It is currently 18:24 Pacific Time on Tue Oct 16 2001.
Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (3% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 52
degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The
barometric pressure reading is 30.13 and steady, and the relative humidity
is 87 percent. The dewpoint is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)
Shore Around Half Moon Pool
The shadowy canopy of evergreens recedes here, opening into a small clearing.
The grass underfoot is a vibrant young green, luxurient and seemingly soft
to the touch; small flowers, some purple and others blue or yellow, add to
the spread of color. Immediately to the east, the ground rises into a small,
rocky outcropping, at the base of which stands a large pool of crystal clear
water; the barest rivulet of a stream wends its way south and west from the
pool across the clearing, losing itself in the forest. This whole area has
about it a sense of peace and silence; the air is cool and fresh, the scent
of the flowers pleasant, the colors of the forest in seemingly perfect
balance. Anything not pristine or natural seems almost a world away to you
here.
The half-moon shaped pool lies just to the east. A faint trail seems to follow
the little stream southwest into the forest.
Irene smiles at her tribemate. "I had heard about Megan from Little Mother."
She glances to Dreams-Deadly, watching her for a long moment. "Hello."
Adam smiles, just so, but doesn't fake the mild confusion. "Little Mother," he
wonders aloud, before turning and nodding respectfully to the red-furred
lupus. "If I remember right, this is one of the aforementioned Megan's
pupils?"
Salem pads out of the forest in lupus form, a tall black wolf with one blind
eye. He shifts smoothly to human form upon his arrival, brushing off a bit
of stray forest debris that clings to his jeans.
[Adam]
It's as if a model stepped out of one of those teen heartthrob magazines, and
stands breathing before you. Standing at 6'3" with a track runner's
physique, this teenager stands straight with his hands in the pockets. His
face is flawless with high cheekbones, a small nose, and not a blemish to be
seen. His hair is sun-bleached blond, darkening at the roots, and falls just
above heart-stopping, cornflower-blue eyes. He appears to be in his late
teens.
His clothes are new, just out of the Eddie Bauer shopping bag. He's wearing a
pair of khaki slacks above sturdy Timberland boots, and the edges of a pair
of gloves can be seen peeking out of the pockets of a black-colored ski
jacket, the inside lining red in color. Under the jacket can be seen a
maroon wool sweater.
[Irene]
Long legs proudly declare the African heritage of a woman with an objective
dark gaze. However, muscles borne of running do not seem to weigh Irene down
when she moves; fleet and dark-skinned, she traverses wild spaces with the
ease and ambition of someone who has spent a lifetime in them. Her hair is a
mass of tiny braids that, loose, would just reach her shoulders. She wears
it parted on one side and pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her dark
complexion is clean and wholly natural save for the lip balm she religiously
keeps in her pocket.
Clothing serves function: dusty blue-jeans with both butt and knees long ago
stained dark with earth and grass; a slate gray tshirt with some faded
lettering across the right front and a circular image across the back; a
coarse, South-American style, over-the head sweater, the weatherproof sort
that hangs just past the hips. She owns a pair of lightweight workboots (not
nearly the quality of hiking boots) that she, more often than not, reviles
in favor of her thickly calloused bare feet. On her right thumb she wears a
gold ring inscribed with the ancient Greek key pattern.
[Dreams-Deadly/Layne]
Ribbons of fire dance throughout the darker, rust-red fur of this wolf
bitch, highlighted by silvery guard-hairs spersed randomly across a summer
coat. Smears of black mark long, wolven features like warpaint; they splash
her underside, tail, and riddle her limbs like shadows sprung upward from
the earth that grabbed ahold in passing.
This creature moves with a natural, unpracticed grace; from the looks
of it, she's spent years in these wilds--prowling, hunting, running--doing
as wolves will do. It is the strange coloring of her eyes, then, that seems
quite unnatural: a vivid, hazel-blue set within dark, angled sockets. They
glimmer with mocking cynicism overlaid by an animal intelligence that, upon
closer inspection, doesn't seem very animal-like at all.
