[Joss Lehrer] The Godi is weird. That much is well established when anyone speaks of her – though she is also very good at what she does, what she is and that goes miles in the acceptance of how she acts, sometimes
That is to say – like a 2 year old hyped up on sugar.
Tonight is no different. Tonight, it’s not racing to play tag, or drenching herself playing with the water in the fountains. No, tonight? She’s dancing. Under the light of the fading moon, she is dancing. She doesn’t use the paths, no – she prefers a more instinctive route, across the grass through the trees, her skirts flaring about her as she spins and moves, her laughter free as her dreads whip about as she spins. She dances as if she has a partner – unseen – in a beautiful floaty waltz…
Her ipod is in her pocket, one earbud in her ear, the other hanging about her neck, the music audible for those who are close enough.
Sometimes? It’s best not to ask.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Theron departs. Lukas watches him go, and has enough time to look at Danicka for a moment, expressionless but for his furrowed brow, before he turning to face the jingling pikey.
The Shadow Lord is clearly tense. Gina can see him draw a breath as she approaches, as though to recenter himself and reset his state of mind. Then he says, “Did Hunter speak to you? I saw you were with Muerte Fria and a stranger.”
[Gina McClaren] Reckon sae, tha strange felly es Josh Walker, Strider fostern, wha wan’s nae part o thengs.
*A shake of her head and a sigh, common theme that, Gina jingling to a stop and setting her hands on her hips. She’s tired, but there’s a veneer of civility over grief and anger now, that wasn’t there when she’d entered the park. She tilts her head back to look Lukas more squarely in the face, eyes only kept for a moment.*
Reckon we’ve aboot worked thengs out though.. Soledad an’ Hunter are gintae ward me both. Hunter es a strider, sae there’ll be nae tribal bumfuckery, an’ Soledad es stayen en wan place, sae she’ll aulways be round, even effen Hunter’s aft on a wander. Z’at work fer ye, biggun?
*The strider kin’s eyes drift over Lukas’s shoulder, a wistful sort of fancy flitting over her exotic features. Her chin tilting behind him atthe private dance Joss was having. She’d seen the woman at the bonfire, and knew she was one of the local Get.*
[Danicka Musil] She nods to Theron as he leaves, then opens her coffee again and takes a sip. She hears the tinkling of Gina’s bells as she heads over, but turns to Lukas anyway and lifts her eyebrows in response to his inscrutable expression.
“It was nice meeting Theron,” she says mildly, as Gina’s making her way over. “Too bad Theron had to go so soon after I got here. I hope Theron has good travels.” Beat. “Theron. Therontheron.”
Danicka takes another sip of her coffee and gives a nod to Gina, noting her mood and going a bit quiet. She quirks a brow at ‘bumfuckery’, blinks, and keeps her damn mouth shut.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] “He was a good man when we were cubs,” is all Lukas has time — or inclination, at present — to say before Gina’s there.
He listens, then, as she explains the deal worked out between Uktena and Strider. When she’s finished he shakes his head. “I don’t understand Striders,” he says, vaguely amazed. “Moving from place to place, not wanting to ward what’s theirs. But if it’s fine with your tribe, it’s fine with me.”
He turns his head as Gina looks over his shoulder. His face blanks when he sees Joss — dancing with a ghost, it seems — and then he turns back.
“I should go talk to her. Excuse me, will you?”
[Joss Lehrer] There must be a song change, because the steps change, though the laughter remains, as the Godi spins in a circle, her arms outstretched, her head tipped backwards, her face to the sky as she spins, fast at first, then slowing until she falls into a standard 4/4 beat….
and then starts to sing along…
“Every daaaaay I try and I try and I try….
but everybody wants to put me down,
they say I’m going craaaaaaazy…”
There’s something to be said about a girl who has the freedom to let herself to, to enjoy a walk in the park late at night, to dance her way through the grass and trees as if she were the only person on earth. It might not be something NICE that’s said – but there’s something, of course.
