It is currently 17:06 Pacific Time on Mon Jan 12 2004.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (64% full).
Shore Around Half Moon Pool
The shadowy canopy of evergreens recedes here, opening into a small clearing.
The grass underfoot is a vibrant young green, luxurient and seemingly
soft to the touch; small flowers, some purple and others blue or yellow,
add to the spread of color. Immediately to the east, the ground rises
into a small, rocky outcropping, at the base of which stands a large pool
of crystal clear water; the barest rivulet of a stream wends its way
south and west from the pool across the clearing, losing itself in the
forest. This whole area has about it a sense of peace and silence; the
air is cool and fresh, the scent of the flowers pleasant, the colors of
the forest in seemingly perfect balance. Anything not pristine or natural
seems almost a world away to you here.
The half-moon shaped pool lies just to the east. A faint trail seems to follow
the little stream southwest into the forest.
The weather is anything but conducive to an outdoor gathering: freezing
temperatures, with an unlovely mix of freezing rain, sleet, and snow.
Fortunately, there's already a small fire going by the side of the pool,
and Firewatcher is curled up near it in lupus as people start trickling
in.
There's a rustle from the evergreens, heralding a less-than-stealthy Gnawer's
approach. Lyra enters the clearing with an inquisitive blink at the
lupus. She hefts her waistbag over her head and lets it fall to the
ground, the drops beside it and waits patiently, smiling at Firewatcher-
it's the polite smile you give to someone you don't know. There's several
pieces of paper pinned to her shirtfront.
Taslyn comes in from the path that leads from the farmhouse. She is bundled up
nicely and arrives at the corner of the clearing. She gives Firewatcher a
warm smile and nods. Then looking to Lyra and nodding again. "Hi..." She
says softly and looking at the papers.
Tecmessa, a rather large bundle of logs in her arms, fades out of the forest,
and dumps them next to the burning fire. "I think that's the last load we
need-- Oh, hello."
The temperature, even bone-chilling is not one that would affect that of a Get
of Fenris. Unless, of course, hell froze over and darkness fell across
the earth. Even that, the Get of Fenris is prepared for. Judges-Souls
slowly stalks into the area, rather in a sulken mood as always. Her
bright blue eyes only hold a coldness that is undefined in her expression.
Scar slips into the clearing, wearing lupus form, his black fur already sodden
from the ill weather. The Walker moves gingerly; the claws and bites he
received from Signe only a few days ago are clearly the reason why. The
wounds are still in the process of healing, though healing they are.
The Gnawer looks up at Taslyn and smiles, giving her a little wiggle of the
fingers before watching as more people file in.
Firewatcher notices those arriving, gives an appreciative chuff to Tecmessa,
then looks around at everyone. Are there any here lupus born?
Sidhefuil emerges from the forest, head slung low, ears pressed back against
her neckruff to ward off the unpleasant weather. Ruddy fur is puffed up
all around her back and shoulders, damp with rain in others... The Fianna
wolf is obviously taking advantage of her winter coat. Tongue lolling
some, and panting, she looks to have made her way through the woods as
quickly as possible. Upon arrving, she greets the others with a whuffle,
head jerking toward Firewatcher, before she finds someplace dry and warm
to settle.
Tecmessa shakes her head. "Not me," she murmurs, "But you knew that."
Taslyn shakes her head in answer to Firewatcher's question. "Not I..."
Judges-Souls pauses as she looks over to Firewatcher, her eyes squinting at the
woman. I am not, the Fenrir growls lowly. Her ears splay forward,
watching those enter and gives them a glance in turn before her attention
falls back upon the orgin of the question asked.
Lyra rubs her hands together for warmth, then investigates the lines on her
palm. Her silence is a good as any response.
Scar paces closer to the fire and sits down gingerly. Even in wolf form, the
Walker's body language is deliberate and controlled. There is only _one_
wolf-born, he tells the Adren Fianna somberly, lowering his muzzle to
her. And she is a no-moon.
The few parts of Scar's wolf-speech which are verbal, and few they are due to
the nature of it, are high-pitched; the Walker Elder is still under the
curse of the Jackal Voice.
Firewatcher chuffs. Very well. With that, she shifts up, into homid.
Fortunately for her, there is a long waterproof trenchcoat which emerges
as she does. "Then let's get started, shall we? This isn't a formal
Philodox moot, but it's a long time since I've been to one here. For
those of you I haven't met directly, I'm Megan O'Brien, called
Firewatcher or Keeps her Patience, an Adren philodox of the Fianna. Some
of you, I know. Some of you, I only recognize. I'd appreciate it if you'd
all say your name and tribe, so I can put names to the faces."
Tecmessa offers, with a warm smile around the fire, "I am Tecmessa Ardenas,
known as Feels the Balance or Finds the Balance. I am of the Black
Furies, and I am returning here after an absense of some years."
The Fostern Glass Walker cocks his ears forward, glances around, and introduces
himself shortly, as most know already who he is. Scar, Elder of those who
walk among glass.
Lyra, as discreetly as she can, scoots over closer to Taslyn till she's sitting
right next to the Fianna. She looks over at her and smiles brightly.
Judges-Souls steps nearer towards the fire and shifts into her birth-form.
Carefully the Fenrir moves a strand of flaxen tress behind her ear as she
introduces herself to the group of other half-moons. "Erika Christensen,
Judgement-Of-The-Lost-Souls, of the Get of Fenris."
Taslyn shoves her hands into her jacket and smiles. "Taslyn Forrester, Tas for
short. Defend-Her-Worth, Fianna..." She lowers her head to Firewatcher
and looks around to all the others.
Tecmessa gives Salem a careful look.
Sidhefuil shifts to two legs somewhat reluctantly, paws already moving to hug
her leather jacket close as they morph into hands. "Layne Lohan," she
says, leaning in towrd the flames, "Sidhefuil... Halfmoon--obviously--of
the Fianna tribe."
