It's almost nine in the morning and the skies are an unbroken expanse of blue and a sun whose light is warm against the faint coolness of the humid air. It seems like it's going to be just a plain nice day in the Pacific Northwest. Thane is just exiting the house with wet hair and a mug of coffee judging by the steam and stands on the porch, eye glancing around the property but all seems peaceful with only the birds making a racket.

An unfamiliar, California-plates white Camry can be seen at the head of the driveway, turning in. The driver reaches to shove his hair out of his face and parks alongside a reasonable distance from the house, further away than any other vehicle present but not by too much. The young man steps out of the car, pulling a leather bomber jacket after him and putting it on in rather of a hurry, even as he looks around and lifts a hand in greeting towards Thane.

Maybe the sound of the car carried to the not-exactly-garage, since the door opens and a head glances out, followed by the rest of a body, Felix pulling on his jacket and running a hand through his currently somewhat tousled hair as he strolls across the space toward the parking area, watching the parking car with interest. His boots are not currently tied.

Thane watches the car roll up the drive but doesn't seem entirely concerned though still watchful. Trace is given a decidedly close look as he steps free of the vehicle though he does give a nod of his head in return greeting. He steps down from the porch and out onto the lawn as Felix is coming into sight. "New arrival." He says over to the Gnawer before returning back towards Trace. "Finding your way around alright?"

Trace nods, almost hurriedly, though there's nothing hurried about the steps that he takes up towards the porch to come into an easier conversational distance. "It's a bit colder up here than I expected, but other than that, yeah. /Buenos días/." Each of the two other Garou get appraising glances, first Felix, and then Thane. "Trace Garza, A. K. A. Six-Shooter." It's a longer introduction than he offered by text message, or over the phone. "Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, formerly of Steel Angel and more recently Western Eye."

"Mornin'," Felix greets the pair of them, with a friendly if slightly drowsy grin, and the newcomer gets a curiously appraising glance of his own. "Buenos días, huh? Reckon J'll be happy meetin' you," he says, and there's a flicker of a glance toward Thane, just enough to read whether or not the introduction is or isn't what the Alpha expected. As long as it appears to be, he adds, "Felix T. Sinclair, Chugs-the-Mystery-Brew, Fostern Galliard 'Gnawer, Beta of Tactical Frivolity, under Coyote. Welcome to St. Claire, don't forget your jacket." All three of them are near the front porch, near which Trace has just parked and emerged from his white Camry.

It is a beautiful morning and Briari's car is seen pulling up down the driveway. Today, it is the white Ferrari instead of her dark blue Fusion. Perhaps she just wanted to air out the wheels, that or the Fusion is currently in the shop for it's first oil change. The whine of the expensive Italian car winds down and the suicide door pops open to reveal the Ragabash.

"Good to hear it." Says Thane before listening to the introduction and then offering his own. "Thane Armitage, Consumes the Shadows of His Enemies. Comsumes-Shadows for short. Adren Ahroun and elder of the Shadow Lords. Alpha of the war-Guardian pack Blitzkrieg under Hummingbird. Formerly of Three Rivers and now Warder and Alpha of this sept, but that part you know. Have you touched base with Mouse yet since you've gotten into town?" He asks, glancing only briefly towards Briari as she arrives.

There's a nod in recognition of Felix's introduction, and a slightly longer nod to Thane, and Trace lifts his shoulders. "I've sent messages, and I'm working on it. Just want to get settled and get to work as much as I can." Another brief glance provides acknowledgement of Briari's arrival, and then there's a shrug. "Briari brought me mostly up to date on what's been going on around these parts last night."

Felix tracks the arrival of the Ferrari with his eyes and, briefly, a smirk fully appropriate to his pack totem's reputation. It's gone by the time the Ragabash actually emerges, however, and he gives her a chin-lift of greeting before moving to flop down on the porch steps and actually get around to tying his boots.

Bobbing her head in return to the trio, Briari saunters over with a smile to them. "Hey guys. I see you found your way over here and met the boss man." She motions to Thane.

"Hello, Briari." Thane says to the Ragabash before turning back to Trace. "Good. It's unfortunately a long story and an unpleasant one but necessary. Hopefully sooner rather than later we'll have it dealt with. Come this way for any particular reason or just finding yourself washed up here? The latter's been particularly common what with all that's been happening across the country."

Trace chews on his lower lip for a moment, and pushes his hair out of his face. Again. "More the latter than the former," he admits, pulling his jacket just a /bit/ closer about himself. "I lost a packmate, and a lot of friends, in the fall of Steel Angel." The Walker Ahroun isn't precisely quiet as he talks, but this at least gets quieter, and his manner shows just a hint of the coiled tension that seems to be ever-present. "I've been making my way more or less this way-- even if I hadn't known it yet-- ever since, just had some stops along the way."

"Sorry, man. Sucks," Felix says, clearly the poetic sort of Galliard, though it sounds sincere enough. Boots tied, he pulls an Altoids tin from his pocket and a cigarette and lighter from that, tilting the tin in wordless offer to the others present.

Growing quiet, Briari slips her hands into her pockets as she gives a smile. "We definitely could use all the help we can get."

"You're not the only one." Thane says to Trace, his jaw tightening. "While Three Rivers still stands it was with a heavy cost. When I heard shit was coming this way I came to see what I could do. Steel Angel was a very unfortunate loss but it's good to know some made it out. In any event, welcome to the Accord."

Trace nods, once to Felix-- and there's a quiet murmur of thanks as he moves over to take a cigarette and light it-- and then again to Thane. "Thank you." There's understanding in the younger Ahroun's manner, and he goes quiet for a few seconds as he takes a drag from the cigarette. "Yeah. I'm glad to be here, and I'll do all I can to help."

Felix gives the new arrival a quick half-smile of a you're-welcome and clicks the tin shut again, returning it to his pocket. He runs a hand through his hair again and stretches, stifling a yawn, before getting back to his feet. "Where're you stayin', so far?" he asks Trace, leaning up against the porch rail while he smokes.

Flopping down on the porch as well is Briari, with her butt on the top and her legs on the step beneath it. With a deep yawn, she covers her mouth with her hand, then gives her eyes a few blinks. "Oh boy, I need a hit of Red Bull."

"There's no shortage on things to do." Thane says to the other Ahroun. "But I'll let Mouse direct you if she has something requiring your attention first once you've gotten settled." He looks to the yawners after and gestures with his chin towards the door. "There's still coffee in there."

There's a brief pause, and Trace asks Thane, "Is it /warmer/ in there, though?" with a bit of a grin. "There's an extended stay in town," he answers to Felix. "Figured it was as good a place as any for the time being. Will probably pick somewhere else within the week and not stay put at one place for too long, given the state of things."

Pack> Justin sings in Spanish.

"There's still a shower in there too, which I'd say dibs on that, but I reckon the rest of y'all got one already," Felix says, exhaling smoke as he speaks, and gives Trace a grin, "Yeah, prolly warmer inside. Also, food if you're hungry. Here ain't too bad to crash also, if you want a cheaper option." A glance toward the door suggests the coffee may be being considered as well.

