Joss | Godi Malfunction and Witness [Evan/Imogen/Many]

Caleb had just come from the caern, the Silver Fang having found himself a place to sit in the commonroom with a newspaper in hand and a glassy of wine in the other. From the looks of things, he was reading the sports column. Odd to see a man drinking wine and reading the sports page, but all things considered there have been stranger yet to happen here.

She pauses at the top of the stairs only to check out who’s there, before she makes her way to the couch, plopping down with an exuberance only the teenager can portray, and setting her drink on the coffee table and kicking off her shoes to tuck her bare feet underneath her, smoothing her skirts over her thighs and setting her plate on her lap. “hi.” for Caleb as she shoves a fry in her mouth.

“Good afternoon,” the cajun drawlled over to the Fenrir girl. “How does the day suit?” Sipping the wine, Caleb folded up the newspaper and set it aside to speak with a fellow crescent-moon.

When Elsa came up the back stairs to the common room that Joss and Caleb were in, he gave the woman a pleasant enough smile and nod.

“Suits.” she nods, with a grin. “It’s HOT out there. Though not near as hot in the attic. I’m glad there’s a missing wall, to tell the truth – get bit of a breeze while I work.” A Godi’s work is never done, after all. “You?”

If anyone couldn’t tell by his accent, he was from Louisiana born and raised. Some found it a bit charming, especially Northern women, but that was neither here nor there. Pale green eyes flicked to Elsa. “Come in, petite. No reason to hang back – we won’t bite. Joss might, but I certainly won’t.”

And bite she does – into her lunch, as she squirms to get comfortable on the couch, settling in with an ease of someone fully confident in her own skin. “I don’t mind the noise, or any of that really.” Which is a good thing, considered her hands aren’t exactly clean – dirt under her nails, and smudges here or there. The Godi’s clearly been into something… “There’s so much to explore, to learn.”

She’s so eager, so easy to please – and very curious, as so many of their moon are known to be. “I keep getting on the wrong bus – I bet I’ve seen more of Chicago the past week then many who lived here for years.”

A wry look was cast to the Fenrir. “To learn? Perhaps. But then after my tenure here I cannot handle so much grit and filth in one evening. Unless necessary, I keep to the caern and to the woodlands. It’s much more peaceful, you see.”

Shifting on his armchair, the cajun sipped his wine some more. There was only one glass, and unless they fetched another it was likely he wasn’t about to offer it.

His sword flies about him like a dervish, faster even than the hair that whips about his face with each rapid turn toward invisible opponents.

But now he is done, caked in sweat and shirtless in his single striped blue workout pants. Warm-ups, they used to call them in varsity basketball back home though he’s since been corrected by the women of his pack in saying that they are in fact called ‘tack pants’. One staircase crossed and then another for the Modi, shapened stteel held flat against one shoulder and still showing off the deep marks of teeth on one side of his abdomen. The flesh has grown over completely now save for strange looking gouges that would be incredible scars in their own right on a mortal being and it leave large red tracts amidst a stain of black and blue.

The only imperfection on that entire lean body.

“Hey.” With a giant, trademarked farmboy smile, the others are greeted as he enters from above and not below. One of them is his own tribe in fact, purely bred, enough tht it’s noticable and eyes go to her for just a second. “Hi. Do we….have we met?”

She lifts her plate toward Elsa, and offers the half of her sandwich still there to her. “Hungry?” Before laughs at Caleb and shrugs. “Peaceful? Boring. How do you expect to barter with the spirits within the city if you don’t see where and how they live? Exploration and learning aids communication, I’ve found.” But then again, she’s still young and idealistic.

“Oh!” He excalims and sprints toward his room. When the Modi emerges again he’s not carrying his sword but a rolled up piece of paper. Wordlessly the coffee table is cleared and the thing is rolled out. It’s a close in area map of the city in this neighborhood. It’s marked in a million strange annotations and lines of all kinds drwn between and around small plain stickers that color-code Gaia knows what. Finally though he looks back up at the two theurges.

“I had an idea I think you two can help me with.”

Eyes drifting back to Joss, he grunted. “Barter with spirits? My dear, do you think that spirits exist only within city limits? You will find that some of the most powerful spirits, especially those of the Wyld, cannot be found here.

“That said, I have seen much of the city and experienced quite a many things here. I cannot say that one is better than the other, just that I prefer living within my woods to the din of the city.”

Sam comes down from practice, and Caleb smiles over to his packmate. “Have you decided to abandon that two-by-four of a sword for something more graceful, my friend? I can’t imagine anyone wielding that with any ease.” Liken as not Sam’s blade was traditional to the nordic spatha, where as Caleb’s looked a mixture of cultures. The blade resembled a katana’s, however not as curved and a bit wider from spine to blade with a European hilt and crossguard.

The Fenrir comes back with a map, and he quirks a brow. “What idea is this?” he asked.

Sam races off and comes back and clears the coffee table – she rescues her soda just in time, and sets it between her thighs where she sits crosslegged on the couch, and munches on her lunch while she glances at the map.

She says nothing about the caern – as she is prospective Eagle, and as such, the standing is clear – and in flux. She simply listens.

“When you factor in it’s two worlds,” Sam goes on. “It leaves us very open to attack here and really we’re the last thing besides the three packs at the Caern protecting the Maelstrom.” He looks to everyone in the room, slowing excited speech so as not to leave them behind, his eyes making sure they can keep up.

“What I was hoping,” he continues. “Is that you could find me some wolf-spirits, maybe air elementals…I’m not familiar enough to really know what would be best. But…something that could come and rouse everyone to battle, if the need arises. Sort of….a proximity alarm. Is this doable you think?” To Sam’s packmate he looks first briefly and then to the Godi, but her eyes do not get met, her lips, nose, cheekbones though do, places where attention can be paid with no challenge.

To Joss: “How indeed, my dear,” came the rhetoric. “To protect any caern one must know the lay of the land as well as the denizens that inhabit said land. I don’t argue the point, -Rhya, but merely offer another perspective.”

Sam begins to speak of defenses of the caern, and Caleb perks up noticable. “Indeed, Sam. I had been thinking something along those same lines. It certainly is do-able to have spirit-watchers as well as an alarm system of sorts.” As Keeper of the Land, Caleb had more clout here than say Joss, even though she ranked higher. “Air-elementals to gust, or perhaps some entities that can make noises that you wouldn’t ordinarily hear in both sides of the Gauntlet.”

In matters of the Caern Defenses – and thus that of the Brotherhood which is just outside the bawn, Caleb has seniority of time spent as well as official capacity, so she does not interrupt, merely eats her sandwich to see what they all come up with. It also gives her a first hand view of the Cliath Theurge, and how he works, what he believes, and how creative he can be. This is, after all, the Scab – not his beloved woods.

