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Entry tags:
Early morning meetup
It is currently 05:41 Pacific Time on Wed Jan 25 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (11% full).
Harbor Park -- Fountain
Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.
The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its feet.
Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.
Obvious exits:
Harbor Park Meadow
It is the time of day so lovingly referred to as Oh-God-Hundred, and most of St. Claire yet sleeps. In Harbor Park only a few streetlights are on, casting paltry circles of light upon the ground and leaving most of the rest in shadow. The river rushes past, uncaring. Closer to the fountain is a lone figure, walking in circles and doing wide arm circles. A track suit with the zipper and hood pulled up are her only protection against the cold.
Salem makes his way into the park from Bridge Street, his limp more pronounced than usual. Like the figure in the track suit, he seems rather lightly dressed for the January morning, but if the cold's a bother, you wouldn't know it to look at him.
On one of her orbits of the fountain Shelby catches sight of the intruder, but aside from a moment's hesitation she doesn't slow. It isn't until she's lapped the fountain twice more and shifted from arm circles to shaking them out does she give Salem a nod. It's mighty early for the Ragabash to be up, and her frequent coffee is no where to be seen.
Salem ambles over toward the Fang once he's spotted and recognized her. "You're up early," he notes.
"Couldn't sleep," she answers, with a jerk of her head toward where the last sliver of the setting moon was found. "I figured I could do something better with my time than clean the house again. Especially if we all end up moving into town."
Salem takes a seat at the edge of the fountain, grimacing as he stretches out his right leg. "I doubt that everyone will make that move," he says. "Even if our center of operations shifts."
Shelby's orbits shift to arcs instead, her axis shifting to the Philodox rather than the fountain. "Maybe not," she allows, "but...." She glances around as if to check for listening ears. Even though they remain alone, she drops her voice a fraction. "I expect to be one of them. I'm more suited than some. Not as suited as others, of course." She tips her head toward the Walker.
Salem gives a thin smile, though it's brief. "How are things out there? I haven't been since the overgrowth first showed up."
She starts, "It's," and stops again with a shake of her head. "Weird. There are bees up north - bees! at this time of year! - and there are some really strange mushroomy things. Most of them explode if you get near them, and then it's bad trip city. Plus there are fruits. I saw one that looked like a pineapple, of all things."
Salem frowns. "Has anyone eaten them?"
The Ragabash looks dubious. "Not that I know of. I'm sure somebody has, though." Giving up her pacing, she comes to perch beside the Walker, arms wrapped around her knees and feet twitching. "All that, plus these weird dreams people keep having - have you had one? I haven't - and I'm not planning on retiring out in the country."
Salem scratches at his beard a bit, grimacing. "I've had a couple. Not as many as some, fortunately."
"Do you mind telling me? I'm trying to see if there's a pattern. I know about the wasps, and someone said there was a pregnant lady. Someone else talked about an ark." Shelby continues to sit still - well, mostly still.
"I've had the ark dream," Salem confirms. "And the one that gave me a new scar when I woke up." He squints at the Fang. "Have you had that one?"
She regards him for a moment before shaking her head. "No. I haven't had any dreams yet. I've done some - I've done the precognition rite, but it was about the brambles and bees in general, not... Anyway. I've been trying to figure out if there's a pattern to who's had which dreams, but so far I'm coming up empty. It isn't a particular auspice or tribe as far as I can tell. Or gender, or hair color, or anything." The last is offered with a wry sort of humor.
Salem flexes his right leg at the knee, working the joint. "Mnh. Well, that's not surprising, really. Chimera works in mysterious ways."
Still with that same amusement, "So I've heard." Shelby considers his knee-bending as though it were fascinating before her eyes dart back up to his face. "I heard about The Crew disbanding. I'm sorry."
Salem grunts. "It was bound to happen, with Kaz and Chandini being called away for so long."
"I suppose," she allows, sounding more sympathetic than agreeable. "Are you considering a new one, or do you think you'll be running alone for a while?"
Salem stops working at his bad knee and cocks his good eye at her. "Why do you ask?"
Rather than immediately answer Shelby gives her knees a last squeeze and stands once more, drifting off a few feet to gaze across the empty expanse of park. "Why do you suppose?"
It's hard to read the old Walker's face, to judge whether he's appreciative, suspicious, or merely neutral. "Who else?" he asks.
The Ragabash casts an eye over her shoulder then, after a moment, turns to face the Philodox. "Tim. Xander. We'd like to find Dragonfly, or perhaps the Triune Goddess. I've already talked to the others, and we all agree we'd like to have you."
