Cleanup and Story

[hazlogs]

7/14/2002

Cleanup efforts are underway, but there's still a great deal of work to do. A swath of woodland has been clear cut 150' out from the rim of the caern, making the whole thing out in the open. A 5' high barracade made of fallen tree trunks rings the caern's edge. Beyond that, the caern itself has been flooded. The murky waters have gone down about a foot since the previous night, but are still quite deep. Sticky mud is all along the water's edge. The water is "piss warm" to the touch and bubbles and steams where the steam vents used to be. The larger pieces of flotsam have been skimmed from the surface. The ground around the caern is littered with trash, sewage, scorch marks, undefinable chemicals, patches of oil, and appears to have been salted. The bodies have been removed, but blood stains the ground everywhere.

Someone has created a shine of sorts from several stones and other odd items. The stone cairn is composed of three stones; a fist-sized stone at the top, a larger in the middle, and a skull-sized stone at the bottom. Each stone is bound in leather chords, and several feathers (including an eagle feather) are tied to the chords. Small bones and beads have been wrapped around the largest stone. The stones themselves bear several glyphs; the curved Wendigo tribe mark, the criss-crossing Wyld, the long cut of the Wind, and the circular glyph for North. Several smaller glyphs wrap around the larger stone, including the auspices and the wind petroglyph repeated several more times.

A small phalanx of fragile, green saplings has been planted in an open space of ground. They're very young and tender, and seem to be growing perfectly well in the foul soil that some reckless soul has planted them in. (+Mail or page Francisco for questions, comments, flames, etc.)

[Dena]
Energy is the first thing that registers, looking at this woman. A restless energy that suffuses her heavyset, Neanderthalesque form, an energy that somehow draws the attention even if the rest of her is fairly unexceptional. In her early 30s, she's almost 7 feet tall, and while there's no spare padding on her frame, she could not be called thin, not by modern standards. She has bones, and hips, and muscles, and other attributes of a woman who isn't a stick figure, but all of those are on constant standby, ready to move at a moment's notice.

Her face matches the rest of her: a little weathered, but mobile and aware, though it slopes slightly at times. She's got black hair that's cut short, buzzed in back and long enough for a strand or two to occasionally fall into her face, in front. Her eyes are brown, warm and open, constantly aware of her surroundings.

She's got hiking boots on, fairly long shorts, and a green t-shirt. She's got a short, lightweight jacket on over all that.

There's been more progress made on the barrier, and the reason behind that progress is emerging onto the plain between the Caern and the forest, looking grimy and tired. The Fury leans on the barricade and sighs.

Apocalypse treks toward the bawn on muddy flip-flops, arms swinging, strides long and energetic, a grin quirking her lips. She sings quietly to herself as she goes. "... they made the Mayor pitch a fit... and the Dad had ta bear the ultimate! Bah dum dah! Res-pon-sibility!"

The Fury blinks mildly, as this individual arrives. "Hello?" she says, not quite sure what to make of such ebullience.

Dane looks around as he enters the caern with a sour expression on his face.

Apocalypse stops singing at the hail and pulls up short as well. "Yo?" She glances around, spots Dane first and gives the Gaian a wave, and then notices the Fury. "Yo, hi!"

Dane stops by one of the pools of noxious color and gives it a disgusted look. "Bleah. We need...." He looks up at the call and waves. "Yo."

Dena stops leaning against the barricade and asks Dane, "Need what?" Then she's giving Apocalypse an interested look. "Don't think I know you."

"What this caern needs is an enema," declares Apoc, misquoting the Joker. Then, grinning cheerfully, she sticks a hand out toward Dena. "Defies the Apocalypse, Galliard of the Silver Fangs, freako halfbreed with crap charach parents, and Cliath. From the Green in Noo Yawk."

"I think," Dena says, with the faintest of smiles, "That it already had one. Myself, I am Ardenas Kytheras Kostenas, but most people call me Dena. Serendipity's Shadow who Guards the Desolate Shore. Black Fury Ahroun, Alpha of Reclaiming, and, as of the past couple days, Warder here."

"Hey," says Apoc, "Fury, cool. Fuckin' Wyld-sister, right here an' now. Congrattles on the Warder thingy, too." She glances past Dena to the caern itself. "How's the shit goin'?"

Dane nods at the others. "Gaia-Will-Judge, or Dane Morningstar, depending on where you got me. Half moon of the Children. What this place needs is a sponge the size of Candlestick Park.

Dena regards the new planted trees. "Or very stubborn people. As for how this is going -- Well, it is slow, and I would prefer we had more hunting Dancers, but the cleansing is necessary, as well as the revenge."

Apocalypse scratches at some of the scar tissue around where her ear used to be. "Fuckin' coward bastards. Ah, we'll flush 'em out an' throat 'em quick enough, right?" She seems quite confident.

