6/14/2004

06:18 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

SCCU: The Quad(#3990RJ$)
Like most colleges, St. Claire City University has an area known only as 'the Quad'. This is it. Sidewalks criss-cross the perfectly rectangular grassy area in a web to connect one dull concrete and darkened glass block-shaped building to another. Still, the grass is green most of the year, and well-trimmed brightly-shaded flowers and manicured shrubs manage to soften the harsh grey of the architecture. Small groves of trees dot the landscape of the lawn randomly to provide shade and to break up the monotony.
The dome of the student union building can be seen off in the distances behind several buildings and some trees. A sign post points out that the suitcase-like buildings you spy to the north are dormitories. A 'sign' in front of Curtiss advertises on-campus activities.
Obvious exits:
Student Union  Dormitory  Campustown

[look Jean]
A girl of late teen years, she is slightly above average in height, willowy stature accentuated by a slenderness of body and limbs which give the impression of fragility. Her hair is a russet red at odds with dark eyebrows, suggesting a dye job, but is the most noticable attribute, falling loose to her shoulders in flattering layers and thick cut bangs. Her eyes are also dark, a rich brown, and her complexion just hinted with tan. Her features are strongly defined, a prominant blade of nose, sharp cheekbones, an angular jawline ending in a pointed chin. A smile seems to be always at the ready and, when she speaks, her voice is melodious, with just a trace of an accent so faint as to be unidentifiable--the perceptive may be the only ones to even notice it from a normal Midwestern American speech pattern.
Carrying:
Butterfly pendant

The sun hasn't set yet, provided it's summertime, and the weather's been almost too nice for the World of Darkness. Around the university, summer sessions have already begun and it's around now that students in their later afternoon classes are getting out, or getting started.

Jean is working in a biology labrotory in addition to the class she's taking this summer, and it is there that she most likely is getting out of towards this time on a weekday. She lingers making the trek across campus to a place where she's allowed to park, though, enjoying the cooling June day and the light wind against her face.

The wind blows along. A light breeze at first, and then it starts to pick up. Just as the sun was merrily shining on its way down, an unnatural gathering of clouds in the sky starts to gather before it. Shadows lengthen, and a flock of crows is sent up by the disturbance. One particular bird breaks off from the rest, winging its way down and nearly clipping Jean in the face as it passes right in front. Banking, it lands atop a nearby concrete windowsill and peers directly at the woman.

Jean watches the crows with the usual interest she gives to such natural phenomenon, which is, higher than your average student but with less than might be expected out of some, but she seems surprised when one almost runs into her--that is -not- typical behavior. It's enough to gain a higher interest and she turns to watch the crow land, and studies it for longer than usual to try to account for its oddness.

It would be an ordinary bird. At least, one would think it was save for one important fact. Looking directly at the bird, one could see the trees on the other side of it, as its body seems to flicker like the snowy screen of a television. See-through crows. Now that's something. Given that vital lack of opacity, the bird-spirit quirks its head again, and caws twice at the woman, before taking off into the air once more and making a quick circle. It doesn't wait for her to follow. It just goes, headed in the direction of a well known out-of-the-way glade near the campus.

Jean is not the dimmest bulb in the box, and the experienced theurge picks up on the signs of an at least partially materialized spirit. She slings her backpack more firmly across her shoulder as she begins following it, but, not stupidly, she pulls out her cel phone and calls up her tribemate and superior theurge.

After a couple of rings, the phone picks up. "Yeah?"

Even the clouds seem to part and follow the crow once Jean's attention is received. The wind assists, pushing the woman's hair in all sorts of directions, but blowing from behind to steer her. As the crow flies, it occassionally appears and disappears, particularly as it goes through buildings.

Jean speaks up into the phone to be heard over the whistling of the wind over the microphone. "Cutter, this is Jean. Are you too busy to meet me at the university?"

There is a brief pause. Some incoherent groaning can be heard in the background. "I can mop this up pretty quick," he says, "I'm on the ground. Where about?"

Eventually, the bird reaches a certain destination. A memorial glade, known on campus to be a quiet place to study, or sleep. The surrounding trees of rise like sentinels, planted along the border and at random intervals within. Safe by day, dangerous by night, the small glade is also known for being a rather questionable place to be for couples. It is on one of the lower branches of the outer trees that the bird-spirit lands, clacking its beak together and turning to watch for the pursuing Garou.

When the bird spirit lands, Jean pulls up to watch it, briefly, while responding to Cutter, describing the location of this glade by its proximity to the surrounding buildings. She then adds, "One of our allies is visiting from the other side."

"Uh. Okay, stay out of trouble until I get there, okay? Alone equals dangerous." He does not wait for a response before hanging up.

*Cub! Cub! Cub!* Though it sounds like the bird is simply cawing its fool head off, it insists on the attentions of the woman. Again, it flaps its wings impatiently, shifting 'weight' from one clawed foot to another.

