9/12/2005

06:37 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (61% full).
It is currently 18:33 Pacific Time on Mon Sep 12 2005.

KRoom of Doom(#2481RJ)
Out on the road. The wild blue yonder. The Great Beyond. The... Room of GMness.
Contents:
Stacey

Early morning. The sky is muddled, grey, and thick with heaviness that almost portends future rain. Left upon the kitchen table, an ubobtrusive envelope made crudely from lined notebook paper with its edges neatly torn off. It's addressed to the Child of Gaia ahroun, written with orderly handwriting, masculine in its capitalization. Upon one line it reads simply: STACEY.

Stacey walks into the kitchen, yawning. Spotting the note on the table, she walks over and picks it up, her brows raising in interest as she opens it.

The envelope clinks lightly as it is picked up, noting its contents within. Metal. Curled around itself and over the rings it threads through, the ballchain glimmers dully in the filtered light of the farmhouse. Inside the envelope, written on the back in regular lettering that matches the script on the front: Hold on to them. - Far-Cry. The twin golden rings rest at the bottom of the envelope.

Stacey stares at the rings, then lets out an exasperated breath. Turning sharply, she proceeds to run up the stairs, grab her duffel bag, and shove her belongings into it - her wrench, the note and rings, and some clothes. She then runs back downstairs, narrowly avoiding tripping, scribbles out a quick note of "Gone East. Will Return - Stacey". And with that... she leaves the Farmhouse.

Outside, the good sun is out somewhere beyond the clouds. The birds of the neighboring forest chirp gaily, not nearly as burdened as the rest of the world wishes to make itself out to be.

Stacey hooks her duffel bag over her shoulders and then takes off at a run toward the woods. She knows enough about the US to know that Carolina is East, so she goes that way. Once she reaches the cover of the forest, she shifts into hispo and continues on, trying to pick up Far-Cry's scent.

The hunt for a scent is difficult. The woods are just that big, and to search for a path takes experience. It takes some time to pick that scent up, and to separate it out of the myriad beyond, but once it is found it isn't incredibly difficult to track. Visual signs of passing are the first thing. A broken twig here, a rolled over rock there. Things seem like the Shadow Lord was making his way in homid at first. Maybe he isn't actually gone yet. After all, Washington state is supposed to be pretty big, right? The tracks turn south after awhile, still going in a relatively easternly direction, and eventually the ahroun ends up in Requiem's pack territory's borders just edging along the buffer zone between pack ground and bawn.

Walks-Middle continues to follow the tracks, trying to pick up the pace, however hindered she is by the duffel bag, as the scents become fresher and fresher. Now and then she sends out a questioning yip, as if trying to find him through a wolf's Marco-Polo.

The forest is quiet. Quiet to the ears of a wolf, and probably near silent to the ears of man. The scent tracks along the edge of the territory, still swung east. Here, the passing scents of the Requiem pack headed in and out and around their territory can be detected as common as grass. The soapy scent remains ever strong, but there is no answer to the ahroun's calls.

Walks-Middle gives a faint whine after going a while without any reply. But the Gaian persists! She follows along the soap-scented trail, still giving off a yip every now and then.

The yips ping out like sonar, and come back empty. And it continues that way, traveling on eastwards, when things slowly level out and the forest becomes a vast and fallow plain. Off in the southern distance, the sounds of traffic. Civilization.

Walks-Middle pauses at the edge of the plain, and then dips her head to shake off the duffel bag. She shifts down into lupus and then takes hold of the straps with her mouth and continues on cautiously, keeping an eye out for any humans that might be around as she slinks through the field, still following the scent. The bag she drags along with her.

The bag drags, catches on a few burrs, crushes a few bugs no doubt along the way. Hindered by the pack, it's like dragging a sack of wet sand while trying to follow a thread over grass and field. Eventually, though, the plain slopes down towards a section of the Columbia river. By distances, it's not far from those sounds of a highway. Here the soapy scent mingles and plunges in to the stream.

