5/4/2005

05:10 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (27% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 60 degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northwest at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.96 and rising, and the relative humidity is 77 percent. The dewpoint is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 16:46 Pacific Time on Wed May 4 2005.

Porch
A lathe-turned wooden railing runs the length of the porch save where the steps are, well-worn with use. To the right of the stairs, a wide swing is suspended from the overhang which shelters this area; to the left, a small table is the centerpiece for several chairs pulled around it, all of which face out to the front yard and the fields and trees beyond. The spring breezes which blow through hold the promise of new growth to come, filling the space with an openness that includes all of the farm. The low shrubs planted in the rich bed of earth beyond the railing hold new leaves and tiny buds which threaten to burst into color at any moment.
An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.
(Non-Garou, please "+view curse")
Contents:
Brom
Obvious exits:
Front Door  Lane  

[look Kenneth]
Surrounded by an invisible but 'black' aura, Kenneth is a tall dark stranger waiting to happen. The uncomfortable atmosphere penetrates his otherwise decent social graces, making him seem at first impression, unapproachable. But, he is young and in reality rather attractive. His body is lean, not intimidatingly muscled but nonetheless carries in it a high athletic potential. His dark hair is trimmed to a decent length and styled in a fashionable manner. The majority of his forelocks sweep to one side while a secondary section pokes off the other direction. The body flows back to feather out at the tips, giving his hair quite a bit of a young TV star appeal.
Hairtips hanging just over his eyes, they accentuate the features and shape of his face. At first impression, he may seem completely Asian by heritage, but at a more direct glance, there are a few traits that hint at a mixture of bloodlines both Western and Eastern. What stands out underneath the mild slants of his eyebrows are his nearly black eyes that rarely highlight with a grey color in strong lighting. The cold neutrality of his gaze is of one that wishes to prove the worth of their existence, but more than anything makes him seem alone.
Casually dressed, Kenneth has on a white, collared button-down shirt left open at the top and hanging out of his pants at the hem. It covers over a thin black tanktop, and accompanies a pair of dark blue jeans and white sportshoe. Around his neck, a long thin ball-chain loops around with a unique and expensive looking pair of twin gold rings, both with a small glittering emerald setting.

[look Brom]
Standing tall about six foot five, Brom has the body of a brick wall. He obviously works out on an obsessive basis. His arms are thick and his chest broad, giving off the look of perhaps a well in shape football player. He has a pair of intense blue eyes that always seem to border on anger, and a well developed scowl.

Brom has long hair to about his shoulders, a dirty dark blonde that is typically tied up into a tight pony tail, pulled back from his head. He has a jagged looking scar along his neck that dips down into his shirt, and a few more along his arms that appear to have been made by claw marks. He tends to dress very plainly, a pair of beat up blue jeans with slashes and holes in them, a tight fitted black muscle shirt and a beat up looking leather jacket. Shit kicker boots adorn his feet and a large belt buckle with the picture of an axe on it.
http://homepage.mac.com/jasonaisling/brom.jpg // Best reference I could find for him, for White Bear's relief, no, he doesn't wax his chest, he's manly and probably has hair. Also, he wouldn't have much of a beard, perhaps a scruff on his chin and not as old. Brom is in his early 20's.

Kenneth leans against the railing of the porch, his shirt sleeves rolled back up to his elbows as he watches the rain fall. The Shadow Lord's expression meditative in this moment of peace and quiet with naught but the clouded skies, he doesn't seem to be actively watching the lane. Rather, his gaze is directed at an incline towards the grey masses above, distant and unfeeling.

Making his way towards the porch is Brom, soaked in rain, his hair sprawled out in his face. His shirt is wadded up in his fist, breathing heavily. "Hey." He says to the Shadow Lord, shaking the rain out of his hair.

Kenneth doesn't move, save for his eyes inclining their gaze down from the sky to the mountain of Forsetti. "Yo," he replies in greeting, voice quiet and seemingly mellowed. The Shadow Lord's examination of the Get takes in his rainsoaked self. "Went running?"

"I don't have a car." Brom says with a wry grin as he pulls his hair back from his face. "So, how is the farm life treating you, Paris?" He asks, slumping down onto the porch bench.
Kenneth blinks slowly, once. In reply, he half-shrugs and looks off back towards the skies again. He does, however, inquire after the reference. "Paris?"

"You know, like.. Paris, that Hilton girl. Didn't she do a TV show where she lived in a barn?" Brom asks with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was an attempt to create a joke. Hey, who is Thea?"

Kenneth turns his head and eyes, lidding his gaze to half and accompanying the glare with the beginnings of a snarl. It doesn't get far as he stops himself, instead tensing his jawline and looking back to the clouds. "Don't compare me with that brainless slut," he says, voice at a deadpan even. "Thea's just some girl who I got my hair cut from."

