Persuasion. The wolf-dog's tail wags at the very mention. What are you going to ~buy~? Speak loud, I am going ~upstairs~ to shift. He chews on the squeakytoy as he turns, trots down the aisle and climbs up the stairs to the balcony.

Rotem watches Nevada, speaking up now. "Well, I think I'll either convince The guy there that I already paid, or something like that." Rotem pauses, "Oh, I want to get a water gun, like Kaz carries on patrol."

There's some shuffling noise from the balcony, and after a moment, the stairs creak as Nevada thumps his way down. "Water gun?" is all he says, adjusting his Weezer band shirt.

Rotem nods softly. "Yeah, Water gun, like Kaz carries. She fills it with bleach, or water."

"Hah! No shit?" Nevada snorts a laugh. "Pretty good idea. So yeah. Yeah, let's go. Get us some water pistols. Have us a gunfight later." He pauses. "Uh. What'd you wanna buy, guess I should ask?"

Rotem shrugs and considers. "Well how about a monster XL?" Rotem rises up from the pew and walks over to Nev. "It's got some serious kick."

"C'mon, then. We walk tho'. I left the Mystery Machine at home." Nevada motions to him over his shoulder, heading out. His untied boot laces flap when he goes.

Rotem ponders to himself. "You think the XL will be too bulky for homid?" Rotem shrugs, "Maybe we should settle for the X."

Elson Commercial District
In the intersection of Fourteenth and Elson, the center of this three-block area of Elson Street, an elementary school's playground sits in the one corner not occupied by small businesses. Fenced in by chain-link fencing with the top tilted in to discourage the schoolchildren climbing out, the playground seems fairly well-cared-for. Down towards Fifteenth, the 19th Police Precinct is located, amidst other small businesses - clothes stores, a small electronics store, and a deli and convenience store frequented by the policemen. Their nearby presence seems to make this area a little less dangerous than others, for there seems little evidence of criminal activity here. Even down towards Thirteenth, with its own small businesses and grocery store, is cleaner and more at ease than some of the surrounding areas only a few blocks south.
Obvious exits:
Brownstone Police Station North South East

"Dude," Nevada is saying, shaking his head as he walks. "You is seriously whacked." He chuckles. "If ya water pistol turns out to be bigger 'n my Glock.. man, I ganna get a complex or somethin prolly."

Rotem snickers and points to the Monster X in the window. "That is the one. And you know my 'gun' is bigger then yours anyway." A grin is offered before slipping into the store. "So ya think I'll be able to pull this off?"

"Wonder why they call it Monster." The Galliard eyes the watergun in the window. "You go in. I wait here. Don' wanna freak nobody out, y'know. Don't make no ass of yourself." He leans against a lamp post, digging out his pack of cigarettes.

Rotem approaches the clerk at the back of the store. Rotem stands quietly waiting to be noticed, smilling as he considers how to pull this off.

The clerk gazes up from the Playstation magazine he's reading, setting it aside and looking at Rotem. "May I help you?"

Rotem nods softly. "Yeah. I want a Monster X super soaker."

The clerk waves over towards the left most section of the store's aisles, where multiple stacks of Sorry!, Monopoly, and other games of the non-video console type are located along with the many foamy multi-colored Nerf balls. "Waterguns are with the Nerf and board games over there," says the clerk whose nametag looks like a 'Bryon'.

Rotem nods and walks off down the isle, selecting his prize and then walking to the clerk. "I'd like it giftwrapped." The large box is hefted onto the counter and pushed over to the clerk.

Bryon eyes the teen momentarily as he scans the item into the register. "Fifty-two seventy nine please," the clerk tells the cub. "We don't have gift wrapping here, but I can bag it for you."

Rotem nods, still pushing the box towards him. "Okay, bag it."

Nevada's puffing away on his cigarette, enjoying the afternoon breeze. His gray eyes drift from the store to Elson at large, something or another catching his attention.

