4/3/2005

11:27 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (35% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 42 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.77 and rising, and the relative humidity is 85 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 23:04 Pacific Time on Sun Apr 3 2005.

Big Red Barn(#3420RA)
The barn is built in the old style, a vast three level structure that is greater in height than a mere three stories, actually closer to five. Great wooden posts support the weight of the upper levels and roof, sunk into the hard-packed dirt floor of the first level like a sparse forest of regularly spaced, naked trees. The stalls and flagstones which once were here have been torn out to leave a rather open area where even crinos Garou may roam freely without fear of running into anything but the supports or the walls or the ladder at the back which allows access to the other two levels.
The first two levels are relatively open to each other, the second being only little wider than a catwalk going around all the walls but the front one, which has massive, twenty foot tall doors set into it. The third level is a true second floor except for a place cut out that allowed hay to be tossed down to the ground floor when the farm was actually worked. Now, it is a hayloft where Garou can sleep outside of the house.
(Non-Garou, please "+view curse")
Contents:
Dillen
Obvious exits:
BarnYard  

Up in the second loft, Kenneth dozes lightly half-buried in a mound of hay. Normally the halfmoon wouldn't be caught dead being this dirtied, but situations can't be helped. And far be it from him to stoop to sleeping with the cubs at the farmhouse itself.

Dillen comes into the farmhouse, yelling. "Kenneth? You in here?"

Kenneth wakes at his name - dozing lightly was just that. Sitting up with a groan of annoyance, the halfmoon looks down at who called him, squinting in the dark. "What do you want?"

Dillen hits the light in the barn and leaps for the ladder, crawling up. "I need to know if you are in the pack or not. Also, I need to know if you are gonna be in if Brom joins. It;s the only chance for it to stay alive, Kenneth."

Kenneth swats at some of the hay obnoxiously clinging to him, trying to right his appearance at least a bit before being joined. "We went over this before already, Dillen," the Shadow Lord replies straightfaced.

"But you never gave a final answer. Pack or not? Because if you want the pack, then we need Brom. And you know it." Dillen is crouched and looking at his friend. "Put all the shit aside and you know it's true."

Kenneth gathers his feet under him, this time the annoyance coming out at the Get. "Before anything else, Dillen. I /hate/ Brom. He's a fuckin' meathead of an asshole who doesn't give two-shits about anyone whose ass he can kick." He straightens up, standing and brushing himself off. "I hate his fuckin' guts, and I don't trust him farther than I can throw him." He stares down. "Besides, I thought he already decided not to join."

"I hate him to, so does most of the sept." Dillen leans in and looks at Kenneth. "But in a war, this war we are in... Who would you want to have your back?"

Kenneth doesn't retreat, staring blandly at Dillen. "All he'll do is ride it," the halfmoon snorts. "The fuck I'm gonna take his shit anymore than I take yours."

"You didn't answer my question." Dillen keeps looking at Kenneth. "You always dance around and never give a straight answer. I need a straight yes or no, Kenneth. No pack or Brom."

Kenneth folds his arms. "You want my answer? Here's my answer." The arms unfold, and the Shadow Lord points a finger. "You go back to Brom and you tell 'im if he wants in, he better give me a damn good reason why I should put up with his shit in a pack."

"Because without him... We have NOTHING." Dillen tries to spell it out for Kenneth. "We lose Fenris and the pack. A war pack. Havoc is the only other one and it is all pissy girls. You want to leave it up to them? Or do you want to kick some ass, especially the ass of what took Lucas from us!?"

Kenneth twists his lips back. "We already got nothing! Don't fuckin' tell me we have a pack right now!" he yells angrily. "There was no more pack the moment Lucas died." Eyes blazing behind an effort to keep relatively cool, Kenneth breathes out raggedly. "/I/ don't see /any/ sense in packing with two idiots who decide they have ato send the other guy to do his talkin' for him. First you send Brom to threaten me, and now he sends you to guilt trip me? What the fuck is this?"

"Sent Brom to threaten you?" Dillen raises a brow. "What the fuck?"

