Upon his return from the Sept of the Storm Hammer, at the Caern of the Winter’s Tooth, Silence calls the pack together once more — the Garou and the kin.
With little preamble, he lays out the framework of the situation. If anyone hasn’t heard of the secession from the Sept yet, Decker isn’t bothering to rehash.
“Tha Storm Hammer’s made it clear we’s on our own. They’ll allow us ta join they moots ‘n tell our tales there, but we ain’t got no say in they rulings ‘n shit ‘n they don’t want no part’a tellin’ us what ta do. We been told ta forge our own path.
“So this is what we’s gonna do.
“We hold the territory we claim. Every last inch’a it. We hold it ‘gainst tha Wyrm, ‘n we hold it ‘gainst anyone who ain’t Eagle ‘r Fenrir. Tha Sept’a the Maelstrom ain’t welcome here no more. Don’t bring ’em to our packhouses. Don’t invite ’em inta our turf. You gotta talk with them, pick a neutral place. Any’a them come through, I wanna know where ‘n why so’s I kin kick ’em tha fuck out.
“We got some unfinished business up in tha Bog. Imogen’s been workin’ on it with Aodhan fuckin’ Salto, but the fuckin’ prettyboy’s done jack shit. So now we’ll be dealin’ with it.
“One more thing. A Caern is a Caern. If tha Caern’a tha Maelstrom is ever seriously threatened — if tha Wyrm’s broken through and is rampagin’ through tha bawn — we will go to its aid. We will not let it fall.
“Ain’t nobody needs ta know that but us. We’s done cleanin’ up they messes. If tha Sept comes ta you fer help, tell ’em ta fuck off ‘n git out. Then come ta me.”
A pause.
“Now. What I miss while I was gone?”
Kemp
Kemp sat listening with a deep furrowing of dark brows. Shaggy brown hair curtaining his eyes as he stared through the strands. Beneath the shaggy strands at the neck, amid the old scars where he’d nearly had his head ripped off by a spiral, was a new angry mark that still stung and oozed, working towards healing. A glyph that hadn’t been there last time he was with any of the pack.
“I got a question. What about those that ain’t made a pledge to the Sept? I ask cause Lachlan, the Fenrir Rotagar, came to me with news that on the preumbral side, something is oozing right up towards our pack’s bounderies. I brougth him here to talk to Hyde, cause he is the one with the best connection to the spirits.”
Slowly that curtained gaze slid towards Hyde and back to Decker.
“He not to come here again? And are ya saying, no one is to pass through our territory anymore? Also….”
He was full of questions it seemed.
“If shit is coming right towards us, whatcha want to do? We don’t work with no one from the Sept is what you are saying? So, if this shit is coming towards us, we gonna deal with it alone, or wait and see if we get saved the trouble by that shaken up beehive of organization?”
Decker
A frisson of irritation, “Said tha Fenrir was alright ta walk through, didn’ I?”
He gets up and goes to the icebox to get himself a beer. Comes back. Throws himself back down on his favored beanbag chair, which damn well better not show any signs of use over his absence. Twisting the cap off, he resumes the conversation as if it had never stopped.
“Fuck’s oozin’ up on our borders?” News to him. “‘n we deal with it alone. Ain’t like tha Sept’s ever done us any fuckin’ good.”
Imogen
Imogen is there.
It is perhaps amazing to Garou, who are pack creatures and who value these bonds beyond all else, how even though she is connected to the totem link, she can stand so apart, and so distant from the rest – even in the same room as them.
Perhaps it’s them – perhaps it’s their perspective. It is easy to look at Imogen and see her as apart from them – her clothing is clean pressed and expensive, her posture not one of war but of a hard-honed grace.
Maybe it’s just she looks like she does not belong.
Her hands in the pockets of her coat – a rough, chocolate suede – open to reveal a cream sweater, she says nothing as Decker speaks. The only acknowledgement that she hears his words at all is the faintest crease between her eyebrows as he mentions Aodhan fuckin’ Salto. As Kemp and Decker begin to speak, the only sign of her attention is the flick of her eyes. Between one, then the other.
Hyde
*Hyde was there. Leaning against one wall or another. He listened and thought about what was said. When Kemp looked over at him he looked back at Kemp. Then when a pause came he nodded. Deep voice issuing forth*
They did come and talk to me, and based on what they said, I don’t know what it is. *He rolled his massive shoulders* believe it or not.. there’s lots and lots of weird shit in the spirit world, don’t _anyone_ know what it is. I’m not saying that’s the case with this.. but _I_ Don’t know what it is. Most times I do.. this time.. I don’t. From what I was told it doesn’t sound good though. Course if it was… we wouldn’t be talking about it.
I’ve renewed the bonds with the spirit forces here at the peir pack house. I’ve put a few to watching over our turf.
Thing is.. Cut off from the caern as we are and in the middle of the city.. it’s not as easy as it once was. We, as a pack need to keep that in mind. Spirits are… strange. Some of them might straight up tell us to go fuck off and die now. Some might try and make us… die that is. Some might not even notice the caern stuff. But it has to be factored in.
Tristan/AM
Tristan is there – probably the first time anyone has actually SEEN him in the pack house for some time, though his presence is unmistakable in the little things he’s always done, even if Ling has taken up the lions share of the chores. And more power to her for it. He’s flopped into some chair or another beer in hand, listening.
—
Ruhiger stands at the back of the room, her hands in the pocket of her jacket. Pale gaze flicks from face to face, listening to the conversation, and considering all that is said in her normal way. That is, silently. Naturally.