She gathers her skirts in her hands to hold them out, flared, and, lost in her own little world, brings it to a spinning close…
“Oooooh Somebody… somebody….
can anybody fiiiiiiiiiind me….
Some…. body…. to loooooooooove…”
And then falls into breathless laughter once more, her hands braced on her thighs, as he shakes her head, murmuring something, and though she certainly has a bounce in her step when the next song starts, it’s not quite the full exuberant performance – and certainly more hiphop-ish than the groove just recently finished, humming along, murmuring softly… “go’on an’ hate on me hater…”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas doesn’t interrupt the Theurge’s dancing. When he’s within ten feet or so he slows, clasping his hands loosely at his back, waiting for the Fenrir to notice him.
Sooner or later she will. Wyrmbreaker’s presence is all thunder and rage.
[Gina McClaren] *Gina’s all wistful grin and softness as the Godi dances about, turning her head slowly to regard Danicka.*
Och, allo loves. Ow’ are ye?
*A glance up at the moon, cursory, before she tosses too long hair back over her shoulder, and goes hipshod.*
[Joss Lehrer] She notices his presence before she lets him know she’s noticed, and when she stops, it’s within a few feet of him, her eyes clear and focused as she meets his gaze evenly, her skirts fall in a swirl about her calves, and her dreads settle about her shoulders, falling down her back heavily. She may have seemed unaware – but aware she was.
The corner of her lips quirk, sightly upwards as she studies him, and reaches up to pull the earbud from her ear, then pull the ipod from her pocket and thumb pause. There’s a moments kick up from the breeze around her, there’s a reflection of moonlight in the face of the ipod, before it fades away as she murmurs, “later” and tucks the ipod back into her pocket again.
Only when there is perfect stillness about her slender form again does she speak. Gone is the freedom of the Godi at play, of the teenage girl dancing with the moonlight, the wind. Her now is Gossamer Wing, Fostern Godi. Only then does she greet him with a single word.
“Wyrmbreaker.”
[Danicka Musil] Danicka shrugs one shoulder, that heavy bag still hanging off one shoulder, resting against her hip. “Well enough. What was all that about?” she asks, nodding in the direction Hunter and Soledad and Joshua were.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas nods to her, a brief cant of his head that’s curiously formal. “Gossamer-Wing-yuf,” he replies.
There’s a small pause. Then: “We have some things to settle. I need to make reparations to you, the spirits, and Sheridan for my behavior at her Gathering. And you owe me the same for disrespecting my fallen packmates.”
[Gina McClaren] Och christ. Ah gaw dumped on tall dark an’ thundry there after Sampson kicked et. Couldnae find a strider tae ward me oor another folk wi’ tha minerals tae dae et, until taenecht, when a fostern strider shows oop, an the tae lasses both decide tae claim me o tha same damned time. A recht clusterfook. Banjaxed aul o et.
*A deep sigh and she waves her hand as though banishing the confusing scenario altogether.*
Och, bollox.
[Joss Lehrer] She arches a brow, slightly, and tucks her hands into the pockets of her skirts, her stance curiously relaxed, despite the formality, the seriousness of the matter. A different Fenrir would demand reparations in blood, a different Fenrir would act before speaking….
But she is different than most. She has the mark of wisdom that is all but impossible to find on one of her age in any nation – let alone their own. She is no wet behind the ears Cliath, she is no newly ranked Fostern. She is a Godi of renown, of talent.
And she is calm. “You do. And I admit easily enough that I lost my cool. And while I had no intention of disrespecting your fallen packmates, Lukas.” And here there’s a break in the expression, a little self-depreciating grin that barely shows itself as she speaks honestly, “I had every intention of disrespecting you.”
She lifts a hand before he can bristle. “Even I can lose my calm, despite what the stories say. I do not intend disrespect you now – just admit my feelings then.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Contrary to expectations, though, Lukas does not bristle. He snorts quietly under his breath, but it seems more wry humor than anything else.
