This modest, two bedroom cabin has the look of a building passed down through generations, with the most recent falling behind in their maintenance of it just prior to a flurry of recent activity. The dark wood exterior (dotted with lighter patches that suggest recent repairs) and blue, metal roof (festooned with lichen and moss, but definitely newer that the cabin's siding) make for a dim, comfortable shape among madrone, aspen, and hemlock trees, some of which need to be trimmed back. A large bay window with a freshly patched sill looks out through the wrap around porch and onto the front yard, which is a maze of overgrown wisteria, ivy, vine maple, and rhodedendron concealing barrel ponds and reclaimed, listing, overfull fountains. A haphazard path of crushed shell and pale pebbles scribbles through the yard, marked by the occasional, small, ceramic mosaic (most colonized by moss) propped up alongside a stump or a mound. The water features team with pond life: guppies, goldfish, dragonflies, water striders, and frogs go on about their lives among the water lilies, pitcher plants, vines, and algae.
Despite the wild yard, the porch is swept and has had all of its wrought iron rails scrubbed clean of rust or replaced, and the white, wooden blinds that block any view into the cabin are clean. A battered, gray metal shed sits out back, with fresh tire tracks leading to and from it; the color shade of some sections doesn't match the rest of it, also suggesting to repairs.
No more than 13 or 14 years old, maybe five and a half feet tall and all skinny-wiry in that decidedly not-filled-out-yet way. Wavy coffee-coloured hair's been somewhat haphazardly cut, or perhaps allowed to grow out; it's barely above the collar in the back, and in the front a floppy fringe half-hides dark, solid eyebrows and constantly threatens to fall into a pair of wide hazel eyes. The kid's tawny complected, with a smattering of noticable freckles across the cheeks and the strong, straight nose, and seems thus far to be mostly winning the battle against teenage acne. A wide, somewhat full-lipped mouth contains clean but slightly crooked teeth, untamed by braces. One might also notice a certain alert balance to the stance -- not aggressive, but more like a coiled spring of potential energy restrained just beneath a placid surface.
Today's clothing consists of a light blue button-down shirt tucked loosely into old but presentable jeans, accessorized with aged black high-top converse, navy suspenders, and a navy bow tie with little silver polkadots. There's an unbuttoned cardigan over top, dark grey and oversized enough to need pushing up at the wrists, and when it's cold enough an ankle-length tan wool coat is added to the outfit, along with a multi-coloured striped knit scarf of truly remarkable length. An old brown leather satchel hanging off one shoulder completes the ensemble.
Djehuti is a man in his late 30s, though given his weatherbeaten face and tired posture, he might well seem older. He's about 6'2" tall, and his face -- all of him, really -- is long and thin. The face is relatively dark-skinned and weathered, carved with lines and yet frequently mobile and engaging. His eyes are brown, and often warm; sometimes, they are cooler, further away. But he is always, always observing what goes on around him. His brown hair, which is not long, curls and waves and kinks around his head; the longest stray strand does not quite reach his shoulders. On closer inspection, his posture may not be lazy; it may instead be coiled, poised, resting before more action. Something in that posture hints at grace, or perhaps even nobility.
His clothes are a hodge-podge. He wears battered jeans, a gray muslin shirt, and, over that, a keffiyehesque scarf, white cotton lined with what is apparently (and somewhat incongruously) polarfleece, serving mostly as a neck-covering, the folds extending over his shoulders, as well. (Though his head is uncovered.) He's currently barefoot. His backpack, dull green army vintage, is generally nearby. The only curious thing is that he wears brown gloves in all weather, fingerless save for the pinkies; these gloves wrap their leather up to about his elbows.
Although his black-brown eyes are bright and full of amusement, Tim's appearance is otherwise average. A touch over six feet in height, he has the lean, wirey-muscled body of a man in his early 30s who has lived neither easily nor poorly. His looks follow suit, offering nothing striking in a homely or handsome way to recommend them: his face is gently rounded and a little long, with trim, black eyebrows framing clear eyes. His chin is present but not remarkable, and largely hidden behind a well-maintained, salt-and-pepper circle beard. Hints of an ethnic mix that's not easy to pinpoint abound, and his European ancestry can't obscure subtle, Eastern influences: a darker tint to his skin, narrowed eyes, and a slender nose that flattens out. His black hair might be wavey if it were allowed to get beyond the close, side-clipped cut he prefers, and it has a tendency to stick up in numerous directions until smoothed back. Belying the modesty of his looks are his movements: remarkable grace and deftness marking almost everything he does. The scent of sandalwood lingers around him.
