It's been quite the drive. Mostly remarkable, related to how annoyingly boring it has been. The most exciting part of the trip was when a gas station along the freeway had been closed and the next one wasn't for another 35 miles and the Caddy was practically on "E". The excitement was mitigated by, in a Hanukkah-esque miracle, there was enough gas left to make it to the next station. Woohoo. Danger.

Arriving at the point where Jamethon mentioned was rather tedious on foot, but at least it could be done on lupine feet if desired. Now here at the mid-point between city and Caern, the howl can be given.

Felix does not do well with boredom. The phase of the moon certainly doesn't make him any better at it than usual. However, he's spent most of his life coming up with ways not to be bored, and it doesn't hurt that he quite likes the actual driving. Too fast, almost always, with the music loud and singable, cigarettes and snacks and drinks (not always entirely legal for the journey) generally fairly close to hand. A fair number of stops along the way, as well; even leaving mpg out of things it can't exactly be considered an efficient drive. It's all enough to keep him from frenzying from sheer tedium, at least, but by the time he hits the right area he's more than ready to be there. The walk from where he's parked to where he is now's been done partly on human feet, partly on wolf ones, and handily he's on the latter as he reaches that mid-point. Settling back on his haunches, he pauses a moment, head cocked and ears perked, taking in the sound of his surroundings before lifting his muzzle to make that howl. Good evening! Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath Galliard of the Bone Gnawers, from the Sept of the Agreement-of-Three, requests permission to visit the Sept of Dry Thunder!

The howl is returned rather immediately and with a powerful authority. You are recieved! Await without and you shall be escorted within. If you are baring silver, your death will be swift. If you smell of the Wyrm, your death will be swift.

A few moments later and a distant rustling can already be heard in the trees and from a short distance a loud snuffling on nostrils is heard. Then again, closer. Within a minute, gruff voice belonging to a massive hispo that appears almost as if passing from the umbra, questions, ~What is your business, Gnawer of Bone?~

Felix awaits without, as instructed; he doesn't even have time to get restless and start pacing before the Hispo arrives. Evening! The Gnawer's body language is friendly greeting. I come with various bits of news to share, and to bring back any news to my Sept that those here might wish to send.

The Guardian snorts and comes out through the brush to stand before Felix, now rising up to the homid. He is a native American man, probably just about seven feet tall and fit, though skinny. He crosses his arms and nods, "I am Red-Deer-Drinks-From-The-Forgotten-Lake. Ahroun of the Uktena and leader of Guardians of the Dry Thunder. You will follow my path precisely and speak only when spoken to. Am I understood?"

Felix shifts up to homid in return, albeit no where near as =far= up. At least he manages 'fit' well enough. "Pleased meetin' you," he replies brightly, "An' just so there ain't any confusion: speakin' only when spoken to until we get there, or for the whole time y'all let me visit? Other'n that detail, yeah, understood."

Red-Deer has turned away towards the Sept's protectorate when the Gnawer speaks, and looks over his shoulder like one might expect a lumbering giant to, with a slow purpose. His expression is on the colder side of neutral, but he does offer in relatively warm tone, "For the duration of the walk. Once you have met with your tribe's elder here, you will be cleared as a guest for a time. Now... silence."

Then the walk begins. It is not a direct line. There are many curves, some long and winding others short and seemingly arbitrary. At the least, he keeps up a quick pace without racing so fast as to leave Felix behind... though the Gnawer gets the sense that his guide could do so if he so desired.

The instruction to 'silence' gets a light salute in acknowledgement, two fingers briefly to the temple and flicked away, and Felix follows the taller man in, indeed, silence as they go. There are a few moments where it feels as though he might be finding it difficult -- in particular, a certain rhythm to his breathing at one point as though he were humming, but still without sound. He keeps up with the quick pace without too much trouble; the disparity in stride-length alone gives his guide a distinct advantage there, without even factoring in that sense of the Uktena's currently unused speed, but at least the former the Gnawer's probably used to. He follows Red-Deer's path as precisely as he can manage, short of trying to land right in his actual foot-steps.

Throughout the walk, mostly Red-Deer seems to have forgotten he is being followed. His pace is calm and casual. If not for the quite occasional subtle glances over a shoulder, the Gnawer might start to feel entirely ignored. Eventually though, they arrive. What looks like a Off-Grid redneck's dream campsite has been erected in a few clearings that are near to each other. Outhouse, barbeque pit, archery range, distillery, fire pit, and a big ol' icebox are all present. Working on whittling a stick, about two feet long, to a nice point (despite the job probably having already been done hours ago), is a skinny old man with a long white beard and wearing just some cut off jeans and a stained wife-beater, both hanging loosely.

