Chatting with Charley
Apr. 22nd, 2012 07:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 12:03 Pacific Time on Sat Apr 21 2012.
Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (2% full).
Country House
An unassuming gravel lane leads up and up the hillside, allowing vehicle access to Suchandsuch whateveritis street. Surrounded by a semi-landscaped stand of stately, mature second-growth Douglas fir trees, this old country house is unremarkable, yet somehow slightly imposing. Perhaps it's the Victorian features of the 1920s-era construction, the nigh-weathered dark brown paint of the exterior, or the haphazard angles of the limestone masonry creating the ground level walls and chimney. The house has two floors, and is modestly sized. On one side, the driveway passes beneath a large carport, constructed of sturdy cedar. This seems to be a later addition to the original structure. The front door sits in a deeply recessed Roman arch, and all the lower-level windows are obscured by greatly overgrown madronas and rhododendrons.
Inside, one immediately comes to a small foyer, and a sunroom with leaded glass windows, perfect for the plants of all sorts that make their home there. Past the foyer, the space opens up into a great room, the stone fireplace and hearth dominating the space there. On one side, creaky wooden stairs curve up to the second floor. Here there is a master bedroom, two other bedrooms, and a vintage bathroom, complete with separate taps for hot and cold water and a claw-foot bathtub. And downstairs, on the other side of the hearth, French doors open to the dining room. Beyond that are the kitchen, the back door, and a spacious closet large enough to have been made over into a spare sleeping space. The backyard boasts wild patches of rosemary and lavender, lending a pleasantly crisp and sweet fragrance to the area. Numerous footpaths weave from the overgrown garden, into the trees beyond.
Obvious exits:
Out
It's roughly noon; Charley shows up to the Country House, parks to the side, and steps out. He's dressed casually today; slacks and t-shirt, sunglasses. He called up earlier to announce he was swinging by if it was convenient, but no real reason was given.
Shelby comes out the side door, a box under one arm. "Thought that might be you," she says cheerfully, and nods him toward the door while she heads for her car. "Go ahead and go in; I'm just going to put this in the trunk." Inside leads straight to the kitchen, redolent of baked goods though there's nothing immediately obvious for consumption.
Charley sends an easy grin her way in greeting. "Afternoon," he greets with a wave, and then gives her a thumbs-up and heads on into the kitchen, removing the sunglasses once he gets inside. Mmmm delicious food smells.
This young man is average height - around 5'8" - and is lean, at least moderately fit, and has been blessed with good genes that supply attractive features. Eyes are blue, and blond hair is usually a bit longer than some might prefer, but it's well-cut. The small amount of facial hair he does have is close-shaven but kept to supply age to young features. He's perhaps in his early-to-mid twenties. However, he has a certain way about him that stands out just a bit more than should be normal; one can just /tell/ this one has money. His clothes range from the businessy side of things - casual suits, ties - to shirts and jeans, but whatever he's in is cut well and isn't cheap.
Despite this, however, more often than not he's almost always -trying- to remain inconspicuous in the manner of people who don't really know how to be. For those of Garou persuasion, one can tell he is born of the Silver Fangs, and that breeding is very obvious.
A few minutes after the thump of a trunk the Ragabash returns. "What brings you by?" she asks with head cocked. "I was actually going to call you later today - there's a, a Thing Tristan mentioned I thought you might be able to help with."
"Mostly to stop by and see how Dirk was coming along," the kin admits, leaning against the counter as he waits when she arrives. "Last I talked with him it seemed like he was actually adjusting pretty well." An eyebrow arches, though. "A Thing? Is it as ominous as that sounds?"
"He seems to be doing all right," Shelby agrees, though she sounds faintly dubious. "I'm trying to get some Theurges to talk to him - he wants to go home, which is understandable, but it leaves him in limbo about doing Chiminage." She grins, however, at his eyebrow. "Hope not. I don't know details. Last week Tristan mentioned something about a club - at least, I think it's a club - called the Silver Spoon. I suggested he talk to Nick Dalton - he's Glass Walker kin, and a private detective. But you might be able to gain entry, if you feel like doing a little snooping."
