"Hatred's okay."
Mar. 10th, 2014 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretCharlene attempts to be friendly, and Riley explains why Little Silvertip really wants to kill her
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:
Charlene
Tent(#1921A)
Obvious exits:
Narrow Path Sunrise Road Front Door Barn/Garage
Foggy and chilly is the order of the morning, but this has not dissuaded a certain Fury Cliath from claiming a spot up on the top of Edgewood's roof. Not unlike the other day, she's lying on her stomach on the very peak of the rooftop, with her hands, gloved as always, splayed to either side of her body. Her eyes are closed, of all things, though it's impossible to tell from below whether or not she's actually sleeping.
One more night of healing was all it took for Charlene to be all wonderful and healed up. No itchy scabs or scars for this Fury. Coming out on the porch with a cup of coffee and wrapped in a jacket, Charlene leans against the railing of the porch to look out over the gloomy morning, the Galliard moon still tugging on her.
There's no change from X, no sound, and no movement. If she notices Charlene's presence, she doesn't show it.
And with X being all the way up there, it's pretty easy for the Galliard to miss the other Fury. Still, she takes another sip of her coffee, mostly finishing it, sets it on the railing of the porch, looks around to see if there's anyone coming down the driveway and then, when the coast seems to be clear, Charlene takes a running leap off the porch, shifts to Lupus in midair, and goes to running around the meadow like a pup!
X's eyes open at this particular commotion, though slowly, and not all the way. She peers down at the running Galliard, with her eyebrows lifting very slightly.
Tumbling and rolling, scrambling through the grass, sending leaves in her wake, Song-of-Vengeance gives herself a good workout with a lot of sprints and direction changes, even yelping playfully as she pops in and out of the umbra. And finally, panting and happy, she starts padding her way back to the porch, tongue lolling out. Fun fun fun.
By this point, X is openly squinting down at the other Fury, hanging a little further over the edge of the roof to better spot her. Her nose is faintly wrinkled, as is her forehead.
Even Fosterns have to cut loose now and again, the fury bouncing a little as she walks back to the house, tail wagging and all. If she could sing she would be, but the body language she's giving off shows that she's pleased to be in one piece and all healed up. Scenting the air and ears swiveling, she looks up to see X peering down at her and plops her butt down on the grass. HI! she barks. Nice day today!
"What are you doing?" X asks. Her voice is the same flat tonelessness it usually is, though there may be the faintest note of incredulousness to it.
Having fun! Song's tail bats the ground behind her before some inconsequential itch causes her to turn and gnaw a spot on her back. When she looks back up at the roof, she continues. Hurt went away so now I play!
X snorts at this answer. "Okay." She doesn't seem to find the answer terribly explanatory. The Ragabash lowers her head back onto the roof again.
Song-of-Vengeance heads for the porch, shifting to Homid just before her foot hits the steps. She's smiling, pleased with herself as she grabs the coffeecup, taking another sip. "Just getting the cobwebs off of my joints, making sure everything knit together properly." Conversation with an unseen face. "It's just nice, sometimes, to run."
"You were bouncing," X points out dubiously. "And the umbra kept eating you."
There's silence from the porch, and it could be easily imagined that Charlene is blushing a bit. "...ah well, yes. It's one of my boons for following Otter as a pack totem. I can go in and out of the umbra without a mirror and really, really easily. If I'm not careful, sometimes I end up in the umbra and don't even know it."
X's nose and forehead remain wrinkled. "Why?"
Song-of-Vengeance steps out into the grass, looking up at X on the roof. "Because it's fun." she finally says. "Feeling the wind in my face, the smells, the sounds surrounding me. The feel of grass beneath my paws and dew on my nose. It's kind of like being a kid."
X huffs in response, and elaborates on her one word question: "Why would you want to go into the Umbra easily?"
"It's interesting." That's the simple response and, seeing the expression that's surely on X's face, Charlene elaborates. "It's the spirit world. It's a place that's impossible for humans and kin to get to, and it's a part of what it means to be Garou. It gives me a few advantages, too, in fights and the sort, being able to pop in and out without using a mirror, and I never, ever get stuck halfway."
"Creepy," X says, clearly referring to the Umbra itself. "Creepy and full of monsters, except they don't even have to hide over there."
"So's the real world." Charlene responds, taking another sip of the coffee. "At least in the Umbra you can see them for what they are."
"Humans can't go to the Umbra," X says, right away.
"But you can see if something's got its claws in them." Charlene retorts. "Controlling them. At least it gives the really sad things that happen in the world a reason for happening." She pauses. "There are some nice places in the umbra, though. Have you seen the caern during the full moon? Or Harbor Park?"
"Yes," X says. She doesn't specify as to which. "The Wyrm doesn't do everything that's bad."
"I know." Charlene finishes her coffee, setting the cup on the railing. "There is darkness in everyone and some people do act on it. I wish it weren't so but..." She trails off, rocking her head slightly back and forth before reaching up to adjust her hat. "Still...the umbra's okay if you can get used to it. If you'd ever like to explore, I can show you some nice places. Some glades and the like."
X shakes her head rough. "I'll stay over here." She pushes up into a sitting position that seems just about as precarious as when she was lying down.
"Offer's open if you're ever interested." Charlene moves to sit on the porch. "Just out of curiousity, why are you up there? Comfortable? Can see better? Something else?"
"I like it." X draws up her knees. She's not even using one hand for balance now.
"Good enough." Charlene peers up for a second. "It's not like you'd get terribly hurt if you fell. That leap you did with Petra was pretty impressive the other day."
X rolls her shoulders back. "I practice. I can do it without shifting too."
Charlene chuckles. "That's a bit daring. I don't think I'd want to even try in any form that wasn't Crinos, Glabro, or Hispo." She stands, wiping her hands off on her jeans. "Heading to my forge if you want to come. Going to work off a little aggression on some iron." She motions. "C'mon. We'll make you a sword or something."