Kenneth snorts aloud. "You heard me. Night before you decided to do Lucas' bonfire on the beach, Brom came right outta the woods and put his ugly ass mug in my face to tell me to go see you cause it was important. And if I didn't, he threatened to kill me." The halfmoon glares daggers at the Get. "Nevermind what I was doing at the time. And you know what? I /don't care/ anymore."

"You know what. I just don't get you. Why do you feel like everyone is trying to attack you?" Dillen lets out an exasperated sigh. "I just told him to find you and say I wanted to see you. What Brom did was his own... Fuck this. If you don't want it, fine. I give up trying to hold it together." He pushes off from the loft and lands down below. "Tell you what. If you want me... You find me. Not like you will... Because you are too involved in your own FUCKING SELF PITY!!" He kicks the door open and walks out of the barn.

Kenneth yells out after the departing a sharp, "Go cry to your Brom!" before gritting his teeth and punching the side of the loft wall.

[Short while after.]

Pushing open the doors to the barn is Brom, glancing around for a few moments, blue eyes glinting in the darkness as he slowly breathes.

Silences looms over the barn, giving no indication there is another occupant -not until Kenneth moves, grabbing a fistful of hay, crushing, and then throwing it over the side of the loft down to the floor level.

Brom tilts his chin upwards to the rafters and lets out a heavy breath. Squinting his eyes, he calls up. "Kenneth."

Kenneth doesn't sit up from the place he had flopped down upon. "What?" The question is tense, and ice cold in tone.

"You want to talk or something?" Brom asks as he folds his arms over his chest, shifting his shoulders some.

Kenneth finally does get up, moving to the side of the loft. He doesn't answer until he's climbed down the ladder, and brushed himself off a deal. "You're the one who came calling," he replies, still unfriendly and cold. But getting to the point, he adds, "Dillen said you still want in on Requiem."

"Dillen wants me to join the pack because he thinks that I can ressurect you guys from the proverbial grave." Brom says as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching the Shadow Lord. "I told him that I'd consider the idea if you were OK with the idea, though I already knew that you wouldn't be."

Kenneth picks off some hay from his person, dropping the strand down. "So if you already knew I wouldn't be OK with it, why'd you say it?" Tensed, wary, the Shadow Lord regards the Get.

"Because I figured the two of you needed more open communication. I didn't want to just 'join the pack' and then have him talk to you. I felt it should be up to you as well, seeing how you're the other half." Brom says as he narrows his eyes. "I was being considerate."

Kenneth's straight-lipped expression doesn't change much. "That's a first I bet," he mutters before checking it. "But I didn't forget what you said back there at the burial mounds. You said you were interested. And only if /I/ was in it too." A pause. "Why me?" Another pause. "Because it's rather obvious we don't like each other at all."

"Because Fenris chose you." Brom says with a snort. "That and you are Dillen's pack mate and brother. He depends on you even if you don't realize it. You're probably his best friend in the whole world right now despite the fact you two squabble like kids in grade school. Pack mates don't always get along, but they at least would back each other up. You two haven't split yet and that must say for something."

"Or maybe I'm takin' my sweet time goin'," Kenneth replies evenly. The Shadow Lord rankles a bit, working to keep down a curse or more. "Either way, I don't see how we'd get along anyway. You're the veritable high school jock that guys like me hated with a vengeance."

"Yeah, and your the typical Shadow Lord that I'd rather drop kick into the next time zone. So, you want to try and push the bullshit aside and try and make something great here, or what, just take your sweet time and drop the ball?" Brom asks with a lift of his brow. "I'm willing to."

Kenneth seizes up as he feels a sting. "I /don't/ drop the ball," he grits out with his hands clenching again as he stares up at the Get eye for eye. "But /you/ better know how to fuckin' throw it."

Staring back at him, Brom rumbles. "I won't just throw a touch down, Kenneth, I'll also kick the extra point." He says, nostrils flaring, eyes not once wavering. "Anyone who packs under Fenrir can't refuse a challenge. You up for this one?"