Walks-Middle whimpers as she loses the scent in the water. She nudges her bag worriedly, then ducks her head under the strap. She steps into the river and begins swimming as best she can to the other side, giving a couple more whimpers of protest as she goes.

It's hard going. Shallow at first, the bank suddenly drops off and takes the bag and ahroun with. She doesn't get too far before current and weight drag luping nose underneath the waters.

Walks-Middle struggles against the current, but eventually finds it's too difficult of going for lupus. She shifts back up into hispo, using her rage to speed the change, and struggles on, stubbornly hanging on to the bag.

Luckily enough, this part of the river has a bottom nearby. As the ahroun shifts, her paws contact with the bottom of the river and give her enough leverage to push up and out. Nose and head break the surface again, and with added power, the bank of the opposite side is easily reached. The only minor problem is being a few more feet downriver than just straight across. Natural, for a swimming crossing. But the soap scent is faint.

Walks-Middle gives a soft growl and then a snort, grumbling as she picks up the scent. She shakes her fur to dry a bit, checks to make sure none are around, and then shifts back to lupus, going back to dragging the bag along as she follows the trail.

Eventually, dragging the bag along gets tiring. Sheer stubborn determination could be the only thing that's helping the fullmoon hold on, but hours of traveling takes its toll. The stomach hungers, and though she was dunked in a river, the throat thirsts. Signs of the Shadow Lord's passing though, remain hopeful. At some point, it seems, he took off and chased after a rabbit. The rabbit met its end messily. But it's still a sign, like a big neon draw that states: HE WAS HERE. The Child gets another hint. A small nest made on a bed of stamped down grasses. Here the Shadow Lord's scent is strong, intermixed with that clingy Weaver-perfume from the soap.

Walks-Middle noses the nest, giving a faint whine, and then she drops the bag to give another yip of Here, I'm Coming, Wait! She licks her muzzle at the thought of the rabbit and lets out another whine. Picking up the bag once more, she drags it along. She's going a bit slower now, head and tail lowered, but still she presses on as long as she can.

It's unpredictable, how many more hours of traveling the Child undergoes. The sun travels through the sky, reaching high and burning the clouds out with merciless rays. It beats down on the ahroun. The nearby caws of a flock of crows up in the trees seem like laughter at the predicament of the young fullmoon. And still, the trail leads on.

Walks-Middle would glare at the crows, but she's too tired to lend the effort to do anything but keep walking. She continues on, as if in a trance, going at a steady, slow pace that she's fallen into at some point, just following the scent.

Eventually, the road leads to another. A relatively thin slab of highway, like a solid grey river. It's there, out in the distance. The scent trails towards it. Cars zoom over it, speeding on the country stretch with no ready radar or active highway patrol to stop them. The sun is behind now, sinking westwards ever so slowly.

Walks-Middle waits until the highway looks clear, no cars spotted as far as she can see in either direction, and then she makes a mad dash for the other side. Well, as mad of a dash as a wolf can make while dragging along a duffel bag.

The four lane highway, divided by a small dip in the center as a buffer between opposing traffic, is relatively easy to cross. The bag's cloth grinds against concrete in protest, but doesn't rip along the way. On the other side, the flashing headlights of a car far off and approaching can be spotted. Then, the trail leads on. It continues towards the birthplace of the sun, heading further and further out. The only deviation comes when there is a faint breeze, bringing the scent of water and trees, grass and earth. It's all overpowered by the soapy smell of Kenneth, but the direction changes abruptly and breaks a southeast path. And sure as the sun is setting, the scent of water gets stronger. The pull of thirst also heightens.

Walks-Middle drops the bag and starts to trot toward the water-scent, eager to quench her thirst. Then she slows to a halt, whines, and turns back to grab the bag. She continues on to the water, dragging the bag with her, letting out a growl of frustration now and then, not being able to get there as fast as she'd like, but she keeps on going just the same.

