Reaching Out

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:52 Pacific Time on Mon May 4 1998.
Currently on this gusty and crisp spring evening in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 65 degrees Fahrenheit (18.3 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the south-southwest at 17.1 mph. The ground is wet and it is misting. 
  Skies are overcast with a definite chance of precipitation.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (57% full).

Luc climbs up the stairs from the second floor preceded by the creak of aging 
  wood.
Luc has arrived.
There's the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the door to the attic swings 
  open.
Erik lies under a blanket at the corner of the attic, his face turned toward 
  the wall and his tall body curled on its side, almost fetal. He breathes 
  slowly, shallowly.
Luc looks around for a light of some kind. Then, whether he finds one or not, 
  he makes his way toward the huddled blanket in the corner.
Erik shows almost no reaction in response to the sound of footfalls behind 
  him. Nothing but a slight curling inward, like an armadillo trying to hide 
  within its own navel.
The near-man squats down next to Erik. His voice, when he speaks, is coarse, 
  too loud in the silence. ~Your packmate asked me to speak to you.~
There's a mumbled, "G'way," from under the blanket.

Luc's Desc:
Too big for a man, that's the first impression Luc gives. He's over six and a 
  half feet tall, pushing seven, and built too powerfully. The muscles of his 
  arms and chest stand out prominently and his legs look unnaturally strong. 
  Veins stand out along a thick neck that gives way to a brutish jaw, thrust 
  out from his face. His nose is large and flat, looking like it was pressed 
  down onto his face with a little too much force. His eyebrows, blonde like 
  the mop on top of his head, come together in a single line over a pair of 
  light brown eyes. He gives off a sense of wrongness which, ironically, seems 
  perfectly appropriate coming from something built the way he is. His voice, 
  when he bothers to speak, is as harsh and unrefined as the rest of him. 
  Furthermore, he speaks with a very peculiar accent.

