![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeremiah_garou15 February, 2013
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (33% full).
It's not raining, but it is cloudy and grey and gloomy. Life and the bustle of it goes on, though it's not quite the lunch hour yet, and too early for much of the less savory activity of the industrial sector. Not, however, apparently too early for there to be a large noise from one of the unoccupied smaller alleyways, like a faint rumble of machinery that starts and does not stop.
Cate walks out of the coffee shop, holding a cup of cheap coffee in one hand. She looks distracted and a little more disheveled than usual. There is an errant leaf or three in her hair if you look close enough; she hasn't. There are circles under her eyes like something has been keeping her up nights. Hence, the coffee. She sips it, and begins to meander down the sidewalk, eyeing the alleyway as she passes, her steps slowing. It takes her a minute to realize she's come to a full stop, and she shakes her head slightly before focusing on the sound, her eyebrows first raising, and then her eyes squinting. She takes a deep breath, still smelling the fire that was there not so long ago; her hand slips inside of her jacket and she makes her way, unfaltering, into the darkened space.
The rumbling is enough to cause a few of the dumpsters to shake and rattle, and then the noise stops, just as abruptly as it started. One of the dumpsters is displaced, sent rolling towards the mouth of the alley (though not wholly obscuring the view), and there's a significant crashing sound. And there's a man, falling from about six feet in the air to the ground and starting to claw at the wall to get up, muttering to himself.
Cate is, to put it mildly, startled by this series of events. First, the coffee is dropped; the half empty cup pops and splatters open across the pavement, spattering the woman a bit. A large dirk is pulled out of her jacket, at the moment pressed back against her arm, but ready to be utilized, and she jumps slightly to move to the side as the dumpster shifts, tense. However, some of the moment of 'ready to strike' is lost when a man falls from the sky. "The fuck—?" She ogles and is momentarily confused.
He seems to be relatively unhurt by the incident of falling from the sky. Unhurt in general would be a little too much to ask, it looks more like the homeless man has recently been in some sort of fight, various superficial injuries on the few visible parts of his skin. He leans against the wall a moment to pull the largest jacket closed, and then turns to Cate. Surprise is visible on his face, and his jaw works as he searches for words. "Hello," he eventually manages, nothing short of polite though his voice is rough, and strained. "This's gonna sound crazy-talk, but where am I, ma'am?"
Cate stares at the scratched up hobo for quite a few beats before she manages a response. "At this point," she responds, "I don't think anything sounds like 'crazy-talk'," she qualifies. "You are in Saint Claire. Who are you?" She is still holding her knife pressed back against her arm and is couched in a defensive posture. The woman looks over him carefully, a look of something similar to 'recognition' flashing across her face. "Where did you come from? How did—" she just stops. "Don't make me ask all the movie-questions."
Jeremiah bares his teeth in abject frustration and kicks the nearby dumpster with enough force to set it moving a little bit. The answer doesn't seem to be going over well. "Not here," he grunts. "And that's a damn good question I'd like to know." He stands, starting to pace back and forth—without actually approaching Cate any closer—with his hands clenched into tight fists, before deep breaths calm him. "Most folk call me Bullfrog. You know a Kaz? Or…" the man pauses. "Or Tim, or Jack Salem?"
"Whoah dude," she responds to his kicking, "That ain't gunna help none, and bringing more attention to this particular alleyway is the worst idea, right now." She scoots around him, lowering her knife-hand to her side so it's less obvious, and takes a step towards the exit of the alley. "I'm new around here," she explains, "So if you know people from here I haven't met, chances are I won't recognize their names. But you look like someone that probably runs in the same circles as I do, so, maybe there's someone else you can talk to local, that lives here. So you been here before or just know people from here?"
Jeremiah forces himself to take a deep breath again. "Sorry," he apologises to Cate. "Anger gets away from me sometimes. I don't know too many folk… my circumstances have changed a bit since I was last around this place. Do you know Whisper, maybe?" A studying look is turned on the ragabash, and eventually he sees the dropped coffee. "I'm sorry if I startled you, ma'am. Showing up like I did wasn't intentional, I promise."
"I have met Whisper, yes," Cate responds, "Funny how coincidences work out to your advantage when you fall out of the sky." She glances over to her spilled coffee, makes a face, then sighs. "I don't think I would ever intentionally do that either, so I'll take your word for it." She takes another step out of what she now considers The Nexus of Bad Things, and says, "We could get out of here, maybe go to the Pool Hall and I can see if I can get in touch with her for you, if you'd like. Its likely I can probably find someone who can help you out better, from there. You can call me Cate."
Jeremiah shoves his hands into his jacket pocket and shakes his head at the mention of the pool hall, though he finally does follow Cate out of the alley. "I have her phone number," he frees one hand and taps his forehead. "Just need a phone to use to call her with. She's packed with Jack Salem, I think. I need to get in touch with whoever's in charge of my folk around here," he grimaces and doesn't step back all the way onto the street. "And/or Scar. Probably both. Gnawers, that is. I 'preciate the offer of help, but unless you're the sort who knows how to heal…" The hand that is still inside his jacket pocket is pressed to his side, and it seems that he's not actually moving so well.
Cate frowns, "Well there's a damn phone in the pool hall… where the hell else could we…" she listens to Bullfrog speak and her eyes widen as she begins to realize the man's current predicament. "Okay, you said Gnawers, really?" Incredulous. "Okay, I know where we can go. Do you need… a hand?" She leans forward, now pretty strongly concerned.
"Really," Jeremiah says, leaning against the wall for a moment and then taking a step forward. "No, I've dealt with worse, ain't gonna die or anything, just hurts like fuck and I'd rather hole up somewhere I can, you know." He nods, though, letting her lead the way. "But I was in the middle of fighting a bane in Connecticut, when the world decided to dump me here out of the sky, so. Yes, really. Jeremiah. Bullfrog. Lives-On. Cliath ahroun of the Bone Gnawers, and don't you go listening to all th' things they'll say 'bout who I was, I ain't the same anymore." There's a decidedly dry and almost self-deprecating tone as he properly introduces himself. "Kaz was in charge when I left. But I guess she ain't here no more, probably in Portland again."
