"This is for your education. Not because I'm gettin' some sick jollies out of it, y'know?"

Fairbanks House: Living Room(#2456RJ)
This is a large, warm and friendly room. The western wall is covered by a large picture-window looking out on the front yard. The carpet is white and thick. The front door is in a small alcove, opening out northwestward. Near the door, wide wooden stairs covered in the center by blue-grey carpet lead upward. The living room itself stretches north from the front door. The kitchen can be seen through an archway, and a door nearby leads to the study. A desk, a table, chairs and a couch decorate the room, elegant and expensive: glass coffee tables with gold corners, plush easy chairs, lamps with soft patterns of rose and gold amidst the white.
The stairs lead up to the second floor, and the door to the northwest goes outside. The study door is to the south, and the kitchen is eastward.

"....aaaand here it is!" The front door of the house is flung open wide, and Cedric comes striding in. He walks to the middle of the room, turns a hundred and eighty to face the door again, and stands there with hands on hips and grin on face, a monarch in his domain.

Erika stares at the thick carpet and the plush easy chairs. The girl is mute for a long time. "Uh. Wow. I've never stayed in a place like this." The girl looks at the glass coffee table, then back to Cedric, and her face goes red.

"You'd better get used to it," Cedric says playfully. "Obviously this depends on Blackriver, but I'm proposing that this house be used as a tribal base. To be honest," he goes on in a more serious voice, "most of the furnishings here came with the house, and some of them are a little... frou-frou, if you know what that means. Now I like my personal space to be pleasant on the eye, but I get the distinct impression that the previous owner was a girl."

Erika wanders over and runs a finger across one of the pink-and-gold lampshades. "Naw, she wasn't a girl. She was a lady." Looking back at Cedric, she asks, "You mean I could stay here? I, uh...I'd have to be real careful living in a place like this."

"Which of course is the other reason to change the furnishings," Cedric agrees. "Glass topped coffee tables and fragile stuff does not mix well with angry ahrouns or ragey galliards, or indeed cubs who've not yet learned to keep the cork in the bottle, though I don't mean you by that, Erika." He flashes her another quick smile. "I hope Vera-rhya approves of all this. Allowing this house to be used by the sept is my chiminage. You know about chiminage yet?"

Erika looks up and recites, "Blackriver-rhya says that chiminage is a task that a Garou does for the privilege of joining a Sept or using a Caern." Looking at Cedric with a knotted brow, she adds, "Except, I don't know what anyone would use a Caern for."

"Stacks of reasons," Cedric rejoinders. "Let's go through a few. Caerns, to begin with, are places where the spirit world comes close to touching the physical one. So there tend to be a fair number of spirits around locally, and a garou who needs to contact a particular kind generally finds it easier at a caern than crossing over elsewhere and then having to search all over. Also, remember, we're half spirit ourselves, and regular contact with a caern keeps us spiritually topped up, as it were. There are garou out there, Ronin they're called, who aren't linked to a caern or tribe...they wander on their own. Deuced difficult life. I pity them. And of course, there are moon bridges. You know about those?"

Erika shakes her head. "What are moon bridges?"

"The moon, Luna, grants us many skills," Cedric goes on, sitting in one comfortable chair and gesturing to Erika to take another. "It's she who gives us our rage, for instance. And she gives us the means to travel from one place to another by supernatural means, called moon bridges. Don't ask me how they work, ask a theurge, like Mathias. But they link one caern to another, and sometimes other places also. You can travel round the world in a couple of hours, if you have all the right contacts at the different septs. Which is probably more difficult than the travelling itself..."

Erika walks over to the chair, staring at the carpet behind her and looking relieved when her footprints leave only impressions in the carpet, and no dirt. Sitting down in the chair, the light in the room reveals several fresh red scars across the girls face, which had previously been hidden by her hair. "Wow. So you mean I could like go back to Tennessee in like less than an hour? If I had a friend in a sept there?"

"Pretty much," Cedric confirms. "Heck, I could go back to England. But moon bridge travel is like any other travel -- it's not something you should really do for its own sake." He stretches the word 'really' out to quite a length, hinting that this is a bendable rule. "Just as ordinary travel takes energy, so does moon bridge travel... spiritual energy. Though it doesn't leave jet exhausts in the atmosphere."