Alaric
Alaric, while not officially a part of the Eagles, was still Fenrir. He owed his allegiance to his tribe first, and sept second. Icey blue eyes fell to Silence, and Alaric nodded a bit in difference to him. It might be noted, however, that Alaric’s gaze was a touch below the Modi’s eyes.
“The night that Schmetterling was healed by the strange man named Malcolm,” Alaric began, “apparently set into motion a chain of events. As it turns out this Malcolm a leader of what appears as a black operations team that Chicago’s governmental reaction to the rise in gang activity and drug trafficking.”
The Dane shrugged, and with a glance toward Kemp, continued on. “He called me on the phone a day or so ago. Without myself nor Schmetterling having given him my contact number.”
Alaric shook his head. “He wants me to join his team on a mission to Chinatown where they plan to do a bust. I accepted. Partially out of honor for aiding Schmetterling, but primarily because this man is a mystery. Of late that I can recall, he has shown up twice when any sort of battle has occured between Kin, Garou, and any sort of beast be it man or creature. The first was in the gear of a spec. ops. soldier. The second, in civilian street clothes.”
Alaric felt like he was repeating himself a bit. “He healed her. The sort of healing Hyde-rhya or Moira can do. What else can he do? That’s the thought that plagues me. And now he wants me to walk into Chinatown and help him take out druglords.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but this smells of a trap.”
Moira
Moira is there, listening to Decker speak, first and then the others. She stands on the farthest side of the room, her back pressed to the wall. She has her arms folded tightly across her chest and the expression on her face is a neutral one. Her thoughts and emotions quietly guarded as well as her tongue.
The cobalt blues of her eyes darken with some hidden emotion, thinking on things that had transpired in the past few days. She can only surmise that things were going to get uglier in the city before it got better. Her head snaps up to the sound of her name on Alaric’s lips, wrinkling her nose as she makes a face.
Ling
Ling, she sits there from her seat on the floor against the wall and listens. Holy hell. This is what was meant, that stray phrase she’d heard. The implications are huge. The instructions are crystal clear.
She nods, quiet and somber and otherwise still, and tries not to think about the dreams she will have.
Imogen
Imogen glances at Alaric – neither kin have met. The redhead’s eyes are cool as she regards him, and then speaks up. The kin’s voice, amongst the Americans and the German born is starkly different – british and well-modulated. “D’yeh ha’ th’number he called from?”
Alaric
The Dane’s eyes flicked to Imogen. “Yes,” he said. Reaching into his coat’s inner-pocket, so near the butt of his gun, he pulled it out, flipped it open and went to RECEIVED CALLS. There was a number there, without a name. Just a number.
“This one.” He handed the phone to her. Whether or not it would be disconnected when one tried to call back was a different story.
Imogen
She reaches out and takes the mobile phone from him in one hand, while reaching into her jacket pocket with the other. From her jacket, she retrieves a small notepad, half filled with notes, a small pen latched to it.
Her fingers are long and delicate. They have a grace that can only be found in strength. She frees the tiny pen from the notepad spires and clicks it to open it. The pen scratches on paper as she copies out the phone number.
She closes the phone and passes it back. “I’ll let you know,” she says, simply. “I presume someone ‘ere can find yeh?”
Decker
“Ain’t too concerned ’bout this Malcolm fucker. We got a lot more ta worry ’bout than folks that’d heal our kin. Chinatown ain’t our turf, though. My s’ggestion’s you not git caught up in that shit, but tha choice is yers. Jus’ don’t ‘spect me ta bail yer ass out if ya bite off more’n you kin chew.
“Kathrin,” briefly, he turns his attention on the youngest, once-again-cub, “yer first time ’round as cub went too fast. Y’ain’t never had a good example ta look up ta. There’s a Forseti in town, down from tha Caern’a the Winter’s Tooth. She’s an Adren’a the Sept’a the Storm Hammer. You gitcherself to her ‘n learn what she’ll teach ya. ‘n keep yer mouth shut ‘less she tells you ta speak. Tha Fenrir’a Winter’s Tooth don’t fuck around. I seen their Adrens tear a cub clear in half fer lookin’ at ’em the wrong way.
“As fer tha ‘ooze’ on our borders — want Hyde lookin’ inta it ‘n Kemp backin’ ‘im up. We may not be part’a tha Sept no more, but we been fuckin’ pertectin’ tha gaian spirits on our land fer years now. Gotta be a few left ta answer questions, ‘n even if they don’t, we still got Eagle.
“Annemarie ‘n me’s gonna sniff ’round this Volo Bog shit, ‘Gen. So whatever ya got ta tell us,” he shrugs to round off the sentence.
Imogen
As Decker speaks, Imogen pockets her notepad, and shifts her coat back around her. The kinwoman stands without leaning, free of all support, her body straight, her posture near perfect.
It’s hard to call her graceful, but it is equally hard to call what she has anything else. An ease of movement, a sheer comfort within her skin. An economy of motion, and a beauty in her bones. It is not grace – but it is something close.
And for the Garou – of course, there is the breeding there, just beneath the skin. In the skin, in her blood, her hair. Though it was not Fenrir, it was no less potent for that.
“Volo Bog was is owned by – was owned by,” she corrects, “Mirabelle Brandeis, and ‘er son. Mirabelle Brandeis is dead, and her son, Mark,” a shrug her suede coat rustling, “I last found ‘im in Mexico.
“There aren’t that many ways in ‘r out. At least,” she amends, “not for humans. One road in. They ‘ave a boardwalk through th’bog to open water. One caretaker.”
