[Imogen M. Slaughter] A spirit of Joss’s choice leads her to Imogen’s condominium, a mid-rise amidst a campus of similar buildings, the lake close enough to smell, downtown amenities close enough to walk to.
The front door has security – and a security guard sitting at a desk within looking bored. There is an intercom to her left in the door’s alcove, a list of tenants beneath. Imogen’s is sexless, almost informationless – I. M. Slaughter, +0147. Above and encased in a small black half-sphere is a video camera.
She has options, does the Godi. She can buzz up for Imogen to allow her entrance – she can wait, as the elevator doors open a tenant exiting to walk toward the front of the lobby, and find the kinwoman’s apartment through her own methods, or she can use the Umbra.
The Umbra is always available to her, even here, in the heart of the city.
[Joss Lehrer] She has options, even here in the heart of the city, but her mama raised her to be polite, and just popping in on someone via the umbra is not exactly the most polite ways to go about saying hello. Mama would skin her alive if she were so rude, especially on the first visit. Thus, once the questing stone had lead her toward the correct building, with the bored security guard, and the intercom to the left ot the alcove, the Godi presses the button to let Imogen know she’s here.
She is dressed as she always is – though the sweater isn’t worn, but tied around one side of the strap on her canvas messanger bag that hangs at her hip. Her tank top is black, today, and her skirts earthy toned swirls that float about her legs as she walks. The shoes she wears – little ballet flats – make little to no sound, and she tucks her hand around the bag strap that discects her torso diagonally as she waits – giving the poor bored security guard a winning smile as she does so.
When there’s an answer – and she’s no doubt there will be – she simply says. “It’s Joss.”
[Imogen M. Slaughter] There is a pause, a simple moment of silence, static on the other side of the intercom. Then, Imogen’s British accent, her low voice, “It’s apartment nine-oh-five.” The door buzzes as it unlocks.
The lobby within is spacious, clean with seating on the side opposite the security guard, a large potted plant for colour. The floor beneath Joss’s feet is subdued but solid, not cheap. The security guard glances up from his newspaper as the Godi enters and for a moment, he is no longer bored, eyeing the girl suspiciously as she walks to the elevator and presses the button. As she does nothing untoward, nothing worthy of his comment, he merely watches until the elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors open, allowing her entrance.
—
Imogen leans back against the wall opposite the intercom, and reflects that it has been some time since a Garou other than one has come to her building, her apartment. Time ticks out as she waits, does not fidget, does not fuss or sigh, her eyes on nothing but a point to rest them.
When Joss knocks she lifts herself effortlessly up, straightening from the wall and to her feet soundlessly and without a need for balance. Her bare feet are near silent as she takes the single step in the foyer from her place of repose to the door. On the other side, Joss can hear the sound of a deadbolt pulling back, then the click of the handle as Imogen turns it and pulls the door open.
The kinwoman is dressed casually, jeans slung low on slender hips, a sleeveless indian cotton shirt with an open collar. Her hair is back, held in place by clips, strands tumbling down to frame her cheeks, to brush the back of her neck. She steps aside to allow Joss entrance, her gaze taking in the young girl without visible expression.
“Yeh want something t’drink?” she says, in lieu of greeting.
[Joss Lehrer] She’s buzzed in, and she walks through the lobby with that ever present little smile, the Suspicious Security Guard given a grin as she pushes her dreads away from her face. She waits for the elevator, running her tongue over the backside of the piercings in her lip absently, before she steps in with a little hop and pushes the correct floor number.
Once the apartment is located, knuckles are a sharp rap, ‘shave and a haircut…’ of course, and she listens as the locks are pulled back, and then her smile warms just a touch – the difference of stranger to (hopefullysomedayshe’llcallme) friend. “Hi.”
She moves past the redheaded kinswoman and into the foyer, looking about with naked curiosity, almost missing the question. “Hm? Oh.. no thanks. And don’t worry, I left the hot wheels at home.”
[Imogen M. Slaughter] Imogen’s apartment is best described as spartan. There are no adornments on the walls, no photographs of her family or friends on the furniture. There is a media centre, with a stereo system yet no television, seating arranged about a coffee table upon which a laptop rests, the lid shut.
To the left is a small dining area, table, chairs, the doorway to the kitchen and beyond the hallway which presumably leads toward the bedroom.