Erika runs her hand across the arm of the armchair. "I guess you're gonna stay here for a while then, Cedric-rhya? Have things settled down with Mathias yet?"

Cedric lifts his shoulders, lets them drop. "Blackriver is prepared to give him a second chance. Vera-rhya may be a tougher nut to crack. I'd appreciate it," he adds in an ostensibly polite tone, but with enough firmness underlying to show that this is in effect an order, "if you don't mention his presence to Vera should you speak to her. Leave that to me."

Erika looks down at the floor. "Uh, sure thing, Cedric." Looking up, she says, "A couple of people have asked me if you're the new Silver Fang elder. I keep telling them that you've never hinted at challenging Blackriver, and that if they wanted more information, they'd have to talk to you."

"When my chiminage is accepted," Cedric replies, "we shall revisit this issue. Since I am fostern and she is cliath, there is a prima facie case that I should lead the tribe. If she agrees, then I shall. If not, then -- assumin' she doesn't give me a dashed good reason why she's better -- I am likely to challenge her. Though for all I know, she's goin' to challenge for fostern herself. She strikes me as the type who could."

Erika nods, absentmindedly rubbing at one of the scabbed scars on her forehead. "Thanks for telling me yourself, Cedric. It would be weird to come and live here. " The girl stares at the picture window and murmurs, "I wonder what life would be like here."

"The same as for garou every blessed where," Cedric murmurs. "Hard, busy, dangerous, and punctated with moments of sheer bliss which make it all worthwhile. I say, girl, what did you do to your head? Argue with another cub?"

"Oh!" she says, folding her hands in her lap, and pouting her lips. "Uh, no. I really try not to stay out of fights... Blackriver-rhya was just teaching me some stuff the last couple of nights. You know, training, and stuff."

"School of hard knocks?" Cedric asks, raising one eyebrow languidly.

Erika stares down at the carpet and nods. "I think she's taking it easy on me," the cub says softly. "It's not so bad though. I used to wrestle the boys, and I got in a few fights at school. It doesn't hurt too bad, but all the blood is kinda scary."

Cedric smiles ruefully. "It took me a while before I could really believe I could take as much damage as garou can, and just heal in a trice," he recalls. "What's the worst injury you've taken since Firsting?"

Erika bites her lip for a moment. "Uh, I guess it was two nights ago...Blackriver had me pinned, and she was nipping at me, trying to teach me to guard my throat even when I'm in a bad position...Anyways, I bucked my head just when she was coming down, and she tore up my cheek really good." The girl runs her fingers across a barely visible grey line on her cheek. "It's almost gone now though."

Cedric sits forward in his chair to get a closer look. "Mmmyes. Scarcely see it. Should be gone in a week tops." He sits back again, eyeing Erika thoughtfully. "You should see what the Get do to their cubs... and the Glass Walkers, at least the London ones, tend to make theirs learn how to be shot." He gives a faint smile. "How'd you like to take a bullet, Erika?"

Erika grips the arms of the armchair with rigid white hands, her face pale, her eyes wide. The girls voice sounds almost hoarse. "Don't joke about that. Please. I've come close to being shot before."

Cedric holds up one hand. "Easy, easy. I'm only partly joking. I've been shot. Right about..." He puts his hand on his tummy. "...here. Hurt like hell, yes, but barrin' silver bullets, no more than a temporary inconvenience for garou." He looks meaningfully at Erika. "Those Glass Walkers may have a point, y'know. There are bad guys out there with guns and we sometimes have to go up against them. There's more to being shot than just healing the wound and clawing the face off the guy with the gun. You have to know how to do it while keeping the Veil up."

Erika shifts around in her seat, and narrows her eyes. "Uh, Cedric-rhya...I grew up around guns. I learned to shoot when I was five...I've seen what a twenty-two can do to a deer's heart, and I've seen a twelve-gauge shotgun open up a buck's skull like a firecracker in wet clay. I can see a flesh wound or a gut wound healing, sure...but are you telling me that a Garou could walk away from a wound like that?"

"Well, sure, if you get your head blown off with a shotgun you're in trouble," understates Cedric. "I'm not saying you should go out with a 'Shoot Me' label on your butt."

