Silver Fang Chat

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:04 Pacific Time on Sat Jun 22 2002.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (83% full).

McDonald's(#1393RJ)

A small McDonald's which is devoid of any sort of garish trappings. Instead, it seems to focus on fast, friendly service with a smile and good food. Above the counter to the north, you can see the glowing yellow billboard which details the food and prices. Behind the cashiers, a few people can be seen scurrying about near the grill, making drinks or tossing finished burgers down a small metal chute toward the cashiers. Along the side wall, children's high chairs can be seen, each with the grinning face of Ronald McDonald. A wall poster asks you to donate money to the Ronald McDonald House. Opposite the cashier counter are both Smoking and Non-Smoking sections for in-house dining. Fake plastic plants hang from the ceiling and below the skylight in the center of the room is a square wooden basin that rises 3 feet into the air. In the basin are live potted plants, including a rather stumpy tree.

A glass door on the western side of the fast food joint leads back out onto the street.

Contents:

Plaque

Obvious exits:

STreet

From afar, Brigid | Your cell starts ringing.

Long distance to Brigid: Apocalypse picks it up after a couple of rings. "Yo!"

From afar, Brigid's slightly English-sounding voice comes over the line, "Apocalypse? This is Brigid. Sorry to take so long to get back to you."

Long distance to Brigid: Apocalypse's thick New York accent comes through loud and clear, all energy. "Brigid? Hey! Fuckin' A! No prob, cuz, I understan', every fuckin' thing goin' batshit."

From afar, Brigid chuckles, "Indeed, indeed. Where are you at right now? I'd invite you over to the estate for a bit, if you're up for it...just so you can see where those of us who can put up with our Elder tend to meet." Loaded words, those are.

Long distance to Brigid: Apocalypse snickers. "I'm jus' finishin' up dinner at the fuckin' Golden Arches. I'm hip ta fuckin' ride."

From afar, Brigid ooohs and chuckles, "Hey, you got funds to spare picking me up a Quarter Pounder with cheese on your way out? I'll pay you back when I see you. Oh...and do you have wheels or should I snag one of Brit's fleet to come pick you up?"

Long distance to Brigid: Apocalypse says, cheerfully, "Quarter pounder wit' fuckin' cheese, got it, fuckin' Royale wit' cheese for my west coast cousin! Yeah, I got wheels. What's yer fuckin' address, Brij?"

From afar, Brigid rattles off the address for Falcon's Rest, which isn't too long, "You got that? Thanks for the food, been ages since I had -anything- from McDs. See you soon?"

Long distance to Brigid: Apocalypse says, "On my way, as fast as the fuckin' wage-slaves can haul ass!" *click*

Falcon's Rest(#2599RAJLMh)

The large spacious living room of the estate appears to have been decorated to promote comfort. The room strives to remain lighted either naturally with open windows, or artificially with conservative lamps placed on wrought iron and glass end tables.

A beige couch sits before a coffee table similiar in style to the end tables. A loveseat and chairs matching the couch is placed about the room to offer more sitting space.

The hard wood floor is covered with a large oriental rug, and carful attention has been placed on putting the furniture upon it.

House plants are strategically placed about the room, while the windows have a beige scheme to their drapes.

The south of the room can find the study, and guestrooms. The north possesses a hallway that branches into the kitchen, to the left, and a bathroom, right, with the master suite ending it. The east leads to the balcony.

(+view and places enabled here. Non-Garou, please +view Curse)

Contents:

Brigid

Obvious exits:

Outside

Apocalypse's arrival is announced -- nay, trumpeted -- by the thunderous sound of a big bastard of a motorcycle, a cross-country Clydesdale manufactured by Honda. The sound cuts off right outside, and moments later comes a rappity-rap-rap on the door.

"Coming!" comes Brigid's voice from the other side, and then the door opens after the click of the lock being undone. Her white-streaked head pops around the door, and the scent of food identifies the arrival before sight does. "I see they were fast on their feet today." she grins, holding the door open, "Welcome to Falcon's Rest."

Brigid's thick black hair with its matched white streaks at the front is left unbound, its trim edges brushing her waist. Bangs and shorter wisps of hair frame a beautiful, heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, pale ice-blue eyes, and near-luminescent fair skin. A softened, quietly friendly, and often introspective expression graces her face. Slender and muscular, her 5'11" frame is blessed with an hourglass figure and nearly perfect proportions of bust and hip. She carries herself with an air of grace and confidence, power hidden beneath a china exterior firmed through a lifetime of training.

