Caleb continues to not win points
Dec. 28th, 2010 04:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 11:32 Pacific Time on Tue Dec 28 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (49% full).
Edgewood House: Downstairs
The front door leads into a small mudroom; coats are hanging on hooks. It opens into the spacious, well lit living room, with several battered old couches arranged into a sort of conversation pit facing the fireplace, a table in the center of them. There are a few chairs, some straight-backed, some plush and comfortable, arranged to make secondary conversation areas, with little end tables placed in strategic locations. There's a notable absence of either breakable objects, or elaborate electrical equipment such as televisions. The walls, painted an increasingly dingy white, have some sweeping dark fabric prints on them, but no paintings or posters. A steep, uncarpeted staircase leads up to the second floor. There are several doors that lead out to other sections of the house, as well. (+view for details)
Obvious exits:
Front Door Upstairs
Burglars have raided the kitchen at Edgewood, and ransacked the room. That is a possible first impression, anyway. Cupboard and refrigerator doors are open, packets and cans, bottles and boxes strewn across the floor. A trail of Captain Crunch and damp stripes leads right down the length of the kitchen to the far end, where a zebra-striped creature with a cereal-box for a head stands facing the corner between two cabinets, making strange scrunching noises and wagging her tail.
Shelby trots down the stairs from the second level, humming to herself as she swings around the newel post to head for the kitchen. To head for the... blast zone. The Silver Fang stops in the doorway as though she'd run into a wall, her eyes tracking over the room in painful slow motion. The dented peaches (in light syrup). The empty plastic bags. The extra-crunchy Captain Crunch. Slowly she steps into the kitchen, wincing at the pitiful crackle underfoot. "Oh my god."
After parking his car and making it into the front door, Caleb aims for the kitchen. He catches the reaction from Shelby, and so rather than offer the Fang a proper greeting, hurries forward with concern. "What is it?" And then he too finds the mess. "Oh geezus."
Rat-Tale looks around. At least, she would, but the box of Captain Crunch is still firmly wedged over her head, so it's a cereal box that 'looks' at the other Garou. She wags her tail again anyway, recognising the voice despite the obstruction to her hearing. Good food! (The others might guess; it's a little harder to tell than usual). Falcon's-Trick wants some?
"Oh my god!" is how Shelby greets Caleb, rather distractedly and without her usual careful manners around the Ronin. Another step forward, another crunch and another wince, and she catches sight of the Gnawer, her expression caught in the painful moment between tears and laughter. "Rat-Tale! Did you make this mess? Come here; get that thing off your face." She crouches encouragingly, even though the Galliard can't possibly see.
Caleb blinks as a name is tagged to the crime. He too steps forward, careful to avoid the largest piles of mess. "Wow. That's. That's impressive."
Tall and slenderly built, this young man appears to be just tipping into his twenties. Dark hair that is worn in that rather popular 'casual-messy' style hangs down on his brow and begins to curl at the base of his neck, as well as tuft slightly over his ears. His eyes are a very light brown but are alert and full of consideration. He dresses casually but with thought, and carries himself with a loose, but not entirely carefree posture.
Rat-Tale's tail sends another packet scooting across the floor as the Gnawer backs up and then turns around. She shakes herself, but rather than water it's the cereal box that flies off, pinging from a ceiling light and landing in the sink. The wolf-mutt licks her chops thoughtfully and perks her ears at the other new arrival. Her tail continues to indiscriminately wag its greetings to both the others. Oh! Hello! Want food too? Place has lots, look!
"Not any more it doesn't," Shelby says crossly as she stands to take in the disarray. "God, Rat-Tale, did you leave anything untouched? You better clean all this up." A glance to the floor--perhaps to one of those shiny glints of slobber--nearly pulls her lips from her teeth, her nostrils are flaring so much.
Caleb looks from Gnawer to Fang and then back. A mischievous grin catches hold of him that he fights to wipe off his face. "Broom and mop time it looks like Rat-Tale."
Rat-Tale eyes Shelby with puzzlement. Her head turns to look around the kitchen, quizzically at Caleb, then back at the Fang. What? Eat all of it?
"You can either eat it all," the Fang agrees, "or get a broom and mop and clean it up in homid." Arms folded, she looks the very picture of someone's mother. Someone's very young mother, or one who's had a lot of very good work done. Either way, she's cross.
Caleb nods. "I'd recommend the broom and mop method myself. Might go a ways in proving you're not just some troublesome kitchen raiding wolf dog."
Rat-Tale continues to look puzzled, sitting down with a faint scrunching sound as she continues to peer at the other Garou, plainly unclear as to what is wrong with the floor as a storage location for food. Rat-Tale is not wolf. Rat-Tale is wolf-shifter.
Shelby glances at Caleb as if to say "Do you see what I have to deal with, here?" before addressing Rat-Tale again: "Right, and you've made a mess that everyone else has to deal with. Do you think that's 'respecting the territory of another'?"
