Dusty is Repaired

[hazlogs]

[12/6/97. Evening.  After the scene with Kasie.]
[The cave behind the falls in the Fianna grotto.]

[Dusty.  He's tied up.]
     This...mixture...of man and machine is a chilling sight. He stands about 
  six and a half-feet tall, and the meat that is left on him is fair-skinned 
  and has a coarse coat of ginger-sandy hair on it. A deep scar/healing wound 
  remains where something was recently cut out of his left forearm, and a 
  number of holes spot his chest and back, perhaps a dozen of them. Roughly a 
  quarter-inch wide and an inch deep, they are set with metal insets, 
  presumably to keep them open. His deep-blue eyes stare directly at his 
  target of attention, cold, emotionless, soulless. When he does speak, which 
  is rarely enough, it is a tenor with the growling undertones of the Glabro 
  form, as flat and soulless as his eyes.

Erik shivers again and finally rises, padding back to the fire with the 
  blanket still wrapped around his shoulders and held with his remaining
  hand. His eye skitters nervously toward Dusty's bound, silent figure,
  and he looks away quickly, sitting down.

Dusty is, at this point in time, asleep in the cave, thoroughly trussed and 
  beneath a blanket someone laid over him. In sleep, he lies still, without a 
  twitch or a murmur to betray life.

Erik's gaze keeps straying toward the sleeping figure in nervous, horrified 
  fascination.

After what seems like an eternity, the figure's eyes open. Not stirring, not 
  groaning and grumbling as most normal people do when they wake up, but 
  simply an opening of the eyes. The deep blue orbs hold nothing -- no life, 
  no warmth, only the cold impenetrability of the machine. The head turns from 
  side to side, the eyes eventually coming to rest on you.

Erik stares back at Dusty as though unable to look away from those passionless 
  eyes. His breath quickens in fear, but he seems trapped in that gaze.

Still, Dusty's cold, lifeless eyes look into Erik's, holding them for what 
  seems like ages. Finally, he blinks, once, then resumes staring again.

Erik breaks free of his paralysis of fear at the blink. Whimpering faintly, he 
  turns away, pulling the blanket over his head and huddling by the fire.

Dusty makes no sound, turning his eyes away and staring calmly at the ceiling.

Erik remains huddled under the blanket, hiding like a child from the monster 
  in the closet.

Ever-Grinning looks up and actually smiles. Dusty. Welcome back.

Dusty doesn't even appear to notice, merely lies there staring at the ceiling 
  for several long moments. After a few moments, he shifts, just slightly.

Ever-Grinning chuffs sarcastically. Tell me about it.

Erik continues to sit hunched by the fire with the blanket over his head.

Dusty's eyes snap to the voice, their cold stare stabbing Eamon unerringly. 
  "Clarify," he says finally, in a voice that holds the growling tones of 
  Glabro and the scratchiness of long disuse but nonetheless holds haunting 
  threads of the music that was once there.

A low moan emits from under Erik's blanket in response to that one word.

Dusty lies on the cave floor, thoroughly bound and not seeming to have moved 
  much if at all from the position in which he lay last night. Right now, the 
  soulless, deep-blue eyes are directed at Eamon in an unerring stare.

Ever-Grinning flinches visibly and backs away from Dusty.

Erik remains huddled under the blanket, shivering despite his nearness to the 
  fire.

Ravenfeeder comes in limping slightly on her right hind leg from a shot taken 
  there the night before, dragging part of a carcass from an old, dinged-up 
  doe in behind her soaking wet, now, from its journey under the waterfall.

Dusty lies on the cave floor, thoroughly bound and not seeming to have moved 
  much if at all from the position in which he lay last night. Right now, the 
  soulless, deep-blue eyes are directed at Eamon in an unerring stare.

Hearing movement near the entrance, Erik peers out from under the blanket. 
  After a moment, shamefaced, he pushes the blanket off his head and contents 
  himself with merely keeping it wrapped around his shoulders, bony hand 
  clutching it at his chest. His teeth chatter slightly, and he doesn't look 
  up again. He _certainly_ doesn't look at Dusty.

