A subtle undulation of the land forms an curious, natural spiral in the open ground. One side of the formation rises to create a half-circle or crescent of earth surrounding and encompassing the spiral. The ground is littered with rock and flagstones, both large and small. Someone has carefully gathered up a trove of these and erected a clear fire pit. Flagstones with smooth surfaces have been laid along the upper lip of half circle of earth around the fire pit, turning it into a nice seating area. All debris and flammable material's been removed from within the spiral, and a fire has been laid. Just beyond the spiral's edge, wood has been collected and piled for future use. Surrounding this, the rugged walls of the canyon have been half buried by the Wyld surge, making the upper slope of the valley more gentle than it was before. Stands of Douglas fir and white pines mix with hemlock, lodgepole pines, and western larch trees to fill much of the open space, but the trees here are not nearly as dense as they are in the surrounding forests of the bawn. The sparse woods allows a partial view of the sky, and both sun and moonlight filter down to create enigmatic and beautiful shadow patterns on the forest floor. That floor is blanketed with a thick, soft rug of shed pine needles, lichen and leaf debris. The moss-covered relics of old, dead trees occasionally mark a place where once great sentinels loomed above.
The caern expands in two directions from here. The escarpment wall and raised dais form one point of the new triangle, while the center of the caern and its gigantic, Wyld-influenced tree marks the other. The only obvious way out of the caern is the valley slope that leads to the central bawn.
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.
A woman, in theory, but not one that could pass any close inspection as being a modern human. She's pushing 6 feet, with olive skin and shoulder length dark brown hair that's almost always pulled back into a simple, tight ponytail. Her eyes are dark, arguably black. She has a low brow and a jaw that's somewhat oversized for her skull, as well as visible dark hair on her arms and the backs of her hands, and she tends to walk with a hunched sort of lope, balanced on her toes rather than the flat of her feet. Her ears are distinctly pointed, as are her teeth.
Her clothing isn't ragged, but it does tend to be rather frayed around the edges. She wears faded jeans and old but sturdy sneakers with decent treads, a variety of cheap shirts, a long sleeved button-up shirt when the wind is up, and oftentimes has a light jacket tied about her waist, as if she wanted to be prepared just in case. Her hands are well calloused, both on the palm, fingertips, and knuckles. Oftentimes she wears a very well used pair of fingerless gloves, though often these appear to have been made fingerless after the fact.
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.
Linnaea is a petite young woman, just under five feet in height when she stands fully straight. Medium-dark hair with auburn and even lighter blond highlights hangs in many small braids that are all gathered into one braid at the moment, with stray hairs and one stray braid that escape to form bangs and frame her face, and hazel brown eyes. Her skin is fair but tanned, with freckles across her cheeks, and features that are not delicate so much as they are strong and simply there.
The most noticeable part, however, is the rainbow leggings that she has taken to wearing. The rest of Linnaea's clothing currently looks like it's seen better times, or a lot of heavy wear all at once recently, ripped and frayed in a way that looks like from wear on top of intentional. The white babydoll teeshirt that she wears is just as frayed.
A young man of average height and athletic build, he is generally seen with a cunning smile and an easy manner. His dark hair is cut short, just enough length that the waves take form. (If he let it grow out, it would probably lead to unruly curls.) His eyes are green, or perhaps hazel, depending on the light. His skin is pale and freckled, and his cheekbones, while not extreme, are prominent. The straight nose and strong chin can lead to a more stern impression, but it's broken easily when he grins.
Today he wears a simple grey hoodie with a Red Sox logo on the front. His denim jeans are, if not new, well cared for, as are the blue and grey tennis shoes beneath. Around his neck, visible against the grey of the sweatshirt, he wears a pendant of carved, black stone strung on a thin cord of braided leather.
This short, skinny white kid is only a few inches over five feet tall and looks to be around thirteen years old. His straight black hair is short but a little shaggy; he's probably past due for a haircut. He's got a thin face with a beaky nose, thick eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. He's not a bad-looking kid, quite the opposite, but there's still something about him that makes most normal people uneasy, a feeling of potential violence, of predatory intensity.
He's typically dressed in jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, typical casual kid-wear, with a grey hooded jacket for outdoors. Apart from the footwear, his clothing is all a little bit too big on him, but one might imagine that he'll grow into it in a year or so.