Salem's expression remains flat. "Xander's a Shadow Lord, isn't he?"
If he wants to do flat, Shelby can do flat. Her voice, however, remains light, as if discussing the current orange crop in Florida. "He is. And you know how I feel about Shadow Lords. You saw me with Kerr."
"And you know how I feel about them," Salem returns. His voice has gotten distinctly cool. "No. Thank you for the offer, but no."
"I didn't, actually, but I do now," she allows, with a tiny non-smile. "All right. I'll tell the others." And that, theoretically, will be it. "We'd ask Chandini, if she was around, but...." A shrug. "I can't think but a pack consisting of two Ragabash and a Theurge will cause all the War totems to giggle, but Tim seems to think it will be ok."
Salem shrugs. "Not all war totems are alike. Bear has healer attributes and Flea, I think, will take any pack willing to put up with her kin. I find that as long as the pack's overall, mm, character matches the spirit, the spirit will find a way."
Shelby sounds dubious. "Maybe." Then, "No, I'm sure you're right. Though really, my first hope is for Dragonfly. We," her double-handed gesture encompasses all of the park, not just the pair, "need all the Wisdom we can get."
Salem agrees with a grunt. "Been a lot of new packs forming lately."
"Which is good." She paces out an old arc again, arms out and circling. "I think we're going to need all the stability we can get in the next... well, however long it is before whatever happens, happens."
Salem nods and stands up, testing the knee, which seems to hold up well enough. "I heard that Tim was looking for someone with the ability to sense imbalance. Let him know that I can do that?"
Shelby ohs? "Imbalance of what sort? I can check for the Wyrm, which I think he knows, so... Weaver? Or is this just a more generalized imbalance?"
Salem smiles tightly. "It's a Philodox thing. Weaver, Wyld, or Wyrm, however it's out of balance, I can sense it. I checked right after the brambles came up, and it was unnaturally high in Wyld then. I can only imagine what it's like now."
Shelby says, "Useful. Makes sense that it's a Philodox thing." She quirks half of a smile. "I don't suppose the older a Ragabash is, the more Wyld they are? Maybe we're being invaded by a pack of really old Ragabash."
Salem snorts. "The Wyld's far beyond any of us. Even the most insane Ragabash is staid compared to the Wyld unleashed. Hell, from what I've heard, Wyld spirits won't even possess sentient hosts. Wyld fomori are rare, yes, but not a single one I've ever heard of has been human, or Garou. It seems to prefer animals and plants."
The Ragabash's smile widens at his snort. "Good. I'd hate to look forward to an old age of wearing fruit baskets on my head and dancing down the middle of the freeway."
Salem smirks. "Oh, that could still happen. Garou aren't immune to senility."
Shelby's eyes widen with laughter and she almost - almost! - says something. Or maybe she does: "I'll warn Mouse to keep an eye out for superfluous fruit basket deliveries, shall I?"
Salem narrows his eyes at her, then snorts derisively. "Funny."
Shelby merely beams. "You know you'd get all pouty without a Ragabash or three around." She returns to his side - the one with the good eye - and settles down again, legs stretched out and regarding the park with an almost possessive air. "What advice would you give to someone trying to learn parkour? I think you should start with knowing how to fall. Anything else?"
Salem eyeballs the Fang critically. "Falls, rolls, climbing. You'll want to work on your strength and endurance."
"Rolls, climbing," she repeats, half to herself, and nods. "Right. Strength and endurance I'm sure she has in spades." A blink and she returns Salem's eyeing with a bright flick of a smile. "Viv came across me practicing out at Edgewood and wanted to know what I was doing. I got her started on learning to fall properly, but the others...." A shrug. "Who else should I be asking about technique? --Who else on our team, I mean, who could conceivably go out there."
Salem thinks a moment, then shakes his head. "I don't know. I remember that Chandini used to climb trees whenever she was on the bawn, but I don't know who among us practices currently."
Shelby nods, hmning. "I remember that too. Maybe I can tell Viv to start there." She glances over again. "Could I run with you, the next time you go? I can't promise I won't slow you down, because I've been doing this less than a month, but I'll do my best to keep up and I don't complain." Again that smile-flicker. "Much. Plus I'll buy you coffee, after."
Salem sighs. "All right. Later this week sometime?"
"Text me when you're ready," she answers, and stands. "I'll tell Tim. He's usually up in the scarred forest Meg looked after, if you want to look for him yourself. --Well," the Fang amends, "there or here, actually."