X stares at Charlene. "A sword?" Incredulous, again.
"Well...." Charlene thinks for a moment. "That might be a little ambitious. How about a short dagger to start with?"
"I've got a knife," X says, while that wrinkle in her forehead grows more pronounced. "I can get more knives too, if I want."
"I know. But did you make them with your own hands from a lump of steel?" Charlene grins. "This one would be yours because you made it."
X shakes her head, but she says, "I'd make a shitty knife."
"Probably, yes. C'mere." Charlene motions for X to leap down while she removes her hat. "Look. She fishes out a little twist of metal from inside her hat - a stylized black fury glyph made out of hammered iron, polished on the front and back with the sides left black. "This took me a long, long time to make. It's nothing to anyone else, but to me, it's a symbol of my work. Thing is....I've got around twenty of these that don't look half as good. Even more just practicing to get it right. Your first knife won't be perfect. It'll have mistakes, it won't be straight, it won't hold an edge, it'll crack, but we'll take it and start again. We'll add more carbon, more steel. We'll sharpen it. We'll heat it slowly. We'll forge it until you have a knife that'll fit your hand as if it were your own claw."
Charlene does all of this even if X doesn't jump down.
X, true to form, doesn't jump down, though she does peer over the edge of the roof, and listen to Charlene's words. "I don't want to make a knife," she says, when the other Fury is done. "I've got werewolf claws. Fucking Wolverine claws would be cool though." She adds, as if this may not be obvious, "you can't actually make those. It's just comic book shit."
"It would take a little work but...yeah, I think we could probably figure something out." Charlene crouches down and starts to sketch in the dirt at the front of the steps. "little grip to hold them, then three blades braized on, in between each finger....polish them to sit flush on your hand..." She looks up. "Fucking cool's going to take some work. You up for it?"
X shakes her head at this. "No, not a grip. Just the claws." She makes the appropriate snickt noise, and gestures with one hand. "And you can't do that, because there's logistical problems. And even if you could, werewolf claws are stronger."
"Yeah yeah.." Charlene says with a smirk. "You're no fun." She pokes her tounge out playfully, wiping away the drawings. "Figuring out how, though, would be pretty cool. Making them work without the whole 'ramming into your arms' thing and all."
X frowns a little more, eyes narrowing in thought. "Logistical problems," she repeats. "I've had enough metal."
The Galliard waves a hand. "Okay, okay." She stands, dragging a boot through the dirt on the ground, obscuring the drawing even further. "Ever change your mind, my forge is set up in the barn just down the road. Look for the slab that used to have the burned down house and follow the path. You'll find me pretty easy. Actually....." She pauses for a moment. "Are you interested in learning a rite?"
X eases up from her sitting position to a crouch. "What rite?"
"A pretty simple one, really. It's called Artwork. Basically it lets you channel your stronger emotions into something artistic and acts as a kind of outlet for your rage. It's what I do when I blacksmith." Charlene mimics the motion of hammering. "It lets you blend in better with the humans and turns the wick down slightly. Almost like meditation."
"I know that one," X says, and it may be an illusion, but she does seem to demonstrate a brief moment of fondness. "The Furies at Three Sisters taught me."
Charlene gives a slight nod, as if to say 'good!' to herself before she looks up again. "It's a good one to know, and I'm just about due for a renewal. Would you like to come and perform it with me?"
X, unsurprisingly, shakes her head. "I don't blacksmith," she states."
"Neither did I six months ago. Want to give it a try?" Charlene's trying, darnit!
X says, flatly, "No."
"Okay." Charlene waves, heading off down the road. "See you later, then."
X watches her go. Eventually, the Ragabash returns to her previous position on her stomach, and looks back over the meadow again.
----
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:
Riley
Tent(#1921A)
Obvious exits:
Narrow Path Sunrise Road Front Door Barn/Garage
It's quite possibly one of the warmest evenings in recent memory, so it's only natural that Riley is outside. She's a bit offset from Edgewood House proper, lingering on the outskirts of the property - particularly, the natural pond. If it were spring or summer, then the copse of trees surrounding the small pool would doubtless hide the ragabash entirely from sight - but as it stands, that black dress stands out rather mightily both against her subtly tanned skin and the surrounding undergrowth. She sticks out like a sore thumb.
In contrast, Rogue is not really noticeable until she's nearly entirely out of the trees. Her dark fur is natural camouflage at this time of evening, and she makes no real noise to announce herself. Her slink is recognizable even before she is, though, and the scars can't be mistaken as belonging to anyone else. She pads toward the pond in a wide, wary sort of circle.
For as sneaky as her former teacher is, she lacks any especially preternatural powers of perception - Rogue's able to get plenty close without the distracted Adren so much as turning her head. Riley doesn't seem to be up to anything in particular, she's just zoning out and gazing down at the water. It's happenstance more than any sixth sense that makes her takes a long breath and look about her - but Rogue is picked out almost immediately when she does. Unfair. Her lips pull into a thin fascimile of a smile, and she lifts a hand. "...You less edgy tonight, or more? Wanted to clarify some shit."
Rogue twitches one ear back. Less. She hunkers down against the grass before sliding smoothly into her birthform, where, for whatever reason, she doesn't really do anything to change her position. Those feverish eyes of hers study Riley carefully. Waiting.
Not creepy. The Adren folds her arms, "...So, you got to hear an awful lot of shit without the proper context. Most notably because pointing out the proper context when in close-quarters with Little-Silvertip would have gotten me squashed, and would have put you in the crossfire. Wasn't going to do that to either of us." She cranes her head to the side, "...Seems fitting that this'd come on the heels of the speech you gave at that moot."
