"The earth reclaims her own."
Nov. 21st, 2012 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretTwo, Garou, a Corax, and a Mage take a trip to Mount St. Helens.
Tersa's GM Room(#4146RJ)
As amorphous as thought itself.
Contents:
Minion
Before you is a tired-looking 1977 Winnebago Brave D26RT. A collection of dents, dings, and scratches pepper the vehicle's tan exterior. Depsite the cosmetic damage, the vehicle otherwise looks to be in decent shape. The Winnebago logo is hard to miss; it's integrated into the huge stripe that sprawls across the vehicle's sides. The "Brave" badges, alluding to the company's oft-overlooked Native American tribal themes, are placed somewhat more subtly around the vehicle. There's a ladder on the back, allowing access to the roof, which also bears dual air conditioning/heating units.
A roll-out canvas awning on the passenger's side of the RV allows the rapid establishment of a porch to keep rain out and provide cooling shade during the day. Clip-on mosquito netting has been added to make the area even more hospitable. If the vehicle is parked for any significant length of time, the awning is typically deployed along with a couple folding chairs, a TV tray, and a pair of plastic pink flamingos flanking the improvised "patio" area.
If the patio area has been deployed, the perceptive might notice that, on the ground right in front of a pink flamingo--amongst all the other sticks, twigs, leaves, and rocks on the ground--are four short twigs, two longer twigs, and an unusual crescent-shaped rock subtly arranged to make the Glass Walker tribal glyph.
Nicodemus drives the Winnebago to the appointed meeting place--a gas station just off the interstate so he doesn't have to deal with driving the land yacht in city traffic--to pick everyone up. The RV's been cleaned and detailed on the inside, so it doesn't smell like it's been lived in (like it did before). "All aboard," the mage says as he opens the main door. "Fridge is stocked with drinks, tanks are all topped off with fuel and water, and there's road snacks and food in the cupboards. Yay, camping," he adds last and with a monotone voice.
It's immediately clear that Mouse is wearing the cyberspine--mostly because she didn't bring the chair to the meeting place, but also due to how she stands just a little /too/ straight, and how there's a slight bunching up around her shirt collar, under her now-usual duster. "Shotgun," she calls. "Or you guys get to deal with a wolf in the back." There's a backpack slung over both of her shoulders--it's not very full, but whatever's in there looks a little heavy. Her laptop, probably.
Val is already at the meeting place with her motorcycle and is standing close to it, with her back resting against a tree. The small woman appears to have been dozing and starts awake when the camper rolls up. "I can just follow on my bike. Less crowded that way."
Salem has abandoned his 'filthy homeless vet' image for the trip; he's showered, trimmed the beard a bit, tied the overlong hair back into a ponytail, and dressed in something resembling his old attire -- black shirt, black jeans, and the battered black leather duster that hasn't seen the light of day in quite some time. Add the sunglasses and he looks almost (not really) like his old self. He's got a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. "Back's fine for me," he grunts, answering Mouse's seat-claim.
Nicodemus waves a finger in Val's direction, acknowledging her desire to ride her bike, and seals the Winnebago up. He slides into the driver's chair, fires the engine up, and pulls out onto the highway. "Radio works, but I'll have to shoot anyone who turns it to a country station." It takes half a year with the engine pushing hard to get the massive RV up to a respectable 70 MPH. The thing could probably use more horsepower, but judging by its age, the engine probably had a respectable amount of power for its heydey.
The best way to get to St. Helens from St. Claire is to take 90 to 82 and hook up with US 12, which starts as a nice, newly paved 4 lane divided highway, but as they get closer to their destination it turns into a two lane, winding blacktop in the woods. The pace slows to a crawl in the lumbering RV, but at least the traffic is light. The group will spend a few hours on this narrow road, moving through the woods before Ting into 131 to head south, to the mountain. 131, a few miles south, becomes a national park development road.
"...And when I say nail him to the wall," Mouse mutters, on a conversational topic she's been on and off about for the past hour, "I haven't decided if I'm speaking entirely metaphorically yet. Stupid fucking asshole." She seems a little tired for actual Rage to be involved in her mood, but even the passenger side seat seems to have started to bother her. "You'd think he'd have learned from having Flint in his head."
Salem has shed the heavy duster and made himself rather comfortable in the back with an Android tablet and, specifically, the Kindle app installed on it. "It's tradition for young Shadow Lords to do fucking /stupid/ things in regards to vampires when they're young," the old halfmoon deadpans.
Val, trailing along on her motorcycle, is left out of the current conversation.
Nicodemus honks the horn as a faster car cuts him off, requiring him to apply the brakes, which means practically 30 seconds of having to accelerate hard just to get from 50 to 70. He raise both hands off the wheel in a "really? really?" gesture towards the other driver. "You know, I know I'm not supposed to use stereotypes to lump people into catagories, but pretty much every Shadow Lord I've met?" He doesn't feel the need nor compulsion to complete that sentence.
Mouse flashes Salem a brief, wry sort of look over her shoulder, before calmly flipping off the driver giving Nick problems. "I had a tiny amount of hope for the kid, but he's clearly got his uncle's 'skill' at making important decisions. By which I mean 'pick the worst possible choice that puts the most people in danger, then see if you can dig a little deeper'." She falls quiet, but only for a moment. "The problem with walking the line is that you have to know where the line /is/."
Salem looks up from his screen to give Nick a wry look, then nods to Mouse. "Have they decided which Philodox is going to handle his case?"
Nicodemus belatedly thinks to inquire, "Is this the one he killed outside the bar a few days earlier? Or a different one?
Mouse shakes her head. "All I know is what Flint said, but I doubt it. We're too damned disorganized right now. I'm not sure they've even thought about it yet." A glance to Nicodemus. "A different one, I assume. Something to do with a gang he was investigating. I /told him/ not to drink or eat anything they gave him weeks ago."
Salem mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'not it' and turns his attention back to his reading material. All in all, despite the thickness of the moon, the seriousness of the task at hand, and the topic of conversation, the scarred old wolf seems pretty at ease.
131 eventually Ts into an even smaller, dirt road that winds drunkenly west around ridges and other rocky formations--some of them created specifically by the eruption 32 years ago--to the base of the mountain. It's as close as the RV is going to get. Parked on the "side" of this dirt road, the view looks out over the broken dome of the looming mountain. Laid at its feet in front of you is the vast valley, and Spirit Lake. West, on the other side of the lake, barely visible from here, is the Johnston Ridge Observatory.
Val pulls in behind the camper, gets off her bike a little stiffly, pries the helmet off her head and stretches. "Ugg."
Nicodemus struggles to keep the RV from jostling and rocking too much on the dirt road, picking his way forward as best he can to spare every a much longer walk, until it becomes obvious from the GPS and maps that this is about as close as they're going to get. He switched the headlights on as he picks his way around a bend. "I think this is about as close as we're going to be able to get in the Winnie unless we go offroad--and that'd just be an epicly bad idea. That looks like a good place to put in for the night," he says as he slows the RV down and steers it off the road and into a solid-looking, cleared area. "That and my ass is killing me." He throws the RV into 'park' and kills the engine.
"You aren't sitting on a tail," Mouse quips, though by this point her mood seems to have lifted, and she has spent more time looking out the window than talking. "Look at that. Three decades ago, everything living was burned or blasted away, and the lake was buried under a massive mudslide. It's getting hard to tell anything happened."
"The earth reclaims her own," says Salem, standing up and stretching. "...At least, when she gets a chance to."
Val hooks her helmet on her handlebars and walks around to the front of the camper, offering those inside a cheerful smile and a wave.
"Entropy," the mage says as he exits the vehicle and stretches, breathing in the air. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Camp here tonight and start out tomorrow morning when we've got light on our side? Or did you want to go immediately, at night, maybe in the spirit world?"
Mouse takes much longer to exit, though it's not quite as much of an ordeal as getting into the Winnebago was. Her shoes touch dirt gingerly, and only very carefully does her weight follow. "I'll have an answer for you in a moment." Still holding tightly to the inside of the door, the Theurge looks past the others, her eyes slipping slightly out of focus.
Long distance to Minion: Mouse Pulse of the Invisible's right up.
Salem paces off a short way, stretching his legs and, idly, re-establishing the ponytail that's gotten rather loose during the day's drive.
