6/6/2006

03:12 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (68% full).
It is currently 15:00 Pacific Time on Tue Jun 6 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 68 degrees Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.08 and falling, and the relative humidity is 54 percent. The dewpoint is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)

Kent Crossing, West Side
Wooden buildings are scattered liberally on either side of the highway here, set back from the pitted grey asphalt by a small remove. Illustrated signs mark out the purposes of each building in faded lettering that might have once, you suppose, been jovial and fresh. Paint peels liberally from the sides of those structures which have it, but most are fashioned of simple un-varnished grey wood, one or two levels at the most, with wide porches and the occasional rustic balcony closed in by lathe-turned wooden bars. Rusted train tracks, seemingly fallen to near disuse, make their way out of the east past a small station to the south of the highway, then continue west along the road; the whole place seems quiet, although whether that silence is peaceful or deserted is hard to tell. A number of large trees lend shade to the various buildings.
Highway 22 runs east towards the far side of town, and into the woodland to the west, weaving its eventual way towards the city of St. Claire. A small road winds north from Highway 22, disappearing into the trees.
Contents:
Promises-Kept
Giles
Nivek
Obvious exits:
White Bungalow   1213 Yorkshire  Forest Walk Trailer Park  Clinic  Forest  Tracks Southeast  West  East  

It's a fairly normal early summer day in the main shopping area of Kent Crossing. The town doesn't boast a huge number of stores, since most people who can, prefer to shop in St Claire or in the Wal-Mart just on this side of the river from the city. However, poor housewives and retired people are still in evidence, walking between shops. A bunch of kids playing truant from school chase each other along the sidewalk, pushing past some people by the bus stop who mutter and click their tongues in disapproval at the man in the bus company uniform who's also standing there.

Kenneth happens to be one of those truants, though not with the same group. He's still in that same category however. He's walked down the street, now waiting on an opposite side near the bus stop, but far enough away to give the people there some buffer room from any effects of the Curse. Whether he's waiting for a bus, however, is anyone's guess.

Mathias is just out checking out the shops. It's been awhile since he's had to go shopping, and there is a few good things in his hands. Like some basic foods, pork, beef, chicken, steak, sausage, hot dogs, hamburgers, and of course, sliced deli meat.

Giles wanders slowly down the sidewalk, his head down, hands held close to his chin, fingers twitching. He mumbles under his breath as he walks and occasionally gives a sharp shake of his head and wrinkling his nose and upper lip while making gruff, coughing sounds. People give him a wide berth.

[look Mathias (homid)]
Nearly five and a half feet tall, Mathias seems to be in his mid-teens. Rich blue eyes and blond hair cover his head, while a button nose and thin lips round out his face before ending in a strong jutting chin. He seems to be rather thin, with a slight build to his body, wearing a navy blue tee-shirt, with a brown leather vest over it. He also wears a pair of khaki cargo pants that end at his feet in worn hiking boots. His hair also has a small lock of metallic blue dye off to the right side, over his eye.

[look Giles (homid)]
         Giles Ellis is a little over six feet tall and thin, his angular body clothed in an old, mothball-smelling tweed jacket (complete with elbow pads) and a pair of brown slacks that are somewhat the worse for wear. His white dress shirt is almost entirely clean, however, and is wide orange tie is very neatly knotted. On his feet are a pair of ugly brown dress shoes, but no socks.
         The man himself appears to be in his early to mid thirties, and underneath the reddish five-o'clock stubble and the overlong, tangled auburn hair he has slender, patrician features, with well-defined cheekbones and a large, hawkish nose. There are bags under his hazel eyes and dirt under his ragged fingernails. His palms, when glimpsed, have pentagrams etched into him in thin red lines of abused flesh.

Kenneth makes to check a watch that isn't there, resulting in him checking the skies above instead. The coughing, twitching and otherwise very unsuburbian mannerisms from Giles draws the Shadow Lord's attention, but only vaguely, in a bystander type fashion.

Mathias goes up to the bus-stop man and takes one of the leaflets that are being passed out, though he does it like he's just another person who's really just to busy to be doing this kind of junk, not that he'd want it anyways.

Giles's path will take him, eventually, past Kenneth, and as he draws closer the youth can catch a bit of the crazy bum's mutterings. "...ng call, last... the cud flows..." He scratches at the fresh scabs on his palms. "...No, I know... I know, I know..."

And so Giles passes right by. Kenneth watches him with an observant, distant, and disdainful almost air, ears tuning into the man's mutterings just by virtue of proximity. "Hope he knows he's crazy," the halfmoon mutters to himself in turn, once Giles is a little bit past and away.