"I wasn't 'comparing' you dumbass. Just.. nevermind." Brom says with a heavy sigh, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "So, I hear you didn't call her back."

Kenneth says no more on the Hilton issue, but at the same time, he takes awhile to reply on matters of Thea. The rain makes up for the silence between them, until Kenneth's voice lifts once more from its mute stance. "Of course not."

"She gave Dillen a blow job in the middle of the club, and then jerked him off right afterwards." Brom says quite bluntly as he rolls his shoulders. "So, yeah. Looks like she's a bit of a wild child. He came home all grins."

Kenneth's gaze once more lids, but follows through with a closing of his eyes and a long, inward drawn breath. The exhale is silent. "Good for him," he remarks, once more flatly. When his eyes open, they are shifted in their sockets to gaze at the Get from the corner of his eyes. "And?"

Brom shrugs. "There really isn't an And, just letting ya'know, in case you did plan on calling her. I don't think there is anything else, she pretty much made him her bitch. She doesn't take No for an answer."

Kenneth leans a bit more against the railing, still watching the other philodox. "Good for him," he repeats. "And if you're wondering, no. I'm not calling her."

"Why not? Because you got your dick cut off? You are going to give up on.. well.. finding someone in your life? Its not.." Brom pauses. "A big deal, is it? You can still be in love an not fuck the hell out of 'em."

Kenneth blinks again and snorts, eyes moving off. "Finding someone is irrelevant to the task we have, as Garou." The Shadow Lord's words are uninspired, mechanical. "And to tell the truth, yes. I don't have my penis. This puts a helluva damper of any sort of relationship with anyone."

"It may be irrelevant, but it sure helps to come home to someone instead of to me." Brom says with a wide grin on his face, giving his pack mate a thump on the shoulder.

Kenneth doesn't crumple at the shoulderthump, but he hadn't expected it. The physical contact causes the halfmoon to twist his shoulder away, eyes turning to stare at the Get for a short time before he looks off and resettles a pace away. This time, Kenneth's eyes aim their look at some spot down towards the grass off further from the porch edge. "I don't know what you're talking about," the Shadow Lord grunts.

"Hmf." Brom says as he watches you walk away, tilting his chin a bit, half lidding his eyes. "Well, so.. how are you doing, otherwise? Everything OK?"

"Peachy," Kenneth answers, though the tone used is deliberately enigmatic. "Just peachy." The answer is not exactly truth, but not exactly a lie either. "You?"

"Bored as fuck. You want to do something? Get some food and a beer?" Brom asks, jerking his head towards the front door, rising up to his full height. "I make a mean hoagie sandwich."

Kenneth turns his head to look over his shoulder at the farmhouse's draped over windows. "I thought you were organizing an attack on the tainted farm out further from here."

"Well, I can't do that every five seconds of the day." Brom says with a flash of his teeth. "I still got to eat. C'mon. We'll talk more about it inside." He says, pushing open the door and heading in.

Kenneth pushes off the railing, not commenting after but following the Get inside.

Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room
Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a twin-pane window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set into an alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep freezer as well as shelves of dry goods.
Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves containing a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few decorative nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room from the kitchen.
An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing behind the house.
(Non-Garou, please "+view curse")
Contents:
Brom
Obvious exits:
Hallway/Living Room  Back Door  

Brom aims for the fridge, reaching out and tugging the door open, gathering up an armful of food. Heading to the table, he dumps the spread and starts opening packages.

Kenneth trails the other philodox into the kitchen, and from there leans up against a wall, watching as the Get makes his late lunch. "So what have you heard about our Little Twisted House on the Prairie?"

"The scouting party was a somewhat success. They got in, got out an even killed a pair of spirits. One red, one black.. they were spitting out acid and had hooks for hands. The green house materialized in the Umbra, so, ya'know what that means, right kid?"

Lightly leaning his head against the wall, Kenneth muses, "It's old shit." A pause after, he adds, "But that doesn't explain what's in it in the Realm."

"Its either old shit, or its so fucking tainted with the Weaver or the Wyrm it built itself a nice lil home in the Umbra cuz' of it." Brom says with a nod of his head. "Well, it was see through in the Umbra and the scouting party was able to at least see plants inside, dead and stuff."

Kenneth looks off back to the nearest window to the outside - the glass door. "In other words, we still have to deal with what's in it. And what's around it." The Shadow Lord sums up before looking back to the Get. "When's this gonna happen?"

"Moon is getting fucking small, /again/." Brom says with a disappointed growl in his throat. "Fuck, I'd go there right now if I could. I need to get in touch with Havoc and what isn't pregnant of Resonance, and Birdseye. By the way." He says, licking his lips. "Jana is dead and I volunteered Requiem to help out Birdseye to give back some revenge. We'll be fighting off Skrags in the Umbra. It'll be glorious."

