January 25, 2004.01.25.04. - blowin' off steam [decker-imogen-tristan-barny][riverfront]
(tristan)
There’s movement in the warehouse, which isn’t all that unusual. The big bay door is actually open about 4 feet even (don’t even ask how much he had to fight the aging hydrolics to get it there) and there’s steam billowing out into the cold air, as well as the spill of water. Only if one looks (scents) can you see the tinge of pink (crimson) to the water as it flows through the shoveled path direct to the drain by the curb. He’s taken careful pains to be sure that he’s not just up and staining the snow outside into the remnant of a bloodbath.Mopped and scrubbed the cement first, to get the majority off. Then follow it with a hose pilfered from some construction site nearby – the high powered type that doesn’t just rinse away the blood but BEATS it into beaded submission, sending it into the carefully shoveled path. Which is here he is now.
He tossed a coat on and zipped it up over bare skin that glistened with sweat for the work he’d been doing, pulled on his gloves and cap, and is now just outside the bay door, making sure the last of any pink (crimson) tinged snow is sent into the gurgling drain as well. Fucking Get and their dick waving contests.
(james)
imagine this:one Bone Gnawer
parked sideways on a sort'vebench
faded BDUs forming an arch between boots planted on either side
dreads hanging in tangled organization across bare shoulders
creating a strangely latticed pattern over the haphazard dark of ashen scars spreading over his back
some falling forward, as if reaching for the take-out platter of Chinese between his thighs
free hand is balancing a bottle of beer on his knee
the other is returning from the latest page-flip of the book spread open on the other side of the foodfrom the dent already in the box of take-out
it would seem he had been sitting here for awhile
when in reality he's sure to have helped the kinsman clean up whatever it was the Get were doing in their form of interior decorating
the Ahroun was just quicker to subsequently distract himself when the job was done
making diligent efforts to move away from the open bay door and return to the warehouse's welcoming heat
plastic bags of food brought back for the pack resting by the cooler
which, also, is healthily stocked with a new source of beer(decker)
He frowns at her for a moment, though the smirk doesn't quite fade. Finally, as she's pulling up, he glances out the window - a halfhearted glance, just habit, just instinct to make sure he's where he should be - and then back. A resurfacing curve to his mouth doesn't quite obliterate the line between his eyebrows, but it's still more than most people have ever seen."...now yer pokin' fun at me."
Getting out before the vehicle was quite stopped, he unzips his jacket and then makes his way to the bay doors, throwing them up and open. He hadn't closed the passenger's side door yet on her car. Turning back, leaning in, he adds, "'S purty sad when the best the Fianna kin do is send their kin out with insults."
Yeah, it took him that long to think up a good retort.
Straightening up, nudging the door shut, he adds, "Park inside if ya want."
Whether she does or not, he heads on it. Oh look, clean floor. Aw. Guess Tristan couldn't stand the thought of a dirty floor, no matter what his resolve for making the Get take care of their own damn messes. Good thing Tristan did that, too. Decker had forgotten all about the mess, and fuck knows how he woulda explained it if Imogen walked in and got her shoes stuck to the floor.
Some of that formidable wall goes back up as he's crossing the distance between bay doors and domestic circle. Every layer of outerwear stripped off is, ironically, a layer of armor laid on. The faint hint of a smirk vanishes when he ditches the jacket. The frown screws back into place when he's unzipping his sweatshirt, leaving it in a puddle on the seat of one of those 'chairs' he made. For a while his head disappears into the fridge. Then, rearing up, "Ain't we got no more--" his eyes fall on the cooler. He shuts up, heads over. Picks one out.
All casual-like, "Place looks clean."
(barney)
Barny is moving along the dark streets. He had to get out fo the house for a while, his head swimming at the moment.
'Awake, and calmer, the girl has clung to him like a necklace almost all of the time he was home. While he gladly offers his protection, his inability to even speak to the young girl left him flustered, and not so little aggrevated. Throwinghis hand sup int the air, he let Faith take the girl, as he stalked out into the winter's chill, almost slamming the door behind him, his rage boiling i his bones, threatening to burst out in some violent action that would damn him utterly. That was 2 hours ago, and the rage is still a furnace in his blood, keeping him warm.'
He hasnt really thought about were he was heading. he just walked, but the nise of a car passing not far from him, just a warehouse down makes him blink, and look around. Familiar neighbourhood, he loks to the gas station, then shrugs. As long as he is here, he might as well see if any of the Eagles are at their place. He doubt's it though. After all, twicehe has been there, and twice no one was home. Well, none of the eagles anyway. Stalking through the winter night, he turns, heading between two of the large structures,, heading for a third. Which has a car infront of it. Interesting. The huge ahroun stalks on, boots pounding the ground. He has no need for stealth.(imogen)
It took him that long to come up with the retort, and it took her a moment or two longer to decipher it. The barrier came when kin and can for him was the same sounding word, with meanings different, and for a moment she misunderstands one for the other, and the sentence cycles in her mind in a loop that doesn't make sense. When it does, she smirks briefly in reply, "S'not particularly tha' hard when the Fenrir take so much as insulting," her retort faster in coming, though the moments of her own confusion lost her precious seconds.The kin doesn't park inside, not when the floor looks recently cleaned, and perhaps even if it wasn't. Instead, she gets out of the car, shutting it behind her with a careless motion of a gloved hand, shoulders shifting beneath the weight of her jacket as the cold strips her of what warmth she'd gotten from the car ride.
Her steps pause briefly as she catches sight of Barny a block down, head turning his way to consider, briefly before stepping inside, hands shoving into the pockets of her jacket.
(tristan)
He most assuredly did help with the clean up once he arrived to find the Pretty boy kin pretty well drenched in an amount of blood that would make the normal boys turn white, and/or get sick. (Remember that gay boy who won fear factor? He ain’t got nuthin on Tristan. Who else would start a meal for all the crazy fuckers while the blood was still pouring, knowing they’d be starved afterwards?) James had taken a look, and pitched in without question. He loves that about him. Really.Finally he gets the last bit into the drain, satisfied there is not enough of a scent or a drop of anything that resembles blood on the path to the warehouse, or most importantly, on the cement inside. As the car is pulling up, he’s coiling the hose back into his hand, and leaving it just inside the now wide open bay doors. Straight to the water spicket to turn off the water, and unhook the hose, backtrack, coiling as he goes, dropping it on the floor, watching as Decker peels down heading to join James in the island of domesticity.
Decker’s oh so absently tossed out half assed compliment brings a grin, though it’s hidden mostly from sight. It’s not much of a compliment, sure, and nothing close to gratitude really, but from Decker, the casual comment is the best your going to get, so you just take it, and never ever really mention it. And there was a lot of blood.
And a lot of it on his jeans. Ugh. To his bunk he heads, stripping off his coat, leaving him shirtless, and grabbing a pair of sweats from his bag. And, since the Fenrir is home and brought Imogen as well, he heads to the small bathroom to peel out of blood encrusted jeans. And to Decker? On the way by “Smells better too.” Grinned, easily, over belly growling with the scent of chinese... boy was huuuuuuuungry.
(james)
Ain't we got no mo....
fingers snap and point before the Modi even finishes the phrase
all without even losing his place on the pagethere is, however, a breif glance upwards feeling his packmate move past
it contains the beginnings of a question
a what the hell did you DO to the place? sort of question
but James doesn't actually put sound to the curiosity
Imogen greeted with an offhand wave(decker)
"Makin' talens," he replies to James' questioning look as he straddles the armrest of the couch, his own eyes downcast to the bottle of beer he was twisting open. Pop-hiss. "Teach you too someday."It's a brief glance he casts his packmate. Something like fondness in it; something like humor in it. Of all the pack now, James is the one he's known the longest. Been around the most.
The bottlecap is flipped like a coin, caught, and tossed by-the-by onto a nearby table. A faint frown as he catches Imogen looking down the street, bringing him halfway to his feet, "Somethin' out there?"
(barny)
That something becomes clear quite quickly. Long powerful strides bring him towards the warehouse, and Imogen, and before long, a heavy knock on the wall beside the dor announces the outlines of a, for almost all of them, a familiar figure. But even before he is fully into view, Imogen can sense the crackling that is Barny's rage, almost burning bright. He should glow. he really should. Its not right.(imogen)
It would be impossible for her to miss a detail, particularly not one to which she was so attuned to, such as blood. The slender woman's dark eyes flick toward Tristan in greeting and then down toward the blood staining his jeans, the easy schooling of her expression keeping any reaction free from her finely carved features, as her attention shifts to the Modi, and for a brief moment, she frowns.It fades and her head tilts gesturing behind her and out the bay doors, toward the gas station and where Barny is still walking. "Th'Gaian," she says, her head turning to complete a glance over her shoulder as Barny scalds across her skin first, and comes into sight second.
"That one," she concludes, succinctly, as she adroitly steps away, her fingers lifting to the collar of her jacket, and beginning to unbutton it, the warmth already seeping through the wool.
(tristan)
He rolls his eyes slightly (teach ya sometime) Great. Hopefully somewhere ELSE next time. A wave to Imogen, and barny, as he slips into the bathroom, only to return a few minutes later, the dirty jeans replaced with softer then soft sweats clinging low on his hips, hands pushing back his curls as he makes straight for the takeout.Foooooooooood.
Chopsticks and random container grabbed – doesn’t matter what it is. It’s still warm, and it smells divine. – and he’s settling to one of the junkyard chairs and digging in.
(james)
"'precia' tha'."the space is left to wonder what kind of talens were made, exactly
not that the Gnawer is surprised by the association of anything Fenrir and blood
it was just the sheer amount that was somewhat.... unique... to previous situations"Shou' prolly teach yeh th' Rite, too, so ya dun' freeze a death if'm gone...."
offered back in the underlying fondness between packmates
colored by a faint twist of expression that could be the beginnings of a (forever) lopsided grin
he didn't catch the look the Modi cast over him
but the feeling is, in a way, returned
Decker being one of the first Garou he met after arriving in Jersey
and most certainly the longest known of Eagle's pack
they've fought at each other's sides more times than James can probably remember, now
it created the unexplainable element of affection and trust that resides deeper than what the totem providesin any event, attention is distracted by the knock near the door
coupled with Imogen's explanation
it inspires a salutory lift of the guttermutt's chin"Evenin', Ba'ny." bottle is lifted to point towards the sacks of food before a few mouthfuls are drained "Hun'ry?"
(decker)
That one. Uh-huh. Decker's stare is one of those things you can feel. And it shifts off Imogen to pick over Barny, critical, noting the rage and the anger.Not that it takes a perceptive man to see such things.
"Fuck's up wit'you?" mutters Decker, carelessly caring guy that he is. A swig of beer and he settles again. A man getting halfway up and sitting down again usually looks pretty damn awkward. The Modi doesn't. Moves like a well-oiled machine. No, strike that. There's nothing symmetrical about his motion, nothing mechanical, nothing neat and tidy.
He's smooth as oil, but thuggish, deliberately unbalanced in his perfect balance. When he's under the open sky his rage is a tornado cutting a funnel down the sidewalk. When he's indoors, it echoes between the walls like a noise with no name, bullet with no target.
Still. Was a Crescent Moon. He was flat outta weed, and he still wasn't looking as pissed as Barny. A glance at James, a snort. "Naw. Fuck that, don't git cold none."
Right, and that's why he slept under a pile of blankets and old clothes. Only Rune ever gave Decker a run for his money when it came to running up the energy bill.
(barny)
See, this is where a voice would have been perfect. Altho by the looks of Barny, he would be howling, not talking. It doesnt matter. As it is, the massive Child of Gaia just shrugs, then raises his hand slightly, shaking his head to James question of food. With a belly full of rage, there are only a few things that will sate.
Blood.
Alcohol.
Death.
But at the moment, Barny has neither, instead, he loks to Decker, and shrugs again. He is remaining at the door for a few moments, before stepping in, and closing it behind him. After all, he might barge in, but its not polite to let the cold do the same.(imogen)
Silence from the mute, only gestures that pass on his meanings better than his mangled vocal chords ever could anymore. It's one thing to exist in a self-created silence, and completely another to live in an enforced one.It's hardly even a conversation that she does not include herself in, unbuttoning her jacket, but leaving it on, for warmth or no reason at all as she leaves the immediate vicinity of the doorway, even as Barny is closing the door, his silent rage a heavy shroud full of nettles and thorns. Like the others, she too finds a seat amidst the do-it-yourself benches, peeling her gloves off her hands. Tristan digs into the food, though Imogen barely spares the chinese a glance. Her eating habits are sporadic at best, if it could be called a habit at all.
(tristan)
Gaze flicks up and over Barny, brow arching toward curls slowly. “Wanna beer then?” with a nod toward the cooler in the help yourself fashion, before chopsticks are again in motion and he’s inhaling a good portion of the food in the container. Spicy beef, yum.For a few moments, that’s all there is for him, the steady shovel/inhale that marks him as what he is. Bare shoulder flexes with ease – the right shoulder – and there’s not a twinge of pain where just two days ago he was aching with the subtlest of movements still. Imogen will most likely notice the difference, the smooth flex of mended muscle under the scar that shouldn’t be healed to ‘scar’ properties yet. Its a good thing too – he was running low on funds and between he and Dustin they seem to be attracting roommates. Fortunately, the latest one eats like a bird. Unfortunately, she’s a really loudmouthed bird.
But damn that was some good weed.
Speaking of girls.... he tips his head slightly, swallows, then looks up at Barny... “The girl – she survive?”
(james)
a brow most. certainly. lifts.
followed soon by the actual movement of his head to look at his packmate
deep umber eyes studying the Modi with a specific mix of regard and, let's face it, amusement
the greeting between them upon James' arrival in Chicago spoke otherwise
(that, most definitely, one of the more shockingly unforgettable moments)the burning synchronicity of pack reunited crackling like stripped live-wires
the demand of why the hell he took so long because somebody was freezing his ass offriiiiight.
the sound forming in the back of the Gnawer's throat might be laughter
ammend don't get cold much with get cold all the time and he may consider believing it
there is no question which Southern-born Garou of the pack stole the majority of the spare blanketsother than seconding Tristan's offer of the beer, there's no further commentary from the Full Moon
(decker)
Beer revolves a slow circle in the bottom of his bottle: how'd he get there already? Though there was more in these things than just the measly twelve fluid ounces. No comment for the question for Tristan, though there's a darkening to his demeanor. A listening. Of course he'd never hear the answer.Now you got three people choosing to keep their peace, one forced to. Abruptly enough Decker moves. Pack bonds are strange things. Like magnets: put two of a pack together and an energy flows between them. Aligned and in tune.
One gets up and it breaks. A unit of one becomes one and one again, linked only by totem and mind. He finishes off his beer and sets it down on one of the tables. Hell, maybe he even drops it into the trash. 'Cause Tristan's right. It did smell better in here.
He stops off at his mattress and digs through piles of clothes and blankets to find what he'd come here for. A roll of cash - like something he either got off Erik or, more likely, off someone he beat up.
Somehow the latter holds more honor for him. It's too cold to work the docks now. The lakes and rivers were frozen; shipping didn't come in that way anymore, and the rail always was more tightassed on hiring drifters. Just like in the wild, the winter is the lean season. But a beatdown counts as hard work. He'd still be working for his money, wouldn't he?
He stuffs his money into his thigh pocket lowers the flap over it. That he'd just left it lying on his bed, no matter how deeply buried, spoke of some measure of trust. Then he's putting his outerwear back on, finally voicing the question.
"What girl?"
(barny)
The look on Barny's face when Tristan mentions the girl, is that of someone in distress. But he nods, then walks over to the cooler. A beer grabbed, and twisted open. And the slightest of sighs, before he takes a long, healthy drink from the bottle. He remains there, by the cooler, further away from Imogen, and looking to each of those present in turn, then shrugs.(imogen)
She glances briefly at Tristan as he speaks, a stirring of a coppery eyebrow. What girl, Decker asks, and perhaps the redhead considers the same, however leaves it unasked even as Barny leaves it unanswered with a brief shrug of his shoulders.She considers the mute Garou briefly, before her gaze flicks away, attention paid now to the removal of her cigarettes from her pocket, tapping the package against the heel of her palm, momentarily, a thin sound that barely resonates against her skin.
(tristan)
He’s watching Barny for his reply, as much as he can get, knowing he’ll have to make the explanation afterwards, as the Coggie certainly cannot. Not without getting writers cramp, though he assuredly knows more about it and could fill in many more missing pieces then he, himself, can.Brow hitches higher at the look of distress, but he merely says “Toss me one there, Barny, would ya?” at first, wiping his hand on his sweats, in order to catch it when/if it does come. Flick of glance to Decker, finally, afterwards. “Lars called me yesterday” before the little dickwaving party. “Asked if there was anyone I could get a hold of to help him with a pretty fucked up little girl. He’d already killed her captors – a bsd, and more. He didn’t have much time on the phone so I don’t have the whole story.”
Shrugs, slight. Then. “Said she was in really bad shape, and needed someone with medical anyway. So called Barny’s beeper, and he dialed back that he was headed over there.” Touch tone phones are a good thing. Specially with only two options that were given for answer. Nod to the large Child of Gaia then. “Apparently they got her out... healed up too?” At least, physically so... from the screams he’d heard over the line, there’s no doubt the mental will take a hell of a lot longer to heal from, and might very well be the reason for Barny’s present ire....
(james)
page is marked, and the book summarily closed
both halves meeting with a muted exhalation of air
deep umber eyes slowly revolving around the room
studying the series of steps taken by the Modi
watching the careful positioning of the firey kin
sensing the pent up frustration of the Gaian
noting the ease of his own kinsman's act as referreehis own bottle and empty platter of food make a path towards the nearest somethinglikeatrashcan
most likely a crate or bucket that was chosen to hold trash before assignment to another (more dire?) job
the Ahroun moves to join the other beside the cooler
raggedyman folding to crouch and find some compromise in the overlapping spheres of Rage
feeling the invisable crackles of restless energy moving like strange tides between them
all the while calmy digging for another bottle for himself and Tristan
third withdrawn to offer Imogen(decker)
Silence from the Modi. It's never complete. Paradox: for as little as he speaks, he never stops moving, quite, and he never stops shedding sound.Quiet steady breathing, slow as a swimmer's. Fabric brushing fabric, scuffing ground. One shoe hissing where the air-chamber bottom ruptured. Ziiiip of zipper drawn up; pause.
True silence, just a beat of it. True stillness, caught out of motion so perfectly he could almost be beautiful.
Resume. Raise his head, and those eyes. Always those eyes. Like stars' hearts - not for the poetry of it, but for the reality of it. Roiling chaos. Flame so hot it burned past the reds, into the pales. Pale is not what his eyes are, but hot is. Angry. Shadowed so often by his lazy eyelids, which shaded those same eyes against a hazy southern sun that could never in a million years bleach the darkness out of them.
Dark grey, flat on Tristan. The zipper on his sweatshirt tracks up his chest and stops somewhere over his breastbone, leaving the collar large enough to slip and glide over his shoulders, collarbones. The sweatshirt is old and thin. It used to be black. Now it's a shade or two darker than his eyes.
"Don't ever fuckin' stop, does'it?" They can figure that one out for themselves. A shake of his head. Draw the hood on up; shadow dims the light in his eyes but not the fire. He picks the thicker jacket off the ground and slings it over his shoulder, beating a path toward the door. "Know how ta find me if Lars finds any more'a 'em."
(barny)
About to pick up a beer for Tristan, the Gnawer beats him to it, and he shrugs, and instead finishes his own. Sighing softly, only james would hear the escape of breath, he looks to Decker. Shaking his head, a glance of sadness pass the large mans features, before it again is overun by the sheer power of rage. A rage that boils and simmers and burns all at the same time. His own or james? He doesnt know, doesnt care. In some ways, it is a true comfort to have it there. It keeps the darker things in him away, keeps them from preying on him. but at times like this, it is an inferno that he cannot control, and barely survive. He looks to Tristan again, nodding slightly in affirmation. The girl had been healed, and she lives. Well, if it can be called that. Reaching down, he grabs another beer, before walking to the 'trashcan' and dropping the empty bottle into it. Two corks follow the bottle as well, and he moves over towards Tristan. His free hand going into one of the many pockets of his City Camo BDU's, only to re emerge with a note pad (a new one, again) and a pen.(imogen)
A glance toward James and his offer of beer, a brief shake of her head, "Ta," following the negation, a brief half smirk curving her mouth. It's a smirk that comes and goes quickly, and the flame-haired kin's eyes flick toward Decker as he makes his abrupt departure. The cigarette package in her hand taps briefly against her fingers, a movement that might denote thoughtfulness that her eyes do not quite bely, before she is pocketing her cancer sticks, straightening from what is a likely uncomfortable perch on the bench.Barny is about to write to the Gnawer kin, but the former Fianna speaks up anyway, her voice low when she says his name, "Tristan," to catch his attention, "If yer shoulder is feelin' up t'it," clearly she had noticed the change in mobility. "Gi' me a shout and yeh can get a slightly more useful lesson out o' me."
Fingers button up her jacket, tips still numbed from the cold.
(tristan)
He meets the Modi’s gaze, evenly, calmly – though not so flatly as Decker’s. His own dark eyes are constantly a reflection of thought, he hides very little – never has. It’s just not something he does. Very few people are as open as he. Hell, no one in the pack is as open as he, except perhaps Hyde from the brief meetings, and he’s not entirely sure that’s a good thing. Perhaps the other fenrir will rub off of him and stop rubbing off on Kemp.Fat chance there, he knows, but there’s always a bit of hope.
Gaze drops when Decker finally speaks, the curl of his lips into a smirk, with a bit of an wry, perhaps even pained, amused sound that follows. It never fuckin stops – and hasn’t since the day Imogen dropped him off at the seedy hotel that was home for the first week in town.
Decker heads off, and there’s a slight nod of agreement. He does know how to get ahold of the modi – right now, it’s simple. With James near, the totem phone is only a second away. Barny moves toward him digging out his pad, and he looks up (and up and up – he is taller then the Kin, who’s taller then everyone else in the room. Seated, of course, such things are negated into the crane of neck no matter what) and simply waits for the message to be inscribed.
Imogen speaks, and he turns to look at her, the smile spreading warm across his lips. “Thanks, Imogen. I’ll give a call tomorrow. Thanks to Barny here, I think I can handle the kick a lot better now.” Chuckled, wryly. And he MISSED the target too. Glad Decker hadn’t seen that – he’d never live it down and he’d been insufferable enough.
(james)
there's a nod from the dreadlocked Gnawer
fairly used to Imogen's declinations
however he continues to offer (at least beer and smokes) as a matter of routinewith the current round of beers seemingly doled out
one Full Moon quickly exiting, and the other having moved away
James takes a seat on the cooler itself
still quiet, still just watching, slowly draining his beer(barny)
Sitting down on the flor, across the table fromTristan, he takes a sip of the beer before slamming it onto the table, flipping the pad open, and starst writing. Indeed, writers cramp seems likely.Written> Got there. The girl had been violated (pen pressed so har dhe nearly rips the paper) and tortured, then laid spread eagle, with railroad spikes through her hands and feet. Got her lose and healed her up, only to have her attach to my neck like a fucking necklace. Basicly been that way since. Had to feed her tea with lots of Brandy to get her to sleep, and off my neck. When I wokethis morning, sleeping on the bloody flor beside the kid to make sure I was there if she woke somewhere strange, She had crawled out of bed, and was sleeping, curled up next to me, with her bloody arms around my neck. I cant talk to her and try to get her out of it either, and she doesnt listen to anyone else. And I cant reach my old sept that could care for her in a good way until thursday earliest,, when someone is going to have to call them and speak to them for me. So yeah, she is alive, but not very well.
Finishing, he tears the note off, and pushes it over the table to Tristan before leaning back slightly, the bottle once again in his hand.
(imogen)
"Good," she answers, "Gi' me a page or somethin'," she replies, as she completes the last button at her throat, and pulls out her gloves, sliding them on. "Night."Pager means she's working. Theoretically. Always. Whatever. She'd have her pager on, and she'd call him back. Her gloved hands push back strands of hair from her face as she walks toward the warehouse door, and the bitter cold outside.
(tristan)
“Night, Imogen.” He waves, before he again watches Barny write, while scraping the last bite out of his container, and tossing it into the nearest trash can like thing. Chopsticks are licked clean, then set on the table. Still writing. Grabs the beer that was tossed, pops the top and tosses that into the trash as well, before lifting the beer to his lips, and swallowing a few times.There’s a glance up at James, and a bring quirk of his lips in belated thanks for the beer. When he’d arrived, there’d been a quick glance over his brother, making sure that he’d healed well, and clean, after that shower. But he still has yet to tease him about it. Though now that he is 100% again, he just might. Soon. He finally got into his pants, after all........ even if it was for something other then enjoyment. And though James has not been teased, the pretty boy has gotten a load of it from the other Gnawer kin.
Back to Barny as he finishes writing and tears the note off, musician’s fingers reaching to grasp the note and pull it close to read. If he could growl, convincingly, he probably would, reading of the state of the girl and how she was found. The rest serves to darken his look even further, dark eyes flashing before he looks up to Meet Barny’s gaze. It’s a confirmation, in the look, that that is what has the Coggie so worked up. He clears his throat, and nods. Speaking out loud a brief (and not quite thorough – he loves his brother something feirce, and with the softspot for kids.... something they both share, he will not clarify whatever his imagination already denoted as the shape of the girl when she was found. “Yeah, the girls physically ok, but scared out of her mind. Clinging to Barny here as her savior, and making it hard for him to handle what with being unable to sooth her and talk her down.”
A pause. He drags his hands through his hair, and then softly. “Want me to try to help, Barny? I’d be happy to talk with her....” well, happy, perhaps, is too strong a word. Willing, and concerned - most certainly. “..and help any way I can.” Lack of rage, the patience of kings (he cleans up after a pack of get, and is the one who primarily deals with Kemp. The boy has more patience then most, that’s for sure.) is certain to be useful... being pretty, and approachable, with empathy for the aches of the girl an added bonus.
(barny)
Taking another long swig of the beer, he looks to Tristan. He certainly feels like growling a little himself, but it just isnt the same when all that comes is a wheeze of air. But maybe Tristan hasnt the whole gist. Not beeing able to help is a part of what has Barny so worked up. The fact that his rage has done nothing but rise steadily, simply because he has found himself helpless is even more a part of it. but he nods slightly at Tristan at his offer to help. He doesnt know how the boy could help, but hell, anything is better then having her around his own neck for a while. He almost feels sorry for Faith that she is the one having to keep the girl close now, but then just smirks. She might follow the shadow of unicorn, but she is more of a simpering healer then any other in the pack, and that has given him some trouble, if not much. He doesnt know her that well yet. Looking to Imogen and Decker, he raises a hand in good bye to them, then takes another swig of the beer. Perhaps he can find a decent liqour store around here.(tristan)
He knows more then it would seem. He’s been hanging with Ahrouns, and Get, and Get Ahrouns for over a year now. There are levels to frustrations, and keys that make some thing simply not have to be said. That it’s driving him mad is obvious, and if Tristan can earn the girls trust for a little while, to let the Coggie go out and put the beat down on something in revenge and get a better hold of his rage...Well, it will be worth it.
Helplessness is not pretty. He knows that all too well. “Alright. When your ready and all, we’ll leave a note for Dustin so he doesn’t worry, and we’ll see if there’s anything I can do...” Kids of all ages tend to instinctively trust him. Most adults do as well, perhaps because he’s always done all he can to earn, and keep, that trust.
(james)
Decker and Imogen leave
that is noted by the raggedy Gnawer
but little else is done in regards to their departure
both habitually disappearing with hardly any notice
the far more important fact is whether or not they later returnhe doesn't have to hear the conversation between the other Full Moon and his brother to glean the gist of it
aware enough of the changing tides of restrained Rage
picking up the scents of anger and concern wafting off the kinsman
but it is not until his beer is empty that the Fostern decides to movebody unfolds from the perch on the cooler
a careful concert of muscle and tendon pulling weight to his feet
the drained bottle finds its way to the nearest somethinglikeatrashcan
weight of the glass compressing whatever contents lay already within
for the next few moments, there are only a handful of other sounds:the constant growling hum of the generator
the flickering buzz of emergency lights
the distant whistle of wind the warehouse keeps at bay
the muted footsteps of his soon-to-be-replaced second-hand boots
the solid clang of two six foot long scraps of metal pips settling on the concrete just next to Barny and Tristan"Need a let 'ff s'me steam?"
dreads wander across bare shoulder when the Ahroun's head tips
dark eyes on the ever-silent Gaian
others need - a Hood provides
and it isn't like he hasn't been itching for a fight himself(barny)
He blinks, and looks to the pipes, then stands, slowly. Beer drained in a matter of two gulps, he bottle tossed into the trashcan, and he looks to the pipes. Leaning down, he picks them up, weighing them, then tosses one to James with a smile that all too clearly says that he would be more then happy too. He rolls his shoulders, looking first to Tristan, then to an area where they can have the room needed, without breaking anything but themselves. Such an insane concept, to beat the hell out fo each other with metal pipes. he loves it.(decker)
Outside he's somewhere halfway down the block. Jacket on. Collar up. Hood up. Shoulders up. Hands in pockets.Outside it's all white and ghostly blue, grey and brown, ochre and black. The spill of light from inside the warehouse and the brief burst of sparse conversation catches his attention out of the corner of his eye and he pauses. Turns a moment later, crunching snow all the way back. By then the door is closed. It's a world of shadows and paleness. Snow isn't white. Snow is clear. Whatever light falls, snow reflects. In the night it's the color of the streetlights, starlight, night-black turned grey.
