Grooves and Secrets

[hazlogs]

It is currently 08:55 Pacific Time on Mon Dec 14 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 35 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.04 and rising, and the relative humidity is 78 percent. The dewpoint is 29 degrees Fahrenheit (-1 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (22% full).

Harbor Park -- The Meadow(#194RJ)

One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about five feet tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two breaks each at the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end. Wooden posts are being erected at regular intervals all along the earthen wall, while tasteful iron gates and fences are being added at the entrances. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. From the street view or river view, the park is now isolated, as if it existed apart from the city. People in tall buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons for now, though. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed surrounds the fountain.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire.

Only ten days before Christmas Eve, and the morning is chilly but clear. The park sees its usual population of daytime visitors, joggers and dogwalkers and senior citizens mostly, plus a knot of exhausted college types celebrating the end of exams. Salem watches all of this while leaning against a park bench, hood up and hands stuffed into his coat pockets. Wires snake down from a pair of earbuds and vanish into one of those pockets, though it's camoflague only; he's not actually listening to anything.

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.

A familiar-looking, soiled, slightly rusted, Suburban 4x4 cruises along the streets, coming from the north. It locates a parking spot, conveniently vacated less than a minute earlier, and squeezes perfectly into places with a textbook parallel parking maneuver that might cause a driving instructor to a shed a tear at its beauty. Nick exits the vehicle and crosses the street. The streetlight over the car flickers yellow and comes on waaaay too early, and then it goes back out a few seconds later. The mage makes his way into the park, giving a look first and foremost to the fountain itself before scanning the park and setting a path towards the garou already present. As he draws nearer, and likely gets noticed, he offers a nod of greeting.

Salem nods back, a hand coming up to pluck out his earbuds and stow them away. "You spooked the streetlight," he says, smirking a little.

Nicodemus glances back, eyes lingering on the streetlights that look normal now, and finishes drawing nearer to the benched youth. "At least it's not gravity this time," he replies as he mounts the bench so that he can sit on the back with his feet in the seat, affording him a higher perch. "There were some fun times at my cabin a few weeks ago, let me tell you. The cat did not care for it at all."

Salem climbs up to join Nick atop the bench; his balance is much better than it was even a month ago. "This kind of thing happens to you, ah, a lot?"

Nicodemus seems to consider the question a bit before hazarding an answer. "Much more nowadays than in the past. There's an assortment of theories out there, but I think it boils down to the more powerful magicks you're capable of working, the more your presence inadvertently affects your immediate reality." He summarizes with a shrug. "Strange magnet." He rubs a gloved hand briefly over the bench. "Speaking of, this bench is ever so slightly magnetic. Not that I think anyone would notice, though."

Salem's eyebrows go up. "Really." He looks down at the bench, giving it a brief rub with his fingertips. "Interesting. The more you advance, the less reality likes you?" He looks thoughtful. "Whereas... well, /we/ don't have issues so much with reality, just humanity. But our newbies have a worse effect on normal people than our elders, I think."

Nicodemus mehs slightly at Salem's theory. "It's not so much reality disliking me as me inadvertently loosening up reality around me. I think. Reality is.... just getting to be much more mallable. Perhaps even at a subconcious level, where maybe I'm doing things without really thinking about it. Like people when they're driving a car. New drivers have to really focus; experienced drivers are practically on autopilot." He nods towards you, indicating he's switched topics. "I rather assumed that effect was the prickly sensation of there being a predator nearby, but there's.... It seems more like a mix of that primal flight or fright mentality combined with something on a spiritual level, too." He waves a gloved index finger back and forth in a straight line through the air. "If you walk the same way, back and forth, long enough, then you eventually create a trail, then a path, then a groove."

Salem tilts his head a bit, eyes narrowed as he considers this. "Yes, the Curse." One can almost hear the capital letter. "Though there are ways of repressing that, at least for those at the highest levels. You can rather tell that we weren't really designed for that kind of thing, though. Unfortunately."

"Well-worn paths are temptations. Easier. Harder to step off of. But you can still leave them with enough time and effort." Nick then asides, "Speaking of, I need to talk to Mouse. I'd like to re-install the ley lines that used to be connected to the park, now that I'm capable of doing so."

The young Philodox nods. "I'll give her a nudge. Lately she's been burying herself in work, and... well." He snaps his fingers, remembering something. "Oh, and by the way, that, ah, thing you've been doing for Kavi? It seems to be helping."

Nicodemus looks, suddenly, surprised. A smile crawls ascross his face. "Oh, good. I couldn't tell if it was or was not, as I did not wish to pry and further invade his privacy without his knowledge." He leans back slightly, looking pleased. "Good. I will continue doing that then. And here I was debating giving up just the other day."

Salem smiles back. "I don't think he'll ever be the man he was, but those little connections... he looks less lost, less disconnected." He scratches his nose. "He and Rina seem to be doing well, too, which is... honestly, it's a relief. I don't think I could stand Rina having to deal with /more/ grief in her life."

