Brother of the Lost

Happy Birthday, Marrick

2009-12-08T13:20:00.001-08:00

[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

2009-12-07T13:36:00.000-08:00

[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.

2009-12-07T13:18:00.000-08:00

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Boy]

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Muerte Fria]

[Boy]

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Boy]

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Boy]

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Boy]

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Boy]

[Curata]

[Muerte Fria]

[Boy]

[Muerte Fria]

[Curata]

[Boy]

Honorifics

2009-11-30T22:52:00.000-08:00

[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

Judgement (Harv ST)

2009-11-24T15:31:00.001-08:00

[Lunatic Moon] "...The Skies have been thick with Rain lately. You've all seen this. It's been months. Usually this sort of thing brings up some problems with the spirit haunts, here or there but we usually weather it- Heh, 'weather'...Anyway, I've been pulling word from a few of the city scopes and haunters and word keeps coming back to me that someone is trying something..."

Sees~the~Umbral~Sun had gathered a few quick ears and eyes come to pay the caern a Visit. At random or not, it was hard to really guess with a Theurge sometimes, even a Glasswalker. They made everything they did a cryptic sort of reasoning. Made moreso when they had the rank to offer. The rank to command as opposed to request.

"...I bottled it down to someplace here in the city but whoever it is, caught wind and moved out of my range. City's my business, kids, the Woods ain't..." The Glasswalker leaned back against a metal shard within the Bawn, buffing trimmed nails on a plaid sweater, gaze finding each of them in turn.

"...Which is where you come in. Find the idiot that's messing with the sky. He's been doing some stuff that could get some people hurt or worse yet? Call down some attention to the Caern and the Sept from spirits we don't want 'round here. Get me?"

* * * * *

Tekakwitha Wood. A broad expanse of thick forestry that spawned no small amount of comfortable camping spots, hiking trails and seclusion for the average City-goer looking for a little more natural in their lives. For the Garou? It could also be considered a small gaia-send, allowing them to roam freely into their Lupus forms and to run with the elements chasing their heels.

A comfort. A solace.

This night, so far outside of the city limits, where the Rain came down in a soft sheet, enough to dampen the hair and clothes over the course of a few minutes and drench the body through within an hour's time, brought with it the vague chill of an approaching winter. Out here in the dark, where the city lights fail to reach and Luna's glare is a vague thing against the cloudbanks that hide her...

...The wandering eyes come searching. Seeking. Hoping to find something.

[Going Down] Indira arrives in Tekakwitha Woods nearly quivering with excitement. The dark and the scent of the loam and the way the almost-bare branches snap in the autumn wind awakens something in her: she has never truly been out of the city before.

She makes the transformation to Hispo as soon as she arrives. It's a wiry, tough creature; fed too little to appear anything but dangerously feral and just enough to fill out the stringy muscles beneath fur that is mainly dark brown with patches of red and black. She waits for the others to arrive and gather, barely able to stand still.

[Bones to Dust] Perfect balance. She had never experienced this before. The feeling of complete harmony with herself and what-have-you. It was different. The Fury made her way throught he woods, but kept to her lupus form. There was a quiet joy in that, and at her core she wanted nothing more than to run as fast as she could just to see how long it took before she got tired. Marrick had come with her Brother. He said that he would not leave her side.

He kept his word.

she took her time to survey the area, to breathe in relatively fresh air. Her tail twitched, she was thinking. Foir now, she gave no indication, verbal or otherwise, as to what the subject matter was.

[Muerte Fria] Soledad had been spending a fair number of her nights at the Caern these days, what with no proper roof to put over her head. The weather was chilly and wet, and it got worse at night, but so long as she wore her fur she was okay. She'd press her flank up against a dockhouse wall like some chained guard dog, curl up tight and keep warm on fur and shelter from the wind alone. This couldn't last for long, though, already she sensed a strain on her body when she switched forms, noticed that not all was well, that things felt out of sorts. It didn't hurt yet. Didn't cause her to panic. But she knew that this couldn't be kept up for much longer.

She had been at the Caern still, gathering Gnosis when she overheard the Theurge Glasswalker and moved closer to listen. She and a group of others, some she recognized others she did not. They were, together, given a job. Go out to the woods, see what the fuck's up, and take care of business. Can and will do.

So they arrive, a pair of packmates and a trio of lone wolves all lumped together as one. They traveled Umbrally in various forms, whatever they were most comfortable in. Soledad maintained her Lupus body, one she was growing more and more comfortable in the less and less often she found it necessary to go out into the physical streets of Chicago. She appeared as a long-legged creature, fur predominantly black but tinged red, stained permanently so about her paws and mouth. The winter coat was coming in nicely, long and thick, almost silky looking. She certainly appeared more groomed in Lupus than she did in Homid, which was curious and backward from the standard. Her belly was swollen, more apparently in this smaller, leaner body, but she seemed to pay this no mind.

A warrior doesn't rest.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Eyes, the color of summer skies, never change as they flow from one form to another – human to wolf. They rake over the small gathering of Garou that tag together. Three of them are packless, two are not, representing Black Unicorn. At one time, the Fianna full moon was one of the three original wolves that flew under Bear’s banner – with Hatchet’s absence. Things have changed.

Muerta Fria has seen to that. It could be said; she was an involuntary reason to why Curata the Grim Heart left, after her orchestration of certain events some months back.

Now he only watches the Uktena with mild interest, her belly swollen with pup. This draws his concerns as he stands in the umbral reflections of the woods with everyone else.

[Brother of the Lost] Boy was indeed by her side. He'd kept stride with her on the long run through the Umbra, no longer playing the game of see-me-now, see-me-not. They'd been given a task by a sept official. Boy didn't flit through the woods or disappear only to have climbed a tree for the same reason that Marrick refrained from launching herself out as quick and hard as she could. They were working. The time for play would come later. At least, as long as he had a say in it.

In his lupus form, he eyed Going-Down somewhat cautiously. She was a war-moon, he reminded himself. And while not exactly younger, she was the least experienced of any of them. This was another one he would stick close to.

Boy prowls up to and sits in front of Curata as they all converge, pawing at the air as he speaks in the high-tongue.

"Grim-Heart-Rhya. I assume you will take command. What would you have us do?"

[Lunatic Moon] ...The Umbra:

Those of the Spirit world had different names for places. Different ideas and thoughts on things. The Woods outside the Scab were a strange thing to consider to those spirits that called the Scab of Chicago, home. To them, the Woods were a foreign landscape, harsh and dangerous, where natural spirits tore savagery from their maws and spat it out on tree stumps and trails. The Woods were a Threatening realm against all city dwellers, stretching long shadows where no artificial light could diffuse them.

Here, the Woods were not a friendly place, forced to sustain so close to the realms of the Weaver. Here, the Wyld had grown hostile and bold, a constant shriek of night birds and animals, clustered among the branches of the canopy, little more then outlines and silhouettes against the darker backdrop of it's thick leaves and limbs, thinning though it may be for the winter to come.

The Cold was a real thing here. Beneath the wooded dark, the chill is a thief, stealing the warmth from breath, turning it a misted froth before killing it half a foot from exiting the mouth. It sank into the bones and made a nest, needling at fur and prickling at the exposed and protected flaps of padded feet.

Here, yellow and red eyes were the only illumination, as the clouds overhead continued to further obscure Luna's Half-lit face. Critters, creatures and the Wyld-touched regard the intrusion of Gaia bodies, subtle whispers joining the distant cries of Night Haunters.

...Here, in the Woods, the Spirits knew not Tekakwitha.

...They knew only "The Graying Green".

* * * * *

The Shadows beneath the canopy play tricks with distance and dimension, forcing one to watch each step they take, least a careless thought send them sprawling forward over a hidden root, much to the amused titter of the gafflings that haunt the above and the shrubbery around them.

Rain continues to make it's way through the limbs and the canopy above, piling up before delivering broad and thick drops onto the heads and shoulders of the gathered, already soaked through with the trek out here.

....And then suddenly, from out of the sky, something builds quickly, ripples and-

CRACK-BOOM!

A peel of thunder slaps each across the cheek with it's concussive force, fading into the distance behind with a similar alacrity. This in turn is followed by an emblazoned flash of lightning that illuminates the under-canopy for a moment, dark shapes flashing into view, scattering along trees and forest ground before the light is gone and everything is dark once more.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata bears the weight of leadership tonight, his eyes passing over one more time to access what he has to work with, before Boy prowls up to him and sits in front of him, asking for orders. One ear flicks back on his lupine head, eying the Uktena.

”We ‘ave no theurge present, four full moons and ye’self. Tell me, Brother of the Lost, do ye or Muerta Fria speak wi’ spirits as yer tribe is renowned for?”

Thunder peels across the sky in such a concussive force it sizzles in the air, sending an electric current against his spine that causes his ears to pin back and his hackles to rise. Curata lifts his muzzle to the sky and growls at it.

[Brother of the Lost] [Rolling for form Change (Forced Transformation) Sta+P.U.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Muerte Fria] They had come to a pause, Boy circling away from Marrick's side so that he could be beside the solitary Fostern instead. By mercy of rank, he ought to be leading this rabble, that much was true and understandable. Soledad slowed herself, glancing back toward the two males with molten gold-yellow eyes, surveying them for a moment before twitching her ears and dropping her nose to sniff at the floor, a knot of shadow-slick trees, and up the trunk.

Curata questioned whether she or Boy spoke with the spirits. The she-wolf huffed and swung her head back to the Fianna, chuffing out a response.

I do.

Thunder clapped hard enough that she felt the air suck upward, felt the still that tugged energy from her body, then the reverberating resonance of the thunder that dropped weight into her bones and had her fur standing up, charged with tension and electricity both. She glanced up to the sky, eyes darting this way and that, following the darting silhouettes in the skeletal branches of the trees above. Her snout wrinkled, she snorted, and looked back to the others.

[Brother of the Lost] "I D--"

He doesn't get to finish his answer, however short it is. There's a clap of thunder close enough to feel as if it were striking him. The wolf rears up on its hind paws...

...and a great hulking man falls flat on his ass the next. This was the form that the man-born used for intimidation and strength short of deadly. But with him scampering backwards like that, it all seems an empty threat.

Brother of the lust huffs a loud, and ragged, breath, eyes looking up at the the sky beyond the canopy of branches.

[Going Down] Indira sits down, ears attentive as Boy asks Curata for orders. Two of these wolves she hasn't met before; new both to Chicago and to the Garou nation, the Ahroun at least has just enough wisdom to remain silent and bow to experience.

Particularly since she has never confronted a spirit before.

While Curata asks the Uktena whether or not they can communicate with the spirits, Indira takes the time to nudge a nearby rock closer with a paw, running the claws along the rough surface. Excess bits of nail are sloughed away, leaving them black and sharp, perfect crescents.

[Bones to Dust] This was a matter of reconnaissance. The Fury took a second to keep her mouth shut, and took a second to sniff the air. This wasn't the city, and for this she was grateful. It was an area that was rife with spirits of the Wyld. With woods and chill and red and yellow eyes.

She listens.

Thunder cracks and her fur bristles automatically. This is a matter of reconnaissance, and for now she takes her time to listen to the fostern. She felt the shake of sound and electricity bristle through. Her attention does not waver just yet. Eventually, the Fury looks at Indira; she seems pleased to say the least.

Guess she was going to get to work on something with her sooner than she had thought.

[Lunatic Moon] ...The things in the trees chatter in amusement, flitting and leaping from branch to branch, a small rain of dead and dying leaves scattering about the collected shoulders and feet of the gathered Garou. They haunt the peripheral with a comforted ease, not an inch of timidity or even fear spread through their surroundings. Bold and confident...

Amused and mean.

The Graying Green is watching as the Wolves discuss.

[Curata the Grim Heart] “Good to know, Mue—“ Curata began to speak, his words cut off sharply as Boy’s sudden transformation into his near-man form from the crackle of thunder scares the Uktena. His eyes narrow slightly at this.

“We’re looking for a male Garou, tribe and auspice unknown…” the leaves in the trees start to shower the Garou, falling around them like leafy snowflakes. Curata watches one waft in the air, his head lowering with its movements until becomes parallel with his nose. His jaws snap open, clasping down in a sudden crunch to pull the leaf out of the air. He turns his head and spits it out, returning his eyes to the things in the trees.

“Muerta Fria will ye communicate for us wi’ them.” Hot air chuffing out as he jerks his head up at the things, circling one of the trees to watch them, his head dropping down to sniff at it every now and then.

[Brother of the Lost] Boy, flustered, fights his way to his feet, brushing off the seat of his pants. He glances to Marrick momentarily, but to no one else. Eyes fix on the forest floor as he lowers himself down onto one knee and continues to listen.

He doesn't bother changing his form again.

[Bones to Dust] She looks at what is watching them while the rest of the party discusses matters. Curata gives orders, that Muerte Fria will speak with them, and she does not waver. Instead, she looks at the Forest. A many one. She might not have been a bright creature, but she was an educated one. What did not come naturally, she strove to learn.

If you aren't good at something, like a sport or a skill, you practice it and try until you get better.

The Wyld ain't yer friend... s'just a force that does what it will. Reacts an' acts. Don' give it 'nough room to wiggle too much or you'll regret it, she informs them

[Muerte Fria] The Uktena Ahroun peered over at Boy when he snapped away from a similar form that the majority of the group shared to something bulky, hairy but furless, two-legged and relatively useless for the battlefield unless you were wielding a weapon. She studied him carefully for a few moments, not unlike how Curata did, but her eyes did not narrow. There was no judgment, no true conclusion or classification. Simple observation, gathering and logging of information, then she shifts her gaze over to Curata when he states her job.

Communications.
The go-between.

Perfectly ironic, all things considered. The impregnated she-wolf tipped her nose back up the tree, flashed her yellow-gold eyes from glowing pair to glowing pair of eyes above, in yellows and reds and, occasionally, she could swear a blue or a white. Her tongue swept up over her snout, moistening a rough black nose, and when she called out next her voice was not lupine, but rather something that felt almost disembodied. Theurges and the occasional Galliard learned this language and turned it to music. Something that touched hearts and wove its way through bones. When Muerte Fria called out in it, the sound was odd and uncomfortable, almost scary. It chilled one to hear.

"Spirits! We seek another like us-- Garou, who has invaded here recently. Please, we seek to bring peace to your Graying Green once more."

[Muerte Fria] [Charisma, here's hoping]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 4 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Going Down] Indira is not as tactful as Muerte Fria when it comes to overlooking Boy's transformation. She doesn't say anything, but the Bone Gnawer stares at him with bemused eyes, twitching her muzzle; it's clear that behind them the gears are turning at their own slow, inexorable pace.

The Hispo wolf looks then toward the chattering creatures that Muerte Fria is addressing, hulking there with her newly sharpened claws reflexively digging into the soil and then releasing. Watching Muerte Fria for her reaction to see what is being said, and Curata for further orders.

[Lunatic Moon] ...Muerte Fria's body and voice shift into the cadence of the Spirit World, flushing the trees above and the undergrowth around them with the sound of her Tribal Heritage and a plea for something...

...And the response is immediate. Another peel of thunder, distant and hardly the strength one could compare to the last, ripples into place, bringing with it another flash of Lightning that illuminates the under-canopy...

...And the Sudden presence of Dozens of small black shapes, indistinct but for their outlines, all pointed and staring from tree branch, fallen log, shrub, trunk and grassy patch. Staring at the Five whilst the forest becomes a low and steady murmur of chittering sounds, ambling in from every direction.

[Muerte Fria] The spirits overhead chattered, made a ruckus in response to Soledad's words that were impossible for most to make out, difficult even for the two Uktena. Her head switched this way and that, to Indira, to Curata, over shoulders and above heads, leaning to peer around Marrick as well at one point. Her eyes danced this way and that, ears twitched and swiveled to follow the sounds. When they quieted, she huffed, dipped her head and dropped her eyes, then turned to focus on the Garou that watched and waited expectantly.

They seek tribute, she communicated in the language of wolves formed in deep guttural noises and body language. Payment for imformation.

[Bones to Dust] "Eyes an' ears of the forest," she tells them, "what else did they say?"

A pause, a twitch of her tail, and she speaks up again.

"Can we give them half now and half later? Insurance that the information is good an' we ain't gettin' played?"

[Muerte Fria] Soledad's response is immediate, her sharp gaze snapping to Bones to Dust, someone she considers herself friendly with, on most levels at least.

No. To suggest would offend them, we would get nothing, except perhaps a trap.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Give him a battleground, or forge and hammer, and Curata is in his element. He knows about war, knows how to fashion weapons to fight it, but this… he struggles at, like a swallow pretending it were a fish and trying to swim.

The lightning flashes, revealing the shapes in the trees he prowls around in continuous circles. Marrick warns them of the Wyld, her voice rumbling in the language of wolves as she and Soledad speak.

They wanted payment for information. “Wha’ type of payment?”

[Brother of the Lost] Boy tried not to turn. He tried not to look to every corner and hidden voice in the speaking forest. Still, his eyes drifted about them as Muerte Fria spoke. He smirks slightly at Marrick's suggestion.

"Bones is right." he speaks, not in the high tongue, but in the language of men. Any tribute we give them makes them stronger if they wannna turn on us. What if we offered them service. Cleaning and guarding the physical forest."

[Lunatic Moon] ...And the murmurs grow. An urgency. An immediacy. Leaves begin to patter from the canopy above them. Falling almost regularly now as tiny bodies shift on branches and limbs overhead.

[Muerte Fria] Leaves fell, the murmers started up again, grew in volume, and Soledad snapped her teeth and shook her head, sharing impatience, or perhaps simply translating it for the spirits above. Her gaze flickered upward, then back to the group. A sweep across them-- Marrick, Indira, Boy, and then finally Curata. The leader, for now.

We agree, services then?

[Muerte Fria] Some spiritual energy as well, I suggest. Feed their appetites.

[Going Down] Indira, too, is lost in this sort of situation. Before her Change, she would have accompanied her brother on his many errands, stood there with weapon in hand or patrolled. Now her role is much the same - or would be, theoretically. The Ahroun is beginning to have an inkling that simply acting as a battering ram may not get her quite as far with the Garou.

Yeah, offerin' services sounds smart.

[Curata the Grim Heart] "Agreed, services rendered for information."

[Muerte Fria] The she-wolf huffed, then shifted her attention upward. She called out in that eerie, heart-chilling tone that was soley hers, a separate voice for the one body. An embodiment of her deedname.

"We will give you our promise of servitude. We will protect your realm, your Graying Green where you cannot-- in the physical landscape, keeping it sacred and separate from the ever-scrawling Scab. This will remain yours for as long as we march the lands. This is what we have, this is all we can give. We give our words, each of us, to you.

Now, where is this Garou?

[Lunatic Moon] ...And the sky suddenly peels with another crackle of thunder, still no where near as strong as the First. Cloudbanks gather above their heads and with a final fading glimmer, Luna is utterly obscured before the overcast that has gone from a rich thunderhead gray to an all consuming black.

...And still the murmurs of the Graying Green flood around the gathered Garou, yellow and red eyes watchful of the situation, unabashed and brazen in their regard of the Five Garou in their realm.

[Bones to Dust] Int+Occult, diff 7
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Muerte Fria] [Intelligence + Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Brother of the Lost] Boy's nose wrinkles, not in disgust but in an odd man-snarl of annoyance and, yes, perhaps some fear.

"We better just...give them what they want."

He bristled, rolling his shoulders a little. That'll teach them to go charge off into the umbra without a theurge.

[perc+Rituals, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Curata the Grim Heart] Perception + Rituals
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]

[Lunatic Moon] Someone is doing something to the Sky. A casting or diving. The scourge and cut of the atmosphere is demanding of Garou Magics. Garou incantations.

Garou Rituals.

A theurge might well be able to specify more but...

...It is happening. Now.
to Brother of the Lost, Curata the Grim Heart

[Curata the Grim Heart] “The storm is o’er us, can’t see where it comes from. Must go up to get a better advantage point,” he tells them, “Someone’s doing something to the sky, casting or diving, not sure, ritual o sorts.”

He begins to shift out of his wolf form, shaking out his fur as he goes back into homid, his eyes on the trees, watching the spirits in it. Curata starts to climb.

[Muerte Fria] I agree, concurred the she-wolf after a long period of silence in which she stared upward at the trees. Slowly, steadily, she eased herself into a sit, front paws squared away in front of her, weight rocked off to one side and back legs set a little odd to make more comfortable the mass of her stomach. Ears twitched, nostrils did as well, and she dipped her head once, and glanced to Marrick. She observed the Black Fury for a few moments before turning to look back to the rest.

Her sides pushed out and fell in something of a sigh, impatience and exasperation manifesting in the tense lines of her body, and she pressed the group further.

Servitude will not do. Give them some of your spiritual energy, a tribute from all of us. This storm is not their doing, they fear it, wish to keep themselves safe.

Curata began to climb, and the Uktena watched him for a second before snapping her teeth impatiently at the air. Unnecessary. You will only disturb them. They will lead if we sate them.

[Bones to Dust] It forced them into hiding, it seemed. An action- the unnatural thunder storms, the reaction- keeping to a place that they thought safe. They were scared, this was just a reaction. She regarded Muerte Fria, and her glance seemed knowing.

The Fury's tail twitched, and she took a step towards one of the trees. She adjusted her weight, and her approach was not poredatory but reverent.

"Action, reaction," she says, "when we get what we have, we'll stop the storm... we need t'stick together when we get moving."

[-1 gnosis- here pretty spirits!]

[Going Down] Curata begins to climb, and Indira looks from Boy and Soledad back to the chittering creatures in the trees. Then Muerte Fria suggests that they present the spirits with spiritual energy, and Indira is at first unsure of how to provide it.

She, too, makes a step toward them after Marrick does, offering hers up with the rest.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata didn’t get very far to climb when Soledad spoke up. He raises an eyebrow, watching the spirits briefly to see that he would disturb them with his presence. Cautiously, the Fianna drops from the tree, catching himself in a half-stance and then steps back.

He offers gnosis to quell the spirits.

[Lunatic Moon] The Sky blackens.
The World seems to shimmer and narrow in focus and view.
And the Forest seems to quiver on fear unrestrained now.

The voices have grow to a fever of hysterics, bodies and tiny shapes flitting and lashing outward across tree branches. They move with the speed of the desperate. The swiftness of the cunning.

...And suddenly, shadows and shapes leap from dozens of places as the Garou step forward in agreement...

...Movements pass through the Garou. Each in turn, quick and jolting muscles and limbs, spasms of uncontrolled loss rippling through bodies and minds as the Spirit energy is drained away with quick snaps and supping nips. It is a brutal thing but a quick one as well, desperation turning the Maw of the Forest into a gobbling thing, crumbs left behind on the plate.

(-3 Gnosis to each individual. If you don't have that much Gnosis, then lose it all.)

...And with the same sort of abruptness, the shadows and silhouettes suddenly bank, dart and duck from sight, the Forest emptying of their presence within mere moments, even as another crackle of thunder snaps over their heads, following by a chilling spark of lightning that illuminates nothing of the spiritual presence in tree branches and limbs.

...Nothing, save for the tiny creature with the bushy tail, some twenty yards ahead of them, on a trail clear of trees and general debris that wasn't visible before without the Lightning there. As the Flash diminishes and fades, the critter's eyes, red as rubies, are the only thing left, a bouncing, hopping thing that regards the Five...

...Before they suddenly begin to recede into the distance at an Alarming Rate. Visible and running...

[Bones to Dust] The Fury looks dazed for a second. Whatever equilibrium she had attained over the next few days was gone now. Connection and strength sapped away, leaving a familiar sort of feeling of disconnectedness. Her gnosis was drained by a good half, and she was back where she had been several weeks prior.

Odd, because several weeks prior, it would not leave her in such a hollow state.

Her head snapped to the side, and there was something disappearing into the distance at an alarming rate.

"Come on!" is the only indication the wolf gives with a flick of her tail and half a growl before she bolts after the bushy-tailed guide.

[Muerte Fria] A snarl ripped from the Uktena's maw when the buffeting began. She pushed herself up onto all fours, twisted in reflexive physical protest as though trying to chase the barely-seen spirits that latched themselves to her for milliseconds at a time, just long enough to grab a hand or mouthful of her spiritual essence and drag it away, almost forcefully. It was like holding out your hand with berries in your palm only to have everything up to your elbow gnawed away and left bleeding and exposed.

Twist, turn, snarl, snap. Then, suddenly it was over and only a small ball of fur with a bushy tail and glittering red eyes was left. The Uktena rolled her shoulder blades menacingly, turned to glare down at the creature, head lowering as though she were about to pounce, perhaps, take out her Rage and insult on it. She had offered an inch, they had taken a goddamn mile and a half.

To think I vouched for you.

But then they were off. This was their lead, and if they didn't follow then that sacrifice was for nothing. Bones to Dust shouted, and the she-wolf pushed her body into something larger, more muscular, more deadly. Hispo. Feet the size of dinner dishes pounded the earth as she gave chase.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Rage churns like a furnace inside of the Fianna, rising and boiling through muscles and bone, singing in his blood as he calls on it to literally snap his form into blur of shape-shifting that has him going from homid to lupus in mere seconds.

The sky blackened.
The world seemed to shimmer and the Forest ate its fill of the Gaoru’s spiritual essence.

A snort and a chuff of breathe hisses on the air from flaring nostrils. Blue eyes honed in quickly on the little creature of red eyes and bushy tail, bursting into run the moment it takes flight.

