Girl fight!
May. 13th, 2011 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 17:47 Pacific Time on Fri May 13 2011.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (73% full).
Around the Lone Boulder
The sparse forest gives way here into a vast clearing, entirely devoid of trees or heavy underbrush for great distances all around. Low, thick grass, a palish green in color, grows everywhere underfoot; it sways ever so gently in the chill winds that seem to settle in across this open expanse with unusual frequency. The occasional darker shoot or dandelion weed makes its way up amidst the rest, but the hilly territory is on the whole a uniform color, reminiscent of a moor. Adding to the image is the single, ponderous old stone, a grey-brown in color, settled uncannily in the dead center of the expanse as if it has perched there alone since the dawn of time. Grass grows up around the weathered boulder, but its vaguely-flattened top clears the grass by a good many feet, at least chest-high to a good-sized man. The sky, often grey, is a presence in this sudden openness, appearing from amidst the treetops to arc high over the grass and stone.
Woodland tracks lead off into the forest to the north and south, while the boulder itself stands at the center of the clearing.
Obvious exits:
Forest Boulder
The sun is setting, though it won't be down for a couple of hours yet, casting long fingers of shadow across the clearing. Shelby can just be seen atop the boulder, lying on her back, absently doing leg lifts when she remembers and merely watching the sky when she doesn't.
The sounds of a larger predator are proceeded by a sudden silencing of the surrounding birds and animals in the forest. Several minutes later, a silver-white wolf pushes her way into the clearing, chuffing a greeting as she noses about, inspecting the smells. What are you looking at?
Perhaps it's the sudden quiet that alerts the girl; whatever the reason, she's rolled onto one side to watch Zosia by the time the wolf is in greeting distance. "Clouds, mostly. I hardly remember what all that blue stuff is between them. Good afternoon, Falcon's Grace-rhya." Though it's May she's still wearing a light jacket, and dusts off the elbows as she sits up straighter. "Finding anything? I haven't, and I was looking for those exploding mice of Marcos'."
Sky, Falcon's Grace declares as though the Ragabash is a bit daft. That is following by a lolling of the jaws, a cheerful sort of look on a wolf. Or terrifying. Or both. No mice, no wyrm. Just patrol.
"Sky," Shelby repeats, rolling the word around in her mouth as though learning some foreign terminology. "Sounds familiar, but I don't remember what that is." That doesn't stop her from stealing another look at it as she half-slides, half-jumps back to the ground before the wolf. "That's good. Me either - all I found was Meg, but that was a few hours ago. It was good to see her - I can't remember the last time I saw her."
She is out of the umbra. She needs to be out of it more. That is declared firmly, the theurge baring her teeth slightly as she does. If you see her, you will talk with her and be pack with her. The word pack 'feels' small p, as opposed to the feel when she talks real pack. She shifts up into her birth form and adds, "And by pack, I mean company."
Shelby's eyebrows lift but the Ragabash nods, shrugging. "Sure. I like spending time with her. She's actually someone I think I would pack with - an actual pack, not just hang out with and talk to. She said you'd mentioned Marcos to her - when did you see her? Earlier today, or what? I told her about those stupid glue mice, so she could keep an eye out too."
"What does it matter when I saw her?" Zosia asks, her voice slightly cranky. "I saw her and talked to her. She needs a pack. She needs to spend time around kin, too. But us to start, kin eventually. The Realm, she needs to be in the Realm."
"Because then I know what information I've told her is new to you, and vice versa?" Shelby questions, as though Zosia's now the daft one. "Also, I was just curious if she's been around for a while and I just haven't seen her, or if she only appeared today, or what. That's all. It's not like I can sit on her and make her stay Realmside either, so please put your teeth away."
"Stop asking stupid questions then," Zosia mutters, giving the Ragabash an intense look. "And there's no need to try and pin down every last minute detail of someone's travel patterns. Makes you sound creepy. And you can't make her stay Realmside," she agrees in a lighter voice. "But you can be company to her and give her incentive for staying realmside."
