Hark! A Shadow Lord!
Dec. 17th, 2010 05:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 12:52 Pacific Time on Fri Dec 17 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (77% full).
Bawn: Western Forest
On Star will be going. Reforges the Lost walks her forepaws forward, stretching out on her belly to lay in a very sphynx-like manner. She has some knowledges of things. There's a pause that follows, the Fianna's head turning to not quite look at the Shadow Lord. All must be cautious, she warns and probably unnecessary. Must move carefully and leave no sign we were there.
On-Star, he repeats, thinking. Oh, right. The Glass Walker. And, to the latter, he seems almost amused. Of course, he replies smoothly, tipping his ears back. As with anything. Is this mostly scouting?
Reforges-the-Lost seems to think it will be. But who can tell what the outcome will be. Mends Lost will be coming up with a plan and will explain everything when we gather.
Night's-Shadow huffs out an agreement. Okay. And then, with a bit more levity, he says, I can be sneaky when I want to be, even though I'm not a ragabash. Is this the same problem you and On-Star were talking about, or is it a different one?
Night's Shadow
This is a dark black wolf, average in stature and with no markings to contrast the black fur outside of a few scars here and there, though they look to be of no real consequence. The wolf's dark brown eyes reflect a level of cunning and intelligence, however, and they glint with the spark of rage that those who know what they are looking for may be able to pick out.
Different. Mends Lost was asked to help On Star with problems on ~Fidelity~ territory. The Fianna's ears fold back slightly. That is another problem that needs to be finished, but it is On Star's pack's problem. Speak to Bridge Builder-rhya to help with it.
White shouldn't be so difficult to lose in a forest, especially one without snow on the ground. But as Falcon's Gambit moves easily through the trees, perhaps her coat is a patch of sunlight, or the glint off a stream or standing water. The Silver Fang approaches the pair, scentless, only the faintest noises heralding her arrival.
Ah, the theurge muses. If a pack is already on it, then I doubt too much help is needed. But I'll keep it in mind. An ear twitches at a few of the noises, but Night's-Shadow doesn't turn towards them.
Reforges-the-Lost flicks an ear toward the sounds as well, head tilting slightly. Mends Lost will find Bridge Builder-rhya, if Night's Shadow wishes. Possibly, more might be welcome in helping with scar problems.
Like her human side, the wolf form still clings to youth, though she's fast maturing. Her legs remain long and lanky, though she appears to have grown into those paws and ears of her's.
Reforges the Lost
Arms and legs have toned, hands and feet becoming paws designed for covering most any terrain and ranging long distances. Her torso settles into the lean and muscular body of her ancestors. The cub's head has broadened, nose and mouth lengthened into a canine muzzle filled with teeth for crushing and tearing. Ears take on a feral shape, keen and naturally lupine in design. A tail stretches forth from her rump.
Deep gray fur covers her form from nose to tail, save for several scarred lines, one which runs along her neck that runs from the base of her skull and along the left side of ner neck, ending at her collar bone. The second is a set of three thin lines that begin just below her right eye, travel along her muzzle, and end at her mouth. The coloration deviates also, giving way to lighter smokey brown and gray that splashes from her chin down to her chest and belly, and touches her hind paws. The coarse guard hairs are almost black on top, lightening as it works its way down her form. The thick under coat is a dark gray, transitioning to a creamy coffee color along the lighter toned patches of fur.
Eyes of burnished yellow gaze inquisitively and calculating, the coloring heightened by her dark coloring.
Falcon's Gambit stops not far from the two, an ear flicking greeting at the Fianna before her attention lands squarely on the stranger. Who are you? she asks, less forceful than a demand but less casually than mere politeness. She herself could have stepped from a Silver Fang recruiting poster, were there such a thing: her breeding is obvious, even to the untrained eye.
Well, we'll see what happens on this mission. If it needs a lot of attention I'd hate to spread myself too-- And then the Silver Fang makes herself known and he cuts himself off, ears flicking forward as he regards her. And then, easily enough, he replies: Night's-Shadow, cliath and theurge of the Shadow Lords. And then he hesitates, and, as though to make sure he isn't getting in Trouble, adds, I have permission from Falcon's-Grace to be on the bawn.
Reforges-the-Lost tilts her head, not fully seeing what might have caught Night's Shadow's attention. Without scent telling her something is near, though her nose works to grab at something, ears near quiver at the more verbal exchanges. Her gaze lands in Falcon's Gambit's general area, not quite seeing the Ragabash.
The Fang tilts an amused ear at Reforges-the-Lost and takes a step closer before letting the gift dissipate and her scent return. Falcon's Gambit Accepted, she introduces herself in turn. Cliath ragabash of Falcon's tribe. Bright Falcon's Grace is my alpha. I have been looking for you, Reforges-the-Lost. She notes this almost as an aside, rather than shoehorning into the others' conversation.
