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jeremiah_garouMarch 13, 2014
The moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (82% full).
Marrow is curled up on her cot, tail draped across her nose.
It's the same as usual when Jeremiah stomps down the stairs to take his shift at guarding in the basement, pulling a crate to sit on. Except this time he doesn't pull a book from his pocket to read, doesn't start on endlessly disassembling and reassembling his gun or sharpening and caring for one of the multitude of knives, and the ahroun's silence that has persisted up until then finally breaks. He doesn't look at the other, though, just squeaks out one word. "Why?"
Marrow lifts her head and yawns, revealing very well cared for teeth. The tip of her tail twitches, as she looks over at the Lord turned Gnawer. She bulks up, shifting in to Hispo and causing the cot she is on to groan alarmingly. ~Have you never Thralled?~
Jeremiah looks at her, and his teeth bare. "I'm ahroun," he states, as flatly as possible. "In battle. And once otherwise. And at one point, I'd have frenzied on you for as much as the suggestion. But you say that like an excuse." There's disgust in his voice.
Marrow sighs heavily and shifts her weight, which causes the cot to creak more. ~Have you ever Thralled while alone, without anyone around to stop you?~
Jeremiah glares solid ice at the other Gnawer, but her question is ignored. "I heard the list of how many you ate." He speaks slowly. "An', y' still can't blame it all on Thrall. I didn't ask you for fucking excuses, Becky. Own your fucking actions."
Marrow's tail-tip twitches. ~I'm not using it as an excuse,~ she states. ~I was just asking you a question.~
The ahroun's expression doesn't change, but neither does his control on his demeanor. "Yeah. I did, that once. Who knows what happened then, and it was a damn long time ago. Someone I packed with eventually found me, a few day after. You learn, you fix stuff. You don't keep makin' th' same mistake over an' over."
Marrow snorts softly, then lays her head across her paws. ~I was arguing with a human. It was messy. But, the end result was favorable. The man was an ass of a restaurant manager. The guy who replaced him, was willing to work with the local Second Harvest Program.~
Jeremiah raises his brows, and leans one elbow on one knee. This doesn't seem to have made Jeremiah any less angry overall, but the immediacy of it stops. "So it worked, once," he snorts. "Did y' ever stop an' think?"
Marrow's muzzle wrinkles up, for just a moment. ~It has worked, plenty of times. You just have to be careful, watch, and remove the ones that need to go. I used to just make them disappear. Cooking was an easy way to get rid of the bodies. Avoided trouble with the police.~
Jeremiah snarls, and it's halfway between truly hateful and threatening, and simply comedic because of the Jackal. But his hand's found some knife in his clothing as well, to rest on. "So what changed?" he snaps. "There's better ways to dispose of bodies. You didn't have to eat them." More disgust follows. "I'd have thought y'd know better."
~And why not?~ Marrow asks, serene and calm in her reply. ~They're meat. You're meat, I'm meat. It's not as if rats, bugs, dogs, and what have you won't eat human meat. Why not us? And things changed slowly, mostly after I met up with Always-Hungry. He is a Rat Spirit and a friend of mine.~
It's not uncontrolled, but at one point Jeremiah's sitting there, and the next moment, the crate he's sitting on is all so much scraps of wood and the only reason that the crinos-formed Lives-On doesn't hit the ceiling is the sheer height of the basement. ~So what,~ he retorts, ~you are what you eat. Just because it's there does not make it good for you. These people are the filth you're fighting against and you think to eat them?!~ There is a snarl loud enough that it echoes off the walls.
~Good fresh, warm meat is better then the filth we pull out of the dumpsters, and leave more food for those who need it,~ Becky counters, reciting the words that she used to convince herself years ago. ~Are you saying that humans are filth, then? all of them?~
Lives-On leans against a wall, now, tail flicking and tension the only signs of the irritation, though it's a clear sight that the ahroun bears the weight of the full moon. ~If you're killing these folks for what they's doing, can you really say they are good, that they have not been corrupted by the human culture? Not all humans are bad, but not all are good. An' if you were t' kill someone in th' camps we patrol, we protect, those we call our own that may not be our kin but may be, then we've got even more problems.~ It's definitely a threat.
