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The Fox and the Wolf
Location
A subtle undulation of the land forms an curious, natural spiral in the open ground. One side of the formation rises to create a half-circle or crescent of earth surrounding and encompassing the spiral. The ground is littered with rock and flagstones, both large and small. Someone has carefully gathered up a trove of these and erected a clear fire pit. Flagstones with smooth surfaces have been laid along the upper lip of half circle of earth around the fire pit, turning it into a nice seating area. All debris and flammable material's been removed from within the spiral, and a fire has been laid. Just beyond the spiral's edge, wood has been collected and piled for future use. Surrounding this, the rugged walls of the canyon have been half buried by the Wyld surge, making the upper slope of the valley more gentle than it was before. Stands of Douglas fir and white pines mix with hemlock, lodgepole pines, and western larch trees to fill much of the open space, but the trees here are not nearly as dense as they are in the surrounding forests of the bawn. The sparse woods allows a partial view of the sky, and both sun and moonlight filter down to create enigmatic and beautiful shadow patterns on the forest floor. That floor is blanketed with a thick, soft rug of shed pine needles, lichen and leaf debris. The moss-covered relics of old, dead trees occasionally mark a place where once great sentinels loomed above.
The caern expands in two directions from here. The escarpment wall and raised dais form one point of the new triangle, while the center of the caern and its gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks the other. The only obvious way out of the caern is the valley slope that leads to the central bawn.
Descriptions
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 nicely-fitting dark indigo jeans with a plain white tank, its ribbed cotton skimming close enough to hint at the musculature beneath. Over that, he's wearing a long-sleeved, navy blue shirt, unbuttoned; judging by the white-on-red number patches on the left arm, the flag patch on the right shoulder, and the round fleur-de-lis patch to the left of the collar, it was once part of someone's Scout uniform... probably not his. Okay, the 'Boy Scouts of the USA' patch over the right pocket's a hint, too. 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.
This young man could easily pass for professional wrestler. Even at his young age he's over six feet tall and wide enough to make sitting in most chairs difficult. It's not that he's fat, far from it. It just looks like he's been bred with a draft horse. His skin is tanned and already the hints of a mustache can be seen on his upper lip. His hair is long, thick, curly and black, and gives the impression that it belongs on a sheepdog than on a human. Beneath the mop of hair he has a rather unassuming pair of brown eyes, to go with a pleasant, if a bit squarish face.
From afar, Fetch is slighly older than his desc, and has more hair and a full beard now. Kind of like if Reggie Watts was a wrestler.
Long distance to Fetch: Felix salutes! Got it. :)
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this young boy's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build that could use a bit of bulking upas he is built like a high school track runner. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement, and during the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. He looks like your average, ordinary American young teen that plays outside and is fairly active. Tall at five foot ten, he is a few inches higher than most his age for now.
This thin, wiry, short (5'6"), and moderately attractive man could be just on either side of 40 years of age. His medium-length, minimally styled hair is dark brown with the occassional strand of intermingled pure white. His attire, appearance, and mannerisms communicate that he's well-off, but certainly not wealthy.
Nicodemus is currently wearing loose-fitting blue jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt. The exceptionally perceptive might notice his pants do not quite hang naturally over his right ankle. A cloak-like, charcoal gray longcoat envelopes his form, shields him from the weather, and masks much of his body language and movements. Still, when he moves, there's a sense of subtle, cat-like grace that comes from someone who's very familiar with how their body moves and what it's capable of. Brown leather gloves protect his hands, and a sensible pair of brown hiking boots protect his feet.
There's a noticeable scent of wood-smoke and ozone lingering in the air about him, possibly from an expensive cologne applied just a bit too heavily.
A young man of average height and athletic build, he is generally seen with a cunning smile and an easy manner. His dark hair is cut short, just enough length that the waves take form. (If he let it grow out, it would probably lead to unruly curls.) His eyes are green, or perhaps hazel, depending on the light. His skin is pale and freckled, and his cheekbones, while not extreme, are prominent. The straight nose and strong chin can lead to a more stern impression, but it's broken easily when he grins.
Today he wears a simple grey hoodie with a Red Sox logo on the front. His denim jeans are, if not new, well cared for, as are the blue and grey tennis shoes beneath. Around his neck, visible against the grey of the sweatshirt, he wears a pendant of carved, black stone strung on a thin cord of braided leather.
