Info dump and planning
Jan. 11th, 2012 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently morning on Wed Jan 11 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waning Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (83% full).
Tenement Building - Ground Floor
The ground floor of the apartment building is taken up mainly by the lobby, an open space with the front doors at one end and the elevator and the door leading to the stairwell at the other. The floor is covered in black and white tile in a checkerboard pattern, and the walls have been painted a neutral grey shade. A couch, two squashy armchairs, and two wooden chairs have been set up in a rough semi-circle around a square wooden coffee table, facing toward the front doors and positioned so as not to interfere with any traffic moving between there and the stairs. The furniture does not seem to be very old, but it has been well-worn in its short lifetime. A few potted plants have been set in corners, to give the old lobby a more welcoming atmosphere.
To the right of the main doors are mailboxes for building residents, and off to the left is the doorway into a cramped rental office (see +view), and other doors that lead to the building's large laundry room.
Obvious exits:
Stairs Salem's Apartment Out
It's a relatively normal day at the Tenement, with someone stationed in the security room, and everything else mostly silent. It's Ishmael's shift now, and there's the soft lilt of some mindless pop on the radio, while he seems busy reading some hardware manual, feet up on the desk.
Traffic passes by, a car parks, and another pulls away. One particular pedestrian makes her way up to the Tenement's door, checking something on a phone before slipping it back into her purse. She rings the doorbell and glances around; catching sight of the camera she stares straight at it for a long five count before tipping her head in inquiry toward the door.
Ishmael glances up every now and again, when movement on the camera is enough to catch his attention. He does see Shelby--or some intriguing-looking girl at that--but it takes a moment for him remove his feet and turn on the microphone proper. "Name an' business, please." Rules is rules.
"Shelby Zaleski-Leveque," comes her voice clearly (or not so clearly) over the intercom. "And Tim said he might be here this morning - I have to talk to him about something." She pauses, considering something behind her before adding, "Mouse might be interested in it as well."
"Neither Tim or Mouse is around right now," says Ishmael, buzzing her in regardless, the door promptly unlocking. "But you're free t'come in an' wait if you like." Should she enter, he will lazily peel himself out of the security desk chair and stand to greet her, polite-like.
Thus invited, the Fang comes in, carefully closing the door behind before moving into the lobby proper. "Tim said everyone here was either kin or family," she continues, offering Ishmael her hand. "If that's true, I can finish my introduction."
Dark, short-cropped hair, firm brows, and wary brown eyes set the mood of this tanned young adult; his latin ancestry is unmistakable. Stubble mars a square face and set jaw; a cautious frown tugs his lips. He's mildly tall, surpassing six feet, and fit with the toned muscle of a soldier. Otherwise plain, he might be considered handsome if he made a greater attempt at outward appearances, but instead swaps between the rigid, utilitarian uniform of military life, or a casual, paint-stained outfit consisting of a Yankee's ball cap, a tight white tee or baseball shirt, dark leather jacket, and a pair of sneakers and jeans.
"S'true," Ishmael assures her, taking her hand and shaking it once. "Fifth floor's Walker territory, everythin' else is open to the Sept, provided y'haven't pissed off the tribe terribly or somethin'. I'm Ishmael Chavez, Walker, Theurge, Fostern. Maker of fun devices what go 'beep' when there's stuff." He briefly illustrates with a comical flash of his hand.
"You know my homid name," says the woman from Virginia, "Also called Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush. Fostern Ragabash of the Silver Fangs. I'm the great-great-granddaughter of Silver Sword with Two Blades, himself an Adren Philodox." She stops there, though knowing Fangs, she could probably go on for a while. Instead one side of her mouth quirks. "Another Theurge? That could be very helpful. Do you mind if I show you, rather than waiting for the others?"
A few nods, though they're possibly more ceremonial than the Walker actually attempting to remember the who-begot-whos. He peers back at the cameras occasionally, just to make sure an armged guard doesn't appear at the door. You never know. They could have clowns. "Uh, sure. Though what are we talkin' 'bout, exactly?"
Shelby says, "All the weird stuff that's been happening, lately," as though it should be obvious. Her blue heels tap on the floor as she sweeps toward the coffee table. "I use Tarot cards to do the Precognition rite, and I got some absolutely fascinating results over the last couple of days." She makes short work of clearing off the top of said table, only to pull a deck of cards out of her purse and begin laying them out in a particular pattern. "Are you familiar with Tarot, or with that Rite?"
"Can never be sure," says Ishmael with a shrug. He turns up the volume a bit on the security system, setting it to record the visuals while he steps away. "I know of the rite, though I don't know it m'self. An' yeah, no stranger t'Tarot. What came up? Jus' say it wasn't the Tower."
Shelby settles back on her heels (at least five inches) for a moment and quirks her mouth up at him. "Now that you mention it... but no, not in this one." Is that to be a relief? When she's finished, the cards are laid out in the familiar Celtic Cross: the Ace of Pentacles crossed by the Two, surrounded by The World, the Ace of Wands, The Emperor and Temperance. Running up the side are the Three and Four of Wands followed by the Five and Nine of Cups. "Want me to give you a moment to read it yourself, or...?"
Ishmael watches with interest as the cards are placed just-so. His arms are folded--a thoughtful expression, and he nods when she's done. "I really only remember the Major Arcana, so if y'wouldn't mind refreshin' me," he says, gesturing for her to continue. "Otherwise, I'd need t'go look'em up."
Shelby gives a Gallic little shrug as if to say 'but of course' before launching into things. "This is a reading about - or maybe for - the brambles. The present is perfect contentment, harmony. Crossing them is a fairly generic 'troubles, obstacles'. The recent past," a tap to the Ace of Wands, "and we have creation, origin, beginnings. The Emperor... I'm still not quite sure what he's doing there. That's the best possible outcome."
Shelby continues, "Now, affecting the situation we have an established strength and effort. The external influences are home, a haven." She gives the four of Wands a thoughtful look before going on. "The hopes and fears are a thwarted inheritance of some sort. Getting what you want, but not how you wanted it. And the final outcome... well. That's fairly obvious. Victory. Success. Everything you ever dreamed of."
Ishmael emits a short laugh, less of the mirthful variety and more of the 'ah-ha! I was right!' variety. "Yeah," he begins, gesturing towards the Emperor, "I been thinkin' that perhaps this whole deal just isn't so bad as Mouse was makin' it out to be. More of a, 'change is comin', but in the 'change is uncomfortable, but can be positive' way, and less of the 'change is a spiral to disaster and everything's gonna explode' sort of way. The dreams we been havin' seem t'suggest we should buckle down an' ride this out, rather than figure out a way t'stop it."
The Fang considers, looking between him and The Emperor. "Hmm - that might be... I've been reading that as 'order and logic', which frankly, doesn't fit in with either the brambles or this reading, but if you think of him as 'something on the horizon' or 'your greatest strength is yourself'... that's almost tipped more toward us, or me as the querent."
"The one weird thing," says Ishmael, idly tapping at his chin. "Is that Mouse alone had this weird dream where she says she woke up with a scar after, but wouldn't go into real detail about it. So I'm not sure if that changes anythin'. From what I've experienced an' heard, what we're talkin' about here," he gestures to the cards, "seems to t'be more the case. Still, I think it's somethin' she should hear about, definitely."
"Tim had one of those too. Did she say where the scar was?" A shake of white hair brings her back to the now. "But. It looks as though things are going to end up," she taps the Nine of Cups again, "pretty darn well for the brambles. So perhaps we ought to start looking at ways to circumvent them, rather than trying to attack them directly. Or look at our other options."
"I don't remember exactly," says Ishmael, hand on his cheek. "I think it was on her back, but could be misremembering." Staring at the cards a bit longer, he brainstorms: "Had a talk about maybe Chimera knows what's up, and this is her way of reaching out. Tellin' us to ride it out. Maybe she's sayin' goodbye. Maybe she's just unable t'do much. I dunno."
Shelby hmms, shakes her head faintly. "Well," more strongly, "do you want to take a picture of this?" She waves one hand at the layout. "Or I can leave you my notes, if you'd rather build it yourself. I've got others to show you, if you have the time."
Ishmael holds up a finger and then disappears back into the security room. "I got a camera," he says, fishing about, until he procures a fancy one of the digital variety. "Okay." He aims the thing, and snap! And a few more from different angles for posterity. "Alright, sorry, go ahead if you have others. I imagine Mouse'd want t'se the actual spread for herself. So this works."
Shelby appears less unruffled by this blatant display of Weaver tech than one might think, considering her tribe. While she waits she consults a small notebook and begins pulling new cards from the remainder of the deck. "It's not a problem," she assures, sweeping the layout into confusion before starting on the next. "You also might get slightly different readings from a different deck. Now this one is about the bees." She pauses, looks up again. "You've heard about the bees?"
Ishmael lids an eye and looks up towards the cieling as if trying to remember. "It was mentioned to me in passin', but I haven't been givin' the details about it yet." The camera is lifted. "Mind givin' me a refresher? I just got in some days back, so I'm still catchin' up on all the news."
"There are bees," the Ragabash obliges, her attention split between the Theurge and what her hands are doing, "swarming. In January. They should still be in hibernation, but they're all over the scarred forest north of 90." This layout is much the same as the other, save for the cards: the Six of Wands crossed by the Five of Pentacles, surrounded by Fortune, the Three of Swords, The Sun, and Judgement. Up the side run the Five of Wands, Death, the Seven of Swords, and the Ace of Pentacles again." She gives it a meaningful tap. "Looks like things end up pretty well for the bees, too."
There's another flash our four as Ishmael documents this spread as well. "It seems unlikely that this is all some ploy," he says to himself, idly. Then turns to Shelby with a slight frown. "There's been the suggestion that the dreams an' so on have all been given by somethin' sinister, intended t'trick us. But. Could they also mess with rites like this? I doubt it. That'd require a lot of spirit help. A lot." He shakes his head.
Shelby shifts her weight while she waits. "Especially as I was in the Caern itself when I did these. It's possible I suppose, but... well. Occam's Razor, and all." She briskly goes over this reading as well, lingering only on the highlights. "The distant past was a sudden and unexpected change, or a turning point." "The best possible outcome for the bees is an opportunity of some sort. Sort of a 'Embrace your destiny, you created it' thing." "External influences are transformation or utter change of the permanent sort, while hopes and fears is a plan that may fail, or quarreling."