Night's-Shadow pays a little more attention to the Fang once she lets the gift fall, catching her scent and committing it to memory. Good to meet you. And, he adds with a bit of amusement regarding her alpha, I thought you might be.
Reforges-the-Lost relaxes visibly, easily recognizing the Fang once scent is returned. She turns her head to not-quite regard the Shadow Lord, though an ear remains tilted toward the Ragabash. Falcon's Gambit has found Mends Lost, the Galliard states pleasantly. Mends Lost has been enjoying a conversation with Night's Shadow.
I have not seen a Shadow Lord for some time, the Fang continues pleasantly after a moment, when neither of the others adds anything. Your Elder here had challenged for Fostern, but he was not successful. She adds to the Galliard that the Warder asked her to help the Fianna - something about dogs and tunnels.
Night's-Shadow has heard there aren't many around, he admits ruefully. Also heard that the elder here is a bit hard to catch. I still need to get ahold of someone for chiminage. At the latter, though, he tips a glance sideways to the Fianna, a bit curious.
Mends Lost has also spoken with the Warder. The Galliard stands again and shakes out her fur, feet spread wide to keep her balance. Then, after a moment of unseeing nosing through the grasses she turns her head toward Edgewood again. If Falcon's Gambit wants to help with tunnels, she needs to speak to Bridge Builder-rhya. As for dogs, Mends Lost is waiting for Icetrap to reply to words left for him.
Falcon's Gambit notes, after a moment and a sidelong glance back at the Shadow Lord, that the Alpha here is metis. She turns back to Reforges Lost then, to wonder curiously where the tunnels are? The Warder did not say, but if two Glass Walkers know about them, they are probably within the city...?
Night's-Shadow appears unphased by this news. I know, I've heard. It's difficult to read anything, for better or worse, in his posture. And, to the rest, he just says: I guess the tunnels are what were being talked about before. But dogs?
Reforges-the-Lost lets out a sigh, her hind end coming to rest on the ground again. Tunnels are in the scar, on ~Fidelity~ territory, she explains. Her head swings back toward the Ragabash, still not truly seeing her, then turns again toward the Theurge. Fomori dogs. One that is difficult to kill still around.
Falcon's Gambit sits, on hearing the tunnel's location, and flips her tail around her haunches in a silent 'ah'. Claimed territory. It is strange I have not smelled or heard these dogs. I travel often through where they have been seen. They must be very clever.
Night's-Shadow's ear flicks back. Huh. Lots going on, it seems like. Well, I'm around if either of you need any help with anything. And, he ponders. Clever, he says to Falcon's Gambit, or have ways to go without scent, like ragabash. He gives a lupine equilivant of a shrug. Either way, it obviously needs to be found.
Mends Lost is hoping to talk to Icetrap about the remaining dog. Reforges the Lost flicks an ear toward Night's Shadow, a sign of agreeing. Lots and too much going on. Good time to be ~Garou~. There's a pause, then the Fianna looks in Falcon's Gambit's general direction. Would Falcon's Gambit tell her alpha that Mends Lost has been caring for the rats?
Everyone seems confused about my auspice, Falcon's Gambit complains, amused. I will tell her, but it would probably look better if you told her yourself. She glances over at the theurge again and stands, shaking out her coat. Maybe. I will continue to look for them. You know of the place at the edge of the woods?
Night's-Shadow agrees with that much by Mends Lost, at least. As another thing is mentioned he doesn't know about, he twitches an ear but doesn't question about it. To the Fang's question, he answers that he does, though he clearly isn't sure if the question is directed toward him or not.
Mends Lost is going to the house at woods edge, the Fianna indicates. Time for thinking and making ideas. With the impression of a glance back, she whuffs in fairwell to the Silver Fang and Shadow Lords. Stay safe.
Falcon's Gambit huffs a farewell at the Fianna and pauses to nibble a foreleg while the Galliard takes her leave. After the younger garou is gone she shifts up to homid, automatically shrugging deeper into her coat. "Shift," she directs pleasantly to Night's Shadow. "We might as well finish our introductions. --Unless you're one of those who doesn't speak English?" She gives him an expectant look.
Bye! The theurge watches the Fianna go, and the shift snags his attention. He looks amused at something or another, but follows suit and shifts on up. He too pulls his jacket on tighter as it proves significantly colder without a warm layer of fur, but he gives a wry grin and offers a hand out. "Not a word," he replies with a chuckle. "Xander Yin."
"Shame," the Virginian drawls, taking his hand in hers. "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque, great-great-granddaughter of the Adren Galliard Winter's Snow on Summer's Branches, the Adren Philodox Silver Sword with Two Blades, and the Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood. There's others, of course" she adds, off-handed, "but I really think we ought to concentrate on your lack of English. Have you thought about taking classes?"
Xander seems a little unsurprised by the list of relatives, but he patiently listens and even offers, "Seems like you have quite the, uh, background." It sounds earnest enough, and to the latter he simply gives a helpless shrug. "Yeah, some. But, you know, this whole garou thing gets in the way. Besides, I might kinda freak out an ESL class with the rage thing, I hear not many people are huge on that."