Kenneth turns back to Brom, head tilting this time. "The Silver Fang?" he asks, but recognition comes quick. He rolls a shoulder, another deep breath sucked in and let go. "And when is That going to be? Next waxing moon," he guesses.

"I will need to speak with Cole and Auggie about that. They are sending words via the Galliards to the other packs to let 'em know. They want to go over kill on the slaughter and I don't blame em.'" Brom says with a rumble in his throat. "Speaking of which, I need to send Dillen on an errand."

Kenneth continues watching the Get, only blinking on occassion. "Which is?" he asks, pushing off the wall and drawing out a seat for himself.

"To be a Skald and send word to the others that we are going to fuck up some mutant jumping cows." Brom says with a wide grin upon his face. "Thomas says that he will bring his Sniper Rifle."

"Huh," is the reply of the Shadow Lord as he sits at the table. "Should see if he knows about the Brothers. Their meth lab exploded - think you heard that on the news. Haven't seen 'em since, but Natalie," and here Kenneth pauses as if to emphasize the oddity of mentioning her, "relayed that Megan wants to know if there's any breaches left to clean up after."

Brom nods his head slightly. "Alright, then well, at Megan's request we will go and do that then. Do you have any advice to offer me in regards to dealing with the humans? You've seen how I deal with things."

The quiet rumble of a vehicle coming down the lane and parking not far from the farmhouse can be heard faintly. Following this is the sound of a car door being opened, the crunch of boots on gravel, and that same door being shut. There's half a beat, then a 'fweep beep' announces the vehicle's doors have been locked and the alarm triggered.

Kenneth rolls his neck around, feeling the bone shift about with some dull cracking. The motion seems to relieve some tension at least. "Easiest way is just to watch first, and learn how they deal with each other. We're the wolves, and they're the sheep. They got strength in numbers." All this is said like common sense, but not challengingly. "While the moon is small we can make our rounds, but with the Brothers out of the picture, there'll be turf wars eventually again. I wouldn't worry on it much, and that's what I would tell Megan as well." The sound of a vehicle disturbing the peace out front gives the Shadow Lord reason to pause before saying anything further. His head turns, looking over his shoulder towards the hallway that connects the kitchen and dining room to the living room.

Brom nods his head slightly and furrows his brows. "So, we just watch, but not engage." He rumbles in his throat, then continues creating the world's biggest hoagie. "If I don't kill something this month I'm going to scream."

The front door opens a few moments later, admitting a worn-looking, but nevertheless clearly alert Jeren. She's in the process of pinching the bridge of her nose, as though trying to clear a headache.

[look Jeren]
This woman is not tall, standing at only 5'1, possibly 5'2 if you're feeling generous. She has a slender frame, but with an athletic build--she looks like a runner, or a gymnast perhaps, and when she moves, it's with smoothed and balanced motions. While the shape of her features are predominantly Caucasian, her skin and hair coloring suggests at a slightly more exotic genetic background--but it is very unclear just what that might be. She has dusky skin that can't quite pass for brown or tanned, rather somewhere inbetween.
Her hair is a silky black, but cropped at about chin length and layered. It's one of those haircuts that keep themselves in line without too much maintenance, or at least that's the idea. Overall her looks are pleasant enough, somewhat plain, and this is helped by the fact that she doesn't seem to bother with makeup any more than she does with elaborate hairstyles. A thin tracery of scars, possibly from some animal or another, arches over and around her left eye and into the hairline, with one spidery branch stretching dangerously over the eyelid itself, though there is nothing to suggest the eye is damaged.
Her clothing consists of a white, sleeveless top tucked into the waist of a pair of non-descript jeans that are just baggy enough to not restrict her movements, but not so much that they're likely to trip her up. Over this is pulled a collared, button-up black shirt, completely unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. Generally she also wears a pair of fingerless, black leather gloves, somewhat more reinforced on the backside of the hands rather than the palm, which would be the norm. The legs of her jeans are tucked into a pair of plain brown hiking boots with black laceups that look as though they've seen a lot of use.
Carrying:
Fang of the Wyrm

Glancing to the Lord, then to the new comer, Brom stands upwards slowly from his seat, cracking his neck from side to side. He is shirtless, his broad chest full of scars. Staring at the woman, he doesn't say a word, just lets his heavy gaze fall upon her.

Kenneth doesn't immediately reply, waiting until the driver of the vehicle enters, gets closer to the kitchen, and finally appears. Jeren's entry is received in silence as the Shadow Lord nonetheless remains sitting at the table, and doesn't say a word as he waits for another to break the looming silence.