The thin, spindly branches of forest trees hangs overhead, filtering the night's moonlight, hiding the stars. The scent of water and Kenneth mingle, relatively fresh as if he'd passed through the area. Here and there, a pawstep of the Shadow Lord tracks through the dirt. Finally, the treeline breaks into a midsized lake. Its water looks fresh, glassy still beneath the gibbous moon. But the Shadow Lord is nowhere to be seen.

Walks-Middle lets go of the bag near the edge of the lake and trots into the water, wading in up to the tops of her legs. Lowering her head, she laps up the water, as much as she possibly can, and then wades back over to the edge of the lake, where she flops down on her side. Need rest, just for a moment.

Things are so calm here. Like postcard perfect, the landscape is mostly untouched by the hand of man. Only the sharp sense of lupine ears can hear the passing traffic off the interstate, the rumbling of engines and sputter of gas out mufflers. Things are quiet, with just a symphony of crickets to bring simple music to the growing night. A far off rustle from the bushes brushes by, but reveals itself to be a small raccoon coming to the water's edge. It too, drinks, seemingly unfearful of the wolf.

With a protesting growl, the young wolf finally struggles to her feet, steps back over to the bag, and then sniffs around the area, trying to pick up the scent once again. And once it's found, she goes back on her way, not as thirsty, but still tired and hungry.

The night grows even longer, and the going even slower as hungry stomachs growl back at the ahroun every so often in protest. The scent is picked up, and seems to follow along the edge of the lake before it breaks off and heads back the way it came. All continues on at a methodical tracking pace, hampered by the heavy duffel bag. Before the ahroun even knows it, night has passed, and Luna is shrouded with a brightening sky. Helios rises from his slumber, to greet the face of Gaia and searching Child once more. A prospect gives a glimmer of hope. The Shadow Lord's scent seems to get stronger the more she continues on. Into the early morning, things are looking just on this side of starving. But it smells like Kenneth is awfully nearby, on the southeastern side of the I-90 that runs its way through state counties.

Walks-Middle continues on, stubbornly ignoring her stomach as she continues along the trail. Well, not really ignoring it, more like telling it "Just a bit longer" every two minutes. Once the Shadow Lord's scent seems to be really closer, closer than before, the Child drops the bag for a moment to yelp out a sharp, loud bark. Then she grabs up the bag and continues on.

The bark echoes out, disturbing the morning dew. There isn't an answer waiting for her, but a territorial yip. A coyote's bark, off to the north. That yip very suddenly turns into a yelp, that turns into a cacophony of snarls, barks and yowls ending in a retreat. Then all goes still. Yes, Kenneth's scent continues, growing stronger by each pawstep.

Walks-Middle perks her ears toward the sounds, but sticks relentlessly on Kenneth's trail, dragging her duffel bag. Still hungry, still tired, but too damn close... maybe... to stop now.

Out on the rolling flats, the wind gently picks up. It caresses the ahroun's nose and brings the hint of blood, fearscent and coyote piss. But more strongly, the smell of the Shadow Lord, strong, true, and still faintly soapy.

Walks-Middle feels her hungry very keenly as the scent of the blood reaches her. She still continues on, dragging the bag with her, making an effort to pick up her pace, however little, to reach the strengthening scent.

Just beyond the thin trees, around a spreading fir, the ahroun is finally greeted with a sight. Kenneth, in his lupus, sits there licking at his wounds with a calm, bland methodical action. As he licks down one foreleg, the sound of the dragging bag brings his attention up. He growls out of instinct, but it quickly dies away with surprise at the sight of the Child ahroun. Peacemaker. The philodox gets up to his paws. Beside him, a freshly killed, half-chewed upon rabbit. Perhaps what he had been defending from before.

Walks-Middle drags the duffel bag until she spots Kenneth, then she drops it. She takes a few steps forward, lets out a growl, and then drops down to the ground.

What are you doing here? the Shadow Lord queries, trotting forward a few steps, but keeping his relative distance. He looks from bag to Child, Child to bag. Then, taking stock of the ahroun's exhausted look, he turns to pick up the half chewed rabbit and drops it before the fullmoon. Eat.