Erika asks, "So, like, what's the deal? If it doesn't kill you right away, you can heal it? And, Cedric-rhya, how did you hide that if it happened in the middle of the street?" The girl gives him a quizzical look.

"Thankfully," Cedric says, "that one didn't. Happened in the City of London in an office late at night. Nobody who saw me heal it lived to tell the tale." His normally cheerful face goes very stony. "But yes, more or less. I've seen garou with limbs ripped off who've had them glued back on. There's a spiritual ability some garou have to heal shocking things. Mother's Touch we call it."

Erika closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I'm not saying I don't believe you, Cedric-rhya. But some part of me won't accept it until I've seen it."

"If I had a gun," Cedric says bluntly, "I'd show you here and now. Shall I get a knife from the kitchen, perhaps?"

"On me or you?"

"Either. Both," Cedric fires back. He launches himself to his feet.

Erika gets up from her chair and follows Cedric, a few steps behind, chattering nervously. "Uh, so far, all the wounds I've taken have needed like two or three days to heal, but I guess things heal faster if they're not from another Garou. Will this heal quick, or am I gonna have to explain this to Blackriver?"

Cedric pauses at the kitchen door. "You are shifting out of homid to heal them, yes?" he says with sudden misgivings.

Erika stops in her tracks. Her eyes are wide enough that her blue irises look like perfect circles painted on china. She swallows. "Um, yeah. I usually sleep in lupus anyways. But I need to be in homid from sun-up to get chores done in the house."

"It's your choice," Cedric says then. "I can check with Blackriver if you want. But when some bad guy with a knife is comin' at you in reality, my dear, you won't get the chance to tell him to stop and make sure with your elder it's okay for him to stab you."

Erika swallows again. "No. I want to know. Show me."

Cedric strides through into the kitchen and pulls open a drawer, removing from it a carving knife which at first glance appears about the size of a machete. He then crosses to the sink. "Let's try not to get blood everywhere," he comments cheerfully. Then he removes first his jacket, then his tie, and finally his shirt, hanging the jacket on the back of the door and folding shirt and tie neatly up. He brandishes the knife. "Me first," he says, "just to show you I'm not windin' you up?"

"Yeah. Please. Um, you're not gonna sharpen it or clean it or like rub your skin with alchohol first?"

Cedric laughs aloud at that. "Tetanus is the least of my worries, Erika." He shifts up to glabro, his new and bulkier body retaining somehow much of his handsomeness -- at least, compared to most glabro. Next he holds his left arm out over the sink, and gripping the knife, slices into it from elbow to wrist, a long deep ugly gash. Blood starts to pump out, and he makes an unpleasant face as pain bites.

Erika shrieks, putting her hands to her mouth, and staring at Cedric's arm, horrified.

Cedric seems more concerned with not getting any of the scarily copious, bright red arterial blood over the kitchen wall than about his own wound or Erika's discomfiture. As the horrified cub watches the wound begins to shrink and heal, and the blood flow lessens. It doesn't clot as a normal human wound would, even: it simply re-knits steadily until, within half a minute, the gash has healed to the faintest of pink-white lines down his arm. Cedric reverts to homid form. "Now do you believe me?" he asks with the faintest hint of long-suffering in his voice.

Erika grabs Cedric's hand, staring at his forearm with mouth agape in shock. She looks it up and down a couple of times, then lets go of the elder Galliard's hands, taking a few unsteady steps backwards.

Cedric drops the knife in the sink. "Erika," he says, concern now in his voice. "Sit down. You look like you're about to faint dead away."

Erika backs up against the kitchen cabinet, and sinks down onto the floor. The girl is very pale; her forehead is furrowed, her jaw is slack, and she is breathing very quickly through flared nostrils. "What are you?"

Cedric is frowning now. "I'm garou, dash it, girl. Same as you. You havin' some kind of fit?"

Erika closes her eyes. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wraps her arms around them, and lets her head fall forwards to rest on her knees. "I'm okay." coms her small, muffled voice. "I'm okay. I'm just light-headed."

"Myes. Right," Cedric says. The fostern is clearly nonplussed. "Perhaps we'll skip the second demo for now."

Erika looks up; her face is still pale. "Jesus. I'm sorry Cedric. Give me a minute. I want to see for myself."