As Giles walks past the bus stop and the people standing there, the uniformed man offers him a leaflet with a rather plastic smile.

Mathias dosn't make a scene, but, a few steps later he drops one of his bags of steak. Landing on the ground he pauses, gives a deep sigh before he bends to pick it up again. "Stupid crappy bags." he mutters, before he continues to walk."

Giles stops abruptly. Blinks. Cocks his head. Very precisely, he turns and watches Mathias, his nostrils flaring visibly, his eyes a little too wide. His lips move, but whatever words he speaks are too quiet for even the keenest ears.

Kenneth withholds a laugh at Mathias' steak dropping, adopting instead a look of somewhat polite neutrality. His eyes roam to the man offering out leaflets, narrowing to see if he can catch a glimpse of what's on them.

[Nivek pages: As you look at the man, you catch a glimpse of what looks surprisingly like a garou glyph on the leaflets he holds.]

Mathias continues to walk off, he dosn't stop, dosn't pause, and the leaflet is just shoved into his pockets. Unless something happens, Mathias seems like he's just going to leave completely.

Kenneth's attention suddenly focuses, hawklike, on one of the leaflets being passed out. His eyes narrow a little further in initial suspicions, and then he pushes off from the spot he's leaning against and goes up to the uniformed man. "Hey," he says in a moderately voiced greeting, "can I get a couple of those?"

Giles continues to stare at Mathias, his body rotating slowly as his eyes track the man. Then, belatedly, he turns to look at the man handing out leaflets, like it's only just registered in his brain that this person was trying to give him something. "Cud flows," he mumbles, "flows... flows..." He goes quiet then, frowning.

The man in the uniform blinks suspiciously at Giles and his babbling, then looks back to Kenneth. "Sure thing," he says, and passes Kenneth a sheaf of about half a dozen. "They printed 'bout a million with the rebrand and the new timetable."

Mathias just continues to walk, and is gone before he apparently can be stopped. He'll do something later, but, he has no need to give himself away...besides, he's got steak!

"Yeah?" Kenneth replies a little absently, looking down at one of the pamphlets. "What's all this about?" Like any interested party, he leafs through the brochure and skims details, occassionally glancing up at the man.

Giles gives his head a little shake and starts over toward Kenneth and the leaflet man, gnawing absently on the knuckle of one forefinger.

The uniformed man stolidly passes more leaflets out to shoppers and dawdlers. Then the sound of an engine is heard and a bus is seen coming into view from the direction of the city.

[Nivek pages: It's a fold-out jobbie. There's a timetable for buses from KC to SC and back, plus a couple of other routes, more infrequent to further towns nearby. There's also a message from the chairman of the company explaining why the new name and company style/logo is a good thing for all its passengers. And the logo is a Black Spiral Dancer glyph, quite unmistakable.]

Giles moves to stand a little too close to Kenneth and, knuckle still held firmly in his teeth, attempts to peer over the youth's shoulder. He smells very strongly of mothballs, sweat, and cheap aftershave.

Kenneth quickly shuts the pamphlet as soon as he feels and smells Giles standing nearby. The youth wets his lips, and then closes distance to the uniformed man. Once again he approaches, raising voice to get a brief moment of the man's attention. "Hey, I think I know a bunch of people who'd be interested in this. You got like a stack?"

"Please, take 'em," grunts the bus company man, who seems only too glad to be rid of another handful of the leaflets. He pushes them at Kenneth.

As the leaflets are proffered to the Shadow Lord, the bus pulls up alongside the stop and people start to get on and off. The bus has a nice, shiny new paint job, and the logo on the side matches the logo on the man's uniform and on the leaflets. The Black Spiral Dancer glyph.

Giles's eyes widen, focusing on the logo on the man's uniform, then jerking over toward the arriving bus. His mouth opens, releasing the gnawed-upon finger, and he stares at the bus with his mouth open.

"I'll take all of 'em if you want," Kenneth says a bit more hurriedly, spying the bus that pulls up and eyeing its paint job. "Buncha friends at school ride the bus system and stuff." His excuses made, that's about all he can get through, trying not to appear tense.

"FIEND!" cries out Giles suddenly, in a wavering, high-pitched voice. He's still staring at the bus. One finger stabs out at the offending vehicle.

A couple of people disembarking from the bus look at Giles curiously, as though surprised that someone can act like he's never seen a yellow bus in his life before. Meantime the guy with the leaflets frowns again. "Uh, I don't know. Got to make sure there's enough for people later today. Why doncha get your principal to write to the company? Bet we'd send you a bunch to the school, yeah."