But it's not the snow he looks at, no matter how great a surprise it still is after so many months. Standing, he leaves his bare hands in his pockets and just looks at her. Not a word, not a sound, not a motion beyond breathing.
It doesn't ever end, does it.
It's starting to snow again. A drifting flake catches his eye for a second. Then he shifts, the intensity of the moment diluting; he reaches out to thread her hair behind her ear. He's done this before, will do it again - so many times that there's a certain familiarity to the gesture now, a certain expertise that allows his fingers to almost carry some measure of deftness.
--
Somewhat later, and still in the dark and the paleness. The bleached dim no-colors of night: the woodtones and the creamtones reduced to grey and gray. She reaches for the light switch, or maybe she doesn't; either way, he catches her wrist, loosens his grip, takes her fingers instead. Somehow, gloves or not, his still manage to retain or regain a warmth hers will never watch.
A hesitance.
A charged quality to the air, like he'd been thinking about this for the past half hour, like he'd been wrestling about this for the past half month.
Some things can only be said in darkness, half-hushed, like a whisper given timbre: "Y'know. If y'ever told me to not... fight no more, think I just might lissen."
Eyes a glimmer in the darkness. Clothes and form a smear. Solidity in his fingers clasping hers, threading through hers, his thicker bones and tougher flesh, his calloused palm to hers.
"So..."
(don't/tell me)(imogen)
She'd walked out to meet him in the snow, the door shutting behind her with a hollow sound of metal vibrating in cement. Snow crunches underfoot, and the wind hits her like a near physical blow. It's been going steadily colder, even from the time she had left her car to now. Since she'd first seen him tonight, until now. There isn't anything but silence between them, and snow and air and the briefest mist of breath, and she looks at him, and he's looking at her. The moment becomes something else completely as he reaches out to tender back a few strands of her hair.The point of her gaze alters to follow his motion, the deft movement of his hand. She knows he's good with his hands, she has proof of his ability in the form of woodwork, a single bead that could be worn a chain or a leather thong, a small disk that could snap between her fingers, if she dared to ask for help and there was no one nearby. She's had more poignant proof of it, more immediate, his hands touching her, and he bruises her at the best of times, and the gruesome and bloody work of an animal killing its prey, or more accurate, its life time enemy, the source of every moment of strife and nearly every scar on her skin.
Later, when she reaches for the light, his hand catches her wrist in the darkness. This action, like his touching of her hair, the push of it away from her face, is familiar. Stop her from chasing away the shadows with unforgiving light that gives no room for obfuscation. He can feel a stillness beneath her skin, a moment of stasis, before his fingers begin to thread with hers, and her own close around his hand, pale long fingers brushing against the space between his knuckles. They are scraped, still, from fighting, knuckles cracked because he does not wrap them (more immediate to feel his knuckles cracking on flesh; rather than tape bound knuckles), scraped because sometimes he fought for the fun of it. Or for the need of it.
He draws breath to speak, and her eyes focus on him in the darkness, face defined by the thickness of shadows and the absence of it, rather than the introduction of light. It's dark enough to soften the directness of her gaze (but it can never be dark enough so he cannot feel it), and dark enough that the colour of her eyes is obscured by shadow and darkness.
Dark enough that he cannot read her, a feat that is often impossible in the light. So.. he says his palm against hers, and her eyes drop away, to her fingers entwined with his, and while she cannot see the scraps, she can feel them beneath the sensitive pads of her fingers, details of small tears in flesh felt against the whorls of her fingerprint.
"I'd never ask it," said simply and quietly. This close she doesn't need to speak loudly, and this close her low words are easily heard across the distance that can at seconds seem like miles and at seconds seem like scalding inches. "And... if I did. And you agreed. I doubt I could live with that." It's not a statement of morbidity, so much as a statement of fact: she would not be able to continue with that. She would have to change it, eventually. She has more honour than she gives herself credit for.
(tristan)
He looked up as James stood, and he looks down as the pipes are dropped, and he can’t help the slight chuckle. While he understands on some level the need to do this – he himself has stepped in the ring with James, on a full moon, and come out with only a concussion and bruises (it could have been worse, at least he passed out first...) and he will do it again.But with metal pipes? Nope. He doesn’t look forward to being pretty boy mush. Heck, he’s got that centerfold to keep posing for, right? Scars are sexy, boneless pulp is. well. Not.
He chuckles though, as Barny rises to the challenge, and simple reaches for the back of cooled chinese and another carton, reclaiming his chopsticks and awaiting the show.
(james)
when the Coggie accepts
there's a peculiar grin creeping across the Gnawer's faceyes, it is an absolutely insane concept to beat the hell out of each other to blow off steam
they could just as easily go search out some punks on the street for just the same result
that, however, would take time and coordination, even if there's a good probability of finding so on a lovely Saturday night
not to mention hat means venturing out into the cold
much more convenient to stay in the pleasent surroundings of the warehouse
rationalize it down to the essence of sparring
(or that James has hung around Fenrir FAR too long)his own bar caught and slung across his shoulders
arms winding around the make-shift yolk to stretch the muscles through his torso
long strides carrying him easily into the area used to park the vehicles
more than enough room to hash it out and not break anything
hand digs into a pocket and pulls out the ever-faithful grey bandana
tangle of dreads gathered back into to some semblance of "out of the way"then the discarded length of steel pipe turns into a staff in his hands
weight hefted then settles to rest loosely across the calloused skin of his palms
his own body falls into a stance bred from practice
years of training mix with a streetbrawler's easy leverage
lips part to flash a wolfish grin
Ready when you are(barny)
He follows James to the empty space, and moves to stand facing him, a few steps apart, out of reach for those pipes atleast to start with. Seeing James stretch, he smiles, then shakes his head some. And raising his free hand from his side, palm up, as if lifting something unseen, he shakes his head, then tenses. and tranforms, growing easily into the glabro shape, gainaing another 6 or 7 inches, and easily 100 pounds of bone and muscle, if not more. And he looks to james, smiling like a predator, and waits, the pipe still held easily at his side.(tristan)
The Garou move away, taking the press of Rage with them to the open area, and he stands, grasping his beer, finishing it off and tossing it into the trash. Another grabbed from the cooler, and he’s moving over to the couch, flopping there comfortably to watch.When it happens, he knows it could be in blurs so quick and furious that he may not be able to see anything at all – nothing that will give his eyes enough to focus on, to make sense of the movement. Or they could go slower, more deliberate, with careful planning if each strike. Things are often varied so in this, a (never) simple spar.
He props his feet up on the coffee table, beer between his thighs, as he munches his way through the chow mein in hand. Last night, he sat here, and watched Fenrir bleed themselves all but to death in order to make a talon and bond together. Then served them dinner with the scent heavy in the air – thick, cloying, metallic... so that it was felt with every inhale, in every swallow. Now, he sits, and watches again, the effects of Rage and frustrations and one of the many ways to fight it, so that it does not eat you alive.
And he’s as silent tonight through it all, as he was the last. Some days are harder then others to be just a kin – today, last night.... these are, were, not them. He’s perfectly content to watch.
(barny)
And Action!
From standing still, half smiling, the 450 pound, 7'4 Ahroun flows into motion. Rushing towards james the pipe raised, only to be tossed away, to lazily single through the air. Fist's balled, Barny comes within range of James, and throws a heavy punch, that connects, but just slides of James ribs. In a semi crouch, trying to get inside the weaving pipe james now uses for defence, Barny attempts an upercut to the gnawers jaw, but the steel pipe is in the way, and makes his blow slide uselessly to the side.(james)
two Full moons: both in Glabrothe one with raggedy dreads lifts a brow when the pipe is thrown away
it's enough to distract him and let the first punch land
glancing off ribs that. just. healed.
not a fan of revisiting such pains
the next swing leaves only the sound of knuckles connecting to pipe echoing through the warehouse(Rage flares)
and the Gnawer steps foreward to press his own attack
steel pipe swiveling to catch the low glow off emergency lights
metal connecting solidly with the other Garou
the first smashes Barny's jaw, the other making a bone in his arm snaponly then does James back away
challenging the Gaian with mirrored predatory grin
somehow so menacing on the mellow musician's Glabro face(barny)
Oh Gaia, it feels good. At times, he can ask for Gaia's blessing, and not feel the pain inflicted upon him. This time, he relishes in it. He doesnt even try to avoid the blows from James, but takes them, like a warrior, and like a man in need of distraction so bad, he can only smile (Or would, if his jaw would respond) to his own jaw being crushed,, andhis arm broken. Indeed, he had expected nothing less from the Ahroun he faces. A bit groggy, he takes a few steps back, his good arm moving to the one broken, and with a Snap sets it in place to heal. A deep breath, and he reaches up to do the same with his jaw, setting it straight again. indeed, it is good to be alive, and feel the pain. his eyes refocus on james, and he shakes his head, growling without sound as his body regenerates. The reason he choose to fight in glabro. It will make this last longer. The n he gets into stance, facing James again.Discarded, the pipe clatters to the ground not far from Tristan, forgotten, and shunned by the huge Gaian.
(james)
this isn't a deathmatch
so the Gnawer allows the other time to right himself
bones crackling as they resetbeyond the Full Moon's need within him to fight, perhaps there is an element of regret settled within James' proverbial soul: the very beast he's beating down now is the one that saved his life mere months ago
however the life of such regrets is breif
they both agreed to letting off a little steam
he can see the fight's thrill in the Gaian's eyes
the metal pipe flashes again as he steps in beneath the larger Ahroun's guard
steel connecting with flank to send him back a few steps(barny)
Struck over the ribs makes him grunt, an exhale of breath blasted from his lungs as his ribs groan under the onslaught. But Barny is is quick in the return, slippingpast the swirling pipe with not one, but two full blows. Blows that slide all bt unfelt from muscle and bone, and Barny dances back again, grinning through the pain. Then he raises both hands to the Gnawer, and nods deeply, smiling. a fair fight. And they both know the outcome of it. Straightening, Barny walks up to james, extending a hand to him, the giant mute truly happy.(james)
the Gnawer stood braced and ready for the next round
but as the Gaian raised his hands
James' chin dropped in a nod
enough is enough in a fair fight
and he will not beat the other to the ground
no reason when they're only doing it to relaxsteel pipe in his hand traded to shake the other's
the snarl on his lips traded for an easy, if lopsided, grin
glad to see the other happy"C'mon." head tipping towards the cooler and where the kinsman sits in open mouthed awe "Think I owe yeh a beer."
[and yes, all rolls taken out of the damn log but still in file]
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJanuary 21, 2004.01.21.04. - so you're the one [barny-kemp-hamish][riverfront]
(barny)
Riverfront. Again. If this keeps up much longer, he is sure to need a new pait of boots. Well, a good thing is that he has gotten a pretty clear image of the city layout. Thats good. But it hasnt put the mute CoG in a very good mood. Its been days since he had a good fight, and the lack of exercise is wearing on him. Luckily, the moon is waning towards new moon, and his rage is as low as it ever gets. Which means people passing him on the street shudder without knowing why. As tall as ever, without the boots he stands a massive 6'7 of muscle and attitude. with the boots, its almost 6'8. Again, those 20 hole docs pound the concrete as he walks on, hands stuffed deep in jacket pockets to avoid tthe worst of the freezing cold.(james)
the weather is supposed to be 36 degress
that is a whole four degrees above freezing
normally, that should mean something to someone somewhere who cared
but even beneath the partially clouded sliver of a moon in the sky
levels of birthright fires held at a low simmer rather than frying his brain
one Gnawer assesses the night as bordering on ridiculously unbearabledreads hang in a thick mane insulating his neck
held in place by one strategically tied grey bandana tucked into a wool cap
shoulders hunch in vain attempt to bolster the warmth contained in the tattered trench
body curves into a strange letter that fits in perch on the bench
sitting on the back, secondhand boots firm on the seat
coattails hanging in unique disarray reaching for the cement sidewalk below
hands wrapped around the large cup of fresh coffee already half drunk
fragrant steam weaving upwards to mix with the smoke from the Camel clenched between his teethimpatience to consume the piping hot beverage about the only reason he can define as to why on Gaia's green earth he is still sitting out in the all but freezing night instead of heading back to the warehouse shelter
(barny)
Moving steadily along in that pace that has swallowed just about every street in this city for the past two weeks, he is once again back at Riverfront. He found the warehouse,mostly by chance when he was walking before, finding a kin he recognised, even if he does not know her name. and now? he is back. The pack should be around at some point, right? Perhaps it is his preoccupation and quite sour mood, perhaps something else, but he almost misses the figure on thebench as he rounds a corner, fishing for his smokes in his pocket. Looking up to light his smoke, he comes to a halt, eyes narrowing slightly. that figure on the bench. yeah, he should recognise him, he has held him in his arms at one point. The smoke all but forgotten, he starts moving again, this time with intent, and purpose. And james finds himself with 300 pounds of muscle bearing down on him.(james)
movement infringing on his periphery is all that drags the Ahroun's attention from his coffee
deep umber eyes strafe from wherever they lay unfocused and to his left
calmy and silently studying the hulking figure that approaches
noting each detail that filters through the constantly shifting curtain of smoke and steam
something tugging at memory but never quite strong enough to complete the pull
perhaps it is the unique scent carried on the wind, or the reserved coil of presence
a culmination of details and impressions that roam just beyond clarification
an unconscous recollection this man approaching is the Garou that saved his lifethe struggle to pull things together is apparent in dark eyes
as is the resulting defeat when thoughts refuse to organize and surface
he never saw Barney before they entered the store
when they faced again it was too late to establish familiarity
by the time the Gnawer regained consciousness, the Coggie was already gonehand lifts to pull the smoke from between his lips, ashes flicked away
chin lifts in greeting's substitution(barny)
James greets him. It brings the slightest twitch of lips upwards in some form of smile beforehe reaches the bench, and with a nice thud, he climbs up, turning adeptly, and takes a seat next to James on the bench. it groans a little at the sudden onslaught of weight, but holds. Loking to james, Barny extends his hand out towards the city, then shakes his head, as if saying 'finally' before he sighs, and actually lifts one leg to lay it across the knee of the other, and with a smirk, he rubs his calfs. Its been a taxing two weeks.(james)
the Ahroun offered a greeting, yes, it is a matter of social accord and interaction
however he didn't expect the large man to instantly join him on the bench
that certainly gets a lingering look and raised brow
expression changing to a slight furrow at the gestures
moments stroll slowly by while James attempts to figure out the exact meaning
hoping he chooses to keep the correct interpretation from the available options"Dun' thing I wa' tha' hard a fine."
a (forever) lopsided smile considers beginning on his lips
but it remains hidden behind the accent and slur and coils of exhaled smoke(barny)
The immense Ahroun rolls his eyes for a moment, then shrugs. Reaching into one of the pockets of hsi city camo BDU's, he withdraws a small notepad and a pen. Writing something down quickly, he tears it off before handing it to james. Remembering thecig in the corner of his mouth, he grabs his Bic and light sit up, pulling deep before breathing out slowly. Lighter back in pocket, he looks around some, then to james again.Written> Its a big city. Been looking for close to two weeks now for you and the pack. not easy to find. But atleast I got to see the sight's, right?
(james)
"Wha' sigh's're worth seein', an'way."dark eyes remain on the note even if his lips twist into a ghosted smirk
as if he could pull the essential key to his memories from the very paper
the notion quickly fades, and the paper folds beneath the instructions of a musician's fingers
offered back for the sake of reuse and conservation
he is a Bone Gnawer, after all, even if that's sometimes hard to remember when packed up with a bunch of Germans
his next comment laced with steam from another sip of coffee"So guess'm righ' I shou' rec'nize yeh."
(barny)
He cant help but smile at the last, then shrugs, writing again. Tearing it off, and handing it to James, he drags deep again on the smoke, then looks towards the warehouse.Written> Not sure. Last I saw of you was after the nasty scruff in the store. Even after i healed you you werent in much of a shape. Good fight though. The others know me. im Barny Jameson, or Mother's~Riddle.
(hamish duncan)
Hamish wandered out of his motel room, locking the door, not that he left anything of value in there and heads off through the streets with a brown leather backpack over his shoulder. he was wearing a black leather biker's jacket over a sex-pistol's t-shirt that was faded and old. He wore a kilt in the fianna common tartan mismatched plaid socks and combat boots. his hair was a short and curly mass of dark red. his face looked a little battered like he'd seen his share of fights, but clear enough to show he probably won most of them. in his hand not holding the bag onto his shoulder he held a wooden scottish shepherd's pipe. he walked down the street and watched the people as he passed (places?)(james)
this time, deep umber eyes remain on the paper for an entirely different reason
watching the memories begin to replay and fall together across the note's movie screen
(.... so you're the one.)
the store, the malignancy within, the banes, and most of all the traitorous Fang
realization and understanding seems to wash over the Ahroun in physical wave
it's personified in a soft, almost growling, laugh"Nev'r saw yeh 'fore shit hit th' fan... 'r aft'." mused absently "Nev'r got a chance a say thank' f'r wha' yeh did f'r me, eith'r."
the Camel's ember neared speckled, orange filter
smoke finally flicked away into a nearby puddle
coffee drained and cup tossed into the trash bin beside the bench
hand is smeared along muscular thigh before held out in offer to shake"Nice a fine'ly meet."
(hamish)
Hamish walked past a pair sitting on a bench and takes up a place on the curb not much farther away and plays a scottish melody on his pipes. not taking much notice of anyone in particular. just enjoying the night. Luna was nowhere to be seen in the sky and he just nodded to himself and continued to play.(barny)
He shrugs some, as if to say 'No thanks needed.' then takes the gnawers hand into his own, shaking it with a smile, nodding. Letting go, he reaches up, rnning a hand across his shaven scalp. a few days ago now, and a shade of hair covers it. Pondering something, before he writes again, handing the note to James.Written> The pack left jersey in such a rush I never got a chance to talk to you. Followed you all here, cause atleast around you, something sees to happen most nights. Besides, we're not all that good on our own. Met up with Decker briefly a week or so ago, but barely got to say hi before I ended up brawling it out with some three fingered jack-ass.
He looks to the man that starts playing his pipes, watching him for a moment, then takes another drag of his smoke.
(james)
being a musician himself, the pipes' melody does catch a notable part of his attention
and the Gnawer continues absently listening while reading the newest note"We lef' a lot a thing' behin'." whatever it is that softens his voice, he does not allow expression to betray, instead smoothly continuing on with a nod "Life ain' dull, tha' fo' sure. Rush out here a 'tend t' s'm Holy bus'ness.... finish it up 'bout two week 'go."
(hamish)
Hamish continues to play. he's not the best pipist in the highlands but he was fair. he remembered many warm summer days he sat on a hill watching the sheep as a boy, playing these same pipes left to him by his mother had given him.(kemp)
Absolutely freezing his ass off. Prowling, he'd been prowling the streets ever since the night they wouldn't let him splat the showering intruder. Staying away from the warehouse simply because he rather have his dick freeze off and land on the sidewalk next to his foot, than to deal with that girl.(barny)
He nods, listening to james, but his eyes is on the piper. Wit a flick of wrist, the remains of his cig is tossed to join James butt in the puddle, he nods again. Certainly, it were never dull. He exhales, and stretches slightly to fight of the worst cold before resettling. 'silent' for a long time, before writing again.Written> Sounds important. So what now? Time to relocate again? Or will you remain here for a while?
note passed, a glance spared for James, then he looks back to the piper. Kid got some talent for ure, but that doesnt really mean much. he can idly remember a time when he had truly enjoyed the sound of music, and even joining in it with a song or other. venomous claws ended that little fancy of his, didnt it?
(kemp)
Hunkered down into the collar of the coat. Shoulder and ribs aching with the cold. Feet had lost feeling so long ago he couldn't remember. That's what he got for leaving without socks. Cocking his head with the strange music floating on the air.(james)
James grew up living on the streets of Albany
there's a certain point one simply gets used to the cold
safely cuccooned in the warm habitate of the heavy trenchcoat
the Ahroun has reached that point
concentrating on the music instead of any persistent chill
remaining seated as his companion stretches"Was." nodded, though no explanation is offered with strangers in such close proximity, perhaps at another time, for now, expression suffices in a shrug of muscular shoulders "'n dunna. Fig're I'll follow th' oth'rs wh'nev'r they choose a leave... a we're call' s'm'ere else.."
(kemp)
Appearing smaller than his fearson height all of 5'6" with his shoulders hunched. There was the guy with the weird music over there and up a bit was a familiar mop of a head. No idea who the other guy was with James. First thought to hit his head was that freak had made James leave home too.(barny)
He nods. it makes sense after all. Looking around, careful to observe anyone that doesnt seem to be just passingby, before he returns to look at james again.Written> Eagles fly where the wind takes them huh? Where is the rest of the group now? I saw that kin of Decker's in the warehouse a couple of days ago, but except the quick peek of Decker, and now you, I havent found anyone lse. Erik still around?
Note handed to james again. Normally, Barny doesnt 'talk' this much, but having found one of the Eagles, after following them on a hunch from Jersey, he is going to make sure he get's a chance to catch up some.
(james)
there's an affirming nod, before the Ahroun falls quiet again
dark eyes lifting towards the skyline horizon
pack and family are the most important things to the Gnawer
admitting absence does not come easily"Luc, Liv'ston... 'n Rune dun' make it out here with us." rhyme and reason clamped shut inside a steel trap of omission "Down a four boys 'n fam'ly."
(kemp)
Stopping a short distance from the pair of James and Barny. He'd wait till James said something, content to watch for now. No idea who the guy was James was speaking with.(barny)
He nods slightly, looking at James. He can understand the loss of pack and family all to well. About perhaps to write something, he stops, and looks to Kemp, raising a brow, then looking to James, to ake sure the gnawer spots the newcomer.(james)
even at the Coggie's signal, the Ahroun doesn't turn his head
gaze still focused on the distant horizon
vague thoughts tumbling absently through his mind"S'allri' kid." loud enough to cross the distance between, even if the words are aimed away from the group "Barny here's a frien' a th' crew." thumb hooks over his shoulder towards the Rotagar "Meet Kemp, 'r younges'."
he didn't need to see Kemp to know a the young Garou approached or stood near
the itchy feeling crawling over his spine was clear enough signal
that unmistakable feeling of pack(kemp)
Warm breath clouding before his face. Brown hair over his collar and half obscuring green eyes. Lifting his chin to Barney in a short greeting while once more moving towards the pair to come to a halt just to the left of James, behind his shoulder a bit. Taking up the stance of having his back.(hamish)
Hamish stops playing for a moment and stared up at sky again letting out a sigh. the stars were mostly blotted out by the city lights. he hated cities for that. he hated cities period. he'd spent enough time in london to be used to them but he still didn't like them. he wasn't particularly cold, he was used to low temperatures. it was chilly but not too bad.(barny)
Reaching up, he taps his finger against his forehead in a greeting to Kemp, watching as the kid takes up guard with a slightly amused smile. Wearing the large dark grey jacket, and his city camo BDU's, sitting on the bench beside the smaller James, he seems even larger then he is. Which is not saying alot. But he looks from Kemp after a moment, shrugging some. Writing for a few moments in his pad, he hands James the note after tearing it off.Written> Im sorry to hear it. Well, Im not pack, but if you need me, just drop a line to the pager. [Insert number here] Do you know how I could get in touch with Erik?
(kemp)
Starting to grow accustomed to large men in this city. He'd learned one thing though, didn't matter how big someone or thing was, in the end he could run up one side and down the other if he had to. Or well, run up it and go down with it in his case.(hamish)
Hamish turned his head and noticed, apparently for the first time, the small group coalescing on the bench, he set the flute to his lips and began to play another tune. this one a bit upbeat. it had that earthy tone of someone self taught. this time watching the group with nothing but plain old curiosity. he was dressed in a leather coat over a faded sex pistols t'shirt tucked into a scottish common kilt on fianna tartan, his legs covered in mismatched plaid socks and on his feet he wore combat boots. his hair was a short curly mass of dark red and his face was faintly handsome in that rough n' tumble bar brawler way. He seemed to have a certain nobility in his features (pure breed 2) something intangible but there.(kemp)
Wrinkling his nose with a lift of his head when the music started again. Taking a moment to figure out it was coming from the woman? Man? dude, someone in a skirt over that way. Shivering with the thought of the wind going up under that, school uniform skirt? Naw, couldn't be a school uniform, too late at night for a kid to be out. Either way, he wouldn't be standing around so calm if he were in a skirt with the wind kissing his boys.(james)
"Priva'e line." fingers reach up and tap his temple, translating the phrase into TotemPhone "But I'll pass yeh numba 'long."expression contains a benevolent mix of fondness and amusement as the Rotagar takes his back
the kid has guts and proved it more than once, James does not doubt his ability as battle back-up
the Ahroun also remembers when he was that age...
the Gnawer slides off the bench in a strange concert of dreads and tattered coattails
breifly stretching out the stiffness cold placed along lumbar spine"Keep'n touch, eh Ba'ny?"
the borderline playful tease in dark gaze something of a rarity these days
but it's acknowledgement of the Garou's efforts to track the Eagle pack down
the glance towards the kid seems nothing more than a cursory skim
but it's the uncanny ability the pack to effectively communicate without even seeming to acknowledge each other's existance
Totemphone rings: Heading to Julio's, catch up later if you're hungry.a nod up, and the normally so social Fostern just walks off into the night
(kemp)
Freezing my balls off. I'll be right behind you.
Still surprised sometimes with the thought talk. Dragging one sleeve over his frozen nose.(barny)
He nods his thanks to james, and raises hs hand in parting, watching the gnawer walk off. then he turns to look at Kemp and Kennedy, raising a slight brow. Sneaky little girl that. He remembers her from the warehouse, and settles back to watch in (gasp!) silence.Posted by james at 12:00 AMJanuary 14, 2004.01.14.04. - from one to the next [decker-nelly][riverfront, warehouse, forums]
From One To The Next: Searching For The Eagles
(nelly bell crenshaw)
The aftermath was spent in termoil. She and LeRoy both recouping at thier own safehouse.. better known as Ted and Emmit's. For two days her crinosed form had lingered in the two story house, taking great joy in the care of her baby girl whom she had so desperatly wanted to see again. It was difficult being a full time mother, a full time gibbious moon, a full time garou. The phone was ringing off the hook... her personal secretary, Ted, answering all incoming calls from the pack and relaying their status to she and Butta. She had even forced Mesk to come down from the attick and have a propper meal.But another face has flickered thru her mind in the sad passing hours. A familiar face, scarred, bloodied. It had plauged her till she simply had to see for herself. In the early hours of Friday morning, she pulled herself from the safe house and headed towards the newfound destination. On a Huffy bike, traversing the chilled air, she headed towards the warehouse where last she knew the Eagle Pack gathered.
Her face was flushed from the bite in the wind by the time she got there... body shivering from the cold.. and anxiety, anticipation. She leaned the bike against the side of the wearhouse, pausing just at the door. Her hand tucking those platinum blonde locks behind her ears... straightening the black leather thigh length coat over once. Then she knocked, with the soft side of her fist... wincing at the sharp annoying pain of the metal door and her own skin's frostbite. Maybe they'd be here... maybe they relocated. Worth a try either way... better then sending in a bee spirit in the midst of a pack of full moons.
(decker)
Since she was knocking at the metal door - the bay door - Decker pulling up in his truck damn near runs her over. The recently souped-up black Tacoma screeches to a rocking halt and then idles. Driver's side door shoves open and the Modi plants one foot on the running board, leaning out of the door to eye the platinum-blonde Walker."Well haail," deliberately drawing out the deep-southern drawl, "if it ain't Nelly Bell Crenshaw from Skid Row. Hell you want with th'Eagles?"
(nelly)
Heart attack. Thats what it was... weavern to boot, barreling top speed at her. She knew that the weaver would be her undoing, sooner or later; but she didn't expect Death's black wings to take the form of a damn 'played with' truck.She did what any southern blonde would do in this situation: she clutched her heart... one hand rising firmly upon her left breast... slammed herself against the metal bay door, closed tightly those bedroom blues and hoped to God she had on clean underwear.
Painfree sensation after a minute of silence is what brought one eye open, then the next. Sighing relief, her hands rising to push back stray locks of hair. At least she wasn't cold anymore...
"Tsk tsk, and here Ah thought Ah was in the welcome company of 'notha Rebel." She stepped out of the way of the truck, her lashes fluttering with the onslaught of chilled winds, "Why don't ya climb ya fine ass out of that truck and come see, sugah?" already stripping gloves from her dirt stained hands as one blonde eyebrow gracefully arches.
(james)
1. there's a knock on the big bay doors
2. there's the screech of brakes and familiar idle of the Tacoma's engine
3. there's the thunk of something slamming against the door in far more purposeful "knock"
4. there's an exchange of voices just outside5. just as Nelly takes a step foward the metal doors rattle on rusted chains
what used to be operated by hydraulics now bearing the brunt of Bone Gnawer leverage
rubber insulation strip lining the bottom lifted until it hovers a comfortable distance above his head
grinding protest of old metal echoing through the cavernous space of the mostly empty warehouse
calloused fingertips lazily perched on the lower rim as James takes in the situation before him
body resting in slow stretch to work out the kinks in all-but-healed musclesone Yank facing two Rebels
in another time and place this would probably be amusing
right now: it's one Southern Gibbous flanked by two of Eagle's Full Moons
(and one black truck of winged death)chin tilts up in a slow nod up to his packmate
dark eyes roaming away from Decker to stop on the Walker(nelly)
It was metal against metal that brought her head around; those bedroom blues lazily narrowing upon the slow acention of the bay door. She saw sneakers... and her heart began to speed with anticipation. The wanting for one face playing in her head... scarred, bloodied, bruised... absolutely beautiful. Time began to slow as her hearing drowned of all but the sound of her own blood racing thru veins. The frigid air, the idal of the truck, the dagger eyes of the Fenrir... all dissappaited like early morning fog. The sun she wished to see... her sun, her muse... the first bright ray in a millineum it seemed.But it was dissapointment which stole her heart away. The sight of a face she not expected, she did not yearn for. Though beautiful in its ownright, it was not HIM.