Nicodemus exhales as Rina's plight is mentioned. "A lot of what stresses Rina out is technically a hell of her own making. Much of it is situational, but.... It's not like she hasn't revelled in it in the past, encouraging what's become a part of her problems." That index finger makes another appearance, drawing a line back and forth between two invisible points. "Grooves."

Salem frowns. "I wouldn't it /revelling/, though I will grant that her coping mechanisms tend toward the..." He briefly gropes for the right word. "...Demonstrative."

"A subtle yet meaningful clarification," Nick concedes easily enough and with a hint of bemusement. "I'm really glad that things are working out for them. And even if Kavi never gets his memories back, at least he seems to be making pleasant new ones. Hopefully the two of you learned some kind of lesson from this event?"

Salem grimaces, nose wrinkling. "I still don't remember much of anything that happened after we followed Stag into the portal. Lacking that, ask me again in a few months. I'm still... considering what I want to do next." He leans back a bit, stretching his legs out. "Besides my, ah, /official/ duties, which granted take up a quite-- a lot of time."

Nicodemus shrugs and suggests, "I'd have gone with a simpler moral to the story: not following strange Stag spirits into portals that lead into unfamiliar areas within the deep umbra, but that's just me." He shares a wry grin with you, and then admits, "I've done dumber things. Hindsight is a bitch."

Salem grins and leans back juuuust a bit further, wobbling precariously at the edge of tipping off backwards. "It is. Then again, trying to do everything /safe/ is stressful as hell."

Nicodemus slowly nods as he seemingly agrees with the garou. "We learn most from the mistakes we make. The mistakes we make and live through, rather. Ending up dead is not a productive learning experience for the person making the mistake. Maybe those who witnessed it, sure." He pauses, dwelling on what he's said for a moment. "Usually."

"Usually," Salem echoes. He straightens up. "You know, technically, I /have/ been dead, many times over. But since it usually happened when I was out of my mind..."

Nicodemus hmphs at that response, adding, "Yeah. I've been dead once, too. I managed to learn a lot from the experience, but I'd prefer to not repeat it unnecessarily." His gaze shifts to the fountain, eyeing it thoughtfully. "There used to be talk of making this place a caern years and years ago. I guess that idea died on the vine, huh?"

Salem huffs out a breath. "Seems to have, yes. There was worry about resources getting spread too thin. And of course the very process of opening a caern isn't a small task. Then we managed to get the woods caern back from the wasps and that... Wyld tidal wave or whatever it was... and, well." He shrugs.

Nicodemus allows his gaze to linger on the fountain, contemplating it in silence, before slowly tipping his head to one side--as if viewing it from a new perspective. "Are your kind able to create and re-route ley lines? Or is that essentially caern-building?"

Salem's brow furrows. "/My/ understanding," he says slowly, "is that building a caern is more... strengthening spiritual power that's already there, even if it's 'dead'. Dead usually meaning it's just latent, sleeping. From what I understand, it's similar with how Dancers create their Pits. I don't know that it /creates/ anything, but then again... I'm not a Theurge." He shrugs. "My knowledge of spiritual matters tends toward the practical, and of course, our culture discourages people from acting, ah, out of auspice. Mouse would be a much better person to talk to about that."

Nicodemus slides off the bench and excuses himself. "I think I need to go talk with her. See you around, Salem," he says as he heads back for his car.

Salem sketches a half-assed salute with two fingers. "Be seeing you."

(Later...)

It is currently 18:39 Pacific Time on Mon Dec 14 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 36 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.22 and rising, and the relative humidity is 92 percent. The dewpoint is 34 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (25% full).

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.

Ghost clearly can't understand Ciuraq, but the expression and her voice tone are universal. The newcomer swallows a little stiffly. Her eyes lower and so do her shoulders, while her fingers curl up against her palms. "...Sorry, uh. Sorry."

Thane watches Alicia move over to the house but doesn't say anything, only looks back towards Peter. "Get what you can within reason. And of course if any opportunities present themselves to inspect anyone else who appears to hold authority in the building gather what you can." Ciuraq's words, and expression, bring a quiet clearing of Thane's throat and he levels his eyes on Ghost. "Ghost. Metis. Ronin but the Glass Walkers seem fond of her." Nor him by the sounds of his voice of barely contained disgust as if he were discussing a sickly older dog in the pound.

Peter bobs his head in a polite nod. "Of course. Now I am afraid that I must be going, but I will contact you if I come across anything of significance."

"Thanks, Peter. Good work," Nick says to the kinsman. He then raises both hands up before himself and goes, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ghost is on the same team." This seems directed towards the Uktena. "And a Walker." That addition'll help for sure.

