It is currently 09:40 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 21 2004.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 43 degrees
Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric
pressure reading is 30.15 and steady, and the relative humidity is 82
percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (2% full).
The Farmhouse
Jack Salem has the appearance of a man who's survived a tour of duty in hell.
It shows mostly in his face, a hawkish visage that's extensively scarred
along the left side, twisting keloid making a ruin of aristocratic
features. If not for the scars, or for the way his left eye is a blind,
dead white, he'd probably be fairly handsome -- in a vicious sort of way.
The angles of his face are sharply defined, the nobility in them scoured
nearly to the bone. Both face and scalp are clean-shaven. He looks
younger than his thirty years, but his shadowed eyes -- the good one dark
brown -- are much, much older.
At six-foot-three, he stands taller than most men, and an inherent athleticism
indicates that he could probably hold his own in a fight. There's also an
aura of pent-up violence about him, a tightly-controlled rage within the
leanly muscled body that could be lethal if unleashed.
His clothing is fairly nondescript, even if the man wearing them isn't. A plain
white t-shirt is tucked into a pair of loose-fitting, faded button-fly
blue jeans. For a jacket, he wears a hooded, zippered grey sweatshirt,
and on his feet are a pair of brown hiking boots.
Joshua is in the Living room, having a breakfast of 'nasty ucky
Urrah food': Pancakes, bacon and hash. The slightly dirty and muddy
Ahroun is one of the big easy chairs, knees sharing space for both a
laptop and for his meal as he works and eats at the same time. On the
table next to him lays a long, sheathed, steel hunting knife: depending
on how well they knew him, one might recognize the blade as Craig's.
Salem enters from the barnyard. He's been up and awake for hours, easily, since
dawn or earlier. After getting out a glass and pouring himself some
orange juice -- a task made only slightly more complicated for the lack
of a hand -- the newly-shaved Philodox heads into the front living room.
Joshua stabs some more pancake, sticking the chunk in his mouth and swallowing
quickly as he keeps typing one handedly. The Philodox's arrival gets him
to stop as Joshua looks over to the door, any number of emotions battling
out for facial space. "Good morning, Uncle Salem." He greets, settling on
a nice look of confusion.
"Good morning, Joshua," comes the even reply. Salem sets his glass of juice
down on the coffee table and shrugs out of the sweatjacket before sitting
down. He cocks his head, regarding the grubby Ahroun with the laptop.
"Taking Megan's command to heart, hm?"
"So you heard about it." Josh clicks the touch pad a few times, shutting out
the windows before he closes the iBook's lid. Josh sets the computer
aside, head tilting to the side and back, his tone tired and reserved
already. "The only reason I am is because she is threatening 'Lone Wolf'
I don't. I fail to see how sleeping outside is half as bad as eating man
or Charaching."
Salem seems as relaxed as Josh has ever seen him, thanks in part to the new
moon. "If you think this is simply a matter of you sleeping outside,
you're a fool." The mildness in his voice takes the sting out of his
words. He sips his juice. "And of course I heard about it. She also
warned me against performing the Rite of Renunciation for you."
Joshua grimaces a little at the jab, looking briefly down at the floor. "I was
over simplifying, yes. But my point remains." He mutters back, stabbing
at the pancakes again. "How much longer are you going to stay, Uncle
Salem?"
Salem stretches his legs out. "I hope to be gone by morning. Why?"
Joshua shakes his head, chewing. "'s just wondering, s'all." The fork clicks
agains the plate a few more times as he fishes for some of the Hash.
"The tribe intends to speak to Megan about her decision," Salem remarks after a
moment. "But I wouldn't hinge my hopes on that. Megan's stubborn."
"Do you know any other ways to find vision, Uncle Salem?" Josh doesn't respond
directly to the statement, only acknowledging it with a short nod. "I've
been prayer and meditation since... this all started, and I haven't
gotten anything. And, uh... you where there the time blood letting
actually started work. Trevor-Rhya says he doesn't know any, so he told
me to talk to Jacinta-Rhya..."
Salem makes a little 'mm' noise, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not fond of visions,"
he says, rather blandly. "Nor do I put much of a stock in prophecies. But
if I were _looking_ for a vision, I'd talk to a member of Griphus. They
follow Chimera, after all, and there are few spirits better at that sort
of thing than the Lady of Mirrors."
Joshua shrugs minutely, setting the plate aside as well. "Well... 'm a little
short on direction, so I figure some help is better than none, yeah?"
Josh looks up to Salem for another brief moment, before looking back
down, chewing on the corner of his mouth.
Salem grunts. "Then talk to Griphus. Or see if you can get a Theurge of the
Sept to put you in touch with the caern's totem, which is _also_ Chimera.
But don't expect straightforward answers. ...Visions usually aren't." He
cocks his head, eyeballing the younger Garou. "And don't take my own
dislike of such things as criticism. _I_ simply don't seek out such
things."
Joshua nods again, the guesture slightly larger this time. If he's noticed the
hand, then he hasn't commented on it. "Didn't expect them to... Thanks,
Uncle Salem."
Salem smiles faintly and takes a sip of his juice. "Anytime." He doesn't seem
apt to offer an explanation of the missing hand (or the newly-shaved head
and different attire) without prompting.
Joshua glances at the knife sitting next to him, dry-swallowing once. "Uh.
Have... you heard about Craig-Rhya yet?" He asks hesitantly, thinning his
lips.
Salem follows Joshua's glance toward the knife, not recognizing it. His brow
furrows as he looks back at the Ahroun's face. "No... what happened?"
Joshua swallows again, sitting up in the chair. "Two days ago. Bane Feede...
Uh, gangs. He got caught in the, uh, cross fire." Josh gets very quiet,
and despite the small moon, his brow twitches. "The fuckholes killed him."
Salem shakes his head, grimacing faintly. "That's the second this year to die
of mundane causes, then. Christ." He finishes his glass of juice and
leans forward a moment to set the empty down on the coffee table.
Joshua grinds his teeth a little, shaking his head. "They killed uncle Craig...
if they're just sheep, we are going to see to it that they serve as a
warning to everyone. And if it is not... they are going to wish they
where, so they would die faster."
Salem's frown deepens, and when he speaks again his words have a hard edge. "I
see. And that will bring Craig back, will it?"
"Is the whole Glass Walker Tribe like that?" Josh cuts back hard as his face
casts itself into a very irate look. "Anthony, Blue-hair... all of them.
You say that there are bane feeders out there who are way out of control,
and they fucking roll over like the Hippies. Blue-Hair whines something
about how remembering them is the most important thing, and we should all
be quiet and sulk. /Bullshit!/ Killing the Bane feeders won't bring Uncle
Craig back, but it'll do a hell of a lot to keep people from joining him.
It's this pacifist crock that let the problem get this big to begin
with." Josh is really on a roll, the twitch becoming more acute as he
dang near growls.
Salem's nostrils flare, new moon or no, and he gets to his feet as if suddenly
too restless to remain seated. "No, Joshua, killing the gangers and
criminals will _not_ prevent people from joining them, any more than the
death penalty keeps people from committing violent crimes. The gangers
are _petty_, they're _nothing_, they're a symptom, not a cause." He
scowls. "And you talk about making them wish they'd die faster? What, are
you going to feed the Wyrm with their pain? Oh, yes, _that_ will help the
city, will help Gaia." Taking a step toward Joshua, he jabs a finger at
the Ahroun. "No, what screwed the world over more than _anything_ is
_exactly_ that fucking simplistic, bloodthirsty, arrogant attitude you're
displaying right now. The Impergium taught humanity to hate the
wilderness and build their walls, and Gaia suffers. Our lupine kin
suffer. _Every_ major predator on the planet suffers. Kill the gangers IF
they're fomori, if they're ghouls or leeches or otherwise supernatural
and following the Wyrm. Otherwise, they're fucking _civilians_, and you,
Ahroun, have bigger battles to fight. Like the Russians, who _are_ of the
Wyrm. That little situation isn't over by a long shot."
