"Not dead. You must have learned to use a knife."

[renferret]

Silvertip apologizes to Salem, and then they discuss a disturbing possibility. February 2014 Moot, Ex acts as Fool. Slug talks about the Wyld caverns underneath the new Caern.


GM Info for Scar Fetish(#1952 /Owner: Rogue):
A raven spirit has been bound into the three scars on X's face that form something of an upside-down triangle. The fetish's effect is two-fold: primarily, it serves to combat the lasting mental effects of X's trauma; she still experiences hallucinations--visual, auditory, and sensual--but the fetish allows her to determine that they are hallucinations, and not actually real. Due to this supernatural insight, the fetish also conveys a certain amount of protection against external mental manipulation--effects of this type used directly against her (not simply illusions an entity might use to hide or disguise themselves), may also be seen for what they are or lessened, at the GM's discretion (rank 2 fetish).


Salem makes his way down one of the trails into the caern, limping as usual but far more surefooted than any old man with a trick knee has a right to be.

Emma gives a nod to that, "Yeah, I think it's important to be a part of it, even if it's this silhoutted part of it. I wish I'd known more, or had more interaction before I firsted." The two are sitting at a conversational distance, both in homid, and talking quietly.

It's mid-day in the caern, with the clouds overhead threatening to flurry at any moment. Silvertip's eyes are a bit bloodshot, and there's a faint smell of blood on her breath, but she looks well enough. For those who would know enough to expect to see one, she doesn't have an extra tail sticking out in a rather veil-breachy way. She is, however, still female. Ciuraq sits with her legs folded in homid, talking to the Get (in English!), wearing some new duds that fit her. "My tribe..." She cuts herself off when she notices Salem; her expression tightens a bit at the now-ancient Glass Walker.

Salem slows as he approaches the pair, head cocked to favor his good eye and squinting a little as he studies the unfamiliar face. "Silvertip-rhya?" He doesn't look or sound surprised -- just confirming, by his tone.

Emma turns at the arrival as well. She gives a nod to Salem, perhaps meant both as a quiet greeting and an affirmative to the curiously toned 'Silvertip?'

Ciuraq lets out a bit of a breath, slowly shoving up to her feet. "Ii, wiinga Ciurau... Yes. I'm him. Me. Whatever." She starts introducing herself, and then abruptly aborts. Not waiting for Salem: "I owe you apology. Maybe contrition, if you want."

Salem raises an eyebrow at this, then sits down with the other two. "What for?"

Emma seems to mimick Salem's reaction, though she tries to mask that rather quickly. Outside of that, she seems intent to stay quiet. (And also not leave just yet.)

Ciuraq takes a deep breath, looking down at Scar as she collects her nerves and words. Folding her arms, "You say... you say when I kill Carnage-Ikthya, I make grave mistake. Run off. Put self at risk. Not around for defense of Caern. Amousuk and Ears says this too. Not.. not breaking law, but dishonorable, and mooncalf. I ignore this." She folds her arms, trying to keep a level expression. "I go and do it again. I do things without even pack. Get into worse danger. Nearly die, if not for Aahn. Force me away from Elliot Challenge, like a coward. Not here to retake the Caern. It was wrong, and I should have listened to you." She tips her head back slightly, showing just so-much throat.

There's movement along the ridge above the Caern, followed by the sight of a lean, black furred and scarred female wolf making her way down. Her steps are careful, though not furtive. She seems aware that there are others below.

Salem is silent for a moment, unblinking and stone-faced, then reaches over with one long arm to lightly grasp the Uktena's proffered neck.

The Get remains still where she's sitting, hardly even blinking as the exchange is made. It's only the movement on the ridge that moves her to look in the direction her attention was grabbed. Eyes narrow slightly before recognition reaches her and then she maintains looking toward the black wolf just enough to, hopefully, relay the mood of the gathered with just that glance.

Ciuraq remains still as she participates in the little Garou-ly ritual, until Salem's satisfied.

Rogue continues on down into the Caern itself. Her nose is visibly twitching by that point, with her ears canted slightly back. Both Emma and Salem are given brief glances, but the one she gives Silvertip is slightly longer, and there's growing hesitation as she approaches. Ultimately, she doesn't actually join them. She drops into an uneasy sit some distance back.

The old halfmoon's rough fingers barely touch Ciuraq's flesh, and only for a breath or two. Then he sits back, apparently satisfied. "I've heard that you've come across evidence of a possible maneater in the city." The subject of the Uktena's past misdeeds is, it seems, closed as far as he's concerned.

Ciuraq's brow bobs. Ciuraq takes a few steps back when the half-moon lets go of her neck. She kneels down, and then folds her legs to sit in place. "Ii-i. Wendigo kin, the tegusta... the Cop. He brings small tubes of goo. They were found where ap... humans found, eaten? I think he says. I think I recognize this, and brought looked into it. It is made of man flesh, clothing, and metal. It feels... it feels like the Omega Tribe gift to ward off starvation."

Rogue's nose wrinkles, and her lips pull away faintly from her teeth. If anyone should look at her, there's the sense of a question, but she doesn't 'voice' it.

Emma lets herself come back into the conversation a bit at this point, turning to look between the two. A faint, "Huh" is all she offers at this point as she settles in to listen more than contribute.

Salem's face is kind of made for grim expressions and there's a humdinger of a one on display now. "I'm familiar with the Gift, yes. Do you still have the sample?"

Ciuraq's brow bobs again. "Most of it destroyed testing. To be sure it is manflesh." She says, a questioning look on her face. "A little left not destroyed. You want it?" She glances at Emma momentarily.

Rogue's lips curl back a little more. Garou do that on purpose? She doesn't seem to be directing the question at anyone in particular, or anyone at all, but there's an agitated twitch of her tail.

Salem catches Rogue's movement out of the corner of his good eye and turns to look at her. "The Gift is meant for inedible trash. Newspapers. Tin cans. Rocks and dirt. Not flesh... and certainly not /human/ flesh. Whether it was consumed or not, it's a perversion of the Gift." Underneath that stony control is definite anger; someone's going to get their ass kicked, just not anybody here. He turns back to the Uktena. "I want to examine it for a moment. If you wish, I'll give it right back."

Ciuraq shakes her head in an exaggerated 'no.' "Done with it." She says simply. She looks inclined to add something to the young cliath, but doesn't. "I asked for it from your kin, after Yellowhorse gave it to him. Nicod... Nicodor... Nick. He may want it back. I... ah... will leave it at the place." She nods westward, towards Edgewood. "But Yellowhorse may have more."

Rogue looks vaguely agreeable on Salem's statement. She sidesteps before sitting back down. Rogue, she says toward Ciuraq. There's a beat. Ragabash. Black Fury Cliath now.

Salem nods to Ciuraq and stands up. His right knee hitches a bit, deepening the Walker's grimace and probably blackening his mood further. "Thank you," he says, and heads out westward, limping.