Bryon simply waits for the kid to give him the payment, then takes the box and pulls out one of those giant 32 gallon bags that toystores are notorious for. He sets the gun into the bag and waits for the exchange.

Rotem puts his hand out for the bag, not even hinting at moving to pay for it. "Thank you, was a pleasure doing buisness with you."

Bryon gives Rotem an odd look. "It'd be business if you pay for it," the clerk tells the cub, furrowing his brow and keeping hold of the bag.

Rotem waves his hand in a mock gesture, "I already paid for it." He states in a slightly lower tone, attempting to use the gift Julie was trying to teach him.

Bryon looks over at the register. Facts, unfortunately, are harder to change. "You didn't," the clerk replies, low himself, a little annoyed.

Rotem sighs and considers how to go about this. "You've already bagged it. And you were about to give it to me. Don't you remember? I paid you just a second ago." Rotem tries again, hoping to get it to work this time.

Bryon gazes at the bag, then at the register. Still, the numbers show 52.79 on the total. "How'd you pay? Credit card?"

Rotem shakes his head for a moment. "No, I'm just a kid. I gave you the fifty I got for my birthday, and my allowance too! Come on man, Gimme my gun. Please, Don't steal my birthday present." Rotem makes the classic sad puppy dog face, adding a slight whimper as he looks up at the clerk.

Bryon furrows his brow some more at Rotem, and then at the register. "Hell," he mutters as he presses a button and the cashier's drawer pops open with a ring. Here he checks over for the fifty, but unfortunately there were purchases before and that doesn't solve the mystery any. "Tche, unreliable machines," the clerk mutters with a close of the door. "Here," he hands over the bag. "Sorry 'bout that kid. Didn't mean to put a damper on your birthday. Just don't soak anyone too hard, a'ight?"

Rotem nods softly. "Thats okay." Rotem smiles and starts walking out of the store. "And I'll be careful." he calls out as he opens the door, moving off into the street, prize in hand.

Several passersby cross down the street, caught up in their own conversations. Nevada no longer waits by the lamp post. He's nowhere to be seen.

Rotem puts his hands on his hips, the bag leaning up against his leg as he does so. "Damnit, what trouble is he getting into now?" he remaks to himself, looking around the area for any sign of the cliath's wereabouts.

Bryon watches Rotem outside the store briefly, still a little puzzled as he checks the register for malfunctions.

Rotem turns and glances at the Police station, then around the street, he looks north, then south, before desciding to seek refuge in the nearest building, in case the clerk should decide to come looking for him.

Rotem pokes his head out from the brownstone looking out to the street. After a few moments he hazards a step out into the street. "Hmm, now where /is/ Nevada?"

Way up down the street, keen eyesight might catch a flash of blond hair. There's a car parked on the curb, Nevada leaning against it, apparently talking to someone excitedly. On his face is the goofiest expression the Ahroun would ever have seen on the moon-dancer.

Rotem walks slowly over towards Nevada, taking a look at who he is talking to willing to bet it is a female.

Nevada is talking with a redhead. A very excited redhead. A very big excited redhead. A redhead that drools and slobbers and wags his tail, pressing his big black nose up against the glass of the car window. "No, I can't take you for a walkies. Sorry, big guy," the Galliard is saying, talking in a silly voice that people address dogs with. It would seem, however, that the dog understands what is being said. "You being a good dog? You better be. 'course you are. Good boy. Hey, I got somethin' for ya, Tonk."

Rotem smirks and approaches them. "God Nevada, you looking for a date while you're supposed to be babysitting the cub?" Rotem grins, "I mean, come on, control your hormones."

Nevada blinks and looks up, not having heard Rotem. The grin's still there. "Hey, check it out," he says, his attention moving back to the dog in the back of the car. "It's my dog, man. His name's Tonka. You know, like the truck?" Quieter, he adds,"Yo Tonk. This is Rotem. Friend'a mine. You wanna say hi?" Tonka woofs once. "Shh, though, OK? I don't know when they gonna come outta the grocery store."

