Overclocking a Ragabash

[shelbyrou]

It is currently 08:47 Pacific Time on Fri Jan 13 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (69% 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

Having duly knocked and been buzzed in, Shelby comes in out of the fog, huddled into a down jacket. The astonishing shoes she wore the other day have been replaced by sensible tennies, but otherwise the Ragabash looks essentially the same. "Good morning, Salem-rhya," she says, offering over a box of coffee from Starbucks. "Where should I put this?"

Jack Salem is in his middle sixties and looks as though he's served a long-term tour of duty in hell. A thick mane of unkempt white hair hangs well past his shoulders, and a scruffy white beard covers most of his hawkishly gaunt face. He was probably handsome once upon a time, but the fine aristocratic features are marred by the detritus of old wounds. Thick keloid rips down the left side of his face (his eye on that side is milky white, obviously blind), while another line runs crookedly across the bridge of his nose. There are pockmarks from old shrapnel wounds as well, and half of his right ear has been torn off at some point. His eyes (the good one's dark brown) are deep-set under thick black eyebrows, but despite the lines and sleepless bruising around them, the stare from the good one is as sharp and predatory as it ever was.

At six-foot-three, Salem stands taller than many men; he is leanly muscled, with not a spare ounce of flesh on him. He limps when he walks, favoring his right leg, and his left hand is missing its smallest finger and half of its ring finger. Despite this, he appears neither infirm nor weak. There is, in fact, an aura of tightly-controlled violence about him that is enough to make most mortals blench.

His shabby, slept-in attire suggests a 'Nam vet down on his luck. The olive-drab combat jacket is from around the time of that particular conflict and looks like it's been through a few wars since then; there are several mended tears, old stains, and bare patches where the insignia and name tag used to be. The baggy white t-shirt he wears underneath the open jacket is dingy, as are the torn and faded jeans he's wearing. Battered jungle boots and a nigh-shapeless boonie hat complete the appearance of a guy who's made maybe one too many trips up the Nung River.

Salem is perhaps the last person to be astonished at how people change when they're away, and he hardly bats an eye at the Ragabash's shiny white hair. He gestures toward the laundry room. "Coffee maker's in there."

"Oh no," she fairly chirps up at him, "it's already made. But if there are mugs in there I could pour you one. It's their new blonde roast, whatever that means."

"Blonde roast?" Salem squints at her as though he suspects she's making some kind of bad joke.

"As opposed to a dark roast, like an Italian," quoth the Ragabash, all innocence in her blue eyes. "Would you like a cup?"

Salem grimaces. "I'll pass, but thank you." He pushes up out of his chair and paces the length of the lobby, restlessly.

"All right," she says brightly, and takes the box off to the laundry room, returning with a steaming mug. Pausing to let the lion pace past, she settles into a chair where she can watch him move. She doesn't say anything at first, instead content to blow on her coffee and take delicate sips.

Salem stops after a short time and cocks his good eye at her. "I suppose I should ask what brings you here."

Shelby considers that for a moment or two. "You could," she finally allows. "I was actually trying to think of where to start. There are so many things going on these days." Not so many that she can't have more coffee, however. "I suppose the obvious one is to ask if you've been having dreams too."

Salem's maimed hand comes up to absently scratch at the middle of his chest. He grimaces. "If you mean shared dreams, yes. A couple."

"Maybe," she says with a shrug. "I haven't had any, since I've been back, but it seems like everyone else is getting two or three a night. Tim, Zosia, Mouse... they've all woken up from their dreams with new scars."

Salem folds his arms across his chest. The scarred halfmoon's standing, not far from the door, while the Fang takes her comfort and her coffee on one of the chairs. Salem grunts, jerking his head in a nod. "Heard about that from Mouse last night."

Shelby says, "Oh, good. I assume you also know about the brambles, on the bawn, but have you heard about the bees? North of the interstate, in that scarred bit of forest Meg used to patrol. They're umbral, mostly, but Tim and I have seen them swarming Realmside as well."

Salem, frowning, nods. "I'd heard something about that, yes. Related to the bramble growth, I'm assuming."