Red-Deer speaks first, "Tooth-Ripper. This one is of your people. Comes from the Triquetral Accord, as your Big-Boy said someone would." With this, Red-Deer steps aside, just outside the main clearing, and waits. The one called Tooth-Ripper stands from his tree-stump chair and spits to the side, right into the smoldering fire pit with a disturbing accuracy. His voice is like what you might imagine John Wayne's would be, if he were from Georgia, "Who'er you an' wha'cha lookin' fer?"

Felix glances around the clearing with some appreciation, and flashes the elderly man a grin, a bit pleased by the accent. Sounds an awful lot like his grandparents'. "Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath 'Gnawer Galliard, member of Tactical Frivolity and -- like he said -- the Sept of the Triquetral Accord, at your service," he introduces himself, with a quick but sweeping bow of great conviction. He still sounds entirely like he's from Tennessee, not Washington, but hey, this guy doesn't sound at all Arizonan and yet he's here, right? "As for what I'm lookin' for, well, I'm doin' my Fostern challenge. Been charged by Winter to share some news from up there with y'all down here at your moot, if y'all'll let me, an' bring back any news y'all want brought back." A slight pause, and, "Also, he says his Uncle Bob owes him five bucks, an' he could really use the cash." The last part's just deadpan-innocent enough to make it hard to tell how much it might or might not be a joke; the rest at least clearly isn't.

The old Gnawer listens and listens good, thinking on the Cliath's words for quite some time and a couple of sizzling spits at the firepit. Finally he says, "You drink moonshine?" He doesn't wait for an answer and heads over to an old iron-shod barrel by the still and pours a drink into two handmade copper cups. "My name is Jacob, boy. They call me Tooth-Ripper on 'count-a me rippin' some teeth quite a bit. I'm seventy-six years old, an Athro by our reckoning. Back when I did do something worth doing as a Garou, I was doing it as a Galliard. So I know a few stories. Outside o' them, I know about two things in this world. Shine, and secrets. The ones worth knowing... the ones worth sharing. Then there's the ones can't ever be shared and you prob'ly don' wanna know either. You get me, boy?"

Felix stays quiet while the old man considers -- not still, although he remains in the same general place and the shifts of weight and stance don't seem nervous, just releases of some of that thrumming energy, but at least quiet. The eventual question gets another sudden grin, and the un-waited-for answer, "Shit yeah." He heads toward the elder Gnawer while the drink is being poured, and listens as he continues, looking somewhat impressed by the age. "Honoured to make your acquaintance," he says, with a brief dip of the head, followed by a complete nod. "...an' yeah, I reckon I might. Ain't many things I don't think I wanna know when I don't, but once in a while they ain't lyin' when they say ignorance's bliss. But 'shine, stories, an' secrets all sound pretty worthwhile to me far's shit to know goes."

Jacob nods as he turns around, and with a lanky strength that shows steadiness enough to be fully mobile, at the least, walks over to the Cliath with a tremble in his hands which at the least doesn't manage to spill. He hands over a cup, and there is only that edge to the air above it that indicates what Felix holds in his hand is wonderfully dangerous. Jacob holds up his cup for a toast, offering, "May we never regret this."

Felix takes the cup with another of those grins and a 'thanks', and about as the scent of the drink reaches his nose, there's something in his expression -- a faint wrinkle across the brow, perhaps, or the particular angle of that glance at the liquid -- that suggests perhaps that perilous potential's also hit his senses, or at least wafted past. If so, it doesn't seem to put him off any. YOLO, right? Okay, arguably technically no, for Garou, but that aside! He lifts his cup in return, moving it to touch the other if it's being held close enough that that seems expected, and replies cheerfully, "May any bad choices at least make good stories."

The old man raises an eyebrow in surprised mirth and takes a good long sip of his drink as if it were his favorite candy. He looks over to the clearing with the archery range and it seems there's a rather big man standing there now, not as tall as Red-Deer, but wider than Jamethon. His gut gives him the look of a man who has had more beer than meat in his life, but his build suggests he could wrestle a bear in homid and, some of the times, win. As he nocks an arrow in a big ol' compound bow, Jacob gives an 'ah' sound and lifts his cup towards the range, "I think that's the man you're lookin' fer, boy. Just back from the other side of the world. Now, go'n ask the giant wit'a weapon fer yer five bucks."

<OOC> Felix says "For purposes of pose... just how strong =is= the moonshine? :)"
<OOC> Fwiffo says "It's like being his in the face with a high speed snowball with a little nugget of ice in the center."
<OOC> Felix laughs!

