"It doesn't /look/ magic."
Jul. 24th, 2012 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretEx cuts in on a history lesson between Sue and Harper, then discusses names with Moros and Phoebe.
Greek House: Courtyard(#2280RJh)
A walled-in Greco-Roman courtyard exists here in the clearing behind the house. The western side columns look new, the others freshly cleaned and repaired in patches. The courtyard is more or less open, in a sense, the columns creating more of a border than an actual wall. There are four arched gateways that provide entrance into the courtyard, one at each cardinal direction. Near the house, in the north-west corner, there is a small fountain that adds the soothing sound of water to a calm, almost serene atmosphere. The pond around the fountain contains a few waterplants along with a handful of orange-gold koi fish swim lazily about. Diagonally across from that, on the western side, is a statue of the "Winged Victory of Samothrace", more popularly known as the "Headless Nike." By the house is another statue, a copy of Michelangelo's David. This one has been modified by someone hacking off its... equipment. Fairly violently. There are three archery butts, set up at the far southern end of the courtyard, which look fairly new, though already show the signs of heavy use.
In one corner sits a collection of around twenty glass bottles, of varying shapes, sizes and colors - clear, green, amber, cobalt blue - all of them clean and with the labels removed.
Obvious exits:
Roof North Eastern Arch Gate Doorway
Sue opens the glass doors and enters the courtyard from the house.
Sue has arrived.
Harper has arrived.
Harper nods her head as she listens, "So other tribes are gonna come here to tell stories about this tribe? Heh, how does that work out. If tribes are basically groups of people with the same beliefs, that suggests some tribes will have very different opinions. I can't imagine they'd tell fair stories. It'd be like how democrats and republicans always bash eachother, no?"
Sue shakes his head. "The galliards _are_ keepers of stories, and often they will learn the stories of another tribe, of the other tribes as well. Some will tell fair stories, some will not. Anyway." He pauses, then says. "The Furies came into being in the ancient times, and the first pack of Furies were those of the first Garou whom Artemis took under her wing. The stories call them the Gorgons. They were Woman's avenging hand on the world under Artemis' guidance, working against rape, abuse, the atrocities that Men commit, things that very often are of the Wyrm."
"So, like a bunch of Vigilante Biker Chicks or something?" asks Harper with a look of uncertainty.
Ex stalks into the courtyard, unhurried, but decidedly tense. Her head is low, eyes hooded, and under one arm is both her sketchbook as well as a stack of loose paper at least half an inch thick. Both her clothing and her short hair look rumpled at best. As always, she's wearing those gloves as well.
The metis raises his brows slightly, and then eventually nods. "Yes. Still, somewhat. Justice against abusers and helping the helpless is still a part of what the Furies are, today. Eventually, our tribe came under the guidance of Pegasus, when Artemis--who is also Luna--no longer had the time, to devote to all of us. Pegasus, in the early times, was ridden by Bellerophon." Sue pauses, looks over to Ex. "Hello Ex. I'm talking about... what it means, to be Fury, if you want to join us." He doesn't wait for her, though. "In any case, the Furies of the time were all women, and they were *not* as kind as they are today. Males were killed at birth, not given to the other tribes like they are now. Metis were killed at birth too." His voice is tense, a little. "But Pegasus overthrew Bellerophon and tossed him to the ground mid-flight, and she returned to the caern to decree that the Furies submit to no man," Sue says. "And she said as well, that male metis were to be kept, and that we are members of this tribe like anyone else. The part about 'submitting to no man' is a bit troublesome? It doesn't make up for submission to those of a higher station, or anything."
Harper is listening intently enough to Sue that she doesn't note the arrival of the other until the metis points it out. She looks over to spot her, meeting her eyes briefly before turning back. "Uh, back up. Actually a bunch of it is kinda... troublesome. Their grand solution for the wrongs done to women, were to kill their males?"
Ex doesn't say anything, but she does slink a few feet closer and drop into a crouch, angled toward the other two.
Sue winces a little, and nods. "Doesn't happen anymore," he responds, not entirely willing to talk further on the subject, it would seem. "But their exclusion of men from their tribe... they lost track. It is, as Ex puts it, fucked up. But it is less so than it used to be. It was not their only solution, and they did good. The daughters of Pegasus taught human women to defend themselves, how to control when they wanted--or did not want--to have a child, rather than leave that decision in the hands of the patriarchy." Which is said as if it's a nearly dirty word.
"Ok, can we skip to the here and now? Because where they came from?" Harper shakes her head. "Sounds savage. And brutal. And ... just as oppressive as what they wanted to free the women from."
Ex remains silent. Her hooded eyes narrow a little.
"Talking about the patriarchy is important, though," Sue says, folding his hands in his lap, and then eventually just laying back on the grass. "You can't understand the way that the patriarchy operates now, without understanding the roots of the patriarchy, in biblical times, and such. And it's equally important to understand that... we're Garou. We're not perfect, and sometimes Garou lose track too. What we do do, is the best that we can, for Gaia."
"Whoa whoa. See, you can't mix and match like that. Greek mythology, plus biblical times, plus the Garou's way of doing things? You pull pieces from each part, and you have pretty much painted out that there are lies in the big pictures. And for what it's worth... my uncle was the patriarch of our family unit. I saw him go out of his way to provide for us. Heck, I found receipts showing he'd even gone as far as sold blood when things got tight. And he was the head of the house, and it works. And it was comforting to know that no matter what, he had our backs, our fronts, our sides. He had us." She stands up then, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I need a time out."
"There are truths in the big pictures too," Sue says quietly, but he nods. And then he shifts, where he's laying, to lupus, rolling quickly so his belly isn't exposed.
Ex wrinkles her nose. She reaches out, and eases from crouch to plain sit, with her sketchbook and loose papers transferred to her lap.
Not long after, the metis pushes to stand and leaves the courtyard, though he does look back at Ex for a long moment, ears splayed in studying.
Ex responds with a sudden, angry glare. "I can't learn?" she accuses, though she doesn't raise her voice beyond normal talking level.
He looks at her a long moment, and pushes through the forms slowly until he's back, not to homid, but to glabro. "Tomorrow, Ex. I'm not up for more right now, I'm sorry," he says, words not quite a growl. "Unless you have a /new/ topic. I apparently /suck/ at the 'what does it mean to be Fury' topic."
Ex rolls her eyes. "She's just being stupid." Her glare, however, hardly eases.
Sue doesn't look /at/ Ex, entirely. "No, I suck at the topic to begin with," he says. "You're right, when you accused me of my own hurts getting in the way. I'm not there yet. And I can't stay here." He looks again towards the archway to the woods.
"Whatever," Ex says, sharp and angry, though still not raised. "You were fine before I showed up." She yanks the stack of loose papers from under her sketchbook, and puts them on top, glaring down at them.
Sue shakes his head. "I wasn't," he tells her, voice quiet. "Harper and I were talking in the house, and then I had to come outside. And that didn't work enough." There's no space for response left, and the metis returns to lupus, and turns for the exit of the courtyard, not quite at a run, but a fast enough pace.
Ex wads up the top paper and throws it after him, but he's far out of reach by that point, and the single paper doesn't fly far.
Sue heads out of the arched gateway onto the front lawn.
Sue has left.
----
Greek House: Courtyard(#2280RJh)
A walled-in Greco-Roman courtyard exists here in the clearing behind the house. The western side columns look new, the others freshly cleaned and repaired in patches. The courtyard is more or less open, in a sense, the columns creating more of a border than an actual wall. There are four arched gateways that provide entrance into the courtyard, one at each cardinal direction. Near the house, in the north-west corner, there is a small fountain that adds the soothing sound of water to a calm, almost serene atmosphere. The pond around the fountain contains a few waterplants along with a handful of orange-gold koi fish swim lazily about. Diagonally across from that, on the western side, is a statue of the "Winged Victory of Samothrace", more popularly known as the "Headless Nike." By the house is another statue, a copy of Michelangelo's David. This one has been modified by someone hacking off its... equipment. Fairly violently. There are three archery butts, set up at the far southern end of the courtyard, which look fairly new, though already show the signs of heavy use.
In one corner sits a collection of around twenty glass bottles, of varying shapes, sizes and colors - clear, green, amber, cobalt blue - all of them clean and with the labels removed.