~I have never killed Kin,~ Marrow replies, hackles lifting a little. ~Everyone is corrupted by human culture and being an ass that doesn't deserve to live, isn't the same as being Filth. As being Tainted.~
Slug comes walking down the stairs in Glabro, his body hunched forward like a monk, his hands hidden. He takes his sweet time easing his way down, his boots not making a sound.
Lives-On peels his lips back from his teeth to watch Marrow for a long moment, and takes the time instead to clean dirt from underneath his claws. ~No one here right now has the ability to sense that, and I've never known a man-eater not tainted eventually. And it does not matter. You're a man-eater and it wasn't just in Thrall. And it wasn't just one mistake, you chose to.~ He's turned away from her to face the basement now. ~There's no second chance for that.~
The ruckus from the basement causes the local guard dog to hurry downstairs to see what the heck is going on. Bad-Boy nearly runs into Slug on the way down, but manages to stop short before he bowls him over. The wolfdog is in Hispo, tail and ears raised in alert. What is going on?
~There can be a second chance for most things,~ Slug says, hooking one arm around the railing to his side when Bad-Boy barges in behind him. He seems just about ready to jump off the staircase when the giant wolf skids to a halt near him. He glances from Lives-On and the captive to the Hispo beside him, then puts his palm on Bad-Boy's head and gives him a good scritching.
~And how many man-eaters have you known?~ Marrow asks the rather irate crinos, head lifting and ears pressing forward.
Bad-Boy's ear dips as he accepts the scritching, but his attention doesn't waver from the two who hare having a heated discussion downstairs. With the way that his shaggy black fur is bristling, he looks ready to intercede if need be, but doesn't move from his spot, yet. Clearly, between him and Slug, nobody else is going to be able to fit on those stairs.
Lives-On twists an ear at the arrivals. ~Known and been betrayed by the friendship of to find out that they've been going around and doing this behind our backs, LIKE YOU DID?~ Despite the Rage, Lives-On just doesn't move. There's not even the slightest threat of violence from him in addition to what there already is. ~That makes you the first and were it not a sept matter, you'd be dead already for the scope of what you've done and did. But seen? Seen the end and justice of?~ There is a tiredness that settles alongside the anger. ~Three since Mama Rat accepted me, across the country. Half a dozen more before that.~
Slug lets Lives-On talk without disturbance. He merely strokes Bad-Boy's back and listens, his claws combing through the wolf's fur. When Lives-On finishes, Slug wets his lips, then looks at Marrow. ~Who was the first person you ate, and why?~
Marrow's ears slick back for a moment. ~I have never met another. I haven't caused this Sept any trouble and I had planned to move on, as soon as it got a little warmer. Always-Hungry wanted to move on.~ She turns her head to look over at Slug. ~I Thralled,~ she states, simply.
~You were in their protectorate. Anruth aren't outside the reach of the Sept if they break the law,~ Jeremiah snarls again. His volume only increases slightly, and he straightens up from leaning. ~When was the first time you did it outside thralling. Willingly.~
Slug's face shifts a bit at the mention of her Thrall, but otherwise, it remains still. He bows his head and fishes for his smokes, sparking one up while Jeremiah speaks. The second he's done, his hand returns to stroking Bad-Boy's mane.
Marrow seems to think about that for a short time, one ear flipping backwards. ~Depends on what you define as eating,~ she eventually says.
Lives-On glares at her again, and half takes a step. And then doesn't. ~That thing you said earlier? That's eating them too. The next time you make a fucking excuse everything be damned I will hurt you.~
~You get cleansed after your Thrall?~ Slug asks, the cherry of his cigarette burning bright with every puff.
Bad-Boy's head lowers as Jeremiah's tone changes, which really doesn't make it any more difficult for Slug to pet him, considering how huge he really is.
~Earlier?~ Marrow asks, body language expressing mild confusion. ~An' no,~ she says, after looking at Slug, in response to his question.