“I’d like to get this run by Balance-Without-Fault then as soon as possible. I’d be honored to have you head up the project Caleb,” Sam looks from his squatting position next to the table, still nearly eye to eye with the rest of them due to his height up to a man he’s slowly learning to call his brother, learning to trust. Battle has gone a long way toward that, it would seem. “Get a few theurges,” a wry smile. “A Godi, maybe, if she’s in,” a puase there where one Fenrir offers the other a shy smile that turns back for the map rather quickly. “and however many more bodies you think it might take and we could have this done inside the week, don’t you think?”

Elated, perhaps. Excited, even. That his idea may in fact work.

“A bell might work, but the winds here are enough that it might ring anyway and give a false warning. The boy that cried wolf, and all of that prattle.” A slight pause, and then Caleb came to a conclusion. “A lune spirit would work well. Not the envoys of Luna, but those of the bird. Their calls carry over distance, and aren’t recognizable in cityscapes. Across the gauntlet in the Umbra it would work well, but for this side? Any number of spirits would work. As Sam mentioned, Wolf-spirits teach a gift called Call of the Wyld, though I don’t know if we’ll find those willing to come within city limits.”

Caleb nodded a touch to Sam. “Of course I will head the project,” he said to Sam. “I will speak to the Mistress of Rites, the Grand Elder, and the Warder and his pack. That would make four theurges already since I know that they have their own Crescent-Moons among them. Any others that wish to lend a hand are more than welcome.”

She smiles at Elsa, as her solution is simple and pure – and a bell warning those garou within the Brotherhood is an idea that would work as part of their program. Sometimes the most simple solutions are the wisest – they are so often overlooked. “You need to define what your objective is precisely – before deciding on which spirits you are to bargain with. Do you want your warning to protect and alert the brotherhood itself, or go wide to all Garou who live within it’s walls – a call to arms, or simple ‘look out below!’ so to speak. Only when you know a specific objective can you move on to wider scale ideas. Narrow your focus, deal with the pinpoint first, then move in widening circles.”

She looks around the room, and then points to a corner, where a fire alarm resides per city regulations. “That, for example. If you place a second nearby, it is something that blends in, and no one will think twice of it. A simple electric elemental can be bound to it – and tripped by the call of whomever you have making the wider sweep – once alerted, he sets off that alarm in a way that cannot be mistaken for normal alarm, simple as changing out the buzzer so that its different, and alerts both here and across the gauntlet that something is coming. Advance warning. Once you have the specific where you want to warn, the how it’s in place, you then build a chain of sorts that is tripped – like Dominoes.”

For further proof one only needs look at the way his right hand cranes up and stretches the skin flesh along his lean and muscular torso. The Modi’s palm faces out and he wears the broadest grin one has ever seen.

It’s…. a high five.

“Nice!” Then back to Caleb. “Maybe a series of them, like Christmas lights or a barking chain. Starting in the barracks up here and running all the way to the Caern’s heart.”

Joss’ advice was taken, she being the higher-ranked of the theurges present. “I will think more about this and then present it to the caern officials and see what they have to say about it. I’m sure they won’t refuse – it is, after all, for caern defenses.”

Looking to Elsa, he nodded. “Indeed. I think an early-warning system might serve as a call to arms by itself, though if you try to make a warding do more than one thing it might render itself useless. And feasible though it might be, it would take longer than a week to prepare. So, we’ll start with the warning system first and go from there. Best not to rush ahead of ourselves.”

She nods a the suggestion to pull in the focus and not get ahead of themselves, as she tips the soda back and drains a good portion of it eagerly.

“There’s some privately claimed territory that runs the other side of the bawn. We’re going to have to ask permission if we want spirits running through there even if it is for everyone’s own good.” This brins a certain sort of realization to Sam’s face and Joss is again addressed. “I’m not sure how long you’ve been in the city, Miss but you should speak with Decker Rohl if you haven’t.” That grin returns, spreading lke wildfire across tanned cheeks. “Yeah,” Sam continues. “That Decker Rohl.”

This aside he reads at his map for a bit longer, before looking to each of the three in turn. “I think we’re settled then. I’ll leave it to Caleb and the big brains to take care of the fine details.” The Modi, perhaps close to the sharpest in the pack humbles himself not for the benefit of simple humility, no that comes fairly natural to Sam. It’s dropped subtly to compliment his new packmate. “Thanks guys.”

It’s unclear whether he means for the help,for hearing him out, or for validating his idea…

doesn’t matter. It’s genuine any way you look at it. If all if all is said he’ll roll his map back up and take it into his room quietly. Returning only a minute later at most.

She reaches behind her to gather her dreads in one hand, lifing them from her neck, where they stick, due to the heat outside. She gatheres them in a loose ponytail, and wraps a leather thong unwraped from her wrist to bind them together, and get a little coolness along her skin.

“Have a good one, Elsa. See you soon.”

Elsa made to leave, and Caleb looked up. “Of course. If you have need of me, I can be found here or in the caern.”

Sam said his thank-yous, and Caleb nodded. “I will be in touch if you have questions. Also, I may need a sparring partner later tonight if you’re available,” he said to the Modi.

Joss remained silent, and so Caleb left her alone, until she finally then did speak and Caleb chuckled.

Once he returns Elsa’s already half down the stairs. He doesn’t bother yelling down during business hours but makes a few mental notes in regard to her. The set next to Joss on the sectional is open though and Sam moves to stand in front of it. “May I sit, please?” It’s the deference of a wolf to another of higher station that, not simply the inborn politeness grown like soy and grain in the heartland.

He’s found a shirt, now. Simple and straightforward like the Modi himself, a white crew-neck bleached clean or new, one of the two. It’s nothing flashy but at least that massive collection of welts, digs, bites and bruises are gone from view for awhile.

Sam asks if he can sit, and she laughs and gestures. “You live here – why wouldn’t you be able to sit?” She grabs her bag from the cushion beside her and tosses it to land on the coffee table, where it falls with a rattleclunkjungle that speaks of many oddities within. Her plate follows it, which clears off the side of the couch she’d settled too, and gives him a choice of places to sit without her things in the way.

But today he found himself some time, a simple moment to relax and find something to eat before heading back out. He moved through the back door to the kin, looking at the kin working hard to ensure the patrons outside in the dinning area were fed on a Friday rainy evening. He asked for one of the guys for something simple before moving to the stairs upstairs.

“That’s you, young miss.” For all his Glory he’s still just a Cliath so far as the Nation is concerned and perhaps less as the story of his own Wyrm Thrall had caught up to him near Indianapolis the previous week.

Sam is indeed the older of the two, getting to his mid twenties now and at times still seeming like a teenager, usually for the better. Usually. He’s bright eyed, idealistic and willing to take on the world if it means doing what’s right. He’s as unbroken by the world as the circle of his pack’s namesake. “You had some good ideas there, it’s too bad the Eagles are snatching you up. We could always use someone like you. Regardless though…it’s nice to see more of the tribe around.”