"I didn't think you of all people would need it spelled out." Josh stood when
Salem did, folding his arms. "They are a cause. They cause suffering, and
your precious scab is worse for it. So long as you have those Bane
Feeders running around, they will grow, and create more of their type,
which will cause more suffering. Cut them out of the scab now, and
everyone will be better later." He reaches over to pick the knife up,
re-attaching the sheath to his belt. "If there are no gangs, then there
will be no gangsters. And if there are no gangsters, then there will be
that much less bane feeders. Ghouls, Famor, or whatever the fuck... yes,
absolutely. But I'm sick of watching people sit on their asses since it
ain't supernatural. Sheep can be acting for the Wyrm too, you know."
Salem's upper lip wrinkles away from his teeth in a very wolfish sort of way as
he stalks closer to Joshua, looming and now within striking distance.
"Yes, it's all so very easy, isn't it? My god, why didn't I see it
before." The sarcasm is thick and heavy. "I can't _believe_ that we've
all been so blind, but a barely-Rited Cliath who pisses on himself and
who's never even _lived_ in the city more than a few months obviously
knows better than generation upon generation of other Garou." His tone
turns dangerous. "How many people are you planning to kill, Joshua?"
Joshua might have been on a roll, but as the Fostern actually comes close, it
comes to a crashing halt for Josh. He tilts his head to the side, throat
becoming more exposed. "... however many the Gnawers find where in that
one, Uncle." He manages quietly. "They where going to find what gangs
where responsible for the shootouts and deal with them. I asked to go
with."
Taslyn comes slowly down the steps, having heard the tense voices from upstairs
in the quiet of the farmhouse this afternoon. She stops for a moment at
the bottom, deciding to stay or run back off. But she decides to stay for
a little. "Mind if I join for a moment, if nothing more than to learn
myself?" She steps in a little closer. "Or perhaps I could brew some
coffee..." She points to the kitchen, giving an out if the two want more
privacy.
Salem reaches out and grasps Joshua's throat in his remaining hand, accepting
the Ahroun's submission and asserting his own dominance in a stronger way
than he normally would. "I can't stop you, but I can tell you this.
Violence is not always the answer, and if you _are_ going to kill, make
it quick and clean." Then, releasing the young cliath, he turns his back
on him and looks dourly over toward Taslyn. "Nothing really to learn
here. The discussion's over." He takes his empty juice glass from the
coffee table and goes briefly into the kitchen with it.
Joshua isn't long behind Salem's turning around. He turns himself to take the
time to beat a hasty retreat for the door, leaving the closed laptop and
the dirty plate stacked next to the chair he was sitting in. The front
door swings open, then close as he steps out onto the porch.
Taslyn bows her head a little bit and ponders for a moment. "He needed that...
Thank you." She states softly, then looking to Salem. "Is there anything
I can do to help you, Salem-Rhya?" There is a bit of apprehension in her
voice at saying the name, not of nerves, just not totally sure this is
who she speaks to.
Salem sets the glass in the sink and runs water into it, then frowns
thoughtfully, perhaps pondering the difficulty involve in washing a glass
one-handed. Shaking his head, he leaves it there and returns to the
living room. "No, I'm fine. Already had breakfast." The confrontation
with Josh seems to have left him brooding and pensive.
Taslyn nods. "If you need anything... I've been staying around here a lot.
Don't go out much anymore." She smiles a bit. "Just... Don't see the need
to." She steps to the door of the kitchen. "Never really been able to
meet you outside of moots and things." She looks down at the floor. "Feel
free to tell me to fuck off if you don't feel up to talking."
The front door closes behind Trevor, who walks in with arms full of shopping.
"Anyone about?" He calls, heading through into the lounge.
"Here," Salem calls back to Trevor. Then, settling back onto the couch, he
shakes his head at Taslyn. "I'm simply preoccupied. You're one of the
caretakers of the house, yes?"
Taslyn nods her head and makes her way back into the living room. "I am...
Yes." As she looks to Trevor and gives a smile. "Need a hand with that?"
She reaches for one of the bags and looks back to Salem. "Been having a
rough time of it lately with this swiss cheese head of mine, though...
But I'm getting better."
"Salem-Rhya." Trevor nods to the Fostern. "Thanks Tas. Just been doing our
grocery shopping."
Salem gets a slightly belated amused look at Taslyn's 'need a hand?' to Trevor,
but seems unoffended by it. "Trevor," he greets, and then looks over at
Taslyn again. "Swiss cheese head?"
Taslyn takes the bag from Trevor and looks to Salem as she walks to the
kitchen. "Yeah... Seems I disappeared for a little over a week..." She
places the bag on the table and then comes back to the doorway to at
least be polite enough to look at Salem while she speaks to him. "Trevor
found me in some abandoned lot, great bit healing rift in the back of my
head. Taken me a while to remember who is who and, well, for that
matter... Who am I." She shakes her head a bit. "Still not totally sure
about myself. But I go on what people tell me... Little bits pop up. Like
the time you challenged something I said at a moot. Scared the hell out
of me if I remember correctly." She chuckles a little. If nothing else,
this accident has given Tas a bit more confidence in herself... Or she
just lost the part that she had a problem with.
Trevor begins to put things away in the kitchen, listening to what Taslyn says
carefully.
Salem stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. "The Philodox
moot... yes, I remember." He cocks his head slightly. "Any idea what
happened to you?"
Taslyn scratches at her head for a moment, running a hand down the back. "Too
tell the truth... Not a damn clue." She shakes her head a bit. "I just
remember waking up and being covered in blood... That's all." She looks
to be searching though the files of her brain for a moment when she stops
and looks back up. "Nada. Nothing before that... Besides what I have been
recalling since Trevor found me and brought me back."
Sighing, Trevor finishes up and leans against the counter as he listens to the
two speak.
Salem makes a thoughtful little 'mm' noise, his eyes narrowing. "Thought about
dream-walking? The information's probably there, albeit locked away."
Taslyn shakes her head, "Dream-walking... That sounds familiar." As she looks
to Trevor. "You do that... Right?"
"Not exactly, Tas." Trevor shakes his head. "What I do is different."
Salem turns a curious eye over toward Trevor, eyebrow rising.
Taslyn looks totally confused now. "Okay... Brain isn't getting around this
one... Be really dull and explain it to me?"
"Salem-Rhya, perhaps you'd like to explain to Taslyn what you meant by
dream-walking?" Trevor defers to the Fostern.
Salem's mouth thins. "I was primarily thinking about the use of the Rite of
Unfettered Dreaming in order to... what's the phrase? 'Dream true.'
There's a harder ritual that allows more than one garou to actual _enter_
the Dream Zone. But I'm far from an expert. I've never done it myself."
Jacinta walks into the living room with a purposeful step. She glances once
around the room as though she is looking for someone or something, before
she acknowledges anyone. When she does, her greetings are merely curt
nods to the others embellished with a small grunt to Salem.
Taslyn creases her brow. "That sounds... Interesting." She looks a little more
confused now than when she started. She lifts a hand to Jacinta and nods
and then stands. "Look, I forgot I have to call Jess... Um... Back in a
little bit." Maybe just a little scared by the talk of Dream walking, but
who knows as she vaults up the stairs to her room.
"Bye Taslyn." Trevor smiles at the girl as she goes, nodding a greeting to
Jacinta.
Jacinta watches Taslyn head out. Her eyes hold some of the anger of last night,
but most of it has disipated. She glances from Trevor to Salem. "Quentin
has not yet returned?"
Salem watches the Wendigo elder with a slight frown, then shakes his head. "I
haven't seen him today, no, and I was out on the Bawn most of yesterday.
Something wrong?"
Trevor watches the two and listens, leaning against the counter.
Jacinta shifts her attention directly to Salem. The anger still coiled within
her causes her usual complete deference to be somewhat colder, stiffer.
Still, she lowers her eyes and despite the hard edge, her words and tone
are respectful. "It is a matter between us. I will not do what I ask him
to refrain from - until I have challenged directly I will not speak of
it."
Salem's brow furrows, but he nods slowly, accepting the Wendigo's reasoned
reticence, even though he's obviously somewhat curious as to what the
matter is. "I... see."
