Fencing with Kevin

[shelbyrou]

It is currently 10:07 Pacific Time on Tue Feb 21 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (5% full).

Tenement Building - Basement Apartment
The basement apartment is roomy but windowless. The wooden steps come down near one wall, against which is the boiler and a large washer/dryer. The area underneath the steps is used for storage, though the boxes tend to get quite dusty and cobwebby down there.

The rest of the area is set up as living space, albeit rather unlived-in at the moment. The battered rust-orange couch and heavy, scarred wooden coffee table still hold court in the main room, and a scattering of rugs soften the hard concrete floor. But the bookshelf is mostly empty, and there's a pale spot where the entertainment center used to be. Instead, hanging on that wall is a framed painting, two and a half feet by a foot and a half; the landscape merges a dark, brooding city into a primeval forest, in an Escher-like transformation that moves from left to right. There's a subterranean aspect to it -- not a simple cutaway view, just a hint of energy and movement around the roots of the towering trees.

Everywhere there are cockroaches, oval brown forms often seen scuttling from point A to point B or hanging quietly on the ceiling with their antennae waving.

Doorways lead to a narrow kitchen (colored in dull yellows and browns) and a small bedroom that contains an empty bed and an equally empty desk.

Obvious exits:
Out

It is midmorning, and the basement apartment is quiet. For once however Nieve is not asleep - she's doing something else horizontal. The Theurge is stretched out on the floor on her front, chin propped. She's down to jeans and a vest, jacket and her normal t-shirt slung over the back of the couch. She's watching the screen of her cellphone play a pretty fractical sequence, while some of the (many) cockroaches that call this basement home are exploring her clothes fearlessly. She's got some crumbs scattered around her for that purpose, feeding the locals.

A tap-tap comes on the door of the apartment.

"C'min," Nieve calls without looking up from the screen or moving, lest she disturb her passengers. "M'decent." Well, as decent as she ever is.

Not one but two people enter. One is Kevin, with his fly eyes on open display once more. The other isn't.

Shelby steps back to allow the Walker Ragabash precedence. "Our beautiful theory's been shot to pieces, I'm afraid," comes her voice, tinged with Virginia's eastern shore, a moment before the Fang herself appears in the doorway. As is true of most Silver Fangs she doesn't just pass through it but rather seems to arrive, complete with invisible red carpet and inaudible trumpet fanfare. "--Ah. Shelby Zaleski-Leveque." She pauses there, glancing between the two.

Short and slender, Nieve would appear to be a latina woman in her early thirties. A little paler than most of her cafe-au-lait contemporaries, the structure of her face and her accent both bear out the Mexican blood in her veins. Long black dreadlocks hung with metal charms frame a heart-shaped face, dark and almond-shaped eyes made bolder by the application of thick eyeliner and mascara, the former drawing out to points at her temples. She has a small nose and mouth, both pierced, matched by rows of small rings marching up the outside of each ear. Bodily she is quite petite, though this is hidden in part by loose or bulky clothing, and she seems the sort of girl to always be moving, doing something, fidgeting.

She's wearing fairly generic clothes; rough black jeans held up by a steel-studded belt, a two-size-too-big 'Slashed Rabbit' rock band t-shirt over her torso. Over this is a battered leather jacket, again a size too large and with sleeves that cover her hands. Her feet are shod in beat-up Converse sneakers, the left with a bright pink lace, the right with a day-glow yellow one.

The very relaxed Nieve looks up, dislodging a roach from her dreadlocks and murmuring an apology to it as it scuttles off - some of its cousins do also, recognising that Shelby isn't a friend with food. Soon there's just one left, perched precariously on the Theurge's denim-covered backside. "Yo." Very formal. "Nieve, Pirate-Trader, Adren Theurge." It doesn't seem overly necessary to give her tribe right now, given the locale and company. "'sup?"

"Shelby's been working with me on some stuff involving dreams," Kevin explains. "We were collating some info. Looks like we've come up with an outlying data point... you were saying?" He turns to Shelby, one eyebrow raised. The very human gesture of enquiry looks so strange given the multi-faceted insectoid eye below the eyebrow.

Shelby turns a blind eye to the scuttling insects, even the one staring at her from beneath Kevin's brow. "--Tim," she supplies after a blank moment, turning away from Nieve with a moue of apology. "He says he wasn't in town for the Rite, and yet his head's been full of them. I thought I'd see if you'd heard of any new ones, or new people with old ones." Turning back to Nieve she adds, "Fostern Ragabash of the Silver Fangs, also called Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush. I'm a child of Dragonfly in the pack Equinox and the great-great-granddaughter of the Adren Galliard Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood."