The Gnawer looks down at her shirt, tugs a piece of paper off the pin, and
hands it to Taslyn.
Megan looks then at Lyra, as the only one who has not introduced herself.
"Well, Lyra?" she prompts, with a slight smile with an edge of impatience.
Taslyn takes the paper from Lyran and reads for her... "I'm Lyra Four-Leaves of
the Bone Gnawers. I've taken a vow of silence so I'm sorry if I am not
very talkative. And a smiley face..."
Lyra looks up at Megan and smiles sheepishly, giving her a slight wave.
Scar cocks his head, giving Lyra a curious but somehow unsurprised look. Then
he lies down, tail curled close to his haunches.
Megan looks askance at Lyra, but then nods. "It makes it kind of hard to be a
Judge that way, but okay. I'm actually going to get one more usual thing
out of the way, first. This is a good forum to use to look for people who
know gifts or rites particular to our auspice to either teach, or learn
from. Rites particular to the philodox auspice are the Rites of Accord,
and the Punishment Rites. Does anyone have such a need, or desire to
teach, they'd like to ask now?"
Layne pulls her knees up to her chest, and glances to Taslyn in particular when
Megan speaks of teaching these particular rites.
Erika rises her hand, then waits for a moment or two before speaking. "I would
like to learn a few important Rites that would be useful, such as those
mentioned. Also, I am lookin' for someone who would be available to teach
me Truth of Gaia."
Taslyn raises her hand and smiles. "I would be more than willing to share what
I have. Ostracism, Accomplishment, Contrition... All for the good of the
sept." As she smiles a little more. "Willing to learn all that someone
tell me... I know Truth of Gaia as well as True form if anybody is ever
in need of those."
Tecmessa moves slightly closer to the fire, and says, "I know... Actually,
several, and am willing to teach any and all. The Rites of Contrition,
Cleansing, Ostracism, the Baptism of Fire, and the Stone of Scorn. I also
know several Gifts common to our auspice, such as, in fact, Truth of
Gaia, and the ability to sense one's true form. If anyone knows that Gift
which lets one resist pain, I would appreciate it."
Scar huffs. He can teach how to sense truth and how to resist pain. He knows
the ~Rite of Renunciation~ as well as the ~Rite of Passage.~ The Walker's
ears flicker backwards, his yowling voice annoying to his _own_ hearing.
But his ire is well-controlled.
Erika looks over to Tecmessa as she requests Resist Pain. "Resist Pain, I have.
Also, I know Scent of the True Form and the Rite of Contrition." The
Fenrir crosses her arms as she looks into the fire.
Megan tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket for warmth, and says, "I
know many of the basic gifts and Rites of the auspice, so if there are
particular ones you can't get from each other, I may be able to help.
Although, realize, that most of the punishment rites are not for
beginners. If you've only been a cliath for a short time, you should
start with Rite of Contrition or Rite of Cleansing." She then eyes Scar,
and says, "It's not a halfmoon rite, but, I might want to learn Rite of
Passage from you, once your punishment is completed."
Taslyn looks about. "I would wish to learn some of what you know, Tecmessa." As
she smiles across the way. "I also know rite of passage and talisman
dedication... Just to throw those out as well."
Tecmessa suggests, "Perhaps we could speak, afterwards, Erika. Something of a
trade, perhaps."
Scar tilts a golden eye toward Megan, then simply lowers his muzzle in
agreement.
Tecmessa adds, "Oh, and I know how to Bind spirits, if that is something you
wish to know. And, too, I know the Gathering for the Departed."
Erika looks up from the fire again, her cool gaze on the Black Fury. Slowly,
she nods her head.
Layne, brushing hair from her face, says to Tas, "...I'd love to learn
Ostracism from you. And Tecmessa, the rite to bind spirits, when you've a
chance."
Taslyn looks to Layne and smiles. "Be glad to..."
Tecmessa nods at both Taslyn and Layne, smile re-emerging.
Megan looks around at them, then smiles. "Good. That settled, does anyone have
any questions they'd like to bring up, any requests, before I launch into
full on lecture mode. I'll apologize in advance," she says with a rueful
smile, "it's a weakness of my tribe."
Tecmessa shakes her head, as she now crouches before the fire. "I am, as
always, willing and eager to listen to lectures from you." This would
appear to be fond teasing.
Scar shifts his weight a bit, getting as comfortable as he can on the damp
ground. Then he looks attentively at Megan.
Taslyn comes close to the fire. She says nothing more and settles down on a
rock or whatever is around. She then looks to Megan, waiting.
Layne looks as if she's ready to listen...nothing pressing on her mind, at the
moment.
Erika clears her throat, "Excuse me for a moment..." She looks to those around
her, "I am a new cliath, and I would like to ask of those who have been
around for awhile if I could serve as an apprentise sometime and follow
one of you around while you are doing such half-moon duties so that I may
gain more experience. Please, invite me on your outings when you believe
that your auspice services are in need. Thanks." Then, the Fenrir drifts
into silence again.
Megan sticks her tongue out undecorously at Tecmessa at the Fury's comment, but
then nods to Erika, expression vaguely uneasy. Shaking her head, and the
expression off, she says, "Anything else? No? Very well, then.
'Submission to those higher in station.' 'Respect those below you, all
are of Gaia.' Tell me, what do these two Litany laws mean to you? Don't
be shy, this is a fact finding mission for me, I want to know what
everyone thinks."
Taslyn looks to Megan and speaks out. "Because that one may be below you now
but could be beside you in battle tomorrow. As far as submitting, there
is a respect that is gained by being in charge... If we go around
quarreling with those that we learn and are led by, then what respect do
we gain from others? None..."
Tecmessa murmurs, "Ah, the essay question portion of the test," and considers.