Smooth black pants cling to her hips and thighs, flaring out a bit starting just below her knees. Draped lightly over her arms and torso is a slightly oversized, long-sleeved shirt in jewel blue, it's bottom hem brushing the tops of her thighs. On her feet are dark socks and a simple pair of black shoes that look easy to slip on and off. Her only jewelry is a black cord with a trio of pewter feathers knotted onto it and a set of shiny black studs, three in each ear. Her right arm is held close to her body, enough to look as it is invisibly bound there.

Apocalypse, all five foot six and nothing but trouble, grins fit to split her face and offers out a still-warm McDonald's bag. "Hot fuckin' damn! Got you some fries ta go wit' ya burger."

Brigid fishes a bit of money out of her pocket and hands it over, the amount covering the food and a nice bit extra. "For the trouble. And no, it's not a tip, I wouldn't insult a cousin like that." she grins widely and exchanges cash for food. "Especially when you are such a bloody lifesaver. I'd almost forgotten what good greasy food tasted like! Come in, come in, how was your trip to get to our little hole in the wall?" she says this with a great deal of fondness, so it's certainly not a disparaging comment.

Apocalypse steps in, crumpling the cash into the front pocket of her jeans. "Poor kid!" Pale eyes flick here, there, everywhere, taking in the decor without surprise; a quirky little grin lingers on her face. "Hole as in here or hole as in the general fuckin' area?"

Brigid snorts softly and grins, "General area. I think it'd take a wrecking crew to make this place a hole in the wall...and Brit would never let that happen." Closing the door behind you, she sorta leads the way towards the living room. "The majority of what you see her is hers, furnishings and all. Being in lots of money does have its privileges, mmm?"

Apocalypse chuckles. "No shit. Uncle Ian an' her must share a fuckin' interior decorator." She scratches at the back of her neck. "The city's pretty fuckin' cool, what I've seen. I mean, it's fuckin' teeny compared to the Apple, but it's got all the shit, huh?" She grins.

Brigid flops down on the couch with as much grace as one can flop, wincing a little at something or other, and sets the bag in her lap. "It's got all the important stuff, yeah. It's not a bad place, really...just needs come cleaning up now and then." :grinning, she settles her right hand loosely in her lap and delves into the bag with her left to fish out fries. "Mmm, salt and grease, two important food groups."

"Fuckin' A," Apocalypse agrees, throwing herself down in the loveseat and hooking her leg over one arm of the chair. "Got some cool fuckin' Gnawers in town, too! I met a couple of 'em, Kaz an' Renee and..." She raps on her forehead. "Kid from the fuckin' battle. Anneka."

Brigid munches down the fries and lets a briefly blissful look cross her face before she returns to talking, "Kaz rocks, I'll agree. I admit, I really only know the latter two by name and face, but that's easy to remedy at some point. Wish more of the others were around to better meet you, but I know at least one who's not likely to set foot in this house unless dragged."

Apocalypse raises a pierced eyebrow. "Oh?"

Brigid nods, downing fries with reasonable alacrity, "My sister, Kristine. She doesn't tolerate our elder, Brittany, right now...especially after something Brit did the other night. Managed to tork off myself, Kristine, and another of us, Valoran. Kristine and I were staying here, and we've moved out. I came back here because I wanted to make sure you knew where this place was, since this is something of gathering place for us."

Apocalypse sucks on her front teeth, listening. "Shit. Sounds like'a fuckin' piece'a work." She grins. "Can't wait ta meet her! So, where ya fuckin' stayin', then? 'Cos, though I hate ta be a fuckin' bother, I _so_ fuckin' need a couch ta crash on."

Brigid laughs and gestures with a fry, "You'd be one of the first, and yes, she is a piece of work. Right now, Kris and I've moved into a house her mother left her in the city. We're still sorting things out, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you stayed with us. Or you can stay here. Brit has more guest rooms in this place than I can count, I swear."

Apocalypse lets her gaze roam, rather theatrically, about the place. "Hmmm." Then she slants a wry, crooked smile at the other Fang. "Ya think I might be a little too much a fuckin' Oscar ta her Felix?"