"Forgive me if I ain't gettin' up, got riders," Nieve voices, jerking a thumb behind her to the cockroaches - or, well, cockroach now. "Nice t'meetcha, Bright Eye Sees to the Heart of the Ambush, many-greatdaughter of Falcon's Cry Turns Tears to Blood." Apparently she does have a drop or two of etiquette in amongst the casual attitude. "An' Speech in Silence. How's shit?"

"I've kind of been busy," Kevin says. "Plus these eyes mean it's not really a good thing for me to be wandering around looking for people. Plus with what's gone down at the caern, it all seems kind of futile anyway. Speaking of which, Nieve, didja get to talk to Mouse yet?"

"Shelby, please," she says with a twitch of lips. "And likewise. --If I'd known, I'd have brought you some wraparounds," the Fang adds to Kevin before quieting.

"Not yet. She's busy," Nieve replies, sounding faintly resigned. Glancing back, she spots her lone passenger, reaching back and scooping the bug up with gentle fingers, before moving up to sitting cross-legged. The roach is petted lightly before being set down by some of the remaining crumbs. "Been thinkin' about the eye problem. Got a few ideas I'ma try once I'm cleared to do stuff 'round these parts."

"Got some," Kevin tells Shelby succinctly, jamming his hand into his pocket and pulling them out as proof. Then he looks back to Nieve. "I'm all ears," he says. "Apart from my eyes of course."

Shelby ahs with a little 'so you do' nod. "I could talk to Zosia too, if you'd like. But your own theurges," this time the nod goes to Nieve, "have precedence, of course."

"I'unno how much you know about the spirits," Nieve voices apologetically to Kevin and Shelby, before getting more technical. "Most of 'em will accept a gift of gnosis in lieu of anythin' else. Usually that's in the form of blood or hair or somethin' symbolic - would you be prepared for a spirit to lick your eyes?" she wonders of the Walker. "'cause it might be that they could do that, an' take the gnosis out of them along with the curse."

Pack> Shelby notes absently, "There's a new Walker Theurge in town. Adren. Still working on Chiminage though."

Kevin shudders. "Dear lord, what a thought... But I suppose it's better than having them pulled out..." He shoots a sidelong glance at Shelby.

Pack> Tim seems mildly interested. "Is she super obssessed with the city?"

"...Ew," says Shelby, more toward the pulling-out than the licking-of eyes. "I think I'm more and more grateful that I'm not an Ahroun. I'm glad I was nowhere near that thing when it died. Did he tell you what happened?" is aimed squarely at Nieve.

Pack> Shelby hms. "Hard to say. She likes roaches, though - duh - and she says she might be able to help Kevin with his eyes. They're all insect-y."

"Nope. People ain't givin' me details yet on account of me not havin' spoke to the elders," Nieve replies genially, not seeming to mind that too much. "If only Mouse weren't in demand so much, I could be doin' somethin' to help."

Pack> Shelby adds belatedly, "Her name's Nieve. Pirate-Trader. I wonder how you say that in the Tongue."

"Oh, I hardly think this is a secret," Kevin interjects irascibly. "A bunch of garou got jerked out of the near umbra into some kind of pocket realm, or maybe it was a corner of Flux, I really wouldn't know. And we had to defend ourselves against a Wyld spirit which took a dislike to us. Mouse blew it up, and most of us there got changed somehow. Like, Chris is purple, and Riley... Riley got turned into a girl." He has to suppress a rather juvenile snigger at that last.

"Everyone who was actually touching it got changed," Shelby affirms. "Only a couple of us were hanging back," she glances briefly at Kevin, "and escaped. Which," she adds in a brighter tone, "I have to say I don't mind." She tosses her hair. "It was hard enough getting used to white hair. With my luck I would have been hit with something like Kevin-rhya, and been unable to go out."

"What did you do t'make it pissy? Or did it just do that whole 'whatever chaos dude' thing?" Nieve wonders, eyeing Kevin curious. "Could'a been Flux, though without more info it's hard t'say. Y'all are pretty sparse on the fine details," she finishes.

Kevin goes straight onto the defensive. "I didn't do anything to it," he protests. "Jacinta was the Wyrmfoe, she sent me to scout around, and when I came back, things had already kicked off with the spirit."

Shelby adds, "It was a Revel," in Kevin's support. "And we're Ragabash," she tells the older woman with a bright smile, with perhaps a touch too much innocence in it. "If you want details, there were Galliard there."