“Let’s go!” howled to the wind as he breaks into a run, an unnatural fleetness hidden in his powerful, muscular frame.

[Going Down] The spirits move through the Garou like a razor wind, and when they're finished, what little spiritual energy Indira had to give has bled away. The manner of its taking prompts a bray from the Bone Gnawer, part pain and part confusion, as she shakes her head for a few seconds and snaps at the air.

It leaves her feeling hollow. Well, almost. There's still barely chained rage urging her on after the creatures.

She doesn't need to be told again. Marrick bolts after the bushy tailed creature and Indira is quick at her heels, stringy muscles bunching and springing as she lunges ahead.

[Brother of the Lost] Boy braced himself against the sudden assault as the spirits around them took what they needed and, apparently, left.

But as safety lowers his arms from protecting his face, he sees the trail of glowing red eyes in the distance. And he sees it fade. When Marrick, then Soledad, and then Curata charge forth, Boy does the same, taking a few steps on two legs while his muscles and bones cracked and bulged. In the next instant he was running on four legs. Large. Once again matching the rest of the garou, and moving as a unit.

[Lunatic Moon] ...The Forest rushes by them, trees and limbs seeming to thin almost consciously as the Garou race through and across the forest floor, suddenly devoid of it's earlier trickery and trip falls. As they move, the space to their right seems to grow more open, revealing the distance and the slight dip in the landscape. Reveals the Horizon:

The Storm has grow, powerful and fierce and with it, the wind whips and snaps at the canopy of the Woods, sending a great swathe of fallen leaves into the air, a tendril of woe that seems to reach out in brightly coloured desperation for something to grasp onto.

...At the same time, the cloudbanks overhead seem to take on definition. Clarity, as the lightning forks and splits around a thick knot of blackened surface, thunder looming over the forestry with the proud bellow made by some giant. A Titan. A Creature of myth.

The whip trail of leaves in the sky suddenly gathers and compacts, then explodes outward, scattering, terrified, into the forestry below which bends and attempts to shift out of the sudden presence pulling itself apart from the Thunderhead above them. The Rain has begun to fall in thicker sheets now, drenching fur and turning the forest floor in a slick path of fast growing muck and mud. The Garou find themselves sliding and slipping every so often...

...But the Red eyes remain true, never fully leaving their sight, despite the obvious obstacles that mar their path, until finally...

...The Critter stalls, hard on the outskirts of a thicket of undergrowth. It scrambles up and around several tree limbs, well out of reach of the Garou below, and stares down at them, chattering loudly to be heard over the whorling winds and rain sheets.

[Lunatic Moon] ....And Then the eyes and the silhouette vanish a moment later, to leave the Garou within beside the Thicket, the Howling gale overhead and the sembling shape haunting the skies above.

[Bones to Dust] Per+occult, diff 8
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]

[Curata the Grim Heart] Wits + Engimas
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Brother of the Lost] [Wits+Enigmas, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 8)

[Muerte Fria] [Perception + Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Going Down] [Int + Primal Urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Lunatic Moon] ...Someone is in that storm. Someone that rings bells in the memory of the Fianna, seen long and much in his years with Maelstrom. The sensation is a familiar one and almost instantly noticeable from he moment Curata can see the realm from which He emerges.

The Power is there.
The Dominance of the skies and all beneath him.
The Sheer level of Demand his presence beckons.

Grandfather Thunder himself come calling.
to Curata the Grim Heart

[Brother of the Lost] [Curiosity: WP Diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Bones to Dust] "We cross this line, we are taking a step into somewhere sacred."

A place of faith. Worship. Warning. She looked at it again, and her muscles tensed and her tail stayed low. She looked back at those who were with her, and the Fury did what she probably should not have done.

"I'll take point, Boy? Take the rear. Muerte Fria, you're in the middle, and Indira an' Durata-rhya? You both take the sides."

She looked at in and inhaled. It can't be natural. It bent and wavered against the wind, but it took the punishment of the oncoming storms.

"Maybe there's a way around this.."

[Going Down] Mud splashes up around her feet, and once or twice she slides forward, soil mounding up in front of her paws and between her toes. In the rain Indira appears monstrous even apart from her Hispo form, some vicious mockery of a wild dog. Her legs and belly are splattered and her drenched fur clings to hide that has been stretched just a little too thin over the framework of her bones.

Indira's paws pound on ahead, spurred on by the Rage and primal nature that seems to have found a sort of fierce harmony with the wood. Mouth hanging halfway open, her head jerks up toward the sky as she runs, breathing in deeply and releasing a long howl.

Marrick's voice comes from somewhere that feels far away and Indira digs her claws in, slowing down next to the Fury and moving to one of the sides as instructed.

We can't go into it?

[Muerte Fria] Soledad's paws dug into dirt when the red eyes bounding ahead came to an abrupt stop, spitting fallen leaves and churned earth out from under them while she stomped the brakes and came to a stop at the edge of the thicket. Nostrils quavered, ears stood upright, tall and large, a little more pointed than rounded. Though her Gnosis had been sucked dry, she could still pick up on the sensation of barrier at the line of bushes in front of them. Marrick voiced her concerns, and she glanced toward Marrick.

Eyes flashed and her muzzle wrinkled. Middle?

But she understood the reasoning, even though she didn't want to discuss it or bring it to the forefront of conversation. She just huffed, twisted her ears to show reluctant compliance, and looked to Going Down, the unfamiliar face.

We can, but it will be dangerous. Be braced, be ready. On the mark.

And, almost grudgingly, she moved into position.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Marrick is giving orders. It is her position as Ahroun Elder and War-leader that doesn’t have the Fianna immediately snapping his jaws at the cliath. His attention drawn to her immediately and then outward towards the storms, his body becomes bulkier, muscular and larger in its hispo shape, bigger than Soledad in her own four-legged war form.

“That is Grandfather Thunder playing in those clouds.”

[Brother of the Lost] This was his full moon. The one he deferred to in these situations. And the Ahroun elder, among four other ahrouns. But there was one here of higher rank. One who he himself had already deferred to. He thought to bark at her, to snap and growl in correction. But Brother of the Lost realized that he was the odd one out here.

He huffed and growled softly, but he fell to the rear of them, keeping his eyes on the lookout for trouble.

[Bones to Dust] She looked at her resources, and found herself realizing that she was with several other full moons and a philodox who was no slouch. She had stepped up; the Fury took a second to think... and found that thinking was not her strongsuit.

"Let's check the perimeter, try to keep out of sight. Any indication that we've been found out? And we just try to break through. Though, something tells me that breaking through would be hard as Hell... and not what it seems."

[Curata the Grim Heart] Wits + Survival to seek a safe pathway
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5 (Failure at target 7) [WP]

[Brother of the Lost] [Wits+Survival, Diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Bones to Dust] [wits+survival, diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5 (Failure at target 7) [WP]

[Going Down] [Wits + Survival]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Muerte Fria] [Wits + Survival]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Lunatic Moon] ...The garou agree to move off and search the various sides of the Thicket, noses and eyes seeking out the walls inconsistencies and flaws, yet Curata, Marrick and Boy find no such luck in the measure. The Trio are scrounging for some time before each notices either Soledad or Indira standing by a cleared section of leaves and twigs, peering at something on the other side.

[Going Down] Indira's muscles tense and bunch with excitement as she catches sight of something through the thicket. Her ears flick back for a moment, lie flat as she takes in the scene through the leaves and twigs, and then she turns to look back at the other three who are still searching.

Somebody back there. Black Crinos and a lotta trophies, looks like he's doin' some sorta ritual or something.

[Muerte Fria] Soledad and Indira seemed to be on the same wavelength as far as finding proper openings in the barrier goes. They glimpsed holes the others seemed to look over, and simultaneously came to a stop at one in particular that gave them a view of something rather... peculiar. Not quite what she was expecting, to say for sure. The others moved by, and Going Down called quietly to the others when they started to pull away from formation.

Soledad snapped her teeth to stop the three from going any further, to call them back, jerking her massive head in a gesture for them to return. She nudged her nose forward. Her posture was rigid, thick red-tinged hackles standing on end, muscles tense and coiled, ready to spring. Everything about her insisted urgency.

He summons. We must move fast.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata seems blind as he searches for a trail. Irritation causes his ears to pin back and his tongue to lick across the left side of his muzzle, snarling a bit. His tail kept low to press into the inner thigh of a hind leg. He slides up next to the pregnant Uktena and the Gnawer, squinting as he tries to get a better look at the Garou summoning.

[Curata the Grim Heart] perception + brawl
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Lunatic Moon

[Lunatic Moon] The Five push around the barrier in various directions and chunks, the yards stretching along as noses and eyes seek out openings in the Warding line. Yet this isn't some barricade meant to keep people out, that much was becoming obvious. It was simply a means of Warning. A signpost not unlike a barb wire fence.

The holes in the thicket were obvious to their eyes, chunks and sections exposing themselves to Indira and Soledad, where they could get a good view of what lies beyond:

The Black furred Crinos is huddled amid a broad swathe of things. Trophies of Wyrmlings, creatures torn apart and ravaged by claws and fangs. A half dozen skulls, a dozen more limbs. Teeth, skins and hides. They're all there, laid out in the grass, forming a semi-circle, surrounded by the odd presence of a collection of sticks, jammed into the ground, tied at their tips by the buffetting presence of white string, flimsy and frail and yet clinging to the assortment of twigs for dear and powerful life.

His frame is black furred and yet the scars of those conquests are obvious. Telling. They litter his body, a tapestry of war, cutting him to ribbons and stitching him back together again as he bows in place before the Forked lightning and gathering cloudbanks above his head, slowly and steadily descending.

Of the Scars around his neck, one stands out to the Ahroun's trained eyes, depicting those not found in war, like the others that criss-cross his frame, but the markings that line his neck, 'round like some collar or other. Glyphs...

Of those listed only a few make themselves easily described to the Fianna:

Failure. Philodox. Path-

The rest is obscured by distance and the Crinos' movements.
to Curata the Grim Heart

[Bones to Dust] Doing some sort of ritual...

The sky was going insane. She looked between those whow ere gathered and her tail stayed low.

"Anyone see anything yet? Suggestions?"

[Curata the Grim Heart] “He’s ranked… A Shadow lord…Half-moon,” Curata begins to say, pushing past Indira and Soledad, his head turning to regard Marrick briefly. “It’s a Gaia ritual, he’s branded wi’ glyphs o failure, possibly punishment.”

Curata starts looking for a path around the storm, a trail or something that will bring them closer to the Garou in the storm.

[Muerte Fria] Soledad's shoulder brushes Curata's flank when he moves past, and she takes a step forward along with him. She's bristling now, fur standing on end not only from electricity but tension and pure, absolute Rage. Her teeth are bared, black lips curled away to show brilliant, curved fangs that have sliced through more foes than she could remember to count. Claws flexed, churned earth beneath her, bit down deep into it, and her tail stuck out straight behind her. A low rumble, consumed by the tumult of the storm around them, vibrated in her bones and into the Fianna beside her by way of physical contact.

Take him down now. Stop him!

She rocked forward, but something kept her from leaping forward first. Impossible to say what, but something.

[Muerte Fria] [Perception + Empathy]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Going Down] [Perc + Primal Urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Brother of the Lost] [Perc+PU]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Muerte Fria] [Perception + Primal-Urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Curata the Grim Heart] perception + primal urge
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Bones to Dust] per+primal urge, diff 6
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Lunatic Moon] "Father!"

The hands of the Black furred Crinos raise, head tilting upward as a thunderous voice reaches past the winds and the shrieking storm, descending above him. The Scarred Crinos movements are almost carelessly wanton, welcoming the presence of his Tribal Totem even as a few of the Trophies are scattered by his wayward motions.

"Do you see Father?! How I have gathered for you?! In your Name?! In your Honour?! Surely this must be of worth? Of Value?! Am I not forgiven my Mistakes?! Can I not be welcomed back to your Fold to do your Work once more?! Tell me Father, am I not Worthy of your Graces once again?"

Something in that voice. Tinged and warping. A Desperation. Something...lost. A tragic pity. A searching hope. In another, it might seem pious.

In a Shadowlord?

"I Am Path~of~Wayward~War! Philodox and Judge of Doom to the Shadowlord Nation! You Will not Ignore Me Any Longer!"

And he's standing now, climbing to his feet, fists and claws clenched inward, head rocking from side to side, as he scans that nebulous cloud overhead, lit with arcs of brilliant lightning and pummeling Thunder.

It watches Path. Silent despite it's noise. Scrutinizing despite it's dominance of space.

"ANSWER ME!" It is a roar, fists shaking at the skies.

[Bones to Dust] Marrick Fisher's experiences with Shadow Lords were extremely limited. The number of Thunder's children that she has met quadrupled when she went to chicago.

Which was to say this" she has known four. Total. And not known any of them. What she goes off of is rumor and mystery and tales she has heard. Things she knows, not from knowing, but from the cautionary tales of her ancestors.

She knows desperation whens he hears it.

"We're going in," she says, "it's not malice, it's negligence that caused this."

A pause, a thought.

"If he's looking to make right, there's another way."

Empathy, there, for the girl whose pack just received the blessing of its totem again.

[Going Down] Indira watches through the space between the leaves and twigs, haunches hovering somewhere between a crouch and a sitting position; her muscles are still quivering and ready. The desperation, the hope, she can hear in the Shadowlord's voice gives her pause, though, as she looks back toward the others.

Maybe we oughta talk to him? Or has he been exiled or something? Going Down, while clearly moved to pity, hesitates to make any action without the clear from the more experienced Garou.

It ain't right that he's tryin' ta say he's sorry an' he ain't getting an answer.

[Brother of the Lost] "Hold!" He barks at first, as if expecting Soledad to bolt. Brother of the Lost carried himself low, ears held back, but a light gleam of teeth shows below his curled lip.

"Hold formation." He growls lower. His ears flick up, and turn, focusing on the voice in the distance even as he looks elsewhere, observing their surroundings. He too knew that sound of desperation. And he too knew the danger of a philodox thinking he could correct it on his own.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Activate Persuasion
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Curata the Grim Heart] "Lemme take the front, Bones to Dust. Ye may be Ahroun Elder, but he outranks ye and isn't a part o the Sept. He may take offense..." Curata looks back at the Black Fury, stepping up beside her.

[Muerte Fria] The Garou (assuming it could still be counted as one of their number) roared heart-wrenched words to the sky. Pleaded for his Tribe to take him back, to acknowledge him, to give him another chance. In Soledad's mind, that meant he did something wrong to be banished in the first place. Perhaps he left willingly, perhaps he had gone mad and committed horrendous numbers of crimes against Gaia. Perhaps he neglected her completely, chose to leave on his own accord for one reason or another. Perhaps he was chased out. It was impossible to say.

What she was certain of, however, was that this Was Not Good. Her muscles flexed, coiled to drive her forward, but Boy barked at her to hold, and she paused. A sound of anxiety wound its way up in her throat and rattled about in her chest, something between a grotesque angry whine and a snarl of frustration. She shook her head, scratched at the dirt, and continued making sounds of displeasure.

But hold she did. Like a pitbull straining against a short chain, waiting, salivating for the moment that that grasp was loosened and she was unleashed to do her job as Gaia's Devestation upon the wretch before them.

[Bones to Dust] The Fury regards her companions, notes the formation, and feels tension rise through her body and rip through her as though it did not matter. Curata speaks, and she is drawn. She turns and she listens to him. Actually listens, after a second, she nods and the blonde moves to trade places with him.

"I'm trusting your judgment, rhya," she tells him, "take us forward."

[Lunatic Moon] ...The Storm seems to hold. Poised to coalesce further in the skies above, the menace of Grandfather Thunder a looming thing in the winds that shriek and clap about the Gaia Garou outside of the Warding Thicket. Yet as Curata pushes forward through the thicket, which gives way agaisnt his bulk and heft, an odd diminishing comes to he noise and sound, almost as if within the circle of Warding, they are protected from it's Thrum.

The Garou file through, one by one and push into the circle, grasses plush and wet beneath their feet, sheets of rain soaking through to the flesh beneath, leaving fur bedraggled and hung about their shapes. As Each files through-

-Something flaps overhead:

They are there upon the Thicket, perched on branches and limbs. Clawed feet dig into the wooden structure, while black feathers puff and buffet away the rain drops as if they were made of wax and rubber. Water drips from the tips of great black beaks while the crackling arc of electricity skates across jet solid eyes, the gleam of fine edges evident at the tips of their razored wings.

The Stormcrows appear as a great murder, lining the walls of the Thicket in either direction and looking down upon the Garou as they huddle and arrive, one by one by one.

...Until the last one comes through and the Thicket seems to solidify behind them.

It is about Time, pups. We've been waiting.

That from the Birds. Audible in the Gaian heads. Audible and calm despite the fury of the Storms around them.

"What is the Meaning of this?!"

It bellows from the Crinos, now standing amid the scatterings of his Trophies, regarding the intrusion of the Gaia Garou from his place thirty feet ahead. Grandfather Thunder...

...Continues as the nebula of lightning, cloud and thunder. Indistinct but for the odd swirl of something, haunting the centre of that...sphere of Storms.

[Curata the Grim Heart] The Fianna is the first to come through the thicket. His head lifting up, ears rolling back high upon his head as he drinks in the massive Murder: Storm Crows; their voices fill his head, telling them they have been waiting, he wonders for how long.

What is the Meaning of this?!

It bellows from the Shadow Lord standing amid the scatterings of Trophies that are meant to appease the totem. To bring his way back into its graces… yet means nothing.

"YUF! " he howls through the roar of the winds, “I am Curata the Grim Heart, Fianna Warrior o the Sept o Maelstrom,” "Path~of~Wayward~War-yuf! Listen to me this is not the way. It won’t win ye back into Grandfather’s graces.”

Charisma + subterfuge: -1 for Persuasion
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Muerte Fria] [Intelligence + Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Bones to Dust] [Int+occult, diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7) [WP]

[Bones to Dust] Marrick, being the creature that she was, found herself distracted by the flurry of things going around her. She looked from the Shadow Lord to the birds flying overhead. She regarded them, tried to make sense of their presence. Bones to Dust tried to decypher what their presence might mean.

The blonde was not the smartest of creatures, but by sheer desire to understand, she found herself looking at this gathering. This was important.

"... this is big."

Stater of the obvious, this one.

[Brother of the Lost] Boy held his position in the rear. He's silent, but wary. Staying alert. When the birds speak to them he pauses slightly, but keeps up with the others. They're seen, and Curata, in the lead, calls to the Shadow Lord ahead of them. Meanwhile, in the rear, Boy's ears and eyes flit from bird to bird. He eyes the branded philodox before them, and then turns back the birds, addressing them in the spirit tongue.

"What was this one's sin, spirits, that he should be branded and shunned?"

[Lunatic Moon] "What would You Know of it?!"

It is vicious. Scathing. Riddled with something outraged and terrible. Path steps forward over the trophies he's laid, to glare snarls, sneers and hate-filled eyes at Curata across the yards wide distance, even as the semblance of the Sphere of Storms overhead, suddenly carries the blazing presence of a pair of Eyes, forked with lightning and carrying a presence finally arrived.

He stares from his place above, regarding the child that would claim to be his, while the Stormcrows shift on their perches, wings flapping briefly and attentions settling on the Gaian Garou.

You'll see soon enough, Half-moon of Uktena. We bid you, Welcome, Children of Maelstrom. Now that you have arrived, we can begin the proceedings.

...To which there is an obvious response:

"Them?!" A Clawed finger rises to level at the Five, Path~of~Wayward~War staring at the Stormcrows with indignant fury.

"By Them?!" Whirling on Grandfather Thunder, who continues to hover in the sky. Patient. Unspeaking.

Judge to these proceedings.

[Going Down] Indira remains on the flank as instructed, following everything that's being said as best as she can. The Storm Crows get an inquisitive look and a flick of the tail, though they are lumped aside as the things a Theurge would deal with - another part of this place that is not entirely comprehensible to the Ahroun. Indira knows how to fight. It's all that's ever been asked of her.

Until now, apparently. She lets out a quiet huff, as unsure of why they are here to stand as jury as the Shadowlord is.

In the end, though, she just looks up at Grandfather Thunder.

Thanks, Grandfather. I'll do my best with what you're askin'.

[Muerte Fria] Soledad pushed through the bushes, kept in the middle of the makeshift 'pack', unbound, unconnected spiritually save for two twined together by Unicorn's Shadow, but communicating and working together as well as they could without such aid. She felt like an infant, surrounded by others, the Bone Gnawer and other Uktena at her sides. She bristled and snarled still, tossed her head back to look at the Stormcrows when they communicated. Her ears lifted from where they'd flattened against her skull, showing interest, and she looked toward the scar-riddled Crinos up ahead.

He roared, he argued, he flared his Rage and insult, and Soledad snarled and snapped her jaws back at him.

Yes us. Deal with it.

But this was something proper, something ritual, important, political and etiquette-riddled. This wasn't Soledad's element. She was here to exterminate.

Yet, growling quietly, incessantly, she forced herself to still, rocked the tension out of her muscles as much as she could, and clipped her tongue with a fang to keep herself from pacing or fidgeting. Wait, pup, she chided herself silently. Your time will come.

[Bones to Dust] The first thought that crossed her mind was holy shit. It was also the second thought, but the third was one that put it all together. They were children of Maelstrom, and they were brought here, perhaps unwittingly, to judge this.

Four Ahrouns. One philodox. And the accused.

The wolf did not move, or make any attempt to move to her birth form. This was comfortable enough. Whatever equilibrium she had achieved was gone for now, and she was once again a creature of equisite rage and intentional, tightly-gripped control.

And she waited. Patiently as she could.

[Brother of the Lost] Proceedings? So, Grandfather Thunder would have him tested before he was accepted again. Boy set his rear haunches down, sitting and waiting patiently but still holding formation.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata watches, his head rose up as he can hear the voice of the Storm Crows in his mind. He wants to answer the Shadow Lord, but doesn’t at first.

“I know wha’ it’s like, yuf, to be judged and branded.” His voice doesn’t carry as loudly as the first time, he speaks more to the air around him, to no one and yet to anyone.

They stood waiting, watching. To play the judge.

His tail switches from side to side, head canting to the side to glimpse over a shoulder at the Garou with him. He can feel their impatience. The vibration of rage and eagerness buzzing through the other ahrouns denied an action. When he is done, he returns his eyes back to the proceedings.

[Lunatic Moon] "Father I-[/b]"

Something flashes across the clearing and suddenly, the earth around Path erupts, black iron chains reaching up to punch through muscle and flesh, small explosions of red scattering in slashes across the grass, as links pierce one side, launch out the other and bury themselves back into the ground. Once. Twice. Three. A Fourth. Finally the Crinos is a marrionette figure, chained to the ground, blood frothing and dripping from his wounds, a howl of pain raking from his mouth.

...And the Stormcrows speak as if nothing were occurring, regarding the Gaians before them.

Great Father has deemed it fit for the thoughts and opinions of those of you to weigh on the actions taken by this Wayward Gaian, shown his disrespect and selfishness in past deeds. You will be as Jury to his crimes. As Prosecutor to his Deeds and should the need arise? Executioner as judgement decides.

Shadowlord Failure. It was one of the greatest marks of pride in the Tribe's history and one that no few of the other tribes would be hard pressed to describe accurately. The reasons for why? Because of this. Because of how GrandFather dealt with such ways and methods.

You may ask of the Accused what you wish. He will inform you of the answers as he wishes. You may ask of Father Thunder his crimes and you will be Shown. Lastly, you may seek our Council and be provided an answer.

A pause.

Remember the laws of Respect that come with your People though, Pups. Insolence will not be tolerated. Disrespect will be punished.

The Murder clacks beaks and flaps wings and the sky around them suddenly dims to an eerie silence, hard and ugly.

Proceed when you are ready.

[Curata the Grim Heart] "Wha' are the crimes o the Accused, Great Father o Thunder?"

[Going Down] Shadowlord Failure. It's a thing the Bone Gnawer knows absolutely nothing of. As the chains punch through the Crinos's paws, her upper lip peels back from her teeth ever so slightly.

She's about to ask his crimes, but then Curata does and she remains silent, waiting for the response.

[Lunatic Moon] Flashes of Imagery, before you have a chance to think it through:

She sits in a chair, bloodied about the face, puncture marks where the blade has punched in and punched out again, barely an inch or two inward.

She's been crying and screaming hysterically, if the lines in her face are any indication.

"It Wasn't our Fault! Michael It-"

She bleeds some more. A Lover.

"It Just Happen-ARRRGHHH!!!" She screams, as a finger is removed.

"Please! Please I'll never hurt you again! I'll never see him aga-AAAAAHHHHH!" A Toe this time.

* * * *

He Stood over the fallen body of the Ragabash, watching as the spectacles fell from his human face, long in shock and terror. He breathed deeply. Thunderously even as the droning voice of the Master of Challenge crept in behind him.

"...You have violated our Laws! It was to first blood only, Half-moon-"

To which the reply was a vicious thing.

"He Fucked My Mate! My mate!"

* * * *

He stared at the flames as they rose around the house, smiling slightly at the tears that flowed from the young girl's eyes beside him. Watched as the orange licked it's way up to the second story window, where the small boy watched, helpless and trembling. The boy didn't scream. Didn't topple. He simply stared out the window at his Mother and the Man that had set the house ablaze.