Irritably Shelby says, "You're right, I shouldn't be at all interested in the lives of people I care about," holding up her hands on mock-surrender. "Especially when I can't just talk to them in my head. Fine, whatever. If I can't ask questions for fear you think they're stupid, I guess there's no point in me saying anything else. Falcon watch, Zosia-rhya." She folds her hands and looks away, across the boulder.
"Stop right where you are," Zosia says. Her voice isn't the snap it would have been even a year ago--she has more control. But it is hard and cool and there is a hint of anger. "I may sometimes get irritable," and engage in understatement, "but do consider how damned annoying all those sorts of questions are sometimes. I don't know what she was doing. If you are that curious, the only one who can really answer it is Meg, especially given that she is so often off the bawn."
A muscle tightens in the Ragabash's jaw, though she hasn't - and doesn't - otherwise move. "I didn't ask you what she's been doing, or for a minute-by-minute of where she's been since I saw her last," she tells the rock tightly. "I asked you if you'd seen her today. That's it. If I needed to find Marcos, I'd ask you if you'd seen him today, in hopes of learning either where he was then, or if he might have told you where he'll be later. I'm sorry you find such questions irritating."
"You do it a lot," Zosia says, the irritation fading. "I think it is a ragabash tendency as Tim often does as well. You just find out one thing and ask and ask and ask." She waves a hand wildly then starts to move in a tight circle. "Almost as bad as the Galliards." And those sweeping generalizations tossed out to the world at large, she adds, "It is my birthday this weekend." Ahha.
"Then I might as well ask you to stop speaking to spirits, hadn't I," Shelby says after a moment, her own tone relaxing. "Because we're going to get about the same measure of success." Another few beats pass before she turns to look at the other girl again. "Sorry it falls on a big moon," she says, this apology sounding a bit more sincere. "I'll bake you a cake, if Tristan isn't already having one sent to Edgewood." It's nearly, though not quite, a question.
"I don't know?" Zosia says. "The other two times he just secreted things away on the bawn for me. I don't care about the cake, mind, or any of that ridiculousness." Her hand waves again, sketching a vague circle. "I just never thought I'd live this long."
"Oh," the brunette says, frowning as she tries to process Zosia's last words, followed promptly by, "Well, if I happen to see him on the bawn, I'll make sure he's safe. This place isn't always safe, regularly patrolled or not."
"We've been sneaking on and off the bawn together for years," Zosia points out with a tiny and secretive smile. "He enjoys the thrill. It is a good thought, however, as his common sense is often out run by his sense of adventure." Then she sighs. "I'm not closely bound to my ancestors, like some. But I've a fairly good idea of at least a few of those I have been before. Most were dead by twenty."
One of Shelby's eyebrows lifts. "In addition to the exploding sticky mice, there's also the Sept Alpha, who I'm sure wouldn't take kindly to a kin on the bawn, the Ritemaster's husband or not." She shrugs it off, though, and checks to make sure the boulder is still in place. "That's the life of a Garou, though. I mean, I've got Adren and Elders scattered all through my ancestry, and they were still dead by thirty, most of them. I can only think of one who made it past sixty."
"He's not the Warder," Zosia snaps again, her eyes narrowed. "And August knows." She snorts and continues her restless movements. "My father is one of the oldest ones--he's what, thirty-eight?" Zosia pauses, counting in her head. "No, thirty-seven. It is just unsettling. Makes me nervous."
Shelby says, "And I'm sure that will be a big comfort if someone decides to eat his head first and check his pockets later. Tristan's a grown man, and he makes his own decisions. If he decides to come onto the bawn this weekend, and if I see him, I'll run interference for him. That's all I can do. That's all I will do." "--Happy birthday in advance, if I don't see you on the day off, by the way," she adds after a moment. "Congratulations on surviving another year."
"Oh shut up." Zosia's irritation seems to be on a high level, whether pushed by the moon or the Ragabash's words or something else. "I didn't ask you to do a damned thing. If you chose to try to, have fun but I neither expect nor want you to dash about the bawn on the off chance he even tries to do something. And the little high and mighty attitude can stop." She snorts. "Get a few more years into you and see how unnerved you are by another one."