"Submission means not only admitting they are your elder, but
understanding that on an instinctive level, and /feeling/ it. As for
respecting those beneath you-- it is the counterbalance to this, to make
certain that the instincts do not completely dominate."
Scar, for the moment, holds his opinions to himself and seems more interested
in what all the cliaths have to say.
Layne clears her throat. "Always seemed pretty straightforward to me. Rank and
positions are, more often than not, well earned and should be acknowledgd
and respected. We have a pecking order in Garou society that just makes
things easier if it's adhered to. At the same time: Respect for Those
Beneath Ye... If you're an elder that doesn't command a whole lot of
respect because you're throwing weight around needlessly, or treating
those of lower rank--or even kin--poorly, well. Won't getcha far."
"It is a balance," Erika replies as she seeks out her own answer to the
question which has been asked. If she repeats, it does not matter as long
as it is her own opinon. "We are figthing a war, which we must learn to
conduct ourselves accordingly. A breakdown in comand structure would
drive us all into utter chaos. To Respect those beneath you, it is the
same matter of showing the proper respect and knowing that those of
higher rank accept you."
Megan nods at all the answers, then asks, "Who decides what constitutes
submission? Who decides if it's respectful enough? And what if there's a
difference of opinion about it?"
Taslyn chuckles. "You drag in a Philo if you have a problem with it." She says
with a big grin. "I would say that we each decide for ourselves what
constitutes submission... And the one we submit to decides if it is
enough. Or they take issue with it and therefore things change."
Tecmessa says, slightly dryly, "I've often found that the higher in station in
fact decides what submission is, or, indeed, what constitutes enough
respect. As," she allows, sobering, "Is their right. If there is true
disagreement and not merely frustration, then indeed, one should appeal
to a philodox."
The silent Gnawer blinks, rips off a note and starts scribbling on it.
Layne nods along with what is said. "Whomever's demanding submission would
decide. Of course, there can be a fine line between expecting certain
submission or respect, and being ridiculous with your demands."
"There is always going to be opinions about leadership," Erika replies.
"Constituting submission is dermined by rank and by strengh and
intelligence. If there one who is not respectful, surely it would be
voiced by many than just a few." Her ice-blue eyes turn to Layne, giving
a light nod.
Tecmessa adds, "And one has to be aware that occasionally, if appealed to, the
one of higher station may well not agree with your specific decision.
That, obviously, leads to problems, as well."
Taslyn looks to Layne. "Sure. There can be... But even if something seems
ridiculous we still may not be seeing the whole picture."
"How do you make judgement on something when cannot or may not be able to see
this whole picture?" Erika asks Taslyn and opens up the question to
others in the group.
Lyra folds the note evenly and offers it to Taslyn.
Tecmessa says, a little baffled, "It is practically guaranteed that you can
never see the whole picture. You merely have to make your judgements
based on what you know -- /after/ you make as full an investigation as
possible."
Taslyn opens Lyra's note and reads, "If the person submitting is honest in the
motion could that be enough? Whether or not the act of submission is a
grand affair or a simple one if meant truly..?..." And then she adds of
her own opinion as she folds the note. "You make the best judgement you
know how. What else is there? If you have an informed opinion on what you
can see... Then you make a judgement."
Tecmessa tells Lyra, "Indubitably."
"You've got to go on what you have," Layne answers, "so it's up to you to dig
up as much truth as possible--through research and gifts. Though, these
things aren't always -foolproof-, are they. So intuition should play a
part, as well." With the mentioning of 'gifts,' her eyes cut to Megan.
Megan gives Layne a hard smile and a nod of understanding, then looks back, to
ask another question. "And how does rank factor into the dominance
equation? What of differing rank? What if it's the same?"
Lyra beams at Tecmessa, and tears off another piece of paper. She just readies
it for writing though.
Taslyn cocks her head to the side and looks at Megan. "If you are called in to
make a decision... Then you are the one that is holding rank at that
moment. Other than that, defer to the litany. It is there for a reason."
She looks about again. "Then again, it goes with our gifts and
intuition... What we were born to do. Make the decisions that make the
rules."
Tecmessa says, a little less firmly, "The issue with similar ranks, of course,
is that there is an active and mobile pecking order, and on one day, I
am, perhaps, above my tribemate Doc, and the next week, I am not. But
when making decisions... You go with what seems true and equitable. But
then, one does not make decisions based on rank, not unless it is a
question of whether a lower rank submitted, or a higher rank was
respectful."
Megan shakes her head, grinning at Taslyn. "I meant, as it applies to the
original discussion, regarding dominance, submission, and the Ways. Sorry
about that."
Taslyn thinks again. "The litany says what we do... AS far as rank is
concerned."
"The less rank differs, the more difficult judging a dispute can be, if it's
very serious," Layne answers. "Which is where we're most handy."
Tecmessa considers Layne. "How do you mean that?"
Taslyn looks to Layne as she speaks.
"I agree with Layne, although I would like to add that it causes less risk of
harming each other and more attention on other more important things. If
we were all at the same level, we would always be challanging one another
over anything and everything that upset us or we don't agree with."
Erika pages to the room: That was mine, duh.
Megan settles back to listen to the discussion, much like Scar, although,
obvious from her interjected questions, she's attempting to keep things
stirred up.
Scar has been listening attentively, mismatched eyes narrow in thought. Now, in
response to Taslyn, he gives a sharp yip, then shifts up to Hispo and
speaks a grating, yowling version of the Mother Tongue. ~_Submit_ to
those greater in station. _Respect_ those beneath you in station. From
listening to others, as at the last moot but not _just_ then, there is
some confusion as to the difference between these concepts.~
Layne pulls a lip through teeth, looking to the Fury, "Basically, that if the
dispute is between...say...a Cliath and a Fostern, at least then there's
the element of rank that can be taken into account. It needs to be
considered, because it means something. Research is still as important
for a fair judgement, but the rank is there. With two Cliaths, it
generally isn't."
