Meeting Fred

6/27/2006

09:53 AM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (9% full).
It is currently 09:41 Pacific Time on Tue Jun 27 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 69 degrees Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.95 and steady, and the relative humidity is 60 percent. The dewpoint is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Odeon - Theatre(#3973RA)
The floor sticks to one's shoes like flypaper, and the seats all sag limply under even the slightest pressure. It's dark and dank with the evaporation of untold unknown liquids, and sounds echo menacingly off the soundproofed, honeycombed walls. The theatre is like a giant abandoned hive filled with row upon row of empty egg sacs; about a hundred of them, arranged in two columns, with three neat walkways, one through the middle and one on either side. High up and inset over the lobby doors is the projectionist's booth, a small alcove overlooking the theatre; opposite it is the screen, framed by ratty curtains that no longer close, and taking up most of the wall. It can no longer serve it's purpose, though: the screen is no longer blank, scrawled across it, from top to bottom, is a disconcerting mess of fluorescent grafitti which glows out bright oranges and greens even in the dark theatre. Like massive glowing worms the lines coil in and out of tags and outlines of images, in a roiling, reeling, psychedelic nightmare. The hundred empty seats all point towards it, mute and dusty.
Contents:
Fred
Squeaks
Obvious exits:
LObby  Alley  

Still smelling faintly of the Zest soap Emma forced him to bathe with, Fred is seated on the small stage, the brightly spray painted screen hanging behind him. The bearded Gnawer has collected a large pile of small gravel stone and is tossing them toward an old plastic bowl, one by one.

[look Fred (homid)]
A filthy well-beaten wide-brimmed hat is the first thing one is likely to notice about Fred, followed by the fact that he is wearing a pair of equally filthy jeans that are being held up by a pair of suspenders. A once white shirt is only partially closed and is more of a grayish brown these days, the elbows having long since worn through. Easily visible due to the partially open shirt, the man wears a necklace and a plain 'Medicine Bag' made out of soft deer hide. The Necklace is made out of turtle shells, feathers, and sinew. There is a small but clearly defined sigil on the largest and central shell. Across his shoulders, the fellow carries a well worn cloth bag that clearly holds a few items.
Fred is Caucasian by descent, with a heavy brown beard that more closely resembles a small forest then facial hair. The parts of his face that are not obscured by the beard are heavily tanned and wrinkled, giving him the appearance of one who is forty or older.

The noise of the gravel has long wakened the metis cub. Squeaks stares at each arc of each stone like this were the most fascinating thing since that old deer femur brought in from the woods. Her concentration doesn't even break when the theater doors towards the lobby rattle a little bit before they open, admitting the fostern newmoon in. Her arm cradling a brown paper bag, Yi peers into the darkness and her voice pipes up just one. "Squeaks?" The jackal's voice quickly modulates it to a near grating squeak itself.

Fred looks up from his seat, only last stone clattering into the plastic bowl. "Whose thar?"

Yi furrows her brow at the very non-crinos voice, coming quickly down the center aisle, eyes seeking the voice's source. Her other hand reaches into a pocket and clicks open a lighter that she uses for a source of light. When she does find Fred, the fostern stops still and evaluates him for a long moment. Then she dips her head just once in greeting. One identity found, her eyes stray off to peer through the dim flickering shadows to find the other. "Squeaks?" she calls out again, this time with a definite high pitched squeak to her voice like chalkboard and nails.

Fred winces, rubbing at his ears with both hands. "Now that thar is one unpleasant soundin' voice, Chink. Whadda do fer them ta do that to ya? An' that kid is over there," the man points toward one section of seats. "Jus' watchin' me toss stones."

The 'kid' being just visible at the edge of the front row section, Squeaks answers Yi with a twitch of her ears and tail. Yi sharply turns her eyes back on Fred soon after, dropping the bag from her arms onto one of the seats. Whatever's in it doesn't particularly need handling with care. The newmoon doesn't answer Fred's posed question, instead heading further down the aisle to the screen, and drawing out a lantern to light up. Only when that's done and her lighter is put away, does she return with both. Her head inclines, chin lifting once in askance to the other man's presence here.

Fred tugs at his tangled beard, fingers only able to make so much headway in the tangled mess. ''M Fred. Olga an' some one-eyed fellow by the name'a Basil left me here an' said I should stay put, 'less I leave with someone."