Kenneth rolls a shoulder, a fist lifting and pointing towards the Get. The Shadow Lord this time, smiles thinly. "I welcome it," he answers.

Lifting his own fist up, Brom points it at you, then flashes a feral grin at the Lord. "Good. You want to throw a punch at me now and get this over with?" He asks with a chuckle.

As if he needed an invitation. Without verbally answering, the Shadow Lord's held up fist drops as he charges forward to sock the big Get a good one, using his dominant left hand with all the power he can push behind it.

Crack! The Get takes the hit in the cheek and jerks his head back. Turning his eyes back to him, he just simply 'grins' as he feels the throbbing in his jaw. "Its about fucking time."

Kenneth steps back after the punch, not bothering to shake out the pain in his fist from the contact. The Lord's smile disappears again, sinking below the surface. "For what? For you to get your ass kicked?"

"You didn't kick my ass." Brom says with a snort in the Lord's direction. "Its just about time you fucking threw a punch." He opens his mouth to say something else, then bites his lip, stiffling a chuckle.

Kenneth tilts his head slightly, smirking. "You ain't fought me yet," he replies. "Unless you want to fix that right now."

"When I kick your ass, are you going to hold it against me later?" Brom asks with a feral grin upon his face as he cracks his neck from side to side, throwing his shirt to the size.

Kenneth considers, and slips off his shirt and tank as well, exposing his decidedly smaller frame. "You aren't gonna win," he answers as his reply.

No more taunts from the Get as he moves in with a quick round of blows, a pair of them. One high, one low, aiming for the bread box, then the chin as he rockets off the heels of his feet, growling in the pit of his throat.

Kenneth ducks the high swipe, and the Shadow Lord's minor experience of tournament fighting begins to show itself. His open hand moves to block and redirect the impact of the lower punch. Then his other hand, balled up, again hooks for the side of the Get's waist, straight for the kidney regions.

Here, the Forsetti shows off his own flashy background as he catches your arm, rushing forward to lean into your body and try and lift you up over his shoulder, then flip slams you forward to the ground in a crushing whip snap.

Kenneth is also surprisingly light, comparatively speaking, and is more than easily tossed. The Shadow Lord feels the whirling sensation and hits the hard dirt with a heavier, forceful Thud on his back that rattles him, but he slips free and rolls away a few paces, struggling up to a knee. His eyes snap up at the Get, serious as he tries to regain his breath.

Soon as the Shadow Lord hits the ground, Brom crouches at the knees, staring him down like a bull, ready to charge as he breathes slow and hard, glaring.

Kenneth, seeing the other not immediately attacking, gets his feet back under him. Licking at his dry lip, he stares back for a moment, eyeing the other halfmoon before he darts in again. The halfmoon fakes twice, and then snaps out a rapid set of punches all aiming for what exposed vital points there are.

Its almost like a video game. The small character versus Zangief on Street Fighter. Some of the shots go through, tagging Brom as he bobs and ducks, blocking a few as well, before slipping in his own, hooking one meaty fist into your stomach after you catch him in the jaw. He whirls out with another, looking to crush it back into your sides, growling.

Kenneth bends with the impact of the punch, a visible expression of one getting socked hard in the gut would have. His own hands catch the fist planted at his midsection, but even in the dark sees the incoming fist quick enough to turn and take the hit with a part of him that can withstand the impact. Still, the halfmoon is sent flying back down to the ground. And still, he struggles back up to his feet again. The pain is there, his breathing is hard, but the youth is more stubborn than a bull. He spits to the ground, tasting blood as well. Then with a sharp cry, he charges yet again, this time to use his feet and aiming for the head once more.

Bull meets Train as Brom rushes forward soon as you gain your feet, using his old school foot ball techniques to dive straight into your stomach as you move forward. He tries to use his weight to bowl you over, looking for the sack.

Kenneth's foot might connect but so does the Get. Inertia wins, as Kenneth is lifted clean out of the air for those mere half seconds before he smacks hard again down against the floor, tackled by the bigger halfmoon. Even down on his back and hurting far worse than Brom is, it fuels the Shadow Lord's fire and unabatedly he strikes out again and again with every limb at his disposal.

