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jeremiah_garou) wrote2013-09-04 04:00 pm
jeremiah_garou) wrote2013-09-04 04:00 pm
Entry tags:
Meeting Melodie.
September 4, 2013
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (4% full).
Late afternoon and Jeremiah is pacing the ground floor of the library near the living area, one hand tucked into his pocket, teeshirt with the sleeves pushed up against the receding summer heat. The other hand grips a bottle of water as he glances towards the door, waiting for the meeting that's been set up by the Fury galliard.
Melodie eventually shows up at the library. She's wearing a light hoodie, as fall is in the air in Saint Claire, and has a neutral expression on her face. "Hola. Is there a Jeremiah around?" she calls out, her accent barely pronouncing the J in his name.
Jeremiah is the only one on the ground floor at the moment, and he lifts a hand in silent greeting to the adren when she shows up, moving to wave her over towards the seating area with a respectful nod. When she's a little closer, he speaks. "Thank you for coming, Melodie-rhya." Or perhaps it can be said more like that he squeaks. The Gnawer is Jackaled, that much is clear, the punishment rite's effect turning his voice high and nasal, and in compensation, the man speaks slow and quietly and with careful words and a serious expression. Underneath the Jackaled voice, he's clearly not native to English, a deep Russian accent tempered by exposure to the hillfolk. "Jeremiah Bullfrog, named Lives-On. Cliath Ahroun, child of Rat." There's a pause, and he adds. "Can I get you water, beer, milk? Please sit."
Melodie wrinkles her nose in distaste when the Gnawer speaks. "No, I'm not very thirsty." She sits down on one of the less-broken chairs. "I didn't really get the full story, what's your sitch? Clearly you've made some mistakes recently." The philodox has a judgmental air about her, but leans back to listen.
Jeremiah moves and sits on the floor a bit away from Melodie, first kneeling and then settling to sit on his heels, something that immediately calms the nearly boiling aura of rage about the ahroun, and he looks up at her and shakes his head. "I made mistakes a while ago," he offers in mild correction. "Near to the beginning of last year, when blind new rage and grief precluded any chance to wisdom or honor." He looks down at himself for a moment, then settles on a neutral point in space. "I was not born a child of Rat. I was born a child of Thunder, and I was never a very good one by their standards." There's distaste in his voice and expression when he speaks of his former tribe, but masked, and when he continues, there is some detachment as he speaks of his former life, but also intense anger, still a great deal of grief.
"In the end of 2011, the Sept of my birth fell. I lost my whole pack nearly at once within a few hours, fighting them to rescue our kin and family. Rage and grief consumed me, and without any care, I took the cub I was able to save—Kyler—and came here. But I was stupid about how I did things, because I did not know how to trust those who would help me, even though I was running from the Enemy that far outnumbered me, that held it personal that wanted to end the line, and in the end Silvertip-rhya did not see fit to give me a new chance at life here because of what I'd done. He exiled me on pain of death. Perhaps for the better. Kaz and Whisper and Djehuti and Tim. They taught me to trust, to bleed off the poison. Kaz sent me to Casino Royale, and the man I was who had died with his pack, got a chance at life. I never looked back, see." Jeremiah falls silent, and then continues.
"This spring, I was in Connecticut, in the Umbra. I was fighting a bane of some sort, and the next thing I knew, I fell out of an alley six feet in the air here. St. Claire wasn' done wi' me, an' th' spirits, somewhere, there's some things that a man can't leave behind until he fully makes peace, and maybe I didn't. I met with Elliot-rhya and he gave me a chance, because I…" he pauses. "I chose to face the Judgement that Andrei would have faced had he stayed. Salem-rhya did that, and here I am."
There is one more pause. "Th' last part of th' terms is that for me t' stay as Anruth in St. Claire, I obtain permission from each tribal Elder. I chose to stay and not just leave again because I want to make things right. I want to be a better person than I was, and maybe I can help th' fight here same as I can anywhere else. So I'm asking you. Melodie-rhya, may I stay here, as anruth?"