Ciuraq glances as Salem and Emma excuse themselves, and then looks over to the Fury. She thinks for a moment, before abruptly blurring down into lupus, giving herself a good shake. Licking at her chops a few times, she starts over towards the Cliath, eyes narrowed and tail high. Unless Rogue stops her, she'll go right on up for the old wolf-handshake of sticking noses in personal spaces.

Rogue seems decidedly uncertain and reluctant as Silvertip approaches, but she stands her ground with her tail much lower, and her ears flattened just a little. She sniffs in return, but her nose never actually touches the Uktena.

Rogue mostly smells of the local forest. Some Edgewood, some Fury house. She ate a rodent earlier.

Little Silvertip takes a good long time to sniff the newcomer fury over, before circling around her once. The smaller arctic wolf carries herself like she was massively larger than Rogue. This one the Little Silvertip who Mauls the Horned Serpent. Little Silvertip who Slays Carnage-Ikthya and his mate, Eclipse-Ikthya. Little Silvertip who Brings Back Light's Gift to the Wolf People. Fourth ranked warrior and Elder of Uktena's tribe. Pup of Driftwood Dances, brother of Tempest's Wake. The introduction comes automatically, including the 'brother' bit.

Rogue cants her head to the side as she listens, though she's clearly unaware of the significance of most of that. The mention of Tempest's Wake brings clear recognition, and there's a brief bit of confusion around 'brother'. She is new Cliath who still doesn't like the touching. No big things that she's done. She can't say her other name like this, but someone at Three Sisters wanted to call her Raven Face. There's a nose wrinkle at this, a general disdain for that idea.

Little Silvertip wrinkles a bit at the cliath, as the arctic wolf takes a few steps back. Tail slowly swaying from side to side, she eyes Rogue for a bit. Why no touching? She asks, eventually.

Rogue twitches one ear backward as she considers her answer. She does not like the touching because the-- and here, what she's trying to say seems to get confused, because it seems like she's trying to say 'healers', but the meaning her body language gives it is something to be feared and hated -- always touched and poked and cut.

Rogue is human born, the Uktena slowly surmises, tail twitching behind her. She cocks her head to the side, as if looking for confirmation.

Yes, Rogue confirms.

Little Silvertip lets out a huff, and throws an annoyed look out to the east. Reluctantly, she takes Homid, and folds her legs under herself as she sits down. "Bettah?" She asks, eyebrows upraised.

Rogue follows suit, and on returning to her birth form, the surgical scars on her face are much, much more noticeable. "The doctors," she says, almost as soon as her mouth is the right shape. Her voice is...oddly flat and mostly toneless, but there's something of a reflection in her homid body language that the word's still meant almost as an epithet.

Ciuraq pages: Sense magic.

You paged Ciuraq with 'Bing! And it's coming from her face.'.

From afar, Ciuraq flings dice on Aspen's roller. 4 successes. Enough for Gaian, Weaver magic, Blood magic, etc?

You paged Ciuraq with 'Gaian.'.

From afar, Ciuraq notices the scar fetish. That? (So, spirit magic, not Garou gaian gift stuff)

You paged Ciuraq with 'Yeah, that. :)'.

Ciuraq gets a far off look as she casts her spirit about the area, cataloguing the sources of magic energy in the Caern with her gift. There's a tightening of her expression when she senses the forces coming off of Ex, but after a few moments, she relaxes again. "Not healing type." She surmises. "Eh... type of... Eh... who pull things apart?"

Ex nods at Ciuraq. "They /said/ they were helping, but that was a bunch of bullshit." Her tone is only slightly more present. She lifts both hands, which, notably, are gloved, with the sleeves of her hoodie pulled down over her wrists. "It's fine though, wolves do a lot of touching. I can deal."

Ciuraq lets out a huff, getting a petulant expression. "Shifting Briar doesn't understand that." She says, tersely. "No understanding. No."

Ex narrows one eye. "That wolves do a lot of touching?" There's only a beat before she speaks again, "Yeah, well she's a fucking stupid bitch."

Ciuraq doesn't agree, but she definitely looks like she wants to agree. "I did not see which moon you were. I was playing attention to Scar." She reports. And then, almost mechanically: "Which are you?"

"Ragabash." X almost matches the mechanical question with a clearly rote answer. "My non-wolf name is X."

Ciuraq makes a weird expression at the Cliath, before asking, "What kind of name is Ehcks?" Something about the Ragabash is clearly not sitting well with the Uktena.

"X," the Fury repeats, and this time she 'draws' the shape of it in the air in front of her. "It's just a letter."

Ciuraq narrows her gaze, starting to fold her arms. "Ii-i. What kind of name is it? Not normal." Says the woman named Ciuraq.

Ex purses her lips. She doesn't answer in words, but what she does do is pull down the sleeve of one arm and show Ciuraq the underside of it. Tattooed neatly on her skin, though it does look a little faded, is: X75V-31.

"Ecs-teh-seh-velei." Ciuraq tries to repeat from the underside of her arm. Clearly, she doesn't get it at all. But apparently she can read (albeit with considerable squinting). Who knew? "Xetseveli." She tires again, like fishing for the pronunciation of the serial number.

Ex says, without actually looking at the tattoo, "Ex seven five vee dash three one."

"Ex Ven Five Ve... uh..." Ciuraq pauses, giving Ex an even more screwy look. "Xetseveli," Ciuraq says, like she had it all along. "I... I am guessing that, ah... this is... 'Doctor name.' Not... Greek? Greek."

Ex nods. She lowers her arm and pulls the sleeve down. "So I'm X," she says, as if that's supposed to explain everything. "The doctors didn't use it as a name, really, they um..." She narrows that eye again, thinking. "A number. A label? Regular humans put something in a jar and they put a sticker on it so they remember what's in there."

Ciuraq gives a brow bob, like she totally got that down pat. "Doctor name." She repeats. The Uktena shoves to her feet, giving a light stretch. "Who else is..." She gestures around. "Your tribe."

"Fez--" X stops herself, and grimaces. "I mean, Moros. And Melodie. April. Phoebe, but she's gone, I think. Sue." This last name is accompanied by a faint nose wrinkle. "Kay-El, except I haven't seen her in a damn long time."

Ciuraq grunts a bit, giving a bit of a gesture of recognition that's entirely at odds with any actual glimmer of recognition. "Deer. Tuntuviikauyaraq." She says, of the last one before KL. "Assirtuten. Wii... eh... I go get goo fo' Scah." And away from the weirdo.

"Yeah," X says. And, in fact, that's all she says. Ciuraq's move to separate doesn't appear to come across as either surprising or unwelcome--though with that voice of hers, it's hard to tell sometimes--and as she does, the Fury shrinks back down into lupus.

Ciuraq likewise takes lupus, the lightly bloodshot lupus trotting away at a good clip.