Pack> Felix says "New guy at Edgewood, Walker Ahroun. Seems like he hablas the español, J."

Pack> Justin says "There is a mental squint of the eyes. "¿Qué? ¿Usted dice que habla español?""

Pack> Felix says "Shit, man, I said HE does, not me. All I got from that is 'what' an' 'speak' an' 'spanish'."

Briari pushes herself up and heads inside with a hungry look upon her face. "I think I should still have a few cans of liquid energy hidden somewhere in there. I'll snag you one, Felix." And in she goes!

"The house has heat so, yes." Thane says towards Trace before glancing to Felix. "I'm finished, so you're free to it. Hot water should be refilled by now. There is food in there if you don't mind sandwiches and frozen pizzas. While here isn't exactly safe anymore, there are places to stay, both in the garage as well as the house if you need. They're not classy but they serve their purpose."

Pack> Justin says "Que realmente debería aprender espanol. Las perras aman español."

Pack> Felix says "I-hay on't-day ow-knay ut-whay e-thay uck-fay ou're-yay ayin'-say."

The sounds of a car turning off the paved road and crawling up the gravel driveway can be heard in the distance. Someone's headed towards the house and will arrive soon.

Pack> Justin cackles under his breath.

Pack> Felix says "Maybe you oughta try harder to teach me that shit. If it ain't in a song I dunno it, an' I dunno at least half what I can sing in it means either."

Trace chews his lower lip, very briefly, and nods. "That works," he admits, looking towards the house and straightening as to go in, though he stubs out the butt of the cigarette on his shoe and drops it into a pocket before he does so. "And well. The world ain't safe," he points out. "As long as it's alright, at least. I'll make myself useful, as far as things go. Worst comes to worst, there's another set of eyes and claws around when shit happens." There's a pause before he gets to the door, though, alertness directed towards whomever is arriving.

Pack> Justin says "Sure. I can teach you. But, you have to take it seriously and for good."

Pack> Felix says "You said you were gonna before, y'know. Whaddaya mean, 'for good'?"

Pack> Justin says "Spanish is a very powerful tool that if used for evil, it can have devastating effects."

Pack> Justin says "So who is the new guy? Did you introduce yourself properly to him in Spanish?"

"There's pretty often unfrozen pizza too, 'less I get to it before you do," Felix says, "Lin brought some by the other day, some a few days before that, too." He pauses, and for a fraction of a second looks highly dubious about something not-obvious; it passes as he continues, "An' yeah, nowhere's SAFE-safe, it's just pretty sure the enemy knows about this place, given the other places they know. But like you say: extra eyes an' claws. Never hurts." He moves toward the door as well, though he doesn't put out his cigarette first, and the sound of an approaching car gets a glance over his shoulder.

Pack> Felix says "Really, man? 'Devastating effects'? What's it gonna do, start a gang cha-cha?"

Pack> Felix says "An' his name's Trace, Six-Shooter. Fostern, was in Steel Angel when it fell. Seems a'right so far."

"You're right, nowhere is ever perfectly safe." Thane says to the other Ahroun mildly. "But that's why we're not safe creatures." The Alpha doesn't say anything further at the impending arrival of a second car becomes audible. Unlike the expected arrival of Trace, this one has him far more tuned in and he turns his eye onto the drive with a wary stare.

Pack> Justin says "Oh, shit, he is from Steel Angel? Okay, say this to him. He will be impressed, "¡Hola! Es muy agradable conocerte. Su madre huele a un burro morir.""

Pack> Felix says "I know what 'burro' means, J."

A 2006-ish Audi station comes into view, casually coming up the road to the house. It's Nick's "new" vehicle, which he's had for the past 6 months or so and likely isn't completely unrecognizable, especially as it sometimes gets parked out here or left overnight sometimes. It comes to a stop and Nick exits the dripping-wet vehicle, which seems to have recently escaped a carwash. "Morning," he calls over to the group as he hefts a cardboard box holding groceries from the back seat and ambles towards the back kitchen entrance. "Was out of town on business for a while. How have things been?"

Pack> Justin says "It means numerous things in español if you say it right."

Pack> Felix says "Yeah, well, I think I'll let you tell him that one your own damn self."

Trace looks to the two other Garou for their reactions to the newcomer, one hand still resting just inside his jacket for the moment.

Pack> Justin says "Hey! You don't trust me or something? Your best friend? Your pack Alpha?"

Pack> Felix says "On this? Fuck no." There's the sense of a grin to go along with it.

Pack> Justin says "There is a serious and hurt emotion coming through the pack channel. "I see...""

"Hey, Nick!" Felix greets the new arrival, giving him a wide grin and a quick lift of the chin, "Depends 'zactly when it was you left. Been a lot goin' on."

Heading back out the front door and on to the porch is Briari. She is carrying three Red Bulls in one hand and is sipping on another as she slurps loudly off the lip. "Hey, Nick." She calls over with a jerk of her head.

Thane relaxes once he recognizes the man and takes a sip of coffee with a side glance towards Felix as he speaks. "That's the understatement of the year." He remarks blandly. "Nick, this is Trace, new arrival for the Walkers." He says with a gesture of his head towards the Garou in question.

Pack> Felix mentally rolls his eyes. "I trust you with my life. I don't trust you not to be tellin' me to tell him to do shit with a donkey or somethin'."

Pack> Justin says "Then replace the universal word of burro with perro."

"Oh, thank God," Nick says as he returns various nods in greeting and heads over with the box of groceries. Looks like ramen and frozen pizzas were on sale. "I was afraid he might be a Jehovah's Witness in the wrong place at the wrong time, so... Veil and whatnot." He asides to Felix, "A little over three weeks. Sounds like you all lived in interesting times from the tone of it." And then he gets back to the elephant in the room: Trace. "/Thrilled/ to see another Walker around here. The name's Nick. Nick Dalton. Kin to the Walkers." He hefts the box once. "And grocery getter. Who're you and where are you from?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Trace relaxes when the other Garou do, or at least as much as he ever seems to relax, hooking his thumb into his pocket. "So, have you heard the good news?" he asks Nick, wryly and with just the barest hint of a grin. "But really, nice to meet you. Trace Garza. A. K. A. Six-Shooter. Ahroun and Fostern. I just got into town yesterday, from Los Angeles originally and Western Eye after that."

Felix turns the grin on Thane. "Awesome. Do I get some kinda trophy for that? 'cause I got this ugly blank space on my mantle where one'd go a treat," he says, and opens the door to the house, holding it for the others to head in first if they're so inclined. "...yeah, pretty interestin' times," he confirms to the kin, "Ain't seen my guitar in a fortnight. You wanna come in an' get some coffee, we can fill you in..."

Taking a long sip, Briari hands a can over to Felix. "So, we're going back in then?" She says as she shuffles to the side, then crinkles the can in her hand once she finishes it with another long gulp. "Nick, you bring any corn dogs or fish sticks?"

