"...I want a /reason/."
Aug. 9th, 2012 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretPhoebe takes Ex on a hunt.
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
It's been dark for a while now, but there's still a steady 'thwack, thwack, thwack' from the makeshift archery range, along with a not uncommon skittering sound as one of the practice arrows misses its target and goes sailing wild. Ex's forehead is beaded with sweat, and so is her hair; she has, it seems, been at this for quite a while.
Phoebe comes in from the woods, in lupus (as usual) the ahroun slips up to her breed form and works her way to the archery targets when she hears the sounds. She watches for a few moments, and then asks, "Have you even stopped to get food today?"
Ex is already starting to draw back again when the voice reaches her. She lowers the bow, and shrugs without looking toward Phoebe. "Wasn't hungry. I wanted to practice."
"Admirable," Phoebe admits, and then adds, "But also kinda dumb. you don't eat, you get weak, can't focus, and practicing makes you worse not better under those conditions."
Ex moves forward at a slight stalk, bending to retrieve her spent arrows. "Someone came to the house on a motorcycle. She climbed up to the roof really fucking fast. Like a squirrel. And then she had her own bow and hit the target every time."
Phoebe visibly stiffens, eyes faintly widening in surprise. "Oh?" she says, not quite matter-of-factly. There's a quick spin form the ahroun as she looks up the side of the house to the third window over, to see if the light is on.
"Yeah," Ex says, picking up more arrows. "She was, uh. Intense. And short?" She holds up her hand only a little below her own particular height. "And was wearing biker leathers. She knew that other guy, the metis guy who was here the other day."
"Zeke," Phoebe provides, still staring at the window, though the light seems to be out. She turns back to Ex, asking, "Did she stay? Is she still here?"
Ex shakes her head. "I don't know, haven't seen her." She, too, glances toward the house. "She said she was going to check on her room. And she told Phil they should ride motorcycles sometime."
There is a decidedly petulant, frustrated frown on the ahroun's face, ever so briefly. she lets out a sigh and turns towards the house, hands flexing from fists to straighten out.
Ex retrieves her last arrow from under the target; somehow it lodged pointing upward, into the thing. "Why?"
Phoebe hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. she asks impatiently, "Why what?" Then, she continues on into the house. For a moment she stares at the stairs, but eventually she heads to the kitchen instead.
Ex doesn't follow her in, at least not right away. The 'thwack, thwack' of arrows hitting...well, things, if not the actual targets, starts up again.
Phoebe paces in the kitchen. she goes for a drink, but nothing in the fridge seems palatable. The door is closed, and once again she looks at the stairs. This time she goes up to the base, peering into the darkness of the second floor. With a grunt, she heads back outside, breathing deeply of cool night air. The cub's practicing draws her in again, and she uses it as a distraction.
Ex is firing faster than she was when Phoebe was last teaching her; she's not bothering to really aim, so to speak, at all. But she still takes a long time on the set-up; she has it almost ritualized, with each movement just so, check her stance, her grip, the way she draws the arrow back. It's only the draw to release that's changed, and it doesn't seem to have affected her aim, either for better or worse.
Phoebe studies the ritual, taking in the dynamics. "Why aren't you aiming?" she eventually asks of the cub. The ahroun also steps closer, and although she's not looking back to the house, or the window, there remains a tightness in her posture that speaks of her earlier mood.
"She said not to," Ex explains, as she looses another arrow. "She said to imagine it. Sounded really stupid, but I'm trying anyway."
Phoebe's frown deepens. "'She' did?" The ahroun's hands twist into fists again before she consciously straightens them. What Phoe does not do is tell Ex to disregard the advice.
Ex shrugs, then lowers the bow again. "Why're you upset?"
Phoebe's brow knits. The question seems to make her angrier. "Because," she says, suddenly seeming much younger than nineteen.
Ex looks at Phoebe, then sharply away, but her own frown deepens into a scowl, and her next shot is not so much an attempt to hit the target as it is an expression of temper. The arrow sails far out of sight.
Phoebe practically picks a fight. "You're always angry. Can't I be?"
"/Everyone's/ always angry," Ex retorts. She snaps the next arrow to the bowstring with decided violence. "Just don't know why they're angry at /me/." This time, the arrow actually hits one of the outer rings of the target, but there's no sign of satisfaction at the minor success.
Phoebe's level of anger and volume rises right alongside the cub's. "I'm not angry at /you/!" she shouts. There is the briefest recognition that the arrow struck home, and then her eyes are back on Ex.
Ex can't meet that gaze, though she tries, jerking her head away after a moment. She looks utterly frustrated.
Phoebe has no patience for subtlety tonight, and so she approaches the cub, getting within that personal space that Ex really doesn't seem to like. she doesn't actually touch her. In fact, she doesn't get close enough to where it could even happen accidentally, but she does get close. "What?" she asks, tone sharp and pointed.
Ex's shoulders hunch in response, and while the cub doesn't look directly at Phoebe again, she's clearly watching her very, very carefully. The answer comes a beat later, unnecessarily loud, nearly shouted, "Then I don't know why you're /shouting at me/!"
Phoebe lets out a frustrated noise and turns away from Ex. she practically stalks the back yard. Eventually she comes face to face with the statue of David. Staring at it for a moment, the ahroun decides, all of a sudden, to punch it in the left thigh. There is an audible crack as knuckles meet hard stone.
Ex stalks forward--definitely more of a stalk this time--and yanks her last arrow out of the target.
"Crap," Phoebe says, tentatively testing to see if she broke anything. "Harper was right. That...hurt." The hand is forgotten, then, and she looks back to Ex. "I'm sorry. I was lashing out, and shouldn't have aimed at you. I apologize."
"This is all stupid," Ex mumbles, with her back turned. "Nothing makes any fucking sense."
Phoebe comments, "Now you sound like Harper." the ahroun seems to expect a glare from that because she automatically puts her hands up and makes an apologetic gesture. "No offense."
Ex doesn't glare, as it turns out. She doesn't even turn around, as she seems to be focusing her visual attention on the arrow in her hand, rolling it between her fingers. "What'm I /doing/ this for?" It's not clear whether the question is actually directed at Phoebe. "So I don't get put down like a fucking animal? Because. /Because/." She doesn't follow this up with anything but a frustration-laden lift and fall of her bow-holding hand.
Phoebe suddenly sobers. Her own anger and frustration are figuratively put on hold as she takes in the cub. "Someone tell you that?" she asks.
