Not quite a bite
Jul. 20th, 2010 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 11:48 Pacific Time on Tue Jul 20 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (60% full).
Bawn: Southern Forest
Evergreen trees spread their overhead branches wide across the forest floor. Each tree limb interlinks with its neighbor, forming a thick overhead canopy of pine needles that leaves the forest floor dim even at noon. An apparent tenseness seems to permeate the air here, and there is a somewhat less than subtle feeling that perhaps something is watching. The behavior of the wildlife in the area betrays a certain wariness that suggests the presence of predators nearby.
The southern edge of the bawn is marked here by the railroad tracks which run from St. Claire and Kent's Crossing to the west, towards the mountains to the east.
Obvious exits:
Ash Grove Railroad South Into the Caern Sept Compound Half Moon Pool Western Bawn Central Bawn Eastern Bawn
A white wolf trots through the forest on an errand of her own, weaving easily around the boles as she heads vaguely toward the tracks. Her scent is muted, though not entirely gone, and contains undertones of water and growing things.
There's a dog loose on the Bawn. A black-and-white mongrel, with a tatty collar and a jaunty step. Currently that lighthearted manner is tinged with caution, as in one well used to being on the receiving end of blunt missiles and blunter threats. She sniffs here, she sniffs there, she sniffs... wolf?
Take a bit of terrier for the general shape, and add a dash of border collie for the black-and-white colouring. Mix in something heavier- probably more labrador than rottweiler, with the increased bulk mainly in the legs and head. Give her an over-long tail that curls into a loop at the end. Prop one pointed ear upright but let the the other flop. This fails to be adorable and instead merely looks assymetrical. Her eyes are brown and her nose splotched with pink. Her coat is grubby, smells of dog, and needs a good brush. Around her neck is a ratty leather dog-collar with a tag.
Carrying:
Dog Collar
Perhaps too engrossed in her own journey to notice the smell of the... dog, it isn't until Stops-Too-Late catches sight of the mangy beast that she stops dead. Ears pricked, tail ratcheting several notches higher, she advances, stiff-legged, on Rat-Tale, lips giving just the barest suggestion of lifting from her lip. Get out.
Rat-Tale crouches low, grinning an ingratiating canine grin. Earth-Whisperer said Rat-Tale could be here!
Stops-Too-Late doesn't know Earth-Whisperer. She pauses, head dropping, and demands, Who are you.
Earth-Whisperer is a Guardian! Rat-tale indicates, straightening a little and suspicion now warring with submissive caution. Rat-Tale is Rat's-pup! Story-moon from Bad Donkey! Rat-Tale is teaching Stuff, to stay and learn stories of Rat's-pup Big Dog who is Big Dog to all Tribes.
The return antagonism pulls Stops-Too-Late up short; as the introduction continues her ears flatten and tail drops, while she looks pointedly away, ceding the ground. Doesn't Know When to Stop, no-moon cub of Falcon. You do not smell like wolf.
Rat-Tale smells like wolf! the Gnawer answers indignantly. Looks like dog. Smells like wolf. But you are only a cub, she adds, softening into indulgence, and Rat-Tale will forgive the mistake.
Stops-Too-Late keeps one sidelong eye on Rat-Tale, her ears skewing again at the mention of 'dog'. Bypassing the subject of smell entirely, she continues, There is a... thing around your neck. Where is Bad Donkey?
The Gnawer turns aside, the better to display her aged and worn collar. Special spirit-thing! From Bad Donkey! Rat-Tale keeps it safe! she informs the cub, her long tail now untucked and waving cheerfully behind her. Bad Donkey is a very long way away. A long moon-path. Many many many days travelling with Owl's pup.
The Fang lifts her nose to sniff after the collar, but politely doesn't approach. Stops-Too-Late met a Rat cub who wants to know where to find Septs. Sees-Too-Far. Metis. Unspoken, save in the tilt of an ear, is the question: have you met her?
Rat-Tale has not met that one, the Galliard indicates with a curious tilt of her head and another tailwag. Rat-Tale has been to many Septs, but they are a long way away.
Stops-Too-Late lowers her haunches to the ground, still presenting her side to the Gnawer. She is new-new cub. Rat-tail, a brief wag of her own for the pun, when she shifts.
It's a pun that seems to go right over the Gnawer's head. A new cub wants to know about Septs? Rat-Tale can tell stories about Septs! Rat-Tale must tell stories as part of giving Stuff to stay here! she adds with a cheerful wriggle and a wuff.
She wanted to know where, the Ragabash corrects with dignity. ...Rat-Tale is wolf-born? It's barely a question.
But where is part of the story! Where is not an answer by itsef, Rat-Tale avers with a faintly scandalised cant to her ears and a crinkling of her nose. The mood is as swiftly returned to cheerfulness. Rat-Tale is fourleg born, yesyes!