Jean snaps the phone shut as Cutter disconnects the call, then, for the first moment at least, glances around to get her bearings, i.e., see if anyone else is nearby. If no one is close, she smile up at the crow and, in English overlaid with the power of Spirit Speech, says, "You're an awfully insistent one. Are you guarding your nest and babies? Where is it...?" she half-asks as she trails off searching the surrounding tree branches but also through the tree trunks, something it is unlikely a casual observer would be able to notice.

There's no one around, it seems. At least, not within immediate viewing distance. *Inside! Inside!* Flapping hard enough to have one think its feathers might come off in a stress molt, the crow-spirit hops down the branch and points towards a direction within the glade. Leaping off, the bird wings its way down, circles the theurge, and then flaps off further into the trees.

Jean takes a deep breath, but then gets an idea and slips her backpack off her shoulder and roots around in it. Out of it she pulls a tiny, collapsible umbrella, all rolled up and encased, and hangs it on an eye-level branch of a tree. Then re-closing up the backpack, she re-settles it on her shoulder and pushes in after the bird, but keeping a sharp eye out for danger.

When the crow-spirit finally comes to a stop, not more than a minute's walk from the edge of the glade, the sound of a guy's voice grumbling to himself can be heard. Kenneth stands around a particularly large tree, which has been marked with a red ribbon on one of its branches tied on. In his hand, a piece of paper, which is whipped up to his face again and he reads it. Jean's feathery version of Lassie lands on a low branch and caws once more. *Cub!*

Jean says in undertones just above a whisper, intended to be less obvious than a full-fledged whisper would be, *My thanks*. It is in English, though, so the boy, if he's perceptive enough, might catch it. She attempts to stay inconspicious, settling down to watch the teenaged boy and wait for Cutter to arrive.

About ten minutes later, those watching the grove can see branches start to thrash about as Cutter pushes his way free and peer out, looking a bit annoyed and anxious.

The crow-spirit gives a last caw before it fades back into the Umbra. A good thing that Jean doesn't happen to pursue forward. Kenneth looks to be staying where he is, not really listening to anything but the wind, which also has died down. Not long after Cutter thrashes his way through the brush, a voice farther off from Kenneth calls to him by name. "Kenneth!" A girl's voice. The cub-to-be glances in said direction, and heads that way. A girl not more than 14 years old by the look of her peers around from one of the trees, and smiles as she sees the other boy. "Hey Beth," is the returned greeting. "You wanted to see me?" The girl nods, silent with eyes cast down first at the leaves. Neither of them seem to be aware of the watchers.

Jean marks both the one called Kenneth and Beth, before hurriedly melting back into the brush in the direction of the sound of the thrashing. She relaxes when she does recognize that it's being made by Cutter and not by some other unfortunate soul, and makes a quieting sound before approaching him further. She mouths two words: New cub.

You paged the room with 'Oh! BTW. Kenneth's face happens to be sporting a lotta patchy bandages. He really ought not be out and about, but who's gonna stop him? His family? Heck no.;)'.
From afar, to the room, Jean giggles.

Cutter pulls up suddenly, then pushes the rest of the way out of the grove, cautiously. He strolls toward his tribemate, looking rather dapper in his fine hat and handsome suit with the umbrella over his arm.

Kenneth waits expectantly, his eyes settled upon the girl's bowed head. She's probably less his height by six or so inches. "So-sorry I was late," Beth finally says, her voice a tic nervous. "You're a little more than late," Kenneth replies, slightly annoyed but in that manner that would suggest these two are friends. "Practice ended about an hour ago, so... what'd you want?" Kind of crass, isn't he? Beth's hands start to wring, as if she were working up the courage to say something more. "Kenneth, I..." The words are mouthed, but nothing more. Kenneth just blinks.

Jean looks momentarily apologetic, giving Cutter a ruefully dimpled smile as she obviously looks him over, but then heads back into the grove to lead him more directly to where the two teens are. She finds a place to hang out, out of sight, mouthing to the Fostern once more: Boy.

Cutter quickly flicks his eyes in that direction and dips his chin in acknowledgement. He clears his throat softly and says "You. Uh. Left your umbrella back in class. And. I thought you might like it back." He's doing a passable job of looking awkward and a little mortified, but his gaze drifts back to the other couple often.

"I love you!" The words are blurted out. "I... ever since you moved here, and went to school, I loved you. I was too afraid to say it, but, but Jackie kept on telling me I should, and so I called you out here to tell you and see if you felt the same... way..." Beth looks up right into the taller boy's eyes, searching for an equal, if not similar reaction. The girl's voice fades, as evidently, she sees something that makes her halt. Though the cub's back is turned, obviously, there must be something not so pleasant to his expression. Something akin to blankness. There's a long moment's pause between the two. Then, Kenneth says something faintly. "I'm sorry." Then, shock. Embarrassment. Beth turns away, shaking as if she were about to cry. Then, without warning, she swings her hand up and slaps the boy across his face. The sound of hand hitting patch and skin, clearly indicate it was quite a swing. Ken's face remains turned. "I-- I hate you!" Ah, the mercurial quality of young love. "I can't believe you could say that!"