Minion pages: The umbra is teeming with life. There are spirits all around. Some Wyld, some Weaver, and some Wyrm. Mouse can sense a very large Wyrm spirit, actually, inside the mountain itself. Although it doesn't feel corrupted (if that makes sense) and...it's sleeping. Or, at least, it's not doing or thinking about anything right now. the biggest spirit Mouse can feel--and one that immediately notices the garou's probing senses, is the Lake itself.
Val cocks her head to one side, clearly curious as to what Mouse is up too. "Hey Nick," she greets the Mage, as she stifles a yawn, then looks around. "It's pretty out here."
It's true, the region has bounced back beautifully. The lake looks pristine, and although it's smaller and shallower than it was 32 years ago, it's still a magnificent body of water. And although the old growth forests are gone, with nothing but thousands of petrified stumps and sticks dotting the area in bone-white clumps, there is nevertheless a blanket of new, healthy green forest. Below Johnston Ridge is the ravine down which the pyroclastic flow traveled to the Toutle river. That's the last place that, to this day, remains like a moonscape in many places.
"Yeah, it is pretty," Nick says to Val as he waits, giving Mouse ample time to do examine the area. He then promptly opens up one of the cargo hatches on the vehicle's exterior, comes up with two plastic pink flamingos, and plants the twin synthetic guardians on either side of the entryway into the Winnebago. They clash astoundingly against the natural beauty of the area.
Val smirks. "Those things are garish, but I suspect that's part of why you seem to like'em."
"Aptly named," Mouse murmurs. She sounds reverent. *Hello.* The Theurge's attention seems to return, if only somewhat, to the physical world. "The activity around here is amazing. Everything in balance. There's a massive Wyrm spirit in the mountain, as you might expect, but it's old Wyrm. Balance Wyrm. And sleeping. But the lake's alive. She knows I'm here."
Minion pages: The lake seems reluctant to respond, and yet curious. There's a great deal of wariness, and even as Mouse extends her pulse of the invisible, the Lake seems to wash over all, as if learning as much as it can from them in the limited way it can. Eventually satisfied, it beckons Mouse to get closer. (Where they are, still a few miles hike form the lake's edge, makes things difficult). She wants to see you.
Salem's eyebrows reach for his hairline. "I... wasn't even aware that Balance Wyrm spirits still existed," he says slowly.
Nicodemus shrugs at Val, then looks from Mouse to Salem. "I'd certainly hope so. Destructive energies can be positive or negative, largely depending on who uses them and how they're used: at least, in my experience, that's the case." The mage then admits, "Although I'm a little less familiar with the combination of those kinds of energies with spiritual resonance." He closes his eyes, reaches his left arm out, and extends his fingers as if grasping something invisible. "Interesting," he murmurs after about ten seconds, though it looks like he's still probing about.
Val sighs and crams her hands in to her jacket, eyes shifting towards the mountain.
"Some," Mouse murmurs. She's not doing a very good job of masking her delight; her demeanor is like a tabletop geek in the world's largest RPG store. "I think she just decided for us. She wants to see us. Ehm, the lake, I mean. She's cautious, so we should try not to alarm her--for our health especially." Her shoulders square, and she mostly hides the wince. "Feel like an Umbral hike?"
Salem cracks his knuckles. "Of course."
Eyes still closed, still feeling, Nick responds, "Sorry, Val. Let me get my vest on. Is this just to poke around, or are we going to push for it? I can only chance crossing over once per week."
Mouse considers for a moment. "Let's push for it. I'm going on instinct and chance here, but we don't have much time. And--" she looks wry again, "If we end up having to cross more than once, that just means I owe you learning that gift of Jacob's even more."
Val starts a little and blinks, mind having wandered elsewhere for a moment. "Don't mind me Nick," she says, quietly. "I'm just a bit tired. Had a long night, what with things going boom in the city yesterday. Alright," she adds, turning a bit to address Mouse. "I'll pop over and get a bird's eye view of the area. Just to make certain there are no unpleasant surprises." Val then holds up her hand, looking in to the reflection provided by the rings she wears and starts to cross over.
Salem already has a pocket mirror out, for just the same purpose.
Nicodemus pulls a bulletproof vest out of the bay that had the flamingos in it, likely a hold-over from his days as a police officer. He begins strapping it on. "If we're going to push for it, now's the time. We've got the whole night to work with. And, man, there is some serious energy coming out of that mountain." Odds are his use of 'energy' doesn't necessarily relate to the geothermic variety.
Mouse fishes out her own small mirror and focuses. She's not nearly as fast as Val at stepping over, but she's pretty quick all the same.
It's a clear night, and the moon is into gibbous, making the umbra fairly bright and lively. As Mouse said earlier, the umbra is teeming with spirits of a wide variety. As the group gets closer to the lake, however, one thing becomes clear. Whatever balance there is between the spirits is newly made, and there are still whole places in the valley where the Wyrm rules more than anything else. Pockets of Wyld exist everywhere, with a variety of small weaver spirits doing what little they can to organze the growth into some semblance of order. The timeless battle between the three is very evident. One gets the sense that until recently, the Wyrm owned everything. And now, the Wyld is pushing them back. Fields of Prairie Fire, or Indian Paint Brush dot the landscape all the way down to the lake, dancing and prancing as if it were spring or summer and not the verge of winter. The Mountain, on this side, feels like a living, breathing monster. It even makes noises--the rumbling snore of a sleeping giant. An eerie yellow orange glow that faintly resembles the aurora Borealis flickers around its broken dome like a halo.
Memory shifted soon after crossing over and now she soars above the Garou and Mage, sometimes dropping behind, or moving ahead of the land-bound group.
Salem shifts up into Glabro form once he's crossed the Gauntlet and moves to stand fairly close to Mouse, protectively so.
Nicodemus uses no mirror. He stands in place, reality ripples in along a two-dimensional plane before him, and he takes a step through and exits in the spirit world. The gateway's ripples dissipate behind him, and he briefly lists to one side before regaining his balance and exhaling. Recovering from the crossing, he looks around--curious, but treading lightly and sticking close to the shifters present. Just in case.
Mouse goes all the way, straight to lupus, as soon as she's put her mirror away--though her body's version of wolf form is about as bizarre as crinos, and the cyberspine brace, still present, only adds to the oddity. She's a little faster like this, but she's still quite slow, her back legs shuffling and dragging more often than not, and the pain and effort quite easily read in her body language. This does not, however, stop her from marveling at their surroundings, or offering spare greetings to any mildly friendly spirits they pass.
Most don't seem to have the time for the garou. Apparently, they're all preoccupied with their own misadventures. Or, perhaps it's this 'war'--the heightened struggle between the spirits of the Triat that has erupted (pardon the pun) and intensified over the last 32 years. When they reach the lake, its surface ripples and shudders as if sensing their approach. A water spout forms at the water's edge, rising up to shower water over the three moving on the ground. Val is excluded from this, at first, but when the Lake senses her close, even the bird gets wet.
Wet feathers kinda suck and Memory shakes herself vigorously when she gets wet, loosing some altitude as she does so. After removing the worst of the water from her feathers, the Raven drops out of the sky and clears the edge of the lake by about a half dozen feet, while quorking out a cheerful greeting in the Spirit Tongue. Doubling back, she gurgles out a warning to the Mage, before attempting to land on Nick's shoulder.
Nicodemus seems to be willing to let the corax perch on his shoulder, afterall it does--sort of--shield him a little bit from some of the water. He brushes a hand over his face, wiping the water off of it and out of his eyes. Amost as a bad afterthought, he mutters, "God, I really hope this is just water." As if by way of explanation, he adds, "Instead of spirit piss."
Salem takes the drenching with a faint grimace, briefly baring one overlong canine tooth. "Hijinks," he mutters in a rumbly baritone.
First-Strike stretches out her front legs as she gets showered, then slides smoothly up into the near-wolf. *Lady,* she rumbles. The reverence has returned to her voice, reflected in the set of her ears and her over-long tail. *You look well.*
To (First-Strike, Memory), Minion pages: (Val understands spirit speech, right?) So, the two of you sense that it's a little more than hijinks. It's the spirit's way of gauging those that have come to see her. Once she does it, she seems to settle down--relax, a little. Reaching out specifically to Mouse, she asks what brings you, (this odd group) to her shore?
To (First-Strike, Minion), Memory pages: Yea. Val has that Gift.
The water spout dissipates as quickly as it rose. The surface of the water begins to calm and return to normal. Except for the occasional odd ripple, the surface becomes mirror like.
Memory bumps Nick's cheek with the side of her head, while voices a series of surprising complex and soft vocalizations. She's just saying hello. Be nice. She wants to make certain that we're not a bunch of grumps. She's talking now, the Raven continues, straightening up and focusing her attention on the water.