The Ragabash stares at Zosia for a moment in disbelief. "--No," she finally admits thinly, "you didn't. You know, every time I've tried to say or do something nice for you today, you turn around and kick me in the head. Which, you know, is your prerogative being Tribal Elder and all, but you might want to think about how much longer people are going to offer you help if you keep doing that. So before I say something I'll regret later, and with your permission? I think I'd better get pack on patrol."
A slow, steady tromping noise sounds in the woods south of the clearing. The only thing odd about it is that so heavy a tread is not accompanied by the sound of any breaking twigs. In a moment, Meg appears at the edge of the clearing, and is about two steps clear of the treeline before she realizes the spot is occupied, and stops walking.
"Offer? Or presume that something must be done without actually knowing anything? I don't need nice, I don't want nice. I want people who are good at doing things, which you are so fine, but no one needs people assuming that---" And whatever else it is that Zosia might have said is lost as she turns around to stare hard at the entering Gaian. "Go ahead," she says in what must be a continuation of an earlier conversation. "Ask her where she's been these past few months."
"So you're just pissy because you're not dead yet," Shelby snaps, catching sight of Meg over Zosia's shoulder and giving her a nod. A nod and an eye-roll, really, once Zosia's turned. "Perhaps you'd better, as you're the only one who's brought it up. Gaia watch, Meg-rhya," she adds, pitching her voice deliberately to carry to the Gaian's ears. "Good to see you again, sorry I can't stick around." A last nod is meant for both of the other women before the Ragabash turns to head at a steady walk for the nearest edge of the clearing.
"I'us just passin' through," Meg says warily. Two vexed Fangs are apparently two too many. "I c'n go around, no problem."
"Get out," Zosia says in a low voice. Her expression is calm but her hand is slowly opening and closing. "Now." Her eyes flick over to Meg and she shakes her head. "You can stay."
Already on her way, Shelby doesn't so much as glance back to acknowledge Zosia's order. Instead she ducks down a deer path, waiting until she's out of easy sight before (theoretically) shifting.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (73% full).
Around the Lone Boulder
The sparse forest gives way here into a vast clearing, entirely devoid of trees or heavy underbrush for great distances all around. Low, thick grass, a palish green in color, grows everywhere underfoot; it sways ever so gently in the chill winds that seem to settle in across this open expanse with unusual frequency. The occasional darker shoot or dandelion weed makes its way up amidst the rest, but the hilly territory is on the whole a uniform color, reminiscent of a moor. Adding to the image is the single, ponderous old stone, a grey-brown in color, settled uncannily in the dead center of the expanse as if it has perched there alone since the dawn of time. Grass grows up around the weathered boulder, but its vaguely-flattened top clears the grass by a good many feet, at least chest-high to a good-sized man. The sky, often grey, is a presence in this sudden openness, appearing from amidst the treetops to arc high over the grass and stone.
Woodland tracks lead off into the forest to the north and south, while the boulder itself stands at the center of the clearing.
Obvious exits:
Forest Boulder
The sun is setting, though it won't be down for a couple of hours yet, casting long fingers of shadow across the clearing. Shelby can just be seen atop the boulder, lying on her back, absently doing leg lifts when she remembers and merely watching the sky when she doesn't.
The sounds of a larger predator are proceeded by a sudden silencing of the surrounding birds and animals in the forest. Several minutes later, a silver-white wolf pushes her way into the clearing, chuffing a greeting as she noses about, inspecting the smells. What are you looking at?
Perhaps it's the sudden quiet that alerts the girl; whatever the reason, she's rolled onto one side to watch Zosia by the time the wolf is in greeting distance. "Clouds, mostly. I hardly remember what all that blue stuff is between them. Good afternoon, Falcon's Grace-rhya." Though it's May she's still wearing a light jacket, and dusts off the elbows as she sits up straighter. "Finding anything? I haven't, and I was looking for those exploding mice of Marcos'."
