The center of the caern is devoid of the thick vegetation that inhabits the rest of the forest. The ground is flat and well trodden, its rich, dark soil nonetheless still carrying the scent of the woods--moss and peat mixed with pine needles, detritus, and the dampness brought from life-giving rain. The wide, empty clearing is dominated by one living exception to the absence of vegetation: an impossibly gigantic and ancient tree growing out of the ground near the very center. The tree defies logic. Grown in the span of a single year, it nevertheless has the size, apparent age, and character of the greatest and most ancient of forest sentinels. It looms over everything, silent and watchful. The backdrop to this commanding presence is almost as remarkable. Spanning the entire length of the old caern's chasm and completely encompassing the southern half is a colossal remnant of the wasp nest built during the Wyld surge. The towering walls of the nest are as strong as the earth into which they're built, their surface smooth to the touch and colored in shaded swirls of beiges, browns, yellows, and reds in a hypnotizing, pleasing way. Oval shapes bulge from the wall in places, while others sinks inward, giving the whole thing a haphazard air.
The caern's triangle extends out from here in two directions. On one side, the escarpment wall with its natural dais can be seen. The opposite side holds the stone firepit.
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.
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this man's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build, but underneath his clothes is a body fitted with new muscle. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement. During the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. After a mishap with a monster, he was aged roughly five years forward and now looks like a young man in his early 20's. Now at 6'2, he has finally hit the rest of his growth spurt.
This thin, wiry, short (5'6"), and moderately attractive man could be just on either side of 40 years of age. His medium-length, minimally styled hair is dark brown with the occassional strand of intermingled pure white. His attire, appearance, and mannerisms communicate that he's well-off, but certainly not wealthy.
Nicodemus is currently wearing loose-fitting blue jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt. The exceptionally perceptive might notice his pants do not quite hang naturally over his right ankle. A cloak-like, charcoal gray longcoat envelopes his form, shields him from the weather, and masks much of his body language and movements. Still, when he moves, there's a sense of subtle, cat-like grace that comes from someone who's very familiar with how their body moves and what it's capable of. Brown leather gloves protect his hands, and a sensible pair of brown hiking boots protect his feet.
There's a noticeable scent of wood-smoke and ozone lingering in the air about him, possibly from an expensive cologne applied just a bit too heavily.
Trace stands nearly six feet in height, with a confidence and certainty to his bearing that makes him seem a little taller, but still the last vestiges of the awkward gangliness of teenagerhood as well. Five o'clock shadow frames a tanned face, hazel-green eyes under perpetually messy hair that reaches just past his ears. The man is dressed neatly, but the clothing is designed to give him ease of movement-- jeans, black leather converse shoes, and a worn leather bomber jacket that's never far from his person over a plain grey button-down shirt with a button-down collar worn with enough buttons open to see the white a-shirt underneath and the hint of a tattoo on one shoulder.
Six-Shooter is broad-chested and broad-shouldered. Green-hazel lupine eyes peer out from behind a slightly darker mask on his muzzle, and his fur fades from dark grey on his back and head to lighter grey on his chest and limbs. He is on the larger side for a wolf, and there's no mistaking the strength throughout his frame, nor the tightly controlled single-purposed anger buried behind his composure. There are scars on his right foreleg and shoulder where fur no longer grows.
The caern is relatively quiet at the moment. Nick seems to be the sole occupant. He's seated Indian style near the center of the caern where the tree is at, looking at it like an artist might study a subject before painting it, yet keeping a distance that might best be described as 'respectful.'
The quiet is... well, perhaps not entirely broken, but probably dented, by the sound of walking, and of humming along with it. Ain't Misbehavin', apparently, which given it turns out to be coming from one of the Coyote pack may or may not be believable. Felix comes out of the treeline with a somewhat battered guitar case in hand, glancing around and flashing Nick a grin when he spots him. "Mornin'!"
Nicodemus takes a moment to mentally disengage himself from tree-gazing. He looks over his shoulder towards Felix, identifies him, blinks twice, and then belatedly offers a smile. "Oh, hey. Totally lost in thoughts and didn't hear you coming," he says, as if he might normally have done so. "Guitar in the caern? Is that allowed?" he asks curiously. "I know there's not supposed to be high-end tech, but no one ever really explained where the lines were drawn--if they are drawn at all beyond 'doesn't feel right to the Warder or other people in charge.'"
"Didn't mean to interrupt your tree-meditation. Meditreetion? Either way." At the question, Felix glances down at the instrument he's carrying almost as if he'd never seen it before, then shrugs, grinning again. "Spirits like music. An' guitars are way older'n, say, zippers. Ain't no one insisted we gotta go naked. Yet. Honestly, I dunno that there are any lines aside from what the Warder an' co don't like. Reckon Talons'd say even human form was out. Walkers prolly got some where you can play video games, by now. I reckon if it ain't okay, someone'll let me know right quick."
Nicodemus quirks a grin at your words. "I suspect your right. Maybe each different caern has a different feel to it. They aren't all located out in pristine wilderness, afterall. Mouse was talking about someday trying to awaken Harbor Park into some kind of city caern eventually, so who knows? But there's no way you're going to ban cell phones carried around by people using the park--if that ever happens. Hell, it'd even have wifi coverage that the Walkers installed in that section of town a few years ago." He turns his neck to one side, as if to crack it, but doesn't go quite that far. Then the other direction. "But I'm going to let you find out about here and guitars. Not me."
