June 01, 2004
.06.01.04. - death rides the umbral wind tonight [barny] *p

[caern]

(barny)
The caern. He had greeted the Guardians, then moved towards the center, still in the real world. He is boiling inside, but its only his eyes that betray the anger within. Dressed in black bdu's, and a tight black shirt, he is stalking, without any real goal or intent.

(james)
sacrifices take on as many forms as those that bear them
to raise the Caern, the city's Garou sacrificed many of their own
those that remain among Gaia's living ranks left parts and pieces behind
not a single one of them walked away unscathed
each injured in ways as variegated as the forms in which such offerings can take

James, for one, is still highly (painfully) congnizant of that fact
(his Frankenweiler mentors would be proud)
and even on this seemingly casual foray towards the sacred place
he brings chiminage as symbolic honor to glories past
or at the very least show his appreciation for the work done by those remaining
Elder or not, the Ahroun understands the decorum of respect
plastic bag in his hand emptying with each familiar face passed
Guardians greeted with a few easy words, trademark crooked smile, and a still-warm burger of their choice

the Fostern is a Gnawer, after all
and whatever others may need, a Hood provides
responsiblity made faaar easier when the previous day's a holiday
folks gathering around BBQs, always with more food than necessary
leftovers packed away to feed those who - for some reason - couldn't make it
and what kind of guttermutt would he be to not take advantage of such treasures

besides - who knows the last time they were able to get away for some grub?

only once he's closer to the center does the serenity drain away
few remaining burgers tucked into a cargo pocket of his camo's
brow lifting at the sight of angrily pacing frame
one Corcoran slacks in order to drag noisily on the ground and announce his approach
attention locked on the Wyrmfoe for any indication of accepted approach or neccessary solitude

(barny)
Pace. Stalk. Pounding the ground beneath his feet with every step. He has almost resorted to walking in circles. The fact that he knows, and understand why hasnt madethings better, or easier. On the contrary. Hands clenching, unclenching at his sides. He has kept a distance from the guardians after the intial greeting. Kept a distance from everything and everyone. The wise have left the full-moon to his pacings. Those who asked? Were answered with a grunt. Then comes Jukebox. He stops, looking to him. The battle within is visible for all who care to look. he battle between needing to vent, and needing to do his duty. In the end, duty wins, which is strange in itself, with the full-moon so thick and bloated above. He gives a little nod of acceptance, rolling his shoulders slowly.
"Hey James..."
Dark voice, filled with rage, with the taint of the moon hanging above.

(james)
the heavily swelling moon above may also explain why it was so easy for James to make off with the spoils of recreational war.....

but in the face of such an obviously agitated Garou
whatever the effect the phase has on the Gnawer
it's swallowed back and kept.... relatively.... at bay
(it's easy enough to feel what's dormantly volcanic inside him)
chin lifting maaaaarginally as pace slows to stop

just an acknowledging sign allowing space for the decision
James wouldn't have to struggle to see the other's inner turmoil
animal's body language: he wouldn't be offended if turned away
but at the nod, the pack-trademarked gesture completes its salutation
and he approaches within a more acceptable conversational distance

"Dunn mean a in'rupt...."

lopsided smile's easy
shoulders dismissing tension off planes created by shrug
but he's still careful to remain just outside Barny's staked, pacing territory

(barny)
Deep, ragged breath in drawn through clenched teeth. Exhaled, it seems to bleed some tension from his form.
"No... I need to talk to ya anyways Rhya... "
He smirks some, rolling his head, neck cracking audiably. The formal adress a means to keep focused, to keep control.
"I can try to stomp the ground into stone later..."
He reaches up, runing a hand over his scalp. In need of a shave it seems. Dark green gaze, smouldering. There is more then just the moon in action here. Something that might be recognised by the perceptive as being helpless.