Joshua comes back in from off the porch, looking much less agitated than from
when he made his way out to it. Carefully shutting the door behind him,
the Ahroun sidessteps off along the wall, looking at the two new arrivals
carefully from his spot further back.
Jacinta takes in a deep breath through pursed lips and holds it, her eyes
flicking toward Joshua as he comes through the door. Releasing the breath
as slowly as she brought it in, she waits a moment longer to speak again.
"If you should see him, please tell him I seek his presence."
The front door opens, emitting in the lean figured Fianna Theurge. In her hands
is a plastic bag that has the aroma of boiled cabbage and corn beef. Even
she is wringling her nose at the distinic smell. "Uh... hi." Aubrey says.
"Yo Joshua." Trevor greets the boy, having returned home and installed himself
against the counter. When Aubrey comes in, he smiles. "Hey Aubrey-Rhya."
Salem nods to the Wendigo, and as more people begin to arrive, the newly-bald
and one-handed Walker gets up again, apparantly intending to excuse
himself.
Joshua offers a weak smile, nodding a half-greeting to Trevor and Jacinta. He
folds his arms, standing as quiet as a shadow against the wall as the
smile fades on back.
Jacinta returns the nod of greeting to Josh, before she turns away from the
rest, toward the hall and the kitchen beyond.
Aubrey leans to one side to see Trevor leaning against the counter and smiles
back towards him. Her eyes wander towards Salem as she watches him rises
from his seat. "Leaving, Salem?" she asks polietly. Walking towards the
other Fianna, she sets the bag on the counter next to Trevor. Then, she
turns her attention to the unfamiliar Wendigo and gives a brief nod of
her head.
"What'cha got there?" Trevor asks his Tribesmate, nodding a goodbye to Salem as
the Walker makes to excuse himself.
[Later...]
Burial Mounds
This wide clearing in the midst of short, dark pines is rough with wild grass
and bare stone. The air is a bit cooler up here in the foothills than
below, and the majestic peaks of the nearby mountains rear up over the
eastern treetops. There is a vine-covered boulder standing under the edge
of the somber evergreens to the east. The air here is prenaturally still
and the grass waves not at all for there is no breeze that blows through
the pines. It is silent, no call of bird thrown from the treetops to
dance gaily in the open spaces. Occasionally chill fingers run up your
spine.
A faint path leading downhill to the west is the only exit from the clearing.
Jacinta scowls slightly, but quickly reigns in her anger. "You spoke ill of my
tribesmate. When I asked that you not, you claimed that your words were
based on facts already judged. But I have spoken with Salem about the
issues of which you spoke, and no judgement was made over Brings the
Buffalo Home attempting your murder. No judgement was spoken over his
putting honor before sept. Now, I say to you, either accept my will and
speak of these no further, or challenge directly."
Quentin looks at her for a long moment, one brow raising slightly... and then,
in slightly disgusted tones, he says simply, "Very well. I do believe
that my tribe-mate was in error, but, in the interests of keeping things
polite this evening, I'll speak no more of them in front of you. Good
bye, Jacinta-rhya." Shaking his head, he turns then, and strides back
towards the forest.
Salem, bald head gleaming and wearing not a single item of clothing that's
black, enters the clearing and stops at the edge. He frowns. "In error
about what?"
Jacinta nods once and begins to return to her preparations. "Quyana," she says
simply, before she notices Salem. She bows her head respectfully to him
and then picks up her mortar and pestle once again.
"Good luck, Jack," Quentin says with a glance towards Salem that's...
disappointed, if nothing else, heading past his former elder on the way
back towards the bawn, "To you and the sept as a whole. Neither will be
seeing me again."
Signe's behind Salem, but far enough back that it's clear they didn't arrive
together. The Get emerges from the forest in glabro, still healing from
the wounds of the other day.
Salem's brow furrows. "The hell?" He looks over at Jacinta, his frown deepening.
Jacinta finishes grinding the herbs in the smaller wooden bowl and looks up at
Salem, again. "The matter is now settled. He has agreed to my request."
A large pelt of thick white fur is folded carefully and set on a dry spot of
ground. Nearby sits a carved wooden bowl full of water, and a smaller
wooden bowl full of a pungent green mash. A circle about 10 feet in
diameter is laid out in small branches, dead and dry to the west, green
and fresh to the east. A carefully tended and maintained fire is
contained by a circle of stones, just south of the center of the larger
circle. Jacinta's drum sits just to the north of the fire.
Signe looks from the retreating Walker to Jacinta, frowning in confusion.
Signe shrugs off the confusion and walks up to where the Wendigo is making
preparations. "What, uh, exactly should we do?" she asks.
Salem shakes his head slightly, dismissing Quentin's abrupt departure from his
mind. When Signe speaks, he glances at her, then returns his regard to
Jacinta.
This is a flat drum about 18 inches in diameter and perhaps 1 inch deep. The
drum-head is thin enough to be almost transparent and a running wolf is
painted across its center. A dowel prodrudes from the edge, forming a
handle, and tied to it is a long, thin switch.
Jacinta wipes the pestle on the grass and puts it away in her small bag. Rising
with the small bowl in her hand she looks directly at Salem, and none
other. "Who will stand with the person you were, to bid him farewell and
see him on his way?"
From the surrounding forest, Leala quietly enters the clearing. She stops to
survey the gathered folks and then walks over to hang near the edge of
the gathering, looking a bit uncomfortale.
Anthony trails the other Ragabash into the clearing, running his hands through
his hair and adjusting his shirt collar as he proceeds towards the group;
he clears his throat, and falls into place beside Leala.
Salem glances over at the two Walker Ragabashes, some of the tension in his
shoulders easing slightly. "My tribebrother, Shakes-the-Earth, if he
would." He looks directly at Tony.
Jacinta doesn't wait for a response from Anthony, instead gesturing him over to
the western edge of the circle she has made and holding out the small
bowl. "You will stand here, and annoint Salem so that he can begin his
journey."
Anthony nods to both Salem and Jacinta, and absently chews his lip as he
shuffles a bit hesitantly towards the circle's edge and takes his spot.
Signe shoves her hands in her jacket pockets, frown deepening, but she says
nothing.
Jacinta nods once, as Anthony takes his place, and then returns to Salem. "And
who will receive the person you will become? Welcome him into being and
present him to the world?"
Jamethon steps up to the area the ritual will be performed, accepting Salem's
choice apparently simply with the matter of his silent presence.
Salem looks to Signe now. "Defiant-Storm-yuf," he says, making a rare use of
the formal suffix.
Jacinta again does not wait. She picks up the white pelt, easily large enough
to cover a grown man head to foot, and gives it a rough shake. Gesturing
to Signe to join her at the eastern edge of the circle she says, "You
will stand here, where the sun rises. When the annointed reaches you for
a second time you will wrap him in this, and welcome him to the world.
You will announce his birth to all, and give him his new name."
Signe's back stiffens a little, and she lifts her chin at the gesture. The Get
moves when Jacinta asks, joining her and standing where told. Taking the
pelt, she stares at Jacinta, suddenly concerned. "What I gotta come up
with a name for him? Now?"
Jacinta shakes her head and glances over to Salem. "No. You will make it
formal. He will choose. Have you already selected your name?"
Signe looks decidedly relieved.
The Glass Walker halfmoon nods once. "I have. Signe knows it."
Signe blinks, frowning again. then, something clarifies in her expression. "Oh,
that. I thought you meant a Garou name." The Get settles the white pelt
on the crook of one arm and nods, ready.
Jacinta nods. "Good." She turns her attention now to the others here to bear
witness. "The rest, witnesses to the death and rebirth of a soul, spread
yourselves around the wheel, far enough back that he will be able to walk
between you and the circle itself."
Jamethon quickly complies, placing himself in such a position to more be able
to face Signe from where he stands than anything else.
Already near the edge of the crowd, Leala moves to take up a position around
the wheel, still remaining silent.
Taslyn moves quietly, she steps up to take a position around the wheel.
Salem rubs the side of his neck with his currently remaining hand, then folds
his arms across his chest, his scarred face a blank.