Ever-Grinning contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Ever-Grinning grins wider and sharper as he shifts into Homid form.

Shea climbs up into the cave, a short time later, already working her jacket 
  off, and dropping it by the door.

[Anne and Derrick arrive.]

Ravenfeeder's ears flicker as she catches the tension running through the cave 
  as she arrives, put pushes deeper in as Shea follows behind her, dragging 
  the partial carcass towards the far back of the cave, shying away from Dusty 
  purposefully as well. Her tongue runs down her muzzle cleaning off blood, 
  before she shifts up to homid and runs a hand through her hair to drop it 
  back into place.

At the mass entrance into the cave, the deep-blue eyes of the figure that was 
  once Dusty swivel to the light source, passing impassively over Shea to 
  catch Nimue and Derrick.

Erik glances up as others arrive. His gaze drops quickly, and the Metis scoots 
  backwards, sitting next to the wall and as far out of the way as he can take 
  himself, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders and gripped tightly. 
  To those with wolf senses, he stinks of a jittery, nervous fear.

Falcon's Wing slinks into the cave, casts a slightly haunted glance at Dusty, 
  and curls up somewhere where he won't be in the way.

Anne moves very slowly, a burn on her face and one on her wrist testimony to 
  recent injuries, as she climbs up into the cave. She casts only a quick look 
  at Erik, instead sitting by Falcon's Wing in direct view of Dusty.

Megan nods briefly to Derrick and Anne, favoring her right leg heavily, then 
  tilts her head at Shea. "No time like the present, all that?"

Dusty's eyes dart to Megan as she speak, but still he says nothing, 
  maintaining an eerily calm silence.

Anne asks the two Fianna in question, "What - what's the procedure, in brief?"

Shea nods once. "No time, right." She pushes her sleeves up, saying, "In 
  brief, I'm going to knock him out, crack his head open and take this nasty 
  little box out of his brain. Then we'll flip him over, take the walkie 
  talkie out of his chest, and let him wake up. Get me a jug of Tears, Meg?"

Falcon's Wing winces slightly, just hearing about it.

Eamon sits away from the others and looks down at the floor of the cave as the 
  others discuss Dusty.

Anne grimaces slightly. "Well. All right, then.

Megan nods. "Aye, aye, captain," she says flippantly, hobbling towards the 
  back of the cave, avoiding the partial deer carcass to retrieve the jug of 
  Tears cracked open the same night as Eamon and Erik's similar operations. As 
  in that time, she takes a drink of it herself before carrying it back to the 
  theurge and vict--er, Borg'ed Garou.

Erik hunches his shoulders, pulling his knees to his chest, his jaw set to 
  keep his teeth from chattering.

Anne asks, as she watches the fetching of alcohol, "Mind if I sing? If not, 
  want something soothing, or what?"

Dusty waits and watches impassively, his eyes flicking from person to person 
  and resting longest on Shea.

Falcon's Wing shoots a questioning glance at Erik, and then turns his 
  reluctant attention back to the operation at hand.

Shea fishes the pocket knife out of her pocket, and kneels, setting the knife 
  aside by her foot. She places her hands on either side of Dusty's head, 
  meeting his gaze. She murmurs a few quiet words in Gaelic, no doubt a 
  prayer, lifts his head a bit, and gives it a helpful push toward the stone 
  floor beneath him, intent on rapping it against the rock.

Megan, while Shea does her preparation, fights to something approaching a 
  "comfortable" seat on the other side of the Gaian without falling flat on 
  her face in the process, taking another stiff drink just before the 
  head-dropping maneuvar.

Dusty's gaze is cold and lifeless, and he puts up only brief resistance, 
  slumping as his head is slammed into the stone floor. The eyes close, 
  perhaps mercifully for someone looking into the hauntingly soulless orbs, 
  and the head lolls slightly to one side on the manner of those well and 
  truly out.

Anne's head, still tilted in question, straightens a little and she winces. 
  Very quietly, she mutters into her Silver Fang packmate's ear, "Hi tech. 
  That's us. Walkers all."