"Ramens and frozen pizzas only on this run," Nick says to Briari, setting the cardboard box on the ground for the time being. "Although duly noted about the fish sticks and corn dogs. For next time." He looks back to Trace. "Western Eye seems a common touchstone for people around here, in one way or another. So. You're a fan of revolvers, judging by your deed-name? And what's your tattoo of?" He motions at a bit of ink visible on the Walker's shoulder beneath his clothes.

Pack> Justin says "¡Un amigo de verdad lo haría!"

Trace nods to Felix and steps in the door, looking back at everyone else. "It's /cold/ out here," he informs Briari. "And you folks call this spring..." The Walker shakes his head and grins, reaching into his jacket to produce a well-worn wood-handled antique Colt revolver, for a moment, though it gets put back into the holster in his jeans shortly thereafter. "Not just revolvers, but yes," he says. There's a grin, and Trace looks towards the ceiling. "It's a compass star made out of circuitboard," he says.

Pack> Felix says "Your hairy what now?"

Pack> Justin says "Voy a deslizarse pimientos fantasma en su cereal."

Pack> Felix's squint is nearly audible. "...fantasy pimentos in cereal? What even..."

Pack> Justin mentally points fingers at his eyes, then points them at you.

Felix accepts the drink from Briari with a 'Thanks,' keeping the hot end of his cigarette away from the can. He gives the gun an interested looking-over while it's on display, and the description of Trace's tattoo gets an amused look. "Goin' tribal, huh? I can support that," he says, and heads inside as well once it seems like everyone's aboard who's going aboard.

Pack> Felix says "If it means so much to you, I'll just go ahead an' let him know that's what you want me to pass on."

"That's some sweet ink. I don't have anything on me yet. Can't decide on what I want on my body when I turn eighty, that is if I live that long." Briari says as she cracks open another can while holding out another to Trace and Thane.

Pack> Justin laughs. "Pfff. It's not the same. I'll meet him later.

Pack> Felix smirks. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Anyway, we're gonna be hangin' in the kitchen at Edgewood a few, looks like. Nick's by, brought some frozen pizza an' shit."

Pack> Justin says "Well, I have Chinese food and it is delicious."

Pack> Felix says "Fuck are you that there's Chinese food before noon?"

Pack> Justin says "Uh, you know ... Chop Stix a few blocks away from the park."

Pack> Felix says "Ffft, goin' into town without tellin' me?"

Pack> Justin says "Well, I /did/ plan on bringing this Chinese back with me, /buuuuut/ ..."

"I'll come in long enough to drop off this mug." Thane says as things move towards the inside, with Briari's offer getting a shake of his head. "Then it's back to business. I just dropped by long enough for breakfast, a shower, and to meet Trace."

Nicodemus re-hefts the cardboard box and follows the crowd inside. "I keep thinking about a nice oriental dragon, but... eh. I don't know. And a wolf feels sort of cliche at this point, to be honest. Maybe some day," he adds non-commitally. "Circuit board compass is kind of cool, though. And I love the revolver. Very old school." The cardboard box gets deposited on the kitchen counter and he sets about putting the groceries up. He gives Thane ample space and makes a strong effort to stay out of the Shadow Lord's way. Maybe Thane makes the kinsman nervous. Unsurprisingly.

Trace takes the can with a grin, though for the moment it's fidgeted with instead of opened, and Trace raises his eyebrows when Briari says 'eighty', suppressing laughter with only partial success. "Appreciated," he offers to Thane, and then returns to the conversation at hand. "I got that the day after I became cliath. It was pretty spur-of-the-moment then, but now it's pretty much a part of me."

The Galliard quirks a brow at considering the potential of things many decades hence himself. "Mine're rat graffiti," Felix offers, "...an' a phoenix. Reckon I'll end up gettin' more sooner or later. Might be goin' for somethin' like a 'yote sometime soon." He closes the door behind them all and saunters into the kitchen, dropping into one of the chairs. He tilts it back dangerously in order to cross his ankles on the corner of the table, boots hanging off the edge, and opens the can he was given. "So: story time?"

Sliding a Red Bull into Nick's box as he passes her, Briari grins back at Trace, then takes another gulp. "Maybe I'll get a Red Bull tattoo or something on my forearm. Make it look real awesome." She smirks for a moment, then glances down at her phone as it beeps, then slips it out of her pocket to start fiddling with it as she ambles away.

Nicodemus finishes putting things away, collects the Red Bull Briari slipped into the box, pops it open, and leans back against a convenient counter. "Story time," he echoes Felix as encouragement to the galliard to spin a tale.

Trace leans against the sideboard and nods once, pulling a cigarette and lighter out of one of the pockets of his jacket. For the moment, the remaining ahroun is quiet.

Handily for both Trace and Felix, there's a saucer on the table which looks as though it's been doing its best impression of an ashtray lately; its proximity to the seat the Galliard chose may not be entirely coincidental. He glances after Briari as the Ragabash starts wandering off, then looks back to the newly arrived and recently returned. "A'right. So, I know you know," he says to Nicodemus, "an' I reckon you prolly been given a heads up," to Trace, "that we got enemies workin' from Queen's Tower, downtown. Same as they had down your way, from what I hear: somethin' that calls herself the Queen, with others workin' for her. Spirals, weird invisible white telepathic critters that suck your life out with their hands, an' until recently, a world-warper, one of your magic-usin' wizardy types. He was doin' shit to ward the buildin', make it so we couldn't spy or get 'round the Umbra there. Now, I say until recently, 'cause seems like one set of her Spirals, they ain't so thrilled with shit, an' they made a contact with Briari," he tilts his head toward where the woman in question's wandered, "to set up the mage. Let us know when an' where he'd be out an' more vulnerable. Couple weeks ago, we got the call."

Nicodemus raises his eyebrows at the latter bit of news about things actually moving forward. Seems like this is news to him. "Whoa. It finally went down, huh?"

Trace takes a long drag on the cigarette as he listens to Felix tell what's been going on. "Right," he says. "She gave me the file with the run-down, but I hadn't read all of it yet. So." There's distinct interest as the Walker listens, though whether the interest is in the story Felix is telling or simply in observing the other Garou is difficult to tell.

"Yup," Felix confirms, "So, bunch of us headed out there -- me, Justin, Thane, Salem, Slug, Briari -- an' the plan was tryin' to make it look like a drive-by. Didn't quite go to plan. Either of you want the full story, I'll tell it, but the real short an' sweet is, ended up havin' to fight a few of the white things -- seems like we're callin' 'em wraiths lately, by the way -- but we got the fucker. Now, go figure, the Queen ain't pleased. Also, she knows right the fuck away, so I reckon most likely it didn't matter much that things didn't go as planned, wouldn't've managed sneaky anyhow." He takes a sip of the Red Bull, watching his audience; he doesn't seem done, quite yet.