As the others take their places, Jacinta begins to give her instructions to
Salem. "You will remove your clothes and come to stand where the sun
sets. Anthony will annoint you as I instruct. Then, when we begin, you
will walk toward the rising of the sun through the north. While you walk,
to the beating of my drum, you will speak the name and deeds you will
leave behind. As you reach the place at which you began, I will place the
last of the person you were into the fire and you will speak of who it is
you will become."
Jacinta holds out her hand, waiting for the object which will symbolize Salem's
past.
Salem gets a wry look, his mouth twisting slightly, then reaches into the
pocket of his blue jeans and removes a slim black wallet. One-handed, he
opens it and, with some difficulty, removes several objects from it,
handing them to Jacinta one by one. Driver's licence. Social Security
card. Library card. Two credit cards. All things symbolizing the name
he's had longer and been more attached to than 'Scar'. Each one a mark of
"Jack Salem" and his connection to the human world he cares about so
much. The wallet ends up in the Wendigo's hand last, and then he starts
getting undressed.
Watching from her place among the wheel, Alicia crosses her arms, staring at
the Walker with a neutral look upon her face. She shifts about from one
hip to the next, letting out a soft breath against the chilly air.
Jacinta accepts the items with a nod and goes to speak to Anthony, explaining
his duty more fully before she enters the circle itself to sit with her
drum in her lap.
Taslyn bites at her lip, watching all of this. A bit of a pained expression on
her face.
Anthony nods distractedly at Jacinta's instructions; the little bowl gets a
dubious frown before he gives her a resolute nod.
Salem takes longer than he normally would, but this is more the fault of
missing a hand than any apparant shyness or reluctance. Unlike his face,
his body is untouched by scarring other than the glyph on his right
shoulder that's been long since scratched out. There is, though, a
Crinos-sized, seven-fingered handprint embedded in and covering his
entire chest, looking much like an impression made in clay. After kicking
off the final item, a pair of new white briefs, he walks over to stand
where Jacinta indicated, near Anthony.
Jacinta picks up her drum, calling out to the sky. "Come to the sunset of Jack
Salem! Watch as he leaves this world behind, takes off this name and
leaves it behind. Watch as a new self is born, a new name is taken, a new
life begins."
Anthony takes one deep breath, holding it for a moment, then lets it out slowly
through his teeth as he scoops a little of the bowl's contents onto two
fingers; hesitating for a moment after Jacinta finishes her call, he
reaches out to dab Salem's forehead, then smears it along the tops of his
shoulders. Another deep breath before he continues, taking more of the
stuff from the bowl; he carefully runs his hand down Salem's chest,
leaving a trail down through the scars from his sternum to a spot just
above his navel, then quickly slaps some more of the goo on the back of
the remaining hand and the hand-less forearm.
Jacinta takes up the switch, running it across the head of her drum and causing
a low rumble to sound. She begins to chant in a gutteral language which
is not unlike, and yet still not, the Garou Mother Tongue. Then, with a
nod to Salem she says, ~Begin.~ Her drum begins a steady, measured
rhythm, the sound carrying easily out into the evening.
Signe watches Salem make the walk, her expression somewhat austere. As Anthony
annoints him, and the man begins to walk again, she takes the pelt from
her arm and readies it in both hands.
Anthony takes a moment to wipe his hand on his jeans. "Goodbye, Salem, good
luck; it was an honor to meet you," he says deferentially.
Taslyn licks at dry lips and folds her arms across her chest. She whispers
something, incoherent to others. But it is her own goodbye.
Letting out a soft breath, Alicia's voice rings out. "Good bye Jack, my brother
in arms, once pack mate, and one I trust with my life. It was good
fighting alongside you, and learning under you. I won't ever forget you
and no matter where you go or what happens, you will be in my heart."
Salem's expression remains stony as the Walker ragabash annoints him, though he
nods to Tony at the farewell. Once Jacinta's given him his cue, he begins
walking clockwise along the wheel, toward the north and to the east.
"Scar was the Alpha of the Sept of the Hidden Walk when its former Alpha
left. Jack Salem led the Glass Walkers when their elder died. He wanted
neither role, but he did what he could." Measured steps, steady and even.
"He helped form the Pack Synthesis and, later, saw to its ending. He
fought in the battle to take the caern back from our enemies and nearly
died on the traps they left for those like himself." More steps. "He
taught and Rited cubs, of his tribe and others. He judged a coward who
fled from battle and an Adren who abandoned her place as Sept Alpha. He
also judged, in secret, a Bone Gnawer who'd made an error and used her
fear to make sure that her Metis child would breathe Gaia's air someday."
There's more -- battles fought, cubs taught, mistakes made -- Signe
especially will remember when he frenzied at the Rialto and publically
broke the Veil on several unfortunate SWAT members. It isn't everything,
of course, but there is a lot as he passes Signe, moves around back to
Anthony, and then walks back around to end up at Signe.
Jacinta continues her chanting as the Glass Walker makes his way back to his
starting place. As he nears the western edge of the circle she reminds
him, ~As you reach the sunset of the old, give away the name that is no
longer yours.~ She stops the drum long enough to take up the items Salem
gave her and place each one into the flames. Taking up the drum again,
she resumes her steady rhythm. ~Now, as you walk to the sunrise of your
new life, speak of what you will become. Take up your new name as you
reach your new beginning, your new birth.~
Jacinta beats the drum with increasing speed. As the Glass Walker reaches
Signe, the drum pounds out almost as thunder, and no longer a distant
thunder, but the crash of lightning just overhead.
Signe grimaces, her stern expression tightening further when the Rialto fiasco
is mentioned. It is quick to pass, however. The pelt is held at the
ready. When the man who once was Jack Salem reaches her for the second
time, she brings it up and wraps it around his naked shoulders. Looking
into his eyes, she says, "Welcome to the world, Thomas Walker."
As Signe welcomes and wraps the newborn Glass Walker, she places the palm of
her hand flat on the drumhead, ceasing it's virbration and silencing it.
She rises a smile forming on her face. "Welcome, Thomas Walker, to a new
beginning, a new life."
Walker's mouth quirks slantedly in a faint, crooked smile. "Thank you," he
says, simply.
A silent quirking of the mouth into a smile dons James' face at the announcing
of the name. He gives a murmuring that those standing near him in the
circle should be able to hear wll enough, "I have this strange feeling
that this Walker guy is going to grow an affinity for black clothing."
Jacinta places her drum on the ground and leaves the circle. With a smile to
the newly named Walker, she retrieves the larger bowl and begins to put
out the small fire.
Signe drops her hands back to her sides, shrugging at the man. "You're
welcome," she says, before looking back to Jacinta. Then to Thomas
Walker. She takes it upon herself to start a welcoming howl for the new
Glass Walker, shifting up as the call becomes louder and clearer.
Jacinta grins, broadly, when Signe begins the howl, and joins, as though she
had been waiting for the other to begin.
Taslyn lifts her own head and joins in with the others, giving up as much as
she can to the howl.
Walker doesn't catch Jamethon's remark, unfortunately. Or perhaps fortunately.
Dressed only in a white wolf skin and still annointed in goo, he indeed
looks very little like his usual self. His smile fades back into a
neutral, guarded expression as the others howl their welcome, though
hints of gratitude and honest pleasure seep through the cracks in the
mask.
Rolling herself into the war form, Guards-The-Flame tilts her head back and
sings out her howl loudly to the sky in welcoming for the Walker.
Anthony willingly abandons the bowl, still trying to get the goop off his
hands, though it's forgotten as the others start to howl, joining in with
the welcoming.
Jacinta finishes the task of putting out the fire, then brings the bowl, still
half full of water, to Walker. "Cleanse yourself, and begin a new life
with the honor you are due."
Signe cuts off the howl when it's drawn and run its course, the Get slowly
pulling back to her near-man form.
Taslyn relaxes back as well, a bit of a smile on her face now, seeing that
Walker is a happier man for this.
Walker takes the bowl of water with a nod to the Wendigo. "Thank you," he says,
and smirks. "And I don't mean for the water."
Jacinta smiles and bows her head deeply. "You have earned my respect, and, if
you would accept it, my friendship. You are always welcome to call on me
if you have need."
