Here kitty kitty
Oct. 27th, 2010 07:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 19:54 Pacific Time on Tue Oct 26 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (74% full).
Umbra: Harbor Park
The Umbral ground beneath your feet here is lush with vegetation, an oasis of life amidst the concrete and webbing of the scab. Trees stand proud and tall here, their branches full of leaves. Shrubs line the outer edges of the park, tangled with encroaching webs. The fountain stands out boldly from even the surrounding area, the sleek lines sharper and more pronounced. Clean pure water roars and cascades from the figure in the fountain's center, falling into a cold clear pool that looks quite inviting. Spreading out from the fountain, the rest of the park is a green veldt that seems to radiate life and strength. The river banks the east shore of the park, bridged by a massive rusty bridge. On this shore, the glade seems to have spread out on to it, vines winding around the supports. Further across the river, the bridge melds into the scab again, flaked with rust and covered in webs. The river itself is clean within a few feet of the shore, but black ooze seems to encroach menacingly from the murk of the rest of the river.
A walkway leads out of the Glade-like atmosphere of the park from just north of the fountain. Eastward, the dark span of the bridge stretches over the vile river. Dark streets lead west and southwest into the blighted Umbra of the city.
The Umbral Glade is lit at all times as if it is the full moon.
Obvious exits:
North Southwest West Bridge
The light rain of the Realm is echoed here in the Shadow, with Luna's still-large face sending a pale sheen out over the city's Glade. The aptly named fetish echoes this glow back ten-fold and gives the grass, trees, and animals of the Umbra a sharper, more defined edge than they might usually have. The less savory city spirits skulk out of the Glade's reach with hungry eyes that glint if they move.
Tim crouches in his homid form on the back of a shadowy park bench; its surface has a thin film of pattern spider webs that seem to get removed and replaced. He's murmuring under his breath in a sing-song manner, and a string of worn mala dangles from one hand, each bead carved with a one-tusked elephant's face.
Shelby shimmers into view just at the fountain, and shifts into Crinos even before she turns around. The light rain glistens on her coat like precious jewels though a quick shake sends most of it flying. An in-place turn, her muzzle tipped to the sky, is paused at the sight of the other ragabash, though after a moment she completes the circuit rather than interrupt the man. Apparently convinced all is well she drops to all fours to shake again, then pace over to crouch near the bench to wait politely for Tim's attention.
A longer pause than usual suggests Tim has noted Shelby's approach, but only when he ends that repetition and wraps the mala tightly in one hand does he actually look over at her. Staying stable on the back of the bench proves tricky, but he manages with effort. "Hey," he says, pocketing the beads. "What's up."
~I thought I would be alone here,~ the crinos rumbles, amused. ~But you are like "Visa". You're everywhere I want to be.~ Even so, she doesn't seem terribly put out by this, but returns to homid to tug her clothes straighter. "Evening, Tim-rhya."
Tim gives Shelby a look of sharp-edged amusement. "This used to be my Pack's territory," he explains, and folds his hands between his knees. His eyes stray out over the Glade. "I always liked patrolling this when the Moon was big. Even if I had to," he nods out at the darker city, "play Frogger getting in here sometimes."
"Visa-rhya," Shelby muses, just as though she's considering bestowing a new name. "Hmm." She gives their surroundings another dose of close attention. "It's... nice here, but I don't know that I'd be comfortable coming through anywhere but the fountain. How long was it in your territory?"
Tim's mouth twitches with a suppressed smile in response to the name; his expression is every inch a dare for her to use it in seriousness. Then the look vanishes at her question. "Almost two years," he replies absently, gaze wandering away once more. His eyes narrow, and he seems annoyed about something, but shrugs it off by hopping down from the bench. "I grew up in a city Caern. Places like this were our bread and butter, so."