Luc says, ~I am afraid I cannot do that. I gave my word.~
A faint groan. "/Please/ go away," says Erik, drawing himself in more tightly.
Luc sighs softly. ~I told you, I cannot. Do you understand what it means to 
  give one's word?~
A moment's silence. Then, "Yes."
Luc sits down next to the lump. ~Do you remember when you gave your word to 
  defend the Caern?~~
You say "Yes."
Luc says, ~Then what are you doing here?~
One word. "Useless."
Luc pauses for a moment, then he nods once, jerking his chin down and up 
  roughly. ~You are certainly useless up here, yes. So why stay?~
Erik stirs a bit, but doesn't uncurl. "Useless out there, too."
Luc grunts softly. ~Why is that, do you think?~
Another heartbeat or two of silence. "I'm afraid. I can't fight. Even when it 
  counts, I... can't."
Luc sighs again, drawing his knees up. Still he makes no effort to touch the 
  other Garou. ~And do you think the rest of us are not afraid? Do you think 
  that because we weren't born like you, that fear cannot touch us?~
"I can't. Fight." The words rip free of the Fianna in a sob. "Even against the 
  enemy, I can't." He pulls the blanket over his head and moans. "Please go 
  away."
Luc says, ~That's not true. You were there the night the beast attacked. What 
  were you planning to do, tell stories?~
Erik groans. "I couldn't move. It came and left and I was too afraid to move. 
  If the moon had been any fatter I would have been taken by the Fox."
Luc says, ~Were you never taught to fight?~
A slight movement under the blanket. "I can't."
Luc says, ~You can't fight? Why's that, you got no claws? No teeth?~
"I get ill."
There's a moment's silence, as if he's hesitating, before the lupe replies, 
  ~That is in your head.~
Bitterly, now. "In my head. The first time I scored blood on someone, I nearly 
  fainted from vomiting."
Luc says, ~I have seen cubs react the same way when they first bring down a 
  rabbit.~
You say "They grow out of it."
Luc says, ~So will you. Because a guardian who cannot guard isn't much use to 
  the Caern he is supposed to protect.~
You say "I can't."
Luc says, ~What about spirits? They do not bleed.~
Erik is silent a moment. "They hurt, though."
Luc's response is automatic this time. ~Gaia hurts.~
Erik sighs. "Pain is like blood."
Luc says, ~Can you hunt? Catch your dinner?~
You say "No."
Luc says, ~Then that is where we will begin.~
You say "How does a three-legged wolf hunt?"
Luc says, ~It can be done. Ask Stormcloud.~
Erik groans quietly, a thousand unspoken protests in that one wordless sound.
Luc shifts around for a moment before speaking again. ~Come out.~
Erik obeys after a hesitation, pushing the blanket partially aside and sitting 
  up. Without hat or scarf, there is nothing to hide the grotesque features 
  from view, and he avoids looking at the huge Gaian.
Luc holds in his hand that odd blade of his. ~I am going to help you. There 
  are only two forms of aid I can offer you.~ He draws the blade across one of 
  his arms, teeth gritted, and the flesh falls open before it as if it were 
  made of silver. Then he holds the bloody blade out to Erik. ~You can take an 
  oath with me, to learn what I will teach you. Or you can take your life. The 
  blade is silver. Do not ask me to go away; I told you, I have given my word.~
Erik stares at the blade, aghast, the sunken eyes wide. He shrinks away from 
  the bloody weapon, looking ill.
Luc sets the knife down carefully. ~I am only asking you to take an oath.~
Erik relaxes minutely. "I can take an oath," he whispers, watching the blade 
  as though afraid it will leap up and bite him.
Luc indicates the knife again, holding his his arm, which is bleeding freely. 
  ~Pain and blood are things you will have to learn to accept. You are Garou, 
  it is your birthright. Take the blade. We will swear a blood oath together. 
  My blood will flow in your veins, and yours in mine. And if you fall, the 
  dishonor will be my own.~
Erik swallows visibly. His hand shakes as he reaches for the blade, hesitates, 
  and then closes skeletal fingers over the hilt.
Luc smiles, slightly, nodding.
Erik lifts the weapon, and the shaking grows worse, as though the metis were 
  afflicted with some kind of palsy.
Luc reaches out to close his hand over Erik's, holding it steady. ~Relax. I am 
  not asking you to do anything dishonorable.~
Erik flinches at the touch, an automatic twitch of his withered-looking flesh. 
  He takes one deep breath and then another.
Luc draws his hand back after a moment, waiting. He seems to be willing to 
  wait all night if necessary, not rushing the other Garou.
Erik manages to find his voice. "What must I do?" The knife in his lone hand 
  still trembles visibly.
Luc says, ~Just cut yourself, enough to bleed. Then press the wound to mine.~
Erik hesitates, then sets the knife down and shifts out of his coat. He unpins 
  and pushes up the sleeve covering his upper right arm -- all that's left of 
  it since his capture several months back. He takes up the knife again, 
  slowly, and brings it to his bared flesh. He stops, then, the trembling 
  growing more violent, and then brings the blade down, opening a wound. He 
  closes his eyes almost immediately, the weapon almost dropping from his 
  fingers.
Luc reaches out again, this time catching the other arm with his hand. With a 
  sharp nod, he presses his forearm against the metis' and the blood from the 
  two wounds runs together. ~I swear that I will do everything in my power to 
  teach you to fight the Wyrm, as a Garou is meant. If you will accept my 
  teaching, then are settled.~ Then he looks at Erik, expectant.
Erik swallows, his eyes fixed upon the mingling wounds. "I--." His voice 
  catches. "I swear that I will accept your teaching. And... and do everything 
  in my... power to learn."
Luc takes the blade up and wipes it clean on the blanket. He smiles at Erik. 
  ~Good. I know your packmates are eager to see you again, if you are ready to 
  meet them. If not, you may join them when you feel more prepared. Tomorrow, 
  before dawn, we will hunt a meal.~
Erik inhales a shuddering, shivering breath and lets it out, his body slumping 
  against the wall. "Tomorrow," he whispers. "At dawn."
Luc nods silently and rises. ~Tomorrow,~ he repeats as he heads back toward 
  the stairs and down.
Luc carefully descends the stairs, the creak of the door echoing up from below.
Luc has left.