Taking the shot clear into the jaw, Brom feels his chin snapped upwards as he tastes blood, swallowing a tooth as his body slams into the others. He doesn't pause for a tick as he starts throwing punches in a flurry, giving as well as he gets, feeling your knuckles slam into his chest and face as he barrels his own downwards.

And so they finally come down to exchanging blow for blow, though every punch and kick thrown out by the Shadow Lord is met with one or two heavier and harder hitting. With just tenacity and finally sheer willpower to keep himself from losing his control over his Rage, Kenneth slows after quite a number of knocks. Eventually he's only blocking the punches as best he can, and throwing far less. And eventually, none at all.

Soon as the punches stop coming, Brom quits throwing them as he grips the Shadow Lord by the throat, giving a quick squeeze as he snarls down towards him, his face a bloody mess, feeling a sharp pain in his side from a possible cracked rib from where your foot caught him once. "Submit?"

Kenneth is definitely worse for wear, with his lips cracked and teeth bleeding, nose smashed and generally slick with blood and bruising all over. The halfmoon nearly chokes when his throat is seized and squeezed. At first it seems like he isn't going to, staring with a more glazed over look up at the Get's face. But then, the tension drains out and the halfmoon goes limp under the other's grip. Looking off to a side, he mumbles out around his swollen jaws, "Yea."

Letting him go, Brom nods and backs up, reaching down to snag your hand and pulls you to your feet. Letting out a breath, he shifts to the Glabro to begin healing his wounds. "Good fight, brother." He says, giving your shoulder a hard swat.

Kenneth stumbles a bit as he is jerked up, the swat even unbalancing the battered Shadow Lord. Reaching up to wipe off some of the blood still running from his nose, he eyes and coughs out, "Bet you enjoyed that. Beatin' down a Shadow Lord." He stoops after, to take off his shoes and socks before he can shift.

"I enjoy every fight I am in, win or lose." Brom says as he shakes out his joints. "Every fight tells a story about the other person." He flashes a bloody grin at you.

Kenneth spits out another mouthful of blood and drool, growling underneath the feeling of the shift. Once he is healing, he looks up at the still bigger Get. "What'd this one tell you?" The Shadow Lord eyes him, a doubt forming behind the part about Brom losing.

"That you fight with a lot more emotion than I would have gaven you credit for." Brom says as he continues to watch you.

Kenneth coughs out of a rough, bloody laugh. "Only 'cause I like winning more than getting my ass kicked," he replies, an eye closing as he feels a bone in his chest replace itself.

"I hear you on that one. Losing sucks. Its why I fight often. Its good practice, makes me learn the other person better." Brom says as he flops down to the ground heavily, propping himself up with his fists as he stretches out his chest. "I'm sure I'll get my ass handed to me sometime here. Probably by Signe."

Kenneth continues his wipe away motions to clear his face, blooding his hand and futilely ending up smearing the blood on his face a bit more than usual. Walking barefoot over to his shirt, he contemplates. "Why you mentionin' her?" he asks, looking back over.

"She's the Jarl here, a Fostern and an Ahroun. Probably the only one who can take me down due to raw experience and tenacity. I'm sure she'll be fucking livid to know I blew off Havoc after nearly begging to get into it. She pissed me off today though." Brom confides. "Pretty much made me feel less than shit for no fucking reason at all and I'm not going to use that pregnancy shit as an excuse. I've been busting my ass off for the tribe since I got here, working on that Wyrm raid, which by the way I got all the information about, and other things." He says with a growl. "I don't know, she's been acting weird lately and I'm not the only one who's noticed it. I don't think I have the chemistry to fit in with the rest of them."

"That's 'cause Havoc's full a pissy bitches who're packed under Wolverine, of all things," Kenneth grunts, touching a hand to his healing nose. "But... maybe 'least if Reqiuem's gonna stick around, could give 'em a run for their money like Lucas and us intended." Mentioning the deceased ahroun, Kenneth glances off towards the barn doors. "Anyway," he continues quickly, "if you're joinin', that'd probably mean you're the head guy then. 'Cause Dillen ain't no match for you either."