Imogen watches impassively as Joss studies it all, coming up behind her then stepping around her. Her comment on hot wheels does not provoke a smile.
“I assume yeh’re here because Rohl asked yeh to come,” she says, not so subtly turning the subject to the matter at hand.
[Joss Lehrer] Not even a smile. Hm. Joss’s smile, however, doesn’t even falter, and even slips into a soft chuckle. “Yeah. He was very vague, but seemed to think I should pay you a visit and make sure everything was alright.”
A beat. An arched brow. “Is everything alright?”
An invitation to tell her what she’s looking for, specifically, without any expectation that she’ll get such an explanation.
[Imogen M. Slaughter] A muscle flexes in her jaw. “He wants you to check me for taint,” she says, her tone even, but the words as flat as stones dropped unceremoniously into a still pool.
“I imagine once you have done that, you can tell me.”
[Joss Lehrer]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 9) [WP]
[Joss Lehrer] (OH RLY KAHSEENO?! Come on, ya KNOW ya like the Godi!!!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 10) [WP]
[Joss Lehrer] Well then. She nods, slightly. No reasons were given from Decker either, which on the whole does tend to make things a little more difficult with some things. Often the reasons behind such a request give more to the answer than the check does, gives minute clues of what to look for, and where to focus.
Neither Decker nor Imogen are the sharing type, which could mean that this is a precursor to a worse problem. Or mean they disagree on the need for the check t all.
Or it may just mean it’s Friday.
She presses her lips together, the skin around the piercings whiter than white for a moment, before she relaxes. “Alright. I’m going to pop over to the other side, check a couple things, and then even if I don’t find anything, I’ll do a cleansing just in case to err on the side of caution. I’m not going to go back to Silence and leave even an inkling that I may have missed something. He might ask me to hit him again.” She wrinkles her nose and rubs her jaw absently.
Then she shakes herself, and nods. “I’ll return in a moment – may I use your restroom?” And once again, a product of her mother’s strict upbringing, she will not step sideways in front of the kinswoman, but rather will do so where it’s not such a shock, as there is no hurry.
[Imogen M. Slaughter] There is a fine tension in the kinwoman, but it is an unending thing. It is hard to say if any one thing Joss says causes any irritation, annoyance or merely stress, or if it is the simple situation, upon which she is so closed mouth.
The request results in a lift of her chin toward the hallway. “Second door on the right,” Imogen says.
Then, abruptly as Joss turns away, “Should I stand still or does it matter?”
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, and then starts down the hall – before she turns back and shakes her head. “I can find you. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable if ya like.”
She disappears into the bathroom, and there after a moment or two, there is a sudden silence – where as once moment you can feel that there’s someone in the apartment with Imogen, and in the next, there is a sudden absence of the same.
Joss takes a moment to acclimate herself to the umbral representative of Imogen’s place, and then makes her way back to the living area, doing her best to take in every little detail even here, where she’s as much at home as she is in the real.
[Imogen M. Slaughter] Imogen watches the Godi go, then turns away, walking into the living room as if, suddenly, she were alone. In a way, at least in the way that she can understand it, she is.
She takes a seat on her arm chair, drawing a foot up to slide beneath her, then leans forward to retrieve her laptop, settling it on her lap and pulling it open.
—
The second door on the right, she had said. The first door is shut, as is the third. The middle is clearly the bathroom, the door open showing a spotless interior. A little farther up, on the left is the door to her bedroom, half open, showing the corner of a made bed, but little else.
The umbra is a world of weaver, chittering webspiders crawling up the framework of Imogen’s building, the edges of everything sharp and clear, all right angles and perfect squares. Somewhere a bane howls, screeching into the umbral day, a sliver of the moon slowly sliding toward the horizon, casting its pale crescent glow.
Theurge’s moon.
[Dietrich Burke] ((Guys care if I jump in or closed scene?))
[Joss Lehrer] Somewhere a Bane howls, and Joss’s head whips that direction. She waits a beat, and then makes her way through the hallway once more to the living room, where Imogen sits, for all intents and purposes, alone. Everything is sharp and clear, and the moon, her moon, hangs low, sliding upwards into the sky, putting a lightness to her step, a feral glint to her gaze, a happy little grin forming over her lips as she does a little spin, her skirts flaring about her thighs as she does so.
Oh she DOES love the umbral lands..
