Fucking darkmoons.
Wednesday, 19 March 2014 11:00![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeremiah_garouMarch 19, 2014
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (78% full).
The particular area of the scarred forest is off the road, off the path, a small clearing that's nothing in particular except for having some tall trees and a stream, and being on the path northwards towards some of the roads through the Scarred Forest. And yet, there's a black-furred wolf, scarred and broad-shouldered and a bit dirty, restlessly and very quietly pacing near one of the trees at the moment.
Slug comes walking from the north with what appears to be a big ass branch in one hairy hand, using it as some kind of walking stick. The Gnawer picks his way through the brush, stopping now and then to root amongst the dirt, or run his hand along the stems and leaves of the many plants that are beginning to spring up.
It's not until Slug is within about twenty yards that the wolf's ears prick up, and he pauses in his pacing and moodiness to look at the other Gnawer. If it weren't for the pausing, it's possible the wolf would have taken even longer to notice. Or not noticed at all. Lives-On's tail lashes a few times, and he takes a few large, quick steps to put himself into Slug's path, looking up. What happened to you?
Slug looks at the wolf, his hand going rigid around the stiff piece of wood in his grasp. He stares at it for a short while, then eases up, relaxing, but not by much. ~Bad things,~ he says. ~Nothing good. But nothing that'll put me in the ground.~ He looks at his stump, then at Jeremiah. ~It'll grow back. Most things do. Itches like crazy.~
The ahroun paces a tight circle. Of course it does. The jackal effect is less painfully evident in lupus form, though the cliath still sounds ridiculous every time he makes any sound, squeaky wolf that he is. But it's understandable, easily enough. And then Lives-On repeats the question, a little more specifically, his upper lip curling to bare his teeth. What sort of bad things? How did you lose your arm?
~Alligator ate it,~ Slug says, in a dry, almost annoyed tone. Like he's tired of explaining it, or he doesn't enjoy talking about it. ~You uh... Ever gonna get that voice thing fixed up? How long is that punishment anyways?~ The last bit of the question gives him reason to pause. ~Fell into a trap. Had to run. Shit was bad, but whatever.~
Lives-On lowers his head nearly to the ground, twisting his neck slightly in apology first, and then rapidly, lupine expression changes and his own annoyance showing at the question about the punishment. Until Lives-On is a big damn hero in service to the Sept, the answer comes. Or until Lives-On leaves forever, and he doesn't think the spirits will let him. Dumped me out of the umbra here once, they may do so again if I tried to leave if I'm not done. There's a few steps forward to close most but not all of the distance, room left for rage and personal space, and then the wolf settles on his haunches. That was dumb, he comments. Should not fall into traps by yourself, that's how garou get killed.
"Meh. Make Fostern, and you'll be fine. People will forget if you hang around long enough. Trust me." Slug slides his stick between himself and Jeremiah when the wolf starts closing in, his one eye staring at him warily. High Rage, big moon, and a lack of his right forearm are making the Garou awful antsy. "When you fall into a trap, you aren't like, planning to. If you were, you wouldn't do it by yourself."
In contrast, even with the weight of the moon, the ahroun seems composed, calm, and controlled. Incredibly controlled, for the amount of rage that's evident in his frame and posture and the coiled muscles, but there's no further movement visible. What were you doing when you fell into the trap? Lives-On questions. You knew to start with that we are all supposed to be being careful right now, right? That there are people trying to find members of our tribe?
~Ragabash stuff,~ Slug says, sort of shrugging. ~Ragabash usually scout with other Ragabashes, or all alone. It's hard to do that kind of stuff when you're with other people. It would have been worse if I had someone else with me that wasn't able to slip away like I could. I'm not saying that 'cause I think I'm hot shit, but because that's just the way it is sometimes. If I thought there was a chance of getting caught, or if I needed more Ragabashes, I'd have brought them. Now we know.~
Lives-On still seems somewhat frustrated with the older Bone Gnawer, but it shows as a splaying of ears and another repetition of 'that was dumb' and the ahroun's tail hitting the ground a few times, rather than any threat of violence, movement, or advancing of his position. Then there's actually silence, with it being obvious that the cliath is thinking, and then there's a sort of lupine shrug of his own that Lives-On gives. Next time you feel like doing something dumb, find someone to watch your back, he adds, and it carries weight in Lives-On's expression and the iron grip he maintains on his rage nonetheless, although it's far from an order from the anruth. Even if it's from a distance.