Cedric doesn't seem convinced, but he returns to the sink and picks up the knife. Then he turns the tap on, rinsing blood from the blade and the basin. "First time's always the hardest," he says in what seems to be meant as a helpful way.

Erika climbs uneasily to her feet, leaning against the cabinet for support. "Jesus." Taking a deep breath, the girl walks up behind Cedric, watching him chase the droplets of blood down the drain with water.

"No," Cedric deadpans, "he got stabbed in the side." He turns to confront Erika. "Time to confront your fear head on."

Erika takes a step back from Cedric, fingers nervously fiddling with the zipper of her windbreaker. "Uh, how do you want this to work now?"

"Forgive me for sayin' this," Cedric asks, "but I think we'll do better, and faster, if I stab you rather than makin' you poke it into yourself."

Erika nods, her face still somewhat pale, and strips off her windbreaker, tossing it onto one of the kitchen chairs. She takes a few steps towards the sink, then stops and asks, "Um, should I go and get some rubbing alchohol or iodine or something?"

"You're still thinking human," Cedric points out. "Garou are immune to normal germs. Have you noticed, since you started shifting, you haven't had any colds or sniffles? One of the fringe benefits." He fingers the knife. "If you want to close your eyes..."

"No! No. I want to see," the cub says. "I wish I brought my own knife is all. But I want to see." She rolls up the sleeve of her T-shirt--a somewhat futile gesture--then gets closer to the sink, and extends her right arm out over it, palm up. She makes her hand into a fist.

Cedric pauses one moment, to say, "This is for your education. Not because I'm gettin' some sick jollies out of it, y'know?" And holding the knife more firmly, he slices into Erika's arm. Down the road, not across the street, from elbow to wrist.

Erika gasps, grabbing the counter for support with her other hand. The girl goes positively grey for a moment; her eyes lose focus and roll back into her head. Blood splurts from the wound, into the drain. Some red muscles and white tendons can be seen writhing around in the wound, but her right hand remains slack. "Omigod. Omigod. Shit." The girl shifts up into glabro form, nearly hitting Cedric in the chin with the sudden increase in her size. The flow of blood slows, and the flesh knits itself back together.

Cedric drops the knife in the sink once more as soon as the cut's made and tenses up, ready for quick action in case of trouble. He relaxes somewhat once Erika achieves the shift and begins to heal, but keeps watching her closely. "Breathe evenly," he recommends, "helps with the pain..."

Erika closes her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nostrils and open mouth. When she opens them again, she wiggles the fingers on her right hand experimentally, and runs the fingers of her left hand along her arm where the wound had been, exposing the whole, pale skin beneath the layer of red blood. She says nothing, but when she looks up at Cedric, her furrowed brow and wide eyes seem full of questions.

Cedric nods. "I know," he simply says. "Crazy, isn't it? But like everythin' else in this crazy life you'll grow used to it."

Erika starts to back away from the sink, but seeing the gore all over her arm, she instead uses her left arm to start a stream of warm water. "I always thought I was a girl. Then I thought I was a girl who could turn into a wolf." She begins scrubbing her arm; when it is clear, she moves on to the cleaning the sink. "But I guess I'm really a Garou, that was raised as a girl, and can turn into a wolf?" She looks up at Cedric as though he were the font of all answers.

"That's a good way of putting it," Cedric agrees. "Homid born garou tend to still think of themselves as human... goodness knows even I do still, sometimes. Lupes, likewise. I guess metis don't have this problem, but since they have every other problem under the sun... Yes, Erika. You're garou, I'm garou. And we share things in common with humans and wolves, but we aren't either. Not quite."

When the water running down the sink is no longer red, but completely clear, the girl turns it off, and dries off her arm. She looks at Cedric with those wide, questioning eyes, then shakes her head and looks away. "Cedric-rhya, I know you don't know everything, but...What is going to happen to me? I used to think I would graduate high school, get married, and raise horses." There is no self-pity in the girl's tone, just wonderment. She shivers a bit; goosebumps rise on her arms, and she walks over to the chair to retrieve her windbreaker before looking back at the elder Galliard. "But now I know I probably won't do any of those things."

Cedric rubs his chin. "None of those are impossible," he says. "But I grant you, they're less likely than they were. If graduating is important to you, there are ways to keep on in education... but there are risks attached to that, as I'm sure you appreciate. And horses. Like most animals, we tend to freak the poor critters..."