But she has a job to do, and thus sets about doing it, focusing on the (oh look… shiny!) task at hand. She circles the room, slowly, the umbral representation different, emptier, though there is a faint glow – so faint – that hovers near the Once Fianna Kin. Joss moves closer, studying it, with brow furrowed and all senses attuned. This is the mate of Silence. She will make no mistake.
This… is different. Something clings to the skin, clings to the essence that is Imogen, but it is not the wyrm, it holds no taint, no stink of things that should not be near the kin. Her brow furrows, and she chews absently on her lip, and takes her time to be assured she has missed nothing else. When she is certain that this is the only feeling she will get, only then does she nod, satisfied.
There will still be a cleansing though. To get that etheral… film… away from Imogen.
[Joss Lehrer] And a few moments after that – she pops back into the bathroom, and moves once more toward the living room, and Imogen.
[Imogen M. Slaughter] Imogen glances up at the sound of Joss’s footfall in her hallway, her head turned toward it as the girl exits and re-enters the living room.
She remains where she is and after a moment, merely arches an eyebrow – a wordless And?
[Joss Lehrer] She smiles – but that’s not unusual – as she pulls her back off her shoulders, and sink to an easy crouch in front of the coffee table to begin to dig for some supplies within the depths of the bag. With the sounds that emit with her rustling, there is likely a veritable plethora of oddities within the godi bag – sometimes it’s better not to ask.
“No Wyrm Taint. There’s something there, but it doesn’t feel or give off any wyrmish threat of vibe at all. I’m still going to do the cleansing, which should get it off of you, just in case, but I can safely say you are Taint Free. Etheral cling, maybe, but no Taint.”
She looks up and tips her head slightly. “Have you been through a cleansing before?” aka- is she ready for the dance of the Godi?
[Imogen M. Slaughter] She watches as Joss begins to dig through her pack, before shutting her laptop and leaning forward to slide it on the coffee table, careful not to disturb the bag or the Godi rooting through it.
“No,” she says simply, “I haven’t.
“What, precisely,” her hand smooths over the thigh of her jeans as she straightens, “is an ‘ethereal cling’?”
[Joss Lehrer] Oh dear. This should be fun.
She takes out a small wrapped bundle and sets it on the table, as well as a handmade bowl, and a small vial of water and sets them all on the coffee table, before setting her bag aside. She puts a small splash of the water into the bowl, than unwraps the cloth, where a birch branch was wrapped, the edges marked with soot from previous burnings. “Well, that’s the problem. I don’t precisely know. There’s something hovering, lingering, but it’s not wrym, or anything I’ve seen before. It’s almost spirit like, and it’s hovering near enough to be said to cling. But other than that, I don’t know what it is. It does not seem to be doing any harm, but always better to err on the side of caution.”
Speaking of… she lifts a hand to scratch idly under her dreads, along the back of her neck and into her hairline. “You don’t by any chance play any tribal or nature based music at all, at any time do you?” Odd question, that.
[Imogen M. Slaughter] She merely listens to the explanation, and if she finds it unsatisfactory or disturbing, she shows no sign.
The reaction occurs when Joss asks her question – her brows contract, forming a small line between them. “I play all sorts o’ music,” she answers, “but I don’t often play tribal or nature music, no.”
Her hand still rests upon her thigh and she turns it over, palm up as if she might see the ethereal film that was mentioned. Of course, she sees nothing, and she turns her hand over again, glancing abruptly up.
[Joss Lehrer] She chuckles softly. “Well, keep the explanation in mind. This is a fairly simple procedure, and you’ll not be able to tell any difference. But I will be able too, and that’s the important part. If you’ll stand where I’ve enough room to get in a circle around you, we’ll be ready.”
She grins, and digs out her lighter, and carefully goes about setting the branch to the flame, so that the ends are smouldering.
“Oh, and I’ll be in Crinos. I promise not to break anything.” As if this is an every day occurrence. At least she warned her.
[Imogen M. Slaughter] Imogen’s regard is wary, reserved and her tension coiled deep within her muscles. She regards the Fenrir silently for several seconds and then gets to her feet, her steps silent on the hardwood as she walks out into the open space where the dining room and living room meet.
She stands, her hands by her side, her feet shoulder width apart, facing Joss.
One imagines Imogen has simply no idea what to expect. She has no frame of reference for this. Still, there is no visible steeling of herself, no slow drawn in breath or careful calming techniques. She merely regards the other for the space of several seconds.
