News from Dad, Handling the Rage

[hazlogs]

Date: 3 August 2001
Moon Phase: Waxing Full

Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a 
  J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door 
  hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up 
  the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room 
  at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a 
  generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of 
  the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a 
  place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang 
  coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's 
  J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems 
  to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall 
  beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure 
  the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date 
  magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the 
  plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. 
  Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group 
  conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, 
  except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently 
  left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and 
  dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the 
  other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of 
  the J lets out to the front porch.

Aaron shakes his head. "If she did know, she never told me. Mom always seemed 
  pretty normal, I don't think she was a were... er, Garou. Besides, she 
  stayed home all day, I think I'd know if she turned into a nine-foot tall 
  monster in my living room."

Malachi comes trotting barefoot down the stairs, one hand skimming lightly 
  along the bannister.

Seeker glances at Malachi, then nods at Aaron. "I've been considering speaking 
  to your parents. There were many witnesses when we took you away, and your 
  parents may begin an investigation. That could cause problems."

[Seeker]
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

[Aaron]
The young man standing before you is about 5'8" in height, but his build is 
  slim and lanky, much like a runner's. His skin is darker in hue - not quite 
  tanned, but that color along with the shape of his cheekbones and nose hint 
  at a Middle Eastern heritage. His hair is black and stringy, sort of just 
  sitting wildly atop his head, and his eyes are a deep brown that almost seem 
  to match the shade of his hair at times. At the moment, he is dressed 
  casually - a soccer jersey with the number 31 covers his chest, and a pair 
  of grey workout pants make up his wardrobe, with a pair of dirty white 
  running shoes on his feet.

Malachi stops at the bottom of the stairs, eyeballing the pair with mingled 
  curiosity and caution, saying nothing.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair again. "To be honest, I'm kind of hoping 
  they did already. NOthing against you guys, but, well... I'd like to think 
  my folks wouldn't just say, crap, he's dead, what's for dinner."

Seeker says "I'm sure they're concerned about you. I'd like to set them at 
  ease, but contacting them may have an opposite effect if they're not ready."

Malachi chews on the inside of his lower lip, listening to this exchange with 
  some interest. At Seeker's response, the kid grimaces faintly and continues 
  on toward the kitchen.

Aaron quirks an eyebrow again, then nods. "Yeah, I kinda figured that. If 
  they're not already nuts, then telling 'em I'm a werewolf and got drafted 
  for the war against the Wyrm'll probably push 'em over the edge."

Seeker nods. "Well, I'll talk to Sepdet about it when I see her. I must be 
  going now. We'll talk later, Aaron. Good to see you."

Aaron says, "Good to see you too, Seeker-rhya. Thanks for the help." He stands 
  up and stretches his legs, massaging out a cramp from sitting for so long. 
  "Ow."

Seeker nods and stands, then heads for the door.

Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room
Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's 
  kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist 
  height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators 
  occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The 
  kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the 
  double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a twin-pane 
  window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set into an 
  alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep freezer as 
  well as shelves of dry goods.
Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, 
  lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the 
  kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs 
  setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large 
  window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the 
  north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves containing 
  a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few decorative 
  nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room from the 
  kitchen.
An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the 
  house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing behind 
  the house.

Malachi scrounges around in the kitchen, getting together the makings of a 
  sandwich -- bread, coldcuts, coldcuts, coldcuts, cheese... ketchup?

In the front rooms, Aaron continues stretching his legs, working the muscles 
  in his thighs to help release the tension of having been sitting on that 
  couch all morning and a good part of the afternoon. He then just flumps down 
  on the couch again, picking up the Sports Illustrated, but perks up upon 
  hearing someone in the kitchen. "'Lo there," he calls, then adds with a 
  grin, "Friend or foe?"

"Um... friend." Malachi squirts a bit more ketchup onto the bread and, after 
  putting the rest of the food back into the fridge, smushes the whole mess 
  together into sandwich-shape. He walks back out toward the living room with 
  his plate. "Malachi."

Aaron tosses the magazine onto the cushion next to him on the couch, and 
  stands up again. "Hey - I'm Aaron. Nice t'meet you." The boy extends his 
  hand out to shake yours.

