[Gwen Sullivan] Sometimes self-containment was the wisest thing a person could do. This was what Gwen practiced now. She was young, inexperienced (though ignorance had rubbed off at this point, she couldn't carry that excuse any longer), and the full moon above made her head pound and her heart burn. She felt prickly, anxious, her teeth itched and her fingers wanted to flex persistently. She decided it was better, smarter, for her to keep away from people for now, until she could control it better. At the Caern the people she found could not just defend themselves, but subdue her if need be. They understood the Rage, she didn't risk tearing the Veil if she lost her temper with them and did something reckless, stupid, self-exposing.
Gwen was burning time, listless and idle. She'd paced the land that the Caern rested upon to keep her body moving, keep herself warm. She'd put boot marks in the snow and followed them back along the shoreline more than one time now. The Warden and his pack let her be, did their duty and skeptically murmured amongst themselves about the pup without chore, placed bets on how long she'd be allowed to wander like this.
At current, Gwen was standing a few feet out on the ice of the lake shore, easing her way out, testing her weight on the thick sheet with the toe of her heavy boot. She was dressed inappropriately for the winter... for much of anything, really. In a haphazard adventure with the Shadow Lord Simon, she'd sacrificed the pair of jeans she'd been keeping with her. She'd had the presence of mind to tuck some spare scraps of clothing into the lining pockets of her heavy black canvas coat. These were what she wore now. The jacket cut off just past her hip, the shirt she wore under peeked out as a thin strip of yellow, and her pants were black sweats tight enough to be considered leggings.
Unwashed hair was piled up and tucked out of view under her red beanie, a matching scarf was at her throat. Her hands were in her pockets, but the gloves that covered them were red too. She kept moving, she kept warm, but the fronts of her thighs tingled and prickled cold when the wind struck them. Jeans were sturdier, she'd have to find a new pair soon.
[Fire Claws] Full moon, the beautiful face of Luna shinning brightly and wonderfully, if only the clouds and snowy mist didn't block out the glorious face from view. Luna is hidden away and that makes the fidgets and pacing and nervous ticks all strange to those who don't know. But those imbued with Rage can feel it no matter what, they can feel the call to war, the blood boiling. The hunt ready to start.
While Gwen was flexing her fingers and toeing at the frozen lake, eyes stare straight at her. Narrowing as he watches the young pup work out her own way of handling the fire burning in her gut. If she was not careful she may melt right through the ice and sink in the freeze of the waters.
"PUP! COME 'ERE!"
A harsh gnarly voice calls out as he waits for her. Wearing the monkey skin was irksome in the winter time, only way to cover was clothes. And he didn't have that many clothes of his own. Just the worn jeans, the heavy wool coat.
[Owen DeTerizzi] [how are we doing tonight? wp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen doesn't flinch or startle to hear the yelling. She doesn't behave like a child being scolded, or someone caught misbehaving or doing something that they knew was wrong. She just turned her head to look over her shoulder toward the rough sounding voice with the curious backwoods accent to it, the sounds of a person taught English by the worst imaginable accents possible.
Her eyes were sharp, alert, and they skimmed the shore up and down for half a second before settling on Fire Claws's unfamiliarly human face, but recognizable and identifiable none the less. The order wasn't obeyed immediately when it reached her ears, she didn't leap off the ice like it had suddenly collapsed below her feet. It was once she found the face, recognized it (perhaps five seconds later at most) that she stepped back off the ice, onto the equally frozen shore, and walked to approach him.
Her hands were kept in her coat pockets, her eyes on his face but cutting down from his eyes when she grew nearer, settling just below or gliding above to his eyebrows and forehead instead. She greeted him with a smile that was faint and quiet, existing along the lines of her jaw and eyes more than in the broadening and curling of lips.