Brigid snorts around a mouthful and shakes her head, "You'd be surprised. I think everybody is like that in some way. Brit's unique, I'll give her that. I don't claim to know how that mind of hers works, and I don't ever want to know. Actually....I'm kinda wondering where she is....I know she was helping the Sept Alpha with something during last night, but it's like she hasn't been home yet." Looking around, she frowns a little, then shakes some of it off and goes after the burger. She's a little slow about it, but she does manage to get everything done with her left hand. "If you really think you'll clash, then I'm certain Kris won't have an issue with you holing up with us. I'm certain we've got room."

Apocalypse finally notices, or at least enough to call attention to it. "'Sup wit'cha arm?"

Brigid gives a cursory glance to her right, a look that's sort of like 'Oh, you're still there.' and shrugs a little, though the movement makes her wince a little. "Took a silver knife in the back the night the Caern was taken over. Screwed up something inside and it hurts like bloody hell to move my right arm. Some days are better than others in how much I can deal with it...today's just extra bad. Been pushing it a bit too much. Nothing anyone with healing could do much about without being utterly useless for quite a while, I'm sure."

Apocalypse's face pulls into a grimace of sympathy. Squirming around, she manages to slouch further into the chair, pulling one sneakered foot up so she can pick idly at a bit of rubber coming off of the heel. "That's fucked. Battlescar?"

Brigid nods slowly, picking at a bit of the bun pillowed in its wrapper on her lap. "Yes, but one I'm certain I can come to deal with. At least the pain lets me know I made it through alive...it was -very- close." she murmurs that last just loud enough to be easily heard before a scowl twists her features, "Brittany, in her bloody wisdom, ordered me to keep to the back of fights and run if I can. I'm not a cripple, for Gaia's bloody sake." She mutters something under her breath that sounds like it includes the word 'bint', but she doesn't make the majority of that audible. Shaking her head, she takes a few breaths and looks up, apologetically, "Sorry...that last is as sore a point as my scar. Didn't mean to loose that on you."

Apocalypse grins. "Don't fuckin' worry'a 'bout it. Elders, ya know, they get like a fuckin' parent sometimes. Probably jus' fuckin' worried'a 'bout ya. An' hey, I knew this guy in Noo Yawk, Gnawer named Redlight Greenlight, only one fuckin' arm, an' a fuckin' _Ahroun_ besides. Still was out there kickin' Wyrm ass."

Brigid finds herself grinning at that, "Good for him. Brit's a bit -too- overprotective, and I -frequently- wonder where her head is. Moreso after the incident that torked us all off. She made some, to us, improper offers to one of our cubs in return for his agreement to stay out of everything that happened in the Umbra the other night."

Apocalypse's odd-colored eyes widen. "'Improper'?"

Brigid nods after quickly swallowing a bit of burger, "He's supposed to be Rited soon, but she basically offered to make sure that he was Rited before things on the full moon, and position as Beta of the tribe. This within hearing of myself and Valoran, who were frankly left agape."

Apocalypse stares for a moment. Then, "Fuck, what _is_ he, some kinda fuckin' hero from fuckin' beyond time?"

Brigid snorts softly, "I doubt it, though he does have an ancestor that plagues him from time to time." She starts to say more, but blinks a bit as the phone starts ringing in another room, and leans forward to set her food down on the coffee table. "Give me a moment while I see who that is? Don't get many calls, really." she explains, and gets up, hightailing it for the study to get it.

"No sweat," says Apoc amiably. She continues picking at her sneaker, eyes roaming the room.

Brigid's voice carries rather well from the study, "Hello? Yeah, was kind of wondering where she'd hied off to. Where is she?" Long pause. "Oh...shit. Bloody hell..." Another pause. "Gotcha. Thanks for the info. I'll be here."

Apocalypse's attention perks up at the 'shit'. She unhooks her leg and sits up, alert.

Brigid puts down the phone with a click, then picks it up again to make another call. There's silence for a moment, then, "Hey, sis, it's me. I'm going to be at Falcon's Rest tonight. Call or come over when you get this so I can pass some rather bad news." The click of the receiver being set down and Brigid ambles back out, looking rather worried. "Fuck. Bloody fucking hell. This isn't good at all."

Apocalypse isn't smiling at all now, none of that easy cheerful grin. "'Sup?"

Glancing back over her shoulder towards the study, Brigid stifles a growl and walks back over to the couch. "That was Kaz. She found Brittany, and it's not good, not good at all. Kaz is going to get back to me, since we've got planning to do."