Malachi plunks himself down on the floor nearby, setting his plate down in 
  front of him. He wipes his hand on his (rather grubby-looking, to be honest) 
  shirt and awkwardly shakes hands. "Hi."

Aaron shakes Malachi's hand quickly, then sits down again, grabbing the 
  magazine. "Man, all this is too weird. You been here a long time?"

Malachi starts tucking into his rather messy meat-cheese-and-ketchup sandwich. 
  "Mmf... no," he says, between bites. He swallows his current mouthful. "Only 
  took me here las' night."

Aaron smiles. "I'm in the same boat then - been here only abut a week myself. 
  Welcome to the wide world of weird." He leans back on the couch, stretching 
  his arms a bit. "So, what happened to you? Bunch of folks show up and grab 
  you too?"

Malachi devours another bite of his sandwich. Grimacing, he nods. "Yeah, a 
  coupla've 'em. Then they locked me inna fuckin' basement for like a week."

The kitchen door bangs shut and Max rummages around in the kitchen, muttering 
  to herself. ".. nose ... down your pants... in your shoes... freakin' 
  /nature/."

Aaron nods at Malachi. "Yeah, same here. Except I was in some lady's 
  apartment, who kept her door padlocked from the inside. Friggin' scared the 
  hell out of me - thought I was kidnapped by crack fiends or something."

Malachi pauses, his sandwich mostly gone; he squints toward sounds in the 
  kitchen. "Mmm... yeah." His reply to Aaron is distracted, to say the least.

Max meanders through the front hall toward the sound of voices in the living 
  room, four oreos in one hand. She stops short and smirks. "Lookee here, it's 
  a puppy convention." She looks from Malachi to Aaron and back again. "You 
  dig the Old MacDonald shit they got goin' on here, Sponge?" Meandering over, 
  she flops into a wing-backed chair and swings her legs over one arm, 
  swinging her booted feet a little where they hang.

Malachi pulls a face at Max. "Better'n the concrete shithole," he retorts from 
  his spot on the floor.

Alicia opens up the front door and heads inside, stiffling a loud yawn. At the 
  sight of people, she blinks once, allowing a smile to creep along her face.

Aaron just leans back on the couch, resting a bit. He raises his hand in 
  greeting as Max walks in, with a "Hey there," although he smiles more widely 
  at the sight of Alicia.

There's little noise to herald a skinny, sandy-haired cub-- Just three solid 
  steps on the porch outside, and then the door swings open and Anneka wanders 
  in. Her eyes are big and wide and fierce contrast to her amiable smile, and 
  there's a bloody smudge on one befreckled cheek. She's humming quiet, walks 
  a circle about Alicia without even looking up-- though she does stop once 
  she's inside and looks about. She grins.

"Hey," Anneka says, and drifts on over to where Max is sitting.

"Fuckin' A." Max agrees abruptly, hefting an oreo in toast. She glances to 
  Aaron, an inquiry settling in her eyes behind wayward strands of hair. She 
  breaks it off to glance to the door, first to Alicia, then to Anneka to whom 
  she tosses an oreo and a grin, "Streetfish. Whatchoo doin' out here?"

Alicia glances back to everyone for a moment, dipping her head slightly. "Hey 
  guys." A smile is offered, then she lets her gaze wander over to Malachi, 
  studying him for a moment. "Everything alright so far? You cool?"

Malachi finishes off the last of his sandwich, face tightening as the local 
  population increases. Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, he nods to 
  Alicia and gets up, grabbing his crumb-scattered plate in the process. 
  "Yeah, it's cool." He ducks back toward the kitchen.

In the front rooms, Anneka catches the oreo in both hands, leans against an 
  arm of Max's chair. "Visitin' folks. Been lookin' 'round for Sepdet an' 
  Leonard." The girl looks up, aims a fuzzy-edged grin at the others. "Hey, 
  hi."

In the front rooms, Max reaches up and tucks her second to last oreo in 
  Anneka's pocket before she watches after Malachi as far as line-of-sight 
  allows. Then she flickers her attention back over to Aaron and asks 
  directly, "You can't be all that new. You ain't in your original packing, 
  I's guessing."

