[Rory] She still patrols, the land that she and Chloe chose, the area that Elliot helped them expand into – and that’s why she’s here, now, near one of their alleys, toting a stolen bag of cat food, and a jug of (likewise stolen) milk. After what she’d been through at the Brotherhood last night, they could do without some milk, right? It doesn’t hardly make up for it, but well, not much would.
She hates the Brotherhood.
Just inside the mouth of the alley, she crouches, tearing open the bag of food. She’s soon surrounded by strays, all clammering for more, and for the dish of milk. She makes soft noises at them, making sure even the smallest gets a portion of her meager offerings. One who’s familiar with her, with the press of her rage, with the kinship she’s built with the little guy, hops onto her shoulder and burrows under her curls to steal some warmth from the metis as she continues to work, simply adjusting the line of her shoulder to hold the kitten.
She’s clean, today – having made use of the shower and laundry at the brotherhood, but her curls are hopelessly tangled, and she’s dressed in everything she owns in an attempt to keep warm – three layers, and a coat that’s not at all warm enough. Her backpack is settled comfortably on her shoulders, and clanks and rattles as she moves – there’s no telling what’s in there, really.
Milk and food distributed, she remains crouched, this Fianna with no scent and a ton of [wasted] breeding, and watches as they feed, the little purring bundle on her shoulder more a comfort than anyone would believe…
[Zeke] The Sharp designs of the skyline, cut Luna’s light across the expanse of clouds, pushing rays through the overcast with abundance that was hard to deny. Chicago’s world was a host of clouds and had been that way for many a month into the Winter cycle, leaving Luna hard pressed to earn attention from those upon the world’s surface.
So perhaps it wasn’t any spectacle or surprise that Maelstrom’s Garou were under so much pressure. So many omens and foreboding. So much death and violence. A World scar upon the minds of the majority.
Rory is no stranger to these circumstances. Despair has cut swathes through her life and existence with effortless strength, pushing through mind and memory without mercy and leaving her. Cold. Lost in the Quiet.
Rory is crouched in the midst of an alleyway, with the moon’s light cradling the upper edges of her alley’s roofs, her small charges. Wards if you will, bounding and dancing about her legs with an effortlessness, that is at once empathetic and disregarding. Sympathy was not in a stray’s domain, but the comfort of a warm body and company was all together their meat and drink.
Milk was supped up. The cat food, munched. Soft meows whirled through the alley, touching the brow and brushing the cheek. It was enough to leave that emptiness that ached inside, dimmed. Blunted.
“…This…is odd.”
His voice is deep. The baritone thrum of a man used to speaking with a rhythm, or at least a cadence. He is standing at the alley’s mouth or six feet back from it, on the sidewalk, leaning against the shimmer and sheen of a gorgeously taken care of Lincoln Towncar, effortlessly buffed to a newness hardly seen off the lot.
His dress is that of a chauffeur. Black suits and white under-shirts. A dread long overcoat. Black gloves and a bald head, shaved down to cleanliness. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, dark and reflective. A paragon of opposites, these day. He was money, carefully applied in the aesthetic and calm of his demeanour.
“…I don’t think I’ve ever come across one devoted to the Feline.” His gaze could be regarding the Metis or the cats themselves. Some of those that haunt the alley’s mouth, have backed away from the Man. Hackles raised, attentions wary. Cautious.
[Rory] It’s odd, he says, and she jumps – caught unawares in her attention to her feline friends, those being the only one’s she has currently. She scoots back, her hand lifting automatically to save the kitten on her shoulder from a topple, thudding against the bricks as she puts her back to a wall, the little gray bit of fluff cradled to her chest.
He’s money, and she is the complete opposite. Everything she can lay claim too is either worn, or in the pack, currently. Her skin is pale, so pale, and decorated with freckles beyond number, her eyes green, and her heritage so very evident. She doesn’t quite meet his gaze, her eyes dropping instantly, watching as the cats back away, and dash into the hideyholes and warm places they’ve found to pass the nights.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, though like as not, her stance says everything.. she’s the puppy waiting to be struck again, the bullied ready to give up her lunch money, the beaten just trying to survive. When she does speak? It’s simple.
“…hi.”
[Zeke] “….Mmmmm, yes that too, I suppose.”
He doesn’t seem entirely warped by the idea of speaking with Rory. There is no distinct urge to coddle her, in favour of empathy for her situation. There is no distinct distaste and tolerance for her position and place. There is simply a vague flicker of something across his features in regards to the Cats, which seem entirely more troublesome then Rory herself. He climbs off the car with ease, moving forward whilst adjusting his gloves further up the wrists.
“…Are you alone?”
He plucks the sunglasses off his face, folding their arms and hanging them at the ring of the tie, that vanishes below the buttoned jacket flaps. His hands then fall, folding before him effortlessly, regarding Rory about the face. The eyes. The cheeks. The layers of clothing.