She frowned, softly, and tossed her hair back with a flick of her head, "An' then there were two..." her smile widening, regaining that sweet yes-i'm-a-blonde composure shown for one and all. Her gaze swept back to the truck, to Deker, then returned upon James...., "Well, aren't ya gonna invite a gal in from this weatha? Got a bit to chat about and Ah'd rather not like mah lips freezin' off in the meantime...."
(decker)
Decker's eyes don't flicker between Nelly and James.
They don't flicker to the door.
They don't move from her.
They don't blink.Like steel, solid and unflinching, his gaze holds for a long, expressionless, unpleasant moment. Then, reanimation: a slow low snort that might've been a chuckle in a past life. He reaches over and kills the ignition on the truck, yanking the keys out, dropping them in his pocket. Then he climbs out of the Tacoma and slams the door behind him.
Walking past James and Nelly both, he enters the warehouse through the rolling bay door.
"Chat 'bout what?"
The inside of the warehouse is dark. The only lighting comes from the emergency lights ringing the sides about 9' off the bare concrete floor. Power comes from a diesel generator sitting by the wall. The ceiling is gently sloped, perhaps 20' off the ground on average, and small, fogged windows are set high in the sides. Apart from a small bathroom, the entire warehouse is one enormous room. Sleeping pads and mattresses encircle a domestic circle at the rough center of the warehouse: a few roughshod, homemade chairs and tables, an electric stove, a buzzing college-sized fridge. A much larger icebox, from which Decker fishes a beer.
Popping it open with a hiss, he turns back to the Glass Walker, a decision made in the meantime.
"Ya comin' in?" If that careless drawl was an invitation, it certainly wasn't engraved.
(james)
when the first response to Nelly's query runs along the lines of Haven't slammed the door shut, have I?
there may be something to be said about a Gnawer packing up with a bunch of Fenrir
most specifically focused on the detail of "too long"
James, however, keeps such a phrase to himself
highlighting why he still retains the title of pack's PR guythe Modi stalks past - thug's swagger coiled into deceptively deliberate steps
beer hisses open, and the raggedyman's hand gestures secondary invitation
sweeping with open palm in towards the dark interior
as close to a formal doorman's sweeping bow as anyone gets around Eagle pack
soon as she passes within the door rattles back towards the ground
visual barrier acting to retain the generator's cast-off heat
regardless if his Cardboard Palace rite would do it anyway
and that's the funny thing about the warehouse itself - it's warm
even with the metal walls and cracks in some of the blacked out windows
Chicago's unforgiving winter doing all it can to suck away the precious heat
the inside of the darkly cavernous space is downright comfortableother than the questionability of the Junk Yard Wars reject furniture....
though they may not be remotely recognizable as an inviting much less pleasent place to sit
at least the pseudochairs and kindoftables have survived the pack for this long
so it must be safe to assume they're sturdy enough to hold someone's weight for a conversation
within the veritable swamp of scrounged and make-shift materials
there is one shining beacon of domesticity on the island of inhabitance
hiding in the shadows created by the emergency lights haloing above
a single piece of decent furniture: one leather couch gleaned from the GlassWalker's posh apartment
it's seen better days, and most of those prior to several months ago
stains, tears and insults with origins as questionable as the other furniture's components
but it does offer a choice in the risky search for a safe location to sitonce inside, the blond Southern gal is left to her own devices
little more than another wave of the Gnawer's hand giving her the choice to stand or sit
his secondhand Cochran's thump muted cadence across the cement floor
(high time you found another pair of boots, Jamey-boy)
ice rattles in the chest as another two longnecks are pulled free
low whistle serves to catch Nelly's attention, brow and second bottle lift in questionshould she accept, the beer slings lazy arch crossing the distance between so she can catch it without the majority of contents turning to foam, otherwise the bottle's shoved back into the cooler until needed
[in progress]Posted by james at 12:00 AM.01.14.04. - kung pow'd by chicken [yuliya][chinatown]
(yuli)
Maybe it was the loooooong night of pursuits and her own personal petty rebellion of sorts but the next day found her away, leaving a sleeping Katya and boytoy still sprawled over the bed that had been their scene of celebration. Stretching as she walked, headed for the chinese place she'd made her order with. A cigarette clung to her lips, and despite a quick wash, as she hadn't felt up to a full shower yet (...and perhaps hoped to shower with someone or someone's else...), she could almost detct the scent of them both still in her hair, clinging to her lips and more. Maybe thats why shew as smoking, to obscure. The lanky wild hair pulled back tight in a ponytail and wearing a furtrimmed leather jacket, more stylish then she typically sported but she hadn;t been back to her flat since the club ... at least she'd thought to bring morning clothes... the jeans and baby tee more normal on her lithe frame.She watched the streets as carefully as usual, but for once was less dangerously charged, a tension lacking for now, slowly stretching in her walk. There were new bruises to go with the ones from the warehouse... it was a good ache though.
(james)
there's something to be said regarding the attentive spoilage of one's kinfolk
it allows a Warrior to heal without further harm, and generally take a rare day of relaxation
however... enough is enough - even James gets cabin fever in that warehouse
showered and bandages changed, he's ventured out for fresh air and - more importantly - fresh foodthe step off the El and onto the platform is measured and careful
wouldn't do anyone any good to slip on ice and painfully reverse his body's heightened healing process
Gaia bless the lasting traction of secondhand Cochran's
far beneath the layers of thermals and other winter accoutrements
the tape on his thigh keeps the limp at a barely noticeable minimum
and the wrap supporting his flanks does wonders for a Garou's posture
tangle of dreads is held at bay by the snug fit of a rather stylish beanie
hands moooostly covered in gloves making use of the railing on the stairs leading streetsidehe pauses to pull pack of Camels and battered zippo out of his pocket before following the guidance of nose and empty (gasp!) belly to the nearest appealing restaurant
(yuli)
It was almost as if cold might not bother her, but then her winter's were usually so much in northern Canada or Russia. This was nothing, though she did dress somewhat to it. Thanks to whateevr province and a guardian angel after a sort, she'd come away from everything a few days prior with not much to show pyshically thankfully... much as she had many times. The few old scars were from rather deadly circumstances she wouldn't ahve been expected to survive, and had proved she did.But for now it was the call of food, a large inhale of hot cooked chinese beckoning as she pulled up into a pause outside the door. The glance around as she finsihed her cigarettes with a deep drag and crushed it out into a convenient trash can filled with sand outside the door. Who knew why... they had a smoking section. It was the glance that made her pause though. Dark eyes, less coldly hostile today, fell on a distant rcognizable figure. The mixed emotions but then.. she hardly thought he'd be one sent by Sputnik. That fool would come hunting her himself when he found he needed her for something. As was usually the case. Which was why she was hiding...
But that simmering anger is banked under a pleasant, long night and she gave a slight wave, almost signalling, greeting He was family of a kind and waited a moment. He'd been less of an ass then most... that went a long way in her ledger.
(james)
lungs fill with smoke that will never blacken them, adhering to the glorious trait of a nic fix
James doesn't see the first half of her wave for the plume of smoke coiling on exhale
deep umber eyes blink, allowing lashes to fan the misted curtain of foggy warmth away
and a moment later his chin lifts in the serve-all signal of his packshe was family, of a kind
and far be it from a proper Gnawer to dine alonethe distance shortens between them slightly slower than normal
cold inspiring one helluvan ache in the mending muscles of his thigh
he, unfortunately, had many outward remnants of the recent battles
though they are nothing compared to the things that shadily haunt his dreams
adding to the restlessness which keeps him from soaking up the Rite driven warmth of the Eagle warehouse"Yul'ya."
drawled on another exhale of smoke which curves flushed lips into a friendly, but forever lopsided, smile
(yuli)
Careful gaze took in small and large details that told the tale of what ailed him. It amde her wonder who else was hurt, who else might have died. She wasn't a bleeding heart but she did have some level of conscience, when it wasn't detrimental to though... not an instant's pause in concern that she might hit Lexi as she shot to kill the BSD that had closed on them both. Survival meant killing it, as fast as possible... but she wondered after the fact who might want to draw bad things from that incident.Hands digging in her pockets for now, warmer there when she wasn't smoking, and waited for his slow progress. She didn't give pity or comfort... thought high enough of him to not see the wounds but see the living cousin. Her starnge skewed form of respect.
"James... long time... good to see, da."
Same thick accented broken English rolling in throaty voice. Could growl and purr in given levels of emotion but for now more... relaxed. Shifting a bit, moving muscles pulled into new action after short, dreamless exhaustion and glanced at the restaurant door.
"Similar thought?"
(james)
when the wind shifts and blows the smoke out of his face
James doesn't need the analytical perusal to figure out what she did last night
there's a breif flicker of his brow upwards, beneath the rim of the snug beanie
especially when the wind's play through her hair affords a glance at the.... marks... on her neck
the amusement that widens his smile is quickly played off into the pleasent greeting
call it his own form of respect not to comment or tease the violence-prone kin
if she has no hesitation pushing back against the crazy Russian bear of a Theurge
a slightly gimped and recovering Ahroun would be no problems, either
and he's harboring enough bruises for the time being, thank you very much
no tongue lashings or otherwise desired at the moment"S'good a see you, too." it's genuine, his lopsided grim and soft, smokey words - he hadn't been able to ask Tristan what happened at the warehouse that night, so doesn't know the extent of the damages, only that Tristan, Imogen, and now Yuliya still draw breath as does he "Abss'luuuuu'ly."
she glances at the restaurant's door
he, then, flicks the all but ashed Camel away and reaches to hold it open
just because he's Gaia's chosen warrior doesn't mean he never learned his manners
offering her a showman's cavalier smile - since it's pretty obvious to the both of them he's not going to sweep into a dramatic bow lest break in half right here on the sidewalk"You keep me comp'ny... 'n I'll buy."
(yuli)
Well aware of her aftermath amrks and slights aches. Bless an endurance for such small things, she could function in fra worse condition so... was nothing more then a reason to be relaxed. The fact he merely grins and mentions nothing, does boost the opinion a notch. She's not entirely sure how any of her family will treat her after what was probably to their eyes a disrespctful show... she could really care less in that instance... she wasn't a rug to be walked on. Sputnik was learning that lesson the hard way."Deal. Is good place.. come here much."
Moving inside, the rush of warm scented air, laden in spice, meeting cold air in a sort of vaccum that made her glad for tight ponytail. She didn't expect a bow... hell didn't expect him to open the door for her. Manners not really a thing she deasl with much. Look at her former roommates?
"Wondered if might see you... good know it end well."
Injuries not withstanding, to be walking and breathing was a bonus. She'd had her own celebration in hot music, alcohol and bodies in a massive bed. Good stress relief that.
(james)
that may be the outstanding difference between James and a lot of the other local Garou
Yuliya wasn't a rug to be walked on - and he realized that right at the start
she never had to prove anything to him to garner his brand of respect
it seems as if he's treating her as an equal, instead of a mere "kin"
the outburst in the station over a week ago seeming to have no effect on his congeniality
while inappropriate at the time, he doesn't actually blame her
he remembers Tristan's reaction to the very same request only a few days prior - after asking him to stay home from the hunt which tracked down the very traitorous Garou that took a chunk out of the prettyboibesides.... given the running roster of kinfolk that hang around the Eagles, the Fostern probably wouldn't know what to do with a cousin that simply sat down and took orders without at least some form of protest... he's actually built up quite an intollerance for that sort of weak simpering
"Fairly well." the words are soft, somber now, instead of smokily hazed "Dun' lose lives.... but.... sac'fices w're may."
words chosen carefully once inside
quickly ushered towards one of the back booths for semblance of privacy
(is it for their benefit, or sheltering other patrons from his Rage?)
trench and beanie stripped away to form a pillow at the inside of his bench
obviously relaxing as the eaterie's warmth seeps into his lanky frame
dark eyes skimming the menu with another smooth change of subject"Nev'r been a this place 'fore.... wha's good?"
(yuli)
It might have been the first words they ever exchanged that prompted her to like him more then others. First Impressions... You need help?... Nyet ... wih no more pressure beyond and no overwhelming need to protect what didn't ask for it. She knew her limits. That was what mst didn't realize.... when she needed it, she'd ask. Unlike a certain bald headed fuck who gave her the walking victim white girl lecture... and promptly became audience to her brand of protection. Few in Skid bothered her now... a few of those thugs bled to death for fear of getting involved after the 'victim' laid them out.Gives that ghost of a not entirely comforting smile, which too often smirked of frowned then truly smiled as she headed back to the booth chosen, and fur trimmed club jacket was slid off to show a few more marks and a cropped baby tee and tight jeans. Not armed for once. Unusual.
"Is often such things... is nature of life."
Menu not even grabbed because she knew what she liked, but didn't know if injured cousin had the same sort of toelrance. Lips curved to a smirk and she nodded.
"Kung Pao Chucken... much spive... very warming."
(james)
"Nature a bein' a BeeGee."countered softly, even with something of a smile
born and bred Hood, James was exceedingly familiar with sacrifice
quite often deliberately going himself without so others could have
it's just that sometimes.... some sacrifices hurt more than othershe doesn't miss the addition of marks her shed jacket reveals
nor the strange absence of obvious weaponry from her form
that earns another raised brow moving curiously across his forhead
slightly more obvious now sans hat on its climb towards the frame of heavy dreads
though yet again - the Ahroun knows better than to comment
easily segueing the expression into one of interest
the other brow joining it's partner in a concert of curiosity
that might even be a vaguely playful challenge in answer to her smirk"Spice'? Y'r on."
mostly gloved hand raising to wave the waitress back over
(yuli)
They could have more in common then many would realize, and if either ever really shared. Until recently, with decadent Shadowlord winnowing her way in among things, Yuliya had built her life around her work, for family, tribe and more... in her skewed way, turning personality and skills to where it was useful. If she demanded something beyond the usual treatment, she din't think it wrong.The world was changing... and the trueborn were fewer. They'd have to change their ways someday.
But its far from her mind, settling in with relaxed mode and the playful challenge set with a nod, sending thick hair usually so wild to bobbing. She deliver's an order of the spicy favorite and fried rice and...amazingly.. tea and glances at James.
"Test constitution then? Mine is iron..."
Nods sagely and gives a low chuckle. Facets emerging she lets few see. Just another mark of respect she didn't see threat in him anymore.
(james)
after the order, the petit waitress glances at the Ahroun
he's mouthing the word water before she can escape
palms flattening together to support his begging plea which he pretends to hide
pretty damned sure he's in for a run for his money
street performer's easy wink thrown back to Yuli's deepening smirk at his antics
allowing the good mood to stay with him while it lasts
(for they all know how quickly things can change for the worst)"We'll fin' out if mi'e is." laughed, softly (nervously?) "D'nno if livin' wi' Liv'ngst'n's cookin' advent'res th' las' year prep me f'r this." head tilts, and a brow lifts again - mobile, they are "So what'm I owin' yeh if I lose? Oth'r'n the tab?"
(yuli)
Finds the situation potential inwardly hilarious and settles back in the seat more, still working some kinks out of the muscles as she streched a bit and then relaxed, giving the other plenty of room to manuever. Could distinctly remember the trials of injuries in the past. Wink garners a throaty chuckle, amused for the moment but then moment to moment was best. Mercurial at best most days. And she wasn't fool enough to think the attacks were done, just a eye in the storm."I'm a terrible cook, os it was learn to stomach it, or starve."
Despite the thick accent, her language smoothing out and she releases another level of the high built facade. Was she fluent? Glancing up as water and tea arrived and making to pour, offering him some silently, just a dark raised in question. She found the idea she might best this playful challenge interesting.
"Does it concern you?"
(james)
the frosty Russian kinfolk, reserved and recovering from whatever seditious fun she enjoyed last night
the Yankee Fostern Ahroun, easy going and gimped from the Caern battle nights ago
both settling down to a battle of taste buds and constitutions in ChinaTown
how is this not inwardly hysterical?
it's obvious that James finds a great deal of amusement in this
simply being able to enjoy a game, however breif it may be
packed up with a bunch of Get, a Gnawer has to take what he can for fun"Live' on th' streets up 'til groupin' up wi' Eagles, used t' eatin' wh'tev'r is I c'n fin'."
excuse offered on the tails of an affirming nod
doing his part to move his cup within pouring distance
the sound of falling fluid joined by another softly growled laugh
sadly, relaxed as he is around her, his accent and slur will never clarify
one born into him, the other result of a traitorous Fang"Nuh.... jus' wond'rin' th' stakes a our li'l game."
(yuli)
Tea poured and she took a careful sip, needing something hot and non alcoholic for a bit, especially if it was a battle of the spice tolerance. Its practically assured she'll resettle into the cold and more forbidding manner at some point in the not too dstant future but for now relaxing, recovering. Besides, he was amusing and at least interesting. No overwhelming amounts of any irritating traits."Stakes? Hmmm... hadn't considered it. I just liked the pride point of perhaps outdoing a cousin in food tolerances."
Its another throaty chuckle and smirking. She never really smiles, does she. She supposed some rival or enemy could always shoot out the restaurant, but she had felt it unlikely enough to not worry about heavier weapons then her own body for a bit. Less weight to carry... guns and more were heavy.
(james)
his tea is held beneath his face for a few moments
allowing the steam to wash up and defrost the lingering chill from his flesh
spices working their magic to cease the minor, weather-induced sniffles
a slow sip follows, thermal dynamics working their way down his throat
James will never get sick or come down with a case of strep throat
but body working overtime on healing sure makes a fellow dry
this time, when the soft laughter rumbles predatory out of his throat
it's enriched by the loosened vocal cords dropping tones pleasently"Braggin' righ's, huh?" a lopsided grin to counter her ever-present smirk "Think y'alrea'y have 'em where drink' concern'."
dark eyes wandering to strafe across the table mid-admission
it's a well-known fact amongst the pack that the Gnawer can't drink worth a shit
up until now it had been a secret in Chicago - oh well"But I c'n han'le tha'."
further conversation cut short by the arrival of their food
(yuli)
Its an oddity of her nature, to like tea, maybe a surprise to many who knew her from business, from the street and more, but drinking it lightly, letting heat waf over her face in the steam, inhaling scent and warming inside and out. That lift of a brow, amused smirk, not entrely hostile, but perhaps he knew that. He's seen her at her worst, and now, in one of her better points."Always a good thing, if minor. And drinking... its a Russian's sport, da."
His may be bad, but her's is practically genetic. Besides, with Sputnik for a cousin, in more then merely Tribe, it stood to reason. Giving the waitress a look and food deposited on the table dishes herself some of the fried rice and spicy Kung Pao chicken. Pulled a pair of chopsticks over, cracking them open with a chuckle and eyed him.
"Sure you can... shall we?"
Like some joke of manners, taking a happy bite.
(stam comparison: yuli 4, james 3... seems she wins this round)
(james)
"Woul'n' be th' firs' time a cous'n best'd me."shot back with another easy grin
it shines upon another facet of James' mentality
he's well aware women, children, and even kinfolk can excell past him in some arenas
big bad Warriors of Gaia are not the best in everything
egos last a lot longer when one can willingly accept that fact
and it seems to be something the Ahroun actually promotes
perhaps it is something from his Hood and Frankenweiler peppered childhood
the acknowledgement that each and every being has an element of value
or maybe something along the way cemented the opinionthat warm smile is turned on the waitress just before she scurries away
leaning forward to give the spiced aromas a few tentative sniffs
(what did you get yourself into, Jamey-boy?)
his own chopsticks removed from their sanitary package
then a stretch allowing the lengths of wood to click together in mockery's toast to her joke of manners
a deliberate pause to gulp down a few mouthfuls of water
then the Ahroun hopes that the Tribal trademark of inHALING food will be on his sideit's a serious question of whether or not tried and true Bone Gnawers actually chew their food
raised on the street with the others of the Albany Sept, James is used to scrapping for his food
eating it before someone else had the chance to kipe it away
this time, he hopes to eat fast enough so that the spices don't catch up with him
(Gaia forbid what will happen once that food hits his stomach)
amazingly enough, he does not come off as a glutton or slob
simply systematically wolfing his food down faster than really seems possibleat least... up until he's about three-quarters the way through his plate
seems the spices could catch up with him
and when they did, they packed a helluva punch
the plate's pushed aside and one near panting Ahroun is concentrating on the healing properties of that tea
resigned to cleaning up whatever of the rice she does not(yuli)
For her part? Enjoys the spice laden scent immensely, it having become a staple of her diet recently, when she was too tired or too busy to cook or find another food source in Chinatown. She wasn't complaining. Her youtha good deal different, where her family tried to shelter a growing girl from the Syndicate many were invovled with. She'd quite nearly insisted on being allowed to work for them too... and became one of the youngest to move as fars as she had, and a women to boot. Whole nother dimension then her dining partner, if moving in similar environments at times.Chopsticks dip into the red pepper covered dish adn took a hearty bite, chew swallow, and repeat. Not much of an overt reaction though if James watches she avoids eating the whole red peppers. They could literally burn the skin off someone if not careful. That may have been his problem. Pushing the rice dish his way when he paused and went into tea drinking for the burn, she smiled. Less smirk, not quite a normal person's friendliness but it was an effort.
"These peppers? The whole ones hold all the seeds cooked enough to release the spice... can burn quite literally... maybe I should have mentioned that."
Her smirked chuckle and took a drink of her tea, trying not to laugh at the bested Ahroun. Her next bite did include one of the whole peppers though, more to rpove she could do it, but she knew her limits it would seem... few more making it into her mouth as she finished up more chicken.
(james)
he has the grace to don a look of complete and utter shock to her little clue
going so far as to allow his jaw to drop and actually gape
aghast she would withhold such information
though he holds it about as long as he did his constitution against the killer peppers
expression melting into a wayward grin at her sly smile"Yeh.... good t' know." he's trying to summon a glare, but it's not working around the constantly gulped water and tea "'ll make a poin' a 'member tha' nex' time."
and never has rice tasted so. fucking. good.
it does an amazing number on soaking up the psychotic aftertaste of peppers from his tongue
she can see he doesn't mean to be rude and bogart the rice
but this plate? the Fostern finishes in record time
desperate to salvage at least one of his tastebuds from the brink of extinction
tempting the will to live back into them with another dose of tea(yuli)
Just chuckles as she eats, not bothered in the least he plows through rice with a vicious will to live. She'd made the same mistake once... just once was enough, though she tested it rather often. Pointing one choptick at him as she chewed and swallowed the last bite of hers and settled back comfortably."I did say I came here often. Live nearby. Its easier then some awful fastfood place. At least here I know whats in the meat... rat, cat dog, chicken..."
Gives another chuckle, and sets her chopsticks aside to drink soem tea and relax. A better meal then most, because it had been amusing, downright hilarious.
(james)
"Hey nah..... rat, cat, dog, chick'n.... tha' I c'n han'le. Ev'n oth'r less rec'niz'ble stuff. Those pepp'rs 'r downrigh' mean."but through it all, yes, James is still smiling
(and, possibly, tearing)
even if he feels the ability to breath flames coming on
he'll admit the meal was damn good
worth what he'll suffer not being able to taste for daysby now, he's turned (gingerly) sideways on his side of the booth
propping his feet on the benchseat and using winter warms as a backrest
pack of smokes withdrawn from one of the many pockets
a Camel held in idle consideration of lighting it with the five alarm fire in his mouth
rather than the conventional Zippo waiting on deck
that, however, would turn a few heads even with a ready explanation at hand
so he'll stick with convention
box and lighter set on the table between them in silent offer
the ashtray soon joining to remain within easy reachand you can be he's liberally washing down the nicoteine that's coating his tongue, still
(yuli)
"You'll live and be better for it... makes you feel better... Misha did it to me once too."Reference to her rather irritable cousin and it doesn't come limned in angry pissivity. She's just too comfortable to care right now. Settling back and reaching for the smokes and lghter, getting one good and smoking for herself too and nodding a silent thanks.
Somedays it was the little things that made it worth it. No remrse for having failed to mention the pepers, just amusement. Knew he was good naturedly whining, which was more then most would say, butthen she wouldn't have shared so much easily like this with many others.
"You're good entertainment James. Makes for good mealtime."
(james)
"Yeh.... make a man outta me'n put hair'n my ches' 'n all tha', righ'?"the quip punctuated by negligent wave his hand
smoke scissored between two fingers drawing lazy trail in the air
though her last comment gets a soft bark of laughter
deep umber eyes pulling away from crowd watching to level on hers"I'd hope so. Earn m' keep en'ertainin' people on th' street corn'rs."
(yuli)
"I don't think hair on your chest is a problem."Another chuckle and imagining that any Garou might worry about that just makes her laugh more. A few moments to compose, drink some more tea and take another long drag, dark eyes falling over to meet his gaze. She didn't seem offset by it much, whether the Rage just trickled past her or she had some tolerance built up to that too... she was just a ballsy sort.
"Like Tristan... I do some work on streetcorners but its not entertaining."
(james)
"Mi' be wh'n I rip this tape off..."muttered, mostly
Tristan bandaged him up but good
showing the medical tape absolutely no quarter
and excess be damned!otherwise, she's right
no Garou in their right mind would have to worry about it
much less relying on brutal peppers to make a man out of them
her even meet of his gaze met with nothing more than a smile
appears he's used to kinfolk that can look at him without turning away
seems, more importantly, that he prefers it
much easier to hold a conversation that way
with someone meeting your gaze instead of studying your toes"Yeh." nodded, then chin lifts to blow smoke rings at the ceiling "Drum.... c'mpare a his vi'lin. We all do wh' it take'."
there's a lot of interpretations that could come out of her work on streetcorners
but James doesn't expand on it, or pass judgement on what it could be(yuli)
She relied on the impressions people made of her, on the streets. Where most assumed her some thug or gang's bitch, helped at times by Sputnik, or a hooker, or dealer... few knew the full truth and she preferred it. Her customers came from higher levels of crime then the streets."Not one to do instruments... sounds interesting though. Have to se you both perform sometime."
The smirk resides, and she enjoys another bit of a nic fix briefly as she thought over things.
(james)
"Y'u'll 'ave a wai' t' hear me play." returned with a soft, and perhaps sad, smile "Los' my stick' at th' school."once more, the Fostern is choosing words fit for public ears
clear enough that in another time and place perhaps there's a story to be told
what legends may come of a green Fenrir Cliath hurling himself at the enemy
but now isn't the time to admit his rebar sticks currently reside in the skull cavity of one monster mofo of a bane
lost somewhere in a closed pit leading straight to Malfeas itselfhe's oft pondered, incompletely, whether or not he actually wants them back even if it were plausible to have salvaged them
by then, the cigarette has burnt itself down to the speckled orange filter
a smooth movement of muscular forarm twists to stub it in the tray
even flow continues to swipe the check from the edge of the table
enough cash plus tip dug from the depths of another nameless pocket"Said yeh live nearby, righ'?" brow raised in question "So dun' need a split a cab 'r th' El 'r nothin'?"
now, it's obvious her independant streak is a mile wide
practically half the Garou in the city witnessed it in the abandoned subway station
so the phrasing was chosen more as courtesy than concern
pretty sure she can take care of herself
but more than aware she arrived unarmed
his way of making the offer and still leaving room for decline with neither of them losing face(yuli)
"In time..."Each had their own tales and told them when they found reaosn or chance. She usually preferred a reason to delve the secrets of her past out. Finishing her own cigarette not long after him she snubbed it out in the tray and then drained off the rest of her tea. By then the waitress had left the bill and fortune cookies. Handing him one she worked her own open.
"No... its a few minutes walk. I'm good. You?"
Of course she'd offer right back as if any Garou might need a kinfolk to follow them back home, but he's easy going and she's kinda funny like that. She might refrain in common sense with a few others but was reasonably sure he wouldn't fly off the handle.
(james)
her offer doesn't get him to fly off the handle
in fact, it gets him to share another of those soft, rumbling laughs"Hm-mm." oddly, that came from behind the tipped up glass of water, fancy that... he's still going at it, glass set down in exchange for his fortune cookie and wry smile. "Y'r bragg'n' righ's dun' include witness' me bur'in' m'sel' inna snowdrif' a put out th' las' a tha' burn."
seems he appreciated the gesture
even if they both know it's probably unnecessary
(.... probably. you never know)
limbs untangling to extract himself from the temporary haven of the booth
tattered patchwork trench unpillowed and shrugged onto deceptively strong shoulders
dreads arranged into some symphony of organized tangles
smokes and Zippo reclaimed from the mess of empty dishes scattered between them
fortune cookie tucked safely into a pocket for the ride back to Eagle territory
beanie folded into the palm of one hand, the other reaches out to offer a shake"Thank', Yul'ya. 'joyed it."
funny that: the Fostern Ahroun who not only paid for the meal (dinner? breakfast? does it matter to Gnawers?) but got himself whupped by it, is thanking the kinfolk
maybe it was just for the simple pleasure of her company throughout a shared meal
maybe it was just for the fun found in their spur of the moment game that put a bright spot in their grim reality
maybe it was just for the fact that James is a polite boy that remembers his manners
whatever it was for, he doesn't explain
just flashes another grin and turns to walk back into the chilly nightPosted by james at 12:00 AM.01.14.04. - dr. doolittle's kodak moment [tristan-kennedy][riverfront]
(kennedy)
A small image swirls in large circles over and over the warehouse district. The looming density of thick clouds sets a hazy blur before the frigid ball of feathers. Flying in snow was not a pleasant thing. No wonder birds flew south for the winter.The gleaming luster of something draws the pied crow's attention. Keen eyes alert for someone or something moving down below, it begins to make tighter, sharper circles, divebombing through the streets.
