"I heard the alpha here these days was a tomato."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 10:49 Pacific Time on Mon Mar 22 2004.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 55 degrees
      Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric 
      pressure reading is 30.03 and falling, and the relative humidity is 71 
      percent. The dewpoint is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (9% full).

Flash(#2873Pce)
        He's tall but gawky, a rail-thin, bit-over-six-foot beanpole with dark
      blond hair and muddy blue eyes. While he's not out-and-out ugly, he's not 
      particularly handsome, either, and depending on what he's wearing he 
      looks to be anywhere from his late teens to his mid-twenties. His tenor 
      voice, which tends to rise in octave when he's worked up, has an accent 
      that's hard to pin down.
        He's dressed himself with an eye for flash and glam today. The shirt's
      a shimmery silver, and the buttoned vest over that is dark purple with 
      metallic silver threads woven throughout. The red jeans are a bit faded, 
      but the pointy metal toes of his cowboy boots have a nice shine, and the 
      plastic raincoat he wears is a bright, shiny, fire-engine red. 
Carrying:
Light Saber(#2814)

Zoo Grounds(#3023RJh)
The sign over the locked gates reads "St. Cl ire oo," with the missing letters
      nowhere to be found. The small abandoned zoo has been home to a sucession 
      of vagrants, drifters, and the occasional gang, and it looks as if each 
      successive resident decided to trash it just before they left. Spray 
      paint both ancient and new scrawls over all the buildings, walkways, and 
      exhibits. Septic puddles remain in some of the exhibits, drains having 
      been clogged years ago. Mosquitoes thrive and swarm. Weeds have long 
      since begun their assault on this abandoned zoo, taking over the green 
      patches and making remarkable progress in the cracked cement. The main 
      offices, simple cinder block constructions, sport only broken windows and 
      cracked tile floors. Everything else has long since been cleaned out or 
      broken; if it had any value whatsoever, it's gone. Even the toilets in 
      the restrooms have been unbolted and carried off to sell for a couple 
      hits of crack cocaine. To the north, the constant buzz of traffic on I-90 
      intrudes on any conversations. This zoo is little more than a 
      weed-choked, litter-strewn cement wasteland, doomed to be bulldozed some 
      day into a parking lot, office complex, or shopping center as the city 
      grows.
A cracked walkway littered with weeds leads towards the main office. To the
      northeast, there is a small hole leading out underneath the fence and to 
      the street.

After shaking the twelve-foot-tall, razor-wire-topped fence around the zoo for
      a bit and poking around in a terribly nosy sort of way, Flash starts 
      climbing the chain links, putting his skinny fingers and pointy-toed 
      boots to good use. The toy light saber hanging from his belt swings 
      liberally.

It's a dreary sort of day today, though it's much warmer now than it was in the
      morning, and the rainclouds above are a little less threatening. Olga and 
      Joey had just picked their way through the garbage strewn Zoo, and were 
      preparing the difficult entry of the main office, when there's a noise 
      and commotion from the fence blocking the place off from the outside 
      world. Olga spins around and peers off at that the distant figure scaling 
      her fence, and grumbles loudly. "God damn," she says to the girl beside 
      her, before setting across towards the trespasser, bag bouncing against 
      her back as she moves.

Joey narrows her gaze, then falls in step beside the Gnawer. "Someone ya know?"
      she asks softly.

What is he, a pimp, dressed like that? Or just a fool? And what's with the
      light saber, which gets jumped and jostles open, the plastic cone-blade 
      extending like something from a bad porno flick? He's a good climber, 
      though, and his hands have nearly reached the top of the fence when Olga 
      and Joey come into view. Pausing, Flash looks through the chain-link at 
      them. "Hello."