[Rory] She chews her lower lip, clearly nervous as he comes closer, as he steps into her alley and takes off his glasses, as he tugs on his gloves a little tighter to his fingers. She crouches down and sets the kitten down with a “shhh, go’on..” much in the way one would protect a beloved charge. Run away from the big man, in case he’s bad…
She stands again, and rubs a finger absently along the side of her nose, before she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “..sorta.”
Single words are easier. Then, because she can’t resist… “Why?”
[Zeke] “…Curious, really.”
He sucks in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, a thick white plume that he lifts his gaze to watch vanish in the night chill. His hands remain where they are folded, his eyes failing to find her features again in the darkness of the alleyway. Given the thickness of the shadows and the lack of reach on the neighboring street lamps, one would be hard pressed to really define just what Zeke was looking out beyond his outline. A pair of shadows, that’s all they were really, regarding one another.
One in suspicion. The other…
“…Why you’re stooped in some alleyway. Lost in the dark, feeding Cats-” he flicks a wrist and fingers out at the fled strays, the alley all but empty now except on it’s outer most perimeters, where they haunt and stare with silent eyes “-and looking for all the world like…”
His gaze narrows slightly, returning to her face briefly, inspecting and tugging with that glance, as if Rory’s disheveled appearance could provide some insight into her.
“…I’m not sure, what, really. Just…curious.”
The Rage is there. Diminished and not of much quality to be considered near Rory’s own. His is a subtle thing. Quiet and easily lost in the press of humanity that expresses itself so effortlessly in his features.
An Irony that.
[Rory] She tilts her head, slightly. He’s curious, and tells her of what, and then she turns to look at the cats, her hands clenching into fists in the pockets of her jacket, the tension in her shoulders a wild and barely restrained thing, her rage under the swollen moon thick, oppressive, a taste of violence in the air, a promise of blood and agony…
…but it’s controlled. Rigorously so, impressively so. She is a shy thing, unassuming… lost.
“I’m just gaying soodbye to them.”
To something larger than them. She doesn’t notice the mix-up of her words, as if she hears only what she intended to say, rather than what she did. She turns back to glance up at Zeke, meeting his eyes just briefly, before she lifts a hand and touches her temple. “All gone. han’t cear Alleycat anymore.” There are tears in her eyes, an ache in her soul as she stands before him and admits her pack is gone. All of them, now.
[Zeke] (….Let’s see…)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Zeke] “…A shame.”
A finger lifts, touching his own temple as if that simple gesture could convey an understanding of such sentiments. His smile is sad, genuine if small in countenance, the glove creaking with the movement and the return to folding before him. The smile doesn’t leave easily, diminishing in slow fractions as their conversation continues.
“…Such things are sometimes necessary. Sometimes unavoidable, really. A pack is a hard bond to ignore and an even harder one to lose.” A pause, his gaze traveling her shape briefly, a frown replacing all but the smile in his expression.
“…Do you have an idea on what to do now? Where to go?” A brief pause. Hesitation? “What you’ll do for Maelstrom?”
[Edwin Morr] ((Blur of the Milky Eye
Man + Stealth + Fox, diff = 8))
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Edwin Morr] ((Bein’ sneaky
Dex + Stealth + Fox, diff = 6, stealth specialized))
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Rory] She drags the back of her fingers – so pale and fragile looking, they are – under her eye, and across her nose, before shoving her hand deep into the pocket of her coat once more. She doesn’t answer right away, giving th question the thought it deserves. She turns back to the one kitten who doesn’t want to leave, and finally just crouches and lets him come running, and lifts him up to sit on her thighs as she runs her fingers through his fur.
“Maybe.” Thin shoulders hunch into a shrug, as she looks up at him again. “One of Fox’s manted we to meet tis hotem, maybe.”
She’s unsure. Unsure about everything, at the moment. There’s questions as to who would want her, why, and what she will do for Maelstrom, if she stays, if she moves on, where will she go, what will she do…
A soft sigh. “I don’t know.”
[Edwin Morr] It was a cold night, with a blustery, gusting wind that tore at clothing like a possessed lover and a touch on bare skin as icy as the grave. The nearly full moon shone down upon the denizens of Chinatown, illuminated both good and bad, benefactors and their opposites, in the garishly lit neon streets.
In the less well traversed section of the city subdivision, things were darker, more dangerous… A place where predators both man and not stalked the nearly deserted realm of shadows, dumpsters, and fire escapes made dark as pitch by the dim and insufficient light.
One such predator, not a man at all, just happened to catch sight of Rory and Zeke talking. A sly, lopsided grin breaks over features sharp but entirely common, and with nothing good upon his mind, the predator called Edwin Morr by some, Bogeyman by others, makes his way upon where Zeke and Rory talk.