Lives-On picks up a chunk of stone, and instead of anything else, occupies himself fidgeting with it. ~If something that was man, eventually voluntarily entered your mouth, and was eaten, as food, in any form? You. Ate. Them.~ The ahroun half-idly drags one foreclaw across the rock, thinks better of it, and throws the rock across the room so that it hits the edge of a bookcase.
~I'm not the most spiritual Garou,~ Slug says, eying Lives-On as he sharpens his claw. ~But I know after you Thrall, you're… Tainted. And I know that when you're tainted like that, you have urges. Cravings. It opens a door for some very dark things to come creeping into your head.~
Marrow's ears slick back against her skull. ~I am not Tainted,~ she claims, rather strongly, with a very brief flash of her fangs. ~Six months, I suppose?~ She says, turning her attention back to the Crinos. ~If you're going to be that liberal in your definition. As I told you before, I killed those that needed killing. There are too many damn humans out there anyway. Some of them died because I bit them and warm blood feels good in the mouth. You all know this. Was more then a year, before I did anything more than the occasionally swallow."
Bad-Boy's eyes narrow and speaks, somehow making a cognitive leap. This is leech talk, with the blood.
Marrow's hackles visibly lift, at the mention of leeches.
Lives-On twists his ears forward at something Slug says, and something makes the ahroun decide to return to glabro and fish for a pack of cigarettes instead of threatening further violence, though the threat hasn't faded and now his hands form into tight fists. ~Y' need t' be cleansed when y' Thrall, he's right on that. Didn't much like it when it happened to me, either, but it was what it was.~ There's a moment, and then he continues. ~Thing is,~ Jeremiah says, ~Once you start, you can't just stop. And you can't just come back from it when it's been festering for years no regard to what other's could or couldn't do t' help, either.~
~How would you know? Can you see your own taint? I couldn't see mine. Trying to smell taint on yourself is like trying to see your shadow in the dark.~ Slug blows out a lungful of smoke and walks closer to the case, squatting in front of it with his forearms draped across his knees. ~I Thralled a long time ago. It wasn't pretty,~ he says, his cigarette flaring up when he looks at her. ~Don't remember what I did. Not all the way. Didn't remember the taste at first, either. What I remember is after that, before I was cleansed. Being so full, and sick, but still wanting more. I remember cravings, like an itch you couldn't scratch, worse than any drug I've ever had. I bet you're feeling that itch right now. I bet when you think of tearing off a man's arm and swallowing it, so juicy and wet, it makes your mouth water.~
Marrow starts salivating, little bits of spittle leaking out of the corners of her Hispo maw. She runs her tongue across her muzzle, cleaning up the drool, before she swallows. She is watching Slug very closely now.
Jeremiah looks at Slug, brows raising, and yet there's none of the murderous anger that's been directed at Marrow the whole time. His cigarette's lit, puffed on, and only when Jeremiah's got a notably better hold on himself does he speak. ~I remember being thrown in the Sept house lock-up after they found me until they could find my— the theurge, closest person to be able to do the cleansing,~ he adds. ~When I was a kid.~ He stays leaning against the wall, but there's a softer mutter. ~I thought so. Enough. It's not like there was doubt, was there?~ he says to Slug. ~But Taint that's set in over years and time don't work the same as when they find you and Cleanse you soon. Don't work the same as when someone sees and drags off to a Sept for help.~
Slug draws one of his sleeves up over his right arm, then reaches behind him with his left. The Gnawer comes up with a fairly long fixed blade knife that's been covered with grease and soot, so that it's metal doesn't shine. ~Maybe,~ he says to Jeremiah without turning around. He watches Marrow's face as he sinks the knife into his bare skin. He sinks the first inch of the blade into his skin and drags it down, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth. The cut exposes a few inches of red, pink muscle and tissue and sends blood winding down his arm in thin red streams. As the wound heals up, the blood dripping off his fingers gathers on the floor right at the bottom of Marrow's cage.