Stops-Too-Late is not story-moon. It's half an apology. She looks away quickly, perhaps in time to hide the ever-so-faint lifting of her lip, and sneezes. Do you tell stories to anyone? For your... giving Stuff?
Rat-Tale thinks about that, head aslant, tail slowly swaying behind her. Rat-pup stories, she answers-yet-not-answers after the pause. Big Dog did not say who.
...I will ask Bright-Falcon's-Grace, the ragabash decides after a moment. She is my elder. She glances back at Rat-Tale, an ear flicking upright. Do not want either of us to be bitten.
Rat-Tale is bitten all the time, the Gnawer replies with an unconcerned wuff. Gnawers get bitten all the time.
Stops-Too-Late's ears flatten. I do not want to be bitten.
You're Falcon's-pup, Rat-Tale points out, matter-of-factly. Falcon's-pups are not the getting-bitten sort of wolfshifter.
Bright-Falcon's-Grace will bite me if I am bad, the white wolf returns. She might bite you. If asking will get us both not-bitten, then I will ask.
Rat-Tale should ask, the Gnawer states. Storyteller asks.
This thought astonishes Stops-Too-Late, if her sideways-flattened ears are any indication. She is Guardian, sometimes, the Fang offers carefully. She packs with Blood-Guard, the Warder.
Rat-Tale can... howl? the Gnawer thinks aloud, the idea reflected uncertainly in her body language. This is a big place with lots and lots and lots of trees, she adds, eyeing her surroundings with distrust, visibly a little daunted.
It is very big, yes. In this the cub is certain of her answer. We are at the very edge of it. Have you explored much?
Rat-Tale was only allowed to be here at dawn today, the Gnawer states, clearly not giving a full answer. Rat-Tale is a city-wolf.
Stops-Too-Late has not been there since she changed. Again her ears flatten. It is very big there. Very big. She pauses as though she'd add more, but shyly suggests instead that she could show Rat-Tale some of the bawn?
Where the size of the Bawn seems to leave the Gnawer adrift and nervous, the size of St. Claire obviously pleases her, and her long, looped tail sweeps in extravagant pleasure. The cub's offer gives her pause, and she licks at her lips more than once before she answers. Yes?
Stops-Too-Late suggests further that they could shift to near-wolf? She explains with a lick of her lips that she is still learning Mother's Tongue.
Rat-Tale's one good ear slicks back apologetically. Rat-Tale always looks and speaks like this.
Surprise brings the cub back to her feet. You do not know Mother's Tongue?
Rat-Tale knows! Rat-Tale knows! the Gnawer says, bouncing somewhat. Spirit-make-thing hides. Look! But for a while there seems to be nothing to look at particularly. She bounces over to a patch of grass, and plucks a few strands, and then, after several long moments, somehow, inexpliccably, the grass is tied into a series of clumsy and uneven knots. Quite how a dog managed to tie knots in grass is completely unclear. See? Rat-Tale asks. Rat-Tale is twolegshaped now! But quite plainly the eye says she never shifted out of her very doglike wolf-form.
Stops-Too-Late watches the entire performance. When it's over her ears skew confusion. You are not, Rat-Tale-rhya, she offers politely with a single wave of her tail for the Gnawer's joke. She tests the air, though, just in case.
There is a change of smell, although no change of appearance can be seen. A lupine nose can pick up the scent of silk and hair and human-ness, the strongest wolfish indicators now gone. Rat-Tale sits back on her haunches and grins.
Stops-Too-Late remains steadfast both in her confusion and her insistence that the other Garou is, in fact, still wolf-shaped, still four-legged.
Rat-Tale gives the lupine equivalent of a shrug, and her smell shifts back to that which Stops-Too-Late first knew as hers. Rat-Tale knows wolfshifter words, but wolfshifters only hear-see Rat-Tale using wolfwords, she says, careful and slow. Special-spirit-make-thing makes it like that.
Stops-Too-Late not-as-casually-as-she-thinks takes a few steps away from the Bone Gnawer, using the excuse of needing to sniff at a bit of moss as the reason. That is very interesting, she lies, her hackles lifting.
Safer for the city, Rat-Tale says, still in her carefully slow explanatory wolf-speech. Twolegs always see a dog.
Stops-Too-Late acknowledges that this might be safer (though she's uncertain as to why it's necessary), but she still isn't comfortable with the idea. After another sidle away from Rat-Tale she stops, head lifting in sudden possible understanding. Even if you are in Crinos, you still look like that?
Rat-Tale's ridiculous tail wags her confirmation.
Can you make it stop? the Ragabash asks next.
Rat-Tale's pointed ear slithers from yes to no and back. Not yet. Soon. Like this for one moon before it can stop.
