It is currently 15:59 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 7 2004.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 59 degrees
Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
southwest at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.42 and steady,
and the relative humidity is 75 percent. The dewpoint is 51 degrees
Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (91% full).
Harbor Park -- The Meadow(#194RJ)
One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass
and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the
construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The
vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river
and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the
fountain. Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about
five feet tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two
breaks each at the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end.
Wooden posts are being erected at regular intervals all along the earthen
wall, while tasteful iron gates and fences are being added at the
entrances. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust
fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the
Columbia River to the east. From the street view or river view, the park
is now isolated, as if it existed apart from the city. People in tall
buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons for now, though. In
the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed
surrounds the fountain.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the
park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St.
Claire.
Lyra's sitting on one of the park benches, her bag next to her with a battered
book in her lap. There's something in her sweater, under the hollow of
her throat. She's reading, softly. "And yet, a mind of one's own was all
that I could wish for. A room of my own, a place of my own, a world of my
own- was it too much to ask?"
She's five feet four inches, black hair and smooth, lightly golden skin. Her
hazel eyes are almond shaped, hinting at Chinese ancestry. She's slender
and lithe, and not fierce-looking; instead, she radiates 'brittle'. Yet
for those of weaker willpower, she's somehow still intimidating, in the
way that some people have an irrational fear of dolls. She's no child,
but on the brink of adulthood, somewhere around sixteen or seventeen,
maybe. There's a small scar underneath her left eye, pale, starting from
the corner and going down like a tear.
Lyra's hair is long and pulled back with green ribbons in a loose knot at the
base of her neck. She's wearing a worn-but-comfy blue sweatshirt and
faded jeans with holes at the knees, and woolen gloves with the
fingertips cut off. There's a brown cloth bag that looks roughly made
(probably her work) around her waist, jingling when she moves and sagging
with the weight of some small cargo.
J.C. comes wandering into the park in her brand-new shitkicker boots that go so
well with her other 'new' threads. She really looks the part of a
mini-skinhead now. Hands in pockets, she wanders through the park,
kicking the grass, her expression faraway... almost dreamy.
The lump in her sweater struggles, finally popping up above the collar, a
little whiskered face. "Don't go running after strangers again," the
halfmoon scolds the little black mouse. "Next one might step on you, and
then where will you be?" But Lyra looks up as J.C. passes, brow creasing
as she watches. There was something faintly familiar about the woman.
J.C. doesn't seem to have noticed Lyra. Her wandering path takes her to an
overflowing wastecan, and she pauses to push up her coat-sleeve and stick
her arm down inside, feeling around for several minutes.
Lyra squints, as the mouse scrambles out onto her shoulder. She watches the
woman for a long, hard minute, before she starts putting her book away
into her bag, gathering her things. "Excuse me," she calls out. "...Are
you hungry? I think I've got some Oreos."
J.C. straightens up slightly, her hand still buried in trash. She blinks a bit
at Lyra, and then grins and heads over, wiping her hand on her jeans leg
and sniffing wetly. "Wouldn' turn one down..."
The halfmoon digs through her bag again, then triumphantly holds up two of
those vending-machine-sized Oreo packets, one unopened, the other
halfempty. The unopened one is held closer to J.C. "I like Oreos pretty
well," she murmurs conversationally. "Although Chips Ahoy cookies are
good too, the chewy kind?"
J.C. takes the unopened package and plops down on the bench next to Lyra.
"They're okay," is her opinion, which comes out mildly muffled as she
tears into the wrapping with her teeth.
The black mouse is sniffing a lot in J.C.'s direction, although staying very
close to Lyra's neck. Lyra idly pets the mouse behind the ear. "I think I
know you from somewhere," she says after the woman's downed a few
cookies. She takes one out of the opened bag, carefully splits it into,
and makes a face as both sides have icing. "Not sure where, though. Am I
making it up?"
J.C. nibbles at her Oreos, taking little quick bites out of them. She stops to
cock her head at Lyra, peering at the girl with red-rimmed eyes. She
sniffs, wipes her nose with the back of her hand, and shrugs. "I d'no.
Mebbe?"
The girl hmms softly, then brightens with an idea. She picks up the mouse and
without so much as an if-you-please. plops her down on J.C.'s lap.
"That's Marjorie," Lyra informs her, with great seriousness. "I help take
care of another little girl that sorta looks like her. Does that sound
familiar?"