Yi seems to visibly relax a couple of notches under the namedropping. She nods to Fred like he's passed some unspoken test, setting the lantern down on the floor and moving over to lean against a seat arm. Her hand gestures, inviting him to continue on with any other information he might like to share.

Fred seems rather confused by the Fostern's actions, giving his beard yet another tug and squinting at Yi in the poor lighting.

There's movement to be heard upstairs as Giles slips into the Odeon and wanders around, neither calling out nor being stealthy. He appears very shortly at the doorway into the theatre, blinking owlishly into the darkness and staring, bemused, at the fluorescent graffiti covering the big screen.

Yi sighs lightly, a little frustration and tension voiced as she asks sparingly. "Your auspice?" The crackle of pitch causes discomfort to her own ears. Think of poor Squeaks, who whines lightly from her corner. From the corner of her own eye, Yi gazes sidelong towards the opened doorway again, towards Giles.

Fred ohs softly. "Philodox, an' gotta name of Stops-Arguments, but I ain't really used a Garou name since I left Ma an' the farm."

Giles stands as though he doesn't quite trust the ground. His shoulders are hunched, arms tucked in close to his angular body, one hand hovering near his chin. "I," he says, and then, "I, I, I, I... may I?" His eyes shift from the fouled screen to Yi. "Come sin?"

Yi looks over towards the hesitant one, and waves him in, eyes rolling lightly. Like she needs to be asked of these things from family. Then she turns back to the halfmoon and nods, looking a bit amused by the deedname given.

Fred's finger untangle from his beard with a little effort. "Like I said before, I ain't supposed ta leave without a guide of sorts. Not used ta St. Claire anymore. It ain't the small minin' town that it used ta be, when I was here last."

Giles, muttering, "Sin, sin, sin," under his breath, walks over to join the other two. He squints a little at Fred, studying him closely.

You paged Giles with 'I don't think we would've left Sheena to rot for this long though, without a phone call. Sorry I didn't get around to doing that scene with you though. Guess we'll just have to work with it, eh?'.

Yi's brows lift with this mining town mention. Something or other sparks the curiosity in her gaze up once more. It's like shedding a whole new light on the whole deal. Wide brim hat, beard... 'chink'. She doesn't make much comment though, but to nod a couple of times in response. As Giles comes over, she gives him a friendlier, inviting smile and tilts her head at Fred to indicate the 'newer' new guy.

"Now I know yer all squeaky voiced right now, Chink," Fred grumbles. "But you can at least have the decency ta give a fellow yer name. Yer English didn't sound all that bad. Hell, ya sound like you spent a fair bit of time workin' in some Englishman's house."

Giles jerks himself upright, his puzzled frown twitching into more obvious upset. "That's not pull flight," he says to Fred, eyes boinging between the man and Yi. His hand digs into the hair at his right temple. "*Polite*. It's, it's it's, it's not *right*. Spigot."

Yi really does look amused now, her Jackal's voice temporarily shoved aside in her mind. "I am Yi," she offers forth, already attempting to keep things short and sweet, and somewhat bearable. "Runs-the-Gauntlet, or Runner, fostern ragabash of the Bone Gnawers." Giles and Fred both get an apologetic dip of her head after, for the discomfort caused to their ears.

"Fostern?" Fred gapes a bit, having a little trouble wrapping his mind around that concept for some reason. "Damn. I swear, nothin' is the way it used ta be."

Giles is still frowning at Fred, his expression full of stuffy disapproval. "Everything goes around. You're not in Oz anymore, the... the, the, the *turds* out of your *mouth* aren't *right*, they're too blue, the colors *do* run."

Yi furrows her brow at the philodox. "What is that supposed to mean?" she squeezes out, that touch of mild indignance extrapolated and enhanced to a whine, making even herself pause with a wince. A clear of the throat later, she nods at Giles in thanks for his support.

Fred rubs at his right ear. "Well, yer a Chink. Only yellow-types I ever seen were normally workin' on the rails. Or gettin' chased outta town, fer most of the time I spent in California. Sure as heck never seen on that was a Gnawer. Heard all of'em Stargazers were chinks, if'em gettin' the name right. Never met one, mind you."

