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 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.
Clearly one of the parents of this wolf wasn't actually a wolf. Judging from the sheer size of him and his long, shaggy coat, it was probably a buffalo or a yak or something. From the looks of things, he's about a good thirty pounds heavier than the average wolf and his body thicker and blockier than what you might find while standing a good hand taller. His fur is a deep, shaggy black, longer and thicker than anything you would find on his brethren. His face, though, is still clearly wolf despite the slightly blockier appearance. His muzzle is also the only place where you see any real color to him, having picked up the color and markings from his wolfish parent.
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.
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.
It can take a minute to properly identify just what this canine is. To those in the know, though, his species isn't quite so vague. As a coywolf, Watcher physically resembles his coyote heritage more than his wolf as a whole. He's smaller and leaner than a wolf, with the longer ears and lighter build one would expect to see on a coyote. He's got a thick coat, though, and it lends him a bit of false bulk that usually makes him just look a bit shabby. His paws are also larger, ending with curving claws. His muzzle is a bit broader though not so heavy as a wolf but contains the same array of sharp teeth. Overall, he's a tawny grey-ticked coloration with a darker saddle. His undersides are lighter and he has yellow eyes.
IT IS SUPERBOWL SUNDAY! PANTHERS VERSUS THE BRONCOS! No one is more excited than Justin. For him, this is what the American Dream is all about. The 50th Superbowl is played in San Francisco this year, so it will be a bright and sunny game. Dressed in a Panthers jersey that he stole is the Ahroun, sprawled out on a couch that he pushed in front of the three flat screen TV's he had repaired and got up and running. Extension cables run out the window as well as coaxial cables so that they can watch the big game. There is a number of cheese pizzas and bowls of nachos on the picnic tables that are set up near by. With wild energy, he bounces up and down on the couch as he listens to Lady Gaga's National Anthem.
Three-Mountains is present and sitting over a bowl, an actual slightly chipped mixing bowl, full of milkshake. The evidence is all of the McDonalds cups that are emptied and sitting in a haphazard pile nearby. It's apparently all shamrocks shakes and by the way he's hunkered over it someone might lose a hand if they come after it. He's watching the television sidelong as he laps at the contents, making some remark about her eyes having a lot of sparkly rocks stuck to them.
Frederick is humming something to himself as he opens the door to the library, the young Fenrir looking like he did have a rough day or a few as did his jacket and pants, not as clean as they usually are, just like the Garou stuffed into them. He stops as he notices the every so subtle change in the arrangement of the furniture, looking from flat screens to cables to their bouncy owner. He takes a step to the side to see what's causing the excitement, watching her performance of the anthem before shaking his head slightly. "Your taste in women is ... disturbing. What's the whole hubbub, some concert of hers?"
Bad-Boy is there, as well, watching the show intently. He still doesn't actually understand this sport, despite mutlipe attempts over the years to explain it to him, but it's a thing that Gnawers get to gether and there's lots of food and, Look this lady is singing! AWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Bad-Boy joins in, tail wagging.
Felix is perched half on the arm of the sofa, with his guitar, currently, adding to the national-antheming. Which makes it a lot louder in the Library than it is in most houses, that's for certain. He's mostly leaving the singing of it to her (...and Bad-Boy), though if someone were sitting close enough they might hear his version softly.
"SUPER BOWL!" Justin crows out to Frederick as he holds up a nacho, then crams it into his mouth. "It's the Broncos against the Panthers. The biggest football game of the year! /Please/ tell me you at least know what football is." He says over to the large German teen. "I'm cheery for the Panthers. Grab a seat and some food dude." He sings along with the last few bars of the National Anthem, then applauds loudly, letting out a loud 'awwoooo' along with Bad Boy.
Three-Mountains lifts his head to join in the noisy howling, though there's a brief choking sound and he whine-yelps and buries his nose in his paws. Hurt! Too cold! There's snorts and huffs and him scrubbing his muzzle against paws and the ground until he can shake off the brain freeze.
Frederick eyes Justin. "Of COURSE I know what football is. Didn't know you have teams over here, though." He looks around for something to sit on, finally settling for the floor and looking at the TV. "You name your football teams after animals? Interesting." He snickers, watching the howling and stretching out his legs. "Then again, beats our custom of naming them after their sponsoring corporations."
Bad-Boy looks curously over at the other lupus and trots over to him, sniffing at the concoction in the bowl curioiusly. What is this?
Felix's singing fails to stay quiet in the face of everyone else joining in, and the others' howling at the end gets its own dramatic chords of accompaniment. There's a little random noodling as things get settled once la Gaga is done, and then quiet -- for now -- as he drops into the corner of the couch proper and leans over to steal one of the pizza boxes, setting it on a cushion where he can easily reach. He glances around, brow furrowing, and clearly works out what's wrong, hopping to his feet and heading over to the fridge. "Y'all name 'em after companies? What, you got like, the..." A pause, while he tries to think of somewhere in Germany. "...Berlin... Budweisers?" At least the company's easy to think of, since he's currently pulling out a couple six packs.
