Callie's Test

[Boy]

The mural in the living room of the Packhouse, the on of the giant inky black unicorn, had been there before Callie arrived. But, the day after, she might have noticed that the paint looked far less fresh. That it was pick marked and chipping in some spots. Now, the Alpha of La Familia stood in the middle of the living room, staring at a faded and peeling mural. Biting his nails. Had she visited the Umbral Reflection of the Packhouse she would have noticed many changes, but there was an odd feeling that what was happening to that mural shouldn't have been. The house is silent. Filled only with the sounds of a humming refrigerator, a loudly ticking kitchen clock, and very preoccupied Uktena.

[Callie]

*Callie carries the mug of coffee with care, not really wanting to spill any on the way back up to her room. It's still something of a novelty to have not only a room to drink coffee in but also a kitchen in which she can make it herself, the way she likes it, without the sense of being underfoot and in the way of staff. She almost reaches the stairs when a movement from the living room catches her attention and she glimpses Boy through the open door. Nothing unusual about that necessarily, he lives here too afterall . . but it's something in the way he stands . . staring up at something just out of her line of sight . . She stops, changes direction, crosses the hall until she's standing in the doorway.* hi . . *it's the wall-painting she realises, and with a sharp intake of breath she sees just what he's looking at* . . oh!

[Boy]

Boy turns to face her, but oddly does so without actually looking at her. He has a look on his face, slightly red shame and complete avoidance, as if she'd just caught him naked and he's playing it off as the most natural thing in the world, eyes fixed on her non-judgmental shoes rather than her eyes or face. "Oh, hey. How's it uh..." He falters, corrects his tone, and tries again. "How's it goin, Callie?"

[Callie]

with me? . . fine. *she hesitates, not drinking her coffee while the mug steams gently in her hand. She doesn't engage him, doesn't attempt to force eye contact . . lets him have his emotional space. Leaning against the doorpost she glances briefly at the peeling, deteriorating image of the unicorn, and then turns her attention to something neutral . . across the room to the window, a bird sailing past . . If there's something to be said she waits for him to say it* kettle just boiled if you want a coffee . .

[Boy]

He just shakes his head. "No, I don't like coffee. Thanks. Listen um..." At some point he seems to have deflated again, but he snaps out of it, hands moving from the nail biting position to crossing heavily over his chest. "I've been thinking. About your test. I think its time for your first."

[Callie]

*At that she seems to brighten, straightening from her relaxed position in the doorway. She sips her coffee, watching him over the edge of the mug so her grin can be seen in her eyes as plain as anything* I was beginning to wonder when it was coming . . do tell!

[Boy]

"Well, you remember what I was saying? About holding us together? And about not laughing enough? I know you said you're not good with jokes and stuff but...Its sort of what we need. So your challenge is this: Choose between Doodle, Marrick, and me, and make one of us laugh during a moment of despair or hardship." He purses his lips, eyes still dancing, thinking, and then he nods. "You've got until the next full moon."

[Callie]

*she nods once, her eyes still holding that smile as she lowers the mug so he can see her face again. There's a moment's silence as she considers the challenge. She rests her free hand on the edge of the door, her head falls fractionally to the side as she watches him, asking* do I need to state now who my target is? or shall we just wait and see what opportunities present themselves?

[Boy]

"Nah. You don't have to. This way it can be a surprise for both of us. But they've gotta come and tell me after. I won't just take your word for it." Finally his eyes move from her feet up to her face. He shrugs. "Not that I'm trying to call you a liar or anything. Your other test will be a test of prowes. In battle, leadership defers to Marrick, our Half Moon and Beta. She'll give you your second test."

[Callie]

*More coffee goes down, and she nods again. It's nothing more nor less than she would expect . . not that she has much experience of this but it all makes sense so she has no reason to question or argue about the terms.* I'll do my best, I'm really not much of a fighter to be honest but . . *she can't help a half-smothered giggle as she explains with a shrug* it's not that I don't try, I'm just not very good. I'm constantly surprised that I'm still alive!

[Boy]

Boy frowns visibly at that, eyebrows furrowed tight. "I thought I told you to let us decide that. Lemme ask you this Callie: What are you good at?"

[Callie]

*That question seems to stop her, she drops her gaze to the floor, away from him. Her hand falls from the door frame and both close tight around the cup. It's a moment . . but she breaks it, lifting her chin and squaring up her small frame to answer him* I can sing, I play music, I tell stories . . I'm pretty good at those things so I'm told. Some people think that's the job of a Galliard, but I was taught different. When I was told what a ragabash was, the old guy that was teaching me said it's about what you do, not how you do it. Like I said, I never was the kind of raggie that goes round with the tricks and jokes, but if I see a truth that needs to be told . . good or bad . . I can find a way to tell it so it will be heard. *she hesitates now, just that fraction of a second that says she's thinking . . and then continues* Where I come from, they used to have a class of people called Bards. A Bard could not be killed, even in war. Even kings and chieftains were forbidden to harm a Bard. Now, people think the Bards were just storytellers, historians and poets. That the equivalent for us is the Galliard, but that's not so. The reason the Bard couldn't be killed? . . because he had to have the freedom to say whatever needed to be said, to tell the truth, even to the king . . to criticise when nobody else could. The Bard is both Galliard and Ragabash . . and sometimes we to be the Bard and not the Jester.

[Boy]

The tightness in his face gradually slipped away as she spoke, and it was replaced by a slow look of realization. "Oh." Was all Boy could think of saying. "Well uh...just...don't sell yourself short."

[Callie]

*It's likely the longest speech she's made since she's been in Chicago, not counting the tales she's told at the moots. It certainly has a quality of authenticity to it that comes from somewhere beneath that surface which is all that most here have seen of her. Something, not Rage, flares briefly in her eyes as she flicks her hair back off her face again, tucking it carefully behind her beringed ear* I'm old enough now to know my own strengths, and weaknesses

[Boy]

He just shrugs again, not sure how to respond to that. "Patrols. We've got West and south sides. I'll let you know when we're ready." And he goes back to staring at the fading mural, and biting at his nails.

[Callie]

right *she says, acknowledgement . . and seemingly an end to the discussion. She lingers a moment, just looking up at the mural herself. It doesn't take a Theurge to tell her it's not a good sign. Then it's swallowing down the last of her coffee and she's heading off to return the mug to the kitchen.*