"We were made to live in interesting times."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:49 Pacific Time on Thu Apr 11 2019.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.97 and falling, and the relative humidity is 92 percent. The dewpoint is 49 degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half (Philodox) Moon phase (46% full).

Edgewood House: Meadow

A long, hard-packed dirt road winds almost a mile through the forest off Sunrise Road, eventually opening out into a small front yard, and coming to a stop in front of a large house, which may be the very definition of ramshackle. The house is not visible from the road, nor can one hear anything but perhaps a gunshot. Its foundation and general structure are solid, but its once crisp grey-and-white paint needs updating, and some of the trim is having trouble staying attached. A fixer upper, one might say. Off to the left, there's a former garage, long since converted into something of an in-law apartment. A connecting flyover attaches it to the second floor of the house.

There are no fences surrounding either the front or back yards. In the rear of the property, the yard (larger than in the front) eventually comes up against a well built garden, with the very beginnings of sprouts. Shaded and obscured by surrounding trees, there is a small (but deep) natural pond, with a chuckling brook leading out of it, into the woods. There's a rope swing hanging from one of the trees. The yard to the southeast of the property stretches on for a time, and then is eaten by woods, into which there may or may not be a path; it apparently fades away quickly. There's a certain looming feel to these woods.

With daylight starting to shade into dusk, the light rain pattering down on the meadows, there's minimal signs of activity within the Edgewood house itself. Signs of its occupants are present in the scents that linger through the field and by the porch, growing stronger by the latter (primarily in respects to the other Uktena Ahroun wandering around).
A solitary wolf is skulking around the tree line, however, doing the usual perimeter check of intermittent nose-to-ground at a leisurely trot, the Fenrir no longer favoring her left hind leg, the damage sustained in the brief scuffle on the outskirts of the bawn apparently having healed well enough on its own. Either that, or it's so negligible that she no longer feels the need to be careful with it.

As the day fades away, the Uktena come out to play. Or, so it seems. Little Silvertip arrives at a good trot from deeper in the bawn, paying little heed to the precipitation that might otherwise be making her miserable. She's got a quick step to her pace - or what serves as quick for her - like she's on a mission to get somewhere. As she approaches Edgewood she slowly shifts up into homid, all while within the cover of the forest, before emerging out into the back yard of the house.

The big wolf pauses, be it due to catching scent or seeing movement. Circles a bit more until she's more or less in line with the not-quite-newcomer, ears pricked. Takes a moment or two to make an approach, however, as it had been with the night prior, but the Philodox does eventually break from the treeline to trot in the direction of the Uktena Elder, her pace overtaking a human stride easily enough, head turning just enough to offer a brief greeting before making tracks for the back porch itself.
Once there, she vigorously shakes off the rainwater clinging to fur that appears to finally be shedding, though only in part. She'll be in that awkward transitory phase for a bit. With that finished, however--
Something I can help you with?

Ciuraq doesn't bother flipping the hood up on her rain jacket-like garment, the light rain not bothering her enough (yet) to commit to staying dry. When she catches sight of the Fenrir's movement, she jerks her head in a 'sup?' kind of gesture, adding, "Ca?" It's easy enough to guess that it's the Eskimo equivalent thereof. She pauses in the lawn, letting the wolf make for the back porch first before she follows. "Eh... Pa... pa... uh, goin... going to the scap. Scab." She says, needing a few false starts to get everything out. As she joins the large Fenrir on the porch, she adds, "Bane hunting."

Huxley comes out of house, pulling up his hood as he does so. He takes a few steps from the door and then stops to zip his jacket up and adjust the sleeve cuffs. This is a moment, too, to scan the area.

The Fenrir cants her head slightly at the comment, the tilt of her ears and the subtle tension along her muzzle speaking of energy unslaked-- another gift of her auspice moon being in the sky, it seems. Her head turns at the sound of the door, however, Huxley offered a chuff of greeting before the wolf rears up onto her hind legs, and reassumes her human shape.
Taking a moment to smooth back thoroughly dampened hair and take a swipe at skin to which all the rainwater on her fur has transferred, she's dressed in her usual jeans and t-shirt, for the time being, overshirt untied from around her waist.
"Have you located something specific?" she asks the Uktena. "Or is this more a generalized hunt?" God knows there are enough targets to choose from.

Ciuraq gives a half of a shrug - lord knows how she manages to make it look awkward, but she does. It's then that the Athro's eyes are drawn over towards the Silver Fang. Once again, there's an involuntary shudder that she doesn't bother to conceal. "Waqaa." She says, her tone much less casual than it had been a moment ago. She turns her attention back to Sandra. "Eh. I... um... I, um, do not, uh... know? I do not know what I am hunting." She says, repeating the awkward half-shrug. "Just, um, that... I see it, and I know."

Huxley, his attire situated, all black everything (at least what's currently visible), steps over to join the other two, light-footed and unhurried.

Sandra's brow arches slightly at the response she gets, though if she finds it overtly dubious, she doesn't say. The-- rank gap makes that a bit tricky, anyway.
"Are you here to recruit assistance, then?" she asks, opting for the safer question first.

Ciuraq head lifts a little higher, and she gives the much taller woman a bit of an odd look. "Nuu?" She replies, more like it was a question than an answer. "I... uh. Hmm. I coult... Um, a fool mo... moon would be... would, good, yeah." She pauses a moment, throwing a look to Huxley; her expression becomes dubious. "Aipagni."

"You need a scout?" Huxley raises hairless brows, most of his attention on the Athro, though a glance at the Get shows that he's not ignoring her.