“Well,” he says, dryly, “don’t worry, you managed to do that too. But of my former packmates of the Circle, only one left in dishonor. The remainder were scattered for the sake of Gaia, whether lost to the Umbra or to the Wyrm. Suggesting they were lost because of inept leadership disrespects their sacrifice as much as it disrespects the ability of the Alphas,” plural, because the Circle saw no fewer than four alphas in Chicago, “that led that pack.
“Anyway. I’m ready to pay my debts. Will you return the favor without our having to take this before your packmate, the Elder of Philodoxes?”
[Gina McClaren] *A yawn, and Gina says her goodbyes, waving to Lukas and Joss, singsonging pleasantly to Danicka, and with the jingle of charms she’s away to the little yellow house in Bronzeville she calls home. With any luck, a no moon won’t pop out of a closet or crawl out from under her bed.*
[Danicka Musil] The two kinswomen, one considered either the Whore of Babylon or Chicago’s Friendliest Welcome Wagon and the other once thought to be turning packmates against each other through the force of what she has between her legs, stand chatting as the Fosterns confront one another. Danicka mostly just sips her coffee as Gina tells her what was going on, laughing quietly at Gina’s dismissal. She nods to Gina as the Strider heads away, wiggling her fingers in goodbye, wishing she could stay a bit longer.
Gina is, compared to many, a breath of fresh air. Danicka, no longer playing polite, goes to a bench in front of the fountain to sit down, setting her bag beside her while she drinks her coffee and waits for her mate. The last thing she intends to do is interrupt what seems like a conversation just as serious but not as friendly as the one he was having with Theron.
[Joss Lehrer] “Yet you show Bones to Dust and La Familia that same disrespect.”
Her voice is quiet, sure. “I was there, Lukas. I saw the aftermath, I saw the bodies, I did the clean up myself to ensure the veil was not broken, as were the bodies of Sheridan, of Bones to Dust. I was there. You were not. I was not in time. You did not know until we arrived at your door. That is why I came with her, you know.”
She sighs, softly. “La Familia follows one of the most demanding of Totems, and I am here to tell you that Bones to Dust did her best to save Sheridan. We have all had our packmates fall. I failed to save another sept member just days ago, and bear not only the scar in my flesh, but in my soul, because sometimes it is simply not enough, no matter that we claw back from the edge of our own grave to continue fighting.”
She looks up at the sky then, closing her eyes briefly, before she returns her gaze to his. One would imagine her eyes to be dark – but they are not. Vibrant, brilliant blue. Piercing, intelligent, bottomless – Windows to her soul, a soul that aches for her own failures, that aches for the pain of those she failed.
“I see no need to drag my packmate from the warmth of his mates bed, Wyrmbreaker.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas — a thoughtful, logical Ahroun if ever there was one — is not logical when Black Unicorn’s pack is mentioned. Black anger clouds his brow. His hands come unclasped, hang at his sides now, relaxed but ready, dangerous.
“It’s nowhere near the same, Gossamer Wing. One of my packmates died with the man she was fighting alongside. The other died saving the rest of his hunting party. They did not die under the watch a pack whose very raison d’etre was to protect their allies, the way Sheridan did.
“You may have seen the bodies, but I’ve seen La Familia pick their own up and run with their tails tucked. I’ve seen them abandon their allies to the Wyrm after calling for their help in the first place. We’ve all seen them lose their totem twice, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. They might be sworn to protect their allies, but all I’ve seen from them points to the contrary.
“Believe what you like, Yuf. Until I see evidence to the contrary from La Familia itself, I can’t help but doubt.”
[Joss Lehrer] “And I have fought beside them and see Brother to the Lost and Bones to Dust throw themselves in front of blow after blow, blocking time and time again to save those they fight with. Not every battle falls perfectly the way we wish them too. I just ask that you keep in mind that you are not there with them for every battle, just as they are not there for each of yours. You are not all-seeing, any more than I am. I ask that you think before you judge, Wyrmbreaker. You base this on a handful battles that you have seen when there are dozens sung of to choose from. Do not discount those to focus only on the failures. We can point the fingers at any of us. I chose to go for the Wyrm’s throat, instead of healing my ally first. He paid the ultimate price and we lost another warrior.”