Ishmael again lifts the camera, thoughtful. "Failing plans? Quarreling? Doesn't sound quite so positive," he says, ruminating over the other cards each in turn. "Still, yeah, I agree. Trying to find the bogeyman under every rock creates the bogeyman under ever rock. There's little evidence to suggest anything like that just yet."
"That's just the bees' fears," the Silver Fang repeats, giving Ishmael another moment to peruse the layout before sweeping it aside. "What strikes me as weird about all of this -- besides the obvious -- is that we've got growth, too much growth, in things that ought to be dormant at this time of year. It's like the seasons are mixed up, or something."
Ishmael nods, and scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, that's suspicious. I'm not sure t'think of it as something in favor of the plants or not. It certainly seems to not be doing the predators any favors."
"Well," Shelby amends, "it's not doing us any favors, or anything as large as us. I haven't noticed that the squirrels are having many problems, or the crows and ravens."
"Yeah, I was thinkin' larger mammals," says Ishmael, moving to lean against the couch. "Even the deer population has to at least be moderately annoyed at the sudden lack of mobility."
"Thank goodness we don't have larger reptiles to worry about," says Shelby with a shudder. "And at least the caern is clear, even if it's a pain to get to. Really, I've found going under the thorns is easier than trying to go through." She continues to pull out cards as she speaks - a lot of major arcana, actually.
Ishmael snorts softly at that, bemused. The camera is held at the ready. "I haven't tried yet, but I should prolly get out there an' see for m'self."
This time Shelby lays out not one, but two distinct crosses, using nearly the entire length of the coffee table. "OK, this is where things get weird. Weirder." She taps the one on the left, where most of the major arcana reside. "Knowing T- ah, we've all had strange dreams, like the ones back in June, I decided to do a reading for the dreams. Here's what I got." The Two of Pentacles crossed by the Five of Wands (again). Surrounding, The Hanged Man, The Devil, The Fool, and The Moon. Up the side are the Two of Wands, Death, The Priestess, and Justice. Shelby sits back on her heels again with a sour frown for the cards.
Ishmael makes a face, brows raising. He circles around to the opposite side of the table, as if that might make the cards express themselves more clearly. It doesnlt. "That doesn't look as optimistic as I'd hope," he says, pulling out the camera dutifully and documenting the spread.
"Oh, it gets better," Shelby assures him, even as she ignores the second spread. "This one starts with news, troubles, and obstacles, and the best possible outcome is rebirth. Taking risks, new beginnings. However...," she taps at the Five of Wands, "we're being challenged by an imitation, perhaps, or some strenuous competition."
"At the same time," the Ragabash says thoughtfully, straightening the Priestess card, "the one I liked the most is this one:" she points to The Moon, in the immediate future. "The Moon. The card of the unconscious. Of dreams and intuition. I think we're going to be getting a lot more of these dreams in the next little while. At a guess, I'd say Chimera really wants to talk to us about something, because there's no more obvious card for her unless you actually have a deck with an actual Chimera on it - and I don't."
Flash. "Hrm," says Ishmael, setting down the camera. "That would be where some of a' my suspicion was floatin' about. I figured this couldn't be all good an' 'just wait it out.' But I guess like anythin' natural, y'kind of have t'stake your claim or somethin' else might come along an' take it. An' it might be bigger and meaner, yeah?"
Ishmael adds, with a nod. "Yeah, I've said t'Mouse many, many times now: 'Go talk t'Chimera, Mouse!' But I don't think she has, yet."
The door buzzer sounds and on the camera Zosia waits. Sunglasses? Check. Hoity-toity sort of outfit? Check. Expensive purse? Check. Subtle, she is not.
"Well," says Shelby pragmatically, "if she doesn't want to talk to Chimera, Chimera wants to talk to her. Or me. Or anyone who has half a chance of hearing her." She rolls onto her other hip. "Really, this one isn't so...." Which is when the buzzer goes. "That is a horrible noise."
Ishmael hrms once more, and then jogs back to the security room to take a peek at the cameras. "Huh," he says, mostly to himself. Lots with the high-brow visitors today. "Actually, I think I know this one," he says, activating the mic. "Mouse was mentionin' a 'Zosia' to me earlier," this mostly to Shelby as he buzzes the elder theurge in. "Come on in," he says to Zosia.
The small young woman looks Ishmael up and down, her head tilting to one side. "You I have not met." Her voice, like Shelby, is all high-end Virginia. She enters the room and smiles to herself as she pushes the sunglasses to the top of the head. "I was just thinking how I should hunt you down too, Shelby. Two birds one stone. Is Mouse about?"
Shelby obligingly gets to her feet and heads over to check the monitor. "That's Zosia, yeah," comes her confirmation, even though it's a touch too late. "Hello, Zosia. I don't believe she is. However, I was just showing Ishmael some very interesting readings I've gotten, doing the Rite of Precognition. Care to join us?" There are not one, but two Celtic crosses laid out on the coffee table.
Ishmael simply shakes his head, camera once again in his hands. Apparently he was documenting the tarot spreads. "She's out, still. I imagine she should be back soon, but." The camera is shouldered for a moment, and a polite hand extended. It's clean! For once. "Ishmael Chavez, Paladin walks the spider's maze. Fostern, Theurge, Walker. Builder of stuff."
Zosia takes the hand with a firm grip that belies her southern-belle socialite dress. "Zosia Sulkowski, Seeker of Falcon's Shining Heart. Adren theurge and Elder of the Silver Fangs. Alpha of Temperance, child of Unicorn and all the rest of that nonsense." Then she turns to study the cards laid out. Seems she has seen something like this before as there is no surprise on her expression. "What are they saying?"
Shelby moves back to the coffee table, this time settling on the couch rather than on the floor. "Besides Chimera really wants to talk to us? Well here, let me do the whole reading." She quickly goes over it, starting with the troubles crossed by struggle or battle. The distant past warns of stagnation, while the more recent speaks of misdirection. The best outcome is a new rebirth. "Trust your instincts," she adds pointedly, half-smiling up at Ishmael. "Affecting the situation we have something caught between opposites - which could be the Garou - while an external influence that can't be changed is some sort of permanent transformation." I.E., Death. "Hopes and fears is some sort of passivity, or relying solely on intuition, while the final outcome seems to be Karmic balance, or compromise. Harmony. Learning to do what is necessary."
Ishmael once again scratches the back of his head, thoughtful, but apparently not entirely sure what to do with this information. "Sounds more'n'more like what we've been sayin', though I'm gettin' the greater impression that Somethin' is up what we need to deal with; somethin' that's not the brambles or the growth itself. But." He shrugs.
"Chimera has been speaking to us." Zosia raises her hand, pressing several fingers into her chest, right at the very center. "Some of us. She has marked us. From what I can tell, myself, BJ, Tim, and others, undoubtedly. In our dreams, fittingly. It fits with other dreams and conversations with the spirits and with Aljan. Chimera has said and others have said. Her time is coming to an end. And change is coming. 'She' as Aljan put it, is coming."
Shelby ohs? "Where were you marked, Zosia-rhya? Ishmael was saying that Mouse-rhya's gotten a scar from her dreams too."
"Right here," Zosia says, looking down to where her fingers press against the center of her chest.
Shelby says, "Same as Tim." She pauses, thinking. "I wonder why Tim, actually. You, Mouse, BJ... that makes sense. You're either Theurges or, in BJ's case, really connected to her past. Maybe it's because he's spending time out of doors?" She shrugs, not entirely pleased with the explanation. There are two Celtic Cross tarot spreads on the coffee table, with all the Garou gathered around (save when Ishmael pays attention to the cameras).
Zosia is extremely well dressed, as usual, with sunglasses perched atop her head. A purse hangs forgotten from one hand as she studies the cards on the table. "I wouldn't presume to know the hows and whys of a spirit like the Lady of the Mirrors," the Silver Fang says quietly, her other hand still lightly pressed against the center of her chest.
Ishmael conveniently happens to be paying attention to the cameras right that moment, nodding as Shelby thinks aloud.
Kevin comes down the stairs with his usual shambling gait that tends to be his default mode of walking, except when he's in a hurry. "Yo, guys," he says to the little clump in the lobby, then does a slight double-take as he sees the tarot cards. "What the hey? Is there a tarot craze in this town all of a sudden?" He comes over to investigate.
Kevin Lockwood is now into his twenties, and physically, he blends in pretty well with those who would outwardly seem to be his peers - he's taller than many of them, leaner than most, and perhaps a little more mature-looking than the average. As ever his face contains a long chin, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes. He's resumed his previous style of long wavy hair combined with a clean shaven face.
His clothing seems to run pretty much entirely to black. Black jeans, a black t-shirt with the CND 'peace' symbol being struck by lightning, and a smart black windcheater jacket over the top of it. Also black, though rather less expected, is the studded leather dog-collar he sports around his neck.
He's a couple of inches over six feet tall now, much of it his long legs, as ever; sometimes, particularly when sitting down, he doesn't seem to know what to do with those legs, crossing them, tucking them under himself, swinging them sideways, or a dozen other uncomfortable-seeming positions.
Shelby greets the other Ragabash with, "Kevin-rhya," but doesn't shift away from her prime position in front of the cards to make room. "Which actually leads me to this second reading. I wanted to see if I could get more detail about all the dreams that Chimera," she taps the Moon again, "is talking about. And I got this." A gesture to the second spread. The Magician crossed by the Ace of Pentacles, surrounded by the Queen of Cups, the Ace of Wands, the Queen of Swords, and the Four of Swords. Up the side are the Ace of Swords, the Tower, the Nine of Wands and the Six of Swords to finish off. "That," she points at the Tower, "is rarely a good card, and it is not in a good place. --External influences, things that can't be changed or controlled," she adds by way of explanation.
There's the rattle of a key in the lock of the front door. And then more rattling. And then a WHUMP, as though someone kicked the door, though not particularly hard. And then a muffled, "Fuck my life," in a voice that might be recognizable.