Felix drops down indian style on the ground, back against the tree, and looks up toward its branches, taking a few moments to study them and the sky through their leaves. "Well, only one way to find out!" Probably not actually true. Regardless, he sets the case down and opens it, pulling out an instrument in slightly better shape than the case. It's right-handed, but strung backwards, and the Galliard settles it into his lap to check the tuning, left-handed. "When was she talkin' about doin' that? It'd be pretty sweet, having a city caern. But then I guess we'd have two separate Septs, too. Might get weird workin' that shit out. ...but yeah, it'd be damn hard to keep phones an' such outta there."
Nicodemus's eyes widen slightly as you settle up against the tree, but then they return to.... normal wideness. He runs a gloved hand through his hair to push it off his forehead. "A few years ago when things were calmer. She seemed concerned that it might not have the spiritual strength behind it to actually have the potential for a caern, so I imagine it'd be a fairly weak one in comparison to this one. If it'd 'gel' at all, that is." He offers a shrug, as if suggesting he can only speculate about such things. He does offer a suggestion, though. "But assume Mouse is able to later awaken it. Does there have to be two septs? Why not think of it as a solar system with binary stars orbiting one another? It'd be like having two suns in the same galaxy, with galaxies being metaphors for septs."
The Caern Tree
The tree's trunk is enormous--as big around as any millennia old Sequoia and perhaps just as tall. Yet it's not a Sequoia. Or is it? The tree's species is impossible to decipher, as it often looks different from one view to the next, or from one person to the next. In one moment it might appear to have the distinctive, gnarled look of an ancient oak, and in another one might swear it had the weeping, draped green of a spread willow, or the unforgettable reddish color of a cedar. The only thing everyone can agree upon where the tree is concerned is that it is definitely huge. Its roots expand out from the great trunk, rising above and sinking deep into the earth while stretching out almost the enter length of the open clearing. Their massive, twisted limbs snake in and out amongst each other, lending them an uncanny resemblance to the garou's Wyld glyph. Hidden amongst the tree's wood are various small stones and rocks. These poor relics were, no doubt, swept up during the tree's violent birth, and now they have become an irrevocable part of it. Some are natural, glittering quartz, but a few carry old scratchings, marks, and paintings, showing them to be remnants of the old caern's stone cairn. From one moment to the next, the silent giant is never the same as it was, and yet it is always here, and seemingly always will be--an unmoving witness to everything.
Felix doesn't seem to notice the eye-widening, maybe distracted by the instrument, though as he continues to get comfortable he gives a root beside him an absent pat for no apparent reason. "Well... they'd both need moots to keep their totems happy an' feeling respected, that's one thing that might get tricky if it was just one Sept. But I don't reckon it'd be =impossible= to do it that way..." He's sitting with his back against the tree, tuning a slightly battered acoustic guitar, and chatting with Nick, who's sitting Indian-style near the tree, but facing it.
"Nothing like an ignorant individual's speculation to make people think if the crazy and untraditional might work, huh?" Nick says, clearly indicating himself as the one with ignorant ideas. He rolls his shoulders to limber up a little. "I've been solo practicing with my bass guitar since we talked earlier back in the music store. I think I've knocked the rust off. I can't guarantee I'd be very regular in making sessions because of the demands of my job, but I'd see what I could do. Neat that Trace just showed up out of nowhere like he did. Serendipity. You going to see about inviting him in if he's any good on the drums?"
Making his way through the woods is Justin who is currently thumping a long branch along the ground. The now twenty-something year old lets out a yawn as he zeroes in on Felix's voice, then pops around the tree. "Hey guys, what's up." He says as he flops down next to his packmate and leans in to bump shoulders.
"It'd be interestin' seein' folks sort it out," Felix says, and grins again, wider, at the kin's remarks on his guitar. "Awesome. I figure ain't like there ain't plenty we'll hafta schedule shit around anyhow, so as long as we can manage any actual gigs we arrange an' we can get together often enough when we're free, it oughta work out. An' yeah, definitely gonna get him in, he agreed to see how it goes. I reckon between him an' Winter, oughta be set." He plays a few chords, testing the sound, and glances over to the thumping-sound, giving out a whistle of, apparently, greeting when he sees his packmate. "Yo, J," he adds once the Ahroun's in speaking distance, and returns the shoulder-bump in kind. "We're talkin' caerns an' music. 'sup?"
Nicodemus nods towards Justin, then speaks to Felix. "Winter's in? He..." Nick cuts himself off and shrugs. "Didn't strike me as the musically inclined type, but it takes all Kinds, I guess." A beat. "Huh. I probably don't come across as musically inclined either, I imagine." He gaze then belatedly goes back to Justin, who's joined Felix in sitting at the base of the tree. (Nick's seated Indian style a respectful distance away from said tree, but facing it.) "You... look older," he says with a degree of caution, in the event this might be a sensitive subject.