Approaching from deeper in the bawn is some sort of animal large enough to make a bit of noise. If one is listening for it, at least.
Stops-Too-Late thinks that over as well before sitting again, tail flipping around her front legs. What if you want to look Crinos? Can you take off the... she lifts her nose toward the collar, one ear swiveling toward the approaching noise. Will it break if you do?
Rat-Tale does not answer the cub's question, rising to all four paws instead and tucking cautiously into a position suited to flight if needed. Her nose points towards the sounds of that other creature as it gets closer. Something comes!
Stops-Too-Late's ear may have noted the approach, but it's only after the Gnawer says something that she gets back to her feet, facing the intruder.
It doesn't take long for a graceful silvery-white wolf to appear from the depths of the bawn. As she does, her tail flags high and her posture assumes a wary dominance. Who are you?
Rat-Tale tucks up hooplike, her long tail blattering her elbows and chest with its tip. Head low, ears drooped, she is the picture of doggy submissiveness. Rat-Tale! Rat's-pup! Story-moon! Teaching Stuff to stay here!
Stops-Too-Late's ears slick back as soon as she recognizes Falcon's Grace: she licks her lips and puppy 'grins' - submissive, though not to the point of the Gnawer. She always looks like that, Bright-Falcon's-Grace-rhya, the cub adds.
The Silver Fang moves forward, her ears pricked high as she inspects Rat-Tale closely. Bright Falcon's Grace. Spirit moon, two ranks, alpha of Falcon's tribe, alpha of ~Temperance~, Unicorn-pup, alpha of rites here, Guardian. She looks toward Stops-Too-Late, the meaning of the cub's words not registering. Wolf born?
The Gnawer tips slowly onto one side and then sprawls half on her back, two legs dangling floppily in the air. Fourleg born yes! From Bad Donkey!
Stops-Too-Late circles around to come up on the other Fang's side, presenting a united (and white) front to the Gnawer. She has a... thing, she explains, pointing her nose at Rat-Tale's collar. A spirit-thing. So she looks like that even if she has shifted.
A ~fetish~, the Theurge says, her ears perking high. She leans forward to get a cautious sniff of the Gnawer, still maintaining the posture. Useful in the scab, she declares, tilting her head before backing off enough to leave some personal space. Bad Donkey. Far?
Rat-Tale smells of the city, but not quite so strongly as might be assumed if she has come directly from it. There are the odours associated with Edgewood, and a little of the Bawn, and also the scents of Earth-Whisperer and Meg. Very far! the Galliard asserts. Long long moon path far. Long Owl-pup journey far. And now Rat-Tale teaches Stuff and tells stories to stay here!
Stops-Too-Late sits again, keeping her distance from both of the ranking garou. The Bone Gnawers have a new Metis cub. Sees-too-far.
Squeaks, Falcon's Grace says after a moment. Shifted finally? Hm. She leans down to gnaw at her paw, her ears flicking. Teach what?
Rat-Tale has not met the new cub, she informs the others rather unnecessarily. Rat-Tale will meet her! Rat-Tale likes cubs! Rat-Tale has taught the way of knowing when cubs will come to Earth-Whisperer, and is teaching the way of smelling when there is too much making-things-spirit to Tree-pup, and is to tell stories of Rat's pups. But Rat-Tale can teach other things too, not for giving Stuff to stay.
Stops-Too-Late listens politely, the flick of one ear keeping track of a squirrel's passing. She wishes to know where to find other Septs, she informs the Theurge. I have a question to ask you later. 'Later' is accompanied by the feel of 'when we are not in this form', and not 'when we are alone'.
Falcon's Grace's ears splay at the first rite and it takes her a moment to recover. The way of smelling things like that sounds useful. I wish to learn. I will trade. This is stated, rather than asked, though not unkindly. She flicks an agreeable ear toward her cub then asks, What else can you teach?
Rat-Tale rolls back enough to rest the weight of all four legs on the ground, her long tail sloppily knocking against the ground. Rat-tale can teach the way to howl very loudly, and the way to howl for the dead, and the way to say things lots of times to be calm, and the way to drink blurry water to be calm, and the way to tell if a dead wolfshifter was a fallen wolfshifter, she replies, the list clearly being one intended for comprehensiveness rather than a list of what she is specifically prepared to teach the Fang.
Stops-Too-Late's tail really does fit quite neatly about her front paws. How to tell if a dead wolfshifter was fallen? she repeats, glancing toward Falcon's-Grace before returning her attention to the Galliard.
Owl-pup knowing, Rat-Tale confides, then squirms her way closer and keeps her body language very subtle. Fallen. Went around the spiral and served the twisted destroyer. The Gnawer pulled back again some. Rat-Tale should teach that to Owl's pups.