"Sometimes I think we worry about control too much," Zosia says thoughtfully, turning her head toward the door. "...Is that Mouse?" Her voice. So dry.
"It's Mouse," agrees Ishmael, nodding a few times. How could he forget so quickly the telltale 'fml'? "Mouse," says he, gesturing to the two visitors. "Guests, that have some information for you." The Tower gets a rather dark look. Apparently he has a Beef with that card.
Ishmael also waves to Kevin. "Hey! I got pictures of all the spreads on this camera if you want to take a look." Said camera is lifted.
"That isn't an answer," Kevin says irascibly as he peers at the cards. "Why are you futzing around with the Tarot? And what the hell's up with the front door?" He crosses toward it, to peer at the control. "Has someone got the spirit of the lock pissed off?"
"Because I was doing the rite of Precognition," Shelby explains patiently, "and these are the results. Half of them, anyway. --I can show you the other two later," she adds in a lower voice to her Elder. Further discussions of the Tower-laden spread are delayed, at least for now.
The key scrapes in the lock, rattles again, and after another kick--which can't be very helpful--Mouse gets the door open. She looks quite tired, with distinct shadows under her eyes. She also looks quite grumpy, as the door has had the misfortune to discover. The Walker Theurge steps all the way inside, eyeing everyone in the lobby while easing around Kevin, then kicks the door shut. Because she can. (Except she doesn't kick it hard enough, so she has to actually press it the rest of the way closed)
Zosia gives Shelby a vaguely puzzled look before nodding to her, her eyes flicking from the table to the girl's face and then back. The theurge seems a bit lost in thought now, resting her free hand on her hip as she continues to stare.
Ishmael gives Mouse the chance to get her bearings and de-steam a little before adding anything further. Also, he seems to be fiddling with the camera to bring up the images of the other spreads.
Kevin helps Mouse close the door, politely, and gives the lock a quick once-over just to check that it is all right. "Only there's this girl working a tarot stand in Harbor Park at the moment," he says to the other garou. "Dev and I went out yesterday to show Flint the sights, and met her. Not seen her there before. She was a bit creepy."
When she's not wearing sun-glasses, this woman's most obvious and noticeable feature is her eyes--they're a distinct golden yellow, feral and decidedly inhuman. Cosmetic contact lenses, surely. The rest of her face is fairly average, and it might even lean toward the faintly attractive side if it weren't for the scars. And there are scars: thin, spidery lines that trace over her nose and under her chin and down one side of her jaw. Several of them curl over one eye, and one even passes over an eyelid, though the eye itself seems undamaged. Her hair is unremarkable--brown, terribly short, with a tendency to stick out slightly in utterly random directions.
She's not really tall, maybe 5'7 or 5'8 at best, but there's a gawkiness to her body that creates an illusion of extra height, a sense of her torso being just slightly too long. She's stick-thin too, which only adds to the overall image. Beanpole for certain, this one.
As for the woman's clothing, it's functional, if fairly nondescript. She appears to favor loose and comfortable, button-up shirts and slightly baggy pants, with simple black street-walking shoes. What can be seen of her skin beyond her face seems to echo the motif above--thin spidery scars, mostly randomly placed, but a few seem to form meaningless designs. They're heavier and more intricate on the backs and palms of both hands, and perhaps for this reason she also seems to favor wearing gloves when she can get away with it.
Shelby ohs? "I'll have to see if she's there next time I pass. It might be interesting to see what a third party has to say, if Chimera can influence her." She stands, then, and adds to Mouse, "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque, called Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush, a Fostern-ranked Silver Fang Ragabash, and great-great-granddaughter of the Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood."
There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the lock. Maybe Mouse is having a bad-door-day. She rakes her fingers back through her hair, gives Kevin a slight nod, and then looks toward Shelby. "Mouse, First-Strike, Adren Theurge, Glass Walker elder. Uh, metis. What's going on?"
"Shelby's been doing the little rite of Precognition," Zosia says absently as she continues to study the cards. "And, there's been some discussion of various dreams. I have been told you have a mark too, from a dream about Chimera?" She looks then to Mouse, pressing her fingertips to her chest where the scar is.
Kevin stops fiddling with the lock and returns to the table to look over Ishmael's shoulder at the images of the spreads. "I think I had that one," he remarks, though as he doesn't point to any particular card it's hard to know which one he means.
"The thing is," Shelby says, returning to her seat on the couch, "this spread is so different from the other one, it's like they aren't connected at all even though they're supposed to be. This one," on the left, "has obstacles of competition and struggle while this one," on the right, "is facing off against perfect contentment. Best outcome here," left, "is rebirth and trusting your instincts and over here it's sadness, mourning, and separation, probably of the female variety."
Ishmael grins back over his shoulder, but then there's a buzzing in his pocket, and he hops for a second. "Gonna put this back over here," he says, walking the digital camera over to the security area and setting it aside. Fishing out his phone, he makes something of a face. "Apologies, but I hafta take this. 'Scuse me," he says, quickly scurrying towards the stairs and up out of sight.
Mouse eyes Zosia, and then very, very slowly, her gaze drops to Zosia's hand. Her jaw twitches minutely. "Yeah. I did." Then she looks over toward Shelby. "They're connected. BJ and I had a long discussion last night."
"Actually, they do sound connected." Zosia leans forward and points to the one that ends in sadness, mourning and separation. "Chimera." She then leans over toward the other one, trapping one of the cards beneath her finger. "Over and over, the spirits and my dreams have said that 'she' is coming. And all Aljan could tell was that it was going to be hard and that we would need to use wits and words and thinking over claws and that if we used claws, it would be extremely bad." She straightens and studies the others.
Kevin steps aside to let Ishmael go past, and then looks at Zosia and Mouse with some concern. "It's getting heavier and more ominous every day, isn't it?" he remarks, his voice as loaded with pessimism as a pizza is with toppings.
Shelby settles back, hands on her knees, and looks from one Theurge to the next. "If you see a connection, good - that's a large part of why I'm here. The only thing I could think of to link them was the unconscious/intuition on one side and the sad female - Chimera? - on the other. I can tell you what the cards say, but interpretation I'll leave up to the professionals."
Mouse says, without preamble, in a voice that sounds rather flat and toneless, "The seasons are turning. We're losing her."
"Change is coming. Is it a bad change or a good change? That cannot be told, not by spirits, not by cards, not by anything. It will be what we make if it, really," Zosia muses. "It doesn't have to be bad. As BJ pointed out to me, this has in the past been the Caern of the seasons. It seems like perhaps the season for Chimera is ending and the new season is approaching. My dreams have been full of seasons." She nods to Mouse, looking more thoughtful than upset.
"That dream about the flying ark..." Kevin says in a quiet voice. "Maybe that was part of the same set-up, the same symbolism. Uprooting ourselves and moving. I was worrying it might mean moving the caern physically, but maybe it means a change of spirit?"
"That's what I told Ishmael!" Shelby exclaims, looking from Mouse toward the stairs and pausing on the way back to cock her head curiously at Kevin. "With the bees, and the growth on the bawn, it's like it's spring and not winter. All of this," a hand waves toward the cards, "even this," tapping on the ominous Tower, "is just a way of saying what's coming. It's change. It's a big change, if so many people are getting portents. I don't think we can stop it. I don't think we should stop it."
Mouse, on the other hand, has slipped into her expressionless mask--but around the edges it's a little cracked, and her unnatural eyes, especially, look rather hollow and mournful. "The seasons are turning," she repeats. "According to BJ, from autumn to winter." Shelby gets a very distracted nod. "We can't stop it. She's leaving. But the ark dream...as far as I've been able to find out, only Garou who live here in the city, work in the city, have had it." She breathes. "We need to prepare the Glade."
"Oh, we can't stop it," Zosia says with a tiny smile. "There is no stopping it. Instead, we need to get people together, get all these damned dreams and start assembling what clues we can." She makes a faint noise befor adding, "I've had a different dream. I was a fish, carried beneath the waters and taught to swim by Salmon. And warned that the winter will be hard, the ice inevitable and that a place must be kept to shelter the Garou through the Winter of the soul. I do think we need the Glade. Because my dream showed me the city, at the end, spread beneath me."
"This." Kevin points a finger at Zosia. "Whether or not we can or can't stop whatever's coming -- we need to be ready for it. To fight it if we have to... to roll with it if we have to... to do whatever. We can't just sit here like bumps on a log pretending nothing is happening. If you fail to prepare, then prepare to fail," he adds sanctimoniously.
Shelby pulls a phone out of her purse and snaps a couple of pictures of the layouts before beginning to tidy them away. "The Glade - Harbor Park. Tim and I have been talking about it. If something is going to happen to the Caern, to Chimera, then we need to think about what all those Garou who can't or won't come to the city will do. How will we protect them?"
Mouse rubs her face harshly. "I don't know. In the ark dream, there were animals that wouldn't come. Animals that turned back, animals that had to be brought by their friends. But we need to prepare Harbor Park, and...good God, I'm twitchy." She begins fishing out her cigarettes. "This place alone won't do. We're close to the Glade, definitely, and we have enough room, technically, but that many Garou in here on fat moons? Let alone that many Garou of that many tribes? We need more city places, as in, yesterday. Places people can have space. And we need more reliable paths through the Umbra to get to here. The path to the Glade," and here, at least, she seems to find some comfort, and maybe a little bit of pride, "from here, is short and clean."
"There are places that can be watched over by those who won't come to the city. There are glades in various tribal territories and there is there is the area where the great tree is now." Zosia pulls the sunglasses from atop her head and folds them up, tucking them away in her purse. "It will be a hard Winter. That has been said repeated in dreams and signs. But the Spring to come will be worth it." She listens to Mouse and grunts faintly. "Places in the city can be found, bought, and worked on. Between myself, Tristan and a few others, opportunities can be arranged. The Umbral side...." She exhales slowly. "You'll need more than the city tribes. I'll talk to Aljan. We are a roving pack of protectors, no formal territories but we are Unicorn's children. We are aimed at protecting Garou and protecting those that need it."
"I really can't see us cramming the entire sept into Harbor Park," Kevin says. "And if we could, it'd be a disaster anyway. We can get away with a few people sitting around pretending to have a picnic or hang out, but the whole sept? Way, way too obvious. I don't think the whole sept should ever be in the same place at one time. Too easy a target for you know who," he says, sounding for one moment like a member of Dumbledore's Army rather than a garou.