X remains silent. There's a few infinitesimal twitches in her expression, but nothing telling or remotely helpful. She's listening, and that's about all that's clear.
"'Combat the Wyrm Wherever it Dwells and Whenever it Breeds', right?" Riley reaches up to scratch lightly at her cheek with a fingernail, "That one was one I thought a lot about, before it happened. I'm sure you've gotten the cliff-notes from filling in the blanks, but here's where I was coming from - Finds-Death was Little Silvertip's packmate, as I'm sure you surmised. I didn't know fuck-all about her before it happened. I stay well clear of Red Talons - hell, I stay clear of the Pure Tribes, because I can't take a breath or a piss without them getting livid. 'Filthy urrah', and all that." She tongues her teeth, "So, I got a heads-up from the Corax that a serial killer had been working over St. Claire, and she was worried it might be a wolf. I took that to mean 'Spiral', so I was on the case in no time flat. Took me a couple of different murder scenes to catch a break on any evidence. It's hard to go through house after house, looking at the places where she'd suffocated, stabbed, murdered everyone in the house. Not Wyrm-ridden humans. Normal, everyday people." She looks away for a moment, "...One, I got there before the police. She'd killed an entire family in their beds, parents, children, even the cat was bled out." Her fist tightens in recollection and she shrugs, "...So, yeah. I guess right off the bat, I felt close to the whole thing. Too close, or just the right amount of close depends on your point of view."
Riley knows X well enough to recognize the subtle signs of disgust. The faintest wrinkle of her nose, a miniscule narrowing of her eyes. There's tension in her shoulders that's greater than it was when she was just crouching in that weird, inhuman way.
Riley breathes, "...So I find a clue there. A piece of hair. I run it to the Corax, and she gets it identified. So far, so good. I figure it's gonna be something I can use in a Questing Stone to find the spiral bastard who was doing all this. Had my blood up, ready to just put a quick end to the Wyrmy fucker - instead, it comes back as our Alpha's packmate. Silvertip's. I was fucking livid, but I didn't just go off on my own and shoot the bitch. I didn't even go to the Philodoxes first. I went to Little Silvertip. I got to the edge of his territory, and gave a good proper howl, announcing myself. Right off the bat, he snarls at me for wasting his time. Tells me that Finds-Death is no concern of mine. Tells me he already dealt with it. Tells me he sent her away to go live with the other Red Talons." A further tensing of Riley's fingers, "...I was a Fostern back then, and he was Alpha - and still Athro. He wouldn't even give me the time of day when I told him that exile was not a suitable punishment for what she'd done. That it was wrong of him to skip the Philodoxes entirely, to turn loose a killer to go live where her actions would be embraced and championed. I got angry with him when he wouldn't give me any information about where she'd gone, wouldn't acknowledge that he'd done was wrong. He worked some Uktena bullshit and grabbed me by the throat from where he stood. Levitated me into the air, told me to fuck off, then threw me away like garbage."
"Okay." It's the first word X has spoken since Riley started. In fact, it's the first word she's actually /spoken/, period. She pushes up slowly, until she's more sitting than crouching. If anything, her eyes are even narrower.
Scratching at her arm in mild irritation at the memory, Riley's teeth squeal slightly where she grinds them. "...So, if someone did that to you, would you let that be the end of it? He was Alpha, but he was /wrong/. I knew it in every part of me, so I did what I knew I had to. I went home, I filled in a Philodox, and we left the same night to track her down. She had a huge lead, so it took us the better part of three days to catch up to her. Her eyes were glassy and lifeless, like a doll's. The rain poured down around us, drenching us all to the bone. The philodox spoke to her, asked her why she'd killed the humans - asked if they had been of the Wyrm. Her reply? 'All humans are of the Wyrm.' There was no shame for what she had done, no remorse at being dismissed from her pack, her Sept.She was just a murdering Ronin who - if we let her go to that Red Talon camp? Would be completely unreachable without a war that no one would risk. She'd be safe in her little haven, to 'cull' more innocent human beings without us being able to do a thing to stop her. We can't be at every human's bedside at all times. She'd have killed again, and again, and again."
Riley's throat tightens, and she plants her heel down against the ground. "...I lost track of myself. I went there to drag her murdering ass back to the Sept for judgement, but in that moment, I couldn't think clear. You know how it is when the red takes you. My teeth were buzzing, my hands were shaking, I could feel my skin wanting to crawl right off, and she just stood there, emotionless, careless of all the blood on her hands. She knew that what she was doing was /right/, and in that moment, I just couldn't stomach it." The ragabash's hands squeeze slightly and she hooks her thumbs down into her coat pockets, eyes closing. "...I came to my senses, dry-firing over her body. She hadn't even moved a muscle. Thinking back on it, I think I got her in one, but I wanted that whole clip in her." Her eyes open, and she murmurs, "...It's about the filthiest I've ever felt, and I've had to do a lot of shit since I turned."
X shifts a little in place, and frowns at Riley. "Why?"
"Killed a lot of things that needed to die." Riley answers, "Killed a..." The ragabash's throat contracts heavily, "Thing without the intent of doing it - the wolf, not me. But this? It was the first time I'd ever wanted it. The first time I'd ever felt /joy/ for ending a life that so dearly needed ending." Her lips twist, "...It's grey. All of it. Her. Me. Depending on where you stand, you can choose the villain, but the only thing that could be agreed on is there's no hero in that story. No one saving the day, just two murderers."
X's nose wrinkles more. "She was murdering fucking kids. Families. Pets. Why? That didn't do anyone any good, not even her. I don't think it's very grey at all."