The Ragabash's lips pull off her teeth again, and she leans away from the Gnawer - or the Gnawer's words. It is dead, she not-quite-argues. Why does it matter to know if it was fallen?
Rat-Tale rolls onto her belly and looks up in surprise. Because then it is a traitor and not an honoured hero!
But--. The cub stops there to scratch furiously at her ruff. You will not just find a dead wolfshifter lying in the forest. Someone will know who it is. You can ask them.
Rat-Tale peers quizzically at the cub. Rat-Tale once found a dead wolfshifter lying in the city, and nobody knew him. Do things like that not happen in tree-places too?
Stops-Too-Late glances guiltily at Falcon's Grace and tips her chin at Rat-Tale. I do not know. I did not think they did. You know more than me.
Dead wolfshifters in the city are a bad thing, Rat-Tale says. Badbad thing. Bad if twolegs can tell. Rat-Tale is glad to have found him, even if Rat-Tale did not know how to tell if it was a bad wolfshifter or a good wolfshifter then.
Falcon's Grace doesn't cuff Stops but it is a near thing, her displeasure at the cub's aggressive questioning warring with her own curiosity. Wolfshifters any place can be trouble if they are not careful. She resumes chewing on her foot. If fallen, we do not sing for their death.
No! the Gnawer agrees. They bit the Mother in a bad way and were not sorry for it.
Slicking her ears down, Stops-Too-Late foregoes merely showing throat to roll onto her back, tail tucked and paws curled. No bite, please, she begs both the others.
Falcon's Grace gives Stops-Too-Late another long look. This is what we spoke of, she says, strangely. Did we say we would bite? Do I bite you?
Rat-Tale looks decidedly bemused. Are you sure she is Falcon's pup? she asks the Theurge, with a very cautious and apologetic wolfgrin.
Do not want bite. You were going to bite me. The ragabash writhes to her belly and stays there, ears still nearly flat.
There's no amusement (predictably) on the part of the theurge. She lunges first at Rat-Tale, growling as she does, to snap her jaws near the Gnawer. Shut up! Then the cub gets a hard, hard cuff to the head, the growl continuing. Shut up! There was no bite, no threat. You are being foolish.
The Gnawer twists her head a little but judging Zosia's snaopping jaws well enough that she does not try to dodge what is only a gesture. She shuts up, as ordered.
Stops-Too-Late ducks her head at Falcon's-Grace's sudden movement, but (unsurprisingly) it doesn't save either her or Rat-Tale. She yelps at the cuff and rolls onto her back again, neck stretched out quiveringly, and likewise says nothing else.
It is a dangerous moment as the theurge stands there, head low, growl continuing. There is something about her, some sense of a dangerous edge that she hovers near. Shaking out her ruff, she turns away, to put almost a whole clearing between them and her. As she does, she shifts into glabro. "Get up and act like a Silver Fang, not some sniveling Bone Gnawer." There is disgust in her voice and she doesn't look at them.
Rat-Tale keeps low, but lifts her head to watch the proceedings cautiously.
Stops-Too-Late keeps oh-so-quiet and still until footsteps have the Theurge out of range, but even then she only curls her neck protectively. After Zosia's command she flips hastily back to her belly and slowly to her feet, keeping her ears low and tail curled.
~She is learning,~ the theurge says, her arms folded over her chest. Her voice is strained by the mother's tongue. Rough. ~As you can see, she has much to learn.~ Only then does she half-turn, to see the body language of lupus.
Holding one's tongue when one's thoughts are as readily reflected in one's very appearance as they are in lupus proves impossible for the Gnawer. Soft, is what she is thinking, although were she in any other shape she doubtless would not be saying so.
Stops-Too-Late isn't as exuberantly submissive as Rat-Tale when Zosia first met her, though it would be hard to interpret her curved spine and on-her-toes ready to bolt as anything else. All of her wary, wide-eyed attention is on the other Fang, leaving Rat-Tale's comment unseen.
~Yes,~ Zosia agrees to the Gnawer's assessment. When she speaks next, it is in Polish. "Cowardly."
Rat-Tale ignores the unknown monkeyword, and stands enough to be mobile. Rat-Tale will let Falcon's-Grace train her pup, and talk of teaching later, she says, licking her jaws and tailwagging with her tail tucked under.
Submit, retorts the cub, anger beginning to underlie her betrayal. You say submit, submit, submit. I do, and you bite!
~Later. There will be things to discuss later.~ Then the Theurge is right back to Polish. "No. I didn't bite you, you fucking moron. I've never bitten you. I didn't even do much beyond give you a stern look and your reaction--before I even fucking moved--was to act like a two year old and whine and cry about nothing."
Yes, Falcon's-Grace-rhya, the cub says stiffly. It can't really be called 'agreement'.