Obvious exits:
Roof North Eastern Arch Gate Doorway
Phoebe opens the glass doors and enters the courtyard from the house.
Phoebe has arrived.
Phoebe's easily missed if you're not paying attention. The ahroun's found herself a small corner of the courtyard to curl up in. scattered around her are the raw materials needed to make arrows. She's already cut, shaved and sanded the shafts. Right now, she's tying on the split feathers she's using as fletching. The work has her absorbed, focused.
Ex has been somewhat scarce the past few days. Oh, she's been back before dawn every single day without fail, but she seems to have been spending most of her time off on her own. The sound of her shoes can be heard before she's seen, as she trudges back in from who knows what private expedition. Tucked under one arm is her battered sketchbook and a fair amount of loose, printed paper. It looks rather dirty, though not as dirty as she does. She looks like she might have tripped into a few mud puddles on the way back, though the mud is dried now.
Phoebe gets the latest arrow finished just as Ex trudges in. From the corner of her eye, the ahroun spots the disheveled guest. Her appearance pulls a grin from Phoebe. "you look like me when I've been gone for a couple weeks on end," she comments, setting the arrow down in the finished pile and picking up another shaft.
"Tripped," is Ex's less than congenial reply. Her eyebrows draw down low, and her eyes narrow, but her focus seems to shift from Phoebe to her arrows-to-be. "You /do/ actually use those things."
Phoebe's eyes shift from her work to the other girl. "Yeah, sometimes. Not /very/ often? But, sometimes. Either way, I like to do it. It's fun. The whole thing, I mean. The discipline of the craftsmanship. The art of hitting your target. All of it. Of course, for me, it's second nature. Sort of a...family thing. You know?"
Ex turns those narrowed eyes back on Phoebe, but her expression otherwise is blank. "No."
Phoebe's grin returns, if briefly. She invites Ex to sit while she sets the current arrow shaft aside and reaches for a dark leather quiver among her stuff. The quiver is offered for inspection. "It's a fetish. Anyone explain that to you yet? Sorry, I haven't had a chance to talk much with Mel yet, and I don't know how much you know or don't know. Don't mean to insult you. Anyway. I inherited it from my grandmother when I Rited. Just as she got it from her grandmother. From what I'm told, it goes back several generations, now."
Moros has arrived.
Ex regards Phoebe very carefully, very narrowly, as she reaches out with her unoccupied hand--gloved, as always--for the quiver strap. The motion itself is likewise cautious. Tonight, the cub is looking rather muddy, and generally ill-kempt, though the mud itself has dried, and under one arm, somewhat less dirty than the rest of her, is her battered sketchbook, and a sheaf of loose, printed paper.
Phoebe's sitting in a corner of the courtyard. Strewn around her are the materials needed for making arrows. To the left of Phoe are two or three already completed arrows. The right side contains several more arrow shafts, already cut and shaved, ready for fletching. Beside them is a pile of feathers that the ahroun is using for said fletching. Right in front of that is a pile of prepared sinew. If Phoe's worried about the quiver getting muddy from Ex's hands, it doesn't show in her expression. She goes on explaining, "Mostly it's just me and Mel shooting here in the courtyard at targets. We like to have little contests. It's fun."
Ex pulls the quiver close to her, peers into it, and then looks back to Phoebe. Not a bit of her studying glare lets up. "The fuck's a fetish?"
Moros emerges from the house wearing a pair of dark red sweatpants and nothing else, not even shoes; the scar across his bare chest looks livid against the monster's fair skin. His hair hangs loose, greasy tendrils hanging past his shoulders and over his face, and his mouth is scowlingly tight. Full moon, bad mood.
There's a moment where Phoebe seems slightly taken aback by that glare. It means she takes an extra second or two before answering. Yet, when she answers, her tone is as light and casual as it's been throughout the rest of the conversation. Only the raspiness of her slightly damaged voice lends any harshness to the words. "Right. Sorry. Um. A fetish is sort of a magical thing. A theurge will get a spirit to, sort of, put itself into an object. Permanently. And then that object becomes a fetish. In the case of this quiver it means when I make arrows for it, and if I do it right, and if I take and care, when the time comes to use them, they are almost completely unbreakable. And they're sharp--sharp enough to cut things that wouldn't be cut by normal blades." The ahroun's eyes are drawn to the newcomer, and...having never seen him before, Phoebe's eyes widen in slight alarm. She shifts as if to get up, though the motion isn't panicked or overly quick.
The increased interest in Ex is quite obvious, and she starts to peer into the quiver again before Moros's arrival catches her attention. She eyes him for a moment, and then blatantly, his scar, before she offers a gruff sort of greeting. "Hi. You want to kill shit too? You look like you want to kill shit."
"I always want to kill shit," says the big man, the scowl twisting into an unpleasant smirk. He eyeballs Phoebe as he approaches, sizing her up with narrowed eyes, the frown returning. He offers up a brusque introduction. "Moros, deed-named Bad Moon Rising. Metis Ahroun of the Black Furies."
Phoebe's on her feet by the time the introduction is finished. Like a moment earlier, she takes several extra seconds before answering. The time is used to study Moros. Clearing her throat briefly, she finally says, "Wow, I musta missed a lot this last time out, huh?" she glances from Moros to Ex before going on, returning her own introduction for the metis. "Phoebe. Or Life on the Line. Also Ahroun, and Fury."
Ex returns to peering into the quiver as the two exchange introductions. "It doesn't /look/ magic," she says.
Moros lifts his chin and stares down at Phoebe for a heartbeat or two, fingers twitching, his expression solemn and unencouraging. Hardly friendly. Finally, he looks away from her and toward Ex, some of that surly, suspicious hostility oozing away. "Define 'looking magic'?"
Phoebe seems distracted by Moros. She continues to study him, even when Ex makes her comment. Something about the metis draws her in, apparently. Eventually however, she succeeds in bringing her focus and attention back to the subject at hand, and Ex. "Yeah. It doesn't glow or sparkle or anything else like you might see in a stupid movie. But trust me. It works."
Ex nods a few times when Phoebe speaks. "Something like that, I guess. Something /different/." She runs her gloved thumb over the quiver's surface, then offers it back with the same caution that she had in taking it.
"Too obviously magic and we couldn't take them anywhere humans might see," says Moros to Ex. His head tilts slightly; he glances over at Phoebe through his hair, very _aware_ of her even when he's speaking to the cub. "Though some, like Grand Klaives, attract too much attention regardless."
Phoebe receives the quiver with a silent, grateful look. It's placed back among her things, though she herself doesn't sit back down or return to her work--at least not yet. Moros's further explanation elicits a slight laugh, and she nods her agreement. "Yeah, grand klaives don't exactly fly under the radar, do they?"
"The fuck is a..." Ex pauses, flicks a quick look toward Moros, and then inhales. "What's a klaive?"
Moros's lips twist into a crooked smile. It's not a nice expression. "Silver blade. A normal klaive is like a short-sword, though in a Crinos hand it's more like... a large knife. A grand klaive is a longsword." He uses his hands to demonstrate the approximate length of each.
Phoebe looks to the metis for his answer before she adds anything. When he's done, she nods. "I've seen some that were made specifically for crinos hands, though. Huge. Not exactly weildy for humans. They're...rare, in any case."
Ex's upper lip twitches away from her teeth. She remains silent for a moment, however. And then she yanks the loose pages free from her other arm. "I did research," she informs Moros. Her tone is almost challenging.
Moros tilts his head to the side. "Research?"
Phoebe appears as much in the dark as Moros is. She tilts her head towards Ex, expression questioning. Her eyes drift to the pages, though, with sincere interest. "You an artist?" she asks.
Ex gives both of the Garou a sharp nod, though Phoebe gets an additional nose-wrinkle. "/No/. I just draw shit. Rape culture." She grips the loose papers tight enough to wrinkle them. "You said that and I didn't know what the fuck you were talking about. So I went to the fucking library."
Moros bares his teeth at this. It's a grin. No, really. He leans forward a little, his eyes going to the papers in Ex's hands, and then back to the cub's face. "...And?"
Phoebe's brows wrinkle into a decided frown. She looks between Ex and Moros, both uncertain and displeased all at the same time. "You...like to draw rape?" she asks, clearly thinking she misheard.