Walks-Middle hardly needs much more encouragement. She inches toward the rabbit and then digs in, tearing at it hungrily. The Shadow Lord's query will have to wait, as the Child offers no answer as she eats. Her gaze does stray toward the bag for a moment, however.

Dagger's-Edge sits again, resuming his lick to his foreleg to pass the time as she eats. With resignation, once he has finished doing that, he waits for the fullmoon to have her fill. Glancing towards the swiftly-disappearing rabbit, the philodox nevertheless gives his chops a lick as well.

Walks-Middle eats a good amount of the rabbit, but manages to reign herself in before finishing it. She then noses it towards Far-Cry, letting him have the rest. She then sets her head on her paws, eyes closing.

Dagger's-Edge at first seems disinclined to eat the rest, but eventually does. Noisy bone crunching and flesh consumption go on for a little while before things slow to a halt. Then, with another glance to the Child, the Shadow Lord looks over to her bag, wet from the rivercrossing. He goes over to it, nosing it slightly with an olfactory investigation of its contents.

Walks-Middle turns her head to follow Far-Cry's movements, as if afraid he'll run off without her. She lets out a soft half-growl, half-whine as he nudges her bag. The young wolf's eyes narrow, ears laying back, then she barks out accusingly: Far-Cry left!

Dagger's-Edge glances up from his bag sniffing, looking towards the Child. There isn't any sense of guilt coming out of the lupus'd halfmoon as he answers, Yes I did. He sits down again, beside the bag. Why did you follow me?

Walks-Middle sits up then, letting out a huff. Far-Cry got hurt, almost died! Frustrated, she shifts up to hispo, the transition slower in her tired state. ~Our warriors are wounded badly all the time, and that's near the safer territory of the Caern. But you go out alone, without a healer or your pack or anything!~

Dagger's-Edge snaps back, not matching the hispo for form, but snorting. I left my pack. I left the caern. I did not want to be there anymore, so I left. He looks around, and then back to the Child. I told you before. I wanted to leave. So I have.

Walks-Middle sinks back down to the ground, her frustration slipping away. ~What about the Challenge? What about...~ She breaks off. ~So... It doesn't matter why. I'm here. I can help. Let me come, too.~

Dagger's-Edge failed the challenge, he puts succinctly, looking out over the empty landscape. For a long time, he doesn't answer her request.

That shuts the Gaian up for a bit. She watches him for a moment, then lowers her head. ~I'm sorry. I shouldn't have followed. I just... worried. And you're my friend. And I didn't think anyone else would, and... I think I can find my way back, though.~ She struggles up to her feet and heads back toward her bag.

Dagger's-Edge slowly shifts up to his homid form. Pushing back his dirtied sleeves, he glances to the remnants of the coyote bite he received on his arm. "Shouldn't send you back after you've come all this way. Not without dedicating that bag and stuff on you." He looks at it. "What's in there anyway?"

Walks-Middle shifts up to her homid form as he does. She looks a bit embarrassed and actually lets out a tired laugh as the bag's mention. "I saw your note, grabbed some stuff, and left. I didn't really think much. I just saw it and left. I haven't really eaten, I did drink at the lake, didn't rest either. Just... didn't think." She opens the bag and shows him: Her new clothes, the large wrench, the rings, the soggy note, and a small container of first aid supplies that she must have taken from the infirmary.

Kenneth sighs, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "You dragged that thing through the river. C'mon." He moves to take the rings back, gazing at the twin circles of gold before slipping the chain back around his neck. "Just lay the clothes out and they'll dry up soon enough." He takes one of the shirts, and wrings it out of river water. Still, no answer to the request yet.

Stacey obediently starts laying the clothes out. There aren't many, just a change or two. "Yeah... You don't have to dedicate all this. Or any of it really. I mean, I got it this far." She shrugs.