Jean tenses up at the sound of the slap, letting her backpack drop as silently as possible to the ground. She expects she knows where this might go, given the warning from the crow, and she's prepared to step--or jump--in.

Cutter nods toward the young couple, takes Jean's hand and starts walking at an angle that will take him near them, about fifteen feet off to the side.

Just as Beth turns to go, Kenneth grabs her wrist. "Let me go!" Her voice is insistent as she tugs at her captured arm. "Beth, wait." The girl is crying now, as her hot tears blur her vision when she glares up at the boy. "Let me go, Kenneth! You don't love me, so why don't you just say it! Just say it and let me go!" But the boy's grip is firm, and it tightens. "Beth, Shut up and listen to me. I--" "Ow! Let me go Kenneth! You're hurting my arm!" The awkward situation just grows more so as the boy's sense of restraint just seems to chip and crack along already made fault lines. "I said shut up! Goddamnit Beth! Listen to me!" He tugs her closer, but she kicks at his shin and with the pain that shoots up his leg, he lets go. She runs then, fleeing further from the Shadow Lord pair. Fleeing from Kenneth. That's when the instinct to chase kicks in, and reflexively he takes off after her. And it doesn't take him long to catch her, given his quick stride and sprint. Making a grab, he actually tackles her down onto the ground and holds her down, which sets her to start screaming. "Help! Let me go!"

With a final tug at Jean's hand, Cutter bulks up to SurlyMan form and lopes across the grass with an authoritative shout. "Hey!"

Jean seems surprised by Cutter's taking of her hand, but follows along, and as the 'violence' ensues she seems to look to her elder for the cues on how to react. She does not, as yet, shift up into glabro, letting him be the ugly one, but she does approach with the look of a concerned citizen coming upon an unarmed scene. She lets Cutter make his approach, moving off a little to one side with a scowl of disapproval but no further threatening stance towards the cub and his female friend...yet.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut UP!" For someone who wants quiet, the boy's literally roaring into her face now. Kenneth attempts to stifle the girl's screams with one of his hands as she flails and rakes at him with one of her freed hand. She rips off the boy's headphones in her struggles, and that's just the final straw. As Cutter and Jean make their approach, the boy is already shifting. His form is growing in mass and size, and his hand over the girl's mouth starts to extend over the rest of her face.

Cutter leaps forward with remarkable alacrity, both hands on Ken Monster's shoulders, and attempts to roll backwards, taking Ken with in a modified Judo throw.

Jean, on the other hand, is keeping a weather-wary eye on the shifting cub, but instinctively watches after Beth, especially her expression, for the telltale signs of a human under the effects of the Delirium rather than any sign of rational thought.

A sudden and unexpected grab and throw from Cutter sends the glabro'ed boy (although fast shifting towards the fuzzier warform) flying backwards off the girl and down onto the ground. There's nothing worse than a frenzying cub, surely. The clothing on Ken-Munster's body tears with a sickening pop of rapid stress as he sprouts fur from each and every angle. The moment the crinos form starts to appear, it's enough to send the girl into even further shock. Her scream pierces the air and she's scrambling up and away in absolute Delirium based terror.

Cutter grunts in annoyance and leaps on top of the cub, attempting to hold him down while his prey makes good its escape. "Let's put him down," he says, in a voice not designed to carry outside the grove.

Jean lets momentary relief color her features as she verifies that Beth is insensate, before heeding the reality of the situation driven home by Cutter's words. She shifts up to crinos herself and joins the fray, attempting to subdue the cub without getting Cutter in the bargain.

Kenneth clearly, is very unhappy. A crinosesque roar rips through the air, only barely covering the terrified scream from Beth as she runs the heck away from the scene. Right into a tree. The girl goes down, unconscious. That leaves Cutter and the cub, and it's not long before the cub's flailing is quickly directed at the obstacle holding him. But, he's at a distinct disadvantage of being held, and uncoordinated in the form itself. All the cub can do is struggle, which in and of itself makes it hard to hold him.

Cutter grunts in annoyance, being forced to release his hold if he wants to knock the cub out, which he very clearly does. Rearing back, he drives a fist directly at the snout of the downed youngster.

Sock-o! The fist connects without mercy, aided by the fact that the cub has no sense of direction at this point, and pretty much sits up right into the glabro fist. His muzzle starts to drip blood, and he snarls incoherently at Cutter with golden eyes full of fury. That gives the other theurge the chance to move in and grab, successfully, immobilizing the cub. Nonetheless, he's still awake and struggling.