Kenneth starts at Giles' shout, glaring at the man with a harsh black stare, before nodding with a mumbled thanks to the man, taking what he can of the stack and traveling over to the open bus door. He glances at the people coming out, before asking the driver, "Where's the bus go to?"

The driver, who's been staring at Giles following the Gnawer's sudden shout, answers Kenneth distractedly. "Up to the far end of town, then we turn round and go back into St Claire. Y'coming?"

Giles seems oblivious to Kenneth's glare as well as the stares from others hanging about. He takes a step backwards from the bus, his finger still pointing shakingly at the vehicle. He's breathing very quickly, his eyes bugged out, round as saucers.

Kenneth eyes Giles a little more, torn between a couple of things, before he deigns to board the bus. "Yeah, comin' up," he answers the bus driver before stepping aboard.

"Where to?" asks the driver. The man with leaflets is staring at Giles even more now as the last few passengers leave the bus at the back.

Kenneth hesitates at first in his answer, but shrugs. "I was waitin' on a bus over to St. Claire anyway. Might 's well check out this route." Forcing a polite smile, the Shadow Lord gets up to the driver's side, and glances quickly down the bus to see who's left.

Giles abruptly breaks free of his self-inflicted paralysis and abruptly races forward, toward the door of the bus, attempting to grab the next poor individual about to get on the bus and pull them away. Though he's not screaming anything anymore, his face is twisted into a panicked, snarling rictus.

The middle-aged man in shirtsleeves whom Giles grabs hold of turns in surprise. "Hey! Quit it!" he demands, the sudden movement knocking his glasses askew on his nose. The bus driver is interrupted in the very act of taking change from Kenneth and comes pushing out of his seat, and the leaflet man takes one step towards the Gnawer before hesitating nervously.

Kenneth slips himself off to one side, down the center aisle to get out of the driver's way. Through the bus windows, he watches the commotion with tightened jaws.

Giles, heedless of protest, does his best to shove the glasses-man away from the bus and makes a grab for another would-be passenger, his motions frantic and urgent.

The man with glasses is pushed protesting away from the bus. The next person Giles targets, a woman, scuttles away from the bus of her own accord before she can be grabbed. The driver comes out of the door looking irate and shouting. "Hey, you, leave my customers alone or I'll call the cops on ya!" "You tell 'im, Hank," agrees the leaflet man -- though without any obvious steps to back him up with anything more than words.

Kenneth remains on the bus, making way for the woman with a glance towards her. He sits in a seat nearest the window towards the busstop, watching Giles with a mutter under his breath again. "Goddamnit, stop drawing attention already."

Wide hazel eyes fix on the bus driver. Giles stares at him for several seconds, trembling, his mouth open, nostrils flaring widely. Then he stumbles backwards, turns, and flees the scene. Few people hesitate to get out of his way, though whether that's due to the Curse or the Galliard's obvious craziness is anyone's guess.

The bus driver, muttering to himself, gets back onto the bus and returns to his seat, puts the vehicle into gear with a jerk, and drives away from the stop with his cargo of Kenneth and half a dozen other passengers.

The bus continues through Kent Crossing and on eastwards as the houses at the side of the road die away. Kenneth is eventually the only one left, and the bus pulls up at a turning-terminus out in the country near a couple of farms and a garage. "End of the line," the driver says to Kenneth. "Off you go, man."

Kenneth gets up from his seat, then, and moves up to the front. "Do you head back out to the city?" he asks, keeping his voice level, "later tonight?"

"Head right back in..." The driver checks his watch. "Seven minutes," he says. "Should have a twelve-minute layover here but that crazy guy in Kent Crossing made me run late."

Kenneth taps the small stack he has in hand a couple times against his palm, nodding. "Mind if I stay on then? Kinda don't want to have to walk back from here, y'know?" he smiles disarmingly.

The driver shrugs. "Cost ya another buck-fifty back to Kent Crossing or three to St Claire," he points out.

Kenneth digs around in his pocket, but comes up empty. "Shit," he mutters, before shaking his head. "Well, it's cool. I'll get off here. Thanks man." The philodox starts to go down the steps, pauses at the very last, and then finally does step off.

Stepping off the bus, Kenneth finds himself out on Highway 22, east of Kent Crossing, not far distant from the junction with Sunrise Road to his west. It's pretty quiet out here, only the occasional car passing. The bus driver turns round and heads back to Kent Crossing without a single passenger.

[Later On...]

