Cold Stuff
Dec. 1st, 2010 05:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 13:00 Pacific Time on Wed Dec 1 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (32% full).
The Sept Compound
Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing. In the center of the clearing is a fire pit with several old logs polished from use for seats. A stack of firewood is discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp. At the edge of the clearing and extending back a bit into the woods resides a rough wooden structure with a slate tile roof. A stone slab rests off to one side of the clearing in a place of some prominence. (+view works here)
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
Obvious exits:
Forest
The Sept Compound is like a little slice of city in the woods - a slice of city without plumbing, electricity, heat, or running water. Shelby emerges from the shed briskly rubbing her hands together and casts a satisfied look around the clearing. The woodpile has been refilled, the logs brushed clean of moss and other woodland detritus, and all in all, it looks like someone has spent a productive morning.
The occasional grumbling whine and a yelp or two mark Rat-Tail's approach. The whining as she finds that holly has prickles and brambles have thorns. The yelps as she discovers that the ants here can be every bit as objectionable as the ants back home in India. She looks thoroughly disgruntled and out of sorts when she finally finds her way to the Compound- currently in her wolf-shaped shape, and sans coat. Woods, trees, bah, humbug.
It takes a moment for Shelby to recognize the Gnawer but when she does her smile is brilliant. "Rat-Tale! I was hoping I'd finish before you got here. Doesn't it look wonderful?" A hand sweeps across the tidy clearing, inviting the Galliard to comment on its splendiferousness. A vain hope, perhaps. "Where's your coat? You haven't lost it, have you?"
Yes, a wolf can manage a 'well, duh' expression, and the Gnawer turns it on Shelby now. Lose it? It's Stuff! Only too many prickles. Wyld place. Not change with different shapes. The Lupus grudging-politely sniffs around the clearing, glad at least to find no more ants. Her tail waves far more genuinely as she properly greets the Fang, however, whacking against the side of one of the log seats with a thumpety-thump.
"It's your coat," the Fang retorts. "You're supposed to be wearing it." Rather like she's wearing her own winter gear despite the relative fine weather. A moment more and she wonders, carefully polite, "You don't need it Dedicated, do you? I should have asked, the other day."
Rat-Tale doesn't know how to do that, no, she admits.
"You should have told me," Shelby tells her fondly, crossing to sit on the other side of the empty fire pit. "I can teach you how to do it too, if you like."
Yes? Rat-Tale asks with a redoubled thumping of her tail. That would be useful. Falcon's-Trick is learning first. Falcon's-Trick has practiced? Thought?
Shelby bends over her knees and wraps her arms about them. "I haven't done much practicing," she admits, "but I have thought about the words. Well, your translation of them, anyway. I wonder if it will be as effective if I'm just repeating them phonetically? Can it be done with another prayer, or is the one you taught me the only one?"
Lots of monkeywords, the Gnawer answers, although she looks merely uncomprehending at the parts about 'effective' and 'phonetically'. Find special words. Not easy words. Stretch head, yesyes? make bigger inside. More room for answers. Say words, think meaning. Rat-Tale does that. Monkeywords hard. Remembering good to stretch head.
The Fang looks abashed for a second and slips into lupus herself, giving her coat a good shake. Sorry. She takes a moment to think over the rest, ears swiveling backwards before popping up again. Words have meaning. Special words, special meaning. But will it work if I say words like an echo and not know the meaning?
Monkeywords have two meanings. Falcon's-Trick knows? Rat-Tale was told! Monkeyword-meaning and monkeywords-together meaning. (At this point, clearly dissatisfied with the limitations of Lupus speech and perhaps not thinking the Mother Tongue suitable, the Gnawer slips into homid shape. She ends up in a graceless seated heap on the ground, limbs every which way). "Not count chickens, haan?"
Gratefully, and with a beat of her tail, the Ragabash returns to her birth form and resettles on the log she's just left. "Exactly. That's not quite what I meant, though. I could teach you to say," she rattles off a liquid set of syllables, clearly not English, "But you won't know what you've said, even if I teach you the meaning. So could you use them for this Rite? Or," she adds with a moue of lips, "am I over-thinking again?"
"Harder, haan? Is being harder learning sounds. Is being harder to doing things together if is not knowing meaning of sounds. Not knowing word-meaning. Saying but also thinking whole meaning." To make comprehension harder still, the Galliard has a strong accent, plainly from the India subcontinent.
Shelby nods along with most of that--yes, yes, and yes--though at the end she doesn't look terribly enlightened. "Yes, exactly. So should I learn the prayer you're teaching me, and then once I have it cold look for a different rite? Or will I have the Rite once I know the prayer?"
"Is right when you are being sounds and inside-head is being meaning," the Gnawer says, gravely.
The Ragabash opens her mouth and closes it again with a simple, "Um." After a moment she laughs politely and gestures airily with one hand at nothing. "I suppose it's rather silly to learn an entire new language just for this one rite. Well, let's go ahead like we've been doing, and if it doesn't stick, it doesn't stick."
"I am learning new language, all the time," Mindit points out. "Opening head. I give you prayer-words. Like words but more sounds." And, a bit at a time, she does so; the prayer version far more atuned to a continuous, trance-inducing drone than the basic sentences she's already recited. "Om bhur, om bhuvaha, om swaha, om mahaha, om janaha, om tapaha, om satyam, om tat savitur varenyam bhargho devasya..."
"Well, yes," the Fang allows, following that promptly with a too-innocent, "but you have a Rite to help you." Still, as the Gnawer works through the unfamiliar syllables Shelby trails gamely along after, needing her pronunciation corrected now and again.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (32% full).