"I'll keep an eye out," Salem says.
Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (11% full).
Harbor Park -- Fountain
Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.
The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its feet.
Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.
Obvious exits:
Harbor Park Meadow
It is the time of day so lovingly referred to as Oh-God-Hundred, and most of St. Claire yet sleeps. In Harbor Park only a few streetlights are on, casting paltry circles of light upon the ground and leaving most of the rest in shadow. The river rushes past, uncaring. Closer to the fountain is a lone figure, walking in circles and doing wide arm circles. A track suit with the zipper and hood pulled up are her only protection against the cold.
Salem makes his way into the park from Bridge Street, his limp more pronounced than usual. Like the figure in the track suit, he seems rather lightly dressed for the January morning, but if the cold's a bother, you wouldn't know it to look at him.
On one of her orbits of the fountain Shelby catches sight of the intruder, but aside from a moment's hesitation she doesn't slow. It isn't until she's lapped the fountain twice more and shifted from arm circles to shaking them out does she give Salem a nod. It's mighty early for the Ragabash to be up, and her frequent coffee is no where to be seen.
Salem ambles over toward the Fang once he's spotted and recognized her. "You're up early," he notes.
"Couldn't sleep," she answers, with a jerk of her head toward where the last sliver of the setting moon was found. "I figured I could do something better with my time than clean the house again. Especially if we all end up moving into town."
Salem takes a seat at the edge of the fountain, grimacing as he stretches out his right leg. "I doubt that everyone will make that move," he says. "Even if our center of operations shifts."
Shelby's orbits shift to arcs instead, her axis shifting to the Philodox rather than the fountain. "Maybe not," she allows, "but...." She glances around as if to check for listening ears. Even though they remain alone, she drops her voice a fraction. "I expect to be one of them. I'm more suited than some. Not as suited as others, of course." She tips her head toward the Walker.
Salem gives a thin smile, though it's brief. "How are things out there? I haven't been since the overgrowth first showed up."
She starts, "It's," and stops again with a shake of her head. "Weird. There are bees up north - bees! at this time of year! - and there are some really strange mushroomy things. Most of them explode if you get near them, and then it's bad trip city. Plus there are fruits. I saw one that looked like a pineapple, of all things."
Salem frowns. "Has anyone eaten them?"
The Ragabash looks dubious. "Not that I know of. I'm sure somebody has, though." Giving up her pacing, she comes to perch beside the Walker, arms wrapped around her knees and feet twitching. "All that, plus these weird dreams people keep having - have you had one? I haven't - and I'm not planning on retiring out in the country."
Salem scratches at his beard a bit, grimacing. "I've had a couple. Not as many as some, fortunately."
"Do you mind telling me? I'm trying to see if there's a pattern. I know about the wasps, and someone said there was a pregnant lady. Someone else talked about an ark." Shelby continues to sit still - well, mostly still.
"I've had the ark dream," Salem confirms. "And the one that gave me a new scar when I woke up." He squints at the Fang. "Have you had that one?"
She regards him for a moment before shaking her head. "No. I haven't had any dreams yet. I've done some - I've done the precognition rite, but it was about the brambles and bees in general, not... Anyway. I've been trying to figure out if there's a pattern to who's had which dreams, but so far I'm coming up empty. It isn't a particular auspice or tribe as far as I can tell. Or gender, or hair color, or anything." The last is offered with a wry sort of humor.
Salem flexes his right leg at the knee, working the joint. "Mnh. Well, that's not surprising, really. Chimera works in mysterious ways."
Still with that same amusement, "So I've heard." Shelby considers his knee-bending as though it were fascinating before her eyes dart back up to his face. "I heard about The Crew disbanding. I'm sorry."
Salem grunts. "It was bound to happen, with Kaz and Chandini being called away for so long."
"I suppose," she allows, sounding more sympathetic than agreeable. "Are you considering a new one, or do you think you'll be running alone for a while?"
Salem stops working at his bad knee and cocks his good eye at her. "Why do you ask?"
Rather than immediately answer Shelby gives her knees a last squeeze and stands once more, drifting off a few feet to gaze across the empty expanse of park. "Why do you suppose?"
It's hard to read the old Walker's face, to judge whether he's appreciative, suspicious, or merely neutral. "Who else?" he asks.
The Ragabash casts an eye over her shoulder then, after a moment, turns to face the Philodox. "Tim. Xander. We'd like to find Dragonfly, or perhaps the Triune Goddess. I've already talked to the others, and we all agree we'd like to have you."