Caleb shrugs at the Gnawer. "Sometimes you don't act like it. Maybe you've been wearing sheep's clothing too long." He glances to Shelby. "A lupus born Fang would never act like that. That's for sure."
Rat-Tale does a lupine double-take, her tail low now but still wagging. Wait, what? Not ~Sept~ territory here? What sheep? What's wrong?
The Silver Fang takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, probably counting to ten as well, for when they open again she's wearing a bright, false smile. Her tone is patient, though, when she explains, "This is Sept territory, yes. So you shouldn't throw food all over the place and waste it, any more than you'd kill more than your share on the bawn." A 'go for it' hand wave invites Caleb to explain himself.
Caleb looks over, "You wouldn't understand it. Human saying." He shrugs it off as that, perhaps a little offensive but the ronin seems as exasperated as the Fang in regard to the mess-inducing lupus. "Bottom line is, clean it up. This place should look like it did before you made the mess. And I don't think cleaning it up in your current form is gonna get the job done."
The Gnawer's tail stills as she scrunches up, her ears laying flat. Not wasted! Not! Food was hidden! Food not free! Now not hidden! Everyone sees food, eats food, now! She perks, then crouches again with her tail curling under. Food... not for Bone Gnawers?
A roll of her eyes and Shelby explains, "He means you've been using that dog collar so long you're starting to act like one. And the food wasn't hidden before. Everyone knew where it was." She gives the current food location another displeased look before turning back to the Gnawer with a short sigh. "The food is for everyone. But you have claimed it all, understand? I won't eat it now." A jerk of her head toward Caleb. "Even he wouldn't eat it."
Caleb is nodding along, much like a supportive husband in the scolding of a child... until the emphasis on he registers. "Hey!" he turns on the Fang. "We're yelling at Rat Tale right now, give me a break."
Rat-Tale grows more confused and more hoop-shaped by the moment. Not claimed. You eat too! Why not eat? Not hungry?
Shelby turns a quick look on the Ronin, one that's most easily interpreted as dismissive, but she does turn back to Rat-Tale. "No," she says, kneeling again and offering a hand, "We're not. And all this food is going...," for the first time she pauses, half-frowning, until a quick shake of her head. "Right now that's not important. First step is to clean it up. Caleb, find the broom and the dust pan, please."
Caleb quirks at that, a somewhat concerned look crossing his face. Still, for now he doesn't argue. He moves out of sight into the hallway, and a moment later comes back with the requested items. They're dropped off in front of Rat Tale and then dusts his hands off.
Rat-Tale looks down at the broom and the dust pan, then up again. Her tailtip thumps once, apologetically. What is?
"It's a broom," says Shelby, which may or may not be helpful. "Here, shift into homid, and we'll show you how to use it. --Actually," she amends, taking another look around, "let's start with picking up what we can, first." Hard to say if she's using the royal we or not, but she gestures encouragingly at Rat-Tale anyway.
Caleb doesn't jump in to help on this, standing back and watching with a mixture of curiousity and wariness.
Weird ~broom~, Rat-Tail asserts, sniffing at it, then shifting sloppily into her gangly-limbed and rather gaudily-dressed homid form, more-or-less sitting where she was previously parked in lupus. "Floor not bad," she notes, clearly not yet willing to let that subject drop. "Floor always before. No..." she pats a cupboard door. "That." Her now-human brow crinkles, and she tries a few words in something foreign before recollecting herself and translating. "Why different?"
A nondescript teenager whose ethnicity speaks strongly of the Indian subcontinent. She is quite short, perhaps a shade under five feet, light of build and thin but with hints of strength in the visible tendons of her hands and neck. Her face is pointed, with a small chin and narrow jaw, a narrow and arched nose, and wide eyebrows over sharp brown eyes. Her black hair is long and poorly brushed, roughly tied back with a scrap of grubby cord and further held back with a pair of cheap sunglasses perched on top of her head. She currently wears a bright pink top with a smewhat low-cut scalloped neckline, and a faded pair of soft black sweatpants. Her grubby brown toes peek out of a pair of red sandals, the straps decorated with gold rivets. The part that doesn't quite fit? That would be the tatty brown leather dog-collar she's wearing.
Caleb studies the homid shape of the girl, perhaps looking a little surprised she was capable of the shift at all. "We keep our food in cabinets, not sitting around on the floor. It keeps the food safe from pests. And keeps it clean."
"The floor is awful," Shelby says firmly, trusting to tone to convey her meaning even if words don't. "Come along; stand up." Which she does, demonstratively. "I don't know what you're asking, so we can discuss it later. First, clean up." It could be Silver Fang, or it could be Shelby, but she clearly expects the other two to follow her instructions. "We'll help."
Caleb looks over. "We'll? We'll help? Uh, no. I fetched the broom. I am not going to let her play dumb and put us to work over her mess."