Lyra chews on her lower lip thoughtfully, scribbles, pauses, and scribbles some
more.
Taslyn thinks. "Still... It would depend on the issue. Some issues depend
heavily on rank... Others, not."
Tecmessa nods. "Certainly. Though if it is between a cliath and a fostern, then
it is not as if there can be much question."
Scar shifts his weight around and ends up staring at Taslyn again, flatly now.
~Name an issue in which rank does not depend heavily.~
Taslyn turns and looks at Scar. "When one has wronged another... Are you going
to take the rank over the situation? Say that a Cliath was attacked by a
fostern... Are you going to give more credit to the fostern simply
because his rank?"
Tecmessa says, evenly, "That would depend on the situation."
Taslyn nods. "But if the charge that you are deliberating is about something
like Alpha... Then you must take rank into it."
Layne nods to Tecmessa, looking also between Scar and Tas. "Two different
things, here: when submission is the issue, rank weighs in heavily. Where
it's a matter of right and wrong, not so much, which is where we come in."
Tecmessa nods. "Of course. Although to me, questions of rank do have to do
with, as you put it, right and wrong, but I see your larger point."
Scar extends a forepaw and presses it to the wet ground, claws extended. He
indicates agreement with Tecmessa.
Megan looks over at Layne, and asks, "When submission is the issue, how does
rank factor in?" Her gaze then goes around to the others, to include them
in on it as well.
Lyra eyes her note critically, then hands it to Taslyn.
Erika listens quietly for now, while watching the other half-moons.
Layne's brows flicker slightly, "Just that you won't likely ever see a
lower-ranking Garou demanding submission from one of higher rank. That's
what I meant."
Taslyn looks at the note, then flips it around to read it correctly. "To be
simplistic. The relationship can be as teacher and student. Students must
always be respectful of their teachers. It is constant submission on
varying levels. A teacher knows there are limits to what they can do to
their student. This is constant respect on varying levels." She looks
back up to all the others... "That's from Lyra."
Tecmessa's lips quirk. "I admit the improbability of that, yes, Layne."
Megan adds to Tecmessa's comment, tone dry, "But that's exactly what happened
here when I returned."
Scar huffs, agreeing with Megan sourly.
Layne's expression also flattens, a little wry when she bobs her head and says,
"I think...mm, some might have thought other factors transcended the
matter of rank, in that case."
Tecmessa raises an eyebrow. "Really," she says, a wealth of skepticism in that
one word.
~Ego,~ snerls the Glass Walker coldly, ~is the largest stumbling block to the
law of submission to those greater.~
Megan's mouth twitches with amusement at Layne's observation, but then moves
the discussion on. "That's a good metaphor for it, Lyra, although, you
really will need to tell me how long this vow of silence is going to
last. So, my last question for you all, although it's by no means the end
of the discussion...how does all this affect challenges of dominance?
Between those of equal, and of different, ranks? And I mean all the
aspects of it, such as who challenges who, who sets terms, et cetera?
Judging challenges is one of the many aspects of our auspice, and with so
many young," she nods at Erika with a hint of warmth to her smile, "and
new philodox, I'd like to make sure we're all in accord and understand
the forms."
Erika remains quiet, even as she is gestured towards by the Fianna. This is
more or less her time to listen and to pick up on things by other
Philodoxs.
Tecmessa looks around for a moment, then shrugs. "Someone challenges. The
challenged chooses the terms. As long as the challenger is within a rank
of the challenged, this is not a problem. Generally, unless it is an
extraordinary honor challenge, one of higher rank does not challenge one
of lower rank."
Taslyn sighs and licks at her lips. "So many young is a good thing in my
opinion. We have room to grow and learn." She ponders another moment. "As
for challenges... I believe we have to call those by each challenge,
looking at the instance itself and going from there."
Layne agrees. "So many different issues, reasons to challenge, it can vary
quite a bit from case to case."
Erika nods to Layne, agreeingly. "They can range from very minor disagreements
to... anything of mass proportion."
Scar huffs, and Taslyn for the third time finds herself under the Glass Walkers
dour gaze. ~'It depends on the situation', in other words. _Again_? Do
you stand on _any_ absolutes?~ Massive jaws snap together with a click.
~The situation for one of higher rank to have to challenge one of lower
rank should be _extremely_ rare.~
Taslyn looks to Scar and cocks her head to one side. "But it does happen." She
speaks in soft tones. "Standing in absolutes... Then what happens if
something was to change your mind? If you stand on one issue then how can
you bend to see another's point?"
Erika looks to Scar, nodding and responding. "Even so, if someone of high rank
wished to challenge... they will wait until the lower rank rises into
their level."
Erika says "It is a manner of honor and respect," she tells Taslyn. "No one
with a right-mind would want to loose a challege if they called it to
someone of weaker rank."
Tecmessa shakes her head. "It is not that. Unless it is an extraordinary event,
as I said, it is literally /meaningless/ for one of higher rank to
challenge one of lower rank. There is no /point/."
Taslyn shakes her head. "Then what of Megan? She is a higher rank and
challenged Luke. Like I said... It does happen."
Scar snaps his jaws again, looking rather impatient. ~If you don't stand on
anything, you're fodder for smooth tongues and liars. And
Firewatcher-rhya did NOT challenge Perseverence.~
Lyra quickly scribbles, then holds up her note: "Every judge is first and
foremost a judge of themself."
Megan shakes her head, then echoes in English Scar's high-pitched Garou words,
"I did *not* Challenge Luke." She looks as if she might continue, but
subsides to listen once more, for now.
Taslyn cocks her head to one side and looks at Scar. "I stand on what I
believe... But as a Philodox I must be able to bend and see all sides of
a point. My opinions are my opinions... If you want to give me an exact
situation I will be most happy to inform you of my opinion. Until then...