She inhales. Even in a room full of rage and Garou, prickling across her skin, her gaze is disconcertingly direct; focused on Silence and Ruhiger. “Given how much things ‘ave changed,” a simple phrase encompassing the death of the Hive Elder, a blow to the nearby Hive, “I’m not sure how much attention any one o’ them is payin’ it now. But before – there was a kinfolk who attempted to get access. ‘nd she died soon after. Circumstantially suspicious, but of course,” a smirk pulls at the edge of her mouth, then fades, “there is no proof.”
She’s finished. “Everything else, I’ve already said.”
Decker
Everything else, she’s already said — more than once.
Must be frustrating to be Imogen, sometimes. To work a full-time job — something none of them could boast — and to do so much more, besides, for the Garou. Imogen, run this license plate number. Imogen, dump this body. Imogen, look into this bog and report back to us. Imogen, what did you say last week? We were too busy killing shit.
Must be frustrating to have the advantage over the Garou in every skillset and situation in the world, except the one that mattered most to them: combat.
For a moment Decker is quiet, a muscle working in his jaw as he swallows.
Then he sits up in his beanbag chair, planting his feet solidly on the ground, his elbows on his knees. He counts off the points on his fingers.
“Mirabelle was tha Hive Elder’s woman. That means the Dancers held tha Bog. So at first we figgered it mighta been another entrance to tha Hive. Only, tha Bog weren’t all fucked up ‘n wyrmy like you might ‘spect a Hive entrance ta be. ‘Fact, it was cleaner ‘n nicer’n surroundin’ areas. ‘n ‘sides that, it was pertected by some property law ‘r other that kept anybody from doin’ anythin’ with it, ‘cept holdin’ it.
“So what we got is tha Wyrm hangin’ on ta a piece’a land that don’t do it no good a’tall ta hold. They cain’t bulldoze it, they ain’t been able ta corrupt it. What they can do is keep’it outta our hands.
“What we wanna know is why.”
The Modi looks at Imogen. “I miss anythin’?”
Imogen
It must be frustrating. It can’t be anything less.
For now, nothing is betrayed by the language of her body, nor yet the expression on her face. Her control is something to be admired, or perhaps abhorred.
“I don’t think they can keep it out o’ our hands. Th’land is bein’ held illegally – and I ha’ th’proof. But,” she pauses for a moment, and it is perhaps to make her point clear. Speaking so soon after Decker, one cannot help but notice the differences in their speech patterns. Imogen’s cornish/british accent, and her easy way to speak, versus the Adren’s more rolling drawl. “S’a pretty blatant move. If it’s made, and anyone is still payin’ attention, it will be fairly obvious why we’re makin’ a move fer it. And they might take drastic measures of their own.”
Alaric
(Insert this after Imogen’s question to Alaric)
“I can be found by Schmetterling, or I can just as easily check back in here,” Alaric rumbled casually to the redhaired Kinwoman.
Kemp
He’d gone silent as it seemed things moved on before he responded again. Lots of shit to think about and none of it was sitting easy inside him. His thoughts seemed turned inwards except when Hyde spoke and Kemp’s gaze narrowed to small slits for several long moments before he started staring at a spot between his shoes. Hunched over as he sat with his forearms on knees, head dangling down in the posture of a man with a hangover.
Moira
“Say if we did make a move, Imogen. How would you go about doing such a thing and is there a way to do it without drawing attention to ourselves? I mean I know you said it is a blatant move on our part and it’ll draw attention, but… perhaps there is another way?”
Moira spoke up, pushing herself away from the wall as she glances between the red-haired kin and the rest of those gathered. Imogen had done the leg work on all of it, and Moira had offered very little help, not bearing the connections the good doctor did. She is, at least, attempting to be helpful with her question.
Decker
Decker stirs. “Best if we don’t go ’bout makin’ no moves — yet.
“Mirabelle died, yeah? We oughta look inta that. See if it’s really suicide ‘r if there’s someone out there who kin help us out. There’s her son, too. Maybe we kin squeeze ‘im fer some info, ‘fore we do anythin’ else.
“Plus. Ain’t none’a us actually know fuck’s in the Bog.”
Moira
“Well, maybe the Bog itself should be investigated?” She can’t remember if Decker had said he was going to do so already, if he did, Moira was certain the Modi would correct her.
Imogen
A glance at Moira, dark eyed, “It would be th’humans who would make a move. They would simply be pointed in th’right direction. Then, an appropriate company could purchase th’deed, and control the easement.” Her voice is nearly without inflection, and betrays little of any emotion.
What emotion that is betrayed is when Decker speaks. The edge of her mouth tightens. “Mark Hollingbeck was in Mexico the last time I checked,” she says again. A second passes, and the tension to her mouth fades, and she continues, “Though he’s spent time ‘ere in the past. I’ll check again.”
Then, “Mirabelle Hollingbeck is dead, apparently by suicide. She died around the same time Brandeis Enterprise – her company – was goin’ under. Suicide is not impossible or unlikely. Neither is it impossible that she was killed by her own because she was a liability.
“I don’t see how her death can help you wi’ th’ Bog.”
A glance for Moira as she speaks, but Imogen does not bother to correct her.
Decker
Mark was in Mexico, Imogen points out. Decker snorts — “Yeah, ya said so. Ain’t nothin’ but a roadtrip south, right.”
And as for the Bog: “Her death cain’t help us. But if she didn’ kill ‘erself, whoever did might be able ta. ‘less it was one’a her own.
“‘fore we let some company purchase tha land,” he adds, finally, “wanna know what’s on the land. ‘s what AM ‘n me is gonna have a look at.”
Imogen
There is a moment where she does not reply – the space of a breath, and then she speaks simply, “I’ll locate Mister Hollingbeck, and his late mother’s autopsy reports.”
