Old Packmates

4/10/2007

09:06 AM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (47% full).
It is currently 09:05 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 10 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.23 and rising, and the relative humidity is 92 percent. The dewpoint is 37 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)

Infirmary
The gentle sunlight of spring illuminates the room in a fresh yellow glow. Thin white curtains keep the glare out while allowing enough light in to dispel shadows. A small ceramic heater sits on the floor near the bed, available for use when needed. A wide bed stands in the center of the south wall, white linens carefully tucked in around its mattress. A low table stands beside the bed, a small basin and pitcher perched atop it. Two large chairs sit facing the bed, and a small wooden chair sits against the south wall opposite the table. A tall cabinet occupies the northeast corner of the room, its glass door revealing a well-stocked medicine cabinet, various medical implements and supplies carefully arranged within.
The only exit from the room is a single door on the eastern wall.
Contents:
Dillen
Obvious exits:
HAllway  

Dillen lays there on the cot waking up slowly. He's pretty badly wounded but the grin that grows on his face says it all. He takes in a breath and then winces slightly as he shifts to get more comfortable. He finally opens his eyes and looks about the room. He sees his former packmate and then speaks, "Kenneth... You there? You awake?"

Kenneth is awake. Propped on a chair, the Shadow Lord looks rather ridiculously bandaged with his head - mainly his jaw - wrapped in gauze and his left hand all but covered in the same. In the form of the nearman, it could only serve to be an even more ridiculous scene, where it not that he would be dangerous still. Without a shirt on, the rest of his battlescars on his upper torso are visible, remnants from Revels and other situations alike flowering and crossing on his exposed skin. A low grunt answers Dillen, and finally some words. "Mornin'." He turns the page of an old issue of Newsweek.

"How you been?" Dillen asks, trying to prop himself up. "Was a good fight last night. You did a helluva job. Snae would have been proud." He smiles slightly.

Kenneth turns another page, but he doesn't look to be concentrating on reading the magazine any longer despite his eyes remaining down on the words. "Hand hurts like hell," the halfmoon answers with a look down to his injured limb. A beat skips, and he adds, "You ought to be dead, sticking yourself on claws like that."

Dillen cracks a smile, "Yeah. Gotta do what you gotta do." He gives a shrug which causes him to wince slightly. "How you been doing? Getting along... Hey... I have a son now. A Philodox son. Can you believe it?" He chuckles somewhat.

At that announcement, Dillen receives a look from Kenneth. The philodox himself tries hard to remain neutral in it, but there's a twinge of expression that leaks by. Jealousy. Then, he looks back down to the magazine. "What's his name?"

Dillen cools down his smile at the look, "Stephen Orion. Born in March, just like his sister. Who would have ever thought me to be a family man... Ya know.?" He's trying to sound happy at being able to talk to Kenneth, but that wall that has always been there is still there and it trumpets like an elephant in the middle of the room.

"Stephen Orion Francis." Kenneth tries out the name, mostly to himself. It takes a little longer silence, but a quiet "Congratulations" does manifest in verbal form. It's not even grudging. "How're you paying for 'em?" then asks the Shadow Lord, flipping the magazine closed and setting it on a side table.

Dillen runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, "I'm drawing comic books now. Getting good money for it too. I have one called Bane. It's in it's third issue now. It's about a werewolf hunter who tracks them down and kills them. Not based on us at all... based on all that fanciful stuff in video games and role playing. It's a decent book, I think... Want to see a copy?"

Kenneth furrows his brows. "You're drawing comic books. And gettin' paid for them?" There's a disbelief there. "This from the guy who drew tentacle porn before he found himself a girl." The disbelief turns to wry humor, a faint chuckle escaping him. Kenneth shifts himself a bit in his seat. "So what disagreement do you have with werewolves?"

Dillen shrugs his shoulders, "Nothing. I just draw them really well and the combat really well." He says as he relaxes back some. "If my coat made it here, there is one in the inside pocket. The first book."

Dark grey eyes flick towards the small infirmary closet. "You always keep a copy of your work with you?" Kenneth inquires, working his way up to stand, moving slow but steadily. He keeps his wounded hand close, using the offside to rummage through the clothing cabinet. "How's your wife?"

The Galliard looks to Kenneth, "I do when there is someone who might want to see it." The comic book is found easily enough, a red title across the top of the front, BANE! in big bold red letters. Also on the cover, a man in a trenchcoat that is open and flying about in the wind as he fires a shot at a rather unhappy werewolf. The man looks familiar... Almost like... Grey. "Freya? A little frazzled with the two kids but she's good. She takes good care of them... And me."

"Yeah, when you're not getting yourself impaled on scrag claws," Kenneth rumbles, staring at the cover with an inquisitive peer. "Black fur, one eye, you sure you don't have something against one of us?" He turns, a smirk curling on the side of his lips.

