At first glance, this run-down efficiency seems barely lived in. The door opens onto a nearly empty living room, painted institutional white and containing only a lime-green couch with fuzzy yellow pillows and an oak coffee table. It is reasonably spacious, and is obviously intended to be the main room of the flat. The current light fixture is a hanging industrial fluorescent, which gives the room a slightly unhealthy, antiseptic feeling, unmitigated by the ancient blinds covering the windows. The left wall from the door shows signs of a mural in progress, though the faint pencil lines leave the intended design still unclear.
To the right upon entering is a small kitchenette, with barely enough space to stand between the stove and refrigerator on one side and the sink on the other. A boom-box style radio relaxes on the counter, broadcasting soothing celtic music. Just above the sink is what little cabinet space can be had. There is a small dining table and chairs right outside the kitchenette, defining an eating space.
Just past the kitchenette, still on the right, is the bathroom, then both bedrooms. Between them is a small coat closet, empty except for a surely breeding collection of wire hangers. The door to the closet is perpetually ajar, as it doesn't seem to want to latch properly.
Long and narrow, the lake stretches a mile to the north and south, right at the heart of the woodland. Tall, silver beech trunks mix with the even taller evergreens and dominate the mountain valley. Where the canopy has been broken by a fallen tree, a riot of brambles and nettles have erupted, clinging to anything and everything and fighting for light among the thick forest. Underfoot there is a deep bed of mulch and last year's leaves, muffling any footfall.
Other plants have found a foothold where the beeches make way for the line of water. The edges of the lake are overhung by a wall of dark myrtle, their scent hanging sweet and heavy in the air, giving the place a dreamlike quality. The waters of the lake itself are a clear, unruffled indigo, dropping into bottomless darkness, with otherworldly reflections of the sky floating above the depths. Rainbow flashes of light play about the reeds and weeds that break the surface here and there, throwing colors into the air.
Part of the valley around the lakeside to the south is clear of trees, and often here in the brush and grass a small herd of three woods buffalo can be seen.
To the northeast, the foothills climb upwards into the steep, snow-capped crags and mountains. Here, the tall summer grasses bend in sporadic waves as the wind dances on the bluff. The evergreens and aspens give way to an open field that lends itself to a panoramic and picturesque view to the south and east. A small stream wends its way unobtrusively through the eastern edge of the mountain's crags, the scent and sound of trickling water clear on the hesitant but almost incessant breeze. Wildflowers litter the green of the grass, coloring them with touches of violet and bright oranges, yellows and blues. Tucked in along the sloped wall of the forested foothills to the northeast is a well-worn section of ground.
It would appear Matt has had a fairly easy night at work. He's already changed out of work clothes, and is sitting on the couch, lacing up a pair of worn hiking boots. His familiar jacket is draped over the back of the couch, and an open Guinness rests on the coffee table in front of him. The radio is on, soothing the room with new agey synthesizers. "Echoes...with John DiLoberto," it claims during a break.
The door opens, then closes, the resident Ragabash entering in the moments in between. She looks as if her day's been a bit less easy, as she leans back against the door and sighs grumpily, dropping her backpack on the floor with a light thump. "Java is of the Wyrm," she declares, and glances toward the radio, blinking once. "...what're you lis'nin' too? Sounds like th' room's on hold." A pause. "Hi."
Matt looks up, smiling. "Cor, Oi dunno, books. Whotever's on. So why's coffee so bad then, hey?" He pats the sofa next to him, invitingly.
Bernie stalks over to the radio first, and changes the station with intent. She brightens after a twist or two, as the speaker announces, "-point 6, Friday '80s Party!" and launches into One Step Beyond. "...better," the girl decides, and grabs a beer for herself on her way to drop into the proffered spot on the couch,, leaning in against Matt's side a little. "Coffee's insulted by sharin' a name with a programmin' language they're makin' us mess with in intro t' programming, which is slow an' badly behaved an' refuses t' WORK!" Pause. "Th' language, I mean. Not th' class. We hadda write this sorting algorithm t'day, an' mine won't run. Professor looked at it for like three hours an' =he= can't figure out why it isn't workin', either."
Matt nods, incomprehendingly. "Sorry. 'f it 'ad gears an' widgets, Oi might be able ta offer /some/ advice." A look crosses his face, and he leans over to her, his voice drops to almost a whisper. "Say, d'ye remember Rite o' th' Questin' Stone? That /is/ one ye know, right?"
