"Were you alone?"

[renferret]

Meeting Dirk. Slug drops by. Phoebe gives an archery lesson, then, later, puts her foot down.


Thea opens the door of the house and steps into the front lawn.

Thea has arrived.

Ex is sitting just outside the door, near, but not on the front steps. Her hair is drenched in sweat, and she's breathing heavily; it looks like she's just finished up with some kind of exercise, though there's nothing in view to suggest what that might have been.

A motorcycle drives up--not Sue's, but a different color. And with a woman on the back, definitely. A curvy woman. She parks and shuts down the engine, then gets off and takes off her helmet and gloves. "Hi," she offers. "I was hoping you'd be here..."

Ex lifts her head just enough to peer at the motorcycle driver from under hooded lids. Her jaw moves a little at the words, a muscle in her cheek flexing, but she doesn't actually say anything.

Thea's brow furrows, and she takes a couple of steps closer. "What's up? Or d'you just want to run it off, some more?"

"Been running," Ex replies, in a mostly mutter. "What did you want?"

"Mostly to make sure you're... well, all right, not okay, but as good as you can be?" Thea offers quietly. "And, you know. To talk, some. But if you don't feel like talking, it's all good. Want to just go for a walk?"

Ex rolls her shoulders forward into a faint shrug, but she doesn't stand up. "Nothing I can do about it."

Thea shakes her head, and comes over to the stairs to sit. "About what, exactly?"

Ex shrugs. "The Greedy Bitch. So I'm running."

"Who's the greedy bitch?" Thea asks, curiously. She gives Ex plenty of space.

"The one that owns the Edgewood house," Ex explains. Her tone is dull, uninvested. "She took my book and my research, and Phil's on her side. But I don't fucking care." This last sentence is still toneless. "I don't need things."

Thea's expression darkens. "No one *owns* Edgewood," she says quietly. "And no one should be taking your stuff. What happened?"

Ex says, with a tiny trace of heat, "I threw /rocks/ at a fucking /wall/."

Thea glances over to her. "Okay. Can I get a name? Is this that Dagny chick? The Get?" There's a twist to that last that makes her dislike clear."

"Her, I guess," Ex says, with faint confirmation.

Thea pushes to her feet, the usually mellow young woman galvanized into motion. "So that's what that was about," she mutters. A glance to Ex, and she says, "I know who has your stuff, and we'll get it back, okay?"

Ex shrugs again, but Thea does earn a faint frown. "What what was about?"

"Dirk left a note up at Edgewood," Thea replies absently.

Ex's right eye narrows, while her left eyebrow goes up. "...Who?"

"This Fang guy. I haven't even met him." Thea's brow is still furrowed, as she paces. A low, angry sound comes from her, a sort of hoarse-voiced thrumming rumble... and then she realizes she's growling, and stops. "She'd Adren. I can't challenge her for you. But I know who can. I'll get the story first." She stops pacing, and looks across to Ex. "Will you tell me the whole thing from the beginning? Why were you over there, anyway, and who took you there?"

Ex scrubs briefly at the scar on her cheek. "Because I wanted to go there," she says. Toneless again, and she looks at her shoes rather than Thea. "No one took me there. The Cheerful Girl said I could go if I was back before dawn. I was angry, so I threw rocks at the wall. Phil came out, really mad. He told me not to. Told me to go throw them at trees, and then told me about the Litany. Then I threw rocks at trees, but I was still mad, so I threw them at the wall again. Phil came out /really/ mad, and I shouted at him, and started to run off, but he turned into a giant fucking deer-wolf and tackled me, and I don't remember."

Thea takes a breath. "Okay... Cheerful is who?"

Ex points wordlessly back at the Greek House.

Thea's brow furrows. "Melodie-rhya?"

Ex nods. "So then I woke up, and my head hurt and my face was in the dirt, and my book was /gone/. I started looking for it, and Phil said the Greedy Bitch had it, so I tried to go into the house to get it, but Phil said I had to leave and come back here and not go back to the Edgewood house without someone fucking babysitting me, and he said he wasn't going to do it. And he got in my way and I told him to move, and he didn't, so I hit him, and he hit me a lot. And then I woke up, and he said I had to go."

"Did you flip out?" Thea asks quietly.

Ex shakes her head. "Not the second time, I think. I left and I ran for a while and then the Greedy Bitch talked in my head and had a truck. And she showed me the book but wouldn't give it to me, and then Kavi and Rina were there and I don't remember again. Then we went back to the house in the city for the night, and then I came back here."

Thea nods. "Hang on a sec..." She sets helmet and gloves on the steps and digs her phone from a pocket, fiddling with it briefly.

Ex rests her skinny elbows on equally skinny knees, but otherwise doesn't move from her spot.

Thea says "Um, hi, this is Thea, from the Furies? I was wondering when you might be free to return Ex's belongings."

Thea says "Could you bring it out to the house, maybe?"

Ex glances up, briefly, at the word 'belongings'.

Thea nods. "Yeah," she says.

Ex busies herself by digging a toe into the grass, and attempting to uproot it with shoe alone.

Thea looks blank for a moment. "You know where it is?" she asks.

Ex looks up again, and frowns.

Thea promptly rattles off directions.

Ex returns to defacing the lawn. She manage to get the toe of her shoe dug in a little, and she just keeps digging further.

Dirk has arrived.

Thea and Ex are sitting on the front steps, and there's a motorcycle parked in the driveway.

As promised, Dirk presently can be seen making his way towards the Greek House, a gym bag hanging from his shoulder, sketchbook held delicately in his hands.

Ex still looks sweat soaked and sullen by the time Dirk arrives. She notices him fairly soon after he appears, and lifts her eyes just enough to watch his approach with suspicion.

Thea rises easily, when she catches sight of him. She comes forward, offering a warm, quick smile. "Hey, I'm Thea... Philo, Cliath, Furies. Thanks for coming out."

Dirk's pace remains even and steady, and he bows to both of them once he's within easy earshot. "Theodoric Duncan," he says, smiling, perhaps a bit meekly. "Galliard, Fostern, of the Fangs. I would tell you more, but I want to see this is returned to its proper owner." This, directed towards Ex, towards whom he tips his head, and extends the book.

Ex does not move from her seat on the steps, and her suspicious look only deepens. She looks from the book to Dirk several times.

Thea nods, and steps out of the way.

Dirk takes a step or few forward when it is clear Ex will not, continuing to hold out the book. "Dagny was upset," he explains, doing better at mitigating his accent, these days. "I tried t'remind the lass that we all have our moments. 'Tis a hard life, this."

Ex looks up at the book again, silent for a moment, before she says, "She put her eyes all over it. You've put your eyes all over it. /Everyone/ looked, and I didn't say they could."

Thea winces a little.

"Does that mean you don't want it *back*, though?" Thea asks. "It's still yours.

Dirk patiently waits, shaking his head a little. "Haven't looked through it, lass. T'would nae been polite."

Thea glances over to Dirk with a swift, grateful half-smile.

"She did." And suddenly, Ex is on her feet, stabbing a gloved finger at Dirk's chest. "She has a whole fucking house and she had to take my /one/ thing! My one thing! And now she's put her eyes all over it, so she doesn't need it, so she gives it /back/?" Her nostrils flare. "And if I take it, is she going to take it again? Nothing to stop her!"

"Nae, lass. 'Tis I who be giving it back." Again, Dirk says with a fair pool of patience, evenly and honest. "But if'n ye prefer, I will endeavor to keep it safe, and hidden. But I know well how important certain things can be when a soul is lost an' left wanderin'. So I convinced Dagny-rhya to let me bring this back." He gestures to the book, gently.