"Maybe," the Ragabash shrugs, followed immediately by, "Probably," and more coffee. "So I did a Precognition rite about all of that - the bees, the brambles, the dreams - and came up with...." Now she sets down her coffee and stands, quickly, as though she can't bear to sit any longer. "Something big is coming, something inevitable, and we can't stop it. Or maybe it can't be stopped, period. But either way, we need to figure out ways around it, not through."

Navigating through the thick fog of St. Claire comes a young woman to the door of the tenement building. A single buzz. The cameras show a blond haired woman, hooded sweatshirt on but hood down, standing outside the door very casually and without wariness.

"A lesson every Garou should learn." Salem's definitely in a sour mood today. "We're too used to slamming our heads into things." He frowns at the monitor image, then limps over to the door and opens it to stare flatly down at the figure on the step.

"No one ever accused the Garou of being the most subtle of thinkers," the Ragabash agrees, with a flicker of a half-smile. "We--," but he's moving off and she turns to swoop up her mug, sipping at it as though expecting the caffeine - in small doses, anyway - to be calming. "Nobody you know?"

Emma looks up as the door opens and finds herself stuck in a deep stare. Eyes narrow briefly as if trying to work out a sudden algebra equation dropped in her lap, and after a long, heavy moment, her voice almost falls to whisper level. "Salem?"

"Emma." Salem states the name rather flatly, and after a moment of looking her up and down, he steps aside to let her in. "Hadn't heard you were back."

"...Or he does," Shelby murmurs to herself, and sets her coffee down again, folding into the chair half a moment later. Her eyes are bright as she watches the little drama in the hallway, while her bearing and appearance are the epitome of Fangliness.

There's a pedestrian approaching along the street, leather jacket pulled closed, battered brown Stetson pulled well down. A trail of cigarette smoke follows him. He's nearing the tenement as he glances up, eyes sharp and interested.

Emma gives the man a grin, it's subtle, but it's genuine and seems to mean a lot to the young Ahroun. "Well that sucks. I stopped in before and asked the others to let you know I was back. Having a hard time finding old friends these days." She steps in and looks around, eyes settling on the Silver Fang. A nod is given but she seems to be waiting for Salem to close up the door before getting too comfortable.

Salem nods distractedly to Emma; he's kind of eyeballing the figure in the cowboy hat outside.

5'3" of proud energy packed up into a body all too willing to use it. Emma could easily look appropriate dressed for elegance, but her attitude paints her style far more brute efficiency than subtle charm.

Somewhere in her early twenties, her features are strong but decidedly feminine. High cheekbones and full lips work well to compliment her almost button nose and deepset eyes, while dark, ash blonde hair frames her face. It's mostly straight, but has that wild-style look to it that just brushes against her shoulders. Her eyes are a cool blue, reminiscent of a bright summer day - but like the weather they seem to hold an amount of unpredictability. There is a hardness to her gaze, and while her smiles can be warm and sincere, they are well guarded.

Her posture is one of confidence and boldness, and she carries herself with a stoic restraint on something that hints very strongly of being dangerous.

"Shelby Zaleski-Leveque," says the pale-haired woman in the chair. Her eyes flick past the Get to the still-open door, and she says no more. Well, save for, "If you're a friend of Salem's, there's coffee through there." 'There' being the laundry room, and 'coffee' being what she picks up and has another sip of.

The approaching man in the hat is plainly carrying something. It looks like a large paper bag of the sort used for takeaway fast food. Once he's close enough to make eye contact, he tips his hat to Salem where the half-moon is looking out of the door. "Morning, sir. Is Kevin in?"

Emma gets caught up in the moment or two she spends looking toward the Fang before finally breaking her silence. "Emma Mahler. Grew up around here, just got back. Pleasure to meet you. And yes. Coffee. Definitely."

Salem shakes his head curtly. "He isn't, at the moment. Are you friend or family?"

"Distant family. Most of my folks prefer the mountains," Quin replies. This close, he's plainly of Native American stock. They could use him as clipart for it, in fact, if they didn't want the trappings as well.

"Pleased to meet you, Emma," the Ragabash claims, pitching her voice low enough to not disturb the conversation at the door. "There are mugs in there too. I believe any without a name are fair game." Her eyes flick toward the laundry room before she offers the shorter woman half of a friendly smile.

Salem considers Quin for a moment, then nods and steps aside, letting him enter if he chooses.