They are still MINE." Her jaw clenches slightly. "Sorry, I mispoke
calling it a challenge... But a decision was called to be made of ones
that had different ranks. That is what I am referring to. My apologies."
Layne blinks at Taslyn, but doesn't repeat what's already been mentioned twice.
Not having much more to add to this particular string of the discussion,
she sits quietly.
Tecmessa adds, "Luke acted as if he /were/ Challenged, but that does not mean
he actually /was/ challenged. I would prefer," her voice goes slightly
wry, now-- "not to get into an argument about objective reality just now,
but it is true that there are certain truths which do not go away, nor do
they change. Certainly, as a philodox, adapting is necessary, but one
must, before judging, set oneself by those bedrock truths."
Megan nods once to Tecmessa's final statement, then moves out of her crouch, to
stand near the fire. "And that," she says, with a slight smile to take
the edge off her words, "is one of my goals here tonight, and from this
point forward, is." She spreads her hands out. "I know I'm not perfect,
but I've been an adult philodox now for a long time, and my time in
Boston was some of the best training I could've had. The Ways are clear
on what they say--it's our interpretations that vary. But, what the Ways
says about dominance, rank, and challenges is very clear, and I don't
want there to be any misunderstandings--no odd interpretations," she
adds, smile widening to a grin, "that will get us in trouble."
Tecmessa murmurs, "Aha, more speeches," and settles into an actual seat.
Scar settles down -- he'd almost risen to a sit -- and focusses once again on
Megan, his manner still thundery.
Taslyn looks away from Scar and gives her attention to Megan.
Megan looks around to all of them in turn, saying, "Rank is dominance. Those of
higher rank are automatically of higher dominance. Those of lower rank,
are automatically beneath you. As you progress in rank, you will come to
understand this, and that with the rank, in addition to the recognition
of your achievements, of your honor, your wisdom, and your glory, is the
burden of responsibility. It is your responsibility, your *duty*, to
lead. That is part of what respect to those below you entails. It isn't
all about the brass ring, winning the prize. So, if you ever intend to
rise within the ranks of Garou, keep that in mind."
Lyra smiles and sits up a bit straighter; you get the impression that before
all this, she was one of those kids that really enjoyed class.
Layne listens to Megan interestedly, even if her gaze does sink into the
firepit, unblinking, as if she's being hypnotized.
Erika listens quietly, her eyes held on Megan.
Megan sighs heavily, and runs a hand through her hair that some, especially
Tecmessa, would recognize as a nervous gesture. "Challenges for rank,
almost everyone understands. You Challenge someone no more than one rank
ahead of you, don't challenge your packmate, et cetera et cetera. But
Challenges for dominance...that's what has always been a huge point of
confusion, both before I left, and when I came back." Her smile is
faintly dry at this, even if the weather isn't. "If a Garou of higher
rank disagrees with one of lower, it is up to the lower ranked Garou to
submit--or Challenge. But it is always that way." She looks at Taslyn, a
corner of her mouth quirking, "always. Unless," she looks at Scar, "the
situation is truly extraordinary. So if one of lower rank disagrees with
one of higher rank, it is upon them to do the Challenging, if they are so
inclined. For two of equal rank, it is even dicier. No one wants to give
up the right to name terms," she says drolly. "And so they get into 'you
challenge!' 'no, you challenge!' To that I say--just challenge, suck it
up, and hope they name fair terms. For the one who is Challenge, as
Tecmessa said, is the one who sets them. But, the Challenge must be fair.
And the terms should be fair, for the matter at hand. And it is there,
that we often may come in. Or, as a last resort, the Master of the
Challenge may be called on to decide it."
Tecmessa simply nods, as she listens.
Lyra's smile fades a bit near the end, and she glances elsewhere.
Scar silently indicates his agreement with the Alpha's words.
Taslyn nods her head as Megan speaks.
Layne straightens, eyes snapping back toward the Adren as she finishes.
Erika looks around her, her eyes narrowing at Lyra some. The Get of Fenris
slowly turns her attention back up to the Adren and nods approvingly.
Megan looks and nods specifically to Layne, then adds, "Which is to say, if one
of higher rank comes in to claim a position, it is up to the one of lower
to submit, or Challenge. Provided the proper forms have been met, such as
Sept membership. Anyone have any questions about all that?" she asks with
a smile.
Scar doesn't seem to have any questions, though he casts an eye over the others.
Taslyn stays quiet herself...
Erika gives a shake of her head, although the youngest half-moons seems to be
pouring over things in her mind.
Lyra shakes her head. Her momentary lapse of cheerfulness seems passed now.
Layne watches Megan closely for a moment, lips forming a tight smile, before
she nods.
Tecmessa says, "I don't appear to..."
Megan nods once after giving it sufficient time, then says, "Good," decisively.
"Thank you all for coming tonight. If anyone ever has any questions,
comments, information, whatever, please--come find me. Tecmessa and Salem
know how to contact me, or leave a note for me at the Farmhouse. I try to
get through there every day for that sort of thing. Otherwise...go out,
and make us proud,"she finishes with an amused smile.
The Gnawer drops her stub of pencil to clap softly, a wry smile on her face.
Tecmessa's smile turns just the slightest tinge cynical, and then she shakes
her head and heads for Erika.
Taslyn stays where she is, looking somewhat deep in thought. She looks up and
around at everyone and then back to the fire, thinking.
Erika dips her head towards Megan, showing as little for an expression but that
is usual. Her eyes look over to the approaching Tecmessa, and she stands
quietly.
Layne bleeds back down into lupus to bark her thanks to Megan. She creeps a
little closer to the fire, and curls. Will stay here until it dies.
Tecmessa gives the younger woman a nod, and then asks, "So. Care to learn from
me?"
Scar snorts in a vaguely ill-tempered kind of way and pushes to his feet,
shrinking back down to lupus as he does so. After a dip of the head
toward Megan, the Glass Walker limps out, heading westward.