Salem limps over to one side, keeping close, and keeping an eye on their surroundings.
Nicodemus glances sidelong at Salem, clearly accepting his single-word explanation for the water spirit's behavior. He nods curtly in return to Salem: message received. Then he looks the other direction, to the raven croaking on his shoulder. "It's a good thing my moisture content does not correlate directly to my level of grumpiness. Otherwise," the mage drips, "I might be grumpy." He lets Mouse handle the spirit, clearly bowing to the Walker elder's experience in such matters. As Salem moves to one side, Nick follows behind him. Salem takes point, Nick keeps an eye out for trouble that might come from some other direction.
First-Strike eases stiffly to the ground. Her ears push forward, listening to unspoken words, and she swipes her tongue over her scarred muzzle before responding. *Dreams from the Lady of Mirrors,* she responds. *Our Caern has been host to the Wyld's power this year, and with it came other creatures of the Wyld, large and hungry. But now the Wyld eruption is fading, and the Wyld's children need a new place to nest. If they stay where they are, they will devour the Caern itself. They need a place where the Wyld is strong, where they won't overwhelm it with their hunger, and where the humans won't notice them. Before they came, I and another received a vision from Chimera. We came here to the mountain, and found what we were seeking.*
Memory remains perched on Nick's shoulder, seemingly content to just listen. For once.
Salem is silent as well, standing guard.
Nicodemus stands close--but not too close--to Salem. He alternates between watching Mouse, the lake, and checking the surroundings out: he does not look particularly at home in the umbra. The fingers on his left hand curl into a fist, then uncurl to separate from one another. Curl. Stretch. Curl. Stretch.
What Salem (and Nick) can see form their vantage point is that Spirit Lake forms a sort of horseshoe. Jutting into the middle of that is a wedge-shaped peninsula that, even from this distant shore, shows signs of a Wyld outbreak not unlike the one at their home caern. There are none of the /exact/ plants--none of the weird fruit, and certainly none of the wasps--but even from here, Salem would recognize the crazy, out of control and out of this world growth. It goes unchecked there, the Wyrm and Weaver's influence absent, for now.
The mention of the Lady of Mirrors brings a favorable shudder from the Lake's waters. The ripples created spread across the entire vast surface of the lake. The Lake's voice is like a waterfall. *Here, all of the Triat wage war. When the dragon woke, its minions devoured everything. Only now do others come back. It held me in its mud for years. But Gaia breaths life into the land, again. Even the humans have come back, though not as many.*
*The humans argue in their big house far away,* Mouse replies. *Some want to come back here, but others want to keep them away, to avoid hurting you as you grow and recover. They will stay away for a long time yet, I think, but one day, they will fish your waters again.* Her eyes move to the peninsula, and her ears twist back. Her next words are unhurried, thoughtful. *The Wyld children follow the Wyld's eruptions. That--* she indicates the general direction of the outbreak, *--Is what they look for. They feed on it, keep it in check, grow fat and drunk in its glory. Would they help you, here? Or, if not here, is there another place on the mountain where they would be welcome? I've seen their ferocity,* wry again. *They would make good soldiers in this war.*
Nicodemus nudges Val with the side of his head. "What's being said?" he asks, hoping the Corax will translate and share.
Memory turns her head to look more directly at the Mage, then reaches out with her beak and straightens out a bit of his hair, which was messed up some in the earlier soaking. That done, she starts translating, keeping her whirs, rumbles, quorking, and various other vocalizations as quiet as possible.
The lake seems to consider Mouse's question, its waters slowly undulating. *Balance is needed. It ebbs and flows like my waters, sometimes one and then another taking control. It's hard to say if such an invasion would help or harm.* though the spirit doesn't give a definite answer, she doesn't all seem necessarily opposed to the idea.
First-Strike makes a quiet, agreeing noise. *We would not bring them here unless you were agreed, or if we could determine that they would cause more harm. We only know that they can't stay where they are.* She does not, however, press her point, or ask for the mentioned agreement. She seems content to remain lying on the bank, looking not unlike a more lupine version of the Sphinx she's packed under.
There is more undulation from the surface of the lake. and then, all of a sudden, a whirlpool forms just off the shore where the garou, corax and mage stand. Another water spout rises from the edges of this whirlpool. Twisting like a finger, it reaches down, engulfs, and then pulls Mouse into the Lake. In a moment, she's gone and the waters begin to calm again.
First-Strike is startled, /that's/ clear even to someone who can't read lupine body language. But in the few seconds between being engulfed and being pulled in, there's no sign of the Theurge fighting it.
Minion pages: Other than being under water, and therefore having to hold your breath, there's no attack--no malevolence. If anything, it's just a more intense version of the earlier shower. Now, though, the Lake seems to be accessing Mouse's memories. She forces--though gently--you to visualize the caern, the wasps, to relive the situation, the closing of the caern, the dreams, the Lady of Mirrors. Everything. By the time all this happens, Mouse's lungs are screaming for relief.
Memory quorks loudly in surprise. Don't do anything just yet! She warns the Mage, as she leaves his shoulder and aims to land on the edge of the lake. *Lady. That was unexpected and we are concerned for our companion...*
Long distance to Minion: First-Strike is severely tempted to use her old mainstay, Create Element. But she resists. Once she realizes what the spirit is doing, she gives up the relevant memories freely, without resistance or any attempt to sanitize them.
Nicodemus' eyes go wide as the lake spirit reaches out and snatches up the Glass Walker's elder. He suddenly decides he might want to step back further from the lake's edge, carrying Val with him in the process. His left hand reaches out towards where Mouse was sucked under and he relaxes ever so slightly. "She's alive," he assures Salem--and also probably himself. "For now. Holding her breath." A beat. "Want me to try and pull her out? Or wait a moment?"
Salem is tense as all hell, but he holds his ground. "Wait," he says, tersely.
It feels like an eternity--especially to the Walker elder holding her breath. Just when she decides to use her metis gift to 'create' some air for herself, the lake spits her out. The water's surface erupts, and the wolf's head emerges. Paws splash and slap the water as she chokes in air and spits out water.
And swimming, First-Strike discovers, is not a thing she does terribly well anymore. Her front paws dog paddle, but the back are just as ineffective as before, and what she mostly manages is to tread water while she attempts to breathe sweet, sweet air again.
Nicodemus doesn't wait for permission this time. He merely reaches out with his left arm, cups his hand, and magical forces reach out to lift and propel Mouse--with her limited ability to walk (and likely swim)--through the water and towards the shore. He shakes his head in mild, irritated disapproval--though at what, specifically, goes unsaid.
Memory snaps in to homid as soon as Mouse breaks the surface of the water. Already on the shore, she has already started to move in to lend a hand when the Mage's Magic gets to the Adren long before she can. Still, the scrawny woman does what she can, if anything, to help Mouse out of the water.
The Lake seems oblivious to the trouble she has inadvertently caused poor Mouse, although there was a purpose to it. And that becomes clear when she next speaks. Again, her words have the sound of a waterfall, *The wasps would be welcome here.*
Salem moves fast for an old geezer with a limp, and he's right there, too, to assist the Adren Theurge. "Hijinks," he rumbles again, deadpan, though he's relieved to see her undrowned.
First-Strike is relieved to be undrowned as well, and between Val and Salem, she manages to limp and drag herself back onto the shore. The Theurge looks as though she'd dearly love to shake herself off, but instead she holds herself stiff, dripping, and turns back to face the water when she can manage it. *Thank you, Lady,* she says, while bowing her large, prehistoric head. *Thank you on behalf of the Hidden Walk. Expect us to return with them soon, before winter has fully settled on the mountain.* She calls up a small pool of Gnosis in the sand at her feet, an unspoken offering.
Nicodemus holds his ground, eyeing the lake suspiciously, but a little more reservedly than moments earlier--seeing as Mouse appears to be fine (other than being wet) and is still not taking an aggressive stance towards the water. "You people are crazy."
Salem offers up some of his own Gnosis as well, taking Mouse's lead. He casts an eye at the Mage and smiles a crooked, feral Glabro smile. "You rather have to be, to survive."
Val glances up at Salem, nods, then lets him him help Mouse and backs off a step. As Salem offers up some of his Gnosis as well, she hesitates for a moment, then joins in. Crouching down and placing her hand on the ground, allowing some of Gnosis to bleed out on to the ground, before backing away and rejoining the Mage. "Spirits don't think like us and she's agreed to accept the wasps." She smirks faintly at the Mage. "We all see things a little differently. Makes things a little tricky sometimes."