Dane says "Ayup."

Dena says, "I certainly /hope/ so. Though the tracking Gifts don't seem terribly useful, at the moment. Actually, if you're a Galliard, do me a favor and spread the news that we should be looking for random angry people doing random angry things, Citywards? That may seem obvious, but it often isn't. Also, Andrea and I have opened the Caern and Bawn up to Kin."

Apocalypse bobbles her head in a quick nod. "I'll pass it along, sure fuckin' howdy. Though, ya know, I wonder how fuckin' many a' the kin are gonna take ya'guys up on that offer. Some of 'em get spooked kinda easily. Heh."

Dena shrugs. "Perhaps not many. That does not mean that those who /can/ accept the offer will not be glad to be welcomed more into Sept doings."

"Fuckin' true enough," says the Fang, kicking off one flip-flop. She balances gamely on one leg to scratch at a healing welt just above her toes.

Dena nods, and then sighs, briefly, considering the barrier. She hefts her axe, which had apparently been residing behind the barricade. "So. While I work. Tell me of your memories of the battle?"

Apocalypse slips the flip-flop back on, then stretches. "Uh, sure, okay." She laces her fingers together behind her head. "I was in part of the spirit attack. Not wit' Salmon, but the other half. Was, lessee, me an' Sepdet an' Andrea an' that Get, um, Jamethon, Renee an' Elan of the Gnawers, an'... oh, shit, a coupla other Garou whose names I ain't learned yet. We were, y'know, escort for the Purity spirit that was gonna take bites outta Mr. I-Melt-You bane. Hey, ya sure ya don' fuckin' want some help wit' that?"

Dena's glabro form is well suited to this kind of activity. "Nah. Just have to get a rhythm going." Indeed, once she begins chopping, she seems content to do it for long stretches at a time. Run her hand back along the axe handle, heft it over her shoulder, then slam it down, and so on. "Firewood," she explains briefly, in a short pause, and keeps chopping, showing every evidence of listening.

Apocalypse shrugs. "Fair 'nuff. Anyway, we hadda easy time gettin' inta place. See, Andrea an' Sepdet, it seems, had enlisted th' help of a buncha flighty spirits, an' they picked us up and carried us aloft. They helped wit' interference, too, during an' after." She hehs. "It was so an _Apocalypse Now_ moment."

"Good..." chop "movie." Dena? Movie watcher?

Apocalypse grins. "Fuckin' right. Anyway, pretty soon after the spirits dropped us off, th' fuckin' scrags started showin' up, bladey ugly motherfuckers like that kind fuckin' always is. Ya know? So, we beat up an' slashed a few of 'em, though keepin' 'em from the Purity spirit was more important than killin' 'em all, ya know? Oh, yeah! An' while we were kickin' ass, th' spirits were doin' some ass-kickin' themselves, and _then_, an' _then_..." The Silver Fang grins huge with remembrance. "Twice as fuckin' tall as life an' four times as natural came along a fuckin' Wendigo spirit. _Big_ badass, coldass son-ovva-bitch. Started beatin' Wyrm spirits left an' right, freezin' some, chompin' down on others. Was a fuckin' sight ta see."

Dena blinks. Evidently she hadn't heard this part before. She pauses in her chopping to give Apocalypse a fascinated look. "I wonder who persuaded it to come?"

Apocalypse shrugs. "Fucked if _I_ know. One'a the Wendigo, I guess? There's some local, ain't there? I heard that, way back fuckin' when, this used ta be a Wendigo caern."

Dena goes back to her rhythmic chopping of the barricade. "'Pparently," chop, "So. G'on."

Apocalypse nods. "So, most'a us are hackin' an' slashin', goin' along, spirits too, an' of course th' Theurges are using their Mad 'Leet Crescent Skills ta turn some'a the fuckin' scrags on each other. An' then, of course, finally, Mr. Melty oozes inta view. Andrea hits it with some Theurge or mebbe it was a Gaian thing, jus' kinda stunned it a little, and then in flits Purity!" The Fang starts moving back and forth, pantomiming. "Back an' forth, zappin' Mr. Melty Ugly wit', I dunno what'd you call it, bolts of Pure Goodness or some shit. Hell, it _worked_. By th' end there, Mr. Melty was like half th' fuckin' size and scuttlin' away like a fuckin' crybaby." She barks a laugh.

"And," chop, slide hand up the handle, heft axe, chop, "Purity?" The Fury is working up a good sweat.

There's a hollow boom a quarter of a way around the barricaded area, and then a thump as a stack of heavy plastic trash cans of the sort often found along highway construction sites gets tossed into the grisley area just inside. Sepdet and a snow shovel follow. She raises a hand towards the pair, extracts a trash can, settles it into the mud, and stares at the ground for a moment before scooping up a load of oil, dirt, and ooze.