"Speech in Silence," Nieve addresses the other Walker steadily. "It weren't an accusation. If I'm accusin' you of somethin', you'll know it. Chill, por favor?" She then grins briefly at Shelby. "An' here I thought you guys were s'posed t'see everythin' an' report it. But, if you say I should speak to the Galliards, I will. Who of that auspice was there?"

"Was Kavi...? No, I don't think he was... Shelby, who-all was there?" Kevin turns to Shelby looking vague.

Shelby mimes zipping her lips, eyes twinkling. So of course when Kevin asks she has to unzip them and look thoughtful for a moment. "Hmn - Kaz-rhya, of course. And that cub of yours, he's a Galliard, isn't he?" She looks between the two Walkers as if -one- of them must know who she's speaking of.

"Flint?" Nieve's met the cub it would seem. Her phone begins to bleep annoyingly - she checks it, and then lurches to her feet. "Gotta run, appointment in like half an hour. Nice meetin' you, Shelby. Keep it cool, both've you." And then with a burst of speed only the late can muster, she's out the door. Pyyoow!

Pack> "Unscrupulous-Trader," Tim suggests.

Pack> Shelby snickers. "Or we could just call her Matey."

Pack> "I will graciously allow you to try that," Tim says, all sweetness and deference.

Pack> Shelby has so /many/ feelings of admiration and respect, she can hardly keep them all straight. But she's trying. "Not that I know how to say 'Matey' either. I need to spend more time with Glass Walkers, so I can learn things like 'pizza'. Do you suppose they have words for persons of dubious moral quality who live on boats and steal from other people?"

Pack> Tim suggests, slyly, "Pirate."

Pack> Shelby has really gotten quite good at mentally rolling her eyes.

Pack> Tim asides, "One of us should learn the technology jamming Gift from them. I'm sure they have it. Fantastic for dealing with stupid people and their guns."

Pack> Shelby blinks. "Good idea. I can ask Kevin. I should also have tried my Staredown gift on those dogs last night. At least one of them would have run, unless they're spirits. I really don't know how it works on spirits."

Pack> Tim mmmm. "We should all of us trade that one around. And I intend to get the Shadow Lords to teach us Master of Fire."

Pack> Shelby says with a sigh, "And I still have to teach Xander Contrition. There aren't enough hours in the day."

Kevin leaves the apartment after Nieve, beckoning Shelby to follow. "Let's talk in the lobby," he suggests.

"Gaia watch," Shelby calls after Nieve's heels before glancing at Kevin. "Sure," she agrees, and turns the lights out as the last one to leave. As they climb the stairs she wonders, "Do you want me to ask Zosia about your eyes?"

Tenement Building - Ground Floor

"Frankly, yes," Kevin says. "Half the tribe's been affected -- heck, in some ways I'm better off than a lot of us. I'm not a girl, I haven't regressed in age, I haven't lost all my battlescars... and I'm not a tree..."

"As far as I can tell," the Fang says briskly, "there isn't anything wrong with being a girl," and blesses Kevin with a bright smile.

Pack> "Has he been, ah, not one of Chimera's favorites lately too?" Tim asks, hesitant.

Pack> There's a brief moment of confusion. "--No? Just... you suggested I teach him Contrition after you taught me."

"All things considered," Kevin rejoinders, "I enjoy being a boy, and I'd like to stay one, if it's all right with the universe..."

Pack> Tim has an 'oh' sort of reaction. "Well, you could teach it to him after learning something from someone. If he doesn't have a pressing need, it's okay for it to wait." As an afterthought, he adds, "And I need to teach you the Blur. Folks like you and me need to take as little injury as possible."

"And I enjoyed having black hair," she counters with the speed of a fencer. "We don't always get what we want, Kevin-rhya. But perhaps, if we're lucky, we'll get what we need."

"That's from the Rolling Stones," Kevin challenges Shelby with a slight smile.

Shelby couldn't possibly be as innocent as she affects, could she? "My goodness gracious, is it? What else is it that's said, about taking your truth where you find it? Why not look for the good in what you've got instead of slouching about and whinging about how poor Riley is a girl now, isn't it awful."

Pack> Shelby greets that with a short laugh of agreement. "Oh, do we ever. When I used Anax' howl at the Revel that dragon-thing turned and aimed for /me/."

"Shall I go and sing "Under My Thumb" to her, then?" Kevin counters, still smiling.

"Or you could just... ignore it," Shelby suggests with a shrug. "So she's a girl, so what? Purple hair - it isn't as though that's unusual. Battlescars gone? Who in this city would know? You're the hardest case to disguise, and you already have the sunglasses. There's nothing keeping you trapped inside except you."