J.C. looks down at the mouse, who looks back up at her... before going for the
crumbs in J.C.'s lap anyway. When she looks back at Lyra, her face is
blank, and she seems to be staring _through_ the other girl.
After a few moments of the intense staring, Lyra starts to look like she'd made
a mistake. "Maybe I'm making it up," she says softly, glancing nervously
as Marjorie happily dines in the stranger's lap. "Sorry to just drop her
like that, she's a pet mouse so she's not going to bite or anything..."
[...]
Umbra: Harbor Park
The Umbral ground beneath your feet here is lush with vegetation, an oasis of
life amidst the concrete and webbing of the scab. Trees stand proud and
tall here, their branches full of leaves. Shrubs line the outer edges of
the park, tangled with encroaching webs. The fountain stands out boldly
from even the surrounding area, the sleek lines sharper and more
pronounced. Clean pure water roars and cascades from the figure in the
fountain's center, falling into a cold clear pool that looks quite
inviting. Spreading out from the fountain, the rest of the park is a
green veldt that seems to radiate life and strength. The river banks the
east shore of the park, bridged by a massive rusty bridge. On this shore,
the glade seems to have spread out on to it, vines winding around the
supports. Further across the river, the bridge melds into the scab again,
flaked with rust and covered in webs. The river itself is clean within a
few feet of the shore, but black ooze seems to encroach menacingly from
the murk of the rest of the river.
A walkway leads out of the Glade-like atmosphere of the park from just north of
the fountain. Eastward, the dark span of the bridge stretches over the
vile river. Dark streets lead west and southwest into the blighted Umbra
of the city.
There are a lot of rats in the park umbra tonight... or at least, rat spirits.
Big and small, old and young, healthy and sickly, they scuttle and fight
and play near the fountain. Roof rats, sewer rats, house rats, lab rats,
fancy pet rats, they come in all sizes and colors. Occasionally, one
jumps into the water and swims around to another spot. A huge
black-furred rodent the size of a cat with glowing red eyes seems to be
sitting court over the group, watching as a couple of others, more
normal-sized, fight a pattern spider twice as big as either of them. The
Weaver spirit has lost three legs already and is staggering.
Fat-Ripper leads the mottly crew into the Glade as they make it the short
distance from the Trash Cans on Ragan Street. They appeared there
suddenly and without warning, having followed a Raccoon Spirit's airt
from the forest. The Ahroun seems relieved by the familiar sight of the
Park. The Ahroun rumbles up to Fat-Ripper, once he gets all his bones
back in place, shifting up to Crinos as they move. ~Remind me to leave
something shiny in the woods... I would not want to have a repeat of
Cougar with Raccoon...~ He comes to a stop inside the park, catching
sight of all the rats doing battle with the Pattern Spider. ~What in the
name of the mother?~
You paged the room with 'Just two of them are fighting it, Olga. The rest seem
to be, uh, hanging around like it's a party. Or a moot. :)'.
Fat-Ripper slowly lifts herself up and into her human skin as she enters the
Park, and her eyes narrow at the sight of the rats. She jams her fingers
into her pockets and simply watches, stopping a fair way inside the glade
of the park. Her eyes immediately dart towards the huge rat who seems to
be in charge of this congress, and she spends a brief moment taking it
in. She removes one hand from her pocket and rubs at her neck, and passes
a curious look up at Wolf-Heart and Shakes-the-Earth.
Shakes-Earth brings up the rear as he enters the park, though he moves past the
other two to investigate the fountain, regarding its rat-spirit
infestation with curious perked ears and an investigative squint.
Wolf-Heart rears until he stands strait up, Jaws tightly clenched. He quivers
slightly, holding himself back from rushing in by the barest thread.
~Fat-Ripper. What -is- this?~ He growls back to her. Already, he seems to
be deciding how best kill something. Anything.
The Pattern Spider lets out a thin, nearly-inaudible and utterly alien cry as
one of the two rat-spirits beating on it grabs hold of another leg in its
teeth, while the other jumps on its back and bites deep. The Spider's
struggles don't last long after that, and several more rats, the
cat-sized black one included, jump into what develops into a short,
brutal feeding frenzy. A ripple of excitement passes through the whole
crowd as the Weaver's servant is destroyed without a trace. Thin chitters
and squeaks, audible only to those with lupine-sensitive ears, are heard
as if in celebration.