"Melodie can stop her," Thea says quietly. "Or Kavi. I don't think anyone wants to let that happen again, Ex." She looks across to Dirk, and adds, "And Dagny-rhya doesn't *own* Edgewood, as far as I know."

Ex's fire seems to wither under Dirk's patience, even if it doesn't fully go out. She reaches forward, slowly, and then snatches the sketchbook away, retreating almost to the door before she stops and looks down on it, frowning. "I can see her eyes /all over it/," she says, low and a little plaintive.

Dirk smiles a little. "Then perhaps ye should draw somethin' new," he suggests, patting his clothes. "When I came t'be here, I had t'make everything new. 'Twas difficult. Still difficult. But managin' it makes life worthwhile." Then, with another little bow to Thea, he adds, "If'n either of ye be in need a' me, I'll be at the Edgewood, or Kent Crossing."

Thea looks to him, the dark eyes open, warm. "Thank you, Theodoric-rhya," she says quietly. "We appreciate it."

Ex settles back on the step, with the sketchbook in her lap, one arm draped over it, and one gloved hand holding it closed.

"My pleasure, m'lady," Dirk says, saluting them both with a single finger before turning to retrace his steps, presumable back towards Edgewood.

Thea watches him go, taking a breath. "So," she says quietly. "That's a Silver Fang. And one of the nicest I've met." Turning to Ex, she says, "That's how it's *supposed* to be. Respect, you know?"

Ex wets her lips, and says, without looking up, "It's really easy to ignore a rule that says you should do something for people who can't do anything to make you."

Thea nods, her expression darkening. "Yeah. It's the half-moon's job--and, really, anyone with rank--to make sure people do. Now a whole lot of people know more about who she is, and I bet someone will challenge her over it." She looks across to the girl. "So you like Kavi and Rina? And the Walkers?" she asks quietly.

"Kavi and Rina," Ex says, toward her lap. "I don't like their building."

Thea tilts her head. "But the people?" she prompts, gently.

Ex shrugs one shoulder. "I like Kavi and Rina."

Thea tilts her head. "Anyone here? That you feel like you can trust?" she asks. "Melodie-rhya, maybe, or Sue?"

Ex practically spits at mention of Sue. "/Fuck/ him. Fuck that guy."

Thea draws back a fraction at the vehemence. "You gotta try and work on letting stuff go," she says quietly. "Things happen, on the full moon. People... have a much harder time staying cool."

Ex flashes her teeth, clinging all the harder to the newly regained sketchbook. "It isn't just the fucking full moon with him. He can be the Greedy Bitch's friend and hide at Edgewood house all he fucking wants. He can /suck it/."

Thea studies her for a moment, intently. "What about Moros, or Melodie-rhya?" she asks.

Ex breathes deeply, twice, and jerks her head away. "I like them."

Thea nods. "That's good. Moros is... scary on the outside, but I have a feeling he can be trusted, you know?" She comes over to sit down again, way at one side of the steps, relaxed.

Ex shrugs in response to this, and returns to looking down at her sketchbook. "Phil told me what the Litany was. And he said the Other Bitch had broke the respect beneath rule. But he breaks it too."

Thea's brow furrows. "Tell me how?"

Ex takes a few moments to respond, and she doesn't look up when she does; instead her head turns loosely toward the side. "He says he's in charge of me and gives me lots of orders, right?"

Thea nods minutely. "Yeah, but that part is okay. Has he treated you badly? Done things you think are wrong, or unjust?"

"Yes, but," Ex says. "That means I'm /below/ him, right? That means he needs to respect /me/. Right?"

Thea looks to Ex, and says, "So what has he done, that you think goes against that?"

Ex's nose wrinkles. "He thinks I'm a...the way he /looks/ at me, and talks to me. Teaching me the Litany was the first thing he's ever been willing to teach me. It's different than the way you act, or Fezzik or the Cheerful girl or the Dirty Girl or Kavi or Rina. Like if I disappeared, it would be the best thing. Like I'm a burden or a nuisance or a mosquito in his ear, not a...not a whatever I'm supposed to be. Like I pissed in his shoes. And he's on the Greedy Bitch's side, and /she/ called me an /it/, and she acts like that too."

Thea shakes her head. "I don't think that's how he feels about you," she says cautiously. "But that stuff, we can straighten out later."

"It /is/," Ex stresses. "He doesn't act like that at you, or Fezzik, or the other cub. He /won't/ protect me like lots of other people keep saying, so fuck him."

Thea's frown darkens. "I'm not so sure about that," she says. "Who's Fezz-- oh. Moros?"

Ex nods very slightly, and then says, challengingly, "He took the Greedy Bitch's side."

Thea raises an eyebrow. "It's not about sides," she says quietly. "And I won't say more than that, 'cause I don't know much about what happened from *their* point of view. I've only heard yours. But how did he take her side? Did he say you shouldn't have been throwing rocks? Cause, well, I can't fault him for that."

Ex breathes. "I said she was a bitch because she called me an it, and he got really fucking mad at me. Said I'd better respect her because she was his friend."

Thea nods. "Well, it's not all that nice to call someone's friend a bitch," she says, "even if they are. And the moon was full, too. Don't you stick up for your friends? And you'd want your friends to stick up for you, right?" She's casual, at ease.

Ex's lips start to part, but she ends up merely frowning at Thea.

Thea glances over to her, raising a brow. "If someone started spitting vitriol about you, *I'd* stick up for you." She looks away, then. "I bet Sue and Moros and Kavi and Rina would, too.:"

Ex shakes her head at the mention of Sue again. "Phil doesn't do that." There's a pause. "I punched the Other Bitch for Kavi. But fucking animals don't have /friends/."

"You're not an animal," Thea says quietly, firmly. "You're Garou. And that's a lot more, Ex."

Ex goes Thea a briefly skeptical look. "Yeah? How?"

Thea looks out toward her bike, thoughtful. "For one thing, you have an innate connection to the world of the spirits. To Gaia herself. You have some humanity in you, and some animal, sure. But also spirit, and rage. You're not 'just' anything, Ex." She looks over to the girl. "And then on top of that, you're *you*. This unique person. You may have been shaped by something terrible... but maybe, just maybe, it's made you really strong inside."

Ex grunts and picks up the sketchbook, tucking it under one arm. "There isn't any more me. I'm X."

Thea turns toward her a bit more, folding one leg up and hugging her knee to her chest. "There is, too," she counters. "And it's up to you to find out who that is. Wherever you were before... you're here now. With people who want to be your family." The firmness in her voice softens, becomes gentle. "And we're gonna help you figure it out."

"Family's overrated," Ex says, though there's something a tiny bit softer about her voice, some sense of relenting.

"Maybe for some people," Thea says quietly. "But for us--" She watches Ex with those quiet dark eyes. "We're not wired for being alone, Ex." A brief pause. "Were you alone?"

Ex's jaw tightens visibly, and she still refuses to look at Thea. "There were always doctors on the other side."

"Watching you," Thea says quietly. "Not *with* you. You were alone, right?"

"In the room," Ex mutters. "When I was in the room."

Thea nods. "Well, that would seriously fuck *me* up."

Ex doesn't say anything for several long moments, and then there's sudden energy to her. She stands up and moves down the steps, quick and fidgety, stopping at the bottom.

Thea rises more slowly. "I like being alone, sometimes," she says quietly. "Everyone does, right? But Garou--we need to have a pack. We need our allies, to return to."