"Go to the house, sit in your room and wait for me to come." With that, Zosia heads off into the woods.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (60% full).
Bawn: Southern Forest
Evergreen trees spread their overhead branches wide across the forest floor. Each tree limb interlinks with its neighbor, forming a thick overhead canopy of pine needles that leaves the forest floor dim even at noon. An apparent tenseness seems to permeate the air here, and there is a somewhat less than subtle feeling that perhaps something is watching. The behavior of the wildlife in the area betrays a certain wariness that suggests the presence of predators nearby.
The southern edge of the bawn is marked here by the railroad tracks which run from St. Claire and Kent's Crossing to the west, towards the mountains to the east.
Obvious exits:
Ash Grove Railroad South Into the Caern Sept Compound Half Moon Pool Western Bawn Central Bawn Eastern Bawn
A white wolf trots through the forest on an errand of her own, weaving easily around the boles as she heads vaguely toward the tracks. Her scent is muted, though not entirely gone, and contains undertones of water and growing things.
There's a dog loose on the Bawn. A black-and-white mongrel, with a tatty collar and a jaunty step. Currently that lighthearted manner is tinged with caution, as in one well used to being on the receiving end of blunt missiles and blunter threats. She sniffs here, she sniffs there, she sniffs... wolf?
Take a bit of terrier for the general shape, and add a dash of border collie for the black-and-white colouring. Mix in something heavier- probably more labrador than rottweiler, with the increased bulk mainly in the legs and head. Give her an over-long tail that curls into a loop at the end. Prop one pointed ear upright but let the the other flop. This fails to be adorable and instead merely looks assymetrical. Her eyes are brown and her nose splotched with pink. Her coat is grubby, smells of dog, and needs a good brush. Around her neck is a ratty leather dog-collar with a tag.
Carrying:
Dog Collar
Perhaps too engrossed in her own journey to notice the smell of the... dog, it isn't until Stops-Too-Late catches sight of the mangy beast that she stops dead. Ears pricked, tail ratcheting several notches higher, she advances, stiff-legged, on Rat-Tale, lips giving just the barest suggestion of lifting from her lip. Get out.
Rat-Tale crouches low, grinning an ingratiating canine grin. Earth-Whisperer said Rat-Tale could be here!
Stops-Too-Late doesn't know Earth-Whisperer. She pauses, head dropping, and demands, Who are you.
Earth-Whisperer is a Guardian! Rat-tale indicates, straightening a little and suspicion now warring with submissive caution. Rat-Tale is Rat's-pup! Story-moon from Bad Donkey! Rat-Tale is teaching Stuff, to stay and learn stories of Rat's-pup Big Dog who is Big Dog to all Tribes.
The return antagonism pulls Stops-Too-Late up short; as the introduction continues her ears flatten and tail drops, while she looks pointedly away, ceding the ground. Doesn't Know When to Stop, no-moon cub of Falcon. You do not smell like wolf.
Rat-Tale smells like wolf! the Gnawer answers indignantly. Looks like dog. Smells like wolf. But you are only a cub, she adds, softening into indulgence, and Rat-Tale will forgive the mistake.
Stops-Too-Late keeps one sidelong eye on Rat-Tale, her ears skewing again at the mention of 'dog'. Bypassing the subject of smell entirely, she continues, There is a... thing around your neck. Where is Bad Donkey?
The Gnawer turns aside, the better to display her aged and worn collar. Special spirit-thing! From Bad Donkey! Rat-Tale keeps it safe! she informs the cub, her long tail now untucked and waving cheerfully behind her. Bad Donkey is a very long way away. A long moon-path. Many many many days travelling with Owl's pup.
The Fang lifts her nose to sniff after the collar, but politely doesn't approach. Stops-Too-Late met a Rat cub who wants to know where to find Septs. Sees-Too-Far. Metis. Unspoken, save in the tilt of an ear, is the question: have you met her?
Rat-Tale has not met that one, the Galliard indicates with a curious tilt of her head and another tailwag. Rat-Tale has been to many Septs, but they are a long way away.
Stops-Too-Late lowers her haunches to the ground, still presenting her side to the Gnawer. She is new-new cub. Rat-tail, a brief wag of her own for the pun, when she shifts.
It's a pun that seems to go right over the Gnawer's head. A new cub wants to know about Septs? Rat-Tale can tell stories about Septs! Rat-Tale must tell stories as part of giving Stuff to stay here! she adds with a cheerful wriggle and a wuff.
She wanted to know where, the Ragabash corrects with dignity. ...Rat-Tale is wolf-born? It's barely a question.
But where is part of the story! Where is not an answer by itsef, Rat-Tale avers with a faintly scandalised cant to her ears and a crinkling of her nose. The mood is as swiftly returned to cheerfulness. Rat-Tale is fourleg born, yesyes!