"Thank you, sir," Quin says equitably. He doesn't catch Salem's eye for more than the swiftest moment as he looks the half-moon over in passing. The smell of cigarette smoke and the savoury aroma of burger and fries follows along with him as he treads in Emma's wake, into the building.

Emma settles in to get some coffee before turning to pay more attention to the other visitor. She whispers more quietly to Shelby. "Know him?"

Shelby merely shakes her head, though she breathes deeply (and appreciatively) of the burger-scent. Perhaps it's the cigarettes that cause her to clear her throat and blink in surprise at its apex. "So you've known each other long," she asks of Emma instead, glancing to Salem and back.

"We packed, a long time ago," Salem says. He closes the door behind Quin, then introduces himself briefly. "Jack Salem, called Scar."

"'Don't believe I've met any of you," Quin says, keeping his body at an angle. "I've met Mouse a time or two. Keep in touch with Kevin. Got one of those fancy phones that Kavi handed out. Heard it's all family 'round here, one way or another."

Once the door is closed, Emma falls into place with the introductions. "Ahroun, Get. Deed name took a new spin though, Heart of Fire now." She looks back to Shelby first, "Been south the last five years, but home for good now."

The white-haired woman straightens minutely. "Shelby Zaleski-Leveque, Fostern Ragabash of the Silver Fangs, also known as Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush. I'm the great-great-granddaughter of the Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood." "--Welcome home," she adds to Emma, rather than going further into her ancestry.

"Philodox, Glass Walkers," Salem adds. His mood's definitely poor. Leaning against the wall near the door, he digs out his cigarettes and lights up.

Each speaker gets a sharp look from the man in the Stetson, who tips his hat to each in turn. "Quin Yellow Horse. Kin of the Wendigo. Forensics. With the SCPD. Pleased t' meet you." His accent is local, although a little more rural than city.

Emma grins gently at the Ragabash, "I could've guessed. Thanks for the welcome home though. Seems like a lot is happening. Or has already." She looks over toward the kin then, eyes settling on him briefly, "Nice meeting you too Quin."

Shelby, at least, perks right up on hearing his title. "Oh? That's terribly useful, isn't it. I would definitely like to get your contact information, Mr. Yellow Horse." But not, perhaps, just right now. Right now she tells Salem, "As I was saying, right after the cards suggested how to deal with the upcoming obstacles, I met a man who did much the same. He was doing this thing he called 'parkour' - have you heard of it?"

Salem exhales foul-smelling cigarette smoke and raises a dark eyebrow at Shelby. Dryly, he says, "I've been freerunning for longer than you've been alive. So. Yes."

"Sure," Quin replies, displaying some interest as Shelby continues talking. Then, however, the pocket of his jacket buzzes at him, and he retires to a polite distance to talk the call. "Pardon me. Work. better take it."

Emma looks over at Shelby then, "He start off in the park, on the merry-go-round disc? I ran into him the other day." Salem gets a look, and a little Emma-smirk catches her. "You tip me off when you're going and I'd tag along if you'd let me."

Shelby beams at Salem, apparently unruffled by his tone, before nodding an absent farewell (or perhaps that's permission) to Quin. "Free running," she echoes, then shakes her head at Emma. "No, but I was at Harbor Park when I ran into him. He said he normally had a partner, but they hadn't shown up. --Anyway, I watched some videos of it last night, and I thought I'd give it a try today."

Salem's eyebrows go up at Shelby. Then he clears his throat curtly and turns to Emma. "Where're you staying? The brownstone?"

Emma nods to Salem's question. "Probably. Still sorting things out a bit. Been spending time ... elsewhere lately. Get have a little situation come up. A kin. Wolf kin." Here she sighs, "Currently stuck in a human body. It's all shades of messed up and we're trying to figure out where to put her."

There is, perhaps, a flicker of a frown on the Silver Fang's face, but it's gone after she has another swallow of coffee. "I should talk to you about something else, Salem-rhya, but it can wait. --However did that happen?" The last aimed at Emma as she turns to the other woman, all eager for a gossip.

Salem blinks a little at this. "...Hmn. Well. I'll check for you there, or Edgewood." He eyes Shelby a moment, then excuses himself and heads upstairs.