Ex's answer doesn't come immediately. She considers for a moment, and then says, in that same, combative way, "From what Phil says, I think the Furies where he came from should do some fucking research too." And less challengingly, if still begrudgingly, "...made a lot of sense." Phoebe gets rapid blinking. "No, I draw /other/ shit. I did research on rape culture." She shoves the papers toward the other woman; they're a pretty thorough series of print-outs describing just that, though she's bent and torn a number of pages, and mud has got on some of the others.
Moros glances sidelong at Phoebe, his nose scrunching. After a moment, he flicks hair away from his face with a jerk of his head and turns back to Ex. "Once you know about it," he says slowly, "it's difficult to ignore. It riddles human civilization like a cancer."
Phoebe seems entirely, utterly relieved. In fact, her face is flushed, and the simple subject--combined with the weight of the moon--has made the female ahroun edgy and a little more moody. The papers are examined, but only in a cursory way. They're pushed back quickly, as if the ahroun might be allergic to them. "Good. About your drawing, I mean. I'd love to see them sometime." Despite the sincerity of her words, right now they sound slightly empty, and the ahroun lets out a sigh as she tries to regain her composure.
Ex tucks the papers back under her arm. Her eyes have yet to come out of that narrow glare. "Okay," she says slowly. "So Furies are feminists and they fight stuff like this, unless they're fucking /awful/ like Phil's Furies. Phil was talking about a pegasus, but he wouldn't tell me anything."
Moros glances again at Phoebe, his expression calculating, eyes narrowed. His hair's already sliding back over his face. "Pegasus is our tribe's totem," he says after a bit, turning back to Ex. "A... spiritual guardian. Every tribe has one."
Phoebe lifts a hand to stop the conversation long enough for her to ask a question. There's a tightness in her raspy voice, now. "Who's Phil?" she asks.
Ex waves a finger around. "The guy with deer feet. He's Phil." Her lips twist into a deeper frown. "He wants me to call him by his name."
"She means Sue," Moros says curtly. The scowl's back, though whether he's annoyed at the change of subject or the fact that the subject's turned to Sue specifically is hard to say.
Phoebe's confusion deepens, and her brows furrow even further. "You mean Sue?" she says, almost in time with Moros. There's a pause of several seconds before she asks, her tone growing sharper, "Why wouldn't you call him by his name?"
Ex exhales; sharp, heavy. "Because it doesn't /mean/ anything."
Moros has nothing really to say to this, though he's kind of eyeballing Phoebe again.
Phoebe looks from Ex to Moros and back again, still frowning. "Apparently, it means something to /him/," she points out.
"He said it's from a song," Ex says. "But I don't remember that song. It's just a floating noise. Sue. Floating and feathery and empty. /Phil/ means something. Horse-feet guy means something, but that's disrespectful."
Moros scratches at his chin; there's a bit of stubble there tonight. "It's from a song?" This is, apparently, news to the monster.
Phoebe studies Ex, now. But not in the same way she seemed to study Moros. The wrinkle in her brow eases up, but it's very forced--as if the ahroun is straining to relax. The tone in her voice eases a little, as well. "Everything has some meaning," she says. "And what's meaningful you to you might be less so to someone else. And vice versa. My point being, isn't it disrespectful to tell someone their name doesn't have any meaning, just because it came from a song? Names come from all over the place. Doesn't mean they don't have meaning." She glances to the metis and nods. "Johnny Cash, if I'm not mistaken."
Ex nods at Moros, and then looks back at Phoebe, frowning further. "But I don't /remember/ that song. Names are air. They don't mean shit unless they get attached to something solid. Sue doesn't mean anything. Phil means something. Fezzik means something. Cheerful girl means something. He wants me to call him something that means nothing, and that's fucking impossible." She huffs. "And I try to tell him and he just gets pissed off. Or runs away."
"Moros is from Greek mythology," says the big man in a slow, deliberate growl. His eyes are half-lidded, his head cocked. "One of the spiritual offspring of Nyx. Moros, Thanatos, and Ker. Ker is violent death and sickness. Thanatos is peaceful death, a quiet passing away. Moros is doom, driving mortals to their fate." His lip curls into a humorless killer's smile at the last.
Phoebe's confusion redoubles, and she glances to Moros to see if he can help her at all. Eventually she looks back to Ex and asks, with all real sincerity, "How does Fezzik, as a name, have any more substantiation or meaning than Sue? Each is just a set of letters. The meaning is assigned by individuals, and it will vary /with/ those individuals. So it's subjective. I don't understand." When Moros runs through the meaning of his own, the female ahroun pauses in thought.
Ex regards Moros carefully, but with attention, as he explains his name, but her response is first to Phoebe. She gestures toward Moros with her unoccupied hand. "Fezzik was a giant. He was a big man who could kill people with his hands, and pick them right up, and he was really fucking brave. That's what Fezzik means."
Moros shrugs. "So," he asks, "what does 'Phil' mean?"
Phoebe nods to Ex, but she then counters, "To you. And perhaps to many, many others. But I bet I could find a guy--somewhere in California, no doubt--who's wife's mother was a huge movie fan, and so she named her sons Fezzik and Inigo, and now to /that/ man Fezzik means the mooching son of bitch who comes over every Sunday night for dinner because he's too lazy to get a job and get his own. And to /him/...that's what Fezzik means." She draws in a breath. "Subjective."
"A guy with hoofed feet," Ex replies. She shrugs as well, one shoulder going higher than the other. "In the Disney movie he's the guy who trains Hercules, and he means well even if he's a jerk. I don't think they're all that similar except for being jerks, but there's only one guy with hoofed feet around, right?" She looks at Phoebe. "Yeah, but /I'm/ not that guy. I'm not in his head, so I can't see where he attaches names."
Moros shakes his head a little, perhaps impatiently. "Everyone gets called things they didn't choose. I didn't choose 'Bad Moon Rising' either." He steps away from the two women and makes a swift transition to Crinos form, and then down to lupus. He starts away at a slow jog, heading for the woods.
Phoebe asks Ex, "Is it your job to do that? Would you want me calling you a name that had meaning for me, but not for you? Doesn't everyone deserve the respect to be addressed by the name they own, or the name they earned? Don't you think the name might gain meaning as you use it and grow to know him?" Moros's words contrict hers, and it brings a frown to the other ahroun's face. "Yeah, I suppose they do. But not often in a respectful way. And that's my point." With the metis heading out, and the conversation growing frustrating, the ahroun shakes her head and tries to drop the whole thing. "Anyway. Let's talk about something else."
Ex frowns after Moros, then looks back toward Phoebe. "Well, yeah, /eventually/. Like Kavi. But until then it's all floating! I've got to call him something." Her frown briefly transitions to a full scowl. "He won't let me know him anyway. He's an asshole." She crosses her arms, sketchbook gripped between them. "Okay. What's a guardian spirit do? Swoop down and kill everyone that fucks with you?"
Phoebe seems intrigued when Kavi's name comes up, but the ahroun lets it go. The image the other girl elicits brings a mood lightening chuckle from Phoe. "Not exactly, no. And Pegasus is more than a guardian spirit. It's...I don't know how to put it. We're Pegasus's children."
Ex gives Phoebe a look that appears to be pure, distilled skepticism.
Phoebe doesn't shrink from that look, but she does struggle to explain better. "Spirits are very hard to understand," is the way she begins. Then, after a pause, she asks, "Have you been across the guantlet, yet?"
Ex shakes her head, once. "Kavi was going to show me, but then shit happened in the city, I guess. He did show me his spirit monster friend. She was pretty fucking awesome. The Bitch has a butterfly that talks through cellphones, but that's not nearly as cool."
Phoebe listens, growing slightly bemused. "Ok," she says with another chuckle. "I...don't know who that is. But I guess it's not important." shaking her head, she asks another question, "So, are you Fury born, or...what?"
Ex's right eye squints. "Fury born? What...does that even mean?"
Phoebe bends down to start gathering her things. the shafts and feathers are put carefully and reverently into a bag. The finished arrows are slipped into the quiver, which is slung across the ahroun's back and she picks up her bags. "It means, you know, born to a Fury. A lineage. Your mom was a Fury, and her mom, or dad, beforehand, and so on. Who you are."
