Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (76% full).
It is currently 10:20 Pacific Time on Tue Aug 16 2005.

Highway 22, Railroad Crossing
The faded asphalt of the highway crosses a set of rusted old railroad tracks here, the crossing warning lights half-hidden behind the roadside trees. The tall conifers on either side of the road have begun to encroach on the shoulder of the road and the railroad. The rails are rusted and a number of the support boards are rotted, indicating that the railroad likely isn't used much any more. The underbrush beneath the pines and firs is thick, blocking any view further into the woods.
Highway 22 runs southeast toward the National Park, and heads back toward Kent Crossing to the northwest. The railroad runs eastward and westward through the woods, disappearing almost immediately into the trees.
Contents:
Brom
Dillen
Fang(#3140J)
Obvious exits:
East on the Tracks  Northwest on the Tracks  North  Southeast  

Dillen pages to the room: Ken, we are in a nearby building that Dillen has refabricated from stuff to make a place to hang out in for fat moons. Couple beds, hammock in the corner. Kinda nice inside, still junky outside.

Dillen raises a brow. "Not to come?" He sits up again, peering at Brom. "So I have to go there?"

Brom shrugs his shoulders as bit, then lets out a huff. "I don't know. I figure now that she's pregnant, she won't get hit on by Leon, or any of the others. She can still be supported by mom and she can go to College up there on her scholarship if she wants to."

Dillen looks a little downhearted about this. "If that is what you want. I understand." He nods his head. "Probably better for her, then she won't be tied to me."

Brom snorts. "Don't give me that whiny bullshit, you don't even /know/ my sister. You just fucked her once when you were drunk and talked to her on the phone."

Kenneth steps out of the woodline, hair dripping from a dunk in some nearby river perhaps. When he sees his packmates, the Shadow Lord blinks, slowing to overhear the conversation.

Dillen growls back at Brom. "Not giving you any whiny shit. Just trying to give you what you want. You know what... FUCK YOU. I happen to want your sister here. I want to raise a kid who will have more of a fucking father than I did. I want to raise a GREAT kid. You know what... You are out of the equation now. She will be my wife and I will do right by her and you can go take a flying leap as far as we are concerned. Get it???" His teeth are grinding against each other. "I will go there, she will come here. Doesn't matter. It's gonna happen and you better get used to the idea... Brother."

"Excuse me?" Brom sputters, then barks out a laugh. "I am out of the fucking equation? Boy, I am the /man of the house/." He rumbles in his throat, a deep, aggressive growl as he sizes up the Skald. "I'm the man of my house and I'm the man of this pack. Don't you give me any of your shit. You think /you/ are going to raise a kid? Fuck no you aren't raising any kid. The kin do, not the Garou. That is the way. Our rage and hot tempers are not designed to deal with screaming babies at three in the morning. So, this is what is going to happen, you are going to let me deal with my sister in any way /I/ see fit, and you won't do a damn thing about it, or I will fucking kill you. Got it?"

Dillen folds his lips into a huge scowl. His jaw tenses and he balls up his fists. "Fine." Is all he manages to get out before he slumps hack into the hammock. "Brom-Rhya." He adds.

Loitering just outside the refabricated house that Dillen and Brom are currently arguing in, Kenneth wipes off the river water dripping from his hair with a generally unconcerned air. He's eavesdropping, and he knows it.

Rocking his shoulders back a bit, Brom lets out a heavy breath. "I'm not exactly in an easy spot here, Dillen. In the White Oak, I'd have killed you for putting your dick in her without asking me for permission. Here, I'm sure it'd be /frowned/ upon or some bullshit. The thing is, you don't even know her and after talking to Ken last night, I realized I've been a bit hasty in my decision in forcing you to marry her."

Dillen raises his brow in almost surprise. "Brom, before... I didn't want to. Didn't feel like I was ready for something like that." He shrugs then and looks to Brom. "It is what Gaia needs or she wouldn't have made it happen. Watching you and Rillie, she gives you time to be calm... To be a father when the time comes. I want that too." He tilts his head. "And if it happens to be with your sister, so be it. Yes, I'd like to get to know her a little more to see if she and I can even have a conversation without wanting to kill each other... But to do that we have to be together."

