A Second Pep Talk

[hazlogs]

[12/4/97. Later]
[Cave behind the waterfall in the Grotto.]

Shea appears, in the mouth of the cave, with two paper bags in hand, and a 
  drink carrier made of cardboard. These, she carries to the rear of the cave 
  with her.

There's a wolf-sized lump under Erik's blanket, but the only part of him 
  that's visible is his nose, poking out.

Shea sits down, back against one of the stone walls, and goes about the 
  business of unpacking food. Subs, apparently, wrapped in white butcher 
  paper, and warmed up, as well as french fries. Drinks in the cups, of course.

Sings-in-Shadow's nose twitches visibly with mouth-watering scents made only 
  more vivid by lupine senses.

Shea claims one half of one of the sandwiches for herself, and takes a hearty 
  bite out of it, making noises that convey her obvious delight at the 
  sandwich. The other half is left to sit there on it's paper.

Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. Erik manages to resist for all of half a 
  minute before he pokes his head out from under the blanket, ears folded back 
  and muzzle slightly open.

[Shea]
She has the solid, sturdy build of an athlete; lean, like a runner, and 
  standing at five foot eight inches in height from heel to head. The top 
  locks of her hair, raven-black, are braided loosely, and bound by a rubber 
  band. The rest falls in an unsculptured mass to the small of her back, 
  framing a sculptured face, set off by eyes of dark emerald green, and finely 
  arched eyebrows. Dark blue tatooing covers the skin around her right eye, 
  and disappears into her hair: skin-toned breaks in the blue transform the 
  work into a knotwork pattern comprised of the Fianna glyph.
She wears an ivory peasant blouse beneath a vest of embroidered green-and-blue 
  knotwork, and faded blue denim jeans. Over this, her familiar black leather 
  jacket, three golden hoops in the lobe of her left ear, and a golden ring on 
  her right ring finger. Her voice is accented by a smooth alto Irish brogue.

Shea looks up, and resists the urge to smile, while tucking a corner of that 
  last bite into her mouth. She chews a while, then gestures toward the other 
  half of the sandwich with her chin. "G'wan, if you're hungry."

Sings-in-Shadow watches his tribemate for a long moment, his gaze skittering 
  only lightly over her face and never touching her eyes. He struggles with 
  himself a few more seconds and then gives in, dragging himself out from 
  under the blanket and hobbling on three steps toward the source of the 
  maddeningly good smells.

Shea actually stops chewing a moment, to watch this emergence. She eyes the 
  sandwich that she holds, sniffs at it once, then shakes her head a little, 
  and takes another bite. She chews in silence, while she dumps french fries 
  out on the paper as well, and snags two for herself. "I was -starving-."

Sings-in-Shadow avoids looking at his tribemate as he drops down next to the 
  sandwich, though the wolfish ears remain flat back against his skull. The 
  french fries vanish first, being easier, and then he begins to pull apart 
  the sandwich.

Shea balances the remains of her half of the sandwich while she pulls a drink 
  cup out of the cardboard carrier. "Ehm. I donno if you want this," she 
  offers, but if you don't, I can dump it out, and bring in some water, or 
  something." She sets it, lid off, by the metis, then goes back to her 
  sandwich, picking the meat out of the sub to eat, before the bread. Between 
  bites, she comments, "I have an apology to give you. I wanted to make sure 
  you'd eaten, and wouldn't faint, first, though." She grins.

Sings-in-Shadow sniffs at the contents of the cup and then sneezes as the 
  carbonic bubbles irritate the sensitive nose. At Shea's last remarks, he 
  looks up at her, plainly confused.

Shea's eyebrows lift. "Water, then?"

Sings-in-Shadow drops his eyes, apologetically. Water. Please.

Shea mmmhmms, and takes the cup back, then walks to the mouth of the cave. 
  "Water. Coming right up." She slips outside, and is gone a minute or two, 
  before she returns, with the cuff of her sleeve a little damp, and sits. 
  Water.

Sings-in-Shadow indicates his thanks, perhaps too submissively for comfort, 
  but it seems that the Weaver-humans might have removed his spine as well as 
  part of his foreleg. He laps at the water.

Shea says "So then. About that apology. Are you ready?"

Sings-in-Shadow lifts his head again, confusion evident, clearly wondering why 
  his tribemate would have to apologize to _him_.

Shea takes a breath. "I want to apologize for the way we were rough with you, 
  through the whole thing. I don't know how much of it you remember .. or how 
  much you'd -want- to remember. Still."

Sings-in-Shadow shrinks back, averting his gaze again, his claws making brief 
  scrabbling noises against the rock. Deserved it.

Shea snorts. "Wrong."

Sings-in-Shadow's forepaw slides forward until he's lying down again, head 
  lowering to lie across his front leg. ~Deserved it,~ he repeats, in Garou, 
  and then reverts back to wolf speech. Failed. My fault.

Shea arches an eyebrow. "Just what is it that you failed at?"

Sings-in-Shadow doesn't look at her. There was just one. Had it pinned. Didn't 
  kill it. Intruder, and I couldn't. I failed. My fault.

Shea's other eyebrow joins the first. "Have your heard... ? No, I don't 
  suppose you would have. Heard the kind of hell those things put us, and 
  whole handfuls of us, through. One against one was hardly fair odds. I'm not 
  making excuses for you. You should have howled for help. Still. You didn't 
  fail."

Sings-in-Shadow twitches a bit, tilting his head slightly to paw at his ear. 
  No. No. I had it pinned. Just a scout. _Able_ to kill it, but couldn't. He 
  snaps his jaws once in despair. ~Failed.~

Shea shakes her head a little. "What's done is done. It's over for you, now, 
  and it'll soon be over, all together."

Sings-in-Shadow sighs, his head dropping again to rest on his paw, his ears 
  still turned backwards and down. I'm sorry.

Shea squints. "Are we gonna have to start over with you, then?"

Sings-in-Shadow's left ear lifts and turns toward the Theurge, catching the 
  remark and lying back again. Start over? he asks, though he knows what she's 
  getting at.

Shea says "Aye, start over teaching you how to stand up for yourself. You got 
  taken, and aye, mebbe you made a bad decision at the start of it all. You're 
  here now, though, and you didn't cost anyone anything more than a few days' 
  healing.""

Sings-in-Shadow states, with glum pessimism, that it will be worse next time.

Shea says "What will? What next time?"

Sings-in-Shadow chuffs. Next time I fail. It will be worse.

Shea grins lopsidedly. "Then you'll just have to not fail."

Sings-in-Shadow does not know if that is possible, rhya.

Shea's grin widens. "Are you doubting the word of a seer, and a Fostern now?"

Sings-in-Shadow's posture immediately grows apologetic again. He meant no such 
  insult, rhya.

Shea rolls her eyes. "Chrissakes, Erik. I was trying to be funny. I was 
  smiling, wasn't I?"

Sings-in-Shadow's eyes roll upwards to glance at the Theurge, and then his 
  gaze drops. I'm sorry.

Shea shakes her head, giving in. "Are you still hungry? I'll go and get fresh 
  for Eamon. Eat up."

Sings-in-Shadow's ear twitches, and he rises to finish off the rest of the 
  meal, never looking up.