[Joe Holst] Not really what he’d expected, this Hill House. Like.. for one, its really a house, albeit a really, really BIG one.. and its really on a hill.
Heh. Built in the 30’s, the plaque says. A smirk ripples across Joe’s brutish face as he tromps toward the door. The name must have been thought up with all the imagination the 30’s could provide. Bad time in the history of the States.. he can’t really blame them much.
Distinctly out of place, Joe rumbles up the steps and sweeps in through the door. Just shy of alarming the receptionist out of her skin, Joe smiles a frigid, toothy grimace and cocks his chin a bit in greeting.
“Ah’m heah ta see M.. uh.. Moira Murray. Yew wanna point me da righ’ way?” Chill blue eyes gleam against the overworked volunteer’s face, and the big kid apparently doesn’t mean to glare.
[Moira Murray] Joe is likely to scare the life out of any of the kinfolk working at the old run down mansion that serves as the main building for Hill House. The poor blond receptionist – Janet (we’ll call her) – gasps alittle, her eyes widening as she blinks up at Joe with a “deer caught in headlights” expression.
“Plea- please wait over there, sir… I’ll have her called down to the lobby.” She gesticulates to a comfy vinyl couch, turning in her chair to pick up the phone. Her hand covering the receiver as she spins the chair away, cautiously glancing back at the Fenrir as she speaks quietly into it.
After a few moments, the phone is hung up; Janet clears her throat to address Joe. “Miss Murray is outside in the community gardens called Cabrini Greens helping to tend to the plants…” she goes on to nervously assist Joe with directions on how to get there from the lobby.
[Joe Holst] Joe had grunted a sort of only-just-patient-enough acquiescence, and dropped his forbidding bulk onto the vinyl couch with a loud squeak of plastic-y fabric. After chewing on something for a moment, he digs into one pocket and begins to grumble into the phone. The conversation is brief, and ends after the receptionist had given him directions. He nods once to the woman, flashes a strangely maniacal grin that is probably meant to come across as merely ‘happy’, and relates over the phone that they’ll be in Cabrini Greens, ‘oah sumfin like dat’ And hangs up after a grunt.
With that, Joe rumbles straight back out the door. Minus one skinhead in Hill House. That could only be a good thing.
Joe’s boots ring from concrete as he paces off down the path, following the directions he’d been given.
[Moira Murray] Janet sighs in her chair, putting a hand over her face the moment Joe flashes his “grin” to her and watches him leave.
The young Jarl of Chicago takes to the grounds of the old mansion, crossing the pathways that route him around the exterior of the main house towards the back. Here among the dubious amenities of the main location of Hill House: basketball courts surrounded by a chain-link fence, a baseball diamond that is mostly dirt. The community garden called “Cabrini Greens” where young people from the neighborhood raise vegetables to sell to chefs in the city, has gone straggly since funding has dried up and volunteers are scarce.
The Cabrini Greens consist of a long wide yard that cuts away from the mansion’s back side, about several yards to its northwest. A large 3-story building, resembling a glass long house, serves as the green house taking up residence near a small park. Here the paths converge into different directions. It isn’t hard to figure out which way to go as Joe sees the giant glass and metal structure.
On one side of the glass buildings are several rows of exposed soil, tilled and left bare for the oncoming winter months as the vegetables were brought inside to the green house. A door sits ajar, propped open by a white plastic bucket filled with compost as Joe steps in. He will see rows and rows of tables and troughs housing various plants and vegetables. It was warm, the temperatures kept at a moderate degree to allow the plants to thrive during the winter, forcing them to grow year round.
In the far back of the green house, he can see the tall figure of the dark-haired woman that is Moira, black hair gathered away from her face in a long braid that sits over one shoulder. Her back facing the Joe as she sat on a stool, leaning over a large thick book filled with pictures about plants. Beside her were five clay pots, and various other things sitting on a shelf on a long wooden table. Near her elbow was a mortor and grinding stone for grinding up things, and a spice rack and gardening tool rack hung on the a wall above the table.