"Well that's definitely good news then. Especially if no one from the sept got killed or fireballed or turned into a newt or whatever it is wizards do," Nick offers as a means of congratulations. "Did anyone actually see the queen? Or is she still a mystery?"

Trace hooks the thumb of his free hand into his pocket and looks thoughtful, nodding at times as Felix tells the story. "So that's one avenue of the enemy's support cut off," he says, and the tone is cold and holds just a bit of violence in the words. "Hm."

Felix nods. "Yeah, no fireballs or newtin'," he confirms, giving Nick a grin, "...he did have some kinda weird shieldin', though. Briari's snipin' didn't get him, an' once me an' Salem caught up an' bit him, he kinda teleported ten feet or so an' we couldn't get more'n a handful of feet close to him after that, it was like it felt like we were movin', but not gettin' there." A pause, and a small shrug, "So I shot him. He started bleedin' black after a little, which maybe ties into the whole nothin'-ooze thing -- get to that part in whatever files she gave you?" He lifts his brows slightly at Trace, and ashes his cigarette in the saucer. "Far's I know, ain't no one seen the Queen in person, none of our folks anyhow. But I think Alicia saw her in one of the Spiral's dreams, an' I ALSO think she drew a picture, though I ain't seen it. Thin, willowy creature, with long hair, real pale, that's what she said. I'm assumin' at least kinda humanoid, since she didn't say otherwise, but I dunno for sure. Anyway. So, bein' pissed about losin' that avenue support, like you might surmise, she's fightin' back. When Thane dropped by the Vault after -- that's, or use to be, the Shadow Lord safehouse, in town -- there was four Spirals an' a real smart wraith waitin' to ambush him. They fucked him up some, tortured him an' shit, 'til he escaped. So, we reckon they know 'bout the various safehouses, prolly includin' here." He tilts his head back, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, and sighs. "So, couple nights after that was moot, classic-style. Durin' the crackin' of the bone, we heard a bird call. A whippoorwill."

Nicodemus might be kin, but he's definitely sat in on enough discussion to know what that's all about. "They hit the caern?" he inquires, eyes widening noticeably.

Trace nods at the first question, and then there's a muttered round of cursing in very, very fast Spanish under his breath. And then /more/ swearing, this a little more intelligible. "/Valió madre/, that's..." he trails off and takes a drag from the cigarette, taking a few steps so he can tap it onto the saucer-serving-as-ashtray.

Felix nods. "Yeah. They hit the caern. The weird thing is, they didn't hit it =hard=. Three Spirals, four wraiths, an' we KNOW they can field a shitload more'n that. Been some speculation why... whether it was a message, although obviously yeah it was, or a distraction, but if you ask me why would you need a distraction if you already knew we'd be there focusin' on the moot anyhow? There were more calls, an' then a Spiral shows up at the top edge -- the caern's in sort of a bowl, I can show you if after I get a shower an' shit in a bit, if you want -- an' starts tellin' us he's bringin' a message from Queen Rancordiant: We took what was hers, now she takes-- well, we didn't actually get to hear what, 'cause that's when our local Corax shit on his head." He can't help looking amused about it. "Never, ever park under a Corax, that's all I gotta say about that. Anyway, wraiths went visible either side of him an' started shootin' at us. With silver. One got me in the ear, barely, one got Freddy in the shoulder an' another got Alicia in the throat. 'bout the same time the other two Spirals ran in the actual entrance, in Hispo, an' the fight was on. Real short version of the fight: none of us died, all of them did 'cept I =think= I heard one of the wraiths that managed to stay up on the ridge mighta got away. Messenger-spiral we took alive. Briefly. 'pparently what she intends to take is everythin'. So, I reckon we oughta beat her to it."

"Posturing," Trace says, shaking his head and there's a tightness to his composure for a much longer moment this time. "They were posturing, exactly because they knew everyone's focus was on the moot, and they wanted to show off that they knew." The ahroun leans back against the sideboard once again and grumbles. "Yeah, that'd be the appropriate plan of action if you ask me. It's just a matter of hitting fast enough and hard enough that they don't know what hit them, since with those wraiths half the element of surprise is lost to us to start with." After that, Trace simply goes silent for a moment. "There any beer around this place?"

"...makes sense," Felix says, tilting his head slightly as he considers that, and polishes off the Red Bull, squinting briefly toward the recycling and then tossing the can toward it. It makes a lovely arc and drops right in; the Galliard does a just-passable job of not looking overly startled or pleased with this result. "Seems like an expensive way to do it, though, 'less they =really= underestimated us. Or she got even more bodies to throw around'n we guessed, an' don't give a shit 'bout none of 'em. My favourite idea lately is givin' 'em some kinda mind-virus so they infect each other telepathically, like some thought where once they got it all they can do is pass it on an' think it over an' over, faster an' faster, 'til all their brains explode. No idea how the fuck you'd do that, but it'd be awesome." The question after the silence gets a laugh. "Depends how long I've been stuck here an' how recently someone brought more," he says, "but I'm pretty sure there's at least a six or two of somethin' in the fridge right now. Grab me one too?"

Trace grins and makes his way over to the fridge, digging around for a bit before coming out with two beers, and a pizza box with part of a cold pizza in it, that he puts onto the table before he takes a seat, sliding one of the beers over to the Gnawer. "Hey, if it works it'd be a helluva sight to see," Trace notes. "I dunno, though, ask a theurge or something." He ponders. "Are they incorporeal while they're invisible? I'm guessing they can go through closed doors and that shit, but... Do you know?"

"Thanks," Felix says, and takes a last drag off his cigarette before ashing it a final time and pinching it out. The butt gets dropped in the saucer, to join a couple of its fellows. He snags the beer, then, and opens it up, giving the pizza a measuring look as well. "Hm. Now that you mention it, I dunno... although I'm gonna guess no, not as such, 'cause if you don't got infrared glasses or a special vision gift, you can catch 'em bein' invisible by blowin' smoke at 'em, or powder, an' if they were," an almost imperceptible pause, "incorporeal, then the smoke or powder'd go right through 'em, right?"

That gets a thoughtful nod out of the ahroun. "Makes sense. Just wondering if you can shoot them if they're still doing the invisible trick, honestly, but that seems to make me think I could as long as I knew where I was aiming at. Which is good." Trace grins, feral, and then grabs a slice of the cold pepperoni pizza. "So, other than the current state of the war, what's this Sept like?" he asks. "It's... diverse, too. Steel Angel was mainly just my tribe, at least the Sept itself."

Nicodemus busies himself with handwashing the dirty dishes stacked in and around the sink. He stays quiet, listening, and just being a useful yet easy-to-overlook kinsman.

<OOC> Nicodemus returns. Flees to go home and let the dogs out. Back onlin in about 30ish. Ta!
<OOC> Felix says "! Now we know who let the dogs out! It was Nick!"