"-Rhya," she greeted. He was one of the few she greeted like this upfront. Other Cliath didn't command the same respect he did.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Where did one take a wolf to run? Not Grant Park, that much was certain. Owen was buttoned up in a crisp black peacoat and woven cashmere scarf, frost caught in the wind mussed mane of hair about his shoulders. It was a full moon, and even the theurge felt it's pull. Nights like this were usually spent in the city's reflection. Some city's reflection anyway. Tonight, the glasswalker had been reminded of pressing personal business with a sharp flare of Gaia's anger upon returning home to chewed up furniture. The bitch needed a place to stretch her legs, and he'd best find one soon, or all of his possessions would be in pieces within the week.
Booted feet crunch in the snow as Owen approaches from behind an abandoned hangar, a hand held up in silent hello as he grows nearer.*
[Fire Claws] His eye does not waver from the strange little cub that was playing on the ice flow, watching as she choose to wander around the ice until she finally recognizes the call of her mentor. He watches as she does not immediately come to him, as he demanded. She seems lost.
He watches with stark brown eyes as she moves up to him. He does not say anything at first. Just standing there, watching and waiting. Until the scent of another comes into his range. He turns quickly as the new comer comes around the hanger. Addressing his cub once more.
"Let' see if ya can be propa' like."
He turns to move towards the new face. Sniffing at the air as he moves. Watching carefully.
[Gwen Sullivan] Her eyebrows flit upward some, not in reaction to her mentor's hard gaze or his refusal to return the smile that her features had greeted him with. Rather, it was his wondering aloud, challenging her to be 'proper'. Her mouth sets straight and firm, and her eyes lag for half a second at the Lupus's jaw before following the turn of his head to see the Glass Walker that approached.
Her body turns next, opening up to the newcomer, facing him straight on. Her posture was not aggressive, not defensive, despite the steady thrum of Rage behind her chestplate. This was neutral land, the Warders made certain that the wrong sort wouldn't get in, and if they couldn't hold up not only would they let everyone else know it? But they would certainly all be doomed, Gwen believed.
Fire Claws sniffed, Gwen surveyed with flat eyes to match the flat line of her mouth. Her hands kept to her pockets, cool green-gray eyes flashed over Owen's face, but she said nothing. If she was going to be proper, she wouldn't speak before Fire Claws. It had been a while, they had to re-establish trust in the strength of dominance and rank to make up for time lost.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Things were business casual in his last sept, but judging by the carefully neutral posture of the garou in front of him, that was not the case here. A slim fingered hand weaves through long hair, melted snowflakes brushed off on his chest once he's satisfied that he looks presentable. A rich tenor announcing him as he slows to a stop just inside striking distance and nods.*
Evening. You two know if wolves are allowed on the bawn here?
[Fire Claws] He approaches with keen interest. Like most of his birth, he was a predator no matter what. Territorial and demanding. A new face was very rarely a welcome sight. It meant new stomach that needed feeding, new claws to take the glory that was due your own. Even if the Caern was neutral land to all garou, it still made him stand on edge, waiting to see if he would need to defend himself against the new potential threat.
When Owen speaks, he watches and listens. His gnarled, southern dialect meets the tenor. His voice a butcher to the human tongue, only recently coming to learn the length of much of the language. However his head tilts to the side as he speaks.
"I Fire~Claws, Forseti Cliath and member of this Sept. This ma' ward. Pup of this Sept. Who are you?"
[Gwen Sullivan] Ma' ward, Pup of the Sept.
She With No Deed Name.
Gwen jerked her chin up just a bit, a greeting that was far less formal than her silence at her mentor's side. It was the more common, more human way of acknowledging someone out on the streets. Her appearance suggested this was where she came from, not the woods like the Lupus whose elbow she kept within two feet of right now. A small crystal stud glimmered occasionally when moonlight and lamplight hit it right, bedded at the cleft of her upper lip in what piercing artists would call a 'medusa'. Her hair was tucked under her hat, out of sight, but her eyebrows were brown and the wisps at the back of her neck between hat and scarf suggested the same tones.