Jeren drops her hand as she spies the two Garou in the kitchen. Kenneth is given a brief once over, but Brom's scrutiny is returned almost two fold--she scans him slowly from top, to bottom, to shirtless top again. She too, remains quiet, though there's just the slightest twitch about her mouth.

Raising up a brow, Brom rocks his scarred shoulders back to crack a few joints loudly. "Who the fuck are you?" He asks, quite openly blunt with a deep rumble in his throat.

Kenneth flicks his gaze back to Brom for a split second before it returns to Jeren. He waits instead, for her to intro herself instead of doing it for her.

Jeren waits another moment or two, still scanning the far larger man, before she answers the question. "Jeren Harper, Cliath Ragabash of the Glass Walkers." The twitch around her mouth is still present, but she's keeping it down and under control, making it impossible to tell what it's trying to turn into.

There is a slight snort from the hulk as he squeezes his hands tightly into a pair of fists. "I am he who Rips off The Face of the Forath, Forsetti Cliath for the Great Get of Fenrir, Alpha of the unstoppable pack known as Requiem who is led by the great Grandfather of Odin, son of Samson Gustaffson, Adren Skald, born of man, grandson of Thorn Gustaffson, Modi Hero who died a mighty death shortly after gaining the rank of Adren."

Kenneth looks from Jeren back to Brom, shortly eyeing him for a moment before turning back to Jeren to observe her reaction to the long introduction.

It's not a smirk, it's not a smirk, it's not a smirk--but the words tumble out before Jeren can make an attempt to hush them, "That's a rather long haul to use in everyday conversation. May I shorten it to he who Talks off the Ear of the Forath?"

The six foot five monster of rage snags up a chair from the floor and smashes it over the table, holding a sharp, jagged end of wood in his hands as he thrusts it forward towards the New Moon. "Excuse me? Did you just make fun of my fucking deed name you mother fucking cunt sniffing piece of gutter trash? Who the fuck do you think you are? You got to the count of three to get the fuck out of here before I snap you in twelve places and shove your ass down the garbage disposal. Don't think I won't make you fucking /fit/."

Kenneth has little time to react, as furniture crashes against furniture and sends shards of wooden splinters flying. The Shadow Lord reflexively duck-and-covers, uttering a loud curse in surprise. One splinter smacks flat against his arm that blocks his face. "Jesus Fuck!" He doesn't get in much more, lowering his arm with a jerky movement before glaring at his Get packmate a moment.

Jeren is moving the moment Brom reaches for the chair. It's a single, fluid motion that starts as a sidestep and ends as a duck--not just down, but under the table, and out to the other side. Even then, she nearly gets belted with wood splinters as she pops back up to her feet. And her tone is absurdly level, "I don't think Megan-rhya will appreciate your remodeling."

"I don't think Megan-Rhya will appreciate smart mouthed little fucks like you, insulting the true warriors who have bled for this Sept." Brom says, shoving the table to the side as he starts after her, teeth bared, eyes glinting wildly. As he moves, there seems to be an odd ripple as his skin begins to bubble. The large bull tattoo on his chest leaps off his skin and into his hands, taking the form of quite the impressive metal sledge hammer. "One.."

"STOP IT," Kenneth growls out now, wiping off splinters from his shirt and standing up from his spot where he had rolled out of his chair. The Shadow Lord looks clearly annoyed now with both of the other Garou. "For fuck's sake," he snorts, directing his ice cold glare at Jeren first. "You got no brain in that shitcase you call a skull?" Then he rounds on Brom. "I don't give a Fuck what you do to her, Brom, but I'm /not/ cleaning up your mess here." The Shadow Lord's back is to the hallway, a fair couple paces back from immediate sledgehammer swinging range.

Christine's face appears in the southern doorway about the time the table goes flying. She has her hands wrapped around a plate, and atop of that plate two empty cups. Her eyes go wide as saucers at the sight of Brom, and make it practically to plate-size themselves by the time his ink is on the move.

Jeren keeps her face toward Brom as she reaches back with her right hand and shoves the sliding glass door open, performing a little hop-skip back through the opening as Brom starts to come forward. And then, as her right hand comes back front-side, it's clutching a glock, which she points toward the Get's bared chest. "--Two, three, I win." The Ragabash, however idiotic, is suddenly breathing heavily, eyes glinting.

In the front rooms, "So here it is," says Helen as she politely holds the door open for Rianna. "Nothin' special, but hey. When you get permission t' wander around the bawn you can come live with us at the Fury House."