There is no hint of Wyrm in the glade -- none at all.
Olga follows after Shakes-the-Earth, and shouts out after him, "Don' get
yourself eaten, now." She continues walking along, through the Umbral
park, occasionally looking up at Luna's full face. She turns her
attention up to the massive Garou beside her, and answers him, bluntly,
"It's rats. Don' worry, their friends to my Tribe. Uh, usually."
Shakes-Earth stops his approach of the fountain as the pattern spider cries
out, his eyes following his ears to the fight's conclusion, and he rubs
the back of his neck bemusedly as the rats show their appreciation of the
fighters. Olga's warning goes unheeded, apparently.
Wolf-Heart flexes his taloned paws by his sides, nose wrinkling as he stays
back from all the rats and their 'celebration'. ~Usually your tribe's
allies.~ He echoes dubiously. ~Then you would have some clue as to what
in the name of the Mother they are all doing?~ He repeats his question
yet again, glancing quickly to Olga as he tries to work a strait answer
out of her this time.
Olga licks her lips as she tries to figure it out, herself. "Killing a Pattern
Spider," she says, stating the obvious as she continues her approach
towards Shakes-the-Earth. She stands slightly behind him and watches the
carnage and celebration. "And bein' rather happy about it, looks like,"
Olga adds to that. "Rat spirits fight the Weaver, yeah. Jus' 'cause they
call us Gnawers 'Urrah' doesn' mean we're in bed with the Spider Lady
like you guys are," she says, rather bluntly and crudely, though there's
no edge in her voice and she seems to be more inconsiderate than
intentionally cruel. She tries to pick out the black rat which has now
leapt into the thick of things.
Shakes-Earth doesn't seem to mind Olga's epithet much. ~At least it's a nice
bed,~ he replies, crossing his arms across his chest as he turns to face
the other two.
Wolf-Heart, on the other hand, doesn't take it in stride at all. The moon is
still full, and no matter how full of chemicals and how much he drains
himself, nothing will change that fact. The Ahroun Snaps, whipping around
to Olga with murderous intent. Spittle flies off his muzzle as he does
this, arms held out as he takes a step forward, hackles bristling as far
as they go. ~I said I /DIDN'T WANT TO TALK OF THAT ANYMORE, FILTH!/~ He
bellers. The sound is near deafening loud... it would be heard for some
distance.
Olga visibly flinches before Wolf-Heart's screaming shout, drawing back,
immediately afraid, muscles tensing and eyes widening. Her form slips and
twists, but she steadies it with some effort, and rises up an inch or so
before dropping back down. Her mood swings immediately, drastically, and
she regards him Wolf-Heart with slightly narrowed eyes, and draws herself
up straighter, though she still remains in her human skin. "'M sorry,
then, Josh," she apologizes to him, voice tight and firm and a little
raspy, some residual excitement still there. She lifts her eyes off his,
up to the moon in the fuzzy sky, and adds quickly, "Now shut up, y'll
scare the rats."
Shakes-Earth's almost-immediate first response is to raise a paw and aim a
backhand at the back of Wolf-Heart's head, though on a quick second
thought, he reconsiders, and quickly brings his arm back to against his
chest, probably only skimming the Ahroun's fur if it touches.
Wolf-Heart remains god awful stock-still as the paw sails over his
head. Some spittle drains down his muzzle, the Ahroun holding himself
back from Frenzy by some deep strength of will rarely shown in front of
either of them. Wordlessly, he lumbers off to the fountain, shifting down
to Homid. He looks back at the other two, some drool running down the
corner of his mouth as he does, before turning to face the pool. The
Ahroun is fades back into the Realm soon enough. Back in the city, there
would be a good amount of blood in some ally that night. And almost none
of it was Josh's.
Olga backs up quickly, away from Wolf-Heart, leaving him a clear path towards
the fountain, saying nothing. She's still in her human skin, and she
watches him closely, breathing slowly, only turning her eyes away from
him and towards the rats when his intentions are clear. Her eyes and full
attention are on them, now, and she puts her hands, jerked out at
Wolf-Heart's first scream, back into her pockets.
As Joshua approaches the fountain, the rats scatter. Most of them vanished when
the Ahroun started yelling, but now all the rest zip off into the grass
and nooks and crannies and are just... gone. Except for two -- the big
black rat with the glowing red eyes, he who is the size of an adult
tomcat, and an undersized female who's brown fur is all patchy and who's
eyes are runny. These two sit close together on the lip of the fountain,
watching with unreadable eyes.