And then a split second later, the wolf is gone, and the ahroun's in his birth form, and it's the speed of well-controlled rage with which he closes the gap, and punches the Ragabash flat in the face, a precise right hook to the side of the jaw with alertness to any retaliation that might follow. Hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to break anything or such that it won't immediately heal, and Jeremiah backs off back to his original distance. "Like I said, that was really dumb," he says, as seriously as he can, which... doesn't work so well, but the expression on his face is dead serious. "Now we're down one for however long until your arm grows back."
Slug probably wasn't expecting to take a hit, or maybe he's still just plain tired as shit. Whatever the reason, the Gnawer doesn't move or react in time to do much about Jeremiah's attack. It just works out in his favor that the Gnawer uses Homid, and he's still in Glabro! There's a solid 'thock' of flesh and bone colliding, and the Ragabash's head snaps back with a grunt. The crunch of teeth gnashing against teeth is followed by the steady grind of the Glabro's fangs resetting. Surprisingly, he doesn't look mad. Not as mad as a Fostern getting punched by a Cliath should be, really. The Glabro works his jaw from side to side, then spits out a glob of blood on Jeremiah's right shoe. ~Ragabash do dumb things all the time,~ Slug grumbles, opening and closing his jaw a bit to let it set back into place.
Jeremiah looks down at his shoe, moves to wipe it off on the dirt, and a moment later, there's a deep breath and the ahroun takes lupus again, moving a pace backwards off to lay on the ground once more. No-moons do dumb things, he agrees, still a little irritated. That doesn't make it right or good or mean that you should go do dumb things more. We need no-moons.
~You're an Ahroun,~ Slug says, grunting. ~Sometimes the only way to do a thing that needs doing is the Ragabash's way. Quiet. Fast. Alone. It sucks, it's dangerous, but sometimes that's just the way shit is. If I had other Ragabash I could have dragged along, I probably would have. But I didn't.~ He tsks, then stabs the stick into the dirt. ~But I know what you mean.~
Lives-On snorts at something, and licks one forepaw, the tension of the big moon still beneath the surface, but pushed away all the same. All of you, Lives-On states, all of you just as frustrating and just as stubborn and just as hopeless. He pauses, sets his paw down, and then adds. Lives-On does not want to see his tribemates die like that. That comes with an additional measure of grumping, and unhappiness at other recent circumstances, though not at the surface.
~I don't want to see me die either,~ Slug says, looking down at himself. ~I like being alive. It's fun. It's way more fun than being dead. But part of why I did what I did was so the Sept could also keep being alive. People have risked more for the Sept.~
Lives-On knows that, he adds. Not that you were wrong to do what you did. Just, be more right about it next time, please? The wolf's manner gentles, as much as it can on this moon at least, which leaves it still significantly harsh and a good bit comical. There's a pause, and the cliath points out that he would risk everything for this sept. For any Gaian sept. That that is part of why he stayed, why he accepted the terms that it would have to be a huge act of heroism, even though the ahroun is just an ahroun, not a hero. Just an ahroun. Point him at something and he will kill most things, even if he dies once or twice in the process.
~Meh,~ Slug responds, rolling his brawny shoulders. ~Every Garou is a footsoldier. An Ahroun that fights good isn't much of an Ahroun. It's all about leading and inspiring, being all brave and knightly and shit. Don't go looking to be a hero. You'll die that way. Just do whatever you have to to survive, to make the Caern a better place. When the chips are down, you'll get your chance.~
It's about doing the right thing, no matter what, the cliath responds, lifting his head to look up at the fostern Gnawer. It's a very direct look that Lives-On gives. It's about honour, not glory, or at least, more or less. It's about defending those who need it. I just wish I could see more to be able to do what I need to better. I don't see a brick wall until I run into it, sometimes.
The moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (78% full).
The particular area of the scarred forest is off the road, off the path, a small clearing that's nothing in particular except for having some tall trees and a stream, and being on the path northwards towards some of the roads through the Scarred Forest. And yet, there's a black-furred wolf, scarred and broad-shouldered and a bit dirty, restlessly and very quietly pacing near one of the trees at the moment.
Slug comes walking from the north with what appears to be a big ass branch in one hairy hand, using it as some kind of walking stick. The Gnawer picks his way through the brush, stopping now and then to root amongst the dirt, or run his hand along the stems and leaves of the many plants that are beginning to spring up.
It's not until Slug is within about twenty yards that the wolf's ears prick up, and he pauses in his pacing and moodiness to look at the other Gnawer. If it weren't for the pausing, it's possible the wolf would have taken even longer to notice. Or not noticed at all. Lives-On's tail lashes a few times, and he takes a few large, quick steps to put himself into Slug's path, looking up. What happened to you?
Slug looks at the wolf, his hand going rigid around the stiff piece of wood in his grasp. He stares at it for a short while, then eases up, relaxing, but not by much. ~Bad things,~ he says. ~Nothing good. But nothing that'll put me in the ground.~ He looks at his stump, then at Jeremiah. ~It'll grow back. Most things do. Itches like crazy.~
The ahroun paces a tight circle. Of course it does. The jackal effect is less painfully evident in lupus form, though the cliath still sounds ridiculous every time he makes any sound, squeaky wolf that he is. But it's understandable, easily enough. And then Lives-On repeats the question, a little more specifically, his upper lip curling to bare his teeth. What sort of bad things? How did you lose your arm?
~Alligator ate it,~ Slug says, in a dry, almost annoyed tone. Like he's tired of explaining it, or he doesn't enjoy talking about it. ~You uh... Ever gonna get that voice thing fixed up? How long is that punishment anyways?~ The last bit of the question gives him reason to pause. ~Fell into a trap. Had to run. Shit was bad, but whatever.~
Lives-On lowers his head nearly to the ground, twisting his neck slightly in apology first, and then rapidly, lupine expression changes and his own annoyance showing at the question about the punishment. Until Lives-On is a big damn hero in service to the Sept, the answer comes. Or until Lives-On leaves forever, and he doesn't think the spirits will let him. Dumped me out of the umbra here once, they may do so again if I tried to leave if I'm not done. There's a few steps forward to close most but not all of the distance, room left for rage and personal space, and then the wolf settles on his haunches. That was dumb, he comments. Should not fall into traps by yourself, that's how garou get killed.
"Meh. Make Fostern, and you'll be fine. People will forget if you hang around long enough. Trust me." Slug slides his stick between himself and Jeremiah when the wolf starts closing in, his one eye staring at him warily. High Rage, big moon, and a lack of his right forearm are making the Garou awful antsy. "When you fall into a trap, you aren't like, planning to. If you were, you wouldn't do it by yourself."
In contrast, even with the weight of the moon, the ahroun seems composed, calm, and controlled. Incredibly controlled, for the amount of rage that's evident in his frame and posture and the coiled muscles, but there's no further movement visible. What were you doing when you fell into the trap? Lives-On questions. You knew to start with that we are all supposed to be being careful right now, right? That there are people trying to find members of our tribe?
~Ragabash stuff,~ Slug says, sort of shrugging. ~Ragabash usually scout with other Ragabashes, or all alone. It's hard to do that kind of stuff when you're with other people. It would have been worse if I had someone else with me that wasn't able to slip away like I could. I'm not saying that 'cause I think I'm hot shit, but because that's just the way it is sometimes. If I thought there was a chance of getting caught, or if I needed more Ragabashes, I'd have brought them. Now we know.~
Lives-On still seems somewhat frustrated with the older Bone Gnawer, but it shows as a splaying of ears and another repetition of 'that was dumb' and the ahroun's tail hitting the ground a few times, rather than any threat of violence, movement, or advancing of his position. Then there's actually silence, with it being obvious that the cliath is thinking, and then there's a sort of lupine shrug of his own that Lives-On gives. Next time you feel like doing something dumb, find someone to watch your back, he adds, and it carries weight in Lives-On's expression and the iron grip he maintains on his rage nonetheless, although it's far from an order from the anruth. Even if it's from a distance.
