell to his own demise-- a punishment worse than death. The Ahroun had observed, sniffed, and been contented to know that he would no resurface someday seeking to rain revenge upon her head. That was all for her. She scoffed quietly at Boy and shook her head. "Speak for yourself. You may fear insanity, Boy, I do not. I will go."

[Curata]

“This is a serious matter that needs to be dealt wi’, perhaps speaking to Katherine, she’ll wavier the ban o punishment long enough to deal wi’ the situation. Can explain to ‘er it’s a matter o importance, ye beta is the war leader, if Marrick deems it necessary for ye to go, Boy, Katherine may ‘ave to relent.” Curata knows what personal hell is like, he has been living it for the past year now. His expression grows hard, cold and flat. His voice dropping to a low bass that held a grim tone, going to this place could very well lead to his insanity. He weighs the new prospects of what has transpired, wants to go and see this to its end as much as it intrigues him. Joss would kill him if he came back any less that he was now. “I’ll go.”

[Boy]

He nods at the two of them having made their decisions. "Only Marrick...and the young Gnawer are left." His lips purse slightly, and Boy turns to Soledad, patting his pocket. "I think we should share this."

[Curata]

"Now is it only us ye want to go along? I think... we could use the aid o a Godi. I can ask Joss for 'elp seeing as she's me beta and all. We didn't 'ave a Theurge wi' us last time, perhaps one will be good, aye?"

[Muerte Fria]

Soledad shook her head when Boy turned to her with his hand tapping at his thigh, where he'd tucked the paper with the glyphs sketched onto it, and suggested they share. Her hands spread in front of her, indicating herself. Whether she's trying to draw to attention her pregnancy, her lack of health, or the shabby condition of her clothes, it's difficult to tell. Perhaps she's pointing out all of them. "I am in no condition to safekeep such a thing. Put it somewhere better." There's a pause here, a reconsidering. "Unless you mean share it with the rest of the Sept, which I have no qualms with. Grandfather Thunder is not my Totem to follow, his fickleness is not my concern. If he wants a job done by any number of Maelstrom's Garou, than it will be done by any of Maelstrom's number."

[Boy]

"I meant with the tribe. With Bai and Adam. But...you're right. Perhaps we should inform the Shadow Lords. And...yes, Rhya. A theurge would be helpful. Not that we're not grateful for the spirit negotiations we had last time. But, whoever ask to join us should be told about the danger involved."

[Muerte Fria]

"We will not bring an army." This is stated almost sharply, and the Garou wavered a touch, slid a foot outward to widen her stance, correct her balance and rediscover where her center of gravity was settled at current. She was a Garou, certainly. A warrior that could not be taken by sickness, that refused to fall in battle. But she was not immune to starvation and the elements. A faint shiver crawled over her skin, she shook her head, and ignored it as she ignored everything her body did these days. "Nightcrawler is Uktena only by his own claim, I do not acknowledge him." This was stated plainly, as clarification, before she pushed on with her first statement. "We bring only what we ought to need. Enough to fight our way out if necessary. We expect to do a job, not to wage a war. We will not tear down the walls and slaughter every soul inside. We will carry out the duty bestowed upon us. If need be, we can go back. But we do not draw more attention than we must."

[Curata]

Curata drops his hand away from his chin, he narrows his eyes a moment, seeing past the Uktena. His focus is drawn to the curve of a metal hull on a ship that lurks behind them in the water. Sliding his eyes over its symmetry and structure, their words carried into his ears, rolled around in his thoughts. “It is wise?” he questions the Philodox. Muerta Fria speaks, weighing in her thoughts. It was not a war they were waging, “Take only wha’ we need, who was there at the start.”

[Boy]

"Mostly." He answers flatly and crosses his arms over his chest, burying his head in pondering what she's said. "I'll let Marrick know. And I'll send for Going-Down-Yuf. I'll ask Truth's-Meridian for a reprieve when the time comes and...We'll talk about tribe business some other time. "I'll let you too get back to whatever it was you were doing. Thanks for listening." And without any further delay he steps back, and wanders off.