Erika pulls on her jacket and rubs her hands over her arms to try to quell the shiver that comes over her. "I don't know. I don't even know if I want those things any more. It's just like...Well, that's always the way I thought life would be, you know?" She sits down on the chair and leans forwards. "But ever since going into the spirit world--and that freaked me out too--I just realize that all the history and bible stuff they try to teach us is all lies, just lies, and that I don't know anything any more." She looks Cedric in the eye before adding, "And that's the thing that scares me most of all."

"Not lies," Cedric says as gently as he can. "By and large, people tell the truth as they perceive it. The Veil is there for a reason, Erika. When someone says something that they believe is true, because they haven't seen behind the Veil, that's not a lie. Remember what I told you about Galliards and lying?"

Erika slides her arms down so they are crossed in front of her stomach, and shifts down into homid form. "No. Well, I remember you saying it was important to be able to lie, and lie well when it was needed. But I still don't really understand what you meant." She pauses, before adding, "Maybe I should take more schooling, if I am going to have to deal with humans. I don't want to be an idiot with an eighth-grade education for all my life."

"Some tribes think it's best not to have to deal with humans," Cedric points out. "Some of them just fear and hate them. Others think that if you can put them in a mental class of 'not like us' it stops you getting... attached to them. Me? Even though humans have done a great many bad things to the planet and to each other, I can't hate them. Sometimes I think it'd be easier if I could."

"I could never hate them." Erika says, staring at the kitchen counter. Her face splits into something of a mischievious grin. "Well, maybe some of them I could!"

"Humans aren't like any other creature," Cedric muses. "They have their Hitlers, they have their Beethovens..."

Erika ponders for a moment in silence, looking around the kitchen at the floral designs on the curtains, the pink tint to the tile in the floor, and for quite a while at the sink. The girl gets to her feet. "It's a nice place, Cedric. I'm sure you'll have some things you have to change, and to add your own touch. But I hope you don't change it too much." Walking over towards Cedric, she adds, "And thanks for showing me the other stuff too. You're right, it was better than having to find out on my own." Without asking, she throws her arms around Cedric's waist in a big hug.
Cedric ruffles Erika's hair with a grin. "Congratulations," he says, "you've just come to a turning point in your life, I think."

Erika squeezes Cedric for a moment, then lets go, wiping her eye with the palm of her hand. "Geez. Something happened anyways." She smirks, and looks up while rubbing her other eye. "Gonna take me a while to figure it all out though."

"If you need some time to digest it all," Cedric offers, "don't be shy about askin'."

"What do you consider peculiar about me? My dress? My speech? My style?"

Elson Commercial District
In the intersection of Fourteenth and Elson, the center of this three-block area of Elson Street, an elementary school's playground sits in the one corner not occupied by small businesses. Fenced in by chain-link fencing with the top tilted in to discourage the schoolchildren climbing out, the playground seems fairly well-cared-for. Down towards Fifteenth, the 19th Police Precinct is located, amidst other small businesses - clothes stores, a small electronics store, and a deli and convenience store frequented by the policemen. Their nearby presence seems to make this area a little less dangerous than others, for there seems little evidence of criminal activity here. Even down towards Thirteenth, with its own small businesses and grocery store, is cleaner and more at ease than some of the surrounding areas only a few blocks south.

Cedric saunters along the sidewalk, seemingly as nonchalant as it's possible to be, but even given his slightly dandyish air people still get out of his way. Or maybe it's the shorter, more prickly-looking woman with him they're avoiding; Emma. "So," he invites Emma, "you want to beat the bounds, as it were? Show me where your turf extends to?"

Emma gives a general nod to the other, "Yeah we can do that. Starts up on this road, and goes down to thirteenth. Some of it isn't so bad, some of it is horrible. We don't stop every thug, so if you're used to being a real Robin Hood, .. don't be." Hands fall into her pockets as she takes in a deep breath and starts the walk. "So tell me something interesting about yourself."

Cedric turns his head to Emma, seeming amused. "Interesting about myself? Um. I'm an okay tennis player, and a demon spin bowler, but I can't play soccer for toffee?" He looks back at the street ahead. "Now, let me get my bearings. US street grids always throw me. Little numbers go north? So Thirteenth is... that way?" He points.

