Cellphone Spirit Awakening
11/8/2007
06:45 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning New Moon phase (8% full).
It is currently 18:45 Pacific Time on Thu Nov 8 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.80 and falling, and the relative humidity is 77 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
Promontory Cave
The flickering light of the fire throws the rough walls of this cave into harsh relief. In the unsteady illumination, in the closeness of the fire's warmth, the crackle of tinder, the haze of the smoke that curls up and back from the low domed roof, there is a certain timeless sense of place. The cave walls around you are a panorama of primitive color, scrawled upon in browns, yellows, and whites with crude paintings that might well, you believe, outline the partial story of a people. A brown elk crouches in the shifting shadow of an outcropping across the cave to the east; to the north, a bird in white dominates the scene, surrounded by waving gusts of wind. The southern wall is adorned with curious black hoops, and a large yellow tree growing at their center, while the cave mouth to the west is ringed in by black bolts of lightning. The play of light and dark across these images is dizzying, almost hallucinatory; if you let your mind wander, you can easily imagine the soft beat of distant drums...
A healthy fire burns in a ring of stones at the cave's center; you feel you might 'darken' it to put it out. There are some 'scents' lingering in the air here.
A fair-sized cave opening leads back out west to the promontory.
Contents:
Silvertip
Obvious exits:
Promontory
There's a small, hot fire going in the cave, throwing light on all the surfaces this late evening hour. Ciuraq, in homid, shuffles about the place as he goes about his work. Near the fire he has several things laid out: a small wire knife, a pick, a steel needle, his regular, metal knife, and his captive, the cellphone. One other thing someone might notice is he's largely missing an arm, from just below elbow on down. And it's probably just this that causes him some difficulty in putting on a belt over his autumnal clothing. When he finally manages this task, the warrior kneels down, picks up a single dance fan, and begins to 'dance'. Without any drum, his tempo creeps up and down in a regular pattern, like comparisons on an oscilloscope, but he keeps his time well enough. Around a minute into the dance, he begins to chant out a song in time with the beat in heavily slurred yup'ik.
The steady beat rising and falling goes on with no results to show at first. It is only for the patient ritemaster, one who can keep up chanting and dancing for nearly twenty whole minutes or even longer (such things being hard to tell without counting), that mysterious things begin to happen to the object of the ritual. A flicker of electricity, perhaps a fluke of what's left in the battery, lights the screen for a few seconds following a heavy beat.
Ciuraq seems to notice this as his efforts are beginning to wane. Almost immediatly he redoubles, singing louder than before, making the beat more obvious with his tone. His inflection even clears up a bit, to give the beats more of a sharp 'edge.'
In the minutes following the first glimmer, the cellphone beep-beep-beeps with an alert of a text message received.
Ciuraq stops almost immediatly, setting his dance fan aside to pick up the cell and flick it open. He squints on down at the screen.
On the screen shows a message received alert, opened up to reveal the following: o man! dis is crz... -_- Then after the message is viewed for a few seconds, the battery low message appears right afterwards.
Ciuraq blinks a few times at the message, turning the phone over in his hand once. He makes a face, before jabbing at '0' with his thumb, then 'send'. He puts the phone up to his ear.
Despite there being absolutely no service out here, evidenced by the lack of signal bars, the phone plays a little electronic ditty asking the ahroun to hold while the other party is being reached. Few seconds more, and a static-y, almost incomprehensible series of touchtones invades the ear. *No signal here. Searching...*
*Waqaa,* He calls into the phone, as if it had connected with someone. Even though his words are in Yup'ik, they're filtered through spirit speech. *No signal. It is too far from 'Carrier.' We cannot call anyone else.*
*Connection made,* replies the spirit, sounding like an odd touchtone dial tone phone rather than the higher tech noises. *Caller ID not found. Identify sender.*
*My name is 'He fixes phones.'* Ciuraq replies, putting emphasis on the verb. *I need to speak to the operator about calls made on this phone.*
A couple of tones beep, then silence. At first it seems like the phone has gone dead. Then, it crackles back to life with static and an automated sounding voice with a pleasant tone. *Operators are standing by to take your call. Please hold for the next available representative...* Following a moment more of hold music, the phone connects again with a click. "Operator," speaks a man on the other side of the phone line.