Taslyn looks up to watch Scar go. She watches him for a few more moments and
then sighs, looking back to the fire.
Bawn: Southern Forest(#3017RAJ)
Evergreen trees spread their overhead branches wide across the forest floor.
Each tree limb interlinks with its neighbor, forming a thick overhead
canopy of pine needles that leaves the forest floor dim even at noon. An
apparent tenseness seems to permeate the air here, and there is a
somewhat less than subtle feeling that perhaps something is watching. The
behavior of the wildlife in the area betrays a certain wariness that
suggests the presence of predators nearby.
The southern edge of the bawn is marked here by the railroad tracks which run
from St. Claire and Kent's Crossing to the west, towards the mountains to
the east.
Scar pads slowly but steadily through the dark, wet, chilly forest, showing no
sign now that he feels the hurts of his Get-inflicted wounds.
Lyra's skipping to catch up with him, a jingling noise on her somewhere, the
bounce of books in her bag and paper and pencils. Sneakers on the forest
floor. Nope, she's not very stealthy at all.
Scar stops and looks back. One ear quirks sideways, bemusedly, then shifts
forward again. He stands and waits.
Lyra stops. It's not just a slowing down of pace, either, it's a halt like she
hit a brick wall; so she ends up a little further than comfortable
speaking distance. She watches Salem for a moment, chewing on her lip
quizzically. Slowly, deliberately, one hand comes up with the forefinger
pointed at him and the thumb standing up. 'Bang,' she mouths solemnly.
Scar looks puzzled for a moment, then goes stiff, his hackles rising. He asks
her what she wants.
Lyra crouches, bringing herself more eyelevel with the lupus. She looks
terribly sad and a little bit frightened. 'Why?' she mouths.
Scar snorts and demands clarification. Why what?
Lyra looks perplexed, then tosses her bag aside and shifts to lupus. Shaking
her head for a moment, fur ruffling, she attempts a different
explanation. Sees-True-Nature is ill in her heart, Four-Leaves chuffs
lowly, agitated. And Three-Blades is missing. I want to know what
happened, from you. She pauses, ears swiveling. I do not want the Gnawers
and the Walkers at war.
Scar snorts, making a wry remark about so much for a vow of silence. Then he
yips. There will be no war unless the Gnawers start one. Your Alpha tried
to kill me. In my own home. With silver. What happens with Three-Blades
is not my concern. What debt she owes the Walkers will be handled by my
kin, the one who mated with Walks-Thin-Ice. As for Sees-True-Nature, I
will have _nothing_ to do with her. _Nothing_.
The 'nothing' is emphasized with a thin, high-raspy snarl.
Four-Leaves' right ear splays out. My vow of silence is for my human voice,
else I would need a packmember with me wherever I go, the Gnawer replies
softly. But she paws lightly at the ground, when he's finished, and
speaks the next words in hesitant yips and chuffs. I ask you this, as my
once-teacher...would you think better of my Family if I were Alpha?
Scar snorts at her answer to his remark about her vow of silence, then looks at
her, hard. He tells her, firmly that his opinion regarding
Sees-True-Nature and Three-Blades will not change. His body language
emphasizes these individuals, rather than the tribe they belong to. Then
he asks her to confirm -- she is going to be Elder of the Gnawers?
You are free to tell Storm-Singer he makes bad vows for others, the red wolf
shoots back wryly. Then both ears flick back and she casts her eyes to
her paws. I have seen Sees-True-Nature, and since then, I have asked
myself if I should be the one to heal a tribe where even the leader is
broken. But I too was put to Shame, and I do not know if that makes me
any more fit than my other brothers and sisters. Green eyes look up and
meet Scar's. I think...I could be a good Alpha, and bring my Family
together. But I am not sure the Sept will see the change as further
foolishness or strength.
Scar's ears flick backwards at mention of the Shadow Lord -- not one of his
favorite people in the Sept, by far. But he addresses only the question
of Eldership. Your tribe needs a leader. If Sees-True-Nature is not fit,
and no one else will stand up, then you must do it.
He snorts. You are _young_, Four-Leaves. If less than a moon of the Jackal's
Voice is the worst punishment you find yourself under, then you will be
far and away the most perfect Garou ever born.
Four-Leaves cants her head in a decidedly confused manner, ears swiveling; and
then she bounds forward with a puppylike bark, playbowing to Scar's side.
The last comment has amused her greatly, it seems. Maybe I -am- the most
perfect Garou ever, she yips teasingly. But j's keep it between you and
me.
Scar snorts again, thinly amused at best. Not if you're taking advice from
Shadow Lords, you aren't. Now tell me why you let Storm-Singer make a vow
for you?
Well, there're other reasons too that she's not perfect, but they both know
them and they both don't say it. Four-Leaves sits up, ears pricked
forward. He came to me to ask why I had erred, she explains, with a hint
of bemusement at the memory. It was a pointless conversation, since from
the start he had no intention of changing his opinion...said I'd betrayed
my auspice and rank. She wriggles her whiskers. T'be fair, I did act a
little more arrogant than I ought've. So then he said I deserved to lose
my voice for as long as I was unfit for a Judge.
Scar wrinkles his nose. So, you took a vow of silence to satisfy him?
Four-Leaves' lips pull back in a grin. He'd prolly think that, wouldn't he? No,
I didn't. Not really. See, Truth and Honor are the essence of the
Halfmoon, someone once said. And although I think I did the right thing,
the right thing is not always honorable. The cliath's ears swivel. When I
think I've become a better Philodox, I will speak again.
Scar huffs, then gets to his feet. Interesting. However, if I were you, I would
speak with Firewatcher-rhya. If you wish to become a better Philodox, you
could have no better teacher.
Eager to hear my chatter so soon? Four-Leaves grins, getting to her paws as
well. She trots back to her bag and slips the strap around her neck. I
will do so, then. Although the Walker elder, I hear, is a fantastic
teacher as well. The red wolf jerks her head and shifts upward, the bag
melting into her hispo form. She bows her head to Scar. May Luna smile on
you, rhya.