[Joss Lehrer] In the depths of her attic, digging through odds and ends and different things that most of her pack think of as ‘toys’ but are really far more useful, the barefoot Godi had to dig for the phone when it started to ring, ending up flopping on the bed, every bit the 18 year old girl the humans think her to be.
“‘Ey Mama? Dis is JOE.”
Her brows had shot up, and she covered her mouth to still the giggle, the quite laughter at the idea of being Joe’s Mama, in any manner of the word, though it’s not without some affection as well. He asks her to join them, adds where they’ll be, and she’d told him she’d be there soon.
Mama. Her own Mama was going to love to hear about THAT one.
First she had to dig through the pile of clothing on the floor by her bed (She don’t let Randi come up here, either!) to find a clean sweater to pull over her long sleeved t-shirt. Then it’s a search for socks, and her shoes, and making sure her bag is supplied, and.. Well. She doesn’t have to comb her hair, that’s a plus. She does, however, pull her dreads back and tie them in place, before she does a quick check in the Mirror, slings her bag over her shoulder, and goes to get Althea, locking the door to the attic behind her.
Who’s Althea? Her van, of course! She purrs to life and she and Joss have a little conversation, before she makes her way toward The Hill House, where Joe awaits ‘Mama Joss’.
[Joe Holst] As he tromps along, the bull of a kid swings brutish features this way and that, one eyebrow cocked slightly in mild, but not displeased surprise. The meek and needy do not just live here.. but apparently work as well. Good. Maybe hands in the good dirt of their Mother will wash some of the stink of corruption from them.
Progress, this is.. and an example of what Joe had come to Chicago for.. to bring back such progression to his own backward, violent Camp. If they were the best, it is time they were in front.. here to lead the Folk to strength in battle. Leading by example being the only way to go, in Joe’s mind.
A twitch seethes across the young Jarl’s shoulders as chill eyes settle on Moira at the back of the greenhouse, and he stills to motionlessness at the doors. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder- and Joe beholds far more than the simple outward prettiness in the woman’s form- but sees also the line of their kings stretching from the Get’s glorious past to live again in Moira’s bones and flesh… and it is a vision that requires a moment to adjust to.
He blinks, and looks around.. cautious, rather than truly worried- as Joe looks around for Joss, blood flushes to his skin.. nostrils flare.. and he clamps down on the desire to rush foreward and sniff the dark headed woman’s hair. Good. It had been wise to call her. Joe was still growing into his instincts.
A slight snort as the boy realizes that Gossamer- Wing was not there yet. Fixing his attention back on Moira, he grunts and strides forward again.
[Moira Murray] The legacy of Joe’s tribe sings in the Fenrir kinswoman’s blood. It calls out to the senses of the wolf-blooded, whispers to them of an ancient line of Viking kings and Celtic witches, but hers… is not a heritage that hails from the cold lands of the Norse. It runs red and hot over green landscapes and rolling cliffs of the Scottish Highlands. Her blood is older than that of the ginger-haired folk that are so easily associated with those of Irish or Scottish decent.
Moira’s spine stiffens on the stool. The muscles in her shoulders pulling tightly under the thin cotton shirt she wore, a light grey in color, the sleeves scrunched up to her elbows. Her hands were stained brown from the dirt, and if he tries to pick out her scent. She smells of wet earth and herbs, of old magick and femininity.
She lifts her head up, glancing back over her shoulder to look at Joe, slender eyebrows drawn up over vibrant cobalt blue eyes – that seem deep and soulful, and disconnected with reality, much in the way the eyes of a Godi might be.
A glint of gold catches in the light, a simple gold-banded ring hangs on a long chain around her neck, falling to nestle in between the curve of her breasts. Her shape held in a slim hourglass frame. “Hello, Joe.”
[Joss Lehrer] Its not a long drive, and she has been here before. The poor young lady at the desk has a much better reaction to Joss. Many people do – the Godi is just, good people. Friendly. Like a puppy. A puppy that could kill you as easily as she breathes, but a puppy non-the-less. She smiles her thanks, and soon is walking the path Joe walked moments before.
