Summer arrived in Washington early today, and the evening has not brought much relief. Nonetheless there are patrols to be run and duties to be attended to, and Trace has not been at the sept compound for particularly long. And it has only been recently that he has had it all to himself to scope it out. The Walker ahroun is pacing between the trees at the edge of the clearing, particularly those that people tend to lean on during gatherings, and from there inward towards the ring of stones that forms the pit for the cookware, though given the heat of the day and the promise of pizza, no fire burns in it at the moment.

"Goooooooooooood evenin'!" Felix calls brightly as he makes his way into the clearing. He's got that bag from the other day over one shoulder, a two-thirds empty 20oz Coke bottle in one hand (with a few chips of ice still hanging on in there), and three fair-sized pizza boxes in the other. One would expect them to have been somewhat of a pain to carry, necessitating as they do a two-legged form for the not-inconsiderable walk from the nearest he could reasonably be parked, but despite that and the continuing heat of the day his mood seems undented.

Trace looks up from where he's knelt down to poke at the ground a few times, and he grins brightly. "Oh thank the heavens, my prayers for pizza have been answered," comes the response, and he tilts his head towards the logs around the fire pit for seating. "Just a second. Grabbing something." On his way over, he ducks into the cabin (and presumably his duffel bag) coming back out with a new pack of cigarettes and the previously brought bottle of Johnny Walker Black label. The amount of which is left, though, has diminished significantly since the last time that the galliard saw it when he brought it out.

"An' lo, from on high there did come rounds of bread with sauce an' cheese an' various shit on top, mostly meat, an' we saw that it was damn good," Felix declaims, grinning. He sets the bottle down -- carefully and propped by a log, as the lid isn't currently in evidence -- and then slings his bag to the ground on the other side, where it hits with a light thump and a couple small clinks. Taking a seat on the log, he settles the boxes in easy reach, and reclaims the bottle for a sip. "Shit goin' okay today?"

Trace sits down with one foot on either side of the log, and nods. "Yeah," he says. The tension is still settled in his shoulders, but it's not as much, and there's still a slight smile on his face as he grabs a slice of pizza. Between bites and around mouthfuls, he says, "Too quiet, but other than that it's pretty okay. Whatever's happening is happening in some area we're not patrolling, somewhere that isn't here and that we're not seeing, and I wish they'd either just hurry up and do something, or that we could fucking kill the bastards."

"I'll take option B," Felix says, claiming a slice from the top pizza himself. "...shit, even if they did hurry up an' do somethin', I still vote fuckin' killin' the bastards. Either way. This waitin' shit is fuckin' annoyin'. Really hope the big dogs've got somethin' up their sleeves they're workin' on. An' that someone gets around to lettin' me in on it. I =hate= feelin' like I dunno half what's up." Despite the complaints, he still manages to seem in fairly good spirits.

Trace takes another few bites of pizza before reaching for the whiskey, which gets opened, one handed, and Trace takes a long sip before offering it towards his packmate. "Yeah. I saw Thane yesterday, but it wasn't for very long and the conversation didn't end up amounting to much other than the usual Guardian shit about the bawn. Pretty similar to the conversation we're having now, right up until Nolan started pulling that Ragabash crap." Which is followed by a low growl.

Felix accepts, and offers the Coke bottle in trade; it's still pretty cold, which could potentially make up for it having no more than a third the alcohol content. Particularly since there was presumably more ice in it earlier, which has melted. "So pretty much, really wish we were killin' these assholes?" he says, and sighs. A shake of the head, and a good drink of the whiskey before offering that bottle back. "Asked him once if he had any =answers=. He said no, that's not his job," he says, a bit dryly. A half-smile, "I said it ain't mine neither."

Trace accepts the exchange, and snorts, laughing somewhat before taking a breath to be able to take a sip of the soda, and when the whiskey is back in hand, grabs another slice of pizza to go with it. "Yeah. I put up with a few questions, you know?" Trace ponders this, "Like, three of them. And then he started asking questions that were nice thinly veiled insults. He certainly didn't answer anything I asked him."

"See, that's the problem with a lotta his questions, seems to me. They got this tendency to come out like they're =sayin'= shit more'n askin' it," Felix muses, while demolishing another slice. "Which maybe they're meant to an' maybe they ain't, but either way it's gonna make a guy's fist itch sooner or later." He shrugs, and washes the slice down with a fair bit of what remains of his own drink. "...an' no, he definitely ain't one for givin' any answers. Even the easy ones."

Trace takes another long sip of the whiskey. Apparently tonight is also a 'get shitfaced drunk' night, or at least it's headed towards it. "Si, exactamente," he agrees, "and I mean, I keep a lid on my shit, especially in front of cubs. Or kits, as it may be," he continues. "I barely even pulled rank on him. And sure, my answer to a lot of things is punching shit, but it's an answer that's always /worked/."

