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.
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