The Gnawer tilts her head, still very wolflike, at Caleb's comment. "Mindit is a pest," she says after a thoughtful pause, and there's a lack of expression to both tone and expression, but it's probably more amused than offended. "Mindit is rat-wolf." She gives Shelby the same head-tilt, then points towards the Ronin. "He say it good. I am knowing now. You say, not eat it now any more. I am taking it to the shelter, haan? In the city. They eat it."
Shelby considers that for a moment or two, her attention on the Gnawer after an exasperated glance at Caleb. "Get it all together," she decides finally. "If it's still good, it will stay here. The things that you've ruined," she toes a golden puff of cereal, "will be thrown out. We'll decide what to do with anything else." "--Help or leave," she adds to Caleb, plainly not caring which he'll decide. "She's going to do the bulk of the work anyway."
"Beg your pardon? This home was opened to me, not by you, by the alpha. And you don't hold any power to kick me out of it just because you're in a bad mood. Sorry." Caleb offers back at the Fang.
"Not ruined," Mindit says, sidling away from Shelby and snagging the bit of cereal the cross Fang just toed away. She pops it, uncaring, into her mouth. "What work?" she adds innocently, reaching for a small orange box of rice, and then stacking a packet of lentils on top of it. After consideration, she adds a can of beans to the pile.
Shelby's, "Excuse me?" as she turns on Caleb isn't a plea, it's a demand. "I can do whatever I like, Ronin. You forget yourself." Blue eyes lock on the other Ragabash, the Silver Fang dropping Mindit from her attention.
The usual reaction from the ronin has been a quick deferrence. Today however, that is not the case. "No. That's what I've been doing for too long. I am not some piece of trash to be kicked around. And /you/ can stop treating me like I am."
"Eh..." Mindit sidles still further away, crouched with her weight on her feet rather than her knees. Moments later she's back in her birth form, the better to scoot out of the way.
"You are trash," the Silver Fang claims of Caleb, paying no attention to Rat-Tale whatsoever. "You're here on sufferance. You want to go cry to the Alpha, be my guest. Either help, or leave."
"I'll leave once you correct your words. I am of Gaia. And She does not consider me trash. So while you're on the Litany tirade, why don't you consider to respect all of Hers. Regardless of their position, actual or perceived, to you." Caleb replies back sharply, eyes meeting the others.
Rat-Tale reverses into the furthest corner, then sits up enough to start undoing the straps of her coat with her teeth.
"Oh, I respect you," Shelby claims, though her voice is laced with just enough sarcasm to place her words in doubt. "Just like I respect this Bone Gnawer. And I'll teach you both manners if I have to." She leans ever so slightly forward, invading the space between the two, her eyes boring into his.
There's a visible debate in his eyes. Their's age old, pedigreed, bonified pride as would be expected of a Fang in his glare, but there's also calculation. Eventually, wisdom (or worry) wins out and he turns his gaze away from her. "I'm leaving."
Rat-Tale glances up from worrying at the strap at her chest, then carefully scrunches herself even further ito the corner with her tail well under and her eyes downcast.
Shelby promptly turns away as soon as Caleb's submitted, the girl not sticking around to gloat. "Have a happy New Year if I don't see you before," she says as casually as if they'd just met at the grocery store, and while he's lingering in the generics, she ambles over to the imported cheese. Or rather, she crosses over to lay a hand meant to be reassuring on the back of Rat-Tale's head.
Caleb goes straight for the front door, forgetting his coat on the hook even, as he makes his way out in a gruff hurry.
The Gnawer plainly treats the Fang's gesture as other than reassuring, and collapses meekly onto her back with all four paws dangling limply in the air.
"You're fine," Shelby assures the Gnawer, and stands again, clearly refraining from digging her fingers into belly fur. "He doesn't know his place. Now," as she looks about the mess with mixed irritation and possessiveness, "let's get this cleaned up. Go ahead and shift back, please."
The Gnawer wriggles across the floor until she has room to shift- not that her homid form needs much space, but the zebra-coated Crinos on the way through takes up a bit of room. Back with two legs and opposable thumbs, the Gnawer pulls her lips into an expression that shows her teeth, and starts inexpertly stacking up boxes seemingly at random.
Shelby watches Mindit for a few seconds, until it seems apparent that there isn't going to be any surreptitious opening-of-packages-and-dumping-them-on-the-floor. Then she nods, satisfied, and (with much nose-wrinkling) steps over the cereal trail to attend to some of the unopened bags of crackers on the other side of the room. "You should eat human food in human form, you know," she says conversationally. "I suppose you didn't even think about making thumbs?"
"Why?" the Gnawer asks, blankly. Her Leaning Tower of Pizza tilts alarmingly as she tops it with a bag of flour.
The Fang casts a despairing eye across the debris field. "Because... well, because. It's easier to get at it, for one thin- watch out!" She leaps for the tower, hands outstretched.
"Easier?" Mindit eyes the tilting of the tower and Shelby's rescue with interest, but without any sign that she's taken in the significance of it leaning over- not if her attempt to add a bag of beans to the top is any indication. "No. Four legs are easier. Yes! Always in the city. When not having money, haan? Four legs are easier."