Approaching from the direction of the city, Kevin sees Kenneth outside the house at about the same time he hears the sound of raised, angry voices from within it. Sliding quietly up towards the Shadow Lord, he speaks in a low voice. "This the meeting place? What's going down?"

Kenneth quirks his head to a side as he hears his name, but smirks as Dillen gets - by definition - sappy. That smirk disappears in a hurry as he is snuck up on, and the Shadow Lord reflexively startles. Eyes whip towards Kevin, and narrow. "Nothing," he replies in a normal tone of voice. "Was just passing by."

[look Kevin]
Kevin Lockwood, in the three months since his arrival in St Clair, has changed a little from the neat, nerdy teen he came here as. His hair is still so dark a brown it's nearly black, but it's grown out from its close crop into quite a bush, giving him a slightly wild air. Below it his long face, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes, of course, remain. His prominent chin and Adam's apple are definitely starting to sprout beard hairs - still not many, but they're there right enough, and he'll likely have to start shaving soon. Below his neck his body remains slim and fit, though possibly a little less athletic in appearance than it was three months ago. He's grown another inch or more of late and is now a good five foot nine - and as that extra inch went on his legs, he looks even more gangling now due to the relative length of his lower limbs to his body. That's growth spurts for you. Clothing-wise, he remains clad in the blue sweatshirt, grey running pants, and worn trainers.
Carrying:
Fang of the Wyrm

Brom snorts loudly. "Gaia had nothing to do with her getting knocked up. Its what happen when two people fuck. Don't give me that asshat Child of Gaia logic. If anything, you could just get a fucking job and send her a paycheck like any other guy who knocks some chick up. You don't need to /calm down/, you need to grow some fucking balls and get crazy with the Wyrm. The only reason why Rillie calms me down is because I'm a god damn murderous psychopath and without her, I'd probably have killed you by now. You're either incredibly lucky I'm such a /nice/ guy, or I'm actually a complete idiot. I'm sure if Thor or Leon or Stephan was here, they'd laugh my ass into the grave. I didn't put up with bullshit like this at the Sept. I actually crippled a Ragabash once for slapping Freya on the ass and that poor fucker can't walk now, the only thing I got was a slap on the wrist, so, I'm more than capable of doing something stupid to you, I don't know why I haven't yet. Maybe I feel bad for you or something." He grunts. "This is the deal." He pauses a tick. "Freya will come out here, but you ain't marrying her, not yet, not unless you two click, but things are going to happen right. You ain't fucking her, you ain't touching her, you ain't kissing her. You want to even so much as hold her hand I'll break your wrist and make you eat your fingers or some bullshit. You ask me for permission, for /everything/. Just like how it is in the Oak. If you two work out, fine, if not, she goes back home."

Dillen rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Whatever you say." He gives a shrug. "I still think it is fate." A slight grin to his face.

Kevin gives Kenneth a look that says "Yeah, sure," but doesn't say any more himself as he listens to Brom's voice boom out, punctuated by Dillen's less loud (and less copious) words. He raises one eyebrow to Kenneth as though to silently enquire what or who the topic of this vigorous debate is.

Kenneth only answers with a word: "Sister." The Shadow Lord's head tilts in a way he finds meaningful anyway, and finally he reaches over to knock at the door. "You little piggies done in there, or do we have to huff and puff our way in?"

"My fist knocking your ass out is fate too, right?" Brom asks with a snarl over to the Skald. "This isn't a game, its my fucking sister." He jerks his head over towards the door and then makes his way over, jerking it open and storming past the two.

Dillen growls back. "And she's gonna be my WIFE!" He yells out and after Brom.
Kevin looks incredulous for a second, then irate. "Don't tell me this is /another/ row that's all about bloody sex again," he exclaims to nobody in particular.

Kenneth steps aside when the sound of footsteps near the door. He also seems to know which way the door is going to fly open, hence avoiding getting into Brom's path in general. "Then I won't tell you," he answers Kevin with a hand slipping into a pocket. "I will though," he says louder towards Brom's back, "need someone who's a walking lie detector to swing by the Bawn with me some time and get some words out of a certain Circle Keeper."