Bad-Boy's nose flare at the sharp smell of grease, and the coppery smell of blood, and he takes a few steps closer to the action to see what Slug is up to. He's moved to take up as much of the staircase as he can (which is quite a bit of it) so that anybody who might want to escape would have to get through him first.
Jeremiah's moved from his vantage point, and he stands there, just puffing at his cigarette. There's an intensity to the ahroun's expression, and he's silenced the low growl and sunk as much into the background as much as he can.
Marrow's nostrils flare, as she watches Slug with an unwavering interest. Then, with a clear and visible force of will, she shrinks back down in to lupus and shifts her position on the cot, turning her back on the freshly spilled blood.
Lives-On where he crouches has returned to crinos, claws digging into the floor, and then the low growl returns for just a moment. And then he moves forward, and throws a towel he's found towards the floor near the cage with significant, rage-fueled momentum. The ahroun's nearly wordless, but not displeased as he stalks back to his vantage point, and then with a moment further thought, to the base of the stairs.
Slug keeps his poker face going right up until she turns away, at which point he bows his head and takes his knife away. ~You're an addict. It's written on your face. I know, because I've felt the same way. Seen it in other people. See it in you.~ Slug takes a stained rag out of his pocket and wipes his blade clean, then discretely tucks it back into the sheath hidden beneath the back of his hoodie. When Lives-On shifts, he stands and steps away- Then relaxes once the Ahroun retreats. ~I'll bring you some food soon. Then I'm going to go talk to Salem and tell him what I know. What I think.~
Lives-On looks at Slug, and as quiet as the crinos can be, mutters, ~I promised Broken-Toes I'd do my duty as guard and no more— I'm no half-moon. Lest good reason given, I's going to keep that word.~ But for now, it seems, the cliath is going to do the wise thing, and go be somewhere else, and he starts to make his way up the first few sets of stairs.
There is nothing wrong with me, Marrow says, even as she stubbornly refuses to turn around.
Since it looks like the situation isn't going to escalate any further, Bad-Boy shifts down into Lupus, which will give Lives-On just enough space to leave. Since it looks like he's back on guard duty, he trots on over to the cell and flops down right in front of the door with a huff.
The moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (82% full).
Marrow is curled up on her cot, tail draped across her nose.
It's the same as usual when Jeremiah stomps down the stairs to take his shift at guarding in the basement, pulling a crate to sit on. Except this time he doesn't pull a book from his pocket to read, doesn't start on endlessly disassembling and reassembling his gun or sharpening and caring for one of the multitude of knives, and the ahroun's silence that has persisted up until then finally breaks. He doesn't look at the other, though, just squeaks out one word. "Why?"
Marrow lifts her head and yawns, revealing very well cared for teeth. The tip of her tail twitches, as she looks over at the Lord turned Gnawer. She bulks up, shifting in to Hispo and causing the cot she is on to groan alarmingly. ~Have you never Thralled?~
Jeremiah looks at her, and his teeth bare. "I'm ahroun," he states, as flatly as possible. "In battle. And once otherwise. And at one point, I'd have frenzied on you for as much as the suggestion. But you say that like an excuse." There's disgust in his voice.
Marrow sighs heavily and shifts her weight, which causes the cot to creak more. ~Have you ever Thralled while alone, without anyone around to stop you?~
Jeremiah glares solid ice at the other Gnawer, but her question is ignored. "I heard the list of how many you ate." He speaks slowly. "An', y' still can't blame it all on Thrall. I didn't ask you for fucking excuses, Becky. Own your fucking actions."
Marrow's tail-tip twitches. ~I'm not using it as an excuse,~ she states. ~I was just asking you a question.~
The ahroun's expression doesn't change, but neither does his control on his demeanor. "Yeah. I did, that once. Who knows what happened then, and it was a damn long time ago. Someone I packed with eventually found me, a few day after. You learn, you fix stuff. You don't keep makin' th' same mistake over an' over."
Marrow snorts softly, then lays her head across her paws. ~I was arguing with a human. It was messy. But, the end result was favorable. The man was an ass of a restaurant manager. The guy who replaced him, was willing to work with the local Second Harvest Program.~
Jeremiah raises his brows, and leans one elbow on one knee. This doesn't seem to have made Jeremiah any less angry overall, but the immediacy of it stops. "So it worked, once," he snorts. "Did y' ever stop an' think?"