It can take a minute to properly identify just what this canine is. To those in the know, though, his species isn't quite so vague. As a coywolf, Watcher physically resembles his coyote heritage more than his wolf as a whole. He's smaller and leaner than a wolf, with the longer ears and lighter build one would expect to see on a coyote. He's got a thick coat, though, and it lends him a bit of false bulk that usually makes him just look a bit shabby. His paws are also larger, ending with curving claws. His muzzle is a bit broader though not so heavy as a wolf but contains the same array of sharp teeth. Overall, he's a tawny grey-ticked coloration with a darker saddle. His undersides are lighter and he has yellow eyes.
Seated not far from the fire, the Fianna seems abnormally quiet this evening. His eyes are closed, perhaps in meditation, or perhaps he's simply fallen asleep sitting up.
Salem wanders out from the surrounding forest, his expression pensive. He makes his way toward the firepit's sitting area, briefly bending down to scoop up a loose, flat stone.
Nolan's eyes open when the youth nears, and he looks over at him with a grin. "Well, hey. Didn't hear you coming."
Felix is an entirely Felix-normal level of noisy as he heads into the caern, talking to his packmates. "--barbecue or somethin', with this many people out here anyhow," he seems to be suggesting; if they've been patrolling earlier, they presumably aren't right now, since he has his guitar with him and it's probably not standard equipment for that.
Lumbering along at Felix's side with his lupus Uktena packmate bounding at his heels, Justin gives a broad shrug of his shoulders. "I think a barbecue would be awesome to have. Sadly I think the assholes would get a whiff and probably invite themselves." He leans down to swat at Watcher's ears as he finds his ankle nipped at.
Salem gives Nolan a tight smile. "A friend of mine one said that a philodox is just an ahroun halfway to ragabash." He glances over at the arriving Coyotes and lifts his non-rock-bearing hand in a brief wave.
Nolan, too, gives a wave to the others, and then turns back to Salem. "Huh," he says, considering the idea. "I wonder what that makes the ragabash," he adds with a grin. "Nolan Fahey. Squirrel Talks to No One, ragabash of the Fianna."
"Okay, so we set it up somewhere we can suitably entertain uninvited guests, then," Felix replies to Justin, with a sharp grin, "Win/win." The grin goes more relaxed as it turns on the pair at the fire, and his lifts his chin toward them in greeting. "Afternoon! 'sup?" he asks, approaching the logs.
"Yo. Hey Nolan, Salem." Justin says as he gives Felix a bump of the shoulder with his own. "If we are doing that, I'm definitely grilling. Will make Mexican ribs." He smirks in amusement before he gives a stretch. "What's going on today? We're 'bout to hit up a patrol and relieve the hummybirds."
Song-of-Ashes is undeterred by the swat and nips towards the hand though far enough off it's clear he's not actually aiming to connect. He declares with a wag of his tail he is happy for any food. Soon, he hopes. The coywolf looks to Fianna and Glass Walker as they come into his sight and pricks his ears towards them.
"Jack Salem, called Scar, Philodox of the Glass Walkers." The kid delivers the introduction to Nolan without fanfare, while taking a seat near the fire. He eyes the Coyote pack with interest. "Have there been any further attacks since Edgewood?"
"No," Nolan answers quickly, though he studies the Glass Walker for a moment more before his attention shifts to take in the others as well. "And they don't seem to be preparing for anything iminent. The fortifications, though, are getting to be substantial. It's not going to be easy to take it back."
"Well, not THAT about," Felix says, glancing toward the sky as he takes a seat on one of the logs as well, "We got some time yet." He settles the guitar into his lap, and starts checking the current state of the tuning and fixing where it's off. Nolan's initial answer to Salem gets a nod, and the continuation a bit more thoughtful look. "What's the latest fortifyin'? Same as before only moreso?"
"Yeah, no attacks yet, but I was thinking maybe we should take a playful poke at them, see if we can ween a couple of them off and maybe break some of what they're building. You got pictures by chance?" Justin flops down on to a log, then leans over to retie his sneakers.
Song-of-Ashes settles down onto his belly next to his packmates with his head turning to look at Nolan with interest at the topic of Edgewood. Any new enemies or same ones?
Salem idly bounces the rock in his hand as he listens. His expression's thoughtful.
"Same," Nolan answers the lupus. "And if there was any question about them being with the Queen, the cougar got a good look inside and says they're definitely addicted to her." He lets out a breath, his expression tight, eyes on the fire for a moment. Then he gives a small shake of his head and refocuses on Justin. "No pictures. I could probably sketch it out though."
Felix absently picks out a few bars of a little melody, pretty but nothing identifiable. "Addicted to the Queen. I wonder what happens to 'em when they ain't gettin' none no more?"