Shelby manages, barely, to save the flour, and grabs at the beans, but a few of the top-most boxes topple and go skittering back across the floor. Shelby closes her eyes again for a few seconds. "Go put these on the table," she says firmly--and oh, so sweetly--once she's opened them again, thrusting the bags at the Gnawer. "You aren't cleaning, you're just making it worse. Put everything on the table."
Rat-Tale looks to the table, to the floor, and to the cupboards. "Why?" She wonders aloud. "There, over there back there?" She puts a packet of potato chips straight into an open cupboard instead. "Better?"
The Ragabash takes another few seconds to think, though eventually she shakes her head. "No, not yet. I want to look at everything first. I'll see if any of it can be donated... given to the shelter, like you wanted. Then we have to put it back in the right spot." She gives the bags of flour and beans another 'here, take these' shake. "Everything off the floor first, then we clean the floor, then put away."
"Human things are so very comp-li-cate-ed," Mindit says in her disjointed, singsong accent, then eyes the Fang suspiciously. "I am not being a cub," she states, "This thing, that thing, this place, that place, that is not being important. That is being for shops. In other place it is all being in..." Words fail the Gnawer. ~Heap,~ she growls. "I am seeing that. In the city. You are making a joke I am thinking."
"They are complicated," Shelby agrees, "but no, sorting them is important." On that, she is quite clear, and quite stubborn. "You probably don't believe me, but humans use their eyes to find things, not their noses. We need to put it back properly to keep everyone happy." A breath, and inspiration: "Like the Alpha."
"Alpha is being Metis," Mindit points out; not disagreement, insofar as it's possible to tell from non-human mannerisms being relayed through a human shape. She puts the flour and beans on a nearby work-top, and turns away to rummage in another cupboard.
"And she knows how human houses work," Shelby insists, implacable on this fact. "What are you doing, Rat-Tale?" While she waits, and with a moue of distaste, the girl takes a peek at the bottom of one shoe and from the speed with which she sets it down again, promptly wishes she hadn't.
Being human doesn't stop Mindit from using her teeth as a handy way of holding bag-handles together while she collects more. She backs out of the cupboard again with three empty carrier bags held in her mouth and another couple in one hand. "Meemee-er!" she says, informatively, and squats down to start loading packages into the first of the empty bags.
"...Meemee-er," the Fang repeats, uncomprehending, but doesn't keep the Gnawer from doing what she's doing. She does keep an eye on the other girl as she carries a few boxes of pasta over to the table, pausing there to try and smooth out a dented end.
Mindit makes a somewhat odd bag-lady, but the carrier-bags do hasten the task of clearing the floor. The Gnawer hums cheerfully as she tracks to and fro. Tunelessly, but cheerfully.
Once she sees what the Gnawer has in mind Shelby relaxes, though she continues her slower, by-hand hauling - and once the pile on the table has reached a certain size, she starts sorting. Most of what Rat-Tale "discovered" is still good; a few items, with corners torn or with a label ripped off, go into one of the empty bags. Soon enough everything in a container is off the floor, and Shelby nods toward the broom where Caleb left it. "Do you know how to sweep?"
"Are being sweeps," Mindit says, nodding as though her head were controlled by a pupeteer's string. "Am not knowing broom here." Moving very carefully, as though having to work out the right muscle movements, she pantomimes a sweeping motion, but not one that would work with a typical yard-broom.
Shelby, as always gracious when it comes to helping the peasants, says, "I'll show you," and goes to get the broom herself. "I was hoping Caleb would show you," she continues as she sweeps a small patch of floor, keeping her movements large enough to be seen. "This would go much faster with three." Another bit of floor swept, and she offers the broom over. "Get it? Sweep everything into piles, and I'll use the dustpan."
It's not that the Gnawer is clumsy, exactly, and nor is she too stupid to work out what is required, nor too slow-witted to figure out how to do it. She is, though, clearly trying to use limbs that are not the shape she is used to, and which she occasionally attempts to use as though they were still those of her birth form. The resulting manual confusion means the brush tends to get dropped every time her instincts tell her that she lacks opposable thumbs. She also seems to be not entirely sure that she's managed a proper job of dustpile-creation until she's stooped down to sniff at it. The task, in other words, could go quicker. Eventually, however, it is completed. "When are we starting work then?" she asks once the last panful has been emptied and the cleaning materials put away.
While Mindit sweeps (and drops, and picks up again, and sniffs) Shelby quietly leaves her be, first carrying the food bags to the back door and then carting the remaining food items back to various cupboards and pantries, staying well clear of the Gnawer and moving on swept floor whenever possible. When there is a pile she waits for the Gnawer to leave it before swooping in behind to brush it up and thence deposit into the garbage. "I put them away for you," is her answer, nodding toward the empty table with a smile. "Come on, I'll drive you into town so you can take these things to the shelter."
