More Fianna Stuff

[hazlogs]

Grotto(#2863RJ)
The woods part suddenly, here, amidst the quiet roar of falling water. A wide
stream spills over the edge of a rocky face that is the western edge of a
hill some thirty feet high. The stones are worn smooth with the passing of
time, and are slick with moisture and soft mosses, but a climb up the drier
rocks would not be impossible, and there is a sense of space behind the
falls.
A wide pool has been carved into the earth by the rushing waters, and the tall
trees have grown out around it, sheltering the grotto in a pleasantly-cool
shade. Rocks, hewn from the cliff face and shouldered along the path of the
stream, form a rough ring around the edge of the pool and guide the flow of
water further westwards, again deeper into the woods. All manner of animal
tracks are visible in the sandier areas of shore; the trees crouch close
against the edge of the stream again as it passes further west, muting the
dull thunder of the falls.
Faint trails, between the trees, lead off in all directions, while a
determined climb eastwards would crest the rock face.

It is currently 17:45 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 8 1997.
Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (8% full).
Currently on this gusty and crisp spring evening in the general St. Claire
area, it is 59 degrees Fahrenheit (15.0 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming
from the south-southeast at 12.8 mph. The ground is dry. Skies are clear
with a possible chance of precipitation.

Music greets Steven's arrival into the grotto, Erik's angelic tenor in full
force, singing with operatic, virtuoso skill, the music unfamiliar, but
obviously influenced by the baroque. The lyrics are recognizable, after a
moment's listening, for he's singing the Litany in Gaelic. Not the common
Litany, not the mere summary of laws growled at multi-tribal Moots, but the
whole thing, the Fianna litany; the Metis seem to be only an eight of the
way through it.
Steven exits the forest carrying a black violin case. He pauses just outside
of the immediate clearing, head bowed, listening.
Erik's voice climbs in soaring, circular motions, repeating key phrases,
before the movement ends. In the silence that follows, the Metis takes a
breath, leaning back against a nearby tree.
Steven is unwilling to break the silence immediately and steps forward to the
Metis wordlessly, holding out the case for him. His face is neutral, but
there is a slight glint of something -- admiration? jealously? -- in his
eyes. "Here," he says gently, "That violin of Shea's we had to send off to
Seattle. I brought you a loaner from the store. I imagine you'll have a
difficult time keeping it in tune out here."
Erik startles slightly; he wasn't aware of the other Fianna's arrival. He
accepts the 'loaner' with a meek duck of his head. "I know," he murmurs.
"But... thank you."
Steven gives a quick nod and his expression is once again unreadable. "Has
Brian been out here yet?"
Erik cradles the violin case in his arms with the care one would show an
infant. He shakes his head slowly. "I've not yet met the Righ." A tremor in
the Metis' voice betrays his apprehension.
"Ah," is Steven's curt reply. "Well then, I'll have to track him down and ask
him to stop by. Everything else is..." he searches for a word, "tolerable?"
Eamon has connected.
Erik bows slightly; there's no irony or sarcasm in the gesture -- Erik seems
incapable of that, or of hiding such if he /did/. "Everything is..." He
searches for a proper word. "More than tolerable. I'm very grateful, sir."
Eamon waves.
Steven's expression doesn't hint at any emotion, just a well-practiced
neutrality. "Good," he says after a short pause. Steven turns as Eamon
enters the clearing, and his face breaks into a heartfelt grin. "That," he
says to Erik softly, "is Eamon Fitzpatrick. My boss, your benefactor and my
packmate." He lifts his voice to carry. "Evening!" he says pleasantly.
Erik ducks his head in a slight bow to Eamon, then shuffles off to one side
and sits down at the entrance of the cave.
Eamon nods. "Yeah, we met."
Steven returns the nod and says to Erik, "I really didn't mean to interrupt
your singing." He crosses his arms. "Please, continue, if you wish."
Erik glances up, hesitating. "I, ah... that's as far as I've gotten," he
murmurs. "In the composition."
Eamon says "What's up, Steve?"
Steven allows a smile smile to form on his face, before it's replaced again by
a more placid expression. "I see. It sounded quite good, what I heard of
it," he says carefully. "Are you going test it?" he says, with a glance at
the violin. "I tuned it before I left the store." Steven turns his attention
to Eamon and smiles. "Well, not too awful much. I had a long talk with
Thomas." He pauses to look at Erik again, "And I finally met Chloe," he says
more subdued.
