"I've had a bellyful of being in the press, thank you very much."

Porch
A lathe-turned wooden railing runs the length of the porch save where the steps are, well-worn with use. To the right of the stairs, a wide swing is suspended from the overhang which shelters this area; to the left, a small table is the centerpiece for several chairs pulled around it, all of which face out to the front yard and the fields and trees beyond. The bright colors of fall lend an atmosphere of wistful remembrance to this place, a memory of the summer past, and the knowledge of winter to come. Fallen flower petals dust the earth around the base of the low shrubs surrounding the porch, their delicate brittleness testament to the closing of the cycle.
An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.

It is more dark then light at this early hour and the cool air causes ones breath to become visible. Bundled up rather heavily and seated on the front porch is Vera, watching her breath mist and the early morning quiet.

All's quiet and still on this fall morning. The occasional birst of birdsong is audible, and the faintest of hums from a jet plane flying far overhead, presumably heading for Seattle or Vancouver, leaving a vapor trail in its wake. No doubt Vera is enjoying this rare moment of calm in her busy life. If so, it's about to be shattered, for the sound of a car engine becomes first audible, and then quite loud. And in a few more seconds, the car itself comes into view, racing up the drive to the farm at a higher speed than is perhaps advisable. It's a yellow sports car, open-topped, the driver's hair blowing in the wind. He's grinning as he scoots past the farm building, and there's a squeal of brakes and a rattle of dislodged gravel as he brakes to a stop in the farmyard.

Vera sighs heavily, and sinks further into her heavy jacket, gloved hands briefly making a appearance to cram her hat on more firmly.

After a few moments, the tramping sound of feet is heard and the driver of the car comes walking back round the farmhouse. "Thought I saw someone here," he says in a cheerful British accent. "Super morning, isn't it? So bright and clear and cold. Makes you glad to be alive." He favours Vera with a broad, open smile revealing very even white teeth.

Vera is a woman of average height in her mid to late twenties whose features have been prematurely aged though hardship and the elements. Prominent crows feet are visible on the woman's face, along with a number of deep lines around her mouth and across her forehead. Plain dark brown hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, framing fairly angular features and a smallish nose. The woman's eyes are a dark brown, almost black in colour and hold little emotion. She carries herself with an aura of confidence and there is the faintest hint of a Russian accent in her voice.
The woman dresses in a fairly neat clothes, consisting of a pair of black pants and a flattering red top. Around her neck, Vera wears a dark iron brooch shaped in the form of a perched crow, polished black. The bird's features a extenuated by a pair of tiny red gemstones for eyes. Known for being thieves, the crow appears to have stolen a pearl that almost seems to look like a miniature moon plucked from the sky.

"Ah," Vera replies in her accented voice, Russian coming through a little more clearly during this early hour. "Only if one is accustomed to it. Who might you be?"

Cedric sticks his right hand out in Vera's direction. "Cedric Ambermere," he introduces himself. "I've visited here a few times. New in town, if you follow me?"

Vera seems almost reluctant to remove her self from the bundled warmth of jacket and blanket, but manners win out in the end. Standing, the Shadow Lord removes one glove and offers Cedric her hand in return. "Vera Mikhailovna Yadviga, the one responsible for the people here. Well met."

Cedric grasps the hand with every appearance of genuine pleasure. "Aha! You're Vera-rhya? Been hoping to catch you for several days, now." Having squeezed her hand firmly but not tightly he releases it. "Cedric Ambermere," he repeats, "Strikes-as-Suddenly-as-Lightning, fostern and galliard of the Silver Fangs. And if all goes well, future member of your sept and good news for it."

Hand released, Vera retreats back into her warm coverings. "Too many years in the Amazon, then others in the dry air of Mexico," she offers as explanation. "Vera Culls-The-Herd, also known as Separates-Wheat-From-Chaff. Adren Ragabash of the Shadow Lords and daughter of Black-Fang, Fostern Philodox. Granddaughter of Rides-The-Lightning, Adren Ahroun and once Warder of the Sept of Dark Snow, and great granddaughter of Finds-The-Lost, Fostern Ragabash. Elder of the Shadow Lords and Alpha of the Hidden Walk. May I ask what you plan to offer in the way of Chiminage?"