Her grin is easy, and always reaches her eyes – sparkling in deep blue that shows an honesty, and integrity that many find difficult to understand – at least when matched with her propensity to laugh, to delight in the smallest things. “Just because the Eagles have not been a part of the Sept of Maelstrom does not mean they do not protect the land that surrounds, and thus the Caern itself. It’s not an us or them scenario when it comes to dealing with the spirits.”

She lifts a shoulder into a shrug, as fingers slide the strap of her tanktop back into place. “I’ve been working the defenses of our land as it is – fixing what had gone lax in terms of Spirit Wards. One thing though – as you all work around here, be careful with what is set up – as the line must be staggered, so as not to point the enemies straight from here into the heart of Maelstrom by giving them a map to follow easily.”

Unmentioned afore, the Silver Fang wore jeans that were faded as the style went these days, purchased that way rather than age. Unstained, pure white Nike’s adorned his feet while an Aeropastle shirt covered his upperbody. Quite different from the stately manner of dress he is usually encountered in, but it didn’t reduce his regal bearing over-much.

Heading down to the bar, Caleb ordered himself a club sandwich and whatever anyone else wanted as well as more wine. Leaning back against the bar, he noticed Wendy and gave the girl a friendly smile and wave.

And when he made it to the top of the stairs, hearing the discussion going on in the common room, he couldn’t help but chime in.

“The Eagle’s are very protective of our territory, aggressive of it. But we will not neglect the caern, we may have had a fall out with the Sept but we would have come to the aid of the caern should it be needed.”

He moved into the view of the rest of them now, standing at the edge of the common room as it was.

“Good evening everyone.”

“Oh by the way, go pay your chiminage to Maelstrom. We have made our contrition.”

As if it was just an add on.

Sam for his part is beginning to really like this girl. There’s something of himself there, those values that come from a tight family and a small town reflected in the Godi. “That’s what made me think of spirits,” he offers. “Most are intelligent I think, and most wouldn’t cross Maelstrom even if you tried to force them. So it works better that way, lets them do their thing instead of sending a mechancal map right to us.”

Evan joins them and Sam laughs a little. “Not ….really what we were talking about, sir.” And after, a little more gravely. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

When she came near he couldn’t help but notice the obvious limp in her step, and his expression softened somewhat. “If you like, I can heal whatever’s ailing you,” he said with a gesture toward her leg. He was a theurge after all, and healing was in part his business.

His faded blue jean pants are dirty, covered with it in fact and a little damp. His tan work boots have a faint coating of clay dirt on them, but don’t leave any mud as he walks through the building. He actually remembered to wash them off outside, and picked out the tough stuff from the soles with a screwdriver.

His olive drab shirt is a mix of dirt and old sweat. His arms though tanning now are a little more brown with the dust, dirt and grime of the days work on them. Even in the hair that is visible there are flecks of dirt in the tips, and his bandanna, an olive drab affair that was once a t-shirt, is stained with old sweat.

He looks like he worked hard today. But his face isn’t tired, in fact just the opposite. He’s alert, and in good spirits. His body moves with the energy of a young Garou, a good tired that will recover and get even stronger in the days to come.

His heavy booted footsteps herald his arrival. He walks into the common room and heads to the message board. Seeing Joss he flashes her a nice, friendly smile.* “Well hello Little Big Sister -Rhya. How does this day find you?”

Sam for his part is beginning to really like this girl. There’s something of himself there, those values that come from a tight family and a small town reflected in the Godi. “That’s what made me think of spirits,” he offers. “Most are intelligent I think, and most wouldn’t cross Maelstrom even if you tried to force them. So it works better that way, lets them do their thing instead of sending a mechancal map right to us.”

Evan joins them and Sam laughs a little. “Not ….really what we were talking about, sir.” And after, when he says…something wonderful Sam lights up like he’s just received a red rider bb gun with the compass in the stock and the thing that tells time. “You have!?” Sam very nearly jumps up and would if not for a lingering snarl of pain that jolt up his side. A million questions don’t come out of his mouth, held back but each growing his expression exponentially.

“That’s incredible! Did he say why!?”

She smiles brightly as Evan joins – she’s made some more improvements she’s eager to tell him of – but she doesn’t get the chance as he is called away via Totemphone she is not privy to yet… and leaves her the words that excite her…. her one regret in coming to petition as Eagle is that she may not get to see and commune with Maelstrom. Now… now…

“Oooooh.” Is all she says outloud, but she’s near quivering in excitement, with the chance to commune with a Spirit as great as Maelstrom, who must have seen such ache, and yet remains steadfast and strong. “Oh. Oh!” She is not always eloquent, the little Godi.

She blinks, but then turns back to what Sam had said of Spirits. “All are intelligent. You just have to learn how to understand them and their ways.”

Then Marcus joins and she lifts her hand and waves with a grin. “Hi Marcus! Guess who gets to see Maelstrom after all!”

A hand reached up to run through his hair while he again nodded at her leg. “If you like, I can heal your injury,” he said again. “I am theurge, after all.”

It had been the first time the two men bonded.

Sam sits directly next to the Godi. He’s a pillar of Rage, tightly wound against indomitable will and breeding that speaks of the greatest heroes of their tribe. Were it not for that nearly shoulder length blonde hair and the sunny disposition that comes not simply from being born at the waxing end of the same moon phase he might remindthem of a younger version of the Eagles’ Alpha wolf. Sam waits, supressing the urge to itch at closed but not disappeared wounds beneath the t-shirt and waits for the higher ranked Garou to resond to the boy.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet.” He offers plainly. “You’re staying in the room next to my brother’s, aren’t you?” He points, out one of the entryways and across the hall to the doorway of the single-bed room.

It’s clear she and Marcus have bonded in some way, their banter easy and friendly as is befitting their ages, despite the difference in rank. Their comraderie is natural, uncomplicated, and almost cute to watch. Of course, Joss, for all her average height, average looks, average being? Is often classified as ‘cute’ anyway. She’s a natural ‘little sister’, she’s earthy, she’s… she’s Joss. Unique, just like everyone else.

She tosses in a quick intro between the two boys, however, with a grin. “Sam, Marcus, Marcus Sam.” Helpful and all that.

He bounds up the back stairs to the second floor, a homemade backpack slung over his left shoulder. The fingers of his left hand curled around the strap. He makes a lot of noise stomping up the stairs, moving as quickly as he could. He comes to a pause at the top of the stairs, glancing around the hall.

*He looks over at Sam. Where Sam is the idealized Fenrir, at least in the looks and breeding department, Marcus is the opposite in that respect. He’s tall, and his skin is usually fair, but he has black dark hair, and the bone structure common to people of Native American ancestry, high cheek bones, wide set eyes, and a flat nose.