First-Strike shrinks back down to lupus as she turns away from the lake, her demeanor shifting from wet and pained to wet, pained, and amused. She informs Nicodemus that /she/ does it for the thrills, and then leans companionably against his knees--which, of course, means she gets his pants soaking wet. Did you bring ~marshmellows?~
Despite the numerous excuses give, Nick reasserts, "Crazy." He reaches down to pat the soggy wolf--he's still wet from the shower before, though nowhere near as soaked as Mouse--and confirms, "Yes. I brought marshmallows. Are we done here?"
"Yea, I think we're done here," Val says with a grin.
First-Strike's tongue lolls. Yes, done. She will welcome them here. Now we just have the hard part, but I am tired and hungry. And wet. This is enough for one night. The Theurge seems decidedly satisfied, and more light-hearted than she's been for a while now. The tip of her tail sways from side to side. Race you.
Nicodemus starts jogging back towards where they'd crossed over, but he makes sure he lets the wookie win.
----
Tersa's GM Room(#4146RJ)
As amorphous as thought itself.
Contents:
Minion
Before you is a tired-looking 1977 Winnebago Brave D26RT. A collection of dents, dings, and scratches pepper the vehicle's tan exterior. Depsite the cosmetic damage, the vehicle otherwise looks to be in decent shape. The Winnebago logo is hard to miss; it's integrated into the huge stripe that sprawls across the vehicle's sides. The "Brave" badges, alluding to the company's oft-overlooked Native American tribal themes, are placed somewhat more subtly around the vehicle. There's a ladder on the back, allowing access to the roof, which also bears dual air conditioning/heating units.
A roll-out canvas awning on the passenger's side of the RV allows the rapid establishment of a porch to keep rain out and provide cooling shade during the day. Clip-on mosquito netting has been added to make the area even more hospitable. If the vehicle is parked for any significant length of time, the awning is typically deployed along with a couple folding chairs, a TV tray, and a pair of plastic pink flamingos flanking the improvised "patio" area.
If the patio area has been deployed, the perceptive might notice that, on the ground right in front of a pink flamingo--amongst all the other sticks, twigs, leaves, and rocks on the ground--are four short twigs, two longer twigs, and an unusual crescent-shaped rock subtly arranged to make the Glass Walker tribal glyph.
Nicodemus drives the Winnebago to the appointed meeting place--a gas station just off the interstate so he doesn't have to deal with driving the land yacht in city traffic--to pick everyone up. The RV's been cleaned and detailed on the inside, so it doesn't smell like it's been lived in (like it did before). "All aboard," the mage says as he opens the main door. "Fridge is stocked with drinks, tanks are all topped off with fuel and water, and there's road snacks and food in the cupboards. Yay, camping," he adds last and with a monotone voice.
It's immediately clear that Mouse is wearing the cyberspine--mostly because she didn't bring the chair to the meeting place, but also due to how she stands just a little /too/ straight, and how there's a slight bunching up around her shirt collar, under her now-usual duster. "Shotgun," she calls. "Or you guys get to deal with a wolf in the back." There's a backpack slung over both of her shoulders--it's not very full, but whatever's in there looks a little heavy. Her laptop, probably.
Val is already at the meeting place with her motorcycle and is standing close to it, with her back resting against a tree. The small woman appears to have been dozing and starts awake when the camper rolls up. "I can just follow on my bike. Less crowded that way."
Salem has abandoned his 'filthy homeless vet' image for the trip; he's showered, trimmed the beard a bit, tied the overlong hair back into a ponytail, and dressed in something resembling his old attire -- black shirt, black jeans, and the battered black leather duster that hasn't seen the light of day in quite some time. Add the sunglasses and he looks almost (not really) like his old self. He's got a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. "Back's fine for me," he grunts, answering Mouse's seat-claim.
Nicodemus waves a finger in Val's direction, acknowledging her desire to ride her bike, and seals the Winnebago up. He slides into the driver's chair, fires the engine up, and pulls out onto the highway. "Radio works, but I'll have to shoot anyone who turns it to a country station." It takes half a year with the engine pushing hard to get the massive RV up to a respectable 70 MPH. The thing could probably use more horsepower, but judging by its age, the engine probably had a respectable amount of power for its heydey.
The best way to get to St. Helens from St. Claire is to take 90 to 82 and hook up with US 12, which starts as a nice, newly paved 4 lane divided highway, but as they get closer to their destination it turns into a two lane, winding blacktop in the woods. The pace slows to a crawl in the lumbering RV, but at least the traffic is light. The group will spend a few hours on this narrow road, moving through the woods before Ting into 131 to head south, to the mountain. 131, a few miles south, becomes a national park development road.
"...And when I say nail him to the wall," Mouse mutters, on a conversational topic she's been on and off about for the past hour, "I haven't decided if I'm speaking entirely metaphorically yet. Stupid fucking asshole." She seems a little tired for actual Rage to be involved in her mood, but even the passenger side seat seems to have started to bother her. "You'd think he'd have learned from having Flint in his head."
Salem has shed the heavy duster and made himself rather comfortable in the back with an Android tablet and, specifically, the Kindle app installed on it. "It's tradition for young Shadow Lords to do fucking /stupid/ things in regards to vampires when they're young," the old halfmoon deadpans.
Val, trailing along on her motorcycle, is left out of the current conversation.
Nicodemus honks the horn as a faster car cuts him off, requiring him to apply the brakes, which means practically 30 seconds of having to accelerate hard just to get from 50 to 70. He raise both hands off the wheel in a "really? really?" gesture towards the other driver. "You know, I know I'm not supposed to use stereotypes to lump people into catagories, but pretty much every Shadow Lord I've met?" He doesn't feel the need nor compulsion to complete that sentence.
Mouse flashes Salem a brief, wry sort of look over her shoulder, before calmly flipping off the driver giving Nick problems. "I had a tiny amount of hope for the kid, but he's clearly got his uncle's 'skill' at making important decisions. By which I mean 'pick the worst possible choice that puts the most people in danger, then see if you can dig a little deeper'." She falls quiet, but only for a moment. "The problem with walking the line is that you have to know where the line /is/."
Salem looks up from his screen to give Nick a wry look, then nods to Mouse. "Have they decided which Philodox is going to handle his case?"
Nicodemus belatedly thinks to inquire, "Is this the one he killed outside the bar a few days earlier? Or a different one?
Mouse shakes her head. "All I know is what Flint said, but I doubt it. We're too damned disorganized right now. I'm not sure they've even thought about it yet." A glance to Nicodemus. "A different one, I assume. Something to do with a gang he was investigating. I /told him/ not to drink or eat anything they gave him weeks ago."
Salem mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'not it' and turns his attention back to his reading material. All in all, despite the thickness of the moon, the seriousness of the task at hand, and the topic of conversation, the scarred old wolf seems pretty at ease.
131 eventually Ts into an even smaller, dirt road that winds drunkenly west around ridges and other rocky formations--some of them created specifically by the eruption 32 years ago--to the base of the mountain. It's as close as the RV is going to get. Parked on the "side" of this dirt road, the view looks out over the broken dome of the looming mountain. Laid at its feet in front of you is the vast valley, and Spirit Lake. West, on the other side of the lake, barely visible from here, is the Johnston Ridge Observatory.
Val pulls in behind the camper, gets off her bike a little stiffly, pries the helmet off her head and stretches. "Ugg."
Nicodemus struggles to keep the RV from jostling and rocking too much on the dirt road, picking his way forward as best he can to spare every a much longer walk, until it becomes obvious from the GPS and maps that this is about as close as they're going to get. He switched the headlights on as he picks his way around a bend. "I think this is about as close as we're going to be able to get in the Winnie unless we go offroad--and that'd just be an epicly bad idea. That looks like a good place to put in for the night," he says as he slows the RV down and steers it off the road and into a solid-looking, cleared area. "That and my ass is killing me." He throws the RV into 'park' and kills the engine.
"You aren't sitting on a tail," Mouse quips, though by this point her mood seems to have lifted, and she has spent more time looking out the window than talking. "Look at that. Three decades ago, everything living was burned or blasted away, and the lake was buried under a massive mudslide. It's getting hard to tell anything happened."
"The earth reclaims her own," says Salem, standing up and stretching. "...At least, when she gets a chance to."