"Dude, you are not talking about soccer, are you? We're talking about /American Football/." Justin points to the screen as kick off begins. "This isn't Rugby either." He reaches over and snags a slice of pizza from the box Felix brought over.
Three-Mountains fluffs up his hackles in a warning as Bad-Boy approaches the bowl, but he is soon smoothing his fur and uttering a snort to clear his nose. ~Milkshake.~ He grunts out with a wag of his tail, at least the best version the Mother's Tongue can say. It is good. They have many flavors. This is like the spicy plant that grows in the forest. He eyes the bowl, eyes the other Lupus, and then drops his nose to just barely nudge it towards Bad-Boy.
Bad-Boy's tail wags in appreciation and leeaaaaans over and sniffs the concoction warily. Then dips his tongue into it. Then again. Cold, he agrees. But tasty!
Frederick furrows his brow as he sees just how this game differs from what he knows, but his eyes light up as he watches the plays unfold. "Hey, that's something! That's my kinda game!" He looks over to Justin with a grin. "'Hand over the ball and you can keep your arm!', I could see me play that." He trails off as he notices the two lupus' discussion over milkshakes. "Guys, you're not gonna start a fight over artificial food, are ya?"
Felix arches a brow at the lack of answer to his question, but shrugs it off, returning to the couch with drinks in hand and flopping back down into his corner. The guitar gets settled gently beside the softa before he opens one of the beers, and snags one of those slices of pizza before Justin can steal 'em all. "Yeah, ain't bad, right?" he says to Frederick.
"Yeah man, this is way better than soccer! You are going to see some amazing hits in this game." Jusitn says as he crams a number of nachos on to his slice of pizza, then takes a loud crunch as he bites on it. He looks over to the pair of lupine, then back to the others with a grin. "The commercials are fantastic also."
Three-Mountains cranes his head back to regard Frederick with splayed ears, remarking that humans are fighting over a bit of hide. And then he's dropping his head back to normal so he can glance back towarss Bad-Boy. The food-place of the gold marking makes them. They are very good. These ones are special. They only exist this time of year.
Frederick scratches his head as he leans back against the couch, the Fenrir even slumping slightly and resting his head on the seat of the couch. "Never watched much TV or sports. But this looks great." He looks over to Felix. "Yup. And honestly, I dunno much about German teams. Only heard a few names and it was always in combination with whoever paid for them. Same for the ... place where they play their games." He shrugs slightly, turning back to the action on the screen. "It's almost like a little war."
Bad-Boy takes a step back and sits, still wagging his tail. This is very good indeed! Thank you for sharing!
"Stadiums," Felix says, "'least, if it's the same as our shit. Those we get a lotta company names on too, like we got Nissan Stadium, FedEx Field, the Panthers play at Bank of America Stadium. Makes for kinda shitty names, y'ask me." He's currently pretty cheerful about it, though, and eyes a play for the length of a good drink of beer. "'s a lot like a li'l war, I reckon. They got their generals, more or less, makin' battle plans, sendin' 'em out against the enemy..."
"BOOM!" Justin hollers out as he watches Thomas get crushed by that safety. "Hoooman he is not gonna get back up for days." He says, throwing a fist in the air before taking another bite of his nacho-slice. "I love soccer by the way, it's the beaner in me. I played a few years before I started playing football at high school."
Three-Mountains keeps one ear cricked towards the homids all a-chatter, though more of his attention is on his fellow lupus - figuratively speaking. He is glad to see another wolf-born. He has not met another in a very long time. He wondered if he was the only one.
Frederick shakes his head slightly. "My father never thought it's a good idea to have me play with others. Ain't part of the training and all that." He looks over at Felix. "Maybe if he knew 'bout that game it would've been different. Though I'd guess it could be a little bit lethal for the Kinfolk..."
Bad-Boy has been around for a while, he explains, flopping to the floor with a huff, eyeing the Big Game hoping somebody else will come and sing. He mostly stays in the city, and with his pack. Helps out when he can though.
Three-Mountains thumps his tail happily, glad to know Bad-Boy is here, and glances back towards the game. He indicates he really doesn't get it. Running is fun. Catching is fun. They stop a lot. The striped humans never seem to want them to play.
"Ha!" Felix exclaims at the same hit, grinning, "=Nice=. ...soccer's borin', unless you're doin' shit that's gonna getcha carded. Or you're watchin' an' it's chicks playin'..." He shrugs, claiming another pizza slice, and nods to Frederick, "Could use it for tactics =an'= for takin' a hit. Prolly ain't that bad for kinfolk if you give 'em gear an' maybe don't have 'em play with folks who ain't got great control."