A smallish female rat, near-bald and sickly. The blotchy skin is almost nude of
fur; there are a few thin, ragged patches of brown fur here and there,
but nothing substantial. The lack of fur may be why the animal is ill.
She shivers and twitches; the black eyes are dull, puffy, and leaking.
Though not crippled, the rat is clearly not well. Not at all.
There's no sign of the Pattern Spider. It's like it was devoured into
nothingness... which is, more or less, what seems to have happened.
Shakes-Earth shuts his eyes and flattens his ears as Wolf-heart starts to stalk
away, fully expecting to be tackled or slashed at, but finding neither,
he relaxes slightly, simultaneously slouching and shifting back down; he
watches Josh disappear bemusedly.
Olga turns her eyes to Shakes-the-Earth, and shakes her head and exhales in
annoyed contempt, though at whom is uncertain. "Damn it," she mutters to
him. "God, damn it." She closes her eyes tight, and slips her 'kerchief
off her head, and takes a brief step towards the two rats on the
fountain. She takes a brief moment to collect herself. "Hey, ah," Olga
stammers out to them. "Sorry about that guy, really. I do apologize. He's
jus', well, he's pretty retarded."
The two rats gaze at Olga for a moment. Then the big one twitches its whiskers
and speaks. *We know, we know. Night-Mother is fat... rage and anger.* He
bares long incisors. *He has much fight.*
Anthony looks back to Olga apologetically, offering a slight shrug and a guilty
frown before diverting his gaze back to the fountain, though he looks
more interested in the sculpture itself rather than the rats perched on
it.
The small, near-bald rat turns to look at Anthony, beady eyes blinking.
Olga frowns and nods her head, still a bit of tension around the lines of her
eyes, which she turns up to look at the full moon. "Yeah," she agrees
with them. "Yeah. But still, broke up y'r party, and all. Boy pisses me
off, sometimes." When she turns her gaze back down to the rats, she looks
fairly serious. "'M Fat-Ripper, Theurge of the Bone Gnawers. Anything I
can do to make it up to y'?" she asks, moving her 'kerchief from one hand
to the other in a gesture that might be interpreted as nervousness.
Anthony offers a terse introduction, following Olga's lead. "Shakes-the-Earth,
Glass Walker Ragabash," he says flatly, shoving his hands in his pockets
and eyeing the rats nonchalantly.
The big black rat rears up onto his hind legs for a moment, sniffing the air.
Then he settles back down. *Yes. Mother's own. Fat-Ripper. Fat-Ripper.*
As he continues to chitter in the alien language of spirits, the other
rat-spirits start creeping back in ones and twos, gradually surrounding
the two Garou. The undersized female at Big Black's side shows her teeth
at Anthony and chitters, an angry sound that's taken up by many of the
other rats.
Olga looks over at Anthony, and then at the female making her angry
chittering sound at him, and then at the large black rat. Her face
manifests both concern and a little confusion. "This's Tony," she answers
for him, translating his introduction into the language of the spirits,
"Ragabash of the Glass Walkers. He's, ah, he's a'right." Her eyes
alternate between the large black rat and the puny mortal beside her.
Anthony bites his lip as the smaller rat flashes its teeth at him, taking the
apparent hint and shutting up.
The nearly-bald she-runt continues to chitter, her leaky eyes glittering. She
subsides when Big Black speaks again, but it seems that her anger has
infected the others. There are more and more rats, all with twitching
whiskers and glittering eyes.
*For you, he will not be eaten,* says Big Black calmly. *For you and your kind.
Mother's own. Mother's own.* He pauses, looking over at the she-rat as
she squeaks and chitters, then stares back at Olga. *Apologies must come
from the angry one. We want him. For talk.*
Olga runs her tongue along her teeth while keeping her lips closed as she
listens to Big Black. "Then you got 'im," she answers simply, "although I
don' know how easy he'll be to find, tonight. I'll look for him, though,
and if I can't get him this night, I'll get him another." She sticks her
hands in her pockets, then, and looks at Anthony, and the rats all
surrounding him. "Shall we?" she asks him, gesturing towards the fountain.