Emma nods to Salem as he leaves then turns back to Shelby. "Long story short? She's the mate of a lupus Get who pissed off a very cranky spirit, who punished him by turning her into a human shape. Thing is. Shape only. Brain, instincts, communication. All wolf. We ended up with her because ...I dunno. He didn't wanna deal with it and Viv was a sucker for a confused wolf in woman's clothing."

Shelby sends Salem off with a wave and settles back into her chair. "Weird. And I say that having had black hair all my life. What do you think you're going to do with her? Can she stay at Edgewood?"

Quin turns back to the room at that point, shaking his head. "I'm getting called back in. Homicide. Some creep got creative with a knife. I like to get a good look, 'case it's a creep who's more than the average human, if you see what I mean. I can let myself out."

Emma shakes her head, "We don't know. She's really out of sorts. Understandably of course, but it leaves us in a weird place. We're basically having to baby sit her. Check in on her every few hours." She nods toward Quin with a grimace, then turns back.

Shelby sends Quin off with a half-repulsed, half-impressed, "Ew." She shivers and studies her coffee for a moment before drinking down the last. "Maybe if we had a kin who was a veterinarian, or something. Because, yeah. --I don't suppose she knows how to walk and talk, does she? Probably not; that wouldn't make it much of a punishment."

Emma shakes her head, "Thing is, and this is the bullshit part of it. She wasn't the one who fucked up. Her mate did. And she got made this way- and then he up and drops her off with some other Get to handle. Awesome. She's wolf. Entirely. Only understands us while we're in lupus. And it's just so damn ... it's wrong seeing this human form acting like that. It's just wrong. I was hoping to catch Mouse to see if she had any ideas. She seems pretty clever on this sort of spirit foo. Not that my tribe will be all too pleased that I took it beyond our walls. Oh well."

Shelby says, "There's always Zosia-rhya," as if a Silver Fang theurge would be more acceptable than a Glass Walker one. "I can mention it to her, if you'd like. Speaking of theurge things... have the Get been getting any of those weird dreams that are going around?"

Emma nods. "Owen did. And no no, I probably spoke too freely about our kin issue as is. Heh, thanks though. Owen's was about the changing of the seasons, which well. Mouse said my theory wasn't half bad. Dunno if more came of it though."

Shelby inclines her head. "Changing seasons? That fits right in with all the other puzzle pieces I've been collecting. Like... there are bees swarming up north, and you know," the 'of course' is unspoken, "about all the brambles on the bawn. It's like they think it's spring. And Zosia-rhya and Mouse were talking about how Winter is coming, and the seasons are changing." A beat. "...What auspice is Owen, again?"

"Owen's Ahroun. And yeah, we had a moot for the Get. Heard about the dream and the four directions with the four scenes. Swamp, flowers of spring, blizzard, and ... I forget the last one all the time. Anyway. I was reminded that the sept itself was modeled after the seasons, the Wheel Renewed it used to go by, way back when before even I was a cub here. And that's a long time ago. I said it seemed like Gaia was trying to make it uninhabitable for us as a warning. A sort of, this is happening, don't be here. But it's not our end either."

"The Tower," the Ragabash says, as if that makes perfect sense. "I use a Tarot deck to do Precognition, and the Tower showed up in a pretty bad spot. The Tower's the card of, oh, sudden and violent change. Everything's going to collapse, and you better get out from beneath it. And the spot it was in was the 'this is going to happen, you can't affect it' spot." She adds, standing abruptly, "I'm going to get some more coffee."

Emma looks over. "So a warning. Yeah that does make sense. So the other dreams are basically a sign to take refuge. Which is, not easy for a garoul. They like to be fixers, not sitters."

"Take refuge, take shelter, plan for the future," agrees the Ragabash over her shoulder as she heads for the laundry room. A few moments later, fortified with freshly-steaming joe, she reappears. "Some people have been having dreams of a silver fountain, which they think is the fountain in Harbor Park. The reading that had The Tower in it had as its final outcome a journey of some sort, a journey over or by water. Which fits with the park."

Emma considers this all with some consideration. "So, whatever's happening is big, unstoppable and we should hide from it?" She tsks, "God that just fries me. Just sitting."