"We should totally create a Sept wide football league. I want to be on Brom's team. That guy looks like he's fucked people up in football before. If I was a team captain, I'd get him first." Throwing a nacho over towards the pair of lupine, he grins. "I've tried to teach you, Mountains! You just keep falling asleep during the games."
Frederick smirks at Justin. "Brom would probably just grab you and use you as the ball." He chuckles slightly at Three-Mountain's take of the game. "Pretty much, I guess. Stripeys are really just ruining everything for everyone. Would be lots more fun without 'em." He pauses. "But probably they'd need more people then to finish a game. It's kinda amazing anyway what kind of punishment simple humans can withstand and not crack."
Bad-Boy agrees. He has seen four of these things and they have tried to teach him the rules. There are so many rules, he admits, ears splaying flat. Seems more fun to just chase the ball without any rules.
Three-Mountains agrees with a noisy yap. Yes! Too many rules. Rules of this game are to protect humans. Garou do not need them then. Much more simple, like game pups play. Steal the toy, run away, don't get caught.
Felix laughs. "Yeah, striped humans never wanna let anyone have any fun. Fuck 'em. Although I s'pose if you ain't got the rules, folks don't get to be pissed over thinkin' they got done wrong, an' they secretly like that. Sometimes they don't let it go for yeaaaaars." He finishes off the beer, crushing the can, and picks up another. Hey, it ain't gonna drink itself.
"Yeah, fuck those Vegas paid for refs. Those assholes are always controlling the game." Justin says with a wrinkle of his nose. "I think we should all play in our crinos forms also by the way. Gifts allowed as well. Total free for all." Laughing, he lobs another nacho over towards the pair of wolves, then crams another into his mouth. "This is a close game so far. All D, no O. Can't believe the Broncos are winning."
Frederick laughs as he cranes his head to look over at Justin. "With Gifts? Sounds like cheating. We have our ways to make you cower in fear and hand over the ball to us." He flashes a toothy grin at the Gnawer. "Can't resist a Fenrir saying PLEEEEEEASE!"
Bad-Boy deftly snaps the nacho out of the air, and whuffs his agreement with Three-Mountains. Yes! Exactly! This is a thing that should be done!
Three-Mountains seems to find the idea amusing and whuffs at Frederick. He can walk on walls! See! And to demonstrate, the Galliard walks right on over to the closest wall and rears up to plant his forepaws on the surface. Then with a bit of a kick he's sticking there easy as a fly, tongue lolling out in amusement. Others of his tribe fly. Gifts would make it an odd game.
Felix snorts. "'All D, no O'... sounds like some girl describin' a shitty date," he says, and reaches to try and grab some nachos for himself. This nacho-pizza idea is intriguing. "I vote no gifts. An' I ain't so sure on Crinos, either, but eh, could go with it, I s'pose. Usin' gifts throws it too far to certain folks. Who ain't me."
"Ha. Us Gnawers have some tricky gifts as well, such as making you forget we even had the ball, or sending trash to attack you." Justin says with a smirk, then flips another nacho towards the wolves again before laughing at Felix. "All D and No Oh? Sounds like someone has a big dick but can't use it."
Bad-Boy's tongue lolls in lupine laughter at Three-Mountains. Odd but fun! he agrees. He looks quizzically at Justin. How do you not know how to use it? It's pretty simple.
Three-Mountains takes a few paces up so he can u-turn and come back down. To the good ears, there's even the faintest faintest sound like velcro or something sticky when he detaches. And then there's the halftime show coming on and he trots back over to sit back down next to Bad-Boy with his tail wagging. Music!
Bad-Boy gets easily distracted when the music starts. Tail wagging he starts to sing along AWOOOOOOOO!
Frederick giggles at Bad-Boy and watches Justin. "Well? Wanna answer that one?" He slides lower to lie down on the floor, looking up at the ceiling and listening to the half time show, along with Bad-Boy's interpretation thereof.
Felix grins at the Ahroun. "Exactly," he agrees, and looks over to watch the Uktena stroll along the wall, shaking his head. And then there's Bad-Boy's question, and he laughs, giving Justin another grin, this one toothier, when Frederick prompts for an answer. "Go on."
"Sure, I can answer it. It's pretty much like how one of Fred and Andrea's nights tend to end." Justin says cooly as he pops another chip into his mouth, then looks over to the TV to watch Cold Play on the screen for the halftime show.
Three-Mountains starts singing along too. His voice is higher pitched then the typical wolf bay but he's got a good sense of beat anyway, somewhat emulating the pitch and flow of the music. He /is/ a Galliard some days.
Frederick does NOT dignify Justin's remark with an answer. He just closes his eyes and enjoys the music from the TV along with the local addition to it. He just slides his hands under his head, folding them to form a pillow to rest on.