"Maybe I'm different," Ex says, quiet, but belligerent again. "Maybe it doesn't matter."

"I don't buy that," Thea says quietly. "You're still a person. It just... might take you some time to figure out who."

"No," Ex says, sharp this time. "I'm /X/. I'm a fucking animal. They cut the person right out and threw it away. There isn't any person. They didn't want a person, okay? There /isn't/ any person."

"You have feelings, don't you?" Thea says, soft and persuasive. "Anger, mostly. But that's a feeling. You *are* a person, Ex. You're *you*. *No* one, *nothing* can take that away from you. They may have screwed with your body, but they can't take your soul."

Thea: Persuasion.

Ex quiets. If there are counter arguments, she doesn't voice them. She merely hunches her shoulders, holding the sketchbook tightly against her ribs.

Thea takes a cautious step closer--not touching, not really close enough to even reach out and touch, but almost. "No one can ever take that from you," she says again, softly.

"We'll see," Ex says. Low. She pivots toward the door, and walks back up the steps.

Thea watches her, and finally says, quietly, "Night. I'll be out here, if you want to talk at all."

Ex hesitates on the threshold, but continues on inside without another word.

----


Greek House: Front Lawn(#3032RJh)

The mottled mosaic pathway heads up to the front porch of an average-sized, four bedroom, two-storey neoclassical house, then splits into a rounding "Y" shape to head towards arched gates on either side. Looking over the house and yard, the first impression is of an elegant yet somewhat stoic home. It appears that some renovations have been done recently. The columns forming the portico look freshly painted, and several bricks on the facade have been recently re-pointed. Vines and other plants have been allowed to grow up along the walls of the house and courtyard, but the gate seems to be mostly kept clear of entangling flora.

Contents:
Slug

Obvious exits:
Roof Gate Front Door Pathway

Ex has parked herself on the front lawn, not far from the porch. Her hair and face are sweaty, and she's breathing hard, but this hasn't stopped her from digging her fingers into the grass and plucking various grass blades at destructive random.

Slug comes strolling up the road at a leisurely pace, carrying a ratty umbrella upon his shoulder. He twirls it now and then as he walks along, turning onto the Greekhouse pathway. He starts to whistle as he approaches the house, a loud, but ultimately aimless tone that's likely mindless noise.

Ex looks up sharply at the whistling, her entire body tensing up. Spotting Slug at least has the result of her easing somewhat, though she can't be called anything close to relaxed.

Slug twirls his umbrella in his hand, spinning it just above his head. He stops about twenty feet away from the house and ceases his whistling, looking from left to right across the yard. "Hello?" He calls. It seems to take him a second to spot Ex, but when he does, the Gnawer snaps his fingers and points in her direction. "Ah! There you are. I was wonderin' where you ran off to."

"I'm staying here now," Ex says. She sounds a little wary. "Why're you here?"

"I wanted to check in with Mel. She's not around, is she?" Slug asks, scratching at the scarred side of his face. "We used to be in a pack together, y'know."

Ex shakes her head. "Don't know. I've been running." She plucks up several blades of grass at once, yanking them free from the lawn.

"Oooh, you're training now? Running is good for you. Builds stamina." Slug wanders over a bit closer to Ex, but stops about five or seven feet away. "What else ya been up to?"

Ex shrugs. "I guess. I go running when I feel like it." She pauses, and then answers the last question with a rather flat, "Running."

"You get into fighting yet? The teaching, I mean." Slug sits down on the edge of the walkway with a faint 'oof', still toying with the handle of his umbrella. "I heard you're like me. You're a Ragabash, I mean."

"Kavi," Ex says. And then, "And Fezzik. And the Dirty Face Girl is going to teach me how to fire bows." Her eyes flick to Slug, and then away. A grunt. "I don't know what that even means."

"Sounds like you're in good hands, then, though I never really liked bows." Slug tilts his head to the side, making a sound that could be an indication of thought. "Mmm.... Well. Everyone has their abilities'n stuff determined by what day they're born on. I was born when there was no moon in the sky, so, I'm a Ragabash."

Ex rolls her shoulders back. "That's what the Bitch said the lune told her."

"Who's bitch? I know a lot of people that could be called that." Slug responds, his tone still light.

Ex frowns at Slug. "The Bitch," she repeats, as if that should be self-evident. "She's a Glass Walker, I guess. Has a spirit monster that can talk through a cell phone."

"Ah, well. Uh... Anyways." Slug reaches into his hoodie for a pack of cigarettes and lights one up, carefully blowing the smoke away from the cub. "Basically, like, Ragabashes are born into a night without light. So they move in the shadows. Thiefs, ninjas, you get the idea."

"Okay," Ex says, though her tone makes it clear that she's not sure where Slug is going with this.

"You're a Ragabash." Slug tells her, waggling a finger in her direction. "So, you're gonna learn to be all sneaky like."

Ex shrugs at this, not visibly enthused. "Okay, that's neat. But for what?"

"That depends on you." Slug leans forward a bit, then looks up at the umbrella hanging over his head. "There are five auspices, the Ragabash, us, the Theurges, which are like PR reps to the spirits. Then you got the Philodoxes which are all Judge Judy, settling disputes and yelling at people for being stupid. Galliards remember, they tell people about things that've happenened. Ahrouns?" Slug looks back down at her, then to the ripped up grass in front of her. "They destroy everything."

Ex rips up a few more blades. It's not clear if she does this on purpose, but it seems bizarrely coincidental if not. "Okay, but what do Ragabashes do? Just sneak around and act stupid?"

"Some of them do." Slug remarks dryly, perhaps thinking of a few in particular. Slug lowers his umbrella so the sunlight can reach him, and holds out his hand, casting a shadow across the ground in front of them. "What is darkness?" He asks. "What is shadow?"


Ex rips up a few more bits of grass before she leans back and gives Slug a long, bemused look.

"Well?" He asks with a wry smile, clearly not being all that serious, but still expecting an answer.

"That's a really stupid question," Ex informs him, skepticism writ all over her face.

"Why?" He asks right back, wriggling his fingers while watching the shadow.

Ex's jaw clenches as she sits forward again. "Because any answer sounds like philosophical bullshit. And not the meaningful kind either. What does that have to do with Ragabashes?"

Slug tilts his head up and laughs, swinging his umbrella through the air to the side. "Well, yeah. That was the point of my question." Slug answers, closing the umbrella and tossing it into the grass. "And that answer still tells me something. For some dudes, it's like this. They see being a Ragabash as just being an assassin, or a thief, or a joker. A scout." Slug explains.

Ex curls her gloved fingers around another tuft of grass, but she doesn't yank on it yet. There's a little, unmistakable light of interest at something he says. "And other people?"

"I think of it more traditionally." Slug rises up to his feet with his umbrella and swings it deftly through the grass in front of him, using the pointed end to create five divets in the grass. He then sticks the umbrella in the grass in the center, then steps aside. "I like to ask questions. I like to try and get people to see things from a different angle." Slug taps the umbrella in the center of the pentagon with his foot. "A person standing on one of those marks only sees one side'a the thing in the center. If they never move, they'll never know what they don't see. They might not even *know* there is a different side *to* see."

"Why's that important?" Ex asks, watching his movements carefully, and briefly fixing on the umbrella. This time her question sounds a little less combative.