A pause, and she pushes back her dreads with both hands, holding them at the nape of her neck for a long moment, and then admits softly. “We are all guilty, Wyrmbreaker. That is what I ask that you remember. We have ALL failed. You will doubt, as I will, as others will, many times over. But remember that we are all the sum of many parts, our stories written of many battles. And we have all dropped the ball more times than we wish to admit.”
He is relaxed, but ready. Dangerous. She is as she has been – respectful to an ally, and earnest in the lesson she wishes to impart. He could strike now, and she would fall. Of that there is no doubt. But it would not make her any less right.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] “That I remember none of us are perfect is the only reason I haven’t torn that pack to shreds, Gossamer-Wing. But my doubts will remain until I see something to dismiss them.”
A short breath, and then he slides his hands into his coat pockets. In his right pocket, his sister’s picture — with her supposed boyfriend, the Theurge of his tribe — crumples a little before he rearranges his fingers.
“Anyway, that’s between La Familia and I. Let’s talk about our own business. What do you want as reparations?”
[Joss Lehrer] She doesn’t press. He’s almost as stubborn as she is, though she is able to let it go. He relaxes, and she considers him, considers his errors, considers what she should demand of him. If he were a Theruge, she would ask a rite, to have him teach her something of his tribe – but he is not. If she were a Rotager, she might ask that he dance with her in the moonlight. But she is not.
She is Godi. And she takes a breath. “I would ask that you apologize before the Sept for the disruption of the Gathering – and I would ask that you learn the Rite itself, and the next member that falls, you lead us all in the memory of our fallen, to shine the light on the path that they will take to their next life. Do so, and do it well, and the Spirits and I will both be appeased. And if you wish, as Theurge Elder, I will be your teacher, unless you have another that will teach you well. Keep in mind that the Gathering is different for every tribe – you must learn the nuances of each, in case you are called to lead one other than your own blood.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker thinks a moment, his left hand coming out of his pocket to scratch at his jaw. There’s stubble there, scritching under his fingernails. Then he nods.
“All right. If you’ll teach me, I’ll be honored. What about the spirits? What’s your suggestion, as Theurge Elder, on ways to make amends to them?”
[Joss Lehrer] “Of course.” she nods. She is a patient teacher, as many have seen. Even when it comes to tutoring a stubborn Lord.
The second question requires more thought, and she sinks to a crouch easily as she does so, her eyes lowered as she trails a finger on the ground before her toes. Perhaps she is listening to something he can’t hear. Perhaps she is discussing something in ways he can’t possibly understand. Or maybe she’s just weird. Or maybe all of the above.
Softly, her voice carries, as she rests her chin on her knees, as the breeze kicks up around her again, almost as if running under her fingertips to be pet, caressed, consoled. “Sheridan was a Daughter of the Rat, and they came en masse to view her passing, and many linger still near her grave. I know you will tend to her grave, as you have the others of the Unbroken. This one is different. They wait there, and will for the next moon. At least three times a week, I ask that you stop by her grave, ensure that it is tended, and tell them one new thing about Sheridan. It matters not if you don’t know their language, they will infer what they will of your words. If you run out of things to tell them of her, then seek the talesinger, seek those that she knew, that she battled beside.”
She stands, then, a smile as she watches something that either he can’t see, or only exists in her imagination. “One new item, three times a week. An even dozen under the moon to be remembered of our Fallen Daughter of the Rat.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] “One item, three times a week,” Lukas remembers, as though to remember it. “An even dozen for our fallen Sister of Perun.”
He stays on his feet, though out of courtesy, he looks away from her to avoid looking down at her. His eyes stray the dark shadows of the trees; the dark, cloudless sky, so unusually warm for this time of year. If this can be considered warm.