Brom barks out a laugh. "Go ahead, shoot me. Look at my fucking scars, bitch! You think those came from meager humans poking me with knives? My war pack the Duatha Bloth has slain Thunder Wyrms by the handful in the land of Vikings and Ogres! I am an invincible warrior and no mere mortal shell from your toy will kill me!" The large warrior continues to advance towards the insulting Glass Walker, clutching his metal sledge hammer, then blurs into motion, darting to the left, then forward in a speed unmatched by any normal human can ever achieve. He channels his rage, growling in his throat, looking to aim the head of his hammer into the stomach of the Ragabash.

In the front rooms, Rianna nods abstractedly at Helen as she listens to the Get threaten the Walker. There's a brief pause, and then she mutters, as she moves forward to get a better view, "Energetic kind of place."

In the front rooms, "Uh-huh," says Helen to Rianna after hearing the exchange. "I think we should go up there, make sure no one gets their ass kicked...or worse..." She sighs heavily.
In the front rooms, Rianna suddenly seems to realize her auspice. "Yeah. What's the rules on where people can kick each other's asses? Should I be encouraging them to take it elsewhere, or should I not bother?"

Kenneth takes another step back with the appearance of the Glock, his stare going from a cold fire and dulling with incredulity. That is broken off with the sound of voices behind him and the sound of the front door opening and closing. The Shadow Lord turns, only to find Christine not more than a few feet from him and stuck. His following reaction is a narrowing gaze mixed with uprising recognition. But it doesn't remain on Christine for very long. The additional voices draw him off the girl.

In the front rooms, "Dunno but I'm not gonna let some ass-kicking go on in *here*. They go fight in the barn, not here," grumbles Helen as she heads into the kitchen area, clearly irritated.

The appearance of the gun, a danger more tangible than any moving tattoo, brings Christine to her senses. She blinks at Kenneth, and backs out of the room. "He's going to kill her," she informs Helen and Rianna in passing.

Jeren doesn't fire. The moment Brom starts after her at rage-fueled speed, she kicks off to his right and takes off, running like the proverbial bat out of hell. Even so, her kickoff only just gets her out of the way of the hammer--it actually touches the ends of her buttoned down shirt. She's skimming along the side of the farmhouse, toward the nearest corner.

Pulling back quickly, Brom stops on a dime and turns around, snarling loudly under his breath as he grips the hammer's neck tightly, eyes blazing in a wild frenzy. "You better fucking run, coward!"

Helen glances to Christine only briefly, instead turning her eyes to the giant Get. She glares. "What the fuck is going on?" she nearly shouts. Turning to Rianna she grumbles, "Why the hell does this stuff have t'happen?" before again looking to Brom.

"Nah," Rianna says, almost casually, to Christine. "Well, not without a lot more trying than _this_." She straightens and adds, not quite yelling, "OUTSIDE. BARN." She shrugs at Helen. "Rage makes for morons, mostly?"

Jeren comes to a skidding halt just as soon as she can't hear Brom pounding after her, and when she judges they're a safe distance apart. Which, in this case, means a good twelve feet, at least. She's crouching, panting, and the glock seems to have disappeared from her hands. And she's grinning like an absolute fool. "Tired?" she calls after the Philodox.

Kenneth throws up a hand, if only to stop anyone from getting past him and in some invisible 'danger zone'. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Brom lunge and Jeren run, which attracts his immediate attention before Helen and Rianna in turn speak up again. "Shut. Up," he snaps at both of them, exercising willpower over himself to not take his annoyance level further. The glance he sends to the retreating Christine is not friendly either, but doesn't stay for half a second before he turns and trails after the Get.

Fwip. The sliding glass door is closed as Brom heads back into the house, twirling the hammer about in his large hand. The word gets lost on deaf ears as he shoves the weapon back into his chest, letting it take the form of the red bull once more over his flesh. He growls deeply in his throat, eyeballing the pair of girl sco--.. err, Black Furies. "I hate fucking idiots. Fucking bitch, making fun of my deed name for no fucking reason. Fucking disrespecting Urrah trash." He lets out a heavy breath, then snorts at Rianna's shout before beginning to straighten up the table. "Aw, fuck. My sandwich." There goes Mount Hoagie.

Christine stops by the staircase and stations herself there to watch the hallway. All she can see from there is whatever appears in the front doorway to the kitchen, and whatever appears in the front doorway to the farmhouse.

Helen, tense, sends an irritated glance to Kenneth but doesn't bother to respond. As Brom returns and gives, well, sort of an explanation, she presses the Get with, "So what the hell happened? The fuck did she have a gun--and you tryin' to beat the shit out of her?"

Rianna says cheerfully, "Nope," in Kenneth's general direction, but doesn't push it much further than that. She rummages in her bag, and offers Brom, without comment, the chicken sandwich she made earlier. It's not a hoagie, but perhaps it will do.

Jeren , for her part, does not head back toward the sliding door. No, rather she starts around the side of the farmhouse, circling back around to the front door at a rather casual pace.