Falcon's Wing flicks an ear, watching the maneuvers with a horrified 
  fascination. If I tried to steal things, I'd get caught.

Erik doesn't look. His eyes closed, head dropping to his chest as he sits back 
  against the wall of the cave. After a moment, he begins whispering to 
  himself, lips moving as he sub-vocalizes.

Megan passes the jug over to Shea, then reaches out a hand to bridge 
  fingertips lightly across the boy's chest, a look of concentration stealing 
  into her lined features.

Anne eyes Erik quietly; after a moment or two of silence, she begins to sing 
  after all, a soft soothing song.

Erik keeps his eyes close. The near-silent whispering stops, and his head 
  tilts slightly as he focusses on Anne's music. The Metis does calm somewhat, 
  no longer shivering like a frightened child.

Once Megan's withdrawn her hand, Shea murmurs, "Give me a hand flipping him 
  over, eh? Head first, then we'll deal with the rest of this mess."

Megan shifts back up to near man with a flicker of a grimace, greater strength 
  making up somewhat for the loss of ease of motion. She also seems to hover, 
  poised as if for some incipient motion.

Eamon glances over at Erik, then over at Dusty, then back down at the floor.

Shea works her hands beneath Dusty, and, with Megan's assistance, rolls him 
  over, so that he lies, face down, on the stone floor. She nods thanks to 
  Megan, then goes about dousing both her pocket knife and her hands in the 
  Tears from the jug. Dusty's hair is pushed upward, away from the base of his 
  neck, and Shea begins to slice the skin there open. "Not for the faint of 
  heart, or weak of stomach. You've been warned," she murmurs.

Eamon looks up again as Shea starts the "operation." He absently rubs the 
  place at the base of his skull where the same was done to him.

Anne is, aside from her singing, motionless; her voice continues soothingly, 
  while her eyes follow the operation avidly.

Megan mutters something to herself in the tone of a curse, as she takes up the 
  jug again and splashes some of the astringent liquid in the wound, cleansing 
  blood from the cut. "Derrick, there's some large patches of cloth back where 
  the jug was. Could you bring them over? I forgot."

Falcon's Wing pads over, grabs them in his teeth, drops them near Megan, and 
  goes back where he was.

Erik glances up and blanches, his eyes widening in their deep sockets. He 
  gives in and pulls the blanket over his head.

Shea rises, and paces to the back of the cave, near Erik, as well. She returns 
  again, with a small bow saw. The blade of this, too, is doused in alcohol, 
  before it is applied to bone at the base of Dusty's skull.

Falcon's Wing moves unconsciously closer to Anne.

Eamon looks up from the floor and decides to watch what's going on for some 
  reason. Maybe he just wants to know what happened to him.

Dusty shows no reaction -- he is well and truly out.

Erik continues to 'hide' under the blanket. Even when Shea moves near him, he 
  doesn't look out.

Anne reaches out to put a hand on Falcon's Wing's back; she pulls a grimace 
  that throws off several notes slightly until she smooths out her expression.

Once the skull is opened, the small, flat grey box is right where it's 
  supposed to be, almost exactly in the same spot as those of the other two. 
  It trails a plethora of fine wires from the top of it, leading off into the 
  tissue of the cortex, resembling some macabre fairy hair.

Shea uses a combination of fingers and the flat of her pocket knife, to pry 
  the wires out of brain material, as carefully as said instruments can be 
  used. Like the other two, she tosses the box to the cave floor, trading it 
  for some of those scraps of fabric to lay over the hole in the skull.

Falcon's Wing leans into Anne now, quite consciously, and bites down a small 
  whimper.

Anne averts her eyes from this part of the operation, looking instead down at 
  Falcon's Wing in sympathy. Her song trails off, the effort to keep singing 
  about calm and quiet apparently too much, given the wavers in her voice near 
  the end.

Megan is, for now, simply sitting back and playing physician's assistant, 
  although the faint look of concentration, for those actually noticing *her* 
  expression during the procedure, lingers.