"You guys talking about Trace? I spent all day with him yesterday. I like him, a lot." Justin says as he twirls the walking stick in his hand around and around his wrist a few times. "He says he is open to packing with coyote again and was telling me some awesome stories of pranking he used to do." He says, then tilts his chin upwards to Nick. "Yeah. One of the white creatures got their sucker hands on me. Sucked a few years off my life. So, now I need a fake ID so I can buy beer or something and not be squinted at."
Felix grins at Nicodemus and shrugs, admitting, "Well, ain't like findin' out you played almost gave me a heart attack, beyond findin' out holy shit there actually IS a bassist in this town an' I KNOW him, but I can't say first thing I thought when I met you was 'definitely a musician' or nothin'. Winter tends to get busy with stuff a lot too, though, so. I reckon we'll see how all of it goes." He nods to Justin's remarks about Trace, but the last bit gets a headshake. "You don't even drink!" he says, "Fuckin' waste. ...reckon I might be able to help you out with the ID though." There's a slight glance to Nick, then, as if checking how the ex-cop is going to react to that.
Six-Shooter makes his way down from the bawn into the caern. The Walker is alert, ears twisting towards the sounds of talking, but not in any particular hurry to go join them although that's the direction that he is eventually going. It seems that it being only his second time here there's still much more smelling of every single thing, to be done.
Nicodemus reacts like an ex-cop Walker kin might. He suggests, "Talk to Salem or Mouse or Rina. Any of them could probably hook you up with a solid fake ID fairly easily. Like a nigh-legitimate one, not one made on a laminate machine in someone's mom's basement." He hasn't seen the newly arrived wolf yet. "Sorry that that happened to you, Justin. Glad it wasn't worse, too."
"I'm not sorry, it has worked wonders with the girlfriend." Justin says with a playful hip thrust forward. "Boo yah, and /hey/, I may not drink beer, but I do like tequila, at least in margarita form." He says with a chuckle. "Either way, if I am going to walk around as a twenty one year old, I would like an ID that does not show me as a fifteen year old."
Felix seems to approve of ex-cop Walker kin reactions, even if they do imply aspersions on his own ability to obtain fraudulent documentation. Tch. He snorts softly at his packmate's booyah-ing, and shrugs. "A'right, next time I'll remember to only hook you up with the girly drinks," he teases, "Prolly can find you somethin' with a cherry, a slice of fruit, AN' a paper umbrella if we try." He's been noodling around with the guitar a bit, not playing anything in particular as yet, but now starts quietly playing something upbeat and a bit calypso-ish. Apparently he's not paying enough attention to catch sight of nearing wolves either. For shame!
Six-Shooter gets a good distance closer before he hears Felix's going-on about 'girly drinks', and then, if his presence wasn't obvious before, it is now. Because Six-Shooter is laughing, and the sound, and the slight antics that go with it, aren't particularly quiet. Hi, he adds, almost an afterthought of greeting as he trots up and sprawls out at a polite distance from everyone else. See, I came, he says to Felix.
"There's nothing wrong with a virgin girly drink that some alcohol can't f...." Nick trails off as the wolf gets noticed. "Fix." He relaxes as, hey, it's not attacking. Must be friendly. "Morning," he offers to the newcomer.
There is a loud snort from Justin as he shoves his packmate over to the side. "Dude, margaritas is a man's drink. If you make it right. I am not talking those bitchy pink drinks with the foo foos. I am talking about old school lime, salt on the rim, drinking it out of a mason jar." As the wolf joins in and starts laughing, he studies him for a moment, then thumps his head back on the tree. "And fuck you too." He laughs. "Least Nick got my back."
The guitar playing is briefly interrupted by both the shove and Felix's laughter, though he picks the music back up after a moment and sings, "Boat drinks! The boys in the band ordered boat drinks..." He breaks off, still grinning, and gives a chin-lift of greeting to the laughing wolf. "Yo, Trace! Good seein' you didn't get lost somewhere. 'sup?"
There is a moment of tongue-lolling in amusement, and then the Walker settles-- and shifts back to his birth form, ending up, somehow, sitting cross-legged. "Good morning," he offers to everyone present. "Nah, I didn't get lost. I just..." There's a grin, "got distracted exploring a few times. I didn't exactly grow up near a forest or anything, /sí/?"
Nicodemus leans back, propping himself up with his arms as he watches the garou jovially greet one another. Trace's transformation from wolf to human gets definite scrutiny, but it's scrutiny borne of curiosity as opposed to fear. It's like he's used to seeing werewolves shifting, though not so used to it that it isn't something that's not worth watching. He keeps quiet, letting the garou have their own conversation for the time being.
"Oh, hey Trace! So that's your woof form. Felix was talking about how you're going to be his new Lars Ulrich or something." Justin says as he scoots himself up to his backside easier as he rests against the tree. "I wish I could play an instrument. Maybe the electric triangle."
"Well, now you're gonna have to build one an' see if you got any talent with it," Felix says, "Although I reckon the odds ain't bad that even if you suck you'd be the best electric triangle player the world's ever seen." He's still playing quietly, fingerpicking to get more than one simple musical line going, though not singing. "An' yeah, it's kinda weird when you start bein' around this much green, ain't it? I mean, not bad. But weird."