Bad-Boy is, in fact, not a Galliard, so he sounds like your typical wolf howling. That doesn't stop him, though. AWOOOOO!
Felix glances from Justin to Frederick at that remark, then back to Justin, and smirks, shaking his head and having another bite of nacho-pizza. It appears to be passing muster. The music on the other hand, he seems a little ambivalent on; apparently today he's a picky Galliard.
Justin licks his finger and slides it from up to down in the air. 1 point for the Gnawer. He flips a nacho over to Fred, then takes another slice of pizza as he enjoys the halftime show music. "Bruno Mars is fire. He should do every half time show for the next ten years. Hey, I heard that there is actually a super bowl rite that we can learn."
Three-Mountains is left with tail a-wagging as the show winds down, wiggling where he sits. That was more fun! More of singing! He looks over towards Felix and whuffs at the Gnawer. We should play games like that! We will need much fire.
Frederick opens his eyes again and turns them towards Justin without moving his head, he just eyes the Gnawer from the corner of his eyes. "A super bowl rite. Please tell me you're kidding." He closes his eyes and grumbles just slightly as he picks the nacho up from his shirt, sniffing it, tasting it, chewing it, though not really letting out much information about whether the taste is to his liking.
Winter comes into the room looking, well, not so great. He's got the beginnings of a black eye, scraped cheek, and is dirty in the way that someone who ate it on his bicycle would be. He steps further into the Library, gets a good look at who is present, then melts into the Glabro for just long enough to heal up before taking back the homid form. "Who's winning?" He asks, rather nonchalantly considering his entrance.
Felix murmurs something quietly to himself, still smirking and half-hidden behind a drink of his beer. His opinion of the halftime show clearly improves as it goes on, and he nods to Justin, "Yeah, he ain't half bad." His other packmate gets a bigger grin at the suggestion. "I'm down. Pretty much always in favour of singin', an' if I had a nickel for every time I thought, 'needs more fire'..." He trails off as the door opens and Winter enters, and looks the Ragabash over. "Apparently not you," he greets, "...or maybe we just oughta see the other guy?" He's on the couch, drinking beer and eating cheese pizza with nachos on it. Because.
"Broncos are up 13 to 7. Panthers just missed a field goal as you walked in." Justin calls over to Winter as he kicks back on the couch and stretches himself out more. "I'm down with a sing-off if you want to get some of the Galliards together. Would be curious to see who'd win with all the different styles we have going on in here." He sneaks another look to Fred, then blows him a kiss.
It will be fun, Three-Mountains declares to Felix. Good for all. I never hear song-singing here. As Winter arrives, the Uktena looks his way and whines faintly. Who did that? I did not hear a fight.
Frederick lifts his head to see who Justin is talking to, pointedly ignoring the kiss he has been blown. He watches Winter for a moment, head lifted by the hands under his head as he stays on his back, on the floor. The Fenrir seems to be a bit worn out for a change, not his usual hyperactive self.
Winter shrugs with a uninvested, "Go horsies." He reaches in to his coat pockets and takes out a small wad of bills from his left, then a flask from his right. "There's this guy who volunteers at a shelter, donates a lot, very kind... who also gets off on beating kids. So instead of killing him or him beating on the innocent chillins, I let him kick my ass for a few bucks here and there. It's an arrangement. For now." Winter puts the cash away and steps further in while opening the flask, takes a swig, gives a shiver of a reaction, then holds it out, "Who wants some Fireball?"
Felix's eyes narrow at the last part of the description of the guy, but he nods once, curtly, at the explanation. "Go kitties," he counters, pointing to Justin's shirt, and brightens a bit at Winter's offer. "Yo!" he answers, lifting a hand; it happens to have a beer in it at the moment, but he fixes that right quick, draining what's left and crushing the can to drop it by one already lying there spent. "Pizza? We got lots. Also nachos. An' beer. You mighta noticed." Since all three are out in the open. Almost as an afterthought, he adds toward Justin, with a grin, "Me. Obviously."
Jerking himself upwards, Justin stares over at Winter. "What? Who is he?" He says demandingly as his temper flares quickly out of his chest and into his throat. "And which shelter does he volunteer at? I'm not going to tolerate that shit in my fucking city, especially if he is putting his hands on kids."
Three-Mountains flicks his tongue out from between his teeth that show faintly beyond the edge of wrinkled lips. It's a look of disgust, like he'd smelled something bad. ~That is a strange arrangement.~ He huffs out in the Mother's Tongue. ~He harms the young without cause, but you do not stop him and let him harm you. That encourages the Wyrm.~ And then Justin is up and asking for the location and the Galliard's ears are pricked with interest.
Frederick looks from Felix to Winter to Justin and back before closing his eyes. "Some arrangement... Don't bargain with assholes, dude. Break his arm and tell him he may keep most of his teeth if he learns to play nice." He shrugs slightly, but doesn't actually move much. "Hell, you guys are too used to getting your asses kicked."