He stands about 6 and a half feet tall, weighing easily over two hundred pounds of almost all muscle. His frame is a lean muscle mass of a very young man in his late teens. He has slightly broad shoulders and his accent is flat, common to make of the mid-west states.

He says to Sam.* “Maybe. I room next to a Garou named Lukas… I think his Deed Name is Wyrmbreaker. I could be wrong on that.”

*She nods at Joss’s introduction* “Right. Marcus Schwarzkopf, Two Ravens. Cliath Forseti of the Fenrir from the Wind House Sept in Pine Ridge, South Dakota.”

“I’m Sam, like she said. Sam Modine. Mjollnir’s Heart, Cliath too, and Modi. Bonded with the Unbroken Cirlce and I’m from a lot of places at this point but I had my Rite of Passage at the Forest of Oak and Ivy Sept in Connecticut.” That said he nods to the other, younger of the too. Now suddenly not as much a boy in his eyes, as Cliath are young men, no matter their age. “We’re well met,” is all he offers after that, along with a slight nod that send some of the blonde hair wisping in front of his face from behind his ear.

“Staying long?”

The jury is still out on whether or not that makes her bat shit crazy or not – consulting the magic 8 ball usually gets an ‘all signs point to yes’.

Wahya tops the stairs and she waves at him with a little grin, as she unfolds her legs from under her, smoothing her skirts back down over her thighs, before bare feet hit the edge of the coffee table, and she slouches, comfortably. They say where they’re from, and she idly tosses in. “Oh – And I’m from Storm Hammer, born n bred.”

No wonder she came specifically to answer an Eagle’s call.

He tucks his red stained right hand into a back pocket. Long matted tendrils of dark hair slither off his shoulders to touch against a scarred temple and cheek. Most of it held back from his face by a makeshift bandanna. The hawkish features, hooded eyes and the slight curve of his nose and flat nostrils, and bronzed skin spoke of a mixed ethnicity. He carried some strong native features, that part was evident, but what else he was mixed with is hard to tell from a distance. He is shorter than most present, standing six inches over five feet on the lean wiry side, by the way his street clothes hang off him.

He pulls his left hand free, waving to Joss and offering her a flash of white teeth, the incisors a bit sharper than natural. “Hellos.”

“What exactly do you need with her?” No longer is this idle conversation, Marcus will get the feeling suddenly that this being of infinite rage stands at the foot of a locked gate and with arms crossed and sword at his hip makes a career of vetting entry through it.

The Rage doesn’t spike, but it’s never been anything to take lightly even when he was jovial those few seconds ago rather than as stern, serious and seeming every bit the seven years older than the other that separates them.

She hasn’t seen him since the night they shared a meal, and he discovered AnneMarie had passed, his grief clearly etched in his eyes, his demeanor that night. Her question now doesn’t bring it up, though there is an underlying comfort, understanding laced through her words.

Picking himself up off the floor, unfolding like reverse origami, the leggy lupus shakes his head and sheds on the floor, shakes his full body. A jackal-like wolf, he is all ears and eyes and legs, rather like he grew the rest of him on stilts cleverly disguised as legs.

Skinny Legs trots into the common room, mostly in a straight line.

“Wahya’s well,” he answers Joss, his attention diverted for the moment to meet her eyes as he addressed her, and then it was back to the Get of Fenris once more.

The loud thump makes him flinch, his head swung away in the direction of Sampson, eying the wavering jackal for a moment and then brings his attention back to the others.

*He looks at Sam with a calm face.* “Hmmm? Oh is she your mate cousin? I meant no immoral intentions toward her if that is your concern. ” *He looks at the board again posting his note back up.* “No someone left a response to the message I posted asking if anyone here had any talent with paints and someone mentioned Gabriella.” *He says in an calm, even voice.*

The bruises under his fur are already receeding, bless this form and its lolling tongue and quick healing. Skinny Legs flops on the floor in the center of the room and pants, letting the flow of air across his tongue begin the cooling process.
He smells not of werewolf, not of human. Nothing, in fact. Here, he lets the wolf smile range across his face, with all it does and does not imply.

Simple enough.

“I’m going to go see about that soda.” He turns and smiles to the Godi next to him on the couch, one hand opening to tap on her knee. “I’ll be back in a couple. Save me a seat if you would.” The upturn of lips faces the natives, both and the tribemate beside him before he extends his form the first time in front of most of them. Most strikingly, he’s tall, all of six foot four and perhaps a little on top of that, his shoes only add even more. He’s graceful, preternaturally so, even without the extra supernatural bounce in that department that he’d found in a game of one on one with Lukas allowed him to dunk a basketball from nearly the three point line. He’s thin, lithe, really, wired strong muscle climbing every inch of him and duly visible beneath his clothing. He’s a walking portrait of their Modi idel.

If he can only manage to continue living up to it.

That Rage washes through the room and then down the stairs.

She doesn’t react to his tap on her knee, just chuckles with a slight nod. Something has amused her – but there’s really no telling what it is. At least, she’s not telling. For all they know it could be a spirit whispering in her ear. She’s just THAT weird.

She finally meets Marcus’ gaze, and a brow quirks upwards a touch, her amusement clearest for him, as he knows her best of all those in the room.

He drops his gaze down to the jackal-wolf lying on the floor cooling itself off and tilts his head. Wahya removes the backpack from his shoulder, easing the pressure of its weight slowly down his left arm and letting it dangle to the floor by the strap in his hand. He reads the look of amusement in Joss, completely at a loss to whatever was going on.

Apparently, it was quite close to something she was thinking, too.

When Sam does return he says in a calm and even voice.* “So cousin I take it then you are staking a claim to this kin girl Gabriella? That you are in the process of proclaiming her to be your mate then?” *He says as he turns to look at Sam.* “If you’re not I’m just curious as to why you would feel the need to tell me as to what I can and what I cannot do with her considering we are of the same rank… -yuf. Unless of course she is your mate, or mate-to-be, or your blood kin then that is different… Is she any of those things to you?”

The Godi though gets a matching can to replace her empty one which Sam promptly takes for her and walks across the room for the recycling. Marcus is speaking and perhaps it’s the way Sam’s whole form stiffens up, the hairs on the ear of his neck behind his ears and jaw rise the way hackles would if he were in any other skin but this.

“She’s under my protection, and has been since you were in grade school. Further than that, is really outside the bounds of things-that-are-your-business.” Now? Now he’s angry, striding up so he’s looking directly down into the eyes of the other. It’s an open show of dominance. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

…but this that give the indication this time he is reacting visibly to the other Fenrir. ))

The earlier rain had abated and now he was a little more dry, heading back into the common room. And the tension seemed to have come up a little more as he appeared, plate with fork and knife in one hand, glass of water in the other. Eyes just scanning about.