[And they do]
Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (49% full).
Edgewood House: Downstairs
The front door leads into a small mudroom; coats are hanging on hooks. It opens into the spacious, well lit living room, with several battered old couches arranged into a sort of conversation pit facing the fireplace, a table in the center of them. There are a few chairs, some straight-backed, some plush and comfortable, arranged to make secondary conversation areas, with little end tables placed in strategic locations. There's a notable absence of either breakable objects, or elaborate electrical equipment such as televisions. The walls, painted an increasingly dingy white, have some sweeping dark fabric prints on them, but no paintings or posters. A steep, uncarpeted staircase leads up to the second floor. There are several doors that lead out to other sections of the house, as well. (+view for details)
Obvious exits:
Front Door Upstairs
Burglars have raided the kitchen at Edgewood, and ransacked the room. That is a possible first impression, anyway. Cupboard and refrigerator doors are open, packets and cans, bottles and boxes strewn across the floor. A trail of Captain Crunch and damp stripes leads right down the length of the kitchen to the far end, where a zebra-striped creature with a cereal-box for a head stands facing the corner between two cabinets, making strange scrunching noises and wagging her tail.
Shelby trots down the stairs from the second level, humming to herself as she swings around the newel post to head for the kitchen. To head for the... blast zone. The Silver Fang stops in the doorway as though she'd run into a wall, her eyes tracking over the room in painful slow motion. The dented peaches (in light syrup). The empty plastic bags. The extra-crunchy Captain Crunch. Slowly she steps into the kitchen, wincing at the pitiful crackle underfoot. "Oh my god."
After parking his car and making it into the front door, Caleb aims for the kitchen. He catches the reaction from Shelby, and so rather than offer the Fang a proper greeting, hurries forward with concern. "What is it?" And then he too finds the mess. "Oh geezus."
Rat-Tale looks around. At least, she would, but the box of Captain Crunch is still firmly wedged over her head, so it's a cereal box that 'looks' at the other Garou. She wags her tail again anyway, recognising the voice despite the obstruction to her hearing. Good food! (The others might guess; it's a little harder to tell than usual). Falcon's-Trick wants some?
"Oh my god!" is how Shelby greets Caleb, rather distractedly and without her usual careful manners around the Ronin. Another step forward, another crunch and another wince, and she catches sight of the Gnawer, her expression caught in the painful moment between tears and laughter. "Rat-Tale! Did you make this mess? Come here; get that thing off your face." She crouches encouragingly, even though the Galliard can't possibly see.
Caleb blinks as a name is tagged to the crime. He too steps forward, careful to avoid the largest piles of mess. "Wow. That's. That's impressive."
Tall and slenderly built, this young man appears to be just tipping into his twenties. Dark hair that is worn in that rather popular 'casual-messy' style hangs down on his brow and begins to curl at the base of his neck, as well as tuft slightly over his ears. His eyes are a very light brown but are alert and full of consideration. He dresses casually but with thought, and carries himself with a loose, but not entirely carefree posture.
Rat-Tale's tail sends another packet scooting across the floor as the Gnawer backs up and then turns around. She shakes herself, but rather than water it's the cereal box that flies off, pinging from a ceiling light and landing in the sink. The wolf-mutt licks her chops thoughtfully and perks her ears at the other new arrival. Her tail continues to indiscriminately wag its greetings to both the others. Oh! Hello! Want food too? Place has lots, look!
"Not any more it doesn't," Shelby says crossly as she stands to take in the disarray. "God, Rat-Tale, did you leave anything untouched? You better clean all this up." A glance to the floor--perhaps to one of those shiny glints of slobber--nearly pulls her lips from her teeth, her nostrils are flaring so much.
Caleb looks from Gnawer to Fang and then back. A mischievous grin catches hold of him that he fights to wipe off his face. "Broom and mop time it looks like Rat-Tale."
Rat-Tale eyes Shelby with puzzlement. Her head turns to look around the kitchen, quizzically at Caleb, then back at the Fang. What? Eat all of it?
"You can either eat it all," the Fang agrees, "or get a broom and mop and clean it up in homid." Arms folded, she looks the very picture of someone's mother. Someone's very young mother, or one who's had a lot of very good work done. Either way, she's cross.
Caleb nods. "I'd recommend the broom and mop method myself. Might go a ways in proving you're not just some troublesome kitchen raiding wolf dog."
Rat-Tale continues to look puzzled, sitting down with a faint scrunching sound as she continues to peer at the other Garou, plainly unclear as to what is wrong with the floor as a storage location for food. Rat-Tale is not wolf. Rat-Tale is wolf-shifter.
Shelby glances at Caleb as if to say "Do you see what I have to deal with, here?" before addressing Rat-Tale again: "Right, and you've made a mess that everyone else has to deal with. Do you think that's 'respecting the territory of another'?"