Her steps are light, her skirts swishing about her calves as she moves, her hands tucked into her pockets, her bag at her side. As usual, she is dressed in earthtones, and looks as if she belongs here, in the gardens, in the greenhouse. She looks at home here. Then again, she looks at home just about anywhere, with an easy confidence that makes her seem so much older than her 18 years.
She is not far behind, stepping over the threshold into the greenhouse proper, taking a moment to inhale deeply, to let the scents of herbs and earth, of green and growth wash over her senses. She is at ease, where others may not be. She is content, where some may ache to destroy. Her center, her calm, is as strong as ever.
She can see Joe and Moira, and watches them a long moment with dark eyes, before she moves down the path toward them. “Hi Joe, Moira.”
[Joe Holst] Suddenly a bit solemn, Joe slows his pace while still several yards away and turns slightly. He moves carefully around a row of potted vegetables, a bit too interested in not stepping on them. Perhaps he’d just come from a jog, because his cheeks gleam a bit redder than one might expect. He ducks his chin a touch, nodding to Moira slowly- and using the gesture to disguise a hard swallow as the woman speaks to him. The cobalt eyes send spears of chill through the Boy- Jarl’s chest.. and for a moment he wishes the sensation were a bit less pleasant.
“Heh. Hey deah.. uh. Yew dew say it like ‘Moira’ right?” He quirks an eyebrow, eyes fierce in the face of such ancestral gleam. He gives the woman her space though… though maybe more for his own sake. That breeding is a sun that warms, but also warns. Such a thing perhaps meant to share the life of a Fostern- but cliaths had better mind their manners.
“Whatcha’ dewin?” His gaze sweeps to the collection of tools in front of her- and his brow furrows for a moment in mild, distant surprise… before his attention settles back on Moira. Less heady, more serious..
Joss’ clarion voice sends a smile flickering across his face as the kid turns his (slightly flushed) face toward the door.
“Ey! T’anks feh comin’ Ma.” Joe jerks a hand out of one pocket and waves to the Godi. Wrecking ball shoulders lift and fall slowly as he takes a deep breath.
[Moira Murray] Joss is a relief and a breath of fresh air to the young kin. Moira pushes up from the table, spinning in a half-circle on the stool as she faced them. The large book still open in behind her now on the table with a page opened to an illustration and instructions on how to make some herbal remedy. Leather bound the exterior of the book, its edges were yellowed and tattered with age, and the passing of time, even the ink in the writing held testament to how old the book was.
Moira smirks as Joe calls the Godi “Ma.” She reaches for a rag, wiping the dirt from her hands. “I was reading up on how to make an herbal concoction, being Halloween and all. I didn’t feel like dragging out the ol’ cauldron.”
Nodding her head to Joss, “So, Mama Joss is it now?”
[Joe Holst] A snicker, but quiet- and Joe waits for the two to finish their greetings.
[Joss Lehrer] Joe calls her Ma again, and she laughs. The sound is light, filled with fun, with a simple joy in the moment as she joins them, her hand reaching to touch Joe on the shoulder as she does so. It’s a simple touch, a calming touch, an ‘i see you blushing, boy’ touch.
And then she thumps his shoulder with hers, lightly, with a chuckle as she winks at Moira. “So it would seem. Someone has to keep the young Jarl on the straight and narrow… but he picked me anyway.”
Curious eyes land on the book, the age, and she shamelessly peeks at what is written there. She moves with a smooth confidence, a grace that belies her age. “What’s it for?” the concoction, apparently.
[Moira Murray] Moira had taken notice of the flush in the Jarl’s cheeks, the way he ducks his head and nods to her. She doesn’t think of the reasons or the whys he acts this way, attributes it to the cold perhaps.
Joss serves as a gentle distraction; Moira turns to glance down at the book again, glossing over the recipe. “Old fashion recipe for Hangovers. I have a feeling I’ll be needing it after tonight when I go out and celebrate Samhain.”
Her nose wrinkles up, “The book has been in my family for generations, various recipes for herbal remedies. It came down from my Fianna mother and her mother and so on.” Her shoulders roll back in a faint shrug, “But that’s probably not why you are all here.”
Her eyes fall back on Joe as she turns back to address them, “I had wanted to speak with Joe, but I am glad you are here as well, Joss, seeing as you are an Eagle.”