There was no telling how long he’d been there, save perhaps if Rory or Zeke saw him coming. No telling what he had or had not heard. After a time, he steps from his shadows… Letting the blur fade and waiting for them to notice him before speaking.
Some… took quite the start to voices that appeared from nowhere.
[Zeke] If Zeke gives any indication that Edwin is within his view or even his attention, there is no immediate sign. Instead, the well-dressed man continues to regard Rory, stepping around the crouched Ahroun with a firm eye and a careful consideration.
“Seems like a good thing, that.” A pause. “…The totem offer. One doesn’t get invites to meet with a Pack’s spiritual brother without some semblance of security being offered. After all, the individual in question would need to have some semblance of need. Desire…”
And Zeke makes a half-circuit around Rory, gaze lifting to find Edwin at the end of the alleyway, a brief, careful recognition, from his last days in Chicago, made of the other Ragabash. His expression flickers into a smile, as small as the last one, not bothering to halt behind Rory (no need to make her nervous) but continuing the slow and wide-spread circle around her crouched frame.
“…Use…for someone of your presence.” Breeding “…And Prowess.” Ahroun.
“…And all the more, compassionate for it, given how much pain you must be in these days. Got yourself a ticket there, girl. One worth considering closely, really.” A pause, eyes never having left Edwin, up until he reaches Rory’s right side, six steps away and close to the alley wall, the well suited man stands still once again, eyes on Edwin.
“…You’d have to be somewhat simple not to see the potential…really?” The last word is a question, emphasized. For who’s sake, Edwin’s or Rory’s, was hard to really guess, as Zeke’s gaze falls to the Fianna once more.
[Rory] Edwin goes unnoticed, at first – and why wouldn’t he? She’s being circled, as if the simple act of his not stopping behind her should serve to ease her nerves. Last night’s escapades with one who had no problem breeching her space, cowing her into submission, ripping the curls from her head in a vicious tug… she can’t hide it, she’s nervous. She doesn’t turn her head to watch him, just listens, and to more than just his words. She listens to the scuff of his shoes on the asphalt, the creak of leather, the soft tones of his voice, and what might trip under the words that he actually speaks.
The kitten in her lap is wary, but won’t leave her, and she calms him with the constant slide of her fingers.
There’s a use for her presence. Her prowess. He mentions her pain, and then pauses – in time for her to protest… “I’m sot nimple.”
It just sounds like it, sometimes.
[Zeke] (Small but relevant interruption to the order)
“…Of course not.”
A reassurance, hurried on the edge of her declaration, though not desperate. As if his agreeing made any evidence to the contrary, utterly ludicrous.
“Why would people be looking for you if that were the case?”
[Edwin Morr] “An’ what would compel ’em ta make such’n offer if’n ya were?”
Zeke had noticed him, perhaps that was enough. Edwin grins that lopsided grin, his mid-range drawl spilling out in the darkness from his vantage point… leaning against the wall of the building beside them, his hands quite contentedly in his pockets.
“Smart folk like dem uh Fox ain’t th’sort fer babysittin’ dull’rds.”
He nods in greetings to Zeke, waiting for the inevitable moment of surprise or shock from Rory.
[Zeke] “…’Course not.”
Zeke returns, Edwin’s smile, a nod and a two finger salute from the top of his shaved head, given in reply.
“…Fox is wise and effortless in his wit, after all.”
[Rory] Zeke assures her that she’s not, and then Edwin follows, and she snaps her head to the side, tension and rage spiking half a moment before she recognizes him. The breath she didn’t know she was holding is released suddenly in a sigh, as she ducks her head again, shyly.
She looks between them, and gathers that they know each other from the easy camaraderie of their chatter. She lifts a hand to rub at the side of her head, deep in her curls, before she tucks the kitten inside her jacket and zips it up around him, and stands. She takes a step back, then two, so she can watch both of the men [monsters] easily.
For lack of anything to add, at the moment – she adds nothing at all.
[Edwin Morr] “Or her wit, dependin’. Th’one I’s dealt with has always seemed more she dan he, but mebbe dat’s more ’bout how I sees ‘er den how ’tis. Always funny meetin’ totems… Never shore whut’s windah-dressin’ an’ whut’s real.”
Edwin shrugs, as the shaded countenance considers Rory’s hesitancy for awhile.
“Easy, doll… Dat wolf whutcha talked to not so terr’ble long ‘go ’bout dis was me.”
The lopsided grin widens as he winks knowingly to Rory. Then, his eyes swing back to Zeke.
“So… Reckon’s been awhile, Zeke. Who ya packed up wit’ dese days?”
[Zeke] “Ohhh, you know, Ed…” A vague smile “…Shopping around, mostly, these days. Have a prospect or two.”