"No." This answer is rather flat, and Ex watches Phoebe carefully. "...Does that matter?"
Phoebe stops briefly to look at Ex, but her answer seems sincere. "No. Not really. Well, I suppose it is a lot like the names we were discussing earlier. To some it might matter. to others not at all. The point is, though, that the Furies will take in any women or metis who want and understand what we're all about. Each tribe has its own...identity, I suppose is a good way to put it. And some are more strict than others. If you're asking me, personally? No, I don't care at all where you come from. What matters to me is who you are." With that, she heads towards the house.
Ex lets her go, though she continues to watch the other woman's back. "Good," she says eventually, loud enough to be heard. "'Cause I don't come from anywhere."
Phoebe stops at the door, looking back to the other girl. "You coming?" she asks, as she had expected Ex to already be near her.
Ex blinks, looking mildly startled. There's a beat before she answers, but when she does, it's with a shrug, and a simple, "Okay." She slumps along toward the door.
Phoebe heads up to the house, opens the glass doors, and heads inside.
Phoebe has left.
You open the glass doors and head into the house.
Greek House: Common Area(#2409RAJ$)
This is the central hub of the house. From here, you can still see the entrance foyer to the west, as well as the stairway that heads to the second story. Towards the eastern side of the common area is a set of glass doors that lead out to a courtyard. To the north, an arched doorway leads to what apparently serves as a less formal lounge, with a couch and an armchair, and to the south, an arched doorway leads to what appears to be a kitchen and dining area.
There are several chairs here, simple, elegant, yet functional in their design and intent. The room has a comfortable feel to it, but is a bit ascetic in design. The walls are off-white, the molding dark cherry wood and decorated with acanthus-leaf ornamentation at the corners. A pair of antique spears are hung crossed against each other on one wall, and a wall-relief depicting a scene of Grecian warriors hangs on the other. Above the mantle of the fireplace is a small statue of Artemis, on either side of that, dark metal candlesticks with ivory pillar candles. The entire room is a study in the contrast of light and dark.
Contents:
Phoebe
Wallchart
Obvious exits:
Downstairs Upstairs Courtyard Out
Phoebe pushes the door open and moves inside, putting her stuff by the stairs for later. The ahroun then moves into the kitchen, pulling the refrigerator door open. Orange juice is pulled out as she begins talking again. "So you'd be one of those Lost Cubs I was talking about earlier. No hint of where your garou blood comes from, huh? Do you like what you've seen of us Furies?"
Ex hovers near the kitchen door, with barely a toe inside the room. "I don't know. I like that the cheerful girl lets me go where I want. I like the feminism thing. I like Fezzik, and I want to learn how to shoot a bow too. But Phil's an asshole, and the Furies where he comes from need to die. Your house is better." She glances ceilingward. "You don't have fucking cameras everywhere."
"They had cameras?" Phoebe asks, giving Ex an incredulous look over her shoulder while still hunched by the fridge. It's clear Phoe's not gotten the entire low down--or really hardly any--about Phil, or anyone else. "You want anything?" she asks before emerging again.
Ex shakes her head to the latter question. "Yeah, fucking /everywhere/, and the windows all covered up. I couldn't step outside."
Phoebe frowns. "Wait, you were with Phi-Sue? Jesus, now you have me doing it," she says, shaking her head. A breath is taken while she thinks. "See, this is why we shouldn't call people random names. I'm all confused. I get the Cheerful girl is Mel. And Fezzik is Moros, right? But half the time, everything else you say makes little sense to me."
"I was with Kavi," Ex explains. "And Rina. They're good. But I don't like their building at all, and there's the little kid, and the Bitch, and the creepy guy. Fuck /those/ people."
Phoebe gets a glass, and as she pours her orange juice it dawns on her what Ex means. "Oh, right. You were with the Walkers, then. Yeah, cameras. It's...one of their things. No, we're not like that. Though, even with the Furies, every place can be different. Kavi no doubt told you the Furies were like where he comes from, right? I'm getting the idea that...wherever Sue comes from, he had a similar experience."
Ex's frown deepens again. "Kavi didn't say anything about where he came from." She shifts her weight. "Phil's Furies are /fucked up/, and need to /die/. But I still want to punch him in the face."
Phoebe nods, tiltinge her head before she takes a sip from her juice. "Yeah. Well, I won't get into the details, because honestly I only got some vague explanations from KL and others, but, Kavi's people were pretty...fucked up, too. But to be faire, they were tainted. They'd fallen. So, you have to take that into consideration. I don't know much of anything about sue's people, yet. Sounds bad, though."
"Maybe," Ex says slowly, "if Phil's Furies die, he can focus on something that isn't himself."
Phoebe sets her glass down on the counter while regarding Ex. she smiles faintly. "You seem a little overly focused on Sue, yourself. How come?"
Ex scowls. "He gets in my face, and then runs away. You know, /lots/ of people have bad shit happen to them. All he can think about is /his/ shit. I try to ask him about the Furies, and he says ask other people. I try to explain what's going on, and he runs away. I walk in on him teaching someone else, and he /runs away/. I don't think he cares about problems anyone else has, because I don't think he even notices. Maybe I'm overly focused, but he's around more than anyone else."
Phoebe listens, chuckling at the end. "Yeah, I...I should be around more. I admit I've been bad. I get caught up when I go out, though. I love the wolf. And sometimes...yeah, sometimes I let myself get lost in it. Stay gone for weeks at a time." she shrugsm leaning on the counter. "So. Anyway. Let's not talk about Sue anymore. Tell me about /you/. where ya from? Not garouwise, of course. you already told me you don't know about that. But just, in general. What's your story?"
Ex's scowl, surprisingly or not, doesn't ease at the topic change. "I don't have a story. I was with the doctors, then I got out, then Fezzik left me at Kavi's place. And now there's lots of magic shit and spirits and people sometimes talk about saving the world. I'm learning how to fight, too. And apparently I'm completely fucked every way, because if I don't join your war the other werewolves will get me anyway."
"Spirals?" Phoebe says, her raspy voice low. she nods without waiting for confirmation. "They told you about that stuff, huh?" The Fury moves to put the orange juice away and her empty glass in the sink. "Well, I don't know how much help I can be to you figuring it all out. I mean, I know it's daunting. And I'll do whatever I can. Answer any questions you have. Teach you. Like, archery. You were asking about that, right? you wanted to learn? We can do that. Love to do that."
"Yeah," Ex says. "I /know/ I want to learn how to fight. Kavi was showing me things, and Fezzik. Archery's something else. I want to learn that too."
Phoebe smiles. "Cool. Mel and I would be glad to, I'm sure." She comes around the counter to regather her things. "I guess I had it lucky. I was told from a young age who and what I was. I was prepared for it. Groomed. So it wasn't a shock. Everything was a prepared and planned out. I suppose for some that might be horrible, but for me it was...perfect. I was happy. I /am/ happy." She shrugs.
Ex watches Phoebe quietly for a moment, and then shrugs in return. "I'm just fucking sick of people making all the choices for me."
Phoebe's eyes come up to meet Ex's, and the ahroun's grin is wide, amused. "Yeah. I can get behind that. Ok." As she approaches the stairs, she asks, "By the way, have they figured out your auspice yet?"
Ex rubs at the bridge of her nose. "The moon sign stuff? Yeah, uh. The Bitch said dark moon. No idea what that means."
Phoebe laughs. "Ragabash. I guess it figures. We can talk about that later. You staying in the basement here?"
"Uh." Ex's eyes stray to the stairs. "I don't know. I've been sleeping there." She points to the door leading to the courtyard.
Phoebe looks to where she points, and the ahroun frowns. "We got beds for cubs. They're in the basement, but it isn't dank or anything. I promise. We got it fixed up nice. there's clean sheets and blankets. Pillows. You're welcome to it. No one showed you or anything?"
Ex shrugs again. "I like sleeping by the door. Maybe I'll look at the basement later."
Phoebe seems about to protest, but the ahroun thinks better of it and finally just nods. "I guess you do know what's bets for you, right now. That's at least one thing you can decide for yourself as far as I'm concerned. But, if you need anything, my room's upstairs, third on the left. ok?"
Ex hesitates, and then gives a very faint nod. "Sure. Okay."