(tristan)
He’s still chuckling.
He saluted her.
That’s an image he just isn’t going to get out of his head anytime soon. He’s glad he didn’t have Kemp with him – well, only partially glad, as that boys mouth running a mile a minute would have added even more amusement to the scene. However, as hard as they’d end up laughing, while it’d do them all good, it’d most certainly pull apart many wounds and hurt just as badly.He’s shivering now, lacking one layer that he gave to the Soldier to keep warm. Right arm hooked around belly, hand underneath the half open zipper to help keep the shoulder motionless, hair a flyaway disarray in the stylish “longer then regulation sir!” conglomeration of curls, bag o’booze still carried in left hand, a bit lighter now due to early liberation of a long neck while waiting to deliver Roxanne’s package. Headed back toward the warehouse where he’ll get to use his shiny new key!
(james)
the Ahroun had slept - like. the. dead.
the first stretch of waking reminded him that, perhaps, that would be preference
Garou healing abilities aside, that shit still STUNG
but at least it's not bleeding anymore
thanks to his brother's medical assistance
(never going to live that shower down, Jamey-boy)dreads tangled in further disarray of classic "bed head"
the Gnawer finds his way into a pair of nearby (thank Gaia!) sweats
elastic around the cuffs long gone, the waistband probably in need of repair
but they're good enough to stay on his hips
precarious as the situation may be
a collection of steps tangled enough to give his dreads a run for their money leads him towards the big bay doors
half-burnt votive plucked out of the shadowy darkness
the parrafin preserved candle is held in hands cupped classic of a palm-bong
breath exhales in slow concentration to jump-start his Cardboard Palace rite of beautiful warmththat done.... it's a long journey back to the island of domesticity hiding his pack of cigarettes
(kennedy)
Another turn through the streets, beating quickly in time with accelerated heart rate to keep the blood flow pounding through the small, feathered body. Two more circled swoops, this time directly Tristan's head. The bird cawed out, zipping right over that mop of curls. Its head turned back to look at him, not realizing where it was flying towards...There is a resounding wet slap of feather-duster as the pied crow collides right into a thick wall of snow and into the bay doors of the warehouse.
(tristan)
Steps are faster. It’s bloody well COLD out here – and all he can do is hope the next move, whenever that should be, is someplace warmer. He said he’d follow James anywhere, but man, he’d love some heat. Even 50 degrees. That’d be nice. Bag is hefted once, and he continues toward the warehouse, his thoughts calming from his mirth, sliding ruthlessly back again to paths tonight’s meeting had given him some respite from.James will find his bloodied (and...other stuff) pack has disappeared (who’d want to smoke that anymore anyway?) and a fresh unopened pack is in it’s place. He didn’t quite make it back to have a meal ready in time when he woke, but he’ll make up for it when he gets there. After all – he has beer!
About this time, he’s all but divebombed by a flying circling thing that turns around to look at him and SMACKS into the bare doors. “FUCK!” oh. that was eloquent, wasn’t it. A blink, and he’s headed toward the poor bird that’s run into the doors... cautiously, one never knows with birds, but if it’s knocked itself silly, he’ll at least bring it inside to warm and wake up...
(james)
he's steeled himself for the first three steps
by now, the wounds must be nothing more than thick scabs over tender muscle
save the deepest of each pretty picture which is still nicely and actively nerved
(...ow)
but the freakin' bandages that stuck are pulling loose with each movement
it's enough to put a look of distaste on even the most strong stomached of Gnawers
no matter how valiant the effort an arm makes to support the belly wraphead snaps around as the feathery WHACK! slaps into the snow outside
a moment (or seven) taken to allow the sound ("FUCK!") to filter in and translate.... the hell?
a few skiply steps towards the more manageable door on grinding hinges
groggily peeking outside into the rather unforgiving cold
and witnessing his kinsman's wary creep"Tris...?"
deep umber eyes swinging (slowly) to pinpoint the source of his quest
(.... stupid bird)(kennedy)
A garbled caw erupts from the bird's open beak. Wet and frazzled, it looked rather on the lean side. Wings furl and unfurl along its small body, head shaking vigorously as it tries to gain some balance to stand up, wobbling and shivering.(tristan)
He’s watching the bird, though head turns as the door opens and he gives a patented. “you should be resting..” (yes mom!) before chuckling and tosses a wink that way. Head turns and he nods toward the poor bird trying to stand. “Damn thing dive bombed me – could swear it turned it’s head to do a double take before it crashed. Gonna bring it inside if it’ll let me... looks nigh frozen...”His voice is soft, as he gets close to the bird. “Hey now, not gonna hurt you... just bring you inside so that you can warm up, allright?” Course, the bird can’t understand him (....right?) but maybe the tone is enough as he carefully sets aside the bag o booze, unbuttons his coat and shakes it off, before reaching toward the bird, hands protected inside the folds of the coat (he hopes)
Yes, apparently, he moms birds now too.
(james)
a brow..... lifts
perhaps in retort to the lecturing look
perhaps in acknowledgement of what the bird seemed to do
perhaps in.... some reaction.... to Tristan's newest job at mothering"Woul'n be th' firs' time." muscular shoulder leaning against the door frame, quite cold against bare skin "Jus' toss y'r coat ov'r it. Th'n yeh c'n pikkit up."
(kennedy)
The crow emits a soft hiss from its beak, a white patch at the base of its neck, signifies the species easily for those in the knowledge of avian subspecies of corvids. Its body does nothing more than fluff up to look threatening. The head bobs back and forth, still dazed by the slap into the wall. Tristan gets the coat tossed over it, protected by sharp claws and a pecking beak to pick it up.(tristan)
Just in a tattered (stained) thermal now, he’s shivering again, but he’s determined in it’s quest. That had to have hurt like hell, even for a bird. Of course, Decker will give him hell about it later, but he’ll move the little thing to the Garage before then.... of hopefully it’ll shake it off once warmed... “Yeah, s’what I hope....” and he tosses the coat (ow) and captures the bird.There’s a smirk of triumph as he wraps up the crow (not that he’d know anything about avian subspecies of anything, let alone corvids) and picks it up cradling it in his left arm against his chest as he stands and grabs his bag with the right. Turning, he makes his way toward the door held open by his brother, blowing a playful kiss his way as he scoots by with his burdens into the blessed warmth of the warehouse... “I know, I know, I’m a hopeless sap...” in regards to this new wriggling burden...
(james)
breath huffs out in a mocking - but amused - snort
locking the screeching door behind his brother
making a slow shadow of himself back to the island of domesticity"G'nna star' callin' yeh Dr. Dooli'le."
Tristan's pack found (huzzah!) and a camel lit up
James makes himself useful by searching out a small box for the bird(kennedy)
The new wiggling burden freaked out for the first few minutes while entrapped inside the coat. The sound of voices seem to quiet the crow down, listening to familiar tones. The crow settles down, fluffed out, yet calm.(tristan)
He chuckles as he sets the bag down on the table. “I’ve been called worse, and I at least bring home beer too with my latest wayward ‘kid’....” Pause, and then his grin grows as he sinks to sit on the couch. “Least I didn’t bring home the delivery I was left watching until Roxanne could get someone to pick him up and bring him to her place earlier... think Decker would have shit sideways....” mused lightly as he continues to cradle the bird.“That’a girl... ain’t gonna hurt you...” And after she calms, he carefully makes sure wings are kept in the coat, under his hands, as he unwraps his bundle enough to see if the crow is truly hurt or just dazed... “Some garou dropped off another guy – said he was a delivery for Roxanne. This dude was like – Full Metal Jacket all the way, though with the innocence of a child. Total Soldier – in fact, that’s what he said to call him.” While he talks, fingers are stroking light over feathers, checking for injuries as bet he can without getting pecked and without letting the bird get a chance to fly away from his hold. “Chloe shows up to take him home, and you’da though he never seen a woman before – she told him to take a picture and he saluted her and said ‘Reporting for duty Sir! but I have no photography equipment sir!’ and I near pissed myself laughing....”
A laugh that was definitely needed at the time. In fact, the pretty boy seems a bit better then before, for having laughed, and having another charge to take care of...
(kennedy)
The crow looks more dazed than actually hurt. Once the coat was pulled aside, it wings stretched out, under the scrutinizing eyes of Tristan. For sucha wild creatures the bird appears a little docile. Its head tilts up, twin pools of fathomless black depths.(james)
yet again, that brow makes a trip towards the frame of excessively tangled dreads
pausing mid-clean of a shoe(boot?)box for a make-shift bed
the Ahroun is donning one of those..... "mmmkay" looks
though not a sound escapes around the Camel clenched between his teetha few measured steps later
the shoe/boot box slides onto the couch
nest made out of a mooostly clean shirt
(doubt the bird comes pottytrained)
and he extracts the cig to flick it into a nearby ashtray
brows pointedly furrowing"Y'mean s'me Univ'rs'l Sold'r turn up 'n star'd snappin' off s'lutes?" his head shakes with a low chuckle (no guffaws for you, Jamey-boy) glancing at the cradled bird "Star'n a noh get surprise by th's city..." and his head tips, in thought "Remin' me a Kenn'dy."
(tristan)
He nods, chuckling. “S’what I mean alright... was hysterical. Had I brought him home and he started saluting Decker, I think you me n kemp woulda busted something wide open again laughing – cuz I can just see Decker’s face... – and I agree. Very little would surprise me here anymore... and we thought there was plenty of trouble to get into in Jersey...”“Thanks...” He grins up at him and takes the box, setting it on the coffee table as he continues to stroke her feathers, soft and gleaming. “Don’t think she’s hurt, just dazed...” He slides his hands under the crow, tenderly, and transfers her to the box with the mostly clean shirt to soften the blow.. “there y’go, girl..” pause, brow arches... “Kennedy?” He’s gotten pretty good at filling in the missing vowels, but he doesn’t remember a Kennedy...
(kennedy)
Beady black eyes became narrow slits, its head tilting down to enjoy more of the petting. The name 'kennedy' seems to perk the crow's interest. Its head lifts up to stare at James, soft cawing noise rumbled from its throat.(james)
weight sinks a slow and easy path down onto the couch
gesturing absently with his right hand
smoke scissored between inded and middle finger
though he makes sure it blows away from the recovering crow"Yeh.... Corax. 'n Get kin to boot." the closer left hand reaches over and runs a finger gently over the top of the bird's head, absently scritching, in response to it's sudden attention on him "She sor'a drop in durin' a ware'ouse raid back'n Jersey. Help 's out quite a bi'."
(kennedy)
The crow's head dips down, pressing into its chest, its eyes roll close in pure pleasure. The wings spread out to stretch and resettle along its back. A soft crooning chirps in its beak. Slowly, the crow begins to bob back and forth from one clawed foot to the other.(tristan)
he watches the way James lowers himself to the couch, a quick drag of his gaze over his brother checking the bandages, and any seepage that may need taken care of before he lets him sleep again, before flashing a bit of a grin at him, and turns attention to the crow once more. “Corax... heard stories about them, never seen one live. Course, if this lil gal suddenly shifts up on me I think I’m diving over the back of the couch. Petting one girl once or twice is one thing – but another that might peck out my eyes, even though it was innocent is an entire ‘nother thing...”A warehouse raid. Flicker of something, but it’s resolutely pushed away again. He’ll think of all that again later when he can cry on Dustin without shame. Right now, his fingers just smooth over wings now laid calmly against her back, chuckling at her antics. “Think she likes you..”
(james)
there's a low chuckle out of the Ahroun
more of a gently crooning growl, really
his attention is on the bird - so he doesn't catch Tristan's inner wince
the last of the smoke finished
and his finger leaves feathers in a sloooooow stretch to stub the camel out in the nearby tray
he's not seeping anymore - but things are still tender while bandages stick
a long, hot shower should clear that up nicelybut not yet
right now he's gingerly settling back against the comfort of the couch"Think we all 'mos' shit oursel's wh'n she in'erduce herself. I dun' see'r shif'." no.... James was cut down by automatic fire at the time "But hear' it w's s'meth'n' else." fond tones at the memory, and the bird's cooing reaction to his touch "Good kid."
(tristan)
“I’ll bet it was... Hell, just watching you guys shift still gets me.” Grinned, well aware it was just yesterday his jaw dropped to see Decker snap to crinos. No matter the reason, he’d never see the get that way – it was certainly something, alright. Pause.. “Like Isa – says he’s bastet... ever hearda them too? Hell.. the stories I heard always made them seem like fairy tales. You all were the reality, everything else just a story. Course, if one can do it, who’s to say another can’t, right?”Still mostly idle musing as he reaches into the bag, grabbing a beer for them each, and handing one to his brother.
(kennedy)
The beak clicks, as the crow chirps happily. Shaking itself free of the daze, it bobs its body up and down a few times. One claw set in front of the other as it starts to hop out of the box and towards James.The crow becomes more active, spreading its wings out to beat them in the air. It gains some air, fluttering up to land on James' head.
(james)
bed head tangled dreads had pillowed beneath his head
it allows for a curious brow to lift (again) when the bird hops towards him
fingers moving to form a perch.... though it bypasses and goes for his skullat least he planned to take a shower soon
"Shit on m' head 'n we're havin' corn'sh hen f'r breakf's'." casually cautioning the corax, though he doesn't move otherwise save a miniscule nod "Yeh, knew one'n Newar'. Bag'eera, s'pose'ly."
(tristan)
He can’t help but laugh as the crow perches on James’ head. “oh she definitely likes you...” and he leans forward to grab pack and lighter, lighting a cigarette before he’s leaning back to sit comfortably (mostly – shift position, ease shoulder, wrap arm around waist.... better.)“best behave” cautioned the crow “as I’d planned on bacon and eggs, but I change that menu...” even as he chuckles and shakes his head looking at James... “Now that, brother mine, is a kodak moment..”
(kennedy)
Wings fluff out to flap a few times, before smoothing out along its back. The crow steps from side to side on James' head, bobbing up and down. Its beak starts to pluck at the unruly dreads to rearrange them.(james)
an indescribable look slants towards his brother"Thank Gaia we dun' have a cam'ra...."
rather.... dryly
though admittedly the Ahroun is rather amused at the situation himself(tristan)
He chuckles and shakes his head, that boyish grin in full force there... “Gonna have to remedy that if the recipient of my random acts of kindness is going to continue to make a nest out of your dreads...”He promised not to tease him about the shower until he was healed enough to smack him for it – but he said nothing about... this...
(kennedy)
The crow continues to play hair dresser with James' head, meticulously rearranging the dreads in a nest-like fashion.(james)
there's a partial scowl
though it tends to lean towards the (forever) lopsided beginnings of a grin"Laugh ih up, boy" snarled in mock ferocity "Wai'll she fig'rs y'r curls 'r sof'er...."
arms lift in a slow stretch, careful of that healing flank wound, to gently cup and lift the bird off his head
enough is enough, really
strong perch for little feet made out of calloused fingers"Think she' feelin' bett'r nah."
(tristan)
He laughs though he tries to look afraid at that growl (when we all know what reaction it really gets..) and he wrinkles his nose, chuckling. “I’ll have t’put my hat on, I think...” He smiles at the bird, and nods. “Yeah, think so too. Musta just knocked herself silly a bit when hitting that door.” He knows he’ll have to put her out before Decker finds the bird here. The Modi has limits to his tolerance, after all.(kennedy)
The crow squawks loudly in protest, beating its wings wildly. It hisses at James, tiny claws cut into the ahroun's strong hands to balance itself. The wings continue to beat harder, lowerings its body, it suddenly pushes off his fingers to fly away from.(james)
brows furrow as tiny claws dig into his fingers
he does his best to not simply crush the bird in reflex
hands moving to salvage the stylish tangle of dreads post-bird
definitely un-nesting their arrangement"Yeh.... def'ni'ly bett'r."
(tristan)
He can’t help the laughter, almost forgotten smoke suffering last drag before he stamps it out in the tray, left hand reaching over to pluck a dread from the nest and let it fall back into place. “I am so gonna get me a camera...” teased... pause.. “right after I get a damn phone. I swear, I’m a regular message boy in this here town.” Head shakes, amused, though they both know he loves most every moment of it.Dark gaze slides up to follow the birds path, idly wondering just how he’s gonna get her out of here now that she’s taken flight. The rest figuring that the answer will come to him eventually, one way or the other...
(kennedy)
The crow flies two rounds across the length of the warehouse, seeking out a place to land. It finds a high perch to settle on out of reach of being grabbed.Posted by james at 12:00 AMJanuary 09, 2004.01.09.04. - the cost of sacrifice [eagles-unicorn-bane tender] *sd conclusion[caern]
(mark)
Normally, the students in the facility before them would be just winding down. The younger kids would be crawling into beds, while the older plotted to break curfew. All snug inside the well-lighted warmth of the dormitories.But not tonight. St. Patrick's Boarding School stood as abandoned as one could imagine. Moreso than Christmas Break. A few meetings with the few remaining Walker Kin had seen to the absence of not only the students on the extended break.. but the maintenence staff as well. Despite the fact that the 'extended break' was officially due to downtime maintenence due a freak storm, the costodians had been sent him as well. Thankfully, all of the Kin had not vacated the positions infested bawn..
It was before the deserted structure that his facetted blues gazed. They shone from the reflection of Luna's barely waning moon, just on the cusp of the flow from full to Gibbous. The pale light thrummed like a burning creshendo through heart, mind, body, and soul. A harsh exhalation, and he turned to face those he stood with, with the protest of leather, and the soft shuffle of athletic shoes.
His packmates he needed not to look to see, he felt them pounding though his blood as much as saw them with his gaze.
When all were gathered he turned, his voice sounding like a creshendo blast of bass, accompanied by the chill frost, like a horn of war, "Alright, we're ready to roll. Nobody's home, so it's pretty straightforward at this point. Straight to the caern. Let the theurges and the tender," who he didn't know all that well, "do their thing,"
His brow furrowed, "Even though this is now ours, after the raid led by the Eagles, best keep your eyes open make sure no rats have slipped in after. Questions? Comments? Now's the time,"
(leroy)
Questions? Comments? This caused LeRoy's lids a flurry of blinks. Finally cracking a grin, glancing back only briefly towards Nelly and the Strider gal behind him. "Um yeah..we goin'n puffered up" His body even seemed to swell as he emphasized his question, hand sliding out through the air with his next query brought to him "Or incognito as is?"(nelly)
She could not understand how a boarding school as noted as St.Patrick's could be vacated with a simple phonecall. But, leave it to those she could not understand, the Glasswalkers, to pull of a stunt like that.Questions? She had a billion of them aching to be answered. Glancing up to LeRoy, the corners of her mouth raised in a smirk. Then her hand raised, "Um... and is Faith our only Theurge here?" cocking a blonde brow towards her.
(caern)
It's cloudy tonight. Frigidly cold, well below freezing, they could only be thankful that it wasn't snowing, or worse. The loose gathering of Garou - which would be called small by the students of this school, whose most popular cliques might include twice their number, but would be called large by any Sept in these desperate days - stand in the shadow of the Gothic doorways. Those who had a pack stood with their own. Those who did not, stood alone.To the side, keeping to themselves, the Rotagar Alpha and Modi of the Eagle pack. One who watched Mark intently with bright blue eyes. The other who stood with his hands in his pockets, head down, nodding once with a slight sniff.
Beside Mark stood the much-vaunted Bane Tender, brought in from afar to aid in this. She was a small woman, but sturdily built, with Native American features. Though her face is unlined, her hair is greying to betray her age. Her eyes are deepset and keen, and very dark as they pass over the gathered Garou one by one.
They say she is an Adren. To her wise and tried eyes, many of these Garou must seem like children. Her demeanor is calm and unruffled, totally confident. Of all of them, she might be the only one who thinks this will actually work.
"I am a Theurge," she replies to Nelly Bell. "As long as I am here, you need not fear."
Just hope that's the truth.
(mark)
"Aside from the Tenderrhya," he nodded at the creepy Native American woman(faith)
'Broken' is how she felt. The higher aspect of herself surging upward with elation, and the lower dropped to the bottom of her spirit like shattered pieces of mirror. Not the best state of mind to be going to battle in, normally, but she seemed no different than her normal self - save maybe a little quieter. To her packmates, her thoughts were a low hum of anxiety and tension - due to the oncoming battle, of course - but otherwise she was careful to keep her head as clear as she could. No one knew how deep her thoughts went, though perhaps one could guess. Faith wasn't about to shed a tear; she'd ball everything up and drive it against the taint of this caern - hell, nothing much left to lose. Might as well.
Faith, her hair pulled back into a tight knot behind her head, looked to the facade of the school, eyes crackling with green fire.
"Nice to know I'm not headed into this all by my lonesome." She murmured, glancing to the Bane Tender. Faith's a little uncertain about her abilities as a Theurge to begin with. To say she doubted her skill would be enough to do anything about this... would be a dramatic understatement.(james)
dark eyes watch Smashing Machine from beneath the bandana tying back long dreads
trenchcoat left at home, he's down to a set of thermals and faded BDUs over his boots
cold as ALL fucking hell - but at least it's liveable and dedicated
the barely past full moon high above does a bit more to keep him warm
his head ticks to the side, symbolizing a shake"Y'r th' boss."
shoulders roll, and his gaze distances a little
centering himself just before the distant wind echoes raptorous scream
[Eagles' mighty strength]Remember how I explained it?
the words in his younger packmate's head(caern)
She never gave her name to any of them. She said, Names have power. They are sacred, and cannot be easily shared. But if this makes them wont to distrust her, at least the smile she gives Faith is, well, in good faith.Then a focus comes into those obsidian eyes. "I am ready when you are," she informs Mark.
(meskhenet)
The young strider stood ailent slightly behind Nelly, yet still so distant from them. She was here, to help. She had no real place here, she had no real, permanent place among them, but she was here, here to do what she knew was right, and what she knew they expected of her.But questions? None. Just fight if you need to..protect. She knew that well...what garou didn't?
Her eyes swept over to the Tender, and then to the others. Many of these people she had never seen before, never met or said a word to. Yet, she was here. She didn't know anyhting of them, who they were, what auspice, where thye had been, what tribes. She just knew they were her kind.
Meskhenet kept quiet, kept to herself and jsut resolved to follow orders. When this was all done, if this was ever done, and if she made it out..she knew where she'd be going, knew what she'd be doing, and by focusing her mind ont hat, she grew in strength.
She gave a soft nod to show ehr understanding, but did nothing else. they knew..they needed no more confirmation.
(kemp)
Breath coming out in short little clouds. Close enough to reach out and touch James if he wanted. Cold under the coat and though a smile slid across his face for a moment. Course I remember. Young as they came compared to most here. And then he followed suit by calling on Eagles Strength.(nelly)
A southern gracious smile was given to the... yep, scarry.. Native American Tender, nodding her head. But those bedroom blues shook a moment, flashing upon the face of the Alpha of her wants and her body gave a shiver."Freezing out here.." she mumbled, glancing back to Mesk with that smile waning. The draining effect of the Caern was building a new rock inside her stomach. Even her pockets packed with her taint twitched. ~lets just get inside...~ silently she thought, stepping forward to feed off of LeRoy's massive body heat.
(mark)
His shaven, sculpted head nodded in response to the Adren's words, before swivelling to the front door. He told himself he could barely see the shimmering shadow there by the door. Perhaps of a figure crouched there... but he reminded himself this was likely vanity. Johnny just hid too damn well.What's it look like from there? he called over the Totemlink to the hidden Ragabash.
Nothing so far.. came the dubious response from his limited perspective.
Good enough for him.
One final call to all on the link, hoping to bolster spirits, Keep everyone in sight, I'll be watchin' you all
"Alright, through the front door then. Faith, you're with the Tender and James," Theurge, strong ahroun. Works, "Decker you're on crashing duty with me. Rest of you fall in behind," Apparently however they wanted.
I'll take the charm first, give it to whoever needs it next Standard protocol for the point man.
With that he turned to head to the door, and presumably alongside the Get, strode inside, with Johnny's vigilant form shimmering to visibility.
(caern)
Decker straightens up, spits to the side, and pops his knuckles with an obscenely loud crack. Then he comes up alongside Mark, headed for the door."Alpha's a real expert on the Wyrm," he mutters with a jerk of his thumb to Erik. "He says somethin' 'bout one o' 'em, ya wanna lissen up."
The Bane Tender, meanwhile, simply smooths her hands over her plain denim jacket, falling in behind James. Her serenity, alas, does not seem to be contagious.
They can all feel a dread inside them as they approach the heavy doors. They know it to be the earliest signs of Harano, their own spiritual empathetic response to the dying Caern's pain. But what they know in their minds is not what they feel in their hearts, and what they feel in their hearts - barely held at bay by Mark's Inspiration - is the almost complete certainty that none of them will ever live to see the light of day again.
The doorway looks like the maw of hell, and they were walking right into it. War is glorious, but dying is not.
(leroy)
Sure..Though he wasn't told directly, he knew the place Mark truly desired him to be.Stepping towards Faith, away from Nell, his hand sweeping down, taking hers; urging her to loop a finger through his pivotable belt loop. "When I puff up.." He whispered suddenly with a gruff "You grab hold of my pelt, give me a twist in any direction like you would a shield. Thats what I am tonight boo. Got it?" Arching his brow as he waited only for a nod of understanding from her.
(faith)
"Got it, Boss." Faith affirms to Mark's directions with a quick, mock salute, going to stand with the Tender. She folds her arms, tensing as she stands up straighter - the southern Spirit-talker's ready to go.
The sight of the doorway to the school gives her a moment of pause - the solemnity of the situation washing over like an ocean tide. Faith's sensitive to such things anyway...
But when you've already hit rock-bottom, there's not really anyplace else to go. Death is just another option, in the grand scheme of things. If she goes down, then she joins her father, and his fathers before him, in a long chain through her ancestry.
LeRoy interrupts her fatalistic musing, and a slight smile breaks her features. Faith grabs a hold of LeRoy via the belt loop 'leash', and nods. "Got it." She murmurs back. "I always knew you were good fer somethin' besides burned cooking."(caern)
Inside, there is a small foyer. Cloakroom to one side. Staircase up to the dormitories to the other. An open doorway to the main hall ahead, which is a high, vault-ceilinged room full of shadows and fine old wood, echoes and the faint smell of floor polish.Their footsteps ring softly off the hard marble floor. This school is a private one, and it's filthy rich.
The Bane Tender breaks away from the group, walking into the center of the main hall. Her head tilted back, she makes a slow revolution in place, eyes shut as though she were listening. Then those pitch-black eyes open on Faith. "We must go to the Caern's heart, daughter of Unicorn. Take me there."
Without waiting for anyone - or for clearance that this place was unmonitored by mundane eyes - she slips instantly across the Gauntlet. If Mark had not taken precautions, there would have been a scandal by morning.
(nelly)
She had to recounter to initial step to fallow the scarred Fenrir, shakig her head of such desire... It was time for business! Quickly her feet changed suit behind Mark and Deker. Slipping the GI Joe backpack off to deathgrip in her left hand. Blues seemed to widen, pupils narrow to pins as they walked thru the mouth of doom. Maybe it rang thru her packs heads from her own, maybe it didn't, but the thought repeated itself ~Take care of baby girl, take care of baby girl~. Her right hand dug into the second skin black denims to grab ahold of a tiny redleather satchel.(mesk)
Meskhenet saw Nel's smile. Howeve rmuch of a smile it may be. She, couldn't bring herself to do it. But she felt some sort of admiration for someone able to put up the face for it.
Mesk brought ehr attention right back to Mark. Fall in behind. Simple enough...easy enough. She cast a look to Nel, and then Le. And for a moment she only imagine what either would be like if they werne't garou at all. It happens sometimes. When you feel something dakr in your heart, adn you feel something so deep, so..wrong nearby...and you think the end is near, you start thinking. It was only momentary however, and soon she was up beside Nel as Leroy moved from her. She gave a glance to her, but couldn't force a smile. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She was there, beside Nel, and thats all that was really needed.(james)
Good breif ascertation of the other Fenrir, before inward attention returns to the young Rotagar Let Decker and Erik do their thing. You'll know what to do when the time is right.... Fenrir and Gaia have already written it across your heart.how strange it must be for Kemp to hear his voice without the battlescar slur
but the Ahroun doesn't give him time to think about any of it
just flashes a (forever) lopsided smile
and takes his place beside Faith and the Tenderfar beneath the layered sleeves of his shirt
black across flesh shimmers and swirls
two wicked lengths of bladed steel melting in his handsthey're as serious as the layer of dread which blankets the team
(already, James' heart had sunk so low...)
no Garou is ever sure whether or not they will see the coming dawn
each will die - they can only choose to die well and live on in their comrade's memories
[Inspiration]James pushes to cross the Gauntlet behind the Tender
(leroy)
He only glanced back, as a shield he awaited her urgence forward by the push upon the small of his back.(mark)
All he could do in response to that ominous trepidation, is furrow his brow with steely control. Unlike the others, he did not have the benefit of his own inspiration. The harrano twisted in his gut, and had nothing but the thoughts of his packmates.. Faith.. and his mate.. and Black Unicorn's driving will to keep it from burgeoning into full fledged despair. Tightly within that hard, chiselled statue of power, did those quaking emotions reside. Secret, he kept them even from his own packmates... save for one.. who he could never fool. Nor, did he even try, anymore. She alone knew how close he was to laying down and giving up, half the time.When the Banetender spoke, and subsequently vanished, the Glass Walker Ahroun turned, and grimaced, keeping his displeasure at her splitting so suddenly inward. Nothing for it but to keep up with her.. it was their duty to keep her safe after all. Whether she wanted it or not.