Shelby listens while she squares up the cards and tucks them back into their pouch. "It sounds like what we really need is to get all these various dreams together for people to look at. Tim couldn't even tell me what all his dream was about, just a mirror whose image constantly changed. And then he woke up with a scar."
Mouse lights up, but Zosia's words seem to have a calming effect on her as well. She straightens, pacing a brief half circle around the lobby furniture before she stops and leans against the back of the couch. Puff. "No, Kevin, not in Harbor Park. In the Glade. That's why I'm talking about umbral paths." She looks at Zosia. "Can I work with you on that? We should try for properties near the Glade, if we can, and if we can't, then at least properties that can have paths cleared between them. And there's still the problem of the river. It's a horrible mess, and the bridge is in some ways, worse. That's not a problem when you've got city tribes going out to the woods for Sept business, but when you've got everyone coming in for Sept business in the city, when the spiritual center is here, it'd be a lot better if they could do it flipside."
Zosia smiles at Mouse then, one that is far warmer and more friendly than she's ever offered the Walker before. "Of course. I am genuinely offering both my help, Tristan's advice," whether he knows it or not, "and my pack. We are a Sept. If we are going to survive the change of seasons without the large moons all going half mad and attacking when they need to be thinking, then we need to be proactive and offer some things to focus on before they can even start striking out. This has been said to me a great deal already."
Kevin clicks his fingers, looking annoyed with himself. "Yeah, right, sorry Mouse," he mutters. "Ya know, the more I think about this whole situation, the more I reckon we need an extraordinary general meeting. Or the sept equivalent."
"We need to call a Moot." And then Zosia frowns as her phone starts to play ... oh god, is that Bruno Mars "Just The Way You Are"? Sadly, it is. "Tristan. We're meeting up. I have to go but Mouse, I meant what I said. I'll be around later to start speaking about this. And I'll bring Tristan. He'll have thoughts about this and many of them will be good ones." She flashes a smile then heads out the door, answering her phone as she does. "Hello? Hi...was just talking to some people..."
"Sounds like we could use some packs working on that," the lone Fostern muses, half to herself. She waves a distracted farewell to Zosia before considering each of the Walkers in turn. "I don't have a pack just now, and I don't have boatloads of money to spend, but I am willing to move between the city and the bawn."
"Good god, yes," Mouse mutters around her cigarette. "And not just the fat moons. Jamethon was haring off like you wouldn't believe the other day. We need to prepare, and we need to not put it off, but we also need to make sure we know where we're jumping before we do." She looks up at Zosia. "I'll start looking around for possible spots then, and we can get together and talk specifics as soon as all three of us can. It'd help if their shadows weren't horribly infested bane nests to begin with anyway." And what goes unspoken, but might as well be said by her body language is: 'and it gives me more things to do'. Back to Kevin, "And you thought Salem's talk of holding moots in the Umbra was weird." Her tone is, for the first time today, not flat, but lightly teasing. What he says, however, sobers her again. "I want a Moot.--" this at the same time as Zosia. "I sent a message to the Alpha and the Warder, but I don't know how feasible it is. I want...at least one more moot."
"Buhbye, Zo. Yes. We desperately need a moot," Kevin agrees. "I know we're only just past full moon, but sometimes you need to know when a thing can't be put off. Hell with garou tradition just for once, on this one. We may not see another full moon if we keep sitting on our fat butts."
Not long after Zosia leaves, Tim appears in the camera monitoring the door and gies it a wave. He looks less haggard than he has, if still short of sleep.
Catching sight of the monitors out of the corner of one eye, Shelby rises and crosses to see precisely who it is. Which turns out to be Tim. "It's Tim," she announces, sounding pleased, and crosses to the door. "May I let him in?" She doesn't actually do so until cleared.
Mouse says, quietly, "I'm not really worried about us missing the next moot." And then quieter, "I want to be able to say--" And she stops when Shelby speaks, and nods at the Fang.
Kevin eyes Mouse, one eyebrow rising, waiting to see if she finishes that sentence and actually says what she wants to be able to say.
"Hey hey," Tim says to Shelby as she lets him in, nodding a hello. He looks from Mouse to Kevin, and without preamble, says, "I had a pretty weird dream that I can't describe to anyone." He looks like he thinks this will somehow be meaningful.
Shelby's greeting in return is a quick smile and, as she closes the door, adds, "They know. I've told them about it, and your scar." In a lower voice, meant to not interrupt the Walkers, "I did some tarot readings. I'd like you to look at them. Later. You just missed Zosia, and right now we're talking Moot."
Maddeningly, Mouse doesn't finish her sentence. She regards Tim, then taps her chest. "You, me, BJ, Zosia. I thought it was just me until last night."
Kevin for one doesn't seem in the least surprised to hear Tim's news. "I don't think there's a garou in the sept who hasn't been having meaningful dreams. The trouble is, trying to dredge the meaning out of them."
Tim listens to Shelby, then squints at her and admits, "Well, my card-fu's kind of limited, but I'll try. Hindus, we do different mantic rites." His attention snaps to Mouse, and he exhales, shutting his eyes for a second. "Praise Shakti. You have no idea how nice it is to not think I'm going crazy." His fingers tap together in rapid succession as he thinks, and shakes his head at Kevin. "This was different. I've never woken up from a dream with a scar on me--gone into Dream and gotten banged up, maybe. And I couldn't really tell Shelby what it was about. That I know hasn't ever happened to me. So, Mouse, me, BJ, Zosia..." He raises an eyebrow. "Low moons? Have we all packed under a similar Totem in the past?"
Shelby lifts a hand to refute Kevin's claim with a smile. "I just have interesting Tarot readings." "--And," she adds thoughtfully, "I've never packed. Temperance is BJ's first pack. Zosia's packed under, hmn... Wyvern, I believe."
Mouse's mouth twitches upward, briefly, though the look doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, if you like, I can give you my interpretation of them all, but it comes with the obvious caveat that I could be completely and utterly wrong." A slight headshake. "I've only been packed under Cockroach before now."
"There are a lot of different things that y'all could have in common," Kevin points out. "Tribe, auspice, pack, breed, birthplace, favourite pizza topping... Some things are deliberate, some are random."
"Something about a mirror," Shelby appends to Tim's non-explanation, waving off the rest of what hasn't been (or can't be) communicated. "And that would be nice," she continues to Mouse. "Ishmael has the images, as he said, and I can give you my email address if you want to send them that way." She flashes a bright, impish smile. "Or if you want to kick it old school, I could write out a copy of my notebook. I figure every new set of eyes can only help."
"It could be random, yeah. But since it feels like we're grasping at straws, it can't hurt to see if there's a pattern to who's seen what. Like Mouse was saying the other day," Tim gestures at the Walker Elder, "it doesn't sound like anyone who's not based in the city has gotten the dream about the boat. Maybe it's not relevant, though, and just because, being from the city, building stuff is a city Garou's way of seeing it." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "And I haven't heard if anyone else saw what I did--the one about the woman traveling across the desert."
"Given Zosia's dream?" Mouse muses. "It's relevant. We're being called on to build. And the mirror," she looks, briefly, pained. "Let me give my interpretation in short. We're losing Chimera. Her...season is ending. What this new season will be is hard, and difficult, but depending on what we build, in the metaphorical sense, we'll come out better for it, and things will improve. I don't know if this means the Caern is going dormant for 'winter', but BJ seems to think so, and it fits with a lot of the dreams I've been hearing. Which means..." She gestures toward the door. "The most powerful spiritual center if the Caern goes dormant is sitting right out there, a few blocks away."
Kevin turns to follow Mouse's pointing finger. "If we wind up with a Caern here in the city," he says, "things will become very different. And that's an understatement."
Tim shudders and clenches his teeth. "I was really hoping you wouldn't say something like that," he murmurs in a tone of dread and resignation. "Losing Chimera, as in...losing the Caern? Or just it going dormant?" He doesn't seem to be asking Mouse so much as wondering aloud. "So I guess it's even more important there be a Pack looking after the Park, while we...figure things out and meet whatever's coming head on." He looks askance at Shelby in a most unsubtle manner, though doesn't wait for any kind of reaction from her; his eyes move to Mouse again. "What dream did Zosia have?"
"Pray we don't have to," Mouse says to Kevin, though there's a hint in her voice that she thinks it's a vast possibility. "Jesus, the logistics. I wonder if we can snatch up any property right next to it. We should anyway at this point. Or...hell. I wonder if it's possible to buy it from the city. I wondered, but I never really had to work out how all the measures in Sept of the Green got started since they were obviously all already there when I was born. Though at least we won't have a problem on the other side. That fetish is a goddamned miracle." She looks at Tim. "Not just a pack. I don't want territorial bitching going on over this, we've all got to start cleaning. And I've already had Jamethon going on to me about how the lot of us clearly don't do anything to protect it by virtue of not being him." Irritable. "Dormant, yeah. Or we're just losing her, but a Caern without a spirit..."
Shelby side-eyes Tim right back (thank you, high heels, even if they don't get her entirely up to his height). "A pack would help, though - especially if it's one like Temperance, who doesn't claim territory. Or doesn't claim the Park as territory. There's already sort of a haven here in the city, too - remember that Tristan owns the skate park. Which reminds me...." She's already reaching for her phone when it goes off. A glance at caller ID and she grimaces, glancing apologetically at the three Adren. "Excuse me, please." She heads for the door before answering in French, sounding both put upon and apologetic as she exits.
"I just meant in the same way we have Bawn Guardian Packs," Tim reassures Mouse with a raised hand. "The Bawn's not theirs and they don't get to claim it as territory more than any other Sept member does. Same deal." He nods a farewell to Shelby, then tips his head. "I was born and raised in a city Caern too, but like you said--it was in place and kept secret long before there was as much red tape." The Ragabash can't suppress an eyeroll at the comment about Jamethon. "He can blow me. I patrol it every night the moon's bigger than half that I'm not trying to go into Dream."
Kevin touches his brow in a form of salute to Shelby as she departs. "What was Zosia's dream?" he asks Mouse. "I don't think she told me, other than that it had something to do with Chimera."