[Joe Holst] It seems odd- the clash between Joe’s human demeanor and the instinctive flare of the Beast. From time to time it is a toss up which one was more present in the new Modi. In either case the Beast seems to take over when Joss touches, or does her shoulder bump. It almost comforts. An easy wash of presence fills the air as the Jarl gives just a touch in the presence of an elder Garou. There is the dominance of strength, but the dominance of rank and experience too- and as simple as that, Joss has the room in her grasp.
Good call, Joe. Cooler eyes sweep back to Moira as the two women discuss, and interest gleams across Joe’s face. A less lusty measuring of the kinwoman’s strengths. Seidr- cona? It definitely tugs her value above ‘mate’ and into ‘resource’.
Mild surprise that Moira had intended a meeting as well. He’d pictured the Kin of Fenris as rather making their way about more like Drew, or John.. learning as they go, but with little to go on in the way of tradition or direct knowledge. Joe leans his bulk against the table and crosses his arms.
“Yeah deah’s some stuff we needa covah,” The big modi nods, and grunts. “But yew ga’head.”
[Joss Lehrer] As simple as that, Joss has the room in her grasp, and for all the world looks as if she doesn’t know it, as if it is simple second nature. Her packmates have benefited from the same at one time or another, a touch that sooths, a thump in the back of the head that redirects thought, a look that says ‘….really?’ in a way that causes second thought. It’s something done without conscious thought, with an instinctual intent, rather than planned out actions.
She’s just Joss. No more, no less. Most of the time, it’s enough.
Moira has pushed away from the little table, and Joss finds a spot that’s clear, and plants her hands on the edge o the table and with a push lifts herself to sit on the counter, her feet swinging much as a child’s would. She grins at Moira, the expression easy and content. May she never lose that little thrill that accompanies the phrase ‘you’re an Eagle’. Ever.
“What’s on your mind, Moira?”
[Moira Murray] Moira clears her throat, as if preparing to give a speech. She sits poised on the stool, back straight and hands falling to rest in her lap. Though she remains still for the most part, there is a slight nervousness that gives way in her body language. She is a little too stiff in Joe’s presence, the fingers of her right hand seem to tuck and fold around her left wrist, absently rubbing around it, scratching at the faint white scar tissue that circles both her wrists from old rope burns.
“My name is Moira Murray-Tasgall, I am the only daughter of Bulvine the Cantankerous, Adren Modi of the Sept of Gaia Upon Still Waters… now deceased for some years now. My mother was a Fianna kin he took to mate. I had grown up sheltered and kept out of sight; I have learned things about the Garou, their lore and that of my own tribe and my mother’s.”
A pause, sucking in a slight breath, “But what’s more important – that Decker knows, even Kemp,” nodding to both of the Garou, “That I have a very rare gift. I am a kinfolk that has the ability to use Garou gifts. I have what you all gnosis, that magic that connects you to Gaia and makes you what you are. I’m a bit of a one trick healer in that regards as I can use a theurge’s healing gift.”
[Joe Holst] Joe stands with the easy deference that comes to any member of a tribe so given to matters of lineage, Joe becomes less relaxed and a lot more focused as Moira goes on to describe her own gifts. Joe’s thick jaw chews on something for a moment. Gum, or the inside of one cheek.. and the bullish modi’s attention flickers to Joss.
“Did yoah guys know dis?” As soon as the sentence is delivered, Joe’s eyes flick back to roam across Moira. Measuring.
Easy on the eyes, this woman… sizing her up is not exactly an unpleasant task. His gaze settles in her face. “Yoah muddah was Fiana?” Something flinty hits Joe’s braying voice as he asks the question. Much seems to hang on it for the broad skinhead.
[Joss Lehrer] She blinks, and then her brows shoot up in obvious surprise, though it’s with a delight too, as dark eyes shimmer with interest and curiosity. “Mother’s Touch – you can use Mother’s Touch?”
It’s not as if she is looking at Moira as if she were some oddity, to dissect and examine, but more an open faced curiosity and delight at the prospects, at what it means, and wondering how it came about.