Hyde
*Hyde was silent for a few minutes then his chin rose* What’s on ya mind Kemp? You keep givin’ me nasty looks. Might as well spit it out man.
*Hyde wasn’t looking for confrontation, but with this pack it was best not to let shit simmer*
Moira
Moira blinks, tilting her head to the right as she lets her eyes shift between the Godi and the Rotagar. Lips purse together as her eyebrows furrow slightly. She folds her arms over her chest, slowly working out the growing tension that builds into the line of her jaw.
Skadi
“Ya cain’t deal with tha Sept’a Maelstrom,” that is Skadi: the female Modi. The other packmates caught her scent briefly, but she didn’t say much. She’s here, though. Thinner than any of them remember her, the copper suggestion of the Endless Snows on her skin. “An’ y’ain’t gon’ challenge ta lead it. Why ain’t we leavin’? S’a good Fenrir Caern, that one. Traditional. Old ways. End time’s comin’ – tha hell are we hangin’ around here for, if ya cain’t abide with Maelstrom, pretendin’ like ya kin hold a Caern from outside?”
Decker
Decker’s attention shifts as Skadi speaks up. Like a viper his eyes hood. He sits back and regards the other Modi for a moment.
“Watch yer mouth,” he says quietly.
Hyde
*Hyde’s eyes went from Kemp to Skadi and then to Decker. Surprisingly enough… in his eyes, she had, a very valid point. A slight tilt of his head and he waited for that to be resolved*
Skadi
Watch yer mouth.
A moment of tension, a potent frission of something coils its way across her lush mouth but remains unvoiced. Will – and rage. It all reads as rage.
Skadi crosses her thin arms firmly beneath her breasts and holds her ground.
Watches him.
Waits.
Kemp
Kemp’s green gaze shifted towards Hyde again. While he was formulating exactly how to say what was on his mind, Skadi spoke. His gaze swung from Skadi to Decker. Then back to Skadi when Decker told her to watch her mouth. Once more his eyes slid back towards Decker.
“Yeah, I been wondering this and it’s part of why I’m lost as fuck in all this shit. We done bled and fought to raise that caern. We walked out on the Moot, walked out on the Sept. Now we report in to some other one in some other city? I gotta say, I am really lost in all this shit. It’s eating me up from the inside cause I don’t fuckin know where I belong no more. It’s like we told everyone to go fuck themselves but we’re still gonna protect this place? The Caern? But only like from a distance or something? We don’t belong no more. It’s like we’re these ghosts still hanging out after our bodies done died. I don’t know.”
Digging the fingers of both hands into his hair and curling them there with a pull as he closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.
“I’m so fuckin lost and confused that I feel like something inside me is going to shatter and it ain’t never gonna be put back together again. I don’t know if I am suppose to only talk to and deal with the ones in this room, or if I can deal with others or what the hell I am doing. And if I hold to just dealing with those here, right now? Does that mean I’m suppose to say fuck it, unless it walks in to this here room and kicks me in the ass?”
Breathing heavily as he continued to clench his hair in both hands. Closing his eyes with an angished moan.
“I’d give my life for you Deck, ya know that. But fuckme, I’m gotta know how we’re gonna do this. Be remote and tell tales at some other moot but not be part of them. Not be part of here. Not be part of nothing no more. What we all worked so hard for. What we bled for. What some our very own paid the ultimate price for. What ya bled and fought for, Deck.”
Pain, confusion and hope bled from him when he opened his eyes again to look at Decker again.
Decker
“ENOUGH.”
Kemp may not have quite finished. Skadi hadn’t said anything. Hyde was gawking like a man watching a tennis match. And the rest of them — gawking too, or worse, looking anywhere but at him. And all the while, questioning, moaning, bitching, whining, looking to him for guidance, looking to him to tell them what the fuck they should do now.
The rage coming off the modi was enough to sear.
He hasn’t stirred. He’s still on his beanbag chair, sprawled, beer in hand. He hadn’t quite shouted. Hadn’t even raised his voice, really. It was the force of his anger that gave it weight.
The seconds tick by.
“I am not,” every word is cut clean, “yer fuckin’ father.”
His right hand moves. He lifts the beer bottle to his lips. Sips. Lowers it.
“‘n I am not. My fuckin’ father.”
It happens too fast to react to. He flings the beer bottle across the room. It smashes against the opposite wall. Beer and glass shards explode every which way. The wall bears a perfect radial stain for an instant, and then it begins to drip. Somehow, Silence is on his feet by then.
“I am what I am. I’m a Modi’a Great Fenris, ‘n He knows I ain’t His best nor His worst. I’m jus’ Silence. Nothin’ more ‘r less. Somewhere ‘long tha way everyone fergot what I am ‘n started makin’ me out ta be what they wanted me ta be.
“Always figgered y’all would never do that. Always figgered my fuckin’ pack would know me fer what I am. But you don’t. You done fergot just like all the other fuckers out there.
“I ain’t no fuckin’ hero’a tha Tribe.” The words come faster now, a low and steady drive like a faraway freight train. “Ain’t no fuckin’ traditional Fenrir. Ain’t know no fuckin’ Old Ways ‘cept what was beat inta me, ‘n ain’t innarested in runnin’ all tha way ta Minnesota ta learn it. I’m stayin’ right tha fuck here, ’cause here’s where I done set my roots. Not in tha Sept, but in this fuckin’ turf under my feet.”
The tips of his fingers quiver with fury. He clenches his hands into a fist. When he opens them, they’re utterly steady, and his eyes are sheer molten lead when they move over the gathered. The entirety of them. The Garou and the kin. The pack, and those that were never, or were no longer, pack.
