Roughing up the Ronin

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:39 Pacific Time on Sun Jun 22 1997.

Elson Avenue, Downtown
On the western edge of this stretch of road, Eleventh and Twelfth Streets, the 
  neighborhoods are quiet, a quiet of fear more than calm, to judge by the 
  occasional broken glass of a window and other signs of crime or violence. A 
  street or two eastwards, movie theaters, restaurants, and more stores begin, 
  and much further, stretching from Ninth most of the way to Fourth, are bars 
  with rooms above them with stairways to the street, movie theaters of 
  dubious repute, and women in red lace or fishnet strolling along the 
  sidewalks, near the stairways. On occasion, a man is seen, too, flashily 
  dressed with too much jewelry.
Contents:
Raven
Obvious exits:
East  West  South  

Raven's boots ring off the sidewalk in time, her stride measured and paced for 
  a long walk, her dufflebag slung across one shoulder and down to her hip.
Hershey slouches down the sidewalk, her derelict sneakers making almost no 
  noise. She stops short, spotting the Ronin, and grins. Lifting her voice, 
  she calls out, "Yo! Raven!"
Raven's revere is broken, and she slows, two steps, then stops, glancing 
  about. She notes Hershey, but no recognition crosses her face.
Hershey breaks into a jog, catching up to the tall woman. "It's Hershey, 
  Raven. We met at the church, 'member?" And the Gnawer nudges the Ronin with 
  her elbow.
Raven nods, face lighting with recognition, now. "I remember. Forgive the 
  lapse, you look a bit different from then. A new haircut?" She grins, moving 
  out of teh way of another pedestrian's path.
Hershey chuckles. "Somethin' like that. Hope you ain't got plans for tonight, 
  chica."
Raven shakes her head. "Not yet. I was going to check out the park, over by 
  the river. See what it's like."
Hershey lays a hand on the woman's arm and grins. "I gotta better idea. C'mon."
Raven pauses, glances left, then right, then nods. "Lead the way."
Hershey's grin widens as she leads Raven off.

[travel snipped]
[into the sewers]

As soon as they're down, Hershey grabs the Ronin by the arm and drags her off 
  on a mad rush through the sewers. Turn follows turn follows turn, apparently 
  at random, until the hapless Ronin is hopelessly lost.

Sewers: Industrial Sector
If these accessways, crawlspaces, and tunnels have seen service in the past 
  three decades, it was assigned by a vengeful supervisor as a punishment to 
  an unruly utility worker. It's certain that no-one comes here without 
  express orders...the tangled pipes with their coatings of slime give the 
  impression of the digestive tract of some unbelievably lagre creature. The 
  water that passes below the walkways in the largest pipes does not so much 
  flow as ooze, so laden is it with polluted trash from the streets and raw 
  sewage leaked from the ill-tended lines that run above and across it. In the 
  darkness, things move constantly, though it's difficult to picture the kind 
  of thing that would choose this sort of locale as its home.
Tunnels and pipes of various sizes, states of decay, and levels of 
  encrustation with dried and not-so-dried foulness twist in a bewildering 
  maze throughout the city's industrial sector and ghetto areas.