Faint clicks as Erik opens the violin case. He tilts his head slightly,
keeping cautious track of the conversation.
Eamon says "Oh yeah? Ah yes, Chloe."
Eamon glances at Steven. "Don't bang that thing up now."
Steven shakes his head. "She is, um, unusual. Offered to try and heal my
hand." He looks back at Erik and then back at Eamon. "He'll take care of it,
I have a feeling."
Eamon chuckles. "That's Chloe, all right."
Erik ducks his head again, and lifts the violin from its case, tucking it
under his chin with a graceful, practiced gesture as his other hand wields
the bow. A few clear notes soar upwards in chromatic scale.
Steven says "She raises more questions than a ragabash cub. Does anyone know
anything about her at all?"
Eamon shrugs. "I know a little about her. I'd say the real expert is Brian,
though. He an' Chloe were together for a while, a while back. She is pretty
weird, though. Then again, all mages are weird. She's a good friend, though.
She's helped us out on quite a few occasions."
Erik continues to play scales softly in the background, pausing every so often
to fine-tune an errant string.
Steven's face still looks a little confused. "Brian said they were engaged.
Megan and Shea don't seem to care for her much, at least not as far as I can
tell." He frowns. "And I didn't let her try to heal my hand. Mages, you
know? Never know what'll happen when they try something."
Eamon says "Oh, are they? They could be, I don't keep tabs on 'em."
Shea appears from behind a tree. At least, it looks that way. She continues on
into the clearing casually, yawns, and sits on the ground.
Eamon waves to Shea.
Steven shrugs with a faint grin. "Just reporting what I heard." He turns to
Erik, after giving a wave to Shea. "What do you know about Thomas, Erik?"
Erik seems satisfied with the sound of the violin and moves from scales to
more complex exercises, a simple melody in a major key which rapidly evolves
into something far more baroque and ornamented. He breaks off a few seconds
after Steven speaks to him, stopping in mid phrase and turning to the other
Fianna with the distracted air of a napper waking up. "Er... Thomas? He...
he helps run things at the Project."
Steven furrows his brows at the Metis. "Do you know anything else about him?"
Erik shakes his head. "Only that he has a child."
Eamon says "I dunno him too well. I've seen him around here and there, but
never really talked to him. Another weird mage."
Steven turns away from Erik, and nods to Eamon. "So I found out. He was with
us when Shea and I went in to help rescue Erik. He claims he's kinfolk."
Shea blinks, and frowns slowly. "Who was a mage?"
Eamon says "Kinfolk? Never heard that one. It's possible, though."
Erik hesitates, standing awkwardly with violin in one hand and bow in the
other, waiting to see if anything else is required of him.
Eamon says "That guy Thomas."
Shea looks at Steven. "The one from the other night? He's a -mage-?" Another
blink, then, "Christ," is breathed, and she paces a little circle.
Steven gives Shea a nod. "He is, I'm afraid." He gives a pause and then says,
"Speaking of which, I just told Eamon I'd met Chloe the other night, too. Do
you know anything about either one of them?"
Shea stops pacing and levels a finger and a very hard look at Steven. "Chloe's
not to be trusted. That's my word on it." The hand is withdrawn then, and
the look softens a bit. "Brian's word though is that she's not t'be
touched." She tchs, a sound that likely means she's not pleased with the
pronouncement.
Steven nods in agreement. "When I was standing there with her, I just had a
feeling of," he takes a short pause, "wariness." His voice continues in a
softer tone, "She offered to heal my hand. I didn't know mages could do
things like that."
Eamon says "Some can. I don't see what's the big deal, I mean, she's helped us
out a lot."
Erik shuffles his feet a little, then moves off to one side. After a moment,
the soft, pure notes of the violin can be heard again in the background.
Shea's gaze shifts to Eamon, then flickers back to Steven. "She's not honest
with anyone except Brian, an' I wouldn't put money on her bein' honest even
with him."
Steven's face creases and he uncrosses his arms, stuffing his hands into his
pockets. "Just so there's no more surprises," he says after a second, "would
someone mind filling me in? How many warpers do we know about?"
Shea's shoulders rise and fall, and she counters Steven, tucking her arms
across her chest. "She's the only one I knew about that was still alive."
Eamon says "Well, there's that guy over in Wolf Woods, Dave Cox. He's helpin'
out the wolves, so he can't be all bad, now can he?"
Shea -looks- at Eamon. "Since when has not all bad meant good? Or ally? I can
think of a Brit or two who weren't all bad."
The violin's voice takes on a quiet, minor note at the turn of the
conversation.

[Erik leaves soon afterwards.]