[Fire-Claws] His jarl had tasked him to set right the problem that came about with the snobby, little fire-hair girl that thought better of herself. He didn’t like carrying the small piece of weaver created taint around wherever he went, not to mention the fact that he had to carry it into such a sacred place as the Sept. But duty was duty.
Plus there was that nagging question that Bridget had his little brain starting to think about.
So the lupus, dressed in an old, worn out fleece, ripped here and there, hunted through the caern. The silver gun held in his pocket like some horrific little annoying burden he couldn’t wait to get rid of. Fire-claws had a few descriptions to go on, but the most telling of them all was that fire-red hair like the fianna kin that caused this whole problem.
He would make sure to hand over the gun and make sure that Rory knows how poorly she has been doing as ward to the fianna kin.
[Rory] She isn’t hard to find, really, for one that hides so often and so well. Today she is kneeling at the edge of Maelstrom, her hands clasped lightly in her lap as she watches the waters’ constant swirl. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, and she seems largely unaware of what is going on around her.
She has questions.
She waits for answers.
[..and waits and waits and waits…]
Tattered jeans, an equally tattered t-shirt, and as always that tangledown tumble of blood-red curls. But what is more telling is unexplainable, but undeniable – it is the scent of purity… wasted in the lean body of the Fianna. It leaves no doubt who she is – what she is – at all.
[Fire-Claws] He moves through the gathering ground and the graves stones. He does not have her scent like he would normally do back home, that and this monkey skin is far too fragile and weak when it comes to tracking. But it would not be too hard to find the lone fianna garou within the Sept of Maelstrom.
When he moves it is with a predatory grace, a primal instinct that some of this Sept have begun to lack. An intensity in his moves that scream out his nature, his birth. He does not share in the purity that many of this place have, but he is just as unique, just as rare. He does not hide his nature to those of the nation, he wears it all about his body language, a wolf midst the city folk.
Brown eyes watch keenly as his prey sits besides the water’s edge. Slowly pacing towards her, intent on the subject. Pulling the silver colored gun from his fleece as he approaches. Eyes narrowed on the metis.
“Tongue-twista~yuf.”
His words are garbled and touched with an accent, english was obviously a second language to him.
[Rory] The greeting arrives, and her brow furrows deeper for a moment, before her expression clears. She lowers her head a fraction, and turns her head to peek through those curls to look at him, shyly.
The shyness is odd, perhaps – especially in one of her breeding, not to mention the whispers of the spirits – this one is known. Well known. Recently her deeds have given her right to rank, even… but for now, she remains. And, as always, she is shy.
“Yes?”
Single words are easier.
[Fire-Claws] He watches her peek through her curls, like prey would do so before venturing out of its den. His brow furrows as he shakes his head. He reminds himself of what he was here for and with a swift twist of the wrist, the gun is cast to the side of the woman, landing besides her.
“Fire-Claws, forseti cliath. Dat… thing belongs to ya kin. She tried ta shoo’ me. Be grateful I controlled mysef and ain’t killed ‘er.”
He moves in a cirlce from behind her in a quarter arc towards the water’s edge as well. He does not lower his gaze, matching those green eyes with his own.
“Do ya kin even know ya exist?”
[Rory] She drops her gaze to the gun as it lands beside her, looking at it curiously, before looking up to him again. Her head tips, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, chewing the flesh absently. He knows who she is, but she finishes her introduction none the less…
“Mull foon, cliath.”
Sort of.
Her gaze falls to the gun again, and she blinks. “…who? I knon’t dow.”
[Fire-Claws] He looks at her intently and something within him just screams out that he should not trust her. He doesn’t quite understand why, but his wolf-mind tells him she is untruthworthy, unnatural. It was something more than her birth, his former alpha was a metis. It was not her sin-birth. It was something else. He wanted to growl at her, chase her off. But he held back for the moment. Unsure as to what about her was so… wrong.
“‘er hair is like ya’s. Fire. Untrained. Strange eyes…. ” he cannot seem to find the right words to explain it. “sideways eyes. It’s ‘ers. And wha’ bout the feral one? Know her?”
Names were not something he would get used to.