Raven, left with no more time than an initial reluctance, is soon drug, not 
  resisting the Gnawer's pull. Once, she asks, "Where are we going?" but it's 
  more to re-assure herself than get an answer.
"You'll see," is the only answer, as the Bone Gnawer leads the tribeless one 
  deeper and deeper into the stinking tunnels. Clean clothes soon become 
  hopelessly filthy as Hershey's path takes both of them splashing through 
  fouled water and nasty-colored murk.
Raven's utilitarian wear shows it's best feature, durability, as the slime 
  grows. Whatever repugnance she feels is gone, if only because she has no 
  time to react.
Finally, Hershey ducks sideways, dragging Raven into a little side-passage and 
  into a narrow 'cavern'. The concrete walls are cracked, and it's pitch black 
  until Hershey clicks on an old, harsh light bulb. The place is filled with 
  cardboard boxes, rotting and moldy.
Raven, finally, gets time to catch her breath. And regrets it. "Faugh..." She 
  sits, wincing as ... something ... squooshes under her hip. "Was this trip 
  neccessary?"
Hershey pushes some of the boxes around, somewhat blocking the exit out. 
  "Yeah. We gotta have a talk... Lady Brittany."
Raven pauses. "Forgive me, my name is Raven Dechamps. Perhaps you have the 
  wrong person?" The denial is more token than anything, halfhearted at best.
Hershey smirks for a moment, but then the expression vanishes, becoming 
  harder. She makes a gesture toward the far end of the cavern. "Nope. See, I 
  hadda chat wit' one of your ex-Septmates. Alexander. Siddown."
Raven sighs, nodding as she pulls one leg up from where it's been trying to 
  dry, pulling her knee to her chest, arms lazily wrapping about it. 
  "Technically, by speaking in me this way, you're violating the tennants of 
  the Law, you know. I could report you to a Halfmoon."
Hershey folds her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed behind her glasses. 
  "Oh? Which law is that, fuckup?"
Raven says "The law of the Rite itself, as well as sub-passages in the Litany 
  under respecting those beneath you as well as deferrence to a higher 
  station. I could quote these passages, and several others, until Helios both 
  sets and rises again, if you wish." She pauses, here, trying not to sound 
  hard-edged, before adding, "But I don't think it would solve whatever 
  quandry caused you to fetch me in the first place."
Hershey shoves her hands deeply into her pockets and stares at the Ronin for a 
  long time. "Y'know, you make me pretty damn sick."
Raven nods. "I know."
Hershey smirks. "D'you know why?"
Raven lets a long breath come and go, working thoughts through her mind. "I 
  have notions, however..." she sets her chin to her knee, still looking at 
  the Gnawer, any sign of resistance gone, now, "...it would be easier for 
  both of us for you to simply explain why."
Hershey closes the distance between them in two strides and, crouching down, 
  takes the Ronin by the shirt collar, bringing their faces close. "Ya make me 
  sick 'cos ya seem ta think yer still a Fang, only wit'out the 
  responsibilities. I had ya pegged for a princess soon as ya opened ya mouth, 
  bitch." The Gnawer spits directly in Raven's face and rises. "Ya make me 
  sick 'cos even when ya were kicked outta yer tribe, ya didn't even try ta 
  find another. Ya didn't even go to th' Children of Gaia, a' I /know/ they 
  take anybody who's humble 'nuff. Ya make me sick 'cos ya won't even 
  /consider/ joinin' a tribe. Ya fuckin' think ya can be a Ronin an' 
  everything's spiff. Well, ya know what happens to Ronin, bitch?" By the end 
  of this, there's definite menace in the Gnawer's stance.
Raven is taken, her hands moving to Hershey's quickly, eyes flashing for a 
  heartbeat in threat response, but then forced down, the growl dead before it 
  even forms, her grip lightening to non-resistance. With effort, she keeps 
  her voice calm, or mostly so, long enough to reply, "I know quite well, as 
  do those who made me such. Why else do you think they chose this to inflict?"
Hershey narrows her eyes. "How long you been Ronin, birdie?"