Ciuraq's eye twitches a bit as she stares dead on at Ghost. The reaction of Thane (not so much Nick) gets a gradual clenching and unclenching of her hand. Slowly, she lets out a tight breath. "Hallo." She says in English. "Pitsaq... did not expect to see you..." She gestures around. "Here. Sorry."

Salem emerges from the woods at the back of the house, brushing bits of brush out of his hair. For those who haven't seen him very recently, the Philodox looks quite different. He's still thirteenish, true, but he has no visible scars. Not a one; he's not even limping anymore. (He's also gotten a haircut, finally.)

Peter takes his leave, quietly excusing himself from the group and returning to his car. He is pulling away as Salem appears and is soon out of sight.

"If you need me for anything, Peter, just call." Thane says to the departing kinsman. "And thank you for your work." And with him departing his focus can remain fully on the topic of Ghost. There is no greeting from him. If anything, his mood seems to drop a few more notches. For the moment Salem is to his back and goes unnoticed.

Ghost swallows again. "Hi," she says in return to Ciuraq. I'm sorry, I...didn't expect to see you either. Its...things have happened. I talked to your alpha and some others." She shoots a fast, uncomfortable look toward Nick before looking back--although not directly--at Ciuraq. "I'm not...I mean, I am. A Walker. Technically. It's complicated. Ronin was more accurate."

The mention of Jacinta's approval takes some - though not all - of the weight off the Uktena. "Mmm. Did not know." She says, nearly monosylabically. She offers a terse "Piuraa." To Ghost, then turns to head inside.

Salem eyes the group from afar and then heads that way with a stony face and a brisk step.

Nicodemus seems to be perceptive enough to know when a garou is pretty close to losing it, and he's apparently smart enough to use that knowledge to activate his feet, which take him slowly backwards and away from Silvertip. And then the situation seems to largely resolve itself. He exhales. Slowly. Whew. Ghost gets a brief look of disapproval before that emotion is yanked back in and replaced with a much more neutral expression. It's then that he spies Salem, waving him over and encouraging him to join the other two Walkers present.

"Tribal status is not a relationship status on Facebook." Thane says with sour exasperation. "You either are apart of a tribe or you're not. Even a cub understands that." Mention of Jacinta seems to bring Thane no reassurance at all. In fact, there's a very apparent spike of anger that brings his jaw to clench and a cold, ugly look in his eye. It's only by effort it seems he's not showing his teeth. As Nick waves it serves to distract Thane enough to see Salem's doubly baby smooth faced face approaching. There's another look to Ghost before the Ahroun turns to walk towards the house too.

From within the house, the sizzling scent of porkchops hits the noses of those on the porch.

Ghost looks anything but happy, especially after that briefest of looks from Nick, though most of the expression seems to be around her eyes, as her mouth has been, and remains, a rather tense, thin line. She watches Thane enter the house, and then looks off to the side, away from the others.

Salem arrives just as Thane is walking away. He takes in Ghost's and Nick's body language, looks at the Shadow Lord's retreating back, then looks back at the two Walker-types. Quietly, he asks, "Everything all right?"

Nicodemus looks at odds with a range of warring thoughts, clearly doing battle visible on his face, body language, and eventually tone once he--finally--decides to speak--after the others have left. He keeps his voice low, but it's strained from honest-to-God anger brewing beneath the surface. "/If/ what Val seems to think is true, that /something/ about Ghost or her blood might potentially be a weapon against The Nothing--when we have /jack/ and /shit/ to throw at it otherwise--it needs to come out in the open so no one /fucking/ /kills/ /her/ and /fucking/ /dooms/ the /goddamn/ /fucking/ /universe/."

Ghost looks, if anything, even more unhappy, and her shoulders hunch further, but she does turn back to the conversation. "I'm sorry," she says again, and she seems to be including Salem in the apology for some reason. "Showing up was idiotic in the first place. But I--" her gaze narrows more on Nick. "Is that less or /more/ likely to make them want to kill me?"

Salem is caught completely off-guard by Nick's anger. "I, uh." He looks from one to the other and back again, gathering his thoughts. "I, ah, imagine it depends on whether that... thing about you works better if you're, uh, alive."

Nicodemus manages to put a lid on his anger, but it's clearly an effort to do so. He takes a deep, deep breath; exhales; and repeats the process again. There. Better. Ish. There's still tension evident in the mage. "If that ends up being the case, it should be her choice then. Not decided for everyone when someone flies off the handle for...." He waves a gloved hand vaguely through the air, but with force. "Pussyfooting about and wallowing in self-loathing. If being alive is what keeps The Nothing going, then congratulations; it sounds like you managed to inadvertently wipe out or run off most of the Wyrm's forces in the Queen's Tower, which is arguably the second biggest local threat after The Nothing and more than the sept has managed to date. So, y'know, /backbone/. A little backbone would go one hell of a long way, Ghost. It really would. Because what you've been doing? It's just digging the hole deeper."