Emma looks to the sign. "You could just follow the signs. And then learn the landmarks. Donut shop, creepy bookstore, antique dive. Spin bowler? Is that some British thing?"

Cedric looks hurt at Emma, though he may be faking it. "You colonials," he sighs. "So ignorant of cricket. Cricket is like life, you know. If you keep a good straight bat and your eye on the ball, it'll take you a long way. It's also like life in that you can cheat, and if you get away with cheating, it'll sometimes take you further." He rubs one eyebrow. "Donut shop. The one with an alley at the side and trashcans behind? Down Bridge Street, near the cycle place?"

Emma grins a little half smirk at the Fang. "See, here, bowling is a sixteen pound ball thrown down a wooden alley in attempt to knock down as many pins, as hard and fast as you can. So - yeah, subtle difference I guess. And yeah, the donut shop with the alley." She laughs a little and shakes her head, growing quiet for a short time. "Did you know Clemency well, or were you just acquaintances?"

Cedric laughs aloud. "Can you put a spin on a ball that weighs that much?" he asks. "You'll have to take me US-bowling sometime and find out, I guess." The smile fades. "Not trying to tell you your job," he says more quietly, "but perhaps the side of your turf near the donut store could stand a bit more patrollin'. Clemency? Never met her. I stayed at the sept she came from, few months back. Met an old packmate of hers. And her daughter too. Cute little kid, just learning to walk." Sigh, from Cedric. "Hate it when a kid that young loses a parent through being garou."

Emma looks to the Fang with a critical eye. "Why would you say that area needs more patrolling?" It seems the topic of Clemency is left unfinished at this point as well. The Get turns the corner and starts down one of the alleyways, nodding to a dumpster as she strolls past, "Hey Charlie. Keep an eye out on those blue whales for me eh?" Though no one can be seen, a gravelly old voice calls out a shakey 'You got it Tinkerbell.'

Cedric waits till Charlie is left in their wake before responding. "Because a few days back, I was at that store, buying donuts if you please... and found there, lurking in the alley behind, an honest to goodness Silver Fang fellow called Mathias, looking like he'd been living there for weeks if not months."

Emma looks to the other, "Mathias. I think I've heard of him - he comes and goes. Didn't know he was down around there- though I haven't been out much since-" she clears her throat, "I'll have to have a word with him, make sure he knows what turf he's wandering on."

"Not any more, he's not," Cedric frowns. "I took him away and cleaned him up and spoke to Blackriver and hopefully he looks more like his own tribe and less like a Bone Gnawer now. Not that Bone Gnawers are dishonorable or anything -- it's one of them I have to thank for pointing me at my new house -- but, well, y'know, what?"

Emma squints as she tries to follow the rapid conversation flow and then shakes her head, "No, what?" The Get looks much like a large cartoon bulldog, confused by the more upbeat dog and its antics.

Cedric tries again. "Silver Fangs shouldn't go round looking like they've lived out of dumpsters for a month. Mathias looked that way. I know some of us can be a bit... highly strung... but he was well over the edge, poor fellow. I hope I've dragged him back. I'm gonna be watching him closely. We emissaries of Falcon must look after each other. And I don't want him to get on the nerves of any more people than he already has, too."

Emma gives a nod. "You can't save everyone Cedric. But, I know how it goes. I'll let you know if any toes are stepped on in my direction. Tell me though, since you're on the topic of stereotypes- your take on the Get?"

"Splendid fellows, most of them," Cedric fires back with barely a pause. "Except the ladies, of course," he then qualifies with a disarming smile, "and a lot of them're splendid fellows too. Jestin' apart, you men are second to none in a scrap. And over here, you seem to have a smidgin more tact and common sense than some of your cousins back in Europe."

Emma gives a faint nod. "Alright. Fair enough. Lets turn it around on you. The Fangs. And more specifically, you. What makes you tick Cedric. There's something odd about you, and I can't put my finger on it."

Cedric pauses on the corner of a crosswalk, making a roadblock for most other pedestrians who are forced to either confront their irrational fear of him and Emma and walk closer than seems safe, or else step into the gutter to go round them. "Somethin' odd? My dear Emma, there isn't a garou born you couldn't say that of. Can you be a little more specific? What do you consider peculiar about me? My dress? My speech? My style?"

