January 24, 2003
.01.24.03. - swift river - journey to the blue mountains pt 2 [pack] *fog

[ohio to swift river, kentucky - forums]

(ST)
Its just a short drive... an hour ...to I-75 south, and back to a real highway. Exits every mile, sometimes more. And Cracker Barrels galore. Must be the State eatery of Ohio or sumthin...

And that's about all there is to see... Cracker Barrels, Outback Steakhouses, Joe's Crab Shack's... God damn people in Ohio must eat alot. There are at least three resteraunts at every exit, hanging like parasites on the veins of the Weaver. Well, at least you missed Toledo. That's something.

You pass south through Piqua in Maimi County (Maimi in Ohio? WHo would have thought?), motor through Dayton and keep on truckin. Decker's tired, Rune's asleep, and James is having entirely too much fun driving the Beemer. Luc's bored, and so are Mick and Dire, and they're all following a blind woman. No wonder tempers are near the surface.

No wonder Erik stayed behind. 'To guard the territory,' Fuckin alpha looks smarter every time you look at him...

Ohio passes, finally, and Kentucky is breached. But there is still some driving to do until the rural route is reached that leade to Swift River City, almost all the way to Tennessee. Thankfully, it passes without incident... Totem phone working the whole time.

Take rural route 30 west for 30 minutes, 20 for James and the Beemer, and there's the sign. Swift River, and sure enough, a bridge over a river, probably running swiftly. Just past the bridge is the drugstore, parking out front, the church across the street, and that's it. Hardware store on the 'other side of town', about a quarter mile further down. Now, if memory serves, the Caern is somewhere to the North, and the residence of the Song Keeper somewhere to the South. Which will it be? Never got a response from the Caern...

((H'okay. Make the final plans. There are people about, and like most small towners won't want much to do with you. I would like to get you hiking by this weekend, and I am thinking that next weekend would be a good time for a scene. Endevoring to nail down a time I can be on.))


(mick)
Mick doesn't care. Well he cares, but on a level that he doesn't comprehend at the moment. Mick knew about angels. His mother was a nut about catholicism. He learned about the angels and the devils and Mary and Jesus, and the almighty. There was a thought that sort of .... bothered Mick. One that he didn't want to consider alone in his own mind for the moment.

Before Dire can clamber into the back of the truck, Mick walks over to the Get, scratching the back of his head.

Hey, Dire ...." he begins a bit hushed. " ....you ever read the bible? My mom was a religious freak. Well mainly she was a nut over the catholic religion. Anyway ..... what if this is the beginning of the mortal time of revelation?" Green eyes shift over the bland landscape of the Ohio countryside as he speaks only for Dire to hear. "There's a quote in the bible ' Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, having the key to the bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand.He laid hold of the dragon, that serpent of old, who is the Devil and Satan, and bound him for a thousand years. And he cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal on him, so that he should deceive the nations no more till the thousand years were finished. ' What if this is the mortal's way of hearlding our War?"

Mick looks anxious. Tired. Irritated. Confused. But he doesn't take the time to bestow his fair knowledge of mortal religion on Rune or Decker or anyone else .... he nabs Dire before the Get can climb in the back of the truck.

(rune)
The Glass Walker's climbs from the truck and stands and stretches ever fiber of her being. Goddamn, she's stiff. That was a long, long, long drive, and where the hell are they, anyway? There are faint circles beneath her eyes from smudged mascara, and her usually red lips are much more pale, now that the lipstick applied the morning before has worn off. Stubbornly, perhaps foolishly, she rubs the sleep from her eyes, smearing the remnants of her make-up into an even darker, deliberate shadow against her pale skin.

Yawn. The flash of white teeth and pink tongue between. And stretch: again and again and again: long arms, long limbs, long, sweet-curving spine. Worked and worked and reworked until she feels limber once more. As a cat, baby. As a fucking snake.

"Stretch. Get something to eat. Take a piss. I'll be back in ten minutes and we'll figure out what we want to do." She's standing behind the Beemer again, fingers drumming lightly on the trunk waiting with her usual (im)patience for James to come and unlock the trunk. Several bags removed, Rune spins on her heel and heads to the drugstore and the public bathroom it must contain.

She'll emerge, ten minutes later, looking like a new woman. Amazing, really. Ordinary days, it takes her an hour or three to get dressed, made-up, and presentable. Today, she manages the same thing in a public bathroom in ten minutes, like some sort of make-up MacGuyver. Whatever voodoo she invoked in there, she emerges in her dedicated clothing, sensible hiking boots firmly on her feet, with her dark hair shining - clean - and wet in the chill winter air, falling all around her face in inky, wet clumps.

Her pale face is freshly scrubbed, and the usual mask of make-up has been carefully, precisely re-applied: dark liner around her eyes, smokey shadow emphasizes the distinct, sharp line of them, mascara darkening and elongating and emphasizing the shape and sweep of her pale lashes, crimson lipstick gracing her (ever) smirking mouth.