"People always think that they're right. They always think that what they see is the absolute truth. They start to think that the world is exactly the way they think it is, that all people work the way they think they do, they *know* what is *right* and what is *wrong*." Slug takes his dying cigarette out of his mouth and stabs it out on the side of his boot, huffing out a smoky sigh. "I used to be an Ahroun. I told you that, didn't I? I hated Garou a lot more than you do now. I hated people more than you can imagine. I kept seeing the worst in others, even when they were doing their best." Slug closes his eyes and bows his head, a touch of remorse creeping into his tone. "When you realize you've been seeing everything wrong, you're *lucky*. Most people never get that chance, not until it's too late."

Ex's eyes narrow faintly. "So now...what? You see how fucking beautiful people are?"

"No." Slug responds in an almost morose tone, shaking his head. "When I was a cub, a Garou ripped out my tongue and made me swallow it as a punishment. I've seen people do a lot of cruel things, usually just because they could. The world would be a better place if a lot of people just didn't exist anymore." Slug lifts his head to look at her, offering a wry smile. "But there are some good people, and there are people that have suffered. I have suffered, mostly at my own hands, and I learned."

"Fucking /sick/," Ex mutters, low but with heat. "Okay, so you...do that thing. What about people who do the other things?"

"The other auspices?" Slug asks, coaxing another cigarette to life. The butt of the previous one is tucked down inside one of his boots.

Ex shakes her head. "No, the other Ragabashes. Like the assassin Ragabashes."

"Ha." Slug takes a puff and blows a ring into the air above his head. "They're people that think the only thing that matters is being able to kill dudes like they're Solid Snake or some shit. That's one part of the job, yeah, but it ain't the only thing. Every auspice gets different abilities, different stuff they can do. Ragabashes can do things like make people hear things, open locks, or disappear. It makes it a lot easier to sneak into places you don't belong, so, y'know. They're the best if you need to kill someone."

"Okay," Ex says slowly. "But I /like/ that part of the job. The other stuff sounds weird right now."

"I know. You've got a lot of anger up in ya, so it's natural to want to let it out." Slug turns his head to look at her more directly, brushing some hair away from his eyes. "Anyone in particular?"

Ex rips the grass blades in her fingers up, then watches as they tumble back to the ground. "Lots of people in particular."

"People that fucked with you?" Slug murmurs.

Ex answers neither yes, nor no. Instead, she focuses on ripping up the grass, slowly and methodically. She's developing quite a pile of it.

"It isn't enough to kill them, you know." Slug says, rolling his shoulders. "The thing about killing people is... You got to ask yourself a few questions before you pull the trigger, or whatevs."

Ex looks up, and now there's belligerence in her expression and her tone. "/Why/?"

"Hypothetically." Slug begins, clearing his throat. "Hypothetically." He repeats. "Lets say I wanted to kill you. I could. But then what? I'm left with a corpse in an open field, and there is evidence. Are there people in the house? They'd see me. Did I shoot you? There will be casings from the gun left on the ground. The Furies would be mad, and they'd come looking for me, and probably kill me for doing it. Do you get what I'm driving at?"

"Yeah," Ex says. Up comes some more grass. "Gotta be careful about it." One eye narrows. "But there's a fuckload of people that keep saying they'll kill me anyway, so it can't be that big of a deal."

"Who? Why?" Slug asks, without really sounding all that surprised.

Ex shrugs. "The Greedy Bitch. Someone else. Because I was saying I didn't want to join your cult if it was so fucking /sick/.'

"You mean Garou, or their Tribe?" Slug asks, glancing in the direction of the Fury house.

"Werewolves," Ex says. "Fucking Phil keeps talking about all the fucking bullshit they did to him for /no fucking reason/, and people talk about ripping out tongues, or killing babies, or killing people just because they don't want to join when they were fucking kidnapped, and always flipping out and fighting everyone. The Greedy Bitch and the other person, they just say I have to or they'll kill me. Kavi and Rina, Fezzik, the Cheerful Girl...they say they won't. But they're different."

"What do you think about me?" Slug asks her, quite bluntly, unable to restrain a slight smirk. "Do I have some sort of nickname too? I mean, I'd like to think that you think I'm nice or somethin'."

Ex studies Slug for a moment, and then shrugs again. "You're okay. You don't yell, and you talk to me and teach me things. And you've got that magic shit that makes stuff come to you, kind've like Magneto, but with trash."

"I'm like Jerry Springer. All the trash comes to me." Slug wriggles his brows, then huffs out a breath and stabs out his second cigarette. "The point I'm trying to make is, y'know. I'm a Garou, and you like me. Or you think I'm normal. And you've met some other people that aren't insane. We've all been through the same training you're going through, and we didn't flip the ef out."

Ex sits up a little straighter. "Well," she says, and looks at him directly, "What about the people who didn't get through it? The fucking dead babies and shit, and people who didn't want to join up even when they got threatened?"

"I didn't kill them." Slug holds up his hands. "I try to save dudes, when I can. I try to get cubs through the bad stuff. *I* came pretty close to dying myself, so, yeah. I'm a bit sympathetic." Slug sighs and settles in on his butt, looking at the grass between them. "If you want to live, if you wanna make it through this, you gotta play ball. Sometimes it feels shitty, but it ain't forever. Sometimes life is about doin' what you gotta do to live."

Ex inhales slowly, and then, suddenly, she's on her feet. "I'm fucking /tired/ of doing that!" It's nearly, but not quite, a shout. "All my fucking life, the doctors, now werewolves. Got to do exactly what you're told, no choice, we'll hurt you if you don't. Of course it's not forever, because you go and die in cult wars and shit. When do I actually get to decide what the fuck /I/ want to do with my life?"

Slug gradually rises up to his feet and grabs his umbrella by the handle. He worms it free of the ground and swings it across one shoulder, resting it there. "I came here for a reason, y'know. I came here just for you."

Ex eyes him, suspicious now. "Why?"

"One of the Furies told me they had no Ragabashes to train you. I came to tell Melodie that I'd teach you some, if she let me." Slug looks off to the side and scratches at one of his cheeks. "But I guess she'll probably say no."

Ex steps backward and frowns. "I don't know. Why would she say no?"

"Because I don't have the best reputation... I... Don't really agree with a lot of what Garou say, and I don't really like most of them. I spend most of my time alone, or with my family, and I don't follow anyone I don't trust just because they're stronger or meaner." Slug opens his umbrella and holds it above his head, shielding himself from the summer sunlight. "I don't know much about spirits, and I don't ever hang out in the wolf skin. I'm pretty 'Urrah', which is a way of saying 'Someone who's like a man'."

Ex's left eyebrow lifts at this last. "You /are/ a man," she points out. "Anyway, that doesn't sound bad. I like being a wolf though, if I get to decide when."

"Yeeeah, but Garou that are more primal look down on wolves that act like the ordinary city dudes." Slug holds his hands up. "Also, I'm a Bone Gnawer, and 'real wolves' look at us like people look at dogs."

Ex's forehead wrinkles. "Why?"

"Because we're pretty accepting and liberal. We take the Garou no one else wants. No money, no homes, chewin' on the proverbial bones to survive." Slug shrugs and looks over at the house, his head tilting to the side. "I'm still pretty good at what I do, though, and if you wanna learn a thing or two I'd be happy to show you what I know. If ya don't, I won't even ask Mel to help teach you. It's up to you, really."

"Feminism's supposed to be liberal too," Ex says, with the kind of authority only granted by recent familiarity. "So they shouldn't care. I've been learning from lots of people. Fezzik, and Kavi, and the Dirty Face Girl. Even fucking Phil, one time."