Emma takes in a shallow breath, shaking her head. "All of that and more. I don't know. Maybe the Fangs I've known have been all really whacked out already or something." She moves to lean against the stoplight pole, looking upward. "How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-four," responds Cedric, "and so old enough to know better. Also, old enough, unlike many garou of my tribe and others, to have learnt how to present some kind of face to the outside world. Mebbe one day you'll get to see behind my mask, Emma. Mebbe. But I know from bitter experience it's best to not drop that mask too often."

"I need a better mask. A bigger one. Scarier." Emma looks over and grins at the other then. "Fair enough answer though Cedric. You come off a lot more polished than Clemency did, though she had the full moon under her skin and then some. Blackriver and I - we don't see eye to eye very well. Or rather, nothing good comes of it when we try to."

"She's a lupe," Cedric says. "I never could get the hang of them. Few can. And I 'spect she'd say the same of us. Masks come with time," he goes on. "Most people can't just sit down and choose to make one from scratch. How old are you, Emma? Teens, still?"

Emma gives a faint nod, unbruised by the guess. "I'll be nine.." she pauses as the realization hits her, "Damn, nineteen this year. Hadn't realized how much time went by." She kicks off from the pole and starts walking again. "I remember when all this started, heh. You know Olga? She was my bud when I was just a pup around here. Her and a gay fian. How's that for assbackwards?" There's a smile on her face now as she turns to glance at the other.

Cedric smiles back. "Olga I know only by name and reputation, but I'm sure you can introduce me sometime. She sounds someone special." He follows Emma across the crosswalk. "Yeah, this is what I mean about your people here having the edge on your German cousins. They're so insular. Look down at us, never mind Bone Gnawers."

Emma grins, "Oh, don't you worry Cedric. Signe came back about that time and lugged me away from such a ghastly upbringing. Between her, Gunnar and Brom, my head got a full dose of some of the more traditional 'tudes. It's not yet been decided whether my stubborness has blocked me from a curse, or a blessing yet." Two darkly clad figures move a block down and Emma zones in on them, "Hey, we need to eye those two."

Cedric's eyes narrow. "Let's go play King Wenceslaus at them," he agrees. "Followin' their footsteps." Conversation is discarded as the two garou start to trail the dark-clothed pair.

"A good hot shower cures most of the ills to which flesh is heir, what?"

Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room
Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a twin-pane window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set into an alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep freezer as well as shelves of dry goods.
Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves containing a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few decorative nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room from the kitchen.
An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing behind the house.

Cedric is always prone to going too fast up the road towards the farm, but today he does so even more spectacularly than normal. His yellow Mazda sports car barrels up the lane, skids at the corner, comes within an ace of sideswiping the barn, fishtails into the yard, and comes to an untidy halt at an angle only feet away from running into the field beyond. Scarcely is the engine off when Cedric leaps from the car and sprints into the farmhouse kitchen. "I got the house!" he whoops to anyone who may be inside. "I got the house!"

Pretty soon after Cedric comes Dillen. He's covered in mud from head to toe and were it not for the helmet, his head would have been covered too. He's fuming, ready to frenzy, and pissed beyond belief. "Who?... In the FUCK... Owns THAT car?" He points out front to here Cedric's car now resides. "I'm gonna fucking KILL them."

Activity stirs within the quiet farmhouse across the road. A face presses against a window, staring at the traffic crisis, then a hefty man, dressed in tattered wolfskins, waddles down the driveway to the road, where he studies the tire prints left by the Madza, and the deep muddy gorge created by the other traffic.

On finding the farmhouse bare, Cedric has just raided the fridge for a soda and sat down to await someone else's arrival. He blinks up at the muddied Dillen. "My dear fellow," he says in surprised tones. "It's my car. What on earth has you so het-up?" He's all politeness, but his chair inches back from the table, ready to leap up if it comes to blows.

Reggie continues his detective work by following the tracks up to the vehicles parked by the farmhouse, where he stands for a while, nodding to himself as he ascertains that their tires match the tracks, and no one has, for example, helicopter-lifted out the Madza and replaced with another.