Melodie shifts uncomfortably throughout the tale. Whether it's the stiff folding chair she's on, or merely distaste for the heliumesque tone of Jeremiah's voice, or to the actual content is not immediately clear. "Hmm. Okay. I'm not entirely against second chances, and it's good that you're penitent. I mean, I was raised Catholic, we understand that kind of thing. But if you stay in our city, what will you do? A Gnawer with poor judgment is a dangerous thing, after all."
Jeremiah bows his head, nods. "I'd like to think that I've got a better handle on that too, ma'am," he responds. "Now, I did an' do th' sort of hard work a full moon needs to, to keep a handle on th' Beast, th' more Rage that I have now than I did as a boy and as a young man nonetheless. The things that as a Shadow Lord I didn't remember how to do after Broken Prairie fell. I run, I work out with a few others—your tribemate Charlene has been very kind to me—and I don't let my Rage eat me alive." He tries to speak quietly, though it only does so much to help his voice. "I patrol here for Lefty-rhya, and I teach our tribe's cubs to fight in all our forms, I teach them about Mama Rat's acceptance and protection, about the street. I patrol out by the encampment by th' bridge, killed several twisted things that would have dragged off th' homeless and vulnerable one by one an' no one noticed them gone, helped when there was somethin' making fomor-pigeons that belched smoke all over the city. I've learned a lot since I left here, and I'm not th' man I was." There is a pause. "An ahroun with my rage," he says, "is a dangerous thing. But I try an' be fair, an' honorable, an' honest. Always honest."
Melodie sits still, considering for a few moments. Finally, and without preface, she asks, "Can you speak Spanish?"
Jeremiah shakes his head. "Very, very little," he answers. "When I renounced, I was still learnin' to talk English. My first language was Russian, I spoke English at school some, but that was a very long time ago, and the sept I grew up in spoke Mother's Tongue exclusively aside from Russian. Some of my tribemates in Vegas spoke it Spanish, but they were more with teaching me one language, let alone two."
Melodie nods curtly. "Well, that's my condition. Your tribe is the protectors of the humans who don't have anyone else, si? In this city, in this country, that's the Latinos more'n anyone else. You can't really understand us if you can't speak to us. I don't expect it right away, but work on it. Then I'll know you're serious about your new life, and your new mission, and aren't just some Shadow Lord who took his shot and lost." She acts like this is a more than fair offer.
There is a nod from Jeremiah, a deeper one than the ones that have punctuated the conversation. "Si, okay," he agrees, though the punishment obscures his voice. "I can learn. I've been learning sign language too, to go amongst the humans without causing even more undue concern, because the Jackal comes off if I leave forever, or if I do some big damn act of heroism for the sept—I'm an ahroun, a man, just me, and what will be will be what Mama Rat wants for me. The veterans and disabled in the bridge camp. I will learn, and then I will find you, or ask Charlene to." There is a genuine, grateful smile offered, and it lights up his entire face, despite the Rage. "Thank you."
Melodie stands up from the chair. "Well, good! I think you'll find it a good use of time. The hispanic community here is good people, mostly. An' we got the best cheap eats in town, for sure!" She smiles at this, too. "Lefty an' I are friends too, listen to her. She's got her nose to the ground."
Jer's expression eases into a grin, and he leans backwards and rocks to his feet,standing up in a fluid, practised motion. "She's way smart, yeah. And she's been good to me, too." The ahroun is silent a moment, and repeats, though the word takes effort to think of, "Gracias, Melodie-rhya, and thank you for your time. If you need a full moon somewhere that is not the bawn, Lefty-rhya has my number. I've been Garou… a long time now, and I have many faults, but I will always be there for any of the Nation who need."
Melodie looks him up and down. "Si. If I find out about anything that needs a warrior, I'll let you know." She gets a wry grin. "If only because we'll all get tired of that silly voice, hombre!"
Jeremiah's shoulders shake in what is obviously laughter and amusement, albeit silent. "It has taught me the value of silence," he adds, and that seems to be the last of the words for the day. Once more, Melodie gets one of the gracious, happy smiles, a much happier and less nervous ahroun than when she first arrived, and Jeremiah moves to walk her to the door in an easy silence. His movement is coiled and tense and that of a natural predator, but at this small moon also lazy and graceful, and he lifts a hand to wave when she gets to the door.