"You wouldn't expect to find a place like this, here," the younger ragabash says. "It's too bad more of the city isn't like it, but I suppose if it were, it wouldn't be the city." If he's going to stand she'll sit, perching on the edge of the bench with head cocked to one side as she alternately watches him and the surreptitious spirits. "How is the search for a new pack coming along?"
An alleycat creeps along through the grass, pausing to go down on its belly in one of Shelby's glances, and only continuing when she looks back away. Its mottled black and white coat can't seem to decide on a pattern, and swims around haphazardly.
Tim surveys Shelby at the question, then shrugs and looks away. "As well as it ever does. I don't really search much, you know? And Sora's been busy." He smiles, but it's rueful. "Sooner or later some group of folks drags me off, or Owl drops me somewhere appropriate, and it happens."
Perhaps Shelby didn't see the kitty, but somehow she manages to keep her head turned just enough to watch it out of the corner of one eye while continuing the conversation with Tim. "I had a very nice talk with Meg, actually. Not about packing, but it made me think about packing with her. Zosia said she'd probably shut down and run away, and I should wear a helmet." She, on the other hand, finds either the suggestion or the mental picture quite amusing.
Tim laughs and shakes his head. "Well--she's right, Meg tends to clam up," he snaps one hand shut, "if you talk about packs and packing. But maybe she'd listen if you ease into it. Like, work with her more, get to know her more." He stops short of saying something else, and opts for, "Kind of a shame Sora's not about now, she was trying to get Meg to come around."
"Apparently I'm only worth talking to now that I'm Cliath," Shelby adds, a little dryly, then shrugs. "Well, at least you aren't laughing at me for even suggesting it. Her. I'll take that as some sort of encouragement." The cat gets a few seconds unimpeded when the Fang turns her full attention onto Tim. "Hypothetically, what would you think of packing with her? Could you do it?"
That first part gets Shelby a heavy level of scrutiny; Tim looks at her, chews her observation over, then stows it away with a blink and a shrug. "Ah, well, I'd be fine with it," he says in regards to her question. "She's a good Theurge, she's not up in anoyne's business about most things, and she's reliable." He pauses, and warns Shelby, "She ah, does have opinions, though."
The alleycat spirit is stalking something now, and ignores Shelby. (Well, maybe it does--the coat continues to shift any time the Fang's eyes fall on it, like a taunting ink blot.) Things scurry away in the grass, fearful of the hungry-but-not-very-threatening predator.
"Zosia said something about how she didn't like cubs," she explains with another can't-explain-it shrug. After all, cubs are made out of ice cream. Chocolate ice cream. As for the warning, Shelby merely smirks. "Remember who my Elder is, if you please," she says with mock-primness. "Though Zosia also said something of the sort. Which makes me wonder just how bad it is if she says Meg's judgmental."
Tim shakes his head. "I wouldn't call it judgmental. It's more like, there are some things she feels strongly about, and others, she couldn't care less. Not much different than anyone else." His teeth flash in a smile of agreement about Zosia and Meg. "Well, at least not much different from Zosia." He nods over at the fetish. "She hates talens and fetishes," here the Strider pauses, one hand scratching at his beard, and continues with an echo of Shelby's own comment, "and has some sort of problem with cubs." Though his list ends there, it has a definite hole in it. Something he's not mentioning.
The alleycat crouches, butt high and wiggling, and then leaps onto something. Numerous rats and garter snakes and roaches scatter, and a squirrel scolds it angrily from one of the trees. The cat emerges with a very large roach spirit in its mouth, the prey already beginning to dissolve into ephemera and merge with the cat.
"And she has a beard," Shelby notes wisely, nodding as though she's solved all the world's problems. She'd go on but there's a sudden flurry of predator and prey; she turns to study the commotion for a few seconds before applauding the wee tiger's kill. "I don't suppose spirits around here get up to the zoo very often," she notes a touch wistfully, either to Tim or to the cat or possibly both. "Not that I can speak properly to them, unless they're being particularly polite."