There’s a glance at Samson, as he shifts and then stares into space, but it returns to watch Sam and Marcus face off with a shake of her head. Boys. Always pissing and moaning over territory. Usually girls. Mildly… “Could have said that the first time he asked. Then perhaps it wouldn’t have been questioned.”

Ah, logic.

She waves to Evan with a grin as he returns.

Joss manages to catch his attention, gesturing for him to sit down on the other side of her. He obliges, pulling his bag with him and flops down into the couch cushions with a soft grunt. He sets the bag on the floor between his feet, hands lying across his stomach as he leans back, fingers interlock.

Marcus for his part keeps his cool. He knew this was coming, Modi can be very predictable that way. He simply crosses his arms across his chest, and looks the Modi right back in his eyes, not backing down.*

“So she’s under your protection then. So then you’re saying I’m someone who is not to be trusted? That when I said I had no immoral intentions toward this kin girl that I spoke falsely? That even though I am a Fenrir I cannot trusted to be in her room with her, even if she agrees to it?

Is that why you a Cliath like me felt to give me an order as to what I can, and cannot do with this kin girl? Is that what you are saying… -yuf?” *He says in a calm and even voice.*

From pissed. To pity in those large blue eyes. “Idiot.” Then Sam is taking two steps backward and shaking out one hand. “You’re taking the order or you’re hitting the sidewalk.” The implication is he’s not going to be taking the stairs. “And you’ll need to find another artist.”

It takes the closing of eyes and the re-opening before it’s whole different story. He’s wearing the face of their benefactor, all glory and righteous strength. It’s beautiful and it’s terrifying all at once.

It’s Fenris.
Made man.

Sampson, left in charge by Lukas, waits to see if Sam will take the hint or no.

However with the moon being so full above it was not likely wise he would stand aside as these two started their pissing contest. He reaches out for his simple skills, hoping to defuse the situation if Sampson cannot.

(Pursausion. Come on dice, love me baby)

And it could have been avoided by not avoiding a simple question. Funny how that works.

She taps her fingers lightly on the can of coke in her hand, watching as her bare feet bounce against the coffee table, causing her knees to bounce, her skirt to flutter – just a natural and unconscious expansion of energy, of which she always has too much.

She nods to Wahya with a chuckle. “Yeah, seems so. Marcus asked for an artist, was given her name. Don’t know her myself.”

She nods to Evan as he sets aside his foot, and lets her feet slide to the floor, sitting up on the edge of the couch as she sets aside her coke can too. He is her (hopeful!) Beta. If he wishes to diffuse the situation, she will come to his aid, instantly.

Wahya is silent and lethargic to his higher ranked comrade sitting next to him. He can feel the bundle of energy that is Joss, sitting on the edge of the cushions, ready to act if her pack mate needed it.

In his mind’s eye, wolves were more civilized than humans when it came to social gatherings. At least this was a nice lesson in the social structure of the two-leg wolves thriving here in Chicago.

“So I am an idiot now, and a dishonorable untrustworthy Garou? One who you have to use the gifts bestowed upon by our Tribe, give to us by noble Fenris. And now you claim the whole of the Brotherhood as your territory. That I must follow your orders or I am forbidden from remaining here. Is that your position cousin?

Truly you must think of me as worthless. And if that is so then I am taking it you are issuing a challenge to me? Is that what you are doing? Because unless all those things are true the only way under the law of our people is you have to issue a challenge in order for me to follow your command since you are not my Alpha and not of higher rank.”

*He stands there arms still crossed not moving.*

(Dex+wits 7)

Visage of Fenris is -1 diff to social rolls BY the user, and -1 init to attacks AGAINST the user. Once it’s on it’s active for the scene. I think you guys have already figured that out.

Second thing: in the future, instead of bickering OOCly, if you can’t agree on a rule, find a moderator.)

1a. Punch -2
1b. Punch -3
1r. Kick

Will pull damage if it goes to enough lethal to kill him as per dex specialty (precise movement)

Stupid arguments that Meant nothing.

“STOP. NOW”

(COME ON EXPRESSIONS)

Rage already burning his knee flies toward the Half-Moon.

Stop PMing/IMing me questions about mechanics for this scene. It is not office hours. I am not even home. I am at work. I’m watching this scene while multitasking and getting ready to go home, and I am NOT here to make rulings. The Ground Rules state very clearly:

“2. Player vs Player Combat
In the case of PvP combat, if the players involved are unable to agree on a particular rule or roll, please seek out a neutral third party that ALL players in combat agree to. Once you accept this third party as your Moderator, the Moderator becomes the effective ST for that combat. As such, any and all rulings made by the Moderator are final within scope of the combat.

As with STed scenes, if you disagree with the rulings made, bring them up to me in OH or email, and I will reconsider the rule for future use. However, as with STed scenes, my rulings will NOT be retroactive — so choose your moderator wisely!”

Find a mod if you can’t agree/figure out the rules for yourself. The next system-related question I get is earning a warning. Thanks for your cooperation.)

“You however.” He hadn’t hurt the boy badly, hardly even a bruise, this had been a display, an exhibition. The slightest hitch in his step from before is gone. “When one of your tribe has a legitimate and standing claim over kinfolk you do not question it, you do not pry into it. You accept their conditions for the interaction with that kinfolk and leave it be.”

He spits. Directly into the other’s face.

“It’s territory, to be respected. You’re a disgrace to your moon, boy.” He snarls. “And learn to defend yourself….call yourself Fenrir….” This as he turns away. “Sampson, I have a patrol, you’re welcome to join.” One way or the other, he’s walking down the stairs.

No words are audible, as , while Sam speaks, Chastises , Sampson gathers his will, and projects across the totemphone.
You stepped outside the Circle tonight, Sam. Your path is chosen. Walk it alone.

And close to instantly, the connection to the Talons of Horus– closes. With Sam on the Outside.

“WHAT THE FU…”

He took a breath to try and calm himself now, his rage was demanding to be let free, a simple slip shy of going insane. His voice finding calm now, softening.

“There are humans downstairs.. why you risk the potential to frenzy here? Outside of a just challenge?”

Then over to the new Half-moon, his eyes staring at him, looking him down. His muscles clenched to his lanky frame. Eagle’s might flowing through his veins.

“And is this true? Do you question the claim of another, without proper challenge or claim of your own? What is…”

He took several more deep breaths, looking back to Sampson.

“Who is Truthcatcher? Who is Master of Challenges? I think I will need to speak with them sooner than I hoped.”

Already, a few nights back with the Sept and already the old politics resume.

And she does not stand to stop him.
She stands by his side to back him up.

For all that they are Fenrir, the Cliaths and herself, Evan is the beta of the pack she petitions, the pack that has held her, heart and soul, since she saw them first years ago.