His clothes are travel worn but clean. He wears a much-loved, black, bomber-style, leather jacket that is covered with patches for numerous music bands, most of whose prime ended in the 1980s. A few slogans are apparent as well (one shoulder declares, "Question Authority!" in bold blue and white), and on the back, a large and sloppy Anarchy A has been sewn in with crimson thread. His dark blue, denim pants are frayed at the ankles and almost completely hide scuffed but solid, brown, combat boots. A grey woven hoodie of Corona extraction keeps him warm under the jacket, and beneath that the edges of a dark red shirt are barely visible. On his right hand is a bracelet of round, mixed beads, spaced with hand-coiled silver findings: abalone, labradorite, and smokey quartz.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northeast at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.21 and falling, and the relative humidity is 61 percent. The dewpoint is 42 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (3% full).
The spring dusk reduces the cabin to a large shape beyond the wild front yard. Tim is relaxing on the veranda in a wicker chair, a newly lit, hand-rolled cigarette in one hand and a cold glass of something white (horchatta, perhaps) on a small, rickety side table to his left. The scent of citronella and eucalyptus from a half-dozen candles gently wards insects away from the porch. The Ragabash isn't doing anything, just looking out over the barrel ponds, lost in thought.
Soon enough, the sound of a couple people can be heard on the path, crunching shells and pebbles. The taller of the pair stops by the pond briefly, crouching by it, before rising back up smoothly to head toward the veranda. "Nice place you have here," he says in greeting.
Izzy trails beside and often slightly behind Djehuti like an attentive if slightly odd shadow. The pond gets a close, crouching inspection along with Djehuti's, and one of the rounder rocks near the edge is claimed as the cub stands to follow onward toward the cabin. It's in the hand that waves a greeting to Tim.
<OOC> Tim: It's actually a whole lot of small ponds, if that's not clear. Probably, 2-3 larghe half-barrels, and then a couple of old birth-bath/fountains.
<OOC> Djehuti: Yeah, I re-read it and noticed that before I posed; just like. He crouched by the nearest one.
<OOC> Tim nods!
Tim raises the smoke in a greeting, and gestures at the two. "Kin pay part of the rent, and we work off the rest. It was pretty beat up a few months ago, but it's dry and warm." He takes a drag and slowly lets it out, adding an earthy, sweet note to the other two. "Wanna come on up here? I can get you guys something to drink. We'll see if anything comes out of the woods."
Djehuti, as he heads to the porch, leans over to check out the view the window would have. "Like the controlled chaos." As he heads up the porch stairs, he smiles. "Definite blending." The smile turns into a grin, as he offers Tim a small paper bag from his pack. "Love some water. Meantime, have some baklava. My sister brought some, when she stopped by for the afrernoon a day or two ago."
"I like it," Izzy declares, looking around. "The yard kinda reminds me of ours at home, except there isn't a driveway and car stuff. And we didn't have any ponds. On purpose, anyway. What're you drinking? And yes please. What might come out of the woods?"
"Oooh, baklava. Well if you're bringing dessert, the least I can offer is some tea to go along with the water." Tim gestures to another pair of chairs--one an old walnut rocker that should be able to support an adult's weight, and the other a simple, metal, outdoor chair with a weatherproof cushion in mustard yellow. "Well, could be anything, but sometimes I'll see raccoons. I saw a heron yesterday afternoon. And this is horchatta. Almond and rice milk with cinnamon." He offers the glass. "Want to try a sip?"
"It's good," Djehuti says in support of Tim's drink, as he plunks into the offered rocker. (He doesn't seem to strain it.) "Love some tea, too, sure." He looks quite content.
Izzy grins, heading up to the porch and claiming the mustard-yellow chair. It does not protest the cub's negligible weight. "Yes, please, I've never had that. I saw a really big raven yesterday, when I was on a run. I'm... pretty sure it was a normal raven, I think. It didn't say hi."
Tim pauses in the doorway to consider that, then says, "Hard to say if Val would have said hi, or settled for spying." He disappears into the house for a few minutes, during which the frog chorus off in the distance mixes with the occasional call of an owl or a nighthawk. There's the sound of a whistle, and then he returns with a large tray on which he's squeezed in the baklava, three dessert plates, three steaming mugs, an assortment of tea bags, cream, honey, a glass of water, and a glass of horchata. He rearranges the side table so it's more centrally placed to the three of them, commenting, "We need a proper table for out here."
The older Philodox considers. "Bet she'd say hi. She's nosy." Djehuti rests contentedly as Tim busies himself, then helps unload and rearrange. "I can see if I can find one at one of the Saturday bazaars, if you'd like?"