She smiles at Joe, briefly. “I am newer to the Eagles. Moira has only just returned to us, though as she said, Decker knows.” And that is enough for her.
[Moira Murray] Moira lifts her arms up to fold across her chest. She lifts an eyebrow at Joe, daring herself to meet his gaze. He is not met with brazen looks or chilly expressions, just a mildly curious stare to gauge his reactions to what she just told him.
It takes Moira a moment to digest the heavy Jersey accent, nodding her head. “She was. My father –“ thinking, “What is that term you all use poached her away from her twin sister. I had an aunt named Morag who was a Fianna Theurge, but she has passed on as well. None of my immediate family in Florida exists, just the one here in Chicago and what relations I have overseas.”
“Yes,” the smile she offers Joss is shy, “My aunt Morag, struck a bargain with the spirits to get me to learn that gift, it is the only one I know and it comes at a heavy price that I have to pay…”
Joss is newer to the Eagles, “I only recently found out that I inherited this from my father’s side of the family.”
[Joe Holst] Rapid blinking, but Joe is definitely not leaning against the table. Seidr- cona in truth, like Joss.. but without the gift of changing skin.. much larger news than he’d been expecting, Joe reels a bit at the responsibility of warding such a kin… but by the look on his face, he is either about to rush off and kill something, or finds himself more than willing to rise to the challenge. Shifting great weight from one foot to the other, Joe looks between Joss and Moira, only a tad bewildered.
“Dis is feh shuwah sumpfin yew tew needa tawk abaht… like…” he shakes his head. “A lot. Yew gat dat side uh ‘tings, Ma?” Sure the name had first been given as a half- jested honorific.. but comes now with a greater degree of deference… and it beats calling the happily glowing Garou the more traditional ‘Hag’
“Abaht dat- careful wit da ‘poachin’ stuff- if ya pops won ‘er fair an’ all, challenged propah- call it ‘winning ‘er’, right? Way I hear it, if any Fiana t’inks she dint get taken propah- like, dey can ‘poach’ yew right back. Savvy?”
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, shaking her head as he calls her Ma again – which is certainly better than hag, or anything else he might think of on a whim. “Yessir, I got that side of things, Joe. I daresay Moira and I will be happily chattering about Godi-like things in great depth in the near future. I might even let her into my attic.”
From the sounds of that – it’s a privilege indeed. Decker doesn’t even go up there- and Evan has been there only once. Andrew? Not allowed. At all. Ever.
[Moira Murray] Moira tucks her head down, chin nearly touching against her collarbone as she tries hard to hide the slight curl that threatens to break out at the corners of her mouth. She lifts a hand up, fingers curled as she coughs into it lightly. The gesture prevents her from laughing outright.
“Joe…” when her head lifts up, she looks at him with a warm smile, mischief dancing in her blue eyes. “I assure you, it wasn’t proper and it was over two decades ago. No one will challenge Decker’s claim over me as long as he continues to breathe…”
She blinks, head tilting to the side as she glances at Joss, her expression one of surprise and anticipation to want to learn such things. “I… do have a question about that. Decker laid a claim of protection over me when I came to Chicago four years ago, does that still hold or is it transferred to Joe now? I am bit confused on the whole matter… and as far as I’m concerned a male werewolf won’t come within ten feet of me as I seem to scare them off somehow.”
[Joe Holst] Joe clears his throat with a short, brutish gust, his attention landing on Joss long enough to give the impression that he insists on answering THAT particular question himself.
“Silence-rhya is away feh now. He’ll be back, feh shuwah widdin da next tew moons. Sumpfin like dat. When he gets heah I’m shuwah tings is gonna go back ta da way dey were when yew was heah last. ‘Till den, I’m yoah Warder- an’ if any male garou come anywheah near yew, get deah names, an’ warn ’em off. Cuz if dey don’ respeck yew th’ exact same way, I’m gunna gut dem like fish. Same goes feh females, by da way.” Joe quirks an eyebrow, a storm gathering in his face at the prospect of someone so true to ancient blood being sniffed at.
“Dey know ta come ta me foyst. Ta challenge propah. Trust me- I can toyn ’em aside feh youse.”
