Sweeping branches of evergreen pines form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing. In the center is a fire pit with several old logs polished from use for seats. A separate stack of firewood is discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce, protected from the damp by a tarp. At the edge of the clearing and extending back a bit into the woods resides a rough wooden structure with a slate tile roof. A stone slab rests off to one side of the clearing in a place of some prominence. Nestled in among the pines are a few hardy perennials--red alder, quaking aspen, and a big leaf maple or two--that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
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.
Here is a young woman who is built like a track star with shoulder length brown hair and matching brown eyes. Her skin borders on the slightly tanned due to being kissed from the sun from her outdoor activities. Alicia is of caucasian descent with a hint of peruvian mingled into her DNA. Her apparel tends to be a mix of urban streetwear in the form of loose fitted cargo pants and crop shirts, to long skirts with button down blouses. Fairly tall at five-eight, she looks to be a young woman who has seen her share of scraps, and radiates an aura of confidence and showmanship with how she walks. Under her shirts, her stomach has a number of hacksawed looking scars along her skin that criss-crosses around to her back and just under her breast.
Though only 5'4", her slim athletic body is well toned with tight, sleek muscles. Her skin is a pale cream, left free of most cosmetics. Faded lines of white mark her wrists and arms, barely seen on her light complexion. Noticeably, however, is an ash-darkened scar running the length of the top of her right hand. Normally hidden by clothes is another - a jagged, large scar that runs from the back of her right shoulder blade up across and over her collar bone to her chest. Her eyes are a dark brown, ranging from neutrality to expressive. Her hair is long and wavy, a rich, dark auburn brown that is generally left loose, but occasionally bound. Her clothing is mostly cotton and denim, all of it generally casual and leaning towards a laid-back bohemian style.
This man is somewhere around six inches above six feet and looking to have about three hundred or so pounds of muscle on him. His beard is light brown and well-trimmed, worn on a face which is a carries a light sense of hipster snark. His eyes, dark enough to seem black, stare with a concentration that indicates he is far more focused than generally attentive. His hair, dyed a natural light brown, cut and styled into a short wavy tease, a current trend for sure.
Jamethon currently wears a blue t-shirt with an Apple logo on a Martini-glass stem that says, "Drink Different" under a pristine brown leather jacket. He also wears a pair of tight trendy distressed blue jeans. Around his neck hangs a copper disc set in with a shield cut piece of brilliant forest-green jade at its center (look jamethon's pendant). Finally, he wears a new pair of blue vans kicks.
Scars on his forehead, just below his bangs, are the tips of a set of three jagged scars that travel up and back, the rest covered by the Fenrir's hair. A large myriad collection of scars adorn his visage at other various points as well (+detail Jamethon's scars).
"I wonder if Dragonfly would be suited to Dirk." Dakota says, "He is.. much as I love him, very traditional. He's a man out of the past literally and Dragonfly is a force of change. That could clash. Peregrine certainly suits him, though she isn't as well known as a teacher. She is respected though and not as hidebound as Falcon. I'd been wondering if perhaps Phoebe might not be worth the quest. She's hard to convince but who better than the avatar of Luna herself to serve as spiritual guidance for a bunch of wayward Garou? Anyone either of you were thinking?"
As she listens to the pair, Alicia cracks the gum in her mouth again a few times in thought. Finally, her shoulders shrug upwards. "I don't know. I've packed under Cockroach, Rat, Stag, Owl, Unicorn, Black Unicorn .." She trails off in thought as she rubs her chin. "I think I can really pack under just about anyone ... the Triune Goddess calls to me. I can pack under Dragonfly or Peregrine." At the idea of Phoebe, she nods her head. "I would be okay with her as well."
"The Triune Goddess.." Dakota squints, considering the name. "Oh, Megan was in a pack under them. Blackwatch. I remember hearing about them. It's a more mystical war totem but definitely a war totem. I'm no warrior, not compared to a lot anyway. I'm a Garou sure but battle isn't really my thing. We don't all /have/ to stick together though. I'd trust all of you with my live and I'd die for any of you but I don't want anyone ignoring a calling if they feel strongly about a given path."
"You are very much a warrior, Dakota." Alicia says with a smirk on her face. "Besides, the Triune Goddess bestows wisdom upon her followers as well as visions of the future. That's up your alley. All garou are warriors, regardless if they follow a totem of war or wisdom. I just think that she is the best of both worlds."
"But is it what the sept needs?" Dakota ask of her cousin. "You're a Galliard, of course you're going to feel pulled towards the battlefield and we have a few right now. The sept is just so... divided. It's probably sheer pessimism on my point to wonder if a sept like this can ever feel unified without someone actively trying to murder us but maybe that's just Garou in general too, and I'm not talking hand holding and singing the Barney theme song. Just... not always feeling so alone even in the middle of a moot. Having a Shadow Lord doesn't inspire that feeling of unity much." She drags fingers back through her hair with a long sigh. "The idea of following a war totem who's known for passing on pretty horrific visions, including people you know dying, just doesn't make me feel very enthusiastic. And maybe I'm just tired. I dunno."