There isn't any hesitation before Felix takes a good sip of his drink as well. No tentativeness, either, which one might think would've been wise. As it is, he blinks, brows scrunching as he pulls his head back an inch or so and swallows a second time -- without having taking another drink yet -- and then his eyes reopen, and he looks delighted, although this time the grin has a definite manic edge. "Daaamn," he murmurs. At the indication of the man with the bow, the younger Galliard's eyebrows lift. "Well, they sure ain't bein' ironic when they call him the Big Boy," he observes, absently taking another sip of the drink in his hand. It pretty much immediately stops being 'absently' anything, but does end up with a startled laugh once he's swallowed. And then he shrugs, already-confident posture sliding up another half-notch as he rolls his shoulders back slightly. "Ain't MY five bucks." Just as he starts in that direction, he pauses, looking to Jacob again with a small lift of the cup, "Also, this is awesome. An' thank you."

The old man gives a good laugh at Felix's reaction to the drink, and a slight humored huff comes from where the Uktena has been standing silently up until now. The Uktena in question, if Felix goes to look, has disappeared. At the thanks, Jacob offers back a quick, "Yer welcome, youngin'." He glances over to Big Boy who looses an arrow directly into the bullseye with so much torque on that compound bow of his that it took a split second to make the Olympic-length distance to the target. "Want to thank me? Perform a miracle and convince Uncle Bob to stop wand'rin 'bout like a Strider and settle down. Here. An' take my job so I can take a fuckin' nap."

"As elder?" Felix asks, "Well, stranger things've prolly happened." He continues over toward the huge archer, waiting for the moment or so after an arrow's loosed, before a new one's in place, to greet him as well with a bright, "Evenin'!"

The bear pretending to be a homid continues to nock his bow. He eyes the target before drawing it. Then in a single smooth motion, lifts the bow, draws it back, and releases another /near/ bullseye. He scowls a little then tosses the large, heavy bow aside like it was a drumstick and turns to look at Felix. His denim overalls and straw hat centric outfit says Southerner or hillbilly but his voice speaks of origins vaguely in the Northeast. "Hello," he says with a clear and friendly voice right off Baloo from the Jungle Book. He then looks up to the sky and nods, returning his eyes back down to the visitor, "It is evening, indeed. I'm Bob," he reaches out a hand (which is more like a five-fingered slab of steak with skin) and continues with, "But I guess you knew that already."

Felix accepts the hand, of course, like ya do. He's got pretty big hands, particularly considering his overall build, but his is surely still dwarfed by Bob's. "I had an inklin'," he grants, "an' pleased to meet you. Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath 'Gnawer Galliard, visitin' from the Sept of the Triquetral Accord... from somethin' Red-Deer-Drinks-From-The-Forgotten-Lake said, I reckon you mighta guessed at least that part already yourself." A glance toward the target, "Nice shootin'."

Bob's handshake is like a steel cloud... what one might imagine a robot would be like to shake hands with. Enough strength to bend girders but with such perfect control that there is a feather-light touch. After he releases the other hand he interlocks his fingers and cracks his knuckles outwards with many overlapping pops. "Alright, Mr. Felix. Thanks. And I have an inkling of what you are here for. Challenging Winter for something, yeah?"

"Fostern," Felix confirms; his handshake is firm but not aggressive, which is almost certainly for the best. "Collected a fair handful of our news to share with y'all at your moot, if y'all'll have me, an' I'm to bring back whatever news y'all want to send along with me when I head back." As when he explained things to Jacob, there's a pause -- it's not as though he's practiced the answer, but the redhead's a performer to his bones, and some things just beg for particular timing: "...also, he says you owe him five bucks."

The Big Boy nods his head and glances over at the bow. Looking at it as if upset with the inanimate instrument he finally looks over to the Cliath. "Alright. Then I guess you're gonna have to come with me cross another bridge, cause I have some messengering to do myself." He sniffs at the air a couple of times and adds, "Also, that wasn't moonshine."

Felix still has the cup, not having drained it yet, and glances at it consideringly with the added note. Then he takes another drink from it. It's actually somewhat bigger than the first couple, since they've paved its way. "Well, it's still fuckin' good," he decides, before looking to the big man again, "So what is it?"

Bob gives a big belly and shakes his head. He starts over towards the Caern itself as he answers, "Awakened moonshine. I hope you enjoy pretty colors."

"Love 'em," Felix replies, grinning again. It's still got that manic edge to it, and he finishes off what still remains in the cup as he follows Bob. Hey, can't let this stuff go to waste! He glances around for a suitable place to put the cup, but as they enter the caern, just puts the vessel in his jacket pocket for the time being. "Where're we headed? One of the northeastern caerns?"