"Silver Fang," Shelby explains, with a little 'what can you do' shrug. "Well, we have a few lupus around. They'd probably be glad to help you." She glances off toward a sound and back to the Lord. "So what brings you here, Xander? It wasn't our lovely weather, I assume?"
Xander stuffs his hands back in his jacket pockets. "Sheesh, no kidding, it's freezing up here. Ah, just been on the road a bit, heard there wasn't much, uh, tribal representation up this way, and I needed a place to stay."
Xander isn't particularly tall or noticeable in public; he is about 5'6" or so, and fairly slightly built. He looks young for his age - upper teens - though he also looks confident and comfortable in his skin. He has a thick head of black hair, cut reasonably short to keep it just out of his dark brown eyes. It's usually crammed under a baseball cap and he's most frequently found in jeans and a t-shirt with a worn leather jacket in the winters.
He's Korean in lineage, though he has very little accent beyond generic American.
Shelby studies him for a moment before offering a wry smile and a shake of her head. "Well, hopefully you've found the latter, even if finding tribemates is a little trickier. Are you planning on staying long-term?"
"Far as I know," Xander replies with a little half-smile. "Haven't managed to catch anyone for chiminage yet, but no one's seemed violently opposed to the idea yet, anyway. Just looking for something to do around here in the meantime, feel weird sitting around doing nothing."
"Well," she offers matter-of-factly, "Are you more of a city mouse, or a country mouse? --We should go to Edgewood," she adds half a second later. "It's too cold to stand out here and talk, but you just can't talk about this sort of thing in lupus." With a jerk of her head as invitation, she heads off in the direction the blinded Fianna went, assuming that he'll come along. "What are you thinking, for chiminage?"
"I can handle either," the theurge replies, seeming a little relieved at the suggestion, heading after her without delay. "Umbra's nicer in the country, but things need to be done in both places. If," he adds wryly, "You're talking about living conditions, probably in the city. I like a few luxuries. Like a heater." And, to the last, he shrugs. "Your elder suggested Rites. I apparently have a couple that aren't well-known around here."
Shelby tucks her hands into her pockets and slants a look sidelong. "Indoor plumbing," she suggests, just managing to keep from laughter. "I hear you. Most of my work's been done out here, but I really ought to learn more of the city. It's not like we're going to wake up one day and the thing is going to be gone, no matter what the Wendigo and Uktena hope."
Xander gives an amused grin to the first. "No kidding. And, heh, yeah. Modern times, modern times. In fact, I think it's useful to know how to handle yourself in both places. For more reasons than just that. I mean, sometimes Weaver things come into places like this, and vice versa." He glances over toward her, a bit thoughtfully. "Being a garou out in the city's totally different. Even I haven't really worked in a city this big, my old Sept was small."
"Which one was it?" the girl asks, stepping fastidiously over a fallen log rather than risk tumbling from rotting wood. Once safe on the other side her hands, which had flung wide for balance, return promptly to her pockets despite gloves. "One of my teachers was from the Sept of the Green, though I think he thought I was too prissy to teach all the dirt."
"Low Plains. In Texas. In the middle of a bunch of oil fields, cows, and -nothing-." He doesn't seem to particularly miss it very much. "Oh, yeah, Green's in New York, huh." He steps over the log, as well. "Too 'prissy', huh?" He grins. "Bah, just bein' a garou means you gotta get dirty, anyway. You have Glass Walkers around here, yeah? Bet you could ask one of them to show you the ropes."
Shelby wrinkles her nose. "--Ew," she declares of Xander's origins. "I don't think I could stand it if there weren't civilization. It's nice to be able to buy a cappuccino, you know? And we do have Walkers, but I don't know any of them terribly well. Even the one I know best, another Ragabash, I haven't seen for a while. I suppose I'll have to go to them, instead of waiting for them to come to me." She eyes the lowering branches as if this lack of Glass Walkerness is their fault before returning to an earlier, "What sort of Rites? I imagine Zosia will want to learn one or two, if she doesn't have them already."
"There was a city around, but it was tiny. Odessa? Little town that didn't do much outside of football. And man, going to high school there?" He chuckles and shakes his head. "Sucked. I mean, can you picture someone like me playing football? Hell no." As if to emphasize this, he unpockets his hands long enough to gesture down his slight frame. "I'd be smooshed." To the latter, he just shrugs, repocketing his hands with a little shiver. "Yeah, probably. And, uh..." He thinks. "Break with the past, precognition, Cleansing, Calling the Guide, Deft Evasion... Binding. Oh, and Dedication, of course."
Shelby ohs? and considers him with interest. "You went to high school? I graduated before my First Change. We didn't have football where I went - it was a private school, and we had a few teams, but nothing like... well, nothing like that one TV show." Amused by this--or by something--she quirks a smile mostly to herself. As for the list, "Well, Zosia's right about one thing: I'm not familiar with a lot of those Rites. I'm teaching--well, trying to teach, I don't know how it's going--Dedication right now. Does your version involve blood?"