Winter closes off the flask and tosses it to Felix as Justin gets all excited. He waves off the vitriol with, "Don't worry about it man. I've got my eye on the guy and he's doing good work that not enough people do. He's convinced I'm watching him and will cut his throat if he touches another kid. We talk, I help him with his demons. And if he does fuck up, I promise I'll let you in on the next part, which will be really scary for him." Towards the Cliath Fenrir he muses aloud, "World isn't black and white. Can't always kill the bad stuff without it spreading like a lanced cancer." He heads over now to recover a beer.
Felix eyes the others. "The =point= of Winter volunteerin's so asshole =ain't= hittin' other kids," he says, "an' he ain't just takin' him out on account of the shit he's doin' that's good." He stops when the Fostern replies himself, hand darting up to catch the flask, and he snags one of the beers to toss the Ragabash in return. He, at the least, looks like it makes even more sense to him when Winter gets further into the terms, and nods. "You get to the scary part, though? I want in." For all that he's less upset with the concept than the others seem to be, there's a definite darkness in his eyes when he adds that. He somewhat absently scratches at his back, and eyes Frederick. "Generally," he says, "I'm doin' the ass-kickin', not gettin' it." The flask is opened, and he has a drink, eyes closing briefly with the burn.
"No, fuck that, Winter. It doesn't matter how much good he is doing by serving up food and blankets if he is beating the shit out of kids! That means he is /not doing good work/, it means he is doing just enough to slip under the radar so he can hurt other people. That's some sociopathic bullshit. Then you let him beat on you for cash? What kinda pussy shit is that? If you need money, you can come to me and I'll fix something up at the junk yard and we'll sell it." Justin says as he rises off the couch, his voice raising upwards into near shouting levels. "Unless the guy is a retard, he has no excuse for hurting children, and I swear to God, Fred, if you keep up with that, I'll fuck you up /again/, but this time in front of all my friends so that they all know you're a pussy who gets beat up by Gnawers."
Three-Mountains still seems rather unconvinced but he offers no challenge to Winter. He does though get up from where he was sitting and moves closer to his packmates. His ears and eyes follow the speakers with an alertness that shows he's not all relaxed anymore. The fur is up along his spine with the tension.
Frederick rolls his head on his hands as he shakes it. The Fenrir doesn't seem too inclined to move any more than absolutely necessary, though, he stays sprawled on the floor. "I'm not trained to pull punches, when I fight someone dies. Sorry that I didn't wanna kill you." He pauses. "Out here that's really a drawback, I gotta admit that. Maybe I should tell my old Sept 'bout it, there's some missing parts in my training. How NOT to kill an enemy."
Winter tips his beer towards Felix and pops it open. He takes a swig as Justin gives his piece. "Yeah. I know what I'm doing. Don't need the money. He isn't beating the shit out of anyone, but me of course. You're not my elder. I think that covers the bases." Here he looks back at one of the screens and responds coolly to Fred, "It's a good skill to have if you have cause to apply it. Kinda pointless if you don't."
Felix doesn't look his most relaxed either, watching the room instead of the game for the moment. He has another drink from the flask before he closes it up and makes a 'want me to toss it back?' gesture with it toward Winter. "So what I keep wonderin' when you say that is, how the fuck DO they teach you to fight an' have you practice out there, given you ain't taught to spar an' by your description y'all have things SO overwhelmed an' handled over there there's practically riots over who gets to go kill the vampire when one pops up?" he asks Frederick.
"Whatever." Justin says as he snags a slice of pizza and stalks off from the group, going up the stairs two at a time until he ducks out to the second level.
Three-Mountains dutifully trots after Justin after a look towards the others, saying nothing as he goes.
Frederick stretches out on the floor. "Why would I want some Wyrm spawn to stay alive?" He lifts his head just enough to look back at the TV. He casts a glance over to Felix. "Easy. You learn by surviving. I can survive a fight against someone from my old Sept. I know what he'll try to attack. I don't really know whether you would." He shrugs again. "We usually stop when the bones break."
Winter waves off the flask being offered back. He narrows his eyes towards Justin, then finds a spot to plop himself down, "Broncos actually look like they're gonna win it. That's another twenty in the coffers." Another swig and he continues, annoyance in his young but raspy voice, "I was trained by and fought with the Fenrir of The Lost Hand of Tyr as a cub," he gestures with his beer towards Frederick. "Back when I was called the Ghost-of-Blood-And-Snow. They treated my cub pack like we were Cliath already and took us along when they went to war. Expected us to run or die. We didn't run. Only one of the five of us died. The first time out we were sent in as a distraction. In subsequent attacks we were scouts. Then we were another pack of warriors, just like them. Called us Unchained. Honored our scars in ritual. But as much honor as he earned... as much of Fenrir lore we learned... as much blood we swam through? We never stopped being Bone Gnawers. We came home knowing that we /could/ be like that, but what we felt inside was different. There were just so many times we saw other opportunities. We could have turned people from the Wyrm instead of sending the Wyrm-ridden to the Mother, their taint just riding along..."