"Would you try and fight a tidal wave?" Shelby counters as she retakes her seat. "Howl your challenge to a hurricane? I think the thing that's coming is at least that big. So yes, we can't fight it, but no, we can't just sit around and wait for whatever's going to happen to happen. We need to make sure the various glades and tribal territories are protected, and make plans to protect those under our care."

Emma nods. "No no, I know. I know it's just so against our nature. At least some of our natures. That'll be the trick. Getting the feisty types to sit tight and put that energy to where it helps. Even if it's not tearing up some enemy."

Shelby's lips twist sympathetically. "At least the moon's getting smaller?" she offers by way of vague compensation. "This is where we need leaders, not fighters."

Emma nods. "I got a good chunk of experience leading in the Amazon. But uh, our challenges were mostly of the fighty type. I'm having to defer and wait for instructions here. It's gonna suck if I came back home just to see it vanish out from under me."

"Everything changes; you can never cross the same river twice," Shelby shrugs, though again there's a measure of sympathy. "--Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer it, of course."

Emma looks at the Fang and nods, "Yeah, sure. If it's too personal I'll just give you a right fierce glare and zip my lips." She grins at this, proving to be one of the most cheerful Get one's ever likely to meet.

Shelby answers the grin with a knowing, wry smile of her own, delaying the probe with yet more coffee. "Your rank," she finally asks after a moment. "Did you challenge for it, or did the spirits just seem to decide it for you?"

The Get's eyes narrow there for a moment, just a flicker of passing emotion; perhaps frustration or just irritated confusion. "I've been Adren for two and half years now. I challenged one of the Fury's at da Arvore de Ferro. It was a bitch of a task- course I asked the one Fury who I got along with the /worst/ so I shouldn't have expected anything less. But no, I've been sitting tight as an Adren, successfully challenged, for a few years. I'm still not sure what to make of the ... alternative promotions."

The door that hides the stairwell opens and through the doorway crosses Devon into the lobby area. His path looks to take him to the laundry room, however voices in the seating area have his steps lagging and a curious look passing that way.

"A Get of Fenris challenging a Black Fury?" Shelby laughs. "Of course it was as hard as she could think of. But at the same time, there'd be absolutely no talk that she was making it easy for you. As for the other...," she catches sight of Devon and turns to give him a polite nod before looking back to Emma. "Without the spirits recognizing the rank, we don't have it. I could say I'm an Elder all I want, but...." She spreads her hands and shrugs.

Emma looks across the way as a newcomer becomes present, but finishes her attention on Shelby. "Well it was a Fury sept, had no other options anyway but yeah. It's just something you try to sort out. The how's and why's."

Devon's eyes lower on seeing Emma and Shelby and he tips his head forward in something akin to a nod, small but polite. He skirts past the seating area and moves quietly into the laundry room.

Shelby says, "They're spirits," and spreads her hands again before reclaiming her coffee. "Might as well ask a spirit why it turned my hair white as why they count me as Fostern. Though I was thinking about Challenging when I got back, so perhaps they were just hastening things." She shrugs. "Whatever was a Get doing at a Fury sept? Or are you going to claim you aren't a Galliard and not answer?"

Emma laughs at the ragabash, "That'd be a good answer, but I don't mind sharing." She looks over to Devon again too as he slips in to the other room. "Can I steal another cream from in there?" she asks of the other. Then it's back to Shelby. "My mentor went down there. No greater battlefield than the Amazon. So I followed. But, mostly Furies down there, at least where we were. I heard tales about some Get and Fangs floating around, but never ran into them. So either I'm a glutton for punishment, or ... I like a challenge."

The Ragabash makes an impressed noise. "The Amazon itself is impressive enough, never mind the rest of it. So what brings you back to St. Claire? Just time to come back?" She glances toward the laundry room door but doesn't call any requests of her own to the cliath.

The metallic thrum and click of a dryer door opening then closing seconds later follows the boy's disappearance. But his return isn't remarkably delayed, despite that. Creamer in one hand, and the pot of coffee in the other, Devon moves into the seating area to place both on the table nearest the Adren.

Emma smiles at the other, "Thanks Devon." She looks to Shelby just briefly before putting her cream into the coffee she had started earlier. Once that's settled, she answers. "Mostly because I felt my daughter needed to be around her tribe. No matter how diligent I intended to be, she'd have grown up more Fury than Get. So I came home to where I learned who I was, knowing that she'd have a good upbringing here. It was one of the hardest decisions I've had to make."