Fire Claws's posture was defensive, territorial, purely animal. Gwen's was posed to be much less of that, hands in pockets and leaned back just enough to appear relaxed and casual. The fact that energy ran currents under her skin and that her muscles occasionally shivered, sometimes with cold and sometimes with suppressed momentum and the need and want for it, spoke against the stance she took anyways.
The young had a difficult time with their Rage, even the New Moons did under Luna's full face in their first handful of months.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *The choppy language gets furrowed brows, as does the body posture of the Forseti in front of him. He was a Get, Owen supposed it was altogether possible he was brain damaged from some terrible Battlescar. Tension rides lean shoulders as the handsome eco-shaman looks the pair up and down with greater care, their uneasy effect on him plain on his features. A battle prepared for was a battle half won. His question went unanswered, still, introductions were being made, so there was progress of a sort. His hands find his pockets.*
My name is Owen DiTerizzi. Riddle Me This, by the galliards of the nation. Claith Theurge of Cockroach and soon to be- with luck - a member of this Sept.
[Fire Claws] He watches keenly as the new urrah speaks and makes his introduction. When he says something about becoming a member of this sept his posture once again changes slightly. He was purely defensive before, to somewhat defensive now. This was still another wolf after all and a possible threat to what little hunting grounds were around, but he was looking to share in the kill.
"'Dis Sept is one a' Sacra'fice. Gotta giv' sumtin up to the totem. Sumtin importin."
He turns and looks back at his cub once more as she seems to be respectful to the glass walker. He waiting a few more moments as the rage-racked little cub was on edge as the two spoke. But finally speaking once more.
"Pup wha' do ya kno' bout rites?"
[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen had taken to nipping at the flesh inside her cheek while Owen gave his introduction, studying his stature, his shoulders, and the half-uncertain, uneasy expression on his face and how his weight was balanced on his feet. She didn't consider herself to be terribly intimidating, she presumed his response was soley to her Mentor's presence, had nothing to do with her own. She didn't register the stony way she could hold her face in the mirror. It was coming along, and more potent now when backed by Rage.
Fire Claws spoke of sacrifice, and Gwen's mind was slipping to something else when he addressed her. She turned her head quickly to look at him, danced her eyes up his face, down it again, then let them settle on his visage as a whole as she shook her head. "I know of them, I hear of them and have seen one or two done." Or so she thought, anyways. She was pretty sure she saw rites, they just weren't announced before they were performed. "I don't know how to do them, though." Obviously.
She glanced to Owen, met his eye for a second, then back to Fire Claws. Her question is off-topic from rites, but one that she found important anyways. "I haven't given anything to Maelstrom."
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Owen pauses long enough to let Fire-Claws jump in, should he want to. When the Get seems either uninterested, or taking a moment in finding his words, the tall glasswalker clears his throat and rumbles quietly to the cub.*
I expect thats something you'll do once you're declared a cliath. Do you have a name you can give? It seems strange speaking to you as "pup".
[Fire Claws] Flatly he addresses Gwen, as if it was not even a worthwhile question. He doesn't even think of it as a real question, because the answer was simple.
"Whe' a tribal totem finds ya worthe' then ya can be recogniz'd to Maelstrom."
[Gwen Sullivan] "Mmm."
It's a noteless hum of understanding to answer Fire Claws's response to her question. Her head bobbed with a nod, accepting the answer. She was a candidate for Fenris's eye, but she was firm on not calling herself a Get until she had been approved by the Totem Himself. Some might see her this way already, scoff and place claim on her as a part of their tribe prematurely. She knew better. She knew she was a cub, and while she had aspirations she didn't have a Tribe until a Tribe had her.
Owen leaned in some, rumbled a question and confirmation all in one breath, and she turned to look at him again. One corner of her mouth curled, and only slightly, to show a smile for him. She still kept her hands in her pockets, though, she was resolute about that. It was like she was convinced that they were safest there, they ran no risk of lashing out and striking anyone if they were glued near her hips inside her coat pockets.