Ex rolls her shoulders back. "The Greedy Bitch said she'd do it if I didn't come back. And a while before that, someone at the Glass Walker house said it. Kavi got /pissed/. The doctors said euthanized. I know what it means, okay? And people keep saying that's not going to happen to me, but it's got to happen /sometime/, doesn't it? Why would they say it? The Greedy Bitch said it like she was gonna take out the garbage."
Phoebe is silent, a damning enough answer in and of itself. After several long moments, she eventually says, "No one ants to do that to you." then, she's quick to add, "Well, I don't. I have no idea what the Greedy Bitch--" she cuts herself off, sighing. "I swear, you are going to get me in deep shit with that, some day."
"I want..." Ex says, slowly, after a moment. Then she stops, her jaw working as though she were chewing over those two words, feeling them out. "...I want a /reason/." She points the arrow at the target. "Who's that supposed to be? It can't just be doctors, or the Greedy Bitch, or Phil's Black Furies. Right? There are evil werewolves, I guess. Evil spirits. Things--" She waves the arrow hand vaguely. "People tell me those things are around."
Phoebe's eyes narrow as she regards the cub. "Yeah," she agrees. "They are. Are you asking me to /show/ you? Because...I gotta say, Ex," the ahroun's gaze moves over the cub thoughtfully, as if assessing her. "I don't think you can handle it. Not after what happened in the umbra."
Ex stands up straighter, and looks back to Phoebe with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. "Yes, I can," she says immediately. Stubborn, insistent. "I'm asking." Pause. "I don't know. Maybe that."
Phoebe meets that challenging posture with an expression of mild admiration. "Ok," she says, offering a nod. "But you do whatever the hell I say, when I say it. Understood?"
Ex takes a moment to chew this over as well, but she nods. "Okay."
Phoebe nods, and the Fury takes four legs with ease. she doesn't wait to see if Ex follows, she simply sets off. She skirts the edge of the bawn, nose to the ground.
A clatter of archery equipment is audible proof that the cub is moving after her, as is the faint crackle of underbrush, consistently close, that follows. Ex radiates tension in this form, and more caution than one might expect from her bullheaded declarations.
The ahroun remains dogged, sniffing, moving, ranging. For the cub, it might seem an endless, pointless trek. But the fostern Fury never seems to tire, and she keeps moving. Keeps searching.
And thus, the cub keeps following, even though she clearly /is/ tired, and her tail is slung rather low behind her. She offers up no questions or distractions, to her credit. No complaints either.
Life-On-The-Line leads the cub. The ahroun's nose is to the ground, searching for a scent. Something rotten. Something her experienced nose might recognize as Wrong, even without using Sense Wyrm. the two have been out for hours, and it's getting within an hour or two of sunrise.
Rogue is certainly showing the strain now. She's fairly limping along behind Life-On-the-Line, tiredness read clearly in every movement of her muscles. Underlying that, however, is that same, unbending stubbornness. She has not uttered a single whimper of complaint the entire time.
The pair cross an overgrown trail that brobably branched off from the I-90 to lead up into the mix of farms and other properties along that stretch. To human eyes it probably looks as if it hasn't been used in years. A wolf-nose, however, detects a fresh scent of gas, oil, and tyre-rubber.
Life-On-The-Line stops with paw midway through her next step. She turns towards the faint traces of gas and oil and lets her nose lead her towards them. the stronger the cent gets, the more wary the ahroun becomes--not because these scents are so unusual, but because they're here, on an otherwise abandoned farm.
Rogue's nose wrinkles as she snuffles along behind the Ahroun, and at one point she clearly fights back a sneeze. /Ugh/, is her only commentary.
A building comes ito view, as seemingly derelict as the track, windows long broken, door off its hinges. The vehicle-scent is still strong, however, and other scents are carried on the wind- meat, dogs, blood. The trail gives access to a yard of cracked concrete, but carries on past that as well.
Life-On-The-Line crouches, turning her head back to the cub. She doesn't make a sound, but her expression is quite clear---keep quit. When she returns to the trail, she practically slinks like a cat. When she reaches the more open space of cracked concrete, her ears tip up. the Fury heightens her senses, nose working the air to try and pick out exactly where every scent comes from.
Rogue follows after her again, this time taking great pains to copy Life-On-The-Line's movements. When she stops to sniff the air, the cub remains absolutely still, though her own ears are erect, listening.
Finally a less ruined building comes into view, a wooden one, erected amid what look to be the remains of an old fire. Wood or not, it seems very solid. The one visible window is barred. A heavy door lets onto a chain-link run, and in the run are... dogs. Something like dogs. Two of them, vaguely akin to Rottweilers, but easily three feet tall at the shoulder, with jaws and teeth more like those of a Hispo. If dogs had a Hispo form, it might look like this, in fact. The wind is blowing from them towards the two Lupus Garou, which might be why they don't seem to have sensed the intruders yet.
The ahroun's muzzle wrinkles, showing her teeth. she looks to the cub to see if she's spotted the dogs yet. When she gets Rogue's attention, there's a silent question--as if she were asking if the cub were up to doing something about this.
Rogue has noticed them, it's clear. She radiates confusion now, uncertainty, but the silent question is responded to with a further lifting of her ears, and a tensing of her shoulders. It's obviously a 'yes'.
There doesn't seem to be any door to access the building or the run, from what's visible at this angle. The door links the building to the inside of the run. The run seems to be very solidly built, like the building.
Life-On-The-Line continues around the building, circling to see if she can find the access point. she's careful of the wind though, trying not cross that line that would alert the two dogs of their presence.
Rogue sticks behind her like a somewhat clunkier shadow. Every now and then, she darts a glance over toward the dogs, and the confusion about her seems to be rekindled to further heights.
On the opposite side of the wooden building to the run is a door, and another small, barred window. The door is shut, and there's a visible keyhole. It looks just as solid as the one into the run. There's a bark from one of the dogs, a sound with hints of chainsaw about it.
Life-On-The-Line makes a decision. She shifts up to homid, and she tells the cub. "You stay put unless I call you. Got it? And if I don't call, and I don't come back, run home." Turning, then, she makes a bee-line for the door. She knows it's locked before she even gets there, but she tries anyway.
The door is, indeed, locked. Trying it, however, sets up a howling from the two dogs, which start throwing themselves at the outside door, making heavy thuds against the building.