Caleb shrugs at the Gnawer. "Sometimes you don't act like it. Maybe you've been wearing sheep's clothing too long." He glances to Shelby. "A lupus born Fang would never act like that. That's for sure."
Rat-Tale does a lupine double-take, her tail low now but still wagging. Wait, what? Not ~Sept~ territory here? What sheep? What's wrong?
The Silver Fang takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, probably counting to ten as well, for when they open again she's wearing a bright, false smile. Her tone is patient, though, when she explains, "This is Sept territory, yes. So you shouldn't throw food all over the place and waste it, any more than you'd kill more than your share on the bawn." A 'go for it' hand wave invites Caleb to explain himself.
Caleb looks over, "You wouldn't understand it. Human saying." He shrugs it off as that, perhaps a little offensive but the ronin seems as exasperated as the Fang in regard to the mess-inducing lupus. "Bottom line is, clean it up. This place should look like it did before you made the mess. And I don't think cleaning it up in your current form is gonna get the job done."
The Gnawer's tail stills as she scrunches up, her ears laying flat. Not wasted! Not! Food was hidden! Food not free! Now not hidden! Everyone sees food, eats food, now! She perks, then crouches again with her tail curling under. Food... not for Bone Gnawers?
A roll of her eyes and Shelby explains, "He means you've been using that dog collar so long you're starting to act like one. And the food wasn't hidden before. Everyone knew where it was." She gives the current food location another displeased look before turning back to the Gnawer with a short sigh. "The food is for everyone. But you have claimed it all, understand? I won't eat it now." A jerk of her head toward Caleb. "Even he wouldn't eat it."
Caleb is nodding along, much like a supportive husband in the scolding of a child... until the emphasis on he registers. "Hey!" he turns on the Fang. "We're yelling at Rat Tale right now, give me a break."
Rat-Tale grows more confused and more hoop-shaped by the moment. Not claimed. You eat too! Why not eat? Not hungry?
Shelby turns a quick look on the Ronin, one that's most easily interpreted as dismissive, but she does turn back to Rat-Tale. "No," she says, kneeling again and offering a hand, "We're not. And all this food is going...," for the first time she pauses, half-frowning, until a quick shake of her head. "Right now that's not important. First step is to clean it up. Caleb, find the broom and the dust pan, please."
Caleb quirks at that, a somewhat concerned look crossing his face. Still, for now he doesn't argue. He moves out of sight into the hallway, and a moment later comes back with the requested items. They're dropped off in front of Rat Tale and then dusts his hands off.
Rat-Tale looks down at the broom and the dust pan, then up again. Her tailtip thumps once, apologetically. What is?
"It's a broom," says Shelby, which may or may not be helpful. "Here, shift into homid, and we'll show you how to use it. --Actually," she amends, taking another look around, "let's start with picking up what we can, first." Hard to say if she's using the royal we or not, but she gestures encouragingly at Rat-Tale anyway.
Caleb doesn't jump in to help on this, standing back and watching with a mixture of curiousity and wariness.
Weird ~broom~, Rat-Tail asserts, sniffing at it, then shifting sloppily into her gangly-limbed and rather gaudily-dressed homid form, more-or-less sitting where she was previously parked in lupus. "Floor not bad," she notes, clearly not yet willing to let that subject drop. "Floor always before. No..." she pats a cupboard door. "That." Her now-human brow crinkles, and she tries a few words in something foreign before recollecting herself and translating. "Why different?"
A nondescript teenager whose ethnicity speaks strongly of the Indian subcontinent. She is quite short, perhaps a shade under five feet, light of build and thin but with hints of strength in the visible tendons of her hands and neck. Her face is pointed, with a small chin and narrow jaw, a narrow and arched nose, and wide eyebrows over sharp brown eyes. Her black hair is long and poorly brushed, roughly tied back with a scrap of grubby cord and further held back with a pair of cheap sunglasses perched on top of her head. She currently wears a bright pink top with a smewhat low-cut scalloped neckline, and a faded pair of soft black sweatpants. Her grubby brown toes peek out of a pair of red sandals, the straps decorated with gold rivets. The part that doesn't quite fit? That would be the tatty brown leather dog-collar she's wearing.
Caleb studies the homid shape of the girl, perhaps looking a little surprised she was capable of the shift at all. "We keep our food in cabinets, not sitting around on the floor. It keeps the food safe from pests. And keeps it clean."
"The floor is awful," Shelby says firmly, trusting to tone to convey her meaning even if words don't. "Come along; stand up." Which she does, demonstratively. "I don't know what you're asking, so we can discuss it later. First, clean up." It could be Silver Fang, or it could be Shelby, but she clearly expects the other two to follow her instructions. "We'll help."
Caleb looks over. "We'll? We'll help? Uh, no. I fetched the broom. I am not going to let her play dumb and put us to work over her mess."