“In return, these are the reparations I seek for your comments against my lost packmates: that you help me devise a way to send messages into the Deep Umbra. Wherever my lost packmates might be, whether or not they can answer, I want a way to contact them.
“If it’s a spirit, I will pay appropriate chiminage for as long as I require its services. If it’s a fetish, I’ll upkeep it as long as necessary. Just put me in touch with a way; that’s all I ask.”
[Joss Lehrer] She tips her head, brushing her hands together. She turns her face to the sky again, to the moon, as if the answer might lay there within the cloud covered shine, that it will come to her if she simply listens long enough. She is quiet for a long moment, and then nods, slightly, returning her gaze to Lukas with a little grin.
It’s a puzzle.
She likes puzzles.
“Done. Well, not done, as I’ll need some time to discuss the best ways with the Spirits, but I will find a way.” She does not tell him she does not have the means to make a fetish – it is not for him to know. She simply says she will find a way – and she will. In fact, her mind is already ticking off the possibilities. Wahya sent her a message from the Realm of Pain in the deep umbra – she find a way to make it work for Lukas.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas nods, then holds his hand out to grasp Joss’s forearm, if she lets him.
“That’s how we’ll settle it, then. I’ll find you in the Caern tomorrow, after I tend to Walks the Track’s grave?”
[Joss Lehrer] She does, her hand small against his forearm, his swallowing her smaller arm whole. He knows as well as any, however, that power comes in small packages just as easily as the large.
“I’ll see you there.” a beat, and she tips her head slightly, putting an earbud back in place. “Tell me, Lukas – do you waltz?” Idle curiosity, and a wistfullness dancing underneath. “I think I’d very much like to learn to waltz.. or the tango…” She nods, slightly, eyes distant again, as if she’s not really there any longer, as if she’s already moved away… “I should find someone to teach me to tango..”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] “I can waltz,” Lukas admits with a quirking, faintly smirking smile as their hands part, “but I don’t tango.”
He lets the Godi return to her own eldritch thoughts. For his part, the Shadow Lord turns to his mate, walking out from beneath the trees, crossing the path, coming to the edge of the sprawling fountain on which Danicka sits.
[Joss Lehrer] She somehow knew he did – it doesn’t surprise her in the least. Then she’s thumbing the ipod back on again, and of all things – the Thong Song comes can be heard thumping through the bud still resting against her chest.
It’s likely not his imagination that the wind kicks up again, as she starts to bounce, and than resumes her earlier path through the park, living the old saying with the open delight…
Live like there’s no tomorrow, and dance like no one is watching…
[Danicka Musil] His mate, on a bench, watches the faces of Chicagoans spit water into the Millenium Fountain. She is almost done with her coffee when he moves over, and turns to look up at him as he approaches. Her head tips to one side, her laptop bag sitting beside her thigh. She smiles, no more or less slightly than she did when she greeted Theron, or when she spoke to Gina.
“Long day at the office, darling?” she asks lightly.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] As the Godi dances off — as though no one were watching, or as though she just didn’t care — Lukas approaches Danicka, his hands in his pockets. He gives her a wry smile; then he holds his left hand out to her, the angle of his regard changing if she stands.
“Housewife doesn’t suit you at all,” he replies. His hand shifts on hers, takes hers a little more securely. When he tucks his hand back into his pocket, he takes hers with him. It’s warm there, heated by his hand and his body both. “I’d like to go home with you, though.”
They leave Millennium Fountain behind, and its shifting images of Chicagoans spitting water. Strangest damn idea Lukas has ever seen for a fountain, though he can’t say he dislikes it. The flickering screen casts changing lights on the pavement ahead of him; their shadows are long and tall, cutting across the dim glow.
After a while he pulls the little strip of photobooth pictures out of his pocket and passes them over without a word. After Danicka has a moment to look he asks, “Do you think she looks happy with him?”