Tim turns to glance at the alleycat, momentarily tense. He relaxes when he sees the last of the roach vanishing, and his eyes flit to the small snakes as they wriggle away into hiding like he needs to know where they've gone. "If she has a beard, she does a great job maintaining it," he says, looking at Shelby once more. "Some might. Could be worth it to have a Theurge ask some of them."
The cat hops onto the edge of the fountain to groom itself in victory, and the squirrel gives up his lament. The black and white body pattern slows and almost stops, offering a less distracting tableau.
"Don't we all," says Shelby of beard-maintenance, followed swiftly by, "If we only had a Theurge." She continues to watch the cat, though idly now, letting it groom in relative peace. "We're doing chiminage to rat spirits up at the old zoo for scouting it for us. Leaving food and nesting materials in the realm, mostly." A glance back to Tim and she stops paying attention to the cat entirely. "I don't suppose you've heard about the ronin in town? Caleb?"
Did the cat's ears pin at the word 'rat'? They may have. It continues grooming, though, just to show Shelby it wasn't that interested.
"Caleb? Yeah, met him, uh, once. He seemed okay, aside from the whole Ronin thing." Tim suppresses a shudder at the notion of having no Tribe, and tilts his head. "Zosia said something about keeping away from a guy named Grant? Or something?"
"Oh, she's caught you up? I only got the story out of her this afternoon." The Fang resettles on the bench, all ready for any passing photographer, and nods. "Right. I don't know the entire story--I don't think Zosia knows the entire story--but Grant's a second-rank Ragabash Silver Fang looking for... well, looking for who Caleb used to be. I don't particularly care for either of them, but Caleb, at least, has Kaz-rhya's permission to be here. He's got something like three months to be accepted by another tribe," she adds, off-handed.
"Not caught up, just, left a voicemail to the effect that there was something going on." Tim turns in a circle, thinking about what Shelby's said. "So Caleb shows up, a Ronin from your Tribe, then Grant shows up, looking for him?" He arches an eyebrow. "What did Caleb supposedly do?" The rest is met with a shrug; either he doesn't care much about giving Ronin a chance, or realizes that with Kaz in charge it's inevitable.
Shelby shrugs again and returns her attention to the cat. "I don't know. He's supposed to tell the story at a Moot, though." Something about that moues the girl's lips, but after a moment she continues, "It's all politics, as far as I can tell. I suppose the two of them are going to try and drag other people in, which is just tacky."
Tim tries not to laugh at Shelby's complaint, and is largely successful. "Right. Well, looking forward to it." His tone is dry; he appreciates Shelby's lack of desire for there to be a scene, even if he finds it funny. "So meanwhile if I run into Grant it's mum's the word, right? Do I play completely dumb or just mostly?"
Bending over to offer wiggling fingers at the kitty, Shelby glances up and over at Tim, expression turned wry. "Mmm. --Well, however you like, I suppose. He's looking for someone who, as Zosia explained it to me, doesn't exist anymore. I plan on tweaking him, at little at least; you're a Fostern too, so you'll probably have more leeway. I think the goal is mostly just to keep the two away from each other."
"Doesn't--" Tim blinks. "Oh. He didn't just renounce, he broke with his past?"
The cat doesn't look at Shelby while watching her out of the corner of one eye. (One never knows when Gnosis might be offered...) It pays some amount of attention to the fountain, and goes so far as to wave a paw at droplets that fly close.
Shelby says, "He did the... Rite of Renunciation? And," her eyes close briefly, "yes, she said he did the one that breaks his past." Straightening--sorry kitty, no gnosis today--she offers Tim a quirked smile. "Something about a Fostern challenge is all I really know about it, and now Grant's on the warpath."
Tim squints, looking out at the city. "Sounds pretty bad, if he changed his damned name as well as dropped the Tribe." He shakes himself out. "Be careful not to yank Grant's chain too hard." He looks askance at Shelby. "A second rank New Moon is a nasty customer, and he's from your Tribe, so it could be twice as bad."