The Gnawer tilts her head, still very wolflike, at Caleb's comment. "Mindit is a pest," she says after a thoughtful pause, and there's a lack of expression to both tone and expression, but it's probably more amused than offended. "Mindit is rat-wolf." She gives Shelby the same head-tilt, then points towards the Ronin. "He say it good. I am knowing now. You say, not eat it now any more. I am taking it to the shelter, haan? In the city. They eat it."
Shelby considers that for a moment or two, her attention on the Gnawer after an exasperated glance at Caleb. "Get it all together," she decides finally. "If it's still good, it will stay here. The things that you've ruined," she toes a golden puff of cereal, "will be thrown out. We'll decide what to do with anything else." "--Help or leave," she adds to Caleb, plainly not caring which he'll decide. "She's going to do the bulk of the work anyway."
"Beg your pardon? This home was opened to me, not by you, by the alpha. And you don't hold any power to kick me out of it just because you're in a bad mood. Sorry." Caleb offers back at the Fang.
"Not ruined," Mindit says, sidling away from Shelby and snagging the bit of cereal the cross Fang just toed away. She pops it, uncaring, into her mouth. "What work?" she adds innocently, reaching for a small orange box of rice, and then stacking a packet of lentils on top of it. After consideration, she adds a can of beans to the pile.
Shelby's, "Excuse me?" as she turns on Caleb isn't a plea, it's a demand. "I can do whatever I like, Ronin. You forget yourself." Blue eyes lock on the other Ragabash, the Silver Fang dropping Mindit from her attention.
The usual reaction from the ronin has been a quick deferrence. Today however, that is not the case. "No. That's what I've been doing for too long. I am not some piece of trash to be kicked around. And /you/ can stop treating me like I am."
"Eh..." Mindit sidles still further away, crouched with her weight on her feet rather than her knees. Moments later she's back in her birth form, the better to scoot out of the way.
"You are trash," the Silver Fang claims of Caleb, paying no attention to Rat-Tale whatsoever. "You're here on sufferance. You want to go cry to the Alpha, be my guest. Either help, or leave."
"I'll leave once you correct your words. I am of Gaia. And She does not consider me trash. So while you're on the Litany tirade, why don't you consider to respect all of Hers. Regardless of their position, actual or perceived, to you." Caleb replies back sharply, eyes meeting the others.
Rat-Tale reverses into the furthest corner, then sits up enough to start undoing the straps of her coat with her teeth.
"Oh, I respect you," Shelby claims, though her voice is laced with just enough sarcasm to place her words in doubt. "Just like I respect this Bone Gnawer. And I'll teach you both manners if I have to." She leans ever so slightly forward, invading the space between the two, her eyes boring into his.
There's a visible debate in his eyes. Their's age old, pedigreed, bonified pride as would be expected of a Fang in his glare, but there's also calculation. Eventually, wisdom (or worry) wins out and he turns his gaze away from her. "I'm leaving."
Rat-Tale glances up from worrying at the strap at her chest, then carefully scrunches herself even further ito the corner with her tail well under and her eyes downcast.
Shelby promptly turns away as soon as Caleb's submitted, the girl not sticking around to gloat. "Have a happy New Year if I don't see you before," she says as casually as if they'd just met at the grocery store, and while he's lingering in the generics, she ambles over to the imported cheese. Or rather, she crosses over to lay a hand meant to be reassuring on the back of Rat-Tale's head.
Caleb goes straight for the front door, forgetting his coat on the hook even, as he makes his way out in a gruff hurry.
The Gnawer plainly treats the Fang's gesture as other than reassuring, and collapses meekly onto her back with all four paws dangling limply in the air.
"You're fine," Shelby assures the Gnawer, and stands again, clearly refraining from digging her fingers into belly fur. "He doesn't know his place. Now," as she looks about the mess with mixed irritation and possessiveness, "let's get this cleaned up. Go ahead and shift back, please."
The Gnawer wriggles across the floor until she has room to shift- not that her homid form needs much space, but the zebra-coated Crinos on the way through takes up a bit of room. Back with two legs and opposable thumbs, the Gnawer pulls her lips into an expression that shows her teeth, and starts inexpertly stacking up boxes seemingly at random.
Shelby watches Mindit for a few seconds, until it seems apparent that there isn't going to be any surreptitious opening-of-packages-and-dumping-them-on-the-floor. Then she nods, satisfied, and (with much nose-wrinkling) steps over the cereal trail to attend to some of the unopened bags of crackers on the other side of the room. "You should eat human food in human form, you know," she says conversationally. "I suppose you didn't even think about making thumbs?"
"Why?" the Gnawer asks, blankly. Her Leaning Tower of Pizza tilts alarmingly as she tops it with a bag of flour.
The Fang casts a despairing eye across the debris field. "Because... well, because. It's easier to get at it, for one thin- watch out!" She leaps for the tower, hands outstretched.
"Easier?" Mindit eyes the tilting of the tower and Shelby's rescue with interest, but without any sign that she's taken in the significance of it leaning over- not if her attempt to add a bag of beans to the top is any indication. "No. Four legs are easier. Yes! Always in the city. When not having money, haan? Four legs are easier."