Kenneth stops in his pursuit as the Get returns through the door, instead half turning again so that the majority of the kitchen is back in his sights. Rianna gets one helluva glare, while Helen is utterly ignored at the moment of the murderous look sent at the Fury Philodox. The Shadow Lord looks to be wholly more angry than any of the others in the kitchen at that moment, and it takes a few tense seconds before he can make himself move, turning around and roughly jerking the fridge door open.

After straightening up the table, Brom lets out a growl in his throat. "She insulted my deed name, an I told her to get the fuck out before I cram her down the disposal in twelve different pieces. Who the fuck does she think she is? Then she pulls a gun on me?" He smirks to himself, taking the broken chair bits and stuffing them into the garbage can. At Rianna's gesture, he raises up a brow. ".. Ah.. no thank you." He says, a bit dumbfounded.

Christine, still at the bottom of the staircase, turns her head to regard the approaching woman. With better better to do, she smiles inanely and bobs her head once.

The Fury ragabash informs Brom sternly, "You'll gotta buy a new chair." Helen says to Rianna, "Sorry your, uh, introduction here kinda sucked."

Jeren pulls open the front door and steps inside. From the look on her face, one might think she just found the past few minutes unbelievably entertaining. Christine is given a smile in return.

Rianna shrugs at Brom. "Thought I'd offer," she says, before starting in on it herself. "Figured a sandwich might help." She glances at Jeren, suppressing a smile, and shakes her head at Helen. "Who, me? This's fun. Though admittedly, I imagine the neighbors think the lot of us are insane by now."

"No, that fucking Glass Walker is going to buy a new fucking chair. She owes it, because it should have been her neck, and don't fucking tell 'me' what to do." Brom says with a snort, almost tacking on another word, but wisely keeps it to himself. Soon as he sees Jeren, he growls viciously in his throat, eyes glinting. The noise in his chest isn't human, thats for sure.

Kenneth snatches out a plastic bottle of water from the fridge and nearly slams the door on the appliance shut. He doesn't say a word, looking up to see who Brom is growling at now. "Fuck this shit," he snorts to himself, making his way around the Forsetti's back, not sparing any more words for the Furies, Walker, or Gnawer cub. He slides the glass door open with another rough movement, steps outside and walks off to the side a few paces away from the doorway, leaving the door open.

Christine hangs back. The coast is still not clear; the coast, in fact, distressingly crowded. Hoisting up the dishes in her arms, she drifts into the living room to wait until the kitchen is more settled.

Rianna sighs. "Hey, Get? I'd use your name, but I don't know it. Main thing I know is, don't be growling at people in here, do it in the Barn." She glances at Helen. "Right?"

"Just don't kill the kid," Helen says. "And if you wanna go beat somethin' up go for the punching bags in the Barn. Megan'd be pretty pissed off if there was a mess of dead cub in here."

Jeren gives a small, two fingered wave to Brom in response to the growling, before glancing toward the newcomers. As Christine moves off, she settles against the wall and slides her hands into her jean pockets.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do." Brom says with a sharp snap towards the new Black Fury, eyes glaring at her. "I can growl at whoever I fucking damn well please to. She fucking insulted me, why don't you tell her stupid ass to get lost? I have suffered scars and bled for this fucking Sept, what has she done? Come in here and insult one of Gaia's true warriors for no fucking reason." He fumes, then cuts his look to Kenneth as he leaves. With a snort, he turns and follows after his pack mate, shaking his head. "Fucking idiots. Fucking backwards Sept. No sense of fucking tradition." He makes his way out the door, not bothering to close it after him.

Rianna snorts softly. "I was assuming you wanted to beat the crap out of her. In proper challenge. In which case, you sure can't do it here. That's all."

Kenneth simply stands outside of the glass door, having cracked open the waterbottle's cap and is drinking down the fluid at a rapid rate. The rain looks to have stopped, for now.

Helen says nothing in response to the angry Get. Instead she says to Rianna, "Look, I gotta get goin'...just wanted to find you and show you the house. You'll be able to find Megan I bet."

Jeren makes her way into the kitchen, and toward the fridge, as though the past ten minutes or so never happened. Both Helen and Rianna are given acknowledging nods. She opens the door of the appliance and peers inside.

Rianna blinks at Helen. "I will?" After a moment, she manages, "I will! Good to meet you. I'll look for you over at the house, eventually."

[Kenneth leaves in a huff, likely to work off the frustration that came with such a scene. Heh. And later...]

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (25% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 58 degrees Fahrenheit (14 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.94 and rising, and the relative humidity is 90 percent. The dewpoint is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 21:11 Pacific Time on Wed May 4 2005.