----


Caern: The Stone Firepit

A subtle undulation of the land forms an curious, natural spiral in the open ground. One side of the formation rises to create a half-circle or crescent of earth surrounding and encompassing the spiral. The ground is littered with rock and flagstones, both large and small. Someone has carefully gathered up a trove of these and erected a clear fire pit. Flagstones with smooth surfaces have been laid along the upper lip of half circle of earth around the fire pit, turning it into a nice seating area. All debris and flammable material's been removed from within the spiral, and a fire has been laid. Just beyond the spiral's edge, wood has been collected and piled for future use. Surrounding this, the rugged walls of the canyon have been half buried by the Wyld surge, making the upper slope of the valley more gentle than it was before. Stands of Douglas fir and white pines mix with hemlock, lodgepole pines, and western larch trees to fill much of the open space, but the trees here are not nearly as dense as they are in the surrounding forests of the bawn. The sparse woods allows a partial view of the sky, and both sun and moonlight filter down to create enigmatic and beautiful shadow patterns on the forest floor. That floor is blanketed with a thick, soft rug of shed pine needles, lichen and leaf debris. The moss-covered relics of old, dead trees occasionally mark a place where once great sentinels loomed above.

The caern expands in two directions from here. The escarpment wall and raised dais form one point of the new triangle, while the center of the caern and its gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks the other. The only obvious way out of the caern is the valley slope that leads to the central bawn.

Contents:
Earth-Whisperer

Obvious exits:
Center Escarpment Central Bawn

At the center, Copperhead follows Silvertip in, but at a substantial distance--like an ugly, unwanted, deformed puppy dog. Her posture is textbook submissive. She remains in lupus form to be less threatening as she encounters unfamiliar faces.

At the center, Cools-the-Flames gets up as well, trotting a few metres off behind Silvertip. But instead of moving to lay down nearer to the gathering, he rounds over and sidles next to Copperhead, a gentle bump next to her to stay with her for the time being, with a reassuring huff.

At the center, Lefty slinks into the caern on quiet, homid feet. She hovers in the background for now, watching the goings on.

You head into the center of the caern.

Caern: The Center Tree

The center of the caern is devoid of the thick vegetation that inhabits the rest of the forest. The ground is flat and well trodden, its rich, dark soil nonetheless still carrying the scent of the woods--moss and peat mixed with pine needles, detritus, and the dampness brought from life-giving rain. The wide, empty clearing is dominated by one living exception to the absence of vegetation: an impossibly gigantic and ancient tree growing out of the ground near the very center. The tree defies logic. Grown in the span of a single year, it nevertheless has the size, apparent age, and character of the greatest and most ancient of forest sentinels. It looms over everything, silent and watchful. The backdrop to this commanding presence is almost as remarkable. Spanning the entire length of the old caern's chasm and completely encompassing the southern half is a colossal remnant of the wasp nest built during the Wyld surge. The towering walls of the nest are as strong as the earth into which they're built, their surface smooth to the touch and colored in shaded swirls of beiges, browns, yellows, and reds in a hypnotizing, pleasing way. Oval shapes bulge from the wall in places, while others sinks inward, giving the whole thing a haphazard air.

The caern's triangle extends out from here in two directions. On one side, the escarpment wall with its natural dais can be seen. The opposite side holds the stone firepit.

Contents:
Copperhead
Cools-the-Flames
Little Silvertip
Lefty
Wall of Fire
Shrouded Arrow
Jacinta
The Caern Tree

Obvious exits:
Firepit Escarpment

Caern: The Northwest Escarpment and Dais

The steep and imposing rock wall that once formed the northwestern barrier of the old caern is now less than half as deep as it used to be. Buried by vegetation, rock, soil, and other material brought in by the Wyld surge, it nonetheless remains a precipitous wall. Above it, a massive tangle of leftover vegetation completely blocks off the former trail into the caern. Jutting from the base of the chasm wall, near the caern floor, is a naturally occurring stone dais with a fairly flat surface. It sits roughly three and a half feet high at its center, with either end gently sloping down a foot or more. On the cliff face above the dais, dark striations and scratchings mar the stone, creating an image that eerily resembles the glyph garou use to represent the Weaver. The northern end of the escarpment wall slowly sinks into the land that becomes the northern part of the bawn, but the southern side ends abruptly, swallowed by the massive reddish-brown and beige wasps' nest created during the Wyld incursion. Though not completely intact, the structure still fills almost all of the former canyon, its surface alternating between smooth and rough, with beautiful, marbled patterns of various shades of beige, grey, brown, red and white.

The caern continues in two directions from here. On one side, the land slopes down towards the stone firepit, while the gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks both the center of the caern and the final point of the triangle. Near where the remnant of the nest meets the escarpment wall, there is a dark corridor leading underground.

Contents:
Mourns-the-Living

Obvious exits:
Underground Center Firepit

Mourns takes a moment to collect himself. He looks out over those gathered, studiously avoiding faces. ~From amongst the many great laws that govern the Garou Nation, and give us purpose,~ states the Silent Strider, his voice slowly rising in volume until the last piece is shouted, ~there is one that orders us to: Combat the Wyrm Where It Dwells and Whenever It Breeds!~

Rogue responds with a derisive snort and a curl of her upper lip away from her teeth. ~Yeah right. Like anyone actually does that.~ She turns to glare over the gathered crowd and spreads her hands. ~OooOOooh, fight the Wyrm. Go out and fight some monsters now and then, or some crazy fucking spirits, that's okay. If you live, everyone pats each other on the back and tells themselves what great Garou they are. If some people get in the way, whatever, they were probably assholes. But wherever it dwells and whenever it breeds? /Hah/.~ Her hands drop, only for one to raise again and point an accusing finger. ~Like anyone really gives a shit if a bunch of metis babies get their skulls stomped in and a bunch of others get raised to be so fucked up they can't function. It's fine, they're just stupid metis. And no one's really going to care if you torture or kill your own cubs, or off a few kinfolk because they pissed you off, or use mind magic shit on other Garou to twist their brains or steal their dreams without asking. You can kill other Garou too, you've just got to make sure you're bigger and have more back pats, and they don't have too many friends. Go ahead! No one cares unless you fuck them first. And if you go and have a bunch of babies with a bunch of women and one of those kids turns out to be Garou too, whatever if you've fucked right off years before, that kid's either going to turn up someday or it isn't. Maybe other people will find it, or Wyrm Garou, but that's fine, you can just kill what the kid gets turned into. Let's just rewrite this rule: Combat the Wyrm as long as it's some big ugly monster and it doesn't make you feel too bad.~

At the center, Wall of Fire's muzzle drops open and his upper lip peels away from his top fangs; a long tongue lolls out -- the massive greasy monster is /smiling/ but the expression is savage and violent and hungry.

At the center, Little Silvertip raises her head slightly, baring a tooth. Fool go away! she growls. They fight or the Grandmother dies and pups die and they all die too!