Val hooks her helmet on her handlebars and walks around to the front of the camper, offering those inside a cheerful smile and a wave.
"Entropy," the mage says as he exits the vehicle and stretches, breathing in the air. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Camp here tonight and start out tomorrow morning when we've got light on our side? Or did you want to go immediately, at night, maybe in the spirit world?"
Mouse takes much longer to exit, though it's not quite as much of an ordeal as getting into the Winnebago was. Her shoes touch dirt gingerly, and only very carefully does her weight follow. "I'll have an answer for you in a moment." Still holding tightly to the inside of the door, the Theurge looks past the others, her eyes slipping slightly out of focus.
Long distance to Minion: Mouse Pulse of the Invisible's right up.
Salem paces off a short way, stretching his legs and, idly, re-establishing the ponytail that's gotten rather loose during the day's drive.
Minion pages: The umbra is teeming with life. There are spirits all around. Some Wyld, some Weaver, and some Wyrm. Mouse can sense a very large Wyrm spirit, actually, inside the mountain itself. Although it doesn't feel corrupted (if that makes sense) and...it's sleeping. Or, at least, it's not doing or thinking about anything right now. the biggest spirit Mouse can feel--and one that immediately notices the garou's probing senses, is the Lake itself.
Val cocks her head to one side, clearly curious as to what Mouse is up too. "Hey Nick," she greets the Mage, as she stifles a yawn, then looks around. "It's pretty out here."
It's true, the region has bounced back beautifully. The lake looks pristine, and although it's smaller and shallower than it was 32 years ago, it's still a magnificent body of water. And although the old growth forests are gone, with nothing but thousands of petrified stumps and sticks dotting the area in bone-white clumps, there is nevertheless a blanket of new, healthy green forest. Below Johnston Ridge is the ravine down which the pyroclastic flow traveled to the Toutle river. That's the last place that, to this day, remains like a moonscape in many places.
"Yeah, it is pretty," Nick says to Val as he waits, giving Mouse ample time to do examine the area. He then promptly opens up one of the cargo hatches on the vehicle's exterior, comes up with two plastic pink flamingos, and plants the twin synthetic guardians on either side of the entryway into the Winnebago. They clash astoundingly against the natural beauty of the area.
Val smirks. "Those things are garish, but I suspect that's part of why you seem to like'em."
"Aptly named," Mouse murmurs. She sounds reverent. *Hello.* The Theurge's attention seems to return, if only somewhat, to the physical world. "The activity around here is amazing. Everything in balance. There's a massive Wyrm spirit in the mountain, as you might expect, but it's old Wyrm. Balance Wyrm. And sleeping. But the lake's alive. She knows I'm here."
Minion pages: The lake seems reluctant to respond, and yet curious. There's a great deal of wariness, and even as Mouse extends her pulse of the invisible, the Lake seems to wash over all, as if learning as much as it can from them in the limited way it can. Eventually satisfied, it beckons Mouse to get closer. (Where they are, still a few miles hike form the lake's edge, makes things difficult). She wants to see you.
Salem's eyebrows reach for his hairline. "I... wasn't even aware that Balance Wyrm spirits still existed," he says slowly.
Nicodemus shrugs at Val, then looks from Mouse to Salem. "I'd certainly hope so. Destructive energies can be positive or negative, largely depending on who uses them and how they're used: at least, in my experience, that's the case." The mage then admits, "Although I'm a little less familiar with the combination of those kinds of energies with spiritual resonance." He closes his eyes, reaches his left arm out, and extends his fingers as if grasping something invisible. "Interesting," he murmurs after about ten seconds, though it looks like he's still probing about.
Val sighs and crams her hands in to her jacket, eyes shifting towards the mountain.
"Some," Mouse murmurs. She's not doing a very good job of masking her delight; her demeanor is like a tabletop geek in the world's largest RPG store. "I think she just decided for us. She wants to see us. Ehm, the lake, I mean. She's cautious, so we should try not to alarm her--for our health especially." Her shoulders square, and she mostly hides the wince. "Feel like an Umbral hike?"
Salem cracks his knuckles. "Of course."
Eyes still closed, still feeling, Nick responds, "Sorry, Val. Let me get my vest on. Is this just to poke around, or are we going to push for it? I can only chance crossing over once per week."
Mouse considers for a moment. "Let's push for it. I'm going on instinct and chance here, but we don't have much time. And--" she looks wry again, "If we end up having to cross more than once, that just means I owe you learning that gift of Jacob's even more."
Val starts a little and blinks, mind having wandered elsewhere for a moment. "Don't mind me Nick," she says, quietly. "I'm just a bit tired. Had a long night, what with things going boom in the city yesterday. Alright," she adds, turning a bit to address Mouse. "I'll pop over and get a bird's eye view of the area. Just to make certain there are no unpleasant surprises." Val then holds up her hand, looking in to the reflection provided by the rings she wears and starts to cross over.
Salem already has a pocket mirror out, for just the same purpose.
Nicodemus pulls a bulletproof vest out of the bay that had the flamingos in it, likely a hold-over from his days as a police officer. He begins strapping it on. "If we're going to push for it, now's the time. We've got the whole night to work with. And, man, there is some serious energy coming out of that mountain." Odds are his use of 'energy' doesn't necessarily relate to the geothermic variety.
Mouse fishes out her own small mirror and focuses. She's not nearly as fast as Val at stepping over, but she's pretty quick all the same.
It's a clear night, and the moon is into gibbous, making the umbra fairly bright and lively. As Mouse said earlier, the umbra is teeming with spirits of a wide variety. As the group gets closer to the lake, however, one thing becomes clear. Whatever balance there is between the spirits is newly made, and there are still whole places in the valley where the Wyrm rules more than anything else. Pockets of Wyld exist everywhere, with a variety of small weaver spirits doing what little they can to organze the growth into some semblance of order. The timeless battle between the three is very evident. One gets the sense that until recently, the Wyrm owned everything. And now, the Wyld is pushing them back. Fields of Prairie Fire, or Indian Paint Brush dot the landscape all the way down to the lake, dancing and prancing as if it were spring or summer and not the verge of winter. The Mountain, on this side, feels like a living, breathing monster. It even makes noises--the rumbling snore of a sleeping giant. An eerie yellow orange glow that faintly resembles the aurora Borealis flickers around its broken dome like a halo.
Memory shifted soon after crossing over and now she soars above the Garou and Mage, sometimes dropping behind, or moving ahead of the land-bound group.
Salem shifts up into Glabro form once he's crossed the Gauntlet and moves to stand fairly close to Mouse, protectively so.
Nicodemus uses no mirror. He stands in place, reality ripples in along a two-dimensional plane before him, and he takes a step through and exits in the spirit world. The gateway's ripples dissipate behind him, and he briefly lists to one side before regaining his balance and exhaling. Recovering from the crossing, he looks around--curious, but treading lightly and sticking close to the shifters present. Just in case.
Mouse goes all the way, straight to lupus, as soon as she's put her mirror away--though her body's version of wolf form is about as bizarre as crinos, and the cyberspine brace, still present, only adds to the oddity. She's a little faster like this, but she's still quite slow, her back legs shuffling and dragging more often than not, and the pain and effort quite easily read in her body language. This does not, however, stop her from marveling at their surroundings, or offering spare greetings to any mildly friendly spirits they pass.
Most don't seem to have the time for the garou. Apparently, they're all preoccupied with their own misadventures. Or, perhaps it's this 'war'--the heightened struggle between the spirits of the Triat that has erupted (pardon the pun) and intensified over the last 32 years. When they reach the lake, its surface ripples and shudders as if sensing their approach. A water spout forms at the water's edge, rising up to shower water over the three moving on the ground. Val is excluded from this, at first, but when the Lake senses her close, even the bird gets wet.
Wet feathers kinda suck and Memory shakes herself vigorously when she gets wet, loosing some altitude as she does so. After removing the worst of the water from her feathers, the Raven drops out of the sky and clears the edge of the lake by about a half dozen feet, while quorking out a cheerful greeting in the Spirit Tongue. Doubling back, she gurgles out a warning to the Mage, before attempting to land on Nick's shoulder.
Nicodemus seems to be willing to let the corax perch on his shoulder, afterall it does--sort of--shield him a little bit from some of the water. He brushes a hand over his face, wiping the water off of it and out of his eyes. Amost as a bad afterthought, he mutters, "God, I really hope this is just water." As if by way of explanation, he adds, "Instead of spirit piss."