A brief laugh, and Riley shrugs her shoulders, "Comforting to hear you say, believe it or not. But once the blood had pooled and the only thing left was a body? Can't say I thought it was very grey, either. I was scared about retribution, but remorse? Ha. Fuck that. I knew I did the right thing." Her head bows, "So, yeah. Then Wolfhome happened - if you're not familiar with it, it's basically a lupus version of hell. Food's impossibly scarce, you're hungry all the time, you can't sleep because there's always someone chasing you, always something wanting to kill you. Humans, with their guns, and their dogs, and nowhere to run." Despite herself, the ragabash breaks composure and gently moves her hands to hold her opposing arms. A little hug for herself as she recalls, "...Met other Garou there, too. They didn't make it. After long, it was just me and this feral wolf. Taught me the ropes, how to hide, how to hunt. How to see territory, how to not get myself killed. Then one day, it was apparently enough of a lesson for Griffin, and I was... out." Her arms drop, "...My time there made me change the way I saw humans. Change the way I saw wolves. I don't agree with what she did. Not one bit. But if I'd been born Lupus, can I say for sure that I wouldn't harbor a hatred for humans that rivaled her own?" There's a pause, and she lifts her shoulders. "...I shouldn't have pulled that trigger. The Philodoxes should have decided her fate. They'd have called for her death, I've no doubt, but what I did? It wasn't heroism or expediating justice. It was something selfish and cold, and I lost a piece of myself in that forest."
"Hatred's okay," X says. Now that she's actually started speaking in sentences, she seems to have a bunch of them. "But I don't think little kids and cats were hunting the Red Talon with guns or killing all her food." Her gaze flicks to Riley, then away. "Yeah. Philodox."
"So, in a larger-than-I-intended nutshell..." Riley makes a little helpless gesture with her hands, "...That's why Silvertip wants to kill me and wear my skin as a bra. If I thought I could take her, I'd have had it out with her right there, but... honestly? She could ruin me up-close. The only way for me to win that fight would be... I guess to force her to frenzy, then hope I'm fast enough to deal with what she'd throw down." The ragabash gives a not-too-enthusiastic shrug of her shoulder. "And it'd be a crapshoot, and you were there."
X rolls her shoulders back into a clear shrug. "She didn't kill you though. Or frenzy."
Riley holds her index finger and thumb up, with a miniscule space between them, "No. She didn't. By like /this/ much. That was dangerous as hell. She was /this/ close to snapping, and if I'd disrespected her in any way, or used any of the wrong words, things would have gone to hell." She offers a subtle shrug, "...But, yeah. Figured you deserved an explanation about what the fuck all that was about."
X gives a single nod that doesn't seem terribly different from her shrugs. "Okay," she says, yet again. "Silvertip's mad at Stupid Fury right now anyway."
"Stupid fury?" That draws a baffled tilt of Riley's head. It's the first time she's heard this particular nickname in circulation.
"Yeah." And at first, it seems like this might be yet another one of those times where X answers a question without ever actually answering it. But then, "Charlene."
That gets a dry little narrowing of Riley's eyes, and she mutters, "...Great, so all I need is for Rai and Cheese Doodle to piss him-- her off, and I'll be packed with an entire group that the prideful bitch hates." With a terse little roll of her eyes, she asks, "What happened, exactly?"
X snorts softly. "She lied to the new Fury cub. Then she said that only Wendigo and Uktena tribes could beat or threaten cubs, and every other tribe was perfect. And the Furies would never threaten to kill cubs for stupid reasons. She made No Moon Job frenzy on her, because she yelled at both of us, disappeared, then came back to yell at him again."
That gets an expansive roll of Riley's eyes, "...Char can be... not the brightest bulb. Don't know what point she was trying to make there, but yeah. That was stupid of her."
X says, in a voice that's shockingly neither flat nor entirely monotone--it's singsong, if anything--"That Furies are all perfect and we should all get along and put daisies in our hair and no one should ever say or do mean things to anyone forever and ever amen."
Her break in monotone is rewarded with a peel of laughter from Riley, and she shakes her head, "Haaa, yeah. Black Furies. The all-inclusive Black Furies. The warm and totally welcoming, just-don't-have-a-penis, Black Furies. You wouldn't believe the difference between how I was treated by the average Fury when I had a dick, and how I'm treated now."
Riley cants her head, "Eh, or maybe you would. You're on the inside, and all."
X rolls her eyes about as hard as anyone can manage. "Well, a lot of them are stupid and don't do any research. /I/ did research." She looks at Riley, then rolls to her feet. "I did other research too. Slug said parkour and I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, so I looked it up."
The ragabash smirks, and gives a nod of her head, "...Exactly. There's no point going through life being an ignorant, closed-minded fuck in the name of tradition. Really, I'm surprised that you're still with 'em. Figured you for the type that'd hit Cliath and fuck right off."
X sighs. Her voice has returned to its usual monotone, but at least there's some emphasis behind her words. "/You/ told me about how I couldn't fuck off when I rited. Black Furies have good ideas. It's just a lot of the sisters are fucking stupid." She briefly touches one of the prominent scars on her cheeks.
"Oh? That was smart of me, then. Good job, past Riley. You're welcome, current Riley." The ragabash offers a full-toothed grin, shrugging a shoulder. "...If you can find something to keep yourself around, it really is better that way. I can't tell you how many times I thought about leaving the Walkers when I was a Cliath, honestly. Took me awhile to realize that it was actually a good fit, I was just being a sulky fuck. Seriously, worse than Phil, when I was a kid."
X's expression is decidedly skeptical at that claim. "The tribe is okay, it's just the fucking Garou shit sometimes." She scratches at the scar, then rocks on her heels. "I'm going to go practice."
"Arright." Riley nods, "...Thanks for listening to me spill my guts. Just didn't want you getting the wrong picture, one way or another. Know you're not the gushy, squishy type, but if you ever wanna hit me up, I'll listen, too." Her lips quirk, "...and I won't even ask you to put daisies in your hair."
X has already turned by the time Riley gets to her offer; she stops, with more weight on one foot than the other. "...Okay." Monosyllabic once more. She turns and starts walking toward the house.