At the center, Shrouded Arrow lets out a little howl in response. ~Fight the Wyrm WHEREVER it breeds. If it breeds in you, you must fight it there, as well. Laziness and complacency are tools of the Wyrm too! How you act either honors Gaia, or is the enemy!~ She bares her teeth fiercely.

At the center, Cools-the-Flames settles himself purposefully all the way laying down before he even shifts up to hispo, and snarls at the Fool's words. And yet the Fury metis isn't wholly disagreeing with everything. After his tribal elder responds, so does he. ~We fight the Wyrm and protect the Wyld places, and protect the helpless, and protect Gaia,~ he calls out, loudly and with determination behind it. The rest of her points, well, he simply doesn't address. ~Within our ranks, so too must we weed out and push back against behaviours that are corrupt, wrong! We must become better, or we have no chance.~

~Fool go away!~ Rogue echoes mockingly. ~Yeah, we don't like when someone sticks our own shit under our noses.~ She looks toward Shrouded Arrow, and Cools-the-Flames. ~But you don't, do you? Nah, not if it's uncomfortable. Not if it's too hard.~

Mourns-the-Living slips off while the fool is speaking, rejoining the crowd, a thoughtful frown on his face.

At the center, Copperhead's snake-like portion of her anatomy rotates slightly to one side, as if not entirely following everything the Fool is talking about. She goes with repeating the Litany's words in the hope of adding her voice to shouting down the Fool who dares to challenge it. ~Combat the Wyrm Where It Dwells and Whenever It Breeds!~

Rogue adds, ~It's fine, it's okay! You're all /good/ Garou. Real super-heroes. You killed a big ugly Wyrm thing, that's all that matters!~

At the center, Surprise registers in Lefty's expression. The older ragabash slowly lets her breath out, and then snorts. she too begins to smile, but she also shifts up, perhaps, join in on the argument.

At the center, Cools-the-Flames snarls louder this time. ~I have /faced/ my demons, I have /faced/ the pit, I have gotten past it. I have learned from my mistakes,~ he calls back to the fool. ~Hard or not. I have learned regardless of it being too hard, that be damned, and I have come out stronger for it, with pack by my side and that have my back, and able to fight the Wyrm now when before--yes, before there was a time when I was weak, there was a time when I could not.~ He admits this aloud, in front of the whole sept, without waver in his voice. There is another pause, and then Cools-the-Flames rises to crinos, looking up at the Fool. There is a moment where he looks straight at her. ~Have /you/, Rogue?~

At the center, ~Do liken our lost cubs and metis to the Wyrm, Fool!?~ Mourns shouts.

Rogue hops to the edge of where she's standing, spreads her hands, and leans forward in Sue's direction. ~Yesssssss,~ she says. The drawn out word remains mocking, though there's clearly a hint of temper behind it. In Mourns' direction, ~No, just you!~

At the center, Wall of Fire's unpleasant 'smile' vanishes as Sue talks, leaving only the snarl full of violence and ugliness. He growls in an abyss-deep baritone.

Rogue quirks an ear. ~What's wrong?~ She straightens. ~Can't think of responses? Not so sure how to argue back? Okay, okay, /okay/.~ Nothing about her Rage fueled intensity seems to be lessening; if anything, it's building up more, and she's taken to tight pacing in place as she keeps talking. ~How about this? The big fucking ugly monsters are kind've /important/ to kill, because if we spend all our time looking in the mirror they'll trash everything and kill everyone. So we have to fight them, and maybe we're total shits--to each other, to people we're supposed to respect--and we really fucking need to handle that, but if we don't fight them, no one else is going to! So /maybe/ we should focus on both parts of this fucking law, and not just one or the other!~

Rogue stamps her foot heavily, just once, and then hops down from her (literal and figurative) platform.

From the stone firepit, Quoz arrives from the central bawn.

At the center, Cools-the-Flames settles to crouching back next to Copperhead, with one glance towards Shrouded Arrow, but he seems to have said his piece to the Fool. The growl directed towards him is vaguely acknowledged, but the halfmoon does not let it bother him or phase him.

Caern: The Center Tree

The center of the caern is devoid of the thick vegetation that inhabits the rest of the forest. The ground is flat and well trodden, its rich, dark soil nonetheless still carrying the scent of the woods--moss and peat mixed with pine needles, detritus, and the dampness brought from life-giving rain. The wide, empty clearing is dominated by one living exception to the absence of vegetation: an impossibly gigantic and ancient tree growing out of the ground near the very center. The tree defies logic. Grown in the span of a single year, it nevertheless has the size, apparent age, and character of the greatest and most ancient of forest sentinels. It looms over everything, silent and watchful. The backdrop to this commanding presence is almost as remarkable. Spanning the entire length of the old caern's chasm and completely encompassing the southern half is a colossal remnant of the wasp nest built during the Wyld surge. The towering walls of the nest are as strong as the earth into which they're built, their surface smooth to the touch and colored in shaded swirls of beiges, browns, yellows, and reds in a hypnotizing, pleasing way. Oval shapes bulge from the wall in places, while others sinks inward, giving the whole thing a haphazard air.

The caern's triangle extends out from here in two directions. On one side, the escarpment wall with its natural dais can be seen. The opposite side holds the stone firepit.

Contents:
Quoz
Mourns-the-Living
Copperhead
Cools-the-Flames
Little Silvertip
Ferret
Wall of Fire
Shrouded Arrow
Jacinta
The Caern Tree

Obvious exits:
Firepit Escarpment

Keir has arrived.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow takes up position near the stone firepit, and bellows out, ~Now is the time for the cracking of the bone! Where we get to the marrow of the matter of moot!~ She pulls out a long bone from inside her coat, holds it aloft for a few seconds, and then snaps it in two. ~Crack! First, then, does anyone have any introductions? Newcomers, cubs, don't be shy! Come on up!~

Wall of Fire swings his big muzzle over toward Rogue when she gets close and snaps his jaws at her, though nowhere near her. It's what passes for 'friendly' with him, one may suppose. Good job.

Quasimodo lopes into the the caern, still gazing around the place in wonder, particularly at the enormous tree in the center. He gravitates in Lefty's direction, then looks over at Shrouded Arrow's cracking of the bone. He heads toward the firepit.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow hands Quasimodo over the pair of shattered bones silently, and lets him speak.

Rogue is clearly pleased with the compliment, even if she's still trying to work herself back down. She sits and peers toward Shrouded Arrow.

Ferret watches Quasimodo enter and move towards Shrouded Arrow. She offers a supportive grin as he passes by.

Cools-the-Flames looks, watching as the unfamiliar to him newcomer goes up to take the bones.

Little Silvertip, likewise, looks to Quoz, looking slightly confused by the Metis' appearance.

Wall of Fire snaps his jaws at Rogue again, then turns red eyes onto the malformed stranger.

Mourns-the-Living is very careful not to follow his first glance at Quoz with a second.