Cate still looks like she wants to reach out with her free hand to steady the guy, but doesn't move to actually touch him. "I don't know anywhere I should take you without… talking to someone about it first. I don't have a place I can take you safely. The pool hall, its kind of the best place I can think of, the other place where I'm thinking might get me in damn trouble. Ugh. Maybe I can at least get you a damn first aid kit? Something? I gotta find a payphone, maybe we'll pass one on the way to the library." Probably not, but you never know.
Jeremiah looks around at where they are in the city. "I never spent much time in the city," he explains. "Can find somewhere by the bridge I can camp out and such, until I—or you—can get in touch with someone, maybe. Don't get yourself in trouble on my account." He walks slowly enough, keeping pressure on whatever wound is hidden by the multitude of clothing. "Don't want to go somewhere I ain't supposed to be without checking in. I just don't want trouble, you know?" From the sound of it, him and trouble are pretty intimately acquainted.
"Yeah well," she huffs, "I don't want you to fuckin' bleed out after falling out of the fucking sky. So lets try to do something about that while I sit your ass somewhere?" She looks around for a convenience store while heading in the direction of Bridge Street.
"Yes ma'am," Bullfrog responds with a bit of a grin. The man sticks close to the walled edge of the sidewalk as they walk, and the two are given a wide berth by the people who are out and about. Jeremiah takes a deep breath in, and then out, through gritted teeth. "St. Claire. Of all the places to fall out of the sky I had to fall out here." He shakes his head, talking as much to himself as to Cate now.
"My car broke down here in town," Cate admits, "And shit just hasn't stopped happening since." After some time, they come up to the grocery store on bridge street, and she says, "Do you want to come in? I mean," she gestures, "I may just try to run in and out. You can get me back later." She doesn't really give him much time to respond.
Jeremiah shakes his head and finds a place to sit down with his back to a corner. "Go, I'll wait." He wraps the jacket around himself, hunches, pulls his hat down a bit and his hood up, making himself into just another of the itinerant homeless who are here and there about.
Cate comes back some time later with a clunky plastic box marked FIRST AID and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Here," she says, gesturing at the smelly alley, "This is better than where we were. Less trouble recently. Then after we get you settled, I'm off to find your folks…" a little more quietly, "You did say Gnawer right? Just checkin'," it seems to confuse her just a little.
Jeremiah nods, leveraging to his feet again and going where he's directed to, for the most part. That undercurrent of rage hasn't dimmed, but it's tightly controlled and buried, more of a general frustration than anything else. "Yes. And I din't just say it for shits and giggles, so." He glances at Cate, and then adds, "Thanks, Cate. You're a good sort, you… din't need to do any of this f'r me." Inside the alley, the Ahroun sits again, beginning to peel off the outer layers. His jacket hasn't even gotten blood on it, but every layer beneath that has.
"I am pretty sure when you fall out of the sky in front of my face, it counts as 'obligation'. I'm a fool to ignore coincidence, of which I have had 5 too many since I got here." She grins though, obviously taking this all in stride, and may appreciating the kind words. Kneeling, she pulls the stupid plastic off the first aid case, and flicks it away from her like its made of fire; "Stupid packaging," she mutters, and pops the case up to reveal large swathes of bandage and tape and scissors, as well as all the other wound-care materials expected in a cheap box for that purpose. She takes a large pad out and soaks it with the rubbing alcohol, before holding it out to Jer. "You or me, bro? Oh shit," she whispers when she sees all the blood. "Man, I do have to ask why the fuck you got dumped in the middle of a fuckin' city.
Jeremiah takes it from her, and shakes his head before he's even gotten the innermost shirt off. "Me," he responds with a grunt, gritting his teeth as he makes one of the shirts to keep putting pressure on the wound. "Go," he urges her. "Sooner you find someone the better off we both are."
Cate grabs the plastic flotsam before she gets up, crumples it and throws it in the nearest dumpster before jogging off.
The alley's filthy, but not, at least, horribly so, and Jeremiah settles himself well out of sight from the street as he gets to using the first aid kit on the wounds. Which at least are clean themselves, having missed either ribs or internal organs that would make it much more dangerous for him to be going about in his birth form. Nonetheless, a strangled sound of pain escapes at one point as he switches from the shirt, to the alcohol-soaked gauze pad.
Memory passes over the alleyway, circling back when she catches sight of Cate taking off at a jog. Curious, she checks out to see what was in the alley and comes in for a landing once she catches sight of Jeremiah. Her clawed feet reach out and she finds purchase on the top of a nearby dumpster. "Hey. I thought you got told not to come back here?" She tells the homeless man, in perfectly understandable English. "Also, you look like shit. What went and chewed on you?"
Jeremiah startles at the bird's presence, and then focuses for a moment on putting bandages to hold the wound at least somewhat together, leaning forward to awkwardly wrap them around his chest. "I didn't come back here," he says. His own English is far and vastly improved. "One moment I'm fighting a bane in Connecticut, and the next thing I know I'm falling from the sky in an alleyway and she found me," he jerks his head in the direction of the mouth of the alley. "By the way. Jeremiah. Bullfrog. Cliath ahroun Bone Gnawer, before you start making assumptions as to who I might well be."
Memory blinks a few times, as she cocks her head to one side and eyeballs Jeremiah with one beady black eye. "Oh. You're one of those now. How bad off are you? You look pretty bad. Need some patching up? Also, do you want to hear about Ky, or are you going to pretend to not give a shit. I've heard about what you've gone and done, but I'm not certain about the specific rules involved."
Jeremiah grits his teeth, and glances at the three shirts variously soaked with blood. "Patching up would be appreciated. I don't know how bad it is, honestly. I could walk and I'm not dead," Jeremiah says, with a bit of a grin finally allowed, and he shakes his head. "If you want to tell me." He shrugs, with a wince. "Knowing what's going on that I should stay clear of's always a good thing."