Currently the moon is in the waning Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (83% full).
Tenement Building - Ground Floor
The ground floor of the apartment building is taken up mainly by the lobby, an open space with the front doors at one end and the elevator and the door leading to the stairwell at the other. The floor is covered in black and white tile in a checkerboard pattern, and the walls have been painted a neutral grey shade. A couch, two squashy armchairs, and two wooden chairs have been set up in a rough semi-circle around a square wooden coffee table, facing toward the front doors and positioned so as not to interfere with any traffic moving between there and the stairs. The furniture does not seem to be very old, but it has been well-worn in its short lifetime. A few potted plants have been set in corners, to give the old lobby a more welcoming atmosphere.
To the right of the main doors are mailboxes for building residents, and off to the left is the doorway into a cramped rental office (see +view), and other doors that lead to the building's large laundry room.
Obvious exits:
Stairs Salem's Apartment Out
It's a relatively normal day at the Tenement, with someone stationed in the security room, and everything else mostly silent. It's Ishmael's shift now, and there's the soft lilt of some mindless pop on the radio, while he seems busy reading some hardware manual, feet up on the desk.
Traffic passes by, a car parks, and another pulls away. One particular pedestrian makes her way up to the Tenement's door, checking something on a phone before slipping it back into her purse. She rings the doorbell and glances around; catching sight of the camera she stares straight at it for a long five count before tipping her head in inquiry toward the door.
Ishmael glances up every now and again, when movement on the camera is enough to catch his attention. He does see Shelby--or some intriguing-looking girl at that--but it takes a moment for him remove his feet and turn on the microphone proper. "Name an' business, please." Rules is rules.
"Shelby Zaleski-Leveque," comes her voice clearly (or not so clearly) over the intercom. "And Tim said he might be here this morning - I have to talk to him about something." She pauses, considering something behind her before adding, "Mouse might be interested in it as well."
"Neither Tim or Mouse is around right now," says Ishmael, buzzing her in regardless, the door promptly unlocking. "But you're free t'come in an' wait if you like." Should she enter, he will lazily peel himself out of the security desk chair and stand to greet her, polite-like.
Thus invited, the Fang comes in, carefully closing the door behind before moving into the lobby proper. "Tim said everyone here was either kin or family," she continues, offering Ishmael her hand. "If that's true, I can finish my introduction."
Dark, short-cropped hair, firm brows, and wary brown eyes set the mood of this tanned young adult; his latin ancestry is unmistakable. Stubble mars a square face and set jaw; a cautious frown tugs his lips. He's mildly tall, surpassing six feet, and fit with the toned muscle of a soldier. Otherwise plain, he might be considered handsome if he made a greater attempt at outward appearances, but instead swaps between the rigid, utilitarian uniform of military life, or a casual, paint-stained outfit consisting of a Yankee's ball cap, a tight white tee or baseball shirt, dark leather jacket, and a pair of sneakers and jeans.
"S'true," Ishmael assures her, taking her hand and shaking it once. "Fifth floor's Walker territory, everythin' else is open to the Sept, provided y'haven't pissed off the tribe terribly or somethin'. I'm Ishmael Chavez, Walker, Theurge, Fostern. Maker of fun devices what go 'beep' when there's stuff." He briefly illustrates with a comical flash of his hand.
"You know my homid name," says the woman from Virginia, "Also called Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush. Fostern Ragabash of the Silver Fangs. I'm the great-great-granddaughter of Silver Sword with Two Blades, himself an Adren Philodox." She stops there, though knowing Fangs, she could probably go on for a while. Instead one side of her mouth quirks. "Another Theurge? That could be very helpful. Do you mind if I show you, rather than waiting for the others?"
A few nods, though they're possibly more ceremonial than the Walker actually attempting to remember the who-begot-whos. He peers back at the cameras occasionally, just to make sure an armged guard doesn't appear at the door. You never know. They could have clowns. "Uh, sure. Though what are we talkin' 'bout, exactly?"
Shelby says, "All the weird stuff that's been happening, lately," as though it should be obvious. Her blue heels tap on the floor as she sweeps toward the coffee table. "I use Tarot cards to do the Precognition rite, and I got some absolutely fascinating results over the last couple of days." She makes short work of clearing off the top of said table, only to pull a deck of cards out of her purse and begin laying them out in a particular pattern. "Are you familiar with Tarot, or with that Rite?"
"Can never be sure," says Ishmael with a shrug. He turns up the volume a bit on the security system, setting it to record the visuals while he steps away. "I know of the rite, though I don't know it m'self. An' yeah, no stranger t'Tarot. What came up? Jus' say it wasn't the Tower."
Shelby settles back on her heels (at least five inches) for a moment and quirks her mouth up at him. "Now that you mention it... but no, not in this one." Is that to be a relief? When she's finished, the cards are laid out in the familiar Celtic Cross: the Ace of Pentacles crossed by the Two, surrounded by The World, the Ace of Wands, The Emperor and Temperance. Running up the side are the Three and Four of Wands followed by the Five and Nine of Cups. "Want me to give you a moment to read it yourself, or...?"
Ishmael watches with interest as the cards are placed just-so. His arms are folded--a thoughtful expression, and he nods when she's done. "I really only remember the Major Arcana, so if y'wouldn't mind refreshin' me," he says, gesturing for her to continue. "Otherwise, I'd need t'go look'em up."
Shelby gives a Gallic little shrug as if to say 'but of course' before launching into things. "This is a reading about - or maybe for - the brambles. The present is perfect contentment, harmony. Crossing them is a fairly generic 'troubles, obstacles'. The recent past," a tap to the Ace of Wands, "and we have creation, origin, beginnings. The Emperor... I'm still not quite sure what he's doing there. That's the best possible outcome."
Shelby continues, "Now, affecting the situation we have an established strength and effort. The external influences are home, a haven." She gives the four of Wands a thoughtful look before going on. "The hopes and fears are a thwarted inheritance of some sort. Getting what you want, but not how you wanted it. And the final outcome... well. That's fairly obvious. Victory. Success. Everything you ever dreamed of."
Ishmael emits a short laugh, less of the mirthful variety and more of the 'ah-ha! I was right!' variety. "Yeah," he begins, gesturing towards the Emperor, "I been thinkin' that perhaps this whole deal just isn't so bad as Mouse was makin' it out to be. More of a, 'change is comin', but in the 'change is uncomfortable, but can be positive' way, and less of the 'change is a spiral to disaster and everything's gonna explode' sort of way. The dreams we been havin' seem t'suggest we should buckle down an' ride this out, rather than figure out a way t'stop it."
The Fang considers, looking between him and The Emperor. "Hmm - that might be... I've been reading that as 'order and logic', which frankly, doesn't fit in with either the brambles or this reading, but if you think of him as 'something on the horizon' or 'your greatest strength is yourself'... that's almost tipped more toward us, or me as the querent."
"The one weird thing," says Ishmael, idly tapping at his chin. "Is that Mouse alone had this weird dream where she says she woke up with a scar after, but wouldn't go into real detail about it. So I'm not sure if that changes anythin'. From what I've experienced an' heard, what we're talkin' about here," he gestures to the cards, "seems to t'be more the case. Still, I think it's somethin' she should hear about, definitely."
"Tim had one of those too. Did she say where the scar was?" A shake of white hair brings her back to the now. "But. It looks as though things are going to end up," she taps the Nine of Cups again, "pretty darn well for the brambles. So perhaps we ought to start looking at ways to circumvent them, rather than trying to attack them directly. Or look at our other options."
"I don't remember exactly," says Ishmael, hand on his cheek. "I think it was on her back, but could be misremembering." Staring at the cards a bit longer, he brainstorms: "Had a talk about maybe Chimera knows what's up, and this is her way of reaching out. Tellin' us to ride it out. Maybe she's sayin' goodbye. Maybe she's just unable t'do much. I dunno."
Shelby hmms, shakes her head faintly. "Well," more strongly, "do you want to take a picture of this?" She waves one hand at the layout. "Or I can leave you my notes, if you'd rather build it yourself. I've got others to show you, if you have the time."
Ishmael holds up a finger and then disappears back into the security room. "I got a camera," he says, fishing about, until he procures a fancy one of the digital variety. "Okay." He aims the thing, and snap! And a few more from different angles for posterity. "Alright, sorry, go ahead if you have others. I imagine Mouse'd want t'se the actual spread for herself. So this works."
Shelby appears less unruffled by this blatant display of Weaver tech than one might think, considering her tribe. While she waits she consults a small notebook and begins pulling new cards from the remainder of the deck. "It's not a problem," she assures, sweeping the layout into confusion before starting on the next. "You also might get slightly different readings from a different deck. Now this one is about the bees." She pauses, looks up again. "You've heard about the bees?"
Ishmael lids an eye and looks up towards the cieling as if trying to remember. "It was mentioned to me in passin', but I haven't been givin' the details about it yet." The camera is lifted. "Mind givin' me a refresher? I just got in some days back, so I'm still catchin' up on all the news."
"There are bees," the Ragabash obliges, her attention split between the Theurge and what her hands are doing, "swarming. In January. They should still be in hibernation, but they're all over the scarred forest north of 90." This layout is much the same as the other, save for the cards: the Six of Wands crossed by the Five of Pentacles, surrounded by Fortune, the Three of Swords, The Sun, and Judgement. Up the side run the Five of Wands, Death, the Seven of Swords, and the Ace of Pentacles again." She gives it a meaningful tap. "Looks like things end up pretty well for the bees, too."
There's another flash our four as Ishmael documents this spread as well. "It seems unlikely that this is all some ploy," he says to himself, idly. Then turns to Shelby with a slight frown. "There's been the suggestion that the dreams an' so on have all been given by somethin' sinister, intended t'trick us. But. Could they also mess with rites like this? I doubt it. That'd require a lot of spirit help. A lot." He shakes his head.
Shelby shifts her weight while she waits. "Especially as I was in the Caern itself when I did these. It's possible I suppose, but... well. Occam's Razor, and all." She briskly goes over this reading as well, lingering only on the highlights. "The distant past was a sudden and unexpected change, or a turning point." "The best possible outcome for the bees is an opportunity of some sort. Sort of a 'Embrace your destiny, you created it' thing." "External influences are transformation or utter change of the permanent sort, while hopes and fears is a plan that may fail, or quarreling."
