Wyrm Critter Surprise

[hazlogs]

It is currently 20:10 Pacific Time on Thu Dec 5 2002.

Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (8% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 40
degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The
barometric pressure reading is 30.16 and falling, and the relative
humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees
Celsius.)

Forest North of Kent Crossing

A large expanse of second-growth forest grows about you. Douglas Fir and
Western Hemlock are the dominant trees, with more deciduous species
present closer to the west. The woods are light, with sunlight or
moonlight trickling to the floor of the forest on the occasions when the
skies are clear. While some large houses and the sporadic older farmstead
dot the few small roads that wind their way through the wilderness, most
of it has returned to the natural state. The remnants of human
inhabitations past can be seen in the rectangular shaped meadows that were
once farms. A few abandoned buildings and the rusted remains of farm
machinery lay in some of these grassy areas.

To the west of this area, the Columbia River pushes through the land, with
the city of St. Claire on the opposite bank. Interstate 90 crosses the
Columbia to the north, following it north-south for a few miles on this
side, but generally maintaining its east-west path. To the east is Sunrise
Road; one of the more inhabited country roads in the area and to the south
is the sleepy town of Kent Crossing.

It's near dark, the air is still. The air is almost too still, quiet.
There are no sounds from the trees. No birds ruffling their wings. Only
silence. It's almost uncanny.

Taking a moment to practice what she's learned from her first lesson with
Touch Deer, Catherine moves somewhat more slowly than usual through the
woods, exercising the 'fox stepping' she'd been shown. Though she makes
little enough noise, she does seem to take forever taking each step....and
so hard is she concentrating on what she's doing, that she's missing the
unnatural peace that would indicate something is wrong.

Catherine is a young caucasian girl, looking around the age of fifteen or
sixteen years. Slightly-tanned skin and auburn hair set off green eyes
that are perpetually serious, the girl rarely making a show of emotion
beyond curious or irritated. Freckles lightly pepper her cheeks, marks
that even foundation won't hide, giving her a slightly mischevious slant
to offset the overall plain-ness of her face.

She's something of a canvas for piercings; four in each ear and one
through her right brow, a stud through her right nostril as well as a ring
through the middle of her lower lip. Most are plain silver, though the
largest hoops in each ear, through the lobe, hold three or four captive
beads of all colours in each.

Build-wise, she's a tiny slip of a thing; barely 5'2" in height, and of
the kind of build that makes her look as if she'd fall over in a strong
wind. Not so much 'slim' as downright skinny, though this is somewhat
hidden by her casual choice of clothing.

Over her upper body she wears a baggy purple t-shirt with the words 'Let
sleeping dogs lie' scrawled across the chest in faded yellow. It hangs
over the waistband of a pair of oldish-looking black levis that hug her
narrow waist and then flare out, obscuring her legs entirely. A pair of
dark-blue suede boots cover her feet; judging by the amount of marks,
scuffs and stains on them, they've led a rough life. Over everything she
wears an oversized, rather scarred bomber jacket, the leather cracking
slightly due to age. The zip is broken, and more than a few miscoloured
patches have been sewn over places where the coat has worn thin.

Each sound by Catherine's foot-falls comes amplified almost twice as
strong. The sun begins to slowly sink below the horizon just as night
creeps in. There are sounds occasionally that seem to occur throughout the
woods, a ruffle of a bush just as an animal breaks cover before dashing to
another hiding place. Then there comes a more rustling of growth
somewherefar off to the right of Catherine.

Catherine's concentration is broken somewhat by the rustling, the kin
freezing in place and looking over to her right, to try and get some idea
of what's making the noise. She's not stupid enough to go and look, mind
you...though she's not moving away in case it's something harmless,
either.

The rustling of the growth grows louder, like that of an animal in
distress. There are no other sounds, just that of leaves and debis being
tampered with in an angst fashion.

Mrm. Distress. Catherine battles with herself briefly...one half saying to
get home, before darkness completely falls...the other half, her bleeding
heart, prompting her to go and see what might be wrong. Sigh. The latter
half wins by a narrow margin; the girl picks up a hefty, almost meter-long
stick and leans forward, to begin parting the leaves with it.