Memory spreads her wings and gives them a few flaps, just enough to carry her from her current perch, to the top of Jeremiah's head. It's a less than stable perch and she has to keep her wings half-spread for balance, even if the ex-Lord doesn't object to her being on his head.
He tenses, but that's about the only thing that he does when she alights on his head. At least he has a toque on. "Thanks," he offers. "Also, you know who's in charge of my folk these days?"
Memory gives her wings a tentative flap to keep her balance, then calls on her healing Gift and does what she can for the Ahroun. That done, she returns to her previous perch. "Lefty, far as I know. Ky, if you meet him, is doing okay. But he has been better. He has something of a temper and it has a habit of getting away from him. Makes him go and say things that he really shouldn't, just because he is pissy. The whole vampire thing really didn't do him any good."
Jeremiah waits until the bird is no longer on his head before carefully sorting through the layers of clothing and starting to put back on the ones, starting with the sweatshirt, that aren't bloodied beyond hope. Then he moves, tentatively, and gives Memory a nod. "Going to throw out these," he warns her, before he gets up, picking up the bloodied clothing and moving—although giving Memory a fair berth—to put them in the dumpster. Then he sits down, reclaiming his jacket, such that he can see the mouth of the alley, waiting for Cate to get back. "Vampire thing," he says, half questioning. "Frankly, I'd rather be back in Connecticut."
Memory watches as Jeremiah moves around, then clicks her beak together a few times. "New gang moved in to town. I poked at them. Something seemed weird, so Ky poked at them. Joined up to find out why they were weird. Found out that they were serving a leech. Found out where the leech was, which is good, but ended up bonded to it, which is bad." And yes, the big black bird is speaking perfectly understandable English.
Cate comes running up with another in tow, looking a bit sweaty despite the weather. When she arrives, she shuffle-tops to a halt, dodging into the alley, and spots Jeremiah, and then the bird. Her eyes narrow slightly at the bird, an eyebrow quirking in question. She shakes her head and looks the other fellow over. "Well, I guess maybe I didn't need to run so hard. It looked worse when I left, everything… okay?" she gestures at him, flailing a little bit. She then seems to notice she's out of breath, and takes a couple deep ones in, and out.
There's still no visible signs of the ahroun actually giving a shit, except for a furrow of his brow. "Val helped," Jeremiah grunts, and then when he spies Lefty, levers to his feet. There's still a significant amount of blood on the ground near where he was sitting, but the bloodied clothing seems to have been disposed of, most of the superficial injuries healed along with the help. "Lefty-rhya." There's a slightly formal, stiff nod. "Jeremiah Lives-On. Most folk just call me Bullfrog."
Memory fluffs up a bit. "Hi. Was passing through and spotted this guy over here," she says, briefly jabbing her beak in Jeremiah's direction. "An old face and a new one at the same time," she muses.
Lefty comes to a halt right behind the Uktena. Her eyes narrow on the guy in the alley. Although she sees Memory, the Gnawer doesn't seem to mind—or even be surprised by—her presence. She gives a simple chin raise to acknowledge the raven and then refocuses on Jeremiah. That curious, narrowed gaze suddenly shifts to recognition, surprise, and even a little anger. She turns it on the unlikeliest person here, the Uktena. "You said it was a Bone Gnawer."
Cate looks at Lefty with a confused frown, glances back to Jeremiah, and then back at her. "I mean, he doesn't look like… I mean," she looks like she's about to stick her foot in her mouth and rethinks, pausing a moment before saying "That's what he told me, I even asked twice. Three times."
Jeremiah bows his head to Lefty, Cate and Memory both ignored for the moment. "I am," he says, quietly, tone almost an apology. Not quite. "Jeremiah, called Bullfrog, named Lives-On. Cliath ahroun of the Bone Gnawers. And if you doubt me," he doesn't seem to take any offense at that, "then call Jack Salem. Have him ask me. Ask me whatever you want, ma'am."
Lefty's glare shifts from the Uktena to Jeremiah again. It takes perhaps half a minute for the rest of the story to click into place in the Gnawer's brain. "Aw, no fucking way!" she says, pointing at Jeremiah and shaking her head.
Memory yawns, then snaps her beak closed with a sharp click. "He is one of those now," she tells Cate. "The Tribe changing ones. Not certain what rules you lot have tied in with that sort of thing. He says he was in Connecticut, fighting a Bane, then got his ass dumped here. And you don't need to call on Salem. He's telling the truth. I checked."
Cate looks at the bird, listening, but seems to have nothing to say at the moment. After the bird finishes squawking, she looks at Lefty and Bullfrog, while tucking her hands deep into her pockets, kind of pulling herself inwards as she watches the situation unfurl.
Jeremiah turns to look at Memory for a moment, raising his brows, then his attention returns to Lefty. "Ma'am," he says, respectfully and politely. "I'm sure I'll be moving on soon enough, but in the mean time, I'm at your disposal. And I'd like to see if I can find out why I fell out of the sky here. It's… unsettling for me as well."
Lefty cuts him off, "Don't hand me that crap! Fell out of the sky? Do I look like a runny-nosed cub to you? Bullshit. You came back here on purpose, looking for your nephew. Fine, but you're not comin' under my roof. No way. I'm not an idiot. You can get your happy little ass over to the Vault where it belongs."
"If he ain't your problem, he ain't, but he did fall out of the sky… right in front of me. Literally. In that alley near the Slaughterhouse, where all the bad things seem to happen." Cate hugs herself slightly, and still looks at the other members of this conversation with some serious confusion and concern.
Memory quorks, then chortles, sounding amused. "I do have the half-moon Gift, Lefty. He was telling the Truth, or he has that Trick that Slug wanted me to find a Fox-Spirit to teach him. And Cate here is a good egg. I like her. You should listen to what she says."