"...That will teach your Father to sin. Teach him to break the litany's laws, young one...You will be the example..."
to Curata the Grim Heart, Going Down

[Bones to Dust] She was silent, but finally a question came.

"Do you regret any of your deeds? Why or why not?"

[Lunatic Moon] To which the reply is a pained flash across Crinos Features, jaws snapping out at the air, toward Marrick.

"You Stupid Fucking Cubs! I'm above this! Beyond you! You do not Judge Me! You-"

-A Flash of Black, a Blur of motion-

-And Path is suddenly shrieking loudly, hands trying to reflexively rise to his face where his left eye once stood, chains sawing into the flesh and around the bone with the movements.

[Muerte Fria] The Uktena Ahroun was out of her element. She was told to question, to act as jury, prosecutor, executioner. She could do that last one with no trouble, but to come up with questions, to discover the sins.... well, that wasn't really Soledad's strong suit. Yet, her mind drifted back to a time not long ago at all. When she saw a brother on the ground, tears in his eyes and blood on his flesh. She had to judge him then, to help Boy with a decision too large for only one Cliath. While it was not her place to decide the punishment, she could determine whether she believed in the guilt or not.

She recalled leaning down to look into the wolf's eyes, huffed a breath, and shook out her mane before rumbling toward the bound, pained wretch before them.

What would you do if forgiven? So warped with hate and Rage now, what will you do when given what you seek?

[Going Down] Indira is assaulted by imagery. She's young and prone to thinking more with her animal passions, her Rage, than she is with anything else, and so after the imagery ceases all that she emits for a moment is a low growl. It's difficult to piece it all together out of what she saw.

For a moment the Bone Gnawer is at war with her own first impulses: Rage at what she saw him do, and some sort of gut understanding of -his- Rage and why he did what he did.

You're a Philodox. How would you judge another Garou that did what you did?

[Brother of the Lost] Boy remained silent. He moved with the impromptu pack, listening as they asked all the questions he would have asked anyway. He also listens to the bound and already branded garou, the one they were here to judge.

Hispo ears flick toward Going down. Hispo eyes remain fixed on the Shadow Lord, with his tongue sharp as knives.

[Lunatic Moon] Soledad's own question comes and a whimper of Rage floods from him. His missing eye weeps blood in thick rivulets while the other, fresh tears tracking through rain swept fur.

"My place is as Judge! I Judge the Guilty! Their deeds are mine to break open and dis-...discover the Truth!"

And then 'round on Marrick, the fury returning to his features, lips peeling back over his teeth as something familiar...a gift of the Philodox...creeps into his system, leaving the pain off to the side.

"Every soul I sent to Gaia was deserving. If not in deed, then in the Blood that flowed under the skin, connected to the flesh of failures!"

To which there is a chortling sound, distinct and abrupt from the Stormcrows, aloof and seemingly bemused by the entire spectacle before them.

"I would Judge him as I saw fit! None may make the choices I have! None save the Judges of Doom are capable of such divings! Such understanding!" He nearly spits it at Indira's feet, glaring through one eye, scarred over the brow, at the Bone Gnawer.

[Lunatic Moon] (divinings^)

[Muerte Fria] Soledad huffed at the Crinos. Mad, she deemed, simply, and turned her head to look back to the massive block of Stormcrows that flooded the thicket bushes behind and around them. Yellow eyes surveyed the spirits, and she dipped her nose, just a little, and addressed them next.

Why are we to judge?

[Lunatic Moon] Because Shadowlords do not fall without the lesson being carried to other's ears

Was the simple and off-hand reply from one of the great murder.

[Bones to Dust] She stops and looks forward to the sky. She thinks for a second, and while thinking isn't her strongest suit, she does want to know.

"What are his crimes, Grandfather Thunder?" While she spoke with respect, it was also tinged with the desperate need to understand. Then? Her attention turned to the stormcrows.

"What do Judges of Doom do, precisely? I'm not really familiar with your tribe..."

[Lunatic Moon] They seek out the harm Gaians do to Gaia and correct it Is Marrick's reply from the Crows.

[Brother of the Lost] "What were your crimes, Wayward-Path-of-War?" He asks, slowly, and almost out of the blue. "And who, if not us, do you think should be your judges?"

[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata the Grim heart asked to show the crimes of the Accused by the Great Father of Thunder. The imagery assaults the Fianna’s thoughts, floods over his sensory with a wave of unbridled emotion that the Ahroun himself cannot control. A growl, so loud and deep, vibrates in his diaphragm, bubbles up into his chest and throat, threatening to rip out of his jaws.

Rage fuels his actions as the hispo form blurs and the Fianna snap-shifts into his war form. Ears drawn back, chest heaving in and out with harsh ragged breathes. His fur spiking up along his neck as he flexes claws in and out.

Adultery to close to home… a Half-moon slays a Ragabash over it in the challenging ring… (One Fiann murders his pack mate, his brother, his alpha in cold blood…) all for the love of a woman that betrayed them.

When Curata speaks, he does so in the High Tongue of the Garou, “Ye took out yer vengeance on them, Michael. Ye killed yer mate, ye tortured her until she confessed didn’t ye, Michael? Ye killed the Ragabash, the one she cuckolded ye wi’ in cold blood, didn’t ye, Michael?”

[Bones to Dust] She looked at the male and her fur bristled. And she did not move. The Fury took a second, and soon enough she was back in her breed form. She wans't overly tall, or overly muscled, but she was a creature of exquisite rage. Blue eyes fell on the half moon.

Her question is immediate. Her voice was cold. Boy's never heard her sound like that before.

"What was her name?"

Marrick's

[Bones to Dust] (revised)
She looked at the male and her fur bristled. And she did not move. The Fury took a second, and soon enough she was back in her breed form. She wans't overly tall, or overly muscled, but she was a creature of exquisite rage. Blue eyes fell on the half moon.

Her question is immediate. Her voice was cold. Boy's never heard her sound like that before.

"What was her name?"

[Lunatic Moon] Ye took out yer vengeance-

"I Did!"

-Ye killed yer mate-

"She Deserved it!"

-What were your Crimes-

"I Did not-"

-Who do think should be your judg-

"Not You! NOT YOU!"

-Ye killed the Ragabash-

"BEN! THAT FUCKING-"

-In Cold Blood-

"I Killed Him!"

-What was Her Name?

Michael. Path of Wayward War. He lifts his head toward Marrick, mad eye regarding her through the haze of his answers, desperate and fierce, jaws clenched so hard the teeth grate together dangerously.

"...Her Name..." A pause, spittle dripping over his lower lip. "...Her Name..." His eye lowers, searching the ground. Searching for-

Dierdre Comes the Stormcrow answer, rippling through the Murder like an echo.

[Muerte Fria] Soledad listened to what the others had to say, and when Curata's words touched her ears she bristled once more. A snarl ripped from her chest, rivaled, if only for a moment, the tumult in the skies above. She shook her head, took a few steps forward, but paused before she was to pass Curata and where he stood in the front. Her teeth snapped the air, anxious to slice, and she flattened her ears into the thick mass of fur that was her mane.

Rage seethed from her, and any fool could tell that she wasn't going to hold back for much longer.

Kill him and end it, she snapped. Let me.

[Going Down] It's difficult for Indira to sort out her own emotions, amidst the Shadowlord's screaming and the questions the others have.

This guy's fuckin' crazy, she tells the others, but ain't he done what a lot of us woulda done or wanted to do?

...Well, 'cept killin' the little kid, she adds as an afterthought.

[Curata the Grim Heart] The kid... the child and the house going up in flames. "Who was the boy, Michael? Why did ye kill him?"

[Bones to Dust] "Did you love her?" she asks. And she is young, and this is where a child's mind goes. Not on the deeds, but the facts that were important to her.

Did he regret it?
What was her name?
Did you love her?

Such a sentimental notion, and something that held so much weight to her.

[Lunatic Moon] "...The son..."

Michael is Homid suddenly, staring at the Grass. A handsome man, dressed in black bedraggled hair, five o'clock shadow and a mean cut to his features. His eye is red and the socket beside it mercifully hidden behind his hair. He is all but naked, save for the pair of black dress pants he still wears.

"...Ben's son...The Future of his Father's sins..."

[Muerte Fria] No.

She snarled her response to the Bone Gnawer, swinging her great head back to glare at the other female. Her front teeth flashed consistently, lips refused to relax enough to put away weapons Gaia-given and used in her name as well.

I have come across mine with another. No blood was shed, not a drop. I, an Ahroun, accused of madness and lack of soul, contained my Rage while this Philodox could not. He is sick.

Again, she snapped her teeth, sliced the air with them, and swung her head back to the Garou on Trial.

He has no regret. He dies.

[Lunatic Moon] Soledad's fury is an odd counter-weight to the softness of Michael's voice rasped and whispered in response to Marrick.

"...I did...I Think I...I think I did...yes..." His eyes squeeze shut, teeth ground hard.

"...I loved Dierdre...I did, I did..."

[Brother of the Lost] "He doesn't even know her name..." Boy growls amazed. And slowly, his own hairs bristle and ruffle and his hackles rise tight and tense. At Going-Down's statement he snaps out, matching anger with Soledad of all people, barking with not words but with pure Rage, and his massive head and body shakes, splattering them with the foam of anger that began to seethe from his lips.

"An act of Anger?!" Boy says with fury in him. "Drunk on Rage?! For that he has been branded with Shame! Shunned by all! Even the spirit of his tribe calls to others! And STILL he does not accept fault!"

Brother of the lost surges forward, muscles tense and snapping, but not touching, the chained and tortured garou.

"Killed a child! A future warrior of Gaia! An Innocent! NO HONOR! NO HONOR! EVEN DEATH IS TOO GOOD FOR HIM!"

[Curata the Grim Heart] A low growl vibrates along Curata’s muzzle, his head whips back to stare down at the Gnawer ahroun, his irritation growing, as does his rage. “I ‘ave done wha’ he has done.”

The Fianna towers over Muerta Fria in his war form, claws flexing as she snaps and snarls, feeling the air and the press of her rage. Brother of the Lost nearly loses himself as well, forcing Curata to step forward, cutting between the Uktena and the chained Shadow Lord.

“Back away from ‘im now.”

[Lunatic Moon] Enough

It is the Thunder. The Lightning. The Force. It thrums through bones and weakens the muscle. The Sphere of Storms turns to regard the Gaian Garou, leveling out the field of Rage that plumes around each in turn. The Actions that have been taken. The lives that have been altered.

The Thoughts that rip through each's mind.

You have borne the breath of this Weakling and come to know his faults. Your Verdict, Gaians. Cast it, each of you in turn. What should be done with this creature?

[Muerte Fria] Death, snarled the she-wolf. Put him out of his misery, end it quickly.

[Bones to Dust] She hears thunder, and she looks up. She is tense, and she asks.

"Killing him would be merciful," she says. And with all implications thereof. It is hard to say what she knows, or what she does not know of Shadow Lord culture. What she does and does not know of the tribe. There is a lot that could be said about the nature of mercy.

"Let him live."

[Going Down] Indira is not surprised by the reaction her question has on the others. It was part of why she asked it - torn herself between sympathy and righteous Rage, she is not sure what to think. Now she knows.

If it were jus' that you killed your mate an' the other, I could maybe understand that. Brother of the Lost is right, it's killin' the kid that tells me you ought to die. Death.

[Curata the Grim Heart] Curata stands, chest heaving, breathing in and out in deep pants as air rushes from flaring nostrils. His tail switches against his back legs, turning his head to look at the Shadow Lord. He is reminded of Lukas’ Fostern challenge and what the Ahroun had to say about Shadow Lords.

They do not tend to their weakness…

“Great Father o Thunder, I know yer children do not harbor weakness, they do not accept mercy and cull it where ever it dwells…” he hears the verdicts of the others, swings his great crinos head back to the look at them, “This wanker’s not honorable for death… it’s to easy o a way out. Let him live, let him suffer wi’ his guilt.”

[Brother of the Lost] Boy Snarled, frustrated at first when Curata steps in, and with a tinge of confusion when he speaks as well.

And then the voice of the storm itself answers and he cowers, sliding backwards. Boy bristles but keeps low, eyes fixed on the chained garou, but occasionally flitting to the Fianna among them.

"Death...so he can find an end to his punishment? Life...unrepentant...so he can turn against other Gaians!?" Another plume of anger as he snaps his massive jaws and growls high, then low and seething.

"If Gaia, Luna, and Grandfather Thunder could shun him too, I'd let the stinking whelp live. Crippled."

[Lunatic Moon] Do you see then?

The Eyes in the Storm turn to regard Michael.

It has been decided

And Quite suddenly the flesh of the grass beneath Michael turns from a bold green, to a a clear and transparent glass surface. The chains spread out, digging into the soft loam and grass that forms the borders of this sudden shimmering transparency, through which the Gaians can see it:

Black Rock paths and plateaus, atop which stand hulking Crinos shapes, baring Tusks and Spears of hated dread. They stand watch over the rivers of glimmering silver, which flow and pool and bubble and froth.

For Your Crimes

"...Father...Wait...Please..."

There is but one hope. One Mercy

"...Father...No! Please!"

The Glass begins to crack. Splinter under Michael's weight, the transparency growing further. One of the Hulking Monstrosities in the picture below, turns white milky eyes upward, a rippling growl flowing around those giant tusks jutting from it's maw.

The Chains saw taut, pushing Michael further down. Splintering the Glass.

Let this be a Lesson, Gaians

The Glass cracks loudly, Michael's face lifting to regard the Garou, desperate and terrified features leaping from eye to eye to eye.

"...What have you done?!"

None of you are above the Law

The Glass Shatters.

The Philodox Screams.

The Chains draw straight and rip through flesh and muscle.

And down...down...down he goes...

[Going Down] The vote is that Michael should live. But what happens certainly does not look like living. The chains snap taut, there's the sound of flesh shredding, and down he goes. To who knows where.

Leaving Going Down looking between the others, looking as bewildered as a Hispo can get. What happened? I thought he was supposed to live?

[Lunatic Moon] ...And as Michael vanishes and the Gaians sort themselves out, the Stormcrows begin to leave, one by one. Drifting off from perches to launch themselves into the sky and vanish against the backdrop of black cloudbanks there-in.

[Bones to Dust] For the first time, her rage burns cold. Oppressive and heavy, she stands and watches the scene. Her stomach turns, and she does not move. Does not budge, does not break. Later, she would look back on this, and think it cruel that she was looking at his face, desperate and terrified.

What have you done?!
[Passed judgment, like we were told.]

The Fury stands stark and stiff, and she does not move at this moment.

Down, down, down he goes, and she can not stop looking at him. She watches him fall to what she knows will be worse than eternal agony. Later, she would think about this. How cruel it would be, and that suffering may have been eased had he not loved Dierdre.

There were new things for Marrick Fisher to dream of, and they were no less horrific than what already were.

"He is," she replies to Indira, "there are worse things than death."

[Muerte Fria] Soledad listened, switching her gaze from one Gaian to the next, listening to their verdicts. Two for death, three for life. Soledad growled, showing blatant disagreement with the verdict. But, well, what could she do? Her eyes flicked upward to the skies, she knew that if she was to go against the majority and lay down her own law in the form of teeth about this wretch's throat, then she would be punished. Harshly. She wouldn't think too deeply about Thunder's probable methods.

Good thing she stayed put. The ground grew transparent, and she peered downward. Black rock, spear-wielding guards, molten silver that bubbled and spat, splashed in some areas feebly almost like fish leaping for mayflies. Almost. Soledad's snout wrinkled. She supposed this was alright. At least she didn't have to worry about where the hell he would be.

Her broad pink tongue lapped at her nose, and she growled to Indira.

Erebus. Realm of silver rivers and perpetual punishment. Burns everything away. Most efficient cleansing I can imagine.

[Curata the Grim Heart] None of you are above the Law…

Curata leaps back from the Shadow Lord, pivoting on his hind paws as he stares, just.stares.at what becomes of Michael. His body begins to quiver, the realization all too clear before his very eyes as he follows the other Crinos down into his own personal Hell.

His voice is quiet as it rolls out to answer Going Down, “He did… in Garou Hell.”

[Brother of the Lost] Boy watches. Its not with Relish. He doesn't have a pleased smile on his face. He doesn't enjoy hearing the errant philodox plead and beg forgiveness. He doesn't enjoy imagining the ceaseless tortures that await him. And he doesn't beam with pride at having played a part in all of this. But inside him, on the dark side of his moon, there was something with a thirst for vengeance. For absolute justice. And for tonight, that something had been sated.

Which made his other impending judgements all the more weightier. And yet, with what he's seen tonight, the choice is all the more clear.

His head lowers for a moment, and ears slowly swivel back until they lay flat on his head. When he looks up again, its to Curata.

"Did you really...do the things he did, Rhya? Your mate? Another garou? A child?"

[Lunatic Moon] ...The Hole seals shut with the grind of ground and churn of blankets of grass, until nothing remains of the opening.

Grandfather Thunder does not opt to address the Gaians, his deed her done and his desires met. The Storm begins to unravel and unfold and slowly, the black in the sky begins to bleed of it's dark and foreboding. The Gaians would watch as the Stormcrow's begin to flock away in greater numbers until all but a few, dropping to the ground Where Michael had once been chained, plucking at puddles of blood and bits of flesh with relish.

Soon enough three Stormcrows are all that is left of the gathered, the skies above their ugly grey, a light rain falling about shoulders and heads.

Justice was served, little Cubs.

One of the Stormcrow's turns it's head, a large flap of skin tucked between it's beak. The motion sends the flap of bloodied fur and carved flesh to the Gaian's feet, where the display of Glyphs that had been wrapped around Michael's neck, are visible for them to look upon.

Be sure it is done for all of them

[Bones to Dust] She folded her arms across her chest, and found herself looking at the ground. She was nothing but rage, now. None of the balance that she had seen when she first arrived. That connection to Gaia still beating firmly in her chest, but leaving her feeling hollow none the less.

"I need a shower," she says.

She feels dirty.

[Curata the Grim Heart] The Fiann’s ears flatten along his head, spread sideways. The wide expanse of powerful, muscled shoulders lifting and shrugging forward as the Ahroun lowers his head, eyes half-closing as Boy asks him that question.

He speaks in a somber voice, nodding slowly. “I did, Brother o the Lost,” his eyes open once more, forcing himself to look down at where the Shadow Lord had fallen.

“M’second mate slept wi’ the alpha o m’old pack, ‘efore I came to back ‘ere to Maelstrom. We fought wi’ out the permission o the Master o Challenges, and I murdered him in cold blood. The woman still lives, though, there are days I want to kill ‘er when she frustrates me, I abandoned ‘er and m’son so that wouldn’t ‘appen…”

His nostrils flare out snorting softly, “Judge me as ye like, Boy, I am serving m’ punishment and lost rank do to it.”

[Going Down] Indira looks toward the scrap of skin the Stormcrow lets fall in a limp heap. Her claws, still sharpened for the fight she was expecting when she came into the Umbra, flex and unflex, digging little furrows into the ground.

Justice was served. Garou justice is not at all unlike street justice - it's not the first time she's seen something play out this way. Yet there's something that doesn't quite sit well with the Ahroun, though she could never and will never be able to fully articulate what that something is.

Justice oughta be clean, she tells the others, though after a sigh that comes out more as a huffy growl she rises.

...I thought we were gonna get to come out here an' hunt something. I'm ready ta go home.

[Brother of the Lost] His eyes drop from the Fianna, and his entire posture seems to sag with the weight of the confession. But slowly, he inflates again, breathing, thinking, and speaking.

"And when you cursed those who gave you your punishment? And when you screamed to Stag to take it away? What happened then, Rhya?"

[Bones to Dust] Wits+enigmas, diff 10
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 10)

[Curata the Grim Heart] "I don't know, Brother o the Lost, that part o the story hasn't been written yet... " Is all he says to the Uktena.

wits+engimas, diff 10
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 10)

[Brother of the Lost] [Wits+Enigmas, diff 10, 1 WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 10)

[Brother of the Lost] "Then that", He replies, "is what separates you from him."

[Curata the Grim Heart] Some men can be redeemed for the sins they have made upon the world. Others cannot because they do not desire it – one did. Curata straightens his shoulders, looking past the gathering of Garou and towards the sky with the Storm Crows.

“I think it’s time to go ‘ome.”

[Muerte Fria] Soledad lapsed into silence once the excitement seemed to have died down. She listened to Boy and Curata's conversation, glanced to Marrick and Indira, but said nothing. Her body slipped out of Hispo, back down to Lupus, becoming small, prone, and passable as natural once more. They wanted showers, they wanted away, they wanted to go home.

Home. What a fucking luxury.

Soledad would leave with the group, but would part from them to find her own path before reaching the city's edge. Packless still, without a home, it just made more sense to be a wolf for a few days and stick to the sticks.

Sparring

2009-11-21T15:43:00.000-08:00

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[how is she today...]

[Boy]

He'd made a promise to her. He wouldn't let her out of his sight. And he'd held through to that promise too. At first it was a tag along. Always there with her, by her side, probably sometimes when she didn't really want him there. Weeks went by and he wasn't as noticeable, but just when she thought he'd given up and wandered off he'd either appear at the corner of her eyes or she'd arrive wherever she was going and find him already there waiting for her.

That changed a few days ago. Boy had disappeared from her sight. He wasn't lurking in the corners of her eyes. He wasn't anywhere she was going. For two days the only time she'd heard from him was in a phone call, and even then it was to ask her to go somewhere else, Gina's house in Bronzeville and clean up the gruesome mess of a slain kin. He wasn't there when she arrived. He didn't come in to check on the clean up. And when she'd asked the warders at the caern that night they simply said 'Oh him? He was just here.'

But troubles pass, as La Familia well know. There's a certain comfort found in returning to routine. As was her routine, the ahroun elder would come to the Bawn.

She would find her brother had already arrived at the place she was headed.

[Marrick]

He wouldn't let her out of his sight. For now, they were spending a lot more time together. They'd been in each other's presence, and at first it had been something like being under house arrest. At first, she had gotten irritable with him being there all the time.

She'd tried to shake him.
That first week, she had dragged him through more underwear stores and aisles of tampons than Boy probably dared to count.
She stockpiled pregnancy tests in hopes to embarrass him away, and ended up returning htem later because she didn't really need pregnancy tests.

After awhile, she gave up. After awhile, it became a fact. Marrick and Boy were close, they did not leave each other's presence often. Weeks went by and he was a shadow out of the corner of her eye. He was where she needed to be.

It was like a game of tracking.
More importantly, she found that this? THis was nice. Having a packmate close by.

But a few days ago, he wasn't there. It made her nervous, made her concerned. She got a phone call asking for her to clean up some mess of a slain kin. Marrick remembered arriving, she remembered gathering up whatever was left of Maija and feeling her stomach turn. She scrubbed blood out of the carpet and walls as only someone who had shed too much of it would be able to.

Marrick cried for her. For Gina. For all of them.
On a certain level, she was grateful for this solidarity. As a Fury, protector of women and the wild, it hurt. It hurt in a way that she had not expected. She had not known this girl, but the horror spoke enough. The blood splatters and stains said enough.

She was an ahroun. She spoke that language.

Marrick, instead found herself looking for Boy.

Time passed, and times went back to the way they were. She came to the bawn, like she did almost every day, and found that Boy was there to meet her. She grinned something bright and pleased.

Silence.

"... wanna see the challenge circle?"

She grinned wider. Playful.

[Boy]

Boy looked tired. It had been a trying time for him. As much as Marrick had cried in solitude, Boy looked like a man who had been crying for days as well.

He ran his hands through his hair when he saw Marrick approach, trying to get at least the image of order and togetherness to himself. His hair looked tussled. It should have. He'd been tugging at it for the past few days.

His red rimmed eyes lit up when he she smiled, then glanced to the ground as the toe of his sneakers scratched at the dirt.

"... wanna see the challenge circle?" Marrick asked. Boy smiled and nodded, and made to follow her to it.

[Marrick]

She bumped him with his hip and moved down the way. She didn't say anything while she moved, she didn't do much else except move on over to the challenge circle. She's seen the inside of this thing more than her fair share of times. She'd seen it and been defeated time and time again in front of numerous witnesses. She continued coming back, however. She was not resentful of the challenge circle.

In fact, it looked to be becoming a place she found comforting.

"You need to blow off steam," she announces.

"No gifts. Breed form. We just pound the crap out of each other until one of us passes out."

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how Marrick Fisher relieves stress: physical activity.

[Boy]

Boy gives an abrupt and complete huff of air at her announcement, and his eyebrows creep upward as he nods slowly. He did need to blow off steam. He needed it like nobody's business.

Boy listened to the terms and nodded a singular, certain nod of agreement. He slipped his feet out of his sneakers and set them aside. The denim jacket that barely kept him warm was shrugged off and dropped into a pile on top of the shoes. The flask in his back pocket, now empty (again) was dropped onto the pile, and Boy stepped forward and entered the circle.

Boy's bare feet scratched at the sand, kicking a cloud of dust behind him. He'd never been in the challenge circle. A part of him was disappointed at the fact.

An when he was ready, he looked to his packmate expectantly.

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

(6+1d10)

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

Inits +6

[Marrick]

1a: punch!
1b: knee to the ribs, or a similar area
1c: elbow to the face! (called shot)

[Boy]

1a: Block
1b: Punch
1c: Sweep!

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

1a: punch! dex3+brawl 4 = 7 - 3= 4, diff 6

[Boy]

Make that

1a: Block
1b: Sweep!