Alicia follows after Malachi into the kitchen, her hands swaying a bit at her 
  sides. "Hey, can we talk for a bit?"

In the front rooms, Aaron looks around - this is the most people he's seen 
  here at one time yet - and looks at Anneka. "Been here about a week," he 
  offers. "And I had a chchange of clothes, but they got wrecked during an 
  unfortunate wolfman incident."

In the front rooms, Max smirks a little and unscrews her cookie, pulling wafer 
  from icing-wafer. "Yeah? What's your name?" Her feet continue their slight 
  swinging motion.

In the front rooms, Aaron turns to look at Max. "Name's Aaron. I'm a Silent 
  Strider Galliard, or so a bunch of people have told me so far. How about 
  you?" He runs a hand through his hair again, although this does little to 
  keep the mop on his head in place.

Malachi dumps his plate in the sink and, after a moment, runs some water over 
  it. He eyeballs Alicia. "Um, sure, I guess."

About to open her mouth, Alicia's cell phone rings in her back pocket. Sighing 
  with a roll of her eyes, she reaches behind her and pops it on. "What?" No 
  hello's or anything, quite annoyed.

Malachi fidgets impatiently for a moment, then turns back to the sink. He 
  hesitates, runs some more water over the plate, then makes a vague effort at 
  cleaning it.

"Say sorry...? For what?" Alicia says as she heads over to Malachi, grabbing a 
  dish towel and plopping it down next to him. Turning about, she leans 
  against the counter. "Oh.. That? Thats /old/ news now. Whoopie doo'. Don't 
  worry 'bout it. I'm coo' Dizzy."

In the front rooms, Max licks at the icing while considering Aaron. "I's Max 
  or Bruises. Boner, Basher, 'n Trouble's dirty li'l secret." Amusement 
  flickers behind those strands of hair. "'n I ain't no puppy no more, but I 
  sure's fuck remember that world. You do the name, rank 'n serial number 
  pretty good." As she pops the icing-ed side of the cookie in her mouth it's 
  easy to see that her left middle finger has been tattooed with six, 
  equidistant black rings. She asks around a mouthful of cookie, "You into 
  this furry shit?"

Malachi finishes cleaning the dish -- Donna Reed would have a shitfit at the 
  quality of the job -- wipes it off, and puts it away. Basic household duty 
  done, Mal flumps into a chair by the table and waits for Alicia to finish 
  her call.

With an apologetic look to Malachi, Alicia continues to talk into it. "Naaah. 
  I'm a Gaian, we forgive an forget real quick like ya'know. Its cool." She 
  waves the phone in the air for a moment, sighing, then puts it back to her 
  ear.

In the front rooms, Anneka nibbles on her oreo, doesn't even notice the one 
  that gets slipped into her pocket, though she leans towards Max just a but 
  more. She grins at Aaron. "I'm Anneka-- Philodox cub of th'Bone Gnawers. We 
  kinda met b'fore, but y'weren't really awake." She glances at Max, grins a 
  bit more.

In the front rooms, Aaron shrugs. "Still getting into it, I guess. Not every 
  day you get dragged away from your home because you're a wolfman. And I'm 
  still trying to get some of the basics down, but all in all, I'm making it." 
  He pulls his legs up, wrapping his arms around his knees. "We'lll see how it 
  goes, I guess."

In the front rooms, Aaron nods to Anneka, and smiles. "Yeah, apparently I 
  missed a good few hours there. Someone got one hell of a right hand."

Alicia nods her head, forgetting the other can't see. "Don't worry 'bout it. 
  Just have a good time. Anyways... I gotta go, I'm doinga one on one with 
  someone 'ere. Anyways, I'll call later. G'bye!"

Malachi slouches against the table, chewing on a fingernail, half his 
  attention on the conversation from the living room, the other half on 
  Alicia. He shifts his weight a bit as she starts to end the call.

Alicia turns the phone off and slips it into her pocket, glancing over to 
  Malachi again with a slight shrug. "Sorry.. Um... another cub wanting to 
  know if they can snag some of my time."

In the front rooms, Max looks Aaron over from head to foot. "They got you on 
  puppy-valium or something?" Max queries dryly, perhaps with something 
  complimentary (or dubious) in her tone.