"Gwen. Or Sully. Whatever suits your tongue best."
[Owen DeTerizzi] Sully reminds me of the X-files. I'll stick with Gwen, if it suits you.
*A curl of his lips wry, posture relaxing as FireClaws does so as well. It was clear the theurge was in no way baiting for a challenge tonight. Shoulders slumping easy as he peers around the desolate sept landscape, a flash of ambition flaring in green eyes. There was work to be done here amidst the concrete and decay.*
FireClaws, Can you tell me, are wolf forms and kin allowed on the bawn here? Or is the High Ban in effect?
[Fire Claws] He watches as the two start to converse about what to call her now, even if she was still only a little pup. Then again names were still somewhat foreign to him, wolves did not use names. They all smelt differently, they all had different body language. Names were for the monkeys who were unable to smell the unique tells of their fellows.
"Kin no.. wolf form.. whe' able ya. Be car'ful."
He thinks over a few things for a second and then seems to remember something.
"Rite are importin to our kind, forseti and godi mostly. We are closest to the spirit, godi more so... but its importin to keep up rites... importin to wha' we are."
[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen grinned, this time it was more full an expression, when Owen made his comment about the X-files. She countered with an off-handed reply of her own in a voice that rasped in a way that would be sultry and attention-grabbing were she born perhaps a century ago. Today, though, it made people think of throat cancer. "I'm leaned more toward Monsters Inc. myself, but I understand what you're saying."
Fire Claws is addressing her once more, speaking on the importance of Rites. She hears him out, listens attentively. It helped to make her a good Cub, and one day a good Philodox. When someone spoke, she paid them mind. There could always be something important to be snagged from those words. Even moreso with Fire Claws, it was a show of respect, and what he said did matter. It was his job to make sure it did.
"I've heard of the punishment rites... And one that preserves your clothes." She plucked at the skin-tight black fabric hugging her right thigh in place of pants and pressed her mouth into a slant of disapproval. "I had to change quickly the other night. I managed to get my jacket and shirt and boots off first, but I lost my jeans because of it."
[Owen DeTerizzi] Well.. that isn't terribly helpful.
*A grimace at the inconvenience, but the Sept's grounds were drawing his eyes again, distracting him from company as he wanders closer to the water's edge. Surreal and not quite present as he peers across the gloss of ice at greying docks and broken piers.*
Need someone to dedicate those to you so you're not in that spot again. I haven't memorized.. that.. particular..
[are we slipping sideways yet?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Fire Claws] (Rage check)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)
[Fire Claws] He nearly snaps at her when she answer with such.. disrespect to the rite. As if they were nothing more than tools to make her life easier, to be called upon without remorse. And when Owen remarks that is isn't so helpful that she losses a little bit of monkey fur here or there. He can feel it coming over him, and he nearly turns on her. Snarling.
Only by forcing his higher mind to focus on calming himself, does he not try and rip her head off. Pausing as he looks away, not to met the reason why he wants to go all ragey and end the pup's short life.
[Fire Claws] (WP spent)
[Gwen Sullivan] Fire Claws is snarling, bearing down on her with his teeth showing, his shoulders rolled forward with the strength of his arms as Rage surges through them, throws them forward, screams in his ears for him to tear her down, and then Owen when he's finished. Gwen is taut like a wire and reacting instantly to the flash fire heat of Rage that washes over her. She slides her weight back, a foot drags over frozen earth along with it. Her teeth are showing as well, a sign of time spent with the Lupus, that this animal reaction is thoughtless and instant on her face.
She doesn't cuss reflexively, yelp or cower. She doesn't snarl back. But those teeth do show, the bridge of her nose does wrinkle, and her body is curled with tension, making it difficult to stay loose enough for smart combat. Rage rose like waves of heat off a desert highway at noon, rippling from her back and shoulders and into the air. He lunged, the Monster in her rose to the occasion and begged him to swipe, to give her the leave to spend herself against him.