Rotem arches an eyebrow, not understanding the exchange. "You're shacking up with a dog?" Rotem asks, surprised. "I mean, I was told it could happen, but you?" Rotem sighs. "Nice dog at least."

"In your dreams, cubby," Nevada says, turning a glance to Rotem. He snorts. "Before... things, he was the family pet, y'know?" He smiles and taps on the glass. The St Bernard slobbers happily. "Got somin' for ya, honkyTonk." The Galliard sticks a hand in his pocket, digging around in there. He locates his squeakytoy --- the cartoon pineapple one. "Les' see if I can fit this bitch in the winder, huh?" He tries to stuff the squeakytoy into the car through the little slit in the window. It squeaks, naturally. Tonka wags his tail and bounces around.

Rotem smiles and moves over to the window as well, looking at the dog. "Aww, cute little thing though."

Nevada crams the squeaky toy into the window, giving a few pounds to make it fit through. Squeak squeak squeak, and it pops in. Tonka pokes his big shaggy head under the seat hunting after it, tail thumping against the opposite window. "There ya go, boy," Nevada says, smiling. "Oughtta get goin', though. Don't want ya folks to come back. You be a good dog, tho, aite? Good boy." He adds, quieter, in a conspiratorial tone: "We'll go chase cats or somin' sometime. Maybe some frisbee. See you around, Tonk." He gives the car a pat, then turns away down the street. "So, you got your full metal jacket water gun huh?" He motions to Rotem's bag.

Rotem smirks and walks with Nevada. "Oh yeah. It worked." Rotem hefts the bag over towards him, "Wanna look?"

Nevada cants his head to the side, looking into the bag. "Holy shit. Big sucker, ain't it? What you gonna put in it?"

Rotem smirks and looks to Nevada. "I figure we put bleach in it, and go find pretty paws. Bleach her paws blonde!"

Nevada looks up, and laughs. "Dude," he says,"She'd so kick ya ass."

Rotem smirks and nods. "But it would /so/ be worth it." Rotem grins and takes the bag oncemore. "I mean, could you imagine the look on her face?"

Yi swings on by spotting the two out on the streets. "Yo!" she calls to them, before glancing around and walking swiftly over. She eyes the bag. "What's that?"

Rotem holds the bag closed. "Cannon." He states simply and winks to Nevada. "For fun and patrols."

"Yeah, yeah I can, actually," Nevada says, smirking now. His eyes wander to Yi, and a smile appears. "Yeah, he bought a gun. Y'know, he's ganna make some great justice, what wit' all these street punks an all. Just they watch out."

Yi gazes at the very top of the box poking out of grey bag with blue printed Kay-Bee all over it. "Water guns against street punks?" She gives the galliard a good eye. "You must've come up with that one in your dreams."

Rotem chuckles and shows Yi the gun, opening the bag. "Fucking water /cannon/. Fill 'er up with bleach, and blast em in the face."

"I think," the Galliard says, rubbing his chin. "That we oughtta fill that sucker up wit ketchup. 'Cause a ketchup fight, that'd be fun." Judging from the more-than-healthy-amount of ketchup bottles stocked in the fridge back at Apartment 15, it's safe to say that this warrior of Gaia has something about tomatoes.

Yi chuckles lowly at Nevada and gazes over a block to the Kay-Bee. "Bleach, hunh? I don't think ketchup will flow as well, though. Might clog up your gun, and then you're out of luck." The newmoon looks thoughtful. "But surprise is the key advantage, na?"

Rotem shakes his head. "Nah, That would clog the sucker up. Go get your own if you want ketchup." Rotem nods to Yi, "Yeah, and bleach should be cool."

"Maybe if ya water it down some... " Nevada hmms, distractedly pondering that ketchup idea.