This short, skinny white kid is only a few inches over five feet tall and looks to be around twelve or thirteen years old. His straight black hair is cut in a basic, functional style that requires little maintenance -- super-short on the back and sides and only slightly longer on top. He's got a thin face with a beaky nose, thick eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. He's not a bad-looking kid, quite the opposite, but there's still something about him that makes most normal people uneasy, a feeling of potential violence, of predatory intensity.
He's typically dressed in jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, typical casual kid-wear, with a grey hooded jacket for outdoors. Apart from the footwear, his clothing is all a little bit too big on him, but one might imagine that he'll grow into it in a year or so.
Thane isn't a man whose 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.
A man that looks to be in his early to mid forties, Thomas stands at just a hair under six feet. His features are predominantly Asian (Korean, to those who can tell the difference), with almond shaped eyes dark enough to appear almost black, low eyebrows, and a slightly crooked nose. His skin color speaks mostly toward his mixed heritage; it's darkly bronzed and weather beaten, with laugh lines crinkling near the corners of the eyes. His hair is a silky black, worn long and pulled back into a neat ponytail. He also sports a goatee, kept only long enough to be somewhat bristly to the touch, the black liberally laced with a smattering of grey hairs. The man's build is lean and compact, and he carries himself with a certain athletic grace that's unmistakable.
He appears to favor simple collared shirts of various types (usually black or white), and loose fitting, well worn jeans and hiking boots, but above all, he seems quite attached to a long brown oiled canvas duster. Even in warm weather, he's rarely seen without it. Occasionally, he pairs this with a brown fedora so battered and used that it might actually appear older than the man wearing it. He's wearing what looks like small, hematite beads around his neck, but most of the necklace is tucked under his shirt and out of sight.
Gallery
Fetch looks at his hand and then looks disappointedly at Nick, slowly lowring it, not being able to hide his slight pout. He looks over at his tribemate. "Will be there. Pizza is good!"
"Cool, see you there then." Justin says to Fetch with a grin before he glances over at Nolan. "I'll see you there as well." He'll just make the assumption the smile was a yes. Brushing off his pants, he starts off back through the woods to head to Edgewood. "Speaking of food. I'm starving. I'm gonna raid that fridge. Peace, yo." He calls out to the others as he disappears through the trees.
Salem flashes a brief grin at Thomas. "Congratulations indeed." He catches Nolan's glance and takes the opportunity to introduce himself to the new Fianna. "Jack Salem, called Scar. Adren Philodox of the Glass Walkers and alpha of Sagacity."
"Children are always a handful." Thane remarks while sidelong raising a hand in a wave as Justin departs. "No matter their size, shape, or distance. Last week when I spoke with my ex-wife, it seemed my daughter had attempted to call for an impeachment of the student council president who was reportedly taking illicit bribes. Not that it, in itself, is an issue but she did so while having barged into the offices and hijacked the loudspeaker. She's a Philodox-to-be, if that possibly needed clarification. Only a year or two to go, I wager."
"Suppose it's a congratulating occasion," Thomas says, though he's lacking in the expected enthusiasm. "Thank you b--" Salem's introduction stops him cold. He blinks several times and stares at the far younger Glass Walker before he catches himself. "...Well, that was unexpected."
"There are things worth losing skin over, and things that aren't," Nolan says to Nick, still with an impish sort of grin. "Saving a few dollars for a place to sleep isn't one of them. At least not yet." Once again, though, his attention is snagged by Salem, and once again, the youth gets a curious look. "You've made a name for yourself early."
Nicodemus listens as people speak, but then cracks a faint smile as Thomas places Salem finally.
"I'm older than I look," Salem tells Nolan. He looks pretty darn amused and pretty darn pleased with himself -- especially when he glances back over at Thomas. Gotcha.
"--ready to go now, they got their surfboards an' they're goin' to the discotheque a-go-go," Felix is singing as he strolls into the caern, breaking off suddenly as he passes the trees and catches sight of the current population, "Holy shit there's a lotta y'all here tonight. I didn't miss out on a moot or nothin', did I?" He heads over to join the group, Thomas and Fetch getting particular examination as he does.
"Ecch," Thomas says in response, although he doesn't actually seem terribly irritable. "So'm I, but he still got me. Don't suppose it's terribly polite-like to ask what happened." He glances sidelong at Thane. "Mine're coming up soon. Spring, I'm thinking. First time for me. Helped teach plenty've Kits, but ain't none of them been mine before."