Short and to the point, he ordered so there would be no confusion, "everyone across, n follow," as he dug into his pocket, pulling out the small mirror he always bore. Looking past his own reflection, he saw the other side. And from there all he had to do was step... sideways... right angles to reality.
(nelly)
It was the shadow of the body besid her that brought her head swiftly around... eyes wide in anxiety. ~Mesk...~ her shoulders lost their tenseness a glimmer of a bit as that smile, waned, returned to her lips."Glaucous," glancing to the Alpha of her pack, she nodded and brought the satchel up for her lips to hold upon. Reaching her right hand into her back pocket, she removed a compact mirror and offered its reflection to Mesk to gaze upon as the knot in her stomach tightened more.
(faith)
Faith does guide LeRoy forward, until they reach the hall where the Tender side-steps. She glances first to him, then to Mark. Not that she needed to look to know how he felt - she knew him well enough by now.
She captures her Alpha's gaze, and a single fiery thought crosses the small distance between them; the meaning, though, is etched in iron.
Stay with me.
Then, focusing her concentration back on the task at hand, she tightens her grip on LeRoy. "Hang on." She murmurs, and with that, she seeks out the barrier between this realm and the one atop it with her spirit, dragging them both sideways into the Umbra.(kemp)
Crap crap crap crap something was always running through his head like background noise and here he was pulling out the little cracked mirror to look at the distorted reflection and do what he'd only done a few times before. Laying one hand over the pendant against his chest on the way.(mesk)
She leaned slightly to look at the reflection. It only took a word fro her to being pulling herself across, slipping into the world she was only beginning to learn, and would, for her life, wander in search of answers.(leroy)
It was between this world and that, LeRoy 'puffed up' wrestling forth from within the war form Gaia had given him. Towering before all, Faith seemed more like a child tugging on the tail of some beast now that he shifted. His pelt was majestic, silvery white, solid save for the dotted patches of obsidian running from maw chin down the middle of his chest, ending where his bipeddle legs met. There was no doubting now despite his lack of pedigree that he did not come indeed from a champion breed. Falcon was just too damn picky.(caerm)
There's a mutter of discontent from the Modi as the Bane Tender flits the fuck across the Gauntlet. Then he, having no mirror (sorry. ain't carryin no fuckin compact.), puts his hand out to find James' shoulder, letting the other's stronger spirit guide him across.On the other side was a dark looking-glass world; the same grand hall, only this time strung with grey streamers of cobwebs, heavy with the scent of decay and disuse. Holes gaped in the wall and leaked wind. Even last time, the Caern did not look so bad.
Yet the Bane Tender seems unfazed. On this side she has taken her Crinos form, which is only seven and a half feet tall, splotched with brown and black and white. She wears braids in her hair/mane, and strange glyphs are shaven into the fur of her arms and back.
"Come, daughter of Unicorn!" she sounds almost excited. Almost looking forward to this. "Quickly now, the Heart of the Caern! There is a Bane to bind!"
Faith knows the way to the Caern's Heart. If she does not, Mark does: it lies through the double doors at the far end of the hall, up one flight of stairs, all the way to the right. It lies in the grand old library of this school, at the center of which was an open-air atrium where an ancient tree grew astonishingly well. Or did, once.
(mesk)
She slipped into the Umbra, feeling that usual feeling of..whatw as it? Dread? dispair? Was it from the umbra? or jsut herself? It was from inside, somewhere...she felt her stomach tie in knots...her throat close up, but yet, she hid it, determined to ignore it at all costs.She set her eyes on those who ahdmade it across, and slowly took in a deep breath. She let ehr skin slip up into her own tall, sleek, and lithe form. Her fur slimmed across her form, and soon she had flicked her jackal ears slightly to listen. She was use to it..sue to pausing to listen and gather herself.
Mesk canted her head down at Nel, her slim, bonelike tail flicking lightly. She was ready..for anything. She was ready to feel ehr adrenaline pumping...this sort of thing..was what she had been waiting for..for a long time. Another chance.
(nelly)
As soon as Mesk stepped sideways, she waited for the rest of those with her group to do the same. Only then she did traverse the gauntlet, eardrums prickling from the pressure of stepping from the physicall to an umbral plain.Stuffing the compact into her backpack in hand, removing the satchel nestled between her lips... she took form. Glabro. Her ears elongated... tuffs of hair, bright green hair, growing over her skin; the second skin clothing she adorned splitting with the new bulked form. But the fabric clinged still to her body; for wrapping itself around her bulked muscles there seemed to be, faintly glowing ethral vines ((attn st: Numen-spirit of undergrowth 1)).
(faith)
Faith grows also once she's across, taking Glabro - her hair extends, becoming wilder, the tips fading from red into snowy white. Her clothes, bound to her, adapt with the shift, though it seems a little ridiculous on her lanky, muscle-ripped form - tufts of white fur extending along her limbs and clawed hands and feet.
And she still looks like a little kid compared to LeRoy's giantesque stature.
And the Tender's talking like a kid in a candy store. Nudging LeRoy forward, Faith calls up a mental image of the school, and starts towards the library.
Gaia help her...(james)
there's a.... breif.... thought as the Tender frolicks off in some strange excitement
between Livingston, Sputnik, and now the Adren
James has a very interesting conception of just exactly the Theurge normbefore joining in and shifting to Crinos
he pauses and hands the rebar sticks to Kemp
as familiar umber eyes shift to lupine
perhaps there is an expression of apology
remember what happened the last time the young Fenrir held the steel
(have heart, Mark told them....)
but the Ahroun is, once again, giving no time to protest
shaggy body turning to follow his charge
dragging his talons across the floor to sharpen themhe is to watch the Tender's back - the others can watch his
952 PM to Kemp Oates, ::Caern::, CnP Wench: ((okay, Kemp has the rebar sticks...3 feet long, sharpened to blades on one end of each, dam str +2, soak/block +1 when used.... James used a rage for Razor Claws, and the previous 1 gnosis for Inspiration... I'm keeping notes of his spendatures and whatnot, but just to keep you updated))
(mark)
Just before the moments his body plunged across the barrier of the worlds.. The Full Moon received a breathtaking double-whammy of encouraging spirit. Ask him later and he wouldn't be able to tell you what affected him more. The Gnawer's channeling of Gaia's very essence to wash away the clogging stains around his heart, or his own Beta's heartfelt feelings pouring through the Totem.Yeah. Stay with you. That's goddamn' fuckin' A right.
Then he was splashing against the Umbra. A creature of flesh turned spirit. At first he felt like a man drowning at the bottom of a dark pool.. then he remembered he had gills, and simply breathed
Instantly he began his shift.. from 6'3" to 9'whoknows. Muscles bulged beneath sprouting fur. Wickedly curved black claws flexed on the ends of long disproportionate arms, suited for rending. His fur was patterened. Heavily black, with interwoven slashes of orange and red. Natural.. yet.. not. His proud wolf's maw split into a rictus smile of daggerlike teeth, as he loped to the fore, to make certain the Tender wouldn't be alone.
Somewhere during the journey, he slowly activated part of Gaia's spirit himself. Telling his the weavern spirits inside his hands to awaken. Black claws became metallic. Lightning the color of his own blue-eyed Rage arced in angry sparks.
(caern)
The farther they go the darker and colder it seems to get. Every last breath of life seems to have deserted this place. Some of them might remember the way it was when they first came here, before those who called themselves elders and leaders failed them one by one, and fled. They might remember the peace and calm that grew with every step. The feeling of unspeakable wisdom; the weight of an eon of knowledge stored silent in these spirit-walls, this spirit-stone, beneath this spirit-earth.No more. Now the Caern is bitter and cold, like ashes in the mouth.
The doors open with a squeal. Correction: the right door opens. The left one topples cleanly over when Decker - now also in Crinos, huge and grey with a white-marked chest and shoulders - barely lays a handpaw on it. The crash that ensues echoes up and down the halls, pinning the Modi's ears to his skull, making him crouch in instinctive preparation for the attack.
But there is no attack. There is only the remnants of a battle fought - how long ago? They might never know. Perhaps last week. Perhaps just ten minutes before.
The shredded spirit-remains of one of the Uktena Ghost Pack lies just beyond the doors, slowly dissipating into the ether of the Umbra. Its features are no longer recognizeable; neither sex nor age might be determined from the dissolving spirit-corpse.
Not too far from him, halfway up the stairs, lies a second spirit guardian, ripped asunder.
(leroy)
Like those around him, he too felt the despair of the Caern's spirit. The taint and revulsion of it inspired his rage to the forefront. Yet unlike his packmates and coleauges, the despair that manifested within him was bound behind an exterior of cheer. A trait LeRoy was famed for back home amongst his own. His smile of comfort shown bright in many a dark hour.A cringe pins back both ears as his eyes sqwint at a percieved attack not forthcoming with the topple of the door by the Fenrir near them. Glancing to his side, then other. Eyes adjusting to the near dark they were now sqwandered. Tight and unmoving unless Faith pushed him forward, vigilant though at the carnage before him. Still yet, his maw carried with him the guile and warmth that Unicorn had given him. Upon those who's hearts seemed panic stricken did he most assurdly give it.
(kemp)
Nodding silently to James when handed those rebar sticks, almost cringing with the feel of those bars in his hands. Then he was shifting, though his size wasn't anywhere near some of them since he started at about 5 and a half feet to begin with. Crinos, his clothes now dedicated to him, replaced with a dark brown and black coating of hair, his features turning to something he considered monster movie stuff about 6 months previous. Clutching those sticks tighter with the horrible feeling here. This was worse than one of those horror movies where you just knew something was hiding and going to jump out and scare the crap out of you.(mark)
He'd have to sorely thank James later. For he had to doubt whether or not he could have handled the sight of the carnage before him, without benefit of that heartstirring bolstering. The plunging tears in the figurative raping of Gaia, in the death of her Gaurdians.Once his instinctive crouch at the deafening sound relaxed, his claws flexed in a ball, the arcs visibly intensified, along with the palpable feel of Rage that grew from him, like static electricity on the backs of those nearest's necks.
He almost feared to look to see the state of Whispers' current condition. Pouring Gnosis in that caern daily wouldn't be able to stave off such an affront.
(nelly)
She stepped back, away from the group she traversed with to flank them all. The vines clinging to her skin seeming to flow like water... she moved, It moved.She took a deep breath... nearly choking upon the decay in the air... had to search for her own scent... Night jasmine and moss... to catch her breath. The door caused her body to jump, pausing for the signs of attack. When none came, she stepped forward... again at a safe distance from all others... and walked just to the doorway. There the spirit bodies ripped at her gut... the scar across her stomach burning, tears in her eyes welling up. With teeth gritted, she knelt down and took a moment to reach into the small satchel. A seed removed.
(caern)
The lean Rotagar, tough as nails and old sinew, skirts ahead of the crowd to crouch by the first fallen Uktena-spirit. It didn't take a Theurge to know spirits didn't just die like this. They dissolved, but then they Reformed; they were, for almost all intents and purposes, effectively immortal.But these were dead. Destroyed, utterly. They would never Reform.
The Rotagar grunts. If this sight disturbs even the mind behind that battle-scarred face, he does not show it, instead hefting his fetish shotgun over his shoulder and falling in line again.
The Garou are all walking a little closer together now. Whether they had disliked one another or not, had argued and fought earlier or not, no longer mattered so much. They were social animals, and the last hope of Gaia. In times like this, they drew strength from each other: from the Inspiration of the Ahrouns, as well as from more subtle sources. The warmth LeRoy exuded. The steely determination of the Fenrir Alpha. The rock-solid strength of the Glass Walker Ahroun.
When Nelly pauses, so does Decker, the black greataxe slung over one massive shoulder as he looks down silently, but without impatience or scorn, to see what the other meant to do.
Meanwhile, at the head of the line, just behind Mark, the Bane Tender and her flanking guardians had crested the top step and were now on the second story, headed directly for the library.
(faith)
Faith comes to a sudden halt at the first body of the guardian, her feral face taking on an expression of shock.
"...No."
Her packmates feel a burst of anger from the usually easy-going Theurge, a growl sounding in her throat as she turns her eyes to the stairs.
Not like this...
LeRoy is pushed forward, Faith's claws digging tighter into the fur. She's going.(james)
even in Crinos those dreadlocks never fully went away
the monstrous beast looking like some Alsatian gone terribly overboard with steroids
waking up after the worst of bed-head episodes
full of bristling fur, murderous teeth, and diamond hard claws
the ultimate of Gaia's chosen warriors
even in such a form - it is hard to face what's left of the Caern
witnessing the further carnage and dispair that breaks tidal at even the strongest of their hearts
(he only hopes his gift supporting Mark's is enough.... for him, for the Walker... for them all...)instead of dwelling on why the mangled guardians would never reform....
James relies on the one thing that has kept him drawing breath with each dawn gifted
it enabled him to slay the betrayer pack
it enabled him to live past the death of his mate and child
(and the possible loss of another)
it enabled him to leave what he had to in order to come here to defend this Caern
it enables him to plant one hindpaw infront of the other and crest the steps towards the libraryit's faith
in himself, in Gaia, in his beliefs, in his reason for existance - perhaps even his death
a massive hand reaches out, knuckles brushing against Faith's shoulder
a glance of affirmation (appreciation?) at LeRoy's acting sheild
and still, the raggedy Gnawer pushes on
(nelly)
Those clear as ice eyes raised as she looked to the towering figure of Decker... but clear thoughts there were not. Just her heart tearing to peices, that rage welling inside her stomach... wanting out. The vines twisted harder around her arms and she winced, looking down... two fingers placing one seed in the crack between floor and doorway. Lips traversed those silent words and with a tip of her finger she gave a part of herself to that tiny embryo of Wyld. A child to rear its head...overnight... a tidalwave of thick barbed vines like that around her the child-seed would become.Faith's wave of pain and hate slapped her to the here and now. She stood, quickly and pushed foward.
(leroy)
Muzzle casted downwards at Drums then forwards again with the insistence of his charge. Shoulders square off, arms sweeping wide in protection of Faith's birth behind him.Though urged forward, his eyes do swallow the sight before him, disgust, angst swell inside him. Yet exteriorly he held vigil his mantling smile of comfort for other's huberious protection.
(caern)
Out was one thing Nelly was not going to get now.The Fenrir does not fully comprehend what she has done, but knows that it was some small attempt to right the wrongs. In the grand scheme of things it may be totally useless. It may not even be remembered. But it was still something, and with the Apocalypse drawing ever closer, everything counted.
Upstairs, then.
On the second-floor hallway there are smears of ichor on the furnishings. Like a mundane hallway, a battle in it left marks on the walls and floor. Unlike mundane hallways, the damage manifested not as ripped panels and torn carpeting, but as patches where the solidity of the very spirit-material wavered and thinned. In places details faded to a grey blur. In others, they could almost see through the walls.
The doors to the library are blasted asunder. The rest of the seven guardians are here, all irrevocably dead, all still clutching the weapons they had borne while still flesh and blood. In the umbra the library was once crammed not with books but with spirit-tomes; sheaves of knowledge, troves of talens, a wealth of Garou history and culture and spirituality. Now the holdings are torn asunder, the writings smeared and illegible, the shelves smashed or simply gone.
The doors to the atrium are strangely warped. The wood of the doors bulges and ripples and drips as though it had run molten somehow like butter in the sun. The frame is distorted as thought some massive fist had gripped it - and twisted.
Of the gathered, only Decker has seen this before, in the basement where he had encountered the banes. It makes the Modi's black lips peel back, and a slow silvery glow spreads to cover his body before, suddenly, a pale blue nimbus-flame erupts around him. The black axe, too, takes on a phosphorescent glow of its own.
"I have seen this before," he growls low to Mark. In Garouspeech, his voice has no accent. "Be ready. There may be many."
He was activating his Gifts and his fetish. Preparing for battle. Yet seemingly oblivious to the growing tension, the Bane Tender strides boldly forward, leaving even the shield of the twin Fostern Ahrouns behind as she headed straight for the doors.
"Daughter of Unicorn, come!"
(mesk)
She stood straight, her thin fingers wiggling lightly as they moved. It was a warm up, something that could get her blood started. Mesk, cast a glance back at Nel. She hated it too...hated what had been done, and at times, she even felt an urge to wrench something up, but she pushed forward, determined, anxious to help. Gaia knew it may be her last time to help here...last time to give whats he could. Not because of death (though death was a great possibility in all things), but soon she'd leave, and had she left earleir, they'd be one garou short..and sometimes one, or two garou made a hell of a difference.She turned her attention back ahead of her, her lips curling lgihtly to reveal her own fangs, and then slowly she let them drop. She jsut wanted it all over with.
(faith)
Faith clenches her jaw as she takes in the state of the hallway; she's given little time for thought, however, before the Tender pushes forward confidently.
She only wished she shared that confidence.
Summoning her courage, Faith goes to join the Bane Tender with as much an appearance of strength as she could conjure.
Though the twelve feet of werewolf acting as her shield helped, a little.(leroy)
Ironic, but despite his show of support, his eyes betrayed his inward thoughts and muse of distrust. Caution screamed to him, yet this one recklessly bounded forth, and with such mirth. Rank or not, he trusted all but she at this moment. Yet with Faith's urgence he made his step in stride before her in protection.(mark)
The words of the Modi buzzed in his ears along with his own instincts, his hackles raising, "Wait, Faith," that deep smoky bass resonated even further and more resounding in this War-form, he raised one lightning arcing hand, "All of us together, this looks like a fight," He couldn't exactly stop the bane tender from running along foolishly, but he could stop her from dragging his theurge without the protection of the fellow wolves.No sooner did the say the words, did the move forward with Decker, passing Faith, and snorting his nostrils wide, looking for signs of enemies.
Fur seemed to raise, then shift becoming monochrome.. metallic.. Steel. The Knight was now doubly armored.
(james)
lupine chin drops in a nod at Decker's growl
right side of the bone structure smooth and perfect in profile
left side broken by a series of misformed ridges that climb into the thick fur over wide cheeks
it all forms a strange culmination of features ending in velvet ears that radar and pin in distaste
(he remembers what fragments the Modi showed him of the basement)he doesn't have the benefit of LeRoy's seriously massive form to act as a sheild
he'll take what he can get off the Tender's boldness
handpaws rolling to fists (knuckles crackling) before held at his sides in ready
.....onwards, it seems
(another Theurge trait: impulse control problems?)senses sharpen to high alert
he won't let the elder (spooky) Garou get out of his sight
even if he doesn't particularly approve of her rushing off
last thing he'll get nailed for is abandoning his charge
watching for what will go after the Tender or Unicorn's Daughter after they enter the room(nelly)
She gave a reassuring smile to Mesk with her glance back. Then those iced eyes swivled to the room... her mind raced to piece together what was before her. Didn't want to comprehend, couldn't; a murderous sceen, everything distorted, dead. Her brain struggled to grasp the reality of it all like a child catching bubbles. It was the library that brought it all crashing down... and she drew a fast harsh breath as her mind split. Knowledge was here, and now was no more. Heart raced, she began to get frantic... and searched for a face to regain herself with. It was the hulking form of the scarred Fenrir her eyes tightened upon, steeling her nerves into another form.... the only tangible thing she could muster.... lust.With Deker's silver firelife she stepped away from him, pressed herself against a wall to keep the vines from reaching him.
(kemp)
He didn't even have anything to remotely compare with what he was seeing here. Maybe a twisted dose of Aliens in a way. Though this was real even with the ghostly, flimy look to it. Nostrils flaring. His grip on the rebar sticks so tight knuckles were popping. Trying to look every which way at once and keep with the group cause the last thing he wanted was to miss something and find himself lost here.
(caern)
(later!) But the Bane Tender does not wait. She goes straight forward, and with some effort, throws open the doors.The sight beyond makes their hairs stand on end.
The Tree is bare. Its leaves have scattered and rotted at its base. Its trunk is scarred and weeping sap; its branches drooping from an invisible weight. Some half-dozen twisted ... creatures sit amongst the branches, some with necks as long and supple as serpents; some without eyes; some that were nothing close to human, only amorphous lumps of translucent jelly. When the Bane Tender strides forward, their attention turns on her.
The Garou can feel their hunger, black as lust.
In the few instants they have before all hell breaks loose, they can see, also, that the entire Tree teeters at the edge of a fissure in the earth. No; not a fissure in the earth. A black crack surrounded by swirling chaos where reality itself breaks down; a black hole of the Wyrm itself.
Besides the Tender, Erik is the only one with sufficient knowledge to recognize it. A breath hisses out from the Rotagar. "A Wyrmhole," he snarls, bristling. "She wants us to bind a Wyrmhole."
His tone is not optimistic. But they have little time for anything else - the banes slip and tumble and leap from the branches, eagerly racing toward the Bane Tender boldly coming into their midst.
(mark)
My Alpha's an expert on the wyrm the Modi said.Massive steel-encased wolf-maw turns sharply to Erik, deep bass in short barks of Garou-tongue, even as he moves forward at a frantic lope to cover the distance between he and the Bane Tender, "Quickly! Can it be done!??" Yes, or No, he was leading the group forward. Fight or bind.
And he'd had no idea it was this bad. This was supposed to be a prison, not a gaping hole to the world-eater.
(leroy)
He wasn't two steps within before he quickly hunched down, arms wide talons unsheathed and ready for use. Shield? Yes he was even still. Hunching he was about even with the tallest of them. Mass? He was still the meatest of all. But he had arms, teeth and claw to bite back with should they come with attempts to pound upon his charge 'Faith'.Rage...the smile turning vinegary, present though but lingering. Now it morphed into the delight that only another Ahroun would recognize. Finally! Enemy exposed! Something to swing, claw, bite and destroy. It was that urge however that he fought to ignore. To leap with a howl of fury headlong into battle was his utmost desire before his concern. Yet he refrained, still controlled, reigning it back, his disgust his longing to clense the field of battle with wyrm gore. He was Faith's shield. Pain of death for any who dare raise their arm against her he swore. Growling in Garou Speech... "prepare. Vigilant be your eyes shaman, for mine are forefront where I may thrash these minions of the wyrm" Unconsciously stepping backwards, allowing her another attempt to reign her hold upon his torso' pelt in defense.
(faith)
The Tender is the elder Theurge here, and their best shot at salvaging what they can - Faith will do what she can to help her. But Alpha overrides. Always.
Faith comes to a stop to look over her shoulder when Mark bids her to, and waits for him to catch up and get everything in position how he wants it.
She seems calm and keeping it together, but inwardly she's almost too angry to think.
Anger gives way to loss - and almost panic - when the doors open and the despair beyond is revealed.
"Holy shit.." No sooner are the words past her lips than the Tender is in peril.
She wants me to do WHAT, now? Bloody fuck, she wasn't trained for this, hell, she didn't even know the first place to START with this...
Irrelevant.
She was here now, and she just had to trust those around her, and her own instincts.
Not a reassuring thought. Her instincts hadn't exactly gotten her far.. no, no time for that, certainly not now.
Faith holds on to LeRoy, suddenly jerking her gaze all around - looking for something to help, something coming from behind, just.. anything.
Dammit, what's she supposed to do?(james)
A Wyrmhole
A Wyrm. Hole
...... peachy.
in another day and time, the Ahroun would probably be floored by what he sees
if he gave himself enough time to think about it
right now he's concentrating on those Banes rushing for the Tender
making sure she has enough time to answer the Glass Walker
deep eyes blazing with a Full Moon's righteous fury
[Staredown](caern)
Without a word the grey Modi is dropping to three legs, the fourth handpaw gripping the axe, keeping it parallel to the ground as he races across the distance. Fuckin' idiot bitch's gonna git herself killed! fumes the totemphone.Six banes tumbling off the dying Tree; one stopped dead in its tracks by James' stare. Almost simultaneously, Erik's blazing blue eyes fall on Mark. The scarred face was wolven now, Crinos. He snaps at the empty air in agitation - "I don't know." The blunt truth. "But as long as it's free and unfettered, it'll channel Banes straight from Malfeas. Straight here."
And the Tender, somehow miraculously escaping the raking grey claws of the first bane that swiped almost playfully at her flank, calls back over the din: "Daughter of Unicorn! Sons and Daughters of Gaia! To me! Our objective is at hand! Form a circle about the beast!"
"She's [fucking] insane," snarls Erik Blood-Eagle under his breath, leveling the shotgun to his shoulder as the first round goes off and takes the head off the bane even now reaching to do the same to the Tender.
(kemp)
He'd never seen anything like this, all he knew was it was bad and it felt worse to him. Finding himself swept up in the sudden chaos when everything starts moving at once. Those rebar sticks lifting to slash at anything nasty that got within reach. What the hell is that? his own thoughts rushing across the totemphone.(faith)
She doesn't know why - but she trusts the Tender to be directing them in the best way they could be led right now. This seems insane.
But she believes it's worth trying. Leaps of faith.
"Come on!" She shouts from behind LeRoy, tugging him with her to move beside the Bane Tender.
Whatever strength is in me, she prayed silently, let it make a difference now.
It's all she knows to hope for.(*mark)
The answer was heard on the run. The hole spawned these manifestations, and if not capped? Would simply spawn more."Cut our way to the pit," his deep bass called out gratingly above the hellish sounds made by the sickening creatures before him, "Slaughter every one of 'em that gets in your way. Let's put a cork in this hole," The last was punctuated by the angry blue *shrakt* of his claws descending on the first bane in his path, attempting to eat up the distance and surround the Bane Tender with those travelling alongside he, "And for fuck's sake stay together," Which didn't need said. The wyld creatures.. from Urrah, to purebred, to spiritual, to keen-edged Rage would draw together.. back to back, flank to flank, in the face of the unnatural assault on the Mother.
(nelly)
A wyrmhole?! She didn't even see things clearly with the crinosed allies forming thru the doorway. She stepped away from the wall, her eyes peering thru the masses... seeing the terror.She saw the familiar hunching form of LeRoy... instinct taking over. Her body molding from glabro to crinos. In three, four, five strides she leaps; her hand crashing on Faith's head like a vaulter would upon a pole as her hind haunches springboard off of LeRoy's massive shoulders... vaulting herself up to a bane upon a highest branch, howling a war anthem "DIE!"
(mesk)
~Meskhenet's eyes glazed over with the sight of what she had known was to come. Her cool exterior shook for the first time... a shutter as tiny as a cold wind blowing upon her skin. She looked towards the Tender and hoped the woman could do the impossible. Carefully, she began to stalk wide, making her way to the other side of the tree in a slow circle... Eyes widen, attentive to the banes and attacks comming theire way~(caern)
The edges of the Wyrmhole begin to waver. Like the translucent rubbery skin of an intestinal parasite it rolls and bloats, ripples and undulates. The mouth of the hole actually rises and falls like a living thing, convulsing above and below the level of the surrounding terrain. At its core, which is not black, nor grey, nor any color anyone has ever seen before but simply - empty - there begins to dawn a sickly yellow light."It's bringing another one in," grits the Blood-Eagle, popping the spent shell-casings out and levering up another two rounds. Deliberately, without running, the Alpha stalks toward the hole. "It's gonna be a big one. The only way to close one of these is to destroy it. And no, I don't fucking know how."
Nelly's acrobatics carry her over her packmates, over the rest of the Garou, straight into the branches of the Tree. Her weight lands with a crack. At first she might think it was a bone - hers, the bane's? - and then there's no time for thinking.
Her claws rip into the bane. But it doesn't die that easy, spitting back at her with a laugh that sounds like screaming train whistles. Nelly's blood is the first to be drawn, hot and red splashing to the ground below.
And that crack? It's the branch she sits on, giving way now, ready to fall.
(james)
Wyrmhole! shouted into Kemp's mind, even as his physical body forms a bloodthirsty war anthem to reinforce Nelly's THIS is what we are born to prevent!he does not lunge after the halted Bane, still ten feet away
that would pull him too far from the Tender's side
there were enough Garou within the charge
(although the Ahroun's very soul cries for him to rush into battle)
he only sinks his claws into the creatures that come uncomfortably close
making sure it's his blood that is drawn instead of the Theurge'sa quick glance at the belching hole provides one with a very rare sight: something that could even make a Gnawer lose his appetite
(leroy)
Faith's insistence forwards purged him for only the brievity of moments from his desire to smash everything into bits before him, but like Nelly's own habitual instinct, her using his hunched stance she'd seen so many times before as her call to spring, vault and crash down upon a wyrm assault; he too went blind with instinct. Pack.Mark, Faith, Johnny and Frankie were their new pack, but their relationship had not yet been well fostered. Nay, not enough to peel back their age ole tactics of attack when they were of their own pack with members no longer of the living.
His extensive reach swept out archingly, talons brought down upon the nearest bane. No longer was Faith urging him forward nor reigning him from continuing, instinct had taken root for the moment of things. He pulled her with a quick surge of assualt towards the nearest available bane.