"Backbone," Ghost echoes, with just a tinge, a flash in the pan flicker of her own temper. "Backbone? Mr. Dalton, didn't you just /see/...you don't...I can't show backbone to them. She nearly ripped my head off for existing. Showing backbone is a challenge, and nobody in the Nation is going to care if someone tears my throat out for not cringing and scraping and acting like a beaten dog. I don't--" She inhales sharply. "Is that what you think?"

Salem frowns. "/I/ am in the Nation," he says simply.

Nicodemus makes an adjustment to his hiking pack, raises both his gloved hands, and then points an index finger at the two of you. "Good. You both talk it out. I have shit to do." He seems calm on the surface, but that anger is clearly still boiling down below. He takes his leave, turning and walking towards the forest--possibly headed towards the caern.

Ghost visibly wilts a little in response to Nick's departure, but it doesn't last. "I'm not self-loathing," she mutters, more to herself than Salem. She does, however, give the Philodox a long, somewhat delayed look, and eventually says, "...Yeah." A long pause. "He's right though, I guess. Whatever uh, whatever this shit is, it's at the point they should know, isn't it?"

Salem lifts a hand in farewell to Nick, then tilts his head to look up at Ghost. "Probably, yes." He shakes his head. "I've known Nick for /years/, and that's the first time I've ever seen him angry."

Ghost runs fingers back through her hair. "I had a new dream," she says, after yet another pause. "Last night."

Salem raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Ghost wets her lips and nods once, and then, for some reason, she closes her eyes. "No visuals. I could...sense things. Smell them, feel them, taste them, except it wasn't like I was blind. Uh, not really. I couldn't see, but it was like I could anyway." She stops for a moment. "I know how stupid that sounds."

Salem considers this. "You couldn't see, but you had a clear idea of everything around you?"

"Yes," Ghost says, nodding again. Her eyes remain closed. "I was somewhere closed in. Cold, damp. Underground. There was a lot of motion, a lot of others around me. We kept bumping each other, they felt..." She seems to struggle for a word. "Sharp. Familiar. We were working together, dragging and biting at something...some/one/. Female crinos. Nothing about her was familiar. She was fighting us, I remember blood. Smelling. Tasting. We weren't--we were trying to take her somewhere. Down. I can't describe it, just.../downward/." Her fingers tense against her palms again, practically clenching. "We kept dragging her and she kept fighting, and then she got her claws in somewhere--stone--and one of us stopped." Ghost's eyes open, her frown deepens. "Uh, not...sorry. It's...that's the word I want to use. Stopped. Maybe she killed it? But it doesn't feel accurate to describe it like that. It stopped, it...ceased. And we pulled back. The Garou stayed where she was, and then I woke up."

"Christ." Salem rubs a hand back over his newly-short hair, scruffing it up a little. "Have you been writing these down?"

Ghost nods slowly. "Best I can. None of them really make much sense in a way that seems like it would help. And that one...words don't even feel right."

"Best you can is..." Salem scruffs at his hair again. "Well, the best you can. I'm sure if we need to, we can get someone into Dream to take a proper look, but having an idea of what we're looking for is helpful."

Ghost is standing with Salem, angled slightly away from the house now, though not entirely so, and pretty much in the same spot as before. She doesn't look thrilled by the suggestion of going into Dream, but there's no protestations from her either. "Maybe they'd have a better chance at translating, because that's what it feels like I'm doing. Most of them are what I've told you before though. Just uh, darkness. Cold. Dripping."

Ciuraq exits the Farmhouse shortly after Alicia, though from a different direction. She holds a pork chop, and looks bewildered. She heads in the direction of the Ronin and Walker, but mostly on auto pilot.

Salem nods to Ghost, not noticing the Uktena right away. "Was this the first one that had, ah... a plot?"

"I think so," Ghost says, though she sounds uncertain. "One that relates in any way. I..." She looks a little pained. "Sometimes I dream about really bad shit, but that's more...it's not like this. I've been writing them down for you, but I don't think it's related. It's just...I always get those dreams too. This uh, this one's the first one with a 'plot' that wasn't one of those." She does notice Ciuraq, practically as soon as she stops speaking. The uncertainty about her becomes decidedly more pronounced.

Ciuraq holds the porkchop out in front of her like she's offering it to either one of them, though she doesn't say so. Instead, she comes to a stop by the two and just generally holds it out. She looks from Salem (whose change in face only seems to dimly register) to Ghost, and then back over her shoulder at the direction Alicia left.

"Ciuraq-rhya," Salem says, greeting the Uktena politely. The porkchop gets a raised eyebrow.

Ghost looks from Ciuraq to Salem and back, and at the porkchop as though she's never seen one before in her life. She seems on the cusp of saying something, but no words actually come out.

Ciuraq dutifully hands the Porkchop off to Salem, or at least tries to. She starts to say something in Yup'ik, stops almost immediately, and then says in English, "That woman is very weird." It's like she's remarking on the temperature today.

