Withdrawal Symptoms

[hazlogs]

IC: Day after the caern is reclaimed from the BSDs.

Note: Salem missed the second half of the battle due to falling prey to one of the Dancers' punji pits. Sharpened sticks covered in silver foil makes for not a happy Walker.

Location: The Burial Mounds -- which, like the rest of the caern area, is a defaced mess.

[Note desc:]
Alas it is so much easier to destroy than to create and nurture. It will take several days of concerted effort to clear it completely, even were the majority of the sept to pitch in. The markers and everything have likely been defaced and defiled with everything from shit to spray paint to "what the hell is *that?*"

Sepdet has, however, begun the work of removing the worst, and is trying to get one area pristine enough for the Gatherings, the rest covered or at least freed of taint. Heeeeelp! :)


Tatt claims her own stone nearby, glancing aside at John. "Y'still got a hell of a lot more'n that," she notes lowly, and sets to her work ferociously.

John eyes Tatt with a concerned, sideways, 'What's that supposed to mean?' look, then frowns and buries himself in his chore. All focus.

The Strider simply absorbs herself in the task, working up a chemical lather on the face of the burial stone. She begins to hum under her breath, probably unconciously--the closest to singing that John's ever heard from Tatt.

He doesn't make any sign of having heard it-- save that his scrubbing becomes slightly less determined and enthusiastic. So it doesn't drown out the sound.

Salem comes limping into the area in wolf form, looking very much the worse for wear after his mishap at the business end of several silver-foiled punji sticks. The former Shadow Lord's ears are laid back.

Tatt is so absorbed in her work, she doesn't even glance up. The Strider is covered in grime and dried blood, but seems physically intact.

The Walker elder, already distracted, does notice. Given the heat and the sun, John's stripped down to the waist, wearing only jeans, boots, and a layer of bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. There's two faint blood-stains on the front, and slightly larger ones on the back. He's sweating quite a bit, with the effort of the work, and perhaps some recent exertion. He, also, doesn't pay much attention behind them - save for a cursory glance to identify that prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

Salem eyes the Strider for a moment, then limps over toward his packmate. After a sharp 'huff' to get the other's attention, he inquires -- wearily dour -- whether the Ahroun has an extra ~toothbrush.~ He seems to have forgotten his.

John gladly falls back onto his knees, tired, and reaches round to give Salem a quick scruff behind the ears. He gestures towards the backpack on the ground, nearby, with bottles of cleaning chemicals beside it. And a few brushes and sponges. "Help yourself. How you doin'?"

Still humming roughly under her breath, Tatt barely glances up as the two Walkers converse. Her sweat carves tracks in the filth that covers her, revealing her tattoos as she scrubs like a mad thing.

Salem shifts upwards, a quick reversion to human form, looking about as bedraggled as one might expect from a night of combat and injury and then sleeping rough. His hair's still tied back with Lyra's gift -- the nightingale charm -- attached to the elastic. Each careful movement brings a tic of tightly suppressed pain to his face. "Fine," he says, answering John.

John gives a short nod, adding lowly, "Same." He gives the charm in Salem's hair an odd look for a moment, then turns back to his rock. The stones probably don't need /terribly/ much work... it just seems to be taking a while. And effort. Wiping some sweat from his forehead again, the semi-naked Walker leans forward and starts working again.

The Strider's humming cuts off abruptly as she drops the brush in an odd bout of clumsiness. "/Fuck/," she hisses, glaring at the offending hand, which is shaking violently.

Salem, if he noticed John's look, doesn't offer enlightenment. Not here and now, anyway. Helping himself to cleaning supplies, he cocks a glance at Tatt.

It's Tatt's turn to receive a curious look from John, at the sudden curse. He pauses momentarily, then starts scrubbing again. Slowly. His eyes roam obviously over her arms, as he investigates her a little more fully than before.

Tatt sits back on her heels, gritting teeth as she attempts to still the shaking in her arm. Sweating profusely, the Strider curses again as the tremors begin in her other arm.

Salem, like John, looks at Tatt for several moments, sitting back on his heels. Then, shifting himself over toward the nearest stone, he starts scrubbing it, teeth gritted. Due to his injuries, he doesn't clean as vigorously as he might. Not nearly.