Marrow's muzzle wrinkles up, for just a moment. ~It has worked, plenty of times. You just have to be careful, watch, and remove the ones that need to go. I used to just make them disappear. Cooking was an easy way to get rid of the bodies. Avoided trouble with the police.~
Jeremiah snarls, and it's halfway between truly hateful and threatening, and simply comedic because of the Jackal. But his hand's found some knife in his clothing as well, to rest on. "So what changed?" he snaps. "There's better ways to dispose of bodies. You didn't have to eat them." More disgust follows. "I'd have thought y'd know better."
~And why not?~ Marrow asks, serene and calm in her reply. ~They're meat. You're meat, I'm meat. It's not as if rats, bugs, dogs, and what have you won't eat human meat. Why not us? And things changed slowly, mostly after I met up with Always-Hungry. He is a Rat Spirit and a friend of mine.~
It's not uncontrolled, but at one point Jeremiah's sitting there, and the next moment, the crate he's sitting on is all so much scraps of wood and the only reason that the crinos-formed Lives-On doesn't hit the ceiling is the sheer height of the basement. ~So what,~ he retorts, ~you are what you eat. Just because it's there does not make it good for you. These people are the filth you're fighting against and you think to eat them?!~ There is a snarl loud enough that it echoes off the walls.
~Good fresh, warm meat is better then the filth we pull out of the dumpsters, and leave more food for those who need it,~ Becky counters, reciting the words that she used to convince herself years ago. ~Are you saying that humans are filth, then? all of them?~
Lives-On leans against a wall, now, tail flicking and tension the only signs of the irritation, though it's a clear sight that the ahroun bears the weight of the full moon. ~If you're killing these folks for what they's doing, can you really say they are good, that they have not been corrupted by the human culture? Not all humans are bad, but not all are good. An' if you were t' kill someone in th' camps we patrol, we protect, those we call our own that may not be our kin but may be, then we've got even more problems.~ It's definitely a threat.
~I have never killed Kin,~ Marrow replies, hackles lifting a little. ~Everyone is corrupted by human culture and being an ass that doesn't deserve to live, isn't the same as being Filth. As being Tainted.~
Slug comes walking down the stairs in Glabro, his body hunched forward like a monk, his hands hidden. He takes his sweet time easing his way down, his boots not making a sound.
Lives-On peels his lips back from his teeth to watch Marrow for a long moment, and takes the time instead to clean dirt from underneath his claws. ~No one here right now has the ability to sense that, and I've never known a man-eater not tainted eventually. And it does not matter. You're a man-eater and it wasn't just in Thrall. And it wasn't just one mistake, you chose to.~ He's turned away from her to face the basement now. ~There's no second chance for that.~
The ruckus from the basement causes the local guard dog to hurry downstairs to see what the heck is going on. Bad-Boy nearly runs into Slug on the way down, but manages to stop short before he bowls him over. The wolfdog is in Hispo, tail and ears raised in alert. What is going on?
~There can be a second chance for most things,~ Slug says, hooking one arm around the railing to his side when Bad-Boy barges in behind him. He seems just about ready to jump off the staircase when the giant wolf skids to a halt near him. He glances from Lives-On and the captive to the Hispo beside him, then puts his palm on Bad-Boy's head and gives him a good scritching.
~And how many man-eaters have you known?~ Marrow asks the rather irate crinos, head lifting and ears pressing forward.
Bad-Boy's ear dips as he accepts the scritching, but his attention doesn't waver from the two who hare having a heated discussion downstairs. With the way that his shaggy black fur is bristling, he looks ready to intercede if need be, but doesn't move from his spot, yet. Clearly, between him and Slug, nobody else is going to be able to fit on those stairs.