Something hidden in those leaves gives a shriek as if it, itself, was
probed with the stick that Catherine is holding. The creature moves and
comes into view of the human. It is indistinctive of what species the
creature is through its mutated formed body. Possibly a raccoon with
portions of it's fur missing in random spots. It's beat red, glowing eyes
stare at her. His muzzle peeling back to hiss at her in it's angst fiery.

Catherine startles back a little at the unexpected...uh...thing, carefully
withdrawing the stick. Glancing behind her briefly, she then begins to
back away slowly, not wanting to disturb the thing any more than she
already has.

The creature doesn't act like what they would normally do by drawing back.
It takes a step forward, advancing on Catherine. It revels its grotesque
yellow, pointed teeth. The little beast makes a sound in the back of its
throat that comes to something similiar to a gutteral growl.

Catherine continues to draw back carefully, keeping her motions as
unthreatening and gentle as she can, so as to possibly avoid stirring the
beast to anger. Her heartbeat races, pulse thudding in her ears as she
tries to think of ways to escape, should it come after her.

It's not normal, this creature. If it was, it is a has been. Now it is
only the shell of something that doesn't quite fit in with reality. It
begins to foam at the mouth, similiar to that of an animal with rabies.
It's eyes, however, are the dead giveaway that it isn't just a normal,
diseased animal. It suddenly rushes forward after Catherine with it's
teeth bared, emiting a bloodcurdling cry.

Catherine lets out a faint yelp, beginning to backpedal more rapidly,
perhaps more carelessly as well. The stick is brought forward in a swipe,
to try and knock the critter away and give her an extra few seconds to
make her escape. Adrenaline rushes, the girl panting slightly as her body
engages 'fight or flight' instincts.

The stick seems to find purchase on the creature as it contacts with it's
side and flung a foot from where it was standing. It rolls back up to it's
feet, giving a rough shake. The creature is more angered than it was
before as it's attention remains on Catherine.

The girl lets go of the stick once it connects with the 'raccoon's side,
leaving her free to turn and flee freely. Thankful that she's spent much
time in forests, enough to be able to run without tripping over every
other leaf and twig, she's still brought down to her knees by an unseen
tree root, after only ten, maybe twenty seconds of headway made.

The formor raccoon seems gain up quickly on the girl just as she is trying
to get up from her fall. It's teeth grab ahold of her pant leg, seeming
not to let go as its jaw locks tightly on the fabric.

That leg kicks out, trying to dislodge the fomor, the other coming up to
try and kick at it at the same time. Catherine's given up on getting up
for the immediate present, since it'll only give the raccoon more time to
actually bite /her/.

Claws seem like razors as they cut across Catherine's leg. The little
beast is quick in it's movements as it bites once and then again. It keeps
her helplessly pinned on the ground.

Catherine cries out in pain, the sound more like a yelp or growl than
intended, the girl franticly trying to shake her assailant free. She
dosen't immediately notice the beginning
changes....claws.....teeth....getting somewhat hairier....but swiftly, she
feels less like shaking the raccoon off, and much more like grabbing it
and tearing it in two. Which, after her clothes are suitably burst and
shredded from all this extra body weight and muscle....she reaches to do.

Seven foot of bristling anger stands here before you. No longer a slip of
a human, this woman has developed dramaticly, gaining both in height and
obvious musculature. Thick, mottled fur covers her monsterous body, though
cannot hide the blatent strength and killing power the beast has, enhanced
by the inch-long claws, and similarly impressive teeth in it's lupine
muzzle. To those who are clued-in, it's obvious this is the Crinos form of
one of the Garou - to anyone else, it's a slavering, mindless killing
machine straight out of fairytale.

The creature becomes more rabid even as Catherine shifts. It doesn't seem
to have a care or even much instinic anymore. As Catherine reaches for it,
it gives a hiss and snaps at her advancing hand.

Driven by a deep-seated anger, Catherine jerks her leg up once the
creature's mouth has let go to snap, her intent to dislodge it and catch
it in one massive, clawed hand. Mercy, or running, seems to have been
forgotten, the creature-that-was-Catherine growling out loudly, the sound
as much a warning of murderous intent as it is a result of being in pain.

The fracas is bound to draw attention, and draw attention it does, in the
form of a rather dour Glass Walker near the end of his patrol. Salem jogs
through the woods in lupus, his ears cocked forward and his fur bristling
as he moves toward the source of the disturbance.