Salem accepts the porkchop with a shrug, saying, "Which woman, exactly?"

"The uhm," Ghost glances toward the house, "The Child of Gaia, I think. She went in to cook those just before you showed up."

"I say I... um... am jealous of her new son. She says it destroyed her lardy parts and made stain carpet. She gave me meat, offered to... uh, I have her boyfriend with a big... And then... asked if I would accept challenges." Ciuraq follows up after Ghost. Ciuraq blinks, suddenly looking full on at Salem. "Yo face." She asks, simply.

Salem opens his mouth, but has nothing really to say in response to Ciuraq's explanation. It's quite the evening for Philodox-baffling, it seems. Instead he just nods, says, "Yes, my face," and takes a bite out of the porkchop.

"You have her boyfriend?" Ghost echoes. It's questioning, and baffled. Seems Salem isn't the only one. "She uh, she once chased me about three or four blocks because I took a picture of her and some others with my phone. She didn't know who I was at the time either, she thought I was just some human."

Ciuraq gives the Ronin a small nod - the earlier anger replaced by the now shared bafflement. "Damnit /weird./" But she's back with it enough not to let go of Salem's change. "That is... eh... not normal. Spirit? Litt... what... uh, 'Fey?' Other?"

"Other," Salem says. "Friend of a friend." He takes another bite and chews. "Someone who looks my age, with scars like those, is someone who attracts the wrong kind of human attention."

Ghost falls silent for the moment, listening to Salem's answer with her own open curiosity.

Ciuraq seems to find that entirely satisfactory, and doesn't have any immediate follow up to that, instead skipping a few beats. "Anyone check Petar for... eh... check for if he smells of..." She waves off in the distance. "Horned Serpent." She skips another beat. "Nick suggested it yugcetun, but I... forgot to say."

Salem shifts his weight, relaxing minutely when the Athro accepts his explanation. "Peter?"

"I don't know who Peter is," Ghost admits. "I can check for that though."

Ciuraq glances between the two in confusion. "Shadow Lort Kin. He took all the photos." She says, especially looking at Ghost. She adds to Salem, "A kin snuck in the tower. Near... Old D-N-A place."

Salem is almost done with the porkchop. "The Queen's Tower." He frowns. "You're right, he should be checked. Also..." He looks at Ghost, then back at Ciuraq. "There's something you need to know about Ghost. Something the Sept in general should know, about her, and about the... the Nothing, the Ooze."

"Him," Ghost says. "/Oh/. I uh, I hadn't seen him before." She glances in the direction of the long departed Peter. "Mr. Dalton didn't mention it to us, but he was a little distracted..." Her voice trails off as the subject changes. There's tension visible in her shoulders, and her jaw.

Ciuraq doesn't have much height to draw up to, but she folds her arms and stands up straight. She arches her eyebrow, looking from the Ronin to the Walker.

Salem gestures toward Ghost with the remains of the porkchop -- mostly just the bone by now. "First off, whatever she calls herself, the Glass Walkers claim her, and we'll treat any violence toward her as though it were toward any other of our tribe. Secondly, we may need her to deal with the Nothing, because there is /something/ about her that is connected to all of this, possibly to the entity in the mountains that's waking up." He pauses to bite off one of the last bits of meat. "She's been having dreams related to the Nothing. It won't touch her blood, whereas it will consume nearly anything else. And twice now, people who have been sick from Nothing contamination have been /cured/ by contact with Ghost's blood."

Ghost gives Salem a sharp, startled look. She recovers only just enough to say, "...And I have no goddamned idea why. And, uh. And there's the Umbra issues."

Ciuraq's gaze swings from Salem to Ghost, fixing her with a long stare. "Umbra issues." She repeats. "Explain."

"The spirits are unnerved by her," Salem says. "They say that she reminds them of..." He searches for the right word.

"Hungry shadows," Ghost supplies. "That's uh, that's how Mr. Salem's pack totem put it. It didn't used to be like that. It started around when I accidentally cured Emma, or maybe Val. Before that it was...normal. Normal for someone like me anyway. Now it's...they're unnerved, yeah. Cockroaches still seem not to mind too much. But I /look/ different over there."

Ciuraq looks up and down Ghost for a very long time indeed, pursing her lips. When she finally speaks again, it's not lacking for authority. "The Park or the Caern. Pick one, and... ah... we are going there now. I have..." She stops, purses her lips as she mentally takes inventory. "Yes. We can go now. I don not have everything, but... this shou... shouldn not wait."

Salem looks at Ghost, letting her choose.

Ghost tenses, mostly around her face and her hands. There's a brief moment of hesitation from her. "I've...never been to a Caern," she says, finally. "It's closer though, isn't it? But I can go to either one. The Park is familiar."

