[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.