Nodding his head, Justin gives a wrinkle of his nose. "Yeah, I'm sure if we take the queen out, they will probably become confused and disorganized. Would be a nice surprise to have a hit squad ready to attack right as the Queen is taking out. We'd probably have some success there."
Song-of-Ashes lays his head out onto his paws with a noisy, dissatisfied huff. ~If they are building to protect the house, should we build things to protect here? The Alpha said some will stay behind but more protection may help them. What if the Queen sends them to fight us while others fight her?~
Salem keeps playing catch with himself with the rock, tossing it up and catching it one-handed, a bit higher, a bit lower. "If it's just an addiction controlling them, I doubt they'll immediately suffer. Withdrawal symptoms take time. Unless you're suggesting that the wraiths are an actual hive mind with her... like the buggers in Ender's Game."
"No," Nolan says with a shake of his head, his voice lower, tighter, than it ordinarily would be. His gaze is on the base of the fire, where the flames are nearly transparent. "It's like withdrawal from any other drug. It doesn't happen all at once. But when it does, it's not confusion or disorganization, it's a pain so deep you can't imagine. That's what your kin is going through, right now."
"Way I was understandin' it, the wraiths an' her're all telepathically linked, though Brings-the-Pack seems to think prolly more like a pack link than like really one mind, though either way seems a fair chance takin' her outta it would fuck 'em up at least some," Felix says, "But it was the Spirals I was wonderin' about, they're the addicted ones, right? Different shit got different kindsa withdrawals, an' I reckon this one's prolly pretty damn shitty, but how bad an' what would they =do=? Would they be too fucked to fight? Would they attack an' take it out on us? Would they go try an' get their fix from one of the other Queens an' her wraiths?" He exhales a puff of air; there's no direct comment on Peter just now, though he certainly doesn't look thrilled about it.
Justin gives a lift of his shoulders upwards, then nudges the Uktena at his side. "Well, either way, I'm personally tired of standing around and not doing anything." Popping back up to his feet, he starts for the woods with a swivel of his hips. "And speaking of, I got too much energy right now. I'm going for a run. I'll let Thane know you got info for him to hear about."
Song-of-Ashes pops up onto his paws at the nudge, declaring he'll go run too. He's hungry with talking about food.
Salem snatches the rock out of the air, pauses, and then looks at Nolan and Felix. "Absolute best case scenario, the Queen dies and everyone attached to her is immediately rendered useless if not dead. Also the most unlikely scenario." He tosses the rock back up, rather high this time, and catches it again. "Most likely, she dies and the wraiths are taken aback but can still act, at least in the short term. And the addicted Dancers are fine until they're in need of their next hit. Though, again, knowing the Queen is dead may make them act desperate. Nothing left to lose, et cetera." His tone's thoughtful.
Nolan's focus snaps from the fire to Felix, and there's more than the typical ragabash's rage in his expression. His eyes close, and as the other's speak, the level of tension slowly falls. "They wouldn't know unless they were told," he says, and he rises from his seat to pace a few steps around the fire. "The wraiths are linked, but the Dancers aren't. It's a drug, not a bond."
"I got plenty of runnin' in earlier," Felix says to his packmates, "I'll catch y'all when we're headin' on patrol. But if you run into somethin' tasty save me some." He looks back to the others, and his fingers tap against the body of the guitar a few times. "This shit is just fucked up," he mutters, shaking his head. "...an' there's too much of it. How the fuck do we detox someone from that shit if we can get him back? Ain't no Mother's Touch version of Resist Pain, is there? An' we still got a fuckin' tower of Wyrm assholes an' Edgewood, which I'd almost say fuck it, let 'em keep 'emselves busy there while we deal with other shit, 'cept I really hate havin' those fuckers so close. An' sittin' around. Waitin' for someone to come up with somethin' that don't get shot down before we do it." There's a flare of his own rage, though it settles gradually as he starts actually playing the guitar again instead of just holding it.
Salem, in contrast, seems strangely calm when compared with the other two. He tosses the rock up higher, follows its patch with his eyes, snatches it out of the air. "I've babysat someone through heroin withdrawal. It isn't pleasant, but it's doable. Mother's Touch can help if there are /physical/ issues with withdrawal, at least."
Nolan continues pacing, his usual lighthearted manner absent. He listens to both, but the tension in his jaw once again increases. After a few seconds more, he pauses and looks over at Salem, but there are no words and he returns to pacing. "I can't count the wraiths that may be in the area; I can't see them. But I can get estimates of numbers of Dancers. I can sketch out the fortifications, and their locations. I don't think we have what it takes for an open assault, but we might be able to draw a small force into an ambush. If we plan well enough."