(kemp)
"Oh fuck me!" Not much coming from one who normally is not speechless. Here he was rushing towards a big freaking hold with the rest of them. Not much time for thought here.(nelly)
Her eyes like daggers upon the bane... but her claws gave as much as she received... a tear perhaps? Was there blood? She didn't look to see, pause to ponder. Muscles ached from a hard hit upon the branch... and she heard its creaking sound ~Ohhhhh no ya don't! Mah fuckin' tree ya sonofabitch!~ (gs)thru gritted growls she called upon her homid gifts... springing from the crumbling branch... trying to vault herself back up (climb like an ape) towards the bane; its death blood on her mind.(faith)
She let go. Her shield was now a spear diving into their foes. Nelly had charged. Mark was fighting, James was fighting, hell, everyone was fighting...
Faith stared into the maw of the Wyrmhole, and from some reserve of strength she finds the will to speak.
"Just tell me what to do." She says to the Tender, jerking her eyes away from the hole to look to the older Theurge.
Faith didn't even know what she could do here.
(caern)
The Tender stands at the very edge of the hole, so close that her claws touch its convulsing rim. That Faith has been yanked aside does not seem to register on her. That James is desperately trying to keep her from taking the brunt of the damage is lost on her. That the hole is rippling and expanding, contracting and spasming in the grip of birth-throes, is likewise ignored.She reaches deep into herself for her Gnosis as she begins the Rite of Bane Binding. "Join your spirit to me," she murmurs to Faith. "Give me your Gnosis."
LeRoy and James take down one bane each. Mark and Decker have formed up on the other side of the Bane Tender, back to the Uktena, lightning claw and axe flashing in almost perfect synchrony to lay waste to their enemies. But they, with their years of experience, know that these banes are just small fry.
They know, also, that worse was on its way.
Nelly springs off the branch just in time. Below her, the branch free-falls slowly, acceleratingly, into the mouth of the Wyrmhole. The hole was dully glowing now, the glow stronger by the second. As the branch touches the level of the hole it seems to disappear as though sinking into viscous fluid - inch by inch.
The glow, some might notice, dims ever so briefly as the branch is completely swallowed.
(mark)
The position of every one of his packmates is noted through the periphery of his thoughts and emotions, like very extensions of his being. It's the one in pain, that distracts him.Nelly!! get back with us. Stand together, and over that bond of Black Unicorn, he relinquished the hold of Knight's Armor, giving it to the one who needed it more, trusting to his own plates of steel.. You have the charm, stand ready to give to the next who needs it, ((+3 soak to Nelly ))
His howl resounded off the interior of the walls, just after the grim words of Erik. They were gambling on this insane Adren, hoping she retained whatever it was that got her her rank.. hoping that it could, in fact, be capped.
His huge form always seemed a step ahead of attackers, despite his great size ((Spirit of the Fray)), claws slashed trailing angry blue flashfire. Getting them to that pit.. to meet whatever.. was coming out.. hoping the Bane Tender was not a grim hope, and then he stood, resolutely meeting the charge of the banes, protecting said hope.
(nelly)
~Mesk held back, talons drawn as paused in her path. Her eyes stared into the great abyss... the yellow light forming. IT was there, she would give anything to be wrong but here it was. Stomach churning with the enevitable site.. she braced herself for Hell to rear its ugly head~(faith)
The short sputter of light from the hole is barely registered by the perceptive Theurge, even in her flustered state. A maddening thought flitters through her mind.
What if one of us fell in there? A sacrifice to drive away the Wyrm; the stories of Garou is rife with it, and Faith had seen it needed before. So had Mark.
But the Tender tells her what she can do, and Faith turns her mind away from such dark thoughts. She reaches over to place one clawed hand gently on the Tender's arm, and closes her eyes.
Having faith her pack - no, every Garou in this room - would see that she is kept safe. Having faith the Bane Tender can help them. She finds her focus, and, for a moment, forgets the battle.
She remembers Gaia, and Black Unicorn. She remembers how it feels to, even for a moment, come in touch with the part of them that fully realizes what it is to be Garou.
And she pulls that feeling out of her spirit and gives the Tender everything she has to give.(nelly)
One branch held by a taloned grip, the ethral vines around her skin seeming to lash out in chaotic patterns. She had that victim in her sites... a few more branches up perhaps?But that familiar tug came. Mark's words. Skin pulled back from her muzzle, bearing teeth in a snarle at the bane above her. She didn't quite look straight down then... but the yellow light was basking its glow all around. Something was happening down there. Pulling herself upon the branch, her weight bending it harshly. She pushed with all fours from the tree, her eyes making for the back of a bane if it was upon the 'ground' around the others. She'd settle for that, or a nice peice of solid 'ground' instead of the yellow hell hole.
(leroy)
"Arrroooooouughh!!" He bellowed with maw sung high to some invisible heavenly Gaian sky. It was euphoric to the Ahroun to be once more amongst the chaos found only in the pitch of battle. Yet the link provided by his totem to his 'alpha' jerked his howl of battle hyme in midstride. Swiping at another assialant as he pounced back towards Faith's flank to offer protection. It was then that he noticed she was no longer with him. Fear and trebidation almost consumed him instantly till his eyes counted her once more among the walking and still living.His shadow loomed over Faith as his arms swung, teeth snapped and feet kicked out against the small but growing onslaught of banes.
(caern)
For Faith, a certain peace comes. In the darkness of her mind's eye, her safety given over to her packmates and septmates [my trust unto you. my life unto you.], there is nothing left but the glowing embers of her own spiritual faith. Hers, and the older woman's, who has seen so many other battles, bound so many other banes.She could not fail.
(Could she?)And then the gestation is over. The pregnancy complete. And then the Wyrmhole gives foul birth, a great gout of ichor and a new flock of minor banes playing herald for the scrabbling, scratching arrival of whatever monster it had dredged up from the depths of Malfeas.
Two flailing insectoid legs tipped in claws are the first of the behemoth to appear. Then three, then four; then eight; then too many to count. A great curved carapace begins to rise above level of the ground. It's the back of the beast, smooth save for a single cresting ridge down the center.
(kemp)
"What the fuck?!" He could very well be losing it. Never had he imaigned in his worse nightmares anything like a fraction of this. Talk about cutting your teeth in battle. How about the end of the world as your first real battle? All he could do was hack and slash at anything that got too close cause he sure as hell didn't want it touching him cause like the saying goes, never know where these fuckers have been before this.(james)
it's euphoric for the Ahrouns to be within the heart of the battle
just as it's euphoric to hear the voices of his comrades raising in war-waged song
James doesn't leave his stance of mission
joining LeRoy to guard the two Theurgestheir packs may have been at odds in the subterranean meeting
there may be mistrust between them for the accusations slung between Ahrouns
but now? now there is no such travesties to separate their efforts
the raggedy Bone Gnawer and giant Child of Gaia fight as a teamwhile James does everything to ignore that itchy feeling at the base of his spine from what crawls out of the hole
(don't look back, Jamey-boy, something may be gaining on you....)
...... this isn't gonna be good(+2 DAMAGE)
(leroy)
No, LeRoy did not feel the taint rippling up behind him in the face of the Tender and Faith trying to bind it.Interest and attention, with mirthful joyous expression almost as invigorating if not so as a battled furied Get of Fenrir did he swipe, gnawl, rip tear and thrash the minor spawn rushing towards him and his new battle hardened comrade James.
"There" GS~ He pointed as one bane lept for James blind spot while he himself went gurgling down upon biting the one that managed to sneak in and cut him deep.
(nelly)
She landed with a harsh thud... upon the edge of the wyrmhole. Roaring out from the pains, her head lifted high, muzzle towards the moon as if to bay. And thats about when her back haunches gave out as the movement of something huge began to rise from hell. Talong dug into the solid 'ground', scrambling as she began to get sucked back into the whole.... "DIEeeeeoooohhhhshiiittt....Assistance!" Front claws scrambling to heav herself out.(mark)
Gaia.. was the slow stunned thought, before the Ahroun's mind snapped into warmode as he literally feels the encroachment from behind him in the pit. Scrabbling claws that had previously fallen flat against the protective steel fur of his tribal Gift, dig deeper rending flesh and sinew on the small of his back, just as he fights hard to the creatures in front.His howl becomes one of painful anger, as he falters, hampered somewhat by the frayed muscle, and the pain of his woulds. Channeling his will, he called upon a Gift given to him from the Father Spirit of Washington D.C. That stalwart soldier still fighting.. despite the painful encroachment of the wyrm. ((Resist Pain )) So bolstered, he simply ignored the pain, and the hampering of his movements became nil, after the momentary ebb.
Blue arcs again flash angrily, into bloody ichor, as he considers the new 'player' on the scene.
"Don't give it a chance!" he called to those nearest, "Cut into it," Next his eyes fall on Nelly, ascertaining who was closest to her plight..
(james)
(There)
the Garou Speech chugs across gurgling ichor
dreads whirl as James' head snaps to the side
deep grunt all that speaks his acknowledgement of the warning
(they can share beers over brotherhood in arms later)
long fingers splaying into a deadly spider of diamond hard talons
slashing to backhand the offending bane to shredssomewhere, within the deafening chaos
there's a sinister smirk that winds its way lopsided
crossing over the black skin beneath velvet muzzlefur
(you've been spending too much time around those Get, Jamey-boy)
but he doesn't have time to enjoy whatever pleasure rises
talons shooting past the bane and giving it a chunk out of his side
momentum taking the Crinos down to land on the ones heading at LeRoy's kneesthat gives him a good view of what's beginning to crawl out of the hole behind them
Use the blades! suggested less than politely into the young Rotagar's head
best to keep him moving else get frozen in what may further belch out of the earth
all the while the Ahroun trying to get back to his feet and return to his place fighting at LeRoy's back(caern)
The Garou almost one and all have their backs to the Wyrmhole. While this sounds unwise, it is in fact their only real choice at the moment. The banes coming off the tree are their greatest threat - at the moment, at least - and to put the Tender in the protection of their circle, they must face outwards.The smaller banes from the Wyrmhole dart and snipe, tear and claw, the damage more annoying than hurtful. But it's impossible to get them all, and they interfere with the Garous' attacks. While a single good claw swipe destroys one and scatters three more, there seems to be a neverending stream of them as others return to take their comrades' places.
For Faith, the choice is tough, but she makes it. She can only pray now that she does not later regret it. She can barely reach her packmate's hand - once and again she tries, and misses.
The third time, the Undergrowth gaffling suddenly surges its tendrils into the earth and yanks. Nelly shoots out a foot or more - enough - and Faith's hand clamps around her wrist. She has Nelly.
But the Tender cries out behind them, her concentration broken as her eyes, too, snap open. She whirls around to see the behemoth...
Meanwhile, whatever attacks the warrior Garou launch upon the rising behemoth fall by the wayside. At most their best attempts only scratch the behemoth's arching shell, do not even begin to penetrate. Slow and steady, even majestic, it looms out of the semiliquid nothingness of the Wyrmhole like some prehistoric island rising out of a black acid ocean.
Then its face lifts into existence, incongruously rubbery and boneless when the rest of it was hard as steel. Droops of flesh dangle like wattles, quivering and jerking as it fixed its baleful gaze (one single eye: RED.) on those it faced.
The shelled creature shrieks like metal on metal, fingernails on chalkboard, bone on exposed and living bone. A shockwave ripples out and everyone, no exceptions, falls to the ground, stunned, deaf, dazed.
What distance Faith managed to pull Nelly out is lost again. Nelly slips another dangerous foot closer to the mouth of the Wyrmhole. Her back foot disappears into it, instantly going numb.
(kemp)
One moment he's hearing James in his head telling him to use the blades, which he was pretty sure he was swinging and jabbing with, then he was on his back, dazed and wondering why it got so quiet. Not even hearing his own groan of confusion.(leroy)
Slash, rip, swipe to his right. A mirthful grin suddenly appeared at his wyrmished fouled ichor jaws the moment he saw James' protecting his knees and shins. Amazing how he forgets sometimes his vantage points for the enemy to utilize. But up high, outstretched and wide did he keep most, not all, but most from breaching his wrathful swipe. Some banes just wriggled past, or found their way through the fray. The others can handle them, he thought. He'd and James could do this all day. Again his mind began to think in the way of hope. Unbeknownst of the interloper of massive threat rising behind him.Brought to the ground, instead of concern it is an animalistic chuckle that errupts. "I guess you missed one huh?" ~GS~ he jested, believing James missed a swipe at his knees by an interloping bane.
(mark)
One moment there was the harsh chaotic din of battle. Howls in the air, the spray of ichor sounding after the terrible blue rending of his claws. Then he hPosted by james at 12:00 AMJanuary 06, 2004.01.06.04. - hunt's revenge [erik-decker-kemp] *me conclusion[chicago general]
(st)
Two Kinfolk sit at the wheel of the boosted van, large enough to accommodate the Eagles Pack, sitting in the back. Following the directions giving by Erik, Lexi slows the van down to a halt, pulling up along the curb on some desolate side street somewhere, in the grittier district of town. The surrounding neighborhood; littered with vacant and broken down houses, seemed an unlikely place for the Red Talon to be hiding. Far as Erik can tell the scent seems to be the strongest around in this area, the One-eyed Talon was nearby, if not within sight upon the street.Across the way, sitting on intersecting street corner, resides a brick building, three-story in height with a protruding fire escape running up the side. You face the backside of this brick building, it also seems to afford some minor activity.
(erik)
"He's 'ere." Erik scans out the windshield of the van quickly before going for the door, if someone else hasn't opened it yet. "James, with me. We're going cross. Deck, take Kemp and hole up somewhere down there." He points down the street, in the direction he can feel his quarry.(decker)
Is that it? Somehow, Decker expected something a little more impressive, the way everyone was running around like headless chickens about this thing. Like a little blood on the steps, human skins hanging from the windows. Something like that. Something...wyrmier, he supposed, than just a few Garou who had an unfortunate taste for human flesh. Well, shit, a mission was a mission. Had they merely been maneaters, Decker might not have been so consenting to this hunt. But the minute kinfolk came into the question, his qualms became irrelevant.The Alpha's angry, and it's not as though Decker hasn't killed over slights and insults before.
"Hole up?" Decker's brow furrows. "Ya spookin' 'im out 'r what?"
(kemp)
Crammed in the back trying not to squirm around and cause a ruckus. Straining up to try and get a look at the view when the van comes to a halt. Far as he was concerned, they could of at least of had peanuts on this flight. Hungry and thirsty at the sametime and he wouldn't turn down a bathroom cause it would sure beat pissing his pants when he ran into Captain Fuckface the Pirate again. Immediately covering his ass with both hands with the words hole up.(erik)
"don' know. jus' gonna take a look, fer now. I'll find ya when I'm done." He turns to gaze into the rear view mirror.(decker)
"Yeah okay." The van's double side-doors (cuz this is a REAL van, not one of those minis) pop open and the baggy-jeaned southern Modi thumps out. "C'mon, kid."(james)
some desolate sidestreet in the gritter section of town
there is, perhaps, the passing thought and wonder of how one can sometimes tell the difference
seems just like any other shithole in Chicago to James
only difference is this one purportedly contains their target..... just. fuckin'. peachy.
the Ahroun's back curves long lines against the make-do seat
dark eyes flicking towards their Alpha as he speaks
there's a storm churning behind deep umber
Erik may be mad - but James is downright bloodthirsty
this waste of flesh attacked HIS kin
(his. Family)
and he's done well to keep his cool so farorders out, the Gnawer stretches to follow
acrossin' they will go(kemp)
Jumping out of the van like some smaller shadow behind Decker. "I'm here"(decker)
The Modi takes a minute to shed his outermost layer - the bulky swishy Raiders jacket - which he tosses into the back. Hissing with the sudden cold, the Modi pops his neck with a sudden jerk of his head and then heads down the street. "See a good hidin' place, you speak up," he says, low. God knew Kemp was good at hiding.(kemp)
He'd been fortunate and Cliona had dedicated his entire outfit to him. Course he'd likely outgrow it all before next winter, but for now he could stay somewhat warm. Nodding, tugging the stocking cap lower on his head while hunkering down like some miniture commando to start skittering from pole to junk car to garbage can to discarded sofa like an overgrown rat.(james)
rolling to cross over: to -Sphinx-: 5D10 Dice Roll: 9; 5; 9; 10; 6next to exit is the lanky Gnawer
just not in the same way as the other two Fenrir
reflective objects at a premium in the van
he camps in on Erik's choice of the rear view mirror
hand lays across his Alpha's shoulder
and James leads the way across
feeling the pressure increase to thin and squeeeze through spirit sidewith flying colors
(decker)
He's still got a zip-up hooded sweatshirt and two t-shirts on under the jacket. Not to mention the sagging jeans, which he hikes casually up en route, buckling the belt a little tighter to hold it up. Last thing he needed was to be tripping over his cuffs while running the offensive.While Kemp skitters around, Decker just follows grimly, stalking straight down the center of the sidewalk. Not like this was Bel Air or anything. A thug walking down the street, in his opinion, was less obvious than a thug who couldn't go stealth worth shit trying to skitter around like his younger (youngest) packmate.
When he gets to the discarded sofa, though, he drops down behind it. It was large enough that even his lack of Mohican Stealth Technique didn't matter much. A sniff, his nose running already from the frigid air.
(kemp)
He was cold and each exhale left a puff of white for a second before another followed like some weird steam engine. Playing ghetto commado took a lot of work in the cold. Had to watch for patches of ice cause it wouldn't be too cool to land on your ass in front of the pack. Dark cap peeking up over the edge of the sofa to take a quick look towards the building.(kemp)
Hissing towards Decker. "Psst, we the decoys?" If you needed someone to get attention there was no better choice than himself. Obnoxious was his middle name.(erik)
Erik lets himself be dragged across the guantlet by his more spiritually attuned packmate. Once he senses that he is fully across he gets low to the ground and surveys the scene.(decker)
Another sniff. A messy wipe of his nose on his sleeve. A smirk. "Maybe. The Blood Eagle'll let us know." He taps the side of his head. "Totemphone."(kemp)
Taps the side of his head. "Disconnected. Guess I didn't pay the bill."(st)
Imogen and Lexi sit tight in the van, as order, they were the getaway drivers. Rifles ready just in case for any signs of trouble.Decker and Kemp begin to take point behind an old sofa, sitting out for the garbage man to pick up. The advantage point it affords the two Fenrir a nice view into the brick building. A large bay door sits open with a van inside, the back doors open, as a three men scuttle back and forth from inside the building to the van, moving what looks to be like some minor equipment and loading it up. A fourth man, dressed like some punk Thrasher in loose denim and leather stops outside to survey the neighborhood, a neon-green Mohawk spiked up. Tattooed glyph like markings run along the sides of his shaved scalp, depicting certain symbols knowledgeable to any Gaian that could read them [GlassWalker, Ahroun, Weaver, Crow]. He seems on edge, as if searching around for someone or something.
:::Umbral Side:::James and Eric cross the thick Gauntlet with ease, thanks to the Bone Gnawer, the gray outlines of buildings and streets loom over head, webs strewn about as the scurry forms of pattern spiders seem to continue about their business. Many of them concentrated across the street at the brick building, outlines of movement can be scene. Two tall Crinos like figures stand at the outer wall of the brick building, one form of the One-eyed Red Talon with the crisscross of scars over his chest. The other individual was a bluish-grey Crinos with a circuit board pattern running along his chest and shoulders. Red eyes glowing softly, as he is the first garou to step sideways out of the Gauntlet.
(erik)
Erik hugs the ground, neglecting to change forms lest the painful crackling give them away. He then opens up the totem phone, something he uses rarely outside of situations like this. "The talon is with us here. One is crossing to you, back of building, now. Find it and report." For now, they stay hidden.(decker)
"Shh--" as the scuttling footsteps reach his ears.Cautiously, the Modi takes a peek over the top of the sofa. Slinks back down. Taps Kemp and jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating that the Rotagar should take a peek too.
'Least one more Garou realmside 'round front. Looks like a Walker Full-Moon. Three others, ain't sure what they are. We move, they see us fer sure.
(erik)
'Can you come to me?'(james)
funny - PR guy and seemingly most spiritually attuned of the present pack
the Ahroun is earning quite an interesting place amongst the Eagles
maybe on another day he'd find it amusingright now he's looking in the direction Erik isn't
the instinctive move to cover his packmate's back
ignorant of the cold biting its way through his tattered trench
deliberately ignoring its effects to chill his hands and face
(as if he could feel anything other than his burning Rage)
nothing more than a precise collection of wary movements
and the ephemeral liquid drip of blade-tipped rebar into his handsfists wrap around rebar shafts hard enough to turn his knuckles white
momentarily neglecting his outward survey and glancing towards the Talon ahead
it's everything he can do to remain still and hidden(decker)
A glance at the empty street. Only if I go Umbral. Leave the kid alone with one 'r more hostiles.
(kemp)
Popping his head up to take a quick look before ducking back down. One hand over his mouth to keep from blurting out some smartass comment.(erik)
'Bring 'im or send 'im to watch the kin.' Keep up, kid, or be left behind.(kemp)
And through his head a song was running, one that just made him grin in the frigid cold. Oh I wish I was a little talon wiener, that is what I'd truly like to beEee, cause if I had a little talon wiener, everyone could come and laugh at me. Hoping he got the chance to shout/sing that one out to Captain Fuckface the Pirate.(james)
If the Talon's here and a Full Moon GeeDub out front.... one crossing's probably the Theurge
mainly a bit of change added to the current conversation
it gives him something to concentrate on(decker)
Guys out front look like they're gearin' up to split. You really want me Umbral with ya, 'm leavin' the kid behind to keep an eye on 'em.Shift of focus. To James: How many ya know of?
(erik)
'Don' want this goin public. We'll draw 'em 'ere and finish it. Let the kid watch from there. Come.'(james)
If this is the true pack? Three. GeeDub Theurge, the Talon, and another I got nothing on.... may be your Ahroun.(st)
A loud whistle pitches through the garage; the three men finish packing and shut the back door to the van. The Thrasher continues to keep point, nervously pacing outside the building, looking around to the side and then back over across the street, near the couch.There isn’t much actively going on in the van, Lexi and Imogen are waiting, whether impatiently or not, catching most of what was going on.
::Umbral::
The Red Talon seems to pause for a moment, looking around the general area of the buildings out line. He looks about ready to cross over the Gauntlet, to follow the first garou.
(decker)
Decker shifts, scowling. The totemphone clicks dead and then he turns to Kemp."Erik wants me Umbral 'n round back. You stay here, keep an eye on 'em. They start movin'," he thumbs at the four men, "you git the kin outta here, then come find us. Don't try 'n take 'em all by yerself. Git?"
(kemp)
Ok, so Decker was shifting and leaving him with orders to get the kin out of here? "Wait, just leave you here?" A little confused, did that mean now?(decker)
"No. If they haul ass, you do two things. One, tell the kin to split. Two, come 'n find us in the Umbra. In that order."(kemp)
"Ok." Getting confused with Decker's orders. And in the meantime he was starting to freeze to the sidewalk.
(decker)
The Modi could see the kid's confusion. But fuckit. Keep up or be left behind, and he was outta time.Just a hard grey stare held a second, and then the Modi crosses the Gauntlet.
(kemp)
Frowns watching him vanish. Seemed kinda worthless to run and tell the women to get out of there if the guys in the van started to leave. Made more sense to try and stop them, but he was low man, what did he know.(erik)
We'll 'it 'im 'ard and fast. Deck on point. Rip 'im good. Ready?(st)
::Umbral::
The Talon seems to be having some sort of difficulty with cross the thickness of the Gauntlet. He keeps smacking into it, twice now he has tried to cross over. A snarl rises up in the base of his throat suddenly, ears lying flat against his lupine head. He steps back from the outline building, watching as pattern spiders starts scurrying over the recent tear made by the first Garou that crossed over.
::Outside::The three men turn to head inside the garage, as the Thrasher walks into the garage. His body posture stiffens up suddenly, looking around in a paranoid manner. He stops by the side view mirror of the driver’s side on the van, grabs it and looks into it. Just like that the Thrasher crosses over into the Gauntlet to join the Talon.
(decker)
Well, the time for stealth was over. Not that he was any good at it. By the time he gets to his packmates he's huge, bristling, grey, Crinos.Glowing with Luna's light, too, and billowing with Helios' flame. He was a fuckin tank now, leaving Eagle's Might for his packmates. In this ballgame tonight, his main duty seemed to be the shock absorber.
The fetish axe makes its appearance, ink to liquid to solid black steel slapping into his palm. A wordless, soundless snarl is all the confirmation Erik gets, and then the Modi turns to face the enemy.
(james)
there's a huffed snort in answer to Erik's question
followed by the slow tick and scratch of Chrinos (Razor.) talons on the ground behind
even in this form, the dreadlocks never seem to fully melt away
still apparent in the raggedy outline created by hulking massfast and hard
just tell him when to go(erik)
Focus on the Talon. I will take the other. Erik surges into Crinos form, his deadly fetishgun shimmering into existence in his right hand.Decker is faster, so Erik lets him get ahead, while he concentrates on invoking a gift of his tribe and cowing the eater of flesh, breaker of the litany, into submission.
(st)
::Umbral::It isn't long as Decker joins Erik and James that all three of them see the Thrasher cross over the Gauntlet with ease. Massive body shifting instantly, into a giant Crinos with neon-green streaks sliced through the fur like stripes.
(kemp)
There he was suddenly alone with those guys up ahead with their van and somewhere behind, the women with the stolen van. Seemed to him if those guys in the van tried to run, he should try to stop them. He could throw sofa cushions at them. Oh that would impress them.(st)
::Outside::Kemp sits put keeping eyes on the garage and that van. He see two of the men exit the building. A blond man that he didn't see before and one of the three men that had loaded up the truck. The Blond man heads over to the driver's side of the van, climbing inside, soon joined by the second. The van rumbles to life quickly.
(imogen)
It's nothing but a waiting game, and it's perhaps something every kinfolk is familiar with. Most, in fact, even speak it as one of the worst things. Inability, impotence, and the damned damned waiting. They aren't likely to fill it with talk, either, neither much for small talk, and somehow 'some cold snap we're having, eh?' seems like a terribly trivial conversation just the now.The engine is turned off, and cool and within, it's no where near warm anymore. Imogen can see her breath as she shifts slightly, her hand on the rifle, gaze flicking toward Kemp by himself (... shadow of a smirk), before her attention flicks back toward what had been the interest of her attention. In time to see the thrasher seemingly disappear into a mix of fog, unreality and a bending warping gauntlet.
As the van comes alive, Lexi's lips move, saying something to the redhead beside her. Imogen's shoulders lift in a brief shrug, her reply muted by the steel and window that closes them in.
(decker)
And a fifth joins the Umbral battlescape.For a moment the two sides size each other up. Two on three. Garou on Garou. No fuckin' BSDs here. Wonder if this'll hurt his renown more than it'll help it. Wonder if he even cares.
A stray breeze. Rustling trees. This landscape almost barren of humanity and its traceries is bleak with the taint of despair. He feels his packmates at his side. He feels Erik activating a gift, the energy of spirits gathering around the Alpha, and on that instant, without warning, the Modi springs forward, leaps the first ten feet, hits the ground running, the axe backswinging in an arc of matte black like night and gleaming white edge like lightning.
Not a single sound erupts from his snarling black lips, but his grey eyes, pale and flashing in this form, promise murder.
Let's see whose Fear is stronger.
(erik)
No sound from Silence, but the Blood Eagle makes up for it. From deep within him, from a place only great fenris knows, comes a thunderous, powerful snarl. He directs it at the newly arrived Garou as he rushes straight in.(kemp)
Looking around quickly on his way back towards the van with the kinfolk. Snagging up anything he can throw in the way of the other van if it came this way. Like, a garbage can or two.(st)
Umbra:It's like freight trains colliding. Two fronts rushing at each other. Gifts of intimidation tossed back and forth between. The Modi's quelling the Talon. The Rotagar's cowing the Walker. The Talon's...
...rebuffed, neatly, by the invisible armor of willpower. Fearless.
And then the fronts meet and the real fun starts.
--
Outside:
Kemp is quick, but the van, once it's running, is faster. It veers off the driveway and onto the street, coming Kemp's way. Inside he can see a blond man riding shotgun to one of the three that had been moving equipment. He's shouting at him and gesturing for him to go faster. The driver has both hands clamped on the wheel, harassed and white-knuckled.
The back door lolls open, spilling some of that equipment onto the asphalt. None of them seem to give a shit.
(Maneater Pack Init: 1, Eagle Pack Init: 9, )
(kemp)
And he was yelling at the women back in their van, hoping they could hear or see him. Waving for them to get the hell of there and dodging around anything he could put between him and the oncoming van cause getting run over will so suck.(imogen)
You always know that when a Garou starts waving for you to haul ass, it's possibly a good idea to do so.Guess the Garou are walking home in the cold, unless the kin take the initiative and either move to somewhere where they can see, or simply return when they assume it might be safe.
It's rather likely. Giving in is not in wolf blood, and kinfolk sometimes have that in spades.
The stolen van takes off.
(st)
Thrasher falls with one shell from Erik's fearsome silver-loaded shotgun. Seeing this, the Talon gets the idea that maybe he should keep away from the maniac with the gun. A soaring leap backwards takes him far out of James' reach.Decker and James surge after him while the Alpha finishes off the incapacitated Glass Walker. Then the Alpha's gift halts the coward's flight, and the leaping is that much slower.
After that, it's easy enough to catch up.
--
The stolen van takes off, realmside. The other van doesn't seem too bent on pursuit, instead swerving AROUND Kemp. Unbalanced, it nearly falls over before righting itself. There are garbage cans around, all right, as well as debris that falls out of the back of the van.