The next step is to roll Dusty over again, more carefully than the intial 
  turning. Turned over, Shea again makes an incision, just to the left of the 
  Gaian's sternum, deep. Again, fingers are used to help in prying the 
  communication device out of his chest, though the effort requires more 
  strenuous pulling than the head-device.

Eamon is unable to take his eyes off the operation, staring as if obsessed. He 
  doesn't mind the blood and brains, however. He's seen more than his share in 
  his time.

A brief sucking sound follows the exit of the communications box in the chest, 
  as in pulling something against vacuum. The Gaian's breathing quickens and 
  heart rate jumps, but he still doesn't wake.

Eamon flinches again and blinks, but keeps his eyes locked on Dusty.

Falcon's Wing whimpers, almost inaudibly.

There's a faint whimper from Erik, who remains under the blanket.

Shea tosses the communications device to the floor, like the head piece. More 
  cloth is placed over this wound, as well, leaving the theurge, hands 
  gore-covered, free to work at removing the jacks in Dusty's torso, with the 
  pocket knife. Her expression, for those keeping track of such things, is 
  studiously blank.

This takes doing. Those buggers are in there real good, and it takes some 
  flesh-tearing once or twice to get them free, though the damage isn't 
  anything too bad.

Shea closes up the knife, and drops that to the floor of the cave, as well, 
  when the last of the jacks is removed. She climbs to her feet, and heads for 
  the mouth of the cave, holding her hands up much like a surgeon. "That's 
  that," she announces, as she goes to wash.

Falcon's Wing remains where he is, for the moment, looking intently at the 
  Gaian. Intently, and nervously.

With Shea's pronouncement, Megan bites her lower lip, nearly drawing blood 
  from the sharpened teeth. The tautness of her features ease, but she 
  continues to hover nearby, humming like a bowstring from readiness.

Anne stirs again, running one hand through her hair. "That's that. Should we 
  let him rest, or wake him up?"

Erik lifts the blanket slightly at Shea's pronouncement and peers out from 
  under the blanket, nervously.

Dusty for his part is still out, perhaps mercifully, although the bleeding is 
  already slowing with the help of the astringent. For the moment.

Shea reappears, with clean hands. "Let him wake up on his own. That's the true 
  test. 'course, Eamon and Erik made it. No reason to think he won't."

Megan adds to Shea's words, ~And not long after.~

Anne murmurs, "You reassure me ever so much. We can stay here rather than 
  moving him elsewhere until he does?"

Erik sits up slowly, the blanket still draped over his head but no longer 
  covering his face. He swallows, trying to work saliva back into his dry 
  mouth, and after a brief glance avoids looking at Dusty.

Shea frowns. "If you're planning to complain about what and how it was done, 
  you're welcome to wait somewhere else."

As if cued by Megan's words, the Gaian awakes and rolls over, eyes wide as in 
  one who just woke up from the most hideous nightmare. He curls up into a 
  fetal ball, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Anne holds her hand up. "You misunderstand me. I am grateful." As Dusty moves, 
  she's already standing, breath catching not in anticipation but in pain at 
  the too-swift stretching of her barely-healed skin.

Derrick, immediately, shifts into homid and says, quietly, "Dusty?" He moves 
  forward almost as Anne does, but the edge of nervousness is still there.

Eamon lets out a breath in a long sigh, as if he'd been holding it the whole 
  time, or perhaps just in great relief.

Megan reaches a hand out to gently touch the Gaian's shoulder. Quietly, she 
  asks, "are you okay? Are the voices gone?"

Erik's eyes slide upwards and over toward Dusty, his expression haunted and 
  vaguely ill.

Every muscle in the Gaian's body is taut as he looks around, his eyes wild and 
  limbs shaking in the manner of one who is perilously close to losing 
  control. Those eyes fix on Megan, and he nods, once, apparently in no state 
  of mind to do more.

Megan's hand squeezes Dusty's with what is meant to be reassurance, then 
  levers herself up to allow Derrick and Anne to move in, taking up the jug of 
  Tears, shifting back down to homid, and angling towards a spot towards Shea.

Derrick takes a step or two closer to the Gaian, and sits down, extending a 
  hand to touch him, gently. He seems completely bereft of useful things to 
  say, so he just sits there, for now.