Salem's expression remains flat. "Xander's a Shadow Lord, isn't he?"
If he wants to do flat, Shelby can do flat. Her voice, however, remains light, as if discussing the current orange crop in Florida. "He is. And you know how I feel about Shadow Lords. You saw me with Kerr."
"And you know how I feel about them," Salem returns. His voice has gotten distinctly cool. "No. Thank you for the offer, but no."
"I didn't, actually, but I do now," she allows, with a tiny non-smile. "All right. I'll tell the others." And that, theoretically, will be it. "We'd ask Chandini, if she was around, but...." A shrug. "I can't think but a pack consisting of two Ragabash and a Theurge will cause all the War totems to giggle, but Tim seems to think it will be ok."
Salem shrugs. "Not all war totems are alike. Bear has healer attributes and Flea, I think, will take any pack willing to put up with her kin. I find that as long as the pack's overall, mm, character matches the spirit, the spirit will find a way."
Shelby sounds dubious. "Maybe." Then, "No, I'm sure you're right. Though really, my first hope is for Dragonfly. We," her double-handed gesture encompasses all of the park, not just the pair, "need all the Wisdom we can get."
Salem agrees with a grunt. "Been a lot of new packs forming lately."
"Which is good." She paces out an old arc again, arms out and circling. "I think we're going to need all the stability we can get in the next... well, however long it is before whatever happens, happens."
Salem nods and stands up, testing the knee, which seems to hold up well enough. "I heard that Tim was looking for someone with the ability to sense imbalance. Let him know that I can do that?"
Shelby ohs? "Imbalance of what sort? I can check for the Wyrm, which I think he knows, so... Weaver? Or is this just a more generalized imbalance?"
Salem smiles tightly. "It's a Philodox thing. Weaver, Wyld, or Wyrm, however it's out of balance, I can sense it. I checked right after the brambles came up, and it was unnaturally high in Wyld then. I can only imagine what it's like now."
Shelby says, "Useful. Makes sense that it's a Philodox thing." She quirks half of a smile. "I don't suppose the older a Ragabash is, the more Wyld they are? Maybe we're being invaded by a pack of really old Ragabash."
Salem snorts. "The Wyld's far beyond any of us. Even the most insane Ragabash is staid compared to the Wyld unleashed. Hell, from what I've heard, Wyld spirits won't even possess sentient hosts. Wyld fomori are rare, yes, but not a single one I've ever heard of has been human, or Garou. It seems to prefer animals and plants."
The Ragabash's smile widens at his snort. "Good. I'd hate to look forward to an old age of wearing fruit baskets on my head and dancing down the middle of the freeway."
Salem smirks. "Oh, that could still happen. Garou aren't immune to senility."
Shelby's eyes widen with laughter and she almost - almost! - says something. Or maybe she does: "I'll warn Mouse to keep an eye out for superfluous fruit basket deliveries, shall I?"
Salem narrows his eyes at her, then snorts derisively. "Funny."
Shelby merely beams. "You know you'd get all pouty without a Ragabash or three around." She returns to his side - the one with the good eye - and settles down again, legs stretched out and regarding the park with an almost possessive air. "What advice would you give to someone trying to learn parkour? I think you should start with knowing how to fall. Anything else?"
Salem eyeballs the Fang critically. "Falls, rolls, climbing. You'll want to work on your strength and endurance."
"Rolls, climbing," she repeats, half to herself, and nods. "Right. Strength and endurance I'm sure she has in spades." A blink and she returns Salem's eyeing with a bright flick of a smile. "Viv came across me practicing out at Edgewood and wanted to know what I was doing. I got her started on learning to fall properly, but the others...." A shrug. "Who else should I be asking about technique? --Who else on our team, I mean, who could conceivably go out there."
Salem thinks a moment, then shakes his head. "I don't know. I remember that Chandini used to climb trees whenever she was on the bawn, but I don't know who among us practices currently."
Shelby nods, hmning. "I remember that too. Maybe I can tell Viv to start there." She glances over again. "Could I run with you, the next time you go? I can't promise I won't slow you down, because I've been doing this less than a month, but I'll do my best to keep up and I don't complain." Again that smile-flicker. "Much. Plus I'll buy you coffee, after."
Salem sighs. "All right. Later this week sometime?"
"Text me when you're ready," she answers, and stands. "I'll tell Tim. He's usually up in the scarred forest Meg looked after, if you want to look for him yourself. --Well," the Fang amends, "there or here, actually."
"I'll keep an eye out," Salem says.