"Well, I understand wanting to go home, sure. I have no idea if that sort of thing is possible; you lot do all sorts of weird things." A wry smile, there, but the mention of the club only causes a bit of a wrinkled brow. "I probably could get in. And yeah, I've met Nick. But why?"
Shelby says, "Xander, my packmate... oh, can I get you something to eat or drink? I was thinking about going out, before you showed up. Anyway, Xander's a theurge, and he thought it might be possible. Dangerous, but possible. It's definitely a theurge-y question, though." She heads for one of the cupboards, throwing over one shoulder, "Why what?"
"Sure, a drink would be great. And if you were going out, don't let me stop you." He shrugs a shoulder, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Why the club, I mean. Why does it need checking out to begin with?"
Shelby nods and gets down two glasses, filling them from a filter pitcher inside the fridge. "Do you want to come with me? Or we could order delivery, if what you wanted to talk about isn't safe for general consumption." She brings the water over with another smile. "I have no idea. You'd have to ask Tristan. I suggested he talk to Nick, and apparently he's already done so. I don't know how involved in things you want to be, so I didn't put your name in. But if you want to, there it is."
"Sure, we can go out," the kin muses, and then ponders that with some earnest thought. "We'll see. I'm not sure how busy I'm going to be in the next week or two - the business is starting up. I have two business meetings tomorrow, if that says anything." He gives her a wry Look. "I'm fine with being involved, generally."
"Good," she says, and flashes her smile again. "No harm, no foul if you change your mind. I'm not going to be around here as much, but you've got my number if you need to call or text, right?"
"I do," Charley says easily. "I've mostly been doing business-related things lately, though. Hopefully that'll calm down soon enough." A pause: "So how are things going around here? In general?"
Shelby mmms and settles at the kitchen table with her water. "All right? Though the Bawn's been taken over by carnivorous plants, we don't currently have a Caern as we put ours to sleep, and there are rumors that there's a giant wasp in the Umbra doing something to the Caern that we hope will strengthen it when and if we get it back. Which will be a few months at the earliest. Our Warder and our Alpha are both Pure Ones and hate anything to do with people or the city...." She pauses to gaze, only slightly theatrically, at the ceiling. "Oh, and the tribe consists of me and a time-traveling Galliard. Yes, I think that's about it."
"And me!" says the kin, spreading his hands with a mild grin. "Well. In spirit. In theory." He chuckles, though, and sobers a fraction. "Yeah, I've heard all about those. The fruits, I mean. That's fascinating in a...totally morbid way." He snorts. "What about the one you've mentioned--Tristan? Are they not around anymore?"
"I wasn't counting kin," she admonishes lightly, though her eyes twinkle. "If I am, add you, Tristan, I don't know how many of Tristan's staff, Todd, and Angela." She pauses to run through the numbers on her fingers, and nods. "I think that's right. --I'm not counting either Zosia or this philodox named Isaac. I think I've seen him twice in two years. Not exactly reliable."
"Oh, so now we're not even worth counting?" It's not at all serious, though. He looks amused, though also a bit curious: "So, okay. Not the dude-that's-never-around, that makes sense. What about the other? I've heard you mention her a couple times."
Shelby looks caught between chagrined and glum. "Not for war parties or attending Moot, no. I'm more of a titular leader: I'm not going to get involved in your person life, or demand you do things. I had enough of being treated like a dolly back at Sunlit Waters." She has some water for fortification and continues, "Zosia. Zosia Sulkowski-Steele. Adren Theurge. Daughter of Piotr Sulkowski, Elder Philodox and Alpha of Sunlit Waters Sept. Married to Tristan, mother of Ellie, and - I believe - pregnant again. Which is - again, I believe - why she dumped everything in my lap, though to be fair, when she did the Garou portion of the tribe consisted of only us."
"Oh, huh. So I guess you are really the only Sept member here, huh." He doesn't seem too surprised, just more thoughtful. "And, no worries. Where I lived before, the Garou and kin were very separate. They did their thing, we did ours. None of my direct family are garou, though, so mostly we stuck to family business."
She nods, less glum now, and nods to one of the open chairs. "Sit, if you like. --Mine neither. My closest direct-line Garou ancestor is four generations back. That's probably why no one blinked when the Baptism of Fire named me kin. Oopsie!"