Rogue doesn't like this at all, it's quite clear. And when the dogs start sending up a racket, her ears fold back, and the fur all along her neck and back bristles up, like a short mane. She stays, however. Agitated and anxious, but she doesn't move from her spot.
MyLittleTalon: Insofar as it is possible to understand the dogs, given understanding of Lupus speech, it's mostly 'Food', 'Kill'
The ahroun mutters a curse. she looks around quickly to see if the sudden racket pulls out any other surprises. She only surveys for a few seconds, however, not wanting to waste any more time. Seeing nothing, she bulks up, making the problem of the door easy to handle in crinos. One hard shove is aimed at it to push her way through.
The door shudders under the Crinos impact, and the wood around the lock and the hinges splinters slightly, but one shove is not enough to persuade it to give way. This is no cheap pine shed construction, nor even of normal front-door weight. The dogs grow hysterical, but as yet there seems to be no other activity around the place.
Rogue pins her ears back fully against her skull, and her lips peel away from her teeth.
Life-On-The-Line seems to find that irritating. Her muzzle wrinkles again, showing off those giant crinos canines. the second hit isn't just a shove. The ahroun gets a running start and throws herself against it, snarling as she hits the door.
With a metallic groan that sets all teeth on edge, the dead-bolt and the locking bars give up- visible now as bent and useless bits of metal. The door slams back on its mistreated hinges. The scent of the building interior washes out, rank meat and kibble, rank dog. There's not much inside: a metal cage with a door at front and back, the rear one linked to the back of the room and presumably matching to the one in the run that is visible from outside. There's a filthy dog-bed, a dry water-bowl, and a metal food-bowl with something fly-encrusted inside it. The rest of the room holds a feed sack, a rusty chest freezer, and, hanging from nails in the wall, two very heavy collars, chain leads, and muzzles.
Rogue rumbles very, very quietly to herself as that smell hits her, the first real noise she's made in hours.
Life-On-The-Line lets out a disgusted rumble of her own at the smell, but it doesn't chase her out or anything. After taking in the room, her attention goes to the two dogs--who by all accounts are going crazy now. Showing her teeth again, she calls out, ~Rogue!~ The ahroun waits for the cub, then.
The dogs continue to throw themselves at the building, and nothing else continues to happen.
Rogue's ears perk up at Life-On-The-Line's shout--but the confusion in her body-language only intensifies. She hesitates, there in the dirt, before suddenly launching herself forward, plunging toward the busted down door.
Life-On-The-Line's growl is low and...menacing. Once the cub is in the room, she says, ~Make sure they don't get out.~ Then, she makes her way to the run's door. Like the other, she bashes at it until it splinters and gives. The ahroun braces for the fight that's sure to come after that.
Rogue stares at Life-On-The-Line blankly. There's nothing but question in her body language, and she even edges back to the entrance. But when the Ahroun starts bashing at the run's door, the cub slides uncertainly up into crinos as well, where she at least does a good job of blocking the doorway with her bulk.
The two dogs are in a frenzy by now- and it almost merits the term even with Garou around, their eyes glazed with bloodlust and foam rimming their jaws. They bith try to charge through the door at once, hampering each other, which gives the Fury a fraction of a second in which to act first. Then one rams past the other, over two hundred pounds of blind fury throwing itself at the Ahroun's head, jaws first.
Life-On-The-Line reaches a long, crinos arm to catch the first one through the door. The ahroun's gift of Falling Touch is used to hopefully put that one's charge to the ground. speed and rage help her hopefully its throat out before it can get back to its feet.
Rogue's confusion vanishes. She lets out a snarl of her own, and jerks in the direction of the fight, but lack of room coupled with a lingering uncertainty keeps her relatively near the doorway.
The first dog yelps its confusion as its feet depart from beneath it. It gets its revenge in a tearing score down the Ahroun's arm as it falls, before the sound of its protest becomes a gurgle, blood pumping from its severed throat courtesy of Garou claws. It's still moving, but it must surly be dying. The second dog leaps over its comrade, targetting the weak point: Rogue.
Life-On-The-Line lets out a snarl as the wound on her arm burns more painfully than it should. The ahroun tries to catch the second dog as it leaps past her, her uninjured arm trying at least to score the dog's body with claws, even if she doesn't catch it alltogether.
All uncertainty vanishes. Rogue braces herself in the doorway and meets the oncoming dog with bared teeth and slashing claws. There's no finesse to it, nothing beyond the most basic of training, but there is one thing the cub seems to be aware of; how to channel her Rage. Her reckless counter-attack is a blur of fury.
A normal dog wouldn't survive even one attack with Crinos strength and claws. The second dog /thing/ is clearly not normal, and tries to put up a fight. A very short fight. A human watching it couldn't have described it afterwards, just a blur of rage-driven talens and jaws. Rogue doesn't come out of it unscathed, feeling the burn of teeth in her leg before the creature lands in a bloodied lump on the floor. Even the first dog tries to return to the fight, jaws closing around Life-on-the-Line's ankle as it convulses in death. After that there is silence, broken by the ragged breathing of the two Garou.
Life-On-The-Line watches as Rogue unleashes her rage in a single blur. There's admiration, curiosity, and a little concern in the ahroun as she watches. And then something's biting her ankle. she snarls, whirling back to finish off the first dog with a blur of rage and fur of her own. When it's done, she looks to the cub, getting her attention. ~We should go. We'll come back later and see if others return.~
Rogue meets Phoebe's words with nothing but another blank look and a sense of questioning. The uncertainty has returned, though she does spare a look down at her injured leg.
It finally dawns on the ahroun, and her crinos ears splay in frustration. ~you don't understand a damn word I'm saying, do you?~ she rumbles out another growl, takes lupus, and begins running back towards home.
Rogue finally does manage a wordless groan of protest, but there's no sign that she actually understood any of that either. She drops to lupus and takes off after Phoebe at an uneven, limping run.
It doesn't take half as long to get home, since the ahroun heads straight there instead of wandering every which way. Nevertheless, it's a long trek, especially with both wolves sporting itchy, burning wounds. Life doesn't complain, and she doesn't seem to ever tire, either, at least not visibly to the cub. By the end, she is happy to stop every few hundred yards and let the cub catch a breath or two. She makes no complaint about this, and by the time they limp back into the courtyard, the sun has turned the morning sky pink.