“Ready when you are,” she says then.
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, and as the branch is smouldering, she makes sure that it will not go out, and then carefully lifts the bowl as well, till it is cupped within her hands. As she steps near Imogen, she takes a breath, and then takes her time, shifting through Glabro, until she is standing, crinos, before the kinswoman.
Interestingly enough – even her fur about her face now looks tangled into dual toned dreads… shorter, but there can be no doubt whatsoever that this crinos, is Joss -Gossamer Wing- Lehrer. She doesn’t waste time, either, but get to work, bringing the smouldering branch in a circle around Imogen, shuffling to some beat only she can hear, her whole being concentrated in doing this correctly, the first time. Once the circle – counter clockwise – has been completed, thant the branch is dipped into the small bit of pure water, and she circles again this time randomly shaking the water in Imogen’s direction, drops wetting her hair, clinging to her shirt.
So far, it’s a quiet ritual.
That ends now, as Joss tips her head back – and Howls.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)
[Imogen M. Slaughter] Imogen watches Joss as she moves widdershins about her, her head turning to follow the crinos, then turning to the other side to watch her as it comes around the other shoulder. She draws the line at turning in circle, keeping the war-formed Garou in her sight. It takes courage to do that – with any Garou, but certainly with one in the beast form.
It throws water at her – and Imogen closes her eyes briefly, droplets catching in her lashes and clinging as she opens them again, one hand lifting to brush the droplets away. The others catch on her skin, seep through the thin cotton of her shirt, leaving small marks of transparency where they hit.
When it howls, though – Imogen flinches. A sudden and sharp spasm of muscles, abruptly stilled, but present enough. The sound of it reverberates through her ears, vibrates through her bones. She can feel it in her marrow, and the floor beneath her feet.
It dies away. Seconds pass in silence as Imogen watches the thing, confirming to herself that it has finished its rite.
“Yeh might ha’ warned me o’ the finale,” she observes, her voice sounding small and tinny in her ears.
—
Next door, a neighbour freezes at the vicious sound, his skin crawling. He’s been tense all night and now – he hurries to the washroom to void his recently eaten dinner.
Later, he will blame it on bad sushi, somehow timed with a neighbour’s new dog, clearly left at home alone.
[Joss Lehrer] Imogen watches her the whole time, and if it bother’s Joss, there’s no indication of it. In fact, it’s likely she’d think it more odd if Imogen -didn’t- watch her the whole time. After all, one doesn’t always have a giant slathering beast over for a ritual, without worrying there might be a snack involved too.
The ritual complete, and successful, Joss studies Imogen for a long moment, inhaling deeply, before she huffs a breath, and shifts back to her birth form once more. She at least has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Sorry.” she says, honestly. “I meant too. Sometimes I forget the most obvious things when explaining what will happen… that’s why I asked about the tribal music, though.”
She wrinkles her nose, and its… well, cute. Sometimes it’s easier than others to remember that she’s only 18. “I’ll do better next time – if there is a next time. Explaining I mean. The rite was successful – whatever the thing was, it’s good and gone now.”
[Imogen M. Slaughter] “Had I known,” she says, flat, “I never would ha’ let you do it here.”
Whatever the thing was, it’s good and gone now.
“Thank-you,” she says, quietly. Then, “You’d better let him know.”
[Joss Lehrer] There’s that sheepish look again, as she bends to pack up the things she’d taken out, folding the bowl into a cloth as well, the remnants of the water soaking into the cloth before she places it into her back.
“I’m going t’report to him straight away, and let ya get back to your evening.” She stands and shoulders her bag again, and makes sure she has everything she came with. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”
[Imogen M. Slaughter] A nod acknowledges what Joss says. That she’ll report back immediately. That she’ll let Imogen get back to her evening.
She follows the girl to the front door and watches as she lets herself out. “Goodnight, Joss,” she says as the theurge steps over the threshold.
[Joss Lehrer] “G’night, Imogen.” She smiles, and steps into the hallway, turning back once to give a little wave, before she tucks her hands into her pockets and heads to the elevator. It’s with a skip, and a hop that she enters the car when the door opens, then closes behind her, shutting her off from the 9th floor, and carrying her back downwards.
Barring any questions from the Bored Security Guy, she simply walks right back out the way she came, and heads to find Decker and report. She’d do it over the totemphone, but he’d asked her in private, and she’ll report the same way.