Phoebe heads up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "See you in the morning," she says over her shoulder.
Greek House: Courtyard(#2280RJh)
A walled-in Greco-Roman courtyard exists here in the clearing behind the house. The western side columns look new, the others freshly cleaned and repaired in patches. The courtyard is more or less open, in a sense, the columns creating more of a border than an actual wall. There are four arched gateways that provide entrance into the courtyard, one at each cardinal direction. Near the house, in the north-west corner, there is a small fountain that adds the soothing sound of water to a calm, almost serene atmosphere. The pond around the fountain contains a few waterplants along with a handful of orange-gold koi fish swim lazily about. Diagonally across from that, on the western side, is a statue of the "Winged Victory of Samothrace", more popularly known as the "Headless Nike." By the house is another statue, a copy of Michelangelo's David. This one has been modified by someone hacking off its... equipment. Fairly violently. There are three archery butts, set up at the far southern end of the courtyard, which look fairly new, though already show the signs of heavy use.
In one corner sits a collection of around twenty glass bottles, of varying shapes, sizes and colors - clear, green, amber, cobalt blue - all of them clean and with the labels removed.
Obvious exits:
Roof North Eastern Arch Gate Doorway
Sue opens the glass doors and enters the courtyard from the house.
Sue has arrived.
Harper has arrived.
Harper nods her head as she listens, "So other tribes are gonna come here to tell stories about this tribe? Heh, how does that work out. If tribes are basically groups of people with the same beliefs, that suggests some tribes will have very different opinions. I can't imagine they'd tell fair stories. It'd be like how democrats and republicans always bash eachother, no?"
Sue shakes his head. "The galliards _are_ keepers of stories, and often they will learn the stories of another tribe, of the other tribes as well. Some will tell fair stories, some will not. Anyway." He pauses, then says. "The Furies came into being in the ancient times, and the first pack of Furies were those of the first Garou whom Artemis took under her wing. The stories call them the Gorgons. They were Woman's avenging hand on the world under Artemis' guidance, working against rape, abuse, the atrocities that Men commit, things that very often are of the Wyrm."
"So, like a bunch of Vigilante Biker Chicks or something?" asks Harper with a look of uncertainty.
Ex stalks into the courtyard, unhurried, but decidedly tense. Her head is low, eyes hooded, and under one arm is both her sketchbook as well as a stack of loose paper at least half an inch thick. Both her clothing and her short hair look rumpled at best. As always, she's wearing those gloves as well.
The metis raises his brows slightly, and then eventually nods. "Yes. Still, somewhat. Justice against abusers and helping the helpless is still a part of what the Furies are, today. Eventually, our tribe came under the guidance of Pegasus, when Artemis--who is also Luna--no longer had the time, to devote to all of us. Pegasus, in the early times, was ridden by Bellerophon." Sue pauses, looks over to Ex. "Hello Ex. I'm talking about... what it means, to be Fury, if you want to join us." He doesn't wait for her, though. "In any case, the Furies of the time were all women, and they were *not* as kind as they are today. Males were killed at birth, not given to the other tribes like they are now. Metis were killed at birth too." His voice is tense, a little. "But Pegasus overthrew Bellerophon and tossed him to the ground mid-flight, and she returned to the caern to decree that the Furies submit to no man," Sue says. "And she said as well, that male metis were to be kept, and that we are members of this tribe like anyone else. The part about 'submitting to no man' is a bit troublesome? It doesn't make up for submission to those of a higher station, or anything."
Harper is listening intently enough to Sue that she doesn't note the arrival of the other until the metis points it out. She looks over to spot her, meeting her eyes briefly before turning back. "Uh, back up. Actually a bunch of it is kinda... troublesome. Their grand solution for the wrongs done to women, were to kill their males?"
Ex doesn't say anything, but she does slink a few feet closer and drop into a crouch, angled toward the other two.
Sue winces a little, and nods. "Doesn't happen anymore," he responds, not entirely willing to talk further on the subject, it would seem. "But their exclusion of men from their tribe... they lost track. It is, as Ex puts it, fucked up. But it is less so than it used to be. It was not their only solution, and they did good. The daughters of Pegasus taught human women to defend themselves, how to control when they wanted--or did not want--to have a child, rather than leave that decision in the hands of the patriarchy." Which is said as if it's a nearly dirty word.
"Ok, can we skip to the here and now? Because where they came from?" Harper shakes her head. "Sounds savage. And brutal. And ... just as oppressive as what they wanted to free the women from."
Ex remains silent. Her hooded eyes narrow a little.
"Talking about the patriarchy is important, though," Sue says, folding his hands in his lap, and then eventually just laying back on the grass. "You can't understand the way that the patriarchy operates now, without understanding the roots of the patriarchy, in biblical times, and such. And it's equally important to understand that... we're Garou. We're not perfect, and sometimes Garou lose track too. What we do do, is the best that we can, for Gaia."
"Whoa whoa. See, you can't mix and match like that. Greek mythology, plus biblical times, plus the Garou's way of doing things? You pull pieces from each part, and you have pretty much painted out that there are lies in the big pictures. And for what it's worth... my uncle was the patriarch of our family unit. I saw him go out of his way to provide for us. Heck, I found receipts showing he'd even gone as far as sold blood when things got tight. And he was the head of the house, and it works. And it was comforting to know that no matter what, he had our backs, our fronts, our sides. He had us." She stands up then, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I need a time out."
"There are truths in the big pictures too," Sue says quietly, but he nods. And then he shifts, where he's laying, to lupus, rolling quickly so his belly isn't exposed.
Ex wrinkles her nose. She reaches out, and eases from crouch to plain sit, with her sketchbook and loose papers transferred to her lap.
Not long after, the metis pushes to stand and leaves the courtyard, though he does look back at Ex for a long moment, ears splayed in studying.
Ex responds with a sudden, angry glare. "I can't learn?" she accuses, though she doesn't raise her voice beyond normal talking level.
He looks at her a long moment, and pushes through the forms slowly until he's back, not to homid, but to glabro. "Tomorrow, Ex. I'm not up for more right now, I'm sorry," he says, words not quite a growl. "Unless you have a /new/ topic. I apparently /suck/ at the 'what does it mean to be Fury' topic."
Ex rolls her eyes. "She's just being stupid." Her glare, however, hardly eases.
Sue doesn't look /at/ Ex, entirely. "No, I suck at the topic to begin with," he says. "You're right, when you accused me of my own hurts getting in the way. I'm not there yet. And I can't stay here." He looks again towards the archway to the woods.
"Whatever," Ex says, sharp and angry, though still not raised. "You were fine before I showed up." She yanks the stack of loose papers from under her sketchbook, and puts them on top, glaring down at them.
Sue shakes his head. "I wasn't," he tells her, voice quiet. "Harper and I were talking in the house, and then I had to come outside. And that didn't work enough." There's no space for response left, and the metis returns to lupus, and turns for the exit of the courtyard, not quite at a run, but a fast enough pace.
Ex wads up the top paper and throws it after him, but he's far out of reach by that point, and the single paper doesn't fly far.
Sue heads out of the arched gateway onto the front lawn.
Sue has left.
----
Greek House: Courtyard(#2280RJh)
A walled-in Greco-Roman courtyard exists here in the clearing behind the house. The western side columns look new, the others freshly cleaned and repaired in patches. The courtyard is more or less open, in a sense, the columns creating more of a border than an actual wall. There are four arched gateways that provide entrance into the courtyard, one at each cardinal direction. Near the house, in the north-west corner, there is a small fountain that adds the soothing sound of water to a calm, almost serene atmosphere. The pond around the fountain contains a few waterplants along with a handful of orange-gold koi fish swim lazily about. Diagonally across from that, on the western side, is a statue of the "Winged Victory of Samothrace", more popularly known as the "Headless Nike." By the house is another statue, a copy of Michelangelo's David. This one has been modified by someone hacking off its... equipment. Fairly violently. There are three archery butts, set up at the far southern end of the courtyard, which look fairly new, though already show the signs of heavy use.
In one corner sits a collection of around twenty glass bottles, of varying shapes, sizes and colors - clear, green, amber, cobalt blue - all of them clean and with the labels removed.