Veronica strides down the street, swaying her hips back and forth. She's wearing a pair of fish net leggings, a black mini skirt and a silky purple tube top. Her black hair is tied back into a knotted pony tail, face covered in five lbs too much of make up. Snapping her gum, the woman glances around the street, swinging a purse in one hand.

Yi glances behind her towards Veronica before turning back to the cub. "Maybe adding water to the bleach would make it easier to spray," she says in an almost conspiratorial tone.

Rotem shrugs, "I'll ask Kaz. She's been doing it for a while. I just got better..." he lifts the bag, "Equiptment."

"It ain't the size of the equipment," Nevada's saying,"It's how you use it. Kaz got one hell of an aim." Apparently, he didn't mean to say it like that, because now he snorts and puts his hand to his face. "Oh, you know what I mean."

Yi suppresses her giggle and glances over at Tonka when the squeaking toy attracts her attention.

Rotem chuffs and walks off without a word, seemingly offended at the comment as he storms off down the street.

Nevada can't help himself. He laughs, shoulders shaking as he digs around in his jacket pockets for his cigarette. "Hey, you see that dog 'nat car, there, Mulan? That's Tonka. My dog. Used t'be, at least. Ain't he a bruiser? That's a big fuzzy tank in there. Guess my cousins is doin some groceries or somin'."

Yi tilts her head to look around Nevada, getting a better eye of the big Bernard chewing madly on the squeaky pineapple. "Tonka?" she repeats. "He's ... really big." The Canto-Gnawer's eyes kind of just boggle at how large the dog is. Then she straightens back up. "Your cousins?"

"He's a big baby, tho'," Nevada says, grinning. "Not brave like ol' Duke." He takes the chokechain collar between his forefinger and thumb, makes it jingle. "Yeah. My cousins. Which is why I don't wanna hang aroun' here too long, y'know. Don't think they'd recognize me, though, s'been some years an some shit."

Yi nods slowly. "We should head back, then." She gives the big Bernard a smile and a wave. Maybe the dog understands her as she makes a sort of soft chuff at him.

Forgotten Church(#1801RAJLM)
Contents:
Nevada
Rotem
Chess Set
Lighting Unit #1
Mural
Obvious exits:
Street Basement

Rotem is sitting in the second pew, the box taken apart. The water gun filled, and the fast fill nozzle in his pocket.

Yi opens up the door first and waits for Nevada to step in before closing it behind the two of them. She sees the gun now out of the box, and gives it some brief eyeing.

Rotem pops the gun up on the pew, resting it on the backing as he blasts the pair with a torrent of cold water.

"...so, anyway, then I said, And just what -- " Nevada, mid-story, finds himself Niagara'd. "Aw geez! You lil shit."

Yi was quick enough, and expecting the blast, to dodge out of the way with a spin and crouch behind the nearest pew. She looks over to Nevada and laughs.

Rotem snickers as Nevada is drenched. "Hmm, not bad." he mumbles to himself, winking at Nevada. "You'll dry off."

"What the hell," the Galliard says, throwing up his hands. "I needed a cold shower anyway. You dork."

Rotem smirks and sends another blast up in a high arc into the air, seeing as Yi can't see through the pew he expects she won't know what hit her. He smirks letting the water rain down at the cliath.

Yi gahs feeling the water splash upon her head and moves out of the range before shifting to lupus. Well if one's gonna be wet... might as well be naked.

You have shifted to Lupus form.

Rotem groans as he sees Yi shift form. "No!" he cries out, hefting the gun with the shoulder strap. "Yi! Get out of here! The last thing we need is a /wet dog/ smell!"

Three-Blades hops over the pew and walks along it towards the cub. You brought it upon yourself. She gazes at Nevada, ears perked. He got your ~clothes~ wet too. Should repay him for his fine duties, eh?

"Wet dog smell.. nawp, can't have that," Nevada laughs from the door, starting down the aisle. He pulls off his jacket, stripping as he goes. That boy can undress in.. well, a flash. He's blurring through the shapes until a yellow wolf dog's galloping at Rotem.