(kemp)
Well he didn't know how good he was at this, but he did try to toss and kick cans in the way of the van. If nothing else, he could be a pain in the ass. "Fuckers!"(st)
Garbage cans bang and boom off the retreating van, but it's a large vehicle and a few aluminum cans weren't going to stop it. Soon enough, one of the men inside grab the yawing back doors and slam them shut, and then the van veers out of sight.Left behind, Kemp might feel rather left out of the whole thing. There's a lot of equipment debris on the ground, though.
(kemp)
Get the kinfolk out of there and then go Umbral. Right, that was easily said. Now he was fishing around in his coat for that little cheap Mabeline compact with the cracked mirror he'd scrounged up so he could try and go find the others.(james)
it's easy enough to catch up
distance closing on the ragged breaths of a rampaging bull
sheer determination (Rage) pushing him past his packmate
bristling snarl pouring past curled lips when the Talon tries to dodge again
James. will. not. let him escape razor sharp grip a second time
(he owes Tristan this much....)
talons slash diamond hard brilliance in the Umbra's ever-changing light
a flurry of four quick strikes that cuts the defiler to the groundManeaters are simply fallen Garou
it makes no difference whether or not they have danced the Wyrm's unholy spiral
at the first taste of human meat across their tongues they betrayed the Mother
there is no quarter of hazy grey definition to the Ahroun
there is no absolution offered in redemption's second chance
there is only the necessity of succinctly ending their very existance
destroying the beings that no longer have the right to call themselves Gaia's Chosen
(just as he destroyed his own pack when they lost their way)most would consider this unfair - two battle hardened Fosterns bearing down on the single Talon, Garou attacking each other - but James is not one of them, the creature that attacked his kinfolk deserves no such semblance of honor or mercy
that is why, when the one-eyed maneater lays unconscious on the ground
and the Modi ceases his attack, resigned to stand and watch
a cold fury continues to flow volcanic within the once mellow-Gnawer
(I promised to make you pay)
he does not stop until the beast lays in swiftly cooling pieces at his feet(decker)
By the time Kemp finds them, there's little enough left of the Talon. James stands bathed in blood. Decker is splattered with it, but most of it looks incidental. It's unclear whether the Modi even lifted a finger in this whole business.It's equally unclear whether he even wanted to, much.
He lived by a different code than James. Amongst the Get, flesheating was frowned upon as weak, but not as tainted. It was a flaw, but not quite a sin, and all too many Fenrir had fallen prey to it in the throes of a bloodlusting frenzy.
Had kinfolk died, it would have been different. And had it been Imogen, it would have been different, because his codes and his morals always bent to his intolerances and his demons.
But it hadn't been so. And so the grey Modi looks down impassively at the slaughter, neither condoning nor condemning his packmate. And when the smaller Rotagar comes up, he turns to face him, tautening.
Garouspeech, startlingly unaccented and strong: "The kin?"
(kemp)
"They left, I shooed them off like you said to do." Now this was totally gross looking and sorta made him feel sick and his previous thoughts of pissing on one eye were gone cause he wasn't sure it was one eye in parts and pieces and throwing up was sounding pretty good.(decker)
Relaxation. A nod of approval. The axe is gone; the black tattoo coils on his right arm again. Absently the Modi shakes off his right handpaw - a splatter of blood and tissue lands on the Penumbral ground. He settles pale grey eyes on Truth-in-Frenzy for a moment and tried to remember if there was even a time when he was sickened by the sight of blood. It seemed like all his life he'd been surrounded by violence. Enmired in death. Immersed in ugliness and pain and rot."Get used to it." It's the bloodied handpaw that grips the boy's narrow shoulder briefly, its massive size the same proportion a man's hand would be on a newborn infant. The bloodstain left behind is enormous. "Shit and blood is all you've got to look forward to until you die."
The handpaw leaves the shoulder; the Modi reverts to breed form and looks to James to lead them back across the gauntlet.
(kemp)
Trying to think about anything other than the way the bloody remains reminded him of what he could remember of that night with Carmen. Swallowing cause it wasn't working so good. "Um, Carmen said hello Booger face. And she said to tell you, she misses you." Looking to James, then Decker. "And she's nearby, watching over us."(james)
James doesn't expect anything more than impassive observation from Decker
they may be pack, but they come from two completely different worlds
each has their own reasons which rationalize and inspire their actions
and until a line is crossed, the pack leaves each to their own
they all have their inner demons to deal withit's a lesson Kemp has already, unfortunately, learned
the one-eyed monster isn't given another thought aside from wiping the gore from his eyes
shaking it from his tangled mane as fur lengthens to breedform dreadsthe kin safely away, the mission done, the hunt successful: Drums on Skulls defines a path which takes them back across the gauntlet, and for him, concludes in a seriously hot shower
Posted by james at 12:00 AMJanuary 02, 2004.01.02.03. - resilient garou [meeting: city garou] *sd[forum - resultant meeting continued from previous scene, to start .01.02.03.]
(james)
the station on West End and 54th
it's not exactly a popular place - but that's the entirety of its charm
years ago the city restoration project abandoned this particular station
it was not deemed necessary to the further success of the Transit Authority
since, the station has remained lady in waiting to the demolition crews that will enhance it to a useful addition within Chicago's ever-changing construct.... someday.... when the funds magically re-appearamazing, the little tidbits of information one can find in items and records "borrowed" from the public library
Gaia bless his Frankenweiler mentors for instilling a bookworm within the Full Moonthe situation suits James just fine
over the Totemphone, Blood Eagle agreed to a meeting
but he left the location up to the Ahroun's studious research
given his knowledge of the city's resident Garou
a gathering at some abandoned Skid Row crackhouse would even draw unwanted attention
not to mention it would be best to avoid any places which the banes of poverty and dispair already inhabit
so in true Gnawer style - James went undergroundanyone coming that would protest such a scenic locale could bite him
at the entrance, deep umber eyes strafe across the landscape
peering out of the frame created by dreadlocks tied back beneath faded grey bandana
pausing on the waxing gibbous beginning to creep above the nearby skyline
(at least Luna isn't rising pregnant in the sky, Jamey-boy)
then dropping to the empty warehouses and "closed for the holiday weekend" shops ignorant of nighttime travelers
the neighborhood struggled hard enough during the day
whatever happened after dark was, deliberately, none of its concerna shoulder, padded by the tattered patchwork trench and layers of winter warms, leverages against a sheet of plywood
shoving it aside to expand the truant crack into a make-shift entrance
eyeballed judgement deciding it enough for even Sputnik's bearish figure to squeeze through
butterfly knife swirls and catches the remnant reflections of a nearby, dimming streetlamp
tip of the blade digs into the slanted plywood - creating a rough pattern of boxed slashes next to another, smaller, pictograph
the resilient garou and eagle glyphs carved amongst existing graffiti and other scratch in make-shift signyes folks, this is the place!
inside, boots thunk a muted cadence down the station's forgotten stairs
crackling an errant leaf or withered bit of trash
Zippo CLACKfwps to life and keeps him from reaching the bottom on his ass
tiny lantern held above his head for the remaining journey: taking the Ahroun safely past payment kiosks and counting turnstiles, into the empty and disheveled cavern of the station long void of any life save a shelter-seeking transient
luckily, none of which were sleeping in any corner that he could smell
(unfortunately, he could smell their lack of making it to the - probably out of order anyway - bathroom)and it's DAMN cold down here
even without the outside wind's help
the temperature of subterranean air feels lower than what he just left
the meager light between his fingers does nothing but tease the prospect of comfort and warmthhe chooses to avoid a curious spike in energy, regardless of whether or not the lights still work
thus: the top of a metal trashcan is pried off, mooooostly empty (....erk) bag replaced into another recepticle
waiting innards filled with old newspapers and scraps of plywood broken to fit the job
battered bronze Zippo closed after the tinders spring to firey life
.... and... a Camel sparked so not to waste the flamage
(waste not, want not, Momma Ruggs always used to say)
growing warmth from the trashcan reflecting off glass faces of empty display cases
a pile of haphazard tinder created several feet away
later it will seem like nothing more than a derelict struggle to keep warm in the freezing night
James moves to make sure the place is empty as expecteddrafts from the subway tunnels carry smoke down the passages instead of towards the stairs
(they'll be long gone before it travels far enough to be noticed and investigated)
current residents are nothing more than rats or insects scurrying away from the growing light
(it's empty, hollow, here, even the Ahroun can tell there are no lingering, eavesdropping.... things....)
the exits are either boarded for defense, or, if still open, easily guarded by vigilant Garou
(this is neutral territory, yet he is still wary of chance ambush, and needed the means to otherwise escape)
the station platform provides ample space for packs and others to gather and hold their ground
(benches, stairsteps, walls to broodingly lean against with easy elbow room....)
and they are far enough from the street, behind winding steps and halls, to keep their words from strayingsatisfied, James drags another trashcan to create twin sources of light and warmth ten feet apart
yet he does not ignite the tinder piled within, not yet, just in case
then lanky, six foot two frame folds into the oblique shadows at the base of the station's back wall
legs stretching as ankles cross and dreads pillow his skull against the stone
appearing nothing more than a raggedy-man waiting out the night - instead of Gaia's Warrior readying for the coming battle((OOC nitty gritty:
I guessed on the station's locale... sorry if it's not in the part if town described, heh. Creative license, dammit! Or... blame Lessa! She gave me the street names! Ha!
Any Garou that had a means of finding out about it via Barking Chain or subsequent word of mouth may now be considered invited/informed. Kinfolk? It's up to you and/or your informant of whether or not you'd be invited or have something useful to offer the Rage Brigade. No expectations or requirements of those who attend. Entire packs, single representatives, lone Garou, Kinfolk... s'all good. It's voluntary participation after all.
Scene will be "open" until Friday, Jan 9th, midnight chat time. Plenty of time to get things covered, even for those of us that aren't online daily... damn RL. Play on, folks!))
(smokey)
No dramatic brooding entrance, he just enters and waits. Incase he has to wait to long, he even brought a bag full of paint. But other then that, he just waits for now.(kemp)
Kemp got word of mouth from James and so here he was. Wrapped up tightly against the cold in hat, coat, gloves and scarf. Cap pulled down so low that his brows were hidden and little more than green eyes showed, reflecting the light of the barrel fire when approaching. A single lift of his chin in greeting to James and the other guy there, Smokey. Then he was hunkering down close to the barrel to ward off the cold down here. Waiting.(jim)
Jim clambered down the steps with a grace not often seen in a street bum. came from years of traveling by rooftop to avoid street gangs before his first change. He had left a message for the rest of The Quick at their communal den to join him if they were so inclined but he wasn't sure which would be interested in meeting with a bunch of gnawers and who ever the bum dragged in. He made his way through the refuse and remains of civilization left behind when this place closed up. he held a stick wrapped in an oily rag that he lit with an Aim n' Flame lighter he kept in his jacket pocket. He sniffed and immediately wished he hadn't. he looked down as a squelching sound as he realized he stepped on the remains of a dead diseased rat. he shook his head "Return teh grandmother rat, yeh poor soul. next time come back as a squirell." he looked up and a good ways down the tunnel he saw a flicker of light and made his way there holding the makeshift torch aloft. after he got where the others were gathered he nodded with a gruff growling "'Sup." He recognized James and the black gnawer who had shot him. he didn't hold a grudge about that. hell he'd have shot him back had they not realized they were both gnawers. The other one he didn't recognize but something about him said he had an invitation cuz he didn't seem gnawerish. he recieved a cautious look and a nod before jim turned his attention back to james and Smokey "Okay, So who else's comin teh this shin dig?" He says as he shove his torch flame down into the already lit fire barrel adding to the warmth.(cliona)
The opening is even big enough for Sputnik to enter, and thus is no problem for the deceptively slight figure that slips through it now. The invitation through James to Sputnik to Danah to Cliona (to James and Crystal too) find her going underground with the Gnawers. It's not the first time she's done so, though it's not something she speaks of often, the pretty Irish lass more suited for a Pub then an abandoned subway station. Somehow, she seems at home, more the diamond in the rough then someone distinctly out of place in the stench and filth and the flickering light of the fire in an oildrum.Two-tone hair- natural red atop, the bottom 4-6 inches looking something like a black dye job growing out, or simply a half dye job period - is pushed back over her shoulders, held from her face by knit cap. Batter backpack is slung over her shoulder, warm coat zipped over camoflage tanktop and pants that are tucked into well-worn boots.
There's a glance around at those who are here. James, Kemp, Jim and she can't help the slow grin to see Smokey, a brow lifted slightly in amused hello before she moves toward the oildrum to warm her hands. Voice low, accent thick, barely Americanized in her 2 years stateside. "Slainte, all." offered in way of voiced greeting.
(james wagner)
(Damn, that name was getting popular..) James Wagner, the Sandman got the message from his beta, and decided it was worth a look. He had best get chummy with the rest of the Garou populas in Chicago anyway. So there he was, making his way down into the little party.When he got there he noticed Cliona over there and gave a little nod to his kinswoman, wondering idly if the rest of his little ragtag band is going to show up. The Fianna wore an old pair of faded jeans and a Static-X hoody and his typical black Oakleys beanie, not really saying much to any but nodding his greeting to those that met his gaze.
(sputnik)
It is not long before the presence of the big Russian 'Gnawer fills the subway station, carefully, guided steps taking to hide his trail and that of the two women that followed along with him. They were tribe and his kinfolk. He would not exclude them from this meeting. Una, the young blond teenager paced by Sputnik's side easily, an invigorating bounce to the young girl's steps, dressed for the warmth of the weather in heavy denim, flannel and jeans. Yuliya, the dark haired Russian bitch, joined them as well. Quiet and narrow eyed with a chilly stare, there's a reason they call her Siberia.Thick cords of black-grey dreadlocks were pulled back from his face, beard trimmed more closely to the line of his jaw. He gives James of the Eagles, a curt nod up, Eagle's style. "Pleasant weather, vhe are having, American brother-rhya." a deep chuckle rumbles in garbled tones from his chest, thick accent poured over broken English.
He finds himself a place to perch, letting his kinfolk women do as they please for now.
Una looks around with big green eyes, plopping down on the floor near Sputnik and pulls out her CD player and music to listen to godawful JPOP.
(james wagner)
It appears he wasn't wrong when the big Ruskie made his entrance, of which the Sandman gave a little nod to him, and went back to watching, waiting and listening.(yuliya)
Siberia indeed.She'd cancelled some less important things for this. Family is everything to some, like her. Without loyalty of some form, all you had left was suspicion and violence. Ever present heavy leather jacket, gloves, dark hair in wild abandon around calmly cold face as she followed along. Her dark eyes take in those gathered as they arrived, before drawing up to someplace around the edge... the better to watch, for now... the soft scent of gunpowder and cigarettes on her. For once not smoking like s chimney, yet. Leave that pleasure for when it got really dull or really stressful... or she just wanted to piss someone off.
(yu gan)
There is a moment where the shadows seem to deepen a little then return to their former shade. The Alpha of the Quick steps forth from the umbra in the darkness. Still cloaked in the gift that allows him to go unseen he looks over the amassed garou. Scents the air and shakes his head gently. Moving with stealth he joins Jim, his packmate and then slowly lets the gift slip off.Reveiled is Yu Gan, Uktena and Alpha of his pack that prides themselves on thier minds over their brawn. He nods to his pack mate and stands in silence among the people here. He was known to be exceedingly quiet outside his pack or if not on a track. This proved to be no different. Standing there in the hiking boots, black BDUs under the custom Aztec designed leather jacket he waits for the people to get started. Matching scents to those around him and their current apperances. The large Asian man stands in gloom. Vigilant and representing with Jim, The Quick.
(jim)
Jim nods as his alpha arrives and looks over the rag tag group assembling. nodding to those he knows or those obviously of his tribe namely sputnik. He pokes the fire with the stick part of the torch still untouched by flames then holds his fingerless glove adorned hands over the fire and sniffs. It was cold but he'd lived through colder maybe he could help it out a little. with the stirring of the fire the air around begins to warm (rite of the cardboard palace) slightly at first but it's becoming tolerable.(danah)
Danah arrived late. She muttered quietly underbreath how the underground seemed colder than outside, a feat she didn't think was quite possible. Pulling her faux-fur coat closer to her body, she continued the descent, following the soft orange glow of a trash-can fire in the distance. The clacking of heavy boots announced her presence before the fires illuminated her figure. Over six feet tall, she was taller than most women -- stronger too.She paced past the barrel of fire, the light revealing olive toned skin, probably originating in central America or an island off the south-east coast of the States. Thick waves of hair spiralled down her shoulders, interupted only by a single red streak. Her hips moved with a feminine sway, but nevertheless with purpose -- there seemed a particularly feral quality to her tonight. She took up position near Sputnik, who bested her by only a few inches in height thanks to her boots. Producing a nail file from her coat, she began perfecting her homid talons while waiting for the meeting to begin.
(erik)
Tall and angular, Erik throws a sudden shadow out behind him as he comes into the place. Lexi he left behind on the surface. A lookout. A good one.He stands taller than most, around 6'3", and has the body of a marathon runner. Thin, hard, tough line tendon. The one called Blood Eagle by the most savage of tribes doesn't have the bulk one might expect. A nod up to James and Kemp, wary eyes turned on the rest. The fire's glow meets his face and reveals two of his glory scars. One, a double, thin cut from forhead, down cheek to neck. It distorts the shape of mouth and eye, but it is the other scar, a chunk missing from the other cheek and baddly healed, that disturbs even hardened eyes.
He sneers all around. The only expression he is capable of.
"Sorry 'm late." All he offers.
(nelly bell)
A very loud word of mouth, coming from one such as Smokey. It was luck, purely that they had run into him at the coffee shop upon the same night as this vicarious wolven meet. And any meet with more than one garou was worth note. Especially when called en mass by the BeeGees. Leave it to them to start the fire under everyones' asses. She'd have to remember to thank him later.Abandoned station. Funny.... she seemed to find that the Wyld surrounding this scab was more abandoned than even this run down dump. Ironically she was uncomfortable, even for one of her tribe.
Those bedroom blues fell upon the opening and winced, glancing back over her shoulder at the towering shadow, "Suck it in sugah," giving a smile warrented on wearisome to her brother. She slipped thru, and immediatly pulled that punk red fake fur coat closer to her body. Teeth began to chatter as she waited for her companion... the second sign of ill omens, the frigid cold air.... then made way down to the underbelly of the meeting.
In the dark silouette casted from the trashcan fires upon the bottom of the stairs, even her platium blonde hair seemed to darken to a dull straw, sun tanned skin a shade reder than usual. Lips pursed into a smile as smooth as Tennessee whiskey as she headed on in, "Ah guess we as timely as eva' Butta...." that deep southern accent sprang to life, echoing off the walls along with her goldentipped cowboy boots clicking harshly upon the rubble filled concrete slab. Her own scent was pungent; seemed to muscle its way into the thickness of the decay, stale scent of the place... it waiffed around her like a shell made of dewdrop moss, deep woods pine and fresh toiled soil. Her gaze flickered, falling upon faces and relising she didn't recognize hardly any of them. Motherhood had kept her out of the loop too long, she would need to rectify that soon.
(leroy)
Though both were informed almost post-event, barely catching the invitation before the kick off commenced, LeRoy nevertheless caused them a few more moments of tardiness. It was through the mystical link between he and his packmates that he gave that invisible line a ring. ~Everyone, Something up, meeting goin on.~Flanking his little buxom blonde, sucking hard in upon his gut by her insistence, he followed her into the dark. Emerging behind she before those currently present, raising to his full height beneath the streets above them. His form easily towered over everyone present, his accompanying mass commanding each of their attention. 7'2" and over 340ibs, his black leather coat could barely keep him bound. His shaven head obscured by the black skull cap embroidered with a white unicorn hung low to his brows. His already ebony skin was now pitched darker than the flickering shadows surrounding him.
Slanted glance downwards, slowly swallowing the faces he washed his attention over. Some he knew, others not. Giving only a gutteral grumble and to Jim a quick nod up. Silent he remained, arms crossing over his chest, buldging under their leather constraints, he struck the pose of 'Ok, Im here, and Im listening'
(jim)
Jim nods to leroy and nelly as they arrive, gotta keep up the Public relations. he sniffed and rubbed his nose leaning in to whisper to his alpha in a tone too low to be heard unless actively listening and even then you gotta be listening close "Looks like this was a decent turn out, eh? might have teh use the Barkin chain more often" he glances at the others and continues playing with the fire in front of him stoking it and moving around the trash and other refuse used to bring warmth to the area around. the warmth spread further than the barrel itself would have alowed taking the edge off the cold that was deeper below ground.(sputnik)
The Metis Gnawer stood near his kinfolk, casting his dark gaze silently around at the gathering of Gaia's Children. His chest swells up a bit, prideful, that they were willing to listen and come when the call for aide had gone out. Thick black-grey dreadlocks slide across his back with his head movements. Massive arms, thickly cords of muscle flex beneath the Russian army fatigue jacket, stretching as he folds his arms over his chest.The blond teenager, Una, continues to sit on the ground, leaning back to rest up against Sputnik's thigh. She flicks her eyes over the gathering, looking up at Yuliya to take directions of etiquette from the older kin, whom she secretly admired. The CD player was put away, headphones gathered around Una's neck. Squaring off her shoulders to look tougher, despite her petite frame. She notices Danah coming over to stand with them and can't help but smirk at the wily Glass Walker.... Danah was just soooo cool.
"Vhelcome... Ist good you all can gather in short notice. Hopefully, this is not all of us and we'll see more of our brethern." he speaks up in the thick garbled bass of broken English. At 6'4, he stood out amongst many of the men gathering. LeRoy was the next one that outdid Sputnik by muscle bulk and height.
(james wagner)
James Wagner made his way to the oildrum and warmed hands by the fire, nudging Cliona teasingly. Rubbing his hands together, the Sandman looked toward those entering late with a nod, and as Sputnik began speaking he looked toward his comrade and nodded. "It brings a smile to me face to see so many o' us in one place. I dinna expect some so big, though. Counts as two people." Chuckling, the Fianna smiled and folded his arms over his chest.Dwarfed certainly by Sputnik and probably the other, he was only 6', 6'1". Then again, it wasn't how big you were. It was how good you could kick the shit out of something. Breath misting before his nostrals, he waited for this shindig to kick off.
(cliona)
Cliona arches a brow at James, and with a grin nudges him back. If the Sandman feels dwarfed, imagine how the slight Fianna lass feels. 5'7" maybe. if she stretches a bit. And she doesn't wear heels... as such, her entire pack overshadows her slender frame - even Crystal! But as James says - it's not about how big you are, but how well you do, and the little Irish girl is quite good at what she does.She's silent still, though she takes the time to smile at Sputnik, and his bitches, as well as to Danah. Kemp receives a warm smile. She'll have to ask him how the sneaking into the warehouse is going after the meeting. Idle thoughts, as she to awaits whomever called the meeting officially, to speak up and get the ball rolling.
(yuliya)
She may not be the best one to get etiquette from, if Una was looking for he kinfolk behavioral standard. Yulya had yet to follow one herself. She did manage to be both steady and cool in amongst so many gathering Garou though. Not terribly displaced from Sputnik and Una's position, keeping more a watchful eye on things then not for the moment. They had hsit to talk about and until she felt the need to give them her two cents, she'd be watching. There was bad shit going down afterall... It'd be just their luck shit went down there. Shifting some, the comforting weight of her personal toys eased and settled, available quickly if needed, away for now, and looked at Danah who moved closer to them and the few she already knew. She actually tossed James the 'sup' nod, though few else got that. Him she liked. Then back to watching. She was at least glad she wouldn't be kneeing Una to turn off that screeching Jpop... it was still amusing to watch Misha rant and rave when it went on at the apartment, and Yulya had her earplugs in.... he's so fun to bait.(erik)
Right, we all got time to stand around here and pick our asses. Someone called this meeting. Whoever that is should speak the fuck up."Hey. What say we get dis shit on da road?"
Erik's voice (gravel) fills the space with a low rumble. Seems he wants to get the meeting underway...
(jim)
Jim crossed his arms and surveyed the group. he was shorter than most gathered standing 5'10 or so. he was broad shouldered and hunched his shoulders a bit, readjusting the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder standing to the side of Yu Gan his alpha. His face was covered in a danse beard though it looked recently trimmed. his wild matted hair was now clean and in some sembalance of order tucked under a filthy stained baseball cap. his face held a gruff stern expression. large gatherings like this were great but you gotta watch your step or you might get your leg bitten off... even if you're garou. He looked up from the fire and took in the sight of the new arrivals and nodded to those he recognized. he pulls his jacket a bit closer about himself then with a cough speaks. "I'm not the guy who called this meet but i say we start getting on the ball and figure out what teh do bout th' damn caern and all that other shit that's been plaguin' this city. We need teh get some open communication tween packs." he glances at Yu then James the Gnawer and bowed his head a bit showing a little submission to signify he wasn't trying to overstep any bounds.(kemp)
Smaller and quite possibly younger than most that came in, infact some made him feel like a midget at 5'6" and 15 years old, though he had years of growing to do if he lived that long. Hunkered down, nearly out of sight with the growing crowd. The biggest thing on Kemp was his mouth, in that department he was a giant. Lifting his chin to Erik in greeting when the Alpha entered. Then a wiggle of his brows and a wink for each Cliona and Danah. Most everyone else, other than his pack were strangers to him. For now he'd just listen to whatever they had to say and grumble inwardly at the cold that made all the females wear so much clothing. Talk about lack of entertainment, he couldn't even stare at boobs with all the coats!(yu gan)
Yu Gan nods to Jims words. Known to be the quiet one among them out side of his own he lets the gnawer put to word that which was to be done. He shifts down then. The fire light adding shadows and a touch of flickering concealment to the action. Sitting in lupus he ruffels his furr and listens. The slender long legged form of a dark Maned Wolf. Big ears swiveling like little radar dishes as the meeting starts off.
His dark eyes take in the assembeled and more than once he can be seen scenting the air.(sputnik)
A garbled sound rumbles in his throat, clearing it loudly to gather attention. The Russian bear steps away from his gathering to look around at those here."Getting shit started. Sputnik, among many of you, have felt the problems ravishing city. We have Wyrm taint spawned from just beyond the river front, rumors of black spiral dancer activity had flown around many mouths to even touch my ears. Has anyone received any concrete proof upon this information??
Secondly, the Caern Spirit, Whispers, is dying. If it hasn't already... the pain that ebbs from creature is a terrible sensation. It's very much vhrithing in death bed. There's something else that is awakening and the bane tender vhas brought to deal with. Has this been done?? If any garou has vhitness this atrocity upon the caern spirit they vhould know vhat Sputnik speak of. Plans are needed to be devised to stop situation and bring peace to already growing rippled in pond. Before tsunami hit all of us and wipe us all and our kinfolk out of this place. Vhe need to take action and it should have been done last -- as you american say -- Yesterday."
The broken English spoke out in strong tones, heavily flavored by the Russian accent of Misha. Erik wanted to get to the point of the matter. Well, there it was laid out flat upon the table, nothing order or commanded in the Metis Gnawer's voice, just reciting information the way he saw it. Fuck any one who's social dick got stroked the wrong way and didn't like the non-proper protocol in the way Sputnik had spoken out so blatantly.
(decker)
Never quite unobtrusive [the rage: feel the burn.], Decker's nonetheless a largely silent presence tonight.Amidst the standing and the towering, the Modi's on the dusty floor, back to a plywood-sheeted wall. His knees are drawn up inside thick baggy denims; his elbows balance atop them, hands fiddling idly with his switchblade knife, closed.
A zip-up sweatshirt which was black once upon a time, and is now closer to charcoal grey, tops off the outfit. Ghetto chic. Or not. And as for his overcoat - black L.A. Raiders jacket, its insignia dating it back at least ten years - he's sitting on it. Loose-jointed, but not relaxed. Silent, but never quite still.
The source of his menace is not something you can put your finger on.
His head turns slightly as he looks from one speaker to another. Down on the floor or not, his rank, renown and brute fuckin' strength gives him the right to stare them in the eye. In the dim lighting his eyes glimmer faintly, grey as hard as steel. And with Sputnik's questions for concrete proof, they fall expectantly on the Quick.
(smokey)
When will you rage?! Right after I cap your catch phrase spitting ass. Yeah, Smokey wasn't much for words. Which might seem strange for a galliard, but an artist dosn't have to be a poet. When Erik says the caller of the meeting might need to speak up, he stands. Sputnick says some shit he barely understood, then he says his peice. Well here goes nothing."Aight, so, like the Cosmonaut over there said shit is out of hand. I don't know about the spirit dying and all that. Wasn't on that team. But as tall dark and norse over there can testify..." He nods to Decker "That aint the only problem. If something is waking up in the Caern, its brought freinds. Cause we fought Banes inside a fucking Spawning Pit INSIDE the fucking Caern. Now I don't know what you locals been doing fore I get here, but god damn whatthefuck? We got the startings of a Hive already and we are just now starting to act? I just want to say, it may be to late. I'm like the rest of ya'll and hope it aint, but I a fucking realist and shit don't look good. If we can't figer out some big master plan to make it right, I suggest we don't rule out cutting our looses and destroying the caern ourselves before it falls to the Wyrm. Oh yeah, and this is officaly a gnawer meeting, so the motto of 'Fuck Manners' is in full effects for all you picky muthafuckas. So if you think you see an excuse to get your panties in bind, let me say before we get to deep in dis, just drop it. We aint got time for that kina shit right now."
(erik)
Erik stands, paces, roves with only his eyes. He feels Decker's simmer, comforting. He hears true words, now. Words that call for action... But he didn't think it would be this bad. Whether through strong wyrm presence or weak garou does not matter. The Mother's Pain is the only thing that matters."I wanna see dis Caern... An' I wanna see the wyrm lair."