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (4% full).
Late afternoon and Jeremiah is pacing the ground floor of the library near the living area, one hand tucked into his pocket, teeshirt with the sleeves pushed up against the receding summer heat. The other hand grips a bottle of water as he glances towards the door, waiting for the meeting that's been set up by the Fury galliard.
Melodie eventually shows up at the library. She's wearing a light hoodie, as fall is in the air in Saint Claire, and has a neutral expression on her face. "Hola. Is there a Jeremiah around?" she calls out, her accent barely pronouncing the J in his name.
Jeremiah is the only one on the ground floor at the moment, and he lifts a hand in silent greeting to the adren when she shows up, moving to wave her over towards the seating area with a respectful nod. When she's a little closer, he speaks. "Thank you for coming, Melodie-rhya." Or perhaps it can be said more like that he squeaks. The Gnawer is Jackaled, that much is clear, the punishment rite's effect turning his voice high and nasal, and in compensation, the man speaks slow and quietly and with careful words and a serious expression. Underneath the Jackaled voice, he's clearly not native to English, a deep Russian accent tempered by exposure to the hillfolk. "Jeremiah Bullfrog, named Lives-On. Cliath Ahroun, child of Rat." There's a pause, and he adds. "Can I get you water, beer, milk? Please sit."
Melodie wrinkles her nose in distaste when the Gnawer speaks. "No, I'm not very thirsty." She sits down on one of the less-broken chairs. "I didn't really get the full story, what's your sitch? Clearly you've made some mistakes recently." The philodox has a judgmental air about her, but leans back to listen.
Jeremiah moves and sits on the floor a bit away from Melodie, first kneeling and then settling to sit on his heels, something that immediately calms the nearly boiling aura of rage about the ahroun, and he looks up at her and shakes his head. "I made mistakes a while ago," he offers in mild correction. "Near to the beginning of last year, when blind new rage and grief precluded any chance to wisdom or honor." He looks down at himself for a moment, then settles on a neutral point in space. "I was not born a child of Rat. I was born a child of Thunder, and I was never a very good one by their standards." There's distaste in his voice and expression when he speaks of his former tribe, but masked, and when he continues, there is some detachment as he speaks of his former life, but also intense anger, still a great deal of grief.
"In the end of 2011, the Sept of my birth fell. I lost my whole pack nearly at once within a few hours, fighting them to rescue our kin and family. Rage and grief consumed me, and without any care, I took the cub I was able to save—Kyler—and came here. But I was stupid about how I did things, because I did not know how to trust those who would help me, even though I was running from the Enemy that far outnumbered me, that held it personal that wanted to end the line, and in the end Silvertip-rhya did not see fit to give me a new chance at life here because of what I'd done. He exiled me on pain of death. Perhaps for the better. Kaz and Whisper and Djehuti and Tim. They taught me to trust, to bleed off the poison. Kaz sent me to Casino Royale, and the man I was who had died with his pack, got a chance at life. I never looked back, see." Jeremiah falls silent, and then continues.
"This spring, I was in Connecticut, in the Umbra. I was fighting a bane of some sort, and the next thing I knew, I fell out of an alley six feet in the air here. St. Claire wasn' done wi' me, an' th' spirits, somewhere, there's some things that a man can't leave behind until he fully makes peace, and maybe I didn't. I met with Elliot-rhya and he gave me a chance, because I…" he pauses. "I chose to face the Judgement that Andrei would have faced had he stayed. Salem-rhya did that, and here I am."
There is one more pause. "Th' last part of th' terms is that for me t' stay as Anruth in St. Claire, I obtain permission from each tribal Elder. I chose to stay and not just leave again because I want to make things right. I want to be a better person than I was, and maybe I can help th' fight here same as I can anywhere else. So I'm asking you. Melodie-rhya, may I stay here, as anruth?"