"I dunno. I already know -- I mean, she KNOWS I know, and all that, so I'd think she'd say hi and ask me stuff, but. Maybe not? I don't do anything really interesting to spy on though." Izzy shifts, trying to sit indian style on the folding chair; it takes a few moments work, but is accomplished. "D'you have any more half-barrels like the ponds are in? Those'd be good tables too, I think."
"That would be great," Tim assures Djehuti as he balances a plate with baklava on one knee. His cigarette seems to have met its fate sometime earlier while he was preparing their snack. "The ponds actually came with the place. I didn't see any in the shed when we went in there to, ah, relocate the spiders." He makes a face, and settles in. With a meaningful glance at Djehuti, he says, "So, you guys have gone over the Litany. How about our Tribe's history?"
"OK." Djehuti pauses to have a sip of water, and shakes his head. "Not yet. I plan to do that once we finish going over the other tribes; but in so doing, we create more questions on any number of topics that we then divert to, which create their own lessons, and so on. Many hypothetical litany situations are discussed thereby, which is useful given as how she's a Philodox. We're currently in the midst of the Silver Fangs, and discussing leadership roles, both theoretical and actual." He takes another sip. "I would not object to modifying this procedure, however."
Izzy nods agreement to Djehuti's explanation, and studies the horchatta curiously before taking a reasonably sized sip for a test. Apparently it passes muster, though it goes through several seconds of very thoughtful consideration.
<OOC> Izzy didn't mean to hit enter then, but... it'll do. :}
<OOC> Djehuti: (We're rebels and not Riting Izzy in a month. Life happens.)
<OOC> Izzy is fine with not-a-month. :)
"I think that's fine if you want to stick with it," Tim says, and looks at Izzy, "And if you're okay with the pace. Some kids, they're in a huge fucking hurry to become cliaths and get on out there." He shrugs at that. "Me, I was a cub for a year." He chooses a plum and rosehip teabag for himself, and sets it to steeping. "So, the Silver Fangs. Have you had a chance to meet any? Shelby, maybe?"
Djehuti nods assent. At mention of Shelby, he smiles, just a touch. But given the reserve with which he was speaking, a moment ago, the contrast is strong.
"I..." Izzy hesitates, quiet for a moment or two, and then, "I'm mostly not in a hurry. I want to find my mom, that kind of makes me want to go fast, but I wouldn't suddenly know right where to look or anything. And I want to do things right. I don't wanna be all officially know-what-I'm-doing and not actually, um, know what I'm doing. And... and I don't think I've met Shelby. Or any other Silver Fangs. Yet."
Tim gestures around them. "This is our Pack territory, so if you come around here now and then you'll run into her eventually. She's acting Elder I think, for the moment. Feel free to show up and talk to her, just make sure you introduce yourself, and howl to come on, and all of that." He sips from his tea experimentally, then adds milk and honey, and looks to Djehuti, maybe expecting the lessons to start up.
"I asked her, by the way. About the pack. Though you probably knew that." Djehuti's smile grows somewhat, before he damps it down a bit, and considers. "/Did/ you have more questions about Silver Fangs, or should we continue onwards?"
Izzy looks between the pair of them curiously. "Are you going to join their pack?" the cub asks the elder Philodox, and then nods a bit at both of them. "And, um. I think.... I think I'm prolly okay on the Silver Fangs for right now? I'll ask if I think of more questions, though. As long as that keeps being okay."
"I did hear. Xander should be about, generally." Tim bobs his eyebrows at Izzy, all mystery for a second, then nibbles on his baklava. "That's the hope. But we'll see." Certainly, he looks like Djehuti joining is his desired outcome.
"Xander has to be OK with it," Djehuti explains. "Well, and Anax. Their Totem. That should be /fascinating/. But yes, I hope to. I am here for the foreseeable future, and I miss the bond of a pack." Then he puts down his glass and looks at Izzy, briefly stonefaced. "Yes, well, I'll be sure to tell you if this question thing ever becomes a problem." Then he breaks into a smile, shaking his head. "It's fine." He considers, then says, "Ok. Next. Stargazers. They are not, necessarily, all Asians, but they are a tribe whose philosophies have been strongly influenced by many different Asian philosophies, from Zen to the Tao, and on to other, more esoteric leanings. While they fight the Wyrm, they seek the balance of the Triat more than most tribes, and they also often seek their enlightenment outside the bonds of pack and Sept, which means they are often somewhat alien to many of their fellow Garou. And, too, the majority of them left to join with other shifters in the East, some time ago, so their numbers have been reduced, and they were never numerous to begin with."
"Like... in New York?" the cub asks somewhat dubiously, "Or like in China? And I thought the Garou Nation was kind of... worldwide? Is it just here? And why did they leave to go East? Was there some big controversy like the Impergium stuff in the old days?"