Xander quirks his eyebrows upward. "Really? You had a later change then, huh. Uh, well, I just went for a couple years. I was sixteen." He pauses, and then muses a bit. "Yeah, that TV show. There's one that's pretty much based on where I grew up, which was kinda weird." And, to the question, he nods. "Yeah, I think most do. That's how I was taught. I've tried to do it other ways, but I haven't found anything yet that's worked for me."
"Seventeen," the Fang confirms, though she can't be much older than that right now. "Friday Night Lights? That's the one I'm thinking of. I've only seen a couple of episodes." His news about the Rite causes her nose to wrinkle again, sourly this time.
"Yeah, that one, actually," Xander chuckles. "The football team there thinks they're all awesome because of that." He shakes his head, and then catches that sour look with an arched brow. "Why, you looking for another way to do it?"
She snickers companionably, "From what I understand, football players don't need a television show to think they're awesome," and veers right around an elder cedar before falling into step beside him again. "Just... looking. Questioning, you know? Trying to make sure I understand how it all works. They say you can't ever really know something until you try to teach someone, and I'm finally beginning to understand what that means."
"You have no idea," Xander replies dryly, and then listens to the rest. "Mm," the theurge agrees. "Well. Take it from someone who's taught a lot of Rites: sometimes teaching it will make you be able to see something a different way, and then you'll be able to make it work in a way that's more 'you'. Rites are ... customizable, to an extent. You gotta get taught the way it works, and then later you'll be able to put your own touch to it. Just takes time."
Breath in, breath out, and Shelby's smile this time is more rueful. "Well. That's something, anyway. Thank you. Encouraging, even if 'someday' is probably months if not years away. If you end up teaching those gifts for chiminage, you can put me in the 'interested' line. And if that doesn't work, for whatever reason, perhaps we could do a trade. I know Feed the Earth and this meditation-thing called, um... Gayatri, I think. I learned it from a lupus, of all things, so it might... well, no. So it is going to be a little weird."
"Cool. I'll remember that and get in touch with you." Xander mulls over a thought, though. "I dunno. Some come easier than others. Dedication is one of those, fortunately, that doesn't exactly have bad results if you don't get it to work, so you can kinda experiment a little. The general idea of Dedication is to put something of yourself into it so the spirits involved can recognize it as 'you', if that makes sense." And, to the latter, he looks amused. "Oh man. We didn't have any lupus. I don't think I've ever even been around lupus."
"True," the ragabash acknowledges. "And, even better, you get immediate feedback if it worked or not." She ducks under a branch before holding it up for the Lord. "Oh? She's... I like her. She's not only lupus, but Indian - her name's Rat-Tale, and she's a Gnawer Galliard. I'll leave it to you to imagine the language barrier. Barriers. Plus," she adds, "I learned Dedication in Polish." Speaking of language barriers.
Xander ducks under the branch as well, reaching a hand out to take it so she doesn't have to hold on to it. He lets it spring back once they are both free. "Oh yeah? Wow, yeah. That'd be tough." And, he looks impressed at that last. "Oh, cool. You know Polish?"
Back go Shelby's hands into her pockets, just as soon as they're able. "Zaleski-Leveque," she repeats, stressing the first surname just a hair. "So, yes. Fluent in Polish, and I've conversational French. Technically speaking, Mother's Tongue is my fourth language." She delivers this all matter-of-factly, and with a teenager's casualness. "We have a whole bunch of different languages around here--you should ask Chandini-rhya how many she speaks sometime--but at least Mother's Tongue is a common factor, right?"
"Wow," the Shadow Lord replies, clearly impressed. "I know some Korean, though just enough to get by, I wouldn't call myself fluent. More like... 'I could order food in restaurants'." He looks a bit rueful there. "And yeah, for sure. Otherwise I don't know how we'd all talk to each other."
Shelby flashes him a quick grin. "Well, most of us speak English, too--or acknowledge that we speak it, anyway. So there are only a few outliers out there who can't or won't talk to you about television and that new Natalie Portman movie. Not like there are a lot of Polish restaurants, anyway, so you're one up on me."
Xander matches the grin, amused. "True, true. I imagine the more woodsy types out here might look at you weird if you mentioned a movie or a TV show, anyway. And yeah, can't say I've ever been in a Polish restaurant before. I'm not even sure I know what kind of food they'd have, to be honest. I'm not really up to date on my... uh, Polish knowledge."
"You and most of the rest of the country," sighs the Fang with mock-regret. "My grandmother makes a killer sernik." She stops to listen as a wavering howl cuts through the air: where is Falcon's Gambit Accepted? "--Speaking of. Sounds like I'm wanted. It was nice meeting you, Xander. I'll give you my cell next time I see you - and you've been told they're not allowed on the bawn, right?" She doesn't wait for an answer but shifts easily back to lupus and trots off into the afternoon, her own voice lifting in a reply.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (77% full).