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Block: Dex 3 + Brawl 2 - 2

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Sweep! -3

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

dex+athletics, stay up!

[Marrick]

oh, crap, that was supposed to be diff 8. She only has 1 success: she goes DOWN!

[Marrick]

(action change at +1 diff)
1b: get up
1c: tackle him!

[Marrick]

(wait, strike that, spending the rest of her turn standing up)

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 8 (Failure at target 4)

(dex3+athletics3= 6 - 4 (split), diff 4 to get up)

[Marrick]

It's times like these that Boy might realize that she's not faster than he is. She's not stronger than he is. She's not any more or less endurant than he is, either. What she is, however, is this: she is well trained. While he was learning the Litany, she was getting the crap kicked out of her. She was being prepared for war.

However, this is not to say that Boy wasn't. They were physically equal in so many regards, and it becomes abundantly clear in their actions. Marrick swings for a punch, and they are met with equal force. She swings, he clocks, he sweets? And she goes down. The sound of her body hitting the ground is not unline that of hearing laundry hit the ground or a bag of groceries.

She hits. The sound is solid and it hits hard. It knocks the wind out of her, enough that getting up wasn't exactly happening.

Marrick is on her back for a second, and finds herself staring at the sky.

"Fuck," she sighs, "very nice."

[Boy]

They weren't equal in this sense. Marrick was an ahroun. A war-moon. This was what she was made for. But where she thought offensively, striking out to begin their sparring session, Boy's mind switched to the defensive.

And then, to the turning advantage. Combat wasn't a major part of the philodox training, not compared to the ahroun's. But strategy? Strategy was everthing.

"You've had me beat since rite of passage." He huffs. This was as much about learning as it was about therapy. "But you can't fight me from your back!"

And he lunges forward as the two engage again.

[Marrick]

"'course I can," she tells him with a grin, "I jus' gotta figure out how."

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

(6+1d10)

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Marrick]

(withhold action for now)

[Boy]

1a: Kick
1b: Kick again

[Marrick]

Action!

1a: roll out of the way (+1 diff)
1b: get up (+1 diff)
1c: kick! (+1 diff)

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Kick! -2 for split, Diff -1 for prone

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 4 (Failure at target 7)

(dodge! dex3+dodge2= 5 - 3 = 2, diff 7

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

damage: Str+1

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

soak!

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 3 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

Kick again! -3, diff -1

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

1 die missing from that damage roll

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

Botched kick = Roll to stay up at diff 7

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 6 (Failure at target 4)

Get up, difficulty 4.

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 9) [WP]

still going to kick him, +1 diff for being down

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

damage: st3+1+1

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Soak

[Marrick]

Marrick attempted to roll out of the way, or at lest she thought about it and her body said no. The sound her ribs made when kicked was not unlike a drum. Marrick didn't qince, or give much of an indication that she was pained by any means. She looked at Boy from the ground, and attempted to get up... which was fruitless in and of itself.

So, in a moment of frustration, she kicked him in the shin.

Hard.

[Boy]

Anyone else looking on might think it cruel that the Alpha would kick his own packmate while she was down. But this wasn't play. It was simulation. They had to be ready. And they also had to know to make full use of their advantages.

But for his ruthless ferocity, Boy regretted taking off his shoes for a moment. On his second swing his foot slipped. He'd barely regained his balance when Marrick's leg kicked out violently, making contact with his sensitive shin. There was a sudden grunt of pain.

Pain. He'd almost forgotten what that was like. The reminder was good. Under his jeans his homid skin bled slightly. This was good. They would continue.

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[+6]

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

(6+1d10)

[Boy]

1a: Kick again
1b: Kick some more

[Marrick]

1a: Get. Up. Already
1b: Boot to the head (called kick to the head, she's being adventurous)

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 4)

1a: dex3+athletics3= 6-2, diff 4

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 7, 10 (Failure at target 9) [WP] Re-rolls: 1

1b: boot to the head: dex3+brawl4= 7 - 3= 4, diff +2 (to the head!)

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7 (Failure at target 7)

Kick -2 for split

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 5 (Failure at target 7)

Kick -3 for split

[Marrick]

To a certain degree, this was play for her. This was a simulation in combat, where she didn't have to worry about what happens if she gets adventurous. You go for the old standards, and while easy, don't test one's limits. The kick is lovely, but ends up shy of its target.

She is surprisingly balanced.

They both miss.

She is soon standing on her feet, hands on her hips, looking dissapointed.

"... so, being ambitious? There's a time and place."

[Boy]

Physical activity indeed. Boy hesitated for a moment when Marrick, twisted and exhorted herself and wound up on her feet. There was a moment where his stomach twisted as her foot swung just past his head.

He answers back, swinging his own legs high. Turning and kicking as she'd seen her do, or imagined she would. Both legs swing past her without hitting their mark.

With a huffed breath, Boy considered her standing akimbo. Sweat dripped fro both their brows.

"Well. At least you're trying to make them count."

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

6+1d10

[Marrick]

(all actions are blocks!)

[Boy]

1a: Takedown!
1b: Punch to the nose/face (called)

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

Takedown: Str + Brawl, -1 for wounds, -2 fr split

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Stay up

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)

Dex3+athletics3= 6 - 2 for split, diff 7

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

Damage: str+ suxx-1

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

PUNCH TO THE FACE! Dex+Brawl -1 for wound, -3 for split

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

Block

[Marrick]

1a: punch in the face (called shot)
1b: another punch to the face (called shot)

all at +1 diff

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 9)

1a: dex3+brawl4= 7 - 2, diff 6 +2 (called) +1 (diff change)

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 8 (Failure at target 9)

sam thing!

[Boy]

Boy threw himself at his sister, hoping to knock her to the ground with the weight of his own body. But the only thing it does is cause them both to spin around, and cause Boy to look like an idiot.

He recovers, and flails wildly, trying land his fist onto Marrick's nose and missing pathetically.

[Marrick]

She swung at him, but she was not playing it safe. her shots were poised and ready, but they were not hitting the way that they should If they had been safer shots, she would have hit him. She would have nailed him something square and solid, but this time? Not so much.

Thus far, they aren't having much luck dispatching each other.

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

6+1d10

[Marrick]

action: kick him in the head again! You can MAKE it!

[Boy]

Declare: Grapple and Clinch!

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Dex+Brawl to Clinch! -1 for wounds

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

str3+4= breaking free! freeeedooooom!

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

(headbutt! diff 7 + 1 (action change))

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

damage: str3+succ3+damage2

[Marrick]

Marrick throws her head back, but it does little good. It's a solid hit that does little more than make a pretty sound. An exercise in solid execution, but poor followthrough

[Boy]

Ambition was one thing. But sometimes it was desperation that paid off. Boy threw himself forward again, but this time instead of looking a fool, he wraps his arms around Marrick, locking his grip on his wrist and holding her tight. Too tight to attack.

Except for her head. Its a beautiful thing really, the flash of hair and sweat that drifts back slightly, the suddenly plummets forward. But the blow barely grazes him.

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[+6]

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

6+1d10

[Boy]

Clinch = SQUEEEEZE!

[Marrick]

headbutt again!

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Want OUT! Str_brawl

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

Headbutt!

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

Damage: str3+damage2+nondodge2= 7

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

Soak

[Marrick]

She nailed him. It was something hard and probably left his nose feeling particularly sore. The Fury was taut and tense, she was ready. When he Fury threw her head back, she was prepared for battle. And it was clear that it was not finesse that was her strongest suit, but desperation.

She turned with blood on the back of her head, and was ready for another round.

He was stunned. She took her opportuntiy.

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Action! punch for the sake of punching!

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

damage!

[Boy]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Soak

[Boy]

That headbutt left Boy reeling. He clutched at his face as the blood gushed from his nose and lip, an intense, blinding pain leaving him good for little more than staggering and moaning. He's only barely aware of what should have been a finishing blow nudging him on the side of his head.

He shakes it off, literally, and splatters blood from side to side as he does so. Boy's eyes focus on Marrick's figure, and a voice full of pain and frustration says: "Damnit Marrick, make it count."

And he's back at it once again.

[Marrick]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

"I know-" she says in an exasperated voice "-what the fuck!? Way to wuss out, Bones."

(6+1d10)

Wahya Must Die: Part IV

2009-11-20T22:57:00.001-08:00

[Bai Chou]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4)
to Wahya

[Bai Chou]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 1)
to Wahya

[Wahya] Bai Chou
Fri 9:52 pm
Roll valid
to Wahya
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4)

Boy is healed 3 agg
to Boy

[Muerte Fria] Soledad came into the Caern across the physical plain, walking along the derelict streets that emptied itself into a derelict boatyard. She was dressed in a thin gray men's T-shirt, jeans, and boots. No jacket, though she had an olive colored one with blood clutched in her right hand, speckled and splashed with blood still on the fresh side. Her left hand was on Gina's shoulder, keeping the Kinfolk walking at her side, arm looped behind her shoulders and neck to reach. The Kinfolk was tucked near her side, guided along. Gina looked worse for wear, and that was an understatement. She was wearing a worn and soft black leather coat that appeared far too large for her, but did a fine job of keeping her warm.

Coming upon the large chainlink wire gate that blocked the street, marked its end and the begin of the boatyard, one of the members of the Warder's pack stepped forward from where he sat at the gate. Soledad spoke with him softly. 'Keep her safe, I will be back for her.' And that was all. The grave tone of the Ahroun's voice and the touch of earnest request was enough for the other Garou, who nodded and gestured for Gina to sit. He would watch her for a few seconds, then sit on the ground beside the crate that he'd gestured for her to sit on, offer her a swig from a flask he'd pulled from his heavy coat.

Soledad continued on in, pulling the gate open enough for her to slip through. Goosebumps prickled her flesh, her shoulders were hunched against the cold, but she did not complain or rub at her arms for warmth. Rather, she walked into the Caern proper, amber eyes peeled for familiar and unfamiliar faces alike-- Boy and Wahya, the people she was supposed to seek.

[Wahya] Everything seems to have come full circle. Bai Chou and Brother of the Lost have spent the better part of last night and the afternoon attempting to piece everything together. They have expired themselves beyond their resources to cleanse the heavy wyrm-taint that road Wahya Many Tongues for miles upon miles through umbra landscapes. The endeavor of a handful of Garou that sought to break the Master’s realm had freed the wolf-born Ukena…

But for his long imprisonment, he has paid a very dear price. Two months ago, Wahya left – alone – on a mission to seek out information on an enemy. He was able to report back via spirit, which enabled the Theurge elder to continue her in efforts to bring an end the Master. For this, he had paid the Master’s price and became trapped, two months is a long time to be caught in Malfeas. It is enough to drive any Garou bad.

The Uktena of Chicago have seen what happens when one of their own fall from grace. Stories tote of Many Tongues being an honorable Garou. There is no honor when one eats the flesh of a human. Now, awake and sullen, the wolf has regained his senses. Boy and Bai Chou sought the aid of the Rite’s Mistress for healing.

And now, the Uktena are gathering to deal with their problem. Wahya has not said a word or looked at anyone. His gold eyes are vacant, he seems withdrawn and suffering from some loss. Perhaps he knows what he has done, or not. It is difficult to tell.

[Gina McClaren] *Gina'd shambled in at Soledad's side, overlarge coat making her seem smaller than she already was. Sole steering the kinfolk towards the warder, the pikey simply lingers. He gets no earnest smile of greeting, and his offered alcohal is accepted without a word. Kept, in fact, unless he takes it from her hand. She settles on the crate beside him, silent but for the too cheery clink of bangles. Something is distinctly off about the boistrous strider. She sits slouched and silent, mission accomplished, mantra of instructions breaking down. Dark eyes unfoccussed as events replay themselves over and over again in her mind. The flask shaking in her hand as its tipped to her lips again.*

[Boy] Somewhere there was a stolen car bloodied and abandoned. They'd left it far enough to remain lost until they could move it again. For now, there were other things to do.

The first order of business, keep Wahya Many Tongues from bleeding to death. The wolf born was weak, starved, not as sickly as he had been, but just as vulnerable. The rite master could heal him, certainly. She could heal Boy as well, torn open in the process of detaining his tribe mate.

She could have asked questions. She could have pointed at them suspiciously, bringing unwelcome curiosity to them. She hadn't. And while the warders appeared occasionally, going about their business, no one approached them. No one questioned them.

Wahya Many Tongues was known to be an honorable garou. So was Brother of the Lost. To an extent, so was God Slayer, at least honorable enough to be left alone.

Boy was quiet. He sat with Wahya, contemplating. Brooding. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[Bai Chou] Bai sat crouched...he wanted to smoke....he really would rather be smoking under an overhang in Chinatown or maybe sitting in the Umbra and talking with the spirits who recognized him almost as one of their own...they remembered him when others had forgotten. They recalled his deeds there when others would overlook them...and they would always remember that he had always kept his word to them. But he was here because someone else needed him...others needed him this night.

It was a rare thing that, and it felt sorta good to be needed, though it was damn aggravating when he couldn't smoke because they were on sacred ground. His blue eyes just stared at Wahya...stared before he spoke.

"...I didn't care your ass here to watch you go catatonic nor waste my time so I can sit and wait for you to continue the mime routine. You're home...you're back...you're no longer in hell...though you have done something to bring you into another one. But, if you have any hope for yourself...if you're not going to waste that effort that's been done for you...the sacrifices done for you...then you need to come back to the living."

[Bai Chou] (Care = carry)

[Muerte Fria] There.

Three of them, other children of Uktena, lumped together on a fairly empty space of land, away from hangers where more permanent figures to the Caern proper would listen in easily. Soledad redirected her long-legged stride to carry herself across the crumbling but sturdy pavement to her tribemates.

She assessed the situation visually, looked at Bai and listened as he spoke, looked at Wahya and studied his visage, his face, his body, then finally settled her gaze upon Boy. A shiver crawled across her skin and was ignored, and she spoke in the same low, bland voice that she was well known for.

"Where do we stand?"

[Wahya] Wahya’s body begins to change. It flows slowly and painfully from one form into another until he sits in his monkey-skin, his clothes hanging off his skinny frame. The scar that runs down his right cheek twitching when the flesh pulls, muscles working the tension out of his jaw; long black dreads spill like jungle vines across his shoulders.

He looks like a man that has gone through hell and back. When he rises to stand, he sways on his bare feet, planting his legs apart as to regain his balance. His brown eyes turning on his tribe mates, “There is no living,” his voice bites out in the rough, guttural tone that sounds harsh on the ears, deep and ugly, “One does not come back from what Wahya has done.”

“Brother of the Lost shows great patience and mercy to Wahya, but did he do it for naught? Cannot see a path to redemption from where this road has gone, the council will flay Wahya alive.”

[Gina McClaren] *Nowhere to go, and no will to go there, Gina remains with the warder. His flask in hand, caught in an endless loop of guilt and horror.*

[Boy] Boy looked up at Soledad as she approached. "Where do we stand?" She asks. At first, he doesn't answer.

Bai speaks and Boy seethes. His eyes narrow at the Chinese Uktena and his lips part to speak, but before he does Wahya is moving, shifting into his man form, and speaking. Boy frowns at his words. He looks to Bai with passive, yet assertive eyes. 'I told you so' the eyes say.

Its now that he looks back up to Soledad. He struggles to his feet, dusting off his pants but making no motion to dust off the seat of his pants.

"Wahya Many Tongues is alive. And whole." His eyes drift away from her form, from any of them really, choosing a spot on the ground. "And free of wyrm taint. My pack should be cleaning up Gina's house as we speak. They'll...bring the remains, I think."

[Bai Chou] "...they might, they might not. We'll see. If you give up before you try though...there's no point."

Bai rose as well, looking at Wahya as he talks.

"...redemption comes when one seeks to make things right. Death only awaits those that wish to do nothing right."

[Muerte Fria] The Ahroun's tongue found her incisor and pressed at it thoughtfully. She nodded when Boy spoke, watched his eyes dance for a second before falling, then shivered again and switched her gaze over to Bai, listening to his words. That sounded appropriate for a Theurge to speak of, and she dipped her nod once in what could have been approval, acceptance, or agreement.

Then she looked down to Wahya. There's a pause, then she crouches down, one hand touching briefly, thoughtlessly to the side of her protruding belly before falling away when her elbow settled just above her bent knee, leaving her fingers to dangle in the chill of the autumn air. She dipped her head so that her face was level with the Ragabash's, her eyes finding and locking on to his. When she spoke, her tone was level, words simple and to the point.

"Do you experience Remorse?"
"Do you experience Memory?"
"Most importantly, do you experience Yourself?"

[Muerte Fria] (( Theurge** Kenna shalt not second guess herself. ))

[Boy] Boy's chest rose as Bai spoke, and fell again when Muerte Fria nodded. It may not have seemed like much, but that held breath for those many seconds meant something.

He couldn't help the sense of irony that was creeping over him now. If actually knew anything about this, he thought, it would be Soledad. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting silently for an answer.

[Wahya] “What will you do when this wolf no longer wishes to feel the sun? Wahya is not whole, he is broken.” His right hand curls into a fist, bringing it up to slap it into the center of his chest as he fixes his gaze on Bai Chou.

“Has Godslayer ever devoured his own dreams?” he shakes his head, “She was mine. All Wahya do, against the Master, accepting the price was to protect Maija-kin. She was Wahya’s human. And now… he does this.”

His voice fills with disgust, all of it centered upon him; he knows exactly what he has done. The remorse that has started to gnaw at his insides will grow in time.

Do you experience Remorse?
Do you experience Memory?
Most importantly, do you experience Yourself?

Muerta Fria presses Wahya with questions, his head snaps to the side, the motion coming too quickly. He moves a little, shifting his stance as he folds his arms across his chest. “Yes.” He nods his head, shaking those dreads about his face. “Her face will be Wahya’s moon, and he will howl to her every night.”

“Her memory will be Wahya’s ghost. Wahya is here.”

[Gina McClaren] ((Unless someone grabs Gina, assume she's doing her thing where she was left. *nods* I'm lurkin!))
to .fly., Bai Chou, Boy, Muerte Fria, Wahya

[Bai Chou] "...I have swallowed my dreams...I sliced away three parts of my happiness...a fourth was taken from me. If Gaia wanted you dead, you'd be dead, Wahya. You're salvageable in Her eyes...I think so in mine as well."

He rolled his neck some, shifting his hands into the pockets of his pea coat...feeling the warmth of the pack there giving him sweet promises for later...it was going to be a bitch when he finally tried to stop chain smoking..hand rolled tobacco was helping...but not much.

"...I'm not that religious...oddly enough. But...if I did think there were happy places to go after all this...do you think you'll ever see her again if you die now? In the words of my people....your karma is fucked. Only way to fix that karma is do live and do rightful things to beget rightful destination."

[Muerte Fria] Soledad's eyes stayed on Wahya's while he talked, as though she had the power of Philodoxes to see truth amongst lies or illusions. For a few seconds she was quiet, then Bai started talking. Lids slid closed over those eyes, similarly colored to the ones she'd just been staring into, and she turned her head toward Bai just a little, giving him her cheekbone but not focusing her gaze on him or giving him full shot of her face. "Quiet," she said simply. "You speak too much."

She looked back to Wahya, then huffed and pushed herself up to her feet, the huff itself partway a groan of effort. She was still adjusting to the strain of new weight on joints that were so used to carrying perhaps 120lbs at best, all evenly dispersed through her long lanky body instead of gathering in one spot. She could only imagine how harshly her balance would be thrown off in another few months. She looked to Boy next, folding her arms over a chest that displayed the cold as much as the flesh of her bare arms did.

"Boy, you are the Half-Moon of our tribe. Ultimately, this falls onto you. I believe, given time, he will recover and function fully as a brother again. But I am no judge to pass punishment or law."

[Boy] Boy huffed as Muerte Fria gave her order of 'Quiet'. It wasn't amused or annoyed. There wasn't a smile on his face. In fact, as he stood there, arms crossed and staring at the ground not too far in front of them, that huff was the only outward indication that he was even paying attention.

And then, Soledad addresses him directly.

"Wahya many tongues has to pay for his crimes. A kinfolk is dead. We cannot hide this from the Sept."

His eyes move up to Wahya now.

"He has tasted man flesh. He has broken one of the oldest laws of the Litany. We...might...be able to say nothing. His guilt may be enough of a punishment..."

And for a while he seems to be honestly considering this course of action.

"But the litany must be upheld. Even among us. My only fear? What Wahya did was what any of us are expected to do. He fought the Wyrm where it bred. He searched for knowledge and used it in the defense of Gaia. His actions were honorable. But the others of the sept may not see that. Like he said...they'll flay him alive. They'll strip him of his honor and wisdom. And even if they do not call the hunt, the punishment...does not reflect his honorable actions."

His arms uncross. He looks among the gathered Uktena, lingering on Bai, and then settling on Soledad.

"If I had it my way, he'd have died by an Uktena hand. Punishment, without the loss of honor. But...we're here now. His punishment has to come. All I can do is argue in his defense and hope that there's some mercy shown."

[Wahya] The Uktena was never capable of hiding his emotions, the human concept of idea and thought, of feeling and love, hate and anger, jealousy and rage… were all foreign to him. So alien that he feels them all at once, each word driven home by the voice of a speaker. Each turn of the auspices, he listens. Wahya’s heart grows heavy in his chest. His breathing his slow, almost labored as nostrils flare out to expel air from his lungs.

His head dips down, eyes closed as Boy passes his judgment. There is warmth and a wetness that would have sprung to the lupus’ cheek, but it doesn’t roll. When his eyes open again, they are shining and misty. He might have asked why his face was leaking…

And Annemarie was not there to tell him his eyes were raining.

He swallows the lump forming in the back of his throat, bumping up his chin as he meets Boy’s gaze. “Punishment must fit the crime.” He says quietly, “Wahya is not afraid of death, Brother of the Lost, do what must be done. Wahya will accept his do."

[Muerte Fria] Soledad snarled, the sound abrupt and rending the air almost as it would were she wearing a skin other than her fleshy two-legged one. She shook her head, and her thick mane of straight black hair flew out behind her and about her shoulders. It had been trimmed recently, bangs had been cut in so that hair didn't hang into her eyes so easily, a sign that she had someone to care for her at least on occasion. That someone was sitting outside the Caern gate with a silent Warder to keep her company by grace of physical body and restrained curiosity alone. She was dissociated because of what has transpired, perhaps ruined, at least for several months before she could heal enough to continue on.

Her nostrils flared, her lips peeled back so that her teeth were bared to the cold air of the Caern, and the Warder beside Gina turned to glance over his shoulder at the sound, but let it be. There were no roars and screams ripping the air, it was nothing to be too concerned about. Yet.

"Then we defend him," she insisted, eyes flashing with life, even if it was heated and Rage-fueled, for the first time in weeks. "If they are so blind to take him down because he was Wyrm-riddled and tortured for the sake of Gaia, yet has the strength to return to us with grief in his heart...? Then we demand the death of Warcry the Glass Walker Galliard. She, in a moment of weakness and possession rather than months of influence cut down an Ahroun, a fine warrior for Gaia.

We lost a warrior to her hands, Many-Tongues took a mangy Kin of no breeding, wealth, or influence."

Icy Rage billowed off her back and shoulders, which were hunched along with her back, making her posture more animal than it ought to be while standing on two legs.

"We fight for him." A hand slapped to her chest. "I fight for him."

[Bai Chou] "...I will stand and see what decision is made...I will hope that you live Wahya, though I have no one to pray to for that miracle."

He inclined his head to Soledad, wishing he had that zeal, that fire at times. Another reason why he had asked her...why he had not heeded Boy's warning to him before he went to speak with her.

[Boy] "You know this for sure, Muerta Fria?" He asks, just as hushed as they'd all been. He paused, considering for a while, then nodded. A single, firm nod.

"Then if so...that's what we'll do. We'll speak to Balance without Fault."

[Muerte Fria] Her eyes dipped down to Wahya, and her brow creased, the expression hard and impossible to read clearly, so clouded with Rage was it. Her nostrils flared again, just a little, and she nodded firmly to Boy before taking a few steps forward and to the side, then turning to seat herself on the ground resolutely beside the redemptive Theurge.

[Bai Chou] Bai himself remained quiet, just watching....observing now.

[Wahya] Wahya breathes in and out, looking to Bai Chou and Muerta Fria, he casts his eyes to Boy. His head dips in a slow nod, there was nothing else he had to add to the conversation. He was willing to accept his fate.

[Muerte Fria] [[ At this point we'll need to wait for Damon to be available to NPC Balance-Without-Fault for this. So we are pausing. There's a strong possibility that this will be put in the forums, so keep an eye out. We've all got each others' AIM names, though, so contact isn't difficult by any means.

For now...

PAUSE! ]]

Wahya Must Die: Part III

2009-11-20T21:38:00.000-08:00

[Brother of the Lost] Boy knew his territory. He knew how to balance the quiet empty neighborhoods with the troubling, everyday violence that meant the few people that lived there would want to stay living there, and would sooner cover their heads under their blankets than call the authorities at any sign of disturbance.

Strange sounds, like howling, for instance.

The foreclosure sign gets torn off the front door, and the lock on the door itself shatters with the force placed behind Glabro Boy's shoulder. After a quick sweep to confirm that the house was indeed empty and abandoned, he helped Bai carry Wahya inside.

[Bai Chou] Bai grunted before they found somewhere good enough to set the lupus down, glancing over the wounds again. He rubbed at his chin, knowing even if they cleansed him....healing him would be a bitch as well. But one step at a time.