Honorifics

[Boy]

In the material world they'd taken great
pains to make this house look like a house. There was a kitchen, kept
clean and well stocked. A living room where a family could gather and
be at peace. Clean, comfortable bathrooms. Bedrooms individually decorated.
If a stranger were to walk through the empty house, just walk through
without touching anything, there would be no indication that this wasn't
a house filled with perfectly normal people.

In the Umbra, it was another story all
together. Boy stood in the living room's Umbral reflection, before a
shrine of oddly collected and assembled pieces. A rat gaffling peeks
in on him, then waddles large and fat to some other corner of the house.
He'd left a note in Callie's room. A simple message scrawled on a torn
piece of paper.

Meet me in the living room. On the other
side.

And there, he waited for her. Patient,
calm, and even.

[Callie]

*After a long day Callie returns to the
pack house with what amounts to a reasonable take. So much so that she's
splashed out on a slice of some kind of pastry from the shop with pretensions
to deli-hood she passed on her way home. So she's in a good mood, and
still licking the last stickiness from her fingers as she lets her bedroom
door swing closed behind her, drops the backpack with its clinking contents
on the floor and lands on her bead with a thump and a squeak of springs.

Thump, springs . . and the crackle of
paper.

Callie slides one hand behind her and
fishes out a scrap of old envelope with a couple of lines of Boys writing
scribbled across it.

Meet me in the living room. On the other
side.

The other side . . . Raised eyebrows,
and she drops the paper back onto her bed and hurries back downstairs,
two at a time . . and steps through.*

[Boy]

There's that whispering pop here, and
Boy turns to see that Callie has found him as instructed. He smiles
softly at the fact.

"Hi Callie. I mean..."

He stops himself, head dipping slightly,
then rising again. Boy seems to stand taller now, back straighter. He's
no longer smiling. Doodle's work still stands strong. The awakened walls
of the packhouse still stand firm, and they create a square out of the
living room. Boy stands in the center of it. The massive turtle shell
adorned with other items stands behind him.

"Walks-the-Line. Step forward."

[Callie]

*She's smiling, a flash of a grin as
she first steps through . . and then, as he corrects himself, she feels
the atmosphere and it all changes. That easy smile disappears and her
eyes grow wide, take the light and shadow and the whole becomes something
else entirely. She hears her deed name, and does as he says. Walks-the-Line
steps up to face him in front of the altar.*

[Boy]

Boy took a breath in, and let it out
slowly. It was a measure of time, that breath. A pause that would let
the weight of the moment grow even heavier.

"Walk's-the-Line. Do you pledge
yourself to the protection of the weak and the defenseless. Do you promise
to protect your allies and brothers in arms, even if at the risk of
your own safety and glory?"

[Callie]

*And Callie feels every second of that
time. It sinks into her soul as she waits for what she senses must be
coming. When it does, even so, it still feels like a shock. She never
takes her eyes off him as he asks her, and when he stops . . waiting
for her response . . it takes another long breath of time before she
can answer.*

Yes. *and the faces are there, in her
mind . . allies and brothers-in-arms . . some still living, some dead,
some lost to the four corners.* I do.

[Boy]

"Do you accept me as your Alpha.
Do you accept your packmates: Doodle and Bones to Dust. Do you
promise to stand by them no matter the odds."

[Callie]

*It's been a long time since she had
an Alpha, packmates . . a pack . . but she hasn't forgotten what that
means. She would have done as much for them too, for Jake, Roadkill,
Sarah, Dermot, Lee . . Elfed . . any of them. She nods, and finds her
eyes wet as she answers softly* yes . . all of them.

[Boy]

"And finally, do you pledge yourself
to Unicorn's Shadow. Will you follow the lessons that the great
spirit teaches. Will you win Glory, Honor, and Wisdom on behalf
of your totem."