"Devon," Shelby adds to Emma's acknowledgment, though she doesn't partake of either cream or freshen her coffee. "Congratulations on your daughter," she says instead, adding, "Go ahead and sit, if you like," to Devon, just as if the incongruity of a Silver Fang and a Get of Fenris inviting a Glass Walker to sit in the Walker's own living room were of no matter. Then, as if reminded, "--Say, Devon - you haven't had any dreams, have you?"

Devon half points, with a thumb, toward the laundry room, as if to say he has things to attend to. His mouth opens part way as well, likely to vocalize a decline to the invitation to join them, then closes as he shakes his head. "No, nothing... really out of the ordinary. Heard there's people who've had strange dreams, though."

Emma watches the Walker and Fang's interaction a little more closely now, though she herself takes a backseat in the conversation.

"A lot of people," Shelby agrees, "and not just one auspice, either. Theurges - yes, of course. But Ragabash and Ahroun, too. Silver Fangs, Get of Fenris, Silent Strider, Glass Walker. I'm trying to figure out if there are any patterns, other than what've already been found. I've heard about arks, about silver fountains, about seasons changing. If you hear about anything else, let me or someone else know?"

"Yes ma'am," Devon replies, tipping his head forward a fraction. "I've already told my elder, and a Fostern here --Ishmael-- that I'd report to them anything I'd found. I can see that words gets around to you, too." He pauses, a faint measure of hesitation taking his expression. "Do you have any theories for what's going on?"

Emma sips the coffee. "It's season's end. And we gotta get ready for winter." A shoulder goes up, "That's what I'm sticking with anyway."

Shelby nods equitably. "Of course. Thank you." As for the question, she shrugs, though a corner of her mouth lifts for Emma's words. "Something's coming," she answers Devon, refocusing on him. "Something big. We're being warned, probably by Chimera, and we can expect more warnings in the future. Whatever this thing is that's coming, we won't be able to stop it. Not by claw and deeds, not by words and thought. All we can do is prepare to survive it, as best we can."

Again, the Cliath hesitates, as though considering his next words. His gaze slants toward the elevator, then lifts to the ceiling. "Mouse... believes pretty firmly that something's going to happen to Chimera. She's... had a number of those dreams. Last one had her really shaken up." His teeth catch his lower lip as he looks back between Emma and Shelby, brows pinching together. "Ishmael's also had a dream or two, but didn't get the idea anything bad was going to happen."

A hmm follows. "I don't think it's bad as in, our time is over. If that were the case, why warn us at all. I think it's more of a, stay out of the way while this is happening kids. Like mom taking you into the basement while the tornado comes." [Emma]

"It's bad," Shelby agrees promptly, with no hesitation whatsoever. She pauses while Emma speaks. "I don't know if the bad thing is going to happen to Chimera, but then again, I'm not a Theurge. But yes, something momentous is approaching."

Devon grins slightly, though the expression holds a dark humor rather than warmth. "Hide in the basement. I suggested we move as many as we could into the Caern, since it's our proverbial basement for whatever storm's coming." He shakes his head, hands stuffing into his jeans pockets. "I'm told the entire Sept wouldn't fit, though I'm still partial to the idea. Got to be a second place for people to wait out whatever's coming."

"Actually, that's where the shit is going down Devon. At least, that seems to be the fear. The caern itself is about to go through some big change, and thus, everyone who relies on it, needs to find someplace else to chill for a bit." Emma lets out a sigh, "Sometimes I am so very thankful I'm a fighter and not a puzzle-solver."

The Fang gives the idea a bit of thought, though she shakes her head. "No, I think we're supposed to get out of the Caern. You don't stay in your house when a hurricane's coming, after all. You get out of its path." She tips an eye toward Emma, has more coffee. "Mouse and Kevin both spoke of a silver fountain, and Harbor Park is a Glade. We should look to all of the Glades, not just that one, but I believe the park has the largest of them."