Felix returns a slightly feral grin of his own, nodding. "That'd be fun to see." He stretches to snag a slice of the pizza himself, the chair wobbling dangerously for a few moments as he does. He doesn't seem to notice, or at least to care. "It ain't a bad Sept," he says, "Diverse is a good word for it. Which I reckon maybe helps with folks more or less gettin' along. Ain't no one tribe got enough weight to throw around they can say fuck what all y'all think, really, an' I hear some places that's a problem. Sept I came from originally, it's mostly Gnawers an' Gaians an' Walkers, smatterin' of other folks--" He pauses a moment, considering. "...actually, we got prolly got more Gnawers an' Gaians an' Walkers'n anyone else here, too, come to think of it. But there's more, for example, Get an' Wendigo an' Uktena here than there. Most folks're friendly or at least civil, an' seems to me people work together pretty decent. Thane started this new thing where we meet up on new moons to share news an' shit, an' some of the half-moons for challenges an' grievances, an' it seems to be workin' out pretty well. Keepin' folks connected an' all."

"That makes sense," Trace muses, as if revising a small bit of opinion of the Shadow Lord, at least for the moment. "Keep people working cohesively and we stand a better chance than if everyone's going in their own directions." The ahroun is quiet, for a moment, turning the pizza over in his hand. "Y' said Coyote, earlier." It's not quite a question, more a statement.

Felix nods, chewing probably too large a bite of the pizza, but hey, it's the first thing he's eaten today. "Mmhmm," he agrees, and washes the bite down before giving the Ahroun another grin. "I did, yeah," he confirms. "My pack, Tactical Frivolity, we follow Coyote. Our totem's called Ohno!, he's prolly around here somewhere. Although on the other hand apparently Justin's off gettin' Chinese, might be there. Why d'you ask?" Not, of course, that it was exactly an ask.

Nicodemus finishes drying off a collection of mismatched plates, casually sorts them so as to make the stacking more efficient, and places them in the cupboard. "Seriously? "Ohno" is the pack totem's name?" He seems amused, but perhaps that's the point.

Trace smirks a little bit, at Nick's question, and leans on the table with one arm, shrugging his jacket off onto the back of the chair. "It's been..." Trace falls silent for a minute that stretches on a bit, and then glances at Felix. "I'm glad to see people following Coyote," he comes up with, and grabs a second slice of pizza. "My pack in Steel Angel followed Coyote as well." Trace takes a breath in, and purposefully lowers his shoulders to a more relaxed posture, though it doesn't seem to do too much good. "Been a while since I heard similar, and well." The small smile that follows is genuine.

Felix shrugs at the question, turning the grin on Nicodemus. "Well, I wasn't here yet for the seekin', but way I understand it, when they asked he said 'Oh no!' so they decided that was clearly it, an' he ain't complained." To Trace, he suggests, "You oughta come hang out with us some. Give him a greetin', maybe."

Nicodemus responds by claiming, "I might be pushing things far enough agreeing to come out of retirement to play in a band again." He shrugs slightly. "I feel a little bit like a fish out of water as-is without adding a chit-chat with a Coyote spirit into the mix. Flattered, though. Definitely flattered."

"I'd like that," Trace says, quietly. "It would be good." The ahroun looks towards Nick with interest. "What do you play?" he asks.

"Awesome," Felix says, giving Trace a mock-toast with his beer, then taking a drink. Another slice of pizza is perilously claimed. "All I got right now's an acoustic," he complains to the kin, "an' I had to go find me a new one of 'em this weekend to have that, too. 'nother thing this queen chick's gotta pay for." The Ahroun gets an interested look at the phrasing of the question, "D'you play somethin'?"

"I dabble with the bass guitar," Nick says to Trace. "Nothing too fancy. Rusty as hell, but I poked around with it over the past couple months and that seemed to WD-40 the rust mostly away. "The Queen got your guitar?" he inquires of Felix.

Making his way up the driveway is Justin, yawning loudly and carrying a paper bag in one hand as it sways back and forth at his side. He is wearing torn jeans and a sleeveless black shirt with a Shark on it which reads: I am Jawsome.

Trace glances at the now-empty pizza box as he takes a sip of his beer, and grins. "I played percussion back when I was in school," he explains. "That and soccer-- and not getting caught-- were the only things I gave any effort to. Turns out, drums are a good way to vent rage, and double bonus, all you need is a set of sticks. Not great at it but hey."

"Well, not =technically=, it's still at the Library 'less somethin' happened I dunno about, but with the whole get out right now, safehouses ain't safe an' They're Comin' thing, don't have access to it," Felix answers Nicodemus, "an' that's her fault, so!" He looks over to Trace, managing to brighten another level at the Ahroun's answer. "Kick ass. Winter plays an' he was gonna jam with us last I checked, but he's pretty busy. I might try ropin' you in some too."

Nicodemus's phone rings. He looks at it, grimaces slightly, and excuses himself. "Work," he apologizes and heads out the back door and into the meadow to walk around while talking on the phone, eventually meandering into the woods.

Pushing the door open, Justin heads inside and gives a wide grin as he calls out. "YO FELIX." The scent of Chinese wafts from his bag. He hears the back door thump and he peers over.

"It'll be great," Trace tells Felix, "though it's been a while since I played with anyone rather than just using it to vent. But I'm certainly not that busy or anything, at the moment." There's a nod of greeting offered towards Justin when the other Gnawer comes into sight. "Hey there."

"Yo, J!" Felix calls back, giving Nick a wave as the kin walks out, and lifting his beer to Justin as his packmate walks in. "'sup? This is the new guy I mentioned," he tells the other Gnawer, and to the Walker, "This's Justin, my pack Alpha. An' bearer of leftover Chinese, which he's absolutely about to share."

"Obviously about to share? I don't know... I'm still disappointed." Justin says with a grin as he sits the bag down and opens it up, taking out a few white boxes with red drawings on it. "Hola, chico nuevo. ¿He oído que es un compañero de espalda mojada?"

Trace snorts. "Hola, /¿que tal?/" he asks, grinning. "/Mucho gusto/. Felix had mentioned you earlier," Trace says, switching back to English that barely shows the fact that he speaks Spanish. "I'm Trace. Six-Shooter, Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers. Just got into town from San Francisco yesterday."

Felix grins and lets his feet thunk off the table-corner and onto the floor as he leans over to try to steal one of the boxes. "Sure, but you love me," he says, "An' anyhow, you're here, so now you can say it yourself. Everythin' solved."

Justin flipping Felix the bird, he opens one of the boxes and fishes out a pot sticker. "Justin Statton. Fostern Ahroun of the Gnawers. Alpha of the Coyote pack. I'm called Mouse Trap, which is probably not the best name a Gnawer can have, but it's more based on the board game."

Trace grins again, and eyes the Chinese food with a nearly predatory look, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. "Better than some things I can think of," he points out. "I was packed under Coyote back at Steel Angel. Good deal."

Felix makes a kissy-face at the bird-flipping, and successfully tugs over a box that turns out to contain deep-fried shrimp. This result appears to be highly to his satisfaction. "I was thinkin' he might like sayin' hi to Ohno! sometime," he notes to Justin, "...was also thinkin' I might show him 'round the bawn an' caern, after I get a shower, assumin' he don't have somewhere else to be."