<OOC> Fwiffo says "Not too long before Felix starts to detect another mind speaking to his own. It's like having two of himself in his head and they're not 100% in sync. One is rather normal. The other is basically drunk and high."
<OOC> Felix says "I'll be honest, the normal one is pretty used to being basically drunk and high. (Mostly drunk.)"
<OOC> Fwiffo says "This is turned up to 11. Whatever Felix is 'used' to? This other 'mind' is more effed up, and in a different manner than expected. It's like having a split personality and only that one has done peyote or something."
<OOC> Felix nods!
<OOC> Fwiffo says "But yet, being able to still function with the other mind. Have fun with that. Yay magic."
<OOC> Felix says "Yay! :D"

The large Gnawer looks over his shoulder with a gruff laugh at the young one. "Very well, my spirited boy. And something like that, sure. Just mind your manners in the Caern and no one will bother ya with me."

"Got it," Felix replies, with one of those light faux-salutes, and he strolls along behind, trying to keep up while sacrificing as little of his usual saunter as possible. At least he's got a lot of practice with that! Plenty with playing sober, too, but none with awakened moonshine, and as they walk it gradually becomes clear that his steps are falling into rhythm with still quiet but now audible humming. "White Rabbit," specifically. But that still counts as behaving, right?

"If you see a giant caterpillar, tell me before you start answering its questions, yeah?" The older Gnawer offers with humor but there's a kind of fatherly sense of reality to his statement as well. "And we're going East. But not north. Ever been to Texas?"

Felix glances around as they walk, taking in this caern's particular surroundings, and laughs. "Yeah, a'right. Reckon that means smokin' its hookah's outta the question without a permission slip too, huh?" The other man's question gets a nod, and a small shrug, "Drove through a fair piece of it in the summer. Sorta northerly parts, mostly."

The bear-like Gnawer nods his head rather ponderously as they arrive at the Caern proper. It is a busy night there, with people who simply exude power all about having their conversations. When the two arrive, at the well forested mountain side Caern, Bob is given a wide berth by a young guardian keeping watch at its edge. Felix is eyed more than curiously but ultimately not prevented passage. They reach a large rust red stone being watched over by an older Uktena woman who Bob stops and bows his head before. The woman does likewise, but in a much more subtle fashion.
"Departing for The Painted Song on this full moon?" Her voice is strong and cutting, and it smashes through the cool night air with no apology. She does not seem like the kind to mince words or entertain those who do.

When he's eyed, Felix flashes the guardian the quick, distracted-but-friendly look of greeting of someone who's absolutely supposed to be exactly where he is right now, but it can't possibly hurt that he's with Bob -- not only for the obvious reasons, but because it's harder to pull off that 'meant to be here' impression while looking around, and things in the corner of his vision keep briefly dragging his attention their way. Whether they're actually there or not. When they reach the Uktena and Bob bows his head, the younger Gnawer bows his as well.

Bob gives a vague wave of his hand through the air to the Uktena and confirms with a positive grunt. "Shoulda been a Strider, I tell you."
To this the Uktena replies with, "Then who would save the unfortunate ones?"
Bob grunts again, acknowledging and looking towards the stone. He smiles and then goes rather sober in expression, "I petition Great Eagle in my name and in the name of this one, the aspiring and spirited youth. We seek safe passage over the moon bridge to The Painted Song."
Here, a pointed glance comes from the Uktena towards Felix that carries an unspoken question directed at the young Cliath.

"Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath Bone Gnawer Galliard, visiting from the Sept of the Triquetral Accord an' at your service," the youth in question says when he's looked at pointedly, punctuating it with a small bow -- from the shoulders, not the waist, but with a half-sweep of the arm to go along with it. "...an' I petition Great Eagle to let me go on along with him." A slight tilt of the head to indicate Bob is the 'him' in question. Just in case there could be any confusion.

The severe Uktena might have just a touch of a ghost of a grin hit her lips, but that could easily be Felix's mind playing tricks on him as well. She turns and kneels, placing her hands against the stone and whispers something calmly to the ether. Even listening closely, her words are unintelligible and chaotic aside from several times where "Eagle" can be heard like punctuation. Soon, a golden shimmering in the air shaped like an oval just tall enough to allow Bob's easy passage forms in front of the two petitioners.

The woman speaks, "I am called Dreams-Into-Being and in Eagle's name I accept your petition. Journey safely." She steps aside now, and silently watches the two.

Bob looks over at the Cliath, smiles, and steps through the shimmer to disappear. Some among the Caern's inhabitance take notice, but clearly passing into the moon bridge isn't an entirely uncommon occurance around here.

Given the recent history of the Memphis-area caerns, it was certainly a fairly uncommon sight at the one Felix hails from, and he hasn't seen one opened in Washington, either -- so the pause to study that shimmer when it arises may not be entirely moonshine-based. He returns Bob's smile, turns it on Dreams-Into-Being, and then follows the larger man through.

The two are suddenly in the Aethereal Realm among the planets and stars. The gold-colored shimering moon bridge arches high into the star-punctuated darkness across an impossible distance and yet each step Bob takes isn't just a step... it is like a leap as he shimmers in one place and solidifies further down the bridge, never entirely leaving Felix's view. Bob speaks from that distance but his voice carries like the room is a closed in echo chamber, "Do not step off of the bridge. No matter what you see or hear. Follow me on the golden road or you will suffer eternal agony out among things that are not a part of this reality that you hold for granted."