"I got your back, Kenneth." Brom says with a growl in his throat, jerking his eyes back to the house, before bellowing back. "Hey, didn't you think Rillie was going to be your wife also!? Maybe I'll just find someone worthy in the Oak to take my sister, so that'd mean you lost /two/ kin in the same year!" He pauses, then adds. "Bitch!"

That does it, Dillen bolts up from the hammock and out the door, headed straight for Brom, fists flying.

Kevin takes a couple of quick instintive paces back as a Dillen-shaped blur suddenly enters his field of vision.

New Requiem action figures, with fist-flying action! The Shadow Lord, possessing some kind of instinct perhaps to preserve the ground of any red coppery stains, whips out his own fast tactics. In the blink of an eye, he's grown nine feet tall and black all over, and using his tree-trunk width of an arm, drops it low to act as an overall clothesline between the door frame before the galliard can jump out.

Watching Dillen blur through the door and into Kenneth, Brom lets out a heavy breath and rolls his eyes upwards for a moment, before grunting. ".. Its a damn good thing we're good at killing the Wyrm together as a pack, because I'm sure grandfather Fenrir is laughing at us right now."

Dillen is down on the floor of the building and growling up at Kenneth. He grinds his teeth and gives out a huff. He rises up and pushes past Kenneth, glowering and then walking off towards the bawn. Not another word is said as his hands then shove into his pockets.

Kevin frowns. "We need an enemy. Roll on, Thursday's revel," he comments.

"Dillen, come back here, shit." Brom says with a loud huff of breath, then lets his eyes fall upon the others in the pack. "Need to talk to everyone as it is anyways. Wanna know what you guys think about Dwight, and if you got to know him well enough by now. Think he is pack worthy?"

Dagger's-Edge remains in his towering dark crinos, ears forward aggressively after the galliard. ~The last thing we need is to show up bloody /before/ the Revel,~ the philodox snorts. Then, slowly, his form shrinks back down as if unwilling to let go of the Beast. He squeezes back into homid form, and rakes his hair back. "And I got other things to do - like take a piece out of Circle Keeper's hide." At mention of Dwight, though, the lone Shadow Lord darkens in displeasure. He doesn't give his opinion immediately, at least.

Dillen slumps and turns back. "Don't need me. Dwight is cool." Is pretty much all he says on the idea.

Kevin's brow darkens. "Dwight's a sarcastic bastard who mocks people for having what he thinks are amusing names," he comments.

"Yes, and you're sarcastic, period." Brom says to Kevin. "I'm talking about ability as a Garou in general. He's eager to fight and throw down, he was at the Great Hunt with us, and even though it was a disaster, it looked like he could take a hit. I fought him once and I /know/ he can throw a punch. He's also old school, just wants to kick ass and take names, then get a beer after work." He lifts his shoulders, then glances to Kenneth.

Kenneth only turns his gaze off to a side, considering. "If Michael can stand him, and Snaekolfr accepts, then there's no reason to let him go in any other pack." He says all this through tight words.

"The other person I'm considering is Tamara, Spider Eyes, if she would accept an invitation." Brom says as he starts to head off. "Just don't know if Snaekolfr is willing to accept a Metis, even though she kicks a lot of ass and also just wants to do her job."

Kevin chuckles and doesn't deny Brom's accusation. "Well, there's plenty worse prospects than him. What the hell, I'm cool with him. But if he calls me Lockwood one more time I'm gonna ask him why he doesn't call Kenneth by /his/ surname."

Dillen shrugs. "He's good. I'm all for it." He heads back off towards the bawn.

"Because my name's too fuckin' long for anyone to bother with," Kenneth replies simply. Glancing after Dillen, the Shadow Lord grunts a departure note after the two Get. Then, back onto Kevin. "Can't believe you wanted to join Requiem either."

"Yes?" Kevin asks in a deceptively quiet voice. "And are you another one who thinks I'm an urrah wuss who doesn't belong in a fighting pack? Or have you some other reason for your incredulity?"