Obvious exits:
Roof North Eastern Arch Gate Doorway
Phoebe opens the glass doors and enters the courtyard from the house.
Phoebe has arrived.
Phoebe's easily missed if you're not paying attention. The ahroun's found herself a small corner of the courtyard to curl up in. scattered around her are the raw materials needed to make arrows. She's already cut, shaved and sanded the shafts. Right now, she's tying on the split feathers she's using as fletching. The work has her absorbed, focused.
Ex has been somewhat scarce the past few days. Oh, she's been back before dawn every single day without fail, but she seems to have been spending most of her time off on her own. The sound of her shoes can be heard before she's seen, as she trudges back in from who knows what private expedition. Tucked under one arm is her battered sketchbook and a fair amount of loose, printed paper. It looks rather dirty, though not as dirty as she does. She looks like she might have tripped into a few mud puddles on the way back, though the mud is dried now.
Phoebe gets the latest arrow finished just as Ex trudges in. From the corner of her eye, the ahroun spots the disheveled guest. Her appearance pulls a grin from Phoebe. "you look like me when I've been gone for a couple weeks on end," she comments, setting the arrow down in the finished pile and picking up another shaft.
"Tripped," is Ex's less than congenial reply. Her eyebrows draw down low, and her eyes narrow, but her focus seems to shift from Phoebe to her arrows-to-be. "You /do/ actually use those things."
Phoebe's eyes shift from her work to the other girl. "Yeah, sometimes. Not /very/ often? But, sometimes. Either way, I like to do it. It's fun. The whole thing, I mean. The discipline of the craftsmanship. The art of hitting your target. All of it. Of course, for me, it's second nature. Sort of a...family thing. You know?"
Ex turns those narrowed eyes back on Phoebe, but her expression otherwise is blank. "No."
Phoebe's grin returns, if briefly. She invites Ex to sit while she sets the current arrow shaft aside and reaches for a dark leather quiver among her stuff. The quiver is offered for inspection. "It's a fetish. Anyone explain that to you yet? Sorry, I haven't had a chance to talk much with Mel yet, and I don't know how much you know or don't know. Don't mean to insult you. Anyway. I inherited it from my grandmother when I Rited. Just as she got it from her grandmother. From what I'm told, it goes back several generations, now."
Moros has arrived.
Ex regards Phoebe very carefully, very narrowly, as she reaches out with her unoccupied hand--gloved, as always--for the quiver strap. The motion itself is likewise cautious. Tonight, the cub is looking rather muddy, and generally ill-kempt, though the mud itself has dried, and under one arm, somewhat less dirty than the rest of her, is her battered sketchbook, and a sheaf of loose, printed paper.
Phoebe's sitting in a corner of the courtyard. Strewn around her are the materials needed for making arrows. To the left of Phoe are two or three already completed arrows. The right side contains several more arrow shafts, already cut and shaved, ready for fletching. Beside them is a pile of feathers that the ahroun is using for said fletching. Right in front of that is a pile of prepared sinew. If Phoe's worried about the quiver getting muddy from Ex's hands, it doesn't show in her expression. She goes on explaining, "Mostly it's just me and Mel shooting here in the courtyard at targets. We like to have little contests. It's fun."
Ex pulls the quiver close to her, peers into it, and then looks back to Phoebe. Not a bit of her studying glare lets up. "The fuck's a fetish?"
Moros emerges from the house wearing a pair of dark red sweatpants and nothing else, not even shoes; the scar across his bare chest looks livid against the monster's fair skin. His hair hangs loose, greasy tendrils hanging past his shoulders and over his face, and his mouth is scowlingly tight. Full moon, bad mood.
There's a moment where Phoebe seems slightly taken aback by that glare. It means she takes an extra second or two before answering. Yet, when she answers, her tone is as light and casual as it's been throughout the rest of the conversation. Only the raspiness of her slightly damaged voice lends any harshness to the words. "Right. Sorry. Um. A fetish is sort of a magical thing. A theurge will get a spirit to, sort of, put itself into an object. Permanently. And then that object becomes a fetish. In the case of this quiver it means when I make arrows for it, and if I do it right, and if I take and care, when the time comes to use them, they are almost completely unbreakable. And they're sharp--sharp enough to cut things that wouldn't be cut by normal blades." The ahroun's eyes are drawn to the newcomer, and...having never seen him before, Phoebe's eyes widen in slight alarm. She shifts as if to get up, though the motion isn't panicked or overly quick.
The increased interest in Ex is quite obvious, and she starts to peer into the quiver again before Moros's arrival catches her attention. She eyes him for a moment, and then blatantly, his scar, before she offers a gruff sort of greeting. "Hi. You want to kill shit too? You look like you want to kill shit."
"I always want to kill shit," says the big man, the scowl twisting into an unpleasant smirk. He eyeballs Phoebe as he approaches, sizing her up with narrowed eyes, the frown returning. He offers up a brusque introduction. "Moros, deed-named Bad Moon Rising. Metis Ahroun of the Black Furies."
Phoebe's on her feet by the time the introduction is finished. Like a moment earlier, she takes several extra seconds before answering. The time is used to study Moros. Clearing her throat briefly, she finally says, "Wow, I musta missed a lot this last time out, huh?" she glances from Moros to Ex before going on, returning her own introduction for the metis. "Phoebe. Or Life on the Line. Also Ahroun, and Fury."
Ex returns to peering into the quiver as the two exchange introductions. "It doesn't /look/ magic," she says.
Moros lifts his chin and stares down at Phoebe for a heartbeat or two, fingers twitching, his expression solemn and unencouraging. Hardly friendly. Finally, he looks away from her and toward Ex, some of that surly, suspicious hostility oozing away. "Define 'looking magic'?"
Phoebe seems distracted by Moros. She continues to study him, even when Ex makes her comment. Something about the metis draws her in, apparently. Eventually however, she succeeds in bringing her focus and attention back to the subject at hand, and Ex. "Yeah. It doesn't glow or sparkle or anything else like you might see in a stupid movie. But trust me. It works."
Ex nods a few times when Phoebe speaks. "Something like that, I guess. Something /different/." She runs her gloved thumb over the quiver's surface, then offers it back with the same caution that she had in taking it.
"Too obviously magic and we couldn't take them anywhere humans might see," says Moros to Ex. His head tilts slightly; he glances over at Phoebe through his hair, very _aware_ of her even when he's speaking to the cub. "Though some, like Grand Klaives, attract too much attention regardless."
Phoebe receives the quiver with a silent, grateful look. It's placed back among her things, though she herself doesn't sit back down or return to her work--at least not yet. Moros's further explanation elicits a slight laugh, and she nods her agreement. "Yeah, grand klaives don't exactly fly under the radar, do they?"
"The fuck is a..." Ex pauses, flicks a quick look toward Moros, and then inhales. "What's a klaive?"
Moros's lips twist into a crooked smile. It's not a nice expression. "Silver blade. A normal klaive is like a short-sword, though in a Crinos hand it's more like... a large knife. A grand klaive is a longsword." He uses his hands to demonstrate the approximate length of each.
Phoebe looks to the metis for his answer before she adds anything. When he's done, she nods. "I've seen some that were made specifically for crinos hands, though. Huge. Not exactly weildy for humans. They're...rare, in any case."
Ex's upper lip twitches away from her teeth. She remains silent for a moment, however. And then she yanks the loose pages free from her other arm. "I did research," she informs Moros. Her tone is almost challenging.
Moros tilts his head to the side. "Research?"
Phoebe appears as much in the dark as Moros is. She tilts her head towards Ex, expression questioning. Her eyes drift to the pages, though, with sincere interest. "You an artist?" she asks.
Ex gives both of the Garou a sharp nod, though Phoebe gets an additional nose-wrinkle. "/No/. I just draw shit. Rape culture." She grips the loose papers tight enough to wrinkle them. "You said that and I didn't know what the fuck you were talking about. So I went to the fucking library."
Moros bares his teeth at this. It's a grin. No, really. He leans forward a little, his eyes going to the papers in Ex's hands, and then back to the cub's face. "...And?"
Phoebe's brows wrinkle into a decided frown. She looks between Ex and Moros, both uncertain and displeased all at the same time. "You...like to draw rape?" she asks, clearly thinking she misheard.