Anne drops to a crouch beside Dusty, both hands reaching out to touch him. 
  "Dusty, we're here, me and Derrick. You're safe now."

Dusty just stares at them for a moment, the wildness gradually fading from his 
  eyes as the moment passes him. He draws another deep breath, managing to 
  choke out, "I...I'm sorry," in a ragged voice that nonetheless holds music.

Derrick can't help but cast a glance at Erik, before he says, trying not to 
  look beleagered, "It's not you're fault. You didn't do anythin' wrong."

Once Megan's close enough, Shea reaches for the jug of Tears, and takes a long 
  draught.

Erik startles a little at Dusty's apology. He stares at the Gaian, his jaw a 
  bit slack.

Eamon says "No need to be sorry, man, you didn't do anything. It's those 
  fuckers that did it. Don't sweat it. I know what you been through."
Eamon holds his good hand out to Megan. "Pass that here. Gaia knows I need a 
  fuckin' drink."

Dusty closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, the Rage building 
  in them. "They're gone, aren't they?"

Megan gives Shea a small, grim smile, leaning up against the wall near her, 
  reaching out a hand to touch the theurge's shoulder in a brief gesture, 
  nothing more. Eamon gets a slightly wider smile, then a tilt of her head 
  towards Shea. "I'm sure there's more than enough for y', Eamon."

Erik's mouth closes. Shoulders hunching again, he sits back against the cave 
  wall, knees drawn up to his chest, withdrawn.

Eamon takes the jug from Megan and draw a long swig from it. "Five quarts of 
  forgetting sauce. Just what I need."

"Damn," is Dusty's first instinctive reply. He continues to breathe deeply, 
  apparently fighting desperately for self-possession. "Next time leave me 
  some." The joke is -very- weak. A flash of coldness passes across his eyes 
  for a bare moment, then is gone.

Megan eyes Eamon with vague concern, but remains where she is leaned up 
  against the wall near Shea.

Erik remains withdrawn, his eyes lowered. Thin, bonelike fingers fiddle 
  absently with the blanket's frayed corner. He simply remains quiet.

Erik(#2989Pce)
This tall figure, six and a half feet at least, stands out in almost any 
  crowd. His build is skeletal, disturbingly thin and angular, with long arms 
  and legs.  His face is a horror, a living death's head with corpse-pallid 
  skin stretched drum-tight over too-obvious bone. A few wisps of dark hair 
  cling to a miserable existence on his otherwise bald scalp, and his eyes -- 
  brilliant green and raw with undisguised emotion -- gaze apprehensively out 
  from deep-set, misaligned sockets. A number of small, regular scars encircle 
  the left. His cheeks are sunken and hollow, and rather than a nose he has 
  only a pair of gaping holes, a feature which only emphasizes the skull-like 
  appearance.
His skeletal frame is ill-clad in castoff clothes that don't quite fit his 
  tall, gangly body. The gray sweatshirt bears a faded SCCU logo, and the 
  right sleeve is half-empty, half that arm missing. The jeans hardly fit at 
  all, being a bit too short in the leg and far too baggy in the waist; a belt 
  keeps them from falling down altogether. And the socks - one brown, one blue 
  - don't match. His voice is startling, even freakish in its unearthly beauty 
  and purity of tone. It's colored with a faintly Irish lilt, attractive and 
  compelling. 

[Steven]
This is a stocky man, perhaps in his early twenties, with sandy brown hair, a 
  clear blue eye, and aside from the scar running from his left eye down 
  across his nose, behind a black eye patch, a rather plain face. He wears a 
  pair of faded blue jeans, and a button down ruddy red flannel shirt, tucked 
  into his pants. A pair of hiking boots are laced up around his feet. His 
  exposed skin is tanned, hard, and calloused -- and his left hand is missing 
  the index and pinky fingers, both severed cleanly at the joint. Steven 
  speaks with a rich baritone, his words carrying a very slight trace of a 
  brogue.

Derrick says, dryly, "I'll remember that." After a pause, he says, "Shit. You 
  have /no/ idea how glad I am to see you back here."