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:
Charlene
Tent(#1921A)
Obvious exits:
Narrow Path Sunrise Road Front Door Barn/Garage
Foggy and chilly is the order of the morning, but this has not dissuaded a certain Fury Cliath from claiming a spot up on the top of Edgewood's roof. Not unlike the other day, she's lying on her stomach on the very peak of the rooftop, with her hands, gloved as always, splayed to either side of her body. Her eyes are closed, of all things, though it's impossible to tell from below whether or not she's actually sleeping.
One more night of healing was all it took for Charlene to be all wonderful and healed up. No itchy scabs or scars for this Fury. Coming out on the porch with a cup of coffee and wrapped in a jacket, Charlene leans against the railing of the porch to look out over the gloomy morning, the Galliard moon still tugging on her.
There's no change from X, no sound, and no movement. If she notices Charlene's presence, she doesn't show it.
And with X being all the way up there, it's pretty easy for the Galliard to miss the other Fury. Still, she takes another sip of her coffee, mostly finishing it, sets it on the railing of the porch, looks around to see if there's anyone coming down the driveway and then, when the coast seems to be clear, Charlene takes a running leap off the porch, shifts to Lupus in midair, and goes to running around the meadow like a pup!
X's eyes open at this particular commotion, though slowly, and not all the way. She peers down at the running Galliard, with her eyebrows lifting very slightly.
Tumbling and rolling, scrambling through the grass, sending leaves in her wake, Song-of-Vengeance gives herself a good workout with a lot of sprints and direction changes, even yelping playfully as she pops in and out of the umbra. And finally, panting and happy, she starts padding her way back to the porch, tongue lolling out. Fun fun fun.
By this point, X is openly squinting down at the other Fury, hanging a little further over the edge of the roof to better spot her. Her nose is faintly wrinkled, as is her forehead.
Even Fosterns have to cut loose now and again, the fury bouncing a little as she walks back to the house, tail wagging and all. If she could sing she would be, but the body language she's giving off shows that she's pleased to be in one piece and all healed up. Scenting the air and ears swiveling, she looks up to see X peering down at her and plops her butt down on the grass. HI! she barks. Nice day today!
"What are you doing?" X asks. Her voice is the same flat tonelessness it usually is, though there may be the faintest note of incredulousness to it.
Having fun! Song's tail bats the ground behind her before some inconsequential itch causes her to turn and gnaw a spot on her back. When she looks back up at the roof, she continues. Hurt went away so now I play!
X snorts at this answer. "Okay." She doesn't seem to find the answer terribly explanatory. The Ragabash lowers her head back onto the roof again.
Song-of-Vengeance heads for the porch, shifting to Homid just before her foot hits the steps. She's smiling, pleased with herself as she grabs the coffeecup, taking another sip. "Just getting the cobwebs off of my joints, making sure everything knit together properly." Conversation with an unseen face. "It's just nice, sometimes, to run."
"You were bouncing," X points out dubiously. "And the umbra kept eating you."
There's silence from the porch, and it could be easily imagined that Charlene is blushing a bit. "...ah well, yes. It's one of my boons for following Otter as a pack totem. I can go in and out of the umbra without a mirror and really, really easily. If I'm not careful, sometimes I end up in the umbra and don't even know it."
X's nose and forehead remain wrinkled. "Why?"
Song-of-Vengeance steps out into the grass, looking up at X on the roof. "Because it's fun." she finally says. "Feeling the wind in my face, the smells, the sounds surrounding me. The feel of grass beneath my paws and dew on my nose. It's kind of like being a kid."
X huffs in response, and elaborates on her one word question: "Why would you want to go into the Umbra easily?"
"It's interesting." That's the simple response and, seeing the expression that's surely on X's face, Charlene elaborates. "It's the spirit world. It's a place that's impossible for humans and kin to get to, and it's a part of what it means to be Garou. It gives me a few advantages, too, in fights and the sort, being able to pop in and out without using a mirror, and I never, ever get stuck halfway."
"Creepy," X says, clearly referring to the Umbra itself. "Creepy and full of monsters, except they don't even have to hide over there."
"So's the real world." Charlene responds, taking another sip of the coffee. "At least in the Umbra you can see them for what they are."
"Humans can't go to the Umbra," X says, right away.
"But you can see if something's got its claws in them." Charlene retorts. "Controlling them. At least it gives the really sad things that happen in the world a reason for happening." She pauses. "There are some nice places in the umbra, though. Have you seen the caern during the full moon? Or Harbor Park?"
"Yes," X says. She doesn't specify as to which. "The Wyrm doesn't do everything that's bad."
"I know." Charlene finishes her coffee, setting the cup on the railing. "There is darkness in everyone and some people do act on it. I wish it weren't so but..." She trails off, rocking her head slightly back and forth before reaching up to adjust her hat. "Still...the umbra's okay if you can get used to it. If you'd ever like to explore, I can show you some nice places. Some glades and the like."
X shakes her head rough. "I'll stay over here." She pushes up into a sitting position that seems just about as precarious as when she was lying down.
"Offer's open if you're ever interested." Charlene moves to sit on the porch. "Just out of curiousity, why are you up there? Comfortable? Can see better? Something else?"
"I like it." X draws up her knees. She's not even using one hand for balance now.
"Good enough." Charlene peers up for a second. "It's not like you'd get terribly hurt if you fell. That leap you did with Petra was pretty impressive the other day."
X rolls her shoulders back. "I practice. I can do it without shifting too."
Charlene chuckles. "That's a bit daring. I don't think I'd want to even try in any form that wasn't Crinos, Glabro, or Hispo." She stands, wiping her hands off on her jeans. "Heading to my forge if you want to come. Going to work off a little aggression on some iron." She motions. "C'mon. We'll make you a sword or something."