"I have met with Blackriver," Cedric says, "and arranged with her to teach our tribe's cub, Dances-Memory. He is of my auspice, and needs to be brought to the point where he's ready to Rite. I understand," he goes on, "that in this sept, the tribal elders rather than yourself fix chiminage? If I'm wrong, Vera-rhya, my apologies."

Vera lifts a hand and breezily brushes away Cedric's concern. "My questions comes from previous experience. The last member of your Tribe who arrived here had little to offer and ultimately, his Chiminage was rejected. While it is Blackriver who is to set Chiminage for those of her Tribe who wish to join the Sept, she does appear to have forgotten the rules I set. Chiminage must benefit the Sept as a whole, not only the Tribe of the arriving Garou. Also, Chiminage may not be something that a Garou would be 'expected' to do as a Sept Member. I will speak with Blackriver."

Cedric inclines his head. "By all means. I shall start to teach the cub anyway, but if I need to do some other service in addition, I shall quite understand. Of course," he adds chattily, "the successful riting of a cub of any tribe benefits all Garou indirectly, but that doesn't nullify your point."

Vera tilts her head to one side. "If the cub successfully Rites. There are no guarantees and it is something that you would be expected to do as a Sept Member." The Alpha shrugs easily, glancing over at the yellow sports car. "You do not appear to lack for money and that is something that the Sept rarely has an excess of."

"Oh," Cedric responds. "If you need a cash injection, that would be the easiest thing. I'm not Bill Gates, or even the Duke of Westminster. But I am," he confesses with a rogueish smile, "connected to the nobility. My brother is the Earl of Tottenham -- but I'm not titled myself, I'm just a Hon."

Vera nods. "That may be the easiest route to take. Something as simple as paying for repairs to this house," she indicates the farmhouse with a wave of her hand. "The building is old and always in need of repair. Buying some land, as many of the areas surrounding the Bawn are being developed and every house purchased keeps one more human out of our backyard. You could even purchase a home as a sanctuary for your Tribe, so long as it remained open to the Sept, if the need for a secondary safe haven ever arose."

"I'll speak to B... no," Cedric corrects himself. "I never yet met a lupus-born garou who could quite understand why us homids (it is 'us' homids, isn't it?" he asks Vera with a keen glance) "need to have a stable base to live in. I'll speak to others of the tribe, see what they think we need. And of course any house we may own will be thrown open to any of the sept if need arises."

Vera nods. "I would find that more then acceptable, so long as it bordered the Bawn and always remained open. There are more then enough human backyards in our own these days. Explain it to her as Territory. It is a concept she will have an easier time grasping. And yes, I was born a human."

"Course," Cedric says, "would take a few days to sort out money transfers and such back from England. My family over there," he continues, "by which I mean the human one rather than my garou kin, tend to find me somethin' of an embarrassment. Partly the wolf thing... though they don't know that, they just know I hang out with odd people... and partly a distressin' tendency I used to have a few years ago of gettin' into tabloid newspapers. They generally don't mind throwin' money at me, long as it keeps me away from ye olde ancestral home."

Vera chuckles dryly. "Ah. While my own family is far from poor, I surrendered any claim to ancestral wealth when I left Russia for the Amazon all those years ago. I would suggest remaining out of the tabloids, as it was the mention of werewolves in the paper that ultimately resulted in the Chiminage of another being rejected. The last nail in an already heavily nailed coffin, as it were. Mathias Sorrendale, Promises-Kept. One of your Tribe, so the name may be familiar to you?"

Cedric shudders a little dramatically. "Goodness me. I've had a bellyful of being in the press, thank you very much. If I hadn't been part of the nobility and an eligible young playboy, I don't suppose anyone would have cared, but everyone loves a lord, they say. I played along for a couple of years with the papparazi, which was crazy of me, but it was all nightclub stuff, the press never got a hint of my other side." He rubs his chin. "Sorrendale... West Coast family, aren't they?"