Lives-On twists an ear at the arrivals. ~Known and been betrayed by the friendship of to find out that they've been going around and doing this behind our backs, LIKE YOU DID?~ Despite the Rage, Lives-On just doesn't move. There's not even the slightest threat of violence from him in addition to what there already is. ~That makes you the first and were it not a sept matter, you'd be dead already for the scope of what you've done and did. But seen? Seen the end and justice of?~ There is a tiredness that settles alongside the anger. ~Three since Mama Rat accepted me, across the country. Half a dozen more before that.~
Slug lets Lives-On talk without disturbance. He merely strokes Bad-Boy's back and listens, his claws combing through the wolf's fur. When Lives-On finishes, Slug wets his lips, then looks at Marrow. ~Who was the first person you ate, and why?~
Marrow's ears slick back for a moment. ~I have never met another. I haven't caused this Sept any trouble and I had planned to move on, as soon as it got a little warmer. Always-Hungry wanted to move on.~ She turns her head to look over at Slug. ~I Thralled,~ she states, simply.
~You were in their protectorate. Anruth aren't outside the reach of the Sept if they break the law,~ Jeremiah snarls again. His volume only increases slightly, and he straightens up from leaning. ~When was the first time you did it outside thralling. Willingly.~
Slug's face shifts a bit at the mention of her Thrall, but otherwise, it remains still. He bows his head and fishes for his smokes, sparking one up while Jeremiah speaks. The second he's done, his hand returns to stroking Bad-Boy's mane.
Marrow seems to think about that for a short time, one ear flipping backwards. ~Depends on what you define as eating,~ she eventually says.
Lives-On glares at her again, and half takes a step. And then doesn't. ~That thing you said earlier? That's eating them too. The next time you make a fucking excuse everything be damned I will hurt you.~
~You get cleansed after your Thrall?~ Slug asks, the cherry of his cigarette burning bright with every puff.
Bad-Boy's head lowers as Jeremiah's tone changes, which really doesn't make it any more difficult for Slug to pet him, considering how huge he really is.
~Earlier?~ Marrow asks, body language expressing mild confusion. ~An' no,~ she says, after looking at Slug, in response to his question.
Lives-On picks up a chunk of stone, and instead of anything else, occupies himself fidgeting with it. ~If something that was man, eventually voluntarily entered your mouth, and was eaten, as food, in any form? You. Ate. Them.~ The ahroun half-idly drags one foreclaw across the rock, thinks better of it, and throws the rock across the room so that it hits the edge of a bookcase.
~I'm not the most spiritual Garou,~ Slug says, eying Lives-On as he sharpens his claw. ~But I know after you Thrall, you're… Tainted. And I know that when you're tainted like that, you have urges. Cravings. It opens a door for some very dark things to come creeping into your head.~
Marrow's ears slick back against her skull. ~I am not Tainted,~ she claims, rather strongly, with a very brief flash of her fangs. ~Six months, I suppose?~ She says, turning her attention back to the Crinos. ~If you're going to be that liberal in your definition. As I told you before, I killed those that needed killing. There are too many damn humans out there anyway. Some of them died because I bit them and warm blood feels good in the mouth. You all know this. Was more then a year, before I did anything more than the occasionally swallow."
Bad-Boy's eyes narrow and speaks, somehow making a cognitive leap. This is leech talk, with the blood.
Marrow's hackles visibly lift, at the mention of leeches.
Lives-On twists his ears forward at something Slug says, and something makes the ahroun decide to return to glabro and fish for a pack of cigarettes instead of threatening further violence, though the threat hasn't faded and now his hands form into tight fists. ~Y' need t' be cleansed when y' Thrall, he's right on that. Didn't much like it when it happened to me, either, but it was what it was.~ There's a moment, and then he continues. ~Thing is,~ Jeremiah says, ~Once you start, you can't just stop. And you can't just come back from it when it's been festering for years no regard to what other's could or couldn't do t' help, either.~
~How would you know? Can you see your own taint? I couldn't see mine. Trying to smell taint on yourself is like trying to see your shadow in the dark.~ Slug blows out a lungful of smoke and walks closer to the case, squatting in front of it with his forearms draped across his knees. ~I Thralled a long time ago. It wasn't pretty,~ he says, his cigarette flaring up when he looks at her. ~Don't remember what I did. Not all the way. Didn't remember the taste at first, either. What I remember is after that, before I was cleansed. Being so full, and sick, but still wanting more. I remember cravings, like an itch you couldn't scratch, worse than any drug I've ever had. I bet you're feeling that itch right now. I bet when you think of tearing off a man's arm and swallowing it, so juicy and wet, it makes your mouth water.~
Marrow starts salivating, little bits of spittle leaking out of the corners of her Hispo maw. She runs her tongue across her muzzle, cleaning up the drool, before she swallows. She is watching Slug very closely now.