The Galliard's eyes widen a bit as the new scenery coalesces around him, and then he looks rather delighted again, looking around at the stars and planets, and along the golden bridge before them. "Don't step off the path," he echoes, looking after Bob and starting to head after him, "Kinda sounds like I just stepped into a legend. I'm allowed to look back, right?" It's a joke. Mostly. That step, the near-normal feel of it but the way it closes far too much distance between them, makes him laugh, startled, and if the mostly-joke doesn't get a pretty damn quick answer it's going to be moot, because the look over his shoulder in reaction is entirely instinctual.

Bob calls back without looking over his shoulder, "You can look. Just don't get disoriented. We're heading East."

When Felix looks back he sees what must be half a mile of distance has already been covered behind them. He then hears a whisper off of the side of the path. Something coming from just below the edge of the bridge, that softly calls in a non-distinct voice, "Feeeeelix... why did you leave meeeee?"

There's what MIGHT be a very faint giggle at the length of the distance. But surely not. Felix starts humming again, this time The Proclaimers' most famous hit, though there's a pause in it when he hears that whisper, and he leans to look over the bridge's edge and investigate. No stepping off, though. "So... are you hearin' things say shit too, or is that the moonshine talkin'?" If there's no obvious source of the voice, he continues after Bob, though there's another glance back toward it, this one slightly less on the delighted side of things.

Bob stops suddenly at the question, but says nothing.

The voice speaks louder now, and with the attention it is given the voice gains power. Felix feels a powerful compulsion to lean forward further, and reach out. As he does, he's suddenly shaken from this desire by Bob's hand roughly grabbing his shoulder and the large Gnawer growling, "No!" This is not towards Felix, but rather whatever it is that lays below which hisses out some kind of language that feels like it burns Felix's ears. Then a kind of alien snake-like thing that must be the circumference of an ancient oak tree's base, appears from under the bridge and hurdles off at a breakneck speed away from the two.

Bob pulls Felix back and sets the cliath in front of him to continue the walk, "Come along, Pond," he grumbles.

The original look seemed more curious than anything else, and Felix yelps in surprise as he's snagged, not having realised he was leaning further. He watches the thing as it wanders off, brow furrowed and eyes narrowing. "A'right, so it ain't the 'shine, then." He doesn't protest being put in front, and starts walking again, still glancing around -- the direction the thing went; the planets around them; down the path ahead.

As Felix looks, he might notice there are beings near the planets. That they themselves aren't exactly just solid entities but something that radiates unthinkable levels of power. And perhaps, intelligence.

Bob offers from behind the Cliath, "They are spirits you know. If that does them justice. Powerful packs have sought them as patrons, and succeeded." A pause then Bob adds, "We're almost there." And in fact, if Felix looks forward, he'll find that another gateway, shimmering blue, lays not too far ahead of them... only a few 'miles'.

Some of that energy a large moon emphasizes in Felix has definitely shaded toward anger, clearer when he watches the direction the snake-thing went than otherwise, but it settles more as they continue, and as he looks at the other spirits. "Spirits of the actual planets?" he asks, and does glance ahead again at the addition, nodding as he spots the blue shimmer. "Yeah, that seems like they'd hafta be pretty persuasive..."

The older Gnawer considers the question with a 'hmm,' then offers, "That's up for debate. Spirits of the planets or of concepts that have simply been attributed to the planets. I leave answering those kinds of questions to the Theurges."

And here, Felix finds himself before that shimmering portal of blue. Apparently, they have travelled from Arizona to Texas in a matter of a few minutes and the other side of that joruney is here for Felix to step through.

"You don't mind me askin', what =is= your auspice, anyway?" Felix asks, looking over his shoulder to the larger man, "Weird thing, but somehow it ain't never come up when anyone's talked about you 'round me." One more glance to their surroundings, and he steps toward the portal.

"Ah, right. Of course," he gives a gruff laugh and watches as the Cliath is about to enter the portal, "That's a long story, my boy. It begins when I was just about your age, I believe." He's stepping along with Felix, gently coaxing the younger Gnawer into the exit of the moon bridge. "I think sometimes mistakes are made. I was born under a newish moon but..." And at this point he steps on through the portal, before Felix or not.

Felix listens with interest, but steps through without hesitation once he reaches the shimmer and there's a suitable pause in the story-so-far. It might arguably be more prudent to let the person the folks on the other side are much more likely to know and be expecting go through first, but, well, Felix was in front and there's the door!