By this point, Rogue is less walking and more stumbling sleepily along, her tongue lolling from her jaws in a way that would be comical if she weren't bloodied and still carrying that ever-present air of restrained violence about her. In stark contrast to the Ahroun, she is clearly very, very tired. Once they reach the courtyard, she fairly collapses, and then immediately noses toward her injured leg.
Life-On-The-Line sits beside her. Now that they're not moving, the ahroun actually does show signs of weariness, but she seems content, as well. A moment later, she blurs up into her birthform to talk. "You should stay in wolf. the wound will heal faster in that form. Ok?"
Okay, Rogue agrees. She noses the injury a little more, more curious than concerned, then turns her head to peer up at Phoebe. Why were the dogs like that?
Phoebe remains in homid, despite the fact that she's /not/ healing in it. The ahroun grimaces as she looks at her own wound. "Touched by the enemy," she explains. And, after a look to the cub, she adds, "They'd been changed. By evil. And that's how it sometimes manifests itself. there are all kinds of ways the enemy shows itself. This kind of thing is just one."
We can't change them back. It's more statement than question, though the air of questioning still remains. Rogue's ears twist to either side. You mean the worm thing. It does that?
Phoebe nods to the latter, and then looks thoughtfully at the cub. "Sometimes things can be saved, but...most of the time it's too late. The dogs...we were definitely too late." The ahroun's eyes drop for a moment, and she seems far away for a moment. "For garou...there are ways of saving. Apparently that girl? The one Sue is all hell bent to baby sit? Rumor is...she went through it."
Rogue's ears start to pin back a little at this revelation, but something else catches her. /Baby-sit/? The fur along her neck bunches up, and her teeth briefly show as a wave of resentment rolls over her. It takes her a moment or three to fight this back, before she can ask anything else.
Phoebe is caught off-guard by the cub's anger at her chosen quip. "Don't get all upset. I didn't mean anything by it. Just..." Suddenly, she eyes the cub's wound and has an idea. "Nevermind. Wait here." She gets up and heads inside. she's only gone a minute or two, and when she gets back, she's got a large white candle, a bowl form the kitchen, and some blank paper.
Rogue has settled a little by the time Phoebe returns, enough to 'say', as soon as she does, that she wasn't mad at Life-On-The-Line, she was mad at Deerfeetpuppyguy. The cub turns her nose toward the objects, and her ears perk in question again.
Phoebe seems amused as she turns their earlier argument of the night before against the cub. "Yeah, but I'm the one you were yelling at. I guess we both gotta work on that one, huh?" The stuff is dropped into the grass between the two, and immediately the ahroun goes about lighting the candle and spreading out the pieces of paper. She then looks again at the cub's wound. "this is gonna hurt a bit. But don't make a fuss, ok?"
Rogue's uncertainty returns. Her ears tip back, and her tail draws a little closer to her body. Why?
Phoebe doesn't touch her--not until the question is answered. "It's a Rite. Not the Rite we talked about--not the Rite of Passage--but a Rite nonetheless. When a garou gets her first wound? It should be celebrated. Yeah? At least, that's the running theory. It's Important. So we have a rite."
Rogue licks her muzzle as she considers this, then points out the obvious; she has lots of wounds already.
Phoebe has seen them, and she nods. "But they happened before you Firsted, right? And they weren't inflicted by the Enemy?" The Black Fury actually stops herself, visibly, at this. And there is a faint frown. "Well, maybe it was the enemy. I can't really say. But. It was all before coming here. So. This is the one that counts. Your first wound /as/ a garou."
Before here, Rogue agrees, after a long moment. Not before she changed into a werewolf. Still, after another moment of hesitation, she seems to settle again. As a Garou, she agrees. She wasn't a Garou Before. Just a werewolf.
What the cub tells Phoebe has the ahroun very uneasy. After a long pause, she says, "At some point we really need to talk about what happened. And where you were. Because...we can't let that slide." That said, she reaches out to take hold of the wolf's paw--the one most injured. Sensitive to the cub's dislike of touch, she nonetheless holds the paw over the bowl and literally squeezes a little blood into it.
Rogue doesn't like this at all, and there's the very real sense that she's only just tolerating it. But despite a rumbling growl as Phoebe squeezes, she doesn't pull away, or snap. She merely holds the rest of herself very stubbornly still. To the remarks about talking, she offers neither verbal nor non-verbal comment.
Once she has enough--which, really, isn't very much at all--Phoebe lets the paw go. She also offers an apologetic look, as well. Her own ar is then held over the bowl, and the Fury adds hers to the mixture. There's a faint wince as she does this, but nothing more. That done, the Fury dips a finger into the blood, stirring it and loading the tip. It seems she's going to be doing some finger painting. "Gaia," she begins as she makes funny marks on the paper. The glyphs are probably completely foreign to Rogue, but they're of victory, and combat. they have the Cub's auspice and breed, and yes even that of the Fury Tribe is scrawled as well. "Gaia, one of your daughters has conquered her fears, stood up and faced the Enemy. That Enemy no longer tortures your soul, and your daughter has spilled her blood in your honor. so we ask you to bless her for this sacrifice. Give her your grace, so she may live long and serve you that much more nobly." the glyphs are done, and Phoe holds the paper over the candle, setting it on fire. It's dropped into the bowl, the ashes mixxing with the blood.
Rogue investigates the released paw with her nose again. Then she turns her full attention on the ritual itself, staring at the glyphs, sniffing at the smells of burning paper and blood. Her ears twitch once at 'Gaia', but she does nothing further to interrupt.
When the paper fully burns out, the Fury once again sticks her fingers into the mess. It's turned to a black paste with the addition of the ash. Phoebe scoops up a good dab of it and reaches again for the cub's wound. Her hand wraps around it and presses the mixture deep into the wound. Fingers wrap the paw, squeezing tightly.
Rogue's growl this time is a little--a teensy bit--higher pitched, but she cuts it off sooner, clamping her jaw tightly shut. Her ears, nevertheless, flatten.
Phoebe holds herself there for almost a full minute, even if the cub protests. When she finally lets go, she has a tired smile for Ex, and she explains. "Later on, after we've rested? We should throw you a big party. Norman would be mad it me for not doing this with much more fan fare. But. I'm tired. and we should rest. So. Later. We'll have a little party." she gets to her feet, collecting the bowl and the candle.
The only response Rogue can seem to muster is bemused confusion at this suggestion. She does manage to agree with 'later', and she ends up curling right where she's settled in the courtyard, apparently intending to go to sleep right there.