She spreads her hands, the very image of blue-eyed innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tim-rhya. I don't know this person who Grant is looking for. I'm only a recently-rited Cliath, but I'm sure I'll keep my eyes open. What did you say his bloodlines were, again?"
Tim says, without remorse, "Wendigo. Purest bred. You'd think Chief Seattle himself had stepped out of a gibbous' talesinging to shake your hand and teach you how to be a proper Garou." He smiles winningly. "Let me know if you see him, yeah?"
The purest-bred Silver Fang nods terribly earnestly, her drawl out in full force. "Why I certainly will. Now, I simply must show you this charming little Greek restaurant. Their spanokopita is just to die for."
"Yeah?" Tim looks quite serious, and abandons all talk of Wendigo and Ronin and Grant. He might be a bit hungry. "How's their galaktoboureko?"
Shelby, to her everlasting chagrin, has to waggle her hand so-so. "A little gummy. I think they make it ahead and freeze it. Their kourabiedes are passable, though."
Tim's expression falls; he seems mildly disappointed, though admits, "Pastry is kind of a bitch and a half to make, I can't blame them really." With a glance up at the moon, he says, "Meg's inclined to wisdom Totems, I think. Mostly Tree." He sounds like he expects the later to be obvious.
"It shouldn't," Shelby repeats primly, "be gummy. --I could live with a Wisdom totem," she goes on, glancing toward the moon--the real one--and rising. "I think I'm going to go see if I can find her. At the very least, it will be a nice walk in the woods. I'll leave you to your enjoyment of the grove, Tim-rhya."
"Tell her I said hi," Tim says, nodding. He turns towards the deeper portion of the grove--conveniently where some of the little snakes hid--and begins to meander that way. "Road rise to meet you, Shelby," he adds over his shoulder. The cat hisses at him and swats as he passes it; he chooses to ignore the display, and it pins its ears in mild annoyance.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (74% full).
Umbra: Harbor Park
The Umbral ground beneath your feet here is lush with vegetation, an oasis of life amidst the concrete and webbing of the scab. Trees stand proud and tall here, their branches full of leaves. Shrubs line the outer edges of the park, tangled with encroaching webs. The fountain stands out boldly from even the surrounding area, the sleek lines sharper and more pronounced. Clean pure water roars and cascades from the figure in the fountain's center, falling into a cold clear pool that looks quite inviting. Spreading out from the fountain, the rest of the park is a green veldt that seems to radiate life and strength. The river banks the east shore of the park, bridged by a massive rusty bridge. On this shore, the glade seems to have spread out on to it, vines winding around the supports. Further across the river, the bridge melds into the scab again, flaked with rust and covered in webs. The river itself is clean within a few feet of the shore, but black ooze seems to encroach menacingly from the murk of the rest of the river.
A walkway leads out of the Glade-like atmosphere of the park from just north of the fountain. Eastward, the dark span of the bridge stretches over the vile river. Dark streets lead west and southwest into the blighted Umbra of the city.
The Umbral Glade is lit at all times as if it is the full moon.
Obvious exits:
North Southwest West Bridge
The light rain of the Realm is echoed here in the Shadow, with Luna's still-large face sending a pale sheen out over the city's Glade. The aptly named fetish echoes this glow back ten-fold and gives the grass, trees, and animals of the Umbra a sharper, more defined edge than they might usually have. The less savory city spirits skulk out of the Glade's reach with hungry eyes that glint if they move.
Tim crouches in his homid form on the back of a shadowy park bench; its surface has a thin film of pattern spider webs that seem to get removed and replaced. He's murmuring under his breath in a sing-song manner, and a string of worn mala dangles from one hand, each bead carved with a one-tusked elephant's face.
