Listening to the Grown-Ups

[hazlogs]

8/8/01

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.

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (71% full).

Malachi is sitting on a haystack, sweating heavily and catching his breath.

A tall stranger pauses in the threshold of the open doorway, allowing her
eyes to adjust to the dimness. A dry sniff can be heard, testing the air,
and she exhales a plume of smoke.

[Tatt]
        Her hair catches the eye before anything else: a ropy fall of
waist-length dreadlocks, died neon orange with a hint of darker roots.
Such a mane is obviously the product of years of growth: knotted and
braided in places, shot through with tendrils of crimson and purple. Here
and there, a few pieces of metal glint dully from the tangle.

        She's no beauty, conventional or otherwise. Standing somewhere
around six-foot, she moves loose and easy in her coffee-colored skin. Her
features are hatchet-faced and hawk-nosed--all prominent angles and sharp
planes, and her figure is no better: she has the rangy, raw-boned build of
a hungry dog, with a loping stride to match. Oddly light brown eyes anchor
her features, flashing topaz above a mouth given to startling long-toothed
grins.

        The brown canvas of her skin is etched with stories: some tattoos
are faded, while others are inked in fresh, raw indigo. They cover every
exposed limb like milemarkers, measuring the distance she's travelled.

        Clothing is utilitarian: a threadbare white t-shirt follows the
angles of her wiry torso, tucked into a pair of jeans that might have been
blue, in better days. Their cuffs are rucked up around a pair of faded
cowboy boots, and black fingerless gloves are strapped around both wrists.


The sweaty kid wrinkles his nose at the smell and looks up, squinting
toward the doorway. "Um, hi?"

Seeker steps inside the barn to see if anyone's around.

"Hola, amigo." The woman's voice grates harshly in her throat, as though
forcing its way past a scar. "Mind if I take a look around?" She stays in
the doorway, giving a faint nod to Seeker before returning her attention
to the kid.

Malachi's body language betrays wariness, a kind of edgy caution. At the
woman's question, he jerks thin shoulders into a shrug and takes off his
glasses. "Ain't my place t'tell ya not to," the kid replies, wiping at his
sweaty face with the tail-end of an already-grubby t-shirt.

Tatt grins with long teeth, exhaling another stream of smoke as she steps
into the barn proper. "You was here first," she points out, giving him an
assessing glance. "Looks like you been runnin' with the devil, hey?"

Malachi puts his glasses back on and sizes the woman up before abruptly
grinning back. "Yeah, guess so."

Seeker says "It's fine, Tatt. We use this barn for training cubs. They can
only shift in here, nowhere else on the farm grounds."

She makes a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat, her grin more
subdued as she paces slowly around the space--tipping back her head to
check the height of the ceiling. "Nat bad," she grates. "Betcha could
throw some crazy parties in here, hey?" Topaz eyes flash humorously
towards Seeker.

Malachi leans back on his hands, feet dangling just shy of the floor, his
own grin fading into a more bemused expression as he watches the two
adults.

Seeker makes a harrumphing noise.

Tatt rolls her eyes subtly, tapping ash from her hand-rolled cigarette
into a cupped palm. "Easy, rhya," she murmurs. "Just crackin' wise atcha."
She focuses once more on the kid, lifting a curious brow. "Got a name,
amigo?"

Seeker says "I heard from Little Bear that Sepdet has gone away for some
time, into the Umbra. I'm not sure when she'll be back."

Malachi lets the unknown names roll over his head. "It's Mal," he tells
Tatt. "Short for Malachi."

"Muy biblical," Tatt points out to the kid with a grin--but her expression
darkens at the mention of Sepdet's name, and she looks sharply at Seeker.
"Just 'gone away', with no word? What about the blood, hey?"

Seeker sighs. "No, no word. She's done this before. What blood?"

Malachi sits up, brow furrowing in curiosity.

Tatt makes a frustrated sound--something akin to a growl. "The fuckin'
/blood/ on the rocks up by promontory, Seeker. You din't hear about it?
There was a fair amount, but no trail leading away from the spot. An' no
signs of her passage Umbraside, neither." The Strider's features are
pulled into a frown, edged with weariness. "An' now you say she's just
gone on a little vacation? Fuck."

"Sounds like somethin' got her," Mal remarks, flicking in his two pennies'
worth of uninformed opinion.

Seeker grits his teeth. "I didn't hear about that, no. Were there any
other scents there around the rocks?"

Tatt nods minutely, with a glance towards the cub. "That's what I'm
sayin', amigo." She focuses on Seeker's question with a frown, lowering
herself to crouch on her haunches as she thinks. "Nada--some more'a
Sepdet's, but it was old, like territory markings. It was like the sky
just swallowed her up."

Malachi glances up at the high ceiling of the barn, looking thoughtful.
"Huh."

Seeker says "I'll look into it. Sepdet can handle herself just fine in the
umbra. She's survived more that what most of the sept has been through.
She once swam through a river of molten silver, for Gaia's sake. She'll be
back."

Tatt snorts dryly, staring at the floor of the barn. "Sounds fuckin'
optimistic, t'me. So you want that we should all sit back and relax, now?"

Seeker shakes his head. "There's not much we can do. It would take too
long to track her down in the Umbra. In the meantime, I'll fill in as
tribe elder."

Malachi turns his eyes away from the ceiling abruptly at Seeker's last few
words.

The woman's features twist in something like distaste, but she nods.
Pulling in another drag of smoke.

Seeker says "Sepdet never does anything without a very good reason. This
place is too important to her to abandon it."

Tatt sits back heavily on the seat of her jeans, pulling her lanky legs
into an Indian-style position. "Right," she grates coldly. "So I'll just
trust in that while she's off gettin' eaten by banes somewhere, hey?
Sounds like a /plan/, rhya." The bitterness in her tone is thinly-veiled.

Malachi's gaze tennis-balls back and forth between Seeker and Tatt.
There's even a hint of suspicion in his thin face when he eyeballs the
former.

Seeker stares at Tatt. "I said I would look into it. I wouldn't want
anyone to think that I don't care about my tribe's *elder*."

"Yeh," she grunts, not meeting the Ahroun's gaze. "That would be bad, if
they did." Tatt takes in a last pull of smoke before stubbing out the
cigarette and stowing the butt her pocket. With a single, fluid motion she
stands, brushing off both hands on denimed thighs. "I should get to work,"
she grates. "City's callin'. Later, amigo," she nods towards Mal. "Rhya."
A glance and a nod are given to Seeker before she heads for the door.

Seeker nods. "Goodnight."

Malachi gives the woman a bit of a wave as she departs.

Tatt leaves the barn through one of the doors.

Seeker glances at Malachi. "I've seen your face on flyers all over the
city. Your parents are looking very hard for you."

Malachi drags his eyes from the door to the tall one-eyed man. "...Yeah.
'Licia told me. She said she talked t'my dad though."

Seeker frowns. "What did she tell him?"

Malachi wrinkles his nose as he sifts through his memory. "Um... That I
was okay, I guess. She said I could write him a letter if I wanted."

Seeker nods to Malachi. "Excuse me, I must be going."

Malachi purses his lips a bit as he nods. "Um, okay."

Seeker leaves the barn through one of the doors.

Seeker has left.