Salem takes the drenching with a faint grimace, briefly baring one overlong canine tooth. "Hijinks," he mutters in a rumbly baritone.
First-Strike stretches out her front legs as she gets showered, then slides smoothly up into the near-wolf. *Lady,* she rumbles. The reverence has returned to her voice, reflected in the set of her ears and her over-long tail. *You look well.*
To (First-Strike, Memory), Minion pages: (Val understands spirit speech, right?) So, the two of you sense that it's a little more than hijinks. It's the spirit's way of gauging those that have come to see her. Once she does it, she seems to settle down--relax, a little. Reaching out specifically to Mouse, she asks what brings you, (this odd group) to her shore?
To (First-Strike, Minion), Memory pages: Yea. Val has that Gift.
The water spout dissipates as quickly as it rose. The surface of the water begins to calm and return to normal. Except for the occasional odd ripple, the surface becomes mirror like.
Memory bumps Nick's cheek with the side of her head, while voices a series of surprising complex and soft vocalizations. She's just saying hello. Be nice. She wants to make certain that we're not a bunch of grumps. She's talking now, the Raven continues, straightening up and focusing her attention on the water.
Salem limps over to one side, keeping close, and keeping an eye on their surroundings.
Nicodemus glances sidelong at Salem, clearly accepting his single-word explanation for the water spirit's behavior. He nods curtly in return to Salem: message received. Then he looks the other direction, to the raven croaking on his shoulder. "It's a good thing my moisture content does not correlate directly to my level of grumpiness. Otherwise," the mage drips, "I might be grumpy." He lets Mouse handle the spirit, clearly bowing to the Walker elder's experience in such matters. As Salem moves to one side, Nick follows behind him. Salem takes point, Nick keeps an eye out for trouble that might come from some other direction.
First-Strike eases stiffly to the ground. Her ears push forward, listening to unspoken words, and she swipes her tongue over her scarred muzzle before responding. *Dreams from the Lady of Mirrors,* she responds. *Our Caern has been host to the Wyld's power this year, and with it came other creatures of the Wyld, large and hungry. But now the Wyld eruption is fading, and the Wyld's children need a new place to nest. If they stay where they are, they will devour the Caern itself. They need a place where the Wyld is strong, where they won't overwhelm it with their hunger, and where the humans won't notice them. Before they came, I and another received a vision from Chimera. We came here to the mountain, and found what we were seeking.*
Memory remains perched on Nick's shoulder, seemingly content to just listen. For once.
Salem is silent as well, standing guard.
Nicodemus stands close--but not too close--to Salem. He alternates between watching Mouse, the lake, and checking the surroundings out: he does not look particularly at home in the umbra. The fingers on his left hand curl into a fist, then uncurl to separate from one another. Curl. Stretch. Curl. Stretch.
What Salem (and Nick) can see form their vantage point is that Spirit Lake forms a sort of horseshoe. Jutting into the middle of that is a wedge-shaped peninsula that, even from this distant shore, shows signs of a Wyld outbreak not unlike the one at their home caern. There are none of the /exact/ plants--none of the weird fruit, and certainly none of the wasps--but even from here, Salem would recognize the crazy, out of control and out of this world growth. It goes unchecked there, the Wyrm and Weaver's influence absent, for now.
The mention of the Lady of Mirrors brings a favorable shudder from the Lake's waters. The ripples created spread across the entire vast surface of the lake. The Lake's voice is like a waterfall. *Here, all of the Triat wage war. When the dragon woke, its minions devoured everything. Only now do others come back. It held me in its mud for years. But Gaia breaths life into the land, again. Even the humans have come back, though not as many.*
*The humans argue in their big house far away,* Mouse replies. *Some want to come back here, but others want to keep them away, to avoid hurting you as you grow and recover. They will stay away for a long time yet, I think, but one day, they will fish your waters again.* Her eyes move to the peninsula, and her ears twist back. Her next words are unhurried, thoughtful. *The Wyld children follow the Wyld's eruptions. That--* she indicates the general direction of the outbreak, *--Is what they look for. They feed on it, keep it in check, grow fat and drunk in its glory. Would they help you, here? Or, if not here, is there another place on the mountain where they would be welcome? I've seen their ferocity,* wry again. *They would make good soldiers in this war.*
Nicodemus nudges Val with the side of his head. "What's being said?" he asks, hoping the Corax will translate and share.
Memory turns her head to look more directly at the Mage, then reaches out with her beak and straightens out a bit of his hair, which was messed up some in the earlier soaking. That done, she starts translating, keeping her whirs, rumbles, quorking, and various other vocalizations as quiet as possible.
The lake seems to consider Mouse's question, its waters slowly undulating. *Balance is needed. It ebbs and flows like my waters, sometimes one and then another taking control. It's hard to say if such an invasion would help or harm.* though the spirit doesn't give a definite answer, she doesn't all seem necessarily opposed to the idea.
First-Strike makes a quiet, agreeing noise. *We would not bring them here unless you were agreed, or if we could determine that they would cause more harm. We only know that they can't stay where they are.* She does not, however, press her point, or ask for the mentioned agreement. She seems content to remain lying on the bank, looking not unlike a more lupine version of the Sphinx she's packed under.
There is more undulation from the surface of the lake. and then, all of a sudden, a whirlpool forms just off the shore where the garou, corax and mage stand. Another water spout rises from the edges of this whirlpool. Twisting like a finger, it reaches down, engulfs, and then pulls Mouse into the Lake. In a moment, she's gone and the waters begin to calm again.
First-Strike is startled, /that's/ clear even to someone who can't read lupine body language. But in the few seconds between being engulfed and being pulled in, there's no sign of the Theurge fighting it.
Minion pages: Other than being under water, and therefore having to hold your breath, there's no attack--no malevolence. If anything, it's just a more intense version of the earlier shower. Now, though, the Lake seems to be accessing Mouse's memories. She forces--though gently--you to visualize the caern, the wasps, to relive the situation, the closing of the caern, the dreams, the Lady of Mirrors. Everything. By the time all this happens, Mouse's lungs are screaming for relief.
Memory quorks loudly in surprise. Don't do anything just yet! She warns the Mage, as she leaves his shoulder and aims to land on the edge of the lake. *Lady. That was unexpected and we are concerned for our companion...*
Long distance to Minion: First-Strike is severely tempted to use her old mainstay, Create Element. But she resists. Once she realizes what the spirit is doing, she gives up the relevant memories freely, without resistance or any attempt to sanitize them.
Nicodemus' eyes go wide as the lake spirit reaches out and snatches up the Glass Walker's elder. He suddenly decides he might want to step back further from the lake's edge, carrying Val with him in the process. His left hand reaches out towards where Mouse was sucked under and he relaxes ever so slightly. "She's alive," he assures Salem--and also probably himself. "For now. Holding her breath." A beat. "Want me to try and pull her out? Or wait a moment?"
Salem is tense as all hell, but he holds his ground. "Wait," he says, tersely.
It feels like an eternity--especially to the Walker elder holding her breath. Just when she decides to use her metis gift to 'create' some air for herself, the lake spits her out. The water's surface erupts, and the wolf's head emerges. Paws splash and slap the water as she chokes in air and spits out water.
And swimming, First-Strike discovers, is not a thing she does terribly well anymore. Her front paws dog paddle, but the back are just as ineffective as before, and what she mostly manages is to tread water while she attempts to breathe sweet, sweet air again.
Nicodemus doesn't wait for permission this time. He merely reaches out with his left arm, cups his hand, and magical forces reach out to lift and propel Mouse--with her limited ability to walk (and likely swim)--through the water and towards the shore. He shakes his head in mild, irritated disapproval--though at what, specifically, goes unsaid.
Memory snaps in to homid as soon as Mouse breaks the surface of the water. Already on the shore, she has already started to move in to lend a hand when the Mage's Magic gets to the Adren long before she can. Still, the scrawny woman does what she can, if anything, to help Mouse out of the water.
The Lake seems oblivious to the trouble she has inadvertently caused poor Mouse, although there was a purpose to it. And that becomes clear when she next speaks. Again, her words have the sound of a waterfall, *The wasps would be welcome here.*
Salem moves fast for an old geezer with a limp, and he's right there, too, to assist the Adren Theurge. "Hijinks," he rumbles again, deadpan, though he's relieved to see her undrowned.