Shelby shimmers into view just at the fountain, and shifts into Crinos even before she turns around. The light rain glistens on her coat like precious jewels though a quick shake sends most of it flying. An in-place turn, her muzzle tipped to the sky, is paused at the sight of the other ragabash, though after a moment she completes the circuit rather than interrupt the man. Apparently convinced all is well she drops to all fours to shake again, then pace over to crouch near the bench to wait politely for Tim's attention.
A longer pause than usual suggests Tim has noted Shelby's approach, but only when he ends that repetition and wraps the mala tightly in one hand does he actually look over at her. Staying stable on the back of the bench proves tricky, but he manages with effort. "Hey," he says, pocketing the beads. "What's up."
~I thought I would be alone here,~ the crinos rumbles, amused. ~But you are like "Visa". You're everywhere I want to be.~ Even so, she doesn't seem terribly put out by this, but returns to homid to tug her clothes straighter. "Evening, Tim-rhya."
Tim gives Shelby a look of sharp-edged amusement. "This used to be my Pack's territory," he explains, and folds his hands between his knees. His eyes stray out over the Glade. "I always liked patrolling this when the Moon was big. Even if I had to," he nods out at the darker city, "play Frogger getting in here sometimes."
"Visa-rhya," Shelby muses, just as though she's considering bestowing a new name. "Hmm." She gives their surroundings another dose of close attention. "It's... nice here, but I don't know that I'd be comfortable coming through anywhere but the fountain. How long was it in your territory?"
Tim's mouth twitches with a suppressed smile in response to the name; his expression is every inch a dare for her to use it in seriousness. Then the look vanishes at her question. "Almost two years," he replies absently, gaze wandering away once more. His eyes narrow, and he seems annoyed about something, but shrugs it off by hopping down from the bench. "I grew up in a city Caern. Places like this were our bread and butter, so."
"You wouldn't expect to find a place like this, here," the younger ragabash says. "It's too bad more of the city isn't like it, but I suppose if it were, it wouldn't be the city." If he's going to stand she'll sit, perching on the edge of the bench with head cocked to one side as she alternately watches him and the surreptitious spirits. "How is the search for a new pack coming along?"
An alleycat creeps along through the grass, pausing to go down on its belly in one of Shelby's glances, and only continuing when she looks back away. Its mottled black and white coat can't seem to decide on a pattern, and swims around haphazardly.
Tim surveys Shelby at the question, then shrugs and looks away. "As well as it ever does. I don't really search much, you know? And Sora's been busy." He smiles, but it's rueful. "Sooner or later some group of folks drags me off, or Owl drops me somewhere appropriate, and it happens."
Perhaps Shelby didn't see the kitty, but somehow she manages to keep her head turned just enough to watch it out of the corner of one eye while continuing the conversation with Tim. "I had a very nice talk with Meg, actually. Not about packing, but it made me think about packing with her. Zosia said she'd probably shut down and run away, and I should wear a helmet." She, on the other hand, finds either the suggestion or the mental picture quite amusing.
Tim laughs and shakes his head. "Well--she's right, Meg tends to clam up," he snaps one hand shut, "if you talk about packs and packing. But maybe she'd listen if you ease into it. Like, work with her more, get to know her more." He stops short of saying something else, and opts for, "Kind of a shame Sora's not about now, she was trying to get Meg to come around."
"Apparently I'm only worth talking to now that I'm Cliath," Shelby adds, a little dryly, then shrugs. "Well, at least you aren't laughing at me for even suggesting it. Her. I'll take that as some sort of encouragement." The cat gets a few seconds unimpeded when the Fang turns her full attention onto Tim. "Hypothetically, what would you think of packing with her? Could you do it?"
That first part gets Shelby a heavy level of scrutiny; Tim looks at her, chews her observation over, then stows it away with a blink and a shrug. "Ah, well, I'd be fine with it," he says in regards to her question. "She's a good Theurge, she's not up in anoyne's business about most things, and she's reliable." He pauses, and warns Shelby, "She ah, does have opinions, though."