Joe growls it low, and dangerous. The dark grey torc that circles his neck gleams slightly as the muscles under it twitch at the prospect of battle.
“So, dat havin’ been said,” He clears his throat and uncrosses his arms. Chill blue gaze remains in Moira’s for as long as the kinwoman is comfortable- but he doesn’t so much look away as allow her to.
“Mah name’s Joe Holst, named War Handed in battle again’ Jormugandr. Cliath Modi of da Get of Fenris. Great Grandson of Arn Witch- Strike, Nephew of Gregor Stone-Tooth. Like my faddah’s I’m a proud son of da Swords of Heimdal.”
[Joe Holst] ((Joe is maybe wandering the greenhouse a bit, stealing glances at Moira, and letting the Seidr-cona talk. He’ll be weeeeeell out of earshot for any such things. He’s superstitious and respectful of Godi- style magic.))
[Joss Lehrer] She starts to answer, but Joe makes it known in that glance that he’s going to answer it himself. She listens, her legs swinging back and forth, kicking her skirts up a bit as she does so, idle movement.
“Moira is Eagle Kin – not just a ward of the previous Jarl, Joe. We stand by her as her pack, as her family. As Fenrir, and Eagle, her protection falls to me first, than to you as Jarl.” She nudges him with her toe, and grins. “That being said, if your spoiling for a fight and one presents himself to be fought, I’ll let you gut him like a fish if you want. Wouldn’t wanna break a nail.”
[Moira Murray] Moira coughs again into her first, her head shaking as Joe begins to wander away. The tension bleeding the stiffness out of her spine once the rage is gone to mingle further down the rows, praying he doesn’t wreck something.
She regards Joss for a moment, tilting her head to the side, “You are so young to be a fostern… or perhaps I’m just getting old.”
[Joss Lehrer] She laughs softly and nods. “I get that a lot.” Her smile is warm as she watches Joe wander off. She likes the kid, she really does – there’s affection somewhere in that smile, in her eyes, in her being. Much like an older sister would a younger, rash and brash brother.
She returns her gaze to Moira, and shrugs. “I had a… different upbringing than most, I suppose. My parents knew from the moment of my birth what I would become, and instead of keeping it a secret, making it something to be feared, my parents decided to go another route. I was quite spoiled, and well loved. They taught me words like Godi, Skald, Modi before I knew ‘run spot run’. I grew up knowing there was another world, just across the way, that I’d have access too – My father often had elementals play tag with me so I’d learn the way they reacted with the real side, before I even saw them the first time on the other. ”
Her smile is fond, content. Unlike so many of them, she had an extremely happy childhood. If a little odd. “I learned herbs, and what effect awakened plants would have, how it would intensify, as well as basic medicine learned at my father’s side. Whatever he could do here, real-side, he let me watch, then assist. Mama, she raised me to be a regular girl, to offset the things Papa taught me, regular home schooling like the other kids got, that I finished as fast as I could so that I could follow Papa around. I was prepared for my change, I knew what to expect, I’d seen it in other cubs, I saw how their fear made it so awful for them, for those around them.”
A beat, a straightening of her shoulders. “I was unafraid. I knew it would be sudden, but I knew that of all my friends, mine would happen without bloodshed from my own claws. It was emotional, and brought on by stress, as many of our changes are, but they pulled me away in time, so that I could change without harming our own. It was not in enough time to find the things needed to save my Father’s Alpha’s Mate, but that is my only regret of my change.”
She wrinkles her nose, and she’s suddenly a cute 18 year old normal girl again, rather than fostern. “I changed at 13, and was immersed in training every waking moment of every day since then. I achieved cliath at 14, and fostern at 17. And at 18, I came to achieve my biggest goal – become Eagle.”
[Moira Murray] Joss begins to recant a tale of her childhood, speaks about her aspirations and the joys she experienced with her family, unlike the stories Moira has heard about other Garou, Joss’ is a fairytale. She came from a loving and supportive family unit, she knew when and what she’ll become and anticipated it.