Ishmael again lifts the camera, thoughtful. "Failing plans? Quarreling? Doesn't sound quite so positive," he says, ruminating over the other cards each in turn. "Still, yeah, I agree. Trying to find the bogeyman under every rock creates the bogeyman under ever rock. There's little evidence to suggest anything like that just yet."
"That's just the bees' fears," the Silver Fang repeats, giving Ishmael another moment to peruse the layout before sweeping it aside. "What strikes me as weird about all of this -- besides the obvious -- is that we've got growth, too much growth, in things that ought to be dormant at this time of year. It's like the seasons are mixed up, or something."
Ishmael nods, and scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, that's suspicious. I'm not sure t'think of it as something in favor of the plants or not. It certainly seems to not be doing the predators any favors."
"Well," Shelby amends, "it's not doing us any favors, or anything as large as us. I haven't noticed that the squirrels are having many problems, or the crows and ravens."
"Yeah, I was thinkin' larger mammals," says Ishmael, moving to lean against the couch. "Even the deer population has to at least be moderately annoyed at the sudden lack of mobility."
"Thank goodness we don't have larger reptiles to worry about," says Shelby with a shudder. "And at least the caern is clear, even if it's a pain to get to. Really, I've found going under the thorns is easier than trying to go through." She continues to pull out cards as she speaks - a lot of major arcana, actually.
Ishmael snorts softly at that, bemused. The camera is held at the ready. "I haven't tried yet, but I should prolly get out there an' see for m'self."
This time Shelby lays out not one, but two distinct crosses, using nearly the entire length of the coffee table. "OK, this is where things get weird. Weirder." She taps the one on the left, where most of the major arcana reside. "Knowing T- ah, we've all had strange dreams, like the ones back in June, I decided to do a reading for the dreams. Here's what I got." The Two of Pentacles crossed by the Five of Wands (again). Surrounding, The Hanged Man, The Devil, The Fool, and The Moon. Up the side are the Two of Wands, Death, The Priestess, and Justice. Shelby sits back on her heels again with a sour frown for the cards.
Ishmael makes a face, brows raising. He circles around to the opposite side of the table, as if that might make the cards express themselves more clearly. It doesnlt. "That doesn't look as optimistic as I'd hope," he says, pulling out the camera dutifully and documenting the spread.
"Oh, it gets better," Shelby assures him, even as she ignores the second spread. "This one starts with news, troubles, and obstacles, and the best possible outcome is rebirth. Taking risks, new beginnings. However...," she taps at the Five of Wands, "we're being challenged by an imitation, perhaps, or some strenuous competition."
"At the same time," the Ragabash says thoughtfully, straightening the Priestess card, "the one I liked the most is this one:" she points to The Moon, in the immediate future. "The Moon. The card of the unconscious. Of dreams and intuition. I think we're going to be getting a lot more of these dreams in the next little while. At a guess, I'd say Chimera really wants to talk to us about something, because there's no more obvious card for her unless you actually have a deck with an actual Chimera on it - and I don't."
Flash. "Hrm," says Ishmael, setting down the camera. "That would be where some of a' my suspicion was floatin' about. I figured this couldn't be all good an' 'just wait it out.' But I guess like anythin' natural, y'kind of have t'stake your claim or somethin' else might come along an' take it. An' it might be bigger and meaner, yeah?"
Ishmael adds, with a nod. "Yeah, I've said t'Mouse many, many times now: 'Go talk t'Chimera, Mouse!' But I don't think she has, yet."
The door buzzer sounds and on the camera Zosia waits. Sunglasses? Check. Hoity-toity sort of outfit? Check. Expensive purse? Check. Subtle, she is not.
"Well," says Shelby pragmatically, "if she doesn't want to talk to Chimera, Chimera wants to talk to her. Or me. Or anyone who has half a chance of hearing her." She rolls onto her other hip. "Really, this one isn't so...." Which is when the buzzer goes. "That is a horrible noise."
Ishmael hrms once more, and then jogs back to the security room to take a peek at the cameras. "Huh," he says, mostly to himself. Lots with the high-brow visitors today. "Actually, I think I know this one," he says, activating the mic. "Mouse was mentionin' a 'Zosia' to me earlier," this mostly to Shelby as he buzzes the elder theurge in. "Come on in," he says to Zosia.
The small young woman looks Ishmael up and down, her head tilting to one side. "You I have not met." Her voice, like Shelby, is all high-end Virginia. She enters the room and smiles to herself as she pushes the sunglasses to the top of the head. "I was just thinking how I should hunt you down too, Shelby. Two birds one stone. Is Mouse about?"
Shelby obligingly gets to her feet and heads over to check the monitor. "That's Zosia, yeah," comes her confirmation, even though it's a touch too late. "Hello, Zosia. I don't believe she is. However, I was just showing Ishmael some very interesting readings I've gotten, doing the Rite of Precognition. Care to join us?" There are not one, but two Celtic crosses laid out on the coffee table.
Ishmael simply shakes his head, camera once again in his hands. Apparently he was documenting the tarot spreads. "She's out, still. I imagine she should be back soon, but." The camera is shouldered for a moment, and a polite hand extended. It's clean! For once. "Ishmael Chavez, Paladin walks the spider's maze. Fostern, Theurge, Walker. Builder of stuff."
Zosia takes the hand with a firm grip that belies her southern-belle socialite dress. "Zosia Sulkowski, Seeker of Falcon's Shining Heart. Adren theurge and Elder of the Silver Fangs. Alpha of Temperance, child of Unicorn and all the rest of that nonsense." Then she turns to study the cards laid out. Seems she has seen something like this before as there is no surprise on her expression. "What are they saying?"
Shelby moves back to the coffee table, this time settling on the couch rather than on the floor. "Besides Chimera really wants to talk to us? Well here, let me do the whole reading." She quickly goes over it, starting with the troubles crossed by struggle or battle. The distant past warns of stagnation, while the more recent speaks of misdirection. The best outcome is a new rebirth. "Trust your instincts," she adds pointedly, half-smiling up at Ishmael. "Affecting the situation we have something caught between opposites - which could be the Garou - while an external influence that can't be changed is some sort of permanent transformation." I.E., Death. "Hopes and fears is some sort of passivity, or relying solely on intuition, while the final outcome seems to be Karmic balance, or compromise. Harmony. Learning to do what is necessary."
Ishmael once again scratches the back of his head, thoughtful, but apparently not entirely sure what to do with this information. "Sounds more'n'more like what we've been sayin', though I'm gettin' the greater impression that Somethin' is up what we need to deal with; somethin' that's not the brambles or the growth itself. But." He shrugs.
"Chimera has been speaking to us." Zosia raises her hand, pressing several fingers into her chest, right at the very center. "Some of us. She has marked us. From what I can tell, myself, BJ, Tim, and others, undoubtedly. In our dreams, fittingly. It fits with other dreams and conversations with the spirits and with Aljan. Chimera has said and others have said. Her time is coming to an end. And change is coming. 'She' as Aljan put it, is coming."
Shelby ohs? "Where were you marked, Zosia-rhya? Ishmael was saying that Mouse-rhya's gotten a scar from her dreams too."
"Right here," Zosia says, looking down to where her fingers press against the center of her chest.
Shelby says, "Same as Tim." She pauses, thinking. "I wonder why Tim, actually. You, Mouse, BJ... that makes sense. You're either Theurges or, in BJ's case, really connected to her past. Maybe it's because he's spending time out of doors?" She shrugs, not entirely pleased with the explanation. There are two Celtic Cross tarot spreads on the coffee table, with all the Garou gathered around (save when Ishmael pays attention to the cameras).
Zosia is extremely well dressed, as usual, with sunglasses perched atop her head. A purse hangs forgotten from one hand as she studies the cards on the table. "I wouldn't presume to know the hows and whys of a spirit like the Lady of the Mirrors," the Silver Fang says quietly, her other hand still lightly pressed against the center of her chest.
Ishmael conveniently happens to be paying attention to the cameras right that moment, nodding as Shelby thinks aloud.
Kevin comes down the stairs with his usual shambling gait that tends to be his default mode of walking, except when he's in a hurry. "Yo, guys," he says to the little clump in the lobby, then does a slight double-take as he sees the tarot cards. "What the hey? Is there a tarot craze in this town all of a sudden?" He comes over to investigate.
Kevin Lockwood is now into his twenties, and physically, he blends in pretty well with those who would outwardly seem to be his peers - he's taller than many of them, leaner than most, and perhaps a little more mature-looking than the average. As ever his face contains a long chin, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes. He's resumed his previous style of long wavy hair combined with a clean shaven face.
His clothing seems to run pretty much entirely to black. Black jeans, a black t-shirt with the CND 'peace' symbol being struck by lightning, and a smart black windcheater jacket over the top of it. Also black, though rather less expected, is the studded leather dog-collar he sports around his neck.
He's a couple of inches over six feet tall now, much of it his long legs, as ever; sometimes, particularly when sitting down, he doesn't seem to know what to do with those legs, crossing them, tucking them under himself, swinging them sideways, or a dozen other uncomfortable-seeming positions.
Shelby greets the other Ragabash with, "Kevin-rhya," but doesn't shift away from her prime position in front of the cards to make room. "Which actually leads me to this second reading. I wanted to see if I could get more detail about all the dreams that Chimera," she taps the Moon again, "is talking about. And I got this." A gesture to the second spread. The Magician crossed by the Ace of Pentacles, surrounded by the Queen of Cups, the Ace of Wands, the Queen of Swords, and the Four of Swords. Up the side are the Ace of Swords, the Tower, the Nine of Wands and the Six of Swords to finish off. "That," she points at the Tower, "is rarely a good card, and it is not in a good place. --External influences, things that can't be changed or controlled," she adds by way of explanation.
There's the rattle of a key in the lock of the front door. And then more rattling. And then a WHUMP, as though someone kicked the door, though not particularly hard. And then a muffled, "Fuck my life," in a voice that might be recognizable.
"Sometimes I think we worry about control too much," Zosia says thoughtfully, turning her head toward the door. "...Is that Mouse?" Her voice. So dry.