Malachi returns the shrug. "S'okay. What'cha wanna talk about?"

In the front rooms, Aaron blinks. "Puppy valium?"

In the front rooms, Anneka reaches up to brush her sandy hair away from her 
  eyes. "Wasn't me. I just helped borrow a car." She glances over towards the 
  kitchen, then back to Aaron. The bloody smudge on her cheek is a little 
  jarring, against pale, freckled skin.

Alicia sits down at the table with him. "I talked to your dad this morning, 
  kinda let him know you were alright and you aren't hanging around some 
  morgue with a tag on ya' toe. Just said that you are in..bootcamp or 
  something ya'know. He took it well, he's just glad yer' safe."

Malachi nods slowly, gnawing steadily at his thumbnail. "Okay. ...Okay, cool."

"Ya'know, he really loves ya, I can tell. He looked so freaked out when I 
  first started talking ta' him. Its obvious he's going nuts wondering about 
  you." Reaching over the table, Alicia taps him on the hand gently, drawing 
  the gnawed up finger away. "If you want ta' write a letter or something to 
  him, I'll deliver it."

In the front rooms, Max shrugs. "Maybe you always wanted t'be 'n asskicker. 
  Maybe you heard the dudes with tail is the ones gettin' some. You just ain't 
  in the super-freak category most puppy's got goin' on." Out of oreos, Max 
  idly nibbles on her pinky nail. "Sepdet's your doggy-mama. You into her?"

The inner spring that winds Malachi up rachets itself tighter a couple of 
  turns; he tugs his hand away from the Gaian. "Sure, okay."

Alicia watches him for a few moments with a concerned expression. "And if you 
  ever need to talk to someone, I'm here for you also k? I'm kinda like the 
  pack hen or something, whatever Joey called me." Pushing herself up, she 
  smooths down her jeans a bit. "Well.. You take care."

In the front rooms, Aaron nods at Max, a light of understanding crossing his 
  face. "Way I see it, is this - I'm a werewolf... found that out the other 
  day when I changed, and my clothes sort of, well... didn't. There's a bunch 
  of other werewolfs around, who seem to know what they're doing. What'm I 
  gonna do, just go charging out into the city? Besides," he adds, a tinge of 
  embarrassment crossing his face. "I read a lot of comic books. This just 
  seems... cool, to an extent."

"Yeah, sure. Um, you too." Malachi's attention twitches away -- first toward 
  the front rooms, then toward the windows and the view outside.

In the front rooms, Anneka glances towards Max. "I wasn't too 'fraid. Just at 
  first, when folks started changin'." She grins at Aaron. "'s a good way of 
  lookin' at stuff. An' my clothes popped, too-- Guess it's kinda like 
  sheddin' skin or somethin'."

In the front rooms, Max's smirk turns to genuine, if brief, laughter. "Shit. 
  You def'nitely got the Gally thing goin' on. You gonna add little captions 
  when you fight?" She kicks a leg up in the air and gestures with her 
  fingertips at her mouth and then splaying out, "Ka-POW!"

Alicia glances over towards the front rooms to where the others are, then 
  looks back to Malachi. ".. Yah.. have fun an stuff too. Try and smile once 
  in awhile. It increases face value." With that, she heads out the back door, 
  letting it click behind her softly.

In the front rooms, Max glances up at Anneka and punches her lightly and with 
  some apparent affinity in the bicep. "You ain't no typical puppy, 
  Streetfish." She takes in the smear from a closer vantage point, brows 
  lifting, but she doesn't ask about it just now.

Malachi rolls his eyes a bit and gets up, slouching back for the living room.

In the front rooms, Anneka rocks a little with the punch, giggles. "I guess. 
  My mom said I'm real littoral."

In the back of the house, Alicia slides open the door in the kitchen, passing 
  through into the back yard.

Max casts a bemused, dubious look up, sidelong at the philodox. "You ain't 
  tossin' no garbage s'far as I's seen."

Anneka cants her head a bit and reaches up to rub the bridge of her nose. 
  "Why'd I be tossin' garbage?" Now she looks bemused.

Max waves after Aaron as he leaves. "Later, Kapow." Then to Anneka, "/You's/ 
  the one talkin' about litter 'n shit." Then she asks more quietly, "What's 
  with the blood?"

Anneka draws her head back a bit and crosses her arms. "Littoral, not 
  litterin'. It means I like th'beach 'n stuff. 'Cause I do." She blinks 
  twice. "What blood?"

Malachi loiters in the entrance to the living room, arms folded.

Max grunts. "What /ever/." She brushes her knuckle against her own cheek in 
  the same spot where the blood is on Anneka's then glances to Malachi. "Yo, 
  Spongester. You got any shit you wanna know?"

Anneka reaches up and rubs at her cheek, then draws her hand away to look at 
  the dried blood on her fingertips. "Oops. Lunch."

"How many tribes are there?" asks the cub. He adds, with a grimace, "An' my 
  name is /Malachi/."

The sound of a shitty engine roars up from outside, gravel sputtering beneath 
  tires. The car cuts out, and there's a shot of backfire.

Anneka looks to Max, then off towards the door. She straightens up a bit, her 
  grin getting wider.

Max shrugs, swinging a foot where it's hanging over the chair arm. "Dude. You 
  got so many names I ain't even /tryin'/ to keep up. You needed a puppy name, 
  you got one." She, too, glances to the windows, before looking back to 
  Malachi. "The history 'n the math, that's Zee's area. You know... the badass 
  chica who was tellin' you 'bout all the laws. She rocks that house." She 
  begins to count off silently on her fingers. ".. ten ... eleven..." She 
  frowns. "I dunno. There's Boners 'n there's Get. Walkers 'n Striders. Fianna 
  'n Furies 'n Gaia-Babies. Wendi's 'n Ukkies 'n Lords. Fangs..." The ragabash 
  frowns. "What else, Streetfish?" She casts a look up to Anneka. "Oh! 
  Gazers." She's still frowning, unable to recall the Red Talons.

Anneka reaches up to brush her hair away from her eyes with both hands. "Red 
  Talons, too." She blinks. "I don't think I know any Stargazers!"

Heavy steps clobber up the porch. The knocks at the door come with an 
  especially nasal,"Special delivery!"

Malachi shifts his weight, his irritation visible. His attention shifts toward 
  the door. With a frown, he glances back to Max and Anneka. "Should we get 
  that?"

Anneka starts giggling, quiet. "I think someone's at the door." She pushes 
  herself off from the chair and clomps her way over, her shoes an echo of the 
  steps outside. "What're ya deliverin'?" She hasn't opened the door just yet.

Max's eyes are sparkling as she looks to the door, not getting up. She doesn't 
  seem put out by Malachi's dark mood.

"A package," snorks the nasal reply, exaggerrated like a male version of 
  Ghostbuster secretary Janine.

Anneka reaches up to draw her fingers through her hair. She squints. "Is it 
  for anyone?" She creaks the door open a few inches, peeks outside. 
  "Hiiiiiii-- Um." She straightens up a bit, tries to draw the growing smile 
  from her face. "Uh-huh. Who's it for?"

Outside, a wholesome and handsome UPS fellow stands. His brown uniform is as 
  crisp as a stale piece of toast. His black socks swallow his knees in 
  nerdiness. His khaki shorts swish anxiously. "It's for you," is whined. A 
  pen is handed through the door crack. The suddenly wicked grin happens just 
  like that. "You can sign on the line, baby!" young Mr Madison hoots, tearing 
  his starched shirt open like tissue paper as he pushes his way in. His shirt 
  whaps Anneka when he swings it around wildly over his head.

Max is now full out grinning. "Like you got a package to deliver," she tosses 
  door-ward, teasing. The ragabash catcalls, loudly.

Anneka laughs and grabs onto the shirt. "Hey! Where'd you get this?" A pause. 
  "Don't wanna know. Hi!" She looks down at Nevada's socks and wraps her arms 
  about her middle, laughing bright and loud.

Malachi blinks owlishly, watching. He's probably the only one in the room not 
  grinning.

In the back of the house, Rusty steps into the dining room through the sliding 
  glass door.