Olga is tall, strong, and pale. Her face is long, her nose protrudes, and her
      shoulders are hunched up, making her look a little like a bird trying to 
      warm itself in the cold. She is better dressed than one might expect from 
      her poverty: her clothes are trim and well-constructed, and though far 
      from fashionable, far, also, from tatters. She prefers layers of 
      clothing, wearing as much as possible short of sweltering. Her fine 
      blonde hair is always tucked neatly under something, be it a hat or a 
      cleverly tied 'kerchief. Olga has in fact so managed her wardrobe that 
      she looks more like one of the faux homeless, a rich kid in dirty boots 
      and patched jeans, than a real street person; with the difference that 
      Olga wouldn't be caught dead in dirty boots. She wears a long, stiff, 
      green army coat, which while presumably quite warm, doesn't suit her in 
      the least. She's almost always seen with one arm thrust up around a 
      shoulder, clutching the mouth of her heavy orange bag (look Olga's bag). 
      Olga is in her early twenties.
Carrying:
Garbage Bag(#3091J)

(Joey)
	A dark haired teenager with the beginnings of maturity in her eyes. She stands
      at a modest 5'2" and is of average build; neither skinny as a twig, nor 
      plump in any fashion. A line of fading freckles saddles over her nose, 
      blending in with the darker hue of her skintone. Her hair has a natural 
      wave to it and hangs down past her shoulders, and her eyes are a rather 
      plain brown.
	She often has a bounce to her step and a smile on her face. Her eyes are warm
      and filled with a look of contentment and happiness, though also quite 
      alert of her surroundings.

Olga threads her way around piles of trash without much attention, or need for
      it. "Hey, you!" she shouts out at the man on the fence in answer to his 
      greeting, voice loud and angry, like a guard dog's sharp bark. "The hell 
      are you doin'? You're gonna hurt y'rself. Y' aren't welcome here. Go on, 
      get." Her steps don't slow, and she puts on her best angry face to show 
      that she's as much bite as bark, though it's not very convincing.

Joey remains quiet and a bit behind Olga, letting her take the lead yup yup, no
      need to get in on this, she'll just watch.

Flash clings to the fence like a squirrelly monkey, his sharp gaze moving from
      Olga to Joey and back again. "Where's your shot-gun?" he asks the older 
      of the pair and the obvious leader.

Olga storms on up towards the fence with obvious displeasure. "Left it in my
      other pants," she snorts back at him, coming to a halt a fair ways off, 
      looking up at the man. She stands there with a bag over her shoulder and 
      a 'kerchief around her head, staring up at him, apparently at a bit of a 
      loss as to what to do next. "God damn it," she repeats to Joey, under her 
      breath, though with little concern for making sure the other can't hear.

"It's just, well, you know... you seemed worried about insurance agents and
      'revinooers', so I wondered." Flash's accent is hard to pin down, though 
      he exaggerates a hick drawl for "revinooers". He seems quite happy 
      hanging there on the fence. "I'm not either of those, you'll be happy to 
      note. Just your friendly neighborhood Avon lady."

Natalie ducks through the fence that surrounds the zoo, straightening and
      tugging at her clothes with irritation. The woman dusts off her jeans 
      before heading toward the others, frowning faintly, though she doesn't 
      speak.

Joey pipes in then, "What ya want buddy? The animals here are all gone, and all
      that's left is a farm of homosexuals, who'd eat you up in a heartbeat." 
      She smiles sweetly too, which makes the whole thing a little more 
      confusing.

"SWEET!" cries Flash at Joey's 'warning'. He surges up to the top of the fence
      and startes wriggling, one arm at a time, out of the plastic red 
      raincoat. "Faggot orgy, here I come!"

Olga's much too busy dealing with this peculiar character on the fence to
      notice Natalie's arrival. She's about to respond to the man's statement 
      when Joey speaks up, and she grins a little at first, though her face 
      quickly droops into a sour frown. "Hey, wait, I'm not a -" she begins to 
      protest at the girl, watching her with knitted eyebrows, when Flash makes 
      his exclamation. "You stay right the fuck where you are," she shouts out 
      at him testily.

"Problem?" the Walker asks quietly, falling into place behind Olga. Her words
      are aimed at Joey, though she makes no effort to keep her voice down. 
      "Who's the freak? One of yours?"

Flash swings the red plastic coat over the razor-wire topping the fence,
      getting that far before Olga makes her protest. "You can NOT deny me 
      this, woman. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a good hard 
      anonymous cock up my ass?" With one hand still clinging to the links and 
      his pointed toes still jammed into two more, he fumbles the light saber 
      off his belt and presses the sounds-button with a thumb. "WOOOOM," goes 
      the light saber, threateningly.