Pack> Shelby adds absently, "Kevin's feeling sorry for himself, about his eyes. And quel horreur, Riley is a /girl/. He's lucky a Fury hasn't heard him complaining, or he'd have more than insect eyes to worry about."

"Jacinta's harder to disguise," Kevin argues. "She's a freakin' tree. And have you asked Riley how it feels to be a girl? I mean, I'm all for the glass being half full and all, but I reckon you're making light of things too freely."

Pack> Tim is confused for a moment, then says, "Oh, right, the Revel. Ah...aheh." He deliberately doesn't think something. "I'm sure they'll turn back sooner or later. He could see if Mouse thinks he needs to be Cleansed, though?"

Shelby tucks a bit of alabaster hair behind one ear. "The Warder hardly has much call to come to the city, at least not right now. Not that she would in the first place unless she were in dire straits." She quirks a near-invisible eyebrow at him. "And no, I haven't. We haven't even officially met. All I know of her is that she's suffering more than anyone has ever suffered in the history of the world, and the rest of you are laughing at her and secretly glad your gender wasn't changed."

Kevin can't keep from laughing. "You're not going to have it, are you? You're going to keep insisting this is all for the best. Anyone would think you were an agent of the Wyld."

Pack> Shelby flashes irritation (mostly at Kevin). "The new Theurge said she'd look at it. He's getting quite tiresome, really. No one in the history of the world has ever suffered as much as these poor, put-upon Walkers are suffering now." She adds something in Polish that doesn't sound particularly complimentary.

She folds her arms and looks, for her part, about two breaths from cross. "It's better than complaining all the time. What is it the Walkers are supposed to be good at? Oh yes." A pointed pause. "Embracing change."

"Through technology and things!" yelps Kevin. "Not through.... some primeval random magic!"

Shelby pouts - it has to be a put-on - and glances up at him through lowered lashes. It'd almost look quite flirty save for her sarcastic, "Oh, poor baby. Isn't the world ordering itself to your whims today? I shall go speak quite sharply to it, and make the Wyld play nice."

Kevin stands glaring with his hands on his hips. "Are you asking for me to cut up rough with you? I may have fly-eyes but I can still see well enough to whup your ass, if that's what it takes."

Shelby tosses her hair and glares right back up at him, her hands akimbo as well. "If that's what it takes to get you to start thinking again...!"

For a moment the two garou stand there facing each other off, until Kevin throws his hands in the air. "Forget it. I'll go sell myself to a freakshow, at least I'll get paid that way. What was this you were saying earlier about Tim and his dreams?"

"Or you could just wear some nice Ray-Bans." She takes a moment to admire the paint on a nearby wall (so flat!) before turning back to the elder Ragabash. "Tim says he wasn't around for the winter Rite, but he's had those dreams from Chimera. So our idea, that only the people in or around the Sept at that time would get them, is wrong."

Like that is going to improve Kevin's mood. "Huh. Oh well. All academic now anyway. The Caern's shut down for the season. Have you had any dreams since the last Moot?"

Shelby shakes her head. "No. Not that I was getting any dreams anyway, remember? Have you? Or has anyone else that you know of?"

"Not since the week before the moot," Kevin says. "And I dunno if that was another one in the series or not. It's hard to tell. Something about scouting out a stronghold in a foreign land..."

Shelby cocks her head. "Going to rescue a princess?"

"That's right," Kevin deadpans, "but every time I thought I'd found here some dweeb told me she was in another castle..."

"You should have inserted another quarter," the Fang says in mock-sympathy. "Well, maybe it's time to start collecting those dreams, instead. Because you aren't the only person who's had it. I think Tim has, too."

Pack> Shelby says "Tim? You had that dream about scouting a castle to rescue the princess, didn't you?"

"Damn, not got my iPad," Kevin grumbles. "I'll add it to the database when I get back upstairs. Though, like I say, I'm not sure it's all relevant any more, anyway."

Shelby says simply, "If we collect it, it won't be, and if we don't, it will be. So might as well do a lot of work for nothing, because our other option is being caught flat-footed when something rolls over us." Her bright smile flashes again. "Which would you choose?"

Pack> Tim gives a mental nod. "Yes indeed."

Kevin doesn't seem to quite comprehend Shelby's reasoning. "...how's that again?" he asks lamely.

Shelby searches the ceiling for strength - only for a moment, really. "Which bit? And Tim says he's had that scouting dream too, so that makes two Ragabash that we know of."