Kenneth narrows his gaze at the ragabash. "You said it, not me," he replies evenly. Absently, the philodox pushes open the door to the abandoned house and has a look inside. "Though I remember hearing something about you going to be a Get, but not."

Kevin follows Kenneth to the door. "Yeah, you heard right. It was kind of complicated. Didn't find out till /after/ I joined the Glass Walkers that I had a string of Get ancestors, one of whom is holding out in my head," he clarifies. "So for a roachwolf, I'm sort of more in tune with all out battle than the average. To put it mildly."

"Good thing you didn't meet me before your Rite," Kenneth continues, but frowning a touch at something inside the house. He steps in. "Or else maybe you'd have been sent to your doom. As your tribe's elder wants to assume, Shadow Lord-itis is contagious and transferable to young impressionable Walker cubs."

Kevin shakes his head decisively. "You may not like what I'm going to say now," he warns, "but I wouldn't have gone near you. The first Shadow Lord I met was the late Jarred, and he nearly put me off your whole tribe for life. He was a complete sarcastic nasty bastard to me."

Kenneth snorts, eyes darkening even further in the shadows at mention of his former elder. "Fuckin' backstabbing bastard. I don't regret killin' him, no matter what Megan says." The philodox flings himself onto one of the hammocks. A hand reaches up to finger the twin golden rings slung around his neck. "Then? Why'd you pick Requiem?"

"It was /you/ who killed him?" Kevin looks at Kenneth with new-found respect. He shakes his head a moment, then continues to answer his question. "Probably a bunch of wrong reasons. I felt I owed Brom. I felt I owed Fenris. I wanted to show Natalie she was wrong... And I wanted to kill the Wyrm," he concludes, "which is hopefully a good enough reason that it counterbalances any bad ones."

Kenneth shrugs, the movement made slightly awkward by the hammock. "Lucas and I tagteamed him. We kind of took the tribe down by 50 percent that night." His eyes look back at the Walker at the last reason. "You ever think the Wyrm is not meant to be killed?"

Kevin looks at Kenneth as though scenting a trick question. "As I've been taught, once upon a very long time ago, the triat was in perfect balance. If by some miraculous means we were able to restore that balance... heal the Wyrm of its need to devour, heal the Weaver of its need to enwrap... then perhaps. Apart from that? Frankly, no. Judge that, mister philodox."

"Judge what?" Kenneth queries, apparently not going anywhere near a verbal gavel. "Anyway, it's just about as logical as Satan is. And just as combatable." The philodox broods on this, and waves it off after. He glances back. "You still stay at the Walkerhouse?"

Kevin nods in confirmation. "Got a room there, Jeren's old room. Not exactly all the joys of home, but it serves. I don't need luxury. Only make me soft. What the hell was Brom shouting about the other night about where you live?"

Kenneth hunhs in thought. At least, until Brom is rementioned. "If this were a prison, he'd be the warden," the philodox mutters before rolling out of the hammock, apparently uninterested in remaining lax any longer. "Control's his game. If he doesn't think he's top dog, then he's lost his purpose. Just because I don't let 'em know every step I take, probably drives him nuts."

The corner of Kevin's mouth twitches in a suppressed smile. "That guy is a born alpha wolf," he comments. "I admire him more than he'll ever know, but at the same time he drives me crazy. He never misses a goddamn chance to slag off my tribe for being lazy urrah bastards. And he genuinely can't understand why any garou would dislike him for acting the way he does."

Kenneth swats away the notion, shoulders hunching as he considers. "He's a traditional bigot. Coupled with being raised by a pack of wolves, maybe, and you got Brom." The Shadow Lord crosses back towards the door, looking outside. "How old're you, Kevin?"

"All questions, you are," Kevin comments. "Was he really raised by wolves? Thought he was a homid like me... I turned sixteen earlier this summer," he finally answers.
Kenneth glances back. "Same here," he utters before looking back around. "Bein' raised by Get might as well be a pack of wolves." He skips a beat and adds, "Not like you need to answer 'em all either. S'not my problem if you volunteer the information readily."