The rats -- and there seem to be more of them than there were before the Garou
had interrupted their little party -- continues to sit and stare,
twitching noses and beady eyes and fur of all colors and hairless tails.
They watch, but they don't interefere with the werewolves' departure.
"I ... I guess," Anthony replies quietly, dubiously scanning the sea of
rat-spirits as he takes a few careful steps towards the fountain. "What
did they say?" he asks Olga next, sneaking a glance at the bald brown rat.
Olga moves towards the fountain, walking gingerly so as not to accidentally
squish any spirits. She skirts around Big Black and the small female, so
as not to disturb them, and replies to Anthony simply, "Says we should go
find Josh." She looks into her reflection at an angle, and her eyes go
fuzzy and white, and she's quiet for a long time, as she tries to make
sure the Park on the other side is devoid of idle passers-by.
"Well, um, do we need to go find him /now/ or can it wait, because, uh, I've
got things to do in the morning," Anthony says as he practically tip-toes
up to Olga, his voice still low. "I didn't expect something like this
would happen..."
Olga doesn't seem to notice Anthony, or at least she doesn't respond to him.
Her attention is decidedly elsewhere. Soon the glow passes, and she
shivers and opens her mouth, and darts her eyes around quickly as if she
were just seeing everything, the rats and Anthony as well, for the first
time. "Le's go," she says to him, and after a few quick blinks, she's
looking at the fountain's water again, and this time, fading from view.
[...]
Joshua is first through the Umbra, looking and smelling like a wreck only two
hours later. He's got whiskey spilled on him, and blood splattered over
his pants and shirt from some fight. Once on the other side, the Ahroun
stumbles forward slightly, unbalanced.
The rat party seems to be over. Only the black-furred, cat-sized rat-spirit and
his sickly, runty companion are left. Both are sitting on the lip of the
fountain, close as consorts.
Olga takes ten or twenty seconds longer to pass through the Gauntlet than
Joshua does, but eventually her form materializes, and she looks around
herself quickly, eyes thin and not in a good mood. She coughs and runs
her hand through her hair, blinking a few times. "'M sorry for the
delay," she says to the two rats as soon as she picks them out, voice
slightly raspy.
Joshua grimaces, throwing Olga a dirty look. "Did I say I wanted ya along?" He
cuts out simply. The sullen tone was replaced by one of annoyance for the
moment. "I don' need ya minding my p's 'n q's like some nanny er sumthin.
'm not here ta talk ta ya." Perhaps bringing him out here wasn't the
brightest idea...
The runt noses the giant, twittering something so quiet that the two homids
can't even hear her make noise. To which the giant sits up and rubs his
front paws over his whiskers.
Olga barely looks at Joshua, instead keeping most of her attention on the two
rats before her. Her eyes are creased and concerned, and she explains, to
him, simply, voice tight and coming out of the corner of her mouth, "You
might need a translator." Her breath comes shallow and quick, as she
waits for Joshua to speak.
The ahroun rears back when he notices the big rat, nodding in a 'chum chum'
sort of way to it... before he starts in. "So, there I was... It was a
nice trash pile. Kinda smelly, but it was keeping the people away. Well,
either that er the curse. One of the two. 'n then Olga comes on over 'n
naturally she don't care much about the trash er the curse, so she comes
up ta me. And then low and beholds, she tells me that 've pissed off
another one of ya. SO! 'm thinking... what was I thinking? Anyhow, it
wasn't important. So I come along here, and I was going to grab a bottle
from the store, but then I though, well, ya don't drink, being a spirit
'n all. Well, yer loss... And so then I got to thinking how I only manage
to piss y'all off when Olga's around. Nah... that can't be true, but hey,
I can't deny that the evidence is there. Anyhow... What was I saying.
Christ, lost my train of thought there..." Joshua has to be on one of the
biggest rants known to man. He moves a little as he talks, trying to keep
up and up, as his story rambles on, coming to no real end. "Oh yeah! I
swas just trying to say... sorry, fer scaring all yer kiddies like that.
Full moon, ya know... us wolves get real pissy, someone calls us names we
told 'em not ta call us, er they keep talk'n about shit that we tell 'm
to shut up about, er someone tries to steal yer money and whiskey at
gunpoint... and hell, we just blow up, eh? I hope they ain't too scared
of me, cuz' I'm really not that mean... well, Turtle thinks I'm that
mean, but she met me that one time I got in a fight with the Wendigo
Cub..."