…As Rory steps back, Zeke steps forward, some silent indication and respect(?) for her space and boundaries offered, despite his lack of attention on her at the moment. He regards Edwin, back to the young Fianna Metis, hands slipping behind his back to clasp fingers (Sign of ease, sign of confidence) whilst maintaining the centre between the two, both obstacle and something to concentrate on.
“…It is hardly an easy thing to give up one’s ideals. To give up the comforts of what one previously knew. You have a pack. One that cares about you. Would take you in and treat you with what you hope and know is going to be compassion.” He stops and turns from Edwin to stare at Rory, brow slightly furrowed, gaze vaguely bothered by…something.
“…And find all that and more.” Another pause.
“…Of course the same strengths that really define that bond are also the weaknesses that hurt and harm you, when the bond is severed. Broken.” His eyes fall to the small creature in Rory’s hands and lap, head tilting to the side.
“…I get that.” Softer. Quieter. Spoken as if for him alone, neither the Fianna or the Ragabash behind him.
“…You aren’t a simple person and that’s obvious enough. You’re wary. Cautious of me-” A hand flashes out to indicate both himself and Edwin “-us and that’s not only normal but respectable. Shows a mind not ready to break. Not yet.” Shaking his head, carefully. Casually.
“…So the question right now is why? Why am I here? Why is he?” His head flicks back, indicating Edwin again. “…Well I suppose you know why he is. Already told you. Me? I’m sort of here for the same reasons really. Less, spiritual mind you and more…functional.” A glance back at Edwin.
“Why don’t you tell her what you have to offer, Ed? Who she’ll be taking up with? What sort of deal she’s getting involved in?”
[Rory] Easy, doll, he tells her, and then admits that it was him at the Caern, and she blinks, rapidly, and then smiles, a little shyly. He’d said he’d find her – she didn’t expect it to be before she’d had the chance to leave the note. That’s not to say she’s no less wary.. as Zeke continues to talk and… look at her like that.
He’s bothered by something, and when she briefly meets his gaze, the question is written clearly in hers – but not voiced.
The bond broken, severed, and he understands it, even as he allows that she’s not ready to break, not yet. She won’t break – despite those that force submission on her, she has never broken before. It is often those of childlike innocence that harbor the most resilience.
He suggests Ed tell her what’s behind door number one, and she wrinkles her nose a little, and offers him that same shy little smile. And waits.
[Edwin Morr] Edwin chuckles darkly…
“Well, seems ta me she’s already heard th’party line. But if’n yer int’rested, I can trot out th’horse’n pony show fer yer benefit, Zeke.
Might jes’ be uh spot dere fer you too.”
Edwin chuckles darkly, and pushes off from the wall to standing on his own feet. His hands remain in his pockets, as he turns his eyes skyward for a moment, as if judging the moon. Or perhaps, as if deciding it was an ill omen to speak of such things in even this weak light…
A moment passes, perhaps two. Then, considering first the Shadow Lord, then the Fianna, Edwin begins to speak.
“The Bogeymen are a pack started by Javier Alveita, er Blast as th’sept knew ‘im, an’ me whut’s bonded ta Fox. We’re uh scout, recon, infiltration pack. See, Javi an’ me got dis a’here idea dat dere weren’t uh whole lotta specialization in packs ‘roun’ dese parts. Dat bein’ said, if’n uh pack was ta try’n git intel on sum’in’ nasty, dey’d bring th’whole crew whut ain’t suited fer th’job or bring only dem whut was ta try an’ scope thangs out.
Neither option seemed ta make much sense, so we fig’red we’d try’n make one whut’s purpose was ruther clearly defined so’s to avoid dat happenstance.”
Edwin considers a few moments, his gaze turning down and to the left, to a small bit of ice in which the moon was reflected. With a wry grin, he continues.
“We picked up uh theurge, den Javi went missin’ somewheres I ain’t e’sactly shore. But seein’s how I’s still here’n th’idea ain’t been really tried too much yet, seems ta me it’s still worth tryin’.
Th’reason we named it th’Bogeymen was because we’s fig’rin’ th’goal was ta make the Wyrm scared. Ta git in all dem places whut it thought safe, an’ pop outta th’dark ta raise royal Hell. Bas’cally, ta git th’point across dat whut territ’ry it’s taken ain’t been given up on. Dat it cain’t rest easy, an’ when it does, ta make it pay in spades. Like harryin’ prey… Harried prey makes dumb choices.
If’n me’n mine can help dat ‘long, reckon we will.”
Edwin’s grin grows dark indeed, with more than a touch of macabre glee at this point… As though the thought of scaring the Wyrm’s minions and the terrible things he had in mind for them was something to be relished, something he would enjoy. It was no normal grin… In truth, it seemed more the contented jape of the hangman with his hand upon the trap lever, the bemused countenance of the axeman with his next victim upon the block.