Joey was trying to be serious, but no, this guy is too hilarious. She busts out
      into laughter and shakes her head, "You are a nutcase, you escaped from 
      the ward didn't you?"

"Perhaps he hasn't noticed we're all women," Nat comments loudly.

Nat's an inch or two over average height for a woman, perhaps five-seven or
      -eight. She's built rather reminscent of a brick, with a square face and 
      jaw, and broad shoulders that have no need of padding. Nondescript 
      brownish hair is only a few inches long, and the ten-dollar cut makes her 
      face look even wider. Blue-green eyes are widely set under a pair of 
      thickly stroked eyebrows; her nose and lips are proportionately large. 
      She wouldn't catch any eyes if it weren't for the eerie way she has of 
      staring, or the suggestion of prior and pending fist-fights in the small 
      scars pocked across her face and hands. Her accent is flat Midwestern 
      unobtrusive, her age roughly twenty.
Nat's wearing a rust colored long-sleeved teeshirt and well-loved bluejeans. A
      black fleece vest is half-zipped over the tee and beaten brown workboots 
      slip under the jeans.

Olga darts around with a start to regard Natalie, eyes hard, like she were
      afraid she were somehow in cahoots with the man above, and were stealing 
      her wallet while he distracted her. A brief look of confusion manifests 
      as she recognizes her, and then she darts back towards Flash, and then 
      Joey. "Joe," she chides her in mild censure for 
      she-knows-not-what-anymore, and then she grunts at the man on the chains. 
      "God damn," she repeats again. "I can' kick the shit out of a retard, can 
      I?" she asks the other two women, almost pleadingly.

Flash pauses to study the new arrival, Natalie. "You sure?" Then he turns to
      Joey. "How do you farm homosexuals anyway?"

"They watch a lot of Bert and Ernie." Joey looks to the strange man on the
      fence. "Seriously dude, what'ya want to be in here for? Smells like piss 
      and looks like a barnyard after a twister."

Natalie only folds her arms over her belly, though she acknowledges Olga's look
      with a nod. This is the Gnawer's turf; let her defend it.

Olga's frown only deepens. "Wait, what the hell's that supposed to mean?" she
      demands of Flash's 'You sure?' Her bag drops to the floor with complete 
      disregard for anything that might be in it, and she strolls up to the 
      fence and stands just underneath the man, glaring up at him angrily, eyes 
      darting about as she tries to figure out what to do.

Flash smiles in a way that's either charming or something one would want to
      slap off his geeky face, depending on mood. "I wanted to feed peanuts to 
      the bears and Oreos to the wolves," he says flippantly, answering Joey's 
      question rather than Olga's. "WOOM CRASH," goes the light saber, on 
      command. "Anyway, nothing wrong with piss. Some of my best friends are 
      pissy."

Joey looks to Olga then, deciding that she is done questioning the guy.

Natalie's contribution - thank you, the Walker - is a calm, "Chocolate's bad
      for them."

Olga slips from her shoes to reveal dirty bare feet, and with angry mumbles and
      grumbles she latches onto the fence with her fingers and toes, and begins 
      the frustrating work of scaling it. She moves diagonally so that she's 
      not coming directly up under Flash, but she's not nearly as good at it as 
      he is, so it's slower going. "I gotta talk t' you," she informs him 
      surlily as she mounts up to the top.

"Wouldn't it be more comfortable if I came down there?" Flash asks, head
      tilting to one side. He looks past Olga to wink broadly at Joey, and then 
      he turns back to Olga, smiling a great big shit-eating smile.

Joey giggles again, though it probably isn't the time for it. She then gives
      Natalie a look and a nod, before resuming her attention on the show at 
      hand.

Time to let the monkeys play. Nat continues to watch, silently, giving Olga and
      her new friend all her attention.

With a grunt and a heave Olga brings herself up so that her head's about level
      with the barbed wire topping the fence, though she doesn't go further for 
      obvious reasons. She looks with some perplexity to see how the strange 
      fellow on top manages it, but with a shake of her head she dismisses it 
      and glares at him. "Look," she says to him angrily, still looking up but 
      not nearly so far, "we gotta get somethin' straight. You like the fence, 
      fine, you sit here; but you take one step down on the other side I'm 
      gonna beat you shitless. Seriously. This's our turf: you're not welcome. 
      There's no cocks for you here," she explains slowly, as if to a small 
      child, returning to a previous point. "Y' understand? No cocks for you 
      here. We don' like you 'nd we want you to go away; and if you get off 
      that fence on the wrong side you ain' gonna be able to remount it."