Dillen just looks at Cedric as if he just turned into a lemur. "What do you think? Look at me? Do you think I wear this mud for my fucking health??" He's truly trying to keep from going further with his temper but he seethes further. "You passed... A motorcycle, sitting on the side of the road... Splattered me with mud. I mean LOOK at me." He makes sure to open his arms to give Cedric a good look.

Cedric looks at Dillen. "My goodness me," he apologises. "The state of the country roads in Washington is truly appalling. You have my most sincere apologies. I had some rather good news to impart here, and was staggerin' along a bit too fast, perhaps. You'll forgive me, I can't tell if I know your face?" He mimes wiping mud away from his own physiognomy.

Reggie trudges from the car towards the farmhouse, and cracks the door open to look in. "Where's the fire?", he inquires, before doing a double-take at Dillen.

"Dillen. Dillen Francis." The Get tilts his head to one side and peers at Cedric. He rummages around to find something to wipe some of the mud off and regain some bit of good appearance. Once found, a rather old towel under the sink, he begins the clean-up process. Then a shot to Reggie, "Ask Mr. Gas pedal here."

"Ah! We meet!" Cedric crows. "I've heard your name. A friend of yours is a relative of mine," he grins. "Cedric Ambermere, your very humble servant. Oh, that towel wouldn't clean a mouse. Put it down, do. Come over to..." He clears his throat portentously. "...to my NEW HOUSE and use the shower!"

Reggie squints in an exagerrated fashion at Dillen until he cleans up, then he exclaims, "Oh, it's you! I thought the Sands of Time had come back." He pushes the door wider open and steps into the kitchen. "That's your car?", he inquires of Cedric. "Do you know how much it rains here?" He pauses, as he looks out the kitchen window towards the field, "Do you know how deep that patch of earth is?" Unhurriedly, he continues his series of questions, "Did you know when it rains, earth turns into mud?" He finishes inspecting the outdoors and turns back into the kitchen. "New house, hm? That would be that 'sold' sign I saw, down the road a bit?"

Dillen keeps just using the towel which just seems to be smearing the mud now instead of cleaning it off. "New house?" Dillen raises a brow. "Lucky you." Another growl is given to Reggie before he looks to Cedric. "See. Genius there is explaining mud to you too." He shakes his head, "Only if you have some clothes I can use." He gives up with the towel and throws it into the trash can, folding his arms across his chest.

"Suitcases full of the things," Cedric confirms to Dillen. "As for the mud, Reggie, I s'pose I shall just have to sort out gettin' the barnyard surfaced over once my jolly old finances recover from the strain of the new house, hm? Do please both come visit... it's all of five minutes away in the car. Or two if I drive at the speed I did earlier," he adds with a rueful half-smile to Dillen.

Reggie looks over Cedric's impeccably pressed suit and floridly pastel shirt then slowly turns to Dillen, and repeats Cedric's statement. "Suitcases full." He turns back to Cedric, a grin pasted on his face, "How can anyone turn that down? Sure, I'll come visit. I'll get myself there. You driving him?" He indicates the much muddy Get.

"Let's make it seven, unless you want me in the car?" Dillen gives an upturned smirk of a Mmm? He pops his helmet back onto his head and moves out the door, grumbling something about someone taking their jolly old ass back to where they came from and that it had better not be prissy clothes.

Half an hour later...

Living Room(#2456RJ)
This is a large, warm and friendly room. The western wall is covered by a large picture-window looking out on the front yard. The carpet is white and thick. The front door is in a small alcove, opening out northwestward. Near the door, wide wooden stairs covered in the center by blue-grey carpet lead upward. The living room itself stretches north from the front door. The kitchen can be seen through an archway, and a door nearby leads to the study. A desk, a table, chairs and a couch decorate the room, elegant and expensive: glass coffee tables with gold corners, plush easy chairs, lamps with soft patterns of rose and gold amidst the white.
The stairs lead up to the second floor, and the door to the northwest goes outside. The study door is to the south, and the kitchen is eastward.

Cedric reclines in a chair, sipping tea, gazing round him contentedly. The room still looks a little spartan, and there are cases and boxes stacked up here and there.

The doorbell rings. On the porch is a hefty native man, dressed in patched-together wolf furs and and old, grimy work jeