The library's ground level is one large room punctuated by even rows of pier columns that confidently hold the weight of the upper floors. The building is old but solid, its lath and plaster walls dark with age. Here and there some of the plaster has worn off to reveal the wooden slats beneath. Heavy, dark grained and decorated mahogany wainscoting runs the length of the walls, complimented by thick, ornate crown molding along the ceiling and each of the columns. It's clear from the dilapidated condition that the building's been abandoned for decades. There is a somber, sepulchral quietness to the place, even when alive with people, that is perhaps a ghostly echo of the rigid, required silence that its wardens demanded when the library was in its heyday.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in a well-worn biker jacket of the traditional sort, all fairly closely fit black leather and silvery zippers and snaps. Beneath it, he's got old black jeans with a rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off, with a faded black band t-shirt ('Anarchy Burger - Hold the Government', parodying the In-N-Out sign) under an open dark red hawaiian shirt. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
A teenager, maybe 14 or 15 years old. The whole 5"7 of his somehow spell out "farm boy", with a body that obviously has been subjected to a more or less healthy dose of sunlight and the abs that tell of a young life that has seen quite a bit of labor.
Well, either that or he is one of those that spend a good deal of their youth in a fitness center with a tanning booth.
He is not unpleasant looking, with a cleanly shaven face (or one that needs no shaving just yet to stay that way), well defined chin and high cheekbones, with a pair of grey-blue eyes, a face that could probably be considered cute if he used his facial muscles more than he absolutely has to, almost like trying to give his face a nondescript look. The blond hair he has cut down to a crew cut does nothing to help here, he seems to go for the "practical" style rather than following some fashion trend.
Practical also seems to be the theme of his clothing style, a pair of khaki pants and matching shirt, both slightly worn but clean, along with a pair of boots on his feet that have equally seen a good deal of use but are (usually) kept clean and well cared for.
Huge and terrible this beast towers over eight feet. His body is covered in fur that is solid white without a hint of any other shading. His arms and legs are huge and muscled. Each of his hands sport impressive inch long claws that are deadly sharp. Blue eyes that peer about with a feral intelligence are the only indication that this beast is anything other than a monster. His fangs huge fangs are ivory white in addition to his fur and leave no doubt that they could do impressive damage if angered. There is defiantly a regal air about this monster despite his terrifying proportions.
Thane isn't a man who's appearance stands out much. He's caucasian of skin tone with a faint swarthiness should he stay out in the sun long enough to catch a tan. His bones are pronounced, giving him the appearance of leanness despite having a solid, even musculature that speaks of someone who's gained his athleticism through rounded activity versus focused weight training. His hair is a tawny brown in most lights and usually kept in a short style. Often, there's a good day's growth of beard on his face which seems to hide small nicks and old scars. His eyes are a mid-tone blue, often held under pensive brows.
There is a look to him, the weight of something undefined. It's like looking into the eyes of a man who has seen terrible things and was never quite was the same after. It's even more haunting considering his blind right eye is couched in scars like an attack from a bear.
Usually, he's casually dressed but cleans up when the need calls. He's never seen among the normal public in anything but long sleeves regardless of the weather, underneath showing massive scarring on on his forearms. They don't seem to restrict movement, but the oddly darkened scars are numerous like lightning bolts across his skin. Another deep slice runs at the upper portion of his abdomen.
No sooner is Marcos in Crinos then so is Thane. The normally calm Shadow Lord drips menace as he curls back his lips, his growl deep and threatening. As he curls his claws fingers into fists, making the ritual jagged scars lining his arms stand out all the more, the shadows at his feet quite literally *move*. They shudder and pulse, then branch out from him into entirely unnatural branches like a nightmare tree. ~SILENCE.~ Bellows the elder with the force of Rage and rank. ~That is quite enough! The Cliath will remember their place. My packmate will remember his behavior reflects on me. Either take your shit outside, let it drop, or I will end it and I will END anyone who continues with this foolishness. This is a tribe's territory. RESPECT IT.~
Frederick takes a few more steps back before he himself blurs into a mass of fur, the Cliath taking an odd stance somewhere between standing and crouching, balancing on his hind legs with a forepaw on the floor, watching the white mass of fur develop in front of him. His posture is certainly not one of dominance, no doubt about this, but at the same time wary of whatever may be coming for him, his body tense in expectation, not aggressive but also not one of surrender. He growls a quiet ~Disrespect was not the intention. Why do you expect such from me? Why do you expect it at all?~
As the supernatural fear rolls over Justin like a tidal wave crashing the surface, he bolts backwards quickly with a shriek (a manly shriek) of fear. He back peddles quickly, stumbling over his feet and hits the ground as one can of cheese fires out of his hand, gives an awkward bounce and a spin in the air, then sprays the Silver Fang with yellow goop. He continues to scoot backwards on his rear, gets to his feet and barrels for the back as he bangs himself through a door. The scent of urine lingers in the air, as well as the puddle which trails behind him.