“When I walked out, ain’t never ‘spected all’a ya ta come with me. If you thought I had some grand fuckin’ plan — yer wrong. If you thought you was followin’ me ta some greater glory — yer fuckin’ wrong. All I’m doin’ is takin’ it one fight at a time. Same as I always have. ‘s all I know how ta do.
“So. You wanna follow a hero, go. You wanna be tha heroes’a tha Sept. Go. You wanna belong, you wanna be popular, you wanna be some sorta fuckin’ role model, GO. Git tha fuck outta my sight.
“But you stay, then shut tha fuck up. Quit snivelin’ at me. Quit whinin’. Quit questionin’ me, ‘n quit kissin’ my ass. I’m sick of it. Yer grown men ‘n women. Yer grown Garou of Fenris. Think fer yer fuckin’ selves. Follow me ‘r don’t. ‘s yer fuckin’ choice.”
A blasted silence. Then he drops back into his beanbag couch and, with a deep breath, finally allows his terrible stare to abate.
Ruhiger
There is another Modi in the room, though perhaps she has been forgotten in her silence. That is made clear when the Alpha she chose to follow come hell or high water, lumps her ass in with the rest of them in his blast. Is there no one in this room who knows her? Oddly, Decker knows her most, knows her best. In the end, however, it is the same.
Because she says nothing.
Her jaw clenches. The muscle along the edges jump.
Otherwise, her arms remain loose at her side, though her gaze follows the beer’s trail along the wall for half a moment. Then she returns her pale gaze to the group before her. Her pack. Her choice. Her constant thorn in her side at times.
But she remains as ever.
Silent.
Steadfast.
Hyde
*Hyde listened to Kemp and nodded, now understanding the man’s pain and confusion. Then he listened to Decker and his rage. He thought about it for a bit and tilted his head. Opening his mouth to speak.*
“That’s the difference between good Alpha’s and great ones Deck… Ones that SEEK to lead, seldom are good leaders. Their want for the position… means there’s something lacking in them.
Truly good leaders have leadership thrust upon them. In the tales they often don’t want it.. but turn out better than those that do.”
*The massive Godi shrugged and one hand reached out to pat Kemps back. Then he nods*
I’m with ya Deck.
*For Hyde at least, such a decision was a bit easier. He’d been raised garou. He followed his alpha.*
Ling
Ling is utterly still as the bottle hits the wall, before that, minutes before, about the time that Skadi started speaking about the sept. The words, warning, were not a surprise. She doesn’t look to anyone but near Decker, at him to begin with, then sliding away to as close as she dares when he blows up.
Well. Not REALLY blows up. Would have been blood, then, pretty sure of it. But certainly as close as she’s seen him. She just learned something about her cousin, and things, some things, slip into place for her, bits of history, a few stories, murmurs from the sept in the Catskills, incongruities since she’s come here. Really doesn’t matter if she lost respect for him or not with that speech, or gained it. Precious few will care and probably no one will ever ask.
Her chin raises, a hint of stubbornness, of the strength of her self now and to come. She stays put. It’s not pride, not shame, possibly not wise in the least. Just simple.
Blood sticks.
Imogen
Skadi speaks – Kemp speaks. And Imogen had been a half-breath from leaving.
(She has never been one for shows of loyalty.
The truth is, if one looks at the ex-Fianna, it would be easy to think that she had none).
Enough.
Silence speaks.
It is perhaps the searing rage that holds her, or maybe a tone in the Adren’s voice, but she turns her head to look at him, her body half turned away. Her previous intention is writ in her body language – her current intention is not quite so clear. But she stays where she is.
When the bottle crashes, she flinches, just barely. A twitch of her shoulder, a tension in the line of her neck. She does not turn to look where the bottle had hit, does not watch the alcohol drip. Her eyes are on Silence. When he includes her in his gaze, she does not turn away, and allows no expression to change her face.
When he is finished, Hyde speaks up, AnneMarie stays. Imogen does not move and does not look away.
Moira
Moira’s back is once more against the wall. Those few steps were taken with such haste as her body thumps against the spot it had reclined against, sliding down to the carpet to sit. Her knees buckled up as she went down, pulling up to her chest.
The blood starts to pound in her veins, in her ears, burning with the heat of color as she tucks her head down and doesn’t look up. She had lifted her arms up, folded them across her chest to cup her hands behind her head, over the nape of her neck. Eyes fully closed.
Enough.
The bottle crashes against the wall, she can only hear where it strikes, somewhere off to her right. She is, as she always becomes, skittish. Moira breathes in a shallow intake of air, opening her eyes again to look up.
Hyde speaks, Annemarie stands, Ling stays put, Imogen flinched, if only for the briefest of moments, and she sits, shaking under the heavy stare of the Modi when it passes over her.
Tristan
Moira falls back against the wall, and Tristan is there. He wasn’t far away to begin with, the movement would be barely noticed with the rage flying about the room. All he does then, is stand close enough that Moria’s shoulder is now against his knee where she sits. And he drops his hand, until his fingers brush through her hair.
A simple touch. A small comfort. A minor moment of connection.
Other then that? He ain’t dumb enough to utter a damn word. No way, no how.
Kemp
Kemp watched Decker for a long moment before speaking again.
“What I know, I know from you and from being tossed in headfirst, sink or swim. I ain’t smart, far from it. Traditional what’sit? Beats me. Your father? Never met him. As for my father. Close as I’ll ever get is you. Like it or not.”
Shrugging as he headed for the door.