“As fer off’rin’, whut we bring ta th’table’s right simple. Uh chance ta kill th’Wyrm’s critters. Uh chance ta go where it don’t e’spect an’ wreak some havoc ‘roun’ its innards. Uh pack whut revels in livin’ an’ takes pride in its work. Folk whut won’t blanch ta do whut needs done ta git th’job done. An’, assumin’ I know uh thang’r two ’bout how not ta git folk kil’t, the solace uh knowin’ I ain’t never gonna ask nuthin’ ‘thout uh darn good reason. I don’t plan ta sell my life cheap; I ain’t gonna ask nob’dy else ta do so neither.”
[Zeke] Zeke nods. Throughout the entirety of Edwin’s diatribe and explanation he is nodding, sometimes with earnest and firm consideration, other times with introspective ‘tuts’ and flicks of his chin rolling around in a broad circuit. At one point (harried prey makes dumb choices) his gaze flicks to Rory with a helpless shrug of ‘True, isn’t it?’ before returning to Edwin with his attention.
Finally, the Ragabash finishes and Zeke pulls himself from the alley wall where he’d been perched, arms coming up to tuck gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket. Lips press into a firm line and his brow furrows more in thought then in frown. He tilts his head toward Rory, as if to gauge her reaction to it all.
“…A family of acceptance. Of comfort, really. Doing simple work with simple ideals. Fox’ children provide a strength outside expectations and that…” A pause. “…Well, we know all about that sort of game. What’s expected of us…and what we do to rise above.”
Metis. Easily enough read in his words.
“…But then, it all depends on what you’re looking for, too.”
He pauses, remaining with Rory. Intent on hearing her response.
[Rory] She listens, and she listens carefully. Much of what Edwin says, she had heard before, but now there’s history there, things added and information filled out. She shifts the purring bundle in her jacket, and glances t Zeke to see what he is thinking, how he’s reacting to all of this too. Its just timing that has him look her way at the same moment, and she drops her gaze, instantly.
Edwin offers a defined purpose, and a respect for the life they will have to live, knowing that he’d never ask one of his pack something he wouldn’t do himself. Zeke mentions comfort, and the same with simple work and simple ideals.
Then they look at her. And what she wants.
Her brow furrows, as she considers how to answer, figures what to say, knowing that though she cannot hear it, it will come out jumbled and messed up. She chews on her lip, and then sighs.
“Chloe and Elliot. They were my pirst fack. I…” She closes her eyes, tight, and then opens them again, and shakes her head. “Home tired to mreak be. Over and over. Until I lould ceave. I don’t… know what pifferent dacks are like. Chloe and Elliot was the cirst fomfort I ever known.”
She reaches up to tuck her curls behind an ear, though they spring free immediately, and softly. “I…don’t want to be alone mo nore.”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin shrugs, grinning that lopsided grin as he nods to Rory’s sentiment.
“Like I said, yer welcome ta join me’n mine. Ain’t glam’rous, some folk won’t like dat yer packed wit’ me… But ain’t uh one gonna say we cain’t deliver.
An’ while ’tain’t all gonna be tea’n’sunshine, ain’t uh soul whut won’t be happy yer wit’ us.”
Then, the shaded gaze turns to Zeke… The lopsided grin upon his lips widening ever so slightly.
“Di’n’t sway yer opinion on th’matter too, by chance, did I?”
[Zeke] “…A hard road to travel. A harder one to endure.” Being alone.
He climbs back to his feet, stepping around Edwin, removing himself as obstacle in between the two. His gaze travels to Edwin, the grin on the Ragabash’s lips reflected back with less intensity. The bald Metis stuffs his hands into his pockets, tripping around the pair and gliding effortlessly back down toward his Car at the curb.
“Can’t say as you did, Ed. I’m not good on my tip toes and I doubt my alpha to be would appreciate it…” A pause, gaze flicking to Rory. “…Your needs? You can have them met. Easy enough with Ed, here. He ain’t honest a lot of the time but then, no one expects him to be. Rise above, ‘n all that…”
And Zeke turns back toward his Car, a two finger wave offered to the pair left in the alleyway, a hand already fishing a cellphone out of his pocket, a number dialing on the facepad, keys appearing in his other hand. Business to take care of. People to see about.
(Thanks for the scene guys! S’gettin’ late here ‘n I gotta drop off soon.)
[Rory] She chews her lip absently, and watches as Zeke takes his leave, and even suggests she’ll find what she needs with Edwin. And when he’s gone, she finally looks back to the Alpha of the Bogeymen, and then nods…
“…can I keep ky mitten? He’s scot nared.”
As good as a yes, right there – kitten or no.
[Edwin Morr] “If’n he’s yers, don’t reckon’s ta me ta say boo ’bout it.”
He nods still grinning that grin.
“Reckon ‘ere soon I’ll take ya ta meet ‘er. If’n yer unsure ‘tall… Dat’ll settle it fer ya.”