Felix eyes Frederick. "Make up your mind. Y'all fight to the death, or stop when someone gets a bone broke? An' fuck makes you think we ain't broke plenty of bones? I have. Mine an' other people's. Been shot, been stabbed, been beat unconscious, had my hand dissolved, ear got ripped off, had my guts ripped out. Been pretty much killed, when I was a cub, real glad Mother's Touch exists. Ain't all of it been since I changed. You're gonna talk to Gnawers about =survivin'=?" He shakes his head. "Tell you what, though, reckon I've given 'bout as good as I got, overall." He stands, rolling his shoulders, and sets the flask down where he was sitting, scooping up one of the beers instead and then heading toward the stairs. "I'm gonna go check on my pack," he says, over his shoulder, "Be back, so don't eat all the fuckin' pizza."
Frederick sits back up. "Wouldn't dream of eating your stuff", he comments as he stretches himself, climbing back onto his feet. "Well, I guess that's pretty much it, ain't it?" He thumbs at the TV. "I should be heading back out anyway, actually I should've taken a shower... but I guess nobody's going to complain." He zips his jacket closed, looking at Winter. "When you made up your mind whether you want the shit to hit the fan, I'd be delighted to hear 'bout it."
Winter gives his speech, listens to Felix's, then drops his head into his empty hand and nods into it to Fred's request. All he says at this point is a solemn, "We need a leader."
Felix's upstairs for a fair handful of minutes, and when he comes back down, it's alone but for what's left of his beer. He flops back into the couch corner he previously had claimed, and scoops up another slice of by now rather cold pizza. A glance around, and he gives Winter a wry grin. "Just us now, huh?"
Winter hasn't looked up from his facepalming until Felix speaks, at which point he shoots up, startled. The Fostern quickly relaxing. "Oh. Yeah. I guess." A pause then he adds, "How's the challenge coming along?"
Felix finishes off the beer and trades the empty for a new one, then lifts the pizza box and turns to lie lengthwise on the couch, shoulders up against the armrest just enough to keep drinking without drowning or spilling from being a challenge of its own. He sets the half-empty box down on his abdomen. Easy access. "'s on your mind?" he asks, presumably noting the facepalming and startlement, but goes on to answer, "Reckon it's goin' okay. Could be quicker, but I figure I got at least a week before I gotta start gettin' real pushy."
Winter hasn't been drinking any of his beer this whole time, just holding it. When he goes for another sip, it's clear from his expression that it's gone warm. He shrugs and takes a nice long chug anyway. He takes a moment and then nods in agreement, "Take your time just not too much time. The others don't take too kindly to lackadaisical challengy stuff." He considers then adds, "What are your plans? Once you're all Fosterny."
"Well, this one's got its own timin', anyhow. Gotta get the news an' figure out the where in time to get there with it by full moon, right? Which means I got 'til then, an' conversely, I only got 'til then." Felix shrugs, and opens the new beer; his has to be warm too, since they've all been sitting out here, but he doesn't appear to care. Lukewarm beer, lukewarm pizza. Good enough! "Plans ain't so much my thing. Why, think I oughta have some in particular?"
Winter listens through another few sips of his beer and his mood seems to improve a little as Felix talks. "I like you. You're... open," he pauses wistfully and continues, "Yeah. Plan. Plan like you're in charge. I don't much cotton to ideas that leave me waiting for others or have me resting around. And I sure as shit am not going to follow along when people ain't got the guts to make the hard calls. So I make 'em myself. That's what being a Gnawer is, Felix. Surviving is only a part of it. We survive because we have a lot we need to do."
Felix grins a bit at the remark about liking him, and considers the rest. "Well, I ain't big on sittin' around, mostly. Never have been. But I'm real good at comin' up with shit to stop bein' bored." A slight pause, glancing at the ceiling, and he admits, "What I =ain't= always that good at is thinkin' shit through all the way. Like, Jayce, he'd come up with plans an' ideas, an' there'd be like, step one, an' maybe there's three ways things could go from that, an' he'd've thought of 'em and what to do, an' what to do about how THOSE things could go, an' so on an' so on an' ain't never much he didn't think of that might happen. Me, generally speakin', I get a real good idea for solvin' the problem I got, an' I do it. Only then sometimes I got a new problem to solve. An' I ain't so terrible at that, but... his way mostly goes a lot smoother. 's why I was in =his= crew an' it weren't vice versa, if y'see what I mean." He looks over to the Ragabash, thoughtfully. "I dunno if I woulda thought of the way you're handlin' that guy. But it makes sense, to me anyway."