Vera shrugs her slim shoulders. "I'm afraid that I would not know. All I do know if that he did not make the most logical decisions when I permitted him to join the Great hunt as a guest, offended a handful of Sept members, and was at the very least, partially responsible for allowing a Fomor to be captured by police. This is of course, how mention of werewolves entered the local papers."

Concern appears on Cedric's face. "Most regrettable. I can give you my solemn word that I am mindful of the Veil always. What did the papers learn? And has the breach been papered over?"

Vera sighs, looking out into the distance. "The Fomor committed suicide, which was our only saving grace, as he was labeled as being mentally insane. While there was mention in the papers, it did not spark the humans to take any actions against us. Investigational, or otherwise. Unfortunately, that does not mean that the article did not attract less mundane attention. Something that we are unlikely to ever discover. As for Mathias, his Chiminage was rejected and he was told to leave. It is unlikely that he will ever be welcomed back here."

"I am truly sorry," Cedric says, and he sounds it, "that one of the First Tribe should cause such problems here. I hope to be able to show you that he is the exception rather than the rule, and that we are good folks to have on your side. I have a damn' good reason to take pains to show Thunder's grandchildren that that's the case," he adds in a slightly quieter voice. "Your tribemates in Ontario honoured me in a way I doubt I can ever fully pay back."

Vera's eyebrows lift, as she shifts under her blankets. "I do know that Mathias is an exception, as I has also performed Rite of the Heroes Pyre for one of your Tribe. As for hearing that you have good relations with Thunder's Children, that is welcome news. The automatic bitterness and suspicion becomes tiresome after awhile."

"Not to put too fine a point on it," Cedric says, "I was a member of a sept near Toronto for eighteen months. There were many of your tribe there. To begin with they kept their distance. Fear and hatred drove them. But slowly I showed my worth and kept myself open to them, a little at a time. And slowly they came to tolerate me, then respect me, and I like to think that by the time I left one or two were my friends. Do you know a ragabash fostern by the name of Reuben Vadascovinich? ~Life-out-of-Death~ is his deedname."

Vera shakes her head slowly. "I am afraid not. I do not know many of my Tribe that reside to the north of here."

"Well," Cedric goes on, "when I first came he was so opposed to my presence that he pleaded to the sept alpha, a Get, that I should not be allowed to stay. But by the end... he gave me a gift, an artefact which, he said, none but Shadow Lords had ever carried before. But he said he had never met a garou so deserving of receiving such a gift as me." He chuckles in a self-deprecatory way. "That is how I came to bear a klaive. Which is at your service and the sept's service."

Vera blinks, falling silent for a moment. "Really. That is quite an interesting story. What was this fellows full introduction, again?"

"Reuben Vadascovinich, ~Life-out-of-Death~, fostern ragabash," repeats Cedric. "Of the Sept of Dripping Water. Alpha of a pack called the Hundred Legs. Very much a Shadow Lord, as I am very much a Silver Fang... The klaive has a name, but I can never pronounce it," he goes on. "It's something like Udarac-Nogom-Menechesto."

Vera nods and smiles, making a few mental notes at the same time. "Ah, a good story and a real honor for you."

"For me, yes," Cedric says, "but for him too. Few would have been so ready to take such a step. But then, don't you know, I am the Chosen of Falcon after all, and he couldn't really argue with Falcon."

Vera smirks, amusement in her eyes. "Yes, yes, you are. If you speak with Blackriver before I do, please tell her what I said and my suggestions for an alternative Chiminage."

Cedric turns his head to one side, and stares at empty air for a few moments, his brow furrowed. Then he shrugs. Then he turns back to Vera. "I shall. And thank you. Very pleasant to meet someone else who can see... things that aren't always obvious. But I suppose that's what makes an Adren, what?"

Vera inclines her head. "Experience has some benefits." The Adren shifts under her heavy coverings, then briefly looks up at the brightening sky. "I believe that I have had enough of the cold for now and will take my leave. Good day to you, Cedric of the Silver Fangs."

"And to you, Vera-rhya," murmurs Cedric as he heads back round the house towards the barnyard.