Raising a brow upwards, Justin looks curious and impressed at Trace. "Yeah? You speak Spanish and you packed under coyote?" He slooooowly looks over to Felix, eyes widening. "Yes, all good ideas." He affirms to the Galliard.

Pack> Justin says "YOU NEED TO WOO THIS GUY. TELL HIM WE ARE AWESOME."

Pack> Felix mentally grins. "I'm wooin', I'm wooin'. Ain't no need for us to look desperate. Plus, he seems pretty cool, but I reckon it serves us all best if we hang out a while before we make any decisions. Make sure we all click."

Pack> Justin gives off a mental aura of 'cool'.

Trace grins a bit, and then nods, reaching over to steal two pieces of shrimp out of the box that Justin has opened. "/Me apunto— creo que suena bien, y me gustaría ver el bawn y caern./" Halfway through the first piece of shrimp. "Which is to say," he asides to Felix, "sure."

"Awful lot of words to say sure," Felix says, deadpan, and munches happily on one of the shrimp. "Plan, then. An' at this rate I really am gonna hafta learn Spanish."

"¡Usted tiene el mejor guía turístico! Pero no le dira si tiene una novia caliente, ya que va a robar. Él es bastante la labia," Justin says with a nod of his head as he takes a bite out of his pot sticker.

Trace goes from smiling and joking to terse in no time flat, and looks at Justin about two notches short of a glare. "/No hay una novia/, of any sort," Trace says. "Steel Angel /se ha ido, y también lo son las personas que me importaba./" Trace's hand slightly crushes part of the beer can, although not entirely.

Felix glances from one Ahroun to the other, and while he doesn't actually move his chair any, there's a slight change in the way he's seated, more alert, and from more comfortable than seems reasonable to a sense of potential imminent motion -- if needed.

"...Ooookaaay..." Justin trails off a bit as he furrows his brows a bit, then takes another bite of his pot sticker, followed by a slurping of his finger.

The Walker takes a long swig from the slightly crushed beer can before setting it down, now empty, and chews on his lower lip for a moment. The glare at least doesn't last, although the tension now present in his frame doesn't go away when Trace lets out a deep breath and shakes his head. "/Estuve allá/ when everything happened, /¿sí?/" At least, this time when he speaks, Trace doesn't sound angry anymore. "And it still sucks."

Pack> Felix says "This was somethin' about Steel Angel, I guess? He lost a packmate in the fall, an' a lotta friends, he said earlier. Ain't that long ago yet, really."

Pack> Justin says "He was saying he lost pretty much everyone he ever cared about. I made a joke that if he had a hot girlfriend to not tell you because you're a smooth talker. Didn't think he'd go all PTSD on me."

Pack> Felix says "Heh. Be fair, I ain't stole Bella yet, right? ...I reckon PTSD's prolly about right though. I remember how you got for a while after your Fostern challenge, an' we ain't even for real dead."

Pack> Justin mentally eyes you. "You do check her butt out though."

Felix does relax somewhat, about halfway back to where he was before, and finishes off his beer as well. "I reckon it'd suck for a pretty long time," he says, and offers the box of fried shrimp toward the Walker, for him to take another one or two if he wants.

Pack> Felix says "It's a good butt. I ain't dead or blind."

Pack> Justin says "There is amusement. "My butt.""

Pack> Felix says "Nah, YOUR butt ain't nothin' special." Amusement there, too.

Pack> Justin says "There is a loud snort. "Bullshit. My ass is freaking amazing now that I filled out."

Nodding his head, Justin stabs a piece of chicken with a chop stick, then pops into his mouth. "Yeah." A man of many words in English it seems.

Trace ducks a nod to Felix and grabs another few of the shrimp, popping one into his mouth rather than saying anything immediately. Another few breaths, and the topic is changed as he looks towards the Galliard. "Apparently," he says, "you're the best tour guide around here."

Pack> Felix says "Eh. I mean, I guess at least it =exists= now."

Pack> Justin says "Pff."

"Oh, my fame is spreadin'! As it should be," Felix declares, brandishing a shrimp dramatically. "My talents are many an' varied, an' hailed in legend an' song. Mostly by me, but I'm workin' on it." He munches the shrimp, and eyes his now-empty beer can, then launches it toward the recycling. It clunks in neatly, although not near as slickly as the Red Bull can did.

"Yes, you are quite famous." Justin says as he heads into the kitchen and tugs the fridge open, leaning over and rooting through the shelves to wiggle out a soda.

Trace still doesn't quite grin, but there's amusement that shows in his eyes now, if not his still steel-and-calm-above-the-storm expression. "Or is it infamous?" the Walker asks, leaning back on his chair for a moment.

"Tomayto, tomahto!" Felix says, waving a hand dismissively, and then does grin, himself. "Hey, J. Bring me another beer while you're there?" While Justin's up, the Galliard takes the opportunity to poke through the other boxes of leftover Chinese to find out just what they might contain.

Justin fishes out another beer, then lobs it over in his direction once he catches his attention. "You want anything also, Trace?"

Trace fishes out another cigarette from the pack in his jacket, and offers it towards the others present. "Nah, I'm good for now," Trace responds, though perhaps because he's busier watching Felix examine the leftovers. "Thank you, though."

Felix glances up, making that attention-connection, and catches the beer when it's tossed, lifting it toward Justin once he does. "Thanks." He accepts Trace's offer as well, giving the Walker a quick smile along with a quieter thanks, and dumps a few pieces of the more individual items in the boxes into what remains of the shrimp before stealing a container of what looks like particularly well-sauced orange chicken. It's not until he's settled back comfortably that it appears to suddenly occur to him he hasn't got anything to eat it with. A quick scan for chopsticks lands on the ones Justin's been using, and his fingers sneak across the table towards them. "Lessee... what else should we make sure to show you? Oh, you been to Harbor Park yet?"

"Could show him the junkyard." Justin says as he cracks his soda top open, then takes a long guzzle. "Pretty sure it hasn't been compromised, seeing how I'm the only one that really uses the place."

Trace considers the container with what remains of the shrimp, grabbing it, and apparently having no such presumptions about needing chopsticks or some other eating implement. "Not yet," he tells the Gnawers. "I came out here a little after I woke up this morning. Met Briari at the pizza place yesterday, but went back to the hotel and crashed after that-- I'd driven all the way from California pretty much without stopping."

"Hey, I wasn't done with that!" Felix complains, aiming to snag the box back and claim at least some of the contents -- some of the various things he just put into it, and some of the actual shrimp still below it. Nothing in that box really needs anything but fingers to eat, which is probably why that's all he'd been using until now. The other box he claimed has infinitely more mess potential. Which, in fairness, almost certainly wouldn't stop any Gnawer worth his salt from eating it with his fingers if that's all that was available, but since it isn't... "'s a pretty long trip, me an' Lilah drove up here that way. An' I did it again on the way back from doin' my Fostern challenge. Stopped plenty along the way both times, though. So, Harbor Park an' the junkyard at least, why not."