Apocalypse's feet are plented firmly on the floor, and she leans forward, hands on her knees. "How fuckin' _much_ not good?"

Brigid drags her right hand through her hair and steels herself against the already mentioned pain from that. "There's a hospital in St. Claire. Hillard Memorial. Nasty damn place. We've cleaned banes out of there on numerous occasions. Nasty shit happens there, and that's an understatement of the fact. That's where she is. Kaz did Questing Stone on her, and that's where she found our Elder. Goddamn it! That place requires as much of an effort as taking back the bloody fucking caern!"

Apocalypse's eyes are wide. "How'd the god-fuck she'd fuckin' end up in a hellhole?"

Brigid shrugs helplessly and sighs, "I have no fucking clue. Honestly. She'd mentioned something about being part of a diversion with Robert, our sept Alpha, but that's the last I'd heard. From what I gather that was unspoken in Kaz's call, Robert's not shown up either. This is -not- fucking good."

Brigid pages to the room: This is doubly bad if it makes Brigid starts cussing. ;)

Apocalypse says, very clear and deliberately, "Fuck." She rakes her fingers back through her hair. "Not fuckin' cool."

Brigid shakes her head and stares briefly at her food getting cold, "No, it's not. I don't know when she's going to call, but I'm staying here since it's a central point. Relay this to whoever comes by. I may not be pleased with Brittany, but no one deserves to be stuck in that blight."

"_Fuck_, no!" Apoc agrees, with vehemence. "Not one'a _Gaia's_, anyway." She hops to her feet. "Lemme get my duffle off'a the bike. I'll keep ya company and shit."

Brigid smiles tightly, "Appreciated. Damn, now I wish I knew how to get in touch with everyone else. I know some of us don't carry phones. I'm lucky I was here to get Kaz's call. Think I need to invest in a cell. Got enough leftover at this point that I could swing it." Now she's rambling, talking more to herself than anyone else and obviously figuring some things out.

Apocalypse manages a wry grin. "They're a fuckin' lifesaver, yeah. Be right back." The New York Garou jogs out the door to fetch her stuff.

Brigid takes a moment to practically wolf down her burger and the last of her fries, making a quick trip into the kitchen for some water to wash it all down. When Apoc comes back in, she calls out, "Might as well offer you what I can here. Want anything to drink?"

Apocalypse returns, lugging a massive denim duffle bag that bulges with clothes and things, and a motorcycle helmet under the other arm. "Got any beer?"

The sounds of rifling around in the fridge answer that question as well as Brigid herself does, "Damn, no. We've got fruit juice, some soda, water, and a couple of bottles of red and white wine. Good years on the latter, though. Given the selection, what's your poison?"

Apocalypse dumps her stuff next to the loveseat and slouches into it again. "God, wine. Ian fuckin' _drilled_ me on proper fuckin' use of wine. Red meat, bird meat, fish meat, _shit_." She grins wanly. "I'll take a soda, if ya don't mind."

"Gotcha. Glad someone remembers that mess, I never paid too much attention on that stuff." Brigid emerges with a couple of bottles of good old Coca-Cola, making sure she's gotten the other woman's attention before tossing the bottle to her. "Got food in there, too, but I don't think either of us are gonna be hungry for a while yet."

Apocalypse catches the bottle and cracks it open. "Nah, definitely fuckin' not." She takes a long swig of cola. "Hey, any word, by the fuckin' way, whether th' Forge worked on those Spiral motherfuckers?"

Brigid retakes her place on the couch, stretching out a bit and kicking her shoes off onto the floor. "Nope, not as yet. Kristine was in a bit too much of an 'owie' state to give me more than basics, and I haven't gotten any updates since then. Good to be in the loop, though."

Apocalypse nods, taking another slug. "Well, hope-ful-fuckin'-ly we got some'a them, or all'a them."

Brigid nods, letting her head loll back, "Sure bloody hope so...would make any other attacks a lot easier if some of the important folks were taken out. That whole 'cut off the head and the body withers' principle."

"Fuckin' A," says Apoc, with another gulp of cola. Her hanging foot waggles restlessly. "Then we slaughter 'em all 'n clean up their shit, yeah?"

Brigid lifts her head up, giving a nice feral grin to that, "Oh, we'll give them hell, all right. Show them we don't lie down and let what's ours be taken from us without a fight."

