After the Tirefire
7/30/2006
09:56 AM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (33% full).
It is currently 09:42 Pacific Time on Sun Jul 30 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 60 degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.04 and rising, and the relative humidity is 69 percent. The dewpoint is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)
Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.
Contents:
Darroll
Emma
NOTE: Current Farmhouse Residents (Updated: Jul 23)
Obvious exits:
Kitchen/Dining Room Front Door STairs
Kenneth rounds the hallway from the kitchen, a glass of water in hand and a half of a paper towel serving as napkin and possible coaster. His footsteps are somewhat heavy, but only because he makes no attempt to hide them. The Shadow Lord pauses at the wall sectioning off the living room, peeking in to see if anyone is occupying the sofa.
The stairs creak as a dirty and exhausted Emma slinks down them like a defunct Slinky. Her hair is both a mess and burnt in places, her flesh wrinkles and charred. Still, she is walking, which is a fate better than many of the others can celebrate over. She pauses as she spies Kenneth, giving a faint nod.
Not long after Kenneth enters, Darroll follows him in from the kitchen, moving in a furtive manner as though he's shadowed the philodox in from outside. "Look, will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" he says as he comes up behind Kenneth when he pauses. "And why when I went lupus to try and listen to what people were saying, all I could smell was blood and smoke?" And then he sees Emma and his eyes narrow as he appraises her status.
Kenneth looks over the Get, eyes more or less riveted for a short time on each of the burn wounds he can spot. His lips tighten grimly for a split second, released when he takes another sip of water. "This," he explains to Darroll, "is the result of last night's battle. A fight took place between Garou and spirits of the Wyrm. Tainted ones. Fire elementals. And the verdict..." He leaves that for Emma to answer.
Emma looks from Darroll, her eyes, tired as they are, still hard and biting- to Kenneth. A shoulder lifts. "It's not finished, if that's what you mean. Even the pure spirits could not combat the beast of the tire pit. We killed a bunch of the smog banes, and then... something. Something was coming. It was black, and crept up like an encompassing darkness. We took our wounded and fled."
Darroll walks around Kenneth and towards Emma, eyes still keenly focused on her wounds. "Yeah?" he says, not sarcastically as is often his way, but in fascination. "So us guys took a pounding, did we? That's bad." He rubs his hands together subconsciously as he stares at the ahroun.
"Should go and have a look," Kenneth muses, watching Darroll round around him. "How many're up there, Emma?" he asks with a tilt of his head up towards the second floor.
Emma eyes the cub again, eyes like slits. Kenneth pulls her attention. "Grey and Laura. Grey is in bad shape, hasn't come to yet. Kevin, Dillen, Cole and Yi are also very bad off." Then she looks to Darroll, taking a moment to calculate him. "Fighting fire, and banes that choke the very air out of your lungs, is not a walk in the park cub."
"Did I say it was?" Darroll asks. "I'm just curious, s'all. Curious to know what the hell can leave a garou like Emma looking like a botched plastic surgery case. Grey, you say?" he enquires. "/Thomas/ Grey?"
Kenneth turns his eyes up ceilingwards a moment as the names are named, and then returns back down to the level. "Lotta names to be laid up there." He glances between cub and Get, brows lifting at Darroll's query.
Emma lets out a short growl, the tone gargled with strain as she looks to Darroll. "Yes. Thomas Grey. Every Garou that fought was well experienced, and yes, we all took a beating. You want to know why we are hard and strict on cubs? Because they have to be taught to endure this shit." After a moment she agrees with Kenneth. "Too many names. We need more healers."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, and I probably am," Darroll drawls, "but I understood that all a garou needed to do to heal was shift into their non-human form, and all your damage just faded out. I've done it myself. Why'd you need healers over and above?"