Stops-Too-Late is not story-moon. It's half an apology. She looks away quickly, perhaps in time to hide the ever-so-faint lifting of her lip, and sneezes. Do you tell stories to anyone? For your... giving Stuff?
Rat-Tale thinks about that, head aslant, tail slowly swaying behind her. Rat-pup stories, she answers-yet-not-answers after the pause. Big Dog did not say who.
...I will ask Bright-Falcon's-Grace, the ragabash decides after a moment. She is my elder. She glances back at Rat-Tale, an ear flicking upright. Do not want either of us to be bitten.
Rat-Tale is bitten all the time, the Gnawer replies with an unconcerned wuff. Gnawers get bitten all the time.
Stops-Too-Late's ears flatten. I do not want to be bitten.
You're Falcon's-pup, Rat-Tale points out, matter-of-factly. Falcon's-pups are not the getting-bitten sort of wolfshifter.
Bright-Falcon's-Grace will bite me if I am bad, the white wolf returns. She might bite you. If asking will get us both not-bitten, then I will ask.
Rat-Tale should ask, the Gnawer states. Storyteller asks.
This thought astonishes Stops-Too-Late, if her sideways-flattened ears are any indication. She is Guardian, sometimes, the Fang offers carefully. She packs with Blood-Guard, the Warder.
Rat-Tale can... howl? the Gnawer thinks aloud, the idea reflected uncertainly in her body language. This is a big place with lots and lots and lots of trees, she adds, eyeing her surroundings with distrust, visibly a little daunted.
It is very big, yes. In this the cub is certain of her answer. We are at the very edge of it. Have you explored much?
Rat-Tale was only allowed to be here at dawn today, the Gnawer states, clearly not giving a full answer. Rat-Tale is a city-wolf.
Stops-Too-Late has not been there since she changed. Again her ears flatten. It is very big there. Very big. She pauses as though she'd add more, but shyly suggests instead that she could show Rat-Tale some of the bawn?
Where the size of the Bawn seems to leave the Gnawer adrift and nervous, the size of St. Claire obviously pleases her, and her long, looped tail sweeps in extravagant pleasure. The cub's offer gives her pause, and she licks at her lips more than once before she answers. Yes?
Stops-Too-Late suggests further that they could shift to near-wolf? She explains with a lick of her lips that she is still learning Mother's Tongue.
Rat-Tale's one good ear slicks back apologetically. Rat-Tale always looks and speaks like this.
Surprise brings the cub back to her feet. You do not know Mother's Tongue?
Rat-Tale knows! Rat-Tale knows! the Gnawer says, bouncing somewhat. Spirit-make-thing hides. Look! But for a while there seems to be nothing to look at particularly. She bounces over to a patch of grass, and plucks a few strands, and then, after several long moments, somehow, inexpliccably, the grass is tied into a series of clumsy and uneven knots. Quite how a dog managed to tie knots in grass is completely unclear. See? Rat-Tale asks. Rat-Tale is twolegshaped now! But quite plainly the eye says she never shifted out of her very doglike wolf-form.
Stops-Too-Late watches the entire performance. When it's over her ears skew confusion. You are not, Rat-Tale-rhya, she offers politely with a single wave of her tail for the Gnawer's joke. She tests the air, though, just in case.
There is a change of smell, although no change of appearance can be seen. A lupine nose can pick up the scent of silk and hair and human-ness, the strongest wolfish indicators now gone. Rat-Tale sits back on her haunches and grins.
Stops-Too-Late remains steadfast both in her confusion and her insistence that the other Garou is, in fact, still wolf-shaped, still four-legged.
Rat-Tale gives the lupine equivalent of a shrug, and her smell shifts back to that which Stops-Too-Late first knew as hers. Rat-Tale knows wolfshifter words, but wolfshifters only hear-see Rat-Tale using wolfwords, she says, careful and slow. Special-spirit-make-thing makes it like that.
Stops-Too-Late not-as-casually-as-she-thinks takes a few steps away from the Bone Gnawer, using the excuse of needing to sniff at a bit of moss as the reason. That is very interesting, she lies, her hackles lifting.
Safer for the city, Rat-Tale says, still in her carefully slow explanatory wolf-speech. Twolegs always see a dog.
Stops-Too-Late acknowledges that this might be safer (though she's uncertain as to why it's necessary), but she still isn't comfortable with the idea. After another sidle away from Rat-Tale she stops, head lifting in sudden possible understanding. Even if you are in Crinos, you still look like that?
Rat-Tale's ridiculous tail wags her confirmation.
Can you make it stop? the Ragabash asks next.
Rat-Tale's pointed ear slithers from yes to no and back. Not yet. Soon. Like this for one moon before it can stop.