"Nothing to hide from you," Kevin says mildly, "packmate." He emphasises the last word a little. "How old are /you/?" he goes on, carrying the interrogation back into the other wolf's territory.

Kenneth leans up against the doorframe, stiffening under the emphasis but not turning around. "Like I said. Same as you," the philodox replies. "Would be in... junior year by now. Damn."

"Oh, didn't realise you were answering that question," Kevin apologises. There's a moment's silence as the two teenagers consider their lives. "Do you regret not being... well, normal?" Kevin eventually asks.

Turning around this time, Kenneth gazes back at the other. "Do you?" he mirrors, neutral in almost every respect.

Silence again for a few seconds. "Actually, no," Kevin says. "I was pretty miserable at home. No friends at school, no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was trying my best to be a world-class runner only... I was good, but not quite good enough. The only thing I really miss..." He comes to a sudden stop and gives Kenneth a guilty look. "Well, best not mentioned."

Kenneth listens, world-class runner sparking a flicker of interest in him. "I played tennis," he reveals in turn. "Went to aikido. Was pretty good, got my ass kicked plenty of times though. Least, things were that way 'til,.. yeah. Then moved out here with my fosterfamily. They're still around." He glances skyward. "But then all this Garou shit came down."

Kevin scuffs at some dust on the floor. "You had the full kinfetch service, yes? As opposed to the bargain basement version I got, suddenly finding myself growing fur and fangs one day?"

Kenneth slowly nods. "Yeah, I guess I did. Was talking with Beth one time, she... said she liked me, and things just went to shit 'cause I didn't know what to say." His eyes turn down. "Cutter and Jean were waiting for it."

Kevin pulls a face, but a sympathetic face. "I'd have been the same," he confirms. "In fact I still am. Brom's been laughing at me for it. There's this Glass Walker kin girl coming to town, to study at SCCU. I've been talking to her on the phone. I don't know what the hell I'm going to say when I meet her. She's twenty."

Kenneth arches his brows, looking back. "That Aimee chick?" he queries.

Kevin nods, looking disconcerted. "How'd you know about her?" he queries. "Is it one of your Shadow Lord things, knowing about what you've no reason to know?"

Kenneth's brows furrow down as he blinks at the ragabash. "You said her name yourself, yesterday." He tilts his head slightly. "Or did you think I wasn't listening?"

"Sharp ears you've got," Kevin drawls. "Okay, fair enough, I forgot I mentioned her yesterday. Though you didn't look like you were in any mood to listen to anyone but your inner demons, then."

Kenneth smirks faintly, though the expression is poisoned by those very inner demons mentioned. "Get used to it," he manages quietly. "And it's not like you don't have your own. 'We're all mad here.'" He puts a hand onto the door frame and glances back out. "You any good at hunting?"

"Not so good I couldn't learn more, but I helped the pack take an elk down even before I was a member, back when I was a cub. Why, you feeling in the mood for a hunt?"

Kenneth nods once. "Fast food out here requires some work. It's still easier with two though," he notes. "How 'bout it?"

"Even if we don't actually make a kill," Kevin declares, "the run will still do my little heart good. And it'll be good practice for us at being..." He pauses for effect. "Packmates." With which he delivers Kenneth a broad, cheesy grin. "Shall we change into something more comfortable, then?" he says, as he leaves the building.

Kenneth mutters from behind as he follows the ragabash out. "If we don't make a kill, I might be hungry enough to take a piece out of you for lunch, wiseass." Grumpy though it sounds, the threat sounds much like an idle one. Once outside, and in the woods, the Shadow Lord shifts readily and begins the hunt.

[And later...]

Afternoon, sunny, and all is bright - except for the dead, shineless eyes of a pair of rabbits that have seen their last days in the faces of two wolves of Requiem. Dagger's-Edge now languidly lies beside the remains of his brown-furred, blood-clotted hare, licking absently at his forepaw.

When the moon's big, the ahroun cloisters himself out in the woods, gone for days, or even two weeks at a time. Walls can't keep him in. Human voices grate on him. He is a sore mood today, the light's hurting his eyes, and he's been drinking since noon. Dwight's picking his way down the railroad tracks, keeping in the lines-- most of the time.