Jeremiah glances at Memory and back to Lefty, and there's slight fire in his voice. "I did not come here on purpose. I don't want to be here anymore than you want to have me, ma'am," he says, "I am not fucking asking to stay under your roof, and I am not who I was. I left here and went to Las Vegas on Kaz-rhya's advice. I stayed there until September, and then made my way to the East Coast. I was in Hartford, fighting a corrupted I don't even know what it was they needed dealt with, and working on rebuilding. From Sandy, that storm."
Lefty spares Cate a glance, her expression showing clear irritation at the Uktena's inconvenient honesty. Memory gets the next glance, which only deepens the Gnawer's frustration and stubbornness. She digs in, jaw tightening. "Stop calling me ma'am. You make me feel like a fucking little old lady, or worse… a Silver Fang." She lets her breath out in a loud, huffed sigh. "Las Vegas? Is that where you became a Gnawer?"
Cate looks interested at Jeremiah's story, her curiosity piqued by the stories of the eastern shore. However, she chooses to stay silent after Lefty's glance, not sure what she could really add in a positive way to the somewhat tense situation.
Memory looks between the Ragabash and the Ahroun, then chitters and makes a few odd sounding clicks. The bird looks over at Cate and seems to focus her attention on the Uktena.
"Yes," Jeremiah answers, a simple nod of obedience to Lefty's order, and shifts where he's standing to press his arm against his side slightly, still. "In June, thereabouts. After what'd happened, I wasn't able to live with… who I'd been, and all the bullshit it had all become. Rat offered me a chance at survival, an honest chance." The stress on honesty is followed by the man chewing on his lower lip, gaze lowered but with a glance at Lefty. "As I said. While I'm here, I'm at your disposal."
Lefty grits her teeth. "You need to see the alpha. And I mean right away, no fucking around." The Gnawer then pulls out her phone and hits a number. A moment later, she says, "It's me. You are not going to believe my day. I need a beer. And maybe something more. You free?" There's a response from whomever she's speaking to, and then a faint grin. "Yeah, I'm sending you my coordinates." Hanging up, her amusement fades as she looks back to the other Gnawer. "Can you walk?" she asks.
Cate seems to be distracted by the bird, her brow furrowed. She has momentarily forgotten about the others in the alleyway.
Jeremiah glances down at his side. "My guts aren't about to fall out anymore. I can walk. It should," he tests this by taking a step, "be fine in a day or two if I can shift and spend some time to heal." There's a nod, and then he adds. "Understood." Followed, a beat later, by, "Who's the alpha now?" Truth be told, the ahroun doesn't sound thrilled, but there's no argument there.
Memory seems a little distracted, as if she is only keeping half her attention on the conversation between the two Gnawers. "Oh. Lefty," she says. "There is a girl, thirteen, who has taken to wandering the streets at night and painting Umbral maps on the sides of buildings. If anyone sees her, could they keep an eye on her, but leave her alone? She's harmless and something I'm dealing with."
Lefty definitely does not seem happy about any of this, but she also seems a little resigned. "I called Jacob. He'll be here in a little bit. Take us back to the Library. You can stay in the basement, for now. Til you see Elliot—Athro Fianna ragabash. He's the new alpha. Did you meet him the last time you "fell out of the sky" here?" The corax and the Uktena get a brief glance, curiosity evident in the Gnawer's eyes, but she lets it go in order to finish her conversation with Jeremiah.
Cate seems to wake up a bit, shaking her head and rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. She looks back at Jeremiah and Lefty. "So uh," she sidles into the conversation, "You guys… okay? Need anything further, from me, or…?"
Lefty waves the Uktena off, shaking her head. There is an apologetic and grateful, silent look that accompanies the otherwise rather impolite way the Gnawer dismisses the Uktena. "Again, nice meeting you," she adds, as an after thought.
Jeremiah pulls his outer coat around him a little bit tighter and runs his free hand over the stubble on his chin. "The name doesn't sound familiar," he shakes his head. "Thank you, Cate. If you see Whisper, couldya pass on where to find me?" He looks at Lefty, "If that's alright," he says, with a furrowing of brow. Other than that, the ahroun is quiet now.
Memory gives herself a shake, then looks at the gathered Garou and voices a loud quork. "Please, if any of you see the girl, just keep an eye on her and make certain she gets home okay. Otherwise, leave her be. Thanks. I'm off," she states and with that, she is gone, wings quickly carrying her out of the alleyway.
A black Monte Carlo, mid 80's body style, pulls into the area, rolling slowly.
Cate watches the bird fly off, and then nods, waving back to the two other garou before shoving her hands back into her pockets and walking out of the alley. She glances at the car, but doesn't give it any thought before she's gone.
Lefty asks, even though the corax is well gone by the time the words come out, "What girl?" Jeremiah's question is answered with a small shrug of the shoulders and tip of the head. "Whisper's cool with me. She's welcome at the library." The Monte Carlo elicits relief, the Gnawer's shoulders relaxing. "That's our ride."
Jeremiah moves back to pick up the remaining pieces of a first-aid kit that are near where he was sitting, the still usable ones going into a pocket of his coat, the plastic case and plastic wrapping neatly bundled into the trash. "Alright," he acknowledges, moving to follow the adren ragabash, quiet for now.
The car stops and Jacob looks first into the mirror and then toward his alpha. He opens the door and takes a half step out, looking between the two with a curious glance.
Lefty points at the back seat for Jeremiah, taking shotgun for herself. Jacob gets a smile. "I hope you got some weed on you," she mutters. After they're in the car, she says, "Library." She doesn't explain Jeremiah, or make introductions.
Jeremiah climbs into the backseat, fairly careful not to get blood on the car, though there's still a significant amount of blood on his hands. The ahroun is silent, thoughtful.
Jacob looks again at the two and without a word, puts the car back into gear and heads toward the Library. A nod to the glovebox is given to Lefty, and whilst the drive continues, a careful eye is kept on the passenger in the back via rearview mirror.