Felix finds that a wholly acceptable form of night, and does some more of his part toward it by finishing off the rest of his bottle over the next slice or so. Trace is offered some more before it's gone, but gone is a rapidly approaching destination either way. "It does work for a lotta shit," the Galliard agrees, "I mean, some shit works =better= with a li'l finesse, but even a lotta that's got a punching-shit alternative."

Trace nods. "Doesn't mean I /don't/ think it through, just means that it's the most acceptable solution," Trace adds, this seeming to be an important distinction that he's making. "Just, ugh. I know I shouldn't let it get to my head," he continues, "but honestly, it gets to me when I get that close to losing it." He grimaces and shakes his head, and shrugs.

"Yeah, the other side there bein', some shit works best with punchin' shit," Felix says, nodding. "Or suggestin' it. Most of the random assholes I run into these last months, 'less they were tryin' to jack me, they just back down." He sounds faintly disappointed about it, but can't help looking just a bit satisfied as well. "Anyhow, sure, nearly losin' it ain't fun, but whatcha gonna do? Maybe if you ARE a Ragabash you can skip it, but the rest of us gonna have our moments. Nearly's just nearly."

Trace grins a little bit, and huffs, grabbing another slice of pizza once again. "If I had, he'd be dead," the ahroun says with a slight shrug. "So you know, good thing either way. But it's a hair's edge that I don't like having to walk." Grumble grumble growl growl. "Then again, most of the random assholes I've run into this past month have been people I have to deal with one way or another, and less random. I'm almost starting to get stir crazy out here."

"I think that makes 'em just plain assholes," Felix says, grinning again, and finds the lid for his empty bottle in a pocket, closing it and leaning to put the empty in his bag. Another slice of the pizza as he gets comfy again. "That," he adds, with a gesture to the Ahroun, "is why I ain't volunteered to do Guardian shit. Ain't like I ain't doin' patrols or hangin' out here a fair bit, but I know me pretty good. If I couldn't leave the place I'd give it maybe a week before I was burnin' somethin' down or some shit."

Trace snorts, and bottle of whiskey in hand, gets up from the log, moving over. "Well, my boredom should be cured soon," he notes. "Though I might get a bunch of crap for it." Pause. "So," he says to his packmate, slightly conspiratorially, and with definitely less tension to his movements thanks to the liberal addition of alcohol, "you have to promise you'll act all surprised, but since you got all that shit for me, figured I'd run the game plan by you once."

Felix leans in a bit. "Cross my heart an' swear to die," he says, "If I can't fake surprised convincingly I'm pretty sure I gotta turn in my auspice. Prolly learn to run faster, too. So: tell. An' also hand that over some." He holds out his pizza-free hand toward the bottle.

Trace grins a bit, handing over the bottle with a not terribly well executed mock flourish. It's about a third left above empty now, give or take. "So, anyway. People gather here for that new moon moot thing, right?" Trace walks over towards the tree he typically leans on, and about two steps before he gets there, simultaneously with him taking a step, a tinny beginning of 'pop goes the weasel' begins to play.

Felix accepts the bottle with a flourish of his own, and takes a drink with rather less of one. Trace's assessment of the use of the area gets a nod, and the Gnawer watches curiously as his packmate heads toward that tree. The music is, of course, unexpected, and gets a startled laugh.

Trace takes another step and the music stops. "Took me a while to figure out how to get it to trigger on the other side of the clearing," he says, proudly, and starts off in the direction of one of the entrances of the clearing, though nothing else happens just yet.

Pack> Trace is exceedingly proud of himself, and also amused.

"Wait, trigger on the other side? Like, triggerin' it over there," Felix tilts his head toward where Trace just was, "from over there?" He tilts his head in the direction the Walker's heading. "So it ain't just like steppin' on it?" He takes another fair sip from the bottle almost absently while he watches.

Trace pauses, and grins. "Yep," he says. "The little bit that I took out of the card is actually pretty close to you, not to what I stepped on. It's no fun if I step on it, and the music's right under me. Too easy to figure out." Shoulders tilt in a shrug, and as Trace takes another step, there's loud POP! noises from the tree above him. Followed by slowly drifting down paper confetti.

Felix rises to get a better look at what's going on while Trace heads to the other side, and laughs again once he gets there, looking fairly delighted at the pop and resulting confetti. There's a definite sense of impressedness at the from-a-distance bit -- something in his expression and stance, though it's backed up via the pack link as well. "Nice."

One of Felix's steps sets off another round of confetti-pops, and Trace grins. "Yeah. Few more things. All that bubble wrap I had you get?" he continues, "I'm gonna situate it under the logs. So that you sit, and it all goes pop!" The grin doesn't go away, either. "Going to come over here earlier than early, set all the things before Thane or anyone else gets over here."

The laugh on the one Felix sets off himself is more of a snicker this time as he watches the effect, and he glances around, not moving any further, "...anywhere else I oughta be careful of right now?" He has another drink, and grins back. "This oughta be fun to see. Gonna avoid triggerin' shit around where Thane usually sits so he don't get it started before other folks're here, or just say fuck it?"