Raven's eyes don't waver, but she's busy fighting back her Rage, not trying to 
  be dominant. "Two months."
Hershey notices. Digging a finger into her nose, the Bone Gnawer pulls out a 
  long wet booger and flicks it at her. "Two months. An' you ain't even tribed 
  ta get yourself another tribe, have ya?"
Raven recoils from *that*, shaking her head and wiping, quickly. She snarls, 
  but, again, forces herself back down. She manages, with more anger behind 
  it, now, "NO, I've been too busy surviving."
Hershey sneers. "Surviving. You worthless little shit. You forgotten Gaia, 
  bitch? Or maybe you don't give a fuck anymore."
Raven's grip tightens, trying to get some space, lip curling up in a snarl 
  that can't be held forever. "Or _maybe_ I've gotta do things my _own_ way, 
  instead of _serving_, for once!" She goes so far as to try to wrench the 
  Gnawer's grip away, but no sign of a follow-up behind that.
Hershey lets go, but her hand swings out, fast, in a hard slap at Raven's face.
Raven takes it, head snapping aside, then she moves to counter, snarling deep, 
  not in Frenzy, but reacting instinctively, trying to use her larger size to 
  lunge, to pin the Gnawer's shoulder to the wall, to get _room_ and fight 
  back.
Hershey dodges, ducking low and squirming out of the Ronin's grip, her teeth 
  bared in a feral grin. "Think hard, birdie. Think very, very hard. You die, 
  nobody gonna mourn."
Raven continues the snarl, breathing laboured, but slowing. Seconds tic as her 
  feral edge fades, slowly leaving for the control of her will, adrenaline 
  leaving a tremble in her arms. "You..." she manages, eventually, "... are 
  right, Rhya." She swallows her pride, hard, to lift her chin, exposing... 
  well, exposing the metal, really. "I surrender."
Hershey straightens up slowly from her fighter's crouch - the girl /does/ know 
  how to fight, judging by the way she moves - and nods. "Good. Now siddown 
  again an' listen. Listen hard, 'cos I'm gonna talk to you straight."
Raven sits back, still a glint in her eye, but body pure defference, now. She 
  brushes her bangs back from her eyes, tucking them behind her ear, and nods, 
  staying quiet.
Hershey shoves her hands into her pockets. "Garou ain't made for jus' 
  survivin' an' bein' on their own, doin' things their own way. You want that, 
  you get someone to take the freakin' Wolf from ya." She pushes her glasses 
  up her nose. "An' lemme be frank wit'cha. You ain't got the spine ta be a 
  Ronin. Ya almost cracked right then, an' I wasn't even really tryin'. So 
  here's what I'm gonna tell ya. Ya listening?"
Raven nods, still listening in silence. One hand has moved to her arm, where a 
  bruise has already begun to form.
Hershey pushes her glasses up her nose again. "Get outta the city. Next time I 
  see ya, you better either have a tribe or have lost the Wolf."
Raven shakes her head. "I can't do that. Not allowed."
Hershey scratches at her chin. "How come?"
Raven sighs, lifting her chin again. "See this? All part of the Rite, and the 
  people behind it are far, far worse to go against than a sewer and a month 
  in the city." She lets the Gnawer take a close look, if she wants, before 
  lowering her chin, and adding, "I'm in the city, I'm going to work hard, 
  and, once I've earned the Chiminage I need to make the Caern, I'm leaving 
  for there. Like I said, I don't want to be any more drag on your tribe then 
  I already am. I have a place to live, a job, enough money to slip food to 
  you when you need, but I can't leave withought Chiminage. That's why I need 
  to see Pe... Mr Barlow, and Mr Wilson. Trust me, I don't want to be here 
  even less than you want me to stay, but I've no choice."
Hershey considers this, then nods. "One month, huh?" She shrugs. "Hokay. Let's 
  go see Uncle Pete, then. I know he's been itchin' ta talk ta ya."
Raven nods. "You know the way, down here, Rhya."
Raven, with that, looks ready to walk again, bruise or no.
Hershey nods and kicks the cardboard boxes aside, hopping down back into the 
  main sewer line with a splash. "C'mon, then." And it's another race through 
  the stinking, festering, foul tunnels.