It's hard to read rodent body language, though the runt seems rather tense. The
giant rears up and balances briefly on his hind legs, snif-sniffing the
air. *Much anger. Yes yes. Much anger.* He hunkers down on his haunches
and nuzzles the runt, who chitters and twitches at him, moving her teeny
little handlike forepaws against the spirit-concrete of the fountain.
Olga's breathing slows a little as Joshua recites his rambling apology, and she
listens carefully, and all-in-all, seems fairly satisfied with it. At any
rate she puts her hands behind her back, and nods her head to the spirit,
and asks slowly, "You get all that? 'R should I translate?"
Joshua looks up at the Umbral sky, nose twitching slightly as he suddenly gets
distracted. "... 'm not that mean. I mean, I say my prayers after I hunt,
'n I only beat up that one Glade child, 'n that was an accident... again,
Olga was around..." He mumbles, now low and mostly to himself. It'd be a
small wonder if anyone is listening to the disjoined sentences and
understanding them at this point.
The giant rat snif-snifs. *Understand. Yes-yes. Much-much anger... chaos-mind,
Wyld-mind.* He nuzzles the runt again, and she moves away from him and
scrambles down from the fountain's lip onto the ground. *What type of
wolf is he?* asks the giant. Meanwhile, the runt makes her scuttling way
over toward Joshua's feet.
Olga opens her mouth and puts her tongue against the top of the palate as she
considers how to respond to that question in a non-explosive way. She
scratches at the back of her neck and looks up at Luna. "Ah," she
mumbles, "well currently he's..." she begins, and then breaks off. She
turns to Joshua. "It asks what kind 'f wolf you are, Josh," she explains
to him. "Think it means Tribe." She attempts to say it in a fairly light
and inconsequential way, keeping, at least, what little edge remained in
her out of her voice.
Joshua peers on down at the runt of the rats, brow furrowing as he tries to
puzzle this new devolvement out. "Uh... sorry. I mean, I suppose I could
get someone to dedicate a bottle, 'n then we could dedicate some thin...
but it wouldn't taste the same, after ya get the blood in it..." The
question reaches the Ahroun, and face near literally drops, all good mood
gone. "'m... 'm between... 'm..." He swallows, unable to considers his
words. "'m Ahroun. Full moon 'f the Garou Nation." He answer half
heartedly. "That's what type."
The runt sniffs at Joshua's shoes while the giant looks on. She rises onto her
hind legs and stares up at him, chittering and squeaking, whiskers all
a-twitch. After a moment, she settles down again and the giant rat
speaks. *No tribe. No tribe? Sister says he smells like Cockroach, but
she knows, I know, he has Wyld-mind. Yes. Chaos-mind. Maybe he hides it.
Maybe he does not know. But sister smells it. I smell it. Yes.* He looks
at Olga. *No tribe? Make him Gnawer. Chaos-mind. Wyld-mind. Rat-mind.
Yes.*
Olga nods slowly in response to the big black rat's command, face rather blank,
though tired, and looking somewhat inured to surprises this night. "'S
decent," she replies to the spirit. "Could work. Hey, Josh," Olga says,
turning to look at him now, "says you'd make a good Bone Gnawer. Whaddya
think, eh? Says you've got the right mind for it."
If the change in mood was abrupt, so is his sudden change in temperament. If he
was inebriated before, his words and intent are clear enough now. "Except
for the undeniable fact that I think this city should be burned to the
ground, and all other pits like it. That I do not like Cities, and that
was the reason I am in the situation I am in now." He responds darkly,
steadying himself. "I respect some of you. Craig-Rhya. Olga, you on a
good day. Little-Bird seems well grounded. But that doesn't change the
fact that most of you live in gutters." The Ahroun turns back to the
water, starting the process of breaching the Gauntlet. "I'm done here. "
The runt squeaks loudly and scutters away, then rises onto her hind legs and
starts hopping, almost... dancing? Then both she and the giant scurry
off, vanishing into the lush Umbral grass.
Olga frowns a little as Joshua lists off the three Gnawers he can stand, and
mocks her Tribe, but it's rather faint, and the rats seem pleased, so she
simply says to him, tossing her hands in her pockets, "Thanks f'r
apologizin', Josh. 'S good of you." The rest of it she ignores, and she
doesn't seem in any hurry to follow him back out of the Umbra.
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