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (33% full).
It's not raining, but it is cloudy and grey and gloomy. Life and the bustle of it goes on, though it's not quite the lunch hour yet, and too early for much of the less savory activity of the industrial sector. Not, however, apparently too early for there to be a large noise from one of the unoccupied smaller alleyways, like a faint rumble of machinery that starts and does not stop.
Cate walks out of the coffee shop, holding a cup of cheap coffee in one hand. She looks distracted and a little more disheveled than usual. There is an errant leaf or three in her hair if you look close enough; she hasn't. There are circles under her eyes like something has been keeping her up nights. Hence, the coffee. She sips it, and begins to meander down the sidewalk, eyeing the alleyway as she passes, her steps slowing. It takes her a minute to realize she's come to a full stop, and she shakes her head slightly before focusing on the sound, her eyebrows first raising, and then her eyes squinting. She takes a deep breath, still smelling the fire that was there not so long ago; her hand slips inside of her jacket and she makes her way, unfaltering, into the darkened space.
The rumbling is enough to cause a few of the dumpsters to shake and rattle, and then the noise stops, just as abruptly as it started. One of the dumpsters is displaced, sent rolling towards the mouth of the alley (though not wholly obscuring the view), and there's a significant crashing sound. And there's a man, falling from about six feet in the air to the ground and starting to claw at the wall to get up, muttering to himself.
Cate is, to put it mildly, startled by this series of events. First, the coffee is dropped; the half empty cup pops and splatters open across the pavement, spattering the woman a bit. A large dirk is pulled out of her jacket, at the moment pressed back against her arm, but ready to be utilized, and she jumps slightly to move to the side as the dumpster shifts, tense. However, some of the moment of 'ready to strike' is lost when a man falls from the sky. "The fuck—?" She ogles and is momentarily confused.
He seems to be relatively unhurt by the incident of falling from the sky. Unhurt in general would be a little too much to ask, it looks more like the homeless man has recently been in some sort of fight, various superficial injuries on the few visible parts of his skin. He leans against the wall a moment to pull the largest jacket closed, and then turns to Cate. Surprise is visible on his face, and his jaw works as he searches for words. "Hello," he eventually manages, nothing short of polite though his voice is rough, and strained. "This's gonna sound crazy-talk, but where am I, ma'am?"
Cate stares at the scratched up hobo for quite a few beats before she manages a response. "At this point," she responds, "I don't think anything sounds like 'crazy-talk'," she qualifies. "You are in Saint Claire. Who are you?" She is still holding her knife pressed back against her arm and is couched in a defensive posture. The woman looks over him carefully, a look of something similar to 'recognition' flashing across her face. "Where did you come from? How did—" she just stops. "Don't make me ask all the movie-questions."
Jeremiah bares his teeth in abject frustration and kicks the nearby dumpster with enough force to set it moving a little bit. The answer doesn't seem to be going over well. "Not here," he grunts. "And that's a damn good question I'd like to know." He stands, starting to pace back and forth—without actually approaching Cate any closer—with his hands clenched into tight fists, before deep breaths calm him. "Most folk call me Bullfrog. You know a Kaz? Or…" the man pauses. "Or Tim, or Jack Salem?"
"Whoah dude," she responds to his kicking, "That ain't gunna help none, and bringing more attention to this particular alleyway is the worst idea, right now." She scoots around him, lowering her knife-hand to her side so it's less obvious, and takes a step towards the exit of the alley. "I'm new around here," she explains, "So if you know people from here I haven't met, chances are I won't recognize their names. But you look like someone that probably runs in the same circles as I do, so, maybe there's someone else you can talk to local, that lives here. So you been here before or just know people from here?"
Jeremiah forces himself to take a deep breath again. "Sorry," he apologises to Cate. "Anger gets away from me sometimes. I don't know too many folk… my circumstances have changed a bit since I was last around this place. Do you know Whisper, maybe?" A studying look is turned on the ragabash, and eventually he sees the dropped coffee. "I'm sorry if I startled you, ma'am. Showing up like I did wasn't intentional, I promise."
"I have met Whisper, yes," Cate responds, "Funny how coincidences work out to your advantage when you fall out of the sky." She glances over to her spilled coffee, makes a face, then sighs. "I don't think I would ever intentionally do that either, so I'll take your word for it." She takes another step out of what she now considers The Nexus of Bad Things, and says, "We could get out of here, maybe go to the Pool Hall and I can see if I can get in touch with her for you, if you'd like. Its likely I can probably find someone who can help you out better, from there. You can call me Cate."
Jeremiah shoves his hands into his jacket pocket and shakes his head at the mention of the pool hall, though he finally does follow Cate out of the alley. "I have her phone number," he frees one hand and taps his forehead. "Just need a phone to use to call her with. She's packed with Jack Salem, I think. I need to get in touch with whoever's in charge of my folk around here," he grimaces and doesn't step back all the way onto the street. "And/or Scar. Probably both. Gnawers, that is. I 'preciate the offer of help, but unless you're the sort who knows how to heal…" The hand that is still inside his jacket pocket is pressed to his side, and it seems that he's not actually moving so well.
Cate frowns, "Well there's a damn phone in the pool hall… where the hell else could we…" she listens to Bullfrog speak and her eyes widen as she begins to realize the man's current predicament. "Okay, you said Gnawers, really?" Incredulous. "Okay, I know where we can go. Do you need… a hand?" She leans forward, now pretty strongly concerned.
"Really," Jeremiah says, leaning against the wall for a moment and then taking a step forward. "No, I've dealt with worse, ain't gonna die or anything, just hurts like fuck and I'd rather hole up somewhere I can, you know." He nods, though, letting her lead the way. "But I was in the middle of fighting a bane in Connecticut, when the world decided to dump me here out of the sky, so. Yes, really. Jeremiah. Bullfrog. Lives-On. Cliath ahroun of the Bone Gnawers, and don't you go listening to all th' things they'll say 'bout who I was, I ain't the same anymore." There's a decidedly dry and almost self-deprecating tone as he properly introduces himself. "Kaz was in charge when I left. But I guess she ain't here no more, probably in Portland again."