The UPS teenager dances and struts around the room, trying not to be too 
  disappointed at finding no vaguely pole-like structures to mink around. This 
  does not stop him from throwing the uniform, piece by piece, at the two 
  Gnawer ladies. He's dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and denim shorts beneath, a 
  choke chain jangling around his neck. "I caught me a mail man," he boasts. 
  "A-fucking-roo! So this the new kid awhat?"

In the back of the house, Rusty gets a Guinness from the refrigerator, and 
  pops the cap on it, before strolling into the living room.

Malachi shifts his weight on the couch, hunching his shoulders against the 
  back cushions. "Hi," he mumbles.

"An' took all th'wrappin' off, too." Anneka peers at the shirt, giggling as 
  she stretches it out. It could probably fit over her, windbreaker and all. 
  It does, in fact.

Rusty arches an eyebrow at the odd goings-on, and takes a swallow from his 
  bottle. He nods to the newcomer. "Hi there."

Max wolfwhistles, aptly. "Hatchet, you stud. Whatcha doin' out here in the 
  middle of bum-fuck-forsaken-acres?" She then glances to Malachi. "You ain't 
  met Sponge? He graduated from the cathedral to the Farm."

Malachi scowls at Max. "Will ya stop callin' me that?"

Rusty arches an eyebrow, and grins. "Sponge?"

"Na," the blond replies with a cut of his head. "He was the one what did that. 
  Lickety split too. I never saw a guy undress that fast! Maybe coz a the 
  whole I'm ganna shoot ya, foo, thing, but holy shit I was just fuckin' 
  around, the pussy. Nobody ever died from a squirt gun, an if they did, they 
  fuckin' deserved it, 'sall I'm sayin--" Like a turn on a dime, he answers 
  Max,"I heard the stork brought us a kid or some shit. Wannid to have me a 
  look." Nevada look Malachi up and down, his stare somehow very blank, his 
  eyes dull as nickels. "What moon are ya, little man?"

Malachi pushes off the couch. "My name is Malachi, or Mal, or 
  Bites-Everything, or Biter. Not 'Sponge'. That's fuckin' stupid." He cuts 
  his eyes toward Nevada briefly, and adds, "I'm full moon, 'n whatever they 
  tell you, I am /not/ a Bone Gnawer."

Rusty takes a gulp from his bottle. "What are you, then?"

Anneka tilts her head and plucks at the shirt. "Hope y'didn't drive here in 
  the truck, too." She quirks a corner of her mouth up, then glances outside. 
  Just to make sure, perhaps. She's quiet, her voice not carrying far as she 
  pokes her head out the door to look out at the porch and the lane. "Y'know, 
  if y'keep pushin' at not wantin' something, that's just what th'world gives 
  t'you, sometimes."

Max turns her attention to Malachi and puckers. Then she smirks a little. 
  "He's fulla /somethin'/." she tells Nevada. "No frickin' doubt."

Malachi pulls a face at Anneka. "Yeah, an'--" He cuts off at Max's remark and 
  grits his teeth. "Fuck it. Just fuck it." That said, the cub turns and makes 
  a beeline for the back door; Rusty's question gets lost in the process.

Barnyard
The lane wends its way back and around the farmhouse to here, where it widens 
  into a broad, grassy sward contained only by the woods which encircle it on 
  three sides. Buildings break up the purity of the landscape: an open-sided 
  structure which serves as a garage and the big barn, empty of livestock, to 
  the east. A good-sized vegetable and herb garden furrows the land south of 
  the barn, while a pyramid-like pile of rocks, of similar consistency to the 
  gravel of the lane, rests a few yards south of the garage.
North of the buildings, the fields have long been fallow, hastening a 
  conversion from farmland to natural prarier. A sliding glass door allows 
  admittance to the farmhouse, the interior obscured by Levolor(tm) blinds in 
  a wood-grain pattern. The lane leads out around the house to the southwest. 
  The discerning can just barely pick out the beginnings of a faint path into 
  the woods towards the southeast.

Anneka swings the back door open far enough to let herself out, then flops 
  down on the stairs. She crosses her arms, loosely.

Malachi is heading for the barn. Fast, though not quite running. It's hard to 
  tell, but the kid looks a little bigger, a little hairer; for certain that 
  his fists are clenched white-knuckled tight.