Bernie has just started taking her jacket off, and pauses at the questions. "Well, Questin' Fry, ye-... I mean, I dunno, is knowin' that one gonna mean I hafta get up an' go out again?" She pulls the jacket back on, though, and nods. "Yeah."
Matt shrugs. "No, Oi guess not. Oi /could/ wait a day er so. Jest wanted ta find bloody Sepdet, thassall."
You paged Matt with 'Know if she's up for being found? (sorry for delay. RL made me do a thing or two)'.
Bernie leans over and kisses him gently on the cheek. "Salmon thing, yeah? A'ight. C'mon, then; let's head t' McDonald's." She pauses, and grins briefly. "But you owe me," she adds, teasingly.
Matt returns the kiss and stands, grabbing his jacket. "Once Oi am all-wise an' all-knowin', Oi answer one or two'a yer wierd questions, how 'bout that then?"
"Mmm. Well, s'pose that'll do as a start..." Bernie pushes up off the couch as well, a bit tiredly, and heads back to the door, picking up her backpack. She rests a hand on the doorknob, waiting for Matt to catch up before opening it.
Matt puts his arm around her. "Hey, if you're knackered, we doan't have to. Seriously. Could do wif some Jim, though, if ye still want ta get somefin' ta eat." His eyes search hers, looking for an honest answer. A lot to expect from a Ragabash, sure, but he hopes.
Bernie smiles, and kisses him again, warmly. "...nah. I'm okay. Might as well do it now. Though, not against food, at all. C'mon, we should go lookin' for her 'fore she falls asleep or somethin'..."
"You're sure?" He asks again. Seeing her affirmative, he smiles widely. "Great. Oi'll buy, then."
[Rainbow Lake]
Bernie and Matt become visible through the thinning of the trees by the beach, the former holding a long french fry tied to a string, and watching it dangle there. "...a'ight," she decides, "...this way... think this is her lake? 's pretty."
Matt muses distractedly. "Cor, 'tis nice, yes. Doubt she'd call it /'ers/, though." He smiles, pushing branches out of his face as they come out of the underbrush on to the beach. He glances around, then back at the fry.
[Two Eagles Bluff]
Sepdet sees them before they see her, since she is crouched in the dark mouth of the cave keeping watch. She doesn't betray her presence until they draw near, then abruptly stands, glint of teeth and eyes catching the moonlight as well as a few of the odd charms dangling from a thong at her neck. ~Who walks the lands of Salmon and Wendigo?~ she asks, low voice cutting like the crack of stone: not hostile, simply wary. ~and why?~
Bernie glances down at the fry, which seems to be pointing directly to Sepdet. Go figure. She leans slightly toward Matt, murmuring, "Think that's your cue." A quick yank on the string, and she catches the fry in her hand, pushing the whole assemblage into her coat pocket.
Matt calls out, after starting a bit. ~Hope-Star? It is Heals-the-Breach and Stomps-the-Wyrm. I was hoping to ask for a nugget of Wisdom.~
Sepdet visibly straightens her shoulders; there's a moment of silence while she tucks away private matters and concerns and drives strain from her features. Then she steps out fully into the moonlight, keeping her voice low. ~It was Matt, wasn't it?~ she muses aloud, trying to place him. Then she gets down to business. ~I have a few. Ask.~ Her eyes flick towards Bernie and falters for a moment.
Bernie flashes Sepdet a quick smile, and waves a hand at her in greeting before slipping both of them into her pockets. Apparently, she's content to let this be Matt's show.
Matt smiles, approaching. ~It was. Still is, most of the time. I wish to undertake a quest.~ He finds a spot to kneel nearby the cave entrance, but not implying he'd invite himself in. ~A quest for something unusual.~
Sepdet's stance is subtly protective, although of what or whom is a bit hard to tell out here. One thing is clear: she is guarding the cave, consciously or unconsciously. But her manner is relaxed, and she simply folds her arms. ~Go on,~ she says simply. ~The nature of this journey?~
Bernie leans against the outside edge of the stone that holds the cave, and watches quietly.
~I want to find a Salmon of Wisdom,~ He says simply. ~One from the stories of my people. I wish to taste it, and bring its wisdom back to the sept and my tribe.~ He shifts into unconfortable silence, not knowing if he's asking to do something patently foolish.
Sepdet glances quietly towards the lake, an expression of sadness in her eyes. ~And what will you give Salmon in exchange for her sacrifice?~
Matt sits back on his haunches. "Well, uh..." He appears consternated. "In th' legends Oi know, it wasn't exactly mooch of an /exchange/ really...." He scratches his head, thinking furiously.
