Fitz and Blitz

[hazlogs]

It is currently 16:29 Pacific Time on Mon Dec 15 2014.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.87 and falling, and the relative humidity is 97 percent. The dewpoint is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (41% full).

Edgewood House: Downstairs(#2007RAJh)

The front door leads into a small mudroom; coats are hanging on hooks. It opens into the spacious, well lit living room, with several battered old couches arranged into a sort of conversation pit facing the fireplace, a table in the center of them. There are a few chairs, some straight-backed, some plush and comfortable, arranged to make secondary conversation areas, with little end tables placed in strategic locations. There's a notable absence of either breakable objects, or elaborate electrical equipment such as televisions. The walls, painted an increasingly dingy white, have some sweeping dark fabric prints on them, but no paintings or posters. A steep, uncarpeted staircase leads up to the second floor. There are several doors that lead out to other sections of the house, as well. (+view for details)

The moon is slowly but surely shrinking, though with the days reaching their shortest the moon is already creeping on the horizon. Thane, oddly enough, has foregone the city this evening for Edgewood. His motorcycle is parked outside and the Shadow Lord is inside. Given the heat still coming off the bike's engine, he likely just arrived a few minutes ago.

Fitz makes his way to the front door of the house at a slouchy amble, too lightly dressed in jeans and tank-top and hooded sweatshirt, all of it grungey and wrinkled and lived-in. His boots are muddy, the backpack hanging off his shoulders too. When he reaches the door, he makes his presence known with a loud, rude BANG BANG BANG BANG. "HEY! ANYBODY HOME IN THERE?"

Thane is three steps to the kitchen when the door shudders on its hinges. His head snaps around, eyes narrowing and a corner of his lip rising. "...why? Is there some emergency to be bellowing at the top of your lungs?" He drawls from the other side of the door, though it is opened - if after a moment longer than would be considered decent. The one-eyed Ahroun regards the muddy, shlumpy man on the other side of the door with a less than impressed expression.

Thane isn't a man who's appearance stands out much. He's caucasian of skin tone with a faint swarthiness should he stay out in the sun long enough to catch a tan. His bones are pronounced, giving him the appearance of leanness despite having a solid, even musculature that speaks of someone who's gained his athleticism through rounded activity versus focused weight training. His hair is a tawny brown in most lights and usually kept in a short style. Often, there's a good day's growth of beard on his face which seems to hide small nicks and old scars. His eyes are a mid-tone blue, often held under pensive brows.

There is a look to him, the weight of something undefined. It's like looking into the eyes of a man who has seen terrible things and was never quite was the same after. It's even more haunting considering his blind right eye is couched in scars like an attack from a bear.

Usually, he's casually dressed but cleans up when the need calls. He's never seen among the normal public in anything but long sleeves regardless of the weather, underneath showing massive scarring on on his forearms. They don't seem to restrict movement, but the oddly darkened scars are numerous like lightning bolts across his skin. Another deep slice runs at the upper portion of his abdomen.

Fitz looks back with half-lidded eyes and a lazy, slanted smirk, the kind of expression that practically begs to get a fist planted in it. "Just making sure nobody's gone deaf in there. You know a guy named Slug?"

This guy's like an unholy hybrid of sneery video store clerk and 1950s greaser. He's white, about twenty years old, and somewhere around the six foot mark (maybe a bit under, but hard to say for all the slouching he does), and he looks like the kind of guy who revels in being an absolute steaming pile of shit to everyone around him. His straight brown hair is rarely brushed, rarely washed, and slightly too long, especially in the way it tends to hang in oily strings over his forehead. He's not ugly, and maybe if he shaved off that grungy stubble and smiled more (and not in that lips-pursed smirky cocky way that he usually substitutes for smiling), he'd look pretty good in a boyish kind of way. But he doesn't and isn't. So much for that idea. He's got nice blue eyes, at least.

He's usually dressed in torn jeans, scuffed boots, and wrinkled t-shirts, sometimes paired with a cheap black jacket or flannel overshirt or hoodie. His voice is deep, rough, and growly in a way that's actually pretty pleasant on the ears, and may be his best feature. (If only what usually comes out of his mouth wasn't shit.)

"Yeah, I know of him." Thane says cooly to Fitz as his arms cross over his chest, long sleeves covering the majority of skin save the edge of scarring visible around his wrists. "What of him? He doesn't often come out this way unless he has to. He sent you out here, I take it?"