Spoken with a measure of reverence missing from nearly any other thing in the world Edwin speaks about. It was plain to see he liked his totem, plain to see he held some measure of care for Fox… Plain to see following her edicts meant more than simply doing what you were told because that’s what you were told without personal investment.
[Rory] She nods, and makes a soft noise to the kitten cradled by her belly under her jacket. Edwin says that he’ll take her to meet Fox, and she nods. “I’m ready.”
She tips her head, slightly, and then moves closer, her smile brief, but shy. Once the decision is made, it’s made. She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t think twice. It’s done. That only leaves one real question. “When?”
Or maybe two… “…do you have a hack pouse like de wid? Or live alone?”
He has already heard her worries of being alone. And Ezra could come back…
[Edwin Morr] “Oh, we got us uh li’l hidey hole ‘roun’ dese parts. Gonna hafta git sum’in’ bigger here soon, but I gots me uh plan fer dat too.”
He grins that lopsided grin, and then shrugs.
“Well, if’n yer ready now, I cain gitcha dere. But ya mebbe oughta be fresh.
Uh feller never knows whut Fox’ll have in store, e’sactly. It’s differ’nt fer ever’body, dependin’ on whut Fox wants ya ta see.
Might wanna git uh solid meal in yer belly an’ uh good rest first, ta make shore yer fresh.”
Edwin nods… Scratching the peach fuzzed chin.
“Still… yer call. If’n ya wanna meet ‘er now, we can.”
[Rory] “We gas wetting a house.” There’s a moment’s sadness, but then she shrugs and shakes it off. That’s in the past. Chloe and Elliot are gone. Allecat has fled. She has no idea where SC is or has been or will be.
This is her new home. Her new pack. This is where she’ll be – with Edwin as Alpha. She’d eaten something earlier, and is rested, recovered from her fright the night before, and above all – infinitely curious.
“Am fresh.” A nod. “Ready.”
[Edwin Morr] “A’ight. Foller me.”
And with that sly grin playing about his lips, the No Moon starts deeper into the alley, away from the lights… Further into the darkness. As he turns, there is a moment, however brief, where his grin seems more bestial than human…
In truth, she would be hard pressed to say it wasn’t the very same smile she’d seen on the muzzle of a grinning fox, rather than the face of a man.
[Rory] She nods, and takes a moment to unzip her coat, and set the kitten down, petting him for an extra moment. “I’ll be back.”
And then she stands makes sure the kitten will stay, and follows Edwin back father into the alley, where he grins. She doesn’t seem too put off about it, as she had seen him grin like that when he was in a different form. She simply smiles, shyly, and nods.
“Ok.”
[Edwin Morr] Edwin leads her deeper and deeper into the darkness, away from the main drag, to the slums and tenements where only the poorest and most dispossessed lived. Busted windows in condemned buildings stared down at them like gaping maws full of jagged, sharp teeth. What few windows were not broken out stared down at them with white irises, reflecting the moon’s brilliance into the depths below. The only real sound were those of the passage of the No Moon and the Fianna, and the former’s may as well have been nonexistent.
Edwin stops in a spot where three vacant apartment buildings came together in a tee, with no one around for some distance in any direction. The place was deserted, empty… Devoid even of the trashcan fires by which the downtrodden warmed their hands on this cold night.
Edwin pulls a full bottle of water from his coat pocket, and after opening the lid, begins to empty the thing upon the ground. His breath misted before him in a cloud of frozen moisture as he put the lid back on the bottle and set it off to the side.
Then, gesturing as if to suggest the pool of water was all hers, he grins that sly grin and speaks.
“Ladies first…”
The implication to step sideways in the pool of water was clear without question.
[Rory] She follows him without question, going deeper into the darkness, into the slums farther than she’s ever gone before. She doesn’t falter, she doesn’t second guess, she doesn’t hesitate in her willingness to follow him – not in the surity of her steps or the quiet confidence that he’ll lead her true.
He pours the water on the ground, and gestures with that same cocksure grin, and it actually makes her smile back, briefly meeting his gaze as she does so. Then she looks at her reflection in the water, and after a moment to center herself, she slips sideways…
[Edwin Morr] There was something wrong; Rory could feel it as soon as she crossed the Gauntlet. When she reached the other side, things were wholly different than she might have imagined. Before, she had been standing in the midst of the concrete jungle, in a place of moldering and decrepit buildings, a cancer in the midst of a larger growth upon Gaia’s face.
Where Rory now found herself looked more like a rustic countryside. There were small two-leg dens, places with wood doors and stonework, and a long, low rock wall lining the flat path the two-legs had made on the ground. The whinny and moans of four legged prey animals could be heard from other two-leg places, and the light from the two-leg fire sticks could be seen dancing in the strange solid-water stuff they put over the holes in their dens.