Cate still looks like she wants to reach out with her free hand to steady the guy, but doesn't move to actually touch him. "I don't know anywhere I should take you without… talking to someone about it first. I don't have a place I can take you safely. The pool hall, its kind of the best place I can think of, the other place where I'm thinking might get me in damn trouble. Ugh. Maybe I can at least get you a damn first aid kit? Something? I gotta find a payphone, maybe we'll pass one on the way to the library." Probably not, but you never know.
Jeremiah looks around at where they are in the city. "I never spent much time in the city," he explains. "Can find somewhere by the bridge I can camp out and such, until I—or you—can get in touch with someone, maybe. Don't get yourself in trouble on my account." He walks slowly enough, keeping pressure on whatever wound is hidden by the multitude of clothing. "Don't want to go somewhere I ain't supposed to be without checking in. I just don't want trouble, you know?" From the sound of it, him and trouble are pretty intimately acquainted.
"Yeah well," she huffs, "I don't want you to fuckin' bleed out after falling out of the fucking sky. So lets try to do something about that while I sit your ass somewhere?" She looks around for a convenience store while heading in the direction of Bridge Street.
"Yes ma'am," Bullfrog responds with a bit of a grin. The man sticks close to the walled edge of the sidewalk as they walk, and the two are given a wide berth by the people who are out and about. Jeremiah takes a deep breath in, and then out, through gritted teeth. "St. Claire. Of all the places to fall out of the sky I had to fall out here." He shakes his head, talking as much to himself as to Cate now.
"My car broke down here in town," Cate admits, "And shit just hasn't stopped happening since." After some time, they come up to the grocery store on bridge street, and she says, "Do you want to come in? I mean," she gestures, "I may just try to run in and out. You can get me back later." She doesn't really give him much time to respond.
Jeremiah shakes his head and finds a place to sit down with his back to a corner. "Go, I'll wait." He wraps the jacket around himself, hunches, pulls his hat down a bit and his hood up, making himself into just another of the itinerant homeless who are here and there about.
Cate comes back some time later with a clunky plastic box marked FIRST AID and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Here," she says, gesturing at the smelly alley, "This is better than where we were. Less trouble recently. Then after we get you settled, I'm off to find your folks…" a little more quietly, "You did say Gnawer right? Just checkin'," it seems to confuse her just a little.
Jeremiah nods, leveraging to his feet again and going where he's directed to, for the most part. That undercurrent of rage hasn't dimmed, but it's tightly controlled and buried, more of a general frustration than anything else. "Yes. And I din't just say it for shits and giggles, so." He glances at Cate, and then adds, "Thanks, Cate. You're a good sort, you… din't need to do any of this f'r me." Inside the alley, the Ahroun sits again, beginning to peel off the outer layers. His jacket hasn't even gotten blood on it, but every layer beneath that has.
"I am pretty sure when you fall out of the sky in front of my face, it counts as 'obligation'. I'm a fool to ignore coincidence, of which I have had 5 too many since I got here." She grins though, obviously taking this all in stride, and may appreciating the kind words. Kneeling, she pulls the stupid plastic off the first aid case, and flicks it away from her like its made of fire; "Stupid packaging," she mutters, and pops the case up to reveal large swathes of bandage and tape and scissors, as well as all the other wound-care materials expected in a cheap box for that purpose. She takes a large pad out and soaks it with the rubbing alcohol, before holding it out to Jer. "You or me, bro? Oh shit," she whispers when she sees all the blood. "Man, I do have to ask why the fuck you got dumped in the middle of a fuckin' city.
Jeremiah takes it from her, and shakes his head before he's even gotten the innermost shirt off. "Me," he responds with a grunt, gritting his teeth as he makes one of the shirts to keep putting pressure on the wound. "Go," he urges her. "Sooner you find someone the better off we both are."
Cate grabs the plastic flotsam before she gets up, crumples it and throws it in the nearest dumpster before jogging off.
The alley's filthy, but not, at least, horribly so, and Jeremiah settles himself well out of sight from the street as he gets to using the first aid kit on the wounds. Which at least are clean themselves, having missed either ribs or internal organs that would make it much more dangerous for him to be going about in his birth form. Nonetheless, a strangled sound of pain escapes at one point as he switches from the shirt, to the alcohol-soaked gauze pad.
Memory passes over the alleyway, circling back when she catches sight of Cate taking off at a jog. Curious, she checks out to see what was in the alley and comes in for a landing once she catches sight of Jeremiah. Her clawed feet reach out and she finds purchase on the top of a nearby dumpster. "Hey. I thought you got told not to come back here?" She tells the homeless man, in perfectly understandable English. "Also, you look like shit. What went and chewed on you?"
Jeremiah startles at the bird's presence, and then focuses for a moment on putting bandages to hold the wound at least somewhat together, leaning forward to awkwardly wrap them around his chest. "I didn't come back here," he says. His own English is far and vastly improved. "One moment I'm fighting a bane in Connecticut, and the next thing I know I'm falling from the sky in an alleyway and she found me," he jerks his head in the direction of the mouth of the alley. "By the way. Jeremiah. Bullfrog. Cliath ahroun Bone Gnawer, before you start making assumptions as to who I might well be."
Memory blinks a few times, as she cocks her head to one side and eyeballs Jeremiah with one beady black eye. "Oh. You're one of those now. How bad off are you? You look pretty bad. Need some patching up? Also, do you want to hear about Ky, or are you going to pretend to not give a shit. I've heard about what you've gone and done, but I'm not certain about the specific rules involved."
Jeremiah grits his teeth, and glances at the three shirts variously soaked with blood. "Patching up would be appreciated. I don't know how bad it is, honestly. I could walk and I'm not dead," Jeremiah says, with a bit of a grin finally allowed, and he shakes his head. "If you want to tell me." He shrugs, with a wince. "Knowing what's going on that I should stay clear of's always a good thing."