Cutter spares Jean a thankful smile as he begins to pummel the cub into naptime.

Shadow's not the strongest Garou, but she at least has years of experience over the cub in fighting in the crinos form, and she uses that slim advantage in her struggle to keep him still so that Cutter can beat him into submission as quickly as possible.

Experience wins out over strength, as the two ranking Garou hold and hit the cub into unconscious submission. Bam! Whack! Wock! About four more heavy punches from the fostern to the cub's head as he is held down finally puts him down. Eyes rolling up, the cub's form melts back into its original, rag-covered breed form.

Cutter rolls back off the cub and quickly strips off his trench. Ain't got time to bleed. "Let's get him wrapped up and in the car and the hell out of--" He glances over his shoulder at the girl.

"She freaked," Jean answers with a tone of conclusiveness. "It should be okay. I will grab his stuff. Where is your car? Mine's a couple blocks from here, in the main lot."

Cutter shakes his head. "Wanted to make sure she was still breathing. I... kind of parked illegally right by the grove." With a few quick pushes and tugs, he drapes his trench around the body.

Likely, the pair could sneak around with an unconscious boy and not be seen. The sun is still on its way to setting, but it seems the shadows are definitely lengthening to indicate the swift approach of night.

Kenneth just looks ridiculously knocked out.

Jean has shifted down to homid, really, and quickly slips both straps of her backpack over her shoulders before gathering up Kenneth's things. "I will have to come back and get my car, then," she says. Her manner is brisk and business-like,being quick without being hasty as she assists in hustling the boy to Cutter's nearby car with little extraneous exposition.

Cutter nods. "I'll bring you back," he says. With a grunt, he hefts the boy over hishoulders and then carefully straightens and pushes off his knees to his feet. "Let's get him to the cave."

Jean follows along in silence, keeping a close eye out to make sure they're not spotted.

[Driving! Zoom! Veer! Nah, Cutter's not that crazy. We Think. To the Bat Cave!]

Thunder Cave(#1410RA)
Once you enter this cave, you see it is much larger than you originally thought. From the small opening it widens and takes a sharp turn, providing a natural windbreak. Looking around, you see a spacious chamber, long ago carved from the limestone by running water. Quartz veins scintillate in the light. In the center of the room, a small fire burns, more for light than heat, as the room is quite well insulated. Looking up, you see the smoke drawn through small cracks and holes that allow for more than adequate ventilation. This cave used to be the home of Distant Thunder, a Shadow Lord Galliard, and some say that his spirit still lingers here, protecting this spot.
You can leave the cave by crawling out the cave entrance to the south that leads down to the clearing below. A passageway leads deeper into the cave. No one is sure how deep it goes.
Contents:
Jean
Cutter
Obvious exits:
Clearing  

Cutter pages to the room: Welcome, Boy Wonder.
Long distance to the room: Kenneth dies.
From afar, to the room, Jean guesses that makes her Batgirl?

So, a harrowing drive afterwards, and however the pair wanted to transport the unconscious cub, the trio end up within the cave. Kenneth remains relatively unconscious for the ride through, and all up until he's deposited.

Jean has brief conversation with Cutter on the way up, except, of course, for the time when he's on the phone calling Jarred, at which time she is going through the gym bag. She shifts back down to homid after helping to drag the cub through miles of virgin wilderness to this secluded cavesite, and looks at Cutter for guidance.

Severs lays the boy down on the cave floor, and glances quickly around the dark corners. ~We should not have long to wait.~

And not long to wait turns out to be at least 5 minutes more, in which the silence is finally broken by a faint groan from the teenager. An eye slits open, shifting in the socket, showing his disorientation.

Severs quickly shifts down into homid form, having been caught by surprise. He leans away, trying to hide himself in a shadow, any shadow, within arm's reach.

[look Severs]
Seven feet of fur and muscle and teeth. Marlon Perkins' worst nightmare.

Jean turns her head over her shoulder to watch Severs's hiding attempt, so takes that cue to step forward and draw attention to herself, a warm, friendly smile on her face. "Hey, do not move too quickly," she 'warns' softly, not in a threatening tone but in the bedside manner of a friendly doctor or perhaps a nurse. "You were pretty badly beat up. Are you cold?"

Kenneth apparently is still out of it, given the punches he received, he might even have a bit of a concussion left over. "Nnngh..." is about as much talk as the cub gets out at first. He winces, and then the cold stone floor seeps through the trenchcoat he's wrapped in, bringing him around at least physically. Both eyes crack open, and he stares up at Jean. "Who...Wh--..." Shut up, Kenneth, and pull yourself together before you speak. A couple of blinks pass. "Where am I?"

[look Cutter]
Tall, lean and wiry with long legs and an angular face. The current look evokes young Sinatra--the blue eyes topped with short well-kept red hair and a felt fedora with a black feather tucked into the band. He wears a retro-cut black suit and sunglasses with black leather loafers. The spot of color is his royal purple tie.