The other side of the moon bridge is far less nature oriented than the one they left. The two find themselves in what looks like a revolving door of an large underground pub, with the actual door part removed. Instead, the floor of the circular revolving door area, is a large, flat but raw, blue gem-veined stone. There is a stage in the pub with an acoustic-electric band currently playing, some wicked hand percussion supplying the beat and a beautiful short but shapely woman with long black hair singing something sultry with the talent to put singers like Adele to shame. As for size of the place, it's like someone took a warehouse, buried it, and carved out various rooms, some of those walls here in the main area are only about five feet high. A proper bouncer type stands in front of the portal, and looks down at Felix over crossed arms. "We were expectin' B-" And here, Bob comes in behind Felix and steps around the younger Cliath to give the bouncer who is suddenly all smiles, a big bear hug. The two look like they could at the least, maybe be cousins.

"Snake!" Bob calls the other man fondly as Felix's companion steps back and gestures to the young Cliath, "This is Felix. He's a Rat, and is with me. Has some messages from the Triquetral Accord." At this moment, the one called Snake looks a little dubious and confused, "Uh, Hidden Walk." This, Snake seems to catch and his gives an "Ah!" then steps back and aside, "Ain't that where your boy ended up?" Snake asks and Bob just nods his head and looks over the room.

It's a lively night and the dance floor is hopping. It's a Gnawer's kinda dive, just turned up to 11 with the size and scope. Though interestingly, there are also clearly some non-Gnawers about. A few Fianna can clearly be spotted playing cards at a table with what must be a couple of Glass Walkers and a Gnawer. But more than them, plenty of young urban Uktena are defintely around.

Certainly it's this particular Gnawer's kinda dive, and Felix does what he always does when confronted by dubious bouncer types: prepares to set charisma to stun. Snake gets the full force of his grin, and the Cliath radiates that aura of absolute certainty that he belongs here again, but Bob's through and explaining before there's a need to really start Talking. Possibly best, considering that Felix is still of two minds on everything, and one of them is pretty sure that bartender over there turned into a flamingo for a couple seconds there. "Evenin'," he greets Snake brightly, and lets things get settled while he takes a better look around. Possibly the band gets a longer look than most of the place, or maybe it's the singer in particular. Regardless, about the time Snake and Bob finish conversing, he adds, "Nice place you got here," slightly past sincere and on into genuinely impressed.

Snake gives the Cliath a mock salute and offers, "Enjoy. We always have a party the night before a moot. Helps us relax before getting to business." He gestures towards an ornately carved heavy wooden door, "Everything except for what's behind that door is available for your enjoyment." He glances towards the stage and grins, "Well, almost everything," he muses.

Bob laughs at this and nods towards the door, "That's the actual Caern kid. You'll see it tomorrow when you're invited and a little more sober. But for tonight. Enjoy yourself. This is just about the most fun place to be a Gnawer you can find. Especially if you don't have a girl back home who minds you shacking up for a night with... well, whoever might catch your fancy." He glances at the bar, "Bar don't take money for the well stuff, but they keep a tab running on you. You fuck up? You pay up. More you been taking, the more you're gonna have to give. Got it?" With this, Bob shakes Snake's hand again and starts off towards a far table where a women and two men are sitting and having some beers.

"I like this plan. Oughta do it everywhere," Felix decides, nodding to the initital explanation, and he looks to the indicated door with unavoidable one-off-limits-thing interest. Bob's further explanation gets a faint grin, and the further instructions more of one. "Will do," he replies, with a mock salute of hs own, "...an' got it. Thanks." He takes another look around as Bob heads off, clearly pleased with what he sees (even the things that may or may not be there, at present), and asks Snake, "So who's performin'?"

As Snake looks over at the singer, Felix gets a clearer look at the woman how has some slight Native American features and something else that is a touch exotic beyond that. The bouncer gives Felix a look like he's said what he is about to say before, "That is Lady Sophie. The Warder's daughter. The Uktena Lupus Warder's daughter." A pause then he adds, "The Athro, Ahroun, Uktena, Lupus, Warder's daughter. Think about all that means before you go and get too curious."

"She's good," Felix says, sounding for all the world as if that were genuinely all he's thinking about her. Although he might not be watching quite that close if that were the case. "Lady Sophie?" he asks then, glancing to Snake again, the emphasis on the first word; it definitely can't be considered =not= curious, but surely even an Athro Ahroun Uktena Lupus Warder can't object to that much.

Snake gives a slightly incredulous huff of a laugh this time and adds, "Yeah. Lady. Her mom, the Warder, couldn't think of the right human words when she was born so called her Lady." He looks around the bar and shakes his head again, "Look kid. It's a curious thing for sure. A Lupus having a human kinfolk daughter. I get it. But there's /plenty/ of ways to get your rocks off around here. Don't do anything stupid." He now looks directly at Felix as he adds, "Because it might be me that she orders to kill you." A pause then, quite friendly, "Snake, by the way, actual name. Adren Ahroun and Alpha of the Guardian Pack, Rat's Nest, serving... rat. Of course."

Felix gives a small huff of a laugh at the explanation of the name himself, although there's no incredulity in it. "S'pose that makes sense," he says, and returns his glance from the performance to Snake when it gets near the end of the advice, with an exhalation that only misses out on counting as a sigh by dint of being soundless. "Well. I reckon I do generally prefer not bein' killed," he says, "...sounds frustratin' bein' her, though." He shrugs, then grins at the taller man, agreeing, "Of course. Nice meetin' you, Snake. Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath Galliard, member of the Tactical Frivolity pack, under Coyote." The Ahroun gets the same kind of half-bow Dreams-Into-Being did.

Snake is all grins and commraderie until the bow. At this point, Snake raises an eyebrow and has a look like he thinks this kid just lost his mind. "Did you just bow to me? Is that what they're teaching Gnawers in St. Claire? Oh, for the days of Pete Barlow... wherever the hell he is. If he's still alive." Here, Snake just gives a little grin and looks over at a twenty-something, attractive and strong looking girl by a dartboard, totally kicking the ass of the mid-thirties man she's playing against. "That's Linds. She's kin too. Fianna with a penchant for ragamuffins like you. Only Garou family she got, is a cousin that's not even here anymore. She ain't shy and won't get you killed."

Felix laughs at the look. "Don't worry, I only do it meetin' people. An' mostly the ones I'm inclined to like. Anyone who =wants= me to bow to 'em can fuck right off." He glances the way Snake indicates, and adds, grinning, "Awful lotta chicks like it, though." He watches the darts for a few moments -- okay, mostly Linds, but hey, she was pointed out -- before asking, "Is bein' likely to get me killed a common kinda attribute 'round here? 'cause that seems like the sorta thing I'd wanna know. An' I ain't a ragamuffin. Guttersnipe, maybe. Ragamuffins got no style."

He gives a good lively laugh now to Felix's antics and claps the kid on the back, which serves to shove him forward a few steps. "Nah. Mostly with the Uktena. The ones around here tend to be the Gnawers of their Tribe. Know what I mean? The ones that ain't got a place somewhere else. But talking shop for a moment, they've saved our asses more than once and her mother," he gestures to the singer again, "Smoke-Breathed-Deeply-To-Clear-The-Sting, saved me from a real life fucking dragon once. So way I see it, they want to be the only ones dealin' in respect around here? Their prerogative. 'side from that? Everyone is here to have fun. We're good at fun. Now run along kid, I got work to do." A pause then, "Welcome to Dallas."

Felix is not really expecting the clap on the back, and catches himself from the stagger less smoothly than he'd probably prefer. He laughs as he straightens back up, though, and stretches. A glance to the singer when she's indicated again, and it still lingers before he looks back. "A dragon? Sounds like an interestin' story," he remarks, but acknowledges the dismissal with a half-nod, and gives the Adren another quick grin. "In a stunnin' coincidence, I'm pretty big on fun myself. Thanks for the tips." The first destination for running along to, it appears, is likely to be the bar.

The bar is lively tonight, as to be expected where free(ish) alcohol is in play. The beer that pretty much everyone is drinking is tapped from an ornate, iron-shod, wooden keg on shelf behind the bartender. The rest of the bar is appointed as one might expect, spirits, beer bottles, line taps, and fridges and all that. The bartender in question is a older and rather squirrelly woman, skinny, wry and quick. She doesn't resemble the most commmonly appointed 'tender for a dive like this but what she is, is efficient. People don't seem to wait for long to get served here. Felix learns this first hand. Upon settling up at the bar, the woman appears a little too fast... like she's using rage or something, just to tend bar. "What'll it be, stranger?" She asks in a warm and gravelly voice that speaks of being a life-long smoker.

Felix moves through the crowd as though he's used to it, although admittedly it takes more actual attention here -- most places he's doing it, half the crowd gets out of his way as soon as they sense his existence. Plenty of people get more or less interested glances as he goes, and the band (or singer, or both) get some more as well; he isn't dancing as yet, but his movements seem to subconsciously be to the music even so. He scans the bar as he nears it, and flashes the bartender a grin when she gets to him. "Beer's lookin' good, but I'm feelin' like a whiskey. So, boilermaker?" he suggests promptly.

The woman scoffs and leans forward on the bar, looking rather unimpressed. "American or British, honey?"

"I was thinkin' American, but hey, if you got a better idea," Felix says easily, leaning on the bar himself. "What goes good with side-effects of awakened moonshine?"

She eyes the kid, those eyes narrowing slightly and then shakes her head, "Maybe some common sense?" With that, she shoots off and pours a shot off well bourbon and a mug of beer from the keg, setting those down in front of the Cliath, "What's the name, kid?"