Ciuraq doesn't take long to make a snap judgement. "Caern, then." She says. Starting to back up towards the forest, she raises her eyebrows. "I meet you there." She calls back, before turning and breaking into a run. Once in the brambles, she takes a leap into the air, running up tree branches like the character in a bad kungfu movie, blazing along at considerable speed.

Salem snorts. "Show off." He detours to get rid of the porkchop bone, then drops down into lupus to lead the way toward the caern.

Ghost waits for him, and it's only when they move off that she shifts as well. It's one thing, of course, to be told about it--it's another to see the metis's more lupine forms in person. The patagia, the slightly too long ears, the pattern of her coat; none of those are doing her any favors, but the clearly metal teeth and claws only add to the bizarre picture. She sticks close to the elder/younger Walker the entire way, for obvious reasons.

Umbra: Center of the Caern

The center of the caern is alive with spiritual power. The Wyld surge has definitely left its mark--not just on the land or vegetation, but on the place itself. Those with long memories might realize that it has doubled in potency, returning to a state more comparable to the Wheel Renewed than the Hidden Walk. Spirits abound. Though the majority of them are Wyld in nature, there's an influx of a wide variety and type, including some associated with the Weaver. There are also a select few that the garou often associate with the Wyrm, though none here ping of taint in any way, shape or form. An innumerable number of Lunes dance in the air overhead, while the cat-tail and stair-step moss that covers the old growth forest in a near complete blanket glow a brilliant, luminescent green. Together, they illuminate the area on even the darkest of new moons. The remnant of the colossal wasp nest drapes the old caern's chasm, covering the waterfall and lake with a smooth, solid shell that nevertheless doesn't stop the sound of playful water spirits from escaping through the walls. The giant trees that fill the forest seem impossibly majestic, but not even they can compare to the single, inexplicable paragon that sits at the center. The caern tree cannot be defined--it has no species and no exact shape, and yet it is always there, making its presence felt deep in the soul.

The air is charged with the power of the place. Even the most imperceptive would, standing here, feel the heart of the earth beating in its own constant and reverberating thrum. Outward, the umbral forest extends in all directions.

Despite tearing off, it looks like Ciuraq arrived only a few minutes before the other two - however, the appearance of a few dedicated ritual implements might explain the delay pretty well. A couple of dance fans are evident, as is a bag set near the centre of the Caern. Out of which the Uktena's pulled a very large tome. A large, 'Gosh, this might be a fetish' tome. Sapphire, an Uktena spirit of the cougar/sea serpent variety, is loitering near the enterence to the caves, investigating something while she waits.

Scar -- who's probably going to need a new deed-name -- shifts back to homid as he arrives with Ghost. The tome gets a curious look.

Ghost-in-the-Machine sticks close to Scar the entire way, but the closer they get to the Caern, the more she seems distracted by the scenery. She keeps twisting her head this way and that, with her nose working frantically to take in every scent, her ears every sound. The fur along her spine has raised noticeably by the time they arrive, a mixture of fear and cub-like awe in her every movement. It's when they cross over that the Walker and the sort-of-Walker are momentarily separated. Salem arrives first, which suggests Ghost doesn't cross as immediately as she might. And when she does arrive...

There's something wrong with her fur. The dirty gray markings are gone, replaced entirely with black; a sort of goopy black that absorbs light rather than reflect it. While she's not dripping in any fashion, her fur still seems...damp. As though she's just taken a jog through morning mist. Her eyes were black before, or seemingly so, but now they seem black without recourse, no whites to be seen, almost blending with the color of her fur enough that someone might be mistaken into believing for a moment that they weren't there at all.

Little Silvertip stops her studies of whatever subject she's boning up on in the book when Salem arrives, but seems confused when Ghost is last to show. The confusion is totally gone when the Metis arrives, though. It's not hard to read crinos body language, but Little Silvertip makes the disgust and revoltion she feels trivial to see. *Sapphire, she's here.* She announces, snapping the book closed. The brass clasp on the tome auto-magically re-locks itself.

Salem is obviously not too enamored with Ghost's umbral appearance either, but he stays protectively close to her, arms folded across his chest.

Ghost-in-the-Machine shifts slowly, carefully back through her forms to homid. Her shape thankfully loses all the 'Dancer!' identifiers, but it's not much of an improvement. Goopy black fur becomes goopy black hair; same cut, same length, still drawn back into a ponytail, but black and unpleasantly damp in the same fashion. There's a decidedly unhealthy look to her skin. It's a little paler, almost grayish in the distinct Umbral lighting, and her eyes remain entirely, unforgivingly black. "...See what I mean?" she asks, a little weakly. "It uh, it started with the eyes, but now..."

The Uktena spirit's feline jaws part, her ears fold back, and her whiskers curling in a distinctly displeased fashion. Claws appear as Sapphire briefly digs at the ground, and then, with a flick of her serpentine tail, she glides smoothly forward, eyes regarding Ghost in a manner that is anything but terribly friendly. Her movements are a little sharp, her fur a little prickled. Even someone unfamiliar with the spirit may be able to pick up her mood change.