"Oh. Thanks." Charley steps back to grab a seat, and chuckles, hooking an elbow on the back of the seat. "Yeah, same here, really. My family has been kin for at least the past hundred years, maybe more. I'm the youngest of -five- because my parents were Determined." He snorts, and then to the latter, replies quite dryly: "Yeah, well. It botched the other way for me. I still think that's why my parents stopped: hey, we got one! Reached 18: oops, nevermind."
Shelby echoes his snorts as well as, "Determined," and has some more water. "I'm sorry? At least for me I got to have a normal childhood - or at least as normal as growing up at a Sept can be. I suppose you had your ears filled with all the grand and glorious stories of what you'd do? What was your auspice to me, if I can be nosy?"
"Oh, yeah. Started from the time I was about... ten, probably. Eleven? Training, teaching, lessons. Homeschooled from the time I was fifteen." He shakes his head. "It was... valuable in some ways? Because I learned more than I probably would have otherwise. But. Well. They tried to force a shifting when I was eighteen. I swear, you guys need a better radar system or something." Wry, that. "Philodox."
Shelby looks faintly jealous of this teaching - at least, until he gets to the 'forced shifting' part. "I'm sorry," she says again, either utterly sincere or faking it incredibly well. "You'd think they'd have something more reliable than the Baptism of Fire, after all these eons. Even when it works correctly, sometimes those little attendant spirits get bored and zip off into the Umbra anyway. I suppose it worked when there wasn't so much travel, but these days? Most people don't live anywhere near where they were born."
"Hey, at least it makes a good story," the kin replies, with a half-smile. "I have a bullet wound! In my chest, even. So I can say I got shot and survived. I try to get more creative every time." Still, though, it's clearly not something he's particularly fond of, as this doesn't carry quite as much of the levity as before. "But. Yeah. How did your story work? Thought you were kin until surprise you weren't?"
Unlike most Garou, Shelby does not greet news of this scar with glad cries and wild admiration: rather, she looks more than faintly nauseated. "Uh...." It takes her a few seconds to compose herself - a few seconds and more water. "I was coming out here for pre-law at SCCU. I wanted to get away from Virginia, and they insisted I go somewhere with a Tribe presence. I was hoping to get in a semester early, but...." She shrugs and forces a little laugh. "It's embarrassing, really. Apparently I fox frenzied on the rejection letter."
Charley looks a little concerned at that, actually. "Uh, well. Sorry. Didn't expect that to... uh. Well." Ahem. Wait for her to get composed. "Ah. That must've been an experience. Were you happy about it? --frankly, I was glad that I wasn't going to change, but that's probably not speaking well of me, anyway."
Shelby tilts a wry eyebrow at him. "Then? No. I'd been told all my life I could do whatever I wanted, and that I was a special, special princess because of my breeding. Then in a heartbeat I'm expected to be a Wyrm-slaughtering warrior of Gaia. Culture shock is probably the politest way of putting it. I'm used to things now, but I still think back on what might've been."
Charley hehs. "I hear that," he says, musingly. "I was always eager to just -be- kin, and hearing that was going to be the case--well. I was just glad to be able to go to uni after all. Besides," he adds, with a bit more humor, "I think I'd suck at being a wyrm-killing machine. Not exactly great at fighting, here."
"I am so glad I'm a Ragabash, and not expect to be in the thick of things," Shelby says fervently. "I was an absolute wuss at fighting. Even now I'm not very good at it." She shrugs, then half-laughs. "When I passed my Rite of Passage everyone gave me knives, Gaia only knows why. I still carry one of them in my purse, even though I haven't the faintest idea of what to do with it other than 'sharp end goes in the other person'. I keep trying to find someone to teach me, but it hasn't worked yet. I might ask Dirk - if anyone'd know, he would."
Charley laughs. "Yeah. I took fencing for awhile, in college. It was fun, but I don't pretend to think it makes me anything but able to thwack someone with a stick." He seems amused, though. "And yeah, Dirk would be good to ask. He's got that sword. He told me the story behind it the other day, and wow."