"Shitless? Beat me _shitless_?" Flash smirks. "That'd be something, yanno. I
      have a lot of shit in me. I'm full of it. To the eyeballs. But a'right." 
      He swings one long leg back over the fence to the street-side, awkwardly 
      grasps the handle of the light saber in his teeth, and tugs the plastic 
      raincoat off the razor wire. Then, monkeylike, he scrambles halfway back 
      down the fence and drops the rest of the way.

Olga stares after the departing crazy person, still clinging to the fence. She
      breathes in short huffs and occasionally looks back down to the two women 
      on the ground. The Theurge waits until Flash is well and truly out of 
      sight, and stays there for a quarter of a minute.

Upon reaching the ground, Flash pushes the 'blade' of the light saber back into
      its handle and puts back on the raincoat, which shows some definite 
      damage from being used as a buffer against the razor-wire. The cuff of 
      his jeans is ripped, too. Before he goes, he blows a kiss to Joey and 
      promises, "I'll be back."

(Later...)

Sunrise Road, In the Forest
This is a wide black-topped road through the woods, without any lines at all,
      though the pavement looks fairly new. Majestic trees, both conifers and 
      deciduous, grow right up to the road, but give a peaceful ambiance rather 
      than the more looming look of the woods to the south. Now and again, a 
      mailbox and the beginning of a driveway can be seen on either shoulder, 
      expensive homes on large plots of pristine land. The houses are generally 
      set a good distance back on their lots, and screened from the road by 
      trees, so that they can't see the cars and the cars can't see them. 
      Sunrise Road is known as a place where nature-lovers with a lot of handy 
      cash live. A sign on the roadside indicates that Highway 22, Kent 
      Crossing and Wolf Woods are to the south, while I-90 is a ways up the 
      road in the opposite direction. A large Deer Crossing sign stands on 
      either side of the road as well.
The road winds its way both northward and southward through the woods.
Obvious exits:
West  Stone Path  Nicholson Lane  East  Fairbanks House  South  North  


From Sunrise Road, In the Forest, Flash can be heard to howl, ~Greetings to the
      great and noble Garou of the Sept of the Hidden Walk! The lowest of the 
      low seeks you out to add his paltry and pathetic efforts to your mighty 
      ones in the great War against the Corrupted Balancer!~

Seeker walks south down Sunrise Road, drawn toward the direction of the howl.

Flash is off the road and within the trees, leaning against one big pine as he
      tugs on one pointy-toed boot. His coat and vest are on the ground nearby.

Firewatcher pads through the woods in lupus, approaching the sound of the howl.
      She is stealthy as she does so, approaching warily, so that the Stargazer 
      *might* not notice her approach. She circles around to come in from 
      behind him, if possible, approaching as closely as possible without being 
      seen.

Seeker notices the man by the trees and approaches him, stepping off the road.
      He stops and looks around to be sure there are no eavesdroppers before 
      replying. "The Hidden Walk hears your call and welcomes you, 'Lowest of 
      the Low,' if that's what you call yourself. I am Seeker, fostern ahroun 
      of the Silent Striders."

In his present surroundings, Seeker stands out in a crowd. His height, over six
      and a half feet tall, and his clothes are unusual for this part of the 
      world. His dark skin and clothing suggest North Africa, particularly one 
      of the nomad tribes, the Tuareg, perhaps. Seeker is whip-thin, but corded 
      muscles stand out on his arms and legs. His face is long and gaunt, his 
      expression always severe, unsmiling. Only one eye stares out intently at 
      his surroundings, the other covered by a black eyepatch. On the left side 
      of his face, a ragged, hairless scar rips from his lower jaw down to his 
      neck. His feet are adorned with ancient leather boots which speak of 
      countless hundreds of miles traveled in all terrain.
Carrying:
Scarab
This is a small carving of a scarab beetle, which seems to be shaped from a
      bluish-white stone. It is only about an inch long, yet on closer 
      inspection, it seems to have many tiny glyphs etched into its carapace. 
      It seems to vibrate occasionally with some kind of energy.