Power-Up seems most pleased with himself. His own bunny's corpse has already been picked well clean, and he too is idly grooming himself in the way of a wolf with a full stomach, lazing in the sun and now and again licking at a paw. He pricks up his ears as he hears something or someone approaching, but as yet doesn't shift from his contented sprawl.

Dagger's-Edge hears and smells the ahroun before spotting the Shadow Lord ahroun. The fullmoon's scent wrung through with the bitter scent of alcohol, and then some, the halfmoon pins his ears back.

Dwight comes by, in his stagger walk, part from drink, part from old injury. More impressive with the cowboy boots, like the rogue shootist come to start shit in the saloon again. "Know what yall need?" he says, wiping his mouth. He'll tell you: "One of those rail things, that you seesaw back n forth. Go riding down the tracks.. like they got in the old time movies."

Power-Up flicks an ear as he too recognises the scent. Somebody made themself happy, he comments to Dagger's Edge.

Dagger's-Edge finishes licking what's left of what he cares to scavenge out of his fur before he rises to his paws. He really did, the philodox answers with a grunt before turning back to the ahroun. Bet he wouldn't hunt very well like that.

[OOC: Got off of work. Ken went to grab more somethings to eats.]

Grinning, Brom peers at Dwight. "After what you told her, I bet she won't ever be your girlfriend." Settling down, he reaches out and grabs Power-Up as he prances by, putting the wolf into a strong head lock and starts to noogie between his ears.

Power-Up yips again. Help help! he calls out. I am caught, I am caught! His cries and yelps are sheer play rather than any genuine fearfulness. His hind legs kick out behind him and scuff up clouds of dust.

Dagger's-Edge returns from his self-ostracism, this time with yet another hare in mouth. It dangles lifelessly from his jaws. The playing causes the halfmoon to quirk his ear off to a side.

"Ain't no nevermind to me," says Dwight, tongue thick in his mouth, so his words come all slow. "Ain't my type. Besides, kin women are nothing but trouble. Serious. You listening to me, Lockwood? Burn it into your brain. Nothing so special about a cunt. Turns out.. a lot of normal women got 'em too, as it happens."

"Don't listen to him Kevin, knock her up and do the Garou proud." Brom says with another good noogie, before letting him go stumbling backwards. "If you fall for her, then fall hard, long as she is worth it."

Power-Up stops his struggling a moment before Brom releases him anyway. He looks back and forth between Brom and Dwight, the playfulness dying away from him as he listens. I do not know if I will want to mate with her. I have not even seen her yet.

Dagger's-Edge seems content to rejoin the pack plus one just along the outer edges. His eyes rest upon the drunk ahroun, but occassionally relays back to his packmates. The rabbit gets dropped, and nosed in the other Shadow Lord's general direction.

"Don't listen to Dwight, my ass," mutters the ahroun. He leans back, and slumps his weight on the wall, mouth slightly open. He's just absorbing his surroundings for a second, in his drunk daze, squinting a bit from all the light. His eyes eventually focus, all slit up, on his tribemate. He seems to nod, up once.

Brom lets out a snort and shrugs his shoulders, then looks to Power-Up. "Do what makes you happy." Is all the advice he gives, before settling back, planting his hands behind him.

Power-Up returns unhurriedly to homid form, seemingly so he can nod assent to Brom without the gesture looking peculiar as it would from a wolf. "I'll try," he says calmly, "in between my other duties. Speaking of which, I need to get back to the city. Another of my tribe is showing me some things about spying and cameras which should be useful."

Dagger's-Edge shifts himself closer, and upwards into his birthform in the presence of the others, clothes replacing fur. Wiping the back of his hand along the side of his mouth, he spits to the ground what could be a bit of rabbit fur with saliva. "Today's just full of sex talk, isn't it," he observes.

"Have fun, Kevin." Brom says with a rumble as he glances over to Kenneth, then cocks an eye upwards a bit. "Alright, so what do you want to talk about instead?"