"Well, if you got a bottle, ain't the first time I been told it's worth tryin'," Felix replies, and watches the too-fast work for the brief moments before the woman returns. "Thanks. Felix T. Sinclair, Lets-Them-Eat-Cake, Cliath 'Gnawer Galliard, packed with Tactical Frivolity under Coyote, an' visitin' from the Sept of the Triquetral Accord." This one gets a slight inclination of the head to go with it, and a smaller gesture that broadly evokes the sweep of an arm without actually thwacking anyone else at the bar in the face. At least he apparently has THAT much common sense.

She raises an eyebrow and shrugs, "Name and rank will do too, I guess." She then heads off in a flash to tend to another patron who just raises his beer mug in request for another drink. Felix is left alone for now, as the singer finishes her set and steps off the stage to an eruption of applause. The starring beauty, walks over to the empty spot at the bar, and waits there for her turn while a few other patrons are served first.

Felix downs the shot, setting the glass back down and picking up his beer for a sip. They seem to meet with general approval, probably unsurprisingly. He frees his hands long enough to join in the applause, then picks the mug back up and steps away from the bar, making room for the next person. It could be coincidental that he ends up stepping in the direction of where Lady Sophie's awaiting her turn, but not that as he would have passed her, he pauses, giving her a quick smile. "Nice set," he says, with a tiny tilt of his head toward the stage just to forestall any potential misunderstandings, "you're damn good."

<OOC> Fwiffo says "The beer is cold and delicious. Far colder than a beer coming from an unrefrigerated keg should be and probably far more delicious than these rats should have access to. That's no ordinary keg."

Sophie gives Felix a wide and startlingly bright grin at the compliment and then chuckles at the gesture, "Oh, for a minute there I thought you were flirting with me?" At this moment, the bartender comes over with an already prepared vodka soda for Sophie which she takes with a graceful nod. The bartender gives Felix a short, knowing laugh and a smile, seeing him next to the young beauty.

Felix grins back. "Well, ordinarily you'd prolly be thinkin' right," he replies, "but I hear that'd be treadin' dangerous territory. An' seein' as I'm a guest here tonight I reckon I oughta at least =try= to behave. So this time, just one musician to another." He raises his beer to her in a small toast, and drinks.

"Shame," she offers with a side-lipped grin that just... works on her face. She clinks her glass against his and then, eyes locked on Felix's, uses the little cocktail straw to take a sip of her drink with cherry-red lips. Sophie then shrugs, "I thought you kinda rather cute." She turns and starts to walk away, towards the stage again, hips pushed back ever so slightly, then pauses with a look over her shoulder. "...Shame"

"It is," Felix agrees, keeping her gaze while she takes that sip, "...it really, really is." He has possibly never sounded more sincere. His eyes follow as she turns, and a very close observer could probably just about hear the strain on his willpower. And the tiny 'spang' of it fraying to just about the breaking point when she looks back like that. Possibly the moonshine-self gets temporary control, then, since he takes an immediate step after her before glancing heavenward and taking a deep breath, nails of his empty hand pressing into its palm. A wave of frustration just about flows off him, intense enough that a passing kin steps slightly further aside than necessary to get around him to the bar. And then it seems to dissipate, almost as if it were never there, aside from a slightly firmer than necessary hold on his mug and the absent opening and flexion of his other hand. "Next time," he says, giving her a sideways grin of his own, and watches her go for another few moments, sipping his beer.

"That'll do," comes Bob's voice from behind, who steps in and puts a hand on Felix's shoulder. "You're going for Fostern, not Elder... only so much resisting a man can do." He turns and faces back the way he just came from, and gestures towards a table in the corner where a few other men and a woman sit, playing some Texas Hold-Em. "Come on. Take it easy for the rest of the night."

Felix, somewhat preoccupied with watching, startles slightly at the hand -- he covers it okay visually, but certainly the owner of said hand can feel it. "Damn straight," he agrees, and has another good drink of his beer, not a sip this time, "...we're sure Elder ain't on the table, right?" The grin's fainter and more wry than usual. A glance at the mug, and at the distance of the table from the bar, and he adds, "Mind if I grab a refill?" As long as the answer's in the go-ahead family, he drains the rest of the mug and slips in among the others at the bar to do just that before rejoining Bob.

Bob laughs, but aside from that just waits for Felix to take care of his drinking needs before bringing him over to the table and introducing the Cliath to the 'guys'.

<OOC> Fwiffo says "So, I think that covers the 'tricky' part. Fade to black and then gonna fade up on the actual Moot."
<OOC> Felix says "Hooray! :D He's probably at some point going to dance and find someone who it isn't forbidden to mess around with, if/when that's fine. :)"