Ghost slips quietly into the Caern in her usual fashion of late; which is to say, in glabro, with the scoped rifle slung over one shoulder and around her neck. She pauses when she's within sight of the others, as if gauging the mood before she comes any closer.
Felix tilts his head at Nolan. "You got a pair of the infrared binoculars yet?" he asks, and the playing pauses again to let him reach into his pocket and pull out a small pair, which he offers toward the pacing Ragabash. "You can have these, if you want, there's still a few left T an' I rescued from Edgewood when we got the warnin', so I can just replace 'em." He happens to be looking about the right way to catch a hint of movement as Ghost enters, and looks her way, lifting his chin to her in wordless greeting. To the others, he continues, "We been kinda wantin' to do somethin' like that. At least it'd be gettin' somethin' done."
"Hit and run," Salem says. He cuts a look over toward Ghost, then gives her a nod. The rock-tossing stops. "Keep up a campaign of harassment. No heroics. Stalk their sentries, set traps, take advantage of the fact that we know the area better than they do. Are they keeping mostly to the Realm?"
Nolan takes the offered binoculars with a nod of thanks. Turning them over in his hand, his expression changes, a hint of the grin returning, if a bit lopsided. "Useful," he says. "Not so much for the kind of scouting I've been doing, though. Close enough to use these is close enough to be noticed." He holds up the binoculars in an awkward sort of wave to Ghost and then gives his attention to Salem. "I haven't looked as much across the gauntlet with the moon so thin, so I can't say with certainty, but I can take a look. And with what we know, now, there's no reason we can't start pulling them."
Ghost continues down toward the others. There's a certain amount of tension to her, but her attention is clearly riveted on the conversation.
"How you been doin' it?" Felix asks the Ragabash, hand going back to the strings once the binoculars are handed over. "Slug suggested harrassin' 'em at the last moot, too, an' I still think that'd be fun. Sendin' 'em RC cars with bombs on 'em, that sounds like a good time." There's a quick grin, the first in a while. "Though I reckon if we wanna do a fair sized ambush we prolly wanna do that before we start really harrassin', so they ain't all paranoid yet."
Salem snorts. "No. Soften them up /first/. Get them off-balance, keep them off-balance, make them twitchy, make them paranoid, make them prone to /mistakes/."
Nolan nods at Salem, finishing his circuit to come back to where he's been sitting when the conversation began. "Let them jump at shadows, blame one another for problems. Divide them."
Ghost takes a seat without comment. She lays the rifle across her lap as she continues to listen, eyes faintly narrowed.
Both the other guys get the head-tilt this time. "You reckon? I was thinkin' first batch while they're kinda complacent, thinkin' we ain't doin' nothin', ain't payin' attention to them," Felix says. "Then once they're shaken up, to keep shakin'." He shrugs. "Arguments for either order, I s'pose. Might depend some on how they were supposed to be gettin' drawn to the ambush. An' what kinda precautions they're takin' yet that ain't for straight-up assaults."
"I have some experience in things like this," Salem says, turning the rock over in his fingers. "The harassment campaign also gives us more information on their defenses and how they react to attack. Testing them before the final twist of the knife. Though..." He narrows his eyes, gets a hard, unpleasant little smile. "A /fake/ ambush, a feint, might do very well to start. They're bound to be expecting us to make a move, and if they think we're weak, that we tried and were routed, /that/ will make them complacent."
"There's no complacency, now," Nolan adds, nodding in agreement with Salem. "They're digging in, not at rest." He takes a breath, letting it out slowly as he retakes his seat.
Ghost shakes her head and finally speaks up. "I have, um, experience in hit and run, but not when both sides are entrenched. Every time before now, my group had to run when something like this happened."
Felix shrugs again, and nods. "A'right, pretty sure you been in more shit like this'n me," he says to Salem, and with about half a grin, "an' it ain't like I ever claimed I was king of plannin' anyhow."
Salem gets up, tucking the stone into his pocket. "There's a lot of Wyld-touched Pacific Northwest forest between Edgewood and the caern. And, yes, we /do/ want to get rid of them because Edgewood's right at the edge of our Bawn. Unacceptable, ne?" He briefly returns Felix's grin. "Nolan, can you take point in planning a fake-out? Since it seems you've already been at work scouting and know how they're laid out right now."
Up until the moment Salem says his name, Nolan seems about as relaxed as is possible given the topic. When the aparent youth singles him out, though, there's an immediate reaction, tension through his shoulders, eyes a little wide. "I--" He swallows and then draws in a breath. "I'll help out however I can. I can bring you some ideas."