Trace nods, and there's a snort of amusement. "It's always been a good outlet, for me. Maybe just because drums is a more civilized form of hitting things, but that's okay too." The newly-arrived Walker gives a nod of greeting to Nick. "Yeah. I didn't really go out into the woods at Western Eye very much. Was too busy getting things done most of the time."
Nicodemus says "I never thought I'd enjoy the woods either, but I seemed to ease into it about four or five years ago through overnight camping trips. But then before I knew it, I was hiking in, camping for a few days or even the occasional week at a time. Nice to get that solitude and escape the rat race of the city every so often. It's like taking a deep breath and letting things slow down."
"I don't think I will ever get used to it. It's fine and all but I hate hanging out in the grass and getting rained on or you know ... not having a toilet to drop a deuce in if I am a few miles out from the farmhouse. I feel like if I squat one out in wolf form then I should I pick it up and put it in a paper bag or something." Justin taps his walking stick a few more times against the ground. "I'd just rather be back home in the city. Or the junk yard."
"I dunno, I'm pretty big on the less civilized form, personally," Felix says, and snorts again at his packmate's coprological complaints. "Wolf's gotta do what a wolf's gotta doo-doo," he says, "...yeah, I like the wild green yonder fine, definitely on board with protectin' what we got, but I'm a pretty big fan of runnin' water, too. An' I get fuckin' antsy spendin' ages without concrete under my feet, barely anyone around, all quiet..." He glances around, taking in the caern surrounding them. "But still."
"Sure," Trace responds to Felix, "but there's a time and a place, or at least so I have to keep telling myself." He shifts how he's sitting a little, from crosslegged to half-lotus, and rolls his shoulders. The moon is small, and yet there's an evident control and bearing in Trace's posture, one that never seems to go away. "Yeah. I like coming out here, as long as I get back to a city often enough."
Nicodemus admits, "There's a lot to be said about hot water and indoor plumbing. I'm not a fan of having to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Nothing like squatting in the woods in the dark in the middle of the night and hoping that whatever that is rustling around out there isn't a bear. Or worse." A moment's hesitation and then, "But I crave the solitude every so often. Not enough wolf in my blood to feel that pack pull for socialization, I guess."
"Yeah, worse way to go is dropping the Browns off at the Super Bowl behind a tree and one of those invisible white things pops out and kills you with your pants about your ankles. I can only imagine what the grave marker would say about you." Justin grins widely.
"Well, fuck, there's an image I didn't need," Felix says, "...although if we're goin' there, ain't a much better one droppin' the kids off at the pool in the Edgewood bathroom an' one of them assholes poppin' in to kill you =there=, neither. What WOULD the marker say? 'Got caught with his pants down, what a shitty way to go'?" He shakes his head. "I dunno, even without hot water an' workin' plumbin', city's still my place. Hell of a lot better =with=, mind. But I reckon maybe I got enough of that socialization-pull for both of us, anyhow."
Trace seems content to be quiet and let everyone else talk, at least for the time being. Either that, or he's too busy staring upward into the branches of the tree.
Nicodemus points and nods at Felix as he makes what Nick judges to be an appropriately disparaging message for a tombstone. "Those guys sound pretty scary. I bet they're behind those mysteriously aged corpses that popped up around town a couple times back before those riots hit. Or there's something out there we haven't seen yet." He then shakes his head. "Of course there's stuff out there that we haven't seen yet. Always is. Always will be."
"Nah, they are definitely behind the corpses. I assume when they first got here, they were using it to power up, maybe suck the life out of people, then deposit it in the Queen so she can in turn create more of those nasty fuckers." Justin shrugs his shoulders upwards. "We tangled with a group of vampires last year but they bounced after kicking our ass. I am assuming maybe the Queen's thugs took care of them to ensure one last threat to them was out of the way."
"Which's too bad, 'cause I still really wanna blow up that Tower an' it woulda been kickass if we coulda pinned it on them," Felix says, and sighs. "Does seem likely they'd be behind mysteriously aged corpses, yeah. AND that there's shit out there we ain't seen yet."
Trace purses his lips. "When all is said and done, and everything's dealt with, finding some way to blow up the tower might not be a bad idea. Not such a bad idea at all." He lifts his shoulders. "Blow it up, get rumors started that the land is cursed so that nothing else gets built there, something like that. It's going to need to be Cleansed regardless, and it's going to need significant time to recover, even when we do kill the Queen and get this nonsense over with."
"Leveling the tower might be significant overkill," Nick offers as a counterpoint. "I think someone mentioned that the bad guys were pretty much only on the top few floors? That'd be like leveling the building the Walkers are in because the penthouse houses some Walkers. The building is most just people doing their jobs. Not garou or kin."
"Yeah, blowing up the entire tower in the middle of the city would be over kill and normal people do have mundane and boring jobs there. But, blowing the Queen up would be fun. Would not mind strapping her to a pole and giving her a lead sandwich by way of shot gun to the nogging." Justin stretches his arms upwards and pops a few joints in his back. "With their mage down, that at least changes the game."
Felix shrugs slightly. "Ain't like you gotta do it at 2pm," he says, "Reckon 'round 2am ain't much in the way of folks just doin' their jobs there, which you could check on anyhow, an' it ain't like the city's short on places to do borin'-ass office work. But I guess we could look at just blowin' up the TOP of the tower." Sigh.