X stares at Charlene. "A sword?" Incredulous, again.
"Well...." Charlene thinks for a moment. "That might be a little ambitious. How about a short dagger to start with?"
"I've got a knife," X says, while that wrinkle in her forehead grows more pronounced. "I can get more knives too, if I want."
"I know. But did you make them with your own hands from a lump of steel?" Charlene grins. "This one would be yours because you made it."
X shakes her head, but she says, "I'd make a shitty knife."
"Probably, yes. C'mere." Charlene motions for X to leap down while she removes her hat. "Look. She fishes out a little twist of metal from inside her hat - a stylized black fury glyph made out of hammered iron, polished on the front and back with the sides left black. "This took me a long, long time to make. It's nothing to anyone else, but to me, it's a symbol of my work. Thing is....I've got around twenty of these that don't look half as good. Even more just practicing to get it right. Your first knife won't be perfect. It'll have mistakes, it won't be straight, it won't hold an edge, it'll crack, but we'll take it and start again. We'll add more carbon, more steel. We'll sharpen it. We'll heat it slowly. We'll forge it until you have a knife that'll fit your hand as if it were your own claw."
Charlene does all of this even if X doesn't jump down.
X, true to form, doesn't jump down, though she does peer over the edge of the roof, and listen to Charlene's words. "I don't want to make a knife," she says, when the other Fury is done. "I've got werewolf claws. Fucking Wolverine claws would be cool though." She adds, as if this may not be obvious, "you can't actually make those. It's just comic book shit."
"It would take a little work but...yeah, I think we could probably figure something out." Charlene crouches down and starts to sketch in the dirt at the front of the steps. "little grip to hold them, then three blades braized on, in between each finger....polish them to sit flush on your hand..." She looks up. "Fucking cool's going to take some work. You up for it?"
X shakes her head at this. "No, not a grip. Just the claws." She makes the appropriate snickt noise, and gestures with one hand. "And you can't do that, because there's logistical problems. And even if you could, werewolf claws are stronger."
"Yeah yeah.." Charlene says with a smirk. "You're no fun." She pokes her tounge out playfully, wiping away the drawings. "Figuring out how, though, would be pretty cool. Making them work without the whole 'ramming into your arms' thing and all."
X frowns a little more, eyes narrowing in thought. "Logistical problems," she repeats. "I've had enough metal."
The Galliard waves a hand. "Okay, okay." She stands, dragging a boot through the dirt on the ground, obscuring the drawing even further. "Ever change your mind, my forge is set up in the barn just down the road. Look for the slab that used to have the burned down house and follow the path. You'll find me pretty easy. Actually....." She pauses for a moment. "Are you interested in learning a rite?"
X eases up from her sitting position to a crouch. "What rite?"
"A pretty simple one, really. It's called Artwork. Basically it lets you channel your stronger emotions into something artistic and acts as a kind of outlet for your rage. It's what I do when I blacksmith." Charlene mimics the motion of hammering. "It lets you blend in better with the humans and turns the wick down slightly. Almost like meditation."
"I know that one," X says, and it may be an illusion, but she does seem to demonstrate a brief moment of fondness. "The Furies at Three Sisters taught me."
Charlene gives a slight nod, as if to say 'good!' to herself before she looks up again. "It's a good one to know, and I'm just about due for a renewal. Would you like to come and perform it with me?"
X, unsurprisingly, shakes her head. "I don't blacksmith," she states."
"Neither did I six months ago. Want to give it a try?" Charlene's trying, darnit!
X says, flatly, "No."
"Okay." Charlene waves, heading off down the road. "See you later, then."
X watches her go. Eventually, the Ragabash returns to her previous position on her stomach, and looks back over the meadow again.
----
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:
Riley
Tent(#1921A)
Obvious exits:
Narrow Path Sunrise Road Front Door Barn/Garage
It's quite possibly one of the warmest evenings in recent memory, so it's only natural that Riley is outside. She's a bit offset from Edgewood House proper, lingering on the outskirts of the property - particularly, the natural pond. If it were spring or summer, then the copse of trees surrounding the small pool would doubtless hide the ragabash entirely from sight - but as it stands, that black dress stands out rather mightily both against her subtly tanned skin and the surrounding undergrowth. She sticks out like a sore thumb.
In contrast, Rogue is not really noticeable until she's nearly entirely out of the trees. Her dark fur is natural camouflage at this time of evening, and she makes no real noise to announce herself. Her slink is recognizable even before she is, though, and the scars can't be mistaken as belonging to anyone else. She pads toward the pond in a wide, wary sort of circle.
For as sneaky as her former teacher is, she lacks any especially preternatural powers of perception - Rogue's able to get plenty close without the distracted Adren so much as turning her head. Riley doesn't seem to be up to anything in particular, she's just zoning out and gazing down at the water. It's happenstance more than any sixth sense that makes her takes a long breath and look about her - but Rogue is picked out almost immediately when she does. Unfair. Her lips pull into a thin fascimile of a smile, and she lifts a hand. "...You less edgy tonight, or more? Wanted to clarify some shit."
Rogue twitches one ear back. Less. She hunkers down against the grass before sliding smoothly into her birthform, where, for whatever reason, she doesn't really do anything to change her position. Those feverish eyes of hers study Riley carefully. Waiting.
Not creepy. The Adren folds her arms, "...So, you got to hear an awful lot of shit without the proper context. Most notably because pointing out the proper context when in close-quarters with Little-Silvertip would have gotten me squashed, and would have put you in the crossfire. Wasn't going to do that to either of us." She cranes her head to the side, "...Seems fitting that this'd come on the heels of the speech you gave at that moot."
X remains silent. There's a few infinitesimal twitches in her expression, but nothing telling or remotely helpful. She's listening, and that's about all that's clear.