"Gave me directions. Got a buddy of his to give me a ride part way." Fitz cocks his head, eyebrows going up. "So, I gotta ask -- /are/ you part of the Sept of Trifuckity Accord or do I have the wrong house?" He doesn't sound very concerned either way.

"This would be the house of said sept." Thane says with a offhand gesture behind him to indicate the house. "No, before you ask, I didn't vote on the name. It was that when I arrived. I am Thane Consumes-Shadows. Adren and elder of the Shadow Lords here, Ahroun. I take it you're a new arrival, then. We do tend to get a lot of those lately, among other things."

Fitz grins, rocking back on his heels. "Shadow Lord, huh? You ever knock up a Fianna? 'Cause my momma was a Fianna, but my dear ol' absentee father was a Lord."

"Can't say I have." Thane says with distasteful sneer. "The only offspring of mine is one of my own tribe. Now, care to give me your name, half-breed, or should I assign you one like a cub? Which you do look entirely too old to be, though one can barely tell with kids these days."

"Yeah, nothing in the Nation these days but snotnose little infants and old cripples." Fitz is still standing on the house doorstep, not yet invited inside. "I'm called Fitz." Or did he say 'Fits'? "Fianna, metis, cliath, Galliard, yadda fucking yadda, can I come in or what?"

"Maybe if you say please." Says Thane with a smile that's entirely unfriendly, though he doesn't make the Fianna linger there on the doorstep like an unwanted free newspaper. He steps back away from the door. "After all, you wouldn't want to look like a snotnosed infant or a cripple who's grown senile and forgotten his manners. The water is that way." The Lord indicates with a point to the kitchen. "It's the only constant because it comes from the tap. The rest is lucky draw."

"Hot DAMN!" says Fitz with all sorts of mock-enthusiasm. "Running water, it's like the goddamn Hilton." He steps into the house, giving his head a shake like a dog spraying off water.

"They even keep spare clothes around and free showers upstairs." Thane says in a similar tone as he takes a seat on the couch. "Gaia forbid, a Garou is caught dirty and pantsless. We're monsters but there's still matters of dignity to attend to."

Heading into the farmhouse is Brom, wearing a bloodied shirt that is he peeling up and over his head and wadding it up in his hands. He has a look of intense emotions upon his face as he starts for the kitchen. As he spies Thane on the couch, he slows his pace down and jerks his head upwards. "Sup boss?" He rumbles out, then turns his attention towards the new face, squinting his eyes.

Standing tall about six foot five, Brom has the body of a brick wall. He obviously works out on an obsessive basis. His arms are thick and his chest broad, giving off the look of perhaps a well in shape football player. He has a pair of intense blue eyes that always seem to border on anger, and a well developed scowl.

Brom has long hair to about his shoulders, a dirty dark blonde that is typically tied up into a tight pony tail, pulled back from his head. He has a jagged looking scar along his neck that dips down into his shirt, and a few more along his arms that appear to have been made by claw marks. He tends to dress very plainly, a pair of beat up blue jeans with slashes and holes in them, a tight fitted black muscle shirt and a beat up looking leather jacket. Shit kicker boots adorn his feet and a large belt buckle with the picture of an axe on it.

While pleasantries are happening downstairs, upstairs there's the light thumping of shoes crossing from one side of the house to the other. It's followed in seconds by those same shoes moving down the steps, revealing Kyler in jeans, t-shirt, and biker jacket, moving into the main part of the house.

Fitz has pants, but is plenty dirty. That doesn't stop him from shrugging off the backpack and hoodie and dropping onto the couch just as he is. "Yeah, yeah," he says to Thane, dismissively. "Dignity, et cetera." He stretches out, hands behind his head.

As first Brom and then Ky arrive, Thane can only give a faint smile. "Gentleman. This is Fitz. Metis Fianna, Cliath, and new arrival. Fitz, these are my packmates. I'll leave them to introduce themselves. Though, I do wonder why there happens to be blood all over the shirt, Brom. We didn't get an invitation to whatever happened."

"Some asshole tried to steal my wallet inside the gym." Is all the large Fenrir says in regards to his shirt. The rest of the blanks can be filled in. Looking towards the Fianna, his lip curls upwards slightly in a sneer. "Brom Gustaffson. Rules Without Fear. Fostern and Philodox for the Get of Fenris. Beta of Blitzkrieg." He sizes him up like a worm on a hook, then starts past him for the kitchen, snorting.