[The Green Room of the Rialto]

The big Gnawer is sprawled out on the couch, a book in his hands--_Moby 
  Dick_--and by the looks of it, an early edition.
Hershey clumps into the old theatre, leading Raven. Both are filthy from a 
  trip through the sewers, and Raven's got a bruise on her arm.
The big Gnawer is sprawled out on the couch, a book in his hands--_Moby 
  Dick_--and by the looks of it, an early edition.
Raven is none too happy about the new collection of smells she's aqquired, but 
  being back on the surface is enough to bring something like a smile back to 
  her face. On seeing Pete, it turns true, but she stays silent, for now.
Pete Barlow looks up from his book, closing it on a thick finger. "Hey Hersh. 
  Who's this..." Barlow looks again at the collared woman, standing slowly, 
  the book left on the couch, closed, unbookmarked. "Who are you?"
Hershey elbows Raven a bit roughly. "It's /her/, Unc. The Ronin I tol' ya 
  about."
Raven steps, or rather, starts to step, inside, if allowed. "A friend." The 
  voice, a mix of Harvard and the Old South, but at least tried to be covered 
  up, is familiar...
Pete Barlow looks over at Hershey with a nod and then back at the ronin. 
  "Brittany?" He circles the woman slowly as if he were a dog checking out a 
  newcomer to his territory.
Raven shakes her head. "The only one I know by that name died two months ago. 
  I'm Raven, Raven Dechamps, a ronin."
Hershey scratches at her nose and watches Pete check out Raven. "I think she 
  still lives on, a bit. Ghosts are freakin' stubborn."
"Bullshit," says Barlow as he looks at Raven from behind her. "You're Brittany 
  Jefferson even if you did punk up yourself and good. What's with with the 
  collar, Britt?"
Raven frets, slightly, a nervous habit that's one of the aforementioned 
  ghosts. She glances to the floor, and the side, muttering vaguely, "... Why 
  do all Bone Gnawers do that? ..." She shakes her head, hardly expecting an 
  answer, then looking back to Pete, asks, "Does it matter overly much, Mr 
  Barlow? No matter who I might have been, before, since rebirth, I'm Raven, 
  and I need your help."
Pete Barlow circles back around to the front. "Rebirth?" The big guy looks 
  over at Hershey with a shake of his head. "Do you know what she's talking 
  about? She get religion or something?"
Hershey casts a scornful look at Raven. "She figures, Unc, that now she's 
  Ronin she ain't got no ties or responsibilities. She's runnin' away."
Raven winces at that, but stays quiet, not interrupting.
"From what?" scoffs Barlow with a snort, rolling his injured shoulder in the 
  process. He looks over at Raven now. "What are you running from, Brittany 
  Jefferson?"
Hershey slouches around behind the Ronin, hands in pockets, her manner 
  deceptively casual.
Raven shakes her head, now allowed to speak. "I'm not running away, but moving 
  forward. When made Ronin, two months ago, my life... ended. Brittany 
  Jefferson is, in all ways, dead. She is no more. Her old deeds, if any, her 
  old crimes, if any, her family, all forgotten. My rebirth began that day, 
  cast out without so much as a shirt on my back, I was released into the 
  world. My path behind me gone, the roads all open before me, it was time to 
  travel. And I did."
The big Gnawer goes back to his couch, sitting down heavily, enough to rock 
  the couch slightly. "So if all the fuckin' roads are open before you, Britt, 
  what the hell are you doin' back in St. Claire?"
Raven shakes her head. "I'm not allowed to say, Rhya." She glances towards a 
  chair, a bit longingly, then adds, "But I won't burden your tribe by staying 
  long. A Walker cub has offered me a place to stay, and I'll be working in 
  Medina Coffehouse, starting tomorrow night."
Hershey snorts from behind Raven. "An' what freakin' good does that do the 
  Mother?"
Pete Barlow laughs out loud as Raven says 'burden your tribe', shaking his 
  head. He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it at Hershey's 
  question, looking at his tribemate for a moment before returning his 
  attention to Raven. He seems to want to hear the answer too.
Raven was afraid of that. She holds her answer until asked by the ELder, or, 
  rather, sees he wants the answer as well, and replies, "In and of itself? 