First-Strike is relieved to be undrowned as well, and between Val and Salem, she manages to limp and drag herself back onto the shore. The Theurge looks as though she'd dearly love to shake herself off, but instead she holds herself stiff, dripping, and turns back to face the water when she can manage it. *Thank you, Lady,* she says, while bowing her large, prehistoric head. *Thank you on behalf of the Hidden Walk. Expect us to return with them soon, before winter has fully settled on the mountain.* She calls up a small pool of Gnosis in the sand at her feet, an unspoken offering.
Nicodemus holds his ground, eyeing the lake suspiciously, but a little more reservedly than moments earlier--seeing as Mouse appears to be fine (other than being wet) and is still not taking an aggressive stance towards the water. "You people are crazy."
Salem offers up some of his own Gnosis as well, taking Mouse's lead. He casts an eye at the Mage and smiles a crooked, feral Glabro smile. "You rather have to be, to survive."
Val glances up at Salem, nods, then lets him him help Mouse and backs off a step. As Salem offers up some of his Gnosis as well, she hesitates for a moment, then joins in. Crouching down and placing her hand on the ground, allowing some of Gnosis to bleed out on to the ground, before backing away and rejoining the Mage. "Spirits don't think like us and she's agreed to accept the wasps." She smirks faintly at the Mage. "We all see things a little differently. Makes things a little tricky sometimes."
First-Strike shrinks back down to lupus as she turns away from the lake, her demeanor shifting from wet and pained to wet, pained, and amused. She informs Nicodemus that /she/ does it for the thrills, and then leans companionably against his knees--which, of course, means she gets his pants soaking wet. Did you bring ~marshmellows?~
Despite the numerous excuses give, Nick reasserts, "Crazy." He reaches down to pat the soggy wolf--he's still wet from the shower before, though nowhere near as soaked as Mouse--and confirms, "Yes. I brought marshmallows. Are we done here?"
"Yea, I think we're done here," Val says with a grin.
First-Strike's tongue lolls. Yes, done. She will welcome them here. Now we just have the hard part, but I am tired and hungry. And wet. This is enough for one night. The Theurge seems decidedly satisfied, and more light-hearted than she's been for a while now. The tip of her tail sways from side to side. Race you.
Nicodemus starts jogging back towards where they'd crossed over, but he makes sure he lets the wookie win.
----
Mouse has mostly eaten her fill of hotdogs by this point, though she's still poking one at the embers with the sort of lazy, lack of care that one gets on a camping trip when they're mostly just toying with the fire to burn whatever's on their stick. She's commandeered one of the fold out chairs (sitting on the ground did not end up suiting her one bit), and seems lost in thought.
Val eats and obscene amount of foot. Really. Where does she put it all? But, eventually the stick-like Corax has her fill of hotdogs, marshmellows, and various snack-foods eventually. She disappears from the fire for a short time, can heard opening and closing the containers on her motorcycle, before returning with a sketchpad and some pencils. "Good to see you moving around again," she tells Mouse, as she settles in to one of the chairs.
"Good to /be/ moving around again," Mouse murmurs, still in her comfortable slump. "Slow and tedious as it is." Her hotdog is looking rather blackened.
"Where'd you get that back support set-up?" Val asks, flipping open her sketchbook and adding some broad straight lines to the page.
Mouse continues poking idly at the fire. "Nick. He took my measurements, then bought it and adjusted it."
Val ahhs softly, as her hand continues to move over the page and the shape of the mountain slowly starts to take shape. "That was clever of him. He's always been pretty clever. Do you know what's going to happen with Ky now? Aside from having his ass locked up in the Old Library basement for awhile. I mean, with all the big booms the other night, I'd be surprised if you'd hadn't heard something about that."
Mouse rubs at the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. "I got a brief summary before we headed out. Hopefully, a thorough Philodox lashing for being a complete fucking moron." She sounds more angry than tired, but she didn't entirely exhaust her rant potential earlier. "And putting everyone in danger."
Val's nose wrinkles up as she erases a line, then sets the pencil down. "I'm not certain exactly what happened," she admits. "I just know that there were a lot of big booms and I caught the tail end of everyone running away from the Green Angels club house."
Mouse's eyes narrow at the fire. "I know the stupid fucker is going through withdrawal or something now. I /warned him/."
"He knew the risks,
"He knew the risks," Val says. "Not saying that he wasn't stupid. I know I was trying to give him some slight of hand tricks to avoid drinking. I know they were mixing the stuff in whiskey and passing out shots of the stuff. If he couldn't pull that off, I now I told him he'd be better off going fuzzy and fighting, or running the fuck away, depending on the situation."
"Clearly," Mouse says, "He didn't. Or maybe he didn't care, since it would've been all of /our/ asses on the line. You realize that if that vampire had told him to, he'd have told fucking all? You, me, our safehouses, our Caern, every kin he knows about...everything. /I/ warned him about eating and drinking, /you/ warned him about eating and drinking..."
Val lifts a hand to her temple and rubs at it. "Yea, I know. Guess I'm just feeling a bit guilty about the whole thing, since I'm the one that noticed that something was up with the Green Angles in the first place and blabbed. Wish I'd done more."
Mouse snorts loudly. "You aren't responsible for some idiotic cliath ignoring all reason, sense, personal experience, and advice to the contrary. Were you going to swoop in and knock the glass away at the last moment too? He's an adult, this shit is on him."
Val purses her lips. "No. But I could have scouted more. Focused on spying on them. Gotten more information. Not that I haven't been doing other things..." Val trails off, gesturing vaguely towards the fire. "But yes, he's responsible for his own actions. He isn't a cub anymore. And, he's going to be punished, above an beyond whatever one of your lawmakers decide to do with him. He's going to have to go through withdrawl, which is holy-hell from what I've heard. Going to have to deal with the mindfuck that stuff does to you in general. And, to top it all off, he's going to have to watch it for the rest of his life. Stuff is addictive and once your an addict, the addiction never entirely goes away."
"And I bet you he would have still done exactly what he did," Mouse replies. She lifts her hotdog roasting stick out of the fire, and regards the blackened meat without much scrutiny. "Trust me, I was a headstrong young Garou once."
Val hmms. "We were all stupid teenagers at one point," she states "Well, hopefully this will teach him not to bite off more then he can chew. How are you planning to get the baby queen out here?"
Mouse leans her head back, and puts the hotdog back into the fire. "Depends on if the wasps can follow us through a moonbridge."
Val blinks, giving up on drawing and setting aside her sketchpad. "That's quite the trick. Who is going to open the moonbridge for you?"
"Skokiaan," Mouse replies, without looking up from the fire. "Our pack totem. She's done it before, during the fight in Spokane. That's the quickest, probably safest way, and it doesn't involve trailing a swarm of angry giant wasps through the city and down the highway."
"Good trick and certainly sounds like a good idea to me," Val says. "The wasps, at least the ones I've talked with, are not terribly bright. Then again, I've only chatted with the ones along the border of the Bawn, so those ones were just drones. Didn't really expect them to be all that bright. Did see something a bit odd happen with some of them. They attacked this Wyld mutated dear and stung the thing. It got away and while it was bolting, it started returning to normal."
One of Mouse's eyebrows lift, but she does give a tiny little nod. "They seem to feed off of the Wyld energies. Maybe that has a side effect on mutations that aren't permanent."
"Maybe. Devon was there at the same time and got stung," Val continues. "And he stopped being all blue and scaly. But, Riley was stung, if awhile back, not at the same time as Devon, and she's still a chick. Maybe things have changed some, since the Wyld influence has stopped spreading."
Mouse shakes her head. "I don't know. Maybe. From what I understand of Riley's predicament, she's been fundamentally changed. Her entire body is female, not just surface features."
"Yea," Val says, leaning back and running a hand through her hair. "It's hard to say, really. And, no real way to see if getting stung near the edges of the Bawn would change anything short of Riley wandering out there and trying to piss off one of the wasps. She does seem to have adjusted relatively well, even if she seems to insist on wearing slip dresses these days. Just looking at her outside in one of those makes me feel cold, what with fall shifting in to winter."
Mouse says, dryly, "I've seen Riley get stepped on by a dragon and pop up more or less okay. She's hardier than she looks."
"Hardy or not, it looks like she should be freezing her ass of," Val says with a faint smirk. "People filled you in on what I was able to find out about Ex, with some help from the Kinfolk at Terminus, particularly May?"
"I've heard," Mouse says. She finally frees the much-blackened hotdog from the flames, instead setting it off to one side. "I told Slug to tell Riley to wait on it. We need everyone for the Caern."