From the stone firepit, Quasimodo nods to shrouded Arrow and accepts the bones with his one good hand, raising them high, then lowering them. He pauses and looks around at the gathered garou, nodding to Ferret. In a deep, expressive howl, he cries, ~I am Quasimodo, called Dives-in-Dumpsters, Cliath Metis Galliard of the Children of Rat, the Bone Gnawers. It was in a dumpster that I was born, in the City That Never Sleeps, the Big Apple, NYC. There the Bone Gnawers found me abandoned by the parents who wished to hide the shame of their sin, a deformed monstrosity they could not bear to abide. Mother Larissa and the blessed Children of Rat, though, took me in and made me one of their own and I became part of the Great Sept of the Green. I packed under the Great Trash Heap, learning many secrets about the corruption rampant in the human corporations. I wished to broaden my horizons, however, and see the world, so I hopped a train and rode the rails to St. Claire, Washington. I'd heard tales of this place, so I sought to see it for myself. As for St. Claire, well, I've been here about a month, through its alleyways, its dark tunnels, the dumpsters of its skyscrapers, and I can honestly say that it's a shithole. I like it! It's got moxie. And speaking of the city's dumpsters, I have been collecting as much information as I can and once I make sense of it all, I hope to offer whatever I find as chiminage. Thank you.~ He turns back to Shrouded Arrow and hands back the bones.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow takes back the bones, and tries to pretend she wasn't holding her breath a little when the Gnawer was nearby. ~Welcome, son of Rat. And next," she holds the bones out for Copperhead.

Little Silvertip's head lifts again when she hears Quoz's introduction, causing the Uktena to wrinkle her nose slightly. A few sniffs are given in the Gnawer's direction; all without getting off the ground, that is. She doesn't seem as surprised by Copperhead - they probably met before?

A truly horrifying sight to behold, this one. If he were able to stand straight up, he would tower to well over eight feet in height. As it is, however, his deformities cause him to be hunched over, no taller than a human at the top of the lump of twisted flesh on his back. The result is less imposing, but no less revolting. His head is similarly misshapen and lumpy, causing the left eye to be always half-closed. The left ear is gone, or maybe was never there to begin with. Most disturbing of all is his withered, tiny left arm that hangs uselessly from the shoulder. Two finger-claws and a thumb-claw can be seen on the paw at the end of the arm, which occasionally twitches and spasms as if he were trying to use it. The parts that aren't deformed are covered with a coat of dirty, mangy, dishwater-gray fur. There are a few small scars here and there, but the most obvious are four claw-marks across his chest.

Oh, and there's the smell. Let's not forget that. It's like an open dumpster out the back of an Indian restaurant in the middle of July. Like a particularly juicy landfill on a bad day. It almost has a personality of its own, this smell. It's advisable not to approach within ten feet.

From the stone firepit, Copperhead steps forward when there's an opportunity to do so and it's clear she's not taking someone else's turn at the bones. She looks nervous, as if she's not used to speaking at a moot--or even being permitted to speak at a moot. She accepts the bones from Shrouded Arrow. When she does speak and introduce herself, her voice is soft--almost difficult to hear. ~I am Copperhead. A new cliath theurge of the Uktena. I am from the Cherokee of Yellow Hill, far away from here. I come here because I have heard this sept is more open to accepting those of cursed birth, and I hope to prove myself worthy of becoming accepted as a new member of this sept. If I do not die trying to prove myself worthy, in time, I sincerely hope to be permitted the opportunity to serve this sept--and The Mother--by becoming one of the caern's Guardians.~ Though her words are noble (or perhaps overly ambitious), her posture is certainly submissive and deferential--as if she realizes the sept might choose instead to rise up and cull her on the spot. After she finishes her introductions, she timidly offers the bones back to Shrouded Arrow. ~Thank you, rhya,~ she whispers to the Fury. She returns back to the 'outcast' area in the center, rejoining Cools-the-Flames.

Cools-the-Flames tilts his head to listen to the Bone Gnawer's introduction, and then there is a cheerful huff given to the Uktena after her introduction.

Mourns-the-Living listens to the introductions with open glee.

Wall of Fire seems intrigued by the Gnawer -- and by the snake-headed Uktena, too, though he clearly doesn't think much of her chosen company.

What's wrong with her head?!?

This female wolf is clearly the result of two individuals who broke the First Law. From the neck down, her body is a fine lupine specimen of of the Uktena tribe. However, from the base of the neck up, she has the head of a giant copperhead snake. When her jaw moves to speak or growl or hiss, it's immediately evident she is toothless--but a twin pair of venomous fangs are present--as well as a tongue that clearly belongs in a wolf instead of the forked snake-tongue most would have expected to see. Underneath the scales on the surface, where does the wolf end and where does the venomous snake begin? The overall effect, even if she's merely average-sized for a wolf, is simply disturbing.

She has but one accessory: a medicine bag on a cord about her neck.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow takes the bones back. ~And we hope that you find a chance to prove your worth, Uktena. Unless we have any latecomers, let's move on to announcements. Rogue, come share your news!~

Rogue doesn't seem shy about staring, and she does just that, first at Quasimodo, and then at Copperhead, though her body language makes it clear she's doing it less to gawk (though there's certainly some of that) and more out of an intense sort of interest.

Rogue is then jerked out of it by her name. She slinks up to the bones, and then shifts up to crinos to take them. ~I passed my Rite of Passage in Three Sisters,~ she states. The passion is gone, now it's her usual flat tonelessness. ~I'm still Rogue.~ She hands the bones back, and then returns to Wall of Fire.

Little Silvertip glances away from the Gnawer Metis eventually, to look Rogue's direction. Something about her flat tone causes her to tip her ears back slightly, like unsure what to make of the Ragabash.

Wall of Fire snarls a single word of pride and praise at the new cliath: ~Sister.~

Quasimodo moves widdershins around the tree, stopping to stand near Lefty, a few steps behind her. His tongue lolls out the side of his mouth to grin at Copperhead, his fellow metis, then turns back to listen to Rogue.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow gives a very proud look to the newly Cliath'd Fury, before taking the bones back. ~Okay, next, Mourns the Living has some news about the Wyrm to share!~

Cools-the-Flames does, for all the tension, seem to be proud of his cliath tribemate, if in a rather odd sort of way.

Rogue's jaws part briefly in response before she settles back onto her haunches.

Mourns-the-Living starts forward as his name is called. On his way to the fire pit, he casts a sidelong glance, that is a bit curious, at Rogue. He takes up the bones, and begins. ~The Shadow Lords' Alpha, Little Firebrand-rhya, has gone into the scab to watch the Hollow Man variously known as Sack-of-Worms-Ikthya, Sack O' Worms, and Worm. He requests that word of this be relayed so that he is not exposed by mistake.~ There is a slight pause, and then he adds, ~And for those who have not yet heard this Fomori's hiding place has a Bane in the Umbra.~

Little Silvertip doesn't seem surprised by the news, but listens to the Strider all the same. She looks at a few of the urrah in the caern, curiously.