*Hello, I need to ask about some calls that were placed on this phone.* Ciuraq's still using Yup'ik, filtered through spirit speech.
The phone crackles with static again, threatening signal loss but holding on. The male voice at the other end seems less human once he begins to speak more than just a simple word, answering Ciuraq with, *State the date or time of the call.* The innate sense of the spirit speech Gift gives the ahroun a deeper knowledge - this is no human on the other end of the line, but the spirit of the phone itself.
*Last call.* Ciuraq answers, a bit quicker. *I want to know what was said on the last call.*
*Searching network...* The ahroun is put on a soundless hold this time, left to wait until a stream of voices can be heard. Sounds of growling and snarling a bit too static filled to make out but identifiably wolven can be heard in the background. A wheezing, rasping male voice speaks, "Take the Interstate and pack the cars. We move tonight." A second male voice responds, this one clearer and definitely with a mid-line fear in his tone, "It's a full moon, though. They're going to be out there. They're going to Know. They're going to--" That's when the wheezer hacks out, "Of course they will! They'll know everything by the time we're upon them. They'll know we aren't using silver, but we are packing. And then they will know Nothing." "But boss, that's suicide." "No. It's Sacrifice."
Ciuraq listens attentively, his face taking on a variety of moods as the words cross. When it's clear the call is over, he waits a few seconds, before brusquely adding, *Previous call please.*
The previous call takes even longer to recall. "There's nothing to be afraid of in death." This voice is a quiet one, calm and steady. Male again, well spoken from the sound of it. He's interrupted only by bits of static and another Battery Low beep warning. "...The Father will bring you home and you will bask in his Glory forever and ever." Again, the raspy voice returns only this time it is he who sounds fearful. "Will there be pain?" asks the wheezer. "Yes," answers the speaker, "there will be pain. But Then, there will be light, and you will see the Truth. You will see that they who are undeserving of the Father's blessings, they who are undeserving of the spirit voices whispering enlightenment, they who have suckled on the sour teats of the Mother Bitch for too long, will fall again. Understand?" "Yes, yes I understand. I will tell the others." "Good. I will not call again."
Ciuraq's voice takes on a frustrated note, as he asks, no less urgently. *Where did this call-- Where did the third to final call take place? What tower?*
A series of searching tones sounds, as if the spirit were confused with the ahroun. To placate him, a classical song of jaunty pace is played after asking him to hold once more. The song almost gets through its entirety, and then the phone spits out a sorry blurp of touchtones. *Washington, Gerlord County, St. Claire. T-1027, US Cellular Broadcasting.*
Ciuraq's frustrations grows, his grip tightening just a little. He transfers the phone to his shoulder as he scratches something into the dirt. "Where any of the last ten calls not in St. Claire?
*Last ten calls made in: ...* begins the cellphone spirit, listing off tower after tower. The seven calls it gets through to towers from the St. Claire region, and the last three are made across the river in Kent Crossing. *If you would like to repeat this information, press the Star key.*
Ciuraq scratches down a few more bits of into the soil, using his regular knife to aid in this endeavour as holds the phone in place with his shoulder. *Where did the last ten incoming calls originate?* He asks, drawing a line to separate his last few 'notes' from everything else.
A few clicks and transferring tones later, the spirit lists off incoming calls originating from neighboring counties that are recognizably close to city of Yakima and a couple from the Hanford area. Again, the information is repeatable with a press of a Star key, but the cellphone suddenly powers down.
Ciuraq's in the middle of copying the information down when the phone cuts off. This seems to piss him off to no end. Carefully, he sets down the phone, and takes several deep breaths.
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