Signe gives Walker a look that suggests she'd rather chew her arm off than
express feelings the way Jacinta just did, but, she nonetheless slaps him
good-naturedly on the shoulder. It's her way of telling him 'Me too.'
Taslyn looks between the others. She stays off to the side, a little wary of
stepping in just yet.
Jamethon steps up to the newly reborn now, smile faded to a neutral expression.
At first he holds out his right hand, but then lifts it to scratch at his
facial hair, a few days of growth showing through well. "Well done, Tom. You,
uh, ever need a theurge for, well, whatever..." he doesn't continue on,
and as his eyes have narrowed slightly perhaps he seems a bit non-plused
with the slight emotion he has already shown.
"You better keep in touch, mister Walker." Alicia says with a grin, reaching
over to slap him on the back. "If you ever need me, I'll just mooch some
money off Tom and fly out to wherever you are at."
Jacinta returns to cleaning up the sticks that formed the circle, collecting
the small bowl and mixing its contents with the still smoldering ashes.
Walker gives the Get Ahroun a crooked little grin, then pulls the wolf skin off
his shoulders to offer it back to Jacinta. "Likewise." As he starts to
clean off the wendi-goo, he nods to Jamethon and Alicia, accepting their
offers, then looks over at Signe consideringly. "Salem's dead," he says
slowly, "but on his behalf I'd still do that favor he owed you. If I can."
Signe lifts her chin, the reminder of the incident shadowing her already dark
eyes. "Good," she says, with a nod. "Because I don't need anything right
now. So, you'll just have to come back when I do, Mr. Walker."
Taslyn smiles a little more and steps forward. "And... If I can help. Anything
at all... Let me know?" She offers her hand and a smile. "Whatever you
could need." She looks between the other people standing here.
At this time, Jamethon melts down into the lupus form, his prefered state in
the recent times.
Anthony retreats back a few steps, tugging at his jacket sleeves. "Yeah, what
she said," Tony adds, gesturing towards Taslyn with a shoulder.
"Thanks," says the newly-reborn Fostern as he finishes cleaning off the last of
the goo and starts getting dressed. Again, it's tricky doing it
one-handed, but he manages.
Fights-For-Hope sits now, watchful of those gathered, those dispersing, and for
any new arrivals.
Natalie troops up the hill and hovers at the edge of the group, arms crossed
and not saying much of anything. Perhaps the Galliard's appearance lends
a clue to her lack of appearance earlier - she's sporting a lovely shiner
that squishes her right eye nearly closed.
A rather dirty, debris covered Get of Fenris Philodox enters the burial mounds
after hearing sounds of sept-members gathered from afar. She looks in the
gloomist of moods, as always, as she strolls slowly towards the
gathering. Judges-Souls has not been seen for months, although it has
been rumored that she has been at her uncle's sept and deperately wanting
to return to Hidden Walk, which she has. Her cold blue eyes look quietly
upon those gathered as she observes what as recently taken place here.
Jacinta continues her cleaning. The branches taken care of, the bowls stacked
by the pelt, she turns her attention fully to the fire.
Alicia glances over towards Natalie and tilts her head slightly to the side,
curiously and concern plaguing her features. "Um... What happened to
you?" She asks, turning around to face her, eyes roaming her person in
case she may have any outwardly injuries.
Fights-For-Hope sniffs at the air, once and then twice. Looking around with the
look thinking his senses have betrayed him he spots the well traveled Get
of Fenris. ~Well...~ He growls as his posture twists into disapproving,
~About damn time...~
Walker looks up from struggling one-handed with the zippered fly of his jeans
-- damned if he'll ask for help, though -- and peers at Natalie.
The eyes of the younger Get of Fenris peirce through the elder. ~Shut up,~ she
barks with a short-temper. Her ears twist as she looks across to the
others and notices the Walker elder, although he is strangly different.
Natalie scowls at Alicia's question, but sidles the Gaian's way. "Bar fight,"
she mutters, shooting little glances toward the newly reborn Philodox but
keeping her voice down. "Bastard had a nasty left hook."
Taslyn stands back to the side, watching all of this. She nods a little and
then slowly fades into the forest, headed back to the farmhouse to check
on the cubs.
Anthony gravitates towards Natalie and Alicia, waving a little to them both
before stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Walker pulls on the plain white t-shirt, hiding again that strange handprint
pressed into his chest, and shrugs into the hooded sweatjacket. His eyes
narrow slightly, though more at Judges-Soul's snappish retort to Jamethon
than Natalie's muttering. Manner fading into a solemnity that those
gathered will recognize, he finishes getting dressed in silence.
"That sucks Nat'." Alicia says. "You should take me next time, maybe we can
pull a Charlie's Angels or some shit." She says with a grin on her face.
Jacinta is eventually satisfied with state of the former fire, and removes the
stones placed to contain it. That done, she scatters the ashes with her
bare foot.
Natalie only grunts, shrugging faintly. "Yeah, well. S'not your type of dive."
Her eyes light on Tony and she grimaces, shifting so her back is to the
man of the hour. "Anyway, just came to say g'bye." She jerks her head
over her shoulder at her target.
"Not my type of dive? Why? Cuz its filled with bikers or something?" Alicia
says with a grin upon her face. She looks amused, curious.
Walker looks up from doing the fastenings of his hiking boots (no laces,
thankfully) and nods to Natalie. "Thanks. Take care of the family for me,
all right?"
Fights-For-Hope growls at the response he recieves from the wayward philodox
Get. Stalking over towards her he eyes the other in dominating fashion,
~If I wasn't glad to see you, I'd make you answer to that now. But since
you look like shit, I'll let it wait till you've cleaned up. What brings
you home, Judge?~
Natalie doesn't answer Alicia, but lifts a hand to gingerly test the extent of
her bruising as she turns. "Long as they'll let me Sa... uh." Insert
foot, swallow to knee. "Sorry."
The Fostern's thin smile is wry; he shrugs and corrects, without rancor,
"Walker. Thomas Walker."
Jacinta picks up her various items, stacking them as well as she is able, and
carries them out of the clearing. Before she leaves, she gives a final
nod to Walker, a quiet, almost unheard, "Well met."
Judges-Souls side steps as the other Get nearly seems to loom over her. She
gives him a long look, then looks to the others to which some are un
familiar before she returns her attention to Fights. ~What wouldn't?~ she
chuffs. Her ears twist, catching the Walker Philodox's new name and she
looks at him puzzedly.
Walker stands up as Jacinta passes him and briefly grasps the small Wendigo's
shoulder in a comradely sort of way. "Walk with Gaia. And thank you
again."
Fights-For-Hope just growls to the younger Get in explanation, ~Scar is no
longer. He has broken with the past and has been reborn with a new name.~
Jacinta gives Walker another smile before she passes out of site. "Ii."
Natalie mouths the name, staring fixedly at the man as if overwriting the name
she knew with this new one. "...Nice to meet you," she finally manages.
"You'll, um. Keep in touch, right?"
Walker nods. "I'll be in Portland off and on." He glances over toward Alicia.
"Drew went there with Di and John's son." Back to Natalie. "Anyway, I'll
be calling in a few days with a new contact number. Don't bother with any
of the old ones, e-mail either."
Judges-Souls looks to the Philodox Glasswalker to whom she had remembered
before her disappearance from the sept for a long moment before her gaze
returns to Fights. ~I undertstand,~ she replies. There is something that
registers on her expression but it is soon done as quickly as it had
arrived.
Alicia nods her head slightly over towards Walker and mm's quietly. "Tell Drew
I said Hi then when you see 'er, if you do, an stuff."
Fights-For-Hope turns to face Salem now, with some mild interest. His growling
in the mother's tongue is still directed to Judges-Souls over his
shoulder, ~You sticking around this time? I've had enough of people
coming and going, oh and you'll want to see the elder now that you're
back. I'm sure she has some news for you. She has packed with... others,
under Wolverine.~
"Couldn't be satisfied with be -a- Walker," Nat grumbles over her shoulder to
Ali, though there's more than a hint of good-nature behind it. "No, he's
gotta be the damn definite article."