Trace grins and tilts the box back towards the galliard, though it's a good bit emptier than it was when he grabbed it. "Uh-huh," he says. "It's a long trip, yeah. And most of it's pretty, too. But I figured I'd drive it straight through and get it over with, once I had gotten word that if I was looking where to go I should come here. Stopped in Portland, and one or two other times." There's another grin, and Trace offers to Justin, around a mouthful of two of the shrimp, "Thanks for th' Chinese food, by the way. 's good."

"'s delicious," Felix agrees, also around a mouthful of the shrimp. The chicken is apparently going to wait until he finishes the reclaimed bits... but he does seem to have stolen the chopsticks, in preparation. The beer's not opened yet, possibly due to juggling the food and cigarette so far. "Portland ain't bad. Had fun last time I went through there."

"No problem. Chop Stix is a pretty cool place. It's cheap and decent." Justin says as he ambles back to the table and flops down in front of the food, taking out an egg roll for a crunch. "I never been to Portland."

"Guess I've been to most of the West Coast now, one way or another," Trace muses, shrugging his shoulders. "And yeah. Cheap, decent, and does take-out..." Another shrug. "So, what's in the park, anyway?"

Felix opens his mouth at Justin's description of the restaurant, then closes it, glancing sideways with a very faintly furrowed brow. "Somehow that really makes me wanna say 'like your ma,' 'cept I ain't sure if that'd actually be an insult. I mean, cheap, sure, but decent?" He has a good mouthful of cheap and decent (and spicy) chicken, at which point he does get around to opening the beer, which turns out not to have entirely gotten over being thrown around yet. He drinks the over-foam as it tries to escape, doing absolutely no harm to the world's conceptions of Gnawer classiness. "...a fountain," he answers once things are safe from enthusiastic beer, "on this side. On the other side, though. We'll show you. You'll like it. An' maybe we oughta fix that sometime, J. Road trip."

"My mom is a classy lady dude." Justin says with a sniff of indignance. "And I don't know if Portland is a go-to destination for me. I always wanted to go to Sacramento and meet my dad's parents. I don't think even mom met them. But, I have their address."

Trace nods. "I never met my dad," he says. "At least not while I can really remember. I know his last name is Yanez, but I don't know much else about him and probably won't. I don't even know if he was Garou." The Walker shrugs. "Family's important, though."

Felix shrugs at Justin. "Portland's on the way to Sacramento," he says. Another drink of the beer, and a bite of food, "I got real vague memories of mine. Was three when he died. Philodox. Didn't know hardly nothin' about him 'til last summer, then I finally met my grandfolks again an' learned some. So I reckon findin' yours ain't a bad plan, J." Trace's assertion gets a nod of agreement.

"My dad is buried in the bawn." Justin says as he rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "Never met him though. He died when mom was knocked up. Ahroun just like me." He pokes at his egg roll. "Sure, we can do Portland, then do Sac-town."

"Tenemos un plan de acción," Trace remarks, setting down the empty food container and reaching over to take one of the pieces of orange chicken at an opportune moment, not caring that he lacks chopsticks or another eating implement.

Felix smacks the back of Trace's hand with the chopsticks when he steals the chicken, although lightly enough and with enough of an amused look that it's at least as much about getting sauce on him as being a reprimand, and probably considerably more. Especially since he then continues to leave plenty of room and time for Ahrouns to steal more of they wish. "A'right, I'm pretty sure I got 'plan' and 'action' outta that. Which are two things I like."

"He said it sounds like we have a plan." Justin says with a smirk on his face, then pushes himself and heads for the back door. "I'm going to take off and track down Watcher. Howl if you guys need me and I'll come running."

Trace doesn't seem at all dissuaded by having the sauce on his hand. He steals a larger piece, eats it, and then ponders for a moment before proceeding to simply lick the sauce from his fingers and hand, slowly and deliberately. "See," he tells Felix, "you're learning already, you'll do fine!" There's a nod to Justin, "¡Nos vemos!"

"If you see the pups, give 'em noogies for me," Felix says, "...maybe give Watcher one too, what the hell. Lemme know if you need me for somethin', 'course." He eats all but the last couple pieces of the orange chicken, and leans back a bit, stretching and getting in a bit of the smoking he's been neglecting.

"I will. I'll give him a sweet Indian burn." Justin says as he waves to the pair of them, then shoves through the back door and out to the woods.

Trace waves as the other ahroun leaves, and then grabs one more of the remaining pieces of chickens, and lets out a deep breath. "He seems like a good person," the Walker remarks, but regardless of the positive opinion, he's a bit more relaxed now that it's not so crowded in the kitchen.

"He is," Felix says, continuing his break from food in favour of beer and cigarette, "Got his flaws, but who don't?" He pauses, and suddenly adds, "He ain't as old as he looks, by the way. Forgettin' that ain't obvious, with you just meetin' him. Remember me mentionin' the wraiths kinda steal life? Durin' the mage killin', one of 'em aged him up 'bout five or so years."

Trace blinks a few times, and lifts his eyebrows. "Then he was very, very lucky that it wasn't a lot more," Trace remarks, still thoughtful. "But at least he doesn't look like a kid now?" There's a grin. "And yeah, we all do, and rage doesn't precisely help." The Walker is very clearly including himself in the statement.

"I don't. I'm flawless," Felix claims, grinning again and managing to lace his fingers, cigarette and all, behind his head in service of looking about as smug as he can, which as it turns out is 'pretty damn smug'. "...nah, 's true. We do, an' he was. An' he'd sure as hell get carded a lot less aggressively now, if he actually did anythin' anyone'd card him for." The Galliard gives off at least a faint air of bemusement with that last caveat, but it fades as he shrugs. "Oh well, more for me."

Trace snorts at the first statement. "Uh-huh," Trace says, absolutely deadpan for a very brief moment before the grin breaks back through into his expression. "So you're saying he's all straightlaced," he says, only halfway to a question. "That's a rare sight, a straightlaced ahroun. Don't think I've met many before now."

Felix tilts his head back slightly and sings, "Don't drink, don't smoke, what do ya do? Subtle innuendos follow, there must be somethin' inside." All his silly braggadocio today aside, that he clearly is genuinely talented at. "It's weird," he agrees, "he got brought up pretty boy scout, I guess." But isn't the one with the shirt. "Grandpa was a prison guard, an' they were close. Don't stop him fightin' or stealin' or killin' who needs it, don't get me wrong. Just makes it trickier figurin' ways to get the edge off when shit's shitty."

Trace nods. "Yeaaaaaah," he says, biting at his lower lip. "Bet it does." The ahroun takes a drag from his cigarette and pursing his lips for a moment. "I mean there're rites and all that. But even those are usually based around one vice or another for the most part, they just help give the vices meaning or something like that."