Giles's agitation spikes; he fidgets from foot to foot and pulls hard at his hair. "Stop using that word! Th-that word, word, word, word-word, word-word..." He's in broken-record mode again, in a verbal loop.

Yi wets her lips as she mulls that over, but Giles' agitation draws in her attention. Her hand lifts to try and calm the galliard. "He could say worse. Times have changed a lot," she utters softly. Then she levels an eye on the bearded man. "Where have you been then, in the past years? Under a rock?"

"Some sort of Weaver place, in the Umbra," Fred replies after a moment of thought. "Was eaten the place ta get by. Was in thar fer three, maybe up ta five years. Place didn't like me eatin' it an' just sort'a fell apart recent-like."

Giles calms down somewhat at Yi's touch, and he puts a hand over his mouth, biting down hard on the heel of his hand to hush himself. But he still stares at Fred like a disapproving schoolteacher.

"The Umbra?" Yi repeats, a bit distracted by Giles. Then, head quirking, she eyes Fred closely. "In what year were you born?"

"Eighteen-thirty, accordin' to my Ma," Fred replies, leaning back and resting some of his weight on his hands.

Giles mumbles something, muffled by the flesh between his teeth.

Yi parts her lips, about to say something, but all her words screech to a halt at the year. It takes a few moments for math, but then she stares awhile longer, a bit dumbstruck. Her brown eyes afterwards turn back to Giles. Her brows lift in askance to his previous muttering. "Hm?"

Fred sits up and tugs at his beard once again. "Showed up here 'round eighteen fifty-five'er so. Got stuck 'bout six years after that." The man scowls. "Yea. Six years sounds 'bout right."

Giles shakes his head slightly, still glowering at Fred. He releases his hand from his teeth and says, with surprising lucidity, "No chink, no nigger, no spic, no wop, *none* of those, those words. They are *bad* and they are *hurtful*." He even waggles a finger at the other man.

Yi blinks a couple of times, herself surprised that there wasn't so much as a stutter between the words coming from the galliard. "Then... you must have had a shock, seeing the world out there," she says slowly to Fred, glancing towards the exit.

Fred nods, looking around the building. "You ain't kiddin' there. Nothin' is like it used ta be. Everythin' smells, the buildin's are far to big, ya got these damn 'cars', 'electrcity everywhere, an' everyone seems ta have plummin'."

"Welcome to Gaia, year 2006," Yi says with a slow, attempt-at-quiet observation. "Giles." She turns to the galliard, a small smile seating itself back on her face. "Olga give you two Chiminage, yet? If not, you should ask after it soon. One year, or a hundred years of stories, nothing compares to seeing the caern with your own eyes."

Fred's eyebrows scrunch together. "I canna imagine the Injuns would be all that inclined toward lettin' our type inta the Caern."

"The /Wendigo/ and /Uktena/," Yi clarifies quickly, "are the Guardians. The caern itself, holds a Get as Warder and Shadow Lord as Alpha." One hand comes up to rub her throat, as if trying to rub away the jackal futilely.

Fred blinks. "Now hold on a sec, ya got a Shadow Lord runnin' the show here an' he ain't made a point of killin' all the Injuns? Ain't he worried 'bout an' arrow in the back, or some such from that lot?"

Yi glances again to the exit, and then back to the bearded one. She just shakes her head in answer. "Something tells me Culls-the-Herd worries far less about that than most. She, and we, have worse things to be concerned for."

Fred shakes his head. "We'll, this town ain't that pretty anymore, tha's fer certain. Nothin' here is what it used ta be like." The man scowls. "I got me a Fetish. Would that do fer Chiminage?"

Shrugging, Yi doesn't seem to mind the change that's been implied. She does, though, perk up greatly at the mention of a fetish. As if hesitant to ask, she leans forward a little. "What is it?"

Fred lifts up the Medicine Bag that dangles from around his neck. "This here helps with healin'. If ya wear it, ya heal up twice as fast as normal. So long as yer restin' mind you. Not gonna work if you're doing lots an' lots of walkin' an' the like."

Yi looks over the medicine bag like she only notices it for the first time, eyes having to squint at it in the near-dark. Her nod is one of understanding, appreciation, and respect for the object coupled with a few notches up for its wielder. "Talk to Olga about it," she says as mildly as she can. Her next statement makes her curiosity hard to deny, though. "How did you get it?"