Alicia grins slightly as she looks to Nat. "True. If thats the angle he's going
for." She says teasingly. "So, 'Thomas', you want me to take you shopping
before you go or you going to pick out your own clothes?" She asks,
gesturing with a finger slightly, trying not to laugh.
Judges-Souls tilts her head towards her elder, regaurding him with a silent
inquiry to who is on this pack that he speaks up and perhaps has a look
of some interest but not much.
Anthony wanders away from the area after a bit more milling around.
Walker actually chuckles a bit at Natalie's good-natured griping. "Consider it
my tribute to the family that took in a frothing whirlwind of rage and
turned him into someone _useful_." Then he shakes his head at Alicia,
still smiling faintly. His words, though, are serious. "I arranged a few
things. I don't dare go back into the city. One person mentioning my
description to the Russians and Konstantin's a dead man."
Fights-For-Hope looks over his shoulder at the younger Get as he licks at his
muzzle lazily, ~Urrah, the lot of them.~ He mutters, ~Definant-Storm,
Heart-Taker of the Furies, Lures-The-Beast also of the Furies.
Holds-The-Line, elder of the Glass Walkers,~ At this he gestures towards
Natalie, talking with Thomas Walker in form of indication, ~And the
recently rited omega, Fire-Dancer.~ He grunts thoughtfully at that and
adds, ~Who I never thought of as becoming one to walk the streets of the
city.~
Natalie lightly touches her shiner again. "Yeah, well... you wanna ride to
somewhere, or something? I can get you a few hours down 90, if you want.
Got a couple of hours of work in the morning, but who needs sleep,
right?" She offers him a knowing smirk.
"I think I'm going to head back to the farm and check up on Dakota. She was
picking up a cub today who has yet to first. His name is Sly." Alicia
says with a nod of her head. "So, speaking of sleepless nights." She
trails off a bit, glancing to Salem. "One hug for the road?"
"I've got a ride," Walker tells Natalie. "Go get some sleep." Then he eyes
Alicia and, after a moment, says, "Sure." Agreeing the way a cat will
deign to be petted.
Judges-Souls follows with the same lazy stare as she looks to her elder and
grunts softly under her breath, seeming to give the impression that she
will concider it. ~There are new faces,~ she growls, not exactly pleased.
Alicia grins slightly and steps forward, sliding her arms around the Walker's
neck, giving him a strong hug as she presses her cheek to his. "You know,
its practically you and I that is left of Synthesis. When you leave, its
just me now.. until Yi decides to come back across seas or not." She
murmurs softly. "I'm going to miss you so much."
Fights-For-Hope seems at least a bit amused by this though keeping that in
check he answers in kind, ~There always will be.~ A moment of pause is
given to silence and then he looks back to the philodox again, quickly
looking back to the reborn Walker, ~Good jouney to you Walker of Roads.~
And with that and a nod of his lupine head he turns and starts towards
the Caern, grunting to Judges-Souls, ~Welcome home. I've missed your warm
personality and sunny smile. Where are you sleeping tonight?~
Walker stiffens, his jaw tightening in a displeased way at mention of Yi's
name, but otherwise he lets it slide, returning the Gaian's embrace in a
dignified and utterly platonic way. "I'll be back when I can," he says.
"If I can." Then he pulls away from the hug.
"You will be, you can't resist Lish's lasanga." Teases the Child of Gaia as she
pulls back from you, staring eyes to eye. Offering a warm smile, she pats
him on the shoulder, then turns, heading off. "Luna light your footsteps
safely on your journies. I'm a phone call and a plane ticket away."
Walker winces. "Not lasagna. Anything but lasagna." He lifts his right hand in
a wave, directing it toward the departing Fenrir as well.
Natalie refolds her arms across her chest, doing her best to ignore the Gaian's
little display. "You, or certified mail. Anyway. I, um... Cockroach
watch, huh?" She doesn't immediately head off, letting the others make
their escapes while she continues to stare past Walker's ear.
Judges-Souls gives a small yawn and looks to Fights again. ~Under the stars,~
she answers, seeming to not be picky about where she sleeps.
"Likewise," Walker responds to Natalie. As people leave, he seems apt to linger
at the burial mounds, at least for a short while.
Fights-For-Hope continues walking, but huffs an affirmative in answer to her
statement, ~Then come, the Caern is as good a place as any.~
Judges-Souls cocks her head in reply and spares one last stare towards the
Walker Philodox before she follows her elder out towards the caern.
Natalie rocks forward and back as if internally debating the wisdom of
approaching the other 'Walker. Wisdom wins out - or perhaps the lateness
of the hour - so with one last look she turns to follow the Get.
[Later still...]
[The Farmhouse]
In the front rooms, Joshua stands up, looking to Olga with a concerned look.
"Forget that he's fang for a minute, please." Josh starts out quietly,
near pleading. "He, uh, needs help. I... I kinda need ya to watch. Make
sure things don't get out of hand... and make sure Joey 'n them don't
come down fer a bit. Please?"
The head-shaved, scar-faced Glass Walker Fostern enters through the open back
door, his brow furrowing. Hearing the murmur of voices in the front
rooms, he heads that way, moving smoothly and almost silently.
Olga grimaces again but there's more annoyance in her face now than disgust.
She wraps her hand around the back of her neck and makes a very low
moaning sound as she wrestles internally, rolling her head from one
shoulder to the other. "Oh, fine," she finally decides, though she keeps
in the living room doorway, resting against the frame. When she spies
Walker, her eyes widen slightly, and she gives him a quick nod before
turning her eyes and face elsewhere.
Isaac lifts his head slightly, just enough to watch Olga, then he drops it to
the floor again with a mild thunk.
Joshua grimaces. Of all the times. He nods quietly to the person formerly know
as Salem, "Evening Uncle..." He murmurs, before Isaac's 'thunk' brings
him back to the more pressing issue. The Ahroun takes a deep breath,
heading back over to the corner. "White Flaw..." He starts, trying to get
the Philodox's attention again.
Walker simply nods, his expression guarded and bland. He leans in the doorway
of the living room and folds his arms across his chest, left under right,
saying nothing for the moment.
Olga doesn't do much more, though she does take an occasional sip from her beer
and tap her fingers annoyingly against the doorframe. She takes in the
two Garou in the centre of the room with feigned indifference.
Isaac appears to be in his early thirties. He is not a tall man, but neither is
he small. He probably reaches nearly six feet at those times when he does
not slouch. His dark, reddish hair is shaggy and unkempt, snarls reaching
all the way to his shoulders. A shaggy red beard lends him a cave-man
like countenance. One hand reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of his
hazel eyes; eyes which seem unfocused, and rarely maintain contact for
long. His large hands are warm, and despite calouses of hard use, still
soft and often clammy. His, perhaps overly lean, frame is clothed in
strikingly clean, new garments. He wears a brilliant white T-shirt which
is covered by a beautiful, and probably quite expensive, navy wool
cardigan. New, unfaded jeans, cover his legs, and mud-stained and scuffed
white running shoes adorn his feet. His round face is not so large as to
be too large; neither is it too thin. It is not, in fact, most things;
and yet it is pronounced in a way that words do not well describe. It
seems that you may have seen this man before; though where you cannot say.
Isaac scrambles to sit up as Josh calls his name, pushing with his hands until
he is more or less upright with his legs bent under him. "Now?"
Joshua shakes his head. Carefully, he sits much like the older man does a short
distance away. "You wanted now. I will help." He repeats slowly, biting
the edge of his lip. "Is it too loud in your head? Or is that not it?"
Walker pushes off from the doorway and slips over toward the Bone Gnawer,
trying to avoid disturbing Joshua and Isaac. Quietly, he murmurs, "What's
going on?"
Olga's eyes dart up like thieves to steal a glance at the approaching Fostern,
before she turns them to the two Garou on the floor. "Don' know," she
says quietly. "White Flaw wants to remember somethin', Josh wants to
help, and I'm here to make sure none of the Cubs come down 'nd interrupt
'em, I think." She hunches up her shoulders helplessly before letting
them fall.
Isaac watches Josh closely, though, as is typical for him, his eyes do not
remain long in one place. He lifts one hand awkwardly to his temple.