Sandra casts a glance in Huxley's direction as it becomes clear that 'fool moon' isn't a mispronunciation of 'full.' She affords him a nod when he returns the glance, ultimately turning her attention back to Ciuraq. "Anyone here is, of course, at your disposal," she says, not presuming to throw her lot in without having been asked, but it works well enough as an offer.

Ciuraq gives Huxley a half of a shrug, like to say she could take or leave having a Ragabash with her. She shifts her weight and blinks at Sandra, "Nuu." She replies, before saying something in yup'ik. It takes her a few tries before she finally manages, "I, um, cann... cannot tell you 'do this do that'. Not your alpha." She seems fairly emphatic about the point. Her eyes drift back to the hairless metis, before saying to more to him than to Sandra, "Taugam, you... um... come? I wou... wou... would not chase you. Chase you away." Again, there's an indifferent attitude from the petite Uktena.

Huxley's lips stretch in a tight smile, no teeth showing. "I would welcome the opportunity to see... some of the more /interesting/ parts of the Sept's protectorate."

"There's still a village to scout," Sandra reminds him, "though given those missions have a tendency to become tedious, something a bit more straightforward is always welcome," the indifference mirrored back, for the most part. "And there's the Blue Mountains to look at," she amends, "and the catacombs, besides, which," she looks to Ciuraq, "it sounds like you have some experience with."

Ciuraq shudders, closing her eyes for a moment in a pained wince at the mention of the catacombs. Not her favourite place in the world, apparently. "Nuu."

Huxley says nothing to this, simply looks from one to the other and back again, his expression questioning.

"I understand it's not the most comfortable topic," Sandra continues, "but I've yet to hear more about them beyond the fact that our caern is placed directly on top of them. Seems strange to me that they're still such a mystery, after all this time."

Ciuraq's eyes remain closed for a few moments, fighting back ninety different emotions (all of them bad) as Sandra continues on. She finally takes a deep breath, and shakes her head adamantly and emphatically. "_Nuu_." She repeats, snapping her eyes open. Whatever horrible memories she has of those catacombs can be readily seen in her eyes. "Ass someone else." She all but hisses.

Huxley goes quite still, as one does in the presence of an unhappy Ahroun. He keeps close attention on Ciuraq and looks not only cautious but intrigued.

Sandra stands just a little straighter, the caution not quite as apparent in her overall demeanor. She does keep her eyes slightly averted from the Uktena's face, though only just-- just enough to make it clear that there's no challenge being issued.
"I don't mean to sound impertinent," she says carefully, "but I feel the need to point out that we're running rather low in the 'someone else' department. Is there anyone you can think of that might be willing to speak on the matter?"

Ciuraq doesn't bother responding to that. The athro makes a snap turn and starts marching off to towards the door. She stomps off with single-minded purpose, like all she wants right now is to get out of that conversation, to not have to talk to Sandra about the tunnels.

Huxley says nothing, doesn't move. His face is blankly neutral; he hardly even seems to breathe.

It's when Ciuraq turns that Sandra's jaw tightens, her frustration visible in her expression. She takes a breath, looks skyward for a moment, and lets it out slowly, inaudibly, before reluctantly letting her gaze drop back to the ground, hands clasping loosely behind her back. No apology offered just yet, save that one tacit sign.

Ciuraq marches inside, maybe shutting the door with more force than she intended. 'Slammed' might be the right word to describe it.

Huxley's posture slowly shifts from 'almost complete motionlessness' to a more normal stillness. His pale eyes, fixated on the Uktena until she vanishes from view, turn now to the Get of Fenris. "That was... interesting," he says mildly.

Sandra doesn't try to hide the curl of her lip, gaze still on the closed door. "There are some other words I could think to describe it," she says, "but I'd rather not risk a breach." Of the litany, presumably-- though she'd almost certainly placed a toe on the line. "Getting answers in this place remains the rough equivalent of pulling teeth."

Huxley considers this for a moment, weighing her words and his answer. "...Pulling teeth is easier when the patient is sedated," he says at last.

Sandra makes a soft 'mn' sound, something that might have been the hint of a laugh in any other case, but in this-- "To put it mildly," she says. "Something else to speak to Jamethon about, I suppose, but given he's the one that suggested going down there in the first place, I doubt that he even knows the extent of it, and if she remains unwilling to speak on the matter--" She gives a slight shake of her head. "Well," she says, "I suppose we can look forward to more people having a similar response to the question being raised."

Huxley tilts his head. "Is there /no/ information about these... tunnels? When were they discovered?"

"I've asked around," Sandra replies, "and so far, most of the answers I've gotten have been vague. So far as I'm aware," a phrase which is currently doing a lot of heavy lifting, "they're largely uncharted, and may or may not be relevant to the problems we're facing in the here and now."

"Do the spirits know anything?" Huxley asks.

"I'm the wrong person to ask," Sandra says, spreading her hands. "As I said, I have only the vaguest idea of what's down there, and haven't had time to ask Jamethon about it, of late." A pause. "There is the Fianna that arrived, of late," she says. "Wintersbite. Possible I could get--" a pause; a frown, "--could respectfully suggest that she speak to them about it, since it falls in line with the Alpha's agenda."

Huxley nods. "If she's new, then perhaps she won't have the... reluctance that some of the more established members of the Sept have. In the meantime, all one can do is keep one's eyes open for... opportunities."

Another soft 'mn' comes in response. "There's plenty to keep watch for," Sandra replies, sounding none too pleased about that fact.

Huxley shows his teeth in a brief, ghastly grin. "We were made to live in interesting times," he says, and then turns to go, heading for the surrounding forest.