[Rory] She lifts a hand to rub at her nose, absently, while she listens. He has the whole of her attention – it’s clear in the way she watches, even if she never quite meets his gaze… its in the set of her shoulders, the subtle tension along her spine. She listens, she understands… but she is wary.
“Names?”
[Fire-Claws] Names.
Names?
He didn’t get any of there names, this monkey idea of names was something he tended to forget. He remembered scents, features, aspects. Names were as foreign to him as algebra. He tried hard to remember there names. Tried very hard to dig up any inkling of information that would give him some idea.
“Duj don’t know ya kin? How many fire-hair, sideway eyed’ kin ya got? Or monkeys that seem like wolves?”
[Rory] “I’m not..” Her brow furrows, slightly, and then she shakes her head with a sigh.
“Not elder. or..” a tip of her head, slightly. “..knon’t dow.”
She doesn’t notice her words missing up – as if she hears what she intended to say rather than what she has. “Met JB. Nut bo others.”
[Fire-Claws] He begins to frown now, deep and disgusted at this. She was the only fianna in the sept. That was what his Jarl told him, was Kora wrong or was this metis just… He knew he couldn’t trust her now. He still didn’t quite understand why, but his instincts told him that she was most assuredly untrustworthy. Then again she was a fianna afterall.
“Ya the only fianna rite?”
[Rory] She blinks, and then scrubs her hands over her face, with a nod. “Suess go. Without Ruarc.”
The words, mixed up as they are, are tinged with a sadness. She misses her friend, the only Fianna to have shown her kindness. “Kin. Will thind fem.”
and then there’s the gun – she points at it, and arches a brow in question… “Why?”
[Fire-Claws] Maybe it was his lack of use for the english language that was starting to get him annoyed. The words she was using were strange to him, he never heard of many of them. Maybe she was speaking a completely different monley language, they had those afterall. But in any case, he was starting to get annoyed.
And his body language was giving away his emotions, he didn’t hide them very well to begin with. His jarl told him of this one. Strange, timid metis. She didn’t want to accept the responsiobility that was laid on her shoulders, that was fine someone would take it from her one day. But when she motions to the gun he nearly growls.
“Jarl told me ta return it to ya. Ya kin tries it again.. one less of ya kin.”
[Rory] That brow shoots upwards. “Try what?”
There’s a growl underneath the words, the threat raising protective instincts, bleeding through her slender form, straightening her spine, narrowing her gaze… waiting. Watchful.
[Fire-Claws] “I dun’t like guns. Fire-hair points one at me ‘gain… I will not ‘old back.”
He postures himself over her, she may be protectful of her kin. But if that kin does not know her place, threatens him again. He was a lot more protective of himself. His eyes do not stray away from her own. She may not know of her kin, but at least she was somewhat responding to her responsibility.
[Rory] When she stands, it’s with a grace that’s almost surprising – the speed with which she stands certainly is. He postures himself, and she stands and steps into him, her gaze suddenly flashing – brilliant green and oh so very angry.
“Ton’t douch.” a beat. “Ever. Deal mith we. Only.”
[Rory] .
to Rory
[Fire-Claws] He does not back down from her, he does not even begin to think of such an idea. If she wishes to move to challenge, then so be it. He however is a predator first and foremost, he only comes on the advice of his tribal alpha. If he was not so inclinded to control himself, and the aid of the strider kin, Sune would most likely be a blood stain in chinatown by now.
“Take ya responsibilty seriously then, find fire-hair. Give ‘er bak da thing, and teach ‘er betta’. And da feral one, betta keep an eye on ‘er. Wanderin’ around dis scab alone.”
[Rory] “They. Have. Names.”
Each is said with a low growl… clear and distinct. “Thearn lem. Use them.” Then there’s snort as she turns away again to retake her place at the edge of Maelstrom.
“Tespect rerritory. Known or not – mine. Don’t touch.”
[Fire-Claws] He watches her keenly. His eyes do not hide the beast inside, he is not like the monkeys of this scab, he only wears the monkey shin for the safety of the veil. He is wolf through and through. He does not know names. He knows descriptions, actions. Names meant little to him, names was another weapon the weaver used on them.
“Fine.”
That was all, he fulfilled his duty and mde sure the weapon was returned to the rightful owner.
[Rory] There’s a breath through her nose, but she says nothing more.