Renee slowly makes her way into the burial mounds, eyes watching the ground and taking care to step around various unpleasent things.

The three Garou alread present seem to be cleaning the burial stones with brushes and the aid of some chemical cleaner in a bucket of water. With the exception of Tatt, who is being observed by the two injured Walkers. John, naked from the waist up, save for very slightly bloodied bandages, frowns a little, as he watches Tatt. "Hey," he murmurs, after a moment. "You OK? You need somethin'?"

Tatt mutters something in Spanish and leans over, bracing her hands deep in the filthy earth in an attempt to muffle the shaking, which has rapidly spread throughout the Strider's lean frame. She shakes her head violently, barely lucid.

Renee is actually in pretty good shape. Her her clothes are torn and bloodied, but she moves with only a little stiffness. Pausing in the clearing, the Gnawer's attention drifts from the two Glass Walkers too the Strider. Thats where her attention stays, Tatt's twitching seems familiar. When Renee realizes what is wrong with Tatt, she grunts and makes her way toward the chemical cleaner. Locating a scrub brush, then a stone to clean.

Softly - very softly, John rumbles sideways to Tatt, "Get some water when you're done. Lots of water. It helps." He buries himself in his work again, frowning.

Seeker returns to the burial grounds to assist in the cleaning. He peers at Tatt as she begins shaking, then walks over to her.

Salem glances over at the Bone Gnawer, doing little more than note her presence, and then looks away, focussing on the stone he's chosen to clean. Actually, about half of his attention strays back toward the trembling Strider, but he offers no comment on her condition.

Tatt shows know sign that she's heard John's words--the Strider is too absorbed inwards, as her body goes beyond her control. Keeling sharply onto her side, Tatt grimaces with a snarl and curls up sharply around a burning pain in her gut. Shaking like someone possessed.

Seeker grabs Tatt and tries to turn her over look at her face, trying to see her eyes.

Renee is focused on cleaning her stone, scrubbing away.

John growls sharply, "Leave her. She needs this." If anything, he seems to turn his concentration even further toward his task, like the others.

Touching the Strider was obviously the Wrong Thing To Do. Upon contact, she snarls and contracts, rising abruptly into Crinos with a shattered howl.

Salem's face tightens, the jaws of his muscles clenched, brush-wielding hand grimly scrubbing away at the filth covering the burial stone. He mutters something curt and sharp under his breath in Serbian.

Seeker shifts upward into crinos as well, but hesitates, waiting to see what Tatt does.

"Ah fuck," Renee snarls, dropping her brush and turning to watch the two crinos.

John comes to an abrupt standing position, still in homid, staring narrow-eyed at the two crinos, ready to leap out of the way, should he have to - otherwise, a simple backing-away will work...

Sun-Stare surges blindly at Seeker without a pause, claws and teeth bared--uncannily fast despite the shakes. ~DON'T TOUCH ME!~

Seeker tries to grab Tatt's wrists before she gets close enough to claw him.

John murmurs - in the precious second he has - "Bad move..." and shifts upwards to Glabro, backing away even more quickly, to give the crinos quite a wide berth until it's over.

Salem says, quite clearly, irritably even, "Shit." Like John, he retreats from the Striders, though he keeps to homid form.

Renee blurs into crinos and circles around Tatt, moving with rage born speed. She is counting on Sun-Stare being too distracted with her current target to stop her. Sees-True wraps her arms around the Galliard from behind, trying to pin the other Crinos' arms. ~Someone just hit her on the fuckin' head, for shits sake!~

The grab is successful--restrained by her forelimbs, Sun-Stare snarls and throws her weight into the air, lashing out at Seeker spasmodically with both clawed hindlegs. Those yellow eyes are ablaze, dilated hugely.

Seeker lets go of Sun-Stare's wrists and steps nimbly to the side, then aims a precise blow with the heel of his hand at the base of her skull.

On the frenzying Sun-Stare, the blow does little more than cause pain and enrage her further. With Sees-True's arms wrapped around her, she snarls and snaps her jaws, arches her neck and attempts to sink her teeth into the Gnawer's shoulder.

With a muttered call of "Oh, for Christ's sake..." John shifts up to Crinos as Tatt attacks the young Gnawer. While his other clothing disappears in a sudden rush of hair and fur, the bandages around his naked chest tighten and tear, clinging a little with the blood and fur. The Ice-Walker wades into the fight, quickly, looking to do much the same as Seeker. Land a haymaker on the frenzying Strider's head.