Quasimodo chuffs at Mourns-the-Living in a friendly manner, also not seeming surprised at the news of Mr. Wormy.

Cools-the-Flames rests one hand on the ground to lean against in his crouch. He doesn't seem surprised in the slightest by the news, though.

Ferret listens to the introductions, and as Quoz returns, she offers another supportive smile. The Gnawer elder seems very interested in Rogue's announcement, and her gaze lingers on the younger ragabash for a small time even after she's stepped back down. Her attention is drawn away when Mourns speaks.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow moves on with the announcements. ~Good hunting on that one. Next is Little Silvertip-rhya.~ She hands the bones to the Uktena, a look of curiosity in her eyes.

Mourns-the-Living gives the bones back and returns quickly to his spot, by himself.

Little Silvertip glances around, and with a great sigh, heaves off the ground and shifts into hispo. The monstrous wolf plods over to the bones, takes them in her teeth, and then sets them down. She rumbles, ~I'm Little Silvertip who Brings Back Light's Gift to the Wolf People.~ She says, like starting an introduction. It's left hanging there, though, and not completed. ~I've returned from bad things in Deep Umbra. Aahn found me and saved me.~ She skips a beat. ~Scar was right about what he said after I slew Carnage-Ikthya, and I apologized to him for not listening. That was dishonourable. Also, other things.~ She says tersely. Another beat passes, before she says, ~I'm looking to form a new pack. Or join one. Wisdom, probably. Find me if you think we should pack.~ With that, she picks the bones back up, returns them, and she goes back to here she was. The hispo flops back down.

Cools-the-Flames watches the athro, observant and curious, and there is is a nod of his head when Silvertip has finished.

Rogue peers after Silvertip with obvious curiosity, though she looks back to the center after a few moments.

Copperhead twists her snakey neck slightly so that her unblinking reptilian eyes are focused on the elder Uktena who just mentioned forming a pack. It would be easier to assess her thoughts on the matter if her head could even remotely make wolf-like gestures. Instead, her waxy scales give no insight into her opinions. Her tail, however, thumps once in approval.

Wall of Fire looks interested at 'pack' -- less so at 'wisdom'.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow takes back the bones, and looks out at the crowd. ~That's all I have for announcements. Now comes a time for airing of grievances. Anyone have anything to say? Let it out now, don't let it fester, and let's resolve it and move on!~

Quasimodo shrugs as he looks around at the other garou in the caern, trying to work out the general relationships and social structure of the sept.

Little Silvertip, from her spot on the ground, doesn't look like she's in any mood to start a fight over anything.

Wall of Fire snarls but keeps his spot.

Cools-the-Flames crouches, simply still watching.

Rogue twists an ear, then looks up at Wall of Fire.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow waits for a few minutes, and then continues. ~Well, it looks like we're all pretty happy with each other right now. I guess it's time for challenges. Cools-the-Flames?~

Rogue's ears suddenly go back almost completely. She jerks her head around to look toward Sue.

Wall of Fire's ears snap forward; abruptly, the huge metis sits up, shifting into Crinos as he does so.

Cools-the-Flames rises to standing, and rolls his shoulders, settling the tension within them before he moves over to take the bones from the elder Black Fury philodox.

Little Silvertip watches the Cliath metis, tail lifting slightly as he goes to challenge.

From the stone firepit, Then, Cools-the-Flames paces and turns, and a moment later, finds the face in the crowd of Garou that he is seeking. The hostility from the other Fury metis brings about a slight further squaring of shoulders, and nothing else, and Moros gets no more of Sue's attention. ~Pathfinder-Who-Walks-Without-Fear,~ the cliath says, voice carrying with that same level calm that he displayed earlier, though it's clear that it does take a moment of breathing and effort to maintain it. ~I have learned much from you about balance, about fairness, about wisdom.~ He does not elaborate, at least, not right now. ~And so, I challenge you for the rank of Fostern!~ That said, the bones are held out for the Stargazer, at a sensible height.

Wall of Fire's snarl is a loud, choked, ugly sound, full of hate and rage and accompanied by rounded, bulging red eyes and spread claws. His jaw gapes as though he might, even across the caern, bite off Sue's head right there and then -- and then abruptly he snaps them shut and storms off -- a frenzy choked back. And almost not.

Little Silvertip glances at Wall of Fire, tail going up in surprise. She starts to stand up like to go after the metis, but after a moment, sits herself right back down. She looks around the Caern, like in paranoia.

In comparison, Rogue seems almost serene--but no, fur is raised all along her spine, and there's something distinctly unpleasant about her, even if it's hard to determine exactly what. She remains in place, like some sort of malignant shadow to Wall of Fire's temper.

From the stone firepit, Cools-the-Flames doesn't seem too surprised at the reaction, and he gives a very quick glance down, lips tightly closed lest he bare them, and then sideways towards Shrouded Arrow. There's a caution to him, observant and careful now, but then his attention goes back towards Pathfinder, and the Fury halfmoon metis's own internal center is regained via a few deep breaths.

Quasimodo's eyes widen as he watches the Fury metis react so badly to the stated challenge for some reason. He watches the rest of the challenge, a bit confused.

Mourns-the-Living grasps his chin in one hand. His gaze flickers back between Cools-the-Flames and the Fury storming off.

Pathfinder isn't surprised, not really. The Stargazer ahroun has been thoughtfully listening for the majority of the moot, and when his name is called there's only the scarcest skew of his ears toward Sue, and then both of them tilt out sideways in a motion of consideration. He gets his feet under him, though, and the blind metis makes his way toward Sue with unhurried steps, a leisurely way about him despite the height of the moon that makes his pelt prickle on edge. He finds the bones with clawed fingers, runs the pad of a thumb along the rough edges of the snapped thing. ~You know,~ says the Stargazer, conversational, ~I am nothing like you. Full moon and half moon, east and west. I find it interesting that you would choose me, of all people.~ He tips his head, though, notrils flaring as one ear skews toward Moros storming off. There's a huff of breath through his teeth, then, and he just muses, ~I see.~ And, almost lackadaiscial, the Stargazer says, ~See me for your terms in one week.~

Rogue stands up. Nothing hurried, nothing hesitant. She swings her arms in place for a moment, and looks right at Shrouded Arrow while bouncing a little on the pads of her clawed feet.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow seems a little perturbed as she takes the bones back. ~Okay. We're trying to not drag challenges out like has happened in the past, so please be punctual about it! And I have one more announcement, I want all the Furies ready for a unity-building field trip come the small moon. So, in two weeks. That is all!~ She tucks the bones back into her coat, and cedes the stage.

Rogue looks very, very irritable as she snaps her jaws. ~I've got a challenge,~ she says, even though the bones are out of sight and Shrouded Arrow is heading back.