Moira slightly envies the younger Godi. Her life hadn’t been roses. The stress and trauma of her mother’s death at the hands of an overbearing father had driven the girl away from her own home, to run away to Chicago. If it hadn’t been for the Eagles finding her, she would likely not be alive today.
She spins the seat around so she can face the table, her hands resting on either side of the book as Moira looks down at it. Stray wisps brush against her temples, slightly sticking as slight beads of perspiration glisten from the warm air circulating throughout the greenhouse. She picks up the ring dangling on the chain, lifting it up to examine it.
“I was 13 maybe when I found out about my gifts. My mother and my aunt Morag were surprised and happy, they embraced it; they come from a long lineage of celtic witches and herbalists. I was taught everything I knew – everything I know now…”
She sucks in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly, “Bulvine refused to acknowledge what I could do. He didn’t want to accept it – or believe that a kinfolk could be touched in such a way. My mother and him would fight all the time, until one night he killed her. I… used to dream about it, before it happened. I had thought I would get my mother’s gifts of the Second Sight, but I didn’t… I’m just rather intuitive of things, like a honed sixth sense.”
Her head lifts up, tilting to glance at Joss’, “Morag tricked my father to allow me learning the gifts, pleading to the rite’s master to tell him that it shouldn’t go to waste. I guess I have her to thank for it…” her shoulders lift and sink with a shrug, “I envy you. You are lucky to have the family support that you did growing up.”
[Joss Lehrer] She listens to Moira’s story, with the evidence of one who does more than just let the words wash over her, but absorbs the very same. It’s with a sense of one who will remember, like a Skald, but with a Godi’s whimsy attached.
“I wish that everyone could have the upbringing I did. We’d be a much stronger force if we did, though many think our trials give us an easier reach for our Rage. But then again, I’ve never had much of a problem. Maybe because I’m female.” She laughs, softly, and then reaches to touch Moira’s shoulder, lightly.
“What we had when we grew up is what shapes us – but it does not define us. What we do with the hand we are dealt is what is important.” And therein lies a glimpse of the Wisdom of a Fostern Godi.
[Moira Murray] Moira doesn’t flinch from the touch. She tilts her head to the side, nearly brushing her cheek against the back of Joss’ hand. Her eyes crinkle up, seeming distant for a second as her voice drops to a low volume.
“I was with Morag when she died, stayed by her side at her bed. It – was her wish that if I could find another werewolf, a Godi that understood what I can do. I might be able to continue some form of training.”
She shrugs again, “I know it isn’t proper for a kin to know the things that I do, I’m not Garou. I will never change and if something were to happen to me… if I fell into the wrong hands I would know too much.”
A beat.
“Joss, can you keep a secret?”
[Joss Lehrer] Moira nearly brushes her hand with her cheek, and Joss turns her hand to brush a lock of Moira’s dark hair back behind her ear. “A lot of things about me aren’t proper either in the eyes many Fenrir, many others. But that doesn’t make it wrong. If any of us fell into the wrong hands, it would be detrimental. We only do what we can do.”
Then her eyes light up, and she smiles brightly. Godi’s LIVE for secrets. At least, Joss does. “Of course…”
[Moira Murray] She laughs. “Okay.”
Moira leans in closer to Joss, pressing a hand down on the table to support her weight. “How much do you know about Geasa?”
Somewhere in the backdrop, a bald, bulky bull of a teen was making his way around and continuing to steal glances at the two women at the table, eyes falling more on Moira than Joss.
[Joss Lehrer] She tips her head, slightly, her hands falling to the table on either side of her thighs, feet swinging gently as she searches the pathways of her memory for the word, for what it means… and then tips her head slightly.
“Isn’t… isn’t that like a curse? Celtic I think…”
[Moira Murray] “Aye.” She nods her head.
“When Morag pledged to a unicorn spirit to teach me mother’s touch, she also decided to put a geasa on me. The curse is to balance out the burden of bearing such knowledge I suppose. As I can heal, I am forbidden to harm Garou, it is taboo for me to do so.”
She brushes a wisp of hair back behind her ear, frowning slightly, “It’s a bit of a double-edge sword I guess. It limits my abilities to protect myself. I can’t just learn to use a weapon and blow a Garou’s head off without some kind of punishment.”