Dena starts slightly and hefts her axe in Sepdet's direction before she realizes who it is, and goes back to chopping. The whole process takes about a second.

Apocalypse's smile fades. "Ah, well... Purity, ya know... Purity fuckin' wasn't pure na more, not after gettin' up close an' personal with Oily." She rakes fingers back through her wild, pale hair, then tosses over a "Yo!" at Sepdet. Then she continues answering Dena. "Andrea tried ta offer herself, but I don' think Purity wanted it, or couldn't take it, or somefuckin' thing like that. After that, it was all cleanup 'fore dashin' inward toward the caern." The Fang pulls a face. "An' a'course, I hadda go get my ass waylaid by another Wyrmnasty an' miss th' rest of th' fuckin' show."

Splot. The dirt Sepdet's shovelling a short distance away from the others doesn't really deserve to be called such any more, and is getting removed. It looks like she fully intends to take off a foot of topsoil. ~You got the tale of what went on after you left us, Fang?~ she calls.

The Fury continues her chopping, in a fine rhythm now. "/She/ might've," chop, "But /I/ didn't."

"Sure don't!" says Apoc, looking over at Sepdet. "Hey, needa hand wit' that?"

Sepdet wipes her face and smiles wanly. ~We need about five hundred hands. But two more would be great. I've got a shovel at the edge of the Burial Mounds.~

"I'm on it!" Apocalypse takes off at a quick jog to go fetch a shovel.

Swiftly, carrying herself on four paws, Golden-Eyes comes along the caern as she dots along the area carefully. A bark of sort is emitted from her muzzle as she nears the center of the caern. Her ears are splayed forward as she stops hesitantly and sees three gathered not far away. Did I head something mentioned of help?

Sepdet grimaces as she excavates an obscene plastic object and hurriedly chucks it into the trash can as well. ~We need everyone pitching in,~ she explains. ~We can't set any sort of Wards or spiritual defenses, or think about reviving the caern, until we've gotten it cleaned and cleansed.~ She leans on the handle and spreads a brown arm to encompass mown-down trees, trash, oil, raw sewage, and the grim flotsom in the bubbling lake. ~This is going to take a little while,~ she concludes, as if discussing painting a house.

Meanwhile, Dena keeps chopping at the barricade. "Did you mention..." chop, "Telling of the Umbral..." chop, "Side?"

Apocalypse returns at a trot, bearing not one but _two_ shovels, one in either hand. "Got an extra in case anybody stops by. Oh, hey." She's spotted Golden-Eyes. "Guess that's _you_." The Fang grins widely, dumping the extra shovel on the ground before heading over to join Sepdet in shovelling crap.

Sepdet looks down at her feet with a sigh. ~I can pick up where Apocalypse left off--~ scoop, splot --~if you want.~ She nods towards the stack of heavy trash cans. ~Watertight,~ she explains.

Golden-Eyes sniffs the air before lowering her ears and giving a disgusted look. She shifts to homid, pausing to make sure that her tresses are let up from her shoulders. "I was here cleaning here earlier with Wilbur, as well." she says. "The junk just never seems to go away does it." Then she smiles towards the Silver Fang, "Oh, thanks."

Dena says, "Unless," chop, "Aubrey'd be," chop, "Bored by it." There's a pause while the Fury wipes sweat from her forehead. "You were that side, right?"

Apocalypse shovels crap with both vim and enthusiasm, shifting upwards to Glabro so she can _really_ put her back into it. Meanwhile, the Fang keeps her ear cocked toward the conversation, indeed interested in hearing what happened.

At a casual glance from a distance, it looks like a cell phone. And, in fact, it is. But even at arm's length, it's obvious that it's no typical cell phone. The outside, which is made of some kind of metal rather than plastic, is covered in garou glyphs, central to which is a spiral design on the cover. The antennae looks as if it belonged to a very large insect at one point in time and extends automatically as the cover is opened. Inside, the faceplate lights up with a yellow-green glow, illuminating the standard set of keys with a very non-standard set of garou runes engraved onto the transluscent plastic. The on-off switch is designated at the top with a vertical line on one side--its current position--and a spiral-like "O" on the opposite end.

Apocalypse stops. "Hey, what th' fuck?" She leans over to squint at the object. "What th' fuck's _that_, BSD Wireless special?"

Aubrey picks up a shovel and looks across to Dena. "In the Umbra?" she asks, somewhat not paying attention. Then her attention turns to Apocalpse, "What?"

Sepdet stops and turns. ~Hang on. Could be trapped.~ She stoops over it, eying it grimly. ~Any of you know how to jam?~

Dena pauses, eyeing the thing warily. Then she says, "Yes," and narrows her eyes. "Alright. Check it now."