Rotem yelps and blasts the two fast approaching dogs with a jet of water, aiming for their heads, ears, and eyes. He hopes to distract them with the blast as he is running towards them as well, making a dash for the doorway.

Three-Blades is right next to the doorway, hopping over the pew and tackling Rotem from the side before he can get to the wooden doors. Hah!

Hatchet's chokechain jingles as he shakes his head, some water in his ear. His toenails click on the floor as he comes running, jumping on Rotem, trying to get a mouthful of his shoelaces, girring playfully.

Rotem shifts in a blur to the warform, Hatchet's attempt to grab at shoelaces being met with a rather large foot knocking him over, as Rotem tries to extract himself from under Yi.

Three-Blades bounces off the shifted ahroun and tilts her head at him. Now we all smell wet. She shakes some, sending a few drops of water flying off her before she makes for the dais at the altar.

Flying-Wolf shifts slowly back to homid, picking up the discarded gun and placing it aside. "Gee, thanks." Rotem mumbles, shaking his head as he gets up.

Hatchet snorts, rolling to his paws. He cants his head to the side, stratching at his ears a moment with a hind leg, before he too shakes the water off of him.

Three-Blades whuffles in laughter as she flops onto the dais as the once more symbol to the First Assembly of Dog. She splays an ear comically and yawns with a light whine.

Hatchet whuffs, puffing up before he tries to pounce Three-Blades' tail.

Rotem rolls his eyes. "And these are the responsible adults I'm supposed to learning from." he mumbles, smirking. "I don't suppose either of you feel like a wet-training session?"

Three-Blades yips and scooches her hiney off to one side before Nev lands on her tail. She tussles with the galliard, batting at his muzzle with her paws.

Rotem sighs, pumping up the water cannon and leveling it at them. "Okay folks. Don't make me get your attention the hard way." He smirks. "Training? Yoo hooo?"

Three-Blades lolls her tongue, pushing the yellow dog off the dais and pouncing him with jaws clamped onto the back of his neck. Tightly, but not enough to break skin. She growls playfully and uses a forepaw to try and knock him down.

Rotem sighs and releases another blast of water at the two dogs. "Okay, You made me do it."

Hatchet, soaked once again, starts to pant, rolling around so that he's on his belly. All right, squirty. Don't get your ~panties~ in a knot. Training.

From afar, to the room, Hatchet immaturely finds something so amusing about "panties" with little fancy squiggly ~ marks around it.

Rotem puts the gun down. "Training at gunpoint. I like." Rotem smirks, "Okay, forms. Lets get started."

Long distance to the room: Three-Blades facepalms.

From afar, to the room, Rotem simply doesn't dignify it with a reply. :P

Rotem pages to the room: Not that any reply could dignify Nevada's panty fetish....

Three-Blades snorts and lets go as she gets sprayed, only to shake the water off her fur. Not like she's not used to it now, having her pack's territory be around a lake. She leans her head down and licks at Nevada's throat once. I think I like that. Squirty. She whuffles in obvious amusment before looking up at the cub.

Hatchet pages to the room: I don't have a panty fetish --- it's just a talen. You paged the room with 'Whoo!'.

Hatchet pages to the room: They're called Panties of the Wyrm. Their magic talen power is that when I put them on, people think I'm a Black Spiral Dancer. ..... Oh, and a weirdo, too.

Rotem pages to the room: Hatchet, we always think you are a Weirdo.

Rotem shifts up to Glabro. "Okay, what do I need to know?"

Have you ever fired a real ~gun~ before? Hatchet's brown eyes trail to Rotem, even as he begins to groom Three-Blades' fur.

Rotem taps his bad eye. "And I won't be any time soon." He replies simply. "Now, glabro?"

Three-Blades sits, giving the cub some odd look, only more comical as Nevada roughs her fur by grooming. You should learn to speak in the mother tongue, in the near-man form.

