Within this dark forest dominated by the canopy of the tenacious, light-hungry pines is a place where a pure stand of Oregon ash has established itself and fought off all competition. The ashes allow the rays of sun and moon alike to lance down through limbs which bear nothing more than clusters of rust-colored keys, such that undergrowth abounds and the forest floor is even clad with a lush green sward of grass. The large deciduous trees seem out of place in the surrounding evergreen forest, their light-colored trunks standing out like knights holding off a dark army. Bright white bits of bone occasionally poke through the green, testament to a history of offerings in this place. These habitual leavings have accomplished their purpose and, during daytime, a great number of carrion birds roost in the branches of the trees, predominately the large black bodies of crows and ravens. The grove is deserted at night, the birds having left for other sanctuary.
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.
Settled next to a tree is Justin, who is currently staring down at his burner phone and thumbing along the buttons as he sends texts in Spanish to his mother. He looks dirty and disheveled. He probably does not smell real amazing either.
Felix, by contrast, looks and smells pretty damn fresh and clean, which is how he likes it. And cheerful, also, particularly considering he's carrying a fair-sized bag with him, currently slung over his shoulder. The first signs of his approach are probably the movement-sounds and the humming, but as he comes into view there's the rather more obvious one of, "Yo, J!"
Justin tilts his head upwards at the sight of Felix and scrambles to his feet. The phone is tucked away for now in his pocket. "Hey! I am so glad to see you. How are things out in the city? Did you hear the mayor was assassinated? That is insane."
"Yup," Felix says, heading closer, "There's a lot of talk goin' on about it, that's for sure. Some folks pretty worried 'cause some cops are pissed, might not be too precise about just who does some of the payin'. 'cause it ain't like THAT ever happens." It makes a brief, slightly bitter dent in the cheer, but not for too long. "Missed y'all, shit, it's been like a week? Fuckin' weird, bein' around but not seein' y'all."
"Yeah, we have missed you too. I would steer clear of Thane if I were you. He is not happy and the moon is as big as it gets these nights." Justin says as he bonks his head a few times against the tree. . "Everything is so quiet. It is crazy quiet. Like horror movie quiet."
"'It's quiet... too quiet'," Felix says in full horror-movie style, and sets the bag down as he nears Justin and the tree. His nose wrinkles a bit as he gets close enough to take in eau de unwashed Garou, and he notes, "You need a swim or somethin'. I don't reckon anyone's in their best mood ever just now. He pissed about anythin' particular, though?" His hand dips into his pocket for the infrared binoculars, and he takes a glance around with them while he's thinking about it.
"He is still mad at Samantha, who just can't shut her mouth. He is mad about.... I don't know. Other day he was just pissed so I didn't ask him. I have been giving him space while he and some of the other upper woofs are starting to call the shots and make plans." Justin wrinkles his nose. "I know I smell terrible. I should find a lake to dump myself in."
Felix finishes glancing around and tucks the thing back into the pocket from whence it came, giving his packmate a grin. "You really do," he says, "...an' should. Though it's prolly fuckin' freezin' right at the moment." He glances upward, to where the overcast sky peeks through the boughs of the ashes. "Still. Prolly feel better for it. What's she been sayin'?"
"Just being her usually annoying self. She was talking the other day about getting some scouts together and do sneaky stuff and Thane lit her up about how she is the complete opposite of that." Justin laughs. "Surprised he did not kill her on the spot. He thought about it. The girl is dumb as rocks."
"Heh. I like her okay, most of the time I've run into her," Felix muses, "but I ain't ever seen her be sneaky. ...which I guess COULD mean she was actually real fuckin' good at it, but prolly don't." He leans over and unzips the bag, pulling out a McDonald's bag, which he offers over.
"She is a huge idiot and has no clue about the concept of growing the fuck up. She compromised all of us that night with her stupid antics. But, I told Thane it was my fault for what went down. I was in charge and I told her to take point. He ripped me a new one, but we're good. I think." Justin says as he peeks into the bag, then takes out a hamburger. "I kinda wanna move to Canada. Hide somewhere. Not get killed."
Felix glances upward again, this time at the tree itself, and makes quite a good leap to get hold of the lowest branch there, just barely within that reach. "She gotta learn to take orders, obviously," he says, swinging a little. "Reckon headin' to Canada prolly wouldn't do much good. They'd prolly get there sooner or later. I'd rather stay here an' not get killed, myself."
"It is not even the whole orders thing. It's just that she is stupid as a rock. She has no common sense. She acts like a five year old when she should be acting like a Fostern. Makes me wonder if Jacinta even put any work in at all with her." Justin says sourly as he takes a bite of his burger. "At least in Canada it won't have Trump." He says jokingly. "Seeing how he is building walls and all that shit."
[Scene called on account of Justinplayer being too sick.]