"Pull the fire alarm, blow it up after everyone's out, but before the fire department gets there." Trace shrugs his shoulders. There's no force behind his words, more than simply offering his thoughts. "Fire department will get there soon enough that there'll be a proper investigation that leads to nowhere, it'll get labelled 'domestic terrorism', and the legitimate businesses will relocate somewhere... a little more legitimate. And they'll be better off for it. Anything spending that much time close to the crap going on there is going to get screwed up in one way, shape, or form." He glances to Felix. "And if you only blow up the top few floors or whatever, it causes nearly as much disruption and such. That sort of explosion would destabilise the structure of the building and make the entire building unsafe. And abandoned office buildings become breeding ground for all sorts of hell nope."
Nicodemus listens to various views and then adds, "It's a skyscraper in the crowded financial district of the city. If it comes down, it's going to hit things--buildings, pedestrians, street traffic--all around it. It's just...." He then shrugs and drops it. "There's no easy solution. And I'm not the one that has to go put my life on the line with whatever plan is come up with."
"Yeeah... I don't know. If we kill the Queen and clear out whatever spirals she has, why would we even need to blow the building up? I'd rather kill the fuckers, then have one of you roach types buy the tower instead and use it as a head quarters, maybe a second bawn in the city." Justin scratches the side of his face a bit. "There has been talk of turning the fountain into a lower level Caern, which would make us even more popular with the Wyrm."
Felix actually does sigh this time. "Man, I never get to blow shit up," he complains, shaking his head. "Anyway, assumin' you mean Harbor Park, ain't the tower kinda far away for bawnishness? Or is there somewhere else also people been talkin' about?"
Trace grins at Felix. "I know the feeling," he says, shaking his head. Towards Nick, says, "You've got a point, you do." He sighs. "I happen to like blowing shit up, that's all."
Nicodemus takes a deep, sad breath and then sighs. "If only Michael Bay were a werewolf."
"Someday," Felix says to Trace, "...someday." Nick's remark gets a small laugh, and he leans his head back against the tree for a moment.
Trace leans back on his hands a little bit. "It is pretty damn awesome out here," he says. "/Increíble, impresionante, alucinante/." The Spanish words seem to be thrown in there as emphasis, but also with a hint of a pointed look at Felix as well. "Awe-some, inspiring awe."
"Alucinante," is the one that the Galliard repeats, with every evidence of savouring the syllables, "I like that one. Increíble, impresionante..." Felix's accent has not particularly improved since... ever, but if you can get past that he does mimic reasonably well.
Trace grins, "Not half bad," he tells Felix. He lets out a breath, and grumbles almost inaudibly under his breath for a moment, though it seems to be about nothing in particular, because a moment later the Walker ahroun is grinning easily once again. "This keeps up and soon enough you'll be at the full-sentences level."
Nicodemus takes Trace's words as a cue to look around. Re-examining what he'd previously been studying in detail when Felix arrived earlier. "It is stunningly magnificent." He begins unfolding his legs so as to get out of his Indian-style seating arrangement, allowing himself to stand on two legs and stretch. "I need to go see a man about a horse. Catch you two later."
Felix lifts a hand from the guitar in a small wave to the departing kin. "It is. Later, Nick. Sooner or later I'll have an electric again an' we can jam some. Enjoy your horse." He grins, and starts playing what seems likely to be 'A Horse With No Name,' although it's plain melody at the moment; perhaps not something he's played much before. "Full sentences, huh? No parole?"
"A man. About a horse." Trace repeats this quietly. "That's a helluva excuse," he offers towards Nick. "Not that I'm being /preguntón/ or prying or anything."
"He's gotta take a piss," Felix translates, "...or at least that's usually what it means. Sometimes I reckon it's just 'Well, I'm leavin' an' I ain't inclined to say why', but usually? They gotta take a leak." He gets through about another bar before grinning and adding, "An' we already discussed the current dangers of doin' that kinda thing 'round here. ...not that anyone'd in the =caern= anyhow."
Trace raises his eyebrows, nods, and grins. "That we did... 'See a dog about a man', I've heard," the ahroun says, and shakes his head. "Then again, niceties aren't my strong point, and English isn't my first language, so." He pauses. "It was nearly exclusively Spanish at home until I started school," he explains.
"I reckon they prolly come from the same place, 'cause I've heard that too, an' 'see a man about a dog' as well. WHAT place, I dunno. Bettin', maybe, races an' fights?" Felix muses. "Could get some other animals in on it for that, 'cept I don't reckon you're gonna get a whole lotta guys announcin' they're off to see a man about a cock." He grins again, and stills the guitar's strings. "Musta been kinda weird, startin' school, then."
"I think it'd be funnier if they did," Trace points out. Then the ahroun nods. "I got bothered for my English until I learned to speak it better," Trace says. "My mom still spoke Spanish more than English most of the time most of while I was growing up. And most of my friends at school spoke at least a little bit of it, too. It's weirder being somewhere that you don't see Spanish every day in /something/, like you did in Los Angeles."