The Glass Walker arrives on the scene just as the formor raccoon does it's
last act of terror on the Gaian Crinos. Before the Philodox's very eyes,
the girl-Crinos tears apart the raccoon like a bad tempered child to a
rag-doll. By the time the action is finished, there is not much of
anything left besides all the descriptions to the what-was-once a horrible
formor creature. The Crinos rips it apart until she finds in her claws
that there is nothing left and steps away from the mess before slumping to
the ground and shifting back into homid with distraught and angish.

Salem stops short, his ears flattening for a moment. He shifts back to
human form with an abrupt swiftness and stalks forward toward the girl,
his saturnine face hard and grim. He makes no effort to conceal his
approach.

Catherine pants as she's unceremoniously dumped out of being pissed-off,
left rather bewildered and confused about what just happened. The chill
air brings her back to her senses, though, along with the realisation that
she's practically naked. Grabbing together the bits of clothing that still
have enough together-ness to cover her, she attempts to protect her
modesty as she spots the Philodox arriving, perhaps a touch too late.

It seems not long before another body is countoured in the moonlight.
Aubrey steps out of the shadows, only to see that Salem is already on the
scene. The Fianna Theurge leans her side up against a tree as she
carefully watches for a moment, curious to what had make all the noise. As
she sees the girl that she had only seen a few hours ago, the Fianna
gasps. "Oh, dear." she says.

Salem unbuttons the massive, hooded winter coat and shrugs out of it.
"Good evening," he says, briskly, like there's nothing at all strange
about a near-naked girl in the middle of the woods at night. He holds the
coat out to her. "Do you, perchance, have a name?"

Catherine takes the coat with a somewhat embaressed and grateful smile,
huddling into it. "C-catherine," she manages to reply, the cold catching
up with her for a few moments before the coat's warmth kicks in.
"Catherine Stitch." She seems unsure about what to say next, except,
"Uh...thanks for the coat."

Salem glances over at Aubrey, acknowledging the Fianna's presence with a
nod, then eyeballs Catherine again. "You're welcome. Are you aware of what
just happened to you?"

"I...uh....think so?" Catherine responds, after having to pause a bit to
think. "It's not...supposed to, though. I'm...well, I was, only Kin....I
think." Her train of thought finally arrives at the station. "Did I just
change?"

Aubrey steps from behind Salem as she looks to Catherine. "This is a bit
of a surprise," the Fianna says as she arcs a brow to Catherine. The
Theurge quietly folds her arms across her chest. "Torn clothes, blood
mess..." she murmurs with a light nod.

"You changed," Salem confirms. "At least, I saw a rather angry and frantic
young Crinos collapse on the ground and turn into a rather confused
looking young lady." The Walker's tone is dry. "So. I suppose they were
wrong, about you being kin."

Catherine frowns slightly, brows furrowing in thought. "But..." she muses,
then shrugs as the memories filter back into place...reaching out with
hands that were apparently her own, tearing the raccoon apart... "What do
I do now?" she wonders, leaving the 'but' behind.

Salem frowns, pushing his hands into his pants pockets and stubbornly
refusing to shiver in the cold night air. "You reassess. Whose, ah, kin
_were_ you?" He glances over at Aubrey and asks, "Do you know her?"

A smile seems to tug at the corner of the Fianna's lips. "Child of Gaia,"
Aubrey remarks. "I meet her earlier today having lunch with Craig, one or
Renee's cubs."

"Children of Gaia," Catherine replies automaticly, echoing the fianna,
hugging the coat more tightly about herself. "Mom is too. Does that mean
I'm part of that Tribe properly now? Or...do I get put into another one,
or...?" she prompts, the questions spilling forth now that she's plucked
up the courage to do more than answer.

"I imagine that you'd be considered part of that tribe," Salem says
evenly. "Andrea will be pleased. As will Alicia, I imagine." He grimaces
faintly, shoulders tensing, then says, curtly, "I suggest we retire to the
farmhouse. It's warmer. You can get cleaned up, get some replacement
clothing, and... your mother, she's clued-in, I assume, as you seem to
be?"

Aubrey stays quiet now for the most part as she listens.

Catherine scrubs a hand over her face. "I guess she is, yeah. She knows
more than me. Taught me most of what bits I know. Dad was Garou."
Disjointed information given, she then shrugs a bit. "Farmhouse?"