"Well best of luck." Thane bids to Thomas. "No doubt it's always harder when they're your own. There's a decidedly exponential interest in ensuring they survive." And then Felix is arriving and the Lord says, "You just missed Justin. He was returning to Edgewood to empty the fridge. No moot, though given it's a new moon I'm sure no one would argue calling it an unannounced one."
Nolan squints, first at Salem and then at Thomas. "All right," he says, but with that slow drawl that suggests he thinks he's missing something. His hand rises, one finger running around the edge of the carved stone pendant, but his thoughtful look only lasts a moment. "So," he says to Thomas. "When you say 'among other things', you mean fox?" The arrival of the galliard isn't enough to pull his attention from the kin.
"Tell you later," Salem says to Turtle, the smirky little grin fading. "It's not a long story, but..." He shrugs.
Nicodemus gives a nod to Felix. "Evening," he offers to the newly arriving Gnawer. "I filled Thane in on Dariya from the other night. If anything noteworthy happened with her after I had to leave...." He shrugs, as if the rest really went without saying.
Thomas gives Salem a nod before he turns to Thane. "Nah, there's always that. Our process's a bit different'n yours. Less dangerous, overall, least until they're off on their own. 'Sides, ain't like I'll be their only teacher." Nolan gets a faint grin. "That'd be correct."
"Well, shit," Felix says, though it's not clear whether it's about missing his packmate or missing the impromptu semi-moot. Possibly both. Nicodemus gets a grin and slight chin-lift in return for the greeting, and a nod for information. "Awesome. Yeah, weren't much else after you left." He looks as though he's about to say something to Thane, but Nolan's question to one of the strangers definitely gets his attention: fox? The answer gets even more, and he studies Thomas again as if this foxness might somehow show.
Nolan nods slowly at this new bit of information, and his gaze slides over to the alpha. "So, mage-cougars and foxes. Anything else I should know about?"
Thane looks back to Nolan with a thin grin that still seems amused. "Mages, foxes, raven.. oh and a tiger. And this is why introductions are so important around here. You never quite know who you're speaking to. If we were in warmer climes and closer to the ocean, I daresay we'd no doubt attract other creatures the history books like to claim are extinct or mythological. So, any little secrets you're hiding, Nolan? Coyote-in-disguise? White Howler back from the dead?"
Salem says, deadpan, "Fianna would be the perfect cover for a White Howler."
Nicodemus listens attentively and eventually ends up mouthing the words "White Howler" silently, glancing to Thomas momentarily, and then getting an "oh, right" expression.
Thomas is, sadly, not showing any foxness. He's back to rubbing lightly at his beard, with his elbow resting in the cup of his other hand. There's a comment visibly on his lips, but he loses it, and instead glances to Nicodemus at the look. "Oh, that's an old ugly story the Wolves got," he explains. "They've lost a few tribes over the years."
Nolan's grin grows ever so much broader and he throws his arms wide. "You caught me! My diguise as been shredded, my Pict nature seen. I shall hang my head in shame, now." And he does, arms falling to his sides, though the grin never leaves.
Alas! Felix doesn't look visibly disappointed, at least. Maybe the foxness will appear later. Salem's remark gets a soft snort of a laugh, and Nolan's reaction a proper one. "Well, what're you gonna do now we caught you, aside from head-hangin'?"
"I'll leave you to the judgement of the Philodox, then." Thane says with a wave of his hand towards Salem. "My packmate is insisting I come investigate something - though nothing to worry by the sounds of it. So I need to take my leave. Take care, all." And that said, the Lord is headed off.
"Oh, I remember hearing about the White Howlers," Nick says to Thomas by way of explaining his earlier expressions. "It's just been so long since I'd heard about them that I'd half forgotten the name." He scrutinizes Nolan again, just in case he /might/ be a White Howler, but it's clearly him just playing along to Salem's joke.
Salem gets himself comfortable on the ground, legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands. "Tell us all your tribal secrets and then go get some kinfolk so you can restore your line. But no dancing," he says dryly. "Not even at weddings."
"No dancing? You ruin all my fun!" Nolan gives a laugh, shaking his head. "No dancing, no secrets. That's the rule."
