8/12/2004

12:19 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Converted Warehouse - Shadow's End(#3589RAJh)

Track lighting along the 30 foot skylighted ceiling in this spacious complex accents the smaller sconces along the walls every 10 feet or so, keeping the entire area adequately lit, even while allowing shadows to play in odd areas during the night. Over all, the entire effect is dark and post-modern in places, warm and inviting in others. On one side of the lower floor, a spiral staircase leads up to a mezzanine that stretches along one entire side of the place. Two suites with separate baths can be found there, nearly a perfect match to the two downstairs. One of the downstairs suites is larger than the rest, though all of them seem excellently appointed. The end of the apartment nearest the entrance contains a large rec room with a comfortable-looking sofa, several leather recliners and a high-end entertainment system. The other end of the apartment contains an impressive workout room, complete with free weights, and other assorted fitness equipment. The center of the lower floor contains an open kitchen area. A sprawling, dark-grey counter surrounds a set of expensive-looking burnished appliances. Charcoal grey carpeting covers the floor and huge, vertical blinds hang near the workout area, covering windows that stretch halfway to the ceiling and overlook the river.

Contents:
Lucas
Obvious exits:
Elevator

[Kenneth(#3651Pc)]
     In his early teens, Kenneth is already tall and a somber youth. A certain aura, an intangible, uncomfortable atmosphere penetrates his otherwise good social graces that makes him seem at first impression, unapproachable. A pity really, as he is not only young, but fairly attractive as well. His body has the muscle build of a tennis player or swimmer, toned with athletic potential yet not intimidatingly muscled. The midlength waves of his dark brown hair carry back a windswept style, with forelocks sweeping forward to accentuate the long, appealing features and shape of his face. To note further, his face shape, along with the tint of his skin, hints at him being European or perhaps Meditteranean, but also carries a very discreet golden undertone of the Far Eastern countries - an interesting, if mysterious mix of bloodlines not readily guessed by most. The mild curves of his eyebrows add to the expression of his black eyes. While not eccentrically colored, his gaze becomes highlighted with a slightly lighter grey-brown cast in stronger lighting, and is often inclined downward in a quiet, though not necessarily subdued, fashion.
     A thin, ivory colored ribbed sweater clings against his frame, looking comfortably worn. Black pants tie in well with the put together look, the cuffs falling just over his polished dark brown shoes.

The sound of the activity in the workout room can be heard, particularly the treadmill. Kenneth, donned with a white tank and shorts as well as a towel over his head, runs dutifully on the machine. Tiny drops of sweat drip off onto the moving rubber. The TV is also on, playing the latest afternoon news updates on some basic channel.

The clomp of booted feet on stairs can be heard over the din of the television, as Lucas comes down from his upper floor room. He's currently reading a book, which makes for an amusing scene of him navigating stairs with his face stuck in a bunch of pages, but he manages it with enough grace. He looks up over the spine to peer at the other cub, and offers a, "Hey, Kenneth." in greeting.

Kenneth tramples on with nowhere to go, a hand pushing the towel back as he looks up towards the stairs. Though seeming not short of breath, he only nods once in greeting, the gesture accompanied with slight up and down bobbing of his gait. The TV continues to be background noise. "What're you reading?"

Lucas sticked a wedge of paper between the sheets and shuts the book, holding it up to be viewed. "Some french titled book on fencing. Jarred wanted me to read it while he's training me."

Kenneth finally slows the treadmill down to a brisk walk, using the opportunity to get a drink out of his waterbottle set atop the machine. "You can read French?"

Lucas blinks, "Hell no. Just the title is french, thankfully. They tried to teach me french in school and I failed miserably... 'course, that's probably because I never showed up." The Ahroun just shrugs there.

Kenneth pushes another button on the treadmill and it slows to a halt. Standing there to get his regular feeling of feet back under him, he nods. "You look more like the type who'd've taken Spanish," he comments. "Does it make sense? The book, that is."

"I can't even speak good english." Lucas mutters as he sets the book down on one of the nearby workout benches and takes a seat beside it. "Eh, I suppose. Reading was never my thing, but I've had to read worse for school."