Sepdet nods neutrally. ~Some theurges win the spirits' gifts by forcing them with will. Others consider it an exchange of favors.~ She puts another question to him sharply. ~And what need presses, that you would take another's store of wisdom rather than earning it for yourself through experience?~
Bernie pushes a curl ineffectually back behind her ear, watching with interest, and a little concern. Hmm.
Matt smiles wryly. ~I was hoping the journey would teach, as much as the destination. And my need as Beta to my tribe is not insignificant. Perhaps better to endeavor to /meet/ The Salmon of Wisdom, and see what happens.~
Sepdet's face finds a ghost of a smile. ~The journey matters to you as much as the goal. Good. Then I can help you.~ She closes her eyes, appearing to consult something. ~Salmon was the blood of the rivers of the Northwest,~ she says after a pause. ~That blood flows thinly now, and the great Salmon are all but gone. But I have met two in my travels, and the lesser one I now serve. Silverscale cannot tell you the name of a river to search any more than I can. But this is what to do. Find a large river not too tainted by humans--use your nose, or use human means, searching their records. Learn whether the salmon run there. Follow that River to its source. In the birthplace of the river you are most likely to find the birthplace and deathplace of the spirit-salmon, who die and are reborn with the generations of their children, gaining a little more wisdom with each journey.~
Bernie's brow furrows as she listens to this, and she gets a thoughtful look. Perhaps trying to think of where an appropriate river might be.
"In the legend Oi know, th' salmon eat th' 'azelnuts that fall from th' Tree o' Knowledge into th' river," Matt admits. "Then th' salmon eat 'em, and Fin MacCumahl eats th' Salmon. 'opefully won't require cookin' an 'eating it. Or a druid. Oi'm fresh out.
Sepdet smiles faintly. ~Fianna tales. It may well be true. I do not know the Salmon of the northern isles as well as those here. They are a different breed, I think. Those live in wells; these prefer to travel in rivers.~ She searches Matt's face thoughtfully. ~Is that enough? I cannot tell you how to win Salmon, except to say, if you wish to catch her, you must be swift and sure as Bear. If you wish to win her, she will ask of you to vow to aid any Gaian spirit that asks for aid. The Salmon of this country are creatures that give of their flesh and blood to feed and succour others, just as Buffalo does for his chosen people, the Lakota.~
Matt thinks. ~I don't think I'll find the Tree of Knowledge on the banks of the Boyne. Perhaps my goal is more to walk within the legends of my folk, than to make a pact or bargain. I will venture that the river I'll want is deep in the Umbra.~
Sepdet considers. ~The journey matters most. Undertaken with purpose, it will lead you to the spirit which fits it well. If you know the tales of your ancestors very well--one which involves a quest for Salmon--then think how you can adapt it to your own life, and follow it as closely as you can. The legends of the past can be road maps to the umbra. Which is one other place you might search, if you know the way: the Legendary Realm of your own tribe.~
"'zat where your Rite was?" Bernie asks Matt, quietly, "...with th' old septs, an' all?"
Matt nods. ~A place I would start. But I don't know how to reach it. All I know it that the distance is great and the path is dangerous. I have doubts the Hart would lead me there twice. Though if I could find the Hart, I could ask...~
Sepdet shakes her head. ~I can tell you how to find the Salmon tied to Wendigo's people. Your own tribe can advise you better on the Salmon of Wisdom that lives in your legends. But I think you are going into this with a proper manner.~ She sags, barely. ~That's all. You must excuse me; I have a packmate that needs watching over.~
Bernie nods, and straightens up from where she's leaning. "Thank you," she murmurs, and waits for Matt.
Matt gets to his feet. ~yes, Hope-Star, thanks. I consider myself in your debt.~
Sepdet inclines her head to both of them. ~Walk safely.~ Her gaze lingers on Bernie a moment, telegraphing something, but her expression is as ever inscrutable. She turns and disappears back into the shadows.
Sepdet pages: You get a disconcerting feeling rather like deja vu, a momentary mental flash. It's just Yi's sleeping face, dim and shadowed. But there is a trace of wrongness or worry about it.
Whatever it is, Bernie doesn't catch the message. She does pause a moment, looking as though she's about to ask something, but as Sepdet disappears into the gloom, she hesitates, confused.
Matt shrugs, not wishing to delve too deeply. If Sepdet had needed help, she'd have asked. He gestures, 'that-a-way?' motion, in the general direction from whence they came.
Bernie vacillates a moment more, before nodding, and starting off with her own packmate. Still, she looks a bit worried as they wander out of sight.