Sky, Falcon's Grace declares as though the Ragabash is a bit daft. That is following by a lolling of the jaws, a cheerful sort of look on a wolf. Or terrifying. Or both. No mice, no wyrm. Just patrol.
"Sky," Shelby repeats, rolling the word around in her mouth as though learning some foreign terminology. "Sounds familiar, but I don't remember what that is." That doesn't stop her from stealing another look at it as she half-slides, half-jumps back to the ground before the wolf. "That's good. Me either - all I found was Meg, but that was a few hours ago. It was good to see her - I can't remember the last time I saw her."
She is out of the umbra. She needs to be out of it more. That is declared firmly, the theurge baring her teeth slightly as she does. If you see her, you will talk with her and be pack with her. The word pack 'feels' small p, as opposed to the feel when she talks real pack. She shifts up into her birth form and adds, "And by pack, I mean company."
Shelby's eyebrows lift but the Ragabash nods, shrugging. "Sure. I like spending time with her. She's actually someone I think I would pack with - an actual pack, not just hang out with and talk to. She said you'd mentioned Marcos to her - when did you see her? Earlier today, or what? I told her about those stupid glue mice, so she could keep an eye out too."
"What does it matter when I saw her?" Zosia asks, her voice slightly cranky. "I saw her and talked to her. She needs a pack. She needs to spend time around kin, too. But us to start, kin eventually. The Realm, she needs to be in the Realm."
"Because then I know what information I've told her is new to you, and vice versa?" Shelby questions, as though Zosia's now the daft one. "Also, I was just curious if she's been around for a while and I just haven't seen her, or if she only appeared today, or what. That's all. It's not like I can sit on her and make her stay Realmside either, so please put your teeth away."
"Stop asking stupid questions then," Zosia mutters, giving the Ragabash an intense look. "And there's no need to try and pin down every last minute detail of someone's travel patterns. Makes you sound creepy. And you can't make her stay Realmside," she agrees in a lighter voice. "But you can be company to her and give her incentive for staying realmside."
Irritably Shelby says, "You're right, I shouldn't be at all interested in the lives of people I care about," holding up her hands on mock-surrender. "Especially when I can't just talk to them in my head. Fine, whatever. If I can't ask questions for fear you think they're stupid, I guess there's no point in me saying anything else. Falcon watch, Zosia-rhya." She folds her hands and looks away, across the boulder.
"Stop right where you are," Zosia says. Her voice isn't the snap it would have been even a year ago--she has more control. But it is hard and cool and there is a hint of anger. "I may sometimes get irritable," and engage in understatement, "but do consider how damned annoying all those sorts of questions are sometimes. I don't know what she was doing. If you are that curious, the only one who can really answer it is Meg, especially given that she is so often off the bawn."
A muscle tightens in the Ragabash's jaw, though she hasn't - and doesn't - otherwise move. "I didn't ask you what she's been doing, or for a minute-by-minute of where she's been since I saw her last," she tells the rock tightly. "I asked you if you'd seen her today. That's it. If I needed to find Marcos, I'd ask you if you'd seen him today, in hopes of learning either where he was then, or if he might have told you where he'll be later. I'm sorry you find such questions irritating."
"You do it a lot," Zosia says, the irritation fading. "I think it is a ragabash tendency as Tim often does as well. You just find out one thing and ask and ask and ask." She waves a hand wildly then starts to move in a tight circle. "Almost as bad as the Galliards." And those sweeping generalizations tossed out to the world at large, she adds, "It is my birthday this weekend." Ahha.
"Then I might as well ask you to stop speaking to spirits, hadn't I," Shelby says after a moment, her own tone relaxing. "Because we're going to get about the same measure of success." Another few beats pass before she turns to look at the other girl again. "Sorry it falls on a big moon," she says, this apology sounding a bit more sincere. "I'll bake you a cake, if Tristan isn't already having one sent to Edgewood." It's nearly, though not quite, a question.
"I don't know?" Zosia says. "The other two times he just secreted things away on the bawn for me. I don't care about the cake, mind, or any of that ridiculousness." Her hand waves again, sketching a vague circle. "I just never thought I'd live this long."