“Sam.” The voice is calm, the command within is undeniable. This is a ranking Fenrir Fostern, who bids him pause – then Evan speak, and she shakes her head. She was witness. “That is not what happened. I will go with you, as witness.”

And this for a child of Gaia.

“What happened tonight?”

Praying it was not like before, like old Sept politics that forced the Eagles to leave in the first place.

It was the voice of Evan that spoke with such authority, such… power behind it that made him stop completely in his tracks, only defending himself now. He’d been given an order by a higher rank that much he knew, and his Garou training told him he must cease instantly!

He looked at Sam with a stoic face to the Modi’s words. His only reaction was when the spit hit him between the nose, a blink of his eyes and the jerking back of the head.

He wiped the spit off of his face and said to Evan.* “No ~Rhya I have no intentions toward this kin Gabriella. I don’t even know who she is, what tribe she is, or even the look of her face. I inquired as to who she was as she had replied to my message on the board about seeking an artist. When I asked about her I was given an order by… the Modi that I could only see her at certain times, and not enter her room.

I asked if she was his mate, mate-to-be or kin. He did not answer, and questioned my honor and intelligence, so according to the customs of the Fenrir when another Fenrir is accused of being dishonorable it is an issue of a challenge. I asked if this was so, and he attacked me.”

She turns to Samson, and tips her head, slightly. Her voice softens. “It all could have been avoided by his saying simply that Gabi was under the protection of the Unbroken Circle. Your packmate is Modi, but even a Fenrir can answer a simple question without blows – most times.”

She then turns to Evan once more, nodding. “What I have scene of Marcus shows him to be an honorable Cliath, and a worthy Foresti. He speaks the truth.”

*He nods his head respectfully.*

Dick-waving and foolishness…I had such hope.

He looked at Joss as she recounted the story, then to Sampson as he fills in the details. He was not fully aware of the situation and in that he failed himself. He did not know the details and made a reactive judgment, something he should have known better than to do.

“Understood. Thank you all.”

His eyes fall to the ground, wishing that some things would change, but knew some never did.

“Marcus, this action may come before the Moot and I am sorry, but we as philodox, our honor must be beyond repute. You will be called to defend yourself. As for the Challenge. That will be discussed with the Master of Challenges as well. If it is just, you must see it through. Understood?”

If not put to another question are council he will move back to his meatloaf, looking at it. Whispering to himself.

My food is cold, shoot.

Oh – and… she looks over at Evan with a curious tilt of her head. “Remind me, I’d like to talk about what you said earlier.. when your ready. After you’ve eaten, maybe, or on patrols.”

*He turns to Sampson.* “I do apologize to his pack, the Unbroken Circle for any disharmony our actions have caused tonight. It was not my intention to bring this about, but that does not excuse it.”

*He swallows and wipes the spit on his hand on his pant leg.* “I apologize for disturbing your evening.” *He says to all present.*

Joss is all grins once again, flopping back down onto the couch where Wahya’s warm spot once was. He looks down at her briefly, and then flicks his gaze up to the others. His head shakes slowly, “Much disappointment this is,” he murmurs.

Wahya steps around Joss, moving away from the couch. There is a solemn expression worn on his weathered features. He isn’t happy with what he just witnessed.

He started to pick at the food after he moved to sit down, even if it was still cold he would eat and enjoy. But it would just not be the same.

“What? What did I say before I am sorry, I seem to have forgotten.”

She looks up at Wahya, as he steps around, curious. but she doesn’t stop him, just waves a goodbye, and pats the couch next to her in Marcus’ general direction. “Don’t worry about it. Sit.”

Then she laughs at Evan, a soft easy sound. “You said to visit Maelstrom. I was hoping for more idea of the hows and why that this has come to pass – so that I might know what to expect when I arrive.”

It didn’t matter, really, what she smelled like, because in the end Marrick just smelled like she needed a shower. Her hair was pulled back in a high, but messy, ponytail. She wiped her hands off on her shirt, dirt streaked across the front. Marrick tromped up the stairs, sounding as though she was six feet four inches tall, two-hundred twelve pounds.

When she got to the common room, it was almost dissapointing that Marrick was about eighty pounds lighter and nine inches shorter than she sounded.

She stopped.

She looked around.

And she blinked.

Once he is outside, the Uktena tries to breathe a little easier, to push aside what he has just seen, but it bothers him. This Scab was beginning to bother him. He makes his way down the sidewalk, not looking behind him as he decides to take a long walk outside of the city limits. He had other duties that needed his attention.

“Umm, yes. The Eagles have decided to return to the Sept. Maelstrom is a totem of sacrifice, when you go to make your offering, make sure that it is truly something that you will miss. It will never return however. As for the why’s…”

He picked at his food again, looking at the departing of some. Sampson and Wahya, the entrance of others. A face he has yet to see here now.

“Good evening miss.”

Directed at the Fury, blinking.

She steps into the main restaurant, walking around tables in the dimly lit main room. Truthfully, the human patrons of this establishment must wonder from time to time what goes on upstairs. Perhaps some with more extra imaginations believe it to be a brothel; a drug den. In either case, she murmurs a word to the bar-tender, and then steps through to the stairs, adroitly ignoring the burly man’s curious glance in response to the faint, unnatural whirring sound that he catches on the edge of his hearing.

She steps up to the common room, casting a glance toward Marrick as she steps around her – Imogen, a slight redhaired woman with pale skin, incredibly dark eyes. Even those in the room who do not know her would recognize her for what she is – feel the breath of purebreeding the seeps from her very being, hear the blood of the Fianna as it pulses in her veins. The whirring sound continues unabated, and Imogen’s hand remains in her pocket. The kinwoman scans the room until she finds Joss – moves with purpose bordering on irritation.

She closes the distances and pulls her hand from her pocket, holding a small toy police car by its roof, its little wheels spinning spastically, the little car whirring as if it were electric.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she says without particularly caring if she interrupts at all, “but,” now she speaks directly to the Godi, “your toy is following me.”

And then she smiled something content, but didn’t offer her hand. She was, after all, covered in engine grease. She didn’t touch much of anything, actually, for fear of getting the world dirty.

“‘sup?”

For all that she was, Marrick Fisher was not an articulate creature. A tad more outgoing than one would think, yes, but not articulate by any means.

Imogen makes an appearance, and looks.. a little irritated. She blinks, and sits up, setting her coke aside as Imogen holds out the little car and…

…oh dear.

She reaches to take the police car, pressing her lips together for a long moment, before she can manage to hold back the the laughter, and clears her throat. “My apologies, Imogen. I’ll take care of it.”

She looks at the car, sternly, and mutters under her breath directly at the car Are you trying to get me beat? This was not the deal!

Check one for the ‘batshit crazy’ list….