Memory spreads her wings and gives them a few flaps, just enough to carry her from her current perch, to the top of Jeremiah's head. It's a less than stable perch and she has to keep her wings half-spread for balance, even if the ex-Lord doesn't object to her being on his head.
He tenses, but that's about the only thing that he does when she alights on his head. At least he has a toque on. "Thanks," he offers. "Also, you know who's in charge of my folk these days?"
Memory gives her wings a tentative flap to keep her balance, then calls on her healing Gift and does what she can for the Ahroun. That done, she returns to her previous perch. "Lefty, far as I know. Ky, if you meet him, is doing okay. But he has been better. He has something of a temper and it has a habit of getting away from him. Makes him go and say things that he really shouldn't, just because he is pissy. The whole vampire thing really didn't do him any good."
Jeremiah waits until the bird is no longer on his head before carefully sorting through the layers of clothing and starting to put back on the ones, starting with the sweatshirt, that aren't bloodied beyond hope. Then he moves, tentatively, and gives Memory a nod. "Going to throw out these," he warns her, before he gets up, picking up the bloodied clothing and moving—although giving Memory a fair berth—to put them in the dumpster. Then he sits down, reclaiming his jacket, such that he can see the mouth of the alley, waiting for Cate to get back. "Vampire thing," he says, half questioning. "Frankly, I'd rather be back in Connecticut."
Memory watches as Jeremiah moves around, then clicks her beak together a few times. "New gang moved in to town. I poked at them. Something seemed weird, so Ky poked at them. Joined up to find out why they were weird. Found out that they were serving a leech. Found out where the leech was, which is good, but ended up bonded to it, which is bad." And yes, the big black bird is speaking perfectly understandable English.
Cate comes running up with another in tow, looking a bit sweaty despite the weather. When she arrives, she shuffle-tops to a halt, dodging into the alley, and spots Jeremiah, and then the bird. Her eyes narrow slightly at the bird, an eyebrow quirking in question. She shakes her head and looks the other fellow over. "Well, I guess maybe I didn't need to run so hard. It looked worse when I left, everything… okay?" she gestures at him, flailing a little bit. She then seems to notice she's out of breath, and takes a couple deep ones in, and out.
There's still no visible signs of the ahroun actually giving a shit, except for a furrow of his brow. "Val helped," Jeremiah grunts, and then when he spies Lefty, levers to his feet. There's still a significant amount of blood on the ground near where he was sitting, but the bloodied clothing seems to have been disposed of, most of the superficial injuries healed along with the help. "Lefty-rhya." There's a slightly formal, stiff nod. "Jeremiah Lives-On. Most folk just call me Bullfrog."
Memory fluffs up a bit. "Hi. Was passing through and spotted this guy over here," she says, briefly jabbing her beak in Jeremiah's direction. "An old face and a new one at the same time," she muses.
Lefty comes to a halt right behind the Uktena. Her eyes narrow on the guy in the alley. Although she sees Memory, the Gnawer doesn't seem to mind—or even be surprised by—her presence. She gives a simple chin raise to acknowledge the raven and then refocuses on Jeremiah. That curious, narrowed gaze suddenly shifts to recognition, surprise, and even a little anger. She turns it on the unlikeliest person here, the Uktena. "You said it was a Bone Gnawer."
Cate looks at Lefty with a confused frown, glances back to Jeremiah, and then back at her. "I mean, he doesn't look like… I mean," she looks like she's about to stick her foot in her mouth and rethinks, pausing a moment before saying "That's what he told me, I even asked twice. Three times."
Jeremiah bows his head to Lefty, Cate and Memory both ignored for the moment. "I am," he says, quietly, tone almost an apology. Not quite. "Jeremiah, called Bullfrog, named Lives-On. Cliath ahroun of the Bone Gnawers. And if you doubt me," he doesn't seem to take any offense at that, "then call Jack Salem. Have him ask me. Ask me whatever you want, ma'am."
Lefty's glare shifts from the Uktena to Jeremiah again. It takes perhaps half a minute for the rest of the story to click into place in the Gnawer's brain. "Aw, no fucking way!" she says, pointing at Jeremiah and shaking her head.
Memory yawns, then snaps her beak closed with a sharp click. "He is one of those now," she tells Cate. "The Tribe changing ones. Not certain what rules you lot have tied in with that sort of thing. He says he was in Connecticut, fighting a Bane, then got his ass dumped here. And you don't need to call on Salem. He's telling the truth. I checked."
Cate looks at the bird, listening, but seems to have nothing to say at the moment. After the bird finishes squawking, she looks at Lefty and Bullfrog, while tucking her hands deep into her pockets, kind of pulling herself inwards as she watches the situation unfurl.
Jeremiah turns to look at Memory for a moment, raising his brows, then his attention returns to Lefty. "Ma'am," he says, respectfully and politely. "I'm sure I'll be moving on soon enough, but in the mean time, I'm at your disposal. And I'd like to see if I can find out why I fell out of the sky here. It's… unsettling for me as well."
Lefty cuts him off, "Don't hand me that crap! Fell out of the sky? Do I look like a runny-nosed cub to you? Bullshit. You came back here on purpose, looking for your nephew. Fine, but you're not comin' under my roof. No way. I'm not an idiot. You can get your happy little ass over to the Vault where it belongs."
"If he ain't your problem, he ain't, but he did fall out of the sky… right in front of me. Literally. In that alley near the Slaughterhouse, where all the bad things seem to happen." Cate hugs herself slightly, and still looks at the other members of this conversation with some serious confusion and concern.
Memory quorks, then chortles, sounding amused. "I do have the half-moon Gift, Lefty. He was telling the Truth, or he has that Trick that Slug wanted me to find a Fox-Spirit to teach him. And Cate here is a good egg. I like her. You should listen to what she says."