"At least get the bag dedicated," Kenneth replies, flapping the shirt out before laying it out relatively so it has maximum sun exposure. "I thought you'd have learned that rite from someone by now." He doesn't look at the ahroun, still going through the inventory and drying stuff. The wrench he leaves alone. "You don't even know where I'm headed to, do you."

Stacey shrugs. "Only know one Rite. I probably should seek out teachers when I get back." She sighs as she takes the wrench out of the bag. "So much to do..." She looks over at Kenneth. "Yes... You're headed East. Southeast."

Kenneth rolls a shoulder. "I'm goin' home. I'm gonna find out the truth." He eyes the ahroun. "And if you're gonna come, you better make sure you don't got anything else to do back in St. Claire, because I don't really plan to go back."

Stacey crosses her arms. "Just 'cause you aren't coming back, doesn't mean I can't. I have a pack to join and other friends there, too. But I think they'll be okay while I travel with you. If you do decide to stay there, then I'll hitch a ride back with someone else. Or find my way back alone."

Kenneth sits where he is, just resting there, looking at the clothes drying out in the morning sun. "You found me pretty quick," he comments after a long silence.

Stacey sits cross-legged, resting her head on her hand, eyes half-closed. She smirks and then shakes her head at the comment. "Doesn't seem quick. My paws hurt."

Kenneth wets his lips, considering. "Don't know how far we are from the caern. Don't know if we get considered Ronin for this kind of thing either." He furrows his brow, and then shakes his head quickly. "Screw it. I left, and I'm not regretting that. Dillen and the rest of 'em can go to hell." He wipes the back of his hand along the bottom of his lip.

Stacey blinks at that. "Ronin is bad. But why would we? Other people leave for a while all the time and come back just fine, don't they? Huh? Besides, I left a note."
That hand rubs at the back of his neck. "I don't know. People take off, don't say a word..." Kenneth closes his eyes and grunts, slitting his gaze back open again. "Guess it's not much better'n what I said about Cutter. Up and disappearing like that, when people... need 'im." He shifts his gaze back to the Child. "What about you?"

Stacey frowns and looks confused. "What about me what?"

"I mean, you left a note. What kind?" Kenneth answers. "And the people you were gonna get into a pack, what about them? You gonna leave 'em hanging?"

Stacey frowns and looks down. "I don't know... I mean, I said that I would return, so... that's not completely leaving them hanging. And I don't feel ready to pack /right this moment/, you know? I'd like to go do /something/ before joining under Touch Deer. Or anyone. Takes a long time to plan a pack and all, I'm sure I'll be back long before they're ready to go on the Quest."

Kenneth continues to look to the ahroun. "But you don't know that. But I guess if all it takes is your totem to give a thumbs up, then..." He doesn't finish, suddenly souring.

Stacey tilts her head, now both confused and troubled. "Yeah, but I'm sure it'll be okay. Things work out in... What's wrong, Kenneth?"

"Nothin'," is the Shadow Lord's initial response. Drawing up a knee and leaning upon it, he stares outwards towards the empty landscape. "Just don't want to talk about packs," he says finally.

Stacey nods and looks downward for a while, listening to the quiet around them. "Look..." She glances up at the Shadow Lord. "Friendship aside, I still owe you. Let me come along, see you safely home, and perhaps that will serve to repay your earlier help."

Kenneth scratches at the bottom of his chin, riding out the wave of irritation. "Owe me? For what?" he asks, looking over.

Stacey shrugs, looking away. "I'd like to do something... I mean, you help me all the time. With Lucas, advice with other stuff. And when Basil firsted, too. So, if you go away for good, then helping you get there and all will probably be my last chance to do something for you."

Kenneth creases his brow, but shakes his head. "That's nothin'. You..." he starts to say, but then doesn't. Instead, he leans back, stretching out. "You're too damn nice," he utters after a moment.

Stacey smiles and crosses her arms. "Someone has to be, might as well be me. But I can be otherwise if I have to," she adds quickly, as if that'd factor into his decision.