Scar huffs cantankerously at the compliment, then echoes her farewell before
turning and continuing his trek towards his car, then home.
[Later...]
Cockroach Mansion -- Downstairs
The heavy, dark opulence to this mansion known as Dominion is perfectly
exemplified by the room vistors first enter, this front hall.
Dark-stained wood serves as paneling on the walls, gleams with high gloss
in the hardwood floor, and supports a semi-circular balcony in carved
pillars. The heavy double doors, made of oak, open into the hall from the
south, opposite the huge, hourglass-shaped staircase composed of red and
black gneiss which soars up to the balcony; both are fenced in with a
wooden railing of simple spiraled posts. Several doorways can be made out
on the second floor, nearly blending in discreetly with the back wall.
The wall to the left of the front doors is composed entirely of windows
which run from the forty-foot-tall domed dark wood ceiling to the floor;
if drawn, the heavy velvet drapes of deep red would completely mask them
from view, but when parted, as they often are, one has a marvelous view
of the grounds outside.
A doorway to the right of the front doors leads to a parlor, and towards the
back are the kitchens, the large dining room, and Salem's office.
There is a faint smell of smoke in the air, and the sound of cabinet-slamming
comes from the kitchen. "Madonn'!" Rina snaps, as she burns her hand on a
smoking pan of rather overdone manicotti.
Salem returns from his night out in the woods looking chilled to the bone and
damp from the freezing rain that's been drizzling steadily outside.
Shivering, he struggles out of the heavy black coat and strips off his
hat and scarf and gloves.
Water runs in the kitchen. Hearing the door, Rina splashes her face and leans
on the counter, shoulders shaking as she tries to pull herself together.
Salem eventually appears at the kitchen doorway, dressed in black jeans and a
dark green sweater, without his boots -- they've been ostracized to just
inside the door, until he cleans the mud off them at least. Seeing her
and the signs of more cooking, he raises an eyebrow, then frowns.
"There was managott' for you," she says, drawing the unblistered hand across
her eyes. "But I ruined it." Her back is turned, probably to hide
something.
Salem's frown deepens. Concerned now, he crosses toward her and lays a hand on
her shoulder. He tugs her around to face him.
Even with her face newly splashed with water, the traces of crying are obvious.
She doesn't look up at him; her expression is weary, anxious, worn down.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly.
Salem doesn't seem to be much in the mood to talk, though he murmurs something
about being all right. More importantly, he draws her into a hug --
guessing that she could use one.
Rina lets out a breath, and slowly answers it, putting her arms loosely around
his waist. "That kid's gonna drive me fuckin' crazy," she murmurs.
Salem smells a little bit like a wet dog (or a wet wolf), and he's still a bit
chilly. "Josh? Or Cat?"
"Joshua," she says quietly, drawing away from him. The burned pasta is steaming
on the counter, and the oven is off; she gives both a glance before
turning dark, veiled eyes to him. "You aright?"
Salem grunts squeakily. "Fine. A bunch of hippy kids, plus Megan and a new
Fury. And Lyra wants to lead the Gnawers." He shrugs.
Rina nods. There is a shadow over her--the grief, maybe, but it seems like
something has changed, or she is holding something inside. "You want me
to make you anything, or you just gonna go to sleep?"
Salem glances over at the burned pan, then looks back at her, studying her face
with that intent way of his. "Going to _bed_ anyway," he mutters. "Doubt
I'll _sleep_."
Rina swallows. "Yeah," she says guardedly. "You... want some decaf or
anything?" There's a wariness in her eyes, watching him--guilt?
Salem starts to shake his head, then pauses. "Maybe some tea?" He's still
looking at her with some concern.
She's visibly relieved to have something to do--her eyes dart away, and she
quickly fills the kettle and puts it on. "Joshua's decided--well, partly
on misinterpreting what Sig told him, and partly because he's just fucked
in the head--that his wolf is, like, a separate entity from himself," she
says. A glance over her shoulder to him, and she adds, "And he's decided
he's gonna kill it. Because 'it' wants to kill other people, and of
course he doesn't want that."
Salem rolls his eyes, uttering a thin, snerly disgruntled noise, and takes a
seat at the kitchen table, still more than a little sore from his tussle
with Signe.
Concern flickers into her expression, and she turns to watch him, leaning on
the island. "You're still hurt from last week?"
Salem lifts a hand and see-saws it. "Almost better. Fucking weather didn't
help."
Rina nods minutely. "Yeah, it's nasty out there." She pushes away from the
butcherblock and busies herself digging out cups and teapot.
Salem rubs a hand over his face, then back over his stubbled scalp. "Will be
glad when it's spring. Making some plans for the grounds."
"You gonna let that grow back?" she asks, watching him.
Salem looks questioningly at her, eyebrows raised.
"Y'hair," she says, waving a hand toward him vaguely.
Salem's mouth forms a silent 'ah' and he rubs his head again, looking
thoughtful. "Think I should?"
Rina nods, a smile coming to her lips. "Yeah," she answers, a bit shy.
Salem laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them, elbows propped on
the table. He returns the smile, albeit quite faintly, and asks, "What
about the beard?"
Rina lifts a shoulder and lets it fall, tipping her head a little. "Idunno,"
she says, offering him a secretive half-smile. "Looked kinda cute.
Devilish, yanno, with the little pointy thing."
Salem's eyebrows reach for his hairline. "_Cute_?" he squeaks.
Rina lowers her eyes, and the smile grows a little, lopsided. "Wicked," she
amends. "Dashing, like a pirate or somethin'."
"Arr," the Philodox deadpans, the Jackal voice sounding more like a cartoon
than an actual pirate. Not that real pirates actually went around saying
'arr' or anything.