"You still have enough water?"

He looked over to Boy once he's secured the door closed.

[Wahya] The unconscious lupus grunts and groans has they handle him. His sides move in a slow labored breathing.

[Brother of the Lost] "I think so." Says the hulking teen. "You ready to try again?"

[Bai Chou] Bai nodded some.

"....round 2..."

He rolled his neck, sliding his coat off and setting it aside...his fingers moving to draw another series of chalk designs around the fallen form of Wahya, slowly beginning to chant once more...

[Bai Chou] Charisma 2 + Ritual 2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) [WP]

[Brother of the Lost] And with his flask of pure water at the ready, the two began again.

Charisma+Rituals+Ancestors roll
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) [WP]

[Bai Chou] Bai watched as the ritual finished, sniffing slightly for a moment.

"...I'm not sensing anything...at least, no more then what is to be expected...I think its done..."

He paused a moment.

"...we need someone who can heal him."

[Brother of the Lost] Boy lowers himself onto the ground, careful not to sit against the wounded leg.

"There's no one else to call." He says. His voice sounds tired. This ordeal has taken him nearly to his end.

"We have to end this. I didn't want him to die with the Wyrm's taint. I don't want him to die by another tribe's hand."

[Bai Chou] Bai blinked and then looked at him...staring blankly.

"...why in the fuck would we kill him?"

He was moving halfway into pulling another cigarette out, the chainsmoker pausing in mid movement as he stared at Boy as if he had grown another head.

[Wahya] The wolf's breathing quickens, he coughs and hacks, that eerie green mist rising from his nose and mouth and pouring from open wounds as they had performed the rite of cleansing, the taint expelled out of him. He starts to look less sickly, still wounded from when they took him down... but for now, Wahya seems to have lost the taint.

[Wahya] (Hey, just to let you guys know. If Boy justifiably has a reason to kill Wahya. I am not going to cry over it. It is just a character.)
to Bai Chou, Brother of the Lost

[Brother of the Lost] "He's eaten man-flesh." says Boy. His shoulders square and his back straightens, but only slightly. And even then the strain of it is too much, and he sits hunched and tired again.

"And he's probably breached the veil with his crazy ass stroll through the city in his wolf form. We cleansed the taint, yeah, but we cant erase his sins. And when the others hear about it they'll ask for his blood. He'll be hunted and his punishment will be worse than death."

Boy sighs, tugging at tufts of his own hair.

"It doesn't matter that he fell to the wyrm taint because he was doing what Uktena do. The rest of them won't see it that way. I'd prefer he die quickly, with his honor intact, than to have someone from some other tribe claim glory for hunting him down like a dog.

Worst of all. The one he killed and ate his own ward. His own ward."

[Bai Chou] Bai just shook his head as he slid out a cigarette.

"...my first question is this....who left kin with him in the first place?"

Bai struck the match, looking at him as he spoke.

"Because...if you knew he was tainted...you had left him holed up and kept down, right? The loss of a kinfolk...his ward is tragic...but they were fucking retarded to have gone in there on their own regardless. If you warned them, regardless of the consequences, they went in there of their own peril."

He inhaled for a moment, finger idly coming to scratch the side of his nose as he talked.

"Frankly...I don't give a fuck what the other tribes think in regard to this matter...he's purged of the taint. He ate flesh yes, but under the effect of taint. As far as the veil breach, he was in lupus when we found him...there's no confirmation of a breach of the veil yet...I can ask the spirits to confirm later on that. So....it comes down to a number of things..was his ward of our tribe? Was his only crime that? If so...there are other punishments he can undergo rather then death. If Gaia had given up on him, the rite wouldn't have succeeded."

[Brother of the Lost] "No one left Kin with him." Boy rasped, lip curling slightly at Bai. "Her instructions were to find Soledad. I came to find you. I thought we could restrain him, cleanse him, and keep this between Uktena."

Drained as he was, he struggled to stand and plant his legs under him, one of which was still torn and bloodied.

"Right. No breach. Cuz wolves walk down 35th street every fucking day. And don't forget which moon your were born under, God Slayer. Balance without fault won't give a fly fuck what you think of the laws Many Tongue's broken. He'll pay for them severely. And when he dies by their hand, he'll do so with no honor or wisdom to his name. Do you think that's how he should be repayed for the sacrifice he's made?"

[Bai Chou] "If they kill him over something he could not control, then they're bigger idiots then you are right now. Is he an enemy of the Nation? Has he destroyed a caern? Did he rape, pillage, and plunder? You are trying to use a nuke for a flea. He's Trueborn....which are born less and less as time goes on. We are dying, Boy. If they kill him over this...then we should go around purging all the damn tribes for the crimes of their ancestors...for allowing the decimation of the Red Talon populace, the destruction of the lands belonging to Native Americans, for killing another Garou in a challenge....the list can go on and on and on. You are judging him not with the mind of someone trying to seek wisdom but with the fist of retribution. A life for a life. That's not how it works in our world and you know that."

Bai glared at him now, almost about to get into his face.

"In the eyes of the Nation...a kinfolk's life will not equal up to the life of a True Born. Especially if we managed to cleanse him. Sure...he will get an ass-ripping...he might even have a new anus for awhile after they're done with him...but I doubt its fucking likely they will kill him for this now that he's untainted."

[Brother of the Lost] There was a Boy underneath all that muscle and hair. The Glabro form masked that, and even as Bai 'almost' gets in his face there's no sign of the boy inside. Its his wolf side that spits in a sudden growling snarl, large blunt teeth gleaming at his own tribemate, eyes angry and...

...Tired. Too tired to fight.

"If you're wrong about this. I'm taking it out on you."

[Wahya] (I need to ask. What are Boy and Bai Chou going to do about Gina's house and Maija's remains?)
to Bai Chou, Brother of the Lost

[Bai Chou] "I'll make sure to put a date down for it in my Hello Kitty notebook under Ass-Kicking by Uppity Whipper Snappers. In the meantime...let's get him back into the car...get him to the caern. You can explain yourself...and what went down...but try not to use words that implicate him as some sort of horrid monster."

Bai just stared at him as he smoked, fingers flexing just a little as if he expected Boy to take a swing at him...almost waiting for it.

"You need to have a little more faith kid and not be so cynical on the outcomes of things."

He then moved over to Wahya, looking over the damage..he sighed, moving around the house...going to make some bandages...it wouldn't do if the wolf born bled out before they got to the caern and into the hands of a capable healer.

[Bai Chou] I'd assume go back and clean it up best they can.
to Brother of the Lost, Wahya

[Wahya] (Will they pass Maija's remains on to one of her tribe, or bury her themselves at the caern or ?)
to Bai Chou, Brother of the Lost

[Bai Chou] (Bai is planning on taking Wahya to the caern...I'm still not sure what Boy is doing. x.x)
to Brother of the Lost, Wahya

[Brother of the Lost] "You keep fucking talking." Boy spat back. "We'll move the date up to 'sooner than you think'."

The two of them may have had their bone to pick, but right now dealing with Wahya was more important. They'd get him stable and take him to the caern. And somewhere in between he'd get word to his pack. Someone had to clean that place up.

Wahya Must Die: Part II

2009-11-20T08:38:00.000-08:00

[Wyrmywahya] There is a saying… when the cat is away the mice will play. Curiosity had gotten the betterment of a kinfolk, it resulted in her giving in to her caring nature and a desire to ‘fix things’. Not everything that is broken can immediately be repaired. Boy should have left a strict warning label on the door.

The call will reach him and it will be too late. The little yellow house on Oaktown Avenue is painted in blood, the blood of a kinfolk. It is the first place the Uktena will think to look, maybe Wahya is still there…

He isn’t. All the Garou will find is a bag of raw chicken, one-half eaten. A couch that torn to pieces with its insides gutted out, and the eaten remains of a skinny girl named Maija. She was skinny – there was barely anything left of her.

The front door was wide open when they got there. It is easy to assume that Wahya is no longer there. Gina had let him out and now he was wandering around Bronzeville, skulking in alleyways, scaring humans, destroying property and gnawing on tires when a car’s alarm bleeps off at the slightest touch.

[Brother of the Lost] Boy had been terse once he tracked down Bai. The situation had called for it. "A tribemate needs your help." He'd said. "Come with me."

But that was before the phone call. The one that he'd hardly listened to beyond the words "Maija's dead" At which point he suggested travel by Umbra. It would be quicker. And they had to get there quickly.

When they arrived, he found the door left open. Gina wasn't there. Soledad wasn't there. Wahya wasn't there. And Maija....

Boy ran a hand through his hair, tugging furstratedly at his hair.

"Wahya Many Tongues is back. But he's...tainted. We'll have to find him. Before anyone else does."

[Bai Chou] Bai had listened to him, agreeing to come. He looked at the scene once they arrived...he looked at the body but didn't stare at it. He in fact looked away as he removed a cigarette from a new pack he had managed to swindle from the usual convenience store he went to within Chinatown. His fingers moved to remove a cigarette, repressing his gag reflex as he struck a match and lit it...taking a smoke.

"...we'll find him."

He doesn't say the rest...he doesn't have to. Accusations could come later after they found Wahya but Bai already saw the train wreck that was likely to come...fallout from the whole mess. He idly wondered who would do damage control. His eyes scanned around, taking in the scene as he starts to note signs throughout the room...things to follow...things to help.

[Bai Chou] Perception 4 (Detail - Oriented) + Investigation 2
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Failure at target 7)
to Wyrmywahya

[Bai Chou] Perception 4 (Detail - Oriented) + Investigation 2; +1 diff to try again
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
to Wyrmywahya

[Wyrmywahya] Bai investigates the scene. He knows to track a lupus he’ll have to think like a lupus. Where would he go if he were wyrm-ridden, born of wolf and not man, and running around in a city filled with Wyrm-comers, technology and loud noises; the trail is still fresh.

They have Maija’s blood to go on.
to Bai Chou

[Brother of the Lost] Boy starts at the doorway, presumably that's where Wahya left from. Inside, the floor was covered in the blood of the slaughtered and eaten kinfolk. He knelt down just outside on the walkway, looking for a trail, breathing in and out in quick, searching huffs. There had to be a trail here. There just had to.

[Bai Chou] Bai takes a few moments...precious time...but he needed the smoke to calm his own nerves. He had seen things in his time, but it didn't make it any less gruesome. Finishing, he snuffed out the cancer stick...his body starts to roll and shift through the forms...popping...contorting...growing...then shrinking before finally the Uktena was in the form of a Mexican wolf...sniffing at the corpse...getting a scent of the blood itself before his head turned, sniffing the air and starting to move to follow the scent.

[Wyrmywahya] Boy will notice that the Chinese Uktena as seemed to pick up on something. His shape-change is immediate, sniffing around the body, tasting the animal musk on the air, the furniture, at the door. Wahya's scent is mixed with Maija's blood, it is the best they have to go on.

[Brother of the Lost] Boy watched as his tribemate shifted down, taking the wolf-shape to gain the advantage. His head swung around looking for others in the street.

Mind the veil he thought to himself. But somewhere out there a wolf-born of their tribe was ravaging the neighborhood. Boy doubted that Wahya Many tongues was wearing his 'monkey-skin' to do so.

He shifted as well, sniffing and huffing to pick up the scent of the blood mingled with that of the tainted garou, and once he had it he was off, intent on finding Wahya as quick as possible.

[Bai Chou] Perception 4 (Detail - Oriented) + Investigation 2
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)
to Wyrmywahya

[Bai Chou] Bai sniffed at the air, before he started to move in the direction...claws clicking...rushing but making sure he didn't lose that scent..the trail. He siphoned out the blood, filtering other scents of the city out as best he could...blood was hard to ignore though...it was a strong scent.

[Brother of the Lost] [Perc 2 + P.U. 2 + BoG 1 = 5 @ Diff 7 - 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]

[Wyrmywahya] The Uktena start out on the trail. They assume their wolf forms, despite the fact they are in the city and could possibly be scene, but a few factors weighed in their favor, given the late hour. Their senses become enhanced, the delicate touch of sound plays across their ears, their eyes drink in the finer details of the environment and their scents of smell... the stench of a rotting corpse would have sent them reeling.

Bai Chou is the first to pick a trail. Boy follows his example and soon overtakes the lead as his nose pulls him into the right direction. They head southbound from the house, running into the neighborhoods of Bronzeville. Not many people were out on the street, and they will soon find the path that Wahya leaves behind.

It is like a confused animal roaming the streets, there is damage to a mailbox. A huge dent planted into one side as if someone charged into it, trash cans knocked over, and eventually the gnawed front tire of a parked car with the alarm blaring off...

Wahya has retreated to dark parts of an alley, slipping in between two apartment complexes. The area would have been familiar if anyone knew where Maija had lived, Wahya was making his way to her home. When they finally catch up with the emaciated wolf, it is to find him crouched behind a dumpster, hacking and coughing, his sides heaving great gulps of air as he vomits up steaming piles of undigested meat. The loose flesh of his skin sliding over the exposed bones of his spine and ribs like an accordion.

[Wyrmywahya] (kills typos scene-seen)

[Bai Chou] Bai comes up short, seeing the disheveled lupus...the wolf bristles slightly...not even bothering to smell for taint. Boy had said...the fact that he had likely lost control and ate a kin...more or less confirmed it. At least in Bai's mind. The small, sleak wolf circled...they needed to subdue him first...that much was sure. Cleansing took a little while...the wolf glanced at Boy...waiting for him to lead the attack on the distracted Wahya.

[Brother of the Lost] The brown and red wolf stalked forward with its head carried low, eyes fixed on the pitiful creature behind the dumpster. He glanced over at the other wolf, and looked back to their sick and tainted tribemate. Boy's muscles rippled under his fur. His bones and teeth expanded and grew as he shifted to his Hispo form.

And then he leapt for Wahya's throat.

[Brother of the Lost] 8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Wyrmywahya] 8+
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Bai Chou] Inits: Dex 3 + Wits 3 + Hispo 2: +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] [Boy/Wahya, Bai Chou - Gaki declare]

[Wyrmywahya] [Bai Cho, Boy/Wahya]

[Wyrmywahya] [Wahya - reflexive 1 rage snap-shift to hispo. Attack Bai Chou]

[Brother of the Lost] Declare

1a: Block for Bai
1b: Body Slam Wahya

R1& R3: Move behind Wahya and Hamstring

[Bai Chou] Declare:
Holding Action

[Brother of the Lost] [Change Declare

1a: Body Slam Wahya
1b: Bite Wahya

Rage actions stay the same.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Brother of the Lost] [Body Slam: Dex 3+Hispo 2+ Brawl 2, -2 for split]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Brother of the Lost] [Stay up! Hispo Dex + Athletics]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] [Resist body slam]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Failure at target 10)

[Brother of the Lost] [Damage: Strength 3 + Hispo 3 + 4 Succ -1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] [Change target to Boy +1 diff to bite]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] Damage bite str+2 bite damage +1 suxx
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Brother of the Lost] [Soak! Stam 4 + Hispo 3 = 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Brother of the Lost] Bite: Hispo Dex + Brawl, -3 for split, -1 diff for prone target
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[Brother of the Lost] [Damage: Str 3 + Hispo 3 + Bite 2 + 3 suxx -1]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bai Chou] Declare: 1a) Bite
2a) Bite
1 Rage: Bite again (if necessary)

[Wyrmywahya] (after bai's split actions, if wahya isn't incapped we'll go into rage)
to Bai Chou, Brother of the Lost

[Bai Chou] First attack: Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 1, -2 for Split; -1 difficulty, -1 Biting
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Bai Chou] Damage: Strength 2 + Hispo 3 + Bite 2 + 1 Sux = 8
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Bai Chou] Second Attack: Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 1, -3 for Split; -1 difficulty, -1 Biting
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 9 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Bai Chou] Damage: Strength 2 + Hispo 3 + Bite 2 + 1 Sux = 8 (Attack 2)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] (rage actions- Bai has 1, Boy 2, roll please, bai go first)

[Bai Chou] Bite again! (Rage attack): Dex 3 + Hispo 2 + Brawl 1; -1 diff, -1 Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[Bai Chou] Damage: Strength 2 + Hispo 3 + Bite 2 + 5 Sux = 12
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[0.o] ((Anyone mind if I lurk and be voyeuristic?))
to .fly., Bai Chou, Brother of the Lost, Wyrmywahya

[Wyrmywahya] The pair of Uktena had found Wahya in the alley. They advanced upon him as quickly as possible, the bodies of the three lupus shifting upward into their hispo forms. Bone crunch as tendons snap, reshaping.

Boy is the first upon Wahya as Bai Chou holds back, buying his time to see what transpires. The Philodox manages to slam his tribal brother into the ground, nearly coming down on top of him as Brother of the Lost sinks his fangs into bone and loose skin. Wahya had intended to shoot after the Mexican wolf before Boy slams him off his feet, he manages to whip his head back instead and snap vicious jaws down into Boy’s hind leg, teeth grazing into muscle and fur, pulling away with a mouthful of blood and fur.

Bai finally decides to act and the sane Gaians manage to bring their wyrm-ridden brother down as he falls unconscious beneath them. Deep aggravated wounds cutting into his flanks as he shifts down into his smaller lupus form.

[Bai Chou] Bai watched before the fur and body seemed to melt down into the crouching figure of Bai Chou. He reached into his peacoat, removing his cigarettes again before he glanced to Boy.

"Glad you were able to knock him down..."

He looked at the lupus, sighing as he spat out the taste of blood from his mouth...not wanting to think of where Wahya has been.

[Brother of the Lost] Meanwhile Boy shift up. Or at least upright, willing his body to change to his Glabro form. The wound Wahya had given him before being brought down still bled and burned. This form would manage the damage more easily, and Boy could exert his will to have the pain fade away.

"I'm glad you could bring him down." He said in his guteral Glabro voice. His hand reached quickly for a flask at his back pocket. It was rusted and scratched, but the container wasn't the important thing. The pure water that sloshed around inside as he shook it, that was what was important.

"We have to cleanse him. I refuse to leave him like this."

[Bai Chou] "Mmmhmm...was about to start...just wanted a smoke. Its kinda like sex...you fuck someone over, you want a drag."

He smirked a little as he licked his lips a little, spitting again as he can still taste it from biting Wahya...blowing out the cherry and clove scented smoke.

"I'll lead this...unless you think you can do this better?"

He looked over at Boy.

[Brother of the Lost] "Not me. But maybe..."

He was doing that thing again. That thing where his eyes found one inconsequential spot and focussed on it, while his mind went out for a little walk. The world faded away and Boy, Boy's spirit at least, called out across time and space: Ancestors...I need your guidance.

[Ancestors] 1 WP
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]

[Wyrmywahya] Brother of the Lost calls upon his ancestors, seeking guidance to the situation. Perhaps, Uktena has been listening and watching her children this entire time. Boy feels the connection of his past come slamming into his present. A hidden door opens in the back of his thoughts, flooding it with untapped knowledge of old blood, channeling some relation that has experienced a similar event.

[Bai Chou] Charisma 2 + Rituals 2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) [WP]

[Bai Chou] Bai begins, taking a piece of chalk and scribbling some strange symbols on the cement before he starts to chant...muttering low as he then looks to Boy as he's the one with the purified water.

[Brother of the Lost] Boys eyes move from that one spot, but they do not lose that eerie sense of depth. His face is stoic, trancelike, even has he raises the flask over his head, a ceremonious offering to the ancestors guiding his hands, and brings it down swiftly, sprinkling the prone body of Wahya Many Tongues.

The cleansing begins.

[Charisma 2 + Rituals 2 + 1 from ancestors.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Bai Chou] He looks at the Uktena, doing the best they can for now.

"So...where we gonna take him? We can't just leave him lying here."

[Wyrmywahya] The Uktena begin to perform their rites of cleansing, shaking branches and spraying water and yelling at the top of their lungs to try and banish the evil spirits that bind themselves tightly to their tribal brother.

Wahya’s body convulses violently of its own accord, heavy spasms cause him to jolt and twitch during the rite’s performance, a thin green mist oozes out of open wounds and his mouth and noise. It smelled rank, like death and decay, the rotting of flesh and carnage…

The sickly appearance seems to ebb away from the wolf’s body, not looking so emaciated as he had before, but if Bai checks. The taint still fights to cling to Wahya.

[Brother of the Lost] "We can't take him to the Bawn either. They'll kill him for sure."

He caps the flask, returning it to his back pocket as he thinks.

"...They'll probably kill him anyway. I'd prefer it if we could deal with this. And just as important as where we take him, is how. I don't suppose you have a car?"

[Bai Chou] Bai just snorted at that.

"Oh yeah...I have a ricer with chromed plates, tinted windows, running lights, and a brand new nitrous system....its fuckin' fly...who the fuck do you think I am?"

He tapped out a cigarette...

"Go jack someone's car...we'll ditch it after we're done."

The end is the beginning is the end

2009-11-20T07:16:00.000-08:00

[Wahya] In the last several hours, the Uktena held a meeting to figure out the fate of one of their own. Marrick appears after “clean up duty” smelling like chemicals and gas, her face held in a stony expression as the young Black Fury strove to keep her emotions at bay and not break down from what she had to do.

She brings the remains of the Gnawer kinfolk, Maija, in a garbage bag… it was the only thing she could find to carry them. It was hard on her to have to break the bones of the five foot six skeleton just to make sure it all fit…

Now, she presents them to Boy and Wahya, not questioning what they had intended to do. La Familia permits a final request from the accuser… to speak to the Dead. Bai Chou, the Uktena theurge wandering off after he provides a death dust talen to Boy.

[Boy] Boy had the dust.

Bai didn’t explain the ins and outs of creating death dust. He was Uktena and Shaman and well traveled. And with all that, Boy didn’t ask. He was sure that even with the knowledge of it he wouldn’t know what to do. And sometimes that meant he shouldn’t know. Uktena don’t usually accept the possibility that one isn’t always supposed to know. Uktena Half Moons know better.

Marrick had brought the remains. She’d gathered up what she could as Boy had asked. It wasn’t an easy task. Literally, as well as on a deeper level. Boy knew right away, upon seeing the face of the fury, that she wasn’t too happy about bringing the remains of a woman all this way, wrapped in plastic, and missing some of her mass. But she’d done the job, and here they were.

Boy kneels over the half open, heavy duty garbage bag. At first his hand lingers over his face, his nose and mouth, and then he reaches for the pouch of sand Bai had left them with, looking up to the Wolf Born Shaman who was with him before taking a pinch and pouring it over the body.

[Gnosis]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Maija] It’s been less then 24 hours since a phone call, since a mistake, since the girl who survived for years listening to her instincts let passion rule reason, made a gamble and lost.

He didn’t know her.
He didn’t recognize her.
He was hurt and sick and she couldn’t do anything to bring him back.
He was her friend.

It’s been less than 24 hours when she is dusted, and she is wrenched back painfully toward her body, the tether not completely severed, the jerk complete and successful as she appears in a place she doesn’t completely understand, that maybe she never will.

Hovering, near where her body lay in the real world, she looks startled, and frightened as she scrambles back a few feet as best an apparition can. She never dealt well with the unknown – and this? is WAY unknown…. Her eyes are wide, as she tries to piece it all together, trembling…

[Wahya] A buzzing sensation raise about the Caern, invisible eyes are drawn to the newest addition that has suddenly arrived. Silently, a few Guardians gather to watch from the shadows, their interests sparked by the activities of the Uktena. Spirits alarming them that something has breached inside the caern…

The spirit of a young woman brought back from the other side.

Wahya fidgets, rocking back and forth, as he watches Boy move to dust the remains. His nostrils flaring out as he can breathe in the smell of the carnage. It churns his stomach, causing an aftertaste of bile to rise up, which he promptly swallows back.

His head tilts to the side, long brown dreads spilling down around his shoulders like long jungle vines, his voice catches on the air, deep and rough.

“Maija-kin…”

[Maija]
Maija-kin.

It draws her attention, immediately, and halts her backwards drift. She is skittish even now, here, even after... some lessons learned impossible to shake free. She tips her head, slightly, and studies him...

his eyes are clear.

"....Wahya?"

A beat, and a step closer, drawn to her friend as always, even as she was last night. Then Boy speaks, and she whips her head in his direction... and says perhaps the most simple truth she's every known.. "I ain't understand..."

She remembers dying.

[Wahya]
The wolf-born in man-skin takes a cautious step towards the transparent image of the kin. A hand lifting up to stretch out at arm’s length, fingers flexing as they simply pass through her arm.

“Maija.”

He swallows the hard lump forming in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his neck. “Maija-kin not here anymore. We – Wahya, they bring back to speak to…”

[Boy] "Some things are better not known, Maija. You're supposed to be...well, I don't know where you're supposed to be. But we've called you back here. This won't last forever. This won't even last very long. We gotta make the best of the time we got right now."

He stands, folding his arms over his chest.

"Wahya? You have something you wanna say?"

[Maija] He takes a step forward, and she falls completely still, watching Wahya as he moves closer. Her eyes, dark even now, even here, fall to watch as his fingers flow through her arm. She lifts her hand, sliding it alongside his arm, her head tipping curiously.

...he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her into the tub with him. there, he watched their fingers lace, examining the differences even their monkeyskin had as he folded his hand around hers...

She mimics that now, carefully sliding her hand alongside his. "It weren't no dream, then..." She clenches her fist suddenly, though he feels nothing, and she studies his eyes intently. "Wahya ok, now?"