Flash looks up and flashes Seeker a grin, muddy blue eyes keen behind overlong
      bangs. If he's noticed Firewatcher, he shows no sign of it. "It'll do, 
      though my friends call me 'Flash'. You're not the alpha, are you? I heard 
      the alpha here these days was a tomato." He gets the boot on as he says 
      this, and starts pulling on the other one.

Seeker stands tall and still, not a hint of a smile on his face. "Tomato?" He
      snorts. "I am not the alpha, Firewatcher of the Fianna holds that 
      position here. What is your tribe and auspice?"

"Ragabash..." Flash grunts, yanking hard on the shiny-toed cowboy boot. "...of
      the Stargazers." He gets the boot on and stomps a bit in place, settling 
      them both before sweeping up and putting on the shiny, plasticky red 
      raincoat. Said coat appears to have some minor tears and punctures in 
      them, and there's a rip at the cuff of his faded red jeans, too.

As if the devil herself, Firewatcher emerges from the treeline from behind
      Flash on stealthy paws, making no noise to draw that one's attention to 
      herself. Seeker, though, would probably see her. All she does is to 
      indicate, in soundless lupus, that he is Garou, and untainted, but 
      nothing else, watching the Stargazer from behind warily.

Seeker makes no acknowledgement of Megan's presence if he notices her. "I see.
      I didn't think I'd meet another of your tribe again. I spent some time in 
      Tibet in my youth. I learned much there. Are you seeking membership here?"

Flash straightens out the garish raincoat, which squeaks and crinkles with each
      movement, then laces his fingers together behind his neck and looks up at 
      Seeker. "Membership? That's a little sudden. I don't even /kiss/ on the 
      first date, much less jump in front of the pulpit and into the sack."

Firewatcher continues to remain silently behind the two in homid, listening,
      for the moment, and therefore letting Seeker run the interog--interview.

Seeker remains stonefaced. "Very well. What is your business here, then?"

"'And then Dr. Beckett found himself leaping from life to life,'" the Stargazer
      recites, "'striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each 
      time that his next leap... would be the leap home.'" Flash studies 
      Seeker's face carefully, a smartass little smirk playing across his lips.

Firewatcher snorts, from rather close behind the ragabash.

Seeker's eye flicks to Firewatcher as she announces her presence, then back to
      Flash. "Whatever that means. Where are you from?"

This wolf bitch is enormous, size and form suggesting her lineage as a
      descendant of the great Irish dire wolves of some pure blood. Her 
      well-formed muscles twitch like live things under her thick, ruddy pelt, 
      glossy with health, marred by several scars typical of adult wolves. In 
      addition to her great size, the most memorable thing about her is her 
      eyes: preternaturally intelligent, a dark emerald color, and shine with 
      their own fire.
Her body is covered in a number of healing gashes consistent with teeth or
      claw-marks, the worst being a deep wound to her upper right rear leg, 
      that causes her to noticably limp when moving.  Check '+detail 
      Firewatcher's info' for other things noticable.

Flash turns quickly toward Firewatcher, hands coming down from behind his neck.
      He looks at her for a moment, then says, "Woof!" and turns back to 
      Seeker. "America?" He shrugs. "Sorry, no fixed abode."

Firewatcher radiates authority and pure breed especially in this lupus form.
      But with Flash's back to her, he would not see anything further she says, 
      so simply remains where she is, listening now that her presence is 
      announced.

Seeker says "Ah, a wanderer. My own wandering days are behind me. This is my
      home now, but I grew up in the Sahara, among the Tuareg. Assuming you are 
      accepted, you may stay here as a guest of the sept. You may offer 
      chiminage if you wish to become a member, of course.""

"Groovy," Flash says, looking back toward Firewatcher. His eyes shift between
      the two of them before settling finally on the huge she-wolf. "One thing 
      more I should mention." He's perfectly serious now. "Since the great 
      Strider didn't ask it. I am a mule, a halfbreed, a sterile freak, the 
      offspring of lawbreakers."