"Couldn't it be just a fear," Devon asks. "Everyone's so worried about losing the Caern so they're going to abandon it or hide elsewhere until the danger passes?" He shakes his head to ward off argument. "Just trying to keep minds open since we don't really know what's happening yet and everything is all speculation." The Ahroun shuffles a step, sinking to slouch in a chair. "Pretty much everyone's talked about an ark, too. And a woman in silver, and a pregnant woman in orange and black."

Shelby's head continues to shake, white strands bouncing against her jaw. "No. No, if you'd seen what I've seen in the cards, you'd know you aren't keeping an open mind, but grasping after straws. An ark. Travel across water. The collapse of everything we know. And you think you can sit in the Caern and it will all pass you by, unharmed?" Abruptly she stands, jaw tightening, barely soothed by the coffee. "Wait. Orange and black? Why does that sound familiar?"

Emma eyes the Fang as the conversation brings more emotion out of her. She gives Devon a little look too, but one more of shrugged reassurance. "Orange and black. Construction colors? I dunno. Tigers?" She shakes her head, "Someone said something about a rebirth, that makes sense of the pregnant woman. Construction colors and rebirth could be a rebuilding?"

"It's not grasping at straws," Devon counters quietly, no force behind the words. "And if I had seen what you saw in whatever cards you looked at, or had any of these strange dreams, I might have different theories. However, I seem to be the only one not having these dreams and therefore not bias by fear or worry." His eyes tick up when the Fang moves, brows lifting slightly. "Halloween," he answers first, then shrugs. "Wasps, too. There were wasps that attacked at the winter rite, which is when the brambles and vines grew suddenly."

"Wasps? Don't bees and other stingy things hibernate for winter?" asks Emma.

"Wasps," Shelby says, turning back to the others with eyes all but blazing. "Gaia save us - wasps. There were wasps at the Great Hunt! Devon." She raps out the Cliath's name. "Who had the dream about the pregnant woman? And you must make sure to tell Mouse about wasps. Have her call me or Zosia if she has questions. Emma," she turns to the Get, now, "you'll have to excuse me, but I've -got- to tell Zosia about this." Already she's pulling out a phone, only waiting expectantly for Devon.

Devon nods slowly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and holding them apart at roughly the length of a house cat. "They were big wasps." Shelby's intensity gives him pause, his gaze lifting to look at the Ragabash for a long moment. "Mouse knows about the wasps? She was there. And she told me about the pregnant woman, or ...someone who had a dream did. Mouse was there, too. Trust me, my elder's well aware of everything strange, probably knows about whatever this Great Hunt thing is having wasps also."

Emma gives a little shiver, "Well that's a whole new level of interesting. You guys fought giant wasps at the Great Hunt and all this stuff started happening?"

"No," says Shelby, barely looking up from fingers flying across the face of her iPhone, "Wasps asked us for help. Wasp and...." She looks up for a moment, eyes blank and focusing past the wall. "--Damn. I can't remember." Back to the phone. "But there were two sisters, and one had been kidnapped. By a Mage. They were Wasp and the other one. Then after the Hunt, we all had dreams again. They said "It is coming", or maybe "they are coming", I don't remember. And here's Wasp again. It has to be connected. It has to."

Devon casts a glance toward Emma and lifts his shoulders upward, shrugging. "Whatever this hunt thing is, was before my getting here and everything. But if there's two sisters, logic would have the situation with the hunt be correlated to the wasps showing up at the winter rite."

Emma looks between the two and nods, sort of uncertainly. "Right." It's the kind of right given by someone just barely following along. "Sounds like someone should map out the timeline of everything. At least for me. Or else I'm gonna be lost on this."

"Ask Wasp - I mean, Mouse," the Ragabash babbles, her attention entirely on the phone. Finally she hits the screen and sinks back, looking nearly as tired as if she'd just run from here to the bawn and back. "Devon, Emma - I'm sorry, but I have to go find Zosia. Maybe Norman, too. Wasp is important. She's always been important. I wish I could remember who the sister was. She's not coming, but maybe she's trying to send us messages too." An absent nod is more for formality's sake than anything as the Fang heads straight for the door with no other farewell.

Devon drags a hand over his head, ending with rubbing the back of his neck. "Hope that coffee you two're drinking is decaff," he says to himself with a sigh. A look ticks to Emma before he pulls himself out of his chair to pick up Shelby's mug and the leftover pot, a simple and wordless return to chores.