Anne grins down at Dusty, despite the feebleness of the joke itself. She 
  echoes Derrick, "Me, too. After all, I don't know how to _play_ guitar."

Steven slips into the cave and heads over to near where Shea and Megan are 
  standing. He nods to them both and then gives Eamon a small grin.

Dusty doesn't appear to have an answer to that, so he just lies still for a 
  moment, starting only when his Glabro form begins to melt back into his 
  accustomed homid shape. He looks at himself, then finishes the shift and 
  lays back again until Anne's words catch his attention. "Guitar...where is 
  my guitar?"

Anne says gently, "It's at the farmhouse. We found it and brought it there. 
  You'll want to check it, make sure I took good enough care of it."

Silently, without a word and without attempting to excite any comment, Erik 
  pulls the blanket over his head again.

Shea leans against a cave wall, near Megan. Eamon's nearer the rear of the 
  cave, with a jug of Tears . Shea summons up the hint of a smile for Steven.

Derrick offers, "Could bring it over, next time I go get food. Which oughta be 
  soon."

Dusty closes his eyes, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The 
  wildness has mostly faded from hsi eyes, although a hint of it is still 
  there. He relaxes after a moment, apparently satisfied with the response in 
  his fingers.

Eamon passes the jug back to anyone else who wants some.

Anne adds, "Or we could all go there. Whichever you're more comfortable with. 
  Don't want to rush things."

Since he's kindly offered, Steven takes the jug from his deborged packmate 
  with another wider grin. "Thanks," he murmurs to the no moon, slugging back 
  a sip.

Dusty blinks once or twice, considering that. A shudder passes through his 
  body, but he nods. "Farmhouse is fine..." he moves to sit up, and stops 
  about halfway there. As he stares at himself, a slow flush rises up from his 
  shoulders to his face.

Megan, from her spot amidst her packmate, speaks up quietly towards the 
  members of Suspects. "Just me, but, I'm betting Dusty might be more 
  comfortable recuperating with you guys." She finishes, but then her 
  expression flashes faintly quizzical at Dusty's behavior.

Part of Derrick's undertone of nervousness comes to the surface now. "Yeah. 
  Well. You rather be stuck in a commune the rest of your life?"

Shea warns, "Mind his head. Dusty, lad, shift up, when you get somewhere 
  comfortable, hey? You'll heal quicker."

Dusty tries to sit up again, leaning forward in such a way as to shield the 
  most tender parts of his nude self from both the draft and human view. He 
  looks up at Shea, blinking a bit as he moves too fast. "Um, okay...." He 
  chews on his lip for a moment, then adds, "Thanks."

Derrick mutters, "Blanket. Shea, you got extras?"

Shea pushes off the wall, and steps once more to the back of the cave, 
  plucking up a blanket. This she hands to Derrick.

Derrick hands it to Dusty. "Can get you some actual clothes, too."

Dusty chews on his lip, but pulls the blanket around himself. He's made no 
  attempt to stand yet, and he still looks up at Derrick. "Um, wouldn't it 
  make more sense to try wolf form, since it's probably a little cold to go 
  out in nothing but this?"

Derrick says, slowly at first, "That would make more sense than me goin' an' 
  gettin' you some at the Farmhouse, an' then usin' 'em to... go t'the 
  Farmhouse, yeah."

Megan's face ticks and she gives Anne and Derrick a brief, warning look. She's 
  also letting the jug pass her by, content to remain in the background 
  otherwise.

Erik hardly stirs under the blanket. It's a wonder he can breathe under there.

Anne intercedes, "Well, we'll have to go ahead - one of us will, anyway - so 
  that Dusty can Change in the woods. It's still the farmhouse, even if we 
  hope it's safe."

Dusty blinks a couple of times, and gets the look on his face of one who is 
  trying to think clearly. The coldness flickers across his eyes again, and he 
  scowls as it disappears again. Gradually, he gets to his feet, still wrapped 
  in the blanket, and wobbles briefly as if trying to regain his equilibrium.

Anne rises with Dusty, hands held out but not touching him, an offering of 
  support without forcing it.