Ghost falls silent again, although she's still paying close attention, and not a little of that attention appears to shift toward Nolan.
"Do we still get to harrass 'em also?" Felix asks, "'cause I'm thinkin' complacent an' twitchy ain't two great tastes that taste great together. But I do also still wanna fuck with 'em." He glances from Salem to Nolan at the nomination, with a tiny upward twitch at one corner of his lips; it quirks a touch more at the Ragabash's reply. The quiet guitar playing continues.
"Fake them out, let them think we're weak... and then start the harassment campaign." Salem pretends not to notice Nolan's reaction as he answers Felix. "And then, when they're completely turned around--" He draws a finger across his throat. "More or less, at any rate." He starts heading out of the caern.
Nolan rolls his shoulders back, rising as Salem starts to go. "Is there a good way to contact you?" he asks. One hand rubs the opposite elbow, as if working out a sore muscle.
"Ghost has my number," Salem calls back.
Heading into the caern, albeit slowly picking her way along the path, is Linnaea. The Gaian walks thoughtfully, and a little bit warily, one hand on her cane and her free hand tucked into her pocket. Salem gets a nod, as do the others, though Lin keeps her distance for the moment.
Ghost reaches into a pocket and, after a moment or two of typing, hands the cheap pay-as-you-go phone to Nolan, Salem's number displayed.
Felix lifts his hand from the strings to give Salem a light two-fingered salute in reply and farewell, then goes back to playing again. Linnaea gets a grin when he sees her, and a greeting chin-lift accompanied with a slightly startled, "Hey! Ain't seen you in a minute." He gives her current attire a quizzical look, and teases, "Auditionin' to change tribes?" before a slightly more serious, "You okay?"
Nolan reaches out to take the phone from Ghost, still looking after Salem for a moment more. It's in that moment that Linnaea steps into view, and his focus slides to her as she nears. He seems distracted, and it's a little longer before he looks down at the phone to note the number displayed before offering it back.
Ghost takes her phone back and slips it away as simply as she brought it out. Her attention shifts to the newcomer as well, and a faint wrinkle appears between her eyebrows.
Linnaea looks over at Felix, and there's a moment of surprise, and then muttering to herself as she moves over to find herself a seat on one of the pieces of stone. "What?" she asks. "No, I just, er." There's a forced breath, halfway to a laugh. "I was gonna change clothes," the Brit continues, "but I guess I didn't get around to it. Haven't exactly fallen asleep since I got back here yesterday."
"Where you been?" the Galliard asks, taking in the not-quite-usualness. "An' how come you ain't sleepin'? Stay up long enough, you start hallucinatin'. Could get awkward."
Nolan looks from Linnaea to Felix, and then back to Ghost. "I see three plausible options," he says, meandering through the spiral benches on his way to the edge of the seating. Perhaps the words are meant for Ghost, perhaps only for himself.
Linnaea pulls one knee up to her chest and wraps her arms around it, cane leaned on the rock next to her and ignored for the moment. "Missing all the fun around here, I've been told," Linnaea says, grinning a little bit. "I fell into the Umbra in Harbor Park and then Fetch and I fell through the park fountain and out the other side." She seems entirely serious about this, as well.
Ghost frowns at Linnaea before her attention is diverted by Nolan. "Yeah?"
"For which?" Felix asks Nolan, despite not being one of the potential targets of his words. Hasn't stopped him before, after all. His attention is decidedly split, as Linnaea's remarks get a quirked brow and, a bit teasing again, "You're sure you ain't hallucinatin' already, right? How'd you fall into the Umbra, that some Otter thing?"
Nolan glances back over his shoulder to Felix as he settles onto the outer ring of stone, acknowledging the Bone Gnawer. "Yeah," he says in answer to Ghost, and reaches down to pick up a rock just a little bigger than his hand. "Here's the house," he says, setting the stone not far from his foot. "They have trenches dug here, and here. And a barricade built here. There's a decent vantage that the Corax could get to, without become a target, over here to the southeast." He looks around and picks up another, somewhat smaller rock, to mark the location.
"First time it's actually happened to me, though," Linnaea says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. Nolan's diagramming gets a bit of decidedly interested attention, before the theurge continues. "But I'm quite sure. On the other hand, you /could/ very well be a dream. It's hard to be certain..." And hard to be certain if she's joking or not, there's a wary edge to her general countenance at the moment. "The gauntlet is thin, sometimes. Pamuy explained it to us, once, a long while ago. Sometimes it's so thin as to fall through it."