Approaching from deeper in the bawn is some sort of animal large enough to make a bit of noise. If one is listening for it, at least.
Stops-Too-Late thinks that over as well before sitting again, tail flipping around her front legs. What if you want to look Crinos? Can you take off the... she lifts her nose toward the collar, one ear swiveling toward the approaching noise. Will it break if you do?
Rat-Tale does not answer the cub's question, rising to all four paws instead and tucking cautiously into a position suited to flight if needed. Her nose points towards the sounds of that other creature as it gets closer. Something comes!
Stops-Too-Late's ear may have noted the approach, but it's only after the Gnawer says something that she gets back to her feet, facing the intruder.
It doesn't take long for a graceful silvery-white wolf to appear from the depths of the bawn. As she does, her tail flags high and her posture assumes a wary dominance. Who are you?
Rat-Tale tucks up hooplike, her long tail blattering her elbows and chest with its tip. Head low, ears drooped, she is the picture of doggy submissiveness. Rat-Tale! Rat's-pup! Story-moon! Teaching Stuff to stay here!
Stops-Too-Late's ears slick back as soon as she recognizes Falcon's Grace: she licks her lips and puppy 'grins' - submissive, though not to the point of the Gnawer. She always looks like that, Bright-Falcon's-Grace-rhya, the cub adds.
The Silver Fang moves forward, her ears pricked high as she inspects Rat-Tale closely. Bright Falcon's Grace. Spirit moon, two ranks, alpha of Falcon's tribe, alpha of ~Temperance~, Unicorn-pup, alpha of rites here, Guardian. She looks toward Stops-Too-Late, the meaning of the cub's words not registering. Wolf born?
The Gnawer tips slowly onto one side and then sprawls half on her back, two legs dangling floppily in the air. Fourleg born yes! From Bad Donkey!
Stops-Too-Late circles around to come up on the other Fang's side, presenting a united (and white) front to the Gnawer. She has a... thing, she explains, pointing her nose at Rat-Tale's collar. A spirit-thing. So she looks like that even if she has shifted.
A ~fetish~, the Theurge says, her ears perking high. She leans forward to get a cautious sniff of the Gnawer, still maintaining the posture. Useful in the scab, she declares, tilting her head before backing off enough to leave some personal space. Bad Donkey. Far?
Rat-Tale smells of the city, but not quite so strongly as might be assumed if she has come directly from it. There are the odours associated with Edgewood, and a little of the Bawn, and also the scents of Earth-Whisperer and Meg. Very far! the Galliard asserts. Long long moon path far. Long Owl-pup journey far. And now Rat-Tale teaches Stuff and tells stories to stay here!
Stops-Too-Late sits again, keeping her distance from both of the ranking garou. The Bone Gnawers have a new Metis cub. Sees-too-far.
Squeaks, Falcon's Grace says after a moment. Shifted finally? Hm. She leans down to gnaw at her paw, her ears flicking. Teach what?
Rat-Tale has not met the new cub, she informs the others rather unnecessarily. Rat-Tale will meet her! Rat-Tale likes cubs! Rat-Tale has taught the way of knowing when cubs will come to Earth-Whisperer, and is teaching the way of smelling when there is too much making-things-spirit to Tree-pup, and is to tell stories of Rat's pups. But Rat-Tale can teach other things too, not for giving Stuff to stay.
Stops-Too-Late listens politely, the flick of one ear keeping track of a squirrel's passing. She wishes to know where to find other Septs, she informs the Theurge. I have a question to ask you later. 'Later' is accompanied by the feel of 'when we are not in this form', and not 'when we are alone'.
Falcon's Grace's ears splay at the first rite and it takes her a moment to recover. The way of smelling things like that sounds useful. I wish to learn. I will trade. This is stated, rather than asked, though not unkindly. She flicks an agreeable ear toward her cub then asks, What else can you teach?
Rat-Tale rolls back enough to rest the weight of all four legs on the ground, her long tail sloppily knocking against the ground. Rat-tale can teach the way to howl very loudly, and the way to howl for the dead, and the way to say things lots of times to be calm, and the way to drink blurry water to be calm, and the way to tell if a dead wolfshifter was a fallen wolfshifter, she replies, the list clearly being one intended for comprehensiveness rather than a list of what she is specifically prepared to teach the Fang.
Stops-Too-Late's tail really does fit quite neatly about her front paws. How to tell if a dead wolfshifter was fallen? she repeats, glancing toward Falcon's-Grace before returning her attention to the Galliard.
Owl-pup knowing, Rat-Tale confides, then squirms her way closer and keeps her body language very subtle. Fallen. Went around the spiral and served the twisted destroyer. The Gnawer pulled back again some. Rat-Tale should teach that to Owl's pups.