Firewatcher's ears flatten momentarily, standing behind Flash as she is, but
      then snorts again. It is better that you say so from the first.

Seeker frowns a bit. "That is unfortunate." He nods to Firewatcher and the
      other new arrivals.

Flash scrubs a hand through his minorly shaggy dark blond hair. "So I figured."

Firewatcher looks over at Seeker, then back to Flash. There are no others of
      your tribe here now, so if you decide you wish to stay in this territory, 
      you will offer chiminage directly to me. I will ask that if you return to 
      the woods, that you find clothing which will not stand out so much. The 
      Fianna's seriousness is ruined a bit by the amusement coloring her words 
      on the latter statement.

Pierces Ice seeks out the source of the howl, coming at last to stand just
      within the cover of the underbrush. She watches for a moment, listening 
      silently, until she recognizes the all is well and under the control of 
      the sept Alpha. Then she steps forward, approaching first the Fianna with 
      a respectful greeting.

Flash looks down at himself. "But this is the /height/ of fashion!" He makes a
      discouraged 'pfft' noise and flops himself back into a lean against a 
      nearby pine tree. He looks at Seeker. "I don't suppose you could spare a 
      guy a few bucks for a hotel room?"

Firewatcher chuffs greeting at Pierces Ice cordially, displaying recognition
      but a lack of familiarity with the Wendigo ahroun, to look back at Flash 
      and, past him, Seeker. He is clean. He could stay in the barn.

Seeker shakes his head once. "What little money I have I only use for
      emergencies. Gaia provides the rest."
Seeker nods to Firewatcher. "That is fine. I must be going now, I have
      something to attend to. Goodnight." He nods to Firewatcher and the 
      others, then heads off back up Sunrise Road.

Pierces Ice sniffs toward Flash without approaching. She stands erect, ears
      pulled forward as she gives her own introduction. ~I am Pierces the Ice, 
      elder and warrior of the Wendigo.~

Flash's attention, for a moment, is tugged three ways. The departing Silent
      Strider, the Fianna's comment about a barn, and the Wendigo's arrival and 
      introduction. "Cold and sharp, how very very Elder Brother. Or sister." 
      Then, to Firewatcher, he says, "You said something about a barn?"

Firewatcher's ears flatten, then straighten thoughtfully. I am Firewatcher,
      philodox of the Fianna. If you can say to me that you offer no threat to 
      this Sept or this Caern, there is a place you can stay. But, there are 
      rules to it, rules that even a ragabash must follow.

Pierces Ice's muzzle wrinkles, lips curling away from her teeth just slightly,
      but instead of any other comment she backs a step away. Watching 
      Firewatcher, an ear twitches in mild amusement.

Flash places his right hand over his heart. "Ma'am, I am a bug. A slug. A
      rodent and a bastard. Even if a lowly little fuck like myself could do 
      anything against a Sept led by Garou such as yourself, he wouldn't have 
      the spine to piss sideways if not permitted to." His tone is perfectly 
      serious, though the exaggerated self-denouncement makes his speech... 
      less so. "I am the lowest of the low, the omega of omegas. I mean you no 
      harm, this Sept no harm, and may Chimera make me more witless than I 
      already am if I even thought to harm your caern."

Firewatcher snorts again, this time with vague amusement. Or teach its cubs,
      without permission from their elders. The Fianna then looks at Pierces 
      Ice. Can you show him where it is? Or should I?

Pierces Ice stretches forward, head lowered and tilted to the side. I can take
      him where you wish. I have information for you, regarding Keeps the Heart 
      of the Wolf, and your earlier request. She turns one ear to the newcomer 
      while she watches Firewatcher.

Firewatcher looks confused at the unfamiliar Garou name, hesitates, but then
      chuffs at Pierces Ice to go ahead anyway.

Flash cocks his head to one side, then sits down crosslegged on the bare
      ground, his plastic coat crinkling noisily.