[Wahya] There is reflection of emotion in his brown eyes, of regret and shame, pain wrinkling around the corners as they narrow slightly. He shakes his at her, disrupting the braids lying against his shoulders, slapping them along his scarred cheek.

“No, Wahya not oh-kay.” He brings his hand back to his bare chest, curling fingers up tightly into a ball and thumps it hard over the breastbone. “Maija is dead because of Wahya. Go to Malfeas because of her, to protect her, trapped for so long… see only pain. See only Maija hurt. See – now see nothing.”

He bows his head low, “Am sorry, Wahya so very sorry. Is not how meant to be – Maija suppose to be here with Wahya, not dead by his own teeth.”

[Maija] She moves closer, slowly as she always has, familiar as she's always been. She aches to touch him, to make sure he's real - but can't, because she is not.

"Shhhh... Wahya... look at me.." She lowers her head, to find his eyes, to lift them to her own as ghostly fingers slide along his face, trying so hard to touch him, to comfort him even now. "It ain't you that done it... it ain't. I knew when I saw yer eyes, I knew it weren't you. Maija's sorry she wasn't stronger, wasn't able to save Wahya..." a beat, and then she sighs softly. "Its not Wahya's fault. Was bad thing inside Wahya... Maija knows."

She's always fallen into his pattern of speech with him, speaking in the third person, and she does so even now.

[Boy] Boy has been standing aside passively all this while, keeping his own counsel and not interfering with the once in a lifetime reunion.

But he was serious about there not being much time. At least he thought he was. He clears his throat, and steps forward slightly, though not getting anywhere as close as the two of them.

"Maija. My name is Boy. I don't think we ever met and I wish it coulda been under better circumstances. But under these circumstances, I'm afraid I gotta talk to you. See, I gotta know what happened. I gotta know your side of the story."

He turns to Wahya, still not quite brave enough to meet his eyes.

"You don't have to listen if you don't want to."

[Wahya] His head lifted, brown eyes slowly opening more as to take in the transparent apparition in front of him. A memory to haunt him as long as he breathed, he felt the air constrict in his lungs as his breathing quickens.

Shoulders hunch forward and Wahya drops his head again, to hide his face beneath the curtain of long braids. He grimaces at Boy’s words.

They had so little time.

“Maija, please answer Brother of Lost, he means well, is trying to help us – me.” Without looking up, Wahya waves an arm in the air for Boy to continue, he was staying to listen.

[Maija] She looks at Boy, and wonders at the story behind a boy named Boy, her mind wandering a moment...

Maija is a girl. Wahya is a boy. No, he said, Wahya is a wolf. Maija doesn't care..

She blinks, and comes back, and nods, slightly, before she returns her gaze to her friend, to the one she cares so deeply for. "Gina called... said Wahya was hurt, bad, but had called m'name. I ain't never turned away when someone needs me - and Gina said he was hurt. Said it was dangerous bad, but I ain't care. All I cared was that Wahya was back, an if he was looking for Maija, maybe I could help. She had me bring chickens, said he was hungry, so I did. He ate one, and then stalked closer - called us something.. it wasn't Wahya though - he ain't known me, an' his eyes... it wasn't Wahya. Somethin' inside him or some shit... He said somethin... wyrm bringer, or somethin like that, then made a move on Gina, like he was gonna fuck'er willin or not - an I had t'distract him, so's she could run..."

She shakes her head, and looks over at Boy. "I distracted him too good - an' wasnt strong 'nuff t'get away. Gina did though... Gina got away?"

[Boy] Boy nods at the first part, and even he seems pleased at the thought. Wahya was back. But as she continued, his eyes and the corner of his mouth reflected less and less of that pleasant demeanor.

"So...you chose to go to him? Even though you knew the danger? And are you absolutely certain that he didn't recognize you? That it wasn't the Wahya you knew?"

[Maija] "Well I ain't 'spect t'get et..." It's said with a little smirk, the same micro expression that rarely lingered in life, yet finds a place here in death. She nods thought. "I thought I could help.. Gina said he was callin for me. I ain't never turned my back on a friend, not ever."

Maija should be more careful! Fall on grill?! Wahya don't like Maija-kin to hurt.

"Maija's sure. This is my Wahya. Last night, it ain't him. It ain't him what did this. Wahya? It wasn't you. It wasn't."

[Boy] He held up a single hand as Maija insisted her correction upon them. It wasn't.

"Alright. That's all I needed to know."

And he turns to Wahya. "Not that I really thought so, y'see. But I wasn't there. And I had to make sure."

And then, he takes a single step backward. Its far enough to leave him within earshot, but too far to really interfere.

"The rest of this time should be for you two. I won't get in your way."

[Wahya] It had been an endless sleep. A sleep filled with dreams, dreams that were nightmares, nightmares that were more real than he’d ever imagined. She had picked apart every aspect of the wolf’s mind, every logical and illogical idea, memory, thought… emotion.

She had been displeased, misunderstanding the wolf mind, wolves did not dream like humans. They lived in neither the past nor the future, only the present. Yet, she fed on the one thing that had always given the wolf a purpose. The kin-girl he sought to protect.

When the realm shattered, so did his dreams, the nightmares ending; he remembers very little. Waking up, lost in the deepest part of the umbra, speaking to a spirit that offered to take him home, and so he ran and ran and ran, endlessly, until he neither slept nor ate, and only dreamed of returning home.

Maija tells Boy what Wahya did. Wahya wasn’t himself, didn’t recognize Maija, but he is sure he would have. He had tried to attack Gina, possibly do worse things to her if Maija hadn’t stabbed at him with the knife. The Uktena sinks down, his body huddling up as he coils his arms around his knees, drawing them tightly to his chest. He can’t breath, he can only feel pain. A pain that felt like fire burning in his lungs.

“Wahya fell in thrall to Wyrm. Took the risk to play the Master’s games,” he murmurs, “Wahya killed Maija. She cut him with knife, Wahya remembers this, he remembers pretty kin with angel’s voice, kept trying to calm Wahya, to sooth the anger. But, still killed Maija – ate Maija’s flesh. Was so hungry then.”

[Maija] "I did." He curls up, and she does too, following him down, hovering close, the ache to touch him, to comfort him clearly etched in her face, her eyes. She can still remember his weight at the end of the bed, curled around her feet, the way he'd rest his chin on her shoulder when they spoke to people together, the way he'd snag her in a hug and squeeze the breath from her. It's been two long months since she felt him, and now she can do nothing but cling to the memories, wrap them around her thoughts, hold them tight.

"Maija was scared, and Maija hurt Wahya first. It wasn't you. It was what they done to you while you protected Maija. My Wahya, never would have hurt me. I know it. Please know it too. Maija's not mad - just sad she can't be with Wahya anymore."

[Wahya] “No.” he snarls out in a low hum, his voice being guttural in is tone. He shakes his head violently, snapping his face up to stare through the dreads at her, through her, into ghostly eyes.

Her face will become his moon and he will howl to her every night.

“Maija-kin sacrificed herself to protect Gina-kin from Wahya. Was only way, brave way… Both two-legs would be dead and eaten if Maija not interfere.” His head turns to regard Boy, speaking loud enough to make sure his Half-moon wolf-brother heard him.

His voice falls soft again as he looks back to her, “Now you are fading, Maija.” He says, angling his head to the right as he blinks a few times, “Know that if Gaia kind, Mother may let Wahya see Maija again… teached this wolf a lesson Mother has.”

He sucks in a deep breath and then releases it, “Maija must go… but Wahya tell her secret.” He leans closer to the apparition, murmuring in a whisper-soft voice that would make Boy strain to his own ears to listen, speaking in the tongue of the Spirits that Maija would understand.

“Maija would have been good mother to Wahya’s pups…”

[Boy] Boy does indeed strain to hear, despite himself. Immediately he wishes he hadn't. His crossed arms droop and sag, as do his shoulders. His head. He lets out a single ragged breath before correcting himself, and standing tall once again.

Boy glanced over at Maija. She was so much...less there now. Time was short. But it was their time.

[Maija] He says she must go, and she shakes hr head, violently - she doesn't want too... even as she feels the fade... She reaches for him, and slides her hands along his face, his words to her etching the pain of leaving across her eyes, even if she is thrilled in some part of her soul to know he truly believes that... if only... if only...

"No, it's too soon..." she chokes it off, and her chest moves in an attempt for breath she doesn't need any longer..

She turns to Boy, the pain in her eyes clear, the desperation clear too - but she has one more thing.. "Tell John I'm sorry. Tell him not t'drink again - that I'll be watching and care for him. You tell him. Tell him..." she pauses, and then shakes her head. "Tell him... I'm ok now."

She turns back to her Wayha, her wolf, and swallows hard as she traces the line of his jaw with fading fingers... trying to etch them into a memory she doesn't even know if she can take with her - but she'll try. She'll try. "I'll wait for you. Gaia will let us be together again - she has too. Maija will make it so. Maija will wait for Wahya... keep Maija's journals - pictures Maija made of us together. By the bed."

And then, as he says the words, her voice is so soft, achingly so and filled with a longing she never had time to realize in life... "Maija would have been proud to have Wahya's pups. Be strong for me. Maija loves Wayha."

and always will.

[Wahya] John… tell John… The name clicks in his head, the male two-legs that always left Maija money, looked out for her in some way. Wahya says nothing to this, rolling up on his feet with a grunt as he straightens his body.

There is a sudden snap of bones and muscle, what little rage fueling his shape-shift as the homid-formed Wahya grew tall and fast. Human shape gives way to his war form, tall and lean, dark fur sleek over thin cords of wiry muscle.

The Uktena called Many Tongues, lays his ears back along his skull, tail flicking against his legs as he takes a bipedal step towards the apparition. His arms dangle at his sides, begin to tense up, spreading out away from his body as claws clench tightly into the soft pads of his palms. He throws his lupine head back, closing his eyes and just releases a long, gut-wrenching howl to the sky above.

[Boy] Boy nods, still not brave enough to look up. He would pass the message along. But as Wahya shifts, and lets out his howl.

His howl.

Boy does not join him. There was no way he could match the sincerity in the wolf-born's cry. There was no way he could even try.

[Maija] He shifts, her Wahya. She was always scared before. She is not scared now. She'll never be scared again. He steps toward her, and she matches his step, moving toward him, letting him tower over her as she presses as close as she can without falling through him, as she aches with everything in her soul to be able to touch him - just once more, just once, and she does the very best she can, as his howl rockets through her, around her.

It aches.
It aches.

And she lets the sound surround her, her body gone, and her spirit soon to follow. She doesn't know what will happen next, where she will go, what comes next. All she knows is that she is borne there on the power of his howl, on the strength of his remorse, his pain, his feelings for her.

She quits fighting.
She lets go.

And she lets his howl show her the way home.

Maija will wait for Wayha.

Wahya Must Die: Part I

2009-11-19T07:49:00.000-08:00

[Gina McClaren] *Chill and cloudy. The sun sets with a dull orange glow. Everything bathed in strange yellow light as the cold of night slides into the park on the coat-tails of day. Gina's bundled against the elements, an olive mini-trench and pumpkin colored sweater. Faded jeans cling tightly to ample curves as she wanders through the park, dufflebag over her shoulder. She was in no hurry to get home tonight. Despite who she woke up with in the mornings, the little yellow house on oaktown avenue was cold and lonely when she returned home from work. It was almost enough to make her miss Emile. Almost. A smirk at the memory as she pauses ankle deep in fallen leaves, bending with a tinkle of bangles, to fish an errant leaf out of a worn leather boot.*

[Wyrmywahya] It’s nearly the end to a quiet day, a chill clings to the air, carried on the wind as it circulates through Grant Park, whistling and humming as plays along the grass, through bushes and rustles the leaves of the ornamented trees in the Millennium Park. It sings past a small, curvy caramel woman bundled up to protect herself from the elements. It tries to tear through her hair and sends it whipping across her features as leaves start to roll by when she bends to rescue one from her boots.

The sky shrouded in a light cloud cover, but not enough to threaten the city with rain, and yet a loud noise crackles across the horizon, seemingly to come out of nowhere. There is a break in clouds, like something cut through it briefly with a flash of faint light and it is gone in the next second.

From the south edge of the park, a city worker whistles his way through his job plucking up trash that pedestrians have left on the ground. The bushes behind him suddenly shake violently as if coming alive and deep bellow growls begin to echo from the underbrush. The City Work stops, blinking in confusion as he turns on the bushes, noticing the bright gleam of red glowing eyes and begins to yell spastically in Spanish as he waves his arms in the air.

[Gina McClaren] *Well now that was something you didn't typically see. Gina straightens, drawing a hand up to push long hair back out of her face, looking towards the commotion. The pikey recognizes spanish, but thats all she recognizes of the language, head tilted as she moves towards the frightened worker.*

Loves? Wha's the matter aye?

*The low growling draws her attention further, her feet crunching with greater speed through the grass as her leisurely pace becomes more hurried. Whether good or bad, she was betting that the litter-picker didn't need to be involved. Her footfalls come slower as she comes within a few feet of the bushes, shooing the startled hispanic man away with a singsong*

Peaches.. Mayhaps, gawn phone animal control.. aye?

*A hard swallow as she crosses her arms and peers into the bushes a little more closely.*

[Wyrmywahya] The City Worker turns on Gina the moment she is within a few feet of the bushes, attempting to peer a little more closely. He grabs at her arm, trying to jerk her away as he speaks at her frantically in broken English.

“Senorita… No. Lobos. Come away, please…”

The growls continue to vibrate growing louder. They can hear the snap and snarl of vicious jaws as foam and spittle spew from the bushes. The animal – or a rather large wolf – edges slowly out of the bushes, its body hung low to the ground, ears flat against his head as its upper lip curls and quivers to expose sharp fangs. The fur along its neck running down to its tail spikes up.

The wolf seems larger than it should be. Rather it looks like its getting larger with the snap and crunch of bones and muscles reshaping themselves to grow into a more hispo shape.

The City Worker screams in terror, tucking on Gina to come way with him.

[Gina McClaren] Och fer tha love o merciful fook! Nae.. vite vite.. uh.. "Ond-da-lay" .. fookaft. Wha'ever. *Gina jerks her arm away violently. If she was going somewhere she sure as hell wasn't being drug there. One look at the creature emerging from the bushes and she's having second thoughts. Her hands come up, screaming city worker forgotten as she takes a large, slow step backwards, palms up in submission. Gina's voice ringing clear as she fights to keep her tone smooth, soothing, and above all else, calm. Its something of a feat.*

Calm now... Calm biggun. Ah'm nae tae hurt ye. Ye dinnae need aul tha. Please.

*No really. Please. Lets not eat the soft kinfolk, big bad. Gina's fear spikes the air, in spite of the warmth and softness of her voice, heart racing as she tries to figure out exactly whats going on here. Dark eyes wide with barely restrained terror.*

[per emp + wp ]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Gina McClaren] [cha+ animal ken diff 6-2(ench vc)=dif 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[Boy] This was not his territory. It wasn't a part of the city that he routinely patrolled. But Marrick came here when she needed to run. There was a pit in Boy's stomach when he realized he'd been so distracted that he lost track of her, and now he was out visiting the places he expected to find her again.

But it wasn't that easy. Marrick wasn't here. She wasn't a set of keys, after all.

All that said, he was still the same man...er...boy...that he'd always been. So when someone in the park started making panicked help-me sounds, Boy's shoulders tensed, his ears prickled, his stomach churned and he came running toward the direction the screaming city worker was trying to run from.

He grabs the man by the collar, pulling him away from the Kin and turning him to face Boy rather than the quickly inflating wolf. He didn't know spanish, but when you could look you practiced looking mean and unpleasant as much as he seemed to do, language was usually less of a barrier.

"Get the FUCK outta here!" He barks in the man's face, and sets him free to run on.

[Wyrmywahya] The sweet, soothing singsong voice of the smaller woman draws the Feral’s attentions to her. She can see some semblance of intelligence flash briefly in its golden eyes. A ear flicks forward at her voice, his nose twitches as its head lifts up to breathe in deeply of her scent, her pedigree… it seems… to acknowledge what she is.

The faint bristle of rage flutters around the wolf, it is not at the point of frenzy, but the dark look that overtakes its eyes becomes one of a wild feral animal. A beast bent on destruction and rending flesh from bone for the sheer pleasure of violence. The longer she stares at the blackish-grey wolf, the more she stares at it, the more she sees how much the animal has suffered physically and perhaps… mentally. It body was emaciated, nearly devoid of fat and muscle eaten away to leave a living sack of skin and bones. There were patches of skin showing through the fur and its gums were black with sickness. Even the way it froths at the mouth, it looks ill.

The moment Boy comes on the scene, the wolf attentions draw to him, listening as he yells at the City Worker. The Spanish man turns to flee, swearing up and down as he crosses himself and starts to run away, which is the biggest mistake he made. The sudden rush of movement targets the man as prey and the hispo bolts after the fleeing City Worker like it were a deer, brushing between Boy and Gina, with a strong burst of speed.

[Gina McClaren] DINNAE!

*Gina yelps as the emaciated wolf streaks past her towards the fleeing man. Her eyes register Boy and an instant later she's blurting at the Uktena, whirling on her heel after the hispo.*

Stop hem!

*Breaking into a run towards the running wolf, looking around frantically for spectators. They didn't need anyone seeing this. The curvy kin praying to every god she doesn't believe in that this doesn't end in bloodshed.*

[Boy] The hispo wolf takes off, and so does Boy, leaping out into large, furry action at almost the same instance that Gina screams. The chase wouldn't last long before this blackish-grey wolf was on the poor man, tearing him apart. Before that could happen, the red and brown wolf (Boy) had his jaws snapping at the other one's hind legs.

[Wyrmywahya] Boy is healthy, strong and virile and full of energy which allows him to overtake Wahya, he is certain by now, that it is his Uktena brother, but it doesn’t act like him. Wahya’s sickly body can’t keep up the burst of speed as it tries to run after the City Worker.

The City Worker screams, flailing his arms and looks back, he’s lost his hat and his equipment. Wahya springs at the man, managing to bring him down as his jaws clamp down on the man’s boot and he starts to jerk and twist at it. The man kicks at the wolf’s face, landing a hit on the nose that shakes off the hispo and allows Boy and Gina time to reach him.

[Gina McClaren] Shhhh! Shhhhh! Nae Nae Nae... *She's not touching the wolf, she's a little too clever to throw herself at a rampaging hispo. Gina does however position herself between the worker and the dire wolf's rangey form. Hands up again, tone soft as she singssongs quietly.*

Calm darlin.. Calm. Stay calm. Naethen tae chase. Ye dinnae need thes man... Coome.. Coome away.

*Warm, soothing repitition, best she can sing it with her heart in her throat. Dark eyes flicking this way and that as she worries about on lookers. Gina tries to catch the Hispo's eye, bangles clinking as she slooowly moves away from the worker, trying to draw the beast along with her. *

Ye need tae gi' smaller darlin. Please? Nae wan's gintae harm ye.

*A desperate glance to the red/brown wolf that was now Boy.*

[Gina McClaren] [cha/emp vs 5-2 = dif 3. Empathy specialty = emotions.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 11 at target 3) Re-rolls: 3
to Wyrmywahya

[Boy] There isn't any delicacy in the Hispo form. A Crinos, given enough focus of mind, could could carry, cradle, hold, without causing too much damage. The Hispo that was Brother of the Lost could only bite. He locked his jaws around Wahya's throat and placing the weight of his healthy, hale, monstrously large body on top of him.

And all the while he wasn't growling, but whining. Seeing his tribemate this way was painful. Absolutely painful.

[Wyrmywahya] The City Worker manages to escape, minus a shoe, which hangs in Wahya’s mouth as Boy clamps his jaws down on the loose skin of the wolf’s throat, keeping him restrained. Gina’s voice – in all its sweetness – becomes a break in the dark clouds that churn in the Feral’s twisted thoughts, briefly shattering the waking nightmare that the wolf was experiencing.

Wahya’s ears roll forward at the sound of her voice, drawn to it like a magnet; he tries to fight against Boy to reach her. The shoe dropping from the wolf’s mouth to land on the grass. A painful keening erupts in the back of his throat as he lies down on the grass, sliding a paw over the bridge of his muzzle. Ears flat along his skull now.

”Wyrm-comers must die…” he growls out to Boy, ”Must destroy them… kill –“

[Gina McClaren] We need tae gi' thes poor darlin tae somewhere moor private.

*Gina sings worriedly, licking her lips in nervousness. She crouches by Wahya's head and croons gently, voice a lullaby.*

Calm darlin. Et'll be aulrecht. jes come wi me, away..aye?

[Boy] as the creature in his jaws relaxes ever so slightly, so too does Boy's grip on it. That is, until it speaks. And in the high tongue it speaks of hatred and death. With its body still pinned under his own, Boy lays a massive paw on Wahya's fore-limb.

"What are you? Who is this creature that speaks from my Tribemate's mouth? What happened to you, Many Tongues?"

A dark but cognizant eye blinks at Gina as she speaks, and his muzzle and jaw linger over Wahya's throat again.

"Take your Man shape" He growls.

[Wyrmywahya] Wahya’s body begins to shudder uncontrollably under the weight of Boy’s body. His form flows from hispo to wolf – his breed form. Jaws snap out sending flume of spittle upon the grass. He snarls at Boy, Gina’s voice managing to ease some of the anger and frustration bristling under his fur.

”Who are you, wolf-brother who fucks the monkeys? They take the land, they kill the kin, they rape the Mother … Wyrm-comers must die!” his barks rise up to a near-roar, which dies immediately, leaving Wahya to choke on the last bark, and send him into a coughing fit.

Blood and mucus regurgitate back up as he vomits; he tries to push himself against Boy’s weight, but doesn’t have the strength, barely managing to get his hind legs under him before he’s face-planting on the grass.

Gina can see the pain that Wahya is in. The lack of strength in the wolf from days, weeks, perhaps months of not eating...

[Gina McClaren] Och.. fook.

*He's vomitting, and Gina can't help her very human impulse to help. To touch and fix. Her hands linger close enough to sniff, or bite, should he choose, bangles clinking as she resists the temptation to smooth the wolf's fur in sympathy. This wasn't a dog. Though its hard to recognize Wahya in this state, pretty pikey singing away, soft and comforting. Kin letting her voice curl around them like a warm familiar blanket.*

Darlin.. We're tryin tae help. Please.. come wi' oos. We'll gi' ye some food. Fix wha ails ye. Please?

*Dark eyes cast to Boy in anxious question, then back to Wahya, trying to read what she can off him. Her palms up, expression soft with concern.*

[Per/animal ken]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Gina McClaren] [or with the right amount of dice! ahem. wp again..disregard LAST steenkin wp]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Boy] There's a low, keening, mournful and annoyed growl that comes from him when Wahya struggles. Boy's weight does not relent, but his form shifts as he does, Bones cracking and fur giving way to dedicated clothes until his bulky Glabro form is weighing the wolf down instead.

Naturally glowering eyes look up to Gina.

"I need you..." Comes his gutteral voice. "To keep him calm. Sing to him. Talk to him. Something. Keep him calm."

[Wyrmywahya] Gina and Boy both know the dilemma they are going to face if they don’t get the wolf-born out of sight. A shit storm has already stirred with the attack on the City Worker. It is likely more humans will become, if not the police themselves, this was a nice area of town. Response time would be quick.

Gina’s voice keeps Wahya’s attention. The more she speaks to him, the more his anger deflates until he doesn’t want to fight, if he doesn’t his resistance futile, leading him to only whine and growl when handled. He seems incapable of walking now.

[Gina McClaren] Shhhh.. Ets aulrecht darlin. We're gintae take ye somewhere's safe. Somewhere wi' food, wha's warm, an' dry. Jes calm yerself... *Gina nods idly to Boy, swallowing as she continues speaking, soft and soothing. The curvy child of owl had been blessed with one helluva a voice, and she couldn't think of any better use of it right now, than keeping Wahya calm. With any luck at all the Park worker had fled without alerting the authorities, and the three of them could - for a time- be mistaken as park-goers rough housing with a hybrid. If they were very lucky, they'd get out of this park without further incident.* Stay calm darlin... We're gintae move ye now. Someplace safe.

*Gina looks to Boy, hopeful. She didn't know how much he could carry in glabro, but it damn well better be about a wolf's worth, or they were about to be in a world of trouble.*

Can ye hoist hem?

[Gina McClaren] [charisma/empathy - to calm the savage beast vs 5-2 = 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 3) [WP] Re-rolls: 2
to Wyrmywahya

[Wyrmywahya] Wahya, at this point, is jello thanks to Gina's soothing voice. It is the only thing that is remotely keeping the 'killing instinct' at bay as the wolf whines pitifully at them.

[Boy] It wasn't until then that Boy finally let up, peeling himself slowly off of the wolf's body. He swings his jacket off his shoulders and covers Wahya with the heavy denim before lifting him up in his arms.

"We need to get to the Bawn. And I need you to come with me to keep him calm."

[Wyrmywahya] ((there isn't gonna be much resistance from Wahya at this point. You all can probably drag him to the bawn, it's getting him there that'll be the issue))
to Boy, Gina McClaren

[Gina McClaren] Ah'm wi' ye, but we're nae 'eaded tae tha Bawn yet. Ee's nae reactin sae well tae ye, darlin.. ah cannae imagine hem wi' a bunch more o' ye. Breng hem tae me house. We can aulways call folk tae coome wance ee's settled.