Val grunts softly. "Yea. That issue has been sitting long enough. Little longer won't hurt it any. I'm no good in a fight, so I doubt that I'd be much use in helping you grab the Baby Queen. But, the offer still stands when it comes to waking up the Caern."
Mouse nods in acknowledgment, but she says nothing further for the moment. The fire appears to have drawn her attention again.
"Neat trick you have there, looking in to the Umbra from this side," she says. "Wouldn't mind learning it at some point, if you'd be interested in teaching. Don't think I have too much I could offer you in return. Most of my tricks are rather bird-specific. Couple of things I wouldn't mind learning, really. That one tick that lets you drag folks in to the Shadow with you is fairly useful as well. Particularly with all the trouble some of your folks have crossing over in city, the Gauntlet being as thick as it is. Would be nice to be able to help out some more."
"Afraid they're both Theurge specific gifts," Mouse replies. "Well, Theurge and Gaians, for the one. With Garou, when we want to learn something outside of our...circle, to put it simply, there's generally a lot of hoops to leap through, spirit-wise. And it doesn't happen too often."
Val's lips twitch. "I'm Corax, not Garou. Not to many Tricks we can't learn and the ones we can't, usually have to do with hitting things. Heck, I managed to talk a Unicorn Spirit in to teaching me what the Gaian's call Grandmother's Touch a while back. Have never had to use it on myself, thank Gaia. But, with how often I work alone, I wanted a way to heal up enough if I got hurt so bad I was grounded. Kinda FUBARed if I can't fly. The Trick for dragging people across is a pretty common Bird-Trick, honestly. Got used lots, way back when."
Val grins. "If you had to take a stab at it, what Auspice would you say I was?"
"Galliard?" Mouse says, uncertainly. "With the constant information passing, and everything."
Val nods, still smiling a little. "We're jack of all trades, really. Kinda have to be, with how we operate. While we're a chatty bunch and keep really close tabs on each other, we tend to operate alone. Or at most, in real small groups. Even then, that's usually just the young ravens. Hey, do you know the trick for blending in to what's around and pretty much going invisible, so long as you don't move? It's real handy. Good for watching folks and avoiding getting found."
Mouse shakes her head slightly. "That's a Ragabash gift. Theurges deal with spirits, and the spirit world. Garou, we specialize. It tends to work in our favor, most of the time."
"Well, you all have different rolls to play and you run in packs," Val says. "Gaia made us all different. The Tricks I know, that you lot know as well are Spirit Speech, Mindspeak, Truth of Gaia, Blissful Ignorance, Sense the Unnatural, Find the Prize, an' Grandmother's Touch. Rest of my Tricks are all Raven Tricks. Most of'em wouldn't do you guys any good."
Mouse says, thoughtfully, "Theurge, Galliard, Philodox, Ragabash...I'm not sure, Ragabash and I /think/ Children of Gaia. Too bad, that last one would have helped me out of a few spots. That's quite a varied selection."
Val nods, lips twitching a bit in a smile. "Yea. Don't mind teaching, if you've got folks that would like to learn any of those. So long as they don't mind taking lessons on the roof. Not all that big on closed in spaces, if I can avoid them. Got one other, that I picked up on that trip I went on recently. It's a popular on in the Emerald Courts, as it lets the different shifters talk with each other, and they're all real big on protocol over there. Could start using Mother's Tongue right now, if I wanted too. Offered to teach that one to Nieve."
Mouse pushes herself up with one elbow, and squints in Val's direction. "Don't know much of anything about them. The Beast Courts, I mean. Are you sure they aren't going to come after you and chop you in half for teaching something like that?"
Val shrugs, leaning back in her seat. "Was never told not to pass it around and well, it's kinda a Raven policy to pass around stuff known in one area, but forgotten in another. Avoids us loosing knowledge in the long run. Learned it from a Crane Spirit."
"Everything?" Mouse asks. "Those Corax gifts you mentioned; what are they, exactly? I know you said they wouldn't help or work with Garou, but I'm curious all the same."
Val leans back in her folding chair and yawns, running a hand through her hair. "Pretty much. No idea if the Spirits will let me teach Nieve that particular Trick, the language one, but I'm more then willing to give it a shot. If they say no, they say no. As for my Bird Gifts, the first one I ever learned, just lets us leave certain markers in the Shadow. Call'em Raven roadmaps. Handy, with all the time we tend to spend in the Umbra. Beyond that, I got one that helps me find valuable things. Another that lets me act like a walking recorder. I can vocalize anything I've ever heard before. That's one I've mentioned to you before no worries, no whippoorwill sounds outta me. Can tell if there are folks around me that want to do me harm. If I'm lucky, that Trick'll also tell my how many people out there wanna do me harm and how nasty they are. Uhhs. Damn good at dropping things on people. Always hit my target. Can find the nearest dead body. Can talk to a dead body, if it has been dead for less than a day. Can go home on autopilot, if I'm too fucked up to get home by normal means. As for the last thing, I can see in the dark, or in the fog, or driving rain, or in a moonless Umbra. Can see as if it is daylight, always, if I want too."
Mouse threads her fingers over her stomach. "Huh," she says, once Val has finished. "So spying, self preservation, and dealing with dead bodies. Seems fitting to me."
Val nods. "Yea. Lots of our Tricks tend to fall in to those categories. We do have some fighting Tricks, but they generally suck and are mostly good for giving you long enough to run the fuck away from a bad situation. One for reading Omens and some of the old birds, not many, can take a peek in to the future."
"So you basically rely on us to deal with what you find." Mouse doesn't really phrase it as a question. "You must have to fight sometimes, though."
"What am I going to do, Mouse? Sure, I can pull a gun," Val says. "But, I'm not built for fighting. If it came to it, if you could get your hands on me, I'd be toast and you're not exactly the biggest baddest wolf out there. Hell, even my bones are hollow. A hit that'll make your average person stagger, would put me on my ass. Ravens who don't know when to run away, don't live long." The small woman presses her lips together, thinking for a moment. "Ravens who make a habit of fucking up, or not doing their job or make a habit of lying to other Ravens get plenty of warnings, then we pull out the one real punishment we've got. Doesn't happen too often, thank Gaia."
"I'm about the opposite," Mouse agrees. "Look, I know we can be, and often have been, complete fucking assholes. But considering the situation--you find stuff, we plunge in and risk our necks to get rid of it--maybe a little less...I don't know. It's been a while since I've heard you making the really disparaging jokes." She shrugs, hiding the wince. "People living their entire lives fighting a war against giant monsters do tend toward the 'fucking asshole' end of the spectrum."
"Finding it isn't exactly a safe hobby in and of itself," Val notes, quietly. "And yes, my mouth is faster then my brain sometimes. And you have to be able to laugh, even at yourself, sometimes. You have to be able to laugh in this world, or you'll cry, or simply go mad. And, there have been times over the years when I've wished that I wasn't such a stick. It's hard to sit and watch people die, knowing you can't do shit all about it. All I can do is provide the best intelligence that I can and hope for the best. People die if I fuck up, Mouse."
"People die if I fuck up too," Mouse responds, solemnly. "Sometimes even when I do things entirely right. That's the big problem with having ranks and leaders. You go into a fight /knowing/ that some of the people trusting your direction are going to die in front of you, and being Garou, probably horribly." She's silent for a moment. "Nothing too wrong with crying, really. Hitting a wall. Shouting at the ceiling. People cope in different ways."
"People do," Val admits. "Got lots of people in my head," Val says tapping at her skull. "That's what I do. I remember them, even if it's just their last moment. All I can do, really."
Mouse breathes. "Yeah. Don't need to be Corax for that one." She fingers something around her neck for just a moment. "I'm just saying, we all know how we're going out."
"Corax tend to live longer. We kinda have too, what with how we make new Corax. But, that's a whole other bucket of worms," Val says as she rises and rubs at her eyes.
Mouse toys with her hotdog stick, but she doesn't say anything further. Val's movement gets only a brief glance.
Val glances over at the camper, then bends down and picks up her sketchpad. "I'm glad that Nick was able to help you some with your back. He's a good soul and clever. Lots of gears turning in that head of his. Thankyou for taking him in as Walker Kinfolk. It's good for him to have Family in the city. G'night Mouse. I'm gonna find a nice spot to perch for the night."
"Night, Val," Mouse says quietly. For her part, she doesn't seem keen on moving any time soon. "And yeah, I know he's a good man. That's why I invited him."
"Sorry for being a gloomy guts," Val apologizes, before moving off, trailing her fingers along the old camper, before disappearing in to the darkness.