Felix laughs. "Well, yeah," he agrees. The remarks on the weirdness of being in nigh-Spanish-free St. Claire gets a nod, "Yeah, can see how that'd be weird. Weird thing for me's been how fuckin' =white= this place is. Fuckin' bizarre sometimes." Says the redhead.
Trace grins, and raises his brows at Felix for a moment. "That too," the Walker says. "But well, c'est la vie?" Unlike the English and the Spanish, Trace absolutely mangles the French loanwords, just shy of unrecognizable.
Felix gives Trace a slightly crooked half-smile at the brow-raise. "I'm from Memphis," he says, as if that should make everything clear, "...South side, mostly." The guitar gets strummed rather absently, "C'est la vie, yeah." Recognizable enough, but the accent's no better than on his Spanish.
Having ambled off for a bit to take care of some business behind a tree, Justin heads back and flops down next to them again. His eyes roll upwards and to the side as if he was exasperated at something. "Hey."
"Yeah," Trace says. Apparently, it really does explain everything. The Walker lets things fade into an easy enough silence until Justin gets back, and then the other ahroun is greeted with a nod.
"Hey," Felix replies to Justin, "...'sup? Bitey-whities been pervin' on you in your tighty-whities?" Exasperation would be the logical reaction to that, right?
Justin gives Felix an amused look. "I'm not wearing anything under my shorts today if you really need to know."
Trace shakes his head briefly. "Weeeeeeell," Trace says, stretching out the word deliberately, "I didn't need to," he notes, though he seems mostly amused rather than perturbed by the excess of information.
Felix arches a brow. "I really don't," he replies dryly, "Just wonderin' why you seemed all ruffled 'bout somethin', comin' back." He continues playing a little bit of nothing quite identifiable. "Ain't no one around here lately whose drawers I'm itchin' to know the state of."
Trace sits up a little bit straighter, and shrugs his shoulders at Felix. "Coulda been anything," he points out, in response to the first part. "And uh... I'm sorry?" The response to the second part is awkward, and then Trace goes silent, shifting how he's sitting again, from half lotus to full lotus, which is... awkward, in bulky boots, but he seems to manage it well enough. Though it certainly doesn't look comfortable.
"Well, yeah, that's why I'm askin'," Felix replies, grinning at Trace, yet still manages a truly woeful sigh at the 'sorry'. "It's a cryin' shame, it really is. Barely any girls around here to start with with the whole bein' real careful thing, an' the ones that are, well." Shrug. "'s one more thing I owe that Queen bitch, I guess. I should start makin' a list. Recite it to her when we kill her. Dramatic-like."
There is a smirk upon Justin's face. "No, just thinking about some stuff that has me annoyed. Nothing 'bout you guys. Mostly just the lack of toilet paper out here." He says with a chuckle as he gives a stretch of his arms upwards. "Just hoping that the leaf I used won't give me a rash."
"Tee. Emm. Eye," Trace says, grinning, and then he looks at Felix, looks up, and adds, "/Demasiado/." Apparently, it can be time for Spanish lesson number two of the day. "/No quería saber acerca de su uso del baños/." The words are teasing, though.
Felix looks rather resigned to this one. "I did ask." To Justin, he says, "...an' I hope it don't too, or I'm gonna be hearin' about it in pack chat for hours. Demasiado is TMI? What's the rest? ...well, I know el baño, he says that one all the time."
"¡No hay nada malo en hablar de los baños!" Justin says with a nod of his head sagely as he gives a tug of his pants a bit. "Felix, you really want to learn Spanish?" He asks curiously as he runs a hand back through his hair.
Trace grins. "It means, 'too much'," the Walker says, in answer to Felix's question. Other than that, Trace sits nearly stone still in lotus position, concentrating and thoughtful.
Felix looks a bit confused by the answer, but lets it go, at least for now, in favour of shrugging to Justin. "Yeah, why not? I mean, I ain't signin' up for two hours a day an' final exams or nothin', but it's gonna get annoyin' not knowin' what the fuck y'all're sayin' half the time."
Giving Felix a squinty-squinted look, Justin says, "I dunno .... you're /really/ white.." He says as he glances over to Trace with an amused grin. "I guess I can help you out if you really want to learn. It's easier if you start with the bad words and kinda work your way up from there. Easier to remember."
"Cursing, family fun in every language," Trace remarks. "We did get to some cursing the other day."
"Yeah, I know, I more or less glow in the dark. An' yet I'm a way fuckin' better dancer than you!" Felix replies brightly to his packmate. "We did," he confirms, nodding to Trace, "¡Pendejos se cree mucho nada!" No, his accent still has not improved. But he remembers! "Cursin' seems like a good start. Wouldn't hurt if y'all told me what some songs actually mean, neither. I mean, I pretty much know what I'm singin' in Feliz Navidad, but I got no clue on La Bamba or the Macarena, shit like that."
"First of all, you have never seen me dance, so that is unfounded data, and second .." Justin says as he squints his eyes at the Galliard, then glances over to Trace, "Le he visto desnudo. Tiene una boca grande para compensar ese pequeño pene." He nods his head firmly. "We should start him off with old school Selena."