Jeremiah glances at Memory and back to Lefty, and there's slight fire in his voice. "I did not come here on purpose. I don't want to be here anymore than you want to have me, ma'am," he says, "I am not fucking asking to stay under your roof, and I am not who I was. I left here and went to Las Vegas on Kaz-rhya's advice. I stayed there until September, and then made my way to the East Coast. I was in Hartford, fighting a corrupted I don't even know what it was they needed dealt with, and working on rebuilding. From Sandy, that storm."
Lefty spares Cate a glance, her expression showing clear irritation at the Uktena's inconvenient honesty. Memory gets the next glance, which only deepens the Gnawer's frustration and stubbornness. She digs in, jaw tightening. "Stop calling me ma'am. You make me feel like a fucking little old lady, or worse… a Silver Fang." She lets her breath out in a loud, huffed sigh. "Las Vegas? Is that where you became a Gnawer?"
Cate looks interested at Jeremiah's story, her curiosity piqued by the stories of the eastern shore. However, she chooses to stay silent after Lefty's glance, not sure what she could really add in a positive way to the somewhat tense situation.
Memory looks between the Ragabash and the Ahroun, then chitters and makes a few odd sounding clicks. The bird looks over at Cate and seems to focus her attention on the Uktena.
"Yes," Jeremiah answers, a simple nod of obedience to Lefty's order, and shifts where he's standing to press his arm against his side slightly, still. "In June, thereabouts. After what'd happened, I wasn't able to live with… who I'd been, and all the bullshit it had all become. Rat offered me a chance at survival, an honest chance." The stress on honesty is followed by the man chewing on his lower lip, gaze lowered but with a glance at Lefty. "As I said. While I'm here, I'm at your disposal."
Lefty grits her teeth. "You need to see the alpha. And I mean right away, no fucking around." The Gnawer then pulls out her phone and hits a number. A moment later, she says, "It's me. You are not going to believe my day. I need a beer. And maybe something more. You free?" There's a response from whomever she's speaking to, and then a faint grin. "Yeah, I'm sending you my coordinates." Hanging up, her amusement fades as she looks back to the other Gnawer. "Can you walk?" she asks.
Cate seems to be distracted by the bird, her brow furrowed. She has momentarily forgotten about the others in the alleyway.
Jeremiah glances down at his side. "My guts aren't about to fall out anymore. I can walk. It should," he tests this by taking a step, "be fine in a day or two if I can shift and spend some time to heal." There's a nod, and then he adds. "Understood." Followed, a beat later, by, "Who's the alpha now?" Truth be told, the ahroun doesn't sound thrilled, but there's no argument there.
Memory seems a little distracted, as if she is only keeping half her attention on the conversation between the two Gnawers. "Oh. Lefty," she says. "There is a girl, thirteen, who has taken to wandering the streets at night and painting Umbral maps on the sides of buildings. If anyone sees her, could they keep an eye on her, but leave her alone? She's harmless and something I'm dealing with."
Lefty definitely does not seem happy about any of this, but she also seems a little resigned. "I called Jacob. He'll be here in a little bit. Take us back to the Library. You can stay in the basement, for now. Til you see Elliot—Athro Fianna ragabash. He's the new alpha. Did you meet him the last time you "fell out of the sky" here?" The corax and the Uktena get a brief glance, curiosity evident in the Gnawer's eyes, but she lets it go in order to finish her conversation with Jeremiah.
Cate seems to wake up a bit, shaking her head and rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. She looks back at Jeremiah and Lefty. "So uh," she sidles into the conversation, "You guys… okay? Need anything further, from me, or…?"
Lefty waves the Uktena off, shaking her head. There is an apologetic and grateful, silent look that accompanies the otherwise rather impolite way the Gnawer dismisses the Uktena. "Again, nice meeting you," she adds, as an after thought.
Jeremiah pulls his outer coat around him a little bit tighter and runs his free hand over the stubble on his chin. "The name doesn't sound familiar," he shakes his head. "Thank you, Cate. If you see Whisper, couldya pass on where to find me?" He looks at Lefty, "If that's alright," he says, with a furrowing of brow. Other than that, the ahroun is quiet now.
Memory gives herself a shake, then looks at the gathered Garou and voices a loud quork. "Please, if any of you see the girl, just keep an eye on her and make certain she gets home okay. Otherwise, leave her be. Thanks. I'm off," she states and with that, she is gone, wings quickly carrying her out of the alleyway.
A black Monte Carlo, mid 80's body style, pulls into the area, rolling slowly.
Cate watches the bird fly off, and then nods, waving back to the two other garou before shoving her hands back into her pockets and walking out of the alley. She glances at the car, but doesn't give it any thought before she's gone.
Lefty asks, even though the corax is well gone by the time the words come out, "What girl?" Jeremiah's question is answered with a small shrug of the shoulders and tip of the head. "Whisper's cool with me. She's welcome at the library." The Monte Carlo elicits relief, the Gnawer's shoulders relaxing. "That's our ride."
Jeremiah moves back to pick up the remaining pieces of a first-aid kit that are near where he was sitting, the still usable ones going into a pocket of his coat, the plastic case and plastic wrapping neatly bundled into the trash. "Alright," he acknowledges, moving to follow the adren ragabash, quiet for now.
The car stops and Jacob looks first into the mirror and then toward his alpha. He opens the door and takes a half step out, looking between the two with a curious glance.
Lefty points at the back seat for Jeremiah, taking shotgun for herself. Jacob gets a smile. "I hope you got some weed on you," she mutters. After they're in the car, she says, "Library." She doesn't explain Jeremiah, or make introductions.
Jeremiah climbs into the backseat, fairly careful not to get blood on the car, though there's still a significant amount of blood on his hands. The ahroun is silent, thoughtful.
Jacob looks again at the two and without a word, puts the car back into gear and heads toward the Library. A nod to the glovebox is given to Lefty, and whilst the drive continues, a careful eye is kept on the passenger in the back via rearview mirror.