Bawn: Western Forest
On Star will be going. Reforges the Lost walks her forepaws forward, stretching out on her belly to lay in a very sphynx-like manner. She has some knowledges of things. There's a pause that follows, the Fianna's head turning to not quite look at the Shadow Lord. All must be cautious, she warns and probably unnecessary. Must move carefully and leave no sign we were there.
On-Star, he repeats, thinking. Oh, right. The Glass Walker. And, to the latter, he seems almost amused. Of course, he replies smoothly, tipping his ears back. As with anything. Is this mostly scouting?
Reforges-the-Lost seems to think it will be. But who can tell what the outcome will be. Mends Lost will be coming up with a plan and will explain everything when we gather.
Night's-Shadow huffs out an agreement. Okay. And then, with a bit more levity, he says, I can be sneaky when I want to be, even though I'm not a ragabash. Is this the same problem you and On-Star were talking about, or is it a different one?
Night's Shadow
This is a dark black wolf, average in stature and with no markings to contrast the black fur outside of a few scars here and there, though they look to be of no real consequence. The wolf's dark brown eyes reflect a level of cunning and intelligence, however, and they glint with the spark of rage that those who know what they are looking for may be able to pick out.
Different. Mends Lost was asked to help On Star with problems on ~Fidelity~ territory. The Fianna's ears fold back slightly. That is another problem that needs to be finished, but it is On Star's pack's problem. Speak to Bridge Builder-rhya to help with it.
White shouldn't be so difficult to lose in a forest, especially one without snow on the ground. But as Falcon's Gambit moves easily through the trees, perhaps her coat is a patch of sunlight, or the glint off a stream or standing water. The Silver Fang approaches the pair, scentless, only the faintest noises heralding her arrival.
Ah, the theurge muses. If a pack is already on it, then I doubt too much help is needed. But I'll keep it in mind. An ear twitches at a few of the noises, but Night's-Shadow doesn't turn towards them.
Reforges-the-Lost flicks an ear toward the sounds as well, head tilting slightly. Mends Lost will find Bridge Builder-rhya, if Night's Shadow wishes. Possibly, more might be welcome in helping with scar problems.
Like her human side, the wolf form still clings to youth, though she's fast maturing. Her legs remain long and lanky, though she appears to have grown into those paws and ears of her's.
Reforges the Lost
Arms and legs have toned, hands and feet becoming paws designed for covering most any terrain and ranging long distances. Her torso settles into the lean and muscular body of her ancestors. The cub's head has broadened, nose and mouth lengthened into a canine muzzle filled with teeth for crushing and tearing. Ears take on a feral shape, keen and naturally lupine in design. A tail stretches forth from her rump.
Deep gray fur covers her form from nose to tail, save for several scarred lines, one which runs along her neck that runs from the base of her skull and along the left side of ner neck, ending at her collar bone. The second is a set of three thin lines that begin just below her right eye, travel along her muzzle, and end at her mouth. The coloration deviates also, giving way to lighter smokey brown and gray that splashes from her chin down to her chest and belly, and touches her hind paws. The coarse guard hairs are almost black on top, lightening as it works its way down her form. The thick under coat is a dark gray, transitioning to a creamy coffee color along the lighter toned patches of fur.
Eyes of burnished yellow gaze inquisitively and calculating, the coloring heightened by her dark coloring.
Falcon's Gambit stops not far from the two, an ear flicking greeting at the Fianna before her attention lands squarely on the stranger. Who are you? she asks, less forceful than a demand but less casually than mere politeness. She herself could have stepped from a Silver Fang recruiting poster, were there such a thing: her breeding is obvious, even to the untrained eye.
Well, we'll see what happens on this mission. If it needs a lot of attention I'd hate to spread myself too-- And then the Silver Fang makes herself known and he cuts himself off, ears flicking forward as he regards her. And then, easily enough, he replies: Night's-Shadow, cliath and theurge of the Shadow Lords. And then he hesitates, and, as though to make sure he isn't getting in Trouble, adds, I have permission from Falcon's-Grace to be on the bawn.
Reforges-the-Lost tilts her head, not fully seeing what might have caught Night's Shadow's attention. Without scent telling her something is near, though her nose works to grab at something, ears near quiver at the more verbal exchanges. Her gaze lands in Falcon's Gambit's general area, not quite seeing the Ragabash.
The Fang tilts an amused ear at Reforges-the-Lost and takes a step closer before letting the gift dissipate and her scent return. Falcon's Gambit Accepted, she introduces herself in turn. Cliath ragabash of Falcon's tribe. Bright Falcon's Grace is my alpha. I have been looking for you, Reforges-the-Lost. She notes this almost as an aside, rather than shoehorning into the others' conversation.
Night's-Shadow pays a little more attention to the Fang once she lets the gift fall, catching her scent and committing it to memory. Good to meet you. And, he adds with a bit of amusement regarding her alpha, I thought you might be.