Kenneth finishes another sip of water, slightly nodding his agreement to Emma. "That works with minor injuries only. When you're talking about Garou, minor for us can be a lot. Bullet wounds, knife stabbings from rusty blades, even. But spiritside, things are a whole lot different. Everything is just more... real. The spirit makes it real, Matrix style. It's not so easy to recover, even though eventually, Emma's wounds here... will be little else but small scars. Can't say the same for those who might've used their inner Rage to claw their way back to life, though."
"A Garou heals menial damage with a simple shift to another form. Spirits do not offer menial damage. It's like silver. It *hurts* us. And for Grey at least, unless he wakes up, he can't really shift to start on that healing, now can he?" The patience is thin on the Ahroun today, and especially toward a cub like Darroll. "If you'd like to see how long it takes a Garou to heal real damage, I'll gladly take you to the barn."
"I have no great desire to be tested to destruction, Emma-rhya," Darroll refuses. "Thank you for the offer." He rubs at his slightly bristly chin, thoughtfully. "So, Kenneth. You say you could shoot me -- 'cept with silver bullets -- and I'd laugh it off? As Emma did when I shot her, back when?" He gets a slightly nostalgic look on his face at the memory of his cubnap.
Kenneth shifts his weight, leaning a little in case one or the other makes a move. "Not exactly," he answers Darroll. "I could shoot you in the head, and you can still, possibly, die. I could unload a clip into you, and Gaia's mercy or not, you'd be laid out. Laugh it off after you've healed up, not during it. Point is, Criminal, we were built for war. And things built for war need to be able to take a hit and keep on goin'." The halfmoon gulps down the rest of his glass.
Emma looks to the cub and shakes her head, "I need something to drink." She moves into the kitchen then, and the faucet can be heard. Moments later she is out, sipping gingerly at the cool water. Her gaze lands on the cub; heavy, hard and gauging.
Darroll leans against the wall, casual and cool as a day in the park. (Perhaps that's why they call it a lounge.) "So what we have to fear," he sums up, "apart from fear itself, as the old joke goes... are silver and spirits. And silver spirits, I guess," he adds with a dry smile.
Kenneth inspects his glass. "Not fear. /Respect/." He glances up as Emma goes to the kitchen, gaze straying to the cub. "And respecting other Garou also helps keep you alive." The Shadow Lord stretches his back some, almost as casual as the cub. Almost. "Your elder get to you yet?"
Emma gives a short snort, "From what the cub has said, and he has a tongue more forked than Abraxas, his elder hasn't done anything with him save for the day they met. In my opinion - someone else ought to grab him and sort him out, or we'll have a problem on our hands."
The corner of Kenneth's lip tics up with the comparison made, though his features remain overall placid. "If you think there's a problem with his training, Emma, you should take it up with his elder. 'Til then, sept rules apply."
Darroll looks from Emma to Kenneth placidly. "Grab me? Sort me out? I really don't see that this is necessary?" he says. "I'm sure my elder knows exactly what he is doing with me. Plus, if people get in his way or on his nerves, his first reaction seems to be to hold a knife to their throat, and I'm sure neither of you good people would like that. Whether or not the knife's silver."
Emma snorts and looks from cub to Kenneth, "See what I mean?" She eyes the cub, "While only your elder has permission to teach you from this point, we all have the right to put you into your place. You have no Ace up your sleeve Darroll, fuck. You don't even have *any* cards."
Kenneth tilts his head at the name, looking upon the cub with a renewed sort of light. "I'm sure he's smart enough not to hold knives to anyone's throat 'round here, or else he's askin' for a fight. In the meantime, she is right. This ain't a prison yard - it's worse than one." The halfmoon turns to head back into the kitchen, nodding to the both of them.
Darroll lifts his hands and lets them drop. "I'm trying to avoid yet more drama, is all," he says with the air of a martyr. "Not trying to hide /anything/ up my sleeve. And yeah, Kenneth-rhya. I couldn't help but draw the comparison too. But since I'm a criminal and all..."