Kevin shoots one of his trademarked looks at Kenneth, but doesn't stop to take issue with either of the Shadow Lords. "Later, dudes," he simply says, and shifts into a quick jog, the runner soon showing a clean pair of heels to his packmates.
Kevin pages to the room: Thanks guys. Thanks Brom for earlier. See you all soon.
Kevin has disconnected.

"What can I say? Brom just gets me in the mood." Dwight smirks his good ole smirk, all purple scars.

Kenneth passes a wave after the Walker's back, returning his attention to Brom. "Something that doesn't involve sex or beer," he replies, shooting a look towards Dwight. "But I guess everything else'd be a 'real downer' wouldn't it." Gazing back towards the woods, the philodox curls and uncurls his fingers in thought. "I still gotta go find Circle Keeper and 'talk' to him about his shit."

"Well, we could always start searching the Bawn and asking about, see where he's hiding." Brom says with a tilt of his head, jaw clenching as he thinks. "He should be healed up enough to wander around by now."

Dwight is looking the kid over, lazy, trying to get the measure of him. He stares rude. Hasn't touched the rabbit yet, and maybe won't, in his state.

Kenneth is thoroughly aware of the staring, and under the eyes of the ahroun, slowly matches as such. "I'm half-tempted to just tell him to get his ass off the Bawn and into the city for a few days to learn some real manners, but death's too good for him," the philodox adds.

"Why don't you make him apologize publically to the Metis or something, and then kick him off if he refuses?" Brom asks with a furrow of his brow.

"There's an unlikely phrase if I never heard one." Dwight licks his lip, brought back to the conversation. "What happened?"

"Pssh. Like he's gonna apologize to Spider-Eyes," Kenneth retorts. Glancing up to his tribemate, he summarizes, "He went 'n demanded that Tamara teach his packmate, Horace, some kind of rite. She refused, and he got pissed and attacked her as she was leavin'. She turned his ass over and, from what I heard, nearly ripped his whole head off. Fuckin' kicked his ass from here to Hell 'n back."

There is a loud snort from the Get. "Attacked her from behind like a buttfucking pussy. I can't believe the balls that kid has, demanding someone to teach someone who doesn't have the gall to ask her himself."

"Hell," says Dwight, "who says chivalry ain't dead?"

Kenneth snorts. "Circle Keeper wouldn't know chivalry if it came up an' tore his face off." The halfmoon sweeps his hand through his hair again, muttering inaudibly before glancing back. "And I don't think he'd apologize sincerely."

Brom doesn't have much to add as he listens to them, except. "So, what are you going to come up with, Kenneth?"

"That douchebag a been ours, you know the Black Furies would be howlin for blood." Dwight chortles. "Me and the bunny'r outta here." He scoops up the limp hare, getting up.

Kenneth glances up again as Dwight departs, chin tilting slightly in an acknowledgement of his departure. Back to Brom, he simply replies, "Every fuckin' thing I can to make his life a livin' hell," the Shadow Lord replies. "At least, temporarily."

"See Ken, that's why I love ya." Brom says with a wry grin as he glances over to Dwight, then gives him a thumbs up. "Take care of yourself. Moot is Thursday."

Kenneth shrugs hands finding themselves in his pockets. "It's what he only deserves for attacking another Garou..." he comments, although he trails. "A Garou that didn't deserve it." He glances back. "You sure you want to come with? Moon's gettin' fuller."

"I'm at ease with my rage, of course I want to come with you." Brom says with a nod of his head, arms crossing over his chest. "If anything to piss him off more."

Kenneth stretches, seemingly in a better mood at the thought of coming up with a punishment. "Or maybe, I should make him tell about what he did, at moot."

"Make him cut off his left testicle and eat it." Brom says with a shrug. "Or, I don't know. It sounds like you already deemed him guilty before speaking to him yet."

Kenneth's gaze whips back to the halfmoon. "I haven't put nothin' on the table yet, but even you know how fucked up that lupus wannabe is. This might be America, but in the Garou Nation I've seen it's pretty much guilty 'til proven innocent." He growls low, and returns to woodsgazing.

"True, and the Strider didn't lie when she was speaking to you." Brom says as he dips his head in a nod. "So, I'm not sure what he could really say, honestly."