Reforges-the-Lost relaxes visibly, easily recognizing the Fang once scent is returned. She turns her head to not-quite regard the Shadow Lord, though an ear remains tilted toward the Ragabash. Falcon's Gambit has found Mends Lost, the Galliard states pleasantly. Mends Lost has been enjoying a conversation with Night's Shadow.
I have not seen a Shadow Lord for some time, the Fang continues pleasantly after a moment, when neither of the others adds anything. Your Elder here had challenged for Fostern, but he was not successful. She adds to the Galliard that the Warder asked her to help the Fianna - something about dogs and tunnels.
Night's-Shadow has heard there aren't many around, he admits ruefully. Also heard that the elder here is a bit hard to catch. I still need to get ahold of someone for chiminage. At the latter, though, he tips a glance sideways to the Fianna, a bit curious.
Mends Lost has also spoken with the Warder. The Galliard stands again and shakes out her fur, feet spread wide to keep her balance. Then, after a moment of unseeing nosing through the grasses she turns her head toward Edgewood again. If Falcon's Gambit wants to help with tunnels, she needs to speak to Bridge Builder-rhya. As for dogs, Mends Lost is waiting for Icetrap to reply to words left for him.
Falcon's Gambit notes, after a moment and a sidelong glance back at the Shadow Lord, that the Alpha here is metis. She turns back to Reforges Lost then, to wonder curiously where the tunnels are? The Warder did not say, but if two Glass Walkers know about them, they are probably within the city...?
Night's-Shadow appears unphased by this news. I know, I've heard. It's difficult to read anything, for better or worse, in his posture. And, to the rest, he just says: I guess the tunnels are what were being talked about before. But dogs?
Reforges-the-Lost lets out a sigh, her hind end coming to rest on the ground again. Tunnels are in the scar, on ~Fidelity~ territory, she explains. Her head swings back toward the Ragabash, still not truly seeing her, then turns again toward the Theurge. Fomori dogs. One that is difficult to kill still around.
Falcon's Gambit sits, on hearing the tunnel's location, and flips her tail around her haunches in a silent 'ah'. Claimed territory. It is strange I have not smelled or heard these dogs. I travel often through where they have been seen. They must be very clever.
Night's-Shadow's ear flicks back. Huh. Lots going on, it seems like. Well, I'm around if either of you need any help with anything. And, he ponders. Clever, he says to Falcon's Gambit, or have ways to go without scent, like ragabash. He gives a lupine equilivant of a shrug. Either way, it obviously needs to be found.
Mends Lost is hoping to talk to Icetrap about the remaining dog. Reforges the Lost flicks an ear toward Night's Shadow, a sign of agreeing. Lots and too much going on. Good time to be ~Garou~. There's a pause, then the Fianna looks in Falcon's Gambit's general direction. Would Falcon's Gambit tell her alpha that Mends Lost has been caring for the rats?
Everyone seems confused about my auspice, Falcon's Gambit complains, amused. I will tell her, but it would probably look better if you told her yourself. She glances over at the theurge again and stands, shaking out her coat. Maybe. I will continue to look for them. You know of the place at the edge of the woods?
Night's-Shadow agrees with that much by Mends Lost, at least. As another thing is mentioned he doesn't know about, he twitches an ear but doesn't question about it. To the Fang's question, he answers that he does, though he clearly isn't sure if the question is directed toward him or not.
Mends Lost is going to the house at woods edge, the Fianna indicates. Time for thinking and making ideas. With the impression of a glance back, she whuffs in fairwell to the Silver Fang and Shadow Lords. Stay safe.
Falcon's Gambit huffs a farewell at the Fianna and pauses to nibble a foreleg while the Galliard takes her leave. After the younger garou is gone she shifts up to homid, automatically shrugging deeper into her coat. "Shift," she directs pleasantly to Night's Shadow. "We might as well finish our introductions. --Unless you're one of those who doesn't speak English?" She gives him an expectant look.
Bye! The theurge watches the Fianna go, and the shift snags his attention. He looks amused at something or another, but follows suit and shifts on up. He too pulls his jacket on tighter as it proves significantly colder without a warm layer of fur, but he gives a wry grin and offers a hand out. "Not a word," he replies with a chuckle. "Xander Yin."
"Shame," the Virginian drawls, taking his hand in hers. "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque, great-great-granddaughter of the Adren Galliard Winter's Snow on Summer's Branches, the Adren Philodox Silver Sword with Two Blades, and the Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood. There's others, of course" she adds, off-handed, "but I really think we ought to concentrate on your lack of English. Have you thought about taking classes?"
Xander seems a little unsurprised by the list of relatives, but he patiently listens and even offers, "Seems like you have quite the, uh, background." It sounds earnest enough, and to the latter he simply gives a helpless shrug. "Yeah, some. But, you know, this whole garou thing gets in the way. Besides, I might kinda freak out an ESL class with the rage thing, I hear not many people are huge on that."