"Well, if you've got a Ragabash teacher then I guess ya don't need me. But I'll come and say hi now and then, if you don't mind. Ask Mel or Sue for my phonenumber, if ya ever wanna call me." Slug offers, bowing his head to her.

Ex shakes her head. "I don't know who's a Ragabash." But there's a further wrinkle of her nose. "I'm not asking fucking /Phil/ for anything."

"I don't know no Phil. Soooo... But, whatevs. I'll just call Mel later and see if she's got someone lined up." Slug snaps his fingers at the cub. "If ya want me. I don't want to teach someone that doesn't wanna learn, y'know. But in the meantime, I think I'll hit the dusty trail."

"You just said..." Ex huffs. "Okay. Bye, then." She partially turns toward the steps.

"We don't know if you have a Ragabash teacher yet 'cause you don't know." Slug throws his hands up, then spins his umbrella and starts walking back towards the road. "I'll bring you a baconator the next time I see ya."

Ex calls after him, though she doesn't expect an answer, "What the fuck is a baconator?"

"It'll be a surprise!" Slug calls back without turning around, merrily walking off down the pathway.

----


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.

Contents:
Moros
Phoebe

Obvious exits:
Roof North Eastern Arch Gate Doorway

Moros finishes wiping himself down and twists the sweat-damp tanktop-turned-rag in his big hands. "When we get a lead on them, we'll go after them," he says slowly. "For now, I'm more concerned about Ex herself. Getting her straight. Getting her Rited."

Phoebe offers another a nod, and without realizing it she actually veers away from the man because of the acrid scent. "I'd like to help with that. With both, I mean. Though I'm not sure how. How to best help her." Again, her eyes drift to the man's scar.

Moros stuffs the sodden tank into a back pocket of his jeans, letting most of it hang down like a limp flag. He squints at the other Ahroun, considering her. "Treat her like a person. Weather her rages." He glances over at the archery targets. "Teach her." He looks back at Phoebe.

Phoebe's eyes follow him to the archery target, and this at least draws her frown into thoughtful line, if not an actual smile. "Yeah," she says, looking back at him. "I can do that. But she needs more than that, Moros. You have to know that. She needs more."

There's a faint scrape of shoes on shingles, and Ex's head comes into view from the peak of the roof. Her hair is still quite short, but she's clearly not making any effort to tame it as it grows. She squints down at the two Furies, looking bleary.

Moros wrinkles his nose. His head drops for a beat, hair sliding forward over his face. When he lifts it again, his expression is scowling and hard. Stubborn. "Yes. Patience. She needs _patience_." He doesn't notice the eavesdropper on the roof.

Phoebe does. She just happens to be facing that side of the house. She's not the best at hiding things, however, and a faint blush comes over her as the subject of their conversation begins to shimmy down from the roof. Her shoulders tense, briefly, and she answers Moros in a quiet but very pointed way. "She will have my patience. I promise that. But it's not what I meant."

Ex slides down a little onto the courtyard side of the roof; it's ungraceful, uncautious. There's an object under her arm, the approximate size and shape of the sketchbook, though, for some reason, she's gone and wrapped it in what looks like a plastic grocery bag.

Moros glances up toward the roof a moment after Phoebe does and spots Ex. The monster grins, showing teeth in an expression that's distinctly unpleasant and yet, somehow, genuine; he's happy to see her. When he looks back at the Fostern, his chin's tipped up, his manner almost but not quite challenging. "What _did_ you mean?"

Phoebe watches him as he reacts to seeing Ex. Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, and that gaze intensifies just a bit more. When he returns his attention to her, she shakes her head and answers, "Nevermind. We'll talk about it later." Phoe doesn't give him much room to protest, she heads off towards the where the spider-cub will probably eventually land. "Hey Ex! Whatcha doing?"

Ex leaves the maybe-sketchbook braced against the gutter, and drops down herself. This is rather more graceful than the descent, but still clearly unpracticed. "I was sleeping." She regards the archery targets with interest for a moment, and then, as if remembering, "Hey." This is directed at both Furies. "There was some werewolf guy here last night, looking for the Cheerful Girl. He's okay. I saw him at Kavi and Rina's place."

Moros tilts his head to the side, his smile dissolving into a frown. "'Werewolf guy'? Which werewolf guy?" He looks at Phoebe like she might know.

Phoebe doesn't seem to have a clue. The same question appears reflected in the look she gives both Moros and Ex. "Did he say what he wanted of Mel?" she asks.

"He said he was in a pack with her once," Ex says, with a shrug. "And he was going to ask if he could teach Ragabash stuff, if I was okay with it."

Moros pulls the rumpled tank-top out of his back pocket and uses it to wipe at his armpits again. He still stinks of sweat and something less pleasant. "Are you?"

Phoebe does not seem any the wiser for the explanation, but she gives ex a nod and a grateful look all the same. The fostern then turns back towards the archery targets. She gives Ex a chance to answer Moros before she asks, "You feel up to starting to learn the bow?"

Ex considers Moros's question for a moment, before shrugging again. "He's okay. I don't want to punch him." Phoebe's question causes a visible straightening. "/Yeah/. Is Fezzik going to learn too?"

Moros wrings the tank-top into a loose rope between his hands. His lips twist into a bit of a smirk, sardonic not scornful. "Not my style."

Phoebe follows Ex's question to Moros. when he declines, she seems at least mildly disappointed, but she doesn't push the issue. Instead, she goes towards the shed and pulls out one of the spare bows and another set of arrows.

Ex gives Moros a look in which the corners of her mouth just faintly, just /briefly/, twitch upward, and then she turns to watch Phoebe bring out the equipment. "Some other werewolf guy brought my book back."

Moros's nose scrunches, red eyes squinting. Puzzled and slightly suspicious. "Not Kavi?"

Phoebe hands Ex the bow and the spare arrows. "Different werewolf guy from the werewolf guy looking for Mel?" she asks, moving towards the line KL had marked with stones to denote where the archers should stand.

Ex shakes her head. "Not Kavi, not that werewolf guy. The uh...the one Fury, she said he was a Silver Fang? Fuck if I know. But he had a dagger name." She takes the bow and arrows, and turns her head to study them from various angles. "He said the Greedy Bitch gave it to him, after he told her to stop being such a Greedy Bitch. But she already put her eyes /all over it/."

Moros moves to stand someplace behind the two women, putting himself definitely out of the firing line. The tank-top's been stuffed back into his pocket, the damp red cloth hanging down like a tongue. He grimaces at Ex's news. "That doesn't surprise me," he says sourly.

Phoebe winces when Ex gets to the part about 'eyes all over it'. She doesn't comment directly, however, turning her attention to the teaching. "Have you ever done anything like this before?" she asks, even as she gently shows Ex how to hold the bow.

Ex shakes her head. She's still wearing her ever-present frown, she's still standing at a slight slouch, and nothing about her expression has really changed, but there's still a sense of keen interest from her. Sudden pent up energy that doesn't seem related to the Ragey gloom cloud. She follows Phoebe's directions, though she shies stubbornly away from any physical contact, even though she's wearing those black gloves.

Moros places his hands on his waist and watches, his head tilted and weight shifted to one leg.

Phoebe notices the need to not be touched, but the ahroun takes at least a couple of small chances--perhaps testing the boundaries the cub will actually allow. At the slouch, Phoe's hand touches her back, asking her to straighten it. She turns tot he side, showing Ex the angle at which she should stand to aim. And finally, she touches her arm, urging it up, and leveling it, making sure the elbow is perfectly straight.