*A nod from the pikey as she stands, brushing crushed leaves off her jeans. She falls into step alongside Boy, at as brisk a pace as he can set. Her tone a constant soothing singsong, repetitive and smooth. It matters little the words she says, so long as her voice remains a calm lullaby for the feral wolf in Boy's arms.*

Ets aulrecht. Shhhh sweet wolf. Shh. We'll take care o ye...

*They needed a cab. She digs about in her purse and retreives a cell, muffling it as she punches buttons. This was going to have to be one helluva tip. A short burst of melodic speech before she hangs up.*

Need a van, south gate, Grant park. Quick as Lightning.

[Boy] Boy's brow lowered into a look of concern and uncertainty. He had to admit though, she was right. So when she calls up the cab Boy doesn't argue. He goes with it.

He glanced at Wahya in his arms. He needed a good cleansing. As a start, at the very least. But he was equally sure that would be a bad thing until he could properly restrain the wolf born.

[Wyrmywahya] It may not be a wise idea to take the wolf-born to the Caern, even to the edge of its own bawn. There is no telling what the Spirits will say or what the Guardians will do. Boy knows that the litany preaches for the Garou to not tend to they sickness.

Right now, Wahya was as sick as they come. Someone may try to put the wolf-born down before any thought to try and save him.

There were the rumors, ones that flew about the endeavor that the Theurge elder, Joss, and Charlie did to try and stop the Master, the little girl who has been tormenting various Garou and kin for months. There were rumors that Wahya had set off to seek information and it got back to Joss at a price… trapped in Malfeas.

Gina and Boy wait it out for the taxi cab to appear, Gina using her beguiling ways to persuade the man to take all of them back to her residence. The tip had to be huge to keep him quiet, there went dinner for the next week.

[Gina McClaren] *Once they've manhandled Wahya into the back of the van, Gina digs into her satchel with a sigh. She'd spent the better part of yesterday working the Magnificent Mile, and had a hefty stockpile of cash from the wallets she'd liberated It was supposed to go towards groceries and her nestegg, but her fridge was more or less stocked and.. well.. this was an emergency. She sits in the back of the with Wahya and Boy, crooning gently the entire way to her little yellow house in Bronzeville. A wad of cash paid to the cabbie for his forgetfulness on the matter. Soon she's opening doors and helping the two Uktena into her fragrant, cramped little home.*

[Gina McClaren] (to GC!)

[Wyrmywahya] A Boy and his dog... and Gina! Pile out of the taxi van that pulls up into her residence. They hear the grumbled whines and growls of the lupus under Boy's jacket, but he's been docile on the ride over.

[Gina McClaren] *Gina moves to let them in, keys rattling as she sings softly.*

Jes a wee bit longer sweet theng.. we'll have ye settled.. almost home..

*Its a squat yellow house in an area of Bronzeville that, while still dangerous and scummy, sports the occasional mowed lawn or white picket fence. People here still struggling to have a neighbourhood to be proud of, safe or not. Gina's little house has peeling yellow paint that might once have been cheery, a solid white door, and a tall greying clapboard fence that obscures the backyard from nosy neighbours. The inside is cozy, or in less glowing terms, cramped. The interior decorating looks to have taken place in the seventies or eighties, given the palette of oranges and browns everywhere. Even the yellowing kitchen wall paper has orange floral accents. Olive fridge and stove monstrosities, chipped white cabinets. The house may be small, ugly and cramped, but it smells like heaven. Spices and Food. A few ecclectic touches mark it as Gina's. A patchwork throw here, a basket of charms there, a dirty teacup, a dented bone of Andrew's long since forgotten deep under the couch. The pretty pikey hustles to shut the door behind them.*

[Boy] Boy rides silently with Wahya in his arms and his lap. His bulky form, sloped brow, and single brow get a bit of a look from the cabbie, but in the event that he'd need to suddenly restrain the wolf again, he kept the Bulky form, even as he followed Gina into her home.

Wahya gets set carefully on the couch. Boy took the jacket off him, but stayed close. He spoke as softly as the gutteral voice of this form would allow.

"If we have to call someone...we need to start with Soledad. I don't think he'll want to see anyone from another tribe."

"

[Wyrmywahya] There is no response from Wahya until he has been set upon the couch. He weakly lifts his body up to drag it into the corner cushion, curling up into a ball. His sides heaving in and out with labored breath as the loose skin slide along his ribcage like an accordion.

His head pillowed by his front paws, he watches Gina and Boy, ears flat along his skull. His throat twists and contorts with a painful effort. A rather growling monkey speech emitted in response.

"Bring wyrm-comers... will tear out hearts and eat them."

[Gina McClaren] *Gina nods to Boy, hustling to the kitchen*

Aye darlin. She's wan o me warders now anyhow. Soledad'll need tae kain. Her an' Hunter both.

*She'd had a small beef roast thawing in the sink for supper. Its that she goes to get now, tending to Wahya's most obvious problem first. Saran wrap peeled off, strings cut, the football sized chunk of meat cut into smaller hunks. Its brought to the living room in a roaster, along with a good two inches of tap water. Gina tilting her head as the wolf on her couch speaks. She purses her lips, looking to Boy in confusion, before singing softly to Wahya. Roaster set on the cushion beside him.*

Mayhaps.. eat thes enstead darlin. Fill yer belly an be calm. Rest fer awhile. Aye?

[Wyrmywahya] The wolf's nose twitches, his eyes gleam with hunger as he smells the meat Gina brings to him. His tongue runs along the sides of his maw and over his teeth. His legs shake as he forces his body upright on the cushion, neck stretching out to bring his head down to sniff at the bowl of water, rejecting it. His nose pushes against the bowl, shoving it off the couch to dump it on the floor.

The roast is grabbed between his teeth as Wahya collapses back down into his corner, setting it between his paws as he starts to wash his tongue over the roast, savoring the flavor, before it gets devoured - more like inhaled - in two bites.

[Boy] And at this point, Boy gave up on his desire to stay close to the wolf. Wahya was starving. Better if he could stay as far away as possible.

He moved to stand closer to Gina, in fact, watching Wahya cautiously, but speaking in even more hushed tones.

"I'm...not sure if that's a good idea either. Honestly, I don't know how they'd react. Only Soledad. Or else, only another Uktena."

The act of running his hand through his shaggy hair in Glabro didn't have the same sense of vulnerability as it did in his Homid form. Now it was a clear sign of frustration, and possibly potential violence.

"I...I need to think about this."

[Gina McClaren] *Bloody water washes over the stained hardwood, and raw beef marks the cushion of her ugly seventies couch. Gina takes both occurances in stride. The couch would wash, or lose a cushion. The floor would mop. But all of that later. Now she simply singsongs soft encouragement, en route to the kitchen for left-overs.*

There now, ah'll gi' ye moore. Jes rest there. Safe an' sound.

*Her purpose in feeding Wahya twofold. Firstly, he was starved, and needed to eat to keep up what little strength he had. Further, if the wolf gorged himself sick on her groceries, he'd be in no state to attack anyone. She wanted to see a drowsy sated light take the place of the half crazed feral one in his eyes. She rumages in the fridge, bringing out a dutch oven full of stew, and plate piled with cold spaghetti and meatsauce. Delmar had stayed for breakast, she didn't even have raw eggs to offer the poor Lupus. Its all set on the couch as she moves to sit in a chair nearby, gaze shifting to Boy.*

She's me warder darlin. She'll nae coome effen ah ask her nae tae.. but.. reckon ah can jes tell Soledad. Effen ah need tae.

*A deep breath drawn as she watches the starving wolf with his food before looking back to Boy. Worry pinching exotic features. The strider kin still in her jacket and boots. Her voice rings soft and tired in the livingroom.*

Ah saved ye a bowl o Stew, effen ye wan tae nibble while ye thenk.

[Wyrmywahya] The roast consumed. Wahya looks as if he is starting to settle down, watching Boy and Gina cautiously. His eyes start to close, head nestled on his paws. Seeming calm... until his sides start to heave. Bones poke through loose folds of skin as that space between his lower ribcage and loins which used to be his stomach starts to ripple.

He coughs and hiccups, eyes opening wide as his ears flatten sideways. He shifts his body on the cough, forcing the upper half of his torso up on his front paws and drops his head down between his legs. He continues to dry heave for a few more seconds, and then his jaws open up and spills out his stomach's context on the floor in a steaming pile of undigested meat.

Wahya chuffs out in a snort, looking up at them as he collapsed back down on the cushions. "React to, Brother of the Lost?" he growls to Boy, Gina starts to bring out more food, the smell assaults his nose, makes his stomach growl in hunger pains but he rejects the food. His stomach unable to digest the flavored meat. "Two-legs trying to kill Wahya?"

[Boy] Ah saved ye a bowl o Stew, effen ye wan tae nibble while ye thenk.

Wahya balks. He hiccups and lurches and heaves and expels the food he'd just devoured into a smelly wet pile on the couch.

Boy shows his disgust on his face. "No thanks." He says, and crosses his arms across his chest. And then, his face falls passive as Wahya speaks.

"He remembers me. Recognizes me. I...I need to use your phone."

[Gina McClaren] *Gina carefully moves the food aside. If he couldn't eat it yet it was just cruel to have it in front of him. The pikey clinks and jingles, moving slowly and purposefully. The last thing she needed was to seem like prey to the feral on her couch. A desperate glance to the other Uktena as she pushes long hair back over her shoulder. She points to the phone just inside the kitchen, nabbing a kleenex from the box beside the sofa. Moving slowly towards Wahya, to kneel in the damp water spilled along the base of the couch. She's careful, lower than the lupus as she slips a palm forward and scrapes bile and half digested meat away from him, into the disgarded roaster. Her voice soft as she singsongs.*

Nae tryin tae hurt ye. Mayhaps et was tae mooch meat o once. We'll gi' ye cleansed an' set tae rechts Whaya... ah promise. Then ye'll be able tae eat.

*A purse of her lips as she looks to the throw draped across the back of the couch, and lullabies gently.*

Are ye cold?

[Wyrmywahya] Wahya's eyes grow lazy as they watch Gina. His ears remain held in their half-cocked position, he lowers his head to his paws once again, just watching the pair. Boy seems put off by the display of the wolf-born.

"Two-legs try to poison wolf?" he questions the caramel kin in the gruff voice, it sounded strange coming from a lupus muzzle.

"Wolf eats meat - raw, fresh... blood." Some flickers in his eyes for a moment, golden orbs darkening as he stares at her, licking his maw like he were ready to devour the kin.

[Boy] Boy watched carefully as Gina approached, but he didn't approach himself. Not just yet. He wanted to see how the wolf born would react. What he'd do with her so near.

What he sees isn't exactly pleasing.

Boy steps forward, eyes alight with fire and the need to kill the thing that was threatening kin. And then he stops himself.

"Forgive us, Wahya Many Tongues. We'll go and find you meat. Fresh meat. And when you've eaten and rested and have your strength back, you and I will hunt the wyrmcomers."

Boy extended a hand toward Gina, still not coming much closer.

"But first...we'll go get you some meat."

[Gina McClaren] Nae. Nae Wahya. Never. Nae tryin tae poison ye. Jes.. offerin aul ah 'ave. We'll gi' ye somethen fresher, aye. But mayhaps... jes... rest?

*Her spine straightens, cold trickle of fear running down her back the wolf regards her. Dark eyes slip downcast, away from gold eyes grown dark. She tilts her head back cautiously, exposing the pale of her throat submissively. A hard swallow as she dares a glance to the wolf above her, trying briefly to read his expression. Her hand slips into Boy's as she rises, slowly dragging the roaster away with her.*

[Per/animal ken]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmywahya] Boy will suddenly find himself conflicted, the sudden change in Wahya is apparent. The madness - that wild feralness they saw in the park has returned. He snaps his jaws at Gina, catching only air and not her face. If it weren't for Wahya shaking so much, he would try to move after her, but he barely manages to growl out in a threatening manner.

[Boy] "Calm him." Boy orders, even as drags Gina upwards off the ground and away from Wahya.

"Sing to him again. Or...whatever it is you were doing."

[Gina McClaren] Darlin.. Wahya.. shhh. Please be calm. We're nae yer enemies. Ah'm nae yer enemy. Please rest. Rest an recover darlin. Sweet wolf. Calm, darlin.

*Gina's backing away, slipping behind Boy as she singsings, voice as soft and soothing as she can make it, struggling against fear. The diminutive strider kin none too proud to hide behind the teenage trueborn.*

[charisma/empathy dif 3 - calm down wolf. Dear god and Gaia... Caaaaalm Doooooown. WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 3) [WP] Re-rolls: 1

[Wyrmywahya] “Two-legs poison meat… try kill wolf.” he starts to growl out, legs wobbling underneath him as Wahya manages to force his emaciated body upright. Skin and fur sags over his frame, sliding over his ribcage, the joints of his spine poking through as fur began to rise up from neck to tail.

“Wyrm-comers…” a flash of red shines in his eyes, any reflection of Many Tongues seems to vanish, replaced with some other aspect or personality that rides in this wolf’s skin.

“Rends the flesh… two-legs, wyrm-comers must perish…rape the Mother.” He doesn’t seem to be making sense now, slowly sinking off the couch and onto his paws, Gina’s voice attempts to calm him. “Will eat the hearts…”

[Boy] "Get out." Boy says flatly, and a large hand with course hair along its arms takes Gina's arm and points her toward the front door.

"Slowly. Calmly. Out."

[Gina McClaren] Nae.. didnae poison ye... Promise ye Wahya.. Please.. Calm darlin. Ah'm a friend. Ah'd nae harm ye. Never. Swear et. Please Calm...

*She's prattling in that voice, terror threatening to thread through it despite her best efforts. Trying hard to affect some semblance of calm. Curvy kin sloooowly moving towards the door. Don't look like prey. And above all, don't run. Gina swallowing hard as she sings quietly.*

Rest.. be calm. Please. Jes..stay put?

[Charisma + empathy - holy crap don't eat the kin! SERENITY NOW!!!!!]
((everyone cross their fingers this doesn't botch))
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 3) Re-rolls: 2

[Wyrmywahya] Wahya slowly begins to stalk towards them, tongue lolling out to lick along his maws, upper lip curling back as he snarls as Boy, his head lowers down, ears flat along his skull. Seeing the other Uktena as a real threat now since Gina is now behind Boy and out of Wahya's reach.

Gina starts to speak - to sing - or do whatever it was her voice had managed to do before. It halts the beast in mid-stride, making Wahya recoil back on his haunches as he shakes his head. He appears confused for a brief moment, "Maija-kin?"

[Boy] Maija...Maija...he knows that name. She was...yes...the kin that Wahya had lived with. Boy didn't say anything. he swallowed nervously, moving to follow Gina out the door.

"Good." He whispered to her. "Good, but keep moving."

[Gina McClaren] Aye. Friend o Maija kin. Ah'll gawn.. Ye rest peaches. Rest. Ah'll find Maija fer ye, jes rest an' be safe. Be calm. *Still slowly backing to the door, satchel picked off the floor as she opens the door and backs out onto the steps, tension evident in every line of the pikey's soft form.*

[Wyrmywahya] Boy and Gina shuffle out the door as Wahya's continues to remain confused. He watches them go, ears swiveling up and back on his head, cocking it at an angle. When he sees their images start to disappear behind the front door. He snaps his jaws and snarls out. Foam spewing from fangs as they snap at air, he skitters across the hardwood floors as fast as his wobbly legs will allow him and crashes hard into the door the moment it slams shut.

On the other side of the door, they will hear the vicious barks and scratches of claws scuffing against the door as Wahya thumps against violently. It continues for another few minutes until he has exerted his energies and it falls silent inside Gina's home.

[Gina McClaren] [how stupid are you going to be tonight Gina? Do you need to go back and see? CURIOSITY FLAW- ftl!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Boy] Boy listened silently to the violent clamor inside, watching the door intently in case it threatened to give way. When it didn't he nodded once, firmly.

"Alright. Now, you go find Soledad, and maybe this Maija girl if you can. Its a good sign that he remembers her. Meanwhile, I'll go find a Shaman of our Tribe."

He breathes in slowly, and exhales quickly, glancing to the door again.

"Hopefully you wont have to have him in there too long."

And with that he turns to leave. It was a long way to Chinatown from there. Once he was out of sight Boy would step sideways, where he could take on his wolf form and make the long run to find Bai Chou, the God Slayer.

[Gina McClaren] *There's snarling and thumping and crashing. Instinct says don't walk from the house. RUN. Gina winces, jingling softly as she moves down the steps. She nods to Boy, and moves down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. Not exactly a walk, but nothing worth chasing either. A glance around as she digs into her satchel, but she had bigger problems than gangbangers at the moment. She had calls to make.*

Here Be Dragons

2009-11-18T09:06:00.002-08:00

[Marrick]

The air was surprisingly warm.

She had spent a ton of time at the caern recently, and her muscles were
tense and her heart was pounding. She'd gone and talked to Rat today;
not quite talked, actually, more like she sat nearby and made sure that
they were well fed and warm and cared for. She replaced the corn cobs,
talked and left some time to think and reflect on things.

She wished she knew what they were saying, sometimes, but as she sat
there she wondered and reflected, and the Fury could not wait any
longer.

She made her way through the alleyways of Chinatown, and she had a very specific bounty in mind.

[Bai Chou]

to Brother of the Lost, Callie, Doodle, Marrick

But if yer doing a Wyrm Hunt....I should bow out....I have class in an hour or so and getting caught up in combat would be bad.

[Callie]

*Chinatown
is somewhere she's had some success before, especially when the day is
warm enough for people to be outside, eating, drinking, chatting. So
here she is after a morning spent playing for whoever passed by and
having acquired a reasonable amount of cash. Heading back in the
direction of home she spies Marrick across the street, waves, and
threads her way through the somewhat dicey traffic to intercept her*

[Brother of the Lost]

[Ancestors]

[Doodle]

...Specific.

Perhaps it was Marrick's recent efforts with the Totem Incarna, paving
his way with loot and snacks and befriending a creature she could not
understand (was not her place to), or maybe it was in part because of
the Spirit Child who's tribe revered the Incarna itself, but for the
most part, Marrick's searchings are brought to a much narrower field
all of sudden...

...The Rat's are there without being invasive. Noticeable. Distinct.
They swarm and flutter in and out of Marrick's peripheral vision,
dancing into alcoves and cracks and around the Weaver's webwork without
a hint of slowing or stopping from the Spider's machinations. Indeed,
Marrick might have trouble following the pudgy brown one as it's
whiskers and shape vanish through a hole, only to suddenly light on the
pinkish tail of a bright white and lean rodent scurrying down a nearby
alleyway.

It is a quick trail, an easy one, and comes to an end abruptly within
the broad expanse of a series of alleyways, so close together that the
pattern web gunks up the corners and edges, spread so thick the path
down the alley itself, is good enough for perhaps a single file sort of
demand.

...Six different lanes lead to a navigable intersection a good twenty
feet broad, at the centre of which is a black cobbled floor, that would
no doubt be a litter house for the apartments that are built here on
the Physical side, which are little more then gray and black paper
constructs here in the Penumbra.

He is standing at it's centre, looking upward; he is wearing the Gray
pea coat Wendy gave him and the same black cargo pants he had on when
Sheridan's Gathering had been done. His hair is a tossled and damp mess
of curls, dangling round his face and cheeks and neck, while his lanky
frame looks even slimmer, the eyes and features a little older then
they were before. Less of a child. Less of the ignorant. Less of the
coward.

...evidenced, if the slow passage of a broad black shadow overhead is
any indication. Sinuous and not entirely visible from this vantage,
Doodle nonetheless regards the air above him, arms loose at his sides,
jaw slightly slack, his army surplus bag left to wait not a couple of
feet away.

[Callie]

((ignore last post))

[Callie]

*If
Chinatown is somewhere she has spent some time recently, its only in
the mundane. The other side of the Gauntlet is not a place she's been
before, so today she chooses to take that route across town on her way
back to the pack house. After all, it pays to be familiar with both
sides of any place she may need to fight.*

[Brother of the Lost]

Boy's
grip on her had been loosening lately. Or at least it seemed that way.
For a while he'd been everywhere, constantly at her side, or over her
shoulder. Sometimes she'd arrive somewhere and, somehow, he'd be there
waiting for her. Other times, she'd leave him in one place only to meet
him again on the way to another.

Like he was doing now. Boy moved silently in his wolf form. His quick,
quiet, and long traveling form. Marrick might see him out of the corner
of one eye, just on her periphery, but it would be him, sure enough.
The grey and brown wolf stalked through the umbra and occasionally
raised his nose higher, catching scent of something, then moving on
again.

When they first came to this city they made sure to explore all the
areas of it. Of course, even now, some places like Chinatown were still
unfamiliar. So that which was familiar called out to him even louder.
His pack was here. And those who would be as well.

[Marrick]

Even
her bests efforts, with focus and thought and determination, were
nothing compared to what Doodle knew about the spirits. Even her best
efforts could only do so much without the assistance of a knowledgeable
theurge.

She followed the rat, something a little round and moving quickly and
moving in and out and around the webs and the walls. When you knew what
you were looking for, you saw it everywhere. When you knew to notice,
she did notice.

There was a broad, black shadow passing overhead. Not entirely visible,
but she couldn't leave well enough alone. She cleared her throat to
give some sort of herald to her arrival. Someone darted out of her
periphery, and she didn't budge. She just smiled slightly; there was
comfort in that.

She moved to come a little closer to the theurge, knowing full well that she had some backup.

[Doodle]

"...Hey Marrick..."

It is soft, without the purchase of glee or over-enthused excitement
that would normally come with the Theurge's behaviour. The melancholy
of his recent times in Chicago is not present however. Indeed, one
could see an almost resolute sort of function on the little Theurge's
face, as he regarded that wavering Shadow overhead fingers curling and
coiling into fists every so often. His tongue darts out, licking dry
lips.

"I found-" A wince, leaning back slightly as the shadow over their
heads, darts and cuts a rush of air down into the cramped space of the
cobbled alley intersection. A heavy weight in that movement "-I found
Black Unicorn." A statement of fact. He carries no pride with it, but-
"-Found out what he wants. What he needs and what we have to do." We.
Not you.

[Callie]

*It's
really the last thing she was expecting . . or close to it at any rate.
There is Marrick, unmistakeably her, stalking something Callie can't
quite make out . . and Doodle standing not far off.

And something else too . . something that now has the attention of both of them.

Carefully, making no attempt to conceal herself but still moving slowly in their direction, Callie approaches*

[Marrick]

She inhales, and the Fury winces as though a rib were punctured. As though breathing in so deeply was painful.

They were going to stand with her, despite all things. Despite everything she had cost them.

"... what do we need to do?"

We. Not I.

[Brother of the Lost]

There
was silent padding, the softest thump that was only made audible by the
click of claws that followed directly behind it. The grey and brown
wolf had circled, somehow. And as Callie approached the others it
followed close behind her, changing and shifting until Boy, dirty red
Chuck Tailors and all, followed close behind her.

He didn't know what exactly had brought them all to the same spot. And
he didn't pretend to know either. That was the thing about Uktena.
Sneaky or not, they're less likely to talk about things they know than
they are to ask questions about things they don't. Questions like.

"What's that thing?"

His eyes followed the moving shadow above them curiously. Cautiously.

[Doodle]

It
is not entirely visible, a dark stain against the backdrop of the
glaring sun that peeks through clouds. What of it that they can see, is
a broad thing, swimming in tendrils and reaching images, too obscure to
define accurately. It is almost as if the clouds had fallen, gone to
war and were making bloody glory just overhead, the tangibility of
their presence in question and doubt, enough to make one second guess
their meanings and motives.

A sky war of obscurity.

Boy's question rises and Doodle doesn't even pull his gaze down to
greet his Alpha, instead taking a deep breath, the wince flickering
across his features as his lower lip cracks with the tension, a thin
line of blood welling up.

"...It's a dragon." Awe mingled with trepidation. The name and word
were well outside of the Theurge's domain, used to dealing with the
vermin and the rodents beneath streets, not Lords and Monsters in the
skies. "...It's in slumber. Lost to it's own dreams. I-..." He pauses,
a frown lighting youthful features, wool gloved hand rising to brush
his hair back from his eyes and face.

"...It's a Warrior Spirit. A wyldling." Another deep breath, calming
and reassuring (he hopes). "...Fights back the Weaver's touch here in
the Dragon Walk. Keep's back the spiders. Keep's back the Weaver in
general. There are a lot of them here..." He waves a hand distractedly
around, the cue probably more meant for Chinatown as a whole, rather
then the alley junction they were in.

"...He's slumbering so he can't do what he's supposed to be doing.
Which is why the Weaver's so..." He motions around them, pointing at
the Webwork, eyes still not falling from their place above, where the
opaque shadow continues to veer and loom aimlessly.

[Callie]

oh . . *she says, and then . . comprehension dawning* oooh!

*Wide eyed, staring up at the thing as it coils and flutters, dark
above them all. Unassailable, unreachable, incomprehensible from here
so far below. It fascinates even as it draws fear and trepidation up
from inside, running through her as a shiver of cold*

and if we wake it?

[Brother of the Lost]

Boy's
eyebrows jump. They literally leap from their usual bed of
consternation, to a newfound awe and curiosity as he looked at the the
theurge, suddenly looking as young as Doodle, and then back up to the
roiling and wavering shadow in the umbral sky. A dragon. It sent a desirous shiver through him, and made his mouth gawk.