"It's Mouse," agrees Ishmael, nodding a few times. How could he forget so quickly the telltale 'fml'? "Mouse," says he, gesturing to the two visitors. "Guests, that have some information for you." The Tower gets a rather dark look. Apparently he has a Beef with that card.
Ishmael also waves to Kevin. "Hey! I got pictures of all the spreads on this camera if you want to take a look." Said camera is lifted.
"That isn't an answer," Kevin says irascibly as he peers at the cards. "Why are you futzing around with the Tarot? And what the hell's up with the front door?" He crosses toward it, to peer at the control. "Has someone got the spirit of the lock pissed off?"
"Because I was doing the rite of Precognition," Shelby explains patiently, "and these are the results. Half of them, anyway. --I can show you the other two later," she adds in a lower voice to her Elder. Further discussions of the Tower-laden spread are delayed, at least for now.
The key scrapes in the lock, rattles again, and after another kick--which can't be very helpful--Mouse gets the door open. She looks quite tired, with distinct shadows under her eyes. She also looks quite grumpy, as the door has had the misfortune to discover. The Walker Theurge steps all the way inside, eyeing everyone in the lobby while easing around Kevin, then kicks the door shut. Because she can. (Except she doesn't kick it hard enough, so she has to actually press it the rest of the way closed)
Zosia gives Shelby a vaguely puzzled look before nodding to her, her eyes flicking from the table to the girl's face and then back. The theurge seems a bit lost in thought now, resting her free hand on her hip as she continues to stare.
Ishmael gives Mouse the chance to get her bearings and de-steam a little before adding anything further. Also, he seems to be fiddling with the camera to bring up the images of the other spreads.
Kevin helps Mouse close the door, politely, and gives the lock a quick once-over just to check that it is all right. "Only there's this girl working a tarot stand in Harbor Park at the moment," he says to the other garou. "Dev and I went out yesterday to show Flint the sights, and met her. Not seen her there before. She was a bit creepy."
When she's not wearing sun-glasses, this woman's most obvious and noticeable feature is her eyes--they're a distinct golden yellow, feral and decidedly inhuman. Cosmetic contact lenses, surely. The rest of her face is fairly average, and it might even lean toward the faintly attractive side if it weren't for the scars. And there are scars: thin, spidery lines that trace over her nose and under her chin and down one side of her jaw. Several of them curl over one eye, and one even passes over an eyelid, though the eye itself seems undamaged. Her hair is unremarkable--brown, terribly short, with a tendency to stick out slightly in utterly random directions.
She's not really tall, maybe 5'7 or 5'8 at best, but there's a gawkiness to her body that creates an illusion of extra height, a sense of her torso being just slightly too long. She's stick-thin too, which only adds to the overall image. Beanpole for certain, this one.
As for the woman's clothing, it's functional, if fairly nondescript. She appears to favor loose and comfortable, button-up shirts and slightly baggy pants, with simple black street-walking shoes. What can be seen of her skin beyond her face seems to echo the motif above--thin spidery scars, mostly randomly placed, but a few seem to form meaningless designs. They're heavier and more intricate on the backs and palms of both hands, and perhaps for this reason she also seems to favor wearing gloves when she can get away with it.
Shelby ohs? "I'll have to see if she's there next time I pass. It might be interesting to see what a third party has to say, if Chimera can influence her." She stands, then, and adds to Mouse, "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque, called Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush, a Fostern-ranked Silver Fang Ragabash, and great-great-granddaughter of the Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood."
There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the lock. Maybe Mouse is having a bad-door-day. She rakes her fingers back through her hair, gives Kevin a slight nod, and then looks toward Shelby. "Mouse, First-Strike, Adren Theurge, Glass Walker elder. Uh, metis. What's going on?"
"Shelby's been doing the little rite of Precognition," Zosia says absently as she continues to study the cards. "And, there's been some discussion of various dreams. I have been told you have a mark too, from a dream about Chimera?" She looks then to Mouse, pressing her fingertips to her chest where the scar is.
Kevin stops fiddling with the lock and returns to the table to look over Ishmael's shoulder at the images of the spreads. "I think I had that one," he remarks, though as he doesn't point to any particular card it's hard to know which one he means.
"The thing is," Shelby says, returning to her seat on the couch, "this spread is so different from the other one, it's like they aren't connected at all even though they're supposed to be. This one," on the left, "has obstacles of competition and struggle while this one," on the right, "is facing off against perfect contentment. Best outcome here," left, "is rebirth and trusting your instincts and over here it's sadness, mourning, and separation, probably of the female variety."
Ishmael grins back over his shoulder, but then there's a buzzing in his pocket, and he hops for a second. "Gonna put this back over here," he says, walking the digital camera over to the security area and setting it aside. Fishing out his phone, he makes something of a face. "Apologies, but I hafta take this. 'Scuse me," he says, quickly scurrying towards the stairs and up out of sight.
Mouse eyes Zosia, and then very, very slowly, her gaze drops to Zosia's hand. Her jaw twitches minutely. "Yeah. I did." Then she looks over toward Shelby. "They're connected. BJ and I had a long discussion last night."
"Actually, they do sound connected." Zosia leans forward and points to the one that ends in sadness, mourning and separation. "Chimera." She then leans over toward the other one, trapping one of the cards beneath her finger. "Over and over, the spirits and my dreams have said that 'she' is coming. And all Aljan could tell was that it was going to be hard and that we would need to use wits and words and thinking over claws and that if we used claws, it would be extremely bad." She straightens and studies the others.
Kevin steps aside to let Ishmael go past, and then looks at Zosia and Mouse with some concern. "It's getting heavier and more ominous every day, isn't it?" he remarks, his voice as loaded with pessimism as a pizza is with toppings.
Shelby settles back, hands on her knees, and looks from one Theurge to the next. "If you see a connection, good - that's a large part of why I'm here. The only thing I could think of to link them was the unconscious/intuition on one side and the sad female - Chimera? - on the other. I can tell you what the cards say, but interpretation I'll leave up to the professionals."
Mouse says, without preamble, in a voice that sounds rather flat and toneless, "The seasons are turning. We're losing her."
"Change is coming. Is it a bad change or a good change? That cannot be told, not by spirits, not by cards, not by anything. It will be what we make if it, really," Zosia muses. "It doesn't have to be bad. As BJ pointed out to me, this has in the past been the Caern of the seasons. It seems like perhaps the season for Chimera is ending and the new season is approaching. My dreams have been full of seasons." She nods to Mouse, looking more thoughtful than upset.
"That dream about the flying ark..." Kevin says in a quiet voice. "Maybe that was part of the same set-up, the same symbolism. Uprooting ourselves and moving. I was worrying it might mean moving the caern physically, but maybe it means a change of spirit?"
"That's what I told Ishmael!" Shelby exclaims, looking from Mouse toward the stairs and pausing on the way back to cock her head curiously at Kevin. "With the bees, and the growth on the bawn, it's like it's spring and not winter. All of this," a hand waves toward the cards, "even this," tapping on the ominous Tower, "is just a way of saying what's coming. It's change. It's a big change, if so many people are getting portents. I don't think we can stop it. I don't think we should stop it."
Mouse, on the other hand, has slipped into her expressionless mask--but around the edges it's a little cracked, and her unnatural eyes, especially, look rather hollow and mournful. "The seasons are turning," she repeats. "According to BJ, from autumn to winter." Shelby gets a very distracted nod. "We can't stop it. She's leaving. But the ark dream...as far as I've been able to find out, only Garou who live here in the city, work in the city, have had it." She breathes. "We need to prepare the Glade."
"Oh, we can't stop it," Zosia says with a tiny smile. "There is no stopping it. Instead, we need to get people together, get all these damned dreams and start assembling what clues we can." She makes a faint noise befor adding, "I've had a different dream. I was a fish, carried beneath the waters and taught to swim by Salmon. And warned that the winter will be hard, the ice inevitable and that a place must be kept to shelter the Garou through the Winter of the soul. I do think we need the Glade. Because my dream showed me the city, at the end, spread beneath me."
"This." Kevin points a finger at Zosia. "Whether or not we can or can't stop whatever's coming -- we need to be ready for it. To fight it if we have to... to roll with it if we have to... to do whatever. We can't just sit here like bumps on a log pretending nothing is happening. If you fail to prepare, then prepare to fail," he adds sanctimoniously.
Shelby pulls a phone out of her purse and snaps a couple of pictures of the layouts before beginning to tidy them away. "The Glade - Harbor Park. Tim and I have been talking about it. If something is going to happen to the Caern, to Chimera, then we need to think about what all those Garou who can't or won't come to the city will do. How will we protect them?"
Mouse rubs her face harshly. "I don't know. In the ark dream, there were animals that wouldn't come. Animals that turned back, animals that had to be brought by their friends. But we need to prepare Harbor Park, and...good God, I'm twitchy." She begins fishing out her cigarettes. "This place alone won't do. We're close to the Glade, definitely, and we have enough room, technically, but that many Garou in here on fat moons? Let alone that many Garou of that many tribes? We need more city places, as in, yesterday. Places people can have space. And we need more reliable paths through the Umbra to get to here. The path to the Glade," and here, at least, she seems to find some comfort, and maybe a little bit of pride, "from here, is short and clean."
"There are places that can be watched over by those who won't come to the city. There are glades in various tribal territories and there is there is the area where the great tree is now." Zosia pulls the sunglasses from atop her head and folds them up, tucking them away in her purse. "It will be a hard Winter. That has been said repeated in dreams and signs. But the Spring to come will be worth it." She listens to Mouse and grunts faintly. "Places in the city can be found, bought, and worked on. Between myself, Tristan and a few others, opportunities can be arranged. The Umbral side...." She exhales slowly. "You'll need more than the city tribes. I'll talk to Aljan. We are a roving pack of protectors, no formal territories but we are Unicorn's children. We are aimed at protecting Garou and protecting those that need it."
"I really can't see us cramming the entire sept into Harbor Park," Kevin says. "And if we could, it'd be a disaster anyway. We can get away with a few people sitting around pretending to have a picnic or hang out, but the whole sept? Way, way too obvious. I don't think the whole sept should ever be in the same place at one time. Too easy a target for you know who," he says, sounding for one moment like a member of Dumbledore's Army rather than a garou.