[Callie]

I will. *And there's no sign of hesitation
here. Self-consciously, her head drops and she scrunches the corner
of her sleeve in one hand and scrubs her eyes.*

[Boy]

"Then take my hand, sister.
From here on out you are a part of La Familia" And with a smile
burgeoning on his lips, Boy extends both hands out for the Ragabash

[Callie]

*She takes the hands offered, the sleeve
of her faded top patched with wet he can feel against his skin. Up close
now he can see the tears still in her eyes, on her face. She should
be happy, she should be pleased, she knows this, and she tried to smile
. . laugh on through, overcome the upsurge of emotion this short ceremony
has brought on.* thank you, brother

[Boy]

Callie's hands don't hold his for very long. A moment later he's pulling her closer, and thowing those hands and arms around her shoulders. "Great Job, Callie." He whispers, laughter and tears vying for dominance in his voice. "Welcome to the pack." And then he draws back, holding her at arms length with his hands on her shoulders as he regards her. There's an odd smirk of approval on his face. "There's just one more thing." He says, and from the altar he takes the the chain with its many similar links of braided and shaped copper and tin wire. Each link was a creation on its own. Each with a uniquely colored and shaped piece of pollished glass. Boy holds it in both hands like a delicate thing. "I guess you know Black Unicorn is the totem of protectors. But did you know that at its strongest it was the totem of knights? Back then a knight was given a chain as a symbol of his nobility."

[Callie]

*He pulls her close, and she responds. Holds tight in the way she and Jake did, brother and sister. And when he sets her back she's smiling, and sniffing, and smiling again. Just one more thing he says, and holds up a delicate network of copper and tin, adorned with gems, a chain. She shakes her head* Like a Mayor? . . no, I didn't know that

[Boy]

"Like a lord." He corrects. "Like a noble. See knights usually owned land. Territory. Like what Lincoln Park is to us. And they were sworn to protect it and their people, just like we are. Only..." He looks down at the chain, the thing he'd made himself. "Only we're not rich nobles. But we can be noble. And I think that's what you are. You had no guarantee that you'd be a part of this pack. In fact, I think for a minute you were pretty convinced that you weren't gonna be. But you still behaved like a member of this pack ought to. And you still did what I wanted you to. "That thing you did on Hallo--I mean, Samhain. That was exactly what I was hoping for. Keep us together. Remind us of our bond. Bring light to our darker times." And his hands extend presenting the chain to her. "I want you to wear this at the moot. It's just tin and copper and glass. To anyone else it doesn't mean anything. But to your pack, it means you are noble."

[Callie]

*It's beautiful. Callie listens to his explanation, watching every glint and sparkle of that strange, unreal light. She colours slightly when he praises her, drops her eyes momentarily to regard the hard-packed floor between her sneaker, and then he's holding it out to her to take. And she takes it, lets it drape over her fingers, shining red and gold and silver, glowing with reflected light in all colours. And more than that, it has meaning. She slips it over her head. Nods. She understands, it's clear in the way she looks back at him now.* It's beautiful. In so many ways . . .

[Boy]

He smiles slightly, and nods to her. "It looks good on you. Looks right. After the moot though, you have to place it back here on the altar. Its a little messed up, I know. But the truth is we're being tested constantly. So I have to test you constantly. If you fail to behave the way someone who deserves to be wearing this chain behaves, then you won't be getting it back next moot." Boy moves aside, giving Callie a clear view of the altar. "But there are other honors you can earn. The bracers of the defender. The knights belt, for the one among us always ready for battle. The battle horn, for the one that can rouse our spirits and tell our stories. And then there's the standard bearer. The on that shows the Pack ideal the most. "So, y'know. Just...keep up the good work."

[Callie]

*One finger runs along the chain, feeling the twist and turn of it, the cool glass and warmth of the copper, as Boy talks about the altar. He shows her the items, one by one, and explains their meaning. Those eyes, still glistening, widen slightly. They never has anything like this in the Legends . . but that was a different place, a different time . . a very different pack.* I . . can't promise not to let you down but . . I can promise to do my best, for you, for the pack . . for Black Unicorn . . *then silence, a long silence before she finishes in a hurried burst of emotion* I swear Rhya, I'll do my absolute best

[Boy]

Boy laughs in a single amused huff. "We don't need all that. I'm still just Boy. Just that I'll be barking orders at you a lot more now." He smiles, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking forward onto his toes, then back on his heels. "So...wanna go get a burger or something?"

[Callie]

*She tucks the chain under her clothing, out of sight . . not out of mind . . grins, and shrugs* burger or pizza? . . I could murder something with loads of cheese and mushrooms on right now