As Phoebe steps inside, she offers one last thing. "Remind me later to start teaching you Mother's Tongue, as well." The door is closed, and the Fury heads upstairs.
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
It's been dark for a while now, but there's still a steady 'thwack, thwack, thwack' from the makeshift archery range, along with a not uncommon skittering sound as one of the practice arrows misses its target and goes sailing wild. Ex's forehead is beaded with sweat, and so is her hair; she has, it seems, been at this for quite a while.
Phoebe comes in from the woods, in lupus (as usual) the ahroun slips up to her breed form and works her way to the archery targets when she hears the sounds. She watches for a few moments, and then asks, "Have you even stopped to get food today?"
Ex is already starting to draw back again when the voice reaches her. She lowers the bow, and shrugs without looking toward Phoebe. "Wasn't hungry. I wanted to practice."
"Admirable," Phoebe admits, and then adds, "But also kinda dumb. you don't eat, you get weak, can't focus, and practicing makes you worse not better under those conditions."
Ex moves forward at a slight stalk, bending to retrieve her spent arrows. "Someone came to the house on a motorcycle. She climbed up to the roof really fucking fast. Like a squirrel. And then she had her own bow and hit the target every time."
Phoebe visibly stiffens, eyes faintly widening in surprise. "Oh?" she says, not quite matter-of-factly. There's a quick spin form the ahroun as she looks up the side of the house to the third window over, to see if the light is on.
"Yeah," Ex says, picking up more arrows. "She was, uh. Intense. And short?" She holds up her hand only a little below her own particular height. "And was wearing biker leathers. She knew that other guy, the metis guy who was here the other day."
"Zeke," Phoebe provides, still staring at the window, though the light seems to be out. She turns back to Ex, asking, "Did she stay? Is she still here?"
Ex shakes her head. "I don't know, haven't seen her." She, too, glances toward the house. "She said she was going to check on her room. And she told Phil they should ride motorcycles sometime."
There is a decidedly petulant, frustrated frown on the ahroun's face, ever so briefly. she lets out a sigh and turns towards the house, hands flexing from fists to straighten out.
Ex retrieves her last arrow from under the target; somehow it lodged pointing upward, into the thing. "Why?"
Phoebe hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. she asks impatiently, "Why what?" Then, she continues on into the house. For a moment she stares at the stairs, but eventually she heads to the kitchen instead.
Ex doesn't follow her in, at least not right away. The 'thwack, thwack' of arrows hitting...well, things, if not the actual targets, starts up again.
Phoebe paces in the kitchen. she goes for a drink, but nothing in the fridge seems palatable. The door is closed, and once again she looks at the stairs. This time she goes up to the base, peering into the darkness of the second floor. With a grunt, she heads back outside, breathing deeply of cool night air. The cub's practicing draws her in again, and she uses it as a distraction.
Ex is firing faster than she was when Phoebe was last teaching her; she's not bothering to really aim, so to speak, at all. But she still takes a long time on the set-up; she has it almost ritualized, with each movement just so, check her stance, her grip, the way she draws the arrow back. It's only the draw to release that's changed, and it doesn't seem to have affected her aim, either for better or worse.
Phoebe studies the ritual, taking in the dynamics. "Why aren't you aiming?" she eventually asks of the cub. The ahroun also steps closer, and although she's not looking back to the house, or the window, there remains a tightness in her posture that speaks of her earlier mood.
"She said not to," Ex explains, as she looses another arrow. "She said to imagine it. Sounded really stupid, but I'm trying anyway."
Phoebe's frown deepens. "'She' did?" The ahroun's hands twist into fists again before she consciously straightens them. What Phoe does not do is tell Ex to disregard the advice.
Ex shrugs, then lowers the bow again. "Why're you upset?"
Phoebe's brow knits. The question seems to make her angrier. "Because," she says, suddenly seeming much younger than nineteen.
Ex looks at Phoebe, then sharply away, but her own frown deepens into a scowl, and her next shot is not so much an attempt to hit the target as it is an expression of temper. The arrow sails far out of sight.
Phoebe practically picks a fight. "You're always angry. Can't I be?"
"/Everyone's/ always angry," Ex retorts. She snaps the next arrow to the bowstring with decided violence. "Just don't know why they're angry at /me/." This time, the arrow actually hits one of the outer rings of the target, but there's no sign of satisfaction at the minor success.
Phoebe's level of anger and volume rises right alongside the cub's. "I'm not angry at /you/!" she shouts. There is the briefest recognition that the arrow struck home, and then her eyes are back on Ex.
Ex can't meet that gaze, though she tries, jerking her head away after a moment. She looks utterly frustrated.
Phoebe has no patience for subtlety tonight, and so she approaches the cub, getting within that personal space that Ex really doesn't seem to like. she doesn't actually touch her. In fact, she doesn't get close enough to where it could even happen accidentally, but she does get close. "What?" she asks, tone sharp and pointed.
Ex's shoulders hunch in response, and while the cub doesn't look directly at Phoebe again, she's clearly watching her very, very carefully. The answer comes a beat later, unnecessarily loud, nearly shouted, "Then I don't know why you're /shouting at me/!"
Phoebe lets out a frustrated noise and turns away from Ex. she practically stalks the back yard. Eventually she comes face to face with the statue of David. Staring at it for a moment, the ahroun decides, all of a sudden, to punch it in the left thigh. There is an audible crack as knuckles meet hard stone.
Ex stalks forward--definitely more of a stalk this time--and yanks her last arrow out of the target.
"Crap," Phoebe says, tentatively testing to see if she broke anything. "Harper was right. That...hurt." The hand is forgotten, then, and she looks back to Ex. "I'm sorry. I was lashing out, and shouldn't have aimed at you. I apologize."
"This is all stupid," Ex mumbles, with her back turned. "Nothing makes any fucking sense."
Phoebe comments, "Now you sound like Harper." the ahroun seems to expect a glare from that because she automatically puts her hands up and makes an apologetic gesture. "No offense."
Ex doesn't glare, as it turns out. She doesn't even turn around, as she seems to be focusing her visual attention on the arrow in her hand, rolling it between her fingers. "What'm I /doing/ this for?" It's not clear whether the question is actually directed at Phoebe. "So I don't get put down like a fucking animal? Because. /Because/." She doesn't follow this up with anything but a frustration-laden lift and fall of her bow-holding hand.
Phoebe suddenly sobers. Her own anger and frustration are figuratively put on hold as she takes in the cub. "Someone tell you that?" she asks.