"Braaaaaaaaaaaaahm." Fitz draws out the name, eyes closed. "My friend, my large nosed compadre, there is a Bone Gnawer with the biggest hardon for you and your Fenric brand of granite-like justice."

A grin and a nod are given to his alpha, and then Fitz is granted regard of the arched brow sort. "Kyler Tkachyov," he adds on the heels of Brom's introduction. "Fostern ragabash, and grandson of Thunder. Beta of the tribe, under Thane's leadership."

"And me, alpha of both, who you've met." Thane says like a most humble king. "And I don't recommend making fun of Brom's name. He takes it quite seriously, far more than his wallet. I see the pack decided some fresh air was in order."

After running the water in the kitchen, Brom washes the blood off his hands, then starts to rinse out his shirt. After pouring some dish soap on it, he lets it sit in the sink and heads back out. His eyes narrow a tick at the Fianna for a moment before he looks back to Thane. "I'm putting the finishing touches on a sled I'm building for the Jarl's daughter." He says with an amused smirk on his face. "Figured I had time to kill to put another coat of paint on it."

Fitz squirms a little on the couch, getting comfortable. One eye squints open. "What was it he said?" He purses his lips, making a show of thinking hard. "Pees himself whenever you talk. Just a little bit. He was very precise about that. Just a little bit of pee. Which makes sense. A lotta pee would just be, yanno, unseemly."

Ky's brows both press upward as his gaze casts from Fitz to Brom then back again. He settles for a beat on Thane in silent question, before taking a sharp turn for the front door.

"A sled? Hm. Suppose crafts are well and good. Well placed present with a kid can win you a friend for life." Thane remarks, though he doesn't exactly sound keen about dealing with children. A glance aside to Ky has him offering a faint shrug before looking back towards Fitz. "Who's peeing themselves? A Gnawer, a lupus? Neither of which is far outside of scope for the most part."

"Hey, sheepfucker, how about you change the subject before I make your dentist a rich man?" Brom says with a growl in his throat as his eyes narrow to an intense slit of blue. "You sound like a fucking retard and I don't have time to listen to some faggot obsessed with piss running his mouth about me. I already fucked one guy up tonight, and I got enough in the tank for another if you want to be so lucky. Why the fuck are you here anyways?"

Ky glances over his shoulder as he rests his hand on the door knob, pausing in his departure for the moment.

Fitz pops both eyes open and grins at Brom from his spot on the couch. "Oh, wow. /Wow/. 'Sheepfucker', 'retard' /and/ 'faggot'. Genius, real amazing eloquence there, wow. That Gnawer kid was right about you not talking much, huh?"

There is a sharp, not entirely human snarl that comes from Thane as the Ahroun stands up from the cough. "You're in no position to get smart with my packmate nor any Garou here." Thane says and settles his remaining eye squarely on Fitz. "Now I suggest you excuse yourself - the garage outside is still warm. Otherwise, I'll just leave Brom to escort you there on his own terms. As for what Slug may or may not have said, that will be addressed."

The large Fenrir stares at the cliath for a moment, before a smirk appears over his face. "Heh." He says as he visibly relaxes, rolling his shoulders back and forth a bit to loosen up the strain of his muscles. "Nah. He's just trying to get a reaction out of me. He's just a shit stain. Not even worth the energy in kicking his ass. Sides', I got beer to drink and a kin at home waiting for me to make her scream." Starting for the door, he gives a low rumble in his throat.

Ky gives the knob a turn and pushes the door open to let Brom past. "You're really dumb," he states, matter of factly to the Fianna.

Fitz rolls those baby blues over to Thane, gauging the Ahroun's mood -- though the smirky, cocky little grin doesn't vanish entirely. For a moment, Brom and Ky get ignored. Then, with a small 'heh', he rolls off the couch and onto his feet, grabbing up hoodie and backpack. "Sure thing, boss," he says, heading for the back door. "Lay-tah."

Thane doesn't look away from Fitz until he's cleared out of the line of sight, at which time the Lord would turn to join his pack at the front door. "Kid's going to get himself gutted. The sept could use someone to take our their frustrations on. This should prove interesting."

"Yeah, he'd make a good punching bag for the Sept. What an idiot." Brom says as he heads out the door and into the cool air that kisses his bronzed skin. "Come on, let's get tore up at the Tav' before we head off to do our own things. I need about five drinks before I meet up with Samantha tonight."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Ky says. "I need to get to work at the shop after, though. My bike sounds wrong."