Salem gestures, a 'come-with-me' kind of motion. "A safehouse, of sorts.
You can use my cellphone and call your mother from there."

Catherine uhs, "We don't have a phone," the new cub admits, sheepishly.
"And by now, the park office 'll be shut, so...I can't call there either."
She does fall in next to the philodox, though, apparently willing to be
led.

Aubrey ums, "I could stop by and tell your mom the news?" the Theurge
suggests. "I am heading that way anyways."

Salem looks over at the Fianna. "Excellent," he says briskly. "You do
that, and I'll get, ah, Miss Stitch here situated."

Catherine smiles gratefully towards the Fianna, mumbling, "Thanks." Then,
peering up at Salem, she queries, "So where's this farmhouse, anyway?"

Aubrey nods her head. "I have people-skills," the Fianna says as she
crackes her knuckles. "Don't worry Catherine, the farmhouse is a cozy
little place and you'll have company. I'll stop by later and chat with
you..." with that they Fianna gives a wave and starts to head off in to
the campground.

Salem nods to Aubrey as he leads Catherine away. In deference to the small
teenager's stride and feet -- her shoes likely didn't survive the change
any better than the rest of her clothes -- he curtails his own lengthy
stride. "Middle of nowhere, really, but it has electricity." He glances
sidelong down at her. "Jack Salem, by the way. Mr. Salem to you, or
Salem-rhya, if you're feeling formal. How much do you know already?"

Catherine manages along reasonably well...doing exercises out here in just
socks has given her at least some experience in walking shoeless.
"Um....well... the theory, I guess? Mom's explained all about the
Triat...'n about the moon phase and auspices, an' the tribes...." she
replies, naming each concept as it surfaces. "Not much else, I don't
think."

A deep-voiced wolf howls somewhere in the distance; the sound is gleeful
and hungry. Salem pauses, head cocked as he listens, and then he snorts,
dismissing it. "You're several steps ahead of most, then," he tells
Catherine. "Have you met any other members of your tribe?"

There are more howls. Sounds like a hunting pack. Salem remains, by and
large, unconcerned, though he glances in the direction they're coming from
every so often.

Thinking a moment as she half-limps along, Catherine nods. "Yeah.
Um...Alicia? She came to visit a couple 'a nights ago. Mom had her number,
off of some friends we knew in Seattle. Don't think I've met any others."

Salem smiles tightly, though it doesn't touch his eyes. "Alicia's my
packmate. Good. You're very fortunate, you know, that this happened when
it did. Delaying the first change can make things... complicated. Not to
mention traumatic." Like being attacked by a raccoon fomor and having
one's world turned upside down couldn't possibly be traumatic enough.

Catherine exhales softly. "Does this mean I have to stop learning with
Touch Deer?" she wonders, the thought only now crossing her mind. "I mean,
does it matter if I'm doing things with other tribes? And, come to that,
Mr Salem, which Tribe are you in?"

Salem purses his lips. "Hm. It'll be up to your elders whether you can
learn from Touch Deer still, but... well, considering that Touch Deer is
_Andrea's_ packmate, I doubt that she'll object. What's he been teaching
you? I am, by the way, a Glass Walker. Elder of such." His mouth takes on
a dour little twist at this. "Philodox."

Catherine ohs. "Cool," she muses, then in response to the question, adds,
"He's offered to give me lessons on how to be quiet and move properly in
the forest. How to track, and understand what's gone on around me, an' how
to know when I'm being followed. That kinda thing. I've only had one
lesson so far though." She rubs a hand over her nose, and then asks, "So
who's Andrea?"

"The Sept Alpha, and half of the Eldership of your tribe," Salem answers.
"Robert's the other half, and the Warder." He glances down at her. "She's
not as intimidating as she sounds. Andrea, that is. Robert... I don't know
very well."

Catherine ahs. "The Voice of the Goddess and the Arm of the Goddess," she
names, picking the titles out of what she's been tought. "Right?"
Confirmation dosen't seem to matter much, since she continues on with,
"Thanks for finding me, anyway."

Salem grunts. "Yes, well. Fortunately, I happened to be passing by. Sheer
coincidence."

[Handwaved: Salem takes Catherine to the farmhouse, settles her in, gets
word to her tribe and etc.]