  Nothing. But the investment, I hope, will achieve much. I need Chiminage, 
  for Guest status at the Wheel Renewed... the Guardians there do not know a 
  Raven Dechamps, after all, and know of Brittany's death. But I have no 
  Rites, no Talens, nothing to offer. Hopefully, you can help me, there. In 
  return for teaching me what I need to craft Chiminage, I offer, as Chiminage 
  to you and yours, my service and loyalty. Whatever you ask, if it is within 
  my power, you will have. It is a large request, even moreso for a lowly 
  Ronin to make, but your tribe has shown me nothing but kindness, so far." 
  Her eeys fall near the end, one hand moving, briefly, to the bruise, but 
  then away, hands lacing together before her, hanging loosely. "If you will 
  not, I understand, and will leave your city without incident."
Hershey moves her eyes toward Pete, letting him answer. He's the Uncle, after 
  all.
Pete Barlow listens with nary an change in his expression through the effusion 
  of her explanation, frowning at the end with a shake of his head. "You ain't 
  gonna last the life of a tse-tse fly in the streets, Brittany, Raven 
  whatever you call yourself now." He leans back on the couch, before looking 
  over at Hershey. "What do you think, Hersh?"
Hershey scratches at her elbow. "I think yer right, Unc. Kinda the way I feel, 
  too."
Remarkably, something in Pete's left nostril seems to get his attention for a 
  moment and he takes the opportunity to deploy thumb and forefinger to 
  extract the offending detritus. As he flicks it across the room at the door, 
  he says, "She's got the Blood, Hersh, of the Fangs in her. I been fed too 
  many times by Fangs not to think that we orta at least give her a can of 
  beans and some advice. You're the half-moon, what do we do with her?"
Raven blinks, glancing not at the action, not directed at *her* this time, to 
  glance back to Hershey. Forgetting herself, she asks, "You're a Halfmoon?" 
  with no small degree of shock, then silences, quickly, and swings her head 
  back around, eyes low, in defference again.
Hershey grins. "I say we make 'er a proto-Gnawer. Kinda like an 
  apprenticeship." She cosk an eye at Raven. "Yeah. I'm a Halfmoon."
Pete Barlow hmms as he looks over at Hershey, lifting himself up off the 
  couch. He walks over and pulls open the fridge, the light silhouetting (sp?) 
  his large glabro frame. "An apprenticeship? That might could work. What you 
  got in mind for her? Can grazing?"
Raven doesn't shudder, but it's a close thing.
Hershey examines her grimy nails. "Can grazin', bus-hoppin', runnin', 
  fetchin', rat-feedin'... ya know, all the shit elders make ya do when yer an 
  able-bodied cub."
Raven looks ready to say something, but swallows it instead.
"Want some chinese, Hersh? Got the General's Chicken and some moo-goo gai pan 
  from last night in here," he says without turning round. Something in the 
  set of his shoulders and the casualness of his question might make someone 
  think he's still mulling over the idea.
Raven mentions, softly, "I can cook."
"Bitchin'!" Hershey wanders off a short distance to scrounge up the proffered 
  food, trusting her Unc to deal with the ex-Fang.
Pete Barlow puts several cartons of chinese food--he must've made a real 
  haul--on the old metalic kitchen table, adding a half-gallon carton of milk 
  and a new package of American singles. "Yeah, you'ld be surprised how easy 
  it was to get them to just give me the food when I'm wearin' the 'big suit' 
  under a full moon." Barlow chuckles and sits down, using a couple old 
  chopsticks that were sitting with pens and pencils in an old can on table to 
  shovel some cold chinese food into his mouth. "Ok. Here's the deal, Raven: 
  you want our help, you become a Gnawer cub for a month. An apprentice. Hersh 
  here is your boss."
"You prove to us that you ain't just gonna be another fuckin' mouth to feed 
  over the next month," says Barlow as he squeezes out some bug juice onto the 
  chicken, "and we'll talk about chiminage and that kinda shit. Deal?"
Raven rolls it around, but not for too long, lest the offer be retracted. 
  "Beggars, as they say, cannot be choosers." She takes a deep breath, then 
  lifts her chin, finally saying, "I accept, Rhya. You are most gracious."
Hershey grins toothily and settles down to nosh.