Dreams-Deadly shifts in the sand, until she's no longer wolf, but woman seated
crosslegged by the fire. "Evening," she answers Irene. To Adam, she
confirms: "Was. Yeah."
[Layne/Dreams-Deadly]
There's still a darkly brooding look to those shadowed, hazel-blue
eyes, but it isn't without the occasional flash of pearly whites in a grin
that any pixie would envy. Those who know her true nature (woof, aroo) might
find Layne's remarkably catlike and mercurial moods amusing. In passing, she
exudes something like indifference. She seems wary, untrusting, as if
beneath the usual Devil-may-care attitude, a part of her has hardened on the
inside, hidden away. This tends to make her appear a bit older than all of
her nineteen years...
'European' best sums up her physical appearance: long features, long
limbs...blonde hair, too, albeit shot through with bold streamers of black
and lilac dye. She's got a good tan; not the kind one tries for, but a tan
that speaks of long hard hours out-of-doors under the sun. A pale, spiderweb
scar stands out against the bare bicep of her left arm in almost shocking
contrast.
She's wearing a faded, black sleeveless tee with a washed-out insignia
scrawled across the front, which--from the looks of it--once glittered gold.
The bottom of her shirt falls short of her hips, where a pair of dark, low
rise boot cut jeans and wide belt reveal a belly-ring and, behind, part of a
tattoo: a Celtic knot in a circlet of ivy. When in the city, she seems to
favor a pair of thick-soled leather boots--she's almost always barefoot,
otherwise. As far as jewelry goes, Layne is obviously fond of her piercings:
little hoops line either ear, and there's one in her right eyebrow. An
ecclectic variety of rings encircle the fingers of either hand, not to
mention the black leather wristband and the matching one she wears around
her neck like a collar.
Irene's sharp gaze makes up for its evaluative cast with a sort of
disconnected warmth that may stem from curiosity. She sways a bit toward the
other Gaian while turning toward the Fianna. "I do not recognize you from
Moot, but that could be because I was late." She offers, perhaps
repetitively, "Irene, Runs-the-Line. Child." The succinct version of her
introduction, an inquiry in and of itself. The tall, dark woman's gaze
flickers to Salem as he arrives and shifts before turning back to Layne.
Adam turns his head as he hears the sounds coming from the woods. He peers, a
little closely, to greet the stranger. He pauses for a moment, and nods.
"Evening," he says. "I'm not sure we've met."
Salem smooths down the front of his shirt; he studies Adam for a moment, all
cool reserve, and then nods. "Nor I you. But then, I didn't visit the woods
often when I was last in the area." His eye flicks to Irene and Layne,
including them as he introduces himself. "Salem, of the Glass Walkers."
Layne's mouth quirks at one corner and she slides her arms behind her, rocking
back onto palms. "I was also late, unfortunately." An edge in the Fianna's
tone suggests a cause beyond her control. "Layne to some, Ivy to others.
Dreams-Deadly when needed," she offers the new Gaian, including Salem with a
curious look and tilt of the head.
Adam nods quietly, not recognizing the Glass Walker's name, but the mention of
'last in the area' does get his interest, as he files that away. "Adam,
called Dies-for-Others. With the Children of Gaia, Cliath, Guardian, son of
Wyvern, and Groundskeeper of the Sept." He ponders something for a moment
before turning to Layne. "Could you Howl, to inform those not here yet we're
about to begin?"
Irene finds a half-decayed log somewhat near the fire to settle upon,
stretching her long legs out in front of her. Her lips quirk upward a trifle
at Layne's self-introduction. "Pleased to meet you both." She glances back
to Adam, not at all uneasy in her next question. "How do you run your moots,
Adam?"
Salem inclines his head. He gives the ground a rather dubious look before
sitting down, cross-legged, upon it.