"Silver Fang," Shelby explains, with a little 'what can you do' shrug. "Well, we have a few lupus around. They'd probably be glad to help you." She glances off toward a sound and back to the Lord. "So what brings you here, Xander? It wasn't our lovely weather, I assume?"
Xander stuffs his hands back in his jacket pockets. "Sheesh, no kidding, it's freezing up here. Ah, just been on the road a bit, heard there wasn't much, uh, tribal representation up this way, and I needed a place to stay."
Xander isn't particularly tall or noticeable in public; he is about 5'6" or so, and fairly slightly built. He looks young for his age - upper teens - though he also looks confident and comfortable in his skin. He has a thick head of black hair, cut reasonably short to keep it just out of his dark brown eyes. It's usually crammed under a baseball cap and he's most frequently found in jeans and a t-shirt with a worn leather jacket in the winters.
He's Korean in lineage, though he has very little accent beyond generic American.
Shelby studies him for a moment before offering a wry smile and a shake of her head. "Well, hopefully you've found the latter, even if finding tribemates is a little trickier. Are you planning on staying long-term?"
"Far as I know," Xander replies with a little half-smile. "Haven't managed to catch anyone for chiminage yet, but no one's seemed violently opposed to the idea yet, anyway. Just looking for something to do around here in the meantime, feel weird sitting around doing nothing."
"Well," she offers matter-of-factly, "Are you more of a city mouse, or a country mouse? --We should go to Edgewood," she adds half a second later. "It's too cold to stand out here and talk, but you just can't talk about this sort of thing in lupus." With a jerk of her head as invitation, she heads off in the direction the blinded Fianna went, assuming that he'll come along. "What are you thinking, for chiminage?"
"I can handle either," the theurge replies, seeming a little relieved at the suggestion, heading after her without delay. "Umbra's nicer in the country, but things need to be done in both places. If," he adds wryly, "You're talking about living conditions, probably in the city. I like a few luxuries. Like a heater." And, to the last, he shrugs. "Your elder suggested Rites. I apparently have a couple that aren't well-known around here."
Shelby tucks her hands into her pockets and slants a look sidelong. "Indoor plumbing," she suggests, just managing to keep from laughter. "I hear you. Most of my work's been done out here, but I really ought to learn more of the city. It's not like we're going to wake up one day and the thing is going to be gone, no matter what the Wendigo and Uktena hope."
Xander gives an amused grin to the first. "No kidding. And, heh, yeah. Modern times, modern times. In fact, I think it's useful to know how to handle yourself in both places. For more reasons than just that. I mean, sometimes Weaver things come into places like this, and vice versa." He glances over toward her, a bit thoughtfully. "Being a garou out in the city's totally different. Even I haven't really worked in a city this big, my old Sept was small."
"Which one was it?" the girl asks, stepping fastidiously over a fallen log rather than risk tumbling from rotting wood. Once safe on the other side her hands, which had flung wide for balance, return promptly to her pockets despite gloves. "One of my teachers was from the Sept of the Green, though I think he thought I was too prissy to teach all the dirt."
"Low Plains. In Texas. In the middle of a bunch of oil fields, cows, and -nothing-." He doesn't seem to particularly miss it very much. "Oh, yeah, Green's in New York, huh." He steps over the log, as well. "Too 'prissy', huh?" He grins. "Bah, just bein' a garou means you gotta get dirty, anyway. You have Glass Walkers around here, yeah? Bet you could ask one of them to show you the ropes."
Shelby wrinkles her nose. "--Ew," she declares of Xander's origins. "I don't think I could stand it if there weren't civilization. It's nice to be able to buy a cappuccino, you know? And we do have Walkers, but I don't know any of them terribly well. Even the one I know best, another Ragabash, I haven't seen for a while. I suppose I'll have to go to them, instead of waiting for them to come to me." She eyes the lowering branches as if this lack of Glass Walkerness is their fault before returning to an earlier, "What sort of Rites? I imagine Zosia will want to learn one or two, if she doesn't have them already."
"There was a city around, but it was tiny. Odessa? Little town that didn't do much outside of football. And man, going to high school there?" He chuckles and shakes his head. "Sucked. I mean, can you picture someone like me playing football? Hell no." As if to emphasize this, he unpockets his hands long enough to gesture down his slight frame. "I'd be smooshed." To the latter, he just shrugs, repocketing his hands with a little shiver. "Yeah, probably. And, uh..." He thinks. "Break with the past, precognition, Cleansing, Calling the Guide, Deft Evasion... Binding. Oh, and Dedication, of course."
Shelby ohs? and considers him with interest. "You went to high school? I graduated before my First Change. We didn't have football where I went - it was a private school, and we had a few teams, but nothing like... well, nothing like that one TV show." Amused by this--or by something--she quirks a smile mostly to herself. As for the list, "Well, Zosia's right about one thing: I'm not familiar with a lot of those Rites. I'm teaching--well, trying to teach, I don't know how it's going--Dedication right now. Does your version involve blood?"