Instead, though, she grinds through teeth that won't unclench: "Sorry, -Rhya." And keeps her eyes ratcheted onto him. Cautious. Alert. Aware. Eager and waiting.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Here-in lies the problem with being more man than wolf, and more spirit than man. One doesn't notice the subtle signals of the wild-animal coming to the fore. One's instincts are dulled by the ever analyzing monkey mind. One's monkey-mind is hijacked by the spirit within, ever questing for its brethren. Green eyes glaze over as the barrier between worlds slips for the space of several heartbeats, and in those heartbeats, an altercation nearly breaks out behind him. A snarl teasing him to the material, physically and mentally.
The expression of sudden shock on his features would be priceless, were there not more pressing matters at hand. The theurge nervously clears his throat, rumbling cautiously.*
Woah now. Did I miss something? Lets all take a deep breath and count backwards from ten here.
[Fire Claws] "Dat's da problem wit ya monke's. Don't undastand the spirits... t'inkin everytin is ta make ya life easy'ah. Dit's more dan dat. Reverence. 'Onor. Respect. Punishment rites are makin' those learn ta respect the rules they broke. Rites of accord 'onor us, 'onor spirits, 'onor our society. Seasonal rites 'onor the natural world 'round us."
He turns on Gwen once more, watching her as she seem to try and be contrite for her ignorance. The beast rode high within him, waiting for her to disrespect him or his beliefs. Waiting to give him a reason to snap once more.
"Dat's why I 'ad to go back ta Storm 'ammer. No one 'ere knows the rite of winter winds. Among otha reasons."
[Gwen Sullivan] This was the trouble with the Full Moon. Gwen did okay when she wasn't provoked, when the Rage had no reason to boil to the surface. She did a decent job of masking it, of smiling through it and keeping herself civil and... hell, she could even touch things and people without violence in her fingers.
It was when that Rage was given a spark to ignite that things went downhill very quickly. It manifested as a roaring blaze, a wildfire chewing up scrub brush on the California mountainside. It would be difficult to extinguish. She wasn't delirious with it, wasn't unreasonable, but she couldn't relax. Her hands were out of her pockets now, flexed into claw-shapes at her sides, and her muscles were wound tight, her joints stiff and her heart hammering. She felt warm under her jacket, the cold of the winter night was forgotten.
Owen's suggesting that they calm down was acknowledged with a brief flicker of her eyes toward him, but they returned to Fire Claws soon enough. She might not have understood Owen's words as much as simply heard his voice. Her jaw was tight still, teeth clamped together. It was an effort to keep her lips together over her teeth.
A tremor of pent up energy begging for release made its way up her spine. She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth and spoke curtly, gruffly. "You didn't say you were leaving." Dangerous ground. She should be settling, calming, asking questions that would guide him to tell her more about the Rites, show her one so she could understand how they worked completely. Were the moon anything but full (or waning away and pausing for one night to be halved perfectly) she would have chosen that route. Rage flooded her, though, and made her rash and honest.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Two steps back. Then another. And another. Rage was sparking and spitting and the tension was drawing his own hackles up. Teasing his neglected wolf from slumber and urging it to jump into the fray. Instead Owen moves pointedly away. Feet crunching in gravel as he moves off without a word. This was a little too Feral for his liking. If he wanted to deal with wild animals, he'd go home.*
[Fire Claws] He stepped up to Gwen when she started to yelp back at him. Like the little pup she was, he stood right at her. If he was any closer to her, he would have been her. The rage coiling off him was almost like standing next to a blast furnace. Snarling at the little girl, making sure she remembered her place in this situation.
"CUB. DON'T TEST ME."
He looked down at her, his rage boiling over, where only his will was keep him from going crazy and seeking her blood. If she didn't back down, she would find out the power a true garou could unleash.
"I DO WAT I NEED TO."