A whole new woman, the other skin shed as easily as a snake sheds its own. The Glass Walker lights a cigarette (strippa pink, of course) and leans against her beloved, begrimed little Beemer, waiting for the rest to show up, waiting for them all to gather 'round. As an afterthought, perhaps, before getting down to the heart of their business, she shoots a dark-eyed gaze towards Zoe. "Anymore fucking dreams?"

(decker)
Decker's tired, and then Decker's sleeping too. Mick's driving the last leg, beginning past midnight and stopping when the sun came up. Don't wanna? Hadn't napped during the day? Tough luck. Rune didn't look like she was waking up anytime soon, and if Mick didn't take over the wheel Decker was gonna fall asleep and ram them off the road, red van or no.

(...zzzz...)

Dire in the back, probably freezing his ass off. Mick in the driver's, Rune in the shotgun. Zoe and Decker in the backseat, leaning against their respective doors, sleeping fitfully.

When at last they pull to a stop in the Bluegrass State (is that what they call it, anyway?), Decker cracks open an eye with the jolt of Rune's door against the truck's frame. Half-curled in the uncomfortable back seat, he fumbles the door open and steps out. Ahhhh... Maybe Dire had the right idea, sitting in the bed. Probably bruised his ass from getting bounced around so much, but bruises heal easy for him, and he had pleeenty of legroom.

A nod up for the Skald, probably red-eyed now from staring through darkness all night. Such is the lot of sharp-eyed temporary Omegas in their temporary pack-thing. Then Decker heads for the bathroom, too, rejoining the others a few minutes later, silent as he was ever wont to be.

(dire)
Dire pauses and listens to Mick. He’s been a bit busy trying to step on a rather nasty goblin that had been trying to look up Zoe’s pants. Granted he was trying to not LOOK like he was trying to step on a goblin. So when Mick comes up he’s all attentive to the Fianna and nods listening. Frowns a bit at all that and sniffs the air that is the Metis’s way. When the goblin takes a bite out of Dire’s leg how ever he gives a snort and shifts his weight, booting it back under the truck.
Thankfully it was at the part where Mick asks if this is the mortals’s way of heralding our war.

Dire nods, reaching down to rub at his shin.


”Yes, I had a chance to read though the interesting parts as a pup. The Caern I grew up in was in the extreme Canadian north… so cold that blood would freeze before hitting the ground… it’d bounce and make the prettiest noise.. but that’s neither here nor there.”

He puts his shin back down keeping an eye out for that little green fucker.

“I always kinda thought that mortal Religions were off shoots of our tales and spirituality. After all. We are creatures of half spirit. We are uniquely attuned to the spirit world like no mortals are. Yeah sure every once in a blood moon you’ll find one of the spiderface caern rapers in the umbra or something but usually their eyes get huge seeing us coming tight before we kill um. But the fact is we KNOW our religion is correct. We can interact with ours. The mortals… they pray to a god that is never there for them.”

The metis gestures broadly with a hand, seeming to encompass the surrounding trees. Coincidentally bitchslaping the goblin off the tailgate of the truck where it’d climbed trying to peek at Runes cleavage.

“ Our religion is all about us. Every day. We can go into the spirit world and see it. Touch it. We can feel it in our bones and we can even visit planetary incarna. So I didn’t put too much faith in the bible… pardon the pun.”

The young skald smiles. Reassuring Mick, that’s what the Skalds do. They rally the troops in times of need. He puts feeling into his voice. Passion that flows into it that a Fianna of all people could pick up on and internalize.

“Take heart. You are Garou. You have people around you that will not let you fall. And if we are to fear the words of man from his book, then remember also the words that pertain to us. The words that undoubtedly personify us.

Thou art my battle axe and weapons of war; for with thee will I break in
pieces the nation, and with thee will I destroy Kingdoms;
--Jeremiah 51:20

and also

Now is the end come upon thee, and I will send mine anger upon thee, and
will judge thee according to they ways, and will recompense upon thee all
thine abominations.
--Ezekiel 7:3

but don’t for get other words like…

And I will delever thee out of the hand of the wicked, and I will redeem
thee out or the hand of the terrible.
--Jeremiah 15:21

We will be ok… and if these creatures be angels… don’t forget mans own words…

Behold, he put no trust in his servents and his angels he charged with
folly....
--Job 4:18”

Oh yes it truly seems that on those cold winter nights that a young skald very much read the books availed to him. He devoured them. When locked in concentration he doesn’t see the goblins. That’s part of the reason he loves Carmen so much. When totally focused on one thing, just like anyone else, other things fade to the wayside. Focusing on raising a 4 year old little girl lets you easily forget about other things for a while.