Kenneth rolls his eyes. "Unicorn sure got you good," he mumbles. Then, "You know, this trip could take awhile. And... we don't have any money."

Stacey looks over at Kenneth and winces. "Yeah... Well, we can always hunt. Just travel as wolves... Or maybe we'll find work along the way. Or there's Squeak's method. Or... don't suppose you know how to pickpocket?" The last suggestion is said half-jokingly.

Kenneth turns his head to eye the Child. "No. I don't pickpockets unless the person's laid out on his ass," the halfmoon notes. His eyes narrow. "Who's Squeak?"

Stacey tilts her head. "Squeaks-Like-A-Rat, the Bone Gnawer Metis, child of Renee. It was a huge secret, her whole pack kept it from the Alpha, and then they all got in trouble later. Dakota told me all about that when she taught be about loyalty and metis. She's at the Odeon now, smart little thing."

Kenneth keeps his eyes narrowed for awhile, but forms no vocal opinion. He goes back to looking at the sky. "Guess if we work together, we'll be able to nab a deer or something. If there are any out here." The Shadow Lord slowly sits back up. "Or we could break into a motel or something. Shouldn't be too hard."

Stacey nods. "That's a good idea as well! I could always pretend to be a lost kid or something, too." She grins. "It'll be an adventure! Luckily, I've had time to recover from the last couple healings I did. So... Where are we now?"

Kenneth sits up, gazing around. "I don't know," he replies after a moment. "But I passed the I-90 awhile back. I just... wait for the sun to come up and start heading that way. Gotta be east of St. Claire at least." His gaze shifts up towards the now light sky. "Should get goin' now. But first," he says, brushing himself as he stands up, "First I'm gonna dedicate that bag to you so you don't gotta keep hauling it around everywhere. Let's try 'n stick all the stuff in it. Except the wrench. Maybe it'll work."

Stacey frowns. "What do I do with the wrench, then? Hide it somewhere?" Despite the question, she begins repacking the bag, a bit neater this time.

Kenneth shakes his head. "We'll.. have to try and dedicate it separately. Or, it's up to you if you want to leave it or carry it."

Stacey ohs and nods. "Well... I suppose that's up to you, since you'd be the one who'd have to perform the rite and all." She finishes packing the bag and looks up expectantly.

Kenneth wipes his hands on his pants, though that doesn't do too much good at the moment. "I'll just have to improvise," he says to the ahroun. "Here. Stand, or sit right there, and touch everything you want dedicated to you. So the bag, and the wrench." He eyes around, just to be sure, before shifting to Crinos. Once the ahroun is in position, he starts to perform the rite, including much supplication to the spirits of said bag and wrench, Gaia, and formal requests for the items to combine with the Child's. It takes awhile. The prayers go on for some time, and somehow the philodox doesn't break his concentration. Eventually, though, it feels like the bag's spirit is communing. The wrench on the other hand... doesn't give off quite the same impression. In fact, it gives off nothing. The Shadow Lord looks down at the tool, and then to the ahroun. He shakes his head.

Stacey watches intently as the Rite is performed. And in the end, she sighs and shrugs. "Ah, well, thank you for trying. I'll just... hide it well. Maybe I can come back for it later. Or maybe I can strap it to my back or something." She wrinkles her nose as she thinks.

Kenneth shifts back down, combing a dirty hand through his head. "We'll just carry it. And stay outta view of other people, for now." He leans down to pick up the wrench. "Maybe find some rope or something in the nearest town. Anyway, let's just get goin'." He starts off, slow, glancing back to wait for the ahroun.

Stacey stands to her feet, picking up the duffel bag and the wrench, and follows the Philodox, offering a smile when he glances back. "This'll be fun! Now that I'm not chasin' ya, I'm pretty excited about this. Oh, we should get a map, too, at the town."

"A map." Kenneth takes a second to consider, and then nods slightly. "A map," he repeats, turning to start walking again. No comment about 'fun', but at least he seems okay about having a traveling companion now.