Seeker walks away calmly for a moment, then returns with a sizeable boulder.

On another day, given more room and better health, Salem might join in the effort to subdue the frenzying Garou. Today, though, he stays back, watching with that same tight, grim expression.

Reggie, somewhat under the weather as evident by a groggy expression, walks slowly through the destroyed forest, touching a hand to this stump, and rubbing his sore head, and holds his breath as he approaches the burial mounds, expecting that if others are there, they're being reverential.

Sees-True continues to growl, refusing to move as Sun-Stare tries to bite her and succeeds. Latching onto her right shoulder. Snarling, the Gnawer opens her jaws and bites down on the Strider's left shoulder. Royally pissed off, there could be two frenzying garou in the Burial Mounds if the situaton doesn't chance anytime soon.

As luck may have it, the Walker's blow strikes true and Sun-Stare releases Sees-True shoulder, stunned for a moment. The tremors coursing through the crinos intensify, and the Strider convulses abruptly--vomiting with considerable force. She falls, limp and senseless.

As the Strider Galliard goes down, Walks-Thin-Ice barks out savagely, ~Back the fuck off!~ to the others. Shifting to glabro, John kneels down by Tatt, as she shifts in unconsciousness. Checking her mouth and trying to clear it of vomit, he scowls. "Of all the times..." he mutters, looking her over.

Seeker sees that John has gotten the job done and casually tosses the boulder aside. He walks over to Tatt's unconscious form and looks her over. ~What is wrong with her? Epilepsy?~

Sun-Stare contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Sun-Stare shifts into Homid form.

Reggie pulls up short at the scene of Seeker with a rock overhead, and another Garou being knocked down flat, and, unable to sort it all out, looks for a bystander to inquire. "Traitor found?"

Sees-True is still holding onto Sun-Stare's shoulder as the Strider goes down and is dragged with her. Eyes a little unfocused, it is taking the Gnawer a bit of time to get her Rage back under control and let the fuck go.

Seeker shakes his head at Reggie.

"Drugs," John grunts, tersely, glaring at Sees-True. "I said BACK THE FUCK OFF," he growls in command to the girl. Preparing to rise into violence, perhaps. "Lemme get her someplace to get cleaned up."

Sees-True snarls again, clawed hands digging into the earth as she focuses Rage clouded eyes on John. Slowly, the Gnawer's jaws unlock and her teeth slide free from the holes they made in the Strider's shoulder. After taking a step back onto all fours, Sees-True stands and shifts down into Glabro.

Tatt continues to shake and twitch, even while unconcious--her breathing shallow, eyes open but rolled back. The new wound at her shoulder courses with blood, but doesn't appear to be too serious.

Seeker shifts back down to homid, then makes a disappointed face, shaking his head paternally. He looks up at John and nods. "She shouldn't be here in her condition. You seem to have more experience in these matters. Please take good care of her."

Salem remains silent, watching, his face still contorted and tight. A small muscle twitches, spastically, under his good eye.

Surprised but not dismayed by Seeker's update, Reggie looks over curiously at the twitching Garou, cataloguing her actions. "Just hit her, just now? Lest it wasn't earlier."

Renee works her tongue around her teeth, then spits a glop of bloodied mucus at the unconcious Tatt. "She is comin' down from somethin'. Lock her in a room. Jus' make certain that she has lots ta drink. Probably end up pukin' alot more, if she doesn't get another fix."

A spasm of anger rages, briefly, across Salem's face as Renee spits at Tatt. Then it's gone. Buried.

John gives Tatt a light slap in the face, when he crouches down again. "Get up," he orders, half-heartedly, knowing full well it's probably pointless. "I said I'll clean her up," he adds, in an irritated grunt. Moving - with a sudden sharp grunt of pain - the Walker Elder shifts the unconscious woman, pulling her up. "I see you do that again, and I'll gut you, Gnawer." The comment's tossed casually over his shoulder. "Salem? A hand?"

Salem, at that, limps over to assist the other Glass Walker, not sparing the Bone Gnawer a glance.