Trace nods. "That's the idea. Unless I can figure out something to keep him from getting here too early, delay him a little bit." That said, there's a quick shake of his head. "Nah. Those are the only ones I set up to test so far, and I'm going to have to unbury them before anyone else gets here, and bury all this confetti." Which is fairly easily accomplished, the Walker using his feet to sweep dirt over the little crinkled strips of paper as he walks. "The mage cat, though... I should probably talk to him, so he doesn't give up the joke if he senses it or sees the stuff hidden in the trees."

Felix nods consideringly. "Yeah, reckon that's a good thought. I ain't sure just what he can do, but it seems like a lotta shit. Definitely includes sensin' shit, an' he DOES like bein' in the trees at these things. You'd hafta be real subtle if you aim at delayin' Thane some, prolly. 'cause that was part of the April foolsish thing last month..."

Trace finishes kicking dirt and leaves over the fallen confetti, looks up at where the poppers must be set and shakes his head, intending to deal with retrieving them later. That done, the ahroun moves back over towards the pizza, pulling out the pack of cigarettes to take one. "Yeah, there's that. And I don't /actually/ want to prank him too much," Trace admits. "I have to work with him on a pretty frequent basis out here and there's that whole Guardian thing on top of it. I'd like that to end when I step back from it because it's not needed, not because I push the line too far."

"Well, we all gotta work with him on a pretty frequent basis," Felix says, "even if we ain't Guardianing." He can't help breaking back into a grin, "...but hot pink an' sparkly was a pretty great look." He takes another sip before it occurs to him to offer the bottle back to its actual owner, and get back to focusing on pizza for a bit.

Trace grins, taking the bottle, though for the moment his attention is on finding his lighter to light the cigarette, before pack and lighter get shoved in his packmate's direction. "Yeah, he still didn't sound so thrilled about that whole part when I talked to him, though he seemed pretty good with me being in the pack." The ahroun then sits down, not quite unsteadily, but a bit close. "And I managed to get that record-your-own one to record pretty decently off my phone. The perfect triumph to a tinny horror movie soundtrack for the credits."

Felix proves he probably isn't a pod person by of course accepting the cigarettes, and lighting one up himself before returning pack and lighter. "Thanks," he says, and shifts position a bit, seating a little more sprawled than before. He manages to look even more comfortable than before, which is saying something since looking unreasonably comfortable appears to be something of a minor hobby of his. "Aside from bein' pink a while, didn't seem like he really got it too bad," he says, "...though I reckon maybe it ain't so easy to tell from outside. He was just... nice. Chill. Brought snacks to the next moot 'n' shit."

Trace takes a drag on the cigarette, followed by a long sip from the whiskey, and then manages to pull out one of the little tinny birthday card sound things from his pocket, which he proceeds to pull the tab on to play it for Felix. "See, the rest of them either seem like they should be in a horror movie or are generally suspense or whatever," he says. "Still trying to figure out how to remote trigger this that I don't have to step on something, so that I can trigger it from my pocket. Put it near the firepit, set it off when everyone's gotten over the whole confetti and sounds and bubble wrap."

Felix listens, and his slight, incidental movements end up matching the tune's beat almost immediately; it doesn't seem particularly intentional. He narrows his eyes, considering. "Well, you COULD do it with steppin' anyhow, just put it where you're aimin' to be sat an' can keep it from gettin' pressed too soon. If you'd need someone else sorta guardin' it, I'm recruitable. But if you got 'em triggerin' from across the clearin', I reckon you'll thinka somethin' stylin' for this."

Trace grins. "I've got a few days longer to figure it out before the thing," he says, tucking it back away into his pocket, although accidentally triggering it once while he does so. "Try to get as many people to come as you can when you talk to people, yeah? Remind them that the gathering-thing is happening, or whatever it is you galliards do." Trace tips the bottle back again, and it's very nearly finished at this point. And the ahroun is somewhat slightly drunk, albeit not as shitfaced as he's probably intending to get. "'ll figure it out though. It'll be awesome."

"Whatever it is us Galliards do," Felix echoes, with a snort, but at least he sounds amused about it. "Yeah, I'll do what I can to make sure folks remember we got it comin'." He's surely got to be fairly tipsy at this point, although it's still not particularly easy to gauge. He eyes the nearly-empty bottle for the space of a good drag on his cigarette, and then leans over to unzip the bag behind him and rummage a few seconds before coming up with the bottle's virgin twin. The road to intentions is paved with good hell? "I'm lookin' forward to seein' it. Reckon OhNo! is too."

Trace lifts the nearly-empty bottle in a somewhat 'cheers' gesture before tippingg it back to empty it in one long swallow, and nods, and grins a bit. "And," he says, grinning as he grabs yet another slice of pizza, "I made some of those poppers somewhat... louder, than the ones I used to test if it worked." There's a grin to his packmate, followed by a pronouncement, "Got one or two to /almost/ sounding like gunfire. Just enough," and one of the poppers is produced from a pocket, "for a start." POP!