Ex rolls her shoulders back. "The Greedy Bitch said she'd do it if I didn't come back. And a while before that, someone at the Glass Walker house said it. Kavi got /pissed/. The doctors said euthanized. I know what it means, okay? And people keep saying that's not going to happen to me, but it's got to happen /sometime/, doesn't it? Why would they say it? The Greedy Bitch said it like she was gonna take out the garbage."
Phoebe is silent, a damning enough answer in and of itself. After several long moments, she eventually says, "No one ants to do that to you." then, she's quick to add, "Well, I don't. I have no idea what the Greedy Bitch--" she cuts herself off, sighing. "I swear, you are going to get me in deep shit with that, some day."
"I want..." Ex says, slowly, after a moment. Then she stops, her jaw working as though she were chewing over those two words, feeling them out. "...I want a /reason/." She points the arrow at the target. "Who's that supposed to be? It can't just be doctors, or the Greedy Bitch, or Phil's Black Furies. Right? There are evil werewolves, I guess. Evil spirits. Things--" She waves the arrow hand vaguely. "People tell me those things are around."
Phoebe's eyes narrow as she regards the cub. "Yeah," she agrees. "They are. Are you asking me to /show/ you? Because...I gotta say, Ex," the ahroun's gaze moves over the cub thoughtfully, as if assessing her. "I don't think you can handle it. Not after what happened in the umbra."
Ex stands up straighter, and looks back to Phoebe with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. "Yes, I can," she says immediately. Stubborn, insistent. "I'm asking." Pause. "I don't know. Maybe that."
Phoebe meets that challenging posture with an expression of mild admiration. "Ok," she says, offering a nod. "But you do whatever the hell I say, when I say it. Understood?"
Ex takes a moment to chew this over as well, but she nods. "Okay."
Phoebe nods, and the Fury takes four legs with ease. she doesn't wait to see if Ex follows, she simply sets off. She skirts the edge of the bawn, nose to the ground.
A clatter of archery equipment is audible proof that the cub is moving after her, as is the faint crackle of underbrush, consistently close, that follows. Ex radiates tension in this form, and more caution than one might expect from her bullheaded declarations.
The ahroun remains dogged, sniffing, moving, ranging. For the cub, it might seem an endless, pointless trek. But the fostern Fury never seems to tire, and she keeps moving. Keeps searching.
And thus, the cub keeps following, even though she clearly /is/ tired, and her tail is slung rather low behind her. She offers up no questions or distractions, to her credit. No complaints either.
Life-On-The-Line leads the cub. The ahroun's nose is to the ground, searching for a scent. Something rotten. Something her experienced nose might recognize as Wrong, even without using Sense Wyrm. the two have been out for hours, and it's getting within an hour or two of sunrise.
Rogue is certainly showing the strain now. She's fairly limping along behind Life-On-the-Line, tiredness read clearly in every movement of her muscles. Underlying that, however, is that same, unbending stubbornness. She has not uttered a single whimper of complaint the entire time.
The pair cross an overgrown trail that brobably branched off from the I-90 to lead up into the mix of farms and other properties along that stretch. To human eyes it probably looks as if it hasn't been used in years. A wolf-nose, however, detects a fresh scent of gas, oil, and tyre-rubber.
Life-On-The-Line stops with paw midway through her next step. She turns towards the faint traces of gas and oil and lets her nose lead her towards them. the stronger the cent gets, the more wary the ahroun becomes--not because these scents are so unusual, but because they're here, on an otherwise abandoned farm.
Rogue's nose wrinkles as she snuffles along behind the Ahroun, and at one point she clearly fights back a sneeze. /Ugh/, is her only commentary.
A building comes ito view, as seemingly derelict as the track, windows long broken, door off its hinges. The vehicle-scent is still strong, however, and other scents are carried on the wind- meat, dogs, blood. The trail gives access to a yard of cracked concrete, but carries on past that as well.
Life-On-The-Line crouches, turning her head back to the cub. She doesn't make a sound, but her expression is quite clear---keep quit. When she returns to the trail, she practically slinks like a cat. When she reaches the more open space of cracked concrete, her ears tip up. the Fury heightens her senses, nose working the air to try and pick out exactly where every scent comes from.
Rogue follows after her again, this time taking great pains to copy Life-On-The-Line's movements. When she stops to sniff the air, the cub remains absolutely still, though her own ears are erect, listening.
Finally a less ruined building comes into view, a wooden one, erected amid what look to be the remains of an old fire. Wood or not, it seems very solid. The one visible window is barred. A heavy door lets onto a chain-link run, and in the run are... dogs. Something like dogs. Two of them, vaguely akin to Rottweilers, but easily three feet tall at the shoulder, with jaws and teeth more like those of a Hispo. If dogs had a Hispo form, it might look like this, in fact. The wind is blowing from them towards the two Lupus Garou, which might be why they don't seem to have sensed the intruders yet.
The ahroun's muzzle wrinkles, showing her teeth. she looks to the cub to see if she's spotted the dogs yet. When she gets Rogue's attention, there's a silent question--as if she were asking if the cub were up to doing something about this.
Rogue has noticed them, it's clear. She radiates confusion now, uncertainty, but the silent question is responded to with a further lifting of her ears, and a tensing of her shoulders. It's obviously a 'yes'.
There doesn't seem to be any door to access the building or the run, from what's visible at this angle. The door links the building to the inside of the run. The run seems to be very solidly built, like the building.
Life-On-The-Line continues around the building, circling to see if she can find the access point. she's careful of the wind though, trying not cross that line that would alert the two dogs of their presence.
Rogue sticks behind her like a somewhat clunkier shadow. Every now and then, she darts a glance over toward the dogs, and the confusion about her seems to be rekindled to further heights.
On the opposite side of the wooden building to the run is a door, and another small, barred window. The door is shut, and there's a visible keyhole. It looks just as solid as the one into the run. There's a bark from one of the dogs, a sound with hints of chainsaw about it.
Life-On-The-Line makes a decision. She shifts up to homid, and she tells the cub. "You stay put unless I call you. Got it? And if I don't call, and I don't come back, run home." Turning, then, she makes a bee-line for the door. She knows it's locked before she even gets there, but she tries anyway.
The door is, indeed, locked. Trying it, however, sets up a howling from the two dogs, which start throwing themselves at the outside door, making heavy thuds against the building.