Surprisingly, Ex tolerates this--though 'tolerates' is definitely the word for it, and a muscle tightens in her jaw at every actual contact, no matter how slight or brief. She adjusts herself, however, following Phoebe's guidance. It's not perfect, but it's not bad either.

Moros simply watches -- observing closely. Someone watching _him_ might notice him tensing when Ex does; there's a definite air of protectiveness about the monster in regards to the troubled cub.

Phoebe looks her up and down, and the fostern ahroun seems very satified. Whether it's with the cub's posture or how she weathered the 'test' is uncertain. Phoe sets an arrow across the cub's bow, showing her how to nock it and how to hold her fingers. "You can't clench, otherwise it won't fly when you want it to. But you can't be too easy, either, or it will be all over the place and fall out."

Ex dutifully unclenches--because she was /definitely/ clenching the arrow--though only slightly. She nods once to the instruction.

Phoebe steps away, leaving Ex the picture of an archer ready to draw. The ahroun then strikes the same pose, bringing her own bow up and nocking an arrows so the two look like bookends. "Now," she says quietly. "Draw two deep breathes, and allow them to calm you. When you're calm, draw back. Touch the knuckle of your thumb to your cheek. Just touch it like a whisper. Take aim. And when you're ready..." The ahroun does each step as she explains it. When her words trail off, her arrow gets loosed. With a fwoosh it flies and hits the second closest ring on the target.

Ex trails behind Phoebe's demonstration, always at least several seconds slow. She blinks when she draws--it is, clearly, much harder than she was expecting--and slowly pulls it back--then lets go. She actually jumps as the arrow is loosed, and the arrow flies far above the target and out of the courtyard. "/Whoa/." The girl's cheeks are flushed, her too-bright eyes even brighter.

Moros's lips stretch in a savagely proud grin, showing a thin line of teeth.

Phoebe can't help a little grin. "I've lost plenty of arrows that way. That was a good first shot. And you avoided Archer's Rash, which is always a plus." The fostern nods, inviting her to take up another arrow.

Ex does so, though this time she attempts to get into the right position on her own; she's slow about it, careful. Methodical, almost. It's not quite right, even so. "You make it look really easy."

Phoebe allows her to position herself this time, going nowhere near the cub and providing instruction only by example. She nocks, draws and fires a second arrow of her own in one smooth motion. This one hits the red center, if off a tiny bit to the left. "I've been shooting since I was six," she explains.

"What's Archer's Rash?" Moros asks, curious.

Ex adjusts herself a little more as she watches Phoebe, then draws. This time she's prepared for the strength required, and she's a little better at actually aiming. The release /still/ causes her to jump, but it isn't quite so bad this time. The arrow strike the very top of the target and bounces away.

Phoebe glances back to Moros when he asks the question. It tugs another brief smile from her. "Sometimes, if you don't use your wrist correctly?" The ahroun lifts her bow to show him. "When you loose the arrow, the string snaps against your forearm. Stings like shit. Causes red marks." Phoe turns back to see the cub's second release, and she offers, "Don't anticipate. Just let your fingers go and don't move otherwise."

Moros nods a few times to acknowledge Phoebe's answer. "I'm going in for a shower," he announces and turns to head into the house.

Ex mutters, "supersonic wasps right next to my ear." She takes up a third arrow, however, sets her jaw, and spends some time getting into the right position again. Moros gets an acknowledging glance as he heads off.

"Good," Phoe says, perhaps a little too vehemently, when Moros says he's going in to shower. A tiny pink blush comes over her, and she hides it by nocking, drawing and firing again. "A buzz? she echoes, quizzically, to Ex.

Ex nods, then looses the third arrow. This one is aimed too low, and it goes skittering across the paving stones before it even reaches the target. "It's hard not to move."

Phoebe's lips curl in a knowing smile. "Yeah," she commiserates. "Really hard. But try not to get frustrated. Before Moros showed up I'd missed the target twice. /Today/. And I rarely ever miss. I was getting angry. Does it make any sense that he actually calmed me down a little?" The ahroun seems genuinely puzzled by this.

"Course," Ex says. She walks over to retrieve this last arrow, and the previous one. "He's Fezzik."

Phoebe grunts a half amused laugh and shakes her head. "you two are some pair," she says, moving to retrieve her own.

Ex returns to her previous spot, and there's that faint, there and gone flicker of movement around her mouth corners again.

Phoebe's stopped shooting. she's watching the cub now, studying her. that twitch at the mouth is noticed. "He likes you, you know," she says, matter of factly.

"How come?" Ex asks. She adjusts herself, and slowly pulls back on the bowstring again. "I like him."

Phoebe shakes her head and then adds a shrug. "I don't know. things like that...I've never been good at. Never really understood." There's no judgment. In fact,t he fostern is more concerned with the cub's posture. There's another slight touch--one Phoe doesn't even realize she's doing til it's over--at the elbow, to make sure it's straight.

Ex's jaw tightens again, quite noticeably, but she allows it. This shot is again too low, if a bit higher than the last. "Okay, so what's with all the rank shit, anyway?" She starts fitting the next arrow to the bowstring.

Phoebe tilts her head, stepping away. "Rank shit?" she asks, uncertain what Ex means by the question.

"Well," Ex says, fiddling with the arrow. "I'm a cub, I guess. And the Litany thing talks about people above and below you, and /Phil/ shouted about that kind of thing too. So. What are they, and how do you promoted?"

Phoebe leans lightly on the edge of her bow. "Oh. Well, for you? you have to prove you're an adult. By which I mean, prove you know right from wrong, prove you know and respect our rules. All of them. And prove you can handle your wolf. There are tests you have to pass. the most important is called a Rite of Passage. Pass that, and you are adult. Cub no longer. We call it cliath."

Ex wrinkles her nose faintly, but she listens. "I've heard about a Rite of Passage before, but no one said what it was. So, if I get cliath, then what can I do?"

Phoebe explains, "If you do..you'll be free to do anything you want. But. If you Rite with /us/?" She emphasizes the word and waits for Ex to look at her before going on. "If you screw up, or cause problems? They'll be yours to deal with. Because you're an adult. We'll be here to back you up. But if you /shame/ us, if you do something truly against the Litany, or...really bad...it'll be Mel that pays the price. Well. Her, and all of us Furies."

Ex lowers the bow she's holding. "Okay. What's 'reall bad'?"

Phoebe rolls her eyes, though it's less sarcastic than it is truly considering a good answer. "Lettign Spirals into the caern? Stuff like that?" she says, watching to see if the cub understands.

"The evil werewolves, right?" Ex asks, though she doesn't wait for confirmation. "What's a /caern/?"

Phoebe nods, but Ex moves past it quickly, and the ahroun is happy to keep up. "Sacred place. Very sacred. Like church, really. Church for werewolves."

Ex squints at Phoebe, and asks, without being able to hide obvious amusement, "You people have /church/ too?"

Phoebe actually laughs. "Not exactly. I mean. It's hard to explain. But, the place is where we go, to meet. To do ritual. But it's sacred. Magically. You remember the umbra? The place we took you? Well, the caern is like...our anchor. To that place. It's much easier to cross there. the two are connected."

Ex's frown deepens. "I didn't like the Umbra. It felt.../weird/."

Phoebe tilts her head to the side. "It /is/ weird. But...great, too. I was scared when I first went there. Really scared. But...well, for everyone I guess it's different. I won't say you'll love it, or whatever. I /will/ say it's important. And leave it at that."

Ex nods very slightly, even if she doesn't look remotely enthusiastic. "I'll try." She lifts the bow again.