“To me, you’re a Hero. To me, you’ll always be on that pedestal. But ya don’t want to hear that shit, and I don’t blame ya. I wouldn’t want to deal with any of this shit. Shit, ya didn’t sign on to be my daddy, ya done said that too. Don’t blame ya for what ya did at the caern. I wouldn’t want to deal with them, deal with me, deal with any of this fuckin shit. I don’t want to be no hero of nothing. No Sept, no Nation, no Tribe cause really? Deep down every hero wishes he could of run just like the rest of the cowards.”
“So, there ya have it, I guess. Cause I can’t not ask. I can’t not say nothing. Can’t bury my head in the fuckin sand and not be me. Just like ya can’t not be you. Can’t just pretend like I know what the fuck I’m doing either. Guess I didn’t make such a good Fenrir after all. Heh.”
Skadi
She doesn’t move. She remains standing just as and where she is, Skadi. Of a height with Silence – an inch or two, perhaps, less – she is not so imposing as the huge mule. She has had to look up to meet Kemp’s eyes since she first met him, and he has only continued to grow.
As for sheer presence – rage and will and Fenrir pure breeding, fundamental physical beauty, evident even now, in her wasted state – in the ideal symmetry of her features – of the pack, only Silence matches her.
Exceeds her.
Skadi lifts her chin once, her blue eyes slice toward Hyde and she regards him – impassive and thoughtful – before her attention returns to Silence. Then Kemp speaks, from behind her – he’s not a good Fenrir. Silence is the hero’s hero. It’s like a key turning clockwork inside her.
“Ya wanna hear what I seen in tha Endless Snows, afore I go?”
Alaric
For the part of the Danish Kin, Alaric was silent when the Garou began speaking. He still did not speak, and his eyes were deadlocked on Decker when the outburst came. One can’t say that Alaric didn’t feel an ounce of fear, or another emotion that this is not the place for a mortal man to be.
The bottle strikes the wall, so suddenly and abruptly that for about the first time since his coming to this sept, since the first time since the death of his brother, Alaric flinched along with Moira. Perhaps not in the same way, but there was still a widening of his eyes as he flicked them towards the shattered and wet remains of the bottle.
Garou speak, and Kin were supposed to be silent. Alaric wasn’t the typical Kin, he whom said things to true-born, and ultimately got verbally or literally bitch-slapped for it. All told, it seems as though Decker’s father and Alaric’s own father Damek would get along more than most. And yet, the Dane was nodding slowly at the Modi Decker’s words. Slowly, subtly, less he draw any attention on to himself than was due at this moment.Then, finally he finds the courage to part his lips. His accented rumble was muted a trifle, soft like the northern winds.
“In the end, we are all that we make ourselves to be. We are men and women, not gods. We are far from perfect, but for all that, we are of Great Fenris. We carry his pride; we carry his strength; we carry his honor. For all that, we hold our heads high and forge our own paths. What comes of it, whether it is glory, destruction, or merely our survival is not yet written by the Fates. Till the death, this pack–these men and women–you have my allegiance.”
Simple words from a simple man. As he spoke, his voice didn’t rise in volumn. Intensity, perhaps, but they were still spoken quite softly. His voice may not have carried to everyone present, but the message was clear: We fight, live, and die together. We are Fenrir. It didn’t matter where you originally came from. Alaric didn’t even mean it to be any sort of speech to gain respect or trust. It was merely from his heart, a place where few were allowed to enter much less view from afar.
The Dane fell silent, and returned his gaze to the floor.
Decker
In the wake of his fury, he is quiet — the silence after the storm.
And then they begin to respond. Those who cannot look at him. Those who can, and do. Those who stand firm. Those who quail. Those who speak of leaving, or staying. Those who speak of him as a leader, a hero…
Something like weariness, something like anger, rolls through him like a subterranean tide. He lowers his head and, for a moment, fervently wishes that they’d one-and-all just go the fuck away.
But they don’t. When he raises his head, they’re still there. Waiting. And if nothing else, Decker has never been one to back down from confrontation.
He meets Kemp’s look head-on, steady now, calm.
“Sometimes I ain’t got no answer fer ya, Kemp, no matter how many times ‘r ways ya axe. I already done toldja all I know at tha beginnin’a this shit. Where ‘m goin’. What ‘m doin’ next. ‘n that’s all I know right now.”
A pause. His eyes lower for a moment. Then he looks at Skadi. Deep in his pupils the flame of his rage begins to twist and burn again.
It’s hard to say who he really speaks to.
“I said,” he says, very quietly, “jus’ go.”
Skadi
Skadi holds Silence’s rage-filled gaze a scant moment, then drops her eyes and her chin. The long blonde hair swings forward, across her shoulder, shadowing her cheek.
Jus’ go.
And so she does, pivoting in her blood splattered pink cowboy boots, walking away. The front door is half open, and Skadi is half-way through it, when she stops again, propping it open with the bony protuberance of her right hip as shoots Silence another glance, this one over her left shoulder, hard profile softened by the wealth of hair, a frown twisting her mouth. “Wan’ talk ta ya after this, Silence. Somethan’ I gotta make right with ya.”
Then she’s gone, the door slams closed behind her.
Kemp
“I know ya told me what ya could. And I know ya never wanted this position. Ya been good to me, for me all these years. Saved my life more times than I can count. And even if ya don’t see yourself as a hero, you are to me, always will be.”
Kemp paused as he tried to sort through the turmoil tearing his insides apart. Dragging his hands through his hair again as if pulling at it would divert pain from a place inside him that he couldn’t reach.