Bawn: Foothills of the Mountains(#2986RA)
The hills that rise here are roughened by the frequent rains, and rocky places show through the grasses and shrubs that grown in the clearings. Trees grow as often from shallow soil on rocky hillocks as from real loam. Occassional boulders show through like the bones of ancient creatures, covered with spreading patches of moss and lichen. The land is rough, and the weight of the ancient hills gives the place a chilling quality. The stones seem to resent intrusion.
No visible delimiter marks the eastern edge of the Bawn, only scent-marks and occasional scratches on trees. To the west, the hills become softer and the covering forest thicker, while to the east, the rocky slopes of the foothills become mountainous in truth, and the tree cover thins. I-90 to the north and the railroad to the south provide the remaining edges to this region.
Contents:
Michael
Obvious exits:
Two Eagles Bluff  Silent Valley  South  North  East  Thunder Cave  West  

Coming from the east, Michael walks with a bounce in his step, not looking to be exactly overly happy but rather extremely content. The look on his face is stern as usual, but the way he walks gives something away about a pleasure in his mood. He seems to perhaps be on his way towards the Caern itself.

A lone wolfhowl rises out of the west from the general direction of the caern, which indicates that the wolf is Dagger's-Edge. He seeks out the one named Kills-Wisely.

It isn't long before ears perk and Michael melts down to the lupine to return the howl. Kills-Wisely is here, and he hears. The Wendigo moves on with a careful but quick movement towards the howling Dagger's-Edge, apparently apprihensive to meet the new packmate of his.

Dagger's-Edge howls once more, long and loud to indicate his position before letting the sound fade into the night. The philodox is found on his haunches in spite of the wet ground, the black wolf also has taken shelter beneath a wide branching pine. Once Kills actually is within scent range - fairly close since the rain hinders - the Shadow Lord rises up to his paws. His tail is kept distinctly neutral behind him.

[look Dagger's-Edge]
This wolf is large, but young by appearance. A jet coat of fur, long legs and a deep chest show his health, but not lacking in some particular scars on his furred body. His countenance infrequently lights with frivolous cheer, being rather set in an intelligent, reserved attentiveness that presents itself as somehow sinister, driving home the mysteries and suspicious nature many have of the wolf. He unquestionably carries himself with as much grace and agility as he can muster, wrapped in precarious balance and proportion, but a certain quirk of his gait indicates there is something wrong with him as well. Soaked in the color of void, his coat cloaks him with darkness incarnate with hints of ashen and earthen colors streaking the fringes. Silver frosting surrounds his eyes with a lightened mask that adds to the haunting stare of his golden stare, touching down as well at the very tip of his muzzle.
This wolf, has the unmistakeable tinge of the city in his scent. He seems to have taken some care to try and cleanse himself of such things, but the tenacious Weaver has undoubtedly clung invisibly to his form.

[look Kills-Wisely]
Dark brown fur, patched through with lighter pigments marks the heritage of this young Wendigo wolf. Around Darkfeather's peering eyes the fur brightens, becoming almost a greyish brown like the corona of the sun seen by squinting eyes. His movement is self-assured, controlled... intelligent in a way that wolves just are not.

Kills-Wisely has a natural dominance to him, a slightly aggreesive posture with tail high and head held far forward. He spots the other through the rain with scent and stops, taking a moment to familiarize himself with that scent. He starts to walk forward to stand before the other. Smell scab. He offers first, before anything else, then he starts to melt up to the homid form, arms crossing over his chest.

Dagger's-Edge splays an ear at the dominance, but remains at neutral with consideration that this is not his territory. The scab comment doesn't go unnoticed, but the Shadow Lord replies with but a chuff of acknowledgement to it. Then, he too slips up and readily to his birthform. The unfortunate part of being in homid, is that his rain dampened fur now becomes damp clothing. "Good evening," he greets once more with a short clearing of his throat to the Wendigo. "Brom said that I would find you out near the east woods somewhere." Even like this, his stance, his eyes, all are held neutral.

[look Michael]
This young teenaged Native American's high-cheekboned face seems to wear a scowl designed just around that fact. His hair has grown out enough to be put into a topknot of sorts, tied up with handmade twine. Eyes that are cold, not from lack of emotion, but rather an obvious fear of it. His expression tends a tone of righteousness; face tilted up slightly and narrowed eyelids. The youth's darkly tanned body is one that has never experienced laziness, from either need or desire it has been well worked and is in prime condition for his age. This lends attractiveness despite the unpleasant expression he gives to the world around him. Covering his legs are hand sewn leather pants, of difficult to determine origin, though cow hide is a definate possibility. His torso is hidden as well by a tunic of a rough hand-made quality. A lack of shoes reveal large feet that wear the callouses and dirt of travel for long periods of time over rough terrain. Aside from that the Wendigo only wears a necklace of thread and multi-colored beads accenting his skin.