"Yeah. Dillen pretty much gave it to me and gave me the Galliard speel about it." Brom says with a nod of his head. "I'd like to meet your totem first though before we get too serious. I want to get to know this Fenrir."

Kenneth spits again, this time the blood not flowing from any cuts to his mouth any longer. "Snaekolfr's tough, but... not as much of an asshole as that Bloodpelt was." Here the philodox trails. "It'll be hard t'get ahold of 'im." He shakes his head, and goes to retrieve his shoes and socks. "Gotta learn that damn rite," he mumbles, stooping to snatch up the footwear.

"Which Rite?" Brom asks curiously as he shifts himself back down into the homid form once the wounds has healed away, picking up his shirt and dusting it off from the grond.

Kenneth stays in the Glabro awhile longer, his injuries still taking their time. In answer, he holds up his shoes. "The one that'll keep me from havin' to take my goddamn shoes off every time I gotta go fight the Wyrm." He pauses, before shifting down. "What'd my piece of shit elder call it... Dedication or something like that."

Brom smirks slightly at the Shadow Lord and crosses his arms. "Why don't you just ask me?" He says with a lift of his brow, licking his teeth a bit.

Kenneth looks the Get up and down. "'Cause I didn't know that you knew it," he replies matter-of-factly. "'Sides, not like I was gonna ask you since every time before this one, we've been cussin each other out."

Brom grins at him. "You want me to dedicate your clothes to you then?" He asks as he lifts his chin a bit, looking quite smug.

Kenneth narrows his eyes a bit. "Would rather you teach the man how to fish instead of givin' 'im one, if you know what I mean." He walks over to the Get though, eyes kept at a nonconfrontational tilt. "But I figure you'll want something for it."

Brom shrugs his shoulders back a bit as he snorts. "Maybe. I figure pack mates get to eat for free." He says with a smirk upon his face. "I can just say you owe me one. How about that?"

Kenneth shrugs a shoulder, wincing still a little before he turns off. "Whatever. S'up to you since you'd be the teach," he replies. "I'm gonna hit the shower out here and get this blood off." The halfmoon gets but a few feet off before he pauses, and looks back over his shoulder. "You comin'?"

"Sure, but I'm not going to shower with you. I just joined the pack, I'm not about to go playing grab ass with you." Brom says with a teasing grin upon his face. "Remind me to tell you about how my first time meeting with Rusty turned out."

Kenneth's face scrunches with a sneer of disgust at mention of showering together, and moreso at Rusty. "God, I'm Not homo - and I'm sure as hell not gonna shower /with/ anyone. Not you, and /especially/ not that Gay-rou Rusty." The Shadow Lord turns away sharply, pushing the barn door open.

Laughing hard, Brom shakes his head. "I beat the shit out of him when I found him giving a back massage to that new cub, Basil, and he was buck naked." He says as he steps out into the night air, breathing it in. "I can't stand fucking flamers."

Kenneth looks back from the open barn door, his eyes staring at the Get. "He was /what?/ Givin' a... naked back massage?" All that needs is his imagination to tip the scale, and Kenneth shakes his head rapidly with a disgusted snort. "Christ. Fuckin' gonna punch that lost cub a good one," he mutters, catching up to the Get after he closes the barn door.

"Don't punch the cub, punch the Cliath. Rusty told him he had to get naked to learn shifting, then said he'd give him a back rub. The cub was naked, not Rusty. But I could tell his eyes were like an excited puppy sniffing its first crotch." Brom says with a growl. "I broke his fucking leg with my hammer in Crinos. Rusty screamed like a god damned girl and Basil got a kick out of it."

Kenneth snorts, humor drained by the holes punched in with the news. "Goddamn fairy," he growls. "The hell he still alive for? What kind of Garou Shall Not Mate With Garou part does he not fuckin' get? Ugh, whatever. I'll punch 'em both." The Shadow Lord opens the sliding door to the kitchen and makes his way in. "See you," he utters at the Get before heading up to the shower.