Food for Thought

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:46 Pacific Time on Wed Dec 9 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.86 and rising, and the relative humidity is 86 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (9% full).

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.

It's chilly in the woods near the mountains, and it promises only to get colder as the night goes on. The sun has only recently set, yet the crackle and light of a small fire does much to illuminate the caern nestled away within the vast swath of wilderness that is WWNP. As is his usual habit, Nick is seated perhaps a little too close to the fire for most people's comfort, back to the woods, face gazing into the fire and perhaps through it towards the central aspect of the caern itself. He seems, if anything, meditative.

This wiry, short (5'6"), and modestly attractive man looks to be just slightly on either side of 40 years of age. His dark brown hair, with the occasional strand of absolute white, is medium length and just a tad unkempt. He looks physically fit, but not necessarily athletic. His movements tend to speak of a practiced grace and fluidity--as if well aware of his immediate environment and the mechanics of the human body.

His attire consists predominantly of an earthen-brown, long, flowing, almost robe-like hooded duster of lightweight fabric that envelopes most of his body. Typically worn with the hood down and the front open, the duster reveals a brown T-shirt, with the stylized dire wolf's head of House Stark, and "WINTER IS COMING" below. Pants? Earthen brown slacks, very loose-fitting, with an expensive and slightly worn pair of Merrell hiking boots--likewise brown and with hints of dirt on them. He also wears a pair of brown leather gloves.

The more perceptive might notice his right pant leg by his ankle has an unusual bulge. There's also a strong smell of woodsmoke about him, as if he's just recently been standing too close to a campfire or fireplace.

Salem enters the caern from the south and makes his way counter-clockwise around the perimeter toward the firepit -- an unconscious habit, perhaps. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, the barely adolescent Philodox ambles over to join the mage. No scars, no trace of the limp he's had for years.

This short, skinny white kid is only a few inches over five feet tall and looks to be around twelve or thirteen years old. His straight black hair is cut in a basic, functional style that requires little maintenance -- super-short on the back and sides and only slightly longer on top. He's got a thin face with a beaky nose, thick eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. He's not a bad-looking kid, quite the opposite, but there's still something about him that makes most normal people uneasy, a feeling of potential violence, of predatory intensity.

He's typically dressed in jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, typical casual kid-wear, with a grey hooded jacket for outdoors. Apart from the footwear, his clothing is all a little bit too big on him, but one might imagine that he'll grow into it in a year or so.

Nicodemus may or may not have noticed the garou's initial arrival, not having looked away from whatever it is he's staring at, but there's an inexplicable sensation of having been noticed long before he finally looks up from fire-gazing and towards you. "Pleasant enough evening, so long as you stay warm."

Salem reaches the fire and drops gracefully into a crosslegged sit nearby, close enough for conversation without getting in the other's personal space. "It's not snowing, at least."

Nicodemus looks to the sky, as if that might shed some light on the weather's future. "It'll come soon enough." A beat. "I think I'm looking forward to it just a little bit. Snowflakes' crystalline structures and patterns are surprisingly interesting if you look at them up close." He seems to be drifting off before, out of the blue, he asks, "With your new life and new time, do you plan to do things differently?"

Salem scratches his neck, looking bemused at the question. "I don't see how I could do things the /same/. I'm not planning on renouncing back to Ahroun or rejoining the Shadow Lords."

Nicodemus grunts thoughtfully at that comment, adding, "Those were not.... I think those were not the most pleasant of years for you or those around you." He suggests, "But maybe, now, it might be a good time to reflect on what you were before you left on that trip through the umbra with Kavi. And if there might be something about that you that you didn't care for and don't have to continue doing?"

"Hm." Salem pulls his knees up to his chest and folds his arms over top of them. "That's an... interesting question," he says after a moment. "I still have my duties to this Sept and to my tribe. I haven't stopped being /Garou/. And I still feel... responsible, I suppose, for the welfare of the city's homeless. Though I'm still deciding how best to go about that."

"It's certainly going to be more difficult now that you're younger-looking," Nick observes. "Although aiding the homeless is certainly a noble thing." The mage grasps a nearby small log and feeds it to the ever-hungry fire before him. It starts to pop and fizz as the sap within quickly begins to boil by the time Nick is done saying what he's about to say. "I've debated, for a while, using my ability to see beyond what most see in the real estate industry." This coming from the person who currently manages stock portfolios for a living. "Specifically, locate the cheap deal on the house with good bones but in need of some basic elbow grease. I, frankly, don't care to go fixing them up myself. Time consuming, and I don't have the time and don't exactly need the money. But it might be interesting to purchase a house, let a work crew come in on the cheap, and then flip it or turn it into free or rental property. It could be a way to mobilize some of the homeless to help join other urban renewal projects. And make money."

Salem absent-mindedly gnaws on a thumbnail as he listens, but then stops abruptly, with a slight grimace. "It's bad not to have a secure place to sleep. And there are plenty of people who actually /do/ want to work." He frowns. "I've mentioned this to Mouse, but... the fate of the Tenement bothers me. It feels like a big hanging thread, and yet I don't see how we can safely move back into it or sell it to another party. So it's just... there. Bait the enemy knows about but never bit."

"It is a little unnerving--and exciting--sleeping out in the woods with nothing but a thin piece of fabric between yourself and the wilderness. It makes me better appreciate having walls and doors at my cabin, and the feeling of safety that comes with having a home to go to at the end of the day." Nick rubs the base of his chin with the glove on his right hand, a thoughtful gesture. "But it would be wrong to put the homeless into the tenemant if we know the Spirals are watching them." He admits, "I do kind of miss the old place. The Hub doesn't seem to have the same resonance."

Salem sighs. "No, it doesn't. And... no, I wouldn't want any civilians staying at the Tenement, because it /isn't/ safe." He grimaces, nose wrinkling. "Honestly, and this pains me to say it because I put so much goddamned work into the place, but I wonder if it wouldn't be better if it was completely torn down. Turn the lot into, I don't know, a park?"

"Probably better to simply sell it, route the finances through a bunch of accounts and a hand transaction or three, and use the money to do something else with," Nick suggests. "That should be nigh-impossible to track and, once sold, I doubt the Spirals would bother."

Salem scratches his nose, looking thoughtful. "Hmn. You may be right."

"Maybe make a new and larger park somewhere else where you're protecting what is instead of having to destroy and then reclaim. Or look into purchasing fixer-upper houses and coordinating something there with the homeless that are sane enough to realize they shouldn't wreck a good opportunity when it's being given to them." Nick stands up and stretches. "Speaking of opportunity, I think I'm going to go crash in my hammock off north in the woods. I'm afraid if I sleep here, next to the fire, I might accidentally roll into it. See you around, Salem."

Salem manages a slight smile. "Be seeing you."