Blue eyes blaze, two cold infernos. Fanatic.
(faith grimshaw)
"Fine with me." A Southern-tinged accent, too long separated from home to be a full-fledged accent, rings out from the stairs leading to the up-side. Faith "Forget-Me-Not" Grimshaw, likely unrecognized by all but her packmates, descends the rest of the stairwell. Moving to stand closer to the fire, the light casting shadows over her pale face, she nods to who had been speaking - Smokey. Coppery red locks fall in frazzled (damn cold weather) strands to her shoulders, hovering over her heart-shaped face, though spring green eyes are steady as they look over the assembled. A heavy brown overcoat, patched with slightly-off colors at the elbows and along the hem, covers her lean figure, though the cuffs of faded, ragged blue jeans extend from beneath the bulky garment. "Cause you're damn right - we got not time for fucking around with anything besides what we're gonna do." Hell, her father was a Gnawer, and she was raised as one - very simply, and very poor - and after the Change, she was looked after by the best damned Bone Gnawer (hell, best Garou, period) that ever walked the planet. In her eyes, anyway.So like she's gonna complain about a meeting done Gnawer-style. She was actually surprised at how elegantly the locale was chosen. Initially, LeRoy's call out had been a huge surprise, but the Gaian wasted no time in getting her ass in a coat and then busting it to get down here ASAP. This is what she'd been bitching about a while back - getting everybody together, and throwing together a plan. Any plan. Just... something. That moment on the balcony had been the last straw - she had a bad feeling about the fate of the Caern, and wasn't sure anything anybody did could swing the balance.
But they had to try...
Her breath fogs, a little heavy from jogging the last of the distance to the station, and her eyes fix on LeRoy and Nelly - as if asking, silently, as to the whereabouts of ol' Alpha and Omega. Inwardly, she just hoped she wouldn't get stuck in the representative spotlight for the Knights. Most of these Garou didn't even know who the hell she was. An unfortunate fact that she wished there was time to rectify, but things never seemed to settle. War is hell and all that.
(decker)
His eyes shift to Erik, ever so briefly.In that spark of contact, a flood of images played at fast-forward. The school, which served as bawn. The umbralside, with its deformed rat-spirits. The basement of the school. The boiler room and the cavernous, bane-infested lair beyond it where he and others had slain and purified, and then been able to go no further as their way was blocked.
-switch-
A day on the Riverfront. A strange man reeking of what might have been taint, if his senses had been sharper. But he had been in homid, and so had the other; and the other had passed.
--all this, in the silent communication between packmates.
"James saw the Caern's Heart," he adds aloud. "'N the Quick did some recon on the place near the Riverfront."
(sputnik)
"The caern's heart isn't pretty. And if it starts to become breeding ground for a hive. Sputnik is in agreeance of destroying present caern. We may not have a choice in the end and should be used as last resort. Sputnik good with make things go boom."It would kill him inside to have to destroy the caern, but the twisted inner workings of his mind thinks that blowing it up might be the best recourse of action. Silently, the plotting begins on what type of kitchen chemicals he could get on hand in case the need arise. Spirits wouldn't be happy about it, probably gain plently of notoriety, but he was crazy enough to take that chance.... if no one else was.
(erik)
Erik falls silent. His eyes narrow at the images Decker barrages him with. That is bad. And he stays silent, only nodding, as the Rusky puts forth a plan of destruction. He does think of one thing to say... "I aint so bad make things go boom, either."(decker)
Decker doesn't like the plan of destruction much. There's a loud snort from the Modi."Best y'all keep in mind that's the last fuckin' resort. 'M here to talk war, not tailtuckin' retreat."
(james)
the Ahroun watches as the others arrive
quietly tucked away against the wall
warm in the bubble created by layers of clothes, dreadlocks, and the slowly increasing heat of the firebins
chin lifting in turn to each new Garou (and kin) that step into the makeshift symposium
there is a certain element of curiosity as to whom would choose to answer the call
much less figuring out those that had the connections to hear about it"Hopef'lly? Ev'ryone." Empire State accent and battlescar slur first offered to Jim, then his attention turns to Sputnik "Yeh.... leas' it'll warm up'n here fas'."
it's an acknowledgement of Jim's efforts to warm the place
the Fostern watches how the other goes through the motions, carefully
ascertaining the various other methods for the 'Palace Rite
each Garou has their own way of ensuring warmth for themselves or others: never hurts to learn
and a smile spreads (lopsided) to feel the interior temperature steadily rise
in keeping the pack warehouse liveable, performing the Rite here is one preparation James could not makeKemp, Blood Eagle and Decker - nod up - his own pack has arrived
and as the last steadily trickle in (whoops, should've made that entrace big enough for LeRoy...), the Gnawer extracts another Camel from his pack
Zippo once again attending to sparking the cancerous stick to life
that's when the others begin to speak
deep umber eyes watching each in turn through the curtain of exhaled smokethere's no look of placement shot towards Jim
the Cliath has a point, after all, and far be it from any Gnawer to discourage another stepping up validly
which would be the reason Sputnik's choice of phrasing is also not reprimanded
and he stifles a chuckle at Smokey's laying out the digsat the talk of destruction - the raggedyman chooses to finally stand
"'m James Brans'n, Fos'ern BeeGee Full Moon a Eagles." dreads scrape over his shoulders in a nod towards his packmates, then towards the younger, spitfire Gnawer "Smokey made note a meetin' w's ne'ssary, 'n' I'm th' one that made th' call though th' Chain a bring yeh here. Thank' f'r makin' the effort a show."
a pause while he gathers his thoughts
it brings him to stand beside one of the fire-bins
ashes from the smoke flicked into the licking flames
light casting strange shadows on his features and dreads
it makes him look far more imposing than the mellow Garou normally is
however in light of the present situation - maybe it's warranted
if nothing else, the street performer in him knows how to speak before a group
catching up the new faces as well as filling the others in"Wh'n Eagles, Knights, 'n oth'rs went to th' Caern coupla week ago... we fought banes'n oth'r nasties with'n its walls. Sputnik 'n I saw th' heart, felt Whisper's pain 'n saw her bein' eaten alive by this... we gave up som've our spirit to try 'n help her hol' on a little longer.--
Totemphone: As he speaks, James sends the images and impressions to his packmates - Blood Eagle especially. They reinforce what Decker had provided: deformed spirit-rats, the deceptive illusions, the horrible stench and vibe of the place. The caern's very totem spirit weak and whimpering though at the very same time keening it's unrelenting pain. The altercation between himself and Smashing Machine over abandoning their mission a minor detail. He still harbors resentment at the supposed Alpha's choice to run to battle before completing their task with the spirit. Such impressions are dark and distasteful... only a premonition to the underlying feeling that's been growing among the city's Garou in the past week. Yet, at the end, there is a small ray of hope: a brightening within the gloom as he shares his witness of the spirit's reaction to his and Sputnik's sacrifice, how for but a moment it seemed to sigh in relief for their temporary gift of strength.
-- Maneat'rs w're runnin' loose in th' city. Now there' talk a Spirals takin' over where they lef' off. Not a single one've us c'n say we haven' felt th' wicked mojo risin', eith'r. May be too late like Smokey said - but my pack dun' trek here fr'm Jersey t' kill a Caern 'fore the Wyrm does 'n put it out've it's mis'ry 'less a mercy killin' is the only vi'ble choice." another pause, this time the all but filtered cigarette is flicked into the fire's hunger, seems he agrees with the Modi's opinion on backing down from the threat and taking that way out "Eagles 'r a war pack, we'll fight whatev'r we face 'n do whatev'r it take' to ensure Mother live long'r'n we do. Knights. Know s'm've you c'n fight.... what else yeh got t'offer? Wh't The'rges 'r available oth'r 'n Sputnik t' focus spiritside? Oth'r packs 'n lone Garou... who are yeh 'n what've yeh got t' share?"
deep umber eyes, the color of Gaia's richest and purest soil, make contact with all of those gathered
"We need a know wh't th' Quick foun' on recon... fig're how we gotta split 'r resources 'n where. All've us know th' probl'm. All've us agree on it, 'n that som'thin' needs a be done. Now quit dickin' aroun' an' tell me wh't we got a work with."
((no kidding this is becoming a popular name... after THREE sites this is the first that's had another "James" - much less two... damn y'all! *LOL* And I swear my later posts will be shorter! Geesh. Making up for the lag. Heh. Sorry about that... got drug to Disneyland over the weekend as a surprise graduation present.))
(cliona)
Cliona listens as they begin to give their stories, as they all put their finger on what they know, though reddish brow quirks upwards with the suggestions of destroying the Caern before there is even discussion on saving it.Last. Resort. Only.
A moment pauses as she views the raggedy gnawer evenly. before her voice rises to add her thoughts on the matter. Having been silent since a brief hello at the beginning, it is almost jarring the switch from Albany slang slurred to all but intelligable mess to the Irish lilt barely Americanized.
"Cliona 'ricinus' Murran, Irish Spirit-talkin youngin, if'n th'name weren't enough t'give it away." There's a flash of a grin for her packmates, before she continues. "First th'feelin woke me, I called t'what'ere spirits would answer. Only th'weaker willed came t'm'call, and were skared near speachless. Garbled, th'were, but the fear o'th'rollin fire down by th'river was first, impress'ns o'stronger wills allignin themselves with'th'enemy, co'ercin th'weaker t'join as well."
A pause, gathering her thoughts, before. "Th'actions o'James here, an m'friend Sputnik, may 'ave lifted Whispers a moment, tho I'm left t'assume none else offered support?" Slightly incredulous that. They had split ranks - surely there were more then just the two who should have offered. But she continues with a shake of her head. "M'suggestion would be t'split ranks ag'in. Ourselves, we'be a big nuff group t'ave a considerable amounta strength if'n we do so.... Th'Spirittalkers - M'self, Sputnik, any others need t'see t'the Caern. A band t'protect us whilst we try t'elp. Others - the warriors, t'find n'stop what's 'appenin a'th'River."
"Th'unrest is dual in nature. Th'battle willna be any different as far as I kin see."
Another pause, and a glance at her Alpha, before finishing up.
"I dinna see th'sittin around 'as done anyone any good. S'time t'stop it. Time and place, I'll b'there wit'my brothahs t'do m'best t'see it done."
A shrug, slight, and she falls silent, gaze dropping to her hands, warming them once more by the fire.
(jim)
Jim nods as each person who speaks tosses in their two cents "Well on my side, i'm fair nuff in a fight and decent on sneakin', I'm Jim Larson Full moon claith o' th' Quick. We're better at strategy'n all out berserkin' Also i'm pretty good with the ear teh the ground kin'a shit. Muh Alpha is a Tracker so that's where that liues. pretty solid on recon." he gives a nod to the lupus form of Yu Gan. He looks back. "Also if things get down teh it i'm fairly decent bout comin up with ways teh as the big ruskie said, Make things go boom, I hope to Gaia we don't gotta go tha' far."He glances around and continues to stoke the fire making sure it keeps burning long enough and strong enough to keep things fairly comfortable.
(decker)
Most of the long speeches go over his head half-heard. His attention zeroes in on Sputnik, the only Theurge known to him."Gnawer, hell're y'all settin' out to do at the Caern's Heart, anyhow? You tell us, how much backup is y'all gonna need?"
(james wagner)
James the Sandman nodded slightly to Cliona when she nodded to him, his beta only doing her job. She was Theurge, he a Galliard. Spirit talking was her forte, so she and Sputnik know what they're talking about. He just played his little guitar and sang his little songs.He gradually became very grim-faced, as if the idea of a Hive nesting in the caern made him want to sick up. His face twisting in a little bit of rage, not Rage, he began speaking when everyone fell silent.
Where they were, he might s'well speak clearly. Formality was good, and so was informality. His titles and station however he never took informally. His semi-thick Irish tongue rolled, as he spoke: "I'm James Wagner, Clan Fianna. Fostern Galliard." His tribe he always thought of as a clan, as per celtic influences.
"I have no been in the city long enough to know much about what's been goin' on, but I'll tell ye this: Whatever'n the hell's happening, it gotta be stopped. Yeah, wrecking the caern to Hell is gonna be the last resort. Can't see what'll be good about charging in head-on. Suicide, methinks. I wanna see the caern, too, before I decide on what me and m'pack'll do, but whatever we all decide, we're with ye.
"What Cliona do be sayin, I agree with. Theurges with some fighters go to try to play fuck-all with the caern, while the other warriors go to kick the shit out of the shit on the river. Dinna see no sign of any Black Spiral Dancers, but from what I can see from us assembled, I do be hope'n we can handle whatever comes. In fact, we gotta. Otherwise we're fucked."
Until he sees the caern for himself, he's gonna wanna hear what he may be up against sneaking a peak. "We ain't got no choice. Take care of it now, and be done with it."
He went quiet again, and slid his hands into the pocket on the front of his hoody.
(yuliya)
She watched Sputnik as he gives out the start and all goes from there. She and Una aren't exactly needed for this... wlel perhaps not, perhaps so... if they needed anything, Siberia might be a good chance at having it already or finding it faster then usual. Misha knew this, and she wasn't much for stepping in their meet and gret to toss it out there. One hand brushing her hair from her face and she started rooting through her jacket for her cigarettes, glimpses given a bit off weapons carried. She didn't really think she'd be pulling out here, unless all this wyrm stuff decided it'd be nice to drop by the meeting too...But this was a Gnawer's meeting and she was a loyal, if caustic, member.
"You need shit... you talk Misha or me... I may get, or have."
Her cold accented English cutting into the midst some. She didn't really care if anyone heard or not. If they were smart, they heard. Kinfolk she may be, but she never let that hold her down before. Not about to start now. Holding the pack in Misha and Una's direction seeing if they wanted a smoke, as she lit hers and then looked back around some. God, more nicotine was needed for all this Rage.
(sputnik)
The burly Russian bear turns his attentions upon the Fostern Modi, leveling his eyes in a non-challenging way upon the shorter man."We will need every able body theurge at the caern's heart to deal with the spirits. We will need this bane tender that has been brought down to help. Has any one bothered to consult this individual?? And, Sputnik would request a few warriors, doesn't have to be a pack to protect the theurge from whatever might attack us. We may not be able to defend ourselves if we are caught up on ritual. Sputnik not care what auspice, every garou knows how to fight... And I wager someone might see a battle.. For the more blood-thirsty glory hounds. Sputnik no suggest protecting caern heart, you may not see battle at all and therefore, see no blood spilled."
He tilts his head, looking down at Yuliya for a moment with a curt nod before he turns to address the rest of the group.
"Sputnik also put out another request.... Send the kinfolk to some place safe. Do not feel it safe to keep them anywhere near riverfront or school when shit starts to fly."A soft groan spills the teenager's mouth, rolling up her eyes Una keeps a tight lid on her words.
(faith)
Faith folds her arms over her chest, listening to the topics fly; all of them want action. Some of them seem all set up to give up and blow the Caern. Some are trying to assemble a plan... so she throws her lot in with the latter group."I am a Theurge." She answer's Branson's question, turning her eyes from the fire to regard him, inclining her head slightly. "Faith Grimshaw, Child of Gaia, Cliath Theurge, and pack Beta of the Knights." Then she looks to Sputnik, pausing a second for thought. "I believe one of my packmates is working with the Bane Tender. I have not seen her for some time, now, though." Which had her worried, but not exactly surprised. After the sparks went flying that night, she doubted Frankie would be with the pack much longer. Frustrating topic, that. "I can find her, though, and see if I can make contact with the Tender. I'm afraid all I know of the Caern is what has been passed around by word-of-mouth. The last given duty of the Knights was to protect the Caern's surroundings, which we've done as well as we can." Banes... Fomori... Maneaters... all in a day's work. Mmph. The shit never stopped. "But that's not an excuse. The Caern needs help, and we'll put forth everything we can to save it. I'll join you and the rest of the Spirit-talkers at the heart."
Addressing the rest of the room now, she flits her glance over to LeRoy and Nell - the only ones in this room that kept her from feeling totally on her own. "If we can fix the problem Umbral-side, then we can help the physical aspect - the Caern. I'm not sure what we'll be able to do, but it might be our best shot." Her small contribution offered, she then quieted. Looking over to her packmates, she communicated silently with them for a moment. I'd like you both there with me. Phrased as a request, with the indication that she had her reasons.
(decker)
After Sputnik speaks, Decker looks at his packmates but doesn't say anything. The feeling that they're communicating nonetheless, however, is quite clear.Caern 'r outside? Don't fuckin wanna babysit Theurges. But last time I set Mark Gaines babysittin, he tried to abandon post.
(erik)
"We'll go t' th' Caern." Like he said before, he wants to see it.(decker)
t's eerie the way the Eagles make eye contact, decide on something with neither gesture nor word, and turn away simultaneously.
It's eerie the way they sometimes speak one after another with neither plan nor synchronization."Ya pro'lly wantcher pack with ya at the Caern's heart," Decker says to Faith. Of the gathered, the Fenrir's probably the only one who hasn't given a full introduction. He hates that sorta thing. "But yer Alpha's a fighter, 'n last time I set 'im watchin' a Caern, he was rarin' ta join the battle. Let'im take the front with the rest o' yer pack. Lead the offense 'r some such shit."
A sniff, brushing the back of his hand under his nose. He's still sitting on the ground, almost insolent.
"Rest o' y'all go where ya wanna."
(yuliya)
Sputnik's words get a low look from her and she listens to them continue. The urge grows in passing seconds to say exactly what comes to mind but the faintest measure of restraint asserts itself. You just don't air your dirty laundry in front of strangers, even if they are allies after a form...Dark eyes falling on the burly bearlike Ruskie and she near growls herself, low voiced Russian now instead of English. Whoever else knew the language fine, it was their native tongue and her preferred.
"Fuck you Misha... if you think you can just shuttle me wherever you wish."
And with that, turns to go. Tight with anger and her usual chip on the shoulder. There wasn't anything else she wanted to hear.
(yu gan)
Yu Gan listens and observes as is his way. When it comes time he stands from where he sits. putting himself on all 4s so the full body language and vocals can blend of the lupine tongue. Speaking out in the yips and growls of the wolves."The Quick will go where needed in this endevor, though I also noted that some didn't seem to be able to stay their previous cource on the previous mission. It was also noted that some seemed to think it a fun little jaunt. We don't need such sorts on the next mission. You step out of line... the ranking members will drop you where you stand... If they don't. The Ragabash will.
There are places for questions and debate. In battle or on a mission is not one of them. If you can't follow orders. Be it YOUR Alpha, or YOUR group leader, You can guard the kin while the rest of us get shit done."Once done with probably the longest speach any outside his pack have heard from the enignamic Uktena he returns to his sitting position and sniffs the air.
(mark)
"No," the simple word rumbled from a deep, low-toned bass that had a decidedly smoky sound. It flowed from the darkness of the stairwell. Those who were especially wary would have felt as much as heard the non-stealthy approach of the Ahroun. The sculpted features of his shaven head formed more and more visible as he approached from the above gloom. His obviously powerful frame of well-proportioned sinew attempted - failing miserably - to hide beneath a jingling jacket of black leather, a wool pullover, and faded denim that flexed full, then loose, with each stride. Blue eyes burned like twin embers from his handsome face set in lines of everpresent control. Luna's waxing face seemed reflected in that predatory visage. Waiting, itching, dreading, longing for the bloom to full. It was that inner fire - that cauldron - that would have been felt as the growing prickle at the back of those nearest the door's necks.He took his time after the initial utterance of negation, stalking into their midst with the occasional creak of leather and the muffled footfalls of soft-soled athletic shoes. His facetted blue eyes - reminiscent of the blue arcs of lightning known to travel down his claws and arms - met all with a small nod of greeting. Stalking to his packmates, there was a touch of one strong hand on Leroy's solid, larger shoulder, a gentler brush against Nelly's flank, and the barest touch on Faith's lower back, his eyes still looking outward, even as the Alpha greeted his pack, silently.
But then he moved beyond them, the leather creaking to protest his slow removal with the roll of his shoulders. With the press of bodies, and the stoked fires, the interior was growing more comfortable. If you could call the proximity to the raw amount of Rage comparable to a nuclear reactor comfortable...
"Good idea for the meet," he announced with a nod as his head slowly swivelled atop his tall, proud frame, giving props to the bonegnawers who called it. That said, he seemed to move right on, tanned lips moving from the hard line they had formed to speak to all with the bearing of someone used to public speaking, and voice accostumed to filling a room with it's weighty breadth,
"It would be a gross misuse of resources for the Eagles to remain in the heart," he explained brazenly with that bass that seemed to rumble along the listener's spine, and reverberate within the hollow cavities of flesh.
Blue eyes swivel like a blue beacon to the aforementioned pack. Decker, James, Erik, each in turn. "Eagles are a war pack, mostly fosterns," he explained with that slow low tone. Likely James still didn't fathom the reasons why Mark chose a tactic he was vehemently against, and with that in mind, he still wouldn't fathom the reason he chose to remain at the caern now. That earlier was a raid, this was a defensive action against a host they can all feel burgeoning. But then most had trouble following the tactical reasoning of the Glass Walkers, "The Knights have a theurge," Indicating Faith, "A spiritually able combat medic," indicating the unignorable breadth of Leroy, "And an equally able Wyld-touched," indicating Nelly, "Our packmate is the one in contact with the Bane Tender. The one that brought the Bane Tender. They need to be at the caern's heart, and I need to be watchin' over them," And by his tone, that was that, "And if this Tender don't work..." his head swiveled to take in that of the Russian Bone Gnawer.. pleased to see he wasn't the one to have to voice the alternative. He let his look finish the statement.
His hard visage was indicatory of the everpresent mastering of control over that inner fire as he addressed Erik, "You wanna see the caern. 'Course you do. So go look, and then put those Fosterns outside where they can do the most good," he finished, waiting patiently on the silent communication of the Eagles and their response.
(nelly)
She had stood, for quite some time, quiet save for the chattering of her teeth. Dwarfed greatly beside her brother (~what you don’t see the resemblance?~), her head twisted every so often far up to glance at him and then to the stairwell after Beta made her way in. To Faith, she shrugged one shoulder upon the silent query and returned her gaze to float upon all the mouths moving, and the ones that were not."Lilladandum..." single word muttered unconsciously under her breath. Between chattered teeth over the flicker of the firelight, only if you were close enough could you notice nonsentical words springing to life from her lips the entire time.
But the more the words came, the more silence fell, the more she understood. There was no Grand Elder here, no one to put everyone in their place; just a rabble of alphas and glory benders going in without a plan. The need for getting off your ass and doing something was past everyone's pain threshold, this was understandable; naturally they would reach this point. But like Momma always says, you don't take a shit without first takin' off yer britches.
She shook her head. But even her own Alpha's presence didn't sooth the worry stone growing inside her stomach, it only turned. She smiled, gently, and silently continued her vigil until his own words has ceased. They were valid, had a point; but as her eyes fell upon the faces around, she knew that right now, Mark's words were just more avenues of venture given by another Elder alpha. Others would argue, give their own, and in the end there still would be no hard plan to go by.
Bracing herself for disappointment, the tip of her tongue came to wet her lips. Images flashed in her head, voices in her mind. Stories, songs, paintings, dances, books... knowledge. A tale twisted with the movement of her inner coat pocket, a reminder; a fraction of a fiber of thought that connected every one of Gaia's chosen in a hidden unending thread of understanding. There was so much unsaid and so much missed, left out. She wanted to scream so badly her face managed to flush two shades darker. And as her lips trembled those idiosyncrasies, she waited until reactions were made before speaking her twisted head's bellows.
(decker)
That does it. Time for saving the Walker's face was over, if it had ever been at all.The Modi's on his feet in an eyeblink. If he wanted, he could probably be at the other's throat in the same instant. For all his apparent laziness, he's as fast as a striking viper.
"Yer pushin yer luck, Smashin' Machine. No fuckin shit we're best out fightin the Wyrm." A step forward, and then another, until he was eye to eye with the other Ahroun. Chin tilted up, sneering down the line of his nose, he drawls slow and deliberate: "But we don't fuckin' trust you to stand watch idly at the Caern no more."
The stare is held.
"Drums on Skulls, tell 'em whatthafuck happened last time Mark Gaines was put on Caern duty."
(james)
the commentary created on another plane between the Eagles is a strange thing, indeed
there is no outward betray of the snorted scoff following the comment about Mark
nor is there any obverse acknowledgement of their future attendance at the Caern
babysitting Theurges or not, Erik's witnessing it or not - they came to this wind-raped town for the sole purpose of fighting for it
so the decision seems logical enough for Jameshe doesn't have to understand Russian to discern a vague translation of Yuliya's bitter response
after telling his own kinsman to stay away from a particular battle
it's not that hard to figure out what set it off
but her bruised ego is ignored - there are more important matterswhatever he drew breath to respond with is cut short by... doesn't this feel familiar... Mark's timely entrance
he can't help but sport a partial smirk at the Eagle's anything but silent communication this round
originally, he wasn't going to publically include this part of the Caern mission's tale
and this shows, to both those that know him intimately and others newly met tonight
but at the request (command?) of his packmate and the ranking Ahroun..."This'll 'splain why none oth'r off'r'd support a th' spirit, Cliona." a breif glance towards her "Las' time Mark Gaines w's put'n Caern duty he w's leadin' our team to it's heart so we coul' fin' out what w's wrong 'n offer whatev'r we could a help - as order'd by th' rankin' Ahroun in charge a th' entire mission. That Ahroun's word w's law.... 'n I think ev'ryone there rememb'rs agreein' to tha' b'fore we walk' in." there's a vague gesture of one hand, identifying the Fenrir currently staring down the GlassWalker as the ranking Garou in question "Though instead've attendin' to th' dyin' spirit an' his order' - he chose a take it upon himsel' 'n break off'n rush t' battle wh'n there w's no indication we w're needed there more desp'rately th'n Whisp'r need us. None too happy when I remin' him've're task 'n did what I need a stop him 'n 'is packmate fr'm abandoning th' spirit. Now I c'n un'erstan' the exten' of a Full Moon's love a battle n glory. Sure it' jus' as 'mportant as it is t'me to fight by my own packmate's side. But tha' was'n' our mission, th' Caern w's more 'mportant, 'n ev'n though I stop'm from leavin'.... Sputnik 'n I w're still th' only ones tha' off'r ourselves a help Whisp'rs while they did nothin' more'n watch. Ev'r stop'n won'er how bad things'd be now if he 'n I join th' battle too, 'n dun' help th' spirit?"
there's a semblance of sadness in him, to relate the tale, knowing the repercussions that will be endured
there's also a great deal of something..... else in regards to what happened
shoulders roll beneath his trench to signal a shrug
easily concealing the reaction for this was not the time or place for personal grudges"S'why Eagles choose a watch ov'r th' Caern 'stead a bein' on th' front where it obvious a war pack b'long."
(leroy)
He understood James for the most part. Hell it was sorta like hood jive or at least he thought. The meat of it for better or worse was understood. Cliona's words however met with an open slack jaw. Was she speaking english at all? Irish..he gathered that, but the rest and the rapid succession of her speech left him balking in confusion. "What t'fuck she say?" He muttered downwards to Nelly whom was standing beside him for clarity.Attention never able to rest for such a response, words were flying from other's mouths faster than some had time to form their own thoughts. Gaze shifting from one another, absorbing each in attempt to form his own conclusion. The Fostern Fianna aided more in clarifying Cliona's accented mutterings; which caused a smile within himself of thanks towards the man. "Oh..ok" He muttered more to himself after that.
Faith's words stole his enraptured attention from everyone. Long he listened to her thoughts given to speech. Nodding with her query upon he. But then his eye bore sharp, narrowed like Roman Spears behind their phalnax wall. Planted, pointed and thrusted into Decker's heart from across the room; because of his hissings upon their Alpha Mark. "Jesus Christ, we're in second grade" Shaking his head with an inward chuckle, muttering softly for Nelly only to hear him.
Then Mark entered. Grandious, as usual. Almost rolling his eyes at not foreseeing such a boast, but he didnt. Instead he remained silent. Offering him only a nod with the hand upon his shoulder, his eyes falling to Nelly with her single word uttered. Then just as easily before they returned upon Decker with a slivery accord. Flashing curiousity at his boast, listening to James recall his perception upon the subject. Perception? Fact? Who cares at this moment.
"Excuse Me" His voice boomed out "Frankly at this juncture, we neither have the time nor the luxury of challenges. As per the danger that envelopes and threatens us. So as a friendly reminder, lets stay on course here shall we? Theurges need protection, the Formation of a War party should be errected. Since it seems everyone here is leaning to the splitting of forces anyways. Perhaps we should all go to the caern. After all, aint it the most important? But I aint making that call. Im gonna remind everyone here, despite whatever feelings you may or may not have. We havent the luxury nor time to express them. So..shall we shut up, zip up our pants and start working together without slinging our dicks?" Arching his brow there in the darkness that obscured his expressions.
(faith)
Faith's packmates catch a mental snort projected by the Gaian to them. Fer fuck's sake, Mark... would you quit being such a threat to everybody's masculinity? Everytime I turn around, you're getting called out for so much as pissing wrong..."LeRoy's right." She says softly, arms still crossed - Mark might feel her back tense slightly under her coat. "We don't have time for this. I don't doubt you two could go back and forth all night about who's at fault and what was the right way to do things, but, frankly, that doesn't matter now. The issue is who will protect the Theurges, and who will guard the front... well, the warriors have had their say on the matter, and obviously that hasn't resolved much.
The Spirit-talkers are the ones put at risk at the Caern heart. Perhaps we shoul
Posted by james at 12:00 AM