Melodie shifts uncomfortably throughout the tale. Whether it's the stiff folding chair she's on, or merely distaste for the heliumesque tone of Jeremiah's voice, or to the actual content is not immediately clear. "Hmm. Okay. I'm not entirely against second chances, and it's good that you're penitent. I mean, I was raised Catholic, we understand that kind of thing. But if you stay in our city, what will you do? A Gnawer with poor judgment is a dangerous thing, after all."
Jeremiah bows his head, nods. "I'd like to think that I've got a better handle on that too, ma'am," he responds. "Now, I did an' do th' sort of hard work a full moon needs to, to keep a handle on th' Beast, th' more Rage that I have now than I did as a boy and as a young man nonetheless. The things that as a Shadow Lord I didn't remember how to do after Broken Prairie fell. I run, I work out with a few others—your tribemate Charlene has been very kind to me—and I don't let my Rage eat me alive." He tries to speak quietly, though it only does so much to help his voice. "I patrol here for Lefty-rhya, and I teach our tribe's cubs to fight in all our forms, I teach them about Mama Rat's acceptance and protection, about the street. I patrol out by the encampment by th' bridge, killed several twisted things that would have dragged off th' homeless and vulnerable one by one an' no one noticed them gone, helped when there was somethin' making fomor-pigeons that belched smoke all over the city. I've learned a lot since I left here, and I'm not th' man I was." There is a pause. "An ahroun with my rage," he says, "is a dangerous thing. But I try an' be fair, an' honorable, an' honest. Always honest."
Melodie sits still, considering for a few moments. Finally, and without preface, she asks, "Can you speak Spanish?"
Jeremiah shakes his head. "Very, very little," he answers. "When I renounced, I was still learnin' to talk English. My first language was Russian, I spoke English at school some, but that was a very long time ago, and the sept I grew up in spoke Mother's Tongue exclusively aside from Russian. Some of my tribemates in Vegas spoke it Spanish, but they were more with teaching me one language, let alone two."
Melodie nods curtly. "Well, that's my condition. Your tribe is the protectors of the humans who don't have anyone else, si? In this city, in this country, that's the Latinos more'n anyone else. You can't really understand us if you can't speak to us. I don't expect it right away, but work on it. Then I'll know you're serious about your new life, and your new mission, and aren't just some Shadow Lord who took his shot and lost." She acts like this is a more than fair offer.
There is a nod from Jeremiah, a deeper one than the ones that have punctuated the conversation. "Si, okay," he agrees, though the punishment obscures his voice. "I can learn. I've been learning sign language too, to go amongst the humans without causing even more undue concern, because the Jackal comes off if I leave forever, or if I do some big damn act of heroism for the sept—I'm an ahroun, a man, just me, and what will be will be what Mama Rat wants for me. The veterans and disabled in the bridge camp. I will learn, and then I will find you, or ask Charlene to." There is a genuine, grateful smile offered, and it lights up his entire face, despite the Rage. "Thank you."
Melodie stands up from the chair. "Well, good! I think you'll find it a good use of time. The hispanic community here is good people, mostly. An' we got the best cheap eats in town, for sure!" She smiles at this, too. "Lefty an' I are friends too, listen to her. She's got her nose to the ground."
Jer's expression eases into a grin, and he leans backwards and rocks to his feet,standing up in a fluid, practised motion. "She's way smart, yeah. And she's been good to me, too." The ahroun is silent a moment, and repeats, though the word takes effort to think of, "Gracias, Melodie-rhya, and thank you for your time. If you need a full moon somewhere that is not the bawn, Lefty-rhya has my number. I've been Garou… a long time now, and I have many faults, but I will always be there for any of the Nation who need."
Melodie looks him up and down. "Si. If I find out about anything that needs a warrior, I'll let you know." She gets a wry grin. "If only because we'll all get tired of that silly voice, hombre!"
Jeremiah's shoulders shake in what is obviously laughter and amusement, albeit silent. "It has taught me the value of silence," he adds, and that seems to be the last of the words for the day. Once more, Melodie gets one of the gracious, happy smiles, a much happier and less nervous ahroun than when she first arrived, and Jeremiah moves to walk her to the door in an easy silence. His movement is coiled and tense and that of a natural predator, but at this small moon also lazy and graceful, and he lifts a hand to wave when she gets to the door.