Back to wolf for Layne, then...at least long enough to announce the moot's
start. She lifts her muzzle and howls long and loud:
From Shore Around Half Moon Pool, Layne can be heard to howl, ~Philodox of the
Walk gather, now. 'Round Half Moon Pool...~
Salem leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees and fingers steepled
together. Apart from a touch of expectation -- not to mention curious -- his
face is unreadable.
Adam smiles at this, once more. "Excellent," he says to the Fianna, pleased
with what he heard. It's now that Irene gets her answer. "This first time,
by the seat of my pants and what I remember of earlier Moots," he says,
gaining some confidence. "Megan used to do this by rote, so I'm working in
that pattern. Those of us here have made introductions, so that's worked
out, and we'll ask when others arrive." He takes a breath. "Normally, this
time is set for announcements. For myself, I recently failed my Challenge
for Fostern against Rides-the-Wave-of-Fire, of the Stargazers."
Irene tips her head to one side as she listens, her gaze unwavering upon Adam
as he answers. A moment of weighing between ceremony and curiosity, then
Irene nods silently, glancing down to her bare, most likely chilly toes.
Back to Adam.
Irene asks directly, "Is that a discussion point or simply an announcement?"
Adam shakes his head, mentally kicking himself for not being clear. "An
announcement," he says, keeping it simple. "If any of you have anything
about your own accomplishments, feel free to tell us."
Irene speaks up, including Layne and Salem in her news. "My chiminage involves
updating and reconditioning the farm's garden. I've been transplanting some
herbs I brought with me from Western Eye in pots in the barn and I plan to
Awaken them for use in Talens this winter as needed."
Salem nods, his expression interested at Irene's announcement, then
straightens and says, "Well. For myself, there's little to say. I've been
back for only two weeks, if that."
Again, Irene seems to stave off a question, this time in Salem's direction.
She opens her mouth, glances to Adam, and closes it again, deferring to his
format.
Layne, settling back into homid, focuses on Adam as he tells of his failed
challenge, then to Irene when she speaks of her chiminage. There's a
respectful pause before the Fianna says, "I've been busy in the city,
setting up a safehouse of sorts..." The Glass Walker gets another curious
look. "When were you here last?"
Adam smiles, seeing the others start to talk. He's about to ask a question,
but Layne beats him to it. He doesn't sit, now, but is curious.
Salem tilts his head to look at Layne. "Two years ago." He pauses a beat,
looking thoughtful. "Longer, really. I left late in '99. I was, however, an
Ahroun at the time."
Irene settles her hands on either side of her on the log, her attention
sliding from Fianna to Walker. "What brought about the change?" she asks,
not at all sheepish about asking the obvious question.
A brief flicker of distaste passes across Salem's features, but he seems to
have prepared himself for the question. And answers it coolly: "A need for
change. The road I was on was... not a good one." The Glass Walker does not
look willing to go into further detail.
Adam listens, and his shoulders raise at the response, feeling the tension
there. "Understood," he says, quiet. "It's rare that Garou choose another
path, but that's your private decision."
Layne sends a pillar of amber sparks into the air as she drops another log
onto the fire. After a moment, she comments, "Ah. I know folks who've gone
/from/ halfmoon to something else. But never /to/ it."
Salem nods to Adam, looking rather thankful, and gives Layne a wry look. "No
one has ever accused me of choosing an easy path."
Irene's attention tips back to Layne and she smiles slightly, the sparks
reflected in her dark eyes. "Is the half moon path difficult?" The tone is
casual, somewhat capricious, but serious in spite of itself.
Adam smiles wryly at Irene's question. "That's a matter of opinion," he says.
"I know a few Garou who have said that the halfmoon are 'pansy lawyers,'
while others have said that our Auspice, straddling both the light and the
dark of the moon, is the most difficult, in the balance we must maintain."
He looks heavenward, slightly innocent. "Granted, that last was From Megan,
who was a Philodox, but I bet it is an opinion based on being inside and
outside the circle, in respect to the Garou with the opinion."
Salem purses his lips at Irene. "I'd been an Ahroun almost half my life, and a
Philodox for six months, if that." He spreads his hands and adds, in a
quieter tone, "I'm still... getting used to the role. Learning new habits."