"Here? Loud? Not loud. Lost."
Joshua thins his lips again, "Not loud..." He mutters tiredly to himself,
shifting his weight. "Lost. Lost what? You are home. Here is home."
Walker makes a low 'mm' noise, nodding slightly at Olga's explanation. He falls
silent again, watching.
Olga makes some fair pretence to calm uninterested, but she's obviously a
little uncomfortable. Her hands fidget slightly, and she takes another
sip of beer.
Isaac frowns, emiting another small whimper. "Lost here." His bent fingers tap
slightly harder at his temple. "Lost. Missing."
Joshua's face changes to mirror the frown on Isaac's face, palms pressing
against the floor. "Uncle... did you know White Flaw from before? I...
was told he was here before."
Walker has to think about that for a moment; he rubs his chin and frowns
thoughtfully. "A little," he says slowly, "though we never talked. He was
close with Sepdet... and I seem to remember him being there when Chimera
answered our call for the caern." Mismatched eyes focus on the strange
Silver Fang.
Olga stands against the door, silent and distant; she remains sipping her beer
and occasionally drumming her fingers against the wooden doorframe.
Isaac's brows pull downward, thoughtful. Something Walker says touches a memory
in him and he pulls the hand away from his temple to tap against his
chest. "Mirror lady. In.. In..no...cense."
"White Flaw was not always your name, was it?" Josh ventures carefully,
scooting forward a bare foot. "Do you remember any other name? Think of
anything else they called you?"
Walker's usually hard face softens slightly. He moves over toward the two Garou
in the center of the room and crouches down nearby, looking at the other
Philodox. "Isaac." He glances at Joshua, then back at the Fang, looking
at him steadily. "Your name is Isaac. They used to call you Chews-Rocks,
didn't they?"
Olga slowly drops herself to the floor, eyes wandering around. Her legs remain
crooked and ready to lift her at a moment's notice, and her arms hang
limply between them, holding her beer.
Isaac taps at his chest again, and repeats Walker's words as though testing
them. "Isaac. Chews-Rocks." He frowns, his hand returning to tap against
his temple. "Missing."
Walker cocks his head. "Do you remember the rolling donut?" he asks the Fang,
with complete and perfect seriousness.
Joshua shakes his head, not accepting the pronouncement. "It is there..." Josh
looks sideways at Salem, eyes squinting now at the Ex-Elder.
Olga sits in the open doorway linking the front hall with living room; she just
sips at her beer, and watches.
Isaac shifts his legs around to put him in a more stable position, raising both
hands now, knuckles to his temples. His eyes go wide after several
seconds and he pulls at the neck of his shirt. "Justice-rhya! No! I be
good!"
Walker snorts, sitting back on his heels. "Justice-rhya is dead," he says, more
factual than reassuring. "Years past. You remember it, though, don't you?"
Joshua's hand almost starts for the blade handle at the out burst, Josh
catching himself before he even really starts. He's content to let
Ex-Salem talk... since he really couldn't stop him, even if he wanted to.
Isaac pulls his tee-shirt up over his head, almost frantic to get it off. That
done, he rubs a hand over the white flesh of the vertical scar running
down his sternum. Calming, now, he looks back at Walker. "White Flaw."
Silver-Tongue pauses just inside the door, trying his damnest to be very quite
and not noticed at all. He doesn't retreat though, but stands, listening.
Walker leans forward a bit, peering at the scar, and then sits back on his
heels again, nodding thoughtfully. "Did you pick that name, or did
someone else?"
Joshua's head turns, looking to Olga as the new person makes his way inside.
Olga rolls around to see the new entry, though she keeps herself firmly down
against the doorframe. After a few brief seconds and a sharp inhalation
she rises slowly to her feet and advances on him. "The fuck are you?" she
demands surlily.
Isaac continues to rub his knuckles over his chest. His other hand clutches
reflexively at his shirt. "She wolf. She call me White Flaw."
Silver-Tongue takes a small step back as Olga approaches, the hand in his right
pocket shifting just a little bit. "I'm Sly..." he responds quickly and
cooly, flashing a bright smile like a movie star might at a surly crowd.
"Who're you?" he returns, with a raised brow.
Walker glances over at the new arrival, his eyes narrowing, but soon turns back
to Isaac, letting Olga and Joshua deal with it for the moment. "You
mentioned the Lady of Mirrors," he says to the confused Fang. "Did you
talk to Her?"
Joshua shakes his head. "Doesn't matter who it is, get him out of here." Josh
grunt, looking hard at the youngish person, attention torn between the
groups.
Olga doesn't seem won over. "Out," she demands with a jerk of her head out the
door, towards the kitchen, towards the back exit. "Now." She keeps on
moving towards him, one hand tapping fingers rapidly against her thigh,
face low and eyes fixed on his; she's in no good mood, apparently.
Isaac shifts position again, rolling onto his knees, fists at the end of
straight arms holding up his torso. He moves toward Walker, head tipped
to the side as he leans down and forward, sniffing. "Mirror Lady. Nice.
Call me, call me Innocence."
Sly tries his best to look incredulous and charming at the same time, and
somehow succeeds. "Hey now..." he smirks a little, giving a bit of a
shrug, "Dakota said I'd be staying here, alright?" He takes a step back
though, his left hand raised about chest high, as if to ward her away.
His right hand stays firmly in his pocket still. "I don't want any
trouble..."
"Get the hell out of here." He repeats, the charm quite lost on the Ahroun
personally. He turns around to look back at Isaac, leaning hard on his
own knuckles. "Not lost. It is there." He says quietly to the Silver Fang.
Walker's mouth thins. He leans back, away from the sniffing, and uses his hand
to keep the bearded man's face from getting too close. "You're in
human-shape, Isaac. No sniffing." The rebuke's mild enough, but firm. He
adds, "I like 'Innocence' better than 'White Flaw'."
Olga keeps moving, and she raises her hands: either the Cub backs up, or they
collide. "Out now, excuses later," she says, striding purposefully
forward, anger apparent in the twitch at her mouth. She braces herself in
case a shove proves necessary.
Isaac moves back, head lowered still further at the mild rebuke. Tapping
himself again on the chest he repeats. "Innocence." And again, more
firmly, "Innocence."
Joshua shifts his weight again, nodding faintly in agreement with Ex-Salem.
"Call you Innocence now, okay? That, or Isaac."
Walker smiles faintly. "Indeed." He glances sidelong at Joshua, then studies
Isaac again.
In the back of the house, Sly steps back into the kitchen, keeping his distance
from her. The boy maintains his disarming grin, and keeps a relatively
passive posture, though a perceptive person might note his stance keeps
him at the ready to run or something. "I didn't mean to interrupt
anything, really. I'm new around here." His hazel eyes sparkle, the youth
sure to keep his eyes firmly locked with hers, as if to distract or
otherwise busy her attention.
Isaac leans forward on his fists again, toward Walker, shifting toward Josh and
then returning to the Fostern. "I Innocence." He taps his temple with his
right fist. "Lost. Missing, still."
In the back of the house, Olga points again, at the back door, hand hurlng out
like a chasing dog just let off its leash. "This's the last time I'm jus'
telling you," she says more quietly, voice dry and rough like sandpaper
against brick. "We're getting the fuck out of here now; and if only one
'f us is conscious for it that's fine by me."
In the back of the house, Sly slides open the door in the kitchen, passing
through into the back yard.
In the back of the house, Olga slides open the door in the kitchen, passing
through into the back yard.
Walker rubs a hand across his mouth, looking thoughtful. "You remember _some_
things, though. You remember being a Garou. You remember speaking to the
Lady. You remembered your home." He cocks his head. "You even remembered,
mostly, how to speak English."
Joshua nods in agreement, looking from Walker back to Isaac. Not a whole lot to
say that Walker didn't just say, so he remains silent.
Isaac settles back into a crouch. His gaze hovers for a while between the two
Glass Walkers, but then rises, traveling over the line where the wall
meets the ceiling.
Walker gets to his feet. "I think," he says, "that it would be a good idea if
you stayed in human form for a while, Isaac. And stay around the
farmhouse here. It'll help you remember."