"'Combat the Wyrm Wherever it Dwells and Whenever it Breeds', right?" Riley reaches up to scratch lightly at her cheek with a fingernail, "That one was one I thought a lot about, before it happened. I'm sure you've gotten the cliff-notes from filling in the blanks, but here's where I was coming from - Finds-Death was Little Silvertip's packmate, as I'm sure you surmised. I didn't know fuck-all about her before it happened. I stay well clear of Red Talons - hell, I stay clear of the Pure Tribes, because I can't take a breath or a piss without them getting livid. 'Filthy urrah', and all that." She tongues her teeth, "So, I got a heads-up from the Corax that a serial killer had been working over St. Claire, and she was worried it might be a wolf. I took that to mean 'Spiral', so I was on the case in no time flat. Took me a couple of different murder scenes to catch a break on any evidence. It's hard to go through house after house, looking at the places where she'd suffocated, stabbed, murdered everyone in the house. Not Wyrm-ridden humans. Normal, everyday people." She looks away for a moment, "...One, I got there before the police. She'd killed an entire family in their beds, parents, children, even the cat was bled out." Her fist tightens in recollection and she shrugs, "...So, yeah. I guess right off the bat, I felt close to the whole thing. Too close, or just the right amount of close depends on your point of view."
Riley knows X well enough to recognize the subtle signs of disgust. The faintest wrinkle of her nose, a miniscule narrowing of her eyes. There's tension in her shoulders that's greater than it was when she was just crouching in that weird, inhuman way.
Riley breathes, "...So I find a clue there. A piece of hair. I run it to the Corax, and she gets it identified. So far, so good. I figure it's gonna be something I can use in a Questing Stone to find the spiral bastard who was doing all this. Had my blood up, ready to just put a quick end to the Wyrmy fucker - instead, it comes back as our Alpha's packmate. Silvertip's. I was fucking livid, but I didn't just go off on my own and shoot the bitch. I didn't even go to the Philodoxes first. I went to Little Silvertip. I got to the edge of his territory, and gave a good proper howl, announcing myself. Right off the bat, he snarls at me for wasting his time. Tells me that Finds-Death is no concern of mine. Tells me he already dealt with it. Tells me he sent her away to go live with the other Red Talons." A further tensing of Riley's fingers, "...I was a Fostern back then, and he was Alpha - and still Athro. He wouldn't even give me the time of day when I told him that exile was not a suitable punishment for what she'd done. That it was wrong of him to skip the Philodoxes entirely, to turn loose a killer to go live where her actions would be embraced and championed. I got angry with him when he wouldn't give me any information about where she'd gone, wouldn't acknowledge that he'd done was wrong. He worked some Uktena bullshit and grabbed me by the throat from where he stood. Levitated me into the air, told me to fuck off, then threw me away like garbage."
"Okay." It's the first word X has spoken since Riley started. In fact, it's the first word she's actually /spoken/, period. She pushes up slowly, until she's more sitting than crouching. If anything, her eyes are even narrower.
Scratching at her arm in mild irritation at the memory, Riley's teeth squeal slightly where she grinds them. "...So, if someone did that to you, would you let that be the end of it? He was Alpha, but he was /wrong/. I knew it in every part of me, so I did what I knew I had to. I went home, I filled in a Philodox, and we left the same night to track her down. She had a huge lead, so it took us the better part of three days to catch up to her. Her eyes were glassy and lifeless, like a doll's. The rain poured down around us, drenching us all to the bone. The philodox spoke to her, asked her why she'd killed the humans - asked if they had been of the Wyrm. Her reply? 'All humans are of the Wyrm.' There was no shame for what she had done, no remorse at being dismissed from her pack, her Sept.She was just a murdering Ronin who - if we let her go to that Red Talon camp? Would be completely unreachable without a war that no one would risk. She'd be safe in her little haven, to 'cull' more innocent human beings without us being able to do a thing to stop her. We can't be at every human's bedside at all times. She'd have killed again, and again, and again."
Riley's throat tightens, and she plants her heel down against the ground. "...I lost track of myself. I went there to drag her murdering ass back to the Sept for judgement, but in that moment, I couldn't think clear. You know how it is when the red takes you. My teeth were buzzing, my hands were shaking, I could feel my skin wanting to crawl right off, and she just stood there, emotionless, careless of all the blood on her hands. She knew that what she was doing was /right/, and in that moment, I just couldn't stomach it." The ragabash's hands squeeze slightly and she hooks her thumbs down into her coat pockets, eyes closing. "...I came to my senses, dry-firing over her body. She hadn't even moved a muscle. Thinking back on it, I think I got her in one, but I wanted that whole clip in her." Her eyes open, and she murmurs, "...It's about the filthiest I've ever felt, and I've had to do a lot of shit since I turned."
X shifts a little in place, and frowns at Riley. "Why?"
"Killed a lot of things that needed to die." Riley answers, "Killed a..." The ragabash's throat contracts heavily, "Thing without the intent of doing it - the wolf, not me. But this? It was the first time I'd ever wanted it. The first time I'd ever felt /joy/ for ending a life that so dearly needed ending." Her lips twist, "...It's grey. All of it. Her. Me. Depending on where you stand, you can choose the villain, but the only thing that could be agreed on is there's no hero in that story. No one saving the day, just two murderers."
X's nose wrinkles more. "She was murdering fucking kids. Families. Pets. Why? That didn't do anyone any good, not even her. I don't think it's very grey at all."