Jeremiah looks at Slug, brows raising, and yet there's none of the murderous anger that's been directed at Marrow the whole time. His cigarette's lit, puffed on, and only when Jeremiah's got a notably better hold on himself does he speak. ~I remember being thrown in the Sept house lock-up after they found me until they could find my— the theurge, closest person to be able to do the cleansing,~ he adds. ~When I was a kid.~ He stays leaning against the wall, but there's a softer mutter. ~I thought so. Enough. It's not like there was doubt, was there?~ he says to Slug. ~But Taint that's set in over years and time don't work the same as when they find you and Cleanse you soon. Don't work the same as when someone sees and drags off to a Sept for help.~
Slug draws one of his sleeves up over his right arm, then reaches behind him with his left. The Gnawer comes up with a fairly long fixed blade knife that's been covered with grease and soot, so that it's metal doesn't shine. ~Maybe,~ he says to Jeremiah without turning around. He watches Marrow's face as he sinks the knife into his bare skin. He sinks the first inch of the blade into his skin and drags it down, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth. The cut exposes a few inches of red, pink muscle and tissue and sends blood winding down his arm in thin red streams. As the wound heals up, the blood dripping off his fingers gathers on the floor right at the bottom of Marrow's cage.
Bad-Boy's nose flare at the sharp smell of grease, and the coppery smell of blood, and he takes a few steps closer to the action to see what Slug is up to. He's moved to take up as much of the staircase as he can (which is quite a bit of it) so that anybody who might want to escape would have to get through him first.
Jeremiah's moved from his vantage point, and he stands there, just puffing at his cigarette. There's an intensity to the ahroun's expression, and he's silenced the low growl and sunk as much into the background as much as he can.
Marrow's nostrils flare, as she watches Slug with an unwavering interest. Then, with a clear and visible force of will, she shrinks back down in to lupus and shifts her position on the cot, turning her back on the freshly spilled blood.
Lives-On where he crouches has returned to crinos, claws digging into the floor, and then the low growl returns for just a moment. And then he moves forward, and throws a towel he's found towards the floor near the cage with significant, rage-fueled momentum. The ahroun's nearly wordless, but not displeased as he stalks back to his vantage point, and then with a moment further thought, to the base of the stairs.
Slug keeps his poker face going right up until she turns away, at which point he bows his head and takes his knife away. ~You're an addict. It's written on your face. I know, because I've felt the same way. Seen it in other people. See it in you.~ Slug takes a stained rag out of his pocket and wipes his blade clean, then discretely tucks it back into the sheath hidden beneath the back of his hoodie. When Lives-On shifts, he stands and steps away- Then relaxes once the Ahroun retreats. ~I'll bring you some food soon. Then I'm going to go talk to Salem and tell him what I know. What I think.~
Lives-On looks at Slug, and as quiet as the crinos can be, mutters, ~I promised Broken-Toes I'd do my duty as guard and no more— I'm no half-moon. Lest good reason given, I's going to keep that word.~ But for now, it seems, the cliath is going to do the wise thing, and go be somewhere else, and he starts to make his way up the first few sets of stairs.
There is nothing wrong with me, Marrow says, even as she stubbornly refuses to turn around.
Since it looks like the situation isn't going to escalate any further, Bad-Boy shifts down into Lupus, which will give Lives-On just enough space to leave. Since it looks like he's back on guard duty, he trots on over to the cell and flops down right in front of the door with a huff.