Winter listens, rather intently, nodding at several points along the way. "Sounds like someone I used to run with," he pauses with a wan smile and then shakes that off, "I'm a mule, man. A Gnawer Metis. That's like, being the scum that feeds on pond scum. Pretty fucking low. I was born a Metis..." Winter contemplates his next words very carefully, "But I wasn't born a Bone Gnawer. Have you heard my story? Seems it hasn't made it this far west yet."
"You mentioned there bein' a time before you were a Gnawer," Felix says, "an' you ain't said, but if someone made me guess... I'd reckon prolly Fang to start with. You told me parta your story -- 'bout the scar," he touches his own throat about where the scar in question would be, "-- but not the rest. If you're in the mood to tell it, I'm definitely listenin'."
Winter tips his beer towards Felix at his guess in an affirmative then downs what little is left in the can. He heads over to trade his empty for a fresh-ish one, and cracks it open. The Fostern runs a finger around his actual scar and when he does, a small involuntary cough comes out which he follows with a more forceful and intentional cough into his closed hand. He takes a long sip then says, "Got it in one, Mr. Fee. I was born and abandoned by my Fang mother. They don't take too kindly to Metis even if it wasn't even her fault. She was seeing a kin at the time. I'm guessing she hoped I wasn't..." Here he swallows then offers, "She was captured by some Spirals. They tried to turn her. She resisted and they did what they do. So I guess while my mother is a Fang, my Pa was... something else. Don't matter though. Uncle Bob found me and raised me up good and proper. I was still technically a Fang cub. My fur was white as snow. The blood of legends clearly flowing through my veins. I turned away from all that though. Had the fur when I went through my Gnawer rite. My mom, when I was born, had run... she got all honor-stricken and the harano set in. She started throwing herself into suicide missions hoping to die except she didn't. She kept surviving them and the slate of my birth was pretty soon wiped clean. Uncle Bob brought me to the Caern to hear her trial when she returned. She had died a few times by then, literally was found crawling and half-dead trying to come back home. The judges declared her slate wiped clean safe for a little spate of the Jackal's voice she had to... endure... for three months. I was pissed. Uncle Bob saved my life when I frenzied on her." Here Winter looks around and chuckles, shaking his head and regards Felix, "I realize I'm giving you the long version here. Lemme skip ahead a bit..."
Felix listens; he continues demolishing what remains of the pizza and his current beer while he does so, but even so, he gives the impression that the Ragabash very much has his focused attention. There are several teachers in the world who'd be amazed. "As I seem to recall you pointin' out, I'm a Galliard," he says, giving Winter a crooked smile, "Don't wreck your throat or nothin', but you ain't gotta switch to Cliff's Notes on my account."
Winter grins with a huff of a laugh which he follows with some more beer. "Yeah, ok. Uh..." he takes a moment to think and get back to where he was, "Right! My lily-white cublet butt frenzied and Bob saved me from getting mauled for having the audacity to touch a Fang elder to me. Uncle Bob had to go on a job and just when he left, I was thrown in with some other /real/ Gnawers in a cub pack. They didn't want me, but weren't going to say no to Mother Larissa. We called ourselves the Gnawerlings and swore an oath to Rat. We worked well together. Our Alpha, Neuters-The-Wyrm... we called him Nut-Ripper, wanted us to take down this local leech that was preying on the homeless, late-night drunks, and other easy prey. The Sept was after the leech but couldn't seem to nab it. I had the job to act as bait and after a few tries and some investigation... it worked. We knew who she was and where she'd be. We should have gone to Mother but we were too excited. It was February first and she came at me like a sex goddess from a dream. She was perfect... too perfect and I was a dirty hobo, at least that was the role I was playing. I knew what she was the second I saw her but it was too late. She looked me in the eyes and had me. I revealed everything. The Garou, the Sept, the trap... when I told her about the trap and she realized she was surrounded she just smiled. She assumed the Garou who were there were too strong... so she said that she knew they would kill her but she'd kill me first. She grabbed the my dumb mesmerized ass by the throat and as calm as a cucumber tore it right the fuck out, trachea and larynx and all that coming with it. She was... amazing. I mean, she almost killed the whole pack. They got lucky. If our Theurge, Honey, hadn't run off just as it all went down to get an Elder, Nut-Ripper would have lost his eyes and I'd have lost my life. By the time the Elders arrived, we were all kinds of fucked up but the Leech was dead. Mother Larissa was... pissed." Here he shakes his head again, a note of tone indicating that he was perhaps more afraid of Mother than of the Leech. "Turns out this Vamp was called Harissa of the Lasombra. An Elder, basically, among the 'Kindred' and we were fucking lucky. Also, we'd fucked up. They needed Harissa alive. I always was curious about Larissa and Harissa... similar names I wondered if they were related," here he looks off again in thought for a moment.