The wolf-dog's attention drifts from the Ragabash to Rotem. His head tilts, and he gets a good look at him for once. What happened to your eye?

Rotem looks away from Nev, considering his reply. Rotem doesn't even seem saddened this time. "I can't see out of it. But you know what they say.. you should have seen the other guy!" Rotem smirks and glances over at Yi.

Three-Blades tilts an ear. What do you mean by that, cub? There's the hint of a growl in the question.

Rotem blinks. "We'll duh, I mean that I killed the bitch."

The tilted ear flicks, and the nomoon chuffs explaination to Nevada. We went into the Umbra, and a rat spirit came to us for help. So I hid the rat while the cub battled the tainted owl spirit. It took his eye. And Hope-Star-rhya tried to heal him, but to no avail. A scar earned, as trophy to a battle well fought.

Rotem exhales, shaking his head. "I tell it better." He shrugs, "But yeah, that is about it. I took down that Wyrmspawn solo. Showed the bitch who was boss." Good. The wolf-dog seems proud.

Three-Blades snorts. You know it now. But if it were not for Hope-Star and my efforts to bring you back to your paws, you would have simply lain there and whimpered away your blood.

Rotem snorts for a moment. "Hmph." Is the only reply. "So, training?"

Spread your legs apart so that they are even with your shoulders. Maintain good footing. The wolf-dog begins to blur, passing the shapes up to Crinos. ~Like this.~ The massive werewolf affects a stance. ~You are not firing a real gun. Just a water pistol. But remember that where you put your feet is key. Real guns have kickback. Many will jerk your arm upward and fuck your aim. Some will knock you on your ass.~

Three-Blades flicks her tail tip. You brush me and my words off just as you did that night before we crossed back to the Realm. Hope-Star gets no credit from you in your stories. The nomoon snorts more. Maybe that is why Gaia did not birth you as the talesinger. You only tell the half of the tale and give yourself the Glory. The nomoon growls lowly and hops onto the dais, letting Nevada teach the cub.

Rotem growls softly. "I risked my life. She risked what?" he asks softly, "What did she do that warrants anything more then my gratitude?"

The blond Crinos only rumbles, folding his arms.

Three-Blades stands stifflegged on the dais. It was /by her charity/ that she healed you, cub. I have none of the healing powers. If she had not come, you would have /died/. It is my fault that I lead you that far into the Shadow. And now I regret doing so even more, because it has turned you into a glory hound. The no-moon snaps her jaws, and turns off the dais to climb up the stairs towards the balcony.

Rotem growls and looks back to Nevada. "Ahh, she's so effective. Insult /and/ injury in all in one packedge." Rotem shakes his head.

Hatchet watches the Ragabash, before his head turns back to Rotem. He responds only with a brief flicker of teeth. ~You are not standing right.~ is all he says.

Rotem walks over to Nevada and stands next to him. "Legs part, hands straight and elbows locked. Hold it in both hands. For a rifle one hand on trigger, other on barrel. Press into shoulder so recoil wont hurt. Dude, I watch TV."

Three-Blades lies down on the balcony, half-listening to the lesson below.

~There is a difference between TV and real life... CGI effects and stunt doubles ain't ganna save your ass when you go trying some Matrix shit on the Wyrm.~ The Galliard taps enormous claws to the ridiciously-small-in-comparison watergun. ~A real gun has sights. You close one eye to aim. Hold your breath when you do that... otherwise your shot will be off. But in a real fight, if you have time to aim, your ass will be dead.~

Rotem smirks. "Dude, There is /no/ spoon." He motions to the gun. "Close one eye, eh? Is that really nessicary for me?"

Three-Blades shifts her position so she can have a better view.

~No. But just so you know.~ The Crinos cuts him a glance. ~Gun safety. Just so you know. Guns are ALWAYS loaded. Even if you know they aren't... treat them like they are. Never point 'em at stuff you wouldn't want wrecked. Don't keep your finger on the trigger until you are absolutely ready to fire.~ The flashing red eyes soften, and his ears lay back. ~Don't play with guns.~

Rotem turns and looks to Nevada, as if he was talking about something else, something much more serious. "Man, I really am sorry." Rotem sighs, "I'm know he was your friend."