The Sept Compound
Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing. In the center of the clearing is a fire pit with several old logs polished from use for seats. A stack of firewood is discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp. At the edge of the clearing and extending back a bit into the woods resides a rough wooden structure with a slate tile roof. A stone slab rests off to one side of the clearing in a place of some prominence. (+view works here)
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
Obvious exits:
Forest
The Sept Compound is like a little slice of city in the woods - a slice of city without plumbing, electricity, heat, or running water. Shelby emerges from the shed briskly rubbing her hands together and casts a satisfied look around the clearing. The woodpile has been refilled, the logs brushed clean of moss and other woodland detritus, and all in all, it looks like someone has spent a productive morning.
The occasional grumbling whine and a yelp or two mark Rat-Tail's approach. The whining as she finds that holly has prickles and brambles have thorns. The yelps as she discovers that the ants here can be every bit as objectionable as the ants back home in India. She looks thoroughly disgruntled and out of sorts when she finally finds her way to the Compound- currently in her wolf-shaped shape, and sans coat. Woods, trees, bah, humbug.
It takes a moment for Shelby to recognize the Gnawer but when she does her smile is brilliant. "Rat-Tale! I was hoping I'd finish before you got here. Doesn't it look wonderful?" A hand sweeps across the tidy clearing, inviting the Galliard to comment on its splendiferousness. A vain hope, perhaps. "Where's your coat? You haven't lost it, have you?"
Yes, a wolf can manage a 'well, duh' expression, and the Gnawer turns it on Shelby now. Lose it? It's Stuff! Only too many prickles. Wyld place. Not change with different shapes. The Lupus grudging-politely sniffs around the clearing, glad at least to find no more ants. Her tail waves far more genuinely as she properly greets the Fang, however, whacking against the side of one of the log seats with a thumpety-thump.
"It's your coat," the Fang retorts. "You're supposed to be wearing it." Rather like she's wearing her own winter gear despite the relative fine weather. A moment more and she wonders, carefully polite, "You don't need it Dedicated, do you? I should have asked, the other day."
Rat-Tale doesn't know how to do that, no, she admits.
"You should have told me," Shelby tells her fondly, crossing to sit on the other side of the empty fire pit. "I can teach you how to do it too, if you like."
Yes? Rat-Tale asks with a redoubled thumping of her tail. That would be useful. Falcon's-Trick is learning first. Falcon's-Trick has practiced? Thought?
Shelby bends over her knees and wraps her arms about them. "I haven't done much practicing," she admits, "but I have thought about the words. Well, your translation of them, anyway. I wonder if it will be as effective if I'm just repeating them phonetically? Can it be done with another prayer, or is the one you taught me the only one?"
Lots of monkeywords, the Gnawer answers, although she looks merely uncomprehending at the parts about 'effective' and 'phonetically'. Find special words. Not easy words. Stretch head, yesyes? make bigger inside. More room for answers. Say words, think meaning. Rat-Tale does that. Monkeywords hard. Remembering good to stretch head.
The Fang looks abashed for a second and slips into lupus herself, giving her coat a good shake. Sorry. She takes a moment to think over the rest, ears swiveling backwards before popping up again. Words have meaning. Special words, special meaning. But will it work if I say words like an echo and not know the meaning?
Monkeywords have two meanings. Falcon's-Trick knows? Rat-Tale was told! Monkeyword-meaning and monkeywords-together meaning. (At this point, clearly dissatisfied with the limitations of Lupus speech and perhaps not thinking the Mother Tongue suitable, the Gnawer slips into homid shape. She ends up in a graceless seated heap on the ground, limbs every which way). "Not count chickens, haan?"
Gratefully, and with a beat of her tail, the Ragabash returns to her birth form and resettles on the log she's just left. "Exactly. That's not quite what I meant, though. I could teach you to say," she rattles off a liquid set of syllables, clearly not English, "But you won't know what you've said, even if I teach you the meaning. So could you use them for this Rite? Or," she adds with a moue of lips, "am I over-thinking again?"
"Harder, haan? Is being harder learning sounds. Is being harder to doing things together if is not knowing meaning of sounds. Not knowing word-meaning. Saying but also thinking whole meaning." To make comprehension harder still, the Galliard has a strong accent, plainly from the India subcontinent.
Shelby nods along with most of that--yes, yes, and yes--though at the end she doesn't look terribly enlightened. "Yes, exactly. So should I learn the prayer you're teaching me, and then once I have it cold look for a different rite? Or will I have the Rite once I know the prayer?"
"Is right when you are being sounds and inside-head is being meaning," the Gnawer says, gravely.
The Ragabash opens her mouth and closes it again with a simple, "Um." After a moment she laughs politely and gestures airily with one hand at nothing. "I suppose it's rather silly to learn an entire new language just for this one rite. Well, let's go ahead like we've been doing, and if it doesn't stick, it doesn't stick."
"I am learning new language, all the time," Mindit points out. "Opening head. I give you prayer-words. Like words but more sounds." And, a bit at a time, she does so; the prayer version far more atuned to a continuous, trance-inducing drone than the basic sentences she's already recited. "Om bhur, om bhuvaha, om swaha, om mahaha, om janaha, om tapaha, om satyam, om tat savitur varenyam bhargho devasya..."
"Well, yes," the Fang allows, following that promptly with a too-innocent, "but you have a Rite to help you." Still, as the Gnawer works through the unfamiliar syllables Shelby trails gamely along after, needing her pronunciation corrected now and again.