Fred shrugs and offers a very simple, if vague answer. "Picked it up 'long the way."

Yi makes a face, clearly not just satisfied with that answer. But, she doesn't question further. She simply nods, pushing up to a straighter stance. "We will see what Olga thinks about it," she determines, eyes still on the peculiar pouch.

Fred drops the bag back around his neck, the leather pouch plain and unassuming. "S'usful fer gettin' back on yer feet an' the like, after takin' a real beatin'."

Nodding, Yi turns her attentions back to the theater proper, tracking for the metis cub. "I guess you have met Squeaks, too. And any others?"

Fred shakes his head. "'Fraid not. Jus' the kid, Olga an' Basil."

Slipping through the lobby doors, Masao looks about owlishly and grunts a little when she moves her head too quickly. Making sure the door is shut behind her, she tilts her head at the voices and calls out in a familiar, grating voice, "Yi? Who you got there with ya?"

Yi turns her head quickly at the sound of Masao's voice. A smile brightens on her face, even with the grating voice calling her name. She grabs up the lantern, hoisting it to help light up herself and Fred, and waves the younger ragabash over. "Come," she indicates, "new guy."

Fred squints into the darkness. "Oh. So yer sayin' the kid with the MC-Don-alds is a Gnawer as well?"

"New guy, huh?" Masao replies as the light is raised and leaves her blinking a bit in surprise. "You? Fred?" She looks slightly dumbfounded for a moment before she gets a hold of herself and starts over to the pair. "Why...how...dang."

Yi glances between the two, particularly at the ragabash's injuries, and then sets the light down. "Know each other?" she queries quietly.

"This one here got me some food first day back," Fred begins. "Strangest stuff I've ever tasted, but not bad at all. Better then the stone soup I'd been eatin' fer years, even if it did give me the shits somethin' fierce."

Masao does move a little stiffly as she walks over, but doesn't do much more than hitch a corner of her mouth up now and then. "Came by him on Bridge the other day, yeah. Just did usual and was lookin' out for him." She turns an apologetic smile on Fred and gives a small shrug, "Sorry 'bout that. Was the best I could find ya on moment's notice and not getcha more lost in our rats nest of a city."

"Ah," Yi replies, albeit it gets a little confusing for her to interpret at first. Just smile and nod, that's the way. "Real introductions, then, seem in order."

Fred lifts his hat a little. "'M jus' Fred an' a Philodox. Born eighteen thirty, since that seems ta be an important factor."

Masao gives a mock-bow of sorts and gives a brighter smile, "Masao Leaves-None-Behind, Ragabash, Cliath, and frequent glutton for punishment. Dang, Edward did guess pretty right on that year, didn't he?" She pauses to consider that and shakes her head, "How the -hell- can you be -that- old? Sure don' look it..."

Bearing through the other newmoon's voiced introduction with a stiff, forced smile to keep from wincing, Yi offers by way of explanation, "The Umbra is strange, sometimes."

Fred tugs at his beard. "Got stuck in the Umbra fer a spell. Time musta passed differently fer me, or some such."

Masao blinks rapidly and taps her fingers on her chin. "Oh..." she says, voice dropping to a softer murmur that's just audible enough and perhaps a little easier to bear. "Yeah, definitely strange. Glad you popped back out, though."

"So, Masao," Yi interrupts with a small clearing squeak on her part. "Think you can take Rip Van Winkle around?"

Fred rubs rather viciously at his ears. "Mind if I ask you folks why yer all jackaled?"

"I can do that, yeah. I'll leave the taco place off the tour, though." Masao replies with a nod before the question distracts her. One hand reaches up to scratch at the back of her neck. "Yeesh. That's a story."

Yi's gaze goes downcast for a bit at the question, and her reluctance to tell is quite obvious. "Sometimes," she answers vaguely, "you make sacrifices." That seems to put her off much more conversation, as she picks herself up off from leaning against seats, and makes her way past the two. As she passes by Sao, she signs a quick gesture, as a suggestion. 'Should show him the upper, scenic route.' The smile is one only a fox could give. And then she continues on towards the back of the theater, out into the lobby.

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