Renee smiles calmly at John in return, just a touch of insanity in her eyes. "Ya could try, but I'd make certain that you were missin' you dick and you balls before I went down." Looking over at her wounded shoulder, the Gnawer frowns and touches the bloodied fabric. "Shit," she murmurs, then turns and begins making her way out of the Burial Mounds.

Seeker's hand unconsciously lashes out to smack Renee as the Gnawer spits on his tribemate. He stares balefully at her.

Making his way around blackened trees and muddy boulders, the young Wendigo known as Rain-Cougar makes his way towards the burial grounds, walking a little slowly, his glabro form dirty and his face tired.

Tatt mumbles something incoherent in Spanish, limp as a rag-doll despite her revived speech. The Strider has broken out in a cold sweat, clammy to the touch.

John simply mutters something under his breath, pausing. He looks over his shoulder, seeing if the threat-match with the Gnawer is worth starting. Evidently, by the disgusted shaking of his head, it's not. The two Walkers escort Tatt away. There's a car not far from here.

Renee is turning to leave when Seeker backhands her across the side the head. Caught by surprise, the Gnawer's head snaps around and she nearly falls over. Regaining her balance, the Glabro turns and snarls at her attacker. Then, just as quickly, her Rage is burried and she drops her eyes. Not another word is said, as Renee continues to make her way out of the Burial Mounds.

Reggie rubs his stubby chin as he regards the byplay, his expression bemused.

[John and Salem muscle Tatt back to the city, dropping her (for now) at Salem's apartment. John goes out for fetch some things or suchlike, leaving Salem alone with the Strider.]

Red Mill Apartments #219

This one-bedroom apartment is small, sparcely furnished, and kept at a level of cleanliness and order that borders on the obsessive. A greenish-gray couch, obviously secondhand, holds court in the main room, accompanied by a low coffee table and a nearly empty bookshelf. In the kitchen nook, which is separated from the living room by a stomach-level counter, everything is gleaming and put away. The bathroom's cramped, and the bedroom's just big enough for a twin bed, an end table, and a dresser.

At odds with the strict cleanliness of the apartment is the obvious presence of cockroaches; one or two can occasionally be seen scurrying from Point A to Point B unmolested by traps, poisons, or sprays. Indeed, a small plate with fresh canned cat food has been set in a corner near the kitchen nook, apparantly just for the benefit of these insects.

The two Glass Walkers muscle the Silent Strider back to Salem's apartment and deposit her in the bathtub. John leaves, and Salem locks the door behind him -- latch, deadbolt, and chain. Can't be too careful in this neighborhood.

Still groggy, the Strider mumbles something in Spanish and twitches as her skin meets the cold surface of the tub.

Salem limps back to the bathroom. Now alone, the Philodox lets the pain show more clearly on his face. While pulling off his dirty, sweaty, bloodied shirt, he hisses under his breath as abused, punctured muscles snarl in protest. He drops the shirt in the trash on his way. In the bathroom, he sits heavily on the covered toilet seat and leans against the sink. "Bastards."

Left to her own devices, the Strider shakes and shivers uncontrollably--even her teeth are chattering. The arm that hangs over the edge of the tub shows evidence of needle tracks, even through the grime and tattooes; a network of collapsed veins, and a bruised line right above the elbow joint.Tatt clenches both hands into fists, mumbles something that sounds like 'coyote'.

Salem's expression softens; he grimaces in sympathy, then passes a hand across his face. He's tired. Damned tired. But he hauls himself back to his feet and limps out to the kitchen, returning several moments later with a half-full gallon bottle of water and a glass. He's replaced the shirt, too, with something that he apparantly doesn't mind leaking blood onto and, after setting his booty from the kitchen down on the hamper, settles down to wait for the Strider to regain lucidity.

Tatt withdraws her arm into the tub, managing to fold her six-fott-something frame into a fetal ball in its cramped confines. The garbled, whispered monologue continues; most notable is Sepdet's name, repeated more than once. Red blood shows starkly against the white of the bathtub as the wound at her shoulder slowly bleeds.

Salem eyes the wound. "First aid kit," he mutters. He rubs at his beard. "Tomorrow. Hnh. And call Lo in the morning." Remembering his own wounds, he shifts upward to Glabro, the t-shirt growing snug against his greater mass. To the suffering Strider, he says in a quiet baritone, "You'll be fine. One hopes." He pauses a beat, then adds, "Bloody Gnawer."