"Garou are all over the world, but the Garou Nation isn't the only shifter nation. There's the 'Eastern Beast Courts'," Tim glances to Djehuti, probably not sure if there's another, maybe politer name to be had, "and even a group in Africa. They have Caerns and Septs too, but they call them other things." He has a smell of his tea and another drink. Out in the yard, a pair of eyes comes and goes--a possum, probably, in search of snails and slugs.
"Like in China, yes. I believe, as it was explained to me, there was a slow and steady loss of their Septs in China and Japan, and they wished to regroup. And the Beast Courts offered alliance. Since they were in many ways more in tune with the Courts, philosophically, they largely transferred their allegiances. But they /are/ still Garou, and so there are still ties." Djehuti grins, suddenly. "There is one here, at this time. Well, not here, in this pack's lands, but at this Sept. His name is Keir, Faith-Leads-The-Sightless." After a moment, he adds, "The group in Africa, the coalition of shifters and others, is called the Ahadi."
"So... there's the Garou Nation, and that's all werewolves and it's here, or at least it includes here and it's Westernish, and the Beast Courts which are in Asia and... not only Garou? And the Ahadi in Africa which is... Garou and other shifters and also other people? What about people like Detective Konstantopilous, are they in the Garou Nation or are they in something else?" Izzy's most of the way through the horchatta by now. "Is... should I do anything special if I meet Mr. Keir? I mean, with the Beast Courts thing and all?"
"The Nation's not just in the West. There's Septs in Hong Kong, Australia...but we're the major group here, in the West. In the East, in Africa, there are other groups, and they sometimes outnumber us." Tim raises his eyebrows. "Detective who?"
"The Beast Courts," Djehuti starts, and then detours to note to Tim, "Val. She's being polite." Then Djehuti starts again, "The Garou are primarily Western but there are some Eastern, by this current definition, Septs. The Beast Courts have--" He stops to think. "I believe Bastet, Ratkin, Rokea, Corax, and Mokole, or, respectively, cat, rat, shark, raven, and saurian shifters. They have their own version of the Litany, which I do not know, though I would love to learn it someday. The Ahadi has Bastet, Ajaba, and Garou, as well as Ratkin and various other allies. Ajaba are the hyena shifters. Raucous group," he adds. "As for Keir, I imagine you should be polite to him, make sure he knows who you are -- he's blind -- and otherwise behave as per usual."
<OOC> Djehuti doesn't mention Nagah because people keep going, "NO ONE KNOWS THEY EXIST!" and I forgot about the Kitsune, oops, but that can be IC since he's never met one.
A nod to confirm that Detective Konstantopilous and Val are indeed one and the same, and the cub otherwise listens quietly, brow slightly furrowed. "...Bastet, Ratkin, Rokea, Corax, Mokole, Ajaba," gets echoed in a soft mutter, and there's another nod. "Okay... Would Mr. Keir know their Litany? Maybe he'd tell us how it goes? Or is that kind of thing secret?"
"There's also the fox-shifters. Kitsune, I think they're called," Tim adds to the list. "We just had one leave after finally defeating a long-standing nemesis of hers. She didn't mention their Litany, though." He has more baklava and toys with his mug of tea.
Djehuti regards Izzy for a long moment. "Why yes," he says, voice full of irony, "Asking the man who's right in front of me might well be a good idea." He shakes his head abruptly. "Thank you for seeing the obvious for me." Then he looks over at Tim, clearly surprised. "We did? She did?" There's a pause. "/Damn/. Sorry to have missed her." Then he shakes his head again and says, to Izzy, "Yes. Kitsune. Sorry. Never met one, so they slipped my mind. You set with the Stargazers for the moment?"
"...Kitsune. Okay. And. Yeah, I think I'm okay on them, for... for right now. Um." The cub hesitates a moment, looking at Djehuti slightly anxiously -- possibly not entirely sure that was a good seeing-the-obvious sort of thing, but seems to settle all right. "Which tribe's next?"
<OOC> Djehuti eyes the time. And is tired. But two moooore. Whine.
<OOC> Tim: Did we want to fade maybe? Or go another round or so?
<OOC> Izzy hugs. I think I can manage either?
<OOC> Djehuti: Dje could go get more baklava and you guys could keep going?
<OOC> Tim: I am kind of tired myself, to be honest.
<OOC> Tim: So I am alright with wrapping. :>
<OOC> Izzy is also a bit tired, so... yeah. :}
<OOC> Djehuti oks. I'm good with fading, then. I'd apologize but I went longer than I expected, so I won't.
<OOC> Tim: All good; many talkins was had!
<OOC> Tim: Thank you both. :D
<OOC> Djehuti hugs y'all.