Ghost tilts her head a little as she studies Nolan's rock diagram. "How um, how permissive are the neighboring houses?" she asks. "Would they call the cops if they heard gunfire? I guess they didn't when there was actual fighting going on."
"We been discussin' the situation with Edgewood," Felix explains to Linnaea a bit more quietly, watching the diagramming, "which is, Spirals got it. These ones work for the Queen. Talk we were just havin' ended with Salem puttin' Nolan in charge of workin' out a fake-out ambush, a kinda feint, so they underestimate us. ...an' I figure I could be a damn good dream. But I'm pretty sure I ain't."
Over his shoulder, Nolan calls to the others, "If this is your nightmare, I'd just as soon you woke up." The grin that's been mostly absent surfaces for a moment, and then fades again as he returns his attention to the rocks at his feet. "The other houses are pretty far away. Anything they heard over the television or radios probably doesn't call attention." He shrugs and points again at the position he's given Val. "Anyway. One option is for her to draw attention and pull them off to this clearing, here. We'd need people who were good enough at fighting to put up a show, but better at retreating without getting caught. We'll need that, regardless of the direction, mind."
Ghost's eyes follow Nolan's movements. She quiets again as her eyes narrow.
Linnaea snorts at Nolan. "I already did that waking up thing," she notes. "Have you ever been to the dream zone?" There's a quick shake of her head. "Though some of my nightmares have been rather similar. Briari told me some of what was going on when she picked us up from the park yesterday." The theurge doesn't sound entirely pleased, either. "But er. In the years I've been here I've only seen the neighbours at Edgewood once or twice. They pretty much leave things alone, and it's gotten noisy occasionally."
The music pauses again as Felix recruits a hand to pinch his other arm, then shakes his head. "Well, it ain't my dream," he decides, "but if it was I reckon it'd have more action anyhow." Back to the quiet playing. "I ain't been to the dream zone. That where you were? Gonna hafta tell me about that."
"If Salem wants it to look like a rout, we need to put up enough of a fight that it looks like we mean it," Nolan says, now focusing exclusively on the diagram or Ghost. "Do we know anyone with the gift to burrow, or a gift of flight? We need to be able to get our people out so it's not a real slaughter."
Ghost shakes her head. "I don't know." Her eyes flick from stone to stone. "Wouldn't they be suspicious if we run before we've lost anyone? How um, how close can we cut it before it's no longer fake?"
Linnaea glances from Felix to Nolan and Ghost and for a moment furrows her brows in thought. "Jacinta-rhya I think knows a gift that lets her run through the sky... but she's not here right now, is she?" It's only slightly a question, one that Linnaea might already know the answer to, and then she turns slightly back to facing the Gnawer. "That's where I ended up and how I got back here. We fell through the fountain and out the other side and ended up... somewhere. I don't know where it was but it was far from here, no trace of the scab at all, and plant spirits unlike any that I had seen before. Pamuy found us, but it was too far away for him to open a moon bridge to help us get home, so we had started out in the direction that felt like it was coming back towards here. And then a flower sneezed at us, and we woke up, so to speak, in the dream zone."
Felix shakes his head, "She's up in Alaska. But Little Silvertip can do the flyin' thing, for sure, an' she's around. Ain't sure who else maybe can, ain't seen no one burrow. Possibly there's totems that could help out? OhNo! can shapeshift an' shit, maybe could pretend to be killed -- ain't like he'd likely be against trickin' 'em -- but I dunno how good somethin' like that'd work." To Linnaea, he says quietly, "Didn't know the fountain even had an other side, let alone like that."
"Illusion," Nolan says with a twist of his lips. "Acting, talens, gifts... Some way to make them think they're hurting us more than they are." He looks over at Linnaea and Felix again and sighs before bringing his attention back to Ghost. "I have an idea for that. Something maybe the Mage can help with."
Ghost looks from Nolan to Felix, then back. She chews a little at her lower lip.
Linnaea tilts her head to one side, and furrows her brow in thought. "Pamuy can... he can find a path to the nearest safety, on the other side," she says. "And he can open moon bridges. It might help." There's a shrug, and to Felix, she says, "I don't think it does. At least, not when Otter things aren't happening."
Felix nods to the general illusion concept, and goes quiet for the moment, nodding to Linnaea and just playing for a few seconds.
For apparently no reason at all, Nolan reaches down, picks up the larger stone that represented Edgewood, and hurls it toward the trees at the top of the rise. There's a grunt of effort that accompanies the movement, or perhaps it's more of a sound of frustration, or anger.
Ghost gives Nolan a sharp, startled look. Her shoulders have gone tense.