Trace raises his brows at Justin, and shrugs, ever so slightly so he won't upset his balance. "Cada uno habla de la feria como le va en ella," he notes, mildly. To Felix, Trace shakes his head, and grins. "I only know one type of 'dancing'," the Walker says, "and it usually turns out badly for whomever I am dancing with."
"Bull-fuckin'-shit, man, I've seen you dance plenty. Ohno's Umbra dance party an' that frat party just for starters. An' suddenly havin' your arms an' legs like half a foot longer ain't gonna improve your stylin's any," Felix says, leaning back further against the tree and smirking at Justin, "Your memory's clearly shit, too." It turns into more of his usual grin for Trace. "Well, remind me not to take you clubbin' until we fix that. Unless it's, I dunno, baby seals."
Trace rests his hands on his knees and glances back down from the tree, towards Felix. "Don't take me clubbing until you fix that. Unless it's the sort where we get to kill shit," he says, with a slightly wry tone. "There. I reminded you."
"That was not me dancing at the frat party, that was me trying not to freak out because you were trying to get me to lose my v-card with some random drunk girl who couldn't tell I was sixteen at the time." Justin says with a loud snort, eyes rolling upwards and to the side, though that grin upon his face is filled with amusement. "Sides, dancing is stupid. I'd rather just get in a fist fight."
Felix gives Trace a single finger-gun at the reminder, and snorts right back at Justin. "Yeah, well, ain't my fault you =desperately= needed to get laid," he retorts, "...an' she was hot. Wasn't that drunk, either. Maybe needed glasses, I dunno." The last is more blatantly teasing than the rest. "Anyway, you only think it's stupid 'cause you ain't no good at it. I'd rather do both."
Partway through what Justin says, Trace grins, and laughs, and shakes his head. Apparently whatever it was, though, is funny enough that the Glass Walker loses his balance from how he had been sitting, and ends up laughing, back flat on the ground. And then just as he catches his breath, Felix retorts. At which point Trace climbs to his feet, giving both Gnawers a 'really' sort of expression as he walks off a few yards.
Watching Trace fall over and laugh, Justin lets out a grumpy grunt, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, she was really hot. I texted her but never got a reply back. Obviously bailing on her sealed my fate. Oh well. I think I woulda felt guilty if we did hook up though." His nose wrinkles up a bit. "And I'm not /terrible/ at dancing. My dancing is at least better than your Spanish."
Felix looks, if anything, pretty amused himself at Trace's laugh-related mishap. "I reckon you'd still've had a chance if you didn't wait 'til I made you do it to actually text her," he says, "but oh well. Worked out okay in the long run, I s'pose. An' yeah, I'll give you that, my Spanish ain't nearly as good as your dancin'. On the other hand, =I've= only been learnin' it two-three days."
Trace walks it off, before making his way back to the tree a bit to one side, both hands resting flat on the bark as the Walker looks up into the branches once again. He's silent, though, ignoring the other Garou present in favour of the tree.
"If I am going to teach you how to speak Spanish, then you need to teach me how to dance." Justin says as he gives a snort, then looks out to Trace who is hugging a tree. "Yo dawg, everything okay over there?" He asks as he glances upwards to the branches as well.
"/Sí/," comes the response, and a half a glance back towards the two Gnawers, before Trace cranes his head to look up once again. "Just... looking."
Felix tilts his head, making more of a show of considering than necessary before he nods. "Seems fair 'nough. Do you =and= the resta the world a favour," he says, grinning at the other Gnawer again. "But no tryin' to tell me shit means, like, 'you look lovely' when it really means 'do you always smell like vomit or am I just lucky?' or somethin'." He watches Trace and the tree until it starts to get uncomfortable for his neck, and then looks up toward the branches again himself. "Interestin' tree, ain't it?"
"What kinda Coyote would I bet if I didn't fuck around with some of the words?" Justin says with a wide grin. "The ultimate test is to have you talk Spanish to a lady and see if you trust me enough to not get your ass beat." The tree gets another look, then he shrugs his shoulders. "They don't have trees in L.A. I've heard."
Trace doesn't lose his balance this time, but he does burst out laughing once again. "Sure they do," he responds. "And I lived up in Marin county north of San Francisco. Plenty of trees there, too. Just. No trees like /this/."
"The kind that doesn't hafta carefully check all his clothes, toiletries, an' food every day before enjoyin' 'em?" Felix suggests, and remarks innocently toward Trace, "Also rumour has it nobody walks in LA, an' it never rains in southern California. Thoughts? ...I don't reckon there's many trees like this anywhere."
"If no one walks in LA, do they all use roller blades? That's how I imagine LA to be." Justin chuckles as he blows a lock of curly dark hair away from his face. It seems a few moments pass before he looks back at Felix. ".. You just threaten to booby trap my clothes, stuff and snackage?" He narrows his eyes. "You looking to prank off, bro?"
"I used the bus," Trace responds, moving back over and sitting down, cross-legged for a moment before he resumes the way he was seated previously, full lotus. "But it really doesn't rain there. At least, not very much, and when it does, you would think that the apocalypse had happened."
Felix plays a few bars of the melody for Walking In L.A. "I dunno about the city, but there was an awful lot of roller bladin' by the beach when we drove through there this summer," he notes to Justin, and ffts at the latter pair of questions. "I'm lookin' to remind you to think hard before YOU go startin' shit. Got a lot better targets around to fuck with than each other." Trace's description gets a 'heh'. "Run in circles, scream an' shout?"