A brief laugh, and Riley shrugs her shoulders, "Comforting to hear you say, believe it or not. But once the blood had pooled and the only thing left was a body? Can't say I thought it was very grey, either. I was scared about retribution, but remorse? Ha. Fuck that. I knew I did the right thing." Her head bows, "So, yeah. Then Wolfhome happened - if you're not familiar with it, it's basically a lupus version of hell. Food's impossibly scarce, you're hungry all the time, you can't sleep because there's always someone chasing you, always something wanting to kill you. Humans, with their guns, and their dogs, and nowhere to run." Despite herself, the ragabash breaks composure and gently moves her hands to hold her opposing arms. A little hug for herself as she recalls, "...Met other Garou there, too. They didn't make it. After long, it was just me and this feral wolf. Taught me the ropes, how to hide, how to hunt. How to see territory, how to not get myself killed. Then one day, it was apparently enough of a lesson for Griffin, and I was... out." Her arms drop, "...My time there made me change the way I saw humans. Change the way I saw wolves. I don't agree with what she did. Not one bit. But if I'd been born Lupus, can I say for sure that I wouldn't harbor a hatred for humans that rivaled her own?" There's a pause, and she lifts her shoulders. "...I shouldn't have pulled that trigger. The Philodoxes should have decided her fate. They'd have called for her death, I've no doubt, but what I did? It wasn't heroism or expediating justice. It was something selfish and cold, and I lost a piece of myself in that forest."
"Hatred's okay," X says. Now that she's actually started speaking in sentences, she seems to have a bunch of them. "But I don't think little kids and cats were hunting the Red Talon with guns or killing all her food." Her gaze flicks to Riley, then away. "Yeah. Philodox."
"So, in a larger-than-I-intended nutshell..." Riley makes a little helpless gesture with her hands, "...That's why Silvertip wants to kill me and wear my skin as a bra. If I thought I could take her, I'd have had it out with her right there, but... honestly? She could ruin me up-close. The only way for me to win that fight would be... I guess to force her to frenzy, then hope I'm fast enough to deal with what she'd throw down." The ragabash gives a not-too-enthusiastic shrug of her shoulder. "And it'd be a crapshoot, and you were there."
X rolls her shoulders back into a clear shrug. "She didn't kill you though. Or frenzy."
Riley holds her index finger and thumb up, with a miniscule space between them, "No. She didn't. By like /this/ much. That was dangerous as hell. She was /this/ close to snapping, and if I'd disrespected her in any way, or used any of the wrong words, things would have gone to hell." She offers a subtle shrug, "...But, yeah. Figured you deserved an explanation about what the fuck all that was about."
X gives a single nod that doesn't seem terribly different from her shrugs. "Okay," she says, yet again. "Silvertip's mad at Stupid Fury right now anyway."
"Stupid fury?" That draws a baffled tilt of Riley's head. It's the first time she's heard this particular nickname in circulation.
"Yeah." And at first, it seems like this might be yet another one of those times where X answers a question without ever actually answering it. But then, "Charlene."
That gets a dry little narrowing of Riley's eyes, and she mutters, "...Great, so all I need is for Rai and Cheese Doodle to piss him-- her off, and I'll be packed with an entire group that the prideful bitch hates." With a terse little roll of her eyes, she asks, "What happened, exactly?"
X snorts softly. "She lied to the new Fury cub. Then she said that only Wendigo and Uktena tribes could beat or threaten cubs, and every other tribe was perfect. And the Furies would never threaten to kill cubs for stupid reasons. She made No Moon Job frenzy on her, because she yelled at both of us, disappeared, then came back to yell at him again."
That gets an expansive roll of Riley's eyes, "...Char can be... not the brightest bulb. Don't know what point she was trying to make there, but yeah. That was stupid of her."
X says, in a voice that's shockingly neither flat nor entirely monotone--it's singsong, if anything--"That Furies are all perfect and we should all get along and put daisies in our hair and no one should ever say or do mean things to anyone forever and ever amen."
Her break in monotone is rewarded with a peel of laughter from Riley, and she shakes her head, "Haaa, yeah. Black Furies. The all-inclusive Black Furies. The warm and totally welcoming, just-don't-have-a-penis, Black Furies. You wouldn't believe the difference between how I was treated by the average Fury when I had a dick, and how I'm treated now."
Riley cants her head, "Eh, or maybe you would. You're on the inside, and all."
X rolls her eyes about as hard as anyone can manage. "Well, a lot of them are stupid and don't do any research. /I/ did research." She looks at Riley, then rolls to her feet. "I did other research too. Slug said parkour and I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, so I looked it up."
The ragabash smirks, and gives a nod of her head, "...Exactly. There's no point going through life being an ignorant, closed-minded fuck in the name of tradition. Really, I'm surprised that you're still with 'em. Figured you for the type that'd hit Cliath and fuck right off."
X sighs. Her voice has returned to its usual monotone, but at least there's some emphasis behind her words. "/You/ told me about how I couldn't fuck off when I rited. Black Furies have good ideas. It's just a lot of the sisters are fucking stupid." She briefly touches one of the prominent scars on her cheeks.
"Oh? That was smart of me, then. Good job, past Riley. You're welcome, current Riley." The ragabash offers a full-toothed grin, shrugging a shoulder. "...If you can find something to keep yourself around, it really is better that way. I can't tell you how many times I thought about leaving the Walkers when I was a Cliath, honestly. Took me awhile to realize that it was actually a good fit, I was just being a sulky fuck. Seriously, worse than Phil, when I was a kid."
X's expression is decidedly skeptical at that claim. "The tribe is okay, it's just the fucking Garou shit sometimes." She scratches at the scar, then rocks on her heels. "I'm going to go practice."
"Arright." Riley nods, "...Thanks for listening to me spill my guts. Just didn't want you getting the wrong picture, one way or another. Know you're not the gushy, squishy type, but if you ever wanna hit me up, I'll listen, too." Her lips quirk, "...and I won't even ask you to put daisies in your hair."
X has already turned by the time Riley gets to her offer; she stops, with more weight on one foot than the other. "...Okay." Monosyllabic once more. She turns and starts walking toward the house.