"Well, you got yourself plenty've company in that regard," Thomas tells Nick. "Whole lot of folk would just as soon forget the name entire. I've ended up giving too many Lost Cubs the basics, though. Couldn't forget if I wanted to."
"Well, shit," Felix mutters again as Thane takes his leave, and exhales a puff of air before looking back to the others. "How about if he's restricted to line dancin'?" he suggests to Salem, "Prolly can't get in too much trouble doin' the Electric Slide." He moves to take a seat on one of the logs.
"No clogging," Nick suggests whimsically as an additional option--as if that might have ever been an option.
Salem makes a show of seriously considering the matter. "As long as there's no twirling. You know." He leans to one side to free up a hand and makes a spiralling gesture in the air with a finger.
"A line dance!" Nolan looks around at each of the others and then starts to move. It's even sillier without the music, but instantly recognizable as the Macarena, and the man even starts humming along with the steps.
"Ach, no," Thomas says, waving both hands in a warding gesture. "I'm fair sure raising the dead ain't permissible either."
Felix laughs again, and obligingly chimes in, "Darle a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena, que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria cosa buena," to support Nolan's attempt. He pauses after the first 'Hey Macarena,' though, glancing to Salem, "I dunno, man -- is doin' the jump after each one too close to twirlin'? Maybe I wasn't thinkin' that through enough. ...also I have no idea what the words mean so we might ALSO be raisin' the dead. Prolly ain't worth the risk."
Nicodemus starts to look interested at all this talk of dances, forbidden and comical. "The garou have their own language, own culture, own government of sorts. Surely they have some kind of traditional dance, right? Perhaps performed at moots?"
Thomas shakes his head at Nick's question. "More like several cultures that occasionally overlap in obvious ways. I've seen sacred dances, but they weren't Garou dances, they were Wendigo, or Uktena, or some blending of the two, or something adapted from specific Native cultures for rituals. Wolves ain't that...what's the word? Homogenous. Not any more'n humans are."
Salem watches the tomfoolery with a faint grin; Nick's question provokes a nose-wrinkle, though. "Right, what Thomas said. Though back when we were trying to invoke the Wyld, at that one moot, some people danced. The only time I've seen dancing at a moot." He lies back, hands behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other.
Nolan throws his hands up into the air. "Well, that's that, then," he says, a little short of breath, and stops to rest with his hands on his knees. "Any other secrets you'll have to pry out of me with a spoon."
"Wouldn't mind if we DID have dances," Felix says, "...but I'm pretty sure if we did someone woulda told me about 'em by now. Oh, incidentally," he turns to Thomas, "seein' as we ain't met yet: Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath 'Gnawer Galliard, packed with Tactical Frivolity, under Coyote." He doesn't get up, but does toss off a bow from where he's seated, complete with sweeping arm movement, and give the Kitsune a grin.
Nicodemus hmms at Salem. "Much as I'd love to see one of the real moots held on the full moon, I don't think that'd be particularly wise nor safe for a kinsman like myself."
Thomas tips his hat to Felix, as he's done to just about everyone who has entered after him. "Thomas Lee, Uktena kin and, as already pointed out, Fox."
"Probably not," Nolan says to Nick, and he straightens once again. "Too many rage infused monsters in one place. Not really a safe spot for anyone. Makes you wonder why it was ever arranged that way in the first place."
Salem tilts his head to look at Nick. "Hm. The really /interesting/ part is actually near the start, when the Inner Sky is opened and the totems make an appearance. Usually a /spectacular/ appearance. Quite a show, with lots of howling." He shrugs. "After that, it's mostly business. Announcements, newcomer introductions... often a story at the end. Then more howling, and the Revel, which... no, I wouldn't recommend any kin be anywhere near that." He glances over at Nolan. "The Umbra's brightest and safest. Plus, while the new moon might mean less frenzies, it's also traditionally a time for secrets and stealth. A moot is... the opposite of that."
"Nice meetin' you," Felix says, "pretty sure you're the first fox I've met." He nods to Nolan, agreeing, "I wondered, but yeah, I reckoned like he says, nice bright safe Umbra. Well, relatively speakin'. S'pose you could do 'em on half-moons an' split the difference on the dangers, 'cept then you'd have 'em twice as often an' might be it ends up it ain't bright enough AND you ain't got folks enough calmer to be worth it."