Rogue doesn't like this at all, it's quite clear. And when the dogs start sending up a racket, her ears fold back, and the fur all along her neck and back bristles up, like a short mane. She stays, however. Agitated and anxious, but she doesn't move from her spot.
The ahroun mutters a curse. she looks around quickly to see if the sudden racket pulls out any other surprises. She only surveys for a few seconds, however, not wanting to waste any more time. Seeing nothing, she bulks up, making the problem of the door easy to handle in crinos. One hard shove is aimed at it to push her way through.
The door shudders under the Crinos impact, and the wood around the lock and the hinges splinters slightly, but one shove is not enough to persuade it to give way. This is no cheap pine shed construction, nor even of normal front-door weight. The dogs grow hysterical, but as yet there seems to be no other activity around the place.
Rogue pins her ears back fully against her skull, and her lips peel away from her teeth.
Life-On-The-Line seems to find that irritating. Her muzzle wrinkles again, showing off those giant crinos canines. the second hit isn't just a shove. The ahroun gets a running start and throws herself against it, snarling as she hits the door.
With a metallic groan that sets all teeth on edge, the dead-bolt and the locking bars give up- visible now as bent and useless bits of metal. The door slams back on its mistreated hinges. The scent of the building interior washes out, rank meat and kibble, rank dog. There's not much inside: a metal cage with a door at front and back, the rear one linked to the back of the room and presumably matching to the one in the run that is visible from outside. There's a filthy dog-bed, a dry water-bowl, and a metal food-bowl with something fly-encrusted inside it. The rest of the room holds a feed sack, a rusty chest freezer, and, hanging from nails in the wall, two very heavy collars, chain leads, and muzzles.
Rogue rumbles very, very quietly to herself as that smell hits her, the first real noise she's made in hours.
Life-On-The-Line lets out a disgusted rumble of her own at the smell, but it doesn't chase her out or anything. After taking in the room, her attention goes to the two dogs--who by all accounts are going crazy now. Showing her teeth again, she calls out, ~Rogue!~ The ahroun waits for the cub, then.
The dogs continue to throw themselves at the building, and nothing else continues to happen.
Rogue's ears perk up at Life-On-The-Line's shout--but the confusion in her body-language only intensifies. She hesitates, there in the dirt, before suddenly launching herself forward, plunging toward the busted down door.
Life-On-The-Line's growl is low and...menacing. Once the cub is in the room, she says, ~Make sure they don't get out.~ Then, she makes her way to the run's door. Like the other, she bashes at it until it splinters and gives. The ahroun braces for the fight that's sure to come after that.
Rogue stares at Life-On-The-Line blankly. There's nothing but question in her body language, and she even edges back to the entrance. But when the Ahroun starts bashing at the run's door, the cub slides uncertainly up into crinos as well, where she at least does a good job of blocking the doorway with her bulk.
The two dogs are in a frenzy by now- and it almost merits the term even with Garou around, their eyes glazed with bloodlust and foam rimming their jaws. They bith try to charge through the door at once, hampering each other, which gives the Fury a fraction of a second in which to act first. Then one rams past the other, over two hundred pounds of blind fury throwing itself at the Ahroun's head, jaws first.
Life-On-The-Line reaches a long, crinos arm to catch the first one through the door. The ahroun's gift of Falling Touch is used to hopefully put that one's charge to the ground. speed and rage help her hopefully its throat out before it can get back to its feet.
Rogue's confusion vanishes. She lets out a snarl of her own, and jerks in the direction of the fight, but lack of room coupled with a lingering uncertainty keeps her relatively near the doorway.
The first dog yelps its confusion as its feet depart from beneath it. It gets its revenge in a tearing score down the Ahroun's arm as it falls, before the sound of its protest becomes a gurgle, blood pumping from its severed throat courtesy of Garou claws. It's still moving, but it must surly be dying. The second dog leaps over its comrade, targetting the weak point: Rogue.
Life-On-The-Line lets out a snarl as the wound on her arm burns more painfully than it should. The ahroun tries to catch the second dog as it leaps past her, her uninjured arm trying at least to score the dog's body with claws, even if she doesn't catch it alltogether.
All uncertainty vanishes. Rogue braces herself in the doorway and meets the oncoming dog with bared teeth and slashing claws. There's no finesse to it, nothing beyond the most basic of training, but there is one thing the cub seems to be aware of; how to channel her Rage. Her reckless counter-attack is a blur of fury.
A normal dog wouldn't survive even one attack with Crinos strength and claws. The second dog /thing/ is clearly not normal, and tries to put up a fight. A very short fight. A human watching it couldn't have described it afterwards, just a blur of rage-driven talens and jaws. Rogue doesn't come out of it unscathed, feeling the burn of teeth in her leg before the creature lands in a bloodied lump on the floor. Even the first dog tries to return to the fight, jaws closing around Life-on-the-Line's ankle as it convulses in death. After that there is silence, broken by the ragged breathing of the two Garou.
Life-On-The-Line watches as Rogue unleashes her rage in a single blur. There's admiration, curiosity, and a little concern in the ahroun as she watches. And then something's biting her ankle. she snarls, whirling back to finish off the first dog with a blur of rage and fur of her own. When it's done, she looks to the cub, getting her attention. ~We should go. We'll come back later and see if others return.~
Rogue meets Phoebe's words with nothing but another blank look and a sense of questioning. The uncertainty has returned, though she does spare a look down at her injured leg.
It finally dawns on the ahroun, and her crinos ears splay in frustration. ~you don't understand a damn word I'm saying, do you?~ she rumbles out another growl, takes lupus, and begins running back towards home.
Rogue finally does manage a wordless groan of protest, but there's no sign that she actually understood any of that either. She drops to lupus and takes off after Phoebe at an uneven, limping run.
It doesn't take half as long to get home, since the ahroun heads straight there instead of wandering every which way. Nevertheless, it's a long trek, especially with both wolves sporting itchy, burning wounds. Life doesn't complain, and she doesn't seem to ever tire, either, at least not visibly to the cub. By the end, she is happy to stop every few hundred yards and let the cub catch a breath or two. She makes no complaint about this, and by the time they limp back into the courtyard, the sun has turned the morning sky pink.
By this point, Rogue is less walking and more stumbling sleepily along, her tongue lolling from her jaws in a way that would be comical if she weren't bloodied and still carrying that ever-present air of restrained violence about her. In stark contrast to the Ahroun, she is clearly very, very tired. Once they reach the courtyard, she fairly collapses, and then immediately noses toward her injured leg.