Linnaea actually scoots half a bit backwards from Nolan when the stone gets thrown, scrambling somewhat before settling her knee on her chin once again.
Felix blinks, watching the Ragabash, but he doesn't move, and the playing doesn't stumble. On the other hand, he does look more sharply focused than before. "You okay?" he asks, after a moment.
Nolan reaches down for another of the rocks, this time picking one that fits in the palm of his hand. His fist wraps around it, loosening, and then tightening again. His gaze stays focused on the treeline as he draws in a slow, steady breath. "I'm fine," he says, his voice low and tight.
Ghost says nothing, though she does continue to watch Nolan very carefully.
Linnaea lifts her head just enough to nod once, and then sets it back down, though there's a glance over to Felix for a moment in between.
Felix continues to watch as well, and nods. "A'right," he says, "Good, then." He glances the way the rock was thrown, consideringly, and then back toward Nolan.
Nolan rises, and paces a few feet further away from the fire. "All right," he says, as if echoing Felix. His fingers tighten around the rock in his palm once more as his course takes him back toward the others again.
Ghost stands up, sliding the rifle on her lap back over her shoulder in the process. "I'm going to go," she says, before turning to seemingly do exactly that.
Linnaea stares off into space, counting on her fingers for several rounds, and then one hand raises to rub her eyes. "Maybe I'll get some sleep," she acknowledges, removing her messenger bag and setting it next to her cane at the base of the rock. Ghost gets a nod and a half-wave, before the Gaian scoots all the way onto the rock and shifts to lupus, curling up fairly tightly once she's done so.
Felix glances to Ghost, then Linnaea, and nods to both. "G'night," he says, apparently to both of them at once, and glances toward the sky. "Just about time to patrol," he decides, but apparently not close enough for him to get up to do it, yet.
Nolan looks from Linnaea to Felix to Ghost, and then down at the ground nearly at his feet. Another breath drawn in and he drops the rock he holds. "Sorry," he says, his voice still holding tension, but less than before.
Rising-Dawn twists her ears to the side, and huffs quietly. Not be sorry, Rising-Dawn states. These things happen.
Ghost slips off quickly, though the glance she throws back to Nolan doesn't seem particularly accusatory, or cautious.
Felix cracks a grin, albeit a smaller one than usual, and shrugs. "'s all good. Nothin' wrong with throwin' a rock now'n then. Gotta bleed shit off somewhere."
Nolan gives a nod to Ghost as she departs and then looks over his shoulder to Felix. He watches for a long while, as if weighing words he might speak.
Rising-Dawn settles her head back down on her forepaws, and and proceeds to close her eyes, although every now and then her ear twitches as though tracking a sound, or startling back awake. But it seems that the Gaian is making good on that attempt to sleep.
Felix seems willing to let Nolan consider and Linnaea hunt for sleep. He continues playing, something quiet and intricate; peaceful, but with a sense of yearning to it. The amount of attention he keeps on the Ragabash is more or less conversational, even if the interaction at the moment might not make everyone's definition of conversation.
Eventually, Nolan turns the rest of the way around and returns to sit at a conversational distance. "I'll do it," he says, without defining the object of the sentence any further.
"Figure out the feint?" Felix asks, focusing more directly on Nolan again.
"Figure it out, organize it," Nolan rakes a hand back through his hair. "Whatever needs to happen."
Felix nods, looking thoughtful. "You ain't real thrilled about doin' it, though," he observes. "Even though you got ideas. Which seems like a good start. How come?" Curious, but fairly casually so. "...won't mess things up if one of 'em gets caught on the bawn an' dealt with or nothin', will it? They ain't yet, but there's a lotta patrollin' where they might."
Bowing his head for a moment, Nolan repeats the rake through his hair with both hands and then straightens. "No," he answers. "It won't mess things up. They'll expect that sort of resistance." His expression hardens and he gives a small shake of his head. "And no. This isn't what I wanted."
Another nod, to the expectation. "That makes sense," Felix agrees, and notes the expression. "What'd you want? Where you gettin' it before?"
Nolan turns his head to look at Felix sidelong. "Not a thing," he answers after a beat. "Not a blessed thing."
That gets a somewhat crooked smile. "That ain't real easy to get," Felix says, "There's always somethin'."
Nolan laughs, a brief sound, but there's genuine humor in it. "Always," he says, and looks toward the flames. "This, though, is definitely not it. I'm Cliath. Ragabash. You're not supposed to expect anything from either of those categories. Nothing important, anyway."