Dillen chuckles. "Hey. Grey is a great model for a werewolf hunter. It's changed enough so you can't recognize him unless you know him." He then laughs, "Shit. I even get fan mail. Samuel Collins, Comic book artist." Probably inside the front cover is a letter from some guy saying how this comic is the greatest ever... Or some kiss ass shit like that.

The Shadow Lord tailors his expression to a minimum again, bringing the comic book back with him to his seat to peruse. "You'll never get big though. On the other hand, it's better you don't, else I see you dressing up like Wolverine and parading your ass around so people can take pictures of you to stick up in some YouTube collage of comic artists." He starts reading the story, checking out the artwork as well. "But you have gotten better."

Dillen shrugs his shoulders, wincing. "Don't want to be big. Want enough money to take care of the wife and kids. This does that and makes me a minimal risk to society. It's all good." Dillen leans forwards some, scanning the other people in the room who still lie asleep before his eyes go to rest on Kenneth again, "How are you? The truth."

Flipping through the pages eventually, Kenneth comes to the full page spread of battle between werewolves and hunters. The halfmoon examines the comic closely, ignoring the question to begin with. Eyes remain down on the page for a while, and then the Shadow Lord lifts his gaze to stare at the galliard. That wall still remains. "I'm fine," he replies, lukewarm and unreadable.

Dillen just sits back in his bed, shaking his head. "We all have to say goodbye in our own ways. I have to draw from what I know. I miss it... That was one helluva pack." He says, looking to the ceiling now.

Kenneth flips the comic shut, not reading it any longer. Perhaps, not interested in it any longer. It's set atop the news mag. "Packs come and go. Glad you got yours out, finally. Took you long enough." Standing again, the halfmoon paces off to the edge of the beds, moving quietly despite his increased size. "Wildfire's a good pack for you."

"Pretty well balanced group, yeah. Need a theurge though. Maybe even one more soon. Who knows?" Dillen tilts his head enough to watch Kenneth as he moves about.

Kenneth moves for the sake of moving, stretching out various parts of himself to limber up. He pauses as a particular movement of his injured arm causes him to grimace in pain, which he promptly stuffs back down. "Who knows," he repeats in vague continuation of the conversation, another lull slipping in between them. "Stacey quit Ridgeline when they broke off, and she's thinking of a pack too. But all in due time," he tells the Get.

Dillen nods his head, "Everyone moves on." Dillen shrugs. "All about growing up. But damn... I do miss three hotheaded kids kicking ass." Dillen lets out a laugh and then calms back into that silence. "Learned a lot."

"Cole and Blackriver were doing hot enough last night," Kenneth mentions as he looks down to his arm again. "And your other packmate... What was that Fury's name?" He looks over. "You did well enough anyway. You Beta in there?"

"Helen?" Dillen offers to Kenneth, "Nah. I'm below Cole. I like it there pretty much for now. They are both challenging for Fostern and they will get it. Then I will challenge again. It' a tight pack. Real tight. Damned Fianna... Like my brother."

Kenneth goes quiet again on the subject of challenges, looking off towards the sleepers. "A good pack for you," he repeats his previous statement, beginning to pace once more. "Like the wolves out in Wolf Woods. Never seen anything tighter, 'cept a few asses." An attempt at a joke? Say it isn't so.

Dillen grins and lets out a chuckle at it. "Don't tell me that was a joke coming from you?" Sarcasm galore. He props up once again, growling some at the tension on his midsection, "What have you been doing? Up to? Or you gonna lapse back into that Shadow Lord self...

Dillen grins and lets out a chuckle at it. "Don't tell me that was a joke coming from you?" Sarcasm galore. He props up once again, growling some at the tension on his midsection, "What have you been doing? Up to? Or you gonna lapse back into that Shadow Lord self..."

"Xia got married." It's a simple statement out of Kenneth, but laden with careful treading around the subject. "I do whatever I want. It's a decent gig. The wolves need watching. I watch." A part of Dillen's words turn the halfmoon's head. "What do you mean, 'that Shadow Lord self'?"

"Just being an ass, Kenneth. Shadow Lords, keeping to themselves all the time." Dillen shakes his head, "Always had hope for you and Xia. Who did she marry?"

Kenneth narrows his eyes, but ends up simply shaking his head. "I was an ass the day I was born. That's not something attributed to Shadow Lords alone." He's got no answer for the part of keeping to themselves, though in reply about Xia he notes, "A kinfolk named Scott. Some US Marine guy, spittin' image of some hero of yore."

The Get just winks at Kenneth, his good nature spilling out once again. "A kin, that sucks. Just sucks hard." He twists slightly and torques his body. "Fuck an A." He curses. "Can you believe those things from last night? Man. But they fell hard, didn't they?"