Irene shifts her seat a bit, leaning foward and repositioning her legs so that
she can rest her forearms on her thighs. She teases in her tribemate's
direction, "Leave it to Adam to make it sound good and make sense." She
shares an amused look with the other Gaian before looking to Salem. "I'd
argue that you may have the clearest perspective here, Salem. Fewer
instinctive assumptions."
Salem arches a brow at Irene. "If you say so."
Layne grins crookedly and fleetingly at Salem. "Easy is dull." In response to
Irene, the Fianna gives a loose shrug. "All paths are the same, from what
I've found. Depends on how you walk them. Don't think being a Philodox is
any more difficult than being...mm, a no moon."
Adam hmms, thoughtful. You can almost see the smoke. "Interesting point.
Salem, you have perspectives of the Halfmoons inside and outside the
Auspice, now. I'd eb curious, soemtime, to hear your take on matters." He
perks up, as another thought hits him. "Oh, there was something else I
remembered."
Irene's eyes dance. "You're no fun, Walker." To Adam, "Are the halfmoons here
not interested in meeting?" She quiets as Adam speaks.
Salem's expression grows cold for a moment at some thought triggered by Adam's
words. That moment, though, is brief, and he eyes Irene with a sardonic
half-smile. "I'm _never_ any fun."
Adam purses his lips. "As Layne puts it, a matter of opinion," he says, makign
sure everyone's included. "Well, Irene, I know Matt said he would be here
late. And, there was another I met recently," he adds. "One Francisco
Delgado, Skyscraper-Stands-His-Ground, of the Glasswalkers, like Salem who is
with us tonight. Mr. Delgado sent me his regrets earlier, due to pressing
business elsewhere this night. But...he is offering Chiminage to the Sept,
which entails the teaching of Rituals, some universal, some specific to our
shared Auspice. I'd encourage you all to seek this young man out, to learn
from him so that he may fulfill his promise to the Sept."
Irene nods minutely, looking to the fire for a time.
"You'll know Francisco when you meet him," remarks Salem. "He makes quite an
impression, visually."
Adam puts a hand up to his mouth and coughs, politely.
Irene's brows raise as she looks from the fire to Salem. "Where would someone
find him most often?"
Salem reaches into his coat. "The Glass Walker 'safehouse'. Most of us can be
found there." His hand emerges with a business card, which he offers to
Irene. "I believe most of the city Garou can show you the way. If you have
difficulty, though, I can be reached at that number."
Layne also wonders about the mentioned Walker's haunts, and listens for an
answer to Irene's question. "Any Rituals in particular?"
Irene pushes forward to reach the offered card, resettling kneeling on the
ground as she looks it over. "Any tribes are welcome, or only under specific
circumstances?" She nods at Layne's question, apparently interested as well.
Salem smiles. It's a charming, smile, really, though the scarring rather
detracts from it. "All tribes are welcome to visit," he affirms.
Adam smiles, seeing communication happen. "And for the new people, if any
Halfmoon comes up with a difficult case, and you need advice, talk to any of
us. Heck, if something comes my way, I'll probably be asking for your
thoughts on the matter."
Layne bobs her head a little in Adam's direction. "So. Matt did say he'd show
late? Wonder if I should keep the fire goin', or just let it die down..."
she says after a particularily long moment of silence. She can't, for the
life of her, seem to think of anything else that needs discussing--and looks
to the others for whatever they might have.
Adam nods slowly. "Another log would be great," he says. "And thank you," he
adds, ever polite. "For one, I haven't been asked to oversee anything
drastic recently, nor caled on to mediate disputes, which I would normally
share with you tonight. Does anyone here have anything they wish to bring up
or discuss?"
Salem scratches thoughtfully at his chin, his expression hooded. Then he
frowns and shakes off the dead mask that was starting to settle across his
features. "Actually, there _is_ something. I bit of... unfinished business
from my last time here."