Big Red Barn
The barn is built in the old style, a vast three level structure that is 
  greater in height than a mere three stories, actually closer to five. Great 
  wooden posts support the weight of the upper levels and roof, sunk into the 
  hard-packed dirt floor of the first level like a sparse forest of regularly 
  spaced, naked trees. The stalls and flagstones which once were here have 
  been torn out to leave a rather open area where even crinos Garou may roam 
  freely without fear of running into anything but the supports or the walls 
  or the ladder at the back which allows access to the other two levels.
The first two levels are relatively open to each other, the second being only 
  little wider than a catwalk going around all the walls but the front one, 
  which has massive, twenty foot tall doors set into it. The third level is a 
  true second floor except for a place cut out that allowed hay to be tossed 
  down to the ground floor when the farm was actually worked. Now, it is a 
  hayloft where Garou can sleep outside of the house.

Anneka drifts in after Malachi. She's shed the windbreaker and the brown UPS 
  shirt, and her hair is a wild, tangled mane about her head. She's taller 
  now, a good six inches taller, and her teeth are sharper than they have a 
  right to be. But, she sets herself down on one of the haybales. She's not 
  quite looking at the boy, though her eyes are sharp.

Malachi, oblivious, storms to the nearest support and begins slamming his 
  fists into it, cursing to make a sailor fall down and die. The stream of 
  obscenity and violence goes on for several minutes -- until the cub finally 
  exhausts himself and steps back, breathing hard.

Anneka remains where she is, crouched on her haunches on the haybale, watching 
  without quite watching. She could be looking at the catwalk above, at the 
  wall opposite her. The invictive washes around her, raises a brow a bit.

Malachi sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his arm as he turns around. 
  Upon spotting Anneka, he frowns. "Whattya /you/ want?"

"That was good," Anneka says, her voice quiet and even, though with the wolf's 
  edge to it. "You got out here, an' you got th'rage out, without makin' a 
  mess." She glances up towards the shadowed roof. "It's your moon, an' you 
  still did. That's cool."

Malachi has a face like he's swallowed something slimy and bitter, and the 
  taste is lingering. "Yeah, well..." He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his 
  pockets. "They probably woulda locked me inna fuckin' basement again if I'd 
  freaked in there."

The barn doors creak open, quietly. A blond head pokes in, before Nevada steps 
  inside.

"There's places where it's pretty bad t'change. Farmhouse is one of 'em." 
  Anneka turns her gaze to Malachi, her eyes bright and yellow-green. 
  "There're lotsa places where changin's th'worst thing to do, ever. So, you 
  don't." She doesn't turn her head when the door opens, though she takes a 
  breath, sniffs once.

"Yeah, yeah, protect th' Veil 'n all that shit." His mood still sour, Malachi 
  glances toward the new arrival and regards him suspiciously.

Anneka nods. "Yeah. So, we 'gree on that." She keeps her gaze on Malachi. 
  "There's another thing, too. 'Bout th'name you got. Name're important t'us. 
  We get 'em when we do somethin' cool an' when we don't. Sometimes we aren't 
  gonna like 'em. Y'can hate it, let it turn y'up, or y'can let it roll off 
  you. If th'name doesn't stick, it won't, an' there'll be another y'might 
  like more."

"Came ta join the hoe down," the Galliard says, ambling in and flopping down 
  on a haybale. "So boss. This all the weirdest shit you ever heard in your 
  life or what?"

"I got one, though," Malachi points out. "What's her name, 'Licia. Was her 
  idea. Yer friend /knows/ I don't wanna be called somethin' stupid like 
  fuckin' 'Sponge', so either she's a fuckin' retard or she's tryin', /tryin'/ 
  t'piss me off 'n make me fuck up." To Nevada, he just shakes his head once, 
  sharply. "Th' /weird/ shit don't piss me off."

Anneka nods slowly. "Maybe. She's a raggie, an' 'specially 'round now, or on 
  her moon she'll do it. 's part of what she is. An' it's part of what you are 
  t'get real riled 'bout a lot of stuff. You're Ahroun. An' if you let th'name 
  bug you, you'll keep hearin' it. It's a test, kinda. Seein' how strong your 
  head is." She glances towards Nevada, a corner of her mouth turning up in 
  the faintest of smiles.