“So hang in there Mick. We’ll see this though to the end. We’ll get the gob done.”

He pats the Fianna on the shoulder as he swings a leg into the bed of the truck. Yet again kicking the goblin off.

”And if you need something to reflect on that might directly relate to our quest… think on this phrase.

I broke the fangs of the unrighteous, and made him drop his prey from his
teeth.
--Job 29:17

That’s us man.. you.. me.. Rune-rhya… Decker, James.. even that weird one. We are Garou. It is we whom break the fangs of the unrighteous. And we’re goin’ to do just that. Or die trying. Now.. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on dieing. I fully plan to out live all of yall. That being said. I don’t plan on letting anyone fall by the wayside.”

The young skald makes eye contact… eye contact with a madman is sometimes a very intimidating thing. Seeing the world twisting and playing tricks behind those eyes, but in this moment Dire looks completely lucid (( for once)) the blue eyes, color of glacier hearts ice look to the Fianna.

”Trust in your fellows Mick. If nothing else… I won’t leave you behind. If the shit hits the fan we either all get out or I’ll die trying to get us all out.”

Then the Skald smiles and looks over his shoulder. Snorts and whispers to Mick

”And mind the goblins… they are getting thick…..”

Then the ride. Oh the ride.

Decker was right. It got cold back there. First he zipped up the jacket that was too sizes too large. Then he rummaged in his back and found the long gray flannel toboggan cap. Tugged it tight over his head. Then it got colder in the night and the get got a bit pissy. Yep even Get of Fenris can get pissy. So he’d shifted up to glabro. More filling out the jacket and getting that sheen of gray insolating fur going. He just tucked his chin into the jacket. Kept the flannel toboggan on letting just his eyes and ears poke free. This wasn’t really cold yet. Just windy. Cold was when you spit, you had to break the ice from your tongue.

Getting to the town he shrinks down to homid again and hops from the bed of the truck. He rotates his left arm. It still gets tinder from time to time. Yes Garou can heal most anything but that arm had been totally ripped off once and I don’t care how badass you are that stings. He looks around and nods to Decker. Grinning a bit and tossing him a can from his own backpack. One of those slender cans that cost like 2 bucks. Kept cold by being out in the truck. A can of Adrenaline, the energy drink put out by pepsi these days. Yes… the madman just gave a Get Ahroun an energy drink. He pulls one out himself and sips. Makes a face at the taste and walks around to stand beside Zoe. Snorts.

”I don’t’ like this place… feels… oily.”

(zoe)
Long ride, quiet, dull. . oh wait she had spent how many days in the Barrens with Rhya Gabriel's trees as company. . . no, this was shades better on the company scale though at least he had wanted her around. Yeah, thats a vibe easily gathered. Dealing with it in her usual way, quiet composure. Besides, her mind was constantly running, constantly assessing, and when she slept, going whereever it is she drifted now.

Kentucky. A state she had not ever visited. Listening to them talk, stretch, move, she's just glad to breathe in air that wasn't stale and move about a bit. Not too much. Gaia knew where anything was here.

"No, Rune, nothing more. . .yet."

Pessimism to think more might come? Hope? She actually hoped for more, if only to keep them looking in the right direction. Bad as they could be, she needed to see to be of any true use.

"I'll let you or whoever I am with know when I do. You may know it before I do, anyways."

Having seizures all of the sudden is a good sign something was up. Leaning on her staff some, she had no idea what anyone else looked like. She knew she looked tired and bedraggled. Did she care? Who is she trying to impress? She's just trying to save lives.

(james)
[i]Entirely[/i] too much fun in the Beemer.

It's only the third or so time he's driven it. Each time has involved a highway of some sort. But now? Now he's got the hang of this driving thing. There's no problem putting the pedal down to keep up with Decker in the Tacoma. They've been through most of the carefully packed CDs, and even a radio station or four. He knows the young Skald was getting bored so gave him free reign over the music choice.

"Yeaaaaaah. That one." The GlassWalker would not appreciate finding one of the models from Luc's girly mags glued to the inside of the convertible's top with gum that's lost its flavor, so the Gnawer showed him how to make the most out of the vanity mirror that's on the backside of the passenger sunshade. Tear the page out. Fold it in half. Slip it over the dropped shade. Yeh, Luc, just like that. Something a little more palatable for the teenager to stare at than miles of endless midnight asphalt. Long as he doesn't try to light a few candles on the dash to create an altar in tribute to her scantily (if) clad curves, all should be good.

By the time they reach the parking lot, they've been through four models.

Somewhere along the way, he shed the patchworkquilt coat. Few hours later, Luc had used it as a pillow against the unforgiving sculpted interior of the door, then it got shoved down into the meager passenger footspace. Peeeeeeeeeeling himself off the leather, he doesn't bother putting it back on, now - and it's quite the revelation to actually stand up straight instead of that forced luxury curve of the driver's seat. Opening up the Beemer's trunk, he grabs his pack, too.