Through it all, Rory would hear the sounds of barking, and then a long baying call… The sound of traitorous dogs on the trail of something. Maybe that’s when Rory would notice it… She was in lupus form.
She was… stuck… in lupus form.
((Alrighty… Gimme intelligence + Occult, diff = 9 if you have it.))
[Rory] Something was… wrong. She makes a whimpering noise, and scuttles to the side, which is when she notes that… she’s Lupus. She shifts to the side, and spins around, and where there should be clucks of nails against the flat path, there is none. There are two-leg places and four-leg animals and she is assaulted with the scents of the place, the scents and sounds… and dogs on the trail of…. something.
She turns in a circle, looking for Edwin, who had been right behind her, and she takes a step backwards, a low whine sounding briefly from low in her throat…
[Edwin Morr] As Rory turns, she sees no sign of the grinning No Moon. However, she does see something else. A copse of trees nearby, a copse that seems inviting, safe… And a small patch of coppery fur standing beside her.
The kit was young, less than a year old certainly. Its eyes were bright, and the grin upon its lips was child-like in its cunning.
It lets out a low bark, and starts padding toward the copse of trees. After a short distance it stops and looks over its shoulder at Rory… Before continuing again, the white tip of its tail bobbing before her like a will’o’wisp.
The sound of the traitorous dogs seems to bring up in Rory a sense of unnatural anger and hatred, as though they had betrayed her on some personal level. The sound grows louder as she waits…
[Rory] There is no Edwin, and she spins in a circle [yousaidiwouldn’tbealone] and then is startled to see the little Kit nearby. Head cocks, slightly, even as the growls grow louder and she snarls her discontent, her anger…
…but the kit, the little kit, he heads to the trees..
She hesitates, dancing a step, two, three, four in indecision, before she makes sure she stays between the growls that are coming this way and the little young kit… her tail low and flicking in agitation. But the young fox – it should be protected from the growls behind them, and so she follows toward the copse of trees… watching over her shoulder for the danger that causes her to quake with unrestrained anger and rage…
[Edwin Morr] As Rory dances uncertainly, the kit barks again, stopping each time she wavers, as though waiting on her. Then, once Rory decides to follow in earnest, the kit’s trail is straight as an arrow toward the copse. Once within the underbrush, its pace seems to slow, the coppery form blending with the steady breath of wind that swung branches and leaves, that made the foliage dance in a mesmerizing swirl.
The sound of the dogs grows quieter; perhaps they had lost the scent. Or more likely, perhaps once Rory’s form disappeared into the copse, the traitorous dogs had nothing to follow.
Whatever the case may be, the kit’s pace had slowed, and meandered in a dizzying series of curves, double-backs, and loops that would be impossible to retrace, let alone to follow using scent. Eventually, the kit stops at the edge of a small clearing in the copse… It barks, looking back at Rory, and then points its nose into the clearing.
[Rory] Once the decision is made, she follows without wavering again. Doggedly, even, her determination to make sure the little kit is safe. The braying of the hounds is left behind, and she meanders along with the kit across the path that she’d never be able to retrace again even if she were asked.
When the kit stops and points her to the clearing, Rory looks ahead, and then back to the kit. Once glance behind just to make sure that the path is clear behind them, and then she brushes past the little kit and steps into the clearing. She doesn’t hesitate, but is still cautious. This is not a form that’s easy for her, feeling her deformity more so here almost than she does in her birth form. But she pads on, silent paws making no sound…
[Edwin Morr] When Rory enters the clearing, she is alone. Or at least, she thinks she is alone. However, whether she was looking or not, there would come a moment when the kit would bend its forelegs, its shoulders sinking low to the ground, its neck exposed… Almost as though bowing and scraping to something.
Shortly after, Rory would see it. Velveteen copper fur of indescribable softness, eyes of brilliant yellow that seemed to know far more than any creature had any right to claim, a sly smile full of cunning and amusement. The creature sauntered, its every step poetry in motion, as its tails, all nine of them, caressed the foliage lightly with its passage. Fox was large, larger than normal foxes even full grown, but proportioned perfectly for the species. The velveteen fur shimmered in the light of the moon shining down upon them, the black socks upon the creature’s feet were as a new shade of midnight, absent the moon’s illuminating rays. And a sense of awe, preternatural and all-encompassing, would seem to follow the radiant creature, lending an almost holy air to the surroundings.
Fox sauntered into the clearing in utter silence, stopping only after the overly intelligent eyes had stopped on the kit with an expression that seemed more fitting for a Mother staring upon her gilded youth in slumber.
The same look was in Fox’s eyes as the gaze fell upon Rory. And when she spoke, it was not just in sounds. It was in sounds, scents, images… Every sense and sensation was in some way affected by Fox’s every sentiment. The voice Rory heard in her head was not so much one voice as many, but the overriding tone was decidedly feminine.
“Child of wolf, Child of man… Child whose weakness succors her strength. Why come you here, my child?”
