Telling tales

[shelbyrou]

It is currently 12:52 Pacific Time on Sat Jul 23 2011.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (47% 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

While the rest of the country is sweltering, Saint Claire is still under the persistent cold snap - and thus, while the doors and windows are closed, it's to keep the heat in, rather than out. Shelby's jacket is hanging near the back door, there's a kettle on the stove, and the Ragabash herself is parked on the end of the sofa alternately reading from a book on her knees and fiddling with a coin. It looks as though she's trying to palm the thing, but is only mostly succeeding.

There's a scratching at the back door, then a long pause, and then the handle turns. A scantily- but brightly- clad human figure scuffs and scrambles in, hastily closing the door and then all but diving behind a couch. A much shorter time later, a black nose and a portion of a sandy-coloured muzzle peeps back out. Safe?

Shelby watches the gaudy blur dive past, then eyes the door as if expecting a troupe of elephants; when the livestock fails to appear she sets down both book and coin to come investigate the back of the couch. "I should hope so," she says, amused. "Why, are you being chased?"

Nobody wrong see? asks a twitch of a nose and a pink tongue licking it. Bad change. But cold!

The ragabash extends a hand as if she'd rub that extended nose. "Far too cold," she agrees, voice still on the edge of laughter. "But I'm making tea. Do you want some? --Where did you put your coat, anyway? You should be wearing it."

Rat-Tale scoots out and hops into an armchair, where she can snuggle in among the arms and the cushions. Took off. Can't put on. That. Warm. Not hot. Hot burn tongue.

Shelby rises more slowly, fetching a tatty afghan from the back of another chair and draping it over the Gnawer. "That's right, I forgot. Well, maybe we can go put it on you later. --And shift into homid," she adds as she heads for the kitchen to stop the kettle's whining. "You can drink the tea faster that way."

Rat-Tale gives the Fang a dubious look, and shifts back into her very-much-dressed-for-summer homid form.

Some minutes later Shelby returns with two steaming mugs in one hand, and a bowl in the other. "It's mint," she says of the tea she sets before the Gnawer, before the other woman's clothes give her pause. "--And a bowl, in case you want to drink it in lupus." Delivery made, she returns to her seat, hands wrapped around the ceramic. "I hadn't realized you didn't have any decent clothing for this weather. I'd take you shopping, but I can't leave the. --Wait. Aren't there cub clothes upstairs somewhere?"

Mindit takes the mug in two careful hands, goes wide-eyed, and promptly hastens to put the hot mug down on a table. She only slops a little in the process. "Garam!" she says. There's a blank pause. "Hot." Another pause, cogwheels turning within. "Why more clothes? Am being wolf yes?"

Shelby, notably, doesn't drink it immediately either, but blows across the surface and inhales the steam. "Very hot, yes. Pour it into the bowl; it will cool faster. Or you can just hold it, like I'm doing." Presumably blowing is an advanced skill. "Well sure, if you're a wolf you don't need more clothes. But if you're going to be in homid, you will. This is summer. It's as hot as it's probably going to get, around here."

That may have dismayed the Gnawer. It's somewhat hard to tell- her face is oddly unexpressive, although there's clearly no attempt to conceal or falsify her reaction. (It might be guessed that she's simply never developed the instinctive facial reactions of a human). "Cold." Mindit pauses again to shuffle thoughts between languages. "Place of dawn light mountains cold." A further pause. "Sept of Thousand Steps is there."

"I'm sorry," the Fang apologizes gracefully, "I don't know where the place of dawn light mountains is, but at a guess, yes, it's cold. It's much colder here than it is where I'm from, too. I'm used to wearing clothes more like what you have than," she gives a silent nod to her own long sleeves and jeans.

"Too cold," Mindit says plaintively. "Mud. Not dust." She eyes her cup, but does not touch it again yet, and then looks up sharply. "Shikar... mighty chase? You are knowing?"

"Mighty chase," Shelby repeats, blinking, before the penny drops. "You mean the Great Hunt? Yes, I was there. Umbral-side, not Realm-side." A pause. "Perhaps we should shift into something that speaks Mother's Tongue?"

"So," Mindit says. "Is permitted?"