"I got a couple of those. Gaian Boon, Tobacco's Calm," Felix says, nodding back, and gets back to, well, drinking and smoking while they chat. "Try an' keep those goin' pretty regular. 'course, I ain't never met a vice I didn't like anyhow." Perfectly cheerful -- probably at least part joking, but not entirely.

The Walker grins and gets up to start clearing the empty containers from the table to the trash can. "Mmhm," Trace says, leaning against the sideboard again when he's done. "Yeah. If I /don't/, well. It never ends well."

"Usually do Artwork, too, that's part of why I'm pissed 'bout my guitars," Felix says, making a face. "...but needs must when the Devil vomits in your teakettle." He considers Trace a moment before asking, "What kinda shit do you do for fun?"

Trace grins broadly. "I play soccer," he says. "I watch soccer. Play drums. Target practise shooting, or work out, run." There's a moment of pause, and the ahroun continues. "Wonder if Artwork would work with tagging? I used to be pretty damn good."

Felix tilts his head, considering. "Oughta," he says, "as long as it's your art, an' you can really focus an' channel your Rage into it, turn it into what you're makin', it oughta work. I was never real good at it, myself, wouldn't work for Artwork for me, don't think. But someone else? Don't see why not."

There's a nod. "Hm. Sounds like it's worth learning when I get myself all settled here," Trace says. "I always liked tagging. Didn't matter what it said, it's about making the letters blend in with each other and seem... like more than they are. About putting the art out where everyone is going to see it and such. I tagged the billboard across from the courthouse down where I grew up, once, with a Nietzsche quote on top of dying plants and bones. 'What does man actually know about himself'. So yeah, that /would/ probably work."

That gets a laugh. "Yeah, reckon it might," Felix says, nodding. "Graffiti's plenty art, or can be, folks just don't like admittin' it 'cause it's ours." He finishes off the beer, setting the can down in front of him instead of tossing it. Yet. "Hey," he says, and lifts the freed hand, swiftly shifting the fingers -- the middle finger gets pressed against the top of the index, bent, while the index and thumb are extended like a flattened 'C' and the ring and pinky extend upward and at a small angle to each other. It looks, with a touch of imagination, rather like a coyote's head -- eye, mouth, and ears respectively.

Trace sets his cigarette to the side of his mouth for a moment, grins. "The courthouse was always full've idiot /pendejos se cree mucho nada/," the Walker then remarks, even as he's working on figuring out how to form his hands-- both hands-- into a similar shape to what Felix has managed, and then he throws the Coyote-signs out in front of him at an angle. "Hah."

Felix watches the figuring, and then the throw, and grins again, even wider. "Nice," he says, with an approving nod. "'Pendejos se cree mucho nada'?" The accent is... well, pretty much his, but aside from that flavouring the question's not too bad an echo.

Trace makes a small 'oh' face, which results in the cigarette /nearly/ being dropped. Not quite, though, the ahroun manages to grab it as it falls /and/ not get burned at the same time. "Oh... um. /Pendejos se cree mucho nada/," he repeats, a little slower this time so that Felix can hear the vowels and pronunciation. "Assholes who think of very much nothing," Trace says, "but that's a bit literal. Stuck-up assholes would probably be a better way to put it, I guess?" He snorts. "Feel free to bother me about that. Most of the time I stick Spanish into things at... pretty much random." Judging from the expression on his face, he's aware of the way that sounds.

Felix listens to the repetition and explanation, with a small 'heh' at the alternate translation. "Got it," he says, "...pendejos se cree mucho nada." It's a bit better this time, though the south of his accent is still very clearly several states east of Trace's. "I reckon a lotta courthouses are full of those. Might even be a requirement."

The Walker grins. "I really wouldn't be surprised, though I know plenty of people who think that it's something to aspire to." Trace rolls his eyes. "To each their own, give me straightforward and down to earth any day though."

"Well, clearly they need what's stuck up =their= assholes yanked out," Felix says almost sweetly, and takes another drag, exhaling slightly upward to watch the smoke float. "I vote straightforward an' down to earth too, given the choice. Well, if it's people I'm aimin' to make nice with, anyhow."

"Sometimes when people are already being impaled, it's the shock that ends up killing them rather than the blood loss," Trace remarks, that feral edge coming back to his smile at this even vague mention of violence. "Of course, when it does, like you said, they clearly needed it." The ahroun taps his cigarette butt out into the dish serving as an ashtray.

Felix laughs, ashing what remains of his cigarette; it's not a lot, but he seems inclined to make it last at least a little bit longer. "Last new moon moot, it bein' the first gatherin' since April Fools, we reckoned we oughta do somethin'. Half moon one before that, Winter -- mentioned him before, the other drummer; he's a Gnawer raggie -- announced the Sept's got a stick wedged firmly up its ass an' he might hafta do a DIY stickotomy if shit don't change. Well. We reckoned it could use at least a =little= wiggle. So what we had in mind was, distract Thane so he ain't there in time, an' Ohno! would take his place, an' lead a Rite of Unity. Which'd be like, the whole Sept's gotta do the parts together, an it'll help unify us in our fights yadda yadda an' so on. So it'd start real standard, an' get sillier, see what we could get everyone to do. Lighten 'em up a little, an' hey if it helps folk remember we're workin' together, ain't never a bad reminder. Only, Ohno! didn't reckon it went far enough. Not that he told us. So he went back to Coyote, an' they talked, an' they worked up a Rite of the Stickectomy. Worked mostly the same way, 'cept it didn't need to get real far, an' it was a real Rite. Powered by Coyote an' the participants. Spread over the bawn, an' everyone it hit, it flipped somethin' about 'em for a couple weeks. Includin' us. Like, it made J go all posh an' British-soundin', for example. Reckon it's lucky ain't no one died of the shock of THAT stickectomy. 'specially us, it was lookin' kinda touch an' go for a little there." Not so much he can't grin about it now, though.

Trace snickers, and that snicker continues as he listens to Felix tell the story of what happened, and at the end, he simply turns his palms in the air and shrugs. "Well, it's no fun if anyone's excluded from the industrial-strength spirit-foo chill pill, after all," the Walker says. "Gotta be fair and all that."

"Well, =I= woulda been down with him lettin' me fake it," Felix says, taking a last draw on the cigarette and extinguishing the sad remnant, this time in the ersatz ashtray itself, "but what can ya do." He pushes up to his feet, stretching again -- full length, this time, such as it is. "A'right, I'm gonna grab my shit an' get that shower, an' then we can head out on the tour. Plan? ...de accion?"

Trace grins again, sitting down at the dining room table and pulling the gun out from his waistband to set it on the table, along with what looks like supplies to clean it from one of the seemingly infinite pockets of his jacket, and even as he talks flipping the cylinder open and setting aside the bullets so that he can begin to clean the gun. It's clearly a practiced movement, given that he doesn't need to look. "/Si/," Trace says, glancing at the galliard. "/Tenemos un plan/." And after that, he adds, "Thanks."