"Whatever works for Gaia, right," Kenneth drips in bitter sarcasm. Shuffling to his chair again, the Shadow Lord sits. No grimace this time, albeit his uninjured hand lifts to pick at the gauze about his jaw. "Scrags, Dillen. They're called Scrags. And yeah. Didn't think the Wyrm had pack hunters too." He furrows his brow again, expression shifting towards a pensive tilt. "Did you feel something while you were fighting them? Besides the rage. Think they had mind control."

"What? Holy shit... Mind control? Nah. I didn't feel it. Was too busy trying to get myself skewered." Dillen looks a little concerned at this though, "And yeah, I know what they are called." He looks to Kenneth, curious, "What did you feel?"

Kenneth frowns a little longer, but then dispels the thought. "Nothing. I mean, besides frenzy, and coming to with my hand stuck worse than a pig's head on a stick, there was just nothing after. The fuckers pissed me off bad enough. Paid the price, right?" The free hand runs through his hair, where the bandages aren't plastering the strands down. "So which one of you are going to be telling that story at next moot?"

Dillen thinks about it for a moment, "Cole. This was his fight. He has wanted this for two years. Let him have the glory in it... Or maybe together. Who knows?" As Dillen looks over to the still sleeping Cole. "Sheep-Fucker." He says with a big grin. "Hell yeah they paid the price. Hard Core paid it. I see a lot of strength in this sept... A lot of weakness too. Wish there was more I could do."

Kenneth turns to gaze at the Get, dark eyes pinning and narrowing. "There's plenty of weaknesses in everything. But they're different for everyone. What do you see?"

Dillen takes in a breath, "Mathias. He's a whiner. Complete and total. Not even looking for a tribe or trying to prove himself. And Basil, wearing his glyph like a badge of honor... Just things, you know. Here and there."

Two names dropped, and Kenneth's dislike for the both manifests in a sneer. "The whole sept's been like this since you got here," he points out. "Charachs, Litany breakers, former Ronin... imagine the philodox moot last time."

"So what can we do to change it? What can garou like you and I do to make a difference?" Dillen looks to Kenneth. "There has got to be something that redeems this place... Something. Anything."

Kenneth sucks in a breath, sniffing at the air to test it. "If you ask me, the only thing that's going to redeem this place is if we do something big. Not 'taking back the caern after it got overrun by Black Spirals' big, but something pre-emptive. You remember when we first formed Requiem? Our goal was to kick the ass of every Wyrm thing we spotted on our road to Glory. Obviously that doesn't work all the time, but at least there was a dream in that. Now we've got sections of the city that look like... the place we just fought in. Does that seem right to you?"

Dillen shakes his head, "Not at all. Not at all..." Dillen shakes his head as well and then he looks towards Kenneth, a hard stare in his eyes. "I know some people who want to clean this place up. You in?" He says with all seriousness.

The stare into his eyes is quickly met with a straightening of the Shadow Lord in spine and hardening of intensity. Kenneth tries to read the Get further, but the meeting of eyes sparks a little more than just seriousness. "I don't agree to anything I can't keep," he states firmly. "What're you getting at, Dillen?" The stare continues, one former packmate to another.

"Cleaning up this place. Showing people what it means to be a garou. Showing them that you get off your ass and do what needs to be done. I need more than me and Wildfire. This place has gotten stale, stagnant, too easy. The cubs come in and they are so green you can't light a fire under them. We have to make a show of what this place should be. Show that we deserve the respect we are worthy of... that way, when someone doesn't show it... you KICK their ass."

Kenneth further presses with a growl working up. "I /do/ what I need to do. Don't you accuse me of not taking care of my end." The Shadow Lord's tone wavers on the edge.

Dillen holds up his hands, a show of 'hold on'. "And so do the rest of us. What I an asking for is a show of what you do... Tell people. Be a galliard for yourself as well as others. Get the word out that those who do not get off their ass and do what needs to be done will suffer in the long run. The Apocolypse is coming... I say it is here. I say we rise up and kick it's ass back to the stone age."

Kenneth leans in so his face is closer, the invisible flames burning in his eyes no less bright. "That's not my job," he utters, using that low tone tickling with a snarl. "The Apocalypse ain't anything you or I've ever seen. You want to do all this rising up, then go on and pick the fight. I'll be there." That's all he says, moving his face away and up as he stands again. "I'm going to get some grub. You want something?"

"I'll let you know when the fight is." Dillen says out, "Nah. Gonna get some more sleep and get rid of the hangover from that party last night. Catch you later." Dillen relaxes back on the cot. "Kenneth... Was an honor to fight with you last night... Again." He says, then closing his eyes.

The Shadow Lord pauses at the end of the infirmary door. He doesn't though, say anything in reply to the comment. It's only that significant pause, and then he's out, heavy footsteps moving down the stairs.

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