“I don’t know how ya protect something from the outside that ya raised, pulled kicking and screaming from where it rest before. You don’t know either. All ya can do is what you see as your best. And I know, that’s what you’re trying to do. Sometimes life hands us shit ya gotta plow through to survive and sometimes, for a time, ya can put it off. Ya said ya never asked none of us to follow ya out. But how could we remain behind when our Alpha walked out, when you are pack? I don’t know. I really don’t know. If we stayed, ya’d be alone, but maybe that’s what ya really want? I know ya want to be left the fuck alone, who doesn’t half the time? We all been good at avoiding each other while living as part of the same pack.”
Pausing again with a shake of his head, jaw tightening till a muscle spasmed in it. Then his chest expanded with a deep inhaled breath.
“And I’m rambling, trying to hold on to something that’s slipping away. Ya need to know that yeah, Lachlan came with news of something coming our way, right up on our borders now. He said, he found a place preumbral and it was full of a pile of dead wyrms hounds. Said it looked like a single Crinos did them in. How he got that impression, I ain’t got a clue. But he said there was this red mist and if ya breathe it in, it makes ya grow really angry somehow. And he said that he found a dead zone out there where nothing lives. No spirits, nothing. And crossing the gauntlet at that dead zone is near impossible and it is bleeding eastwards. Hyde was told this story. He ain’t never heard of it before. Said he would increase our protections here. Weren’t interested in taking a look or nothing. Bai said he found a place where the weaver is thicker than it should be. Said in his turf, right in the middle of it. Said he saw a hairless Crinos there, one that looked made of metal. It’s voice was like Weaver spirit. I done ran into the Weaver in umbral Downtown and got my ass kicked out with the warning I done told ya about. I told them I would help look into this. That was before ya came back with the new plan. ”
Looking up with another clench of his jaws.
“I can’t live in a little protected box. I can’t pretend ain’t nothing and no one outside that box. I know ya ain’t doing that, but some want to it seems. I might not care for the whining bitches we have in this city? But I can’t figure out how I can give gnosis, give my spirit to the Caern we raised, if I can’t get near it. And it needs all we can give to keep it strong. I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore, just like you said. And ya know? Sitting here trying to pretend like no one else exists while keeping our area clean. Going to the Bog and all that? I don’t know, I just don’t know. Going to a Sept that we don’t belong to, to sing our deeds? A place that is gonna barely tolerate us for that, that we have no connection to in another city? I ain’t sure how that works either. So are ya suppose to give what ya was gonna give to Maelstorm, to this other Caern while you are there? So many things I just don’t understand no more.”
One more deep breath with a straightening of his shoulders. He’d grown tall at 18, well over 6 foot and 4 inches with a few more years possible growth to him. Muscle ripped beneath his skin, but tall as he was, he had years filling out to do, if he lived long enough.
“Guess it’s time for me to grow up, huh? I need to go think on this. On what I gotta do to keep some tiny bit of sanity inside me. I’m losing it fast, way too fast.”
All of his attention was on Decker as he spoke.
“Ya do your best, ya always will Deck. I respect that and love ya. But I gotta go think on this shit. Cause I’m falling apart inside right now.”
With that he turned to walk out. Quietly closing the door behind him with a click.
Tristan/AM
Something inside Tristan aches as he watches Kemp. They all know how close they were, how tight, how much they depended on each other. While Decker was the father figure to the young kid, Tristan was mom.
This. Kills. him.
But nothing so much as watching him follow that…. woman… out the door. Seems that all the kid said a few months ago, mean nothing in reverse. That hurts, cuts deep. But Tristan, as Kin, and the only non-fenrir kinfolk in the room (aside from Imogen, but well.) he says nothing. He does nothing. He only moves to cross his arms, clench his jaw and tear his gaze from the door, a lowering of his jaw bringing dark eyes to rest firmly on some imagined spot on the floor by his right foot.
Growing up is hard to do. Letting it happen, harder still. Watching his son walk out the door? The hardest of all.
—
The Modi’s gaze narrows, watching Skadi as she leaves, unsurprised. Some simply aren’t meant to fly.
As Kemp speaks, she watches him. There is a slight shake of her head, however, as he slips outside as well. But in the end, she is more silent then their Alpha’s deed name implies. Her opinion remains unvoiced, even through Totem’s wings. To be honest, she simply refuses them the satisfaction of knowing her thoughts on the matter. Her opinions were not sought before. (Her voice in Kemp’s head only serves to push him farther. He cannot say she never gave him the peace he demanded, for all he bitches that they avoid one another as pack. One should always be wary of what they ask for…)
Should she be questioned, she will reply. Until then – nothing.
Ruhiger has done nothing to increase the Alpha’s ire and consternation. She is not about to start now, no matter how often he lumps her in with the rest of them.
Kathrin
The once cliath now cub (again) had sat quiet the entire time. She listened to her Alpha. She listened to her brother. And she listened to her best friend. Each one that spoke gained her eye contact, and it was never turned away.
Once all was said and done, it was then she spoke. Out of respect, and out of what seemed to be an almost need to.
“I don’t claim to know everything. But I am not ignorant either. I have thought long and hard on how this may or may not end. Silence-rhya, we followed for reasons we believe in. Be it in you, in the pack, in Fenris, or for some other unknown reason. We were dishonoured greatly by nearly everyone at the moot. So I agree with you, Silence-rhya. Not because you are Alpha, but because you know these lands better than anyone. You know the people better than anyone, who we can trust and not trust. If we were in the wrong, I am sure Eagle would tell us.”
Kat slowly stood.
“You are a leader, Silence-rhya, even if you do not see or feel it. You are hero to many. To Kemp, to myself, my brother, and to the kin here you help keep safe. I am taking your advice and leaving tonight..alone..to seek the Adren you speak of. I am not turning my back on this pack, but going to improve myself to strengthen it and Eagle. Should you have need of me, just call.” Giving a tap of her head.