Michael nods to the statement, as if having nothing else to mention on the fact. "I too, will soon stink of it." He offers, eyes narrowing. He seems neither bothered by wetness or cold, as is rumored about the Wendigo. He lets his crossed arms drop to his side and adds, "You can to meet me? See if you approve?"

Kenneth rolls a shoulder, head tilting slightly to one side. "Not to approve, or to disprove. I came to see how you felt about Requiem, /without/ the pressure of the Get pushing around with their heavy hands. To see why a Wendigo might even consider packing with two Get and a Shadow Lord, under a Get totem."

Michael tilts his head to the side as the Shadow Lord finishes speaking, "The Wendigo have their reasons for what they do. We are a proud people, with ancient ways here on this land. Too many have decided to protect the land with colder hearts to the north, giving up the worst of the scabs here to the Wyrm. I do not accept that. They are not of Gaia, the cities, but those that live there are not all of the Wyrm either. I fight, and I kill. I will not choose poor targets because I fear the right target is too strong to fight. If there are those among Gaia's army who are willing to fight alongside me, I will not forsake them though I cruely know the tales of their ancestor's deeds. I will never forget, and I will never let you forget. But I will fight, and I will trust in my brothers in the fight. Is that enough for you Shadow Lord?"

Kenneth listens patiently and with genuine attention throughout the monologue, eyes watching the Wendigo. "All I ask of anyone who wants me to do something, is to trust me to do it. And vice versa. If someone says they'll do something, I expect they'll do it. Plain and simple," he replies. "You want to come to the city and fight under Fenris, that's fine with me." Here his eyes narrow a touch. "But Fenris makes his own demands too. You can never back out of a challenge to fight. You alright with that?"

Michael narrows his eyes further, it almost looks as if he couldn't possibly still see Kenneth, but his face doesn't move a centimeter. "My people know far too well of Fenris and what he demands of his people. I don't make this choice lightly. He is a powerful warrior willing to take the fight to the Wyrm's door, and that is what Gaia requires now more than ever. If the strong do not fight and die, the weaker have no chance in healing the ravaged world and living."

Kenneth in contrast, looks plainly at Michael, gaze returning to its normal open state. "Then we're on the same paget. Look - I don't want pretty words. I don't need swearing or oaths of loyalty. You cover my back when we're up against our enemies, and I'll do the same for you. That's all." He skips a beat. "You cool with that?"

Michael's eyes slowly start to open again, a bit of a confused expression dawning on his face as he asks simply. "Cold with... what are you asking me?"

Kenneth creases his brow as he realizes the break of understanding. "Cool with... 'okay with'," he explains. "I'm asking if you're alright with what I said before. About covering each other's backs."

Michael gives a quick expression of understanding, his head rocking back slightly as his mouth opens to speak, "Ah... I see. Odd." He quickly shakes his head, as if clearing something away, "Yeah. Yes. I am 'cool' with that."

Adapting a mild smile at the Wendigo's attempt to use the newly learned slang, Kenneth then busies himself with brushing off some of the dampness from his shirt sleeves. "Then the only other thing you should prepare yourself for, is a fight with Snaekolfr."

Michael for the first time tonight, allows a smile to touch on his formerly quite frosty lips. "I look forward to that battle." He turns his head now, towards the northwest, "I wished to get to the Caern before the morning comes. I would meditate there tonight, I gave of my spirit to appease that of my prey, and I would focus there to regain it."

Kenneth turns his head to look in that same direction, but the tiny smile that was there, swiftly disappears. "I won't be joining you on your trip there," he remarks. "Until Dillen and I receive some judgement about Lucas, we're not allowed at the caern." The Shadow Lord is clearly not pleased by that, but turning back to the Wendigo he nods his head once. "Good hunting then, Kills-Wisely."

Michael at first looks back to Kenneth with eyes narrowing again and then with a frown asks, "Did not Jarred kill the tainted one?"

Kenneth stiffens visibly even in the dark, with mere mention of Jarred. "They killed each other. Corrupt and corrupt. One knowingly so, the other, not." The philodox swallows down what else was to come. Yet, he doesn't move from where he is, standing ground against the bitter memories.

Michael continues to watch the Shadow Lord intently, "It is best then that those who died were already lost, and those who lived can fight on." He doesn't seem to either notice, or care, about the sensitivity of the subject as he turns again towards the Caern. "Tell Brom I am ready and waiting for our... Snaekolfr." he is impressively close with his pronounciation, and his tone doesn't show any signs of caring to be corrected as he starts off towards the Caern.

Kenneth nods once more. "I'll do that," he replies, and finally turns to head off. The Shadow Lord shifts to the lupus, and once more trots away to disappear into the night forest.