"How can what we do to the data have any influence on the relevance of the data?" Kevin demands to know. "It's not like Schroedinger's Cat, this."

"Of course it is," the Fang counters. "Everyone knows it, it's one of the oldest tropes. Right along with million-to-one chances always succeeding. Put in the work, and it'll come to nothing. Don't put in the work and you suffer terribly."

"You're basically telling me that Sod's Law is a serious scientific theorem?" Kevin seems astonished.

"Well of course it is." She matches his astonishment with equal amounts of her own. "Just as is Murphy's Law, and the one about buttering the back of a cat for perpetual motion."

Pack> Shelby says "Has anyone else had one of those, that you know of?"

Pack> Shelby adds, "Either scouting, or something else involving a princess? I half-remember /someone/ did, but I can't remember who."

"All right," Kevin says, in the tone of voice which shows he's prepared to go along with the conceit. "I'll record it, if it'll make you any happier."

"Blissfully," the Fang promises. "I'll be dancing on rainbows and petting kittens all days."

Pack> Tim thinks on it. "I don't know if anyone's said so to me."

"Any other data to add while I'm about it?" Kevin asks.

Pack> Shelby gives a nod. "All right. We're still collecting dreams, Kevin and me, so if you hear about anyone aim them at one of us?"

Pack> "Certainly," Tim agrees.

Shelby claims that, "I bow to your superior database-collating knowledge," though she adds half a moment later, "Which mostly means I can't think of anything. If you put down who had it we already know breed, rank, auspice and tribe. If it's something bizarre like hair color...." A shrug. "That's beyond me."

"Oh, how could it possibly be hair colour!" Kevin exclaims irascibly. "Do try and be scientific here..."

Shelby, primly: "Who are we mere mortals to know what the spirits delight in? Or who - or how - they'll choose their instruments of communication? Maybe it's shoe size they're looking for, or maybe it's random. Anyway, I half-remember someone else saying they've had one of these dreams, but I can't remember who. I think it was a woman, but I'm really not sure. If I figure it out I'll let you know."

Pack> Shelby flashes him a mental grin before sobering. "What do you think Little Silvertip is going to do to that cub? I was so mad at her yesterday I could have smacked her one, even though it probably wouldn't have helped."

Kevin groans. "Don't you start giving me lip about what the spirits like and all that. Nieve seems to talk about nothing else."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of the theurge," Shelby says sympathetically. "How long's she been in town? Not before the Moot, surely?"

Kevin shakes his head. "She only got here yesterday, I think. Leastways that's when I first met her."

Shelby says, "So maybe she just has to get all her theurgey-ness out before she can have a real conversation."

Pack> "Hard to say. He might just cuff her and call it done." Tim doesn't sound concerned. "Or he might send her to apologize to us, though I doubt that. I don't get the feeling he holds any of us in particularly high regard." A little wry humor creeps into his mental voice there.

Pack> "Well," she points out practically, "We aren't Uktena, after all."

Pack> Tim can't keep the edge out of his response. "More like, we don't revile every white person in the Sept, and don't advocate burning the city to the ground."

Pack> Shelby flares astonishment in a mental forehead slap. "Of course! I feel so silly for not realizing at once. It's probably all my whiteness. Means I can't think straight."

Pack> Tim huffs agreement.

Pack> Shelby says with an air of scientific curiosity, "Do you think this means he loathes marshmallows too?"

Pack> "You should ask!" Tim suggests.

Pack> Shelby says "He'd probably think I was offering him clumps of my own fur. /You/ should ask. That way there won't be any confusion."

Pack> Tim scoffs. "And risk him thinking I want to poison him with weaver chemicals? Hell no."

Pack> Shelby says "Maybe if you took him homemade marshmallows? I'm sure I could find a recipe somewhere. How hard can they be?"

Pack> Tim radiates dismissiveness. "I'm not making the Alpha homemade marshmallows. If I was making them for anyone it would be us."

Pack> Tim ers, and belatedly clarifies, "The Pack."

Pack> Shelby says "Well, /I'll/ make them, then. You only have to carry them to him."

"Maybe," Kevin says. He doesn't sound wholly convinced. "I don't need to make eight jokes and set a puzzle before I can talk normally..."

"Well, maybe you're doing it wrong," Shelby counters sympathetically. "Or she is. In either case, I need to get going. I'm meeting someone. I'll let you know about any more dreams, all right?"

Kevin nods wearily. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry if I'm sounding ungrateful. I'm really not."

Pack> "Just save some for us," Tim demands, and then he seems to be distracted by something, and falls quiet.