The alleycat spirit is stalking something now, and ignores Shelby. (Well, maybe it does--the coat continues to shift any time the Fang's eyes fall on it, like a taunting ink blot.) Things scurry away in the grass, fearful of the hungry-but-not-very-threatening predator.
"Zosia said something about how she didn't like cubs," she explains with another can't-explain-it shrug. After all, cubs are made out of ice cream. Chocolate ice cream. As for the warning, Shelby merely smirks. "Remember who my Elder is, if you please," she says with mock-primness. "Though Zosia also said something of the sort. Which makes me wonder just how bad it is if she says Meg's judgmental."
Tim shakes his head. "I wouldn't call it judgmental. It's more like, there are some things she feels strongly about, and others, she couldn't care less. Not much different than anyone else." His teeth flash in a smile of agreement about Zosia and Meg. "Well, at least not much different from Zosia." He nods over at the fetish. "She hates talens and fetishes," here the Strider pauses, one hand scratching at his beard, and continues with an echo of Shelby's own comment, "and has some sort of problem with cubs." Though his list ends there, it has a definite hole in it. Something he's not mentioning.
The alleycat crouches, butt high and wiggling, and then leaps onto something. Numerous rats and garter snakes and roaches scatter, and a squirrel scolds it angrily from one of the trees. The cat emerges with a very large roach spirit in its mouth, the prey already beginning to dissolve into ephemera and merge with the cat.
"And she has a beard," Shelby notes wisely, nodding as though she's solved all the world's problems. She'd go on but there's a sudden flurry of predator and prey; she turns to study the commotion for a few seconds before applauding the wee tiger's kill. "I don't suppose spirits around here get up to the zoo very often," she notes a touch wistfully, either to Tim or to the cat or possibly both. "Not that I can speak properly to them, unless they're being particularly polite."
Tim turns to glance at the alleycat, momentarily tense. He relaxes when he sees the last of the roach vanishing, and his eyes flit to the small snakes as they wriggle away into hiding like he needs to know where they've gone. "If she has a beard, she does a great job maintaining it," he says, looking at Shelby once more. "Some might. Could be worth it to have a Theurge ask some of them."
The cat hops onto the edge of the fountain to groom itself in victory, and the squirrel gives up his lament. The black and white body pattern slows and almost stops, offering a less distracting tableau.
"Don't we all," says Shelby of beard-maintenance, followed swiftly by, "If we only had a Theurge." She continues to watch the cat, though idly now, letting it groom in relative peace. "We're doing chiminage to rat spirits up at the old zoo for scouting it for us. Leaving food and nesting materials in the realm, mostly." A glance back to Tim and she stops paying attention to the cat entirely. "I don't suppose you've heard about the ronin in town? Caleb?"
Did the cat's ears pin at the word 'rat'? They may have. It continues grooming, though, just to show Shelby it wasn't that interested.
"Caleb? Yeah, met him, uh, once. He seemed okay, aside from the whole Ronin thing." Tim suppresses a shudder at the notion of having no Tribe, and tilts his head. "Zosia said something about keeping away from a guy named Grant? Or something?"
"Oh, she's caught you up? I only got the story out of her this afternoon." The Fang resettles on the bench, all ready for any passing photographer, and nods. "Right. I don't know the entire story--I don't think Zosia knows the entire story--but Grant's a second-rank Ragabash Silver Fang looking for... well, looking for who Caleb used to be. I don't particularly care for either of them, but Caleb, at least, has Kaz-rhya's permission to be here. He's got something like three months to be accepted by another tribe," she adds, off-handed.
"Not caught up, just, left a voicemail to the effect that there was something going on." Tim turns in a circle, thinking about what Shelby's said. "So Caleb shows up, a Ronin from your Tribe, then Grant shows up, looking for him?" He arches an eyebrow. "What did Caleb supposedly do?" The rest is met with a shrug; either he doesn't care much about giving Ronin a chance, or realizes that with Kaz in charge it's inevitable.