Felix's smile increases a bit. "'If you have to dry the dishes, an' you drop one on the floor... maybe they won't let you dry the dishes anymore'," he recites. "Problem with givin' people the impression you're maybe good at somethin' is they're gonna expect shit anyhow, I guess. I mean, we expect shit from Ragabash all the time anyhow. Scoutin', sneaky shit, creative ideas an' all. Cliath, though, yeah, less so. ...usually."
"You don't expect a ragabash to be responsible," Nolan quips, but he looks down at the ground and scoops up a small handful of pebbles. "And no one puts lives in the hands of a cliath." One by one, he starts tossing the pebbles into the flames. "So I'll come up with some options, lay out the details and the risks, but the decisions need to be made by someone else."
"Makes sense to me," Felix says, "Maybe throwin' 'em at Salem, since he put you on it, or Thane, 'cause, well, Alpha, let them make the calls. Reasons not to be Adren." Half-smile again, and he plays for another moment. "So how =are= you observin' the place, if the binoculars'd need you gettin' too close? Maybe there's some other way to get the wraiths showin' up."
Nolan dusts his hands and looks directly at Felix. After a moment, he grins broadly. "I wondered if you'd get back to that. You were a bit distracted, earlier."
Felix grins back, and shrugs. "Yeah, I get that way. I usually get back to shit sooner or later. Sometimes it's a couple minutes. Sometimes it's been a couple months, that's got a few weird looks."
"I imagine so," Nolan says, picking up another handful of pebbles. His manner seems easier, now, and the pebbles rattle as he shakes them in the palm of his hand. "You find some topics more likely to stick than others?"
Felix glances sidelong to Nolan, with a faint smile and a quirked brow. "In case you wondered, this ain't distractin' me from noticin' you still ain't answered," he says, "but probably. Couldn't necessarily say what, though. How much I'm curious most likely enters into it."
"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," Nolan says, his own grin returning. "It's a good game, though," he adds as the pebbles slip through his fingers. "How far can you turn a conversation without it being entirely obvious that's your intent." The ragabash lets out a sigh. "Ask me again."
"Luckily, I ain't Bastet," Felix says, with a bit more of a grin of his own. He glances at his fingers on the strings, then back to Nolan. "...'s interestin' seein' what questions people kinda slide by, also. So: how is it you're doin' that observin'?" he asks again, obligingly.
"It's a gift," Nolan answers with a wink. "Learned it from the bird spirits a while ago. It comes in pretty handy." He keeps an eye on Felix as he speaks, and for a long moment after.
Felix studies the Ragabash, eyes very faintly narrowed as he considers him. "I sorta figured it'd be a Gift," he says, "...well, or I guess there could be a rite or maybe a fetish or somethin'. Magic mirror kinda thing. I s'pose I was more wonderin' what it is, how it works. Ain't a thing I think I ran into before. Far's I know, anyhow."
The look of disappointment is fleeting, disappearing even before Nolan shifts his gaze toward the fire again. "It's not a common one," he says. "I don't expect anyone here has learned it."
"You have," Felix says, with just a fleeting flash of the grin, "So that's someone." The music's changed, gradually, to something with a bit more drive to it, maybe a hint of suspense. There's a couple seconds of just that before he says, "You don't wanna tell me, for some reason, but you don't wanna straight out say so or lie, neither," and looks the Fianna over again. "Seems like you take that only questions, not answers thing real damn serious," he adds, a touch dryly.
"Lying's a skill I haven't quite mastered," Nolan says, and once again his grin surfaces, though his gaze remains on the flames. "I spent a lot of time practicing honesty and it's a hard habit to break. Evasion is a lot easier. And answers? Answers only cause problems."
"Evasion, misdirection, half-truths, an' plausible deniability," Felix murmurs, and properly aloud again, "They do say honesty's the best policy, I guess. I don't agree 'bout answers, though. Answers can solve problems, too. All depends on the question, don't it? What had you practicin' so hard?"
"Duty," Nolan says clearly, firmly, and he rises from his seat. "I think I'll go see if I can find an answer of my own. If you see the Mage, tell him I'm looking." There's a brief look toward Felix, perhaps a bit apologetic, and then the Fianna starts heading up the rise toward the treeline.
Felix tilts his head at Nolan again, watching him rise. "If you find one, lemme know if it causes problems or solves 'em," he says, continuing with a nod, "an' a'right, if I see him, I'll let him know. Catch you later." He remains where he is, playing less quietly now that the conversation is done, and the music follows the Fianna faintly out of the caern.
"Probably both," Nolan answers as he makes his way out, raising his voice enough to be heard. Then he's gone, disappearing through the trees on his way to the southeast.