Salem unfolds his arms and watches the spirit, visibly tense.

Little Silvertip runs her tongue over her teeth, like trying to get some taste out of her mouth. *Indeed.* The Uktena replies by way of massive understatement. Tipping her head towards her totem, *Sapphire, what do you see? I'm not sure where I'd even begin with... this.* A thought seems to occur to the Uktena, and she asks Ghost, *You didn't stare into the abyss, did you? Either meaning of the word.*

"Abyss?" Ghost echoes. She shakes her head slowly. "No. And Emma and Val have uh, have both asked several times, but I've never been near Hanford either. Or really seen any of this stuff you guys talk about. The Ooze." Her eyes, however, are entirely for the Uktena spirit. She tenses further as it draws near, but she stands her ground.

And Sapphire draws very near at that. Spirit and Garou nearly touch noses before she stops, her jaws still slightly parted, eyes staring into Ghost's. *Something old,* she hiss-whispers, as she drifts to one side with another tail flick, twisting in the air to slowly circle Ghost. Not once do her eyes leave the Ragabash. *Something old in something new. I see a wolf, always dying, never dead.* The spirit blinks. *What you see is not new. The outside changes reflect what has always been with this one.*

Salem doesn't speak spirit-language, so he glances at the Uktena, questioningly.

Little Silvertip listens attentively to the totem, translating most of it for the gathered - there doesn't seem to be any reservations about letting Salem have the this information. *How far back? Her birth? And what brings this kind of evil out of a person?* That's all aimed at Sapphire. *She claims she's never been exposed to it, even recently. Since this started becoming visible.*

Ghost remains silent, though it's a clear effort from her as the spirit's words are translated. She's trying not to show it, but a faint look of dismay in her expression is still visible.

Sapphire returns to the Ragabash's front, undulating slowly through the air. *From the womb,* the spirit rasps. *Not natural. Not physical, but the source of the physical.* The spirit stops talking for a moment, again staring into--or perhaps through--Ghost. *When she took the whisperings from the child of Fenris, her blood, her spirit remembered.*

Little Silvertip continues to eye Ghost with disgust, the small white crinos taking several steps closer, before translating all of that with the final addition. *... so now, to quote a smoking man with a beard: Tell me about your mother.*

(I had to go to bed at this point, so for the remainder of the scene Salem stands quietly and protectively over by Ghost.)

Dismayed is not an accurate descriptor for Ghost's body language any more. She's tense from head to the tips of her fingers. "I don't...I didn't know her. I know she was a Dancer. My...the people who became my pack, my family. They found me, after killing her and her pack. She'd just left me to die. But that was--" she glances at the spirit. "--a long, long way from here."

*She said she doesn't know her parents. The Fallen tribe, sure, but nothing beyond that.* Little Silvertip passes on to her totem. *A long way from here. Presumably not what related to the old blood who dealt with it before.* The Uktena had apparently told her totem what she'd learnt in the homeland. She talks to her Totem like Ghost isn't here: *Purge it? Purge it with fire? Or I could wait. Get her blood, see what we can make of it. Though... I'm not even sure where to start. First thought would be summon a Droth and get it to put down some pages. But none of this has helped so far.* The Uktena gestures to her book. *There's a Fallen Tribe ancestor spirit we could try beating it out of. But this isn't the sort of blood preversion the Fallen tribe usually specializes in...*

Sapphire continues to stare at Ghost for a few moments longer before she twists smoothly to face Silvertip. She makes a noise, a sort of hissing purr, of agreement. *Not theirs. We have not seen this before, but it is similar in ways to other things. Wolves who make pacts. Promises. Wolves who spend too long in our world. Sometimes there are wolves that are closer to some spirits than others. Sometimes it is very close. But that,* another, soft hiss, *Unusual and natural. This tastes deliberate. Forced. Scarred.*

Little Silvertip lets out a huff, like she's not thrilled to hear that. None of it gets translated. She looks back at Ghost. *I think my usual means are going to come up short here. Your parents have probably been reincarnated by now, and are beyond my reach even if they aren't. Is the pack that collected you still alive? We might send a few runners to ask about what they knew from hunting down your parents.*

"Dead," Ghost says quietly. "It's why I've been on my own. There was...it's a long story, and not really relevant, but a big disagreement with the Glass Walkers, when I was very, very young. My pack was on the losing side, they had to run for their lives, and. And that's why I've never been a part of the Garou Nation. But my parents..." She inhales, eyes narrowing. "Elliot told me it was in London. They'd been tracking a pack of Dancers, they tracked them to an old tenement. There were a handful, and he said it didn't seem like they'd been doing very well because, uh, because they didn't fight as well as they should have. He said he found me in a broken toilet. I remember--" She pauses just a moment to swallow, "--I remember it being dark. And cold. And there was dripping. Like...like the dreams your Sept has been having. I always have those. And I have dreams about...about Dancers. And I was telling Mr. Salem, just before you came back, that I'd had a new dream. They've been having me write them down."