The Ragabash's lips pull off her teeth again, and she leans away from the Gnawer - or the Gnawer's words. It is dead, she not-quite-argues. Why does it matter to know if it was fallen?
Rat-Tale rolls onto her belly and looks up in surprise. Because then it is a traitor and not an honoured hero!
But--. The cub stops there to scratch furiously at her ruff. You will not just find a dead wolfshifter lying in the forest. Someone will know who it is. You can ask them.
Rat-Tale peers quizzically at the cub. Rat-Tale once found a dead wolfshifter lying in the city, and nobody knew him. Do things like that not happen in tree-places too?
Stops-Too-Late glances guiltily at Falcon's Grace and tips her chin at Rat-Tale. I do not know. I did not think they did. You know more than me.
Dead wolfshifters in the city are a bad thing, Rat-Tale says. Badbad thing. Bad if twolegs can tell. Rat-Tale is glad to have found him, even if Rat-Tale did not know how to tell if it was a bad wolfshifter or a good wolfshifter then.
Falcon's Grace doesn't cuff Stops but it is a near thing, her displeasure at the cub's aggressive questioning warring with her own curiosity. Wolfshifters any place can be trouble if they are not careful. She resumes chewing on her foot. If fallen, we do not sing for their death.
No! the Gnawer agrees. They bit the Mother in a bad way and were not sorry for it.
Slicking her ears down, Stops-Too-Late foregoes merely showing throat to roll onto her back, tail tucked and paws curled. No bite, please, she begs both the others.
Falcon's Grace gives Stops-Too-Late another long look. This is what we spoke of, she says, strangely. Did we say we would bite? Do I bite you?
Rat-Tale looks decidedly bemused. Are you sure she is Falcon's pup? she asks the Theurge, with a very cautious and apologetic wolfgrin.
Do not want bite. You were going to bite me. The ragabash writhes to her belly and stays there, ears still nearly flat.
There's no amusement (predictably) on the part of the theurge. She lunges first at Rat-Tale, growling as she does, to snap her jaws near the Gnawer. Shut up! Then the cub gets a hard, hard cuff to the head, the growl continuing. Shut up! There was no bite, no threat. You are being foolish.
The Gnawer twists her head a little but judging Zosia's snaopping jaws well enough that she does not try to dodge what is only a gesture. She shuts up, as ordered.
Stops-Too-Late ducks her head at Falcon's-Grace's sudden movement, but (unsurprisingly) it doesn't save either her or Rat-Tale. She yelps at the cuff and rolls onto her back again, neck stretched out quiveringly, and likewise says nothing else.
It is a dangerous moment as the theurge stands there, head low, growl continuing. There is something about her, some sense of a dangerous edge that she hovers near. Shaking out her ruff, she turns away, to put almost a whole clearing between them and her. As she does, she shifts into glabro. "Get up and act like a Silver Fang, not some sniveling Bone Gnawer." There is disgust in her voice and she doesn't look at them.
Rat-Tale keeps low, but lifts her head to watch the proceedings cautiously.
Stops-Too-Late keeps oh-so-quiet and still until footsteps have the Theurge out of range, but even then she only curls her neck protectively. After Zosia's command she flips hastily back to her belly and slowly to her feet, keeping her ears low and tail curled.
~She is learning,~ the theurge says, her arms folded over her chest. Her voice is strained by the mother's tongue. Rough. ~As you can see, she has much to learn.~ Only then does she half-turn, to see the body language of lupus.
Holding one's tongue when one's thoughts are as readily reflected in one's very appearance as they are in lupus proves impossible for the Gnawer. Soft, is what she is thinking, although were she in any other shape she doubtless would not be saying so.
Stops-Too-Late isn't as exuberantly submissive as Rat-Tale when Zosia first met her, though it would be hard to interpret her curved spine and on-her-toes ready to bolt as anything else. All of her wary, wide-eyed attention is on the other Fang, leaving Rat-Tale's comment unseen.
~Yes,~ Zosia agrees to the Gnawer's assessment. When she speaks next, it is in Polish. "Cowardly."
Rat-Tale ignores the unknown monkeyword, and stands enough to be mobile. Rat-Tale will let Falcon's-Grace train her pup, and talk of teaching later, she says, licking her jaws and tailwagging with her tail tucked under.
Submit, retorts the cub, anger beginning to underlie her betrayal. You say submit, submit, submit. I do, and you bite!
~Later. There will be things to discuss later.~ Then the Theurge is right back to Polish. "No. I didn't bite you, you fucking moron. I've never bitten you. I didn't even do much beyond give you a stern look and your reaction--before I even fucking moved--was to act like a two year old and whine and cry about nothing."
Yes, Falcon's-Grace-rhya, the cub says stiffly. It can't really be called 'agreement'.
"Go to the house, sit in your room and wait for me to come." With that, Zosia heads off into the woods.