Shelby manages, barely, to save the flour, and grabs at the beans, but a few of the top-most boxes topple and go skittering back across the floor. Shelby closes her eyes again for a few seconds. "Go put these on the table," she says firmly--and oh, so sweetly--once she's opened them again, thrusting the bags at the Gnawer. "You aren't cleaning, you're just making it worse. Put everything on the table."
Rat-Tale looks to the table, to the floor, and to the cupboards. "Why?" She wonders aloud. "There, over there back there?" She puts a packet of potato chips straight into an open cupboard instead. "Better?"
The Ragabash takes another few seconds to think, though eventually she shakes her head. "No, not yet. I want to look at everything first. I'll see if any of it can be donated... given to the shelter, like you wanted. Then we have to put it back in the right spot." She gives the bags of flour and beans another 'here, take these' shake. "Everything off the floor first, then we clean the floor, then put away."
"Human things are so very comp-li-cate-ed," Mindit says in her disjointed, singsong accent, then eyes the Fang suspiciously. "I am not being a cub," she states, "This thing, that thing, this place, that place, that is not being important. That is being for shops. In other place it is all being in..." Words fail the Gnawer. ~Heap,~ she growls. "I am seeing that. In the city. You are making a joke I am thinking."
"They are complicated," Shelby agrees, "but no, sorting them is important." On that, she is quite clear, and quite stubborn. "You probably don't believe me, but humans use their eyes to find things, not their noses. We need to put it back properly to keep everyone happy." A breath, and inspiration: "Like the Alpha."
"Alpha is being Metis," Mindit points out; not disagreement, insofar as it's possible to tell from non-human mannerisms being relayed through a human shape. She puts the flour and beans on a nearby work-top, and turns away to rummage in another cupboard.
"And she knows how human houses work," Shelby insists, implacable on this fact. "What are you doing, Rat-Tale?" While she waits, and with a moue of distaste, the girl takes a peek at the bottom of one shoe and from the speed with which she sets it down again, promptly wishes she hadn't.
Being human doesn't stop Mindit from using her teeth as a handy way of holding bag-handles together while she collects more. She backs out of the cupboard again with three empty carrier bags held in her mouth and another couple in one hand. "Meemee-er!" she says, informatively, and squats down to start loading packages into the first of the empty bags.
"...Meemee-er," the Fang repeats, uncomprehending, but doesn't keep the Gnawer from doing what she's doing. She does keep an eye on the other girl as she carries a few boxes of pasta over to the table, pausing there to try and smooth out a dented end.
Mindit makes a somewhat odd bag-lady, but the carrier-bags do hasten the task of clearing the floor. The Gnawer hums cheerfully as she tracks to and fro. Tunelessly, but cheerfully.
Once she sees what the Gnawer has in mind Shelby relaxes, though she continues her slower, by-hand hauling - and once the pile on the table has reached a certain size, she starts sorting. Most of what Rat-Tale "discovered" is still good; a few items, with corners torn or with a label ripped off, go into one of the empty bags. Soon enough everything in a container is off the floor, and Shelby nods toward the broom where Caleb left it. "Do you know how to sweep?"
"Are being sweeps," Mindit says, nodding as though her head were controlled by a pupeteer's string. "Am not knowing broom here." Moving very carefully, as though having to work out the right muscle movements, she pantomimes a sweeping motion, but not one that would work with a typical yard-broom.
Shelby, as always gracious when it comes to helping the peasants, says, "I'll show you," and goes to get the broom herself. "I was hoping Caleb would show you," she continues as she sweeps a small patch of floor, keeping her movements large enough to be seen. "This would go much faster with three." Another bit of floor swept, and she offers the broom over. "Get it? Sweep everything into piles, and I'll use the dustpan."
It's not that the Gnawer is clumsy, exactly, and nor is she too stupid to work out what is required, nor too slow-witted to figure out how to do it. She is, though, clearly trying to use limbs that are not the shape she is used to, and which she occasionally attempts to use as though they were still those of her birth form. The resulting manual confusion means the brush tends to get dropped every time her instincts tell her that she lacks opposable thumbs. She also seems to be not entirely sure that she's managed a proper job of dustpile-creation until she's stooped down to sniff at it. The task, in other words, could go quicker. Eventually, however, it is completed. "When are we starting work then?" she asks once the last panful has been emptied and the cleaning materials put away.
While Mindit sweeps (and drops, and picks up again, and sniffs) Shelby quietly leaves her be, first carrying the food bags to the back door and then carting the remaining food items back to various cupboards and pantries, staying well clear of the Gnawer and moving on swept floor whenever possible. When there is a pile she waits for the Gnawer to leave it before swooping in behind to brush it up and thence deposit into the garbage. "I put them away for you," is her answer, nodding toward the empty table with a smile. "Come on, I'll drive you into town so you can take these things to the shelter."
[And they do]