Derrick rises as well, and says, thoughtfully, "Could stay here. Him'n Eamon 
  could talk about stuff. Might make 'em feel better, havin' folks who know 
  what's goin' on with each other."

Shea rubs a hand over her face. "He could stay," she agrees, "but what's the 
  reasoning behind that? I won't have you traipsing in and out to visit with 
  him. Why not have him where you can visit as much as you like?"

Dusty shakes his head, a little too quickly and vigorously. "No," he sayswith 
  surprising firmness. He pauses then to concentrate, gradually slipping to 
  lupus form.

Megan gives Shea an askance look and quizzical smile, but then adds more 
  diplomatically, "Besides, I'm betting having his pack around him will help 
  just as much or more. Not as if he can't come and talk to Eamon or Erik."

Derrick says, "Fine with me..." At Dusty's assertion, he breaks into a slow 
  smile, but merely hovers supportively.

Anne adds quietly, "Or they, to him, at the farmhouse."

Megan shifts uneasily on her feet, looking momentarily guilty, then, "Can I 
  have a word with you, Anne-rhya?"

Shea reclaims her spot by the wall, and sits.

Anne, half-turned towards the cavemouth, pauses and turns back.

Megan gives Derrick and Dusty a significant look before looking back to Anne, 
  seemingly waiting for something.

Derrick rolls his eyes slightly. "C'mon, Dusty, they wanna gossip."

Steven pulls another sip from the jug and offers it silently.

Deep-Fires is already preparing to head out, but doesn't take two steps before 
  he gets his legs tangled under him and falls to the stone floor. His 
  coordination is obviously less than optimal.

Falcon's Wing shifts into lupus and does what he can to help and support 
  Dusty, curiousity billowing off him in waves.

Anne waits silently, though not patiently, eyes fixed on Megan.

Deep-Fires makes it to the door without falling again, with Falcon's Wing's 
  help, his steps slow as those of one who has to think about it to get it 
  right.
Deep-Fires slips back around the jutting cleft of rock, out towards the niche, 
  and is lost from view.
Deep-Fires has left.

Falcon's Wing slips back around the jutting cleft of rock, out towards the 
  niche, and is lost from view.
Falcon's Wing has left.

Shea glances at the jug, and shakes her head, instead letting her head rest 
  against the rock behind her, eyes closing.

Erik stirs a bit and then lies down, curling up on his side with the blanket, 
  unsurprisingly, still over his head.

Megan seems no more patient than the Fury, but does wait, shifting her weight 
  on her left foot, until the two lupus make it out of the cave, before 
  speaking. ~I will keep it short. I did not want to speak of it before 
  Deep-Fires, but I wonder if it would be wise to keep him at the Farmhouse 
  quite yet, on the Bawn, and among cubs, when we do not know for certain if 
  there will be any after effects of what happened to him. *I* am not 
  comfortable with the idea.~ The stress is without arrogance or haughtiness, 
  her tone and posture in the glabro form merely one of deep concern.

Anne says, quietly, "Perhaps it is not a good idea. However, it's abundantly 
  clear that we cannot leave him _here_." She nods towards Shea, without 
  irritation in her voice. "There are several options I have in mind, but for 
  the night, it may very well be best. I certainly am not going to go invade 
  Andrea's territory with him without warning her, and that - aside from its 
  distance from the caern - is my favored choice. Believe me, I have thought 
  about it.

Megan nods. ~Just making sure.~ The Philodox gives a flash of pointy teeth as 
  she barely smiles. ~Good night, then.~

Anne turns to follow her packmates; the continuing stiffness is emphasized 
  with a wince as she puts a hand to her side. "Good night." She pauses, just 
  before taking the final step out. "I have one or two more things to talk to 
  Robert about, and then I will tell you what your Challenge is," she adds.

Megan's eyebrows quirk in a glimmer of surprise, before she dips her chin 
  shallowly, eyes narrowed. ~I will be waiting.~

Anne slips back around the jutting cleft of rock, out towards the niche, and 
  is lost from view.
Anne has left.