Howls-the-Dawn still stares after the fleeing Justin as he backs away, pissing himself and screaming like a bitch. He doesn't even justify the spray of cheese with so much as a grumble. He nods in acceptance of Thane's admonishment and his form slowly returns back to that of his homid shape. Finally reaching up and wiping the cheese from his body he shakes his head and says, "I wouldn't have killed him in their house."
Felix comes down the stairs two and three at a time, scanning the lower room as soon as it's visible. The current prevalence of fur among the assembled does nothing to make him look less tense and on edge -- nor does his packmate's thorough retreat. At least one person shifting back down does, though, and he takes the rest of the stairs one at a time, still wary but somewhat less urgent. "Well, shit," he remarks quietly to no one in particular, glancing from the three non-Gnawers to Justin's trail and the door through which he disappeared, then back.
Frederick stays in the back, wary, balancing on his hind legs as he watches the whole scene unfold. He keeps his eyes at the Fang. He eventually decided to return to his birth form, standing there as he looks over to Howls and Shadows, quietly watching the two of them.
Consumes-Shadows looks quite cheesed off (no pun intended) as Justin is sent fleeing. A hand is raised palm out to Frederick is a universal Stop And Shut Up motion, but his ire is sent towards Marcos. ~A gift against a Garou of lower rank than you who wasn't even threatening you? And a Gnawer to boot. I'd have expected better from a Fostern Silver Fang.~ He snorts loudly to blow off some Rage and glances towards Felix as he arrives on the scene - poor bastard. To him is said far more gently, ~See to Justin, please.~ As things have calmed he settles back into his Homid form and takes a moment to straighten his shirt. "The full moon was perhaps a poor choice of timing to talk business."
Marcos tilts his head to the side in honest contemplation of Thane's statement his way. "If a Silver Fang demanding the respect of a lower ranking Bone Gnawer who was actively disrespecting him is wrong, then all of the Silver Fang's at Falcon's Eyrie were off base. As he said, "He had no problem 'getting up in my shit' I believe it was. He disrespected me and all of the other garou at the Sept with his little comment about everyone who accepts the 'bare fucking minimum,' I believe were his words." He shakes his head and says, "I think I'll be going if there is no need for me to remain."
Felix's eyebrow raises somewhat at the particulars of the discussion, but he gives a light salute to Thane's instruction, two fingers to his temple and flicking away, and heads across the room in Justin's wake. Well, next to his wake, anyway. He likes these boots.
<OOC> Justin: Real friends walk in each other's pee :)
<OOC> Felix: Don't drag me into your weird fetishes, man.
Frederick is remaining. Actually, he is standing there. Doing pretty much nothing at all but standing there. Not quite at attention, but close enough. Almost like waiting for something. Or simply doing his Get-standing-somewhere-and-not-moving impression.
In the back room which was used mostly for storage is Justin, tucked away and cowering behind a book shelf as he tries to get ahold of himself. At least the urine trail did not travel too far. He did not have that much Mountain Dew. As his pack mate comes through the door, his bug-eyes stare at him in a feral manner, as if he was a trapped animal, ready to attack.
"All of which can be dealt with without the need to shift and employ gifts on a very full moon." Thane remarks with a frown. "Use your words or a fist, but save the claws and powers for times you actually need to declare a damned war. Rage gets Garou killed as easily as our enemies, don't encourage it. Tactless as his statement may have been, he has a valid point. This sept has been complacent and that is something we, as tribal elder and declared-elder, need to help remedy. In that we are equally responsible as that of our Alpha." He gives his hand a dismissing wave to his packmate. "Go then."
Marcos nods his head curtly and says, "Thanks." With that he turns and pushes his way out of the library door.
Felix pulls the door to the room open fairly quickly until he actually sees where Justin's still hiding; then the movement slows down and he approaches more carefully, like someone trying to befriend a stray dog. "Hey," he tells him quietly, "'s just me. Just pack. Everything's okay now, a'right? No one's gonna be guttin' anyone, you can relax." He glances over his shoulder, listening to the words and then the sound of the outer door, and adds, "He's gone now, too."
Frederick is still not moving. He would actually make a pretty good statue. Of what, though, is quite debatable. It probably won't be the Get memorial. He does not even blink.
At the sight of his packmate, Justin visibly calms down and relaxes back against the wall. Rubbing a hand over his face, he says, "Don't know what the fuck just happened back there. I saw red and ran for my life. Ugh. Hey. Uh... I think we need to buy more cheese wiz."