Shelby finishes her water. "Oh? Tell me about it on the way? --I know this great Thai place, or we could do Greek, if you'd rather."
Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (2% full).
Country House
An unassuming gravel lane leads up and up the hillside, allowing vehicle access to Suchandsuch whateveritis street. Surrounded by a semi-landscaped stand of stately, mature second-growth Douglas fir trees, this old country house is unremarkable, yet somehow slightly imposing. Perhaps it's the Victorian features of the 1920s-era construction, the nigh-weathered dark brown paint of the exterior, or the haphazard angles of the limestone masonry creating the ground level walls and chimney. The house has two floors, and is modestly sized. On one side, the driveway passes beneath a large carport, constructed of sturdy cedar. This seems to be a later addition to the original structure. The front door sits in a deeply recessed Roman arch, and all the lower-level windows are obscured by greatly overgrown madronas and rhododendrons.
Inside, one immediately comes to a small foyer, and a sunroom with leaded glass windows, perfect for the plants of all sorts that make their home there. Past the foyer, the space opens up into a great room, the stone fireplace and hearth dominating the space there. On one side, creaky wooden stairs curve up to the second floor. Here there is a master bedroom, two other bedrooms, and a vintage bathroom, complete with separate taps for hot and cold water and a claw-foot bathtub. And downstairs, on the other side of the hearth, French doors open to the dining room. Beyond that are the kitchen, the back door, and a spacious closet large enough to have been made over into a spare sleeping space. The backyard boasts wild patches of rosemary and lavender, lending a pleasantly crisp and sweet fragrance to the area. Numerous footpaths weave from the overgrown garden, into the trees beyond.
Obvious exits:
Out
It's roughly noon; Charley shows up to the Country House, parks to the side, and steps out. He's dressed casually today; slacks and t-shirt, sunglasses. He called up earlier to announce he was swinging by if it was convenient, but no real reason was given.
Shelby comes out the side door, a box under one arm. "Thought that might be you," she says cheerfully, and nods him toward the door while she heads for her car. "Go ahead and go in; I'm just going to put this in the trunk." Inside leads straight to the kitchen, redolent of baked goods though there's nothing immediately obvious for consumption.
Charley sends an easy grin her way in greeting. "Afternoon," he greets with a wave, and then gives her a thumbs-up and heads on into the kitchen, removing the sunglasses once he gets inside. Mmmm delicious food smells.
This young man is average height - around 5'8" - and is lean, at least moderately fit, and has been blessed with good genes that supply attractive features. Eyes are blue, and blond hair is usually a bit longer than some might prefer, but it's well-cut. The small amount of facial hair he does have is close-shaven but kept to supply age to young features. He's perhaps in his early-to-mid twenties. However, he has a certain way about him that stands out just a bit more than should be normal; one can just /tell/ this one has money. His clothes range from the businessy side of things - casual suits, ties - to shirts and jeans, but whatever he's in is cut well and isn't cheap.
Despite this, however, more often than not he's almost always -trying- to remain inconspicuous in the manner of people who don't really know how to be. For those of Garou persuasion, one can tell he is born of the Silver Fangs, and that breeding is very obvious.
A few minutes after the thump of a trunk the Ragabash returns. "What brings you by?" she asks with head cocked. "I was actually going to call you later today - there's a, a Thing Tristan mentioned I thought you might be able to help with."
"Mostly to stop by and see how Dirk was coming along," the kin admits, leaning against the counter as he waits when she arrives. "Last I talked with him it seemed like he was actually adjusting pretty well." An eyebrow arches, though. "A Thing? Is it as ominous as that sounds?"
"He seems to be doing all right," Shelby agrees, though she sounds faintly dubious. "I'm trying to get some Theurges to talk to him - he wants to go home, which is understandable, but it leaves him in limbo about doing Chiminage." She grins, however, at his eyebrow. "Hope not. I don't know details. Last week Tristan mentioned something about a club - at least, I think it's a club - called the Silver Spoon. I suggested he talk to Nick Dalton - he's Glass Walker kin, and a private detective. But you might be able to gain entry, if you feel like doing a little snooping."