Shea exhales audibly. "Christ. Let's not do this again soon, hey?"

Megan lets out a sigh, shifting down to homid again despite her injury from 
  last night. Allowing herself the luxury of a wince, she attempts to snag the 
  jug from Steven without him being able to react, a doubtful venture, 
  breaking into a tired grin. "I second that. Thank God it's over, finally."

Steven watches Anne go and surprisingly lets the jug go easily. "Fine with me, 
  Shea." He glances toward the pathetic blanketed mass of Erik. "Eamon and the 
  mule are 'normal' now?"

Erik remains a quiet lump under the blanket. Maybe he fell asleep, who knows.

Shea smiles wryly. "Unless we missed something."

Megan takes a deep pull on the jug, leaning her head back against the wall and 
  sighing deeply. "And here's hoping we didn't."

Shea stifles a yawn. "I'm for a nap, at least. Wake me if the world ends, hey?"

Steven walks over toward the prone figure and tries to pull the blanket off 
  him. A look of revulsion quickly settles on his face. It's like he almost 
  regrets removing the shielding cloth. He gives Erik a sudden kick in the 
  side. "Guess he's awake now." He forces himself to look at the deformed 
  metis. "You're a real pathetic piece of work, you know that?"

Shea's eyes narrow faintly. She leans forward, and pushes herself to her feet. 
  "Mebbe I'll sleep outside, then." She shifts downward, into lupus, and slips 
  out.
Thatcher has left.

Erik blinks owlishly; apparently, the metis _was_ near to falling asleep. His 
  sunken eyes, reddened, flick up to Steven and then away. His throat works, 
  and he focuses on a bit of the cave floor, shoulders hunched and his hand 
  slightly curled.

Megan looks more than a little irritated. "Steven, you had your chance. Give 
  him a break, he's been through hell I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. 
  Well," she amends, "maybe my worst enemy, but not much less."

"Whatever," Steven grunts, hurling the blanket back into Erik's face. He 
  offers Brian a curt nod and then steps outside.
Steven slips back around the jutting cleft of rock, out towards the niche, and 
  is lost from view.
Steven has left.

Brian's climb into the cave is unhurried; he seems a bit more than a bit 
  surprised at the level of tension in the cave as Steven pushes past him and 
  leaves. "Uh."

Erik, defeated, pulls the blanket off his face and stares at it for a long 
  moment in stupid silence. Then a wave of despair washes over him and he lies 
  down again, pulling the blanket back over his head.

Megan throws a narrow-eyed, controlled anger look after Steven from her seat 
  towards the back, Eamon asleep or passed out nearby, an opened jug of Tears 
  in her hand. "Evening," she greets Brian brittlely, then sighs, head 
  thumping against stone as she tilts it back uncontrolled.

Brian's attention shifts rapid fire between Erik and Megan, and he remarks, 
  "The moon's larger for some than others tonight?" He folds his arms across 
  his chest and slouches his shoulder against the wall of the cave. "How is 
  everyone?"

Erik seems loathe to come out from hiding, and therefore doesn't without 
  urging.

Megan belatedly winces, but answers. "When it comes to mules, always. Shea 
  took the stray parts out of Dusty," she says, waving towards the small pile 
  of machinery and wires entangled on the floor where they were left. "Steven 
  figured Erik hasn't had enough abuse."

"Why's that?" Brian inquires, moving along the wall towards Erik; once near 
  enough, he nudges the metis under the blanket with the toe of one boot. 
  "Just for laughs, or was there a method to his madness?"

Erik curls into himself at the nudge, like one of those bugs that roll into a 
  perfect ball when you poke them.

Megan shrugs her right shoulder and unlimbers her right leg stiffly due to the 
  blast wound incurred during the previous night's mop-up. "If there was a 
  method *or* laughter, I didn't see it," she says cautiously, but with a hint 
  of pity.

Brian nudges Erik with his toe again. "Erik, stop being a damn coward and come 
  out from underneath the blanket, for Christ's sake," he says. Then, of 
  Megan, he asks, "Everything go okay, taking

(Sadly, the rest has been lost.)