Layne tosses another couple logs onto the fire, pushing stray embers back into
place with the toe of her boot. She turns her eyes back to Salem when he
speaks up.
Adam raises his eyebrows. "Oh," he asks, way curious.
Salem folds his hands together, index fingers steepled. "As I said earlier, I
left St. Claire late in '99. What I failed to add was that I left after the
local authories performed a raid on the old Rialto theatre. Edge was still a
viable pack at the time, and the theatre is, or was, on their territory." He
pauses a moment, frowning, then continues. "I did not cause the raid, but I
was there, and during the... proceedings... I lost control of myself and
broke the Veil, rather violently." Another pause. "While I faced one of my
elders afterward, agreeing to remain out of town for a time and, ah, to let
him return with my claws, I did not face a half-moon about the matter." His
lips thin. "It may be nothing, but it does bother me on occasion, and it is,
as I said, unfinished business. Which I dislike."
Adam doesn't hide his surprise. "Fuck," he mutters. His mind races in silence,
as he tries to think his way around that.
Salem's expression sours a bit at the response, but he quickly curbs that
reaction. Instead he replies with a dry, "Precisely."
Irene considers Salem with an inscrutible expression. She remains silent.
Adam comes up again. "Edge...they broke up after that, if I remember right.
Skadi's Defiant-Storm of the Get, Barlow, the Gnawer, Kaz, also of the
Gnawers, and...Owen, another Get. AM I right on this, Salem?"
Layne tries to articulate a little more thoroughly, wanting to be certain
she's 'getting' this, at least. "Right. So, ah, you're needing that now,
yes?"
Salem regards Adam evenly. "I didn't keep track of the pack's members after
Morgan and Arlen died. Though I knew Barlow was in it. I was visiting him at
the time of the incident." He glances at Layne. "That's the crux of the
matter. It's been nearly two years since then, after all. However..." A
touch of hardness enters his voice, tightly controlled. "I somehow doubt
that it's been forgotten."
Adam nods, slowly. "Understood. Though, I'd like to speak to any members of
the dead pack, sometime. But, you admit to breaking the Veil, and I'd like a
few days to set punishment, adjusted because of the time since the incident,
and your willingness to settle the matter, which gives you a lot of credit
for honor."
Salem inclines his head slightly. "Thank you."
Layne nods at Salem's explanation, the understanding clear in her expression.
But then she asks, straightforward despite the ex Ahroun's obvious distaste
in the subject, "Why did you come back?"
Salem answers Layne, his voice even. "Because I consider St. Claire my home. I
felt I'd been away long enough."
Adam, after Salem answers, however he answers, speaks up. "And we welcome you
back, Salem." He lets the words hang there for a moment, before talking
again, "Well, one last thing. Megan used to run these twice a year, at the
spring and autumn Equinoxes. I've had it suggested to me by someone else
that we might increase the frequency. Would anyone object to having these
Moots of our Auspice once a season?"
Salem arches a brow. "I've no objection."
Layne nods at that, studying the black-maned man a moment longer before
returning her eyes to Adam. "Not at all."
Adam nods slowly. "Then we will hole one at the turn of the new year, three
months hence." He looks around, a slight glimmer of defeat crossing his
features for a moment. "That was all I had, for tonight. It is not like the
ones that we used to have, I'll be the first to admit, but I hope it was a
positive experience for you."
Salem, for all his bouts of sourness, seems not in the least bit disappointed.
"I look forward to the next."
Layne chooses to stay with the fire until it dies out. "Eh, been so long...I
figure everyone forgot the way to the Pool." She smiles crookedly at Adam.
"You'll have to remind them."
Adam smiles, once more. "I will," he says. "Gaia light your path, siblings of
my Auspice."
"And yours," says Salem, standing up. He inclines his head to Irene and Layne,
then to Adam. "I will be in the city, if you need to speak to me. I am, of
course, at your disposal."
Adam nods. "As a Guardian, I'll have to send for you, but I will, soon."
Salem nods, then departs, taking wolf form for his path back through the
forest.
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