"Well, I understand wanting to go home, sure. I have no idea if that sort of thing is possible; you lot do all sorts of weird things." A wry smile, there, but the mention of the club only causes a bit of a wrinkled brow. "I probably could get in. And yeah, I've met Nick. But why?"
Shelby says, "Xander, my packmate... oh, can I get you something to eat or drink? I was thinking about going out, before you showed up. Anyway, Xander's a theurge, and he thought it might be possible. Dangerous, but possible. It's definitely a theurge-y question, though." She heads for one of the cupboards, throwing over one shoulder, "Why what?"
"Sure, a drink would be great. And if you were going out, don't let me stop you." He shrugs a shoulder, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Why the club, I mean. Why does it need checking out to begin with?"
Shelby nods and gets down two glasses, filling them from a filter pitcher inside the fridge. "Do you want to come with me? Or we could order delivery, if what you wanted to talk about isn't safe for general consumption." She brings the water over with another smile. "I have no idea. You'd have to ask Tristan. I suggested he talk to Nick, and apparently he's already done so. I don't know how involved in things you want to be, so I didn't put your name in. But if you want to, there it is."
"Sure, we can go out," the kin muses, and then ponders that with some earnest thought. "We'll see. I'm not sure how busy I'm going to be in the next week or two - the business is starting up. I have two business meetings tomorrow, if that says anything." He gives her a wry Look. "I'm fine with being involved, generally."
"Good," she says, and flashes her smile again. "No harm, no foul if you change your mind. I'm not going to be around here as much, but you've got my number if you need to call or text, right?"
"I do," Charley says easily. "I've mostly been doing business-related things lately, though. Hopefully that'll calm down soon enough." A pause: "So how are things going around here? In general?"
Shelby mmms and settles at the kitchen table with her water. "All right? Though the Bawn's been taken over by carnivorous plants, we don't currently have a Caern as we put ours to sleep, and there are rumors that there's a giant wasp in the Umbra doing something to the Caern that we hope will strengthen it when and if we get it back. Which will be a few months at the earliest. Our Warder and our Alpha are both Pure Ones and hate anything to do with people or the city...." She pauses to gaze, only slightly theatrically, at the ceiling. "Oh, and the tribe consists of me and a time-traveling Galliard. Yes, I think that's about it."
"And me!" says the kin, spreading his hands with a mild grin. "Well. In spirit. In theory." He chuckles, though, and sobers a fraction. "Yeah, I've heard all about those. The fruits, I mean. That's fascinating in a...totally morbid way." He snorts. "What about the one you've mentioned--Tristan? Are they not around anymore?"
"I wasn't counting kin," she admonishes lightly, though her eyes twinkle. "If I am, add you, Tristan, I don't know how many of Tristan's staff, Todd, and Angela." She pauses to run through the numbers on her fingers, and nods. "I think that's right. --I'm not counting either Zosia or this philodox named Isaac. I think I've seen him twice in two years. Not exactly reliable."
"Oh, so now we're not even worth counting?" It's not at all serious, though. He looks amused, though also a bit curious: "So, okay. Not the dude-that's-never-around, that makes sense. What about the other? I've heard you mention her a couple times."
Shelby looks caught between chagrined and glum. "Not for war parties or attending Moot, no. I'm more of a titular leader: I'm not going to get involved in your person life, or demand you do things. I had enough of being treated like a dolly back at Sunlit Waters." She has some water for fortification and continues, "Zosia. Zosia Sulkowski-Steele. Adren Theurge. Daughter of Piotr Sulkowski, Elder Philodox and Alpha of Sunlit Waters Sept. Married to Tristan, mother of Ellie, and - I believe - pregnant again. Which is - again, I believe - why she dumped everything in my lap, though to be fair, when she did the Garou portion of the tribe consisted of only us."
"Oh, huh. So I guess you are really the only Sept member here, huh." He doesn't seem too surprised, just more thoughtful. "And, no worries. Where I lived before, the Garou and kin were very separate. They did their thing, we did ours. None of my direct family are garou, though, so mostly we stuck to family business."
She nods, less glum now, and nods to one of the open chairs. "Sit, if you like. --Mine neither. My closest direct-line Garou ancestor is four generations back. That's probably why no one blinked when the Baptism of Fire named me kin. Oopsie!"