Five minutes later he's back from the bathroom. Tired, road zombie circles washed from under his eyes. Dark gray bandana retied to keep heavy dreads in place. Teeth brushed. Clothes clean. Since he used his old dedicated shirt to bury what remained of the Fang Kin, he finally got around doing up a new one. One of the thick, soft, double-stitched, non-torn, non-stained new ones Rune bought him. Stands out against the ripped and ragged and stained and repaired four times over BDUs, and the skuffed desperately in need of a polish tank boots. He has a feeling that won't last long.

Alice pack shoved back into the trunk. Some cash is pressed into Luc's hands along with the instructions to go back into the drug store and buy whatever drinks anyone wants. Juiced. Caffienated. Coffeed. Tead. Whatevered. The ice in the coolers melted long ago, and dammit [i]he[/i] wants something that's still cold if nobody else does. Then he's walking back inside, too. Without a diner or fast food joint in sight, he figures the drugstore is a better option than the church for food. It's not piping hot or anything that'll stick to their ribs, but food is food, who knows if and what they'll be eating when they're out in the woods.

This time it's a ten minute stretch. He knows his pack and their appetites, doing the best he can with what's available, then making an educated guess for Dire, Mick, and Zoe. Two paper bags - full - are set on the Tacoma's hood, and he's digging out the box of chocolate donuts and bag of jerky for himself. Snagging a liter Coke from Luc's return.

The GlassWalker leans a curved hip against the Beemer's hood. The Gnawer sits against it on the other side, then just gives in: boots sliding on gravel, weight shifting down and leaaaaaaaaaning back across the grimey dusty hood. [i]Finally[/i] stretching out the lumbar knots that had worked themselves into his anatomy on the drive with the reverse arch of muscle. Between the relaxing stretch, the food, the fresh air, and the fact that the world finally stopped moving at 75mph along white and yellow lines... he's downright comfortable sprawled on the sculpted metal (imagine that). He'll just listen from riiiiiight here. Don't mind him.

(rune)
James returns from the drug store with two paper bags stuffed full of whatever he could find. The elegant Glass Walker digs through the contents with as much enthusiasm as any of them, settling for a Slim Jim, a bag of cheddar cheese goldfish, and a bag of pretzels. Silence ensues, broken only by the crunch crunch crunch of molars crunching crispy baked snack foods. Yum.

The first wave of her hunger broken on the sacrificed bodies of the Slim Jims and (smiling! - she, like everyone, bites their heads off first) goldfish, the Glass Walker comes up for air, or, rather, nicotine. Lighting up gives her time to study the rest of the pack as they return from the drugstore and church, whereever they've been.

"We need to figure out - " Rune begins, exhaling a long plume of gray smoke, flicking her dark eyes from Garou to Garou (and, occasionally, to kinfolk) " - where the hell we're gonna go. North's the Caern, somewhere." Lowering her chin and favoring them all with a smirk, the Glass Walker falls silent as an old jalopy putters past, resuming only when the ancient car is well out of range. "South's the damn Song Maker person. Never got a response from the Caern, don't know its status. We have Zoe's dreams telling us of the urgency that we find the Song Maker as soon as possible. If you've got an opinion on where we go first and why, now's the time to state it, and why."

Rune looks at each of them in turn, but mostly her gaze lingers on her packmates. Suddenly, though, the order is reversed and she settles a flat, dark-eyed stare on Mick. "You're from around here, right?" Another drag, drawn and expelled. "Or at least, you were here. Any reason the local Sept would feel snot-faced about answering out query? Any idea who the Song Maker might be?"

(james)
"As proper as it may be to check in with the locals before our hike." Pausing to navigate lighting up a Camel without actually sitting up, the heat of the engine seeping up through the metal is doing wonders for his back. Most of his own food was finished even before everybody got their turn at the bags, and the plastic bottle is resting against his hip, half full (not empty, full). "We know that this isn't contained in just the Barrens anymore, given what Imogen told us was happening up North, it's seemingly spreading, and we don't know how far or fast. I'd heed the urgency. Question is, given our time frame..." The Camel used to gesture towards where Mick is, or at least where he last remembers the Fianna being, since his eyes are now closed behind the shades, knowing that he'd have the best idea of what any local reception would be "... how much of an insult would it be to blaze on past them."

"If they're still there." No answers leave a lot of possibilities open. Snot-faced is the most positive out of any options that have gone through his mind. "Or if this is something in which their help would be useful, whatever it is we'd receive of it." If at all left unsaid. Funny, how much easier it is for him to speak of an entire Sept being wiped out than it is for him to say anything of what reasons they would be more of a hinderance - even danger - than a help.

[in progress]

Posted by james at January 24, 2003 12:00 AM
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