[Joss Lehrer] Ah. She nods, slightly, listening to what she says, how she explains it.
“Gaian Garou, or all garou…”
[Moira Murray] Moira looks a confused, bunching up her shoulders again. “Garou is all I was told. I haven’t found a way to break the curse yet, I wish I could.”
[Joss Lehrer] Her brow furrows in thought, as she plays with the a dreadlock, absently, tugging at the end, plucking at the beads.
After a moment, she nods, her smile returns. “I have… well, I’ve a conversation coming up with a very old Godi, I could ask him what he thinks of it, and if he has any ideas on the matter during our talk if you like. If there’s a solution, he’d at least be able to point me in the right direction…”
[Moira Murray] Some lights up in her expression, eyes searching Joss as she looks up to meet her gaze. She slowly nods her head, “I would love for it if you can… I wish I could meet this old Godi as well, but I know that isn’t my place.”
For a moment she grows quiet, reflecting on previous conversations in the past week or so, “Wait, is that the one Thomas spoke of? Where he said he met me before?”
[Joss Lehrer] She nods with a grin. “Yeah, that’s the one. Thomas holds a connection to his Ancestors, and one of them is a Godi. I’ve so many questions, so many things I want to ask, to know – I couldn’t settle on just one to start with. This will give me a starting place, to open the conversation.”
A beat, and then. “If I can arrange such a meeting, I will, but rest assured that I’ll tell you all that I am able to find out.”
[Moira Murray] Moira nods again. She falls into silence as she eases herself off the stool, glancing down at the other end of the greenhouse towards Joe, who has stepped outside into the cold as the heat was getting to him. She shakes her head slowly, turning back to the table and flips the book closed. She begins to clean up the mess she had made, setting things back into their proper place.
“He is young isn’t he?” she says finally, “Joe that is.”
[Joss Lehrer] She laughs softly, and nods. “He is. He has a lot to learn, but is eager to do so, and do right as Jarl. His strength is brutish, and he’s very much like a bulldog at times, but he means well.”
She watches the door, and the shadow of Joe moving about outside. “He fought and won the right to be Jarl. I think it’ll be good for him. The weight of responsibility is a fast teacher.”
[Moira Murray] “I can only hope so.”
Moira turns to follow Joss’ gaze, furrowing her eyebrows together as she to watched the Modi’s shadow pace along the door, barely glimpsing his image through the tinted glass panes. She thinks about what he said earlier.
“I know he wants to be my Warder – against other males that might think to try and claim me…” this causes her to snort loudly with indifference, “But what will keep him from doing such a thing.”
[Joss Lehrer] She chuckles softly, and arches a brow at Moira.
“Why do you think he called me? Sure, we have things to discuss, but there was more to it. He was well aware of your breeding before we arrived, and of his weakness to it due to his youth.”
She shrugs, with a grin. “He trusts me. It was clear in the difference of his stance from before I walked in, to after.” she leans closer and stage whispers, “I’m your chaperon.”
[Moira Murray] “Chaperone.”
This makes Moira snort louder. Her eyes pull away to the table once more, lifting up the book to cuddle it to her chest. She turns away from the table, taking a few steps and then looks back to Joss.
“I will need to close up the greenhouse. Thank you for coming along to talk and – “ looking towards the outside “Chaperone.”
[Joss Lehrer] “Don’t you let on that I know that, either! Sides. You’re Eagle. We get final say.”
She hops down and dusts off her hands, and grins. “You have my number. Call me if you need anything. And I’ll let you know what I find out from the Godi, too.”
And with that, she heads to the door. “Hey Joe! Come on, Althea wants to meet you!”
[Moira Murray] “I shall do that. Thank you again.”
Moira walks with Joss to the door, tucking the book under her arm as she bends to reach for the white bucket and brings it inside. She shuts the door behind her, exiting the greenhouse. Her eyes follow the retreating forms of the Fenrir as Joe goes to meet up with Joss and get a ride to wherever.
Moira returns to the mansion inside Hill House.
[Joss Lehrer] (and wrap!)