05:00 PM

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (69% full).
It is currently 16:49 Pacific Time on Tue Jun 6 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 69 degrees Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.05 and falling, and the relative humidity is 54 percent. The dewpoint is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)

Bawn: Western Forest(#3018RA)
Tall Sitka spruce and sequoia crowd around and above you. Many of the trees are old, their branches twisted into impossible shapes, trunks broad and draped with lichen, mosses and creepers. Tendrils of moss hand down from them like green spiderwebs, snaring the unwary with cold, ghostly fingers. The patches of younger growth are dense and pale, needles tinged with silver. Matted undergrowth huddles sullenly in the occasional small clearings, clutching with thorns and burrs at the legs of those who would pass. Deer seldom venture here, but the forest is full of rustlings, and tiny glints from wary, watchful eyes.
The forest spreads out to the east, bounded on the west by Sunrise Road. From farther to the west, one can occasionally hear the distant sounds of the town of Kent's Crossing.
Contents:
Howls-For-Glory
Walks-Middle
Blackriver
Obvious exits:
Southwest  Highway 22  Overgrown Path  Sunrise Road  Farmhouse  Caern of the Hidden Walk  Creek  Central Bawn  Southern Bawn  Northern Bawn  

~That is good.~ Blackriver agrees politely, too detached from this Far-Cry person to really care about the news. ~Who and how many are fighting?~ She asks the Ahroun.

Walks-Middle paces a couple steps. ~Yes, I will ask about the guns. Ears-rhya would be good to ask. She would know. As for who else is fighting... I or my pack have spoken with Ears, Child-Holder, Voice-of-the-Unspoken, Cricket, and Runner.~

Howls-For-Glory listens intently, but for the moment remains silent.

Far-Cry breaks through the brush at a fast, but careful trot from the west, in the direction of the highway. The black wolf makes no attempts to disguise his passage, and the sound of his paws and panting breath is obscured by an odder, quiet flutter. He comes upon the trio of others, pausing there with an interesting sight in his jaws. A stack of brochures, quite the mouthful, neatly printed and partly drooled on, but the most noticeable of this stack of paper being the glyph of the Black Spiral Dancers quite blatantly printed upon them.

Blackriver twists around to stare at Far-Cry as he arrives, body tenses and tail raising as she barks out an inquiry. It takes her a moment to notice the glyphs on the brochures, but when she does her hackles suddenly raise and she lets out a low growl.

Howls-For-Glory offers a greeting to Far-Cry before he spots the stack of brochures. ~Gaia, does it never end?!~ He snaps at the air. ~Two we killed last night. Now, on the Bawn they throw heads. And they drive...busses.~

Walks-Middle stares at the Shadow Lord, a soft growl escaping her at the sight of the glyphs, and then moves forward to meet him. ~Far-Cry! What is this? What are those?~ she asks, half demanding, her lips curling up.

Far-Cry flips his ears back, hackles arcing up as he is growled at, but steps a few steps back. The philodox lays the package in his mouth down as close to a stacked pile as he can get it, before he noses a leaflet over. Wyrm sign, of course, he answers with a rough chuff. It's everywhere. In the Scab. In the smaller Scab. Man giving these to others.

Blackriver stares wide-eyes at the pamphlets before suddenly sweeping to the side. ~Has it been checked for taint? I will check it.~ She declares, focusing on the stack of paper in front of her.

Howls-For-Glory's growl dies down, though he looks no less agitated for it. ~Disgusting,~ is his observation. The Fianna looks at the gathered group, huffing a breath. ~At this rate, I would not be surprised if those dreams that have been plaguing us were sent by the Spirals.~

Walks-Middle growls again, although more at the papers than at the Lord. ~This is not good,~ she says, stating the rather obvious. ~The situation might be worse than we expected.~

Far-Cry splays an ear, keeping track of Blackriver as she sweeps around him. The philodox sidles a little closer to the ahroun of the bunch, shaking out his fur. The ~bus~. I sat on one. It goes from the small Scab to its stopping place, then back to the big Scab, in a circle. That thing says where they go.

Blackriver sniffs in the direction of the paper once loudly, and then takes a breath. ~They are not tainted as far as I can tell.~ She tells the gathered. She looks at Howls. ~The dreams. Yes, I remember. I dreamt of a battle at the caern.~

Howls-For-Glory looks over at Blackriver as she speaks, ears splaying out. ~Yes. Many have dreamed. Many. A wolf with mirror eyes for most. Fears for others. A smiling wolf for the simple and fearless.~ He looks back to the pamphlets, still uncertain. ~It must be investigated.~

Walks-Middle perks her ears toward the Shadow Lord. ~Far-Cry, we have to tell the others. Let them know. Something is going on. Perhaps the Corax and scab-tribes can investigate. This... My pack must know. Can you warn the ones in the scab?~

Far-Cry curls his lips back, growling lightly between his teeth. I am sure if these are already running, then they will know soon enough. The philodox looks back and forth, watching Blackriver carefully as she senses for taint. His ears tilt forward at all this talk of dreams, though, partly looking back towards Walks-Middle with a querying gaze.