Looking all pretty again, Cutter moves into the field of vision again. "You're in a cave. I'll warn you, you're going to have a whole lot of questions by the time we're through here."

The sound of footfalls echo dully through the enclosure. The figure of the Shadow Lord (Jarred) follows shortly as he rounds the slight curve beyond the entrance and approaches the others. He says nothing at first, content for the moment to watch and listen.

Jean lets Cutter do the talking now that he's in homid and spoken up, instead contenting herself with putting small hands into the pockets of skintight jeans as she watches on and listens. She does make a glance at the mouth of the cave at the sound of someone's arrival, and gives a respectful nod of her head to the galliard.

A cave. Kenneth's mind stores this away on some cobwebbed part of his fuzzy-brained head. Then he dares to sit up. Or at least, pull himself up on his ass, slowly. It's like he'd just been plowed headfirst into the mat at aikido class. Which is to say, not all that different of what Cutter did. Poor Cutter's trenchcoat. Not exactly the quickest of healers nor the quickest of wits, the boy's realization that he's almost naked comes after a very quick touch of skin on stone. He looks down, and then after a blink or two, quickly pulls the trenchcoat together in the front, and particularly around a spot. He looks to the others within this cave, suddenly suspicious of what the hell just happened. "What is going on?" It's a calm, cautious question, accompanied with the fact that he's still putting himself back together mentally. He'd ask why he was naked, but for now, his mind just doesn't want to go there.

Jarred glances to Jean and returns her nod barely perceptably. His dark eyes dart next to Cutter before coming to rest upon the trenchcoat-clad boy. Again, her remains silent. His gaze, however, is slightly more intense than before.

Cutter glances back over his shoulder toward the mouth of the cave. "We've just found out that you're a very special young man. It looks like you just made that discovery too. And your life is about to change."

Kenneth doesn't really dare to move, except to turn his head so he can look in the speaker's direction. If this is some college frat's prank, then he's definitely going to make sure he doesn't join any greeks. The boy swallows once, tasting the vague coppery hint of his blood from an earlier whack, and inevitably senses Jarred's eyes upon him. "I have no idea who you are. Or why you've brought me here. But if this is some kind of prank, it's not funny." He looks around again, really expecting some of his high school friends to jump out from the shadows, laugh, and take copious amounts of blackmail worthy pictures. Then, he remembers something else. His left hand flies up to his head, and feeling the lack of those headphones, his demeanor changes for the worse. "Where're my headphones?" He looks to each and every face, wanting, no, demanding an answer. Never mind who they are or what they want with him.

Jarred smiles. It's not particularly a nice smile, but not a 10 on the evil-o-meter either. Perhaps the thought of the boy's possessions being more important than his own safety amuses the Galliard. At length, he speaks. "We brought you here because it was the safest place you to could be, given your state. As for your headphones, I have no idea where they are. "If they were lost in the scuffle, we'll replace them, naturally." He squats down near floor level, looking deeply into the others eyes for a moment, though not threateningly so. "What is your name..."

Jean lets out a small breath, looking between Cutter to Jarred then back again, and rocks back on her heels. "Since it looks like I am no longer needed, I should head back. Cutter-rhya," she says with a respectful nod to the theurge, then, as she approaches the cave mouth, mimics the motion for the galliard with, "Jarred-rhya," by way of farewell.

Cutter smiles at Jean. "Take my car, okay?" he says, fishing the keys from his pocket. "I'll hike myself back." With a flick of the wrist he tosses them to her.

Jarred regards Jean coolly as she leaves.

Jean misses the keys in the darkness, and they fall to the cave ground with a clatter. "That's okay, I'll call a cab or something." She leaves the keys where they lay, and heads out.

Kenneth's brow knits together at the reply, as he proceeds to fight a small urge to snap out a damning curse at such a vague answer to the whereabouts of his prized possession. He looks to his wrist. The bracelet, too, gone. At the odd names and titles (and with brief worry for the name 'Cutter') the teenager manages to at least hold Jarred's gaze on his own. "Kenneth." He doesn't ask the names of the others, as they've already mostly been given.

Cutter points to the tennis bag. "We brought your stuff. So tell me something, Kenneth. Do people kind of avoid you? Think you're scary or weird? You ever get really really angry and kind of lose it?"

Jarred nods with appreciation. The boy held his gaze for a time. "Yes, I can see that you have... But something tells me that your heart doesn't think it's weird at all. Who are they to avoid you? You're better, yes?"

Kenneth shifts his gaze only briefly, undecidedly focusing momentarily on his tennis bag, and then back to Jarred. Because, well, the galliard is right in his face. When he answers, his words are measured. "People avoid me for various reasons." Obviously he's not about to go and spill his life story to these two strangers. But it's the way he holds Jarred's gaze that says he's still testing the waters. Or, he's just a testy brat.