"Oh," the brunette says, frowning as she tries to process Zosia's last words, followed promptly by, "Well, if I happen to see him on the bawn, I'll make sure he's safe. This place isn't always safe, regularly patrolled or not."
"We've been sneaking on and off the bawn together for years," Zosia points out with a tiny and secretive smile. "He enjoys the thrill. It is a good thought, however, as his common sense is often out run by his sense of adventure." Then she sighs. "I'm not closely bound to my ancestors, like some. But I've a fairly good idea of at least a few of those I have been before. Most were dead by twenty."
One of Shelby's eyebrows lifts. "In addition to the exploding sticky mice, there's also the Sept Alpha, who I'm sure wouldn't take kindly to a kin on the bawn, the Ritemaster's husband or not." She shrugs it off, though, and checks to make sure the boulder is still in place. "That's the life of a Garou, though. I mean, I've got Adren and Elders scattered all through my ancestry, and they were still dead by thirty, most of them. I can only think of one who made it past sixty."
"He's not the Warder," Zosia snaps again, her eyes narrowed. "And August knows." She snorts and continues her restless movements. "My father is one of the oldest ones--he's what, thirty-eight?" Zosia pauses, counting in her head. "No, thirty-seven. It is just unsettling. Makes me nervous."
Shelby says, "And I'm sure that will be a big comfort if someone decides to eat his head first and check his pockets later. Tristan's a grown man, and he makes his own decisions. If he decides to come onto the bawn this weekend, and if I see him, I'll run interference for him. That's all I can do. That's all I will do." "--Happy birthday in advance, if I don't see you on the day off, by the way," she adds after a moment. "Congratulations on surviving another year."
"Oh shut up." Zosia's irritation seems to be on a high level, whether pushed by the moon or the Ragabash's words or something else. "I didn't ask you to do a damned thing. If you chose to try to, have fun but I neither expect nor want you to dash about the bawn on the off chance he even tries to do something. And the little high and mighty attitude can stop." She snorts. "Get a few more years into you and see how unnerved you are by another one."
The Ragabash stares at Zosia for a moment in disbelief. "--No," she finally admits thinly, "you didn't. You know, every time I've tried to say or do something nice for you today, you turn around and kick me in the head. Which, you know, is your prerogative being Tribal Elder and all, but you might want to think about how much longer people are going to offer you help if you keep doing that. So before I say something I'll regret later, and with your permission? I think I'd better get pack on patrol."
A slow, steady tromping noise sounds in the woods south of the clearing. The only thing odd about it is that so heavy a tread is not accompanied by the sound of any breaking twigs. In a moment, Meg appears at the edge of the clearing, and is about two steps clear of the treeline before she realizes the spot is occupied, and stops walking.
"Offer? Or presume that something must be done without actually knowing anything? I don't need nice, I don't want nice. I want people who are good at doing things, which you are so fine, but no one needs people assuming that---" And whatever else it is that Zosia might have said is lost as she turns around to stare hard at the entering Gaian. "Go ahead," she says in what must be a continuation of an earlier conversation. "Ask her where she's been these past few months."
"So you're just pissy because you're not dead yet," Shelby snaps, catching sight of Meg over Zosia's shoulder and giving her a nod. A nod and an eye-roll, really, once Zosia's turned. "Perhaps you'd better, as you're the only one who's brought it up. Gaia watch, Meg-rhya," she adds, pitching her voice deliberately to carry to the Gaian's ears. "Good to see you again, sorry I can't stick around." A last nod is meant for both of the other women before the Ragabash turns to head at a steady walk for the nearest edge of the clearing.
"I'us just passin' through," Meg says warily. Two vexed Fangs are apparently two too many. "I c'n go around, no problem."
"Get out," Zosia says in a low voice. Her expression is calm but her hand is slowly opening and closing. "Now." Her eyes flick over to Meg and she shakes her head. "You can stay."
Already on her way, Shelby doesn't so much as glance back to acknowledge Zosia's order. Instead she ducks down a deer path, waiting until she's out of easy sight before (theoretically) shifting.