And then a split second later, the wolf is gone, and the ahroun's in his birth form, and it's the speed of well-controlled rage with which he closes the gap, and punches the Ragabash flat in the face, a precise right hook to the side of the jaw with alertness to any retaliation that might follow. Hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to break anything or such that it won't immediately heal, and Jeremiah backs off back to his original distance. "Like I said, that was really dumb," he says, as seriously as he can, which... doesn't work so well, but the expression on his face is dead serious. "Now we're down one for however long until your arm grows back."
Slug probably wasn't expecting to take a hit, or maybe he's still just plain tired as shit. Whatever the reason, the Gnawer doesn't move or react in time to do much about Jeremiah's attack. It just works out in his favor that the Gnawer uses Homid, and he's still in Glabro! There's a solid 'thock' of flesh and bone colliding, and the Ragabash's head snaps back with a grunt. The crunch of teeth gnashing against teeth is followed by the steady grind of the Glabro's fangs resetting. Surprisingly, he doesn't look mad. Not as mad as a Fostern getting punched by a Cliath should be, really. The Glabro works his jaw from side to side, then spits out a glob of blood on Jeremiah's right shoe. ~Ragabash do dumb things all the time,~ Slug grumbles, opening and closing his jaw a bit to let it set back into place.
Jeremiah looks down at his shoe, moves to wipe it off on the dirt, and a moment later, there's a deep breath and the ahroun takes lupus again, moving a pace backwards off to lay on the ground once more. No-moons do dumb things, he agrees, still a little irritated. That doesn't make it right or good or mean that you should go do dumb things more. We need no-moons.
~You're an Ahroun,~ Slug says, grunting. ~Sometimes the only way to do a thing that needs doing is the Ragabash's way. Quiet. Fast. Alone. It sucks, it's dangerous, but sometimes that's just the way shit is. If I had other Ragabash I could have dragged along, I probably would have. But I didn't.~ He tsks, then stabs the stick into the dirt. ~But I know what you mean.~
Lives-On snorts at something, and licks one forepaw, the tension of the big moon still beneath the surface, but pushed away all the same. All of you, Lives-On states, all of you just as frustrating and just as stubborn and just as hopeless. He pauses, sets his paw down, and then adds. Lives-On does not want to see his tribemates die like that. That comes with an additional measure of grumping, and unhappiness at other recent circumstances, though not at the surface.
~I don't want to see me die either,~ Slug says, looking down at himself. ~I like being alive. It's fun. It's way more fun than being dead. But part of why I did what I did was so the Sept could also keep being alive. People have risked more for the Sept.~
Lives-On knows that, he adds. Not that you were wrong to do what you did. Just, be more right about it next time, please? The wolf's manner gentles, as much as it can on this moon at least, which leaves it still significantly harsh and a good bit comical. There's a pause, and the cliath points out that he would risk everything for this sept. For any Gaian sept. That that is part of why he stayed, why he accepted the terms that it would have to be a huge act of heroism, even though the ahroun is just an ahroun, not a hero. Just an ahroun. Point him at something and he will kill most things, even if he dies once or twice in the process.
~Meh,~ Slug responds, rolling his brawny shoulders. ~Every Garou is a footsoldier. An Ahroun that fights good isn't much of an Ahroun. It's all about leading and inspiring, being all brave and knightly and shit. Don't go looking to be a hero. You'll die that way. Just do whatever you have to to survive, to make the Caern a better place. When the chips are down, you'll get your chance.~
It's about doing the right thing, no matter what, the cliath responds, lifting his head to look up at the fostern Gnawer. It's a very direct look that Lives-On gives. It's about honour, not glory, or at least, more or less. It's about defending those who need it. I just wish I could see more to be able to do what I need to better. I don't see a brick wall until I run into it, sometimes.