Imogen
It’s not often she breaks her silence without prompting. Most of the communication that the kinfolk ever imparts with the Garou of the Eagles, sparing Decker and Kemp have been over the totem link – it has been all business.
As the Garou speak, Kemp and Skadi leave, Imogen’s gaze is on Silence – despite his weariness. There is nothing to reveal her expression – pity or compassion, disdain or dislike.
Kathrin finishes, and the kinfolk speaks, looking away from the Adren, “You’re callin’ him a leader t’absolve yerselves,” the kinfolk speaks suddenly, as she reaches for the edges of her coat, and she begins to do up her coat, her fingers deft on the button. “Yeh call him a hero, so th’weight is on him.”
She does up her last button at her throat. “Would yeh all have left, if he hadn’t? Or would yeh have stood there?”
She clears her throat, and her gaze, dark, flicks to Silence, “I need t’get back t’work.” She steps away, toward the door.
Kathrin
Kat frowns. “Actually, I would have left. With or without my Alpha, Imogen. This Caern….the others have acted dishonourably. Manipulated by the Lords.” She sighed and shut up.
AM
BULLSHIT.
It goes whip cracking through the totemphone. She knows that the kinfolk can hear it. She makes no apologies.
I’ve had it with people presuming to know what and why I’ve done anything without ever so much as speaking to me. Without knowing more then my NAME. You judge, without knowing. Kemp walks. Skadi walks and proves she has not been Eagle since she arrived. And all of us follow Silence for we chose to do so. Do not presume to know my reasonings, Dr. Slaughter. I never have disrespected you that way, I demand the same in return.
I do not absolve myself of anything I have done. I am not a fucking SHEEP following her herder blindly. And fuck you all for assuming. Fuck. you. all.
She doesn’t move, however.
I am Eagle first. I fought for over a year to get into this pack. I will not walk away from it. Would I have left if he were not there? Yes. Would it have happened at all if he were not there? Who knows. What happened, did and it remains that I followed the alpha I chose. I will continue to do so. The rest of you will make your choice for your reasons but don’t you dare make mine for me. I am mute, not fucking stupid.
It is likely the longest speech any have ever heard from her. It will likely be the last such. But when she finally cracks, when her control breaks, it breaks.
Decker
“That’s enough,” Decker says, for the second time tonight. The tone is different. Darker, wearier, quieter, angrier.
The door had shut on Skadi and Kemp. A moment later, Decker shuts the totemlink on them, too. Then he looks about at those who remained.
“We got business ta take care’a,” before he was so fuckin’ rudely interrupted, and all. “Hyde, go have a look at our western front. Check out what Kemp ‘n Lachlan been talkin’ bout.
“‘Gen, when ya track down Mark, will ya take Alaric ‘n go down there? ‘ll come witcha’ll if I kin.
“AM.” The other Modi might hate abbreviations, but Annemarie was a fuckin’ mouthful. “Yer with me. We’re goin’ up ta have a lookit tha Bog ourselves.
“Kathrin, when ya go ta Blood-Debt, remember ain’t none’a us was right ta leave tha Sept, no matter our reasons. Not in tha eyes’a an old-school Get, ‘n maybe not even in the eyes’a Fenris. Tha right thing ta do was ta take over. So don’t go mouthin’ off, ‘less ya wanna lose that tongue.
“Rest’a ya,” Tristan, Moira and Ling, “keep yer eyes ‘n ears open on our land. ‘n stay outta trouble.
“Go.”
He jerks his chin at the door. They were dismissed. As they all turn to go, or not, he speaks up again — but only to one.
“Imogen, stay fer a minute, will ya.”
Kat
Kat nodded. “I will go with the utmost respect, Silence-rhya. Do not worry. I have learned my place.”
Tristan/AM
Tristan nods, slightly, and Reaches to help Moira up. “Come on, kiddo. Buy you a drink.” Once she stands or shoos him away, he leads her out, the door closing softly behind them.
—
She bristles farther at the shortening of her name, but she has said her fill of words for the evening. And so, AnneMarie just nods, once. up. sharp. She turns on a heel and moves through the office, the kitchen, and out the back door. She’ll wait for Silence there.
Imogen
The kinfolk who are not connected to the totem link cannot hear the fury over it, but they can tell that something happens. The way AnneMarie’s posture changes, her eyes on the diminuitive kinfolk. The way Imogen pauses on her way out the door, and faces the female Modi in perfect silence.
She does not answer AnneMarie when she is finished, as Silence begins to speak again, her connection shuts simply. The concentration required for the act flickers across her features, a line between her eyebrows – suggestive of the dull band of pain that blooms in exchange for her effort.
She had turned to go a second time – only to be a stopped, a second time, this time by the male Modi, as the female one leads. There’s a swift glance at her wrist, a watch glistening white metal before she stops where she is, half way to the door. The redhead is still and silent as the rest exit.
Moira
…keep yer eyes ‘n ears open on our land. ‘n stay outta trouble.
Stay out of trouble and keep her eyes and ears open. She has heard it before and knows it well, when hasn’t she stayed out of trouble? Luckily for Moira, the trouble she has been into of late has been kept quiet, harboring her secrets from the rest of the pack.
She rose up from the floor when Tristan motioned for her to follow him. She doesn’t shun the pretty boy, merely looks at the door as her eyebrows furrow. Staring at the spot that Kemp and Skadi had once stood. She shakes her head, bringing a hand up to cup over her eyes and walks out.