*This disagreement... oh, what's his fucking name... I had it in another life...* Ciuraq struggles for a few seconds, before dredging up a name: *Van der Linden.* She skips a beat. *That one? How'd they die? Your former pack. And where in the old town did they dredge you up? Details make the story here. Leave nothing out.*

Ghost looks startled as that name comes out of Ciuraq's mouth. "Yes. That one. My pack, they were in his camp, but they weren't involved with what he did." Another pause. She's the queen of long pauses here, but it seems less hesitation and more as though she's thinking carefully. "East End. 1999. It might have been September. When the Purge happened, they went into hiding with me, and eventually we fled to the States. We had a hideaway for a while, a few years, but we ended up driven out, and after that it was mostly running from one place to another. A lot of us died. Our totem did. We were separated...it was just Elliot and me for a while. But eventually we found Daniel, and he'd managed to gather a few more from the camp together. Fifteen, in a small compound in Olympia. It was okay for a while, and then..." She stops, and her lips thin. "...I...I remember waking up. It was the middle of the night. I'd had a nightmare, and everything was quiet. No fans. No lights. No one responded when I called, and then I...I think I felt our new totem die. It was like, like deafening white noise. I had to break down my door to get into the hallway. No lights there either, but there was blood all over the walls. One of my packmates was dead. Torn open. The computers were on but they were full of white static. I made it out the front and there was Elliot." Her entire face tightens. "Homid. Bleeding from the chest. I tried to get him to shift, tried to ask him what had happened, but he just kept telling me to run and speaking nonsense. He...just...bled to death, like that. He wouldn't shift, I couldn't stop the bleeding." Her jaw works for a moment, but she doesn't say anything else yet.

Little Silvertip listens with a critical eye, and without a shred of sympathy. It's probably hard to muster sympathy for how Ghost looks right this moment, though. She gives the highlights to her totem, keeping Sapphire in the loop, before continuing. *And you saw those who were killing your pack, and you know they were wolf people? Not something else entirely? I ask... because we're the last of the Grandmother's Caern in the area, and no one passed through. Or, if they had, it would have made an impression on the sept. Scar would have noticed, if no one else. And you were close to several hives. And there are other, darker things that were around here 15 years ago, too.*

Ghost shakes her head. "No. I...I never saw who did it. Or what did it. I never even heard anything. All I know is something killed fifteen Garou and a pack totem that night, and Elliot was out of his mind before he died. This was...three years ago? Four now? I've been on my own, since. I left the state. Coming to St. Claire was the first time I've been back in Washington since it happened."

Little Silvertip runs her claw lightly over the brass lock on the tome as she conveys that to Sapphire. Still speaking to her totem, *Do you think that'd be worth following up on? It's suspicious. The old house had people acting possessed, too.*

*Suspicious,* Sapphire agrees. *A mystery. It should be looked into.*

Ghost falls silent again as Silvertip addresses her totem; in truth, she looks lost in her own thoughts.

Little Silvertip flicks an ear in tertiary agreement with her totem, like agreening that she the totem agrees that she agrees. The Uktena takes a few steps forward. *I'm going to want some of your blood. In a small jar or something, sealed up. Not too much - a little will help us find out what sins your parents were committing before you were born. A snatch of fur isn't a bad idea either. Not here and now - that'd be inappropriate, and a very bad idea anyhow. While you do that, I'm going to get some together to go visit where your pack died. We'll do that soon. This acceptable, Ronin?*

Ghost lifts her head again, and follows that up with a slow, deliberate nod. "Val was...doing things with my blood earlier. I guess you could compare notes. It's poisonous. It's...always been poisonous. But not dangerous unless you're drinking it for some reason. If you..." Hesitation. "They were good people to me, sir. If you find out what happened to them, I'd like to know."

Little Silvertip heads over to set the tome down on the bag. *Don't worry. I'm dragging you with us. None of us will know the lay of your compound, or where it even is, like you.* She pauses, eyes narrowing slightly, and considering something. Hesitantly, she corrects the other: *Ma'am, if you're going to talk like that. Or Silvertip-Ryha.* She pauses, then quickly adds, *Or just keep acting respectful. That's better than words, anyhow.*

Ghost nods again. Crisper. Sharper. "Understood. I'll draw up a map too. Hopefully it's still there, but if it isn't, I can show you the spot where it was."

*You can leave. I think I've got all I can from you right now.* The Uktena stands back upright, the crinos going over to her totem apparently to talk. *I've got some spirits I want to summon before daybreak. More work to do here.*

Ghost turns without further word and heads out. She's noticeably reluctant when it comes time to leave the borders of the Caern, but she steps past them and continues on with only a little actual hesitation.