He turns to Callie, blinking. She was asking questions. The questions
he would have asked had she not been faster to it. Boy clapped his
mouth shut. There were the first hints of a smile in his eyes and on
his lips. And then he was looking up again, waiting for the answer.

[Doodle]

"...It...could
be happy. Sad. Angry. Anything really, but...if we can...it might just
go back to doing what it normally does. Biting back at the Weaver and
ensuring she is kept busy." A pause. "Too busy to do what she's doing
here..." Another motion of a hand made toward the webwork that
calcifies many of the buildings nearby.

"...It would also prove something of a Boon for the three Errors that
Black unicorn needs answered. Dietrich's passing from the Pack is being
held on our Shoulders and we have to answer for his..." A frown. Trying
to decipher- "-Negligence. It cost our Sept and our Brothers and
Sisters, time, resources and concern...that could have been avoided had
he done Black Unicorn's will and fought alongside those in War."
Doodle's gaze lifts.

"...Maybe if we return one Guardian to it's rightful place, we can make up for the failures of another."

[Brother of the Lost]

Boy's
eyes danced with the motion of the thing. When Doodle mention's
Marrick, how his transgressions were being held against them, his jaws
flexed, tightened, and loosened again. There was subtlety in the
motion, although it spoke volumes for those who know how to listen for
it. He would not speak on this. Not audibly anyway.

He turned his attention to Doodle, nodding approvingly. "So how do we do that, little brother?"

[Callie]

hmmm
. . *she hasn't moved, head still tilted back as her eyes follow the
twisting shape above them. Like cloud itself, sometimes it seems to
have form, and then it's gone. Back into swirling shadow. Holding her
breath, it has that effect, as if waiting for something momentous to
occur, it's a while before she says anything more.* it makes a kind of
sense I suppose . . I guess it's a question of working out what would
get it's attention. After all, if it hasn't woken before, its going to
have to be something out of the ordinary

[Doodle]

"...Agreed."

It is the first time Doodle pulls his eyes from above, tilting his head
around on his stalk thin neck to regard Callie, a broad grin,
reminiscent of his more well-known expressions, gliding onto his
features. That gaze travels to Boy, nodding, tendrils of hair bouncing
around his face and brushed back by errant fingers nearly as quickly.

"We're going to have to find the source of it's Slumber. What is
keeping it from doing it's duty, from being awake. All spirits
have...laws and rules they need to obey to survive. Not just live by,
like the litany is for us-" An example for the Philodox in Boy
"-...More like..." Twirling his hands in the air, trying to find some
emphasis "-...If we break the litany, we get punished, but the law is
still broken. Metis are still around. Caerns still get destroyed. It's
a principle thing but for Spirits-" An he points up at the mesmeric
dance of what he's dubbed a Dragon.

"...Breaking the law is akin to trying to tell your brain to shut down.
Or your heart to stop being. Mis-step and it affects you like a hammer
hit to the head. You sleep because you acted outside of what you were.
What you are." He lifts his gaze again, trotting carefully over to the
trio of La Familia as he does.

"...We have to figure out what laws were broken, so we can put them right again..."

[Callie]

maybe
. . *she hesitates, just long enough to glance down at Doodle before
her eyes are drawn back to the sky dragon again* maybe if it's a
guardian like you said . . maybe it failed in its duty before and thats
why it's sleeping. Then . . if we . . I don't know . . *her hands come
out of her pockets now, literally grasping for ideas* if we did waht it
failed to do, would it wake up?

[Brother of the Lost]

That
sounded familiar. Boy's eyebrows creep even higher, and he shoots a
glance to Marrick, pointing with his chin to Callie before smiling,
crossing his arms, and listening. Perhaps if the prospects were left on
their own long enough they could figure this all out.

COMBAT MISSING!

[Riot]

The
remains of the pair of creatures are scattered across the walls of the
cramped little apartment complex hallway. Blaclk ooze and ichor paints
and coats, peeling wallpaper and broken plaster, the smell like crude
oil and caustic exhaust, dripping and swarming into puddles at their
feet. Marrick's throat is a raw mess of pain and foul taste, while the
lights have been dimmed as some of the black liquid coats the glass
bulb used to diffuse the light bulb's glare.

The bodies of the Chinese Elderly and children remain at their feet, a
layer of the black molasses coating their silent forms, evidence of the
wyrmish taint still clinging to their lips and chins, where the
creatures had no doubt choked the life from their wane and weaker
forms. Still, the pair stand victorious, the hallway's stretch little
more then a half dozen open or ajar apartments, barely large enough to
be considered a one bedroom and no doubt housing a small family of five
or six at least.

Onward, beckons the mission at hand.

[Boy]

There
was no blood on his hands. He couldn't turn to his packmate with pride
at the way the blood glistened in the light. The only thing that marked
either of them of their victory here disgusted him too much to revel
in. Boy sneered at the quivering goop at their feet.

"We have to cleanse this. Its too dangerous to leave it the way it is."

[Bones to Dust]

She
regarded it all, and she looked at the bodies, covered in filth. They
wouldn't have lasted half as long as Marrick had, and even then she had
difficulty forcing the ooze from her body. She kept that disgustingly
foul taste in her mouth and she looked around. She let her eyes fall to
them. Someone's family. Someone's child, grandchild. Daughters, sons,
taken by something they could not fight against.

She looks at Boy and nodded.

"Make sure they get a proper sending."

[Boy]

And
he nods back. From his back pocket he brings out a flask. It was
scratched and tarnished, but that wasn't the important thing. The
important thing was what was inside. He'd traveled long and far to find
the brook the water came from. Risking his life to reach a spot no man
had been to. It was untouched. It was pure.

And as Boy lashed splashes of purest water about the hallway, the
muscles in his throat flexed and shifted, growing heavier and more
powerful until the sounds they produced shifted from an angered shout,
to a howl. Let the spirits that tainted this place hear him and know
that he would fight the wyrm wherever it bred. Wherever it fed.

[Rite of Cleansing: Char+Rituals, diff 7]

[Boy]

[Retest, +1 Diff. HAIL KAHSEENO!]

[Boy]

[Stam, diff 5]

[Bones to Dust]

She
doesn't do anything, and she helps when she can. Boy, however, knows
this rite. He knows what he's doing, and he knows how to cleanse the
area and the bodies as best as he can. The area is tense, and the Fury
finds her thoughts wandering to where this will go next. her muscles
are tense, her breathing rhythmic, like she had been running.

Once all is said and done, she speaks.

"let's get to th'room."

[Bones to Dust]

(roof, not room, oi sorry)

[Bones to Dust]

(stamina+expression, diff 5)

[Riot]

Boy
and Marrick step forward to call the Spirits forward to help chase away
the pressures of the Wyrm here, the Eater of Souls soaking in the
warmth and comfort of a job well done. At first, the Philodox has
trouble, as the water is sprinkled and the pair lift their voices to
push back the Taint and send in screaming into the night, no doubt
shaking the walls and sending shivers of terror and subconscious fear
into the hearts and minds of the surrounding population...

...The Taint itself seems to battle back, their howls not spreading but
absorbing and failing to push beyond a few dozen meters from the
building itself. The black ichor is almost hungry, as it sucks in that
sound and tears it apart, the presence of Gaia on the gauntlet's other
side withering. Frustration mounts and Boy is forced to empty the
entire flask as the pair renew their efforts to clear the taint...

...And slowly the taint begins to recede, the pair's voices straining
to hold the Howl long enough for the Spirits on the other side to
scramble and revel against the gathered presence of the Eater, but
eventually, inevitably, the Wyrm taint recedes and of the black ichor,
little is left by dried black flakes that peel and disintegrate under
the slightest of movements or brushes. The bodies wane and sallow
affliction, diminishes slightly and the Dead lay as the Dead would.

[Boy]

Hey
sighs, having completed the task, and closes one eye to peer into the
mouth of the flask before capping and replacing it in his pocket.

"Alright." He says with finality. "Lets get moving."

And they continue on with their task.

[Riot]

The
Pair manage to climb their way through one of the apartment's, pushing
through thin halls, cramped quarters, over chinese regalia and past the
lives of the Dead made out in substance, material and the presence they
left behind. The smells, tastes and sensations of that cramped little
quarter a haunting sort of thing against the skin.

Marrick and Boy manage to make their way to one of the open windows,
leading out onto a very tiny balcony, barely room enough for the pair
to fit in homid and look up at the Roof, still a good dozen or more
feet over their heads. Holes in the brick and mortar, cracks in the
wall, rain gutters, eaves. The means to reach the roof are there but
the fall...a good thirty feet down, would be a painful one.

[Bones to Dust]

That's
a thirty foot fall... it wouldn't just hurt, it would be demoralizing.
It would be demoralizing because... well.. it would mean that they
would have to get right back up and try to climb it again. And there
were only so many times that a person could climb up a roof and fall
before they didn't want to get back up.

That said, Marrick Fisher seemed the type who was willing to fall off of a very sharp incline to get what she wanted.

they could reach the roof without a problem. They could do this, "just like rock climbing... but more interesting."

[Bones to Dust]

(dex3+athletics3, diff 6)

[Bones to Dust]

(same)

[Boy]

[Dex+Ath, 1 of 3]

[Boy]

Dex+Ath, 2 of 3

[Boy]

[Dex +Ath, 3 of 3, 1WP]

[Riot]

The
Pair scale, climb and huff together. Pack bond or no, they are
connected. Eager. Shared experiences, memories and pain. Triumph. Call
it what you want, Boy and Marrick stand together. Perhaps this is one
of the reasons Black Unicorn is so upset. That their transgressions
have come when separated is no karmic demand or even coincidence.
Simply a bastardization of what should be. Of how this sort of thing
should work. Pack for life. Pack for ever.

Family.

They scramble their way up the Wall, pushing past the ledge of the
Roof, which crumbles slightly underneath Boy's grip but holds long
enough for the pair to finally stand on the patchwork surface and
regard the statute.

It is a small thing. Stone, carved and etched with the loving hand of a
craftsman and an artist. Whoever he was loved what he did and did it
without fail of passion or earnest and honest desire. The sinuous shape
and attention to whispers, scales (individualized, even beyond the
weather and vandalism damage left behind by birds) and eyes are
exquisite. The fault lines and stress cracks showing up through the
figure are obvious but do nothing to take away from the majesty that
was so honestly poured into the creature's presence.

This was an homage. To something ancient. To a myth forgotten in a city forgetful.

[Boy]

"Its
Beautiful." Said Boy. Brother of the Lost. Flag bearer. Gift giver.
Maker and creator for as much as he was built to tear, rip, and
destroy. He had an eye for these things. He recognized craftsmanship
when he saw it. Recognized the time and effort required to create such
a thing.

"Doodle said break it but..."

Hesitantly he moved closer, hands reaching out to caress the curves and carved scales.

[Bones to Dust]

She
looked at the statue again, and she let her fingertips grace the edges.
She's trying to think about what to do, and for now she regards it
again. She sighs, and she looks back at Boy. She is hesitant. It's
beautiful. This is art, this was made with reverence and care. Whoever
made it, made it because they were trying to honor the spirit that was
in there.

"Maybe... maybe we should look to the other side and see if us dealing with whatever was inside might have helped?"

she didn't want to break it... but Doodle said to break it.

"We're sorry," she told the statue.

[Bones to Dust]

(god, I hope she doesn't fail...)

[Bones to Dust]

(once more, and she's gonna be outta willpower after this...)

[Boy]

Boy
stared at the statue, hands still running over its curves. His lips
pursed and brows furrowed in consternation as he tried to piece it all
together.

And silently, he reached out the knowledge of his ancestors, praying for some sort of guidance.

[Int+Enigmas+ 1 from Ancestors, 1 WP]

[Riot]

to Boy

"...Often times, we find the World wanting for the things of Logic, young Philodox..."

An old voice in Boy's head, somewhere distant and from ages gone, where
Bone Gnawers were thought to be an ignorant tribe. Where others thought
as such, He spoke wise.

"...Often times, this can prove your undoing, especially where the
Triat are concerned. Do not walk with the Wyrm, it is your enemy and
your balance. Let him degrade what must degrade and bleed the weak."

"...Do not sit with the Weaver, for her grasp is static and routine.
Walk her to her destination that she put pause to those things that
seek to move too quickly. Seek to step where it is unstable."

"...Do not run with the Wyld. It's pace is hectic and swifter then you
could fathom, in thought or physical both. Stand and watch as the
destruction it wroughts, brings a change both vast and impressive."

[Boy]

Slowly
boy's eyes squeezed shut and opened again. It was only an instant, but
to him it felt like an entire lesson had passed. He let out a breath
held tensely until just then, and ran his hands over the beautiful
stone structure.

"Its beautiful, Marrick." He said, sounding almost remorseful. "But
this isn't what that Dragon is. It isn't what its supposed to be. The
Dragon's a wyld thing. And this. As beautiful as it is...isn't as
beautiful as a wyld thing ought to be."

And his eyes fell on his sister again, heavy and burdened.

"Doodle was right. C'mon. Lets take it to the edge. Then we can watch the Dragon fly again, like it ought to."

FINAL PART MISSING!

Meeting the New Kid

2009-11-18T09:06:00.001-08:00

[Marrick Fisher]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[how is she doing today...]

[Indira Kamble]

It's
been a week and a half that Indira's been in Chicago now. It's done her
good, the steady supply of sleep and adequate food - all, of course,
scavenged from the Brotherhood when no one else was downstairs. Or, in
some cases, even when they were.

Comfortable though the bed was, sooner or later she was going to get
tired of it, and that day was today. It's the first that she's really
bothered to go out and explore the city. She's dressed in the only set
of clothes she really has: a pair of jeans wearing through at the
thighs, sneakers (the left heel flaps with abandon), and several
layered shirts, forearms and hands covered with bracelets and rings.

Charlie told her to get in touch with Marrick, and so it's Marrick she
seeks. She moves through Grant Park almost at a trot, a girl of about
20 - impossible to miss with the bright pink head of hair she sports -
trying to keep her senses attuned enough to catch wind of another
Garou. It's the first time she's done something like this, tried to
seek someone out, and she isn't sure how she's supposed to do it -
whether a howl would be appropriate or not.

Somehow, looking at the people in the park, she thinks not.

[Marrick Fisher]

She runs.

Marrick doesn't just run, she sprints. She moves with the speed and
grace of someone who is practiced at this, who is used to moving. When
she runs, she runs because it feels good, and while she might not be
the strongest or the fastest, she moves because she wants to push
herself. She moves because there is vitality and strength in movement.
She moves because it is Just and because it is Right. Because it makes
her body want to stop.

But she doesn't.

She is easy to find. Or, rather, easy enough. she's blonde she's tan,
but she bleeds Fury blood in a way few others do. She was born of
heroes, and one can only assume that she lives up to their
expectations. or, rather, hopes that she does.

[Administrator]

lrkr, welcome to Grant Park (Northside) (Now)

[Indira Kamble]

The
sight of the running girl stirs something in Indira almost immediately;
even before Marrick is close enough for Indira to glance over her and
match her description with the one she's been given, it makes her want
to bound off too. She's been indoors and inactive for the better part
of a week and a half, and it's hard to keep the kind of energy she has
contained for long.

So when Marrick -does- jog by on the sidewalk, and Indira realizes
belatedly that she looks very much like the person Indira was told to
find, the Ahroun twists her head around to watch Marrick's back as it
bounces away.

Seconds later, she's sprinting to catch up, legs moving in furious
bursts rather than in graceful or measured motions. Indira was not born
of heroes, and she certainly doesn't move like one. She moves like a
girl that grew up trying to keep up with boys on basketball courts, or
like a teenager exiting a cornerside convenience store with a guilty
conscience.

"Hey!" is the breathless outburst once she's reached the other Garou's side. "You ain't Marrick, are you?"

[Administrator]

lrkr has left Grant Park (Northside)

[Administrator]

Boy, welcome to Grant Park (Northside) (Now)

[Marrick Fisher]

She
stops running almost abruptly. It's almost awe-inspiring, the way that
she can stop and start. but, really, it's just a teenaged gesture. She
stops and starts because everything about her is abrupt and fast and
furious and dangerous. It's just the way that she is. The Fury looks at
Indira, and she cocks her head to the side.

She doesn't know her, which is a problem, but she doesnt' seem to mind too much.

"That's me," she drawls, "whatcha need?"

[Indira Kamble]

Marrick
stops her forward trajectory rather suddenly; Indira can't manage it
with quite that much grace. The Bone Gnawer pounds ahead on the
pavement for a few steps before twisting her body to the side, jerking
to a halt.

She smooths a hand over the top of her head, panting only slightly. "'M
Indira. Charlie at the Brotherhood told me ta find you."

Now that she's standing in front of Marrick, she appraises her, meeting
her eyes first and then taking in the rest of her appearance. She
doesn't know much about Marrick, other than her name and what she was
told she looks like - and that she's an Ahroun - so for a few seconds
she almost appears at a loss. "I'm new to town an' when I asked who I
oughta talk to, your name came up. Hope you don' mind."

[Boy]

Boy
isn't running. That isn't to say he doesn't run, mind you. He runs just
as hard and just as long as the Fury. But in a way Marrick was expected
to run, to exert herself, and to excel at it. Boy was expected to be
silent. Even tempered. Pensive.

And so that's what he is. Even tempered and silent. Even though the
wind blows a chill straight through him, and even though his soaked
Denim jacket seemed to hold the cold in with him. He was coming up the
path in the park, approaching the other two from the opposite
direction. And when he sees his packmate and another up ahead he
doesn't wave in Jubilation or scowl at the stranger. He simply
approaches, and stands. Quiet. Pensive.

And cold as hell.

[Marrick Fisher]

There
were things that people failed to say about Marrick Fisher.The first
was that she wasn't very tall. In comparison to the other ahrouns in
this city, Marrick Fisher was almost tiny. A little over five and a
half feet tall. The second thing that people failed to tell you when
they mentioned her name was the fact that she regarded people with
unwavering interest.

She could focus on things for hours, and then there were times where
her attention could barely focus on anything for more than a few
seconds.

"Charlie's a solid guy. We got a lotta stuff in common," she steps back
and gestures to the Uktena with her, "this is Boy. Boy? This is Indira."

[Boy]

The
only greeting Indira really gets from him is an abruptly lifted chin. A
sort of reverse nod that says 'I see you, and acknowledge your
resistance.' It also said 'I'm a teenager' about as much as his face
and stature did. He couldn't have been a day older than seventeen.

[Indira Kamble]

Indira
stands a few inches taller than Marrick herself, though her perpetual
slouch nearly brings her down to Marrick's height. She stands with her
thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans while they talk to one
another, turning to look Boy over before they've been introduced.

Her appraisal doesn't seem to be calculating in the slightest, or even
unfriendly - something about her seems warm, in fact, in a way that is
desperate to be liked and to make friends. The way a lost dog might
wander up to someone and rest its chin on their knee.

"I liked 'im," Indira agrees, when Marrick mentions Charlie, and a second later she's been given the stranger's name.

"...Boy?"

A second passes while she blinks at him before she extends a hand in
the same rough, jerky motions she had when running. "Nice to meetya,
Boy. I jus' got to Chicago about a week ago."

[Boy]

"Boy."
He says finally. Once, as if for confirmation. You heard right. That's
my name. "You staying there then? At the Brotherhood?"

[Marrick Fisher]

The Fury looks up at the Gnawer and she offers her a hand.

girl who bled more red dirt than red blood.

"I do, too, he's th'first Fury I met in this town, solid shaman," she says. Then?

"hey, you been huntin' yet?"

Spoken like a true backwoods kind of girl. She was from Oklahoma, she
was a lot of things. The Fury was, however, a girl who drove a truck to
get here. Whose most prized possessions included hiking boots and an OU
jersey...

that was an odd one, though, and she didn't talk about it.

[Indira Kamble]

Indira
gives Boy a nod, rocking back and forth from the ball of her foot to
her heel, her thumbs still hooked in the pockets of her jeans. She
doesn't seem to be one for standing still. "Yeah, I'm stayin' there. Be
stupid to turn it down, I ain't got anywhere lined up around here yet.
If that's even gonna happen. It's hard to keep a place in this economy,
y'know?"

The phrase 'in this economy' seems to be something she says because
she's heard other people say it, not as though she has any
understanding of economic principles or the state of the housing
market. It has the feel of an echo.

Marrick just gets a strange look. "Nah, I ain't tried hunting anything here. Or do you mean, like, hunting the Wyrm?"

[Marrick Fisher]

"Yeah,
like, been off blazin' into battle yet? If y'haven't, I'd love t'take
you," it seemed to be what she did. Marrick took people hunting. She
assessed their strengths and weaknesses and... well.. who knew what
else she did. Maybe the Fury just liked to hunt.

It gave her a lot to think about.

"Brotherhoods a decent temporary place until you find a permanent one. Me an' Boy stayed there for awhile."

[Indira Kamble]

"Well,
just once," Indira admits, stopping the slow back and forth motion so
that she can look at Marrick. "But it was up in Detroit, where I came
down here from. Ain't done nothing here yet. But if you wanna bring me
I'd wanna go," she adds, quickly.

The brown skin of Indira's hands has a few thin white scars - the sort
one gets from knives or razors. No hunting scars yet, though. Indira is
a girl who has left one environment, one role, for a very similar one
in what might as well be another world.

"I ain't sure when I'm gonna get a permanent one. 'S hard for me to find a job, but I'm lookin'. Maybe something'll pop up."

[Marrick Fisher]

"Well, I do prize fightin' and modeling."

She looks like she's being serious, and she is. The Fury can not help but laugh a little at this thought.

"But, hey, no big if you can't find a job. Economy's shit, and if worse
comes to worse I'll help ya find somewhere permanent. Either way, can't
wait t'see you in battle, Indira."

[Boy]

His eyes glanced over her unabashedly. Her hair, her clothes, the markings on her skin.

"You like music?" He asked, sort of out of the blue. "You could try one of those clubs. Maybe you'd make a good bouncer."

[Indira Kamble]

Prize
fighting -and- modeling. Indira blinks at Marrick as though she's
trying to determine whether or not the other Ahroun is indeed serious.
"Never met somebody that was a model before," she says. "I'll look
forward to it too. I jus' got done with my Rite of Passage a couple
weeks ago, but I think I can get behind this Wyrm hunting thing."

At Boy, she just blinks in confusion for a second before she
understands what he means. "Oh! Yeah, I like music, like dance clubs
and stuff. Bet that might be more fun for me than some of the other
stuff I've been applying to do. Being a stocker at Sam's Club sounds
boring as shit."

[Administrator]

Marrick Fisher, welcome to Grant Park (Northside) (Now)

[Boy]

"Hm."
He says to that, and little more. There's a glance to Marrick. She
seemed to like this one. But then again, Marrick and first impressions
were like milk and cereal. They just made each other better.

"We're in Lincoln Park. You know where that is? Just south of Lake
View. If the neighborhood starts looking too Ritzy you've gone too far
north. If it looks too ghetto, you're too far south. If there's a lot
of nice, small houses with foreclosure signs, then you're in the right
place."

Yeah, they knew a thing or two about 'this economy'.

"You should come find us some time."

[Marrick Fisher]

She just went through her Rite of Passage a couple weeks ago. She nods solid, "we'll getcha set up."

Chicago's welcome wagon, regardless of what might be said, these two
seemed solid enough. She folded her arms across her chest and made sure
that everything was fine and dandy and put together.

"An' yeah, it's kinda cool... Lee moved, so I ain't really been doin'
that too often... Someday, I'll show ya pictures," she said with
quietpride.

[Marrick Fisher]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

(try and understand stuff!)

[Marrick Fisher]

(oh, crap, wrong window!)

[Indira Kamble]

Boy
asks if she knows where Lincoln Park is, and Indira shakes her head
slowly as she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans. What she
retrieves is a tattered Triple A map, which she unfolds and peers at
while Boy tells her that it's south of Lake View. Finally, her eyes
light up when she finds it. "'Kay, I think I know where you're talkin'
about. I'll come an' look for you guys. Oughta start learnin' where
everything around here is anyway. I ain't never been out of Detroit
before."

She begins to fold up the map as Marrick begins talking again. She
doesn't fold it properly - she just tries to jam the creases together,
hoping that they'll match up. When they don't, she frowns, pulls
everything apart and tries again. Eventually she just gives up and
sticks the slightly uneven rectangle back into her pocket.

"I'd like to see pictures," she tells Marrick, partly out of curiosity
and partly because Marrick is proud and it seems like the right thing
to say. "I used to do, like, photography an' stuff. But never sold
anything an' I ain't got a camera now, I used ta just use my school's."

[Marrick Fisher]

There
is quiet pridde in this. The Fury perks up and looks at Indira as
though she is special, as though she is a kindred spirit. Another who
has never left the place tha she had considered home until now. The two
couldn't be any more different. Marrick was a paragon of breeding and
Indira was...

well..

A Bone Gnawer. But both were full moons, both were female, and that was
enough for the Fury to give her what seemed to be a good review,
"there's some kickass pawn sho[s 'round here.. If Liadan was still
around I'd see if she as gettin' rid of somethin' sometime.. but I
think she's up in Canada, so.. yea, anyway? Yougot any of your old
prints? I'd like t'see 'em."

[Boy]

"Do
you d-draw?" Boy asks. Every so often he stands solid. Unyielding. Then
its ruined when the wind passes and a shiver runs through him. He
recovers quickly though, giving Indira an intensely curious gaze.

"Doodle draws. I think you guys might be cousins or something. Know what I mean?"