From the stone firepit, Cools-the-Flames listens to the response, nodding once and twisting his ears forward. His shoulders straighten, and he reaches to very briefly brush his hand against Pathfinder's before he moves back towards his previous spot at the center next to the young Uktena metis. His ears splay momentarily as he crouches.

From the stone firepit, Cools-the-Flames enters the center of the caern.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow pauses, and nods, motioning for Rogue to get on up there.

Little Silvertip watches the back-and-forth, ears going out to the side. Clearly, she's missing something, and it looks like she's trying to puzzle it out.

Copperhead briefly looks at Cools-the-Flame, reassessing him after seeing all the negative reactions from his own tribemates to his announcing he's challenging. As he returns and sits near her, she wraps her own tail around herself. A protective gesture.

Rogue stalks right up to the place Cools-the-Flame and Shrouded Arrow have just vacated. Her neck fur bristles as she goes, and especially when she turns to look right at Sue. ~Okay, I challenge "Phil's" ability to be a fucking Fostern when he couldn't handle cubs. Maybe he's better now, but if not, I'm going to kick his fucking ass before he gets a chance to hide behind rank again.~ She has no bones, which is probably good, because she might have thrown them. Instead, she stalks back to her former spot. Light steps, no stomping. Her fur never stops bristling.

From the stone firepit, Shrouded Arrow puffs up, which would probably work better if she weren't pretty much the smallest Crinos in the Caern. ~Your objection is so noted. I'm declaring this a tribal matter. We'll work it through at the upcoming excursion. Thank you for not keeping your feelings bottled up.~ She gives Rogue a fierce look that indicates it's time to back off now.

Rogue snaps her jaws in response, but she actually seems satisfied by Shrouded Arrow's declaration. There's no argument from her.

It's for the Master of the Rite, Little Sivertip tells no one but herself. She remains firmly on the ground, the hispo as awkward as ever.

Pathfinder listens to all the reactions as he resettles, obviously making note of each one, but he says and does nothing.

Copperhead, despite being seated near Cools-the-Flames, demonstrates she has no dog in this squabble by pushing to all fours and relocating herself a few more yards away where.... the view is better. Yes. The view from this new place is much better. Even if that means she's alone.

Cools-the-Flames resettles into lupus once more, his teeth bared at something said, but Shrouded Arrow's pronouncement seems to be the end of it.

With the closing of the cracking, the Wyrmfoe steps forward. All who would participate and wound into readiness and led off into the umbra. The waiting Engling prances, stamps, and then flees into the forest with the Garou giving chase. With the glee that comes from the freedom of the hunt, and the joy of the kill, the stag is brought down, its Gnosis released to replenish the caern and the hunters.

----


Edgewood House: Meadow(#1390RJh)

A long, hard-packed dirt road winds almost a mile through the forest off Sunrise Road, eventually opening out into a small front yard, and coming to a stop in front of a large house, which may be the very definition of ramshackle. The house is not visible from the road, nor can one hear anything but perhaps a gunshot. Its foundation and general structure are solid, but its once crisp grey-and-white paint needs updating, and some of the trim is having trouble staying attached. A fixer upper, one might say. Off to the left, there's a former garage, long since converted into something of an in-law apartment. A connecting flyover attaches it to the second floor of the house.

There are no fences surrounding either the front or back yards. In the rear of the property, the yard (larger than in the front) eventually comes up against a well built garden, with the very beginnings of sprouts. Shaded and obscured by surrounding trees, there is a small (but deep) natural pond, with a chuckling brook leading out of it, into the woods. There's a rope swing hanging from one of the trees. The yard to the southeast of the property stretches on for a time, and then is eaten by woods, into which there may or may not be a path; it apparently fades away quickly. There's a certain looming feel to these woods.

Contents:
Tent(#1921A)

Obvious exits:
Narrow Path Sunrise Road Front Door Barn/Garage

Slug emerges from the garage through the simple wooden door.

Slug has arrived.

"Man, where is he," Slug mutters under his breath as he steps out of the garage, looking left and right. He huffs indignantly and slings a small pack over his shoulder, stalking back toward the porch with his hands in his pockets, a sullen, disappointed look on his face.

Slug pages: Slug has acquired an... Effect. His words have a variable reverb to them that fades in and out, and his whole body leaves an afterimage in the same vein. Like the six million dollar man.

There's a small creak from above Slug, followed by a persistent rattling that gets close and closer until a small pebble bounces off the roof and into the grass somewhat to the left of him.

Slug glances up and back toward the rooftop with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna be really weirded out if you're sunbathing up there, Silvertip."

Solsiva has arrived.

The figure that's visible on the roof is...decidedly not Silvertip. X is crouched right on the roof's peak, with her hands held out slightly to either side as though she were a bird with wings slightly spread. For balance, one might assume. She doesn't answer Slug, but she's clearly staring right down at him.

Slug peels back his hood and looks up at her, his silver shades catching a fleeting sliver of sunlight. "I remember you," he says, studying her. "Not dead. You must have learned to use a knife. Gotten yourself squared away. That's good. Who did you Rite under?"

Slug: Oh, whoops. Gold shades, not silver.

X continues staring at him (though not, at least, directly in the eyes) for nearly thirty seconds longer before she actually replies. "I rited at Three Sisters." Flat, as before. Practically toneless. She doesn't really raise her voice, but it carries anyway.

"Fury, then," Slug says, smiling just a little. "Or so I'd assume. Congratulations. If you're meditating, or... Something like that, I could go," he offers, gesturing toward the house. "I was looking for Silvertip, but he-" Slug pauses, clearing his throat. "She, isn't here."

From down the road there comes a crunching and a dirty five year old Jeep bumps its way down towards the house with the lights on. It isn't familiar, but it does seem to know where to go.

"Yes," is X's single word response. She straightens up, with her hands still held slightly out from her sides, balancing on the roof peak at an even more precarious position.

"Karate Kid was a pretty good movie, huh?" Slug smirks just a little bit, then turns, sliding his hands back into his pockets. He walks toward the porch at a leisurely rate, singing something soft beneath his breath.

X maintains her position. "What's wrong with you?" Her gaze shifts, however, from Slug to the oncoming jeep, and her arms lower just a little.

The engine and lights click off after it pulls up and Sol gets out, not bothering to lock the door, but swings the keys back and forth on the ring. She waves at the unfamiliar Slug as he comes into view.

Slug stops to turn and look over at the jeep when Solsiva emerges from within. He waves in her direction, then laughs, turning to look at X. "I went too deep into a dark place."

X gives him a squinty, skeptical look in return, but she doesn't seem terribly keen on taking her focus off of Solsiva for too long. Slowly, the Fury bends her knees again, until she's once more in a crouch on the peak of the roof.

Shielding her eyes as she looks up at X, Sol considers and shrugs, choosing to focus instead on Slug. "Hey. You almost kinda sound familiar. I'm Solsiva, used to live around here, moved back recently."