"Help guard, you can go with me, if you want. Go out and help protect bawn. So
you can stay here and still guard home." Josh suggests carefully, pulling
his knuckles off the floor.
Isaac pulls his gaze back down to Walker. "Stay, like man-shape? Stay two-leg?"
Josh gets a glance while he waits for Walker's response.
"Stay two-leg," Walker confirms. "As much as you can. It will help."
Isaac's shoulders hunch up around his ears until he pulls them down with a
visible effort. "Stay two-leg." He closes his eyes with a shake of his
head, "Half-Hand. Half-Hand."
Joshua looks more or less confused by the last comment, his head tilting to the
side tiredly.
Walker's brow furrows for a moment. He glances sidelong at Joshua, then gives a
shrug and folds his arms across his chest. "...Walker, actually. Thomas
Walker." This is as much for the Ahroun's benefit as Isaac's.
Joshua looks up and over to Walker, Brow furrowing deeply. "... Uncle?" He
questions hesitantly, as if afraid to even ask about that one.
Isaac's unfocused gaze comes to rest sharply on Walker, then. "Not Halfhand.
Walker. I stay, Walker. I stay two-leg. Not Halfhand. Dead - Halfhand.
Dead - Justice. Dead - Victory. Walker, not dead."
"Ask Jacinta about it," the Fostern tells Josh sidelong, and then nods firmly
at Isaac. "Walker, not dead. And Isaac... not dead." He exhales a breath
and turns back to the young Ahroun. "I'll be gone by morning. Try to be
alive when I get back, hm?" He doesn't seem as angry as he was earlier.
Maybe he read the e-mail. Maybe he just cooled down. Or, maybe, he simply
let it go along with his old name and old self.
Joshua nods to the Foster, his jaw setting slightly. "I left an Email with
you... you don't have to read it if you don't want to. But, I guess I
figured I would try anyhow." Josh looks back to Isaac, then to the
stairs. "You stay in here, Isaac?"
Isaac curls up on the floor again, falling over onto his side. "Innocence stay
in here."
Walker's eyes flicker. "...All right," he says slowly, "but, for the future,
remember that Jack Salem is dead, and Konstantin's taken his hand for
proof." He raises an eyebrow, then smiles humorlessly. Isaac's choice of
sleeping arrangements draws only a mild shake of his head. "Good night...
and walk safe, you two. Gaia watch you."
Joshua doesn't seem to shocked or surprised by this, nodding. "Good bye,
Uncle." He mutters, standing up and making his way to the couch for his
own sleeping arrangements. "Come back as soon as you can..." He adds
quietly.
Isaac's closed hand reaches out to draw his shirt and sweater close to his
chest, though he doesn't put them on.
"I will." The Fostern lingers a moment more, then nods once and heads out the
front door.
Information for Walker (Alias 'Salem'):
Walker is connected.
Email address: black@lionking.org
WWW Page: http://www.lionking.org/~black/
Location: Sunrise Road, South of I-90
Other Name(s): Thomas Walker, or just "Walker" to the Garou. Old names don't
mean much anymore.
Race: Garou Sex: Male
Breed: Homid Auspice: Philodox
Tribe: Glass Walkers Rank: 2 (Fostern)
Pack: None Sept: Hidden Walk
Position: Ex-Shadow Lord. Ex-Ronin. Ex-Ahroun. Ex-Sept Alpha. Ex-Elder of
the Glass Walkers.
Time Zone: EST (Eastern Standard Time - MUSH+3)
Info: (21 March 2004) As requested, Jacinta performed the rite "Break
with the Past" on the halfmoon and "Jack Salem" is dead. His things are
all in storage at the Dominion and even the Yugo's been left behind. He's
gone now, on some mission that only one person knows the details of, and
it's unknown when he'll be back, if ever.
Jack Salem is dead. Long live Thomas Walker.
[And even later than THAT...]
You paged the room with 'All right. It'd be very very late Sunday night. The
21st. Pre-arranged IC for her to meet him at that rest stop on the way
out of the city.'.
You paged the room with 'All his old stuff is in storage at the Dominion, in
the tower. Neatly and very carefully put away. Including the coat she
gave him. And the Yugo.'.
The rest stop is quiet and dark this time of night, and its deserted but for
the lone figure of a man in blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, currently
zippered up. The hood shadows his lean, scarred, clean-shaven face. He
stands alone, just outside of the main glow of the safety lights, a pack
at his feet and his hands -- well, hand -- stuffed into the pockets of
the sweatshirt.
The Ducati speeds into a parking spot, nearly skidding to a halt. Rina catches
herself with a boot, and kills the engine. Then she leaps from the
Monster's back and comes running to him, pausing only for a brief flicker
of alarm at the missing hand.
Walker's shadowed eyes widen slightly, his right hand coming up as she runs
toward him, as if to ward her off or catch her before she collides. "It's
all right, really--"
Rina swallows, halting at his command like a high-strung mount, wide-eyed at
the changes. A faint echo of a smile still plays about the corners of her
lips. "You look... different." Belatedly, she adds, "Sir."
His brow furrows slightly at the 'sir', and he clears his throat and folds his
arms across his chest, left under right, looking vaguely awkward. "Yes,
well. New beginnings." His face turns solemn. "Jack Salem's dead.
That's... what the rite does. It means, even if they try, by whatever
method they try, they can't use that name to find... him."
"I know," she says quietly. "We'll miss him. But maybe, someday, someone might
come along to equal him..." The smile tugs a corner of her mouth upward.
"It /is/ good to meet you, finally, Mr..." The prompt is clear.
He returns the smile, though it's slight, and unfolds his arms to extend a
hand. "Walker. Thomas Walker."
Her hand, still gloved, slips into his; she barely manages to suppress a bark
of laughter at the surname. "May I call you Tom?"
Walker's smile widens into a familiar, slanted grin. "Of course." He squeezes
her hand lightly and doesn't let go of it right away.
A swallow tightens her throat, and she steps closer, tipping her head up to
look into his face. "Where will you go?" she asks softly.
"Portland, first," he answers, the smile fading slowly. "Stop in at Drew's, see
how she's doing. Then..." He sighs. "I'm not sure. I have a couple of
places to start from, a few leads... we'll see, I guess."
"Tell Drew..." Her smile is gone, too, replaced by distant, veiled pain. The
dark eyes slide away, flicker over trucks and buildings without seeing.
"If she needs anything, if there's anything, y'know..." One shoulder
hitches up slightly, and she ducks her head, looking down at the ground.
"I know." He's silent a moment, hesitant, then says, very quietly, "I'll miss
you."
She glances up, guarded and quiet, her eyes meeting his with a strange,
restrained look in them. "Same here."
Walker swallows and looks away, releasing her hand. For the briefest moment, he
looks younger, something lost and frightened passing across his face.
Then it's gone, and he's just as guarded. "I'll, er, call you. In a few
days or so."
A faint smile flickers into being, as fragile and fleeting as the early spring.
"I'd like that. Give me some contact info, email me, whatever." Just to
complete the picture, she takes a card from an inside pocket and offers
it to him.
Walker takes it with a slow nod. "I... will." He looks down at it, then back at
her, his gaze intent. "Do me a favor?"
She meets his gaze, a rare softness in her dark eyes. "Anything."
"Be here when I get back," he says.
Her smile deepens just a little, and she grasps his hand briefly. "Yeah," she
says softly.
His fingers close around hers, bare skin to glove, and then, abruptly, he
bends, bringing her hand up to his face and, briefly, pressing his lips
against her covered knuckles. The quick, old-fashioned gesture is both
graceful and awkward; he releases her after only that moment's contact
and steps back, toward the back waiting on the ground nearby.
"Drive safe, aright?" she calls out. "I'll talk t'you in a couple days." She
lifts a hand, and watches him for a moment.
"Will do," he calls back, taking up the pack and shouldering it. He lingers for
a moment, staring at her as if burning the image into his mind. Then he
turns and walks off, disappearing into the darkness at the other end of
the lot.
She stands still for a time, tipping her head back to look to the sky--letting
the threat of tears clear away, before she puts her helmet back on and
braves the highway.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