Pierces Ice turns toward the strange sound, then shakes out her ruff and
      explains to Firewatcher. ~The Glass Walker came to me, seeking assistance 
      and instruction in a vision quest. I asked if he had sought this from his 
      tribe. He suggested that he had been told the Glass Walkers had no such 
      methods for seeking inner wisdom. He had been directed to me by the 
      Master of the Rite. I told him that only with permission of his elder 
      would I aid him. She said no, and that the tribe does have such ways. I 
      told him this.~ She pauses, seems about to continue, but then there is 
      nothing more.

Flash's eyebrows rise, though he says nothing. At the very least, he has the
      wisdom to know when to keep his mouth shut.

Firewatcher growls, ears slicking back to her skull. This thing angers me. This
      conflict between Holds the Line and Heart of the Wolf. The Fianna's ears 
      come forward sharply. I thank you for this, Pierces the Ice. I think I 
      will see if I may find another halfmoon to talk to them, to make peace 
      between them. This is ridiculous.

"What'd Heart of the Wolf say?" All right, so perhaps the Ragabash doesn't have
      that much shut-up wisdom after all.

Pierces Ice seems to agree, though wordlessly. With a backpeddling step and a
      lowered head she takes her leave of the Alpha and turns to address Flash. 
      If you will follow, I will take you to the place you are to stay.

Firewatcher tilts her head at Flash's question, looking towards Pierces the Ice
      to see if she answers.

Pierces Ice gives no sign of answering, though her ears twist outward slightly
      at the question, a sign of embarrasment, perhaps sadness.

Firewatcher snorts once more, disappointed and angry all at once, then whuffs.
      Keep safe. The Fianna disappears southwards into the trees.

Flash stares rather directly at Pierces the Ice, waiting, but when it's clear
      she doesn't want to answer, he nods and climbs to his feet. "My bicycle's 
      closer to the road. Good night, uh." His farewell to the Fianna is 
      forestalled, and he looks down at the Wendigo again. "What was her name?"

Pierces Ice stares up at Flash for a moment before answering. Firewatcher. You
      need to travel on two legs?

"Well, it's a really nice bicycle..." Flash trails off. "It has a horn. And a
      basket."

Pierces Ice huffs a sigh, stretching forward, paws changing into reaching
      hands, arched back exchanging hair for skin and cotton.

	 She stands proudly, this young adult; sure in her movements and comfortable
      in her body. Calloused fingers adorn small hands at the ends of muscular 
      arms. An Alaska Native, Jacinta is not the tallest warrior one could 
      imagine. Her stout figure falls a full two inches shy of five feet. Her 
      eyes are a brown so dark as to be almost black, and there is a steeliness 
      about her gaze which belies her easy smile. A plait of black hair, 
      reaching her lower back, curls slightly at its tip.
	Her clothes are casual, jeans and a T-shirt that reads Common Rotation, and
      show signs of long wear. The pants are beginning to fray and wear thin in 
      places, and the maroon shirt has begun to fade.

Flash flashes straight white teeth in a grin that's either charming or
      shit-eatingly smarmy, depending on one's point of view. He flips overlong 
      bangs out of his eyes and with a comment of, "Groovy," leads Jacinta to 
      the rather battered bike that's leaning against a tree near the road.

Jacinta studies the stranger closely as they walk. Her appraising glance is
      neither hostile nor entirley welcoming. As they walk she asks, "Say 
      again, who you are? Why you came, here?"

"My name is Flash," he rattles off, easily enough. "Called Shit-Eater or
      Shit-for-Brains. Metis Ragabash of the Stargazers, poor /them/. And I'm 
      here to, well." He looks sidelong at her and shrugs. "Bum around, meet 
      people, chew gum? So, what's the deal with his Heart of the Wolf guy? And 
      why didn't you want to answer, earlier?"

Jacinta nods, "Anaq," she says, almost under her breath. She walks silently, no
      sign that she plans to answer, for several meters. Finally, she looks up 
      at the tall metis. "He was disrespectful. He is not usually so. I did not 
      wish to add to his dishonor in front of the alpha, since the matter was 
      settled."

Flash gets this keenly curious look on his face and a gleam in his eyes that's
      almost eager. Otherwise, he nods solemnly and asks no more prying 
      questions for the rest of the way. Once Jacinta's shown him the barn 
      behind the farmhouse, he thanks her politely enough, then disappears 
      inside, parking the bike below and clambering monkey-nimble up into the 
      hayloft.