Home was never like this, sneaking in through the back door, speaking in hushes. Boy came in through the front this time. He was hungry and tired, and unsure which of these took preference now. And as he sat, one face in the crowd of strangers seemed extra strange, because it wasn’t. Did that make sense? Did anything?

He stood for a while, watching Wendy perplexed and secretly wondering if this was really happening.

Wow.

After that snicker started to pass over him, he looked back at the grease covered woman, probably not much younger than himself and nods.

“I am sorry, I believe we have not yet met. I am Evan.”

A polite nod to the woman.

Just as a smiling waitress was bringing him a menu Boy stood up. He circled around the room, avoiding Wendy’s line of vision.

She was thinking of going up there, wasn’t she?

A flick of her glance toward Joss as she whispers at the whizzing, whirring and impotent toy car.

“I think beating might be a rather mild exaggeration,” she observes, a smirk crossing her mouth.

But still, it’s really kind of funny, and Evan almost laughing isn’t helping any!

She looks at the little car and glares at it before talking again, sternly. “Stop. Right now!”

And the car does. The wheels stop moving so spastically, spinning out in an attempt to get to Imogen. “That’s better. We’ll talk about this later!” The car makes a little tiny pathetic beeping sound, and then falls still, as Joss grabs her bag off the coffee table and slides the car inside.

Then she looks up at Imogen… “Um… buy ya a beer?”

He didn’t have a determined walk. Walking was just walking really. And he didn’t quite have an opening line. Those things, and the necessity for them, didn’t exist in his brain. But one approach is as good as another, and Boy did just that. He approached Wendy, making no effort to be either silent or loud. But he did speak.

“You’re refusing to stay off that foot, aren’t you?”

“You wish to know why now yes? Well for myself I always felt the Sept needed us. The reasons the Eagles left however was….”

He thought about the incident that just occurred, shaking his head.

“Similar to what happened. Garou fighting over who can see whose kin, Pointless infighting as the wrym grows. However we are no simple pack, we are ranked individuals here. Maybe still young at Storm Hammer, but here in Chicago we are senior members of the Nation. Decker knows this and cannot just go running around anymore, he must settle down with a Sept. And Chicago is his home, better here than anywhere else.”

Nodding.

Back to his mashed potatoes now, mushy and cold.

Damn.

Joss offers her a drink, and the kinwoman pauses, her gaze flicking around the room briefly. It is clear consideration, and her acceptance is not thoughtless. A brief incline of her chin, “Whatever they ha’ on draught,” she says.

Evan speaks – and Imogen’s gaze moves to him – resting there as he speaks of the Eagles rejoining the Sept. While her attention is clear, little else is.

Yes. He’d go look. Up there.

Now, there was the damnest thing about being from Oklahoma; there was a drawl to her speach. Something slight, yes, not nearly as prominent as others, but there. Persistent. Insistent. And it had a lovely way of making I’s sound like Ah’s and made Marrick into a one-syllable name.

For the rest of her part, she was listening to the story. She wasn’t sure who the Eagles were, not at first, but she stood with quiet curiosity and just listened.

And he regards her with the same akward curiosity, as if seeing her for the first time, this time around.

Even as moments later she’s laughing softly as she stands. “It kinda probably would only work for me – though I don’t know, if anyone could have gotten him to listen, maybe it’s you.”

She grins and waves. “be right back!” before she’s bounding down the stairs to get Imogen a beer, and another soda for herself – with all the energy a young teenager can muster. And that? Is a lot.

He looks to the kin behind the bar, and the kin that were waiting tables, all of whom seemed to be taking turns looking at the two of them.

“You mean you’re…No, we can’t talk about this here. Lets go upstairs. Do you need any help?”

And when they got up and into the common room…Well, he too sort of stopped.

And blinked.

But she wore her expressions openly; and Boy was home, and so she was pleased.

“Hey! You helped fix stuff, ya know where I c’n find a wrench?”

A beat. A look at Wendy.

“‘sup?” with an upward nod and a smile. She was a little too country to have pulled off such a distinctly urban gesture, but Marrick had, once upon a time, been subjected to enough MTV that it could fit.

And as the Godi bounces from the chairs and down the stairs his eyes move over to Imogen and a nod.

“Please relax, I am sure she will fix that car up soon. No need to worry… well I might not use a power strip for some time.”

The Boy and Wendy both appear at the top of the stairs – the movement catches Imogen’s gaze. Her eyebrow arches faintly as she sees Wendy, the spindly girl sharply familiar. The eyebrow soon settles, her mouth drawing tight. Her gaze moves away, flicking down toward the food on Evan’s plate, the mashed potatoes congealing. “That looks -” a pause before she chooses her word, “unappetizing.”

The room is full – conversations overlapping, the kinwoman’s gaze moves to some of the occupants, but keeping up, or even paying attention to all the details is impossible. She does not bother – but people’s faces, those she can take in.

Her attention returns to Evan, an eyebrow arching, “I wasn’t aware that I was tense.”

“Oh! Marrick. Hey Marrick. See, there’s my sister I was telling you about. Marrick this is Wendy.”

The hand that was holding the Mousy kin was dropped. It left to gesture other things, like the sister that wasn’t imaginary, and the general direction of Marcus’s room.

“Marcus has tools. A whole bunch of ’em. He’ll let you borrow if you ask nice. Oh, and I found this park, its the weirdest thing. And a Library. Oh yeah, Wendy helped me at the Library. Only…I couldn’t get a card.”

He certainly wasn’t shy up here.

With hands full, her accent up the stairs is slower then her quick decent had been. No less energetic, but mindful that spilling Imogen’s beer on top of the car fiasco? Might not be the best of maneuvers with which to cap her night. So she’s careful.

She makes her way into the room, smiling at Marrick and Boy with a quiet. “Hey” as she moves past them, and a grin for Wendy too. She moves to Evan first – they share a rank, but as he is Beta it is only proper that she does so. She sets the plate down next to him, where everything is still steaming hot and freshly plated. “Try that.”

Then it’s to the couch, and Imogen, to whom she offers the beer.

She looked at Boy with a curious look. She cocked her head to the side, and he was talking about new places. She stood still, moreso than the normally was. Movement was purposeful instead of fidgetty.

“Ohh sweet action, where is it? What’s the weirdest thing?…”

a pause. A grin.

“Can you show me?”

Then back to the pair that he knew.

“Thank you Joss.”

Then back to Imogen.

“I didn’t mean you were tense, just a saying.”

He gave a nod to Joss as she went by, but noted Wendy’s Cringing at the same time.

She was scared. Of course. She was kin, and she was surrounded by so much Rage. Boy took that sort of energy for granted, not always able to discern between the tension he felt in others and that which came from himself.

“Yeah…yeah, I will. Wendy and I, we just came up to look for a book though. We should probably do that…Are you okay?”

The last was to Wendy, with a look of earnest concern.