Xander quirks his eyebrows upward. "Really? You had a later change then, huh. Uh, well, I just went for a couple years. I was sixteen." He pauses, and then muses a bit. "Yeah, that TV show. There's one that's pretty much based on where I grew up, which was kinda weird." And, to the question, he nods. "Yeah, I think most do. That's how I was taught. I've tried to do it other ways, but I haven't found anything yet that's worked for me."
"Seventeen," the Fang confirms, though she can't be much older than that right now. "Friday Night Lights? That's the one I'm thinking of. I've only seen a couple of episodes." His news about the Rite causes her nose to wrinkle again, sourly this time.
"Yeah, that one, actually," Xander chuckles. "The football team there thinks they're all awesome because of that." He shakes his head, and then catches that sour look with an arched brow. "Why, you looking for another way to do it?"
She snickers companionably, "From what I understand, football players don't need a television show to think they're awesome," and veers right around an elder cedar before falling into step beside him again. "Just... looking. Questioning, you know? Trying to make sure I understand how it all works. They say you can't ever really know something until you try to teach someone, and I'm finally beginning to understand what that means."
"You have no idea," Xander replies dryly, and then listens to the rest. "Mm," the theurge agrees. "Well. Take it from someone who's taught a lot of Rites: sometimes teaching it will make you be able to see something a different way, and then you'll be able to make it work in a way that's more 'you'. Rites are ... customizable, to an extent. You gotta get taught the way it works, and then later you'll be able to put your own touch to it. Just takes time."
Breath in, breath out, and Shelby's smile this time is more rueful. "Well. That's something, anyway. Thank you. Encouraging, even if 'someday' is probably months if not years away. If you end up teaching those gifts for chiminage, you can put me in the 'interested' line. And if that doesn't work, for whatever reason, perhaps we could do a trade. I know Feed the Earth and this meditation-thing called, um... Gayatri, I think. I learned it from a lupus, of all things, so it might... well, no. So it is going to be a little weird."
"Cool. I'll remember that and get in touch with you." Xander mulls over a thought, though. "I dunno. Some come easier than others. Dedication is one of those, fortunately, that doesn't exactly have bad results if you don't get it to work, so you can kinda experiment a little. The general idea of Dedication is to put something of yourself into it so the spirits involved can recognize it as 'you', if that makes sense." And, to the latter, he looks amused. "Oh man. We didn't have any lupus. I don't think I've ever even been around lupus."
"True," the ragabash acknowledges. "And, even better, you get immediate feedback if it worked or not." She ducks under a branch before holding it up for the Lord. "Oh? She's... I like her. She's not only lupus, but Indian - her name's Rat-Tale, and she's a Gnawer Galliard. I'll leave it to you to imagine the language barrier. Barriers. Plus," she adds, "I learned Dedication in Polish." Speaking of language barriers.
Xander ducks under the branch as well, reaching a hand out to take it so she doesn't have to hold on to it. He lets it spring back once they are both free. "Oh yeah? Wow, yeah. That'd be tough." And, he looks impressed at that last. "Oh, cool. You know Polish?"
Back go Shelby's hands into her pockets, just as soon as they're able. "Zaleski-Leveque," she repeats, stressing the first surname just a hair. "So, yes. Fluent in Polish, and I've conversational French. Technically speaking, Mother's Tongue is my fourth language." She delivers this all matter-of-factly, and with a teenager's casualness. "We have a whole bunch of different languages around here--you should ask Chandini-rhya how many she speaks sometime--but at least Mother's Tongue is a common factor, right?"
"Wow," the Shadow Lord replies, clearly impressed. "I know some Korean, though just enough to get by, I wouldn't call myself fluent. More like... 'I could order food in restaurants'." He looks a bit rueful there. "And yeah, for sure. Otherwise I don't know how we'd all talk to each other."
Shelby flashes him a quick grin. "Well, most of us speak English, too--or acknowledge that we speak it, anyway. So there are only a few outliers out there who can't or won't talk to you about television and that new Natalie Portman movie. Not like there are a lot of Polish restaurants, anyway, so you're one up on me."
Xander matches the grin, amused. "True, true. I imagine the more woodsy types out here might look at you weird if you mentioned a movie or a TV show, anyway. And yeah, can't say I've ever been in a Polish restaurant before. I'm not even sure I know what kind of food they'd have, to be honest. I'm not really up to date on my... uh, Polish knowledge."
"You and most of the rest of the country," sighs the Fang with mock-regret. "My grandmother makes a killer sernik." She stops to listen as a wavering howl cuts through the air: where is Falcon's Gambit Accepted? "--Speaking of. Sounds like I'm wanted. It was nice meeting you, Xander. I'll give you my cell next time I see you - and you've been told they're not allowed on the bawn, right?" She doesn't wait for an answer but shifts easily back to lupus and trots off into the afternoon, her own voice lifting in a reply.