In response, Shelby rises and draws the drapes. "It is now," says she, "and if someone comes in and complains, it's my responsibility."

Mindit has to think about it, but manages a grin after a little concentration. She points a finger exageratedly at her chest. "Am being Bone Gnawer. Always am wrong. Is karma."

Shelby, monkey that she is, mimics the grin easily, twitches aside the curtains for one last peek, then shifts smoothly into hispo. ~I heard you were looking for someone who fought in the Umbra. Are you still looking, or have you heard the story?~

"Haan, yes, I am looking," Mindit replies with a belated and exagerated head-nod.

Falcon's Gambit pads back to settle in front of the sofa, like some particularly furry coffee table. ~What do you want to know?~

"Calabaja, he is opening sun-road. I am going. After that," the Gnawer answers.

The hispo takes a moment to collect her thoughts. ~Oath-Ring, Bag-of-Snakes, Fallout, Judge Dredd, On-Star, and a Walker Ragabash friend of hers and I found ourselves in the Umbra. In the desert. Oath-Ring and I spoke of the dreams we'd had, but before we could finish, a stranger appeared. She had been running, and was injured.~

~Her name was... Burning-Sky,~ Falcon's Gambit remembers after a moment's squint and laying back her ears. ~Theurge of the Uktena. She said the Man Who Smiles had broken their caern, turning one of their totems. When we followed her, we found few survivors. Thundersnow, a Galliard. Wasp, one of the two totems. They were fighting spirits sent by another Theurge. Also, there was something in the water."

Again white ears late flat, lips curling against a distasteful memory. ~It was Wyld and Wyrm. Too much growing, and immediately being culled. Plants were growing wrongly, and even the spirits were twisted. Thundersnow told us that Dragonfly was in the water - she was still too strong to be cleansed. Bag-of-Snakes told Oath-Ring to distract the spirits, the rest of them to keep the spirits busy, while she and I went after their fallen Warder. --That was the other Theurge," she adds, belatedly remembering.

"Wyld all crazy!" Mindit pipes up, with another of her single and overly-large head-nods. "I am..." She seems at a loss for the right word, and starts again. "Other seven also."

Falcon's Gambit flicks an ear. ~Other seven? You were with the other group?~

"Haan. Yes," the Gnawer confirms.

~I look forward to hearing your story,~ Falcon's Gambit says, then continues with the Umbral side of things. ~Oath-Ring pulled many of the spirits away from the other Theurge so they would not do his bidding. The rest of them did as they were told, attacking the spirits to clear the way for Bag-of-Snakes and myself." Her lips curl again. ~The Ragabash Walker threw thunder - it hurt the spirits, but it also hurt us.~ Clearly she is less than pleased with the visitor's actions.

~We fought our way through the spirits to the Uktena, Bag-of-Snakes leading the way. He screamed he was saving the Caern, not attacking it, and while he was distracted I attacked from the side. He frenzied on me! Bag-of-Snakes picked us both up,~ again her ears lay flat, ~and hit our heads together. When I could see clearly again, the fallen Warder was dead. The fallen spirits were dead or dying, and Oath-Ring was preparing to cleanse taint from the Dragonfly.~

~Bright Falcon's Grace had given me a talen to cure poisons,~ the hispo adds with a sigh. ~I used it, and cured the bites and stings of the spirits. Oath-Ring succeeded in returning Dragonfly to the Wyld, with assistance from the rest of us. Thundersnow and Burning-Sky did what they could to heal our wounds, and we returned across the sunbridge before it disappeared.~ She licks her lips and pops her ears at the Gnawer. ~That is what happened.~

"Is being good story! I am being there. Coming back." Cautiously, the Gnawer dips a finger into the tea to test its temperature now, then lifts the cup with great care using both hands. "Am being telling kahanee. At sabha. Thank you!"

Falcon's Gambit's ears flicker again, but the Ragabash simply resumes her breed form and goes to open the blinds. "You're welcome. I'm sure you'll tell it far better than I could, but we didn't have any Galliards with us."

"Now am telling for all," Mindit says, and it's probably she's pleased about it.

"Now you are," Shelby agrees, pleased enough for both of them, and spends the next little while drinking mint tea with the Bone Gnawer.