Imogen is just reaching for the beer as her mobile phone sounds sharply in her purse, resting by her hip on the couch. The corner of her mouth turns down, and she takes a swallow of the beer before reaching down to her phone, which she flips open.

“I need to go,” she says, simply, glancing at Joss as she stands, “Thank-you for the beer. Excuse me.” She slides her purse back up her arm, and carries her beer with her, presumably to hand it to the ‘tender as she passes him downstairs.

(bed time, folks!)

She grabs her bag, and moves over to sit at the table with Evan, kicking off her shoes under the table and pulling her feet up under her in crisscross applesause before she lets her head hit the table with a little dismayed thunk. “…oh my god. The car. It was CHASING her…”

((night!!))

“I wonder what she is going to Decker of all this?”

Yes he was playing with her now, and god was he a horrible liar in it all. It was likely Decker wouldn’t think much of it, or Imogen would say anything about it. But he wanted to see how she would react, if he could pull it off.

She seemed excited, but then? Then she looked at Wendy for a moment, listened to the kinfolk talk about her lost book. The one that she must have put somewhere else and, then? She had to ask. She looked at the girl with the glasses, looping her thumbs through her belt loops.

“Hey, umm… you want some help lookin’ for it?”

..her gaze narrows. “You’re messing with me….” She lifts a hand and points at him and tries to look stern “You think I can’t trick out your hat too?” but then she’s laughing, and leaning back in her chair, shaking her head, her dreads falling from the loose bun she’d twisted them into, cascading down her back. “It really was kinda funny, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. We’ll help you look for it. Maybe somebody found it and brought it up here or something.”

“Yeah… well I doubt you could.”

He looked at her, almost as if challenging her to do it until…

“Because I don’t wear one, so good luck trying that.”

He looked down at the hot food once again.

“Yes it was, I think Imogen might have even laughed if it didn’t happen to her.”

And she was welcoming. She was a friendly enough girl, despite the fact that she felt like a damned title wave of adolescent female Rage. Wendy conceded, and Marrick was elated. She wore the expression openly, like a badge of pride.

…probably not. This is James they’re talking about.

“I didn’t tell her – but it… in the car? Was chasing her because he liked her hair. Said it shone under the lights – so kept chasing her under them.” She sighs, deeply. Elementals. As bad as boys really.

She still didn’t seem comfortable here, and he wasn’t comfortable anywhere else.

“Lets…find that book.”

And he begins to do so, spying the couple in the Common room and opting to look elsewhere for now.

“What did you do to James’ hat and why?”

And then back to the car and the sirens, talking about how the hair shone in the light. He wondered if this might happen again.

“As long as it doesn’t wake me up…”

She giggles, just thinking about it – her eyes dancing with mirth and fun. This is the Teenage Girl side of the Fostern Godi… and it’s really? Quite cute. It’s very hard to dislike her, all told.

Back to the car, and she chuckles. “I’ve other things in place now – I’ll move it up to my room.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” she said. She tried to be comforting. It may or may not have worked.

“You’re really not comfortable here, are you? I’m sorry, I…I didn’t think. I’ll tell you what, how about we keep an eye out for it, and get it to you if we find it. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other somewhere.”

He moved toward her, offering that supportive arm again.

“For now, let me walk you down.”

“I wish I could have seen it. To watch his reaction would have been wonderful.”

And the way she giggled, hell he wondered if she was even a Get after all. He had almost never heard any Fernir giggle. It was a little worrisome.

“I say leave it in James’ room, it might entertain him for some time.”

So, there she was, a ball of rage and intensity and hospitality. She offered a little wave, and then? Well, she looked at Boy for a moment, and it was almost an apologetic tone that she took with her expression. She wasn’t sure what she was apologising for, but someting about Wendy’s nerves reminded her of…

She didn’t explore the thought much longer than that.

It’s certainly worrisome to here a fenrir that giggles. It might lead one to wonder what happens when her smile fades, when her laughter goes, when that dancing mirth in her eyes disappears to something far harder, far more violent then the girl that sits so comfortably across from him. That’s when it becomes dangerous. That’s when it’s time to worry.

“There’s an idea! I think you may have a touch of prankster in you after all….”

“Alright. It’s alright. No need to apologize. I’ll see you later, alright?”

Yes, he knew that reaction very well.

He watched her as the gears were turning in her head. He wondered what maybe would one day happen if he did get on her bad side. What spirits would he find in his room?

“What other items have you worked with now?”

“She seems really nice,” she finally said.

The thought seemed to sadden him as he watched her go. When she’s out of sight he turns to his once-packmate, indicating the grease stains.

“You working on the truck?”

THen he asks a question about the further defenses and she smiles happily. “I’ll work on some more tonight – but there are more wards in place around the kin house. There’s protocals, so that when someone comes form either side, we’ll be warned. There are little hummingbirds that will swoop to the nearest Eagle, and if you are suddenly stung by a bee, I’d check in to see who’s tripped the alarm. Not to say you wouldn’t get stung by a normal be – but mine are insistent. And not as likely to become enamored with a certain redheaded kin.” She groans again, and looks at her bag, before chuckling.

“These will work on either side too – and will let us know if anyone comes to the kinhouse. Oh! And there’s hot water at the dockhouse, as requested.”

Why, of course, wasn’t something to question. Boy thinks he scared Wendy, and for the time being she was quiet. She slipped her thumbs through her belt loops; Marrick might not have been the world’s best driver, but the Ahroun was a diligent mechanic. Not the best, but certainly thorough.

“She reminds me of Sarah,” she said, offhandedly. It seemed to slip, but she continued before that thought could be lingered on. “Maybe this is just kind of new and scary to her. Who knows. Maybe she doesn’t do crowds or something.”

He almost snickered at that thought. The idea of a bee buzzing around and stinging Decker several times before he went to see what the hell was going on. And even as strong a warning as that was, he worried how many pranks this girl could possibly do. And that giggling would haunt him slightly.

“Thats good, you seem to have been as busy as… well a bee.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Anyway, if you need some help, I’m available. You were looking for tools, right?”

She shrugs, and grins at him. “You told me to see to it. That’s what I’m doin. The Spirits have been eager to answer my summons, but not so easy to bind. I think there has been some abuse there – but the ones that have been willing to serve, are eager to see what the new Godi has to offer. I will not fail them – or you.”

Marrick Fisher, once upon a time, had a crescent wrench. And a lot of other tools. Some part of that made her quite, quite pleased. the bare bones set, however, seemed to be doing the job quite nicely.

“I think… I think that I should be able to get her running pretty well in a couple days.”

“Yes, I know. It has been some time since we have had a Theurge who worked with the spirits and we knew what she was doing.”

He looked down at his plates now and looks back to her.

“I think I should put these away and tend to my duties. I am sure James would like to be released from his own patrol.”