Life-On-The-Line sits beside her. Now that they're not moving, the ahroun actually does show signs of weariness, but she seems content, as well. A moment later, she blurs up into her birthform to talk. "You should stay in wolf. the wound will heal faster in that form. Ok?"
Okay, Rogue agrees. She noses the injury a little more, more curious than concerned, then turns her head to peer up at Phoebe. Why were the dogs like that?
Phoebe remains in homid, despite the fact that she's /not/ healing in it. The ahroun grimaces as she looks at her own wound. "Touched by the enemy," she explains. And, after a look to the cub, she adds, "They'd been changed. By evil. And that's how it sometimes manifests itself. there are all kinds of ways the enemy shows itself. This kind of thing is just one."
We can't change them back. It's more statement than question, though the air of questioning still remains. Rogue's ears twist to either side. You mean the worm thing. It does that?
Phoebe nods to the latter, and then looks thoughtfully at the cub. "Sometimes things can be saved, but...most of the time it's too late. The dogs...we were definitely too late." The ahroun's eyes drop for a moment, and she seems far away for a moment. "For garou...there are ways of saving. Apparently that girl? The one Sue is all hell bent to baby sit? Rumor is...she went through it."
Rogue's ears start to pin back a little at this revelation, but something else catches her. /Baby-sit/? The fur along her neck bunches up, and her teeth briefly show as a wave of resentment rolls over her. It takes her a moment or three to fight this back, before she can ask anything else.
Phoebe is caught off-guard by the cub's anger at her chosen quip. "Don't get all upset. I didn't mean anything by it. Just..." Suddenly, she eyes the cub's wound and has an idea. "Nevermind. Wait here." She gets up and heads inside. she's only gone a minute or two, and when she gets back, she's got a large white candle, a bowl form the kitchen, and some blank paper.
Rogue has settled a little by the time Phoebe returns, enough to 'say', as soon as she does, that she wasn't mad at Life-On-The-Line, she was mad at Deerfeetpuppyguy. The cub turns her nose toward the objects, and her ears perk in question again.
Phoebe seems amused as she turns their earlier argument of the night before against the cub. "Yeah, but I'm the one you were yelling at. I guess we both gotta work on that one, huh?" The stuff is dropped into the grass between the two, and immediately the ahroun goes about lighting the candle and spreading out the pieces of paper. She then looks again at the cub's wound. "this is gonna hurt a bit. But don't make a fuss, ok?"
Rogue's uncertainty returns. Her ears tip back, and her tail draws a little closer to her body. Why?
Phoebe doesn't touch her--not until the question is answered. "It's a Rite. Not the Rite we talked about--not the Rite of Passage--but a Rite nonetheless. When a garou gets her first wound? It should be celebrated. Yeah? At least, that's the running theory. It's Important. So we have a rite."
Rogue licks her muzzle as she considers this, then points out the obvious; she has lots of wounds already.
Phoebe has seen them, and she nods. "But they happened before you Firsted, right? And they weren't inflicted by the Enemy?" The Black Fury actually stops herself, visibly, at this. And there is a faint frown. "Well, maybe it was the enemy. I can't really say. But. It was all before coming here. So. This is the one that counts. Your first wound /as/ a garou."
Before here, Rogue agrees, after a long moment. Not before she changed into a werewolf. Still, after another moment of hesitation, she seems to settle again. As a Garou, she agrees. She wasn't a Garou Before. Just a werewolf.
What the cub tells Phoebe has the ahroun very uneasy. After a long pause, she says, "At some point we really need to talk about what happened. And where you were. Because...we can't let that slide." That said, she reaches out to take hold of the wolf's paw--the one most injured. Sensitive to the cub's dislike of touch, she nonetheless holds the paw over the bowl and literally squeezes a little blood into it.
Rogue doesn't like this at all, and there's the very real sense that she's only just tolerating it. But despite a rumbling growl as Phoebe squeezes, she doesn't pull away, or snap. She merely holds the rest of herself very stubbornly still. To the remarks about talking, she offers neither verbal nor non-verbal comment.
Once she has enough--which, really, isn't very much at all--Phoebe lets the paw go. She also offers an apologetic look, as well. Her own ar is then held over the bowl, and the Fury adds hers to the mixture. There's a faint wince as she does this, but nothing more. That done, the Fury dips a finger into the blood, stirring it and loading the tip. It seems she's going to be doing some finger painting. "Gaia," she begins as she makes funny marks on the paper. The glyphs are probably completely foreign to Rogue, but they're of victory, and combat. they have the Cub's auspice and breed, and yes even that of the Fury Tribe is scrawled as well. "Gaia, one of your daughters has conquered her fears, stood up and faced the Enemy. That Enemy no longer tortures your soul, and your daughter has spilled her blood in your honor. so we ask you to bless her for this sacrifice. Give her your grace, so she may live long and serve you that much more nobly." the glyphs are done, and Phoe holds the paper over the candle, setting it on fire. It's dropped into the bowl, the ashes mixxing with the blood.
Rogue investigates the released paw with her nose again. Then she turns her full attention on the ritual itself, staring at the glyphs, sniffing at the smells of burning paper and blood. Her ears twitch once at 'Gaia', but she does nothing further to interrupt.
When the paper fully burns out, the Fury once again sticks her fingers into the mess. It's turned to a black paste with the addition of the ash. Phoebe scoops up a good dab of it and reaches again for the cub's wound. Her hand wraps around it and presses the mixture deep into the wound. Fingers wrap the paw, squeezing tightly.
Rogue's growl this time is a little--a teensy bit--higher pitched, but she cuts it off sooner, clamping her jaw tightly shut. Her ears, nevertheless, flatten.
Phoebe holds herself there for almost a full minute, even if the cub protests. When she finally lets go, she has a tired smile for Ex, and she explains. "Later on, after we've rested? We should throw you a big party. Norman would be mad it me for not doing this with much more fan fare. But. I'm tired. and we should rest. So. Later. We'll have a little party." she gets to her feet, collecting the bowl and the candle.
The only response Rogue can seem to muster is bemused confusion at this suggestion. She does manage to agree with 'later', and she ends up curling right where she's settled in the courtyard, apparently intending to go to sleep right there.
As Phoebe steps inside, she offers one last thing. "Remind me later to start teaching you Mother's Tongue, as well." The door is closed, and the Fury heads upstairs.