Phoebe seems satisfied with that. "To pass your rite," the ahroun begins, nonchalantly, "You'll have to learn to fight. And to learn to fight, you have to...learn to be touched."

Ex pulls back on the bowstring a few times, but doesn't aim or fire. "Isn't the point not to get touched by people?"

Phoebe admits, "It would be great if that were possible. It almost never is."

"Well," Ex says, looking across her bow at the target, "I've just got more motivation to try."

Phoebe's grin is feral, and very pleased. she says, "When the moon is new, I plan on sparring with your friend. You can join, if you want. Learn from us as we figure out whether his strength is better than my speed. I plan to kick his ass. Just so you know." the ahroun moves to gather her things. seems the lessons are over for the night.

Ex nods several times, eagerly, in fact, though she doesn't make any move to put away the bow she's holding. "I'll be there. I want to see what happens."

----



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:
Sue
Harper
Phoebe
Moros
Wallchart

Obvious exits:
Downstairs Upstairs Courtyard Out

Sue lets himself be led, then responds, very quietly. "Like I said, she swore up and down, under Truth of Gaia, that she's /not/ one of them. But the Dancers had her at some point. Glyph scarred." The metis is shaking with effort to control his anger at the fact, for a long moment.

Phoebe stares at Sue. "/Dancer/ glyphed?" she clarifies, showing teeth. "So she comes from Seattle, and she's wearing their mark. Truth of Gaia or no, I'm not sure she belongs in our /one/ remaining safe place." The ahroun's nostrils flare, and she takes a deep breath to calm down. "Someone needs to tell the elders." Who, exactly, she means by that is unclear. She turns back towards the kitchen, but she stops herself long enough chastise Sue with, "Truth of Gaia can be fooled."

Sue juts his chin up. "Not easily, and not when the questions asked are right. I've been at /that/ part long enough," he snaps in return. "And she volunteered information she wouldn't have, if she was lying. I haven't been further away from Edgewood than here since. She sure as hell doesn't belong on the streets, and she's not coming /here/ either." Sue doesn't follow, though.

Feet swing idly but avoid banging on the cabinet she sits atop as the eggs get polished off. The last of the ketchup is wiped up with a wide swath of her finger and is tucked into her mouth for cleaning. The dish goes into the sink and she makes a quiet offer of, "Tasty eggs," as she hops down and turns to the fridge to rummage about in it.

There's a heavy sort of thump, and scraping. Ceilingward, but too muffled to be the attic.

Moros moves back from the doorway as Phoebe approaches, turning to look at Harper again. The monster's tense, mouth tightened into a thin line, though it's not the redheaded cub that he's angry at. In fact, her comment gets a curt nod and a brusque, "Still hungry?"

Phoebe makes no pretense of keeping quiet, now. Anyone in the house can hear her as she answers Sue. she rounds on him, thanks to the tone. "Long enough?!" she echoes with no small amount of incredulity. "You have far more confidence in your /vast/, advanced experience than I do, I'm afraid. Have you ever /been/ at a sept that's been over-run? Well, we have. And it's /stupid/, cocky mistakes like that that allow it to happen."

The response from the metis is immediate, but not at all verbal. Sue drops from standing to kneeling and manages not to fall further, throat bared in response to her tone, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders slumped all the way low. There's /sound/, but it seems to be an attempt at the Garou tongue that's entirely unintelligible thanks to his current form.

Harper thinks about it, "Maybe. I was getting milk, but-" and then the voice from the other room carries in. She looks up over the opened fridge door and tries to search out the voice, eyes drifting briefly on Moros.

Thump, thump, scraaaaaape, goes the noise from above, clearly traveling toward the courtyard side of the house. This is followed by a moment of silence, a wild, wordless yell, and another, milder thump, this time at ground level.

Moros, tense, takes a step back toward the common area, Harper forgotten for the moment, and then stops, head cocking upward at the noises from the roof and then downward. His fingers clench absently into fists and his nose twitches, mouth tightening. "...Probably just Ex," he mutters, rough and growly.

Phoebe wasn't expecting the complete and abject submission she gets from the metis philodox. The ahroun's eyes widen in confusion and mild shock. It shakes her out her aggressive tone. And, yet, when she realizes what's happening--and, perhaps, what long history might be the cause--her face flushes with real anger. None of it seems aimed at Sue, or anyone currently nearby. She turns from the philodox and finishes moving back into the kitchen. The level of her voice hasn't changed, even if she's taken the aggression down a notch. She makes her point, further, "No one's saying she doesn't deserve a chance. But there are other ways. Other /places/ she could be kept, at least until we're sure." Of the two ahrouns in the room, it's Phoe that radiates that unpleasant wave of rage, now. She catches Moros's eye, very briefly, when he finishes his assessment of who's climbing the walls. Her comment is terse. "The list keeps growing."

There's no real recognition of whether Phoebe's moved away from him or not. Sue's eyes are half-shut, throat bared and expecting a blow that never comes, and his breathing at least finally settles.

The thump-scraping gives Harper a startle, and Moros' explanation of his theory does little to reassure. When Phoebe comes back into the kitchen, she seems at a loss for where she'd like to be, and so is stuck by the fridge, milk jug in hand.

Another wild shout from the courtyard is definitely recognizable as Ex. There's no particular tone to it: it's a whoop of expressed energy, a loud noise for the sake of loud noises. Moments later, she appears at the back door and lets herself in. There's a vaguely sketchbook shaped and sized bundle under one arm, but for some reason, she's wrapped it tightly in a plastic grocery bag. Several, in fact. The woman's face is flushed, her eyes brighter than ever.

Moros nods very slightly in response to Phoebe, then heads out of the kitchen and into the common area to see to the other metis. For once, he barely takes notice of Ex as he goes over to Sue and gets down on a knee, announcing himself with a low growl of, "It's me," before he taps the halfmoon on the shoulder.

Phoebe takes several moments to simply breathe. In and out, long and deep. When she feels herself more in control, she turns back to Harper, eyes offering a silent apology, perhaps. Ex is noticed next, and she gets a terse if polite nod of greeting. The ahroun is at least focused on the two metis in the other room, however.

Harper is peering into the living room as Moros moves toward Sue. The Ragabash cub seems so interested in what's going on that she nearly misses both Ex's entrance and Phoebe's look. Finally, she braces enough to ask the question, "What's going on?"

Sue moves a touch backwards at the touch, eyes opening to show the whites of them, though there's no change in the amount of submission in Sue's posture, shown equally to Moros now as it was to Phoebe before. A breath catches, and then Sue nods, looking to Moros and calming a little. "'kay," he responds, quietly. "Should... go."

Ex pauses just inside the door, eyeing Sue narrowly. She doesn't say anything.

Moros nods wordlessly and slowly stands, helping the other man up if he'll allow it. The monster radiates simmering, grim anger and perhaps a small hint of his own pain, echoed by Sue's but far more locked away.

Phoebe doesn't answer Harper's question, at least not yet. Instead, the fostern seems to have a sudden idea. She heads back, rejoining Moros and Sue. There's no softness or apology in her mien, but she noticeably avoids being vicious or menacing, either (if she can manage it). Her words are direct, as is her gaze on Sue. The very very perceptive will notice that she takes half a second to study him, perhaps (somehow) to make sure he's 'ok'. "I have a job for you," she states. "Find Jacinta. Find Silvertip. You let /them/ know. And let them decide." A sudden afterthought is quickly added. "And find Norman. He's the theurge *I* trust. He...can check her. Tes. See."