Ex's answer doesn't come immediately. She considers for a moment, and then says, in that same, combative way, "From what Phil says, I think the Furies where he came from should do some fucking research too." And less challengingly, if still begrudgingly, "...made a lot of sense." Phoebe gets rapid blinking. "No, I draw /other/ shit. I did research on rape culture." She shoves the papers toward the other woman; they're a pretty thorough series of print-outs describing just that, though she's bent and torn a number of pages, and mud has got on some of the others.
Moros glances sidelong at Phoebe, his nose scrunching. After a moment, he flicks hair away from his face with a jerk of his head and turns back to Ex. "Once you know about it," he says slowly, "it's difficult to ignore. It riddles human civilization like a cancer."
Phoebe seems entirely, utterly relieved. In fact, her face is flushed, and the simple subject--combined with the weight of the moon--has made the female ahroun edgy and a little more moody. The papers are examined, but only in a cursory way. They're pushed back quickly, as if the ahroun might be allergic to them. "Good. About your drawing, I mean. I'd love to see them sometime." Despite the sincerity of her words, right now they sound slightly empty, and the ahroun lets out a sigh as she tries to regain her composure.
Ex tucks the papers back under her arm. Her eyes have yet to come out of that narrow glare. "Okay," she says slowly. "So Furies are feminists and they fight stuff like this, unless they're fucking /awful/ like Phil's Furies. Phil was talking about a pegasus, but he wouldn't tell me anything."
Moros glances again at Phoebe, his expression calculating, eyes narrowed. His hair's already sliding back over his face. "Pegasus is our tribe's totem," he says after a bit, turning back to Ex. "A... spiritual guardian. Every tribe has one."
Phoebe lifts a hand to stop the conversation long enough for her to ask a question. There's a tightness in her raspy voice, now. "Who's Phil?" she asks.
Ex waves a finger around. "The guy with deer feet. He's Phil." Her lips twist into a deeper frown. "He wants me to call him by his name."
"She means Sue," Moros says curtly. The scowl's back, though whether he's annoyed at the change of subject or the fact that the subject's turned to Sue specifically is hard to say.
Phoebe's confusion deepens, and her brows furrow even further. "You mean Sue?" she says, almost in time with Moros. There's a pause of several seconds before she asks, her tone growing sharper, "Why wouldn't you call him by his name?"
Ex exhales; sharp, heavy. "Because it doesn't /mean/ anything."
Moros has nothing really to say to this, though he's kind of eyeballing Phoebe again.
Phoebe looks from Ex to Moros and back again, still frowning. "Apparently, it means something to /him/," she points out.
"He said it's from a song," Ex says. "But I don't remember that song. It's just a floating noise. Sue. Floating and feathery and empty. /Phil/ means something. Horse-feet guy means something, but that's disrespectful."
Moros scratches at his chin; there's a bit of stubble there tonight. "It's from a song?" This is, apparently, news to the monster.
Phoebe studies Ex, now. But not in the same way she seemed to study Moros. The wrinkle in her brow eases up, but it's very forced--as if the ahroun is straining to relax. The tone in her voice eases a little, as well. "Everything has some meaning," she says. "And what's meaningful you to you might be less so to someone else. And vice versa. My point being, isn't it disrespectful to tell someone their name doesn't have any meaning, just because it came from a song? Names come from all over the place. Doesn't mean they don't have meaning." She glances to the metis and nods. "Johnny Cash, if I'm not mistaken."
Ex nods at Moros, and then looks back at Phoebe, frowning further. "But I don't /remember/ that song. Names are air. They don't mean shit unless they get attached to something solid. Sue doesn't mean anything. Phil means something. Fezzik means something. Cheerful girl means something. He wants me to call him something that means nothing, and that's fucking impossible." She huffs. "And I try to tell him and he just gets pissed off. Or runs away."
"Moros is from Greek mythology," says the big man in a slow, deliberate growl. His eyes are half-lidded, his head cocked. "One of the spiritual offspring of Nyx. Moros, Thanatos, and Ker. Ker is violent death and sickness. Thanatos is peaceful death, a quiet passing away. Moros is doom, driving mortals to their fate." His lip curls into a humorless killer's smile at the last.
Phoebe's confusion redoubles, and she glances to Moros to see if he can help her at all. Eventually she looks back to Ex and asks, with all real sincerity, "How does Fezzik, as a name, have any more substantiation or meaning than Sue? Each is just a set of letters. The meaning is assigned by individuals, and it will vary /with/ those individuals. So it's subjective. I don't understand." When Moros runs through the meaning of his own, the female ahroun pauses in thought.
Ex regards Moros carefully, but with attention, as he explains his name, but her response is first to Phoebe. She gestures toward Moros with her unoccupied hand. "Fezzik was a giant. He was a big man who could kill people with his hands, and pick them right up, and he was really fucking brave. That's what Fezzik means."
Moros shrugs. "So," he asks, "what does 'Phil' mean?"
Phoebe nods to Ex, but she then counters, "To you. And perhaps to many, many others. But I bet I could find a guy--somewhere in California, no doubt--who's wife's mother was a huge movie fan, and so she named her sons Fezzik and Inigo, and now to /that/ man Fezzik means the mooching son of bitch who comes over every Sunday night for dinner because he's too lazy to get a job and get his own. And to /him/...that's what Fezzik means." She draws in a breath. "Subjective."
"A guy with hoofed feet," Ex replies. She shrugs as well, one shoulder going higher than the other. "In the Disney movie he's the guy who trains Hercules, and he means well even if he's a jerk. I don't think they're all that similar except for being jerks, but there's only one guy with hoofed feet around, right?" She looks at Phoebe. "Yeah, but /I'm/ not that guy. I'm not in his head, so I can't see where he attaches names."
Moros shakes his head a little, perhaps impatiently. "Everyone gets called things they didn't choose. I didn't choose 'Bad Moon Rising' either." He steps away from the two women and makes a swift transition to Crinos form, and then down to lupus. He starts away at a slow jog, heading for the woods.
Phoebe asks Ex, "Is it your job to do that? Would you want me calling you a name that had meaning for me, but not for you? Doesn't everyone deserve the respect to be addressed by the name they own, or the name they earned? Don't you think the name might gain meaning as you use it and grow to know him?" Moros's words contrict hers, and it brings a frown to the other ahroun's face. "Yeah, I suppose they do. But not often in a respectful way. And that's my point." With the metis heading out, and the conversation growing frustrating, the ahroun shakes her head and tries to drop the whole thing. "Anyway. Let's talk about something else."
Ex frowns after Moros, then looks back toward Phoebe. "Well, yeah, /eventually/. Like Kavi. But until then it's all floating! I've got to call him something." Her frown briefly transitions to a full scowl. "He won't let me know him anyway. He's an asshole." She crosses her arms, sketchbook gripped between them. "Okay. What's a guardian spirit do? Swoop down and kill everyone that fucks with you?"
Phoebe seems intrigued when Kavi's name comes up, but the ahroun lets it go. The image the other girl elicits brings a mood lightening chuckle from Phoe. "Not exactly, no. And Pegasus is more than a guardian spirit. It's...I don't know how to put it. We're Pegasus's children."
Ex gives Phoebe a look that appears to be pure, distilled skepticism.
Phoebe doesn't shrink from that look, but she does struggle to explain better. "Spirits are very hard to understand," is the way she begins. Then, after a pause, she asks, "Have you been across the guantlet, yet?"
Ex shakes her head, once. "Kavi was going to show me, but then shit happened in the city, I guess. He did show me his spirit monster friend. She was pretty fucking awesome. The Bitch has a butterfly that talks through cellphones, but that's not nearly as cool."
Phoebe listens, growing slightly bemused. "Ok," she says with another chuckle. "I...don't know who that is. But I guess it's not important." shaking her head, she asks another question, "So, are you Fury born, or...what?"
Ex's right eye squints. "Fury born? What...does that even mean?"
Phoebe bends down to start gathering her things. the shafts and feathers are put carefully and reverently into a bag. The finished arrows are slipped into the quiver, which is slung across the ahroun's back and she picks up her bags. "It means, you know, born to a Fury. A lineage. Your mom was a Fury, and her mom, or dad, beforehand, and so on. Who you are."
"No." This answer is rather flat, and Ex watches Phoebe carefully. "...Does that matter?"