Kenneth angles an eyebrow up. "Least you can read, right? Better than really being an illiterate." The philodox steps off the treadmill, moving on to the freeweights and lifting a couple off. Not too much - perhaps 10 pounds each at first. "Still... it's easier to learn things after y'do 'em."

Lucas nods his head as he eyes the book beside him. "Yeah, well, Jarred's been practicing fencing with me. Doing pretty good, so far, considering I've never done it before."

Kenneth grunts with the effort of repeated curls. "Y'get the feeling there's somethin' more to just that? I mean, a fencing sword isn't gonna do much against a crinos."

Lucas hunches up his shoulders as he leans back on the bench. "Probably. I'm sure it's a good way for Jarred to test our abilities, our drive, hell, probably our entire psychology... besides just teaching us control and discipline."

Kenneth takes another drink of water. "Control an' discipline. Yeah." Something bothers him about that, but the cub is not about to say. "You know what I've noticed though? We don't learn about Shadow Lord stuff much."

Lucas furrows his brows slightly, "Maybe. I mean, he's been teaching me a lot about the ideals and stuff behind it, but probably just because I just joined."

"Like what?" Kenneth asks, brow furrowing. "I mean, what /really/ sets us apart from every other tribe out there?"

Lucas is quiet for a moment as he formulates an answer. "Because we can understand them, but they can't understand us."

Kenneth looks to the ahroun. "You really think you understand the other tribes?"

Lucas shakes his head, "No, not yet, and I don't think any one tribe can know the others in the really deep, grimy details. What I'm talking about is more predictability. I mean, if you question the honor of a Fang, you'll know how they react. Call a Gnawer dirty, they'll probably just laugh at you and agree or get offended and huffy. What I mean is, the other tribes are always expecting us to be lying or backstabbing. We might be, we might not, but how are they to know?"

Kenneth snorts. "They think they're honorable, but they treat Shadow Lords like crap. Maybe that's how it's supposed to go, but hell if I stand for it."

Lucas nods his head, "Yeah, but how many will try and walk over a Shadow Lord to his face? That's like suicide. Sure, they'll talk about you behind you're back, but they'll be watching their's at the same time, in case you're listening."

Kenneth shrugs once. "Hell. Someone's gotta do the dirty work." He finishes the reps for his freeweights and sets the dumbbells down with a couple of thuds. "Can't wait to get cliath and get the hell outta here."
"Why, planning on leaving the area?" Lucas asks, his fingers drumming on the cover of the book.

Shaking his head, Kenneth looks out the vast loft window. "Nah. Well, I don't know yet. But it'll sure beat getting dragged back an' forth from the farmhouse to here every week. You don't got any plans for after you get rited?"

"None yet." Lucas says, "The first part is just surviving the Rite. After that, well... I dunno. Maybe form my own pack or something."

Kenneth shrugs, still not looking towards the ahroun. "See, that's what I'm talkin' about. No drive. 'Maybe' form a pack? Nah man. You gotta want it. Shadow Lords might all be about shades of grey, but it's still black 'n white y'know?"

Lucas snorts quietly, "Inspiration also helps. I haven't decided what I really want yet."

Kenneth looks back off, this time to the TV playing away a commercial about allergy medicine. "You? I'd say just work on stayin' alive."

"Which is what I'm doing." Lucas says, tapping his finger once again on the book. "If I live through the Rite, then I'll figure out where to go next."

Kenneth tilts his head back, leaning heavily against the back of the inclined weightbench. "What did you want -before- you got kidnapped?"

Lucas doesn't answer, at least not right away. He looks out towards the window and through it, his eyebrows brought close together. "Family. Purpose. I want a history, a future. I want to know who I came from and what I was meant to do."

"You don't know who your parents were?" Kenneth looks back to the ahroun then, out of the corner of his eye. "How long you been on your own?"

Lucas shakes his head, "I knew my mother, though I don't remember much about her. I was taken away from her when I was seven. My real father is a big blank. My foster parents I never got close to, since they abandoned me most of the time to my own devices. Now that I realize my Rage was probably terrifying them, I don't hate them quite so much."

[The conversation moves off to other more pleasant, less personal subjects...]