~It wasn't your fault.~ Buries-the-Hatchet has no malice in his gaze. ~When you fire a gun... make sure it is pointing away from you.~ The werewolf shoulders past him, lumbering toward the pews. He slaps a huge paw to the back of one. ~Make sure you know what is behind your target,~ he continues. ~And what is around your target. Flat hard surfaces can make your bullet richochet. Even water will. Bullets will skip over water like stones will. Gunshot wounds aren't like what they show in the movies, either. The bullet hits you like a spinning missile and it will bounce around inside your body if it hits bones. It may splinter. It will bring bacteria and germs and bad shit from outside, inside. We don't have to worry so much about infection, though. Unless it is Wyrm toxin.~

Three-Blades adds in with a short rumble. Or silver.

Rotem arches an eyebrow. "What's the deal with silver anyway?"

~Three-Blades will explain,~ Hatchet answers. ~Lastly.. for tonight, anyways. Anyone can fire a gun. Anyone. All you need is something to hit the trigger with. A monkey could fire a gun. Granted, there's a whole fuckin' world of skill out there. There's some real good shooters, some real /artists/ with this stuff.. but the bottom line is -- anyone can fire a gun. They might fuckin' suck at it, but one bullet can kill. Even us -- if it's silver. Or if we're in Homid, and can't change 'cause of the Veil. Like bein' in public. Keep this in mind. Some people may suck, but some people can be good. You can make yourself better wit' practice -- firing ranges is expensive, but the best f'that. Otherwise, it's all 'bout hand-eye coordination. You can be better at that if y'play wit' darts or throwin' knives or whatnot.~ The Crinos cants his head to the side, studying him. ~But with only one eye, you're ganna have some depth perception problems. Might help you aim OK, but not if ya target's movin. Shouln't be no problem for awhile, tho'.~ He steps past the Ahroun, bumping his shoulder with his muzzle as he does so. ~Now, Three can tell y'about silver.~

Three-Blades looks down at the pair. Silver hurts all forms, except your birth form. Doesn't mean the bullet doesn't hurt. But the silver burns, worse than fire. We rever the metal, but also fear it. Just know, silver's bad.

Hatchet lumbers down the aisle, blurring through the shapes as he reaches his wet clothes at the end. With a grunt and an eyeroll, he pulls them on, buttoning up, zipping up, adjusting his jacket. "See y'all around," he calls, then to Three-Blades: "Think I'm ganna be in late tonight." He makes his way out.

Rotem shrugs at this, "So, no silver. Okay, guess the old stories aren't all wrong." Rotem smiles and moves to sit in a pew. "Yi? What do you think that Rat is gonna leave me?"

Three-Blades rumbles quietly. I do not know. The rat spirit can only leave what it can. But you did slay its hunter, and it will return in kind what it can.

Rotem nods his head softly. "W-what if I don't want anything. I just want to hang with him for a while. Like Shadow Claws and Kaz. Y'know? Kinda have a new friend."

Three-Blades thinks, you will have to ask the rat about it.

Rotem says "I don't know how to talk to spirits, how can I ask him?""

Three-Blades gets up from the balcony, stepping down the stairs with some caution and trotting over to the dais to lie on that instead. You speak to the spirit. It understands you. Whether it wants you to understand it, is where the communication breaks down. It is easier to speak to them when one has the gift that allows the tongue to speak their language. The seer moons know it better than the other auspices.

Rotem considers this for a moment. "So if I talk to Hope Star, or Elan-Rhya, Maybe they can talk to it?"

Three-Blades gives the cub a chuff. You will have to get another to go with you to the Shadow, that is certain. Hope-Star-rhya, I may ask. But she is busy, at times. We will see.