"Hey man, don't start something you can't finish." Justin says with a wider grin to Felix. "Remember, Watcher got my back. You may wake up with a shit ton of miscounted chickens in your room in the morning or something." He chuckles as he gives another loud yawn. "I'm going to head back to the farmhouse and start working on dinner."
Trace grins. "More, all, the sky is falling. Chicken Little-esque," he responds to Felix, and lifts a hand in parting to Justin. "Better you cooking than me," he says. "I can do it if I have to, or if there's nothing else available, but we'd end up with scrambled eggs and toast for three meals a day."
"Don't start none, there won't be none," Felix replies to Justin with nigh-Buddha-worthy serenity, which is somewhat spoilt by the following grin and, "We'd just eat 'em anyway. Mmm. Chicken." He nods to Trace, agreeing, "Better him than me, too. If I was doin' it we'd have frozen pizza three meals a day instead. Well, ex-frozen, as long as the microwave held out. He ain't bad at it. Later, J, reckon we'll come eat it all in a bit."
"There won't be any leftovers, that's for certain," Trace says as Justin leaves. "I've never been to the beach," he admits. "I've always been either too busy getting in trouble, or then my change happened and I was too busy with everything else."
"For real? Man, I woulda been down there all the =time=," Felix says. "Me an' Lilah went through there when we were drivin', I made us stay there some before we headed on up. Real nice. Should get around to goin', when things settle down some. That an' Vegas were prolly my favourites we went through."
Trace lifts his shoulders. "I lived pretty far from the beach," he says. "L.A. is /huge/ in comparison to St. Claire. Even in comparison to San Francisco unless by San Francisco you mean the city, the East Bay, the peninsula, the North Bay..." The ahroun fidgets, adjusting one leg somewhat, and sitting a bit more upright. "You went through a lot of places, it sounds like," Trace remarks.
Felix's playing shifts, this time to Route 66. Complicated picking for multiple musical lines again; presumably this is one he's played often and knows well. "Yeah, reckon so. Not half as many as I sorta intended, but a fair bit. Figured I'd go meet my grandparents proper, an' then explore, an' they're in Georgia. So I headed that way. Don't really do maps an' shit though, so I ended up in Florida first. Then I found 'em, hung out a bit, went through Alabama an' found Lilah there, an' we went westish a while, through Mississippi an' Louisiana, Texas," a slight pause while he appears to think, "...New Mexico I think, Arizona, then Vegas. An' after that, we drove up California an' through Oregon an' ended up here. We were aimin' to hit Vancouver so she could see some movies or TV shows gettin' filmed, but this's where the Caddy broke down, an' we needed s'more travelin' cash anyway, so we figured we'd stay a little an' handle that. An' then we met folks, an' I guess we live here now. But we reckoned we'd go check out, say, Mount Rushmore an' New York an' all that shit, so, not so many places as it coulda been."
Trace nods, leaning ever so slightly forward to listen, both to the melody and to the story being told. "Maybe someday you'll get the chance," he offers, lifting a shoulder.
"Might be so," Felix agrees, "...once we get the shit goin' on here dealt with, maybe. The Queen at least, maybe the Nothin'-ooze too if there's some way they work out I can actually fight it. That shit's weird. Can't wait to figure a way to get the other dealt with, though, let us all go home."
"Yeah," Trace agrees. "Though there's always another enemy." It's said matter-of-fact, not quite pessimistically. "And yeah. I'd like to get settled, and with everything looming, it's easier said than done."
"Yup," Felix agrees in return, almost cheerfully, "Always another. But mostly they ain't quite so big an' inconvenient. ...or haven't been, so far, anyway. Keep us from gettin' bored an' complacent, all that shit. Don't so much mind bein' complacent, I guess, but I hate bein' bored. Still. There's limits. You know where you're gonna be stayin'?"
Trace lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I've stayed at Edgewood a few days, now, but I don't want to set up a place in the city until things are a little... well." He grins. "It would suck to get all settled and set up when I'm just going to have to ditch the place."
"Yup," Felix agrees again, but this time there's more of a glum edge to it. "You know that sayin', it's a nice place to visit...?" Shrug, and he focuses more on playing for a few bars, which seems to help shake it off. "Anyway, mostly wondered if there was some kind plan already in place for, y'know, 'after'."
Trace shakes his head. "The city. Somewhere," he says, palms turning up for a minute as to the question of the plan. "Cada cosa en su tiempo... Everything in its time, more or less. I don't usually make plans for the little things, I just take them as they come. Plus, this way, I save up a bit for whatever I have to throw into getting a place."
Felix nods, with the hint of another shrug. "I don't much plan shit at all," he admits, "so makes sense to me." He finishes off the song, and then stretches, glancing up at the sky. "I'm fuckin' famished. Wanna go see if Justin made us food we can steal yet?"
Trace stands up and nods. "Definitely," he says, shifting back to lupus after he's stretched and going to nose at Felix for a moment. There's a small huff, and the Glass Walker adds that he is hungry too. Let's go.