Harper looks over to Ex as she settles inside the door. After another moment, she seems to recall the milk in her hand, and uncorking it, takes a quick swig before closing it up and putting it away. Thankful for the iPod in her pocket that she can fidget with, she brushes some hair out of her face and looks for an exit. Damn. Ex on one side, broken metis on the other. Stuck in the middle with you...

Sue gets to his feet between Moros' support and having found his hiking pole again, and he seems shaky, a bit. "Find them, okay," he agrees, not looking /at/ Phoebe. "You said there were other places. /Where/?" Then Sue turns, at least in the direction of the front door, though he doesn't go to leave quite yet.

Phoebe looks from Sue to Moros and back again. "They'll decide. Don't worry."

Moros jerks his head in a nod to Phoebe and nudges Sue toward the door. "C'mon," he mutters.

Ex's eyes narrow further. Mostly, they narrow on Sue's back, but her gaze flickers between Moros and Phoebe, and once even to Harper. Her ever-present frown deepens.

Sue nods again and heads for the door, an occasional glance towards Moros, but not much, and there's decided relief once they reach the front door, moreso when they get outside.

Phoebe returns to the kitchen and the two cubs. Her brow is creased, and the ahroun remains tense. she does her breathing to try and ease it, but it comes only slowly. she looks to Harper and explains, "Apparently, they found /another/ cub. One...that has some isses. Maybe even a Dancer."

Harper looks back to Phoebe as she speaks. "That's. Not good." The girl frowns, drawing in a breath. "What was that in the other room? With Sue? Why'd he kneel in front of you?"

Ex's gaze doesn't ease much when Sue and Moros exit, but she does tip her head to look toward the remaining two women. "...Is that why he was acting like that?" she asks slowly.

That anger washes over Phoebe again, coloring her cheeks. She closes her eyes and purses her lips before answering. "I assume..." she begins, jaw working between words, "that 'they' beat him, over and over again, until that was his response every time he found himself out of line with one of his elders. They conditioned him to do that."

Harper frowns deeply at this, eyes drifting toward the door the two metis left from. "Moros too?"

Ex's expression doesn't change, though her gaze does tick over toward the door. "He acts like that to me too, all the fucking time, when he's not shouting." And then, in the same, almost casual tone, "We should really go kill those Furies."

Phoebe swallows dryly. "I have no doubt. Though, something tells me Moros never allowed himself to be conditioned to /that/." There is an unmistakable tone of mild revulsion at the level of humility and submission the metis immediately leapt to at the slightest provocation. "Nevertheless, yes, I'm sure...he had his own experiences." Ex's suggestion brings a flash of that anger alive in the ahroun's eye. She seems eager and wild, and it is quickly dampened and controlled--though it takes willpower and effort. "In time," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. In a voice aimed at the two cubs, she says, "He does that to you because your aggression triggers it. It's not something he chooses. It's become...a physical reaction to...tothat 'attack'."

Harper glances toward Ex, but her words are aimed at Phoebe. "You can't fix wrongs by doing more wrongs. That's what the Furies did in the ancient times, and they're /still/ dealing with those repercussions. Apparently some are even still doing it now. You can't shed light on the problems you're trying to fix, when your actions are forcing new problems on someone else." The ragabash sighs. "That's not what this tribe is about. Right?"

"That's not what feminism's about," Ex declares, with the tone of authority. She watches Phoebe's face for a moment, and then one shoulder hitches upward. A half shrug. "The Greedy Bitch will take care of him. Fuck him."

Phoebe listens to the cubs, but whatever comment she was about to add to the conversation is quickly lost when--for the /briefest/ second--she loses that tenuous hold she has on her anger. A hand strikes out at Ex. It's little more than a shove to the shoulder, but there's force behind it, and growls out, "Shut up. You don't talk like that. I dont care if you don't like him. He's a brother and..." that's as far ashe gets before regaining control. Her jaw works, but she bites back anything else she was going to say.

Harper doesn't wait long at all after the rage in the room teeter totters as it does. Her jaw sets tight and she turns with an intent quickness for the door. One hand on the knob opening it even as her body moves to rush her out.

It startles her, that's for certain. She jerks back, but not quite fast enough to avoid contact, and it's the surprise more than the connecting force that causes a brief stumble from her. Ex's teeth flash in reaction, and she has to practically tear her gaze away from Harper's sudden movement in order to eye Phoebe carefully.

Phoebe's teeth are tight against each other, and she glares right back at Ex, but there's less animosity than there was when the girl said 'fuck him'. It's Harper that gets the next 'bite' from Phoebe. Her tone is sharp, strong enough to (hopefully) stop her in her tracks. "Don't! Run!" she says, before the cub can completely leave. "Don't...ever...run."

Harper looks over her shoulder as the Ahroun's words reach her ears, but it takes just one look at Ex for her to do otherwise. While she doesn't bolt- she does continue out the door. "Sorry..."

Phoebe lets the cub go, turning her attention back to Ex. Whatever else she was going to say to Harper can clearly wait for another time. Which is perhaps best.

Ex holds still, and says absolutely nothing. Her attention, now, is on Phoebe, not the other cub, and it doesn't stray when she exits. Eventually, after a few long moments of silence, she asks, "Why?"

"Why, what?" Phoe asks. "Why treat him with respect? Because he deserves it. The same way /you/ do. Others may see you as a problem, or an asshole, or whatever. But it doesn't matter. If you deserve respect, so does her. And that means not saying 'Fuck him', and wishing bad things happen to him. That kind of thing is exactly what those entitled bitches you want /dead/ so badly /feed/ on. Get it?" Unintentionally her voice rises as that anger begins to leak out more and more as she gets worked up.

Ex takes several more moments to absorb this, and once more she's quiet until she's ready to respond. Her words are slow and careful, and not once does she look away from Phoebe's face. "That's what he thinks of me."

Phoebe doesn't follow all the way. Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head to ask Ex to clarify. "That you're an asshole?" she guesses.

"That I'm a problem," Ex says, still ponderously slow. "He doesn't respect me. He doesn't protect me. He won't help me."

Phoebe dares that touch again. this time her hand moves to tthe cub's jaw. The motion is so quick Ex doesn't eve see it. Her clamps down and forces the girl to look Phoe in the eye. "This isn't about whether he respects you or not. This is about how /you/ just treated /him/. He wasn't here to see it or hear it, but it still counts. It still matters. You /have/ problems. You aren't /a/ problem. And he won't be able to see that until you stop flippantly treating him like garbage. 'Fuck him'? No."

It's too much. Phoebe can both feel and see it, in her muscles, in the flash of teeth and the look of mindless murder restrained only by the barest of web-thin threads. And yet, somehow, the monster remains held, is choked back with supreme effort. It shows...but it doesn't bite.

Phoebe watches as Ex fights, and despite her own issues and her own thinly held control, there's time enough for the ahroun to find and show admiration for the cub. Her hand is pulled back, and in a quiet voice she says, "we should probably run. Use some energy. Get...out from behind these walls for a bit." she doesn't wait to see if the cub follows, or if she takes her own path to excising pent up frustrations. The ahroun slips out the door and is in wolf a moment later.

Surprisingly enough, Ex follows, as if it were a command; or, perhaps, because it's not. She pauses only to stash that bag wrapped sketchbook next to the porch, and then she slides--with a decided lack of form, but that will come--into lupus as well. Her scars are present here as well...and hints at others are also present. She shakes herself out, still leaking Rage, and moves after the Ahroun.