The Strider murmurs Sepdet's name one last time, and then sits bolt-upright, eyes wide with sudden comprehension. The fast move, however, makes her keel over and retch again. "_Puta mierda_," she coughs, spitting bile.

Salem tenses and as Tatt shows signs of life, even wretched life, the mask closes down over his face, revealing little more than that tight, tense self-control and the twitches of physical pain. Reaching over, he pours a glass of water and holds it out to her. "Here."

Tatt blinks owlishly in the harsh lighting, pupils still dilated to nearly overtake the irises. She stares at Salem senselessly before taking the glass, gulping it down. She can barely hold the glass steady, from the shakes.

Salem watches her steadily, holding the bottle of distilled water in case she asks for more. He waits until she's almost through with the glass before asking, almost blandly, "Heroin?"

The Strider almost flinches at the word, and passes a hand across her mouth. "Among other things," she answers in a hoarse affirmative. Her shoulders slump in defeat, still trembling.

Salem nods, as though he'd expected as much. "I'm sure you've been lectured before," the Walker rumbles, reaching out to reclaim the glass and refill it. "How long?" There's no condemnation in his tone, merely a weary calm, tinged with a hint of sympathy.

Tatt takes the glass back gratefully, but has to pause to think back, gazing into the water's depth. "..Fifteen years," she rasps, before gulping down another swallow. She can't meet the Walker's eyes.

From afar, Tatt notes that Tatt is about 35 years old.

Salem goes still for a moment, and then nods. His mouth thins into a line. "I took it for about two years, myself," he says, tone of voice still very bland. Very, _very_ bland. "Every full moon, like clockwork, until a Walker named JJ Malone shot me in the hip and told me that he'd hunt me down like a dog if I ever did it again."

Tatt glances aside at the Walker. Considering him, through glazed eyes. "Did you stay off?"

Salem lifts beetly Glabro brows, then twists his mouth into a sardonic half-smile. "You wouldn't have the pleasure of bleeding in my bathtub if I hadn't."

The Strider looks down again, passes a hand along the stubble over her scalp. "So, what you sayin'? Gonna hunt me like a dog if I don't kick?"

Salem gives his head a slight shake. "You're not a Glass Walker," he says.

"Might as well be," Tatt mutters in reply, coughing wetly and wincing. Her free hand rubs at the opposite forearm, itching at the track-marked skin irritably.

"Hmnh," says the Philodox, his eye going to the Strider's arm. "Not that I wouldn't recommend that you _do_ kick the habit. Is there a reason those marks haven't healed?"

Tatt pulls her knees up under her chin, drinks some more water, and glances down at the tracings of collapsed veins. "I stopped shiftin' for a long time, while back. I figgered they'd go away, but they only got a little better. Repetitive abuse, I guess."To his comment about her habit, she says nothing.

"Hnh," Salem grunts. He reaches back and pulls out the elastic binding his hair. "Well," he says, looking down at the nightingale charm. "I'm not your mother, nor your elder." He seems tempted to add something more, but refrains, setting the charm down on top of the sink, next to the soup dish.

Tatt looks askance at the charm, then shrugs. "No you ain't," she agrees lowly, almost resigned. "John brought me here, hey?"

"John and I, yes," Salem answers, leaning against the sink again. "After you frenzied on Seeker."

The Strider blinks once, stares at Salem. "I did /what/?"

The Walker meets Tatt's eyes steadily. "You frenzied on Seeker. It took him, Renee, and John to subdue you."

"Mother/fucker/," Tatt murmurs, features twisting with frustration. "Seeker did this?" She gestures towards the bite-wound on her shoulder, which has begun to darken with old blood.

"No, that was Renee," says Salem, mouth twisting into a grimace. His voice makes it clear that he has a rather poor opinion of the Bone Gnawer.

Tatt grunts, probably not recognizing the name. "Motherfucker," she murmurs again, softer this time. She gulps back more water, then holds out a hand midair and watches it tremble with a frown. "Know a good place to score?"

Salem's face tightens. He answers with a very flat, "No."

The lanky Strider lets out a thin breath, holds both hands to the antler-design that snakes across her scalp. "..I'm not gonna get /shit/ done this way," she mutters, almost to herself.