~Howls-for-Glory. You are a Galliard, make sure this is heard.~ Blackriver tells her packmate, before looking to Walks-Middle. ~With the Spirals around, the caern is in more danger than usual, does your pack need any more to help guard?~

~Yes, Blackriver. The rest of our pack will know in moments, and they can spread the news as well.~ The Fianna settles onto his haunches, looking back and forth between the other three.

Walks-Middle looks up at Far-Cry with almost a wolf-like shrug. ~Many have had strange dreams. Warnings of some sort. I have not myself.~ Looking back at Howls and Blackriver, she adds, ~That would be wiser. I am not familiar with how to deal with scab problems. And... more to help guard during this time would be helpful. Those who wish to help should speak with Jamethon-rhya or Jacinta-rhya.~

Far-Cry thumps his tail a bit impatiently, lip remaining curled at the edge. What has been going on since I left? How can the Wyrm have gotten so close and spread so far? His hackles also remain stiffened out, as he gazes at the three in askance.

Blackriver flicks her ears in understanding at Walks-Middle and turns to Far-Cry. ~Much has happened. A pack disbanded, two new packs formed,~ She pauses here to puff up her chest in pride. ~And two Charachs were caught. There have been many problems happening /inside/ the sept, so many...~ She trails off for a moment. ~So many that perhaps we did not look as much outside as we should have.~ She pauses. ~There is also the matter of the fire that never goes out. That should be attacked soon. Stone-Spirit is leading the attack.~

Howls-For-Glory looks down at the ground, ears pinning back. ~A mistake Wildfire will never make again,~ he adds.

Walks-Middle stiffens at the insinuated accusation in Far-Cry's words. ~I have been guarding the bawn. Nothing has troubled its borders until recently, when these spirals started tossing human heads into the bawn. I tried to warn the Alpha, but she tried to brush it off as a Ragabash trick. But once my pack discovered the cause, which was two days ago, we have been working tirelessly to prepare to fight it.~

Far-Cry sniffs, shifting his weight. With one of them my last packamte, I have yet to see him again, the philodox rumbles, anger and annoyance simmering below his growl. Making no comment on the Alpha, the Shadow Lord looks back to the pamphlets on the ground. We must find who leads this group. The Scab-Garou will investigate, for sure. What news of the head tossers?

Blackriver lets out a soft huff. ~Yes, Wildfire will make sure this does not happen again, and stop threat /before/ they reach the bawn. Hopefully these attacks will wake the sept out of slumber.~ She turns to Far-Cry, ~The heads have been thrown by Black Spiral Dancers.~ She begins, and then turns to Walks-Middle to let the Guardian explain the rest.

Far-Cry need not extra explanation, standing back up his paws with a grunt. These should get taken to the cub's den. They should know when they see the Wyrmsign, what it means. Shaking himself, the Shadow Lord looks to the Fang and steps forward to retrieve the pamphlets, jaws working around the paper.

Walks-Middle stiffens at the insinuated accusation in Far-Cry's words. ~I have been guarding the bawn. Nothing has troubled its borders until recently, when these spirals started tossing human heads into the bawn. I tried to warn the Alpha, but she tried to brush it off as a Ragabash trick. But once my pack discovered the cause, which was two days ago, we have been working tirelessly to prepare to fight it.~ She looks to Far-Cry. ~Indeed. My cubs should see. Perhaps I have been too easy in not telling them of the threat we face... I did tell them not to listen or go with any who do not tell them my deed name.~

Blackriver watches Far-Cry gather up the brochures, and shakes herself once. I must find my pack. She excuses herself, and trots off into the forest.

Far-Cry has about a half a mouthful of brochures before pausing, looking after Blackriver's departure, and then back to the Child. He grunts acknowledgingly, finally abandoning the idea of carrying the leaflets by mouth, and shifts back to his breedform before simply gathering up the pamphlets by hand. His other hand wipes off the edge of his mouth, where a few specks of dirt remain. "We'll let everyone know to keep an eye out. And to grab all the pamphlets they can before it spreads out too far."