"I don't know what the Sept needs. Soon as Thane became Alpha, it seems like half of the Sept threw a bit fucking fit and decided to either hide in the city or bail for Alaska. So I'm not really .. giving a shit about the Sept's needs at the moment. Selfishly as that may sound. If you want to pack under Peregrine or Phoebe I will support you in it. But I think even having a teaching pack won't do much for everyone here unless they actively look to improve themselves." Alicia shrugs again. "What we need is for someone to step up and lead us to victory against the stupid Tower, find a solution to destroy the ooze, then I can sleep better at night."
It may be the smell of smoke that presages his arrival, or it may be the quiet singing, but either way, there's probably at least a little warning before Felix passes by the edge of the Compound. He may not be paying sufficient attention to exactly where he's wandered, since as he nears he reaches the chorus and belts it out, "Honesty is such a lonely word, everyone is so untrue. Honesty--" He breaks off, discovering that a) he's nearly stepped into the compound and b) it's got people in it, hesitates a moment, and changes the lyrics, "...I didn't see you there, don't worry, I'll keep movin' through." He gives them an uncharacteristically close to sheepish grin and adjusts trajectory to stay around the edge of the compound as he continues, just humming.
"No no." Dakota says with a shake of her head. "A pack isn't just settling because of someone else, it's something you have to believe in." She thumps her hands back on her knees with a sigh. "The ooze isn't something that can just be destroyed. You can't destroy Nothing because it /is/ Nothing. All we see and keep fighting against are the symptoms. All I do know is we have to put it to sleep to stop it and Ghost is somehow some sort of anti-antimatter-cure-vaccine-I-have-no-fucking-clue." Frustration sets the Theurge's jaw tight. Felix's singing though seems to fend off her launching into a tirade and she looks over towards Felix. "No it's fine. Public place. No need to run on our account."
Felix takes a drag off his cigarette, still moving around the edge of the Compound, and glances after Alicia as the elder Galliard gets a call and moves off to take it. Somewhere. "You sure? Ain't like I was headed here, just kinda... takin' a walk."
Shortly before Felix arrived, Jamethon stepped away too, and with Alicia's departure it's left Dakota the lone attendee by the fire. "Yeah, just me now anyway. Few of us were just talking pack but it seems every idea we get doesn't seem like it'll work out for everyone. Just not sure where to go and with everything else going tits up...." She flaps a hand in half dismissal and half annoyance. "Don't mind me. I'm just in a bitchy mood. You been doing alright? I missed the big uproar but I imagine folks aren't feeling too happy with your pack."
"Well, maybe we can get some of that shit tits down again," Felix offers, and makes a face at the questions. "Yeah, we ain't winnin' any popularity contests right about now. An' I... guess I been doin' all right. All in all. I mean, it sucks, almost wish I missed it too, but." Shrug. "Ain't dead. Reckon that's always a win."
"Yeah, dead is generally worse than alternatives." Dakota says with a tip of her head. "Hopefully everything blows over smoothly from here. Ideally people learn something so the spirits don't come back for another round. I almost regret missing it, not everyday you get to see or be apart of something like that."
Felix drops himself down on one of the logs by the firepit, leaning to ash his cigarette into the pit, then leaning back and stretching his legs out. "It's a first for me," he says, "Bad results make good stories, at least." He glances the way Alicia left, and ventures, "...you know what it did to her?"
"Made her a tactless bitch, apparently." Dakota says and not sounding like she's being sarcastic about. "And Jamethon is... hipster? Millennial? Something like that. It's /weird/. What'd it do to you?"
"She ain't always the =soul= of tact to start with," Felix says, with the hint of a wince in his expression, and he gives the sky a long-suffering look. "...an', well. Apparently I gotta tell the truth, the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth. No spin, no evadin', no not answerin' the question." He sighs. "So you might wanna watch what you ask me at the moment, if you ain't real positive you =really= wanna know."
Dakota looks to the Gnawer with a look bordering a bit on sympathy but also amusement. "You're lucky I'm not an ass, or a Philodox, or both. As it is I'll leave you in peace. I'm worn out. I just got back from San Francisco picking up a missing rite and I am in sore need of a shower and some sleep."
"I'd ask me shit," Felix admits, with another shrug and a resigned expression. "I just... really hope this wears off soon. 'cause it ain't even like I actually lie all that much, but dealin' with folks this way's just impossible." This pair of claims does not appear to cause any cognitive dissonance, despite the potential contradiction. "Welcome back. 's nice seein' you again. Hope you get a good rest."
"Hey, white lies have their place along with some good truth dodging." Dakota says with a wan smile as she rises up from where she'd been sitting. "If the idea was to teach a lesson, maybe learning and accepting the lesson will get you some relief sooner. Just take it a day at a time. Good luck, Felix." She says to the Gnawer before she moves to head off into the woods.
"See, exactly," Felix says to the first remark, spreading a hand toward, her, palm up. The rest gets a audible puff of an exhalation, and a reluctant nod. "Thanks. Later." He stays where he is as he's left alone again, quiet now, finishing off that cigarette.