[Fire Claws] (WP spent)
[Gwen Sullivan] Fire Claws steps up against her, his chest and belly both flush to hers. He had a handful of inches on her, he tipped his head down to keep his face aimed at her own. This near her forehead was level with his mouth, but her chin tipped up so she could seethe right back at him. She should be afraid, should be worried. Should know that he's grasping the razor's edge of control and it was slicing his palms and making them bleed.
Her nostrils flare, she leans forward, presses her chest back to him, rises to the challenge as he roars into her face. Her right arm twitches, fingernails itch to be claws, nearly are for a moment...
...but then she steps back. Doesn't so much step as rip herself away from him and pace a broad half-circle toward the lake, heavy boots stomping the iced over dirt as she went. She slashed her hands fruitlessly at the air, then yanked down the zipper of her jacket and slung her shoulders back so it fell off and onto the ground, leaving her in a long-sleeved tee that was bright yellow with a large, crooked smiley face in black ink on the front. She was too warm to be comfortable, standing out in this cold without a coat, with sweat on her back, it would be asking for pneumonia were she human, hypothermia if she stayed like this for too long.
She stopped, perhaps eight feet away, and looked back at Fire Claws. Her expression was nothing pleasant, it was young and upset and full of piss, vinegar, and hurt. But her voice, miraculously, is even and quiet when she speaks. Even if her shoulders shiver as she does so. "I don't doubt what you did or why. I understand why you left. I know it was for the best."
Her tone lowers further. "But you-..." And she rethinks. His face convinced her to do so. Teeth clamped together once more, eyes fasten to the toes of her boots, and she smolders, trembles, and tries to cool.
[WP spent]
[Fire Claws] Intense dark eyes of the predator stare at her, watching her as she nearly challenges his place among them. He was her better, her alpha in these matters. She was omega by default, even more so than any bone gnawer at this moment. She may want to prove herself, but now was not the time. She was nothing to him. He proved that push comes to shove, he would put her down. He was stronger, faster, experienced. She was green and fresh faced to the war. Not a Get... yet.
When she walks away, the beast snarls and gripes at the conflict lost. The rage simmering away as she paces towards the icy lake edge.
"Des' rite are wat make the world go. Ignorin' dem ignores the celestines, the spirits. Everything. Den wha? We give away wat we have to da weaver and da wyrm. Dees rite to da seasons are importin. As well as our duty ta breed. Dare are no wolf kin in dis scab. Storm 'Ammer has some, without mates. Strong females kin. Great 'onor offered when I was there. Easy for you monkey girl. Many kin to breed with when time comes."
She begins to say something again, he can see she wants to say something, something to raise his hackles. To encourage the beast once more.
[Gwen Sullivan] Many arguments crop up in her mind like dandelions in a summertime front yard. Arguments about how she wasn't trying to disrespect the spirits, how Linus had taught her nothing but respect for them. Arguments about how a rite surely couldn't change the seasons. Arguments about kin-- for some reason Rage had these pounding the most furiously in her skull.
There are no kin here!, she wanted to protest. None for me, more for you. There are countless beautiful, leggy, lush-lipped girls running around that smell like earth and promising blood, but no men. None. It infuriated her, that he thought it could be so easy, in the way that proves her a teenager still. She couldn't make sense of why it bothered her so badly and didn't want to try to defend herself for it either. She just ground her teeth and tried to push thoughts of Kin out of her head.
Rather, she's quiet, choking on the want to growl. She stopped her protest short, swallowed it back, flattened it from her mind. There's silence between them, a heavy one, and it opens back up only when she speaks quietly again, voice almost hard to catch over the whisper of wind.
"Can we hunt, -Rhya?" She needed to run, to go burn Rage, to put her muscles to work and wear herself out. She'd go crazy tonight without.
[Fire Claws] He watched her with quizzical gaze when she started to go on about hunting now. But after the intense situation from the last couple of moments where he was going to rip and kill her. He watched the rage started to spew in her blood.
"Yes, we hunt now."
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