"It's her holy duty from Gaia to be a real pain in the ass," the street youth 
  says. "It'd be like blasphemy or some shit if she wasn't fuckin' wit ya all 
  the time." He leans back on the bale, kicking his bare feet in the scattered 
  hay. "Beat her up or somin'." He starts to grin. Friendly violence in a 
  Hawaiian shirt.

Malachi arches his eyebrows at Nevada, taken aback by the advice. "Y'think I 
  should?" He cuts his gaze toward Anneka and back again. "Thought that was 
  against th' rules 'r somethin'."

Anneka pulls her shoulders into a shrug. "You can't challenge her. Cubs can't 
  challenge each other, or their elders. Fightin's different. You can fight 
  someone without challengin' them, if you're sparrin' or somethin'." She 
  draws her mouth up in a smirk. "An' if you want t'fight, you can." She 
  settles back on her haunches. "That's part of how we learn t'fight /it/, by 
  testin' each other."
Anneka cants her head. "'Cept, there's one thing. Fightin's part of what She 
  made us for. It's not th'only thing She made us for, though. If you let 
  th'likin' for it eat you, it will."

"Huh," says Malachi. He turns his head to stare at the wall that's in the 
  vague direction of the house. Then, frowning, he turns back to Anneka. 
  "What's that s'posed to mean?"

Anneka stands up, balances on the edge of the haybale. She even lifts a foot, 
  wobbles back and forth. "It's balance. You're Garou, you've got rage. 's 
  good, it's what you're supposed to be. But if you let that rage own you, 
  then--" She topples off the 'bale, lands with a thud on the ground. "You'll 
  fall."

"Rules? Kid. The only rules you got to worry about is the Litany. It's our Law 
  of the Jungle kinna' shit. Submit to those higher in station." Nevada bucks 
  his head. "But you're an Ahroun cub, kid. You're s'posed to be scrappin' 
  with us. We teach ya how to fight. We ain't fuckin' Care Bears wit' giggles 
  an hugs an rainbows. We're big bad wolves." His tattooed arms fold across 
  his chest. "All those stupid human rules... forget 'em. Humans is too 
  worried about people likin' 'em an' judgin' em an too chicken shit to take a 
  stand for somin'. They don't let loose, y'know. Keep it all in 'em. Why they 
  act like shits some time. All that nasty has gotta go somewhere. But us. 
  We're sticks of fuckin' dynomite."

Anneka grins and stands, glances from Nevada to Malachi. "Yup."

Malachi frowns thoughtfully, weight shifting from one foot to the other. You 
  can almost see the gears turning inside his head, carefully chewing on what 
  he's hearing. His only reply, though, is a muted, "Huh."

The Galliard chews on a piece of straw. "It'll all make sense," he says. 
  "Everythin' will. Takes awhile to get outta the human monkey shit. How long 
  since you was nabbed?"

Anneka crouches back on the haybale, her glance to Nevada even and serious 
  before she looks back to Malachi. She cants her head a bit.

Malachi shrugs. "'Bout a week."

"Then you must be good, if yout here already." Nevada tosses a handful of hay 
  in Anneka's direction. "But Gnawers don't come out here too much anyways to 
  begin wit. We're city types. My name's Nevada. I'm a Gibbous moon, which 
  means I'm supposed to tell stories an sing an dance or some shit."

"Storytellers, yeah." Malachi frowns. "But I ain't a Bone Gnawer. I ain't a 
  fuckin' 'city type'."

"Didn't say you was, kid." Nevada chews on the straw. "Word is you didn't have 
  no fetch. Which is a spirit tag sorta thing. So we don't know what you is, 
  but we'll look out for ya, for now. S'what my tribe does, watch out for 
  people. An' beat the shit outta the people what deserve it."

Anneka turns her head a little, aims a sidelong glance at Nevada. Then she 
  stands, hopping down from the haybale with a thump. "Well, /I'm/ a city 
  type--" She grins at the Galliard. "Can I get a ride back?"

Malachi grunts by way of reply and looks upwards, toward the third floor loft. 
  "I'm gonna go up there," he announces, to no one in particular. "I think 
  sleepin' in the house tonight'll drive me bugshit."