Salem watches the Strider unwaveringly, still grimacing. Bloody, weary, and battered, he says, "You need rest. You can at least wait until John gets back." There's a firm, almost commanding undercurrent in his voice, the kind of steel that comes from centuries of pure breeding and a touch of Garou magic.

Tatt coughs again, glances up at Salem, and nods raggedly. "If it's aright, I'll stay here." Her gaze shifts inwards, and she adds, ".. gotta make a phone call." The Strider moves carefully to stand up, bracing a hand against the wall-tiles. Her palm leaves a smear of filth, blood, and who-knows-what-else.

Salem pushes himself to his feet as well, watching her carefully. He barely blinks at the smears being left; he'd be a fool not to expect them. "It's in the kitchen," he says, limping out that way himself.

Tatt staggers slightly as she makes her way out of the bathroom, giving the apartment a cursory glance. She leans heavily on the wall wherever she can. "What's the address here?"

Salem leans against the door and folds his arms loosely across his chest. He continues to watch Tatt. "Going to order a pizza?" The phone's hanging on the wall above the counter separating the kitchen 'area' from the living room.

"Yeh," the Strider answers smoothly. "You like pepperoni?" She stops near the phone, glances back at the Walker.

"Why don't I order it," says Salem, looking her right in the eyes. "You look like you need to lie down. Perhaps take a shower."

Tatt swallows, scratching absently at a forearm. She shifts her gaze away from Salem, to the phone, and back again. "You gotta let me make this phone call, hombre," she says lowly, a dark undercurrent in her voice.

Salem's voice turns insistant. "You don't need it."

The Strider draws up to her full height, lifts her chin. "You tellin' me what I need, Walker?"

Salem's gaze doesn't waver from Tatt's eyes. "I'm telling you what you _don't_ need, _Strider_."

Tatt paces slowly across the room--not exactly threatening, just deliberate. She stops about a foot away from the Walker. "Let me make this call," she rasps lowly, "Or I'm out that door yesterday."Her eyes are narrowed, glazed over--she's trying to hide her physical weakness.

Salem, for answer, lets his body slowly expand upward to nine feet of black fur, his bloodied bulk completely blocking the door now. The t-shirt strains at the seams and then tears, while the rest of his clothes, Dedicated, vanish. His voice rumbles like distant thunder; in this form, his breeding is blindingly obvious. ~No.~

With what little rage she has left, the Strider moves up into Crinos as well. Despite the telltale trembling, Sun-Stare leans forward with teeth bared. Nose-to-nose with the Walker, she rumbles, ~This will not be forgotten, Walker.~ With that, she descends back into homid, still wearing her bloodied Dedicated clothes.

Salem settles down into a three-point stance, using one clawed hand to steady himself as he balances on his haunches. ~I don't expect it to. Now go take a shower. And get some sleep. You can use the bed.~

Tatt paces away from the Walker, frowning to herself. "Not gonna be able to sleep, hombre," she mutters, suddenly filled with nervous energy. "Y'gonna have to tie me up or somethin'. You're in no fuckin' shape to kick my ass once I get crazy." The Strider looks like she's thinking, hyper-alert all of a sudden."You got anything silver in here? A chain, or somethin'?"

Salem considers this a moment, ears canting back, then forwards. Then he grunts. ~Sleeping pills. Medicine cabinet.~ His shoulders roll in a shrug. ~Until Ice-Walker returns.~

Tatt twitches once, and nods--making a beeline for the bathroom. Her expression is grim as she rifles through the cabinet, finds what she's looking for. She tosses back a good number of the pills without water, then leans against the sink, head bowed.

Salem keeps his vigil by the door, ears and nose alert. Just in case Tatt makes a break for the bedroom window or something. Though dead-tired himself, the Walker doesn't look like he's going to be falling asleep any time soon.

Eventually the Strider calms herself enough to take a showerand rinse out her filthy clothes. She doesn't bother using the Walker's bed--instead, she curls up in a corner of the bathroom, muttering as her mind retreats inwards. Wrapped in towels, the Strider eventually dozes off.

Salem waits until scent and hearing tell him that she's asleep, then relaxes back into Glabro, tiredly. He settles down to wait for John, or the dawn, whichever comes first.