[Rory] She sees the kit bow and sink low, and she hastily searches for the source, and then stops… and stares. She looks at the Fox, larger than life, larger than anything she’s seen, and feels more than hears Her [edwinisrightdecidedlyher] in her mind. She lowers herself, and her head, in submission, even as she peeks up to look at Fox. She’s beautiful in ways Rory could only dream of…
Then she dips her head, and softly murmurs, trying so desperately to get her words right, knowing that even now, even in this form, they will be jumbled beyond belief…
“I teek so join your children, Edwin, the others… I wish fo tollow you as they do..”
[Edwin Morr] Fox’s tone seems pleased, her grin full of cunning yet not unkindly so, as she saunters toward the kit that had led Rory to the copse of trees. As she passes the kit, one of the tails seems to gently brush the top of its head and along the side of its face, before trailing with an almost wistful nature along the bottom of its muzzle to its chin.
“Understand this, my daughter. You cannot follow as another of my children does; you must follow as best you can… For no two children are the same, no matter how similar.
My dutiful son with the heart of shadow follows me as he can, as he must. You will follow as you can, and while different, your deeds will equal his in my eye.”
Fox’s tone, that otherworldly multi-voice in Rory’s head, belies a certain affection for that dutiful son of mention. Like that of a proud parent recounting her children’s glories.
And at this, Fox pauses, having sauntered right up to Rory… One of the nine tails stretches to brush her chin and lift it, forcing Rory to meet Fox’s eyes. The touch of the tail was indescribable, soft, gentle, caring, nurturing, everything good and wholesome seemed bundled into that singular point of contact between them. And as Rory meets Fox’s eye, she sees naught but acceptance… As though whatever Rory’s limitations, whatever her skills, she would be valued, her efforts meaningful to this creature.
“Do you understand?”
Perhaps that was the thing that so endeared Fox to her followers; the sense that she loved them all unconditionally. That she found something within each of them to merit her attention.
[Rory] She watches Fox, though she doesn’t ever quite meet her gaze, listening as she moves around them. The words are heard, and resonate deep within Rory. This is not like AlleyCat, this is all together different, something more, something new…
The acceptance that is unconditional causes her to tremble, even as she lifts her gaze to meet that of the Totem even when everything in her screams to drop her eyes, to submit, to roll about and show her soft belly, her throat… aches to feel the touch of the tail again and again, even before it’s left her.
She’s trembling, and softly… “…yes.”
Single words are easier.
[Edwin Morr] Fox’s tone seems genuinely pleased…
“I’m glad… Others will not trust you for holding me so highly; they do not trust my ways. Know their disdain is but jealousy; they covet my counsel and fear its use against them. They do not understand me or my children.
I ask only that you heed my will, and should you find my children in danger, you protect them from their predators. Man has hunted them for a long time. I will abide this no longer.”
Through it all, Fox’s tone is even, gentle… Not unkind. Though there is an edge, a hardened edge of steel as she mentions what she will no longer abide. She begins to saunter away from Rory, her step light and silent. As she walks, she speaks without looking back.
“The kit will show you your way back to my dutiful son. Remember your promises to me…”
She pauses at the edge of the clearing, the sly grin full of cunning turning to Rory once again.
“And tell my dutiful son to heed his surroundings. There are always lessons to be learned, if you have but the mind to interpret them.”
And with that, Fox disappeared into the foliage, disappeared into the trees… Gone, the clearing empty save for Rory, as it had been when she first entered.
[Rory] They won’t trust her – but they rarely trust her anyway. It will be nothing new – other than the reasons behind it. She is well used to being misunderstood. She nods at the request, the only thing she asks of her children – what she cannot abide. She is gentle, kind, and when she mentions the kit, she turns to look, but her gaze snaps back to watch the Fox as she pauses at the edge of the clearing and gives her a message for Edwin.
She nods, once, a lupine smile spreading across her lips – shy even in this form. Then Fox is gone, and she watches a moment longer, before she turns and makes her way back to the Kit on silent feet…
[Edwin Morr] The kit, had Rory watched, rose only after Fox left the clearing; through the whole of the encounter it had remained bowed and submissive. Now, it simply sat upon its hind and awaited her approach.
Once Rory got to within several feet, the kit turns and starts on a new meandering path through the copse of trees, full of switch backs, dead ends, a nightmare for any creature using scent to track them. Then, at the edge of the copse, the kit stops, its head lowered, grinning with sly cunning.
Only after the way seems clear does it venture from the safety of the trees and into the low grassland beyond. There was a sound like a bubbling stream from nearby; Rory’s wolfen senses pick it out almost immediately. While the route meandered again, outside the copse it was much more direct…
Until it began to lead unerringly toward the sound of water.
[Edwin Morr] ((Fading here; thanks again for the rp. :) ))