Cutter pulls back slightly, yielding the floor to Jarred, and rises to his feet. Moving to the fire, he stirs it slightly and it leaps to life; the cave brightens, and details grow more visible.

Jarred's smile widens and he backs off a couple of feet to give the boy some space. His test is for the most part complete anyway. "I'll just bet they do. No one likes a werewolf but a werewolf." Again the smirk. If it's some sort of idiom he's just spoken, it's an odd one.

Indeed, it's an odd saying. One that almost bounces off Kenneth, but not quite. As Jarred backs off, the youth dares to move. Slowly though, and towards his tennis bag. If no one happens to stop him, he opens it and uses his hand for a cursory check inside. A glance goes to Cutter's direction, and the fire. Finally, after some vague satisfaction unexpressed in his features, he pulls out the headphones he was searching for and inspects the piece. And the cliche question. "What do you want with me?"

Cutter smiles half-heartedly, but it doesn't hide the world-weariness underneath. "We want you to be a hero. Like us. A warrior. And there is a war going on."

Jarred's dark eyes once again bore into the young man. "Listen to me carefully. You are not what you once were. You have passed beyond that. Your clothes were not removed. They were torn to shreds when your body became to big for them to enfold. You turned into one of nature's most spectacular machines. For a few moments, you wielded undreamed-of power. The power to break trees in two. The power of a wolf's blood coursing through your veins. The power to rend and shred, as your ancestors did." He smiles. "All because someone made you mad. Ironic, isn't it? Oh you won't believe any of this yet... There are times when I wake up and don't believe the truth, though I have lived it for some time. And so shall you."

Now in the company of just guys, Kenneth seems to be somewhat more relaxed about his apparent exposition. Somewhat. It's these strange words that are spoken, that makes him eye the two older men like they're insane. Not that he would utter this potentially offensive insult. "Uh huh." But no doubt, he's got gears turning. What -did- happen to his clothes? Where in the name of Creation is he? And... "Beth." His eyes look up from his headphones in a sudden jerk of his gaze. "Where's Beth?"

Cutter says "You tore your clothes to shreds when you grew into the war form--big and hairy and dangerous--and then you tried to beat Beth to death. She ran away when I grabbed you. Because you were terrifying."

Jarred's eyes turn even darker, the hair on his head becoming slightly more shaggy.
Suddenly, Jarred looks... different. It's the eyes, perhaps. They're still human but... less so. "Terrifying to those who do know already know what you are capable of."

With his eyes momentarily on Cutter when the theurge relates the tale, it's not a moment later that Kenneth spies the growing, enlarging form that Jarred takes on. It's enough to make his eyes widen a touch, and his bare feet to step back. Yet, the grip around his headphones remains firmly in his clutches. Mouth parted in a form of disbelief likely common to all cubs, Kenneth closes his eyes, shakes his head, opens, and then just sort of stares at the galliard. His uttered phrase under his breath is almost as foreign as Jarred's form. "(What the hell are you?)"

Cutter smiles that smile again, patiently, as if he's been through this before. "We're here to help you learn, to help you adapt. To help you survive."

Jarred's voice is now a rumbling bass. "You are what you are. We will teach you what you need to learn. Your life is not over. It is only beginning. For all the rebellion in your mind telling you to disregard what you know cannot be possible. There is a part of you that knows exactly what just happened to me... and what happened to you 2 hours ago back in St. Claire."

It's just as Jarred says. Kenneth's mind rejects the sight before him as ridiculous. Impossible. And yet, deep inside, something also acknowledges this. The werewolf within recognizes. The cub tears his gaze away from Jarred to Cutter. "What are you saying?" His question is low, quiet, like a snake's tongue flickering out into the air. "That I'm some sort of... werewolf?" Dare he venture to humor these two? He does. And for now, he knows, something is definitely not right in the world.

Cutter dips his head. "You're some sort of werewolf all right. And the last line of defense the earth has against somebody who wants to see everything dead." Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out a cellophane cigarette wrapper from his jacket pocket.

Kenneth manages to take a step forward and close the space once more, hovering over his tennis bag despite being the presence of some Sinatra look-a-like and a less green version of The Hulk. "You expect me to believe that cockamamie story?" The boy's eyes dare to be defiant, his body still tensed like a coiled snake.

Cutter shrugs. "Right now, I don't care if you do or not. Because I know you'll have no choice but to eventually believe it. My job is, when you get there, to allow you to function and survive."

"Fine. And how did I get this way, then? It's not like I was bit by any wolves," Kenneth continues on, putting logic before instinct. Running a hand across his cheek, he wipes off some sticky, drying blood. Then he pauses, and puts his hand back up to his face, feeling around for the bandages that were there. The stitches. The cuts. His forehead creases together, as he obviously has no mirror to confirm what his fingers tell him.