Apocalypse leans on her shovel and watches, frowning quizzically. She doesn't seem worried about physical danger from the object.

Aubrey rubs her thumb for a moment against her temple as she watches the woman with the Black Spiral Dancer cell phone.

Sepdet covers it over with the snow shovel and taps it before picking it up grimly to inspect it. ~Damn. Which of these is off?~

Dena makes her way over. "Think it's a fetish, or just tech?"

Apocalypse scratches at the back of her neck. "Usually it's the circle."

Dena's jaw clenches. "Well. I'll keep jamming, when I am able. But meanwhile -- if it is fetish, we cannot simply crumple it, yes?"

Aubrey listens for a few moments before she looks towards Sepdet, "I would assume." She leans on the shovel with her heel as it enters the soil slightly.

Sepdet switches it off--hopefully-- and guesses, ~Fetish.~ She touches the insect-antennae. ~At least I assume so. We may be "bugged" elsewhere, Dena.~

Sepdet sighs. ~Yes. At least, in my limited experience.--~ She starts as the phone emits an unmistakeable dial tone after her flipping the switch, and hurriedly flips it back again. ~Definitely a fetish,~ she mutters, looking towards Dena.

Dena considers. "Can't be here. Need somewhere somewhat safe. Need somewhere we can /collect/ these things. Same place you kept the 'Stone?"

Sepdet grimaces. ~I can't bring anything tainted there.~ She sighs. ~I'll bring it to Andrea. She's kept and destroyed tainted fetishes before.~

Dena says, "Good. We can do that with other things we're unsure of -- or sure of -- as well, obviously."

Aubrey picks up her shovel and resumes what she was doing or going to do.

Sepdet moves to set it face-down on one of the many cut logs. ~I'll take it with me when I head out. Let's see what else we can turn up.~

Dena, lacking a shovel, goes back, somewhat more grimly than before, to chopping the barricade up.

Apocalypse shakes her head slightly and goes back to shovelling, all the while keeping an eye out for more leftover 'goodies'.

Aubrey wiggles her nose for a brief moment before she goes back to work at shoveling. "I wonder how many more days it is going to take to get everything finished?" she asks in general.

Sepdet looks around at the caern and seeks Dena's eyes. ~A while,~ she says simply. ~The war is over, but we are still fighting a battle here. Except in this case, it holds still for us.~ She tamps the muck in her trash can down and moves it over slightly to excavate another spot.

The Fury pauses in her chopping, as the Strider seeks her gaze. "It will take," she says, "As long as it takes, for we cannot lose this battle, anymore than we lost the one we just finished. Though we cannot forget the hunting, in amidst the Cleansing."

Aubrey nods rather quietly before she gets back to working on shoveling the muck once again.

Apocalypse mutters, with a grin, ~Fuckin' A,~ never pausing in her work.

Sepdet raises an eyebrow at the Fang. ~About mucking, or the hunting? And who is hunting? We have lupus on patrol, some other patrols, but not many. No-moons working on the traps out there. We need to hunt as well, but we're spread fairly thin.~

Apocalypse cocks her head at Sepdet. ~Huh? Naw, I meant about not losin' this fuckin' battle or keepin' from gettin' the shit cleaned up. And shit like that.~

Dena says, "The tracking gifts are not working well, given the fact that we don't know many names, and they are, after all, in hiding. I have told several Galliards to spread the word to the ragabashes and others to use normal scent trails, and to look for angry people doing angry things in the City. Also, purchasing unique items. We should all of us get word to what Kin we have, to try and seek out gun shops and such. They lost many munitions, at this battle."

Aubrey pauses to lean against the shovel. Otherwise the Fianna is rather quiet.

Sepdet has gone somewhere far away for a moment while she works, lips pressed against the squelching sound of unclean mud. Suddenly she stops and looks up at Dena. "Tatiana," she says softly. ~I haven't seen her in two days. Have you spoken to her lately, Dena?~

Dena's most recent chop goes slightly awry. "I," she says, evenly, "Have taken my position at the worst possible time for my packmate, but no, I have not heard from her lately."

Sepdet says wryly, ~John is actually being helpful instead of shooting her. She's got people watching her when we can't.~ She glances at the other two Garou. ~I've stayed with her two nights. She's over the worst of the healing now.~

Dena leans on her axe. "I..." She stops. "Thank you. For the time, for the healing, and for the trust you've engendered in her."

There's an odd sad smile touching the corners of the Strider's mouth. ~Well, she is my tribesmate. I can't force someone to take a certain road. But once they take the first step, I'll do all I can to help. You'll have her back soon, Dena, I promise.~

Dena's smile is tired, but genuine. "That would be a plus." She returns to chopping; eventually, she mutters, "Patrol," and heads into the Umbra.