<OOC> Justin: Thane has been captured by a baby again. He is gonna head out with Marcos.
"And a mop," Felix agrees, because tact. "...actually, we might already have one of those. Lilah'd prolly know. I know she's got that lemon-smellin' soapy floor shit." He offers Justin a hand up. "The hell'd I miss? Though, if it helps, seems like Mr. Fangly there used a gift on you. Other dude was tellin' him off for it."
"Uh.. I dunno... Freddy was getting kinda mouthy and Marcos said something about whooping his ass and I decided to jump in and get Freddy's back because he's one of us. That and this is our turf so I had to represent." Justin says as he rubs the back of his neck. "I was expecting him to punch me in the face." He wrinkles his nose. ".. Why is my shorts wet?" He looks down at himself. "Aw, fucking hell man. There goes any street cred I was scraping together."
With the Fostern and Adren gone, the Cliath starts moving again. He looks around, then starts to climb the stairs to find out where the other two went.
<OOC> Felix think we're still on the same floor, just in case that's OOC confusion rather than IC. :)
<OOC> Frederick: Sorry, yes. I thought he ran upstairs.
<OOC> Justin: Just a back room on the first floor. Probably a storage closet or something. :D
Felix half-smiles at Justin and shrugs. "Eh, fuck it, I ain't tellin' anyone," he says, "And anyway, Gifts is Gifts. C'mon, go change an' clean up an' shit, we'll all pretend that part didn't happen." He glances over his shoulder, then back to the Ahroun, "Sounds like the other guy was expectin' that too. Reckon they might maybe be havin' further discussion on that general topic, sometime." He doesn't directly address the original cause of the incident.
"Yeah, maybe." Justin says as he wrinkles his nose again, then heads out of the room with Felix with a long sigh, then pauses at the sight of Frederick. "Yo, you're still in one piece. That's good."
Frederick stops at the door, shaking his head. "That was pretty ... impressive. And kinda dumb. Why? He was pissed at me, not you." He looks over to Felix. "And I don't think that this is the end of it. At least for me, it won't be."
"Reckon he's pissed at both of you, now," Felix says, and suddenly laughs. "Shit. I'm the good one! Time to go huntin' sky pork." He wanders over to the sofa and flops on it, watching the others.
Smirking at Freddy, Justin slides his hands instinctively over his moist crotch. "Cuz', we're coyotes, man. We look out for each other, even if it's stupid and foolish to do so. You're my friend." He says with grin on his face. "And I don't give a fuck if he's mad. That dumb cousin fucker will forget about it and life will go on." Without pause, he peels out of his cargo shorts and his boxer briefs, striding naked over to his duffle bag. "Laugh it up, Felix. I'd do the same for you also."
Frederick shrugs his shoulders slightly as he turns around, almost like trying to give Justin some privacy as he changes. "Maybe he will. I won't." He shrugs again. "Not that it probably gonna matter much. Well, we'll see what's gonna come outta it. Ain't really what I wanted as the topic for the introduction to the Elder."
Felix grins over at Justin, not seeming to particularly care what he is or isn't wearing. "Yeah, I know, and it ain't like the odds aren't on me sayin' somethin' that'd get my ass kicked backin' you up neither. I just think it's hilarious there was multiple rankin' folks in a room at the same time, an' I was the Cliath in the =least= shit. Might be a historical first. 'course, reckon it mighta been different if I hadn't not been here 'til after the fireworks."
"Yeah, I'm sure if you were there, you'd be spitting some game right at my side." Justin says as he takes out some hand wipes and gives himself a quick wipe down, then pulls on a pair of Spongebob boxers and a pair of joggers. "You'll be fine, Freddy. Marcos won't even mess with you. All you gotta do is sick Emma on him and it'd put an end to it. No one fucks with the Jarl or her kids here." He gives the half moon a wide grin. "But, I had your back. That was dope, huh?"
Frederick shrugs again. "Maybe. But whether she lets me live to see it, we'll see." He manages a weak smile. "But maybe that's different 'round here either. Shit, I don't even know what's what anymore. Things that belong are not where they belong, and stuff that matters does not matter. And shit nobody gives a fuck about is important. It's Bizzarro world all 'round, I tell ya."
"What kinda things? And the hell'd you say, anyhow?" Felix asks Frederick, and glances at his guitar, sitting carefully nearby, before leaning over to snag it. Doesn't get up to turn the amp on, though, so whatever it is he starts doing with it is inaudible from any real distance. Since the first thing is tuning, though, that might not be a big loss.
<OOC> Justin: I should head to bed. :( I'm back at work tomorrow.
<OOC> Frederick should probably get some sleep as well before the sun rises. :)
<OOC> Felix: Okay. Sleep well!