Rina stifles a giggle, her cheeks going red. She ducks her head. "Sorry," she
mumbles.
Salem waves a dismissive hand. "Don'tworryaboutit," he mumbles, not appearing
to be all that upset. He rubs his chin and adds, after a moment, "Almost
half moon. One more lunar month to go after that." He grimaces.
Rina nods, rubbing at the back of her neck with one hand. "Be a relief," she
says softly. "You gotta teach that kid what's what. He practically kicked
me out of his little tower, the brat. 'Lock the door on y'way out,' he
says. 'I'm not coming out until Miss Signe comes back.' The fucking
/prick/."
Salem scowls, then huffs in an exasperated kind of way. "Two steps forward, ten
dozen fucking steps back."
Dark eyes look across to him. "I almost raised my hand to the boy, I was that
pissed. He says this right after I sit down with him and try to tell him,
/nice/, about how he's gotta pay attention to the people above him."
"I'll talk to him," Jack promises sourly. "I want to get him over to the
farmhouse for a bit, let him meet some other Garou and get some more
feral practice, but I will _not_ send him there until he gets his fucking
act together."
Rina nods minutely, and lowers her eyes. "Yeah. I'm real fuckin' worried about
it. We're gonna need the soldiers." Her brow is furrowed darkly. "You
gonna rite Cat soon?"
Salem rubs his eyes. "Soon as I decide what his test should be."
"Good." Her expression is shadowed. "We need him, too." She leans on the
coubnter again, letting her head fall forward.
Salem frowns, then gets up and moves over toward her, leaning against the
counter nearby. He cocks his head, peering down at her. "You look tired."
Rina swallows, her shoulders hunching a little. "Didn't sleep much," she
answers hoarsely. "And all this..."
Salem reaches past her and turns off the burner under the tea kettle. "Why
don't you crash here tonight? The roads are pretty well iced up by now."
She gives a quick shake of her head, shivering as she turns away to get the
water and pour it into the teapot. "I can't. I was already away last
night, and the night before. I shouldn't have but it's done, what's done
is done..." The words are disturbing, and it takes a moment to realize
why: echoes of Shakespeare. She puts the lid on the tea with suddenly
trembling hands.
Salem gets a look of sudden alarm and reaches out to take her hands. "Don't,"
he says squeakily. "Or at least let me drive you home."
Her skin feels cold--even though his hands are icy. She doesn't look up at him.
"I'm fine," she says softly.
"You're cold," he points out, worried.
"I'm scared," she whispers. When she looks up, there is a mix of raw terror and
guilt in her eyes.
Salem's brows draw together. "Why? The ghosts?"
Rina swallows, and turns her face away. "Not yours." She closes her eyes for a
moment, and takes a deep breath.
He sighs and rubs her hands absently, trying to coax some warmth into them, not
to mention into his own. "You need to move on," he grates. "_He_ needs to
move on." He wrinkles his nose. "You deserve to be _happy_."
Rina's hands slip together in the tangle of his own, and she twists at her ring
compulsively. Her eyes are lowered, veiled. "I made a vow," she says
weakly. "I made a vow and I broke it..."
"_Rina_." Her name comes out too shrill; he grips her hands firmly. "He's
_dead_." More quietly, but no less insistant, he adds, "He's dead and you
deserve to be happy."
She looks up at him, incredulous, tears filling her eyes. "That's where you're
wrong," she says in a small voice. "I never deserved t'be happy. I never
deserved-- any of it."
Salem wrinkles his nose and, after cursing the damned squeaky Jackalvoice,
"Consider it your duty, then. A command from your Gaia-appointed tribal
elder. Be happy. For us. For Cat. Hell, for _me_. All right?"
"I don't-- know if I can," she says quietly. "Without him..." Her throat
tightens in a swallow, and she presses her lips together for a moment. "I
can't even-- I mean, I have feelings for someone else and it-- it feels
like a knife in my heart--"
"You deserve to be happy," he says again, like a mantra, patiently. "Whoever he
is, if he can make you happy, even a little..."
Rina tears a hand away to cover her eyes, as her face twists and the tears come
in earnest. "Jesus. He's gonna be in my dreams, and he looks at me-- the
way he looks at me, there's so much pain in -- in him -- and I want to
help him, Jack, I gotta find a way--"
Salem pulls her into another hug, making a quiet little 'shh' noise. The old
dependable Jack, a big safe pillar to lean on. "You will," he murmurs
tinnily. "_We_ will."
"I'm sorry," she whispers desperately. "If you see him-- if you see him ever--
I love him and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She clings to him, undermined by
tears, her voice raw with grief.
Salem lets her cry on him and holds her tight, not really saying anything --
just being there. "Shhh..."
Faint, choked noises come from her throat. After a time she cries herself out,
and sways limp and exhausted in his arms.
Salem ruffles her hair absently and murmurs, "Better?"
"No," she says hoarsely, lifting numb eyes to him. "Not really. But I-- Igotta
just admit how I feel about her, and-- and deal with it, I guess." She
swallows, dashing the back of a hand across her eyes and sniffling.
"Madonn'."
Salem blinks once at the 'her', then inwardly shakes it off. "All right. You,
ah..." He clears his throat. "Do you still want to go home?"
Rina swallows, and nods. "I'm fine," she says hoarsely. "I'll come back
t'morrow and deal with... all this." She waves a hand at the kitchen,
vaguely.
Salem snorts. "I'll take care of it. Come on. I'll walk you out." He eyes her,
then calls up a faint smirk. "If you'll promise to drive _carefully_."
Rina gives him a look. "With this ice on the road? Not like there's a fuckin'
choice..."
Salem murmurs, "Just checking..." He walks her to the door. He even helps her
with her coat.
By the time she leaves, her cheeks are dry--and she is steady enough to give
him a wry, sidelong half-smile. "'Night, Jack."
Salem returns it faintly. "Good night, Rina."
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