Cutter shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no. You were born this way. Most of the time it's not something we can tell until puberty--I'm really hoping your parents know about this, because it'll make the transition a lot easier."

Kenneth mutters something again, as he takes his fingers away and stares at his hand, not comprehending how he could have just healed up all the cuts and potentially scarring injuries that were on him. It's enough to distract him from the theurge's words at first. Then he glances up back to the fire. Rather, he glares at the flames. Cutter seems to have hit a still open, unhealed wound. "They're dead," he utters bitterly. "But if I'm not back home by nine tonight, I'm going to be in a whole lotta trouble." If he weren't already in trouble. But he knows the police don't start looking for missing persons until they've been gone for more than two days without a word. This, he thinks, could be inconvenient.

Cutter finally lifts a cupped hand to his cigarette, slowly lighting it, and then taking a long draw before responding. "No," he says firmly, "You're already in a whole lotta trouble. So who is it you're living with? We'll need to be in touch with them."

Kenneth grows suspicious for rather obvious reasons. As he watches Cutter light up, he says nothing in response to the question.

Cutter glowers over the cherry of his cigarette. Then he shrugs. "Whatever. I'll go to Ben, and when they come to the cops to report you missing I'll get their address from him."

"What are you going to do? Eat them?" Kenneth's sense of defensiveness waxes upon the idea of intrusion. Dislike them or not, the Kingstons are now his family. "You can't kill them all. People will notice I'm missing."

Cutter snorts. "Fuck that. What I want is to find out if they know about us--if they're networked kinfolk. See, this is kind of a secret. And if they're in on the secret, once you're safe enough to go out on your own then you can go home."

Kenneth's eyes narrow a touch, glittering in the firelight as he still is disbelieving. Cutter's words of all this being a secret, and kinfolk, and networks, though, make the youth just all the more wary of what all this is about. "And if they aren't?"

Cutter says "Then it'll be longer before you're safe to go home." He nudges the fire. "Understand this. You're a danger to people you love right now. If I hadn't been there to scruff you and drag you off, Beth would probably look like one of those cow diagrams you see at the butcher's."

Kenneth averts his eyes, looking down onto the dancing shadows cast by the firelight as he tries to remember what happened. All he could remember was Beth telling him she loved him. And after the slap, nothing more until he wound up here, naked and surrounded by people. Monsters. "You're saying... that I'm stuck here until you guys decide I'm not a danger to society?"

Cutter smiles that tired smile again. "It's easier if you think of it as boot camp."

Jarred smiles and pipes up after a long silence. "Boot camp isn't a bad comparison. Except there are no drill seargents. Think of it as college... except you can beat up on your teachers when they irritate you."

Kenneth lifts his gaze, looking around the cave. Boot camp. Yeah right. As far as he knows, this is a hostage situation. "Fine." The monosyllabic reply is curt. Surly. Suspiciously accepting, and rightfully so as the youth's gaze happens to look towards the mouth of the cave.

Cutter shakes his head. "I wouldn't advize it. You're miles from anywhere resembling civilization through trackless forest. You've got packs of man-wolves who can smell you and run faster and hit harder and have big teeth and sharp claws and look like this."

Kenneth quickly looks back when his attempt at being subversive fails. He just happens to catch Cutter's shifting into the warform. And this... this is definitive proof of the existence of werewolves that blows every other thought in the boy's mind straight out of the water. Appropriately, his reaction is much like the way he saw Jarred when the galliard shifted into the Glabro form. Only this time, there's quite a significant gurk of surprise. He takes more than a step or two back, but at least he doesn't fall on his ass in shock.

Jarred smiles. "That," he gestures to the hulking brute as he walks slowly forward. "is your eventual diploma, Kenneth. You looked rather similar to that earlier this evening, though you don't remember. When you learn to control this form," he runs a hand along the crinos' right arm as he passes. "You will learn other forms... some closer and others further from the form of your birth. THINK. Think of the potential within you. Yes, you are a danger to others now. But in time, you will leave all fears behind."

Cutter clears his throat noisily. "Ech. I think I swallowed my fuckin' cigarette."

Kenneth can't do much but stare for a few moments longer, but he gathers his wits about him enough to close his open jaw look. A vague, hesitant hint of a smirk colors his features in the dim firelight at Cutter's comment. "Yeah, well, I think I just swallowed my Adam's apple." The boy's gaze go from Jarred to Cutter, then back to Jarred. "So much for the full moon idea."

Jarred chuckles. "I wouldn't go that far. Our rhythms are very much tied to the phases of the moon. In fact, the phase of the moon under which you were born will influence your development a great deal, believe it or not. The most important part of you now is the blood that flows through your veins. You are a Shadow Lord. A member of our tribe. This is why we came for you, and why we protect you now."

Cutter now takes his turn to drift back and lean against the wall to quietly observe.