Phoebe stops briefly to look at Ex, but her answer seems sincere. "No. Not really. Well, I suppose it is a lot like the names we were discussing earlier. To some it might matter. to others not at all. The point is, though, that the Furies will take in any women or metis who want and understand what we're all about. Each tribe has its own...identity, I suppose is a good way to put it. And some are more strict than others. If you're asking me, personally? No, I don't care at all where you come from. What matters to me is who you are." With that, she heads towards the house.
Ex lets her go, though she continues to watch the other woman's back. "Good," she says eventually, loud enough to be heard. "'Cause I don't come from anywhere."
Phoebe stops at the door, looking back to the other girl. "You coming?" she asks, as she had expected Ex to already be near her.
Ex blinks, looking mildly startled. There's a beat before she answers, but when she does, it's with a shrug, and a simple, "Okay." She slumps along toward the door.
Phoebe heads up to the house, opens the glass doors, and heads inside.
Phoebe has left.
You open the glass doors and head into the house.
Greek House: Common Area(#2409RAJ$)
This is the central hub of the house. From here, you can still see the entrance foyer to the west, as well as the stairway that heads to the second story. Towards the eastern side of the common area is a set of glass doors that lead out to a courtyard. To the north, an arched doorway leads to what apparently serves as a less formal lounge, with a couch and an armchair, and to the south, an arched doorway leads to what appears to be a kitchen and dining area.
There are several chairs here, simple, elegant, yet functional in their design and intent. The room has a comfortable feel to it, but is a bit ascetic in design. The walls are off-white, the molding dark cherry wood and decorated with acanthus-leaf ornamentation at the corners. A pair of antique spears are hung crossed against each other on one wall, and a wall-relief depicting a scene of Grecian warriors hangs on the other. Above the mantle of the fireplace is a small statue of Artemis, on either side of that, dark metal candlesticks with ivory pillar candles. The entire room is a study in the contrast of light and dark.
Contents:
Phoebe
Wallchart
Obvious exits:
Downstairs Upstairs Courtyard Out
Phoebe pushes the door open and moves inside, putting her stuff by the stairs for later. The ahroun then moves into the kitchen, pulling the refrigerator door open. Orange juice is pulled out as she begins talking again. "So you'd be one of those Lost Cubs I was talking about earlier. No hint of where your garou blood comes from, huh? Do you like what you've seen of us Furies?"
Ex hovers near the kitchen door, with barely a toe inside the room. "I don't know. I like that the cheerful girl lets me go where I want. I like the feminism thing. I like Fezzik, and I want to learn how to shoot a bow too. But Phil's an asshole, and the Furies where he comes from need to die. Your house is better." She glances ceilingward. "You don't have fucking cameras everywhere."
"They had cameras?" Phoebe asks, giving Ex an incredulous look over her shoulder while still hunched by the fridge. It's clear Phoe's not gotten the entire low down--or really hardly any--about Phil, or anyone else. "You want anything?" she asks before emerging again.
Ex shakes her head to the latter question. "Yeah, fucking /everywhere/, and the windows all covered up. I couldn't step outside."
Phoebe frowns. "Wait, you were with Phi-Sue? Jesus, now you have me doing it," she says, shaking her head. A breath is taken while she thinks. "See, this is why we shouldn't call people random names. I'm all confused. I get the Cheerful girl is Mel. And Fezzik is Moros, right? But half the time, everything else you say makes little sense to me."
"I was with Kavi," Ex explains. "And Rina. They're good. But I don't like their building at all, and there's the little kid, and the Bitch, and the creepy guy. Fuck /those/ people."
Phoebe gets a glass, and as she pours her orange juice it dawns on her what Ex means. "Oh, right. You were with the Walkers, then. Yeah, cameras. It's...one of their things. No, we're not like that. Though, even with the Furies, every place can be different. Kavi no doubt told you the Furies were like where he comes from, right? I'm getting the idea that...wherever Sue comes from, he had a similar experience."
Ex's frown deepens again. "Kavi didn't say anything about where he came from." She shifts her weight. "Phil's Furies are /fucked up/, and need to /die/. But I still want to punch him in the face."
Phoebe nods, tiltinge her head before she takes a sip from her juice. "Yeah. Well, I won't get into the details, because honestly I only got some vague explanations from KL and others, but, Kavi's people were pretty...fucked up, too. But to be faire, they were tainted. They'd fallen. So, you have to take that into consideration. I don't know much of anything about sue's people, yet. Sounds bad, though."
"Maybe," Ex says slowly, "if Phil's Furies die, he can focus on something that isn't himself."
Phoebe sets her glass down on the counter while regarding Ex. she smiles faintly. "You seem a little overly focused on Sue, yourself. How come?"
Ex scowls. "He gets in my face, and then runs away. You know, /lots/ of people have bad shit happen to them. All he can think about is /his/ shit. I try to ask him about the Furies, and he says ask other people. I try to explain what's going on, and he runs away. I walk in on him teaching someone else, and he /runs away/. I don't think he cares about problems anyone else has, because I don't think he even notices. Maybe I'm overly focused, but he's around more than anyone else."
Phoebe listens, chuckling at the end. "Yeah, I...I should be around more. I admit I've been bad. I get caught up when I go out, though. I love the wolf. And sometimes...yeah, sometimes I let myself get lost in it. Stay gone for weeks at a time." she shrugsm leaning on the counter. "So. Anyway. Let's not talk about Sue anymore. Tell me about /you/. where ya from? Not garouwise, of course. you already told me you don't know about that. But just, in general. What's your story?"
Ex's scowl, surprisingly or not, doesn't ease at the topic change. "I don't have a story. I was with the doctors, then I got out, then Fezzik left me at Kavi's place. And now there's lots of magic shit and spirits and people sometimes talk about saving the world. I'm learning how to fight, too. And apparently I'm completely fucked every way, because if I don't join your war the other werewolves will get me anyway."
"Spirals?" Phoebe says, her raspy voice low. she nods without waiting for confirmation. "They told you about that stuff, huh?" The Fury moves to put the orange juice away and her empty glass in the sink. "Well, I don't know how much help I can be to you figuring it all out. I mean, I know it's daunting. And I'll do whatever I can. Answer any questions you have. Teach you. Like, archery. You were asking about that, right? you wanted to learn? We can do that. Love to do that."
"Yeah," Ex says. "I /know/ I want to learn how to fight. Kavi was showing me things, and Fezzik. Archery's something else. I want to learn that too."
Phoebe smiles. "Cool. Mel and I would be glad to, I'm sure." She comes around the counter to regather her things. "I guess I had it lucky. I was told from a young age who and what I was. I was prepared for it. Groomed. So it wasn't a shock. Everything was a prepared and planned out. I suppose for some that might be horrible, but for me it was...perfect. I was happy. I /am/ happy." She shrugs.
Ex watches Phoebe quietly for a moment, and then shrugs in return. "I'm just fucking sick of people making all the choices for me."
Phoebe's eyes come up to meet Ex's, and the ahroun's grin is wide, amused. "Yeah. I can get behind that. Ok." As she approaches the stairs, she asks, "By the way, have they figured out your auspice yet?"
Ex rubs at the bridge of her nose. "The moon sign stuff? Yeah, uh. The Bitch said dark moon. No idea what that means."
Phoebe laughs. "Ragabash. I guess it figures. We can talk about that later. You staying in the basement here?"
"Uh." Ex's eyes stray to the stairs. "I don't know. I've been sleeping there." She points to the door leading to the courtyard.
Phoebe looks to where she points, and the ahroun frowns. "We got beds for cubs. They're in the basement, but it isn't dank or anything. I promise. We got it fixed up nice. there's clean sheets and blankets. Pillows. You're welcome to it. No one showed you or anything?"
Ex shrugs again. "I like sleeping by the door. Maybe I'll look at the basement later."
Phoebe seems about to protest, but the ahroun thinks better of it and finally just nods. "I guess you do know what's bets for you, right now. That's at least one thing you can decide for yourself as far as I'm concerned. But, if you need anything, my room's upstairs, third on the left. ok?"
Ex hesitates, and then gives a very faint nod. "Sure. Okay."
Phoebe heads up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "See you in the morning," she says over her shoulder.