"Oh. Thanks." Charley steps back to grab a seat, and chuckles, hooking an elbow on the back of the seat. "Yeah, same here, really. My family has been kin for at least the past hundred years, maybe more. I'm the youngest of -five- because my parents were Determined." He snorts, and then to the latter, replies quite dryly: "Yeah, well. It botched the other way for me. I still think that's why my parents stopped: hey, we got one! Reached 18: oops, nevermind."
Shelby echoes his snorts as well as, "Determined," and has some more water. "I'm sorry? At least for me I got to have a normal childhood - or at least as normal as growing up at a Sept can be. I suppose you had your ears filled with all the grand and glorious stories of what you'd do? What was your auspice to me, if I can be nosy?"
"Oh, yeah. Started from the time I was about... ten, probably. Eleven? Training, teaching, lessons. Homeschooled from the time I was fifteen." He shakes his head. "It was... valuable in some ways? Because I learned more than I probably would have otherwise. But. Well. They tried to force a shifting when I was eighteen. I swear, you guys need a better radar system or something." Wry, that. "Philodox."
Shelby looks faintly jealous of this teaching - at least, until he gets to the 'forced shifting' part. "I'm sorry," she says again, either utterly sincere or faking it incredibly well. "You'd think they'd have something more reliable than the Baptism of Fire, after all these eons. Even when it works correctly, sometimes those little attendant spirits get bored and zip off into the Umbra anyway. I suppose it worked when there wasn't so much travel, but these days? Most people don't live anywhere near where they were born."
"Hey, at least it makes a good story," the kin replies, with a half-smile. "I have a bullet wound! In my chest, even. So I can say I got shot and survived. I try to get more creative every time." Still, though, it's clearly not something he's particularly fond of, as this doesn't carry quite as much of the levity as before. "But. Yeah. How did your story work? Thought you were kin until surprise you weren't?"
Unlike most Garou, Shelby does not greet news of this scar with glad cries and wild admiration: rather, she looks more than faintly nauseated. "Uh...." It takes her a few seconds to compose herself - a few seconds and more water. "I was coming out here for pre-law at SCCU. I wanted to get away from Virginia, and they insisted I go somewhere with a Tribe presence. I was hoping to get in a semester early, but...." She shrugs and forces a little laugh. "It's embarrassing, really. Apparently I fox frenzied on the rejection letter."
Charley looks a little concerned at that, actually. "Uh, well. Sorry. Didn't expect that to... uh. Well." Ahem. Wait for her to get composed. "Ah. That must've been an experience. Were you happy about it? --frankly, I was glad that I wasn't going to change, but that's probably not speaking well of me, anyway."
Shelby tilts a wry eyebrow at him. "Then? No. I'd been told all my life I could do whatever I wanted, and that I was a special, special princess because of my breeding. Then in a heartbeat I'm expected to be a Wyrm-slaughtering warrior of Gaia. Culture shock is probably the politest way of putting it. I'm used to things now, but I still think back on what might've been."
Charley hehs. "I hear that," he says, musingly. "I was always eager to just -be- kin, and hearing that was going to be the case--well. I was just glad to be able to go to uni after all. Besides," he adds, with a bit more humor, "I think I'd suck at being a wyrm-killing machine. Not exactly great at fighting, here."
"I am so glad I'm a Ragabash, and not expect to be in the thick of things," Shelby says fervently. "I was an absolute wuss at fighting. Even now I'm not very good at it." She shrugs, then half-laughs. "When I passed my Rite of Passage everyone gave me knives, Gaia only knows why. I still carry one of them in my purse, even though I haven't the faintest idea of what to do with it other than 'sharp end goes in the other person'. I keep trying to find someone to teach me, but it hasn't worked yet. I might ask Dirk - if anyone'd know, he would."
Charley laughs. "Yeah. I took fencing for awhile, in college. It was fun, but I don't pretend to think it makes me anything but able to thwack someone with a stick." He seems amused, though. "And yeah, Dirk would be good to ask. He's got that sword. He told me the story behind it the other day, and wow."
Shelby finishes her water. "Oh? Tell me about it on the way? --I know this great Thai place, or we could do Greek, if you'd rather."