(james)
there's a soft sound rolling out of the Fostern's chest
halfway between a growl and chuckle
seems he's learned over the years to temper his birth moon with humor
he doesn't say it, but the cant of head and wandering smirk speaks his thoughts
(Well, isn't that perfect timing.)
instead, reaching to pull the plastic bag out of cargo pocket
sending it along the lines of casual arch towards the Wyrmfoe

"Tell me s'on y'r mine." hands sliding into fatigue pockets, dark eyes attentive, dreads slipsliding over shoulders through a nod - easy enough indication for the other to speak freely even through the guise of formality's focus.... seems James caught onto what's behind the seeth "Then we c'n go ven'."

(barny)
He eyes the food for a second, then accepts, even if he doesnt chow down right away. Instead, he moves to lean against a crumbling brick wall. Waiting til James either joins him, or takes place up ahead before he speaks again.
"Thanks.. And... You know ive ordered the packs to find information on the pyrells for a strike on him..."
Old news to everyone who isnt deaf.
"But Ive learned one thing... Pyrell Sr is a slippery Son of a bitch."
He glances into the bag, lifting up oneburger, then passes the bag back.
"Im going to talk to a small group of Garou, to aim them directly at Sr. if we get a chance to strike."
He draws in a breath, watching James closely.
"But we cant afford fuckups on this one. I dont think we will have more then one chance, So im picking out the best group I can think of. I want you as a part of it."
Another slow roll of shoulders.

(james)
there's a nod as James approaches the wall
listening, acknowledging and processing the information
as well as comparing it to what he learned from his own pack's experiences
curved muscle padding shoulder's point against crumbling bricks
leaning comfortably yet maintaining eye's attentive contact

"'m in."

(barny)
He nods. He didnt think James would deny. In truth, he belives al those he had planed to bring into this little side plan would agree. That doesnt mean you shouldnt explain, and ask.
"Good. After ive talked with all I had in mind, ill call a meeting to discuss the strategy for it all."
The voice is kept low, subdued. It cant hide the fact he is still raging inside.
"Ill approach Decker about it, and if Erik can be found as well. Not many I can trust to keep their heads about them, and aim for the greater good, instead of personal gain right now."
There has been far to much of that lately. A deep breath indrawn.
"But right now... I know a place in riverfront where we could work of some steam... If your up for a little bane hunt."
One brow raised in question. Do as you wish, but Barny truly needs to vent on something, before the dam breaks.

(james)
"Fill me inna th' detail' when y'r head' clear'r." right hand reaches up to tap his temple through the blanket of heavy dreads "I c'n fine Deck'n Er'k when the time come'."

another nod, appreciating the hoops jumped through
and the compliments ingrained in choice of phrase
of course there's no doubt he'd be up for the plan
it's generally what the Eagles came to Chicago for, anyway
but sometimes it's the little things that count

"Lead on."

that's when weight shifts off the wall
a glance towards something beyond what it is they see before them
directed all the way across the Gauntlet's curtain
whatever it is he came to do - he'll draw a raincheck, thank you
but when those dark eyes return to the Wyrmfoe.... there's something else in them

above the crooked grin drawing into agreeable smile
remotely hovering around the easy stance balancing his frame
there's something else that crackles about the Fostern

it's the same expression drawn during the hunt with Erik weeks ago
glimmering of the brutal fanatacism so infectiously vibrant in his Alpha
it's almost frightening to see such a dangerously violent (hungry....) streak in the usually mellow Gnawer
(it's almost frightening to wonder if he's even fully aware of its presence)

(barny)
He meets that gaze, and within it, finds more then the boiling fanatism, more thne the desire for violence, the thing that speaks for the garou winning the war in the end. He finds a kindred spirit, atleast for this hunt. There are no words as Barny brings up the small pocket mirror, holding it so they both can make use of the reflective surface to cross. Fill me in when your head is clearer. For the first time since he read the note, he allows himself a smile. Someone, or something is going to pay. For now, The banes will make a good start. Once crossed over, he shifts to the great shaggy hispo, then takes off at a run. Woe to the creature that fall in the jaws of the two hunters this full-moon. No quarter given, none asked.

Death rides the umbral wind tonight.

Posted by james at June 01, 2004 12:00 AM