Felix can't help a grin at the actual-in-use version of the Alpha's name, although it fades a bit as the story moves into the part he's heard the gist of, but with quite a bit more detail. The throat-ripping gets a wince, and a possibly inadvertant touch to his own as he lifts the beer toward his lips again. "Good havin' someone with the right kinda judgement around," he says, "...I dunno about the names, though. Seems kinda uncreative. Plus, there'd almost hafta be a Marissa in the mix before you start movin' on to somethin' like Harissa, I reckon. Clarissa. Narcissa?" A shrug, and a faint half-smile. Commentary aside, he's clearly still listening.
Winter chuckles throughout Felix's commentary and then continues. "So yeah, they wanted the bitch alive to use her in preventing a Sabbat, which are the more evil of the evil Leeches, stronghold from forming in the city. It was pretty much only that we managed to find a powerful vampire that the rest of the Sept couldn't that kept us from being whupped again, or worse. Well, turns out like in the best stories, there was a traitor. She had seduced this Adren like she tried to do to me. He was her sex slave, basically. Bonded him with her blood. Really fucked up stuff. He was giving her information about the Sept. She already knew everything about us. Well, when we killed her the dude's blood bond died too. He turned himself in and confessed to everything in pretty epic detail. Apparently she did this thing... with her tongue... and well anyways. He was sentenced to death by the hunt and submitted to it in good grace. His name was Open-Palm-Towards-The-Sky and is now to be honored." A pause then smiling shake of his head and he continues, "So the Gnawerlings were disbanded by Mother's order but we were actually a pack by then. A month later we were went on our Rite of Passage together. We were sent off to The Lost Hand of Tyr to retrieve a fetish that one of the Garou who died there had left to a Fenrir at The Green as an inheritance. While we were there, we were supposed to make friends with the Fenrir and try to get them to consider an alliance. Then we come back and tell the story of our trip and Bob's my Uncle... literally. Well, we arrived and the Fenrir were not happy. One of their's just died and they were honor-bound to hand off one of their treasures to a group of Gnawer cubs. They were pissed. They wanted us to just take it and leave but that didn't sit right with us. We had a job to do and this wouldn't cut it. I suggested to Nut-Ripper that the Gnawerlings offered to stick around and serve the Fenrir. The pack discussed and agreed... Honey again was the voice of reason warning us of the danger and again we ended up getting our way. So the Fenrir after much laughter, let us stay. But they weren't going to coddle us. The only service the Fenrir required was in war. So we were sent with them to battle."
Felix makes a bit of a face at the vampire-sex-slave thing -- aren't they dead? -- although the 'thing with her tongue' gets a small smirk and shake of the head. No comments, this time, just listening; the not-happiness of the Fenrir gets a nod, and war being the only service required another, though it also gets an eyeroll. Get.
Winter responses to Felix's various responses with smiles and little huffs of laughter as he continues his story. "Honey was pretty much right. It was going to be dangerous. The Fenrir weren't about to go into battle with some cubs calling themselves the Gnawerlings, so they called us Unchained. Our first mission was into a warehouse filled with Fomori and their weapon store. Silver and guns galore. Our job was to be mosquitos. Unchained and a Weasel pack would head in first around the back, to draw the forces inside from their posts up front. The Weasel pack, a seasoned group of veterans would rush in and incapacitate the enemy. We were to keep moving, keep to cover, and try to keep the enemy guessing and moving. Then, a second team of two packs would come in the front and another would drop in from the ceiling windows. It was messy, but we were good. Honey got the name Silver-Tooth when a silver bullet literally ricocheted off her tooth and knocked it clean off. I led the pack in the moving and Nut-Ripper led us when we had to fight. We kicked ass. Unchained earned a group performance of wounding, each of us being marked with blood and ash and uh... liberal spillings of ale."
Felix takes the second-to-last slice of pizza from the box, offering the last (and box) toward the other Gnawer. It's apparently time to trade out beers again, as well. He settles back into his spot, twisting now to face Winter more directly during the story. A thoughtful nod when the tactics are described, and the very last bit gets a laugh. "Ain't supposed to =spill= it," he says, tutting exaggeratedly. "Sounds like damn good work, though."
Winter gives a hearty laught at the admonishment and shakes his head. "Try drinking all night with the Fenrir. We served along side their warriors for a long time... it was three weeks later that Nut-Ripper died. But that is a story for another time. I'm... sorry to say, really tired."
"Fft, I can drink all night with anyone. I still ain't gonna spill it," Felix says, possibly backed up at least somewhat by the fact that he's finished off most if not all of one of the six packs on his own, as well as a couple drinks of Winter's Fireball, and still seems... pretty much normal-for-Felix, really. The grin fades a bit at three-weeks-later, expression more sympathetic. "Well, when it's another time, I'll be 'round," he says, and finds the flask where it's fallen half between the cushion, offering it back over. "An' thanks. Sleep well."