Shelby shrugs again and returns her attention to the cat. "I don't know. He's supposed to tell the story at a Moot, though." Something about that moues the girl's lips, but after a moment she continues, "It's all politics, as far as I can tell. I suppose the two of them are going to try and drag other people in, which is just tacky."
Tim tries not to laugh at Shelby's complaint, and is largely successful. "Right. Well, looking forward to it." His tone is dry; he appreciates Shelby's lack of desire for there to be a scene, even if he finds it funny. "So meanwhile if I run into Grant it's mum's the word, right? Do I play completely dumb or just mostly?"
Bending over to offer wiggling fingers at the kitty, Shelby glances up and over at Tim, expression turned wry. "Mmm. --Well, however you like, I suppose. He's looking for someone who, as Zosia explained it to me, doesn't exist anymore. I plan on tweaking him, at little at least; you're a Fostern too, so you'll probably have more leeway. I think the goal is mostly just to keep the two away from each other."
"Doesn't--" Tim blinks. "Oh. He didn't just renounce, he broke with his past?"
The cat doesn't look at Shelby while watching her out of the corner of one eye. (One never knows when Gnosis might be offered...) It pays some amount of attention to the fountain, and goes so far as to wave a paw at droplets that fly close.
Shelby says, "He did the... Rite of Renunciation? And," her eyes close briefly, "yes, she said he did the one that breaks his past." Straightening--sorry kitty, no gnosis today--she offers Tim a quirked smile. "Something about a Fostern challenge is all I really know about it, and now Grant's on the warpath."
Tim squints, looking out at the city. "Sounds pretty bad, if he changed his damned name as well as dropped the Tribe." He shakes himself out. "Be careful not to yank Grant's chain too hard." He looks askance at Shelby. "A second rank New Moon is a nasty customer, and he's from your Tribe, so it could be twice as bad."
She spreads her hands, the very image of blue-eyed innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tim-rhya. I don't know this person who Grant is looking for. I'm only a recently-rited Cliath, but I'm sure I'll keep my eyes open. What did you say his bloodlines were, again?"
Tim says, without remorse, "Wendigo. Purest bred. You'd think Chief Seattle himself had stepped out of a gibbous' talesinging to shake your hand and teach you how to be a proper Garou." He smiles winningly. "Let me know if you see him, yeah?"
The purest-bred Silver Fang nods terribly earnestly, her drawl out in full force. "Why I certainly will. Now, I simply must show you this charming little Greek restaurant. Their spanokopita is just to die for."
"Yeah?" Tim looks quite serious, and abandons all talk of Wendigo and Ronin and Grant. He might be a bit hungry. "How's their galaktoboureko?"
Shelby, to her everlasting chagrin, has to waggle her hand so-so. "A little gummy. I think they make it ahead and freeze it. Their kourabiedes are passable, though."
Tim's expression falls; he seems mildly disappointed, though admits, "Pastry is kind of a bitch and a half to make, I can't blame them really." With a glance up at the moon, he says, "Meg's inclined to wisdom Totems, I think. Mostly Tree." He sounds like he expects the later to be obvious.
"It shouldn't," Shelby repeats primly, "be gummy. --I could live with a Wisdom totem," she goes on, glancing toward the moon--the real one--and rising. "I think I'm going to go see if I can find her. At the very least, it will be a nice walk in the woods. I'll leave you to your enjoyment of the grove, Tim-rhya."
"Tell her I said hi," Tim says, nodding. He turns towards the deeper portion of the grove--conveniently where some of the little snakes hid--and begins to meander that way. "Road rise to meet you, Shelby," he adds over his shoulder. The cat hisses at him and swats as he passes it; he chooses to ignore the display, and it pins its ears in mild annoyance.