Shelby listens while she squares up the cards and tucks them back into their pouch. "It sounds like what we really need is to get all these various dreams together for people to look at. Tim couldn't even tell me what all his dream was about, just a mirror whose image constantly changed. And then he woke up with a scar."
Mouse lights up, but Zosia's words seem to have a calming effect on her as well. She straightens, pacing a brief half circle around the lobby furniture before she stops and leans against the back of the couch. Puff. "No, Kevin, not in Harbor Park. In the Glade. That's why I'm talking about umbral paths." She looks at Zosia. "Can I work with you on that? We should try for properties near the Glade, if we can, and if we can't, then at least properties that can have paths cleared between them. And there's still the problem of the river. It's a horrible mess, and the bridge is in some ways, worse. That's not a problem when you've got city tribes going out to the woods for Sept business, but when you've got everyone coming in for Sept business in the city, when the spiritual center is here, it'd be a lot better if they could do it flipside."
Zosia smiles at Mouse then, one that is far warmer and more friendly than she's ever offered the Walker before. "Of course. I am genuinely offering both my help, Tristan's advice," whether he knows it or not, "and my pack. We are a Sept. If we are going to survive the change of seasons without the large moons all going half mad and attacking when they need to be thinking, then we need to be proactive and offer some things to focus on before they can even start striking out. This has been said to me a great deal already."
Kevin clicks his fingers, looking annoyed with himself. "Yeah, right, sorry Mouse," he mutters. "Ya know, the more I think about this whole situation, the more I reckon we need an extraordinary general meeting. Or the sept equivalent."
"We need to call a Moot." And then Zosia frowns as her phone starts to play ... oh god, is that Bruno Mars "Just The Way You Are"? Sadly, it is. "Tristan. We're meeting up. I have to go but Mouse, I meant what I said. I'll be around later to start speaking about this. And I'll bring Tristan. He'll have thoughts about this and many of them will be good ones." She flashes a smile then heads out the door, answering her phone as she does. "Hello? Hi...was just talking to some people..."
"Sounds like we could use some packs working on that," the lone Fostern muses, half to herself. She waves a distracted farewell to Zosia before considering each of the Walkers in turn. "I don't have a pack just now, and I don't have boatloads of money to spend, but I am willing to move between the city and the bawn."
"Good god, yes," Mouse mutters around her cigarette. "And not just the fat moons. Jamethon was haring off like you wouldn't believe the other day. We need to prepare, and we need to not put it off, but we also need to make sure we know where we're jumping before we do." She looks up at Zosia. "I'll start looking around for possible spots then, and we can get together and talk specifics as soon as all three of us can. It'd help if their shadows weren't horribly infested bane nests to begin with anyway." And what goes unspoken, but might as well be said by her body language is: 'and it gives me more things to do'. Back to Kevin, "And you thought Salem's talk of holding moots in the Umbra was weird." Her tone is, for the first time today, not flat, but lightly teasing. What he says, however, sobers her again. "I want a Moot.--" this at the same time as Zosia. "I sent a message to the Alpha and the Warder, but I don't know how feasible it is. I want...at least one more moot."
"Buhbye, Zo. Yes. We desperately need a moot," Kevin agrees. "I know we're only just past full moon, but sometimes you need to know when a thing can't be put off. Hell with garou tradition just for once, on this one. We may not see another full moon if we keep sitting on our fat butts."
Not long after Zosia leaves, Tim appears in the camera monitoring the door and gies it a wave. He looks less haggard than he has, if still short of sleep.
Catching sight of the monitors out of the corner of one eye, Shelby rises and crosses to see precisely who it is. Which turns out to be Tim. "It's Tim," she announces, sounding pleased, and crosses to the door. "May I let him in?" She doesn't actually do so until cleared.
Mouse says, quietly, "I'm not really worried about us missing the next moot." And then quieter, "I want to be able to say--" And she stops when Shelby speaks, and nods at the Fang.
Kevin eyes Mouse, one eyebrow rising, waiting to see if she finishes that sentence and actually says what she wants to be able to say.
"Hey hey," Tim says to Shelby as she lets him in, nodding a hello. He looks from Mouse to Kevin, and without preamble, says, "I had a pretty weird dream that I can't describe to anyone." He looks like he thinks this will somehow be meaningful.
Shelby's greeting in return is a quick smile and, as she closes the door, adds, "They know. I've told them about it, and your scar." In a lower voice, meant to not interrupt the Walkers, "I did some tarot readings. I'd like you to look at them. Later. You just missed Zosia, and right now we're talking Moot."
Maddeningly, Mouse doesn't finish her sentence. She regards Tim, then taps her chest. "You, me, BJ, Zosia. I thought it was just me until last night."
Kevin for one doesn't seem in the least surprised to hear Tim's news. "I don't think there's a garou in the sept who hasn't been having meaningful dreams. The trouble is, trying to dredge the meaning out of them."
Tim listens to Shelby, then squints at her and admits, "Well, my card-fu's kind of limited, but I'll try. Hindus, we do different mantic rites." His attention snaps to Mouse, and he exhales, shutting his eyes for a second. "Praise Shakti. You have no idea how nice it is to not think I'm going crazy." His fingers tap together in rapid succession as he thinks, and shakes his head at Kevin. "This was different. I've never woken up from a dream with a scar on me--gone into Dream and gotten banged up, maybe. And I couldn't really tell Shelby what it was about. That I know hasn't ever happened to me. So, Mouse, me, BJ, Zosia..." He raises an eyebrow. "Low moons? Have we all packed under a similar Totem in the past?"
Shelby lifts a hand to refute Kevin's claim with a smile. "I just have interesting Tarot readings." "--And," she adds thoughtfully, "I've never packed. Temperance is BJ's first pack. Zosia's packed under, hmn... Wyvern, I believe."
Mouse's mouth twitches upward, briefly, though the look doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, if you like, I can give you my interpretation of them all, but it comes with the obvious caveat that I could be completely and utterly wrong." A slight headshake. "I've only been packed under Cockroach before now."
"There are a lot of different things that y'all could have in common," Kevin points out. "Tribe, auspice, pack, breed, birthplace, favourite pizza topping... Some things are deliberate, some are random."
"Something about a mirror," Shelby appends to Tim's non-explanation, waving off the rest of what hasn't been (or can't be) communicated. "And that would be nice," she continues to Mouse. "Ishmael has the images, as he said, and I can give you my email address if you want to send them that way." She flashes a bright, impish smile. "Or if you want to kick it old school, I could write out a copy of my notebook. I figure every new set of eyes can only help."
"It could be random, yeah. But since it feels like we're grasping at straws, it can't hurt to see if there's a pattern to who's seen what. Like Mouse was saying the other day," Tim gestures at the Walker Elder, "it doesn't sound like anyone who's not based in the city has gotten the dream about the boat. Maybe it's not relevant, though, and just because, being from the city, building stuff is a city Garou's way of seeing it." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "And I haven't heard if anyone else saw what I did--the one about the woman traveling across the desert."
"Given Zosia's dream?" Mouse muses. "It's relevant. We're being called on to build. And the mirror," she looks, briefly, pained. "Let me give my interpretation in short. We're losing Chimera. Her...season is ending. What this new season will be is hard, and difficult, but depending on what we build, in the metaphorical sense, we'll come out better for it, and things will improve. I don't know if this means the Caern is going dormant for 'winter', but BJ seems to think so, and it fits with a lot of the dreams I've been hearing. Which means..." She gestures toward the door. "The most powerful spiritual center if the Caern goes dormant is sitting right out there, a few blocks away."
Kevin turns to follow Mouse's pointing finger. "If we wind up with a Caern here in the city," he says, "things will become very different. And that's an understatement."
Tim shudders and clenches his teeth. "I was really hoping you wouldn't say something like that," he murmurs in a tone of dread and resignation. "Losing Chimera, as in...losing the Caern? Or just it going dormant?" He doesn't seem to be asking Mouse so much as wondering aloud. "So I guess it's even more important there be a Pack looking after the Park, while we...figure things out and meet whatever's coming head on." He looks askance at Shelby in a most unsubtle manner, though doesn't wait for any kind of reaction from her; his eyes move to Mouse again. "What dream did Zosia have?"
"Pray we don't have to," Mouse says to Kevin, though there's a hint in her voice that she thinks it's a vast possibility. "Jesus, the logistics. I wonder if we can snatch up any property right next to it. We should anyway at this point. Or...hell. I wonder if it's possible to buy it from the city. I wondered, but I never really had to work out how all the measures in Sept of the Green got started since they were obviously all already there when I was born. Though at least we won't have a problem on the other side. That fetish is a goddamned miracle." She looks at Tim. "Not just a pack. I don't want territorial bitching going on over this, we've all got to start cleaning. And I've already had Jamethon going on to me about how the lot of us clearly don't do anything to protect it by virtue of not being him." Irritable. "Dormant, yeah. Or we're just losing her, but a Caern without a spirit..."
Shelby side-eyes Tim right back (thank you, high heels, even if they don't get her entirely up to his height). "A pack would help, though - especially if it's one like Temperance, who doesn't claim territory. Or doesn't claim the Park as territory. There's already sort of a haven here in the city, too - remember that Tristan owns the skate park. Which reminds me...." She's already reaching for her phone when it goes off. A glance at caller ID and she grimaces, glancing apologetically at the three Adren. "Excuse me, please." She heads for the door before answering in French, sounding both put upon and apologetic as she exits.
"I just meant in the same way we have Bawn Guardian Packs," Tim reassures Mouse with a raised hand. "The Bawn's not theirs and they don't get to claim it as territory more than any other Sept member does. Same deal." He nods a farewell to Shelby, then tips his head. "I was born and raised in a city Caern too, but like you said--it was in place and kept secret long before there was as much red tape." The Ragabash can't suppress an eyeroll at the comment about Jamethon. "He can blow me. I patrol it every night the moon's bigger than half that I'm not trying to go into Dream."
Kevin touches his brow in a form of salute to Shelby as she departs. "What was Zosia's dream?" he asks Mouse. "I don't think she told me, other than that it had something to do with Chimera."