Apocalypse pumps her free hand -- the one not holding the bottle of cola -- into the air, fingers closed into a fist. "Yeah!"

Brigid grins again, a little lighter, and settles back again. "You know, I never asked how much Ian told you about me, in terms of all the stuff that we're supposed to toss out when we meet each other. Might as well toss out things like that while we wait. Feels like a bloody slumber party here, or something equally inane."

Apocalypse sniggers, taking another sip of coke before answering. "He said ya were from Fallen Snows like him, back from Merry Old Fuckin' England. An' that you were a Theurge." She pauses. "Me, I'm a Galliard, waxin' gibbous born. Full name's Defies-the-Apocalypse, an' I'm one'a those fuckin' mule-types, so ya know."

Brigid smiles and gives a nod, "No worries there. You can handle yourself when it comes down to it, you understand how the world works, no skin off my back. Can't afford to have prejudices right now, anyway. My deed name is StarEyed...though I've found that lacking lately and might do some personal questing to find one that fits better." Chuckling a little, she opens her soda finally and downs a swig, "Ian doesn't leave much out that he thinks is useful. Good ol' Ian."

Apocalypse lifts her coke bottle in toast. "Ian Steadfast. One hardassed, classy motherfucker." She grins, and swigs.

Brigid joins that toast with a bright laugh and a big gulp, "Good to know he's still kicking around. First I'd heard from anyone at Fallen Snows since I got here. Anyway, good to have another in our number here. We're not as numerous as some, but we still can kick bloody arse."

"Yeah, I saw some'a us, least, they _looked_ fuckin' well like some'a us, beatin' Wyrm ass Thursday night," says Apocalypse, with growing enthusiasm. "_Lots_ of ass-kickers."

Brigid flexes her right hand a little and looks up at a couple of paintings on the walls. "Should have at least one more better equipped after Tobin is Rited. He's a good cub, and a good Theurge. Makes us proud."

Apocalypse asks, "That th' one wit' the ancestor problems?"

Brigid nods, capping her soda and resting it in her lap. "Got an ancestor named Sasha that occasionally liked to come out and raise a little havoc when Tobin was still new here. Couldn't quite control him for a while, but it's gotten better."

"Good fuckin' deal," says Apocalypse. "Can't wait ta fuckin' meet him. Oh, yeah!" She chugs some more cola. "Mmn. Cubs. Reminded. I managed ta snag a useful fuckin' Rite a little before I heard about th' shit an' came out here. Th' one that turns a cub ta a Cliath."

Brigid's eyebrows shoot up at that, and she definitely looks interested, "Really? Not many around here have that one, and we could use more with it, in and out of the tribe. Another reason we're glad to have you here."

Apocalypse grins, showing off lots of teeth. "I fuckin' promise you, you'll have lots of fuckin' reasons ta be glad I'm here."

Brigid gestures with the soda bottle and a grin, "I'm sure, I'm sure." Subsiding for the moment, she wriggles her otherwise bare feet and sighs, "Gaia's mercy, I hate waiting like this...."

Apocalypse glances toward the door, her nose wrinkling. "Yeah. Waitin's a fuckin' bitch."

Brigid snorts softly and rolls the bottle between her hands slowly, "Sorta like the whole 'waiting for your date to call' thing, except not nearly as much fun in the long run. Dammit...I'd have gone with Brit...but she thinks I'm pretty much useless."

Apocalypse wrinkles her nose. "Her fuckin' mistake, then. Which could fuckin' cost her, an' cost us too, yeah? But, shit, she could still fuckin' be okay, or at least, ya know, able ta be fuckin' rescued, her an' th' alpha. Ya can't fuckin' lose yer fuckin' hope, yeah? An', ya know, if she _is_ tainted an' can't be cleansed, well..." She shrugs a shoulder, looking grim. "Th' fuckin' Silver River'll take care'a it. Be a fuckin' mercy."

Brigid makes a small sound that's vaguely amused. "Brittany has her issues, yes. She can't do a lot in the umbra, given that she surrounded herself with silver for a long time. I worry though, because she does know what she's doing sometimes...and she has a klaive in her possession. I hold a lot of hope that we can get her out before anything happens that's irreversible."

Apocalypse's eyes go wide. "Holy shit, a klaive?"