"On the subject of me being all weird'n stuff, uh, don't go into the caverns under the Caern." Slug says, glancing between the two of them. He bows in Solsiva's direction and moves towards her, a projection of himself shimmering in the air behind him. "Your face looks familiar, but... Can't say I remember you. I just got back myself. My name's Slug."

X frowns down at the other two. "...Why?"

"I'll make sure not to salt you," Solsiva says, nodding back in response to his bow. Squinting she looks up again, "Don't suppose you'd like to join us down here, at all, huh?"

Slug smiles at that, and turns to face X, standing side by side with Solsiva. "The caves beneath the Caern are... Well, I'm not a Theurge, but lets say this. They're alive. They're constantly changing, shifting, filled with energy that warps time itself. I went down there the other day, and I watched myself walk down the same tunnel about fourteen times. It was like the whole place filled with ghosts of myself, all doing what I did, sounding and looking exactly like me and Silvertip," Slug says, looking as though he's simultaneously worried and delighted. "We found a Garou down there, Norman. Well, half of him. The tunnels shifted on him, and he lost his legs and all that."

"No," X replies to Solsiva. She still sounds flat and toneless, but at least in this case it has the benefit of not sounding actively belligerent. And then she ends up staring at Slug.

Solsiva looks surprised, "That sounds painful. I remember Norman, that sucks. Won't lie, though, that sounds hella interesting." She shrugs at the no, not having anything else to address to the weather vane. "Guessing that's why you're all, um, warbly?"

"He's fine, I think. Looks like he's growing back. It was strange when we found him," Slug says, waving at his waist. "The tunnels didn't *fall* on him. They *changed*, just up and shifted while he was inside them. He was embedded in the wall. His legs were gone, just, gone. He says that the tunnels might lead to other parts of the Umbra, and things could come crawling out. Be very careful if you go into them, and spread the word."

He nods at Solsiva. "Yeah. After effect of going so deep, I guess. Or maybe I'm Wyld tainted. I dunno."

X continues staring, and from her expression, nothing about what Slug's saying is making her less inclined to do so.

"Don't have to tell me twice, but still want to take a look. Have they put a guard on the mouth of the caves? In case anything has crawled out?" Solsiva inquires after making empathetic uncomfortable expressions at the whole legless business.

"It's very beautiful, and very strange, like nothing you'll see in a city. But you might not come back again. If only they didn't move so much, I'd love to see how deep they go," Slug trails off, looking just a tad disappointing. "Hm? Oh, no. Maybe we will, maybe we won't. Depends on if they think it's a threat or not. Right now we're just telling people, warning them, putting up glyphs."

X silently, and briefly, twirls a finger near one ear.

Solsiva nods faintly as she seems to stare off for a moment. Then she looks again at Slug, "Maybe we can calm them down eventually, though a theurge would be better for that job. Any other tidbits?"

Slug shakes his head. "Just some weird stuff happening in the city. Stuff that warrants being careful. Super Fomori guy thing, some roaches being turned into living robots, stuff like that. You kick around, you're bound to find something weird going on."

"Sounds like home," Solsiva says fondly, if a bit exasperated at the same time. "Wonder how Mouse-rhya is handing it... Ah well. Any ideas on when that-" she gestures around him, "Will fade?"

Slug shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know when it'll go away, don't know if it will. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. As for Mouse... I haven't seen her around since I got back to town a month ago. No idea where she is."

Solsiva sighs, to both probably from the length and heaviness of it, "That sucks, I was hoping to run into her." After a second she shrugs, "Think any of the officers are about?"

"Walkers, you mean?" Slug shrugs his shoulders again, sighing. "Sorry, I'm not very... In tune with the Walkers right now. Still, I'm sure Salem's around somewhere. If he died, it'd be the only thing anyone was talking about."

"Meant more for the Sept, maybe I've been in D.C too long. Everyone is a deputy this, administrator that, or Gaia forbid the lobbyists," Solsiva replies with a mock shiver. "Glad to hear he's still knocking about."

"Well, I know Maddie's the Ritemaster, she's a Bone Gnawer Metis. I know that Jacinta's probably the Warder, because... That's Jacinta." Slug puts his hand on his chin, stroking it in thought. "Silvertip has been gone, so I don't think she's the Alpha. I guess I'm a bit behind on the odds and ends."

Solsiva raises an eyebrow as she absorbs this information and makes an understanding noise, "Interesting. What happened to Zosia, then?"

Slug holds up his hands and shrugs. "I've been gone for a while. I'm just throwing down some guesses with some of this stuff. Maybe she knows," he says, nodding at X.

"Somehow," Sol begins as she glances up towards the roof, "I think I won't get very far. Nice seeing you, though, maybe we can chat more another time." She'll wander off towards the woods to see about that.

X sighs heavily. "Elliot's the Alpha."

"Oh, right, that pretty guy," Slug says with a nod. "I remember him from, uh... Something. I can't remember what it was. I think it was when we fought the fire monster at the old factory."

X doesn't say anything to this. Now that Solsiva seems to be heading off, she stands up again, and begins carefully walking down the roof peak, toe to heel.

Slug watches her go with his hands in his pockets, then turns to walk away as well. "You should try parkour, you might like it!" He calls out, drifting toward the porch.

"The fuck is parkour?" X calls after him.

Slug gestures for her to wait, then he turns back around and stretches out his back with a showy flourish of his arms. The Gnawer shrugs off his pack, then takes off like a shot, barreling at the porch. The afterimage in his wake grows progressively smeared and drawn out as he gathers speed, blurring in the air behind him. The wiry Gnawer vaults over the porch railing with practiced grace. He grabs the support beam as he lands and launches himself across the other side, using it as a pivot point as he leaps across the next railing and tumbles to the ground. He lands with a roll and stops on his butt, sitting there with his hair a mess, his glasses crooked, and his hoodie all tussled. "Like that," he says with a grin. "But in the city, and about thirty or fifty feet off the ground, going rooftop to rooftop."

Slug rolled for that, just because it would have been really funny if he failed.

X is once more staring down at him. Her eyebrows are drawn a little closer together, and she says nothing, but she clearly watched the performance very carefully.

Slug huffs out a lungful of air and puffs at the brown bangs gathered around his eyes. "My teacher taught me how to climb and jump in the city, a long, long time ago." he grins, clearly having had enjoyed himself. "I fell a lot, broke my legs and arms over'n over again, but I learned. It's about as close as you can get to flying without the wings."

X's eyes narrow. There's still no verbal response.

"You should try it sometime," Slug suggests, pausing. "In a part of town where there aren't many people out at night. Vacant buildings. That sort of thing. Who knows, you might even have fun." Slug gathers himself up off the ground and snatches his backpack from the dirt.

This time, there's no call from X to stop him from leaving. He can probably feel her eyes on him, however, because she hasn't really moved.

Slug walks right back up the porch, using the stairs this time, and slips inside with a friendly wave across his shoulder.

Slug has left.