Nicodemus steps away from the group, going over to collect his hiking backpack. "Live vicariously through the stories of those who've survived," he says, summarizing the advice he more or less was just given. "I'm going to go set up my hammock and sleeping bag and turn in for the night--about a hundred yards north of here," he says, mostly to the other Walker present. "Mr. Lee? A real pleasure to have you back in town. Hopefully we can catch up later."
Thomas tips his hat once again. "I'll look forward to it. Good night, Dalton." He turns back to Felix with a faint grin. "Could be. We don't tend to advertise though. Ain't generally healthy. Not too many Foxes in the Americas though, even these days."
"Gets pretty dark out here," Nolan calls to Nick. "Try not to walk into a tree."
Salem sits up and nods to Nicodemus. "Sleep well."
"Kinda a shame. Ain't that many people get to introduce themselves as a fox an' not come off real conceited," Felix says, grinning back to Thomas, and then lifts a hand in a slight wave to Nicodemus. "Night, man. Sleep tight, don't let the Guardians bite."
"Now I know you ain't met another Fox," Thomas remarks, with a faint, whiskery sort of grin.
Nolan watches the kin leave, but then turns his focus to Thomas, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. "So you're typical of your kind?"
"He's actually the /second/ Fox we've had in town," Salem says, finally getting back to his feet. "She left after she'd done what she came here for, though." He wanders off toward the center of the caern.
Felix hehs, and looks faintly surprised at Salem's remark. "Yeah?" He can't quite resist, "...was she foxy? An' what'd she come here for?"
At the center, Salem pauses near the caern tree, head cocked, and thinks. "...You know, I don't actually remember." For the first time this evening, his good mood withers. He stands there frowning for a few more moments, then shakes his head and moves off, heading out of the caern.
Thomas actually laughs. "Well, if'n you think I'm conceited, I got a trait in common. But ain't really a typical Fox to be found; Foxes're people, people're individual. Me, I'm a bit've an alternative tradtionalist. Never did get along too well with some've the more traditional traditionalists overseas."
"So who are you, then?" Nolan asks, a grin returning as he focuses on the fox. "If you're fond of the traditional perspective, what do you believe?"
"Oops," Felix murmurs as Salem frowns and leaves. A sigh, and he settles back on the log a bit, watching the remaining two. "So what's an alternative traditionalist when it's at home? You like traditions that ain't the traditional traditions?"
Thomas waves a finger at Nolan. "Alternative traditional," he corrects, and then gives Felix another grin. "Something like that. Who I am ain't too terribly important in general. I help out here and there. Had a streak've running into Lost Cubs for a while; I'd keep an eye out, you know. Strange bear attacks and the like. S'been a while since the last. I'm actual kin, though some folk argue you can't be kin /and/ be a shifter at the same time, so I guess that's up to your interpretation. Mother and brothers were Uktena kin. One've my brothers had a Wendigo wife, and a son with her. All my family's dead now though, so could say I temporarily adopt."
Nolan's grin fades, but there remains a lopsided lift to his lips, if somewhat gentler. "Kin and Shifter," he says. "It's an interesting question. One that I haven't encountered before. "But /you/ consider yourself kin, so I suppose that's what matters?"
"Don't see why you couldn't be both," Felix says, giving it a bit of thought. Something in his expression suggests taking notice of that last sentence of Thomas's, but if so, he must decide not to remark on it as yet. "...although then I start thinkin', if a Garou's got a kin parent an' they ain't of the same tribe, obviously he's a 'rou of the tribe he is, but should he be bein' considered kin to that other tribe? Seems easier to answer when we're talkin' different shifter types. If you have a kid that's not a shifter, they gonna be fox kin an' Uktena kin both?"
Thomas gives a light shrug. "It's what matters to me. Ain't the best of kinfolk, to be sure. Absent too often. Sure ain't gonna give anyone any Wolf cubs. Work's always less'n steady." He glances at Felix. "Well, ain't had anyone ask about it before, so I don't know."
That arched eyebrow returns and Nolan regards Thomas closely, as though considering something, weighing his options. The smug grin he often wears is absent, only hinted at in the corners of his lips. After a moment he shakes his head. "I'm going to head off," he says. "Better part of valour and all that." Then he turns and starts up the slope that leads back into the forest.
"Night," Felix says toward Nolan, and then glances toward the sky, making a face. "Reckon I prolly oughta get goin' too, if I'm gonna head back to town. 's an interesting question, though. Least, I think so." He pushes up to his feet, and stretches.