Brigid nods slowly, lifting her eyes from her barely-touched soda, "Yes. I'm not sure how powerful it is, but it's a klaive nonetheless." Sitting up, she smacks the couch beside her emphatically, "I refuse to believe, at this point, that we can't save her. I will not let it into my thoughts until circumstances force me to."

"Ya shouldn't," says Apocalypse, very seriously. "While's there's fuckin' life, there's fuckin' hope, as corny as that fuckin' sounds."

Brigid smiles wryly, "It's taken me a bit to get back to that point. I was a Guardian of the Caern here, before it fell to the Spirals. There was a bit too much of me feeling hopeless for far too long. Not an easy tunnel to climb back up once you've slipped down it once. Hope is a strong light, though, once it's kindled. Damn hard to put out."

Apocalypse nods vigorously. "Damn fuckin' straight. But, ya know?" She squirms in the chair, leaning forward. "There's /always/ a fuckin' light, /always/ a fuckin' way out. Gaia's fuckin' smart, cuz. Even if the Wyrm takes a caern 'way from her? There's a way ta fuckin' get it back. Real fuckin' powerful ritual, 'bout as fuckin' hard as opening a fuckin' caern altogether, but it can /happen/."

Brigid's smile gets a bit more positive as she listens, looking a little inquisitive at the end. "I've not heard of one that powerful...but I wasn't taught about all of the rituals out there when I was a cub. If it's that hard, I'm not surprised I haven't heard of it until now."

Apocalypse grins. "Hey, I'm a fuckin' Galliard, we gotta at least know /about/ this shit, even if we don't /know/ this shit, if ya catch my fuckin' meaning. Long fuckin' tale 'bout that shit happenin', 'bout a caern taken over by th' fuckin' Wyrm bein' reclaimed for Gaia."

Brigid goes for her soda again, relaxing a little against the back of the couch. "I'd like to hear a tale like that sometime." she says quietly, smiling a bit. "Every tale holds a lesson."

Apocalypse scratches at her chin, then swallows some more cola. "Oh, man, that's a fuckin' long one. Uncle Ian made me memorize th' fuckin' thing entire, an' it's all in rhyming couplets ta make Shakespeare shit himself." She barks a laugh. "I'll hafta practice it 'fore I could fuckin' tell it right."

Brigid crosses her eyes briefly, "Augh, I remember couplets from tutoring. No need to hurry on my account!"

Apocalypse grins some more. "So, like, tell me 'bout th' rest of the fuckin' family here."

Brigid chuckles and sets her soda down against her leg to tick names off on her fingers. "Let's see, here. We've got Isaac Rabbinowich, Stands Alone No Longer, Philodox, Cliath. Good lad, but he's a little simple sometimes. Valoran Grey, Chance, Ragabash, Cliath. He's the one that pointed out that Brittany's offer to Tobin was worthy of a Shadow Lord. Jervis, not sure what he's being called, Ragabash Cub. Don't know too much about him, but he showed up the same time as Tobin and has a mouth on him. Wilbur Right, Long-Last-Howl-in-Final-Hour, Ahroun, Cliath. Hasn't been here too terribly long, and had yet to give chiminage when the Caern fell. Kristine and I are considering him for a pack we're working on forming. Kristine St. David, Stands-Proud, Theurge, Cliath. My sister. She just got back into town from taking time to find herself. Tobin, Long-Past, Theurge Cub. Told you a bit about him. Good kid. Brittany Jefferson, Sterling-the-Pure, Philodox, Cliath. Princess of Virginia, usual contact for our tribe in this area, and currently our Elder. That's everyone."

Apocalypse listens intently, taking sips of soda as she does so. Her eyes brighten a bit at mention of a pack, but she doesn't comment on it. "Wow, not a single fuckin' one'a us above Cliath?"

Brigid shakes her head, "We had a few barely a year ago, but at least one left, and another was killed. No one's challeneged for rank recently that I've heard of, and I personally want to prove myself before I go attempting it."

"Makes fuckin' sense," says Apocalypse, with a nod. "Just, wow, it's fuckin' weird. I mean, at the Green, we got fuckin' Fostern an' Adren practically swimmin' out our fuckin' ears. Heh!"

Brigid chuckles, "And here we have Cliaths out the nose and beyond, maybe a quarter of that number in Fosterns, and a third of that in Adren. Worries me to lose Robert, he's our only Athro."

[They chat some more, then Apoc goes to get some Z's.]