"A what?" Kenneth obviously heard the terms, but he doesn't know what they mean. "Shadow... Lord?" The youth repeats the tribe name to himself. At mention of tribes, he looks to these two. Definitely not related. "And because I was born into this, you mean my parents were probably... also both werewolves?"

Jarred shakes his head slowly. "Only one of them, actually. If both of your parents were werewolves, you'd probably know it by now. Bad things tend to happen in cases like that. Think of your tribe as... an ethnic background, if you will. It is part of your heritage. Whether you realize it or not, your blood has already had a great influence on your personality and instincts around people."

One of Kenneth's eyes narrow as he takes in the galliard's words. "Aside from me being able to turn into a huge mon--... a werewolf?" He bites off that potentially offensive phrase for the crinos form before it gets too far ahead.

Jarred smiles and nods. "I understand... It is difficult, when you figure out what you are for the first time, to imagine that what you can become isn't the most important thing in your life. But you see, to us our forms are malleable. We can be man. We can be beast. We can be a mixture of the two. Our human hearts are melded with the instincts wolves. It is a most potent combination when it is nurtured and guided properly."

Kenneth then glances to Cutter, since he's the only one who he saw shift into the huge beast of nightmares. The cub's silence extends for another while longer, leaving the fire's crackle to be the only thing speaking. Then, he runs his hand through his hair. "SAT words and flowery language aside," the cub begins, a little less impressed than he ought to be, "how is this gonna work?" Back goes the gaze, this time more scrutinizing, to Jarred. "If it's a secret, then what am I supposed to say to my own family? Friends? I got lessons to go to. Training. School."

Jarred inclines his head. "They will all have to wait until you have adjusted to what you are. Once you are at peace with your nature, I see no reason why you cannot return to some semblence of the life you once led. School, etc. ... As for your friends and those who you called guardians, you must have no contact with them. In their eyes, you are gone."

"And my stuff?" Kenneth queries, looking back to his tennis bag. "This coat's nice, but it isn't mine. I only have a set of warmups and my tennis stuff here in my bag." He examines the cave again. No indoor plumbing. That's going to be a pain in the ass.

Jarred laughs aloud at that. "You will not be staying here, Kenneth. This is only the safest place we could think to bring you to start. Do not concern yourself with food and clothing. I'll see that you have all of those things. As I said. You are a Shadow Lord. We take care of our own. Well... most of the time, anyway."

Kenneth eyes Jarred with a hint of annoyance at his laughing, feeling like the galliard is probably laughing at him and his ignorance. Yet, he looks a touch relieved. Only a touch. "And just where are you going to get all this, out here in the middle of nowhere? Are we even in Washington still?"

Jarred's laughter subsides, but it's clear he's only laughing in amusement, not mockery. "You will be living in one of two places, depending upon your own preference and the input of the other members of your tribe to me. You will either live in St. Claire at our safehouse and headquarters, or at a farmhouse with others like you."

Kenneth hns. So they are still near St. Claire. The cub nods, this time keeping his thoughts away from escape. "Others. There are more?" Immediately after asking, he shakes his head quickly. "Of course there are." He answers himself. "Then, where's this farmhouse?"
Jarred smiles. "All in good time. For now, this is your home. We have much more to tell you."

Kenneth decides, then, to extract the shorts out of his tennis bag. It doesn't look like the two strangers are going to attack him if he puts on some clothes, right? Even so, he pulls out shorts first and turns around with his back to the two, slipping them on. "Listening," he says bluntly.

Jarred lifts a brow. "I believe I'll let some of what I've already told you sink a bit before we continue. Is there anything you require here? I could have some food sent out. How long you remain here depends upon how well you accept what we explain to you." He turns away, but hesitates, looking back. "Incidentally, we're able tell when someone is bullshitting us. We are here to give you information, not to submit to your not-so-subtle attempts to gather information useful for escaping. There IS no escape for you from what you are. You will be a werewolf for the rest of your existence."

The boy pauses as he reaches for the shirt in his bag, head turning to glance over his shoulder. Stripping the coat from his person, he kneels and folds up the trenchcoat carefully, making the folds precise before actually putting on his shirt. The cub stands then, picking up the folded coat and makes to offer it back to its lender. "I think, Cutter here made that kind of clear when he changed. I won't run." The youth seems to be sincere about that much.

Kenneth adds as well, "Some food would be nice."

Jarred nods. "Very good. My thanks. I will hold you to your word. I will be back later this evening to check in. We'll talk more then. In the mean time, Cutter is an excellent conversationist. He looks to the Theurge meaningfully. "I'm certain he will tell you whatever you need to know. What sort of food do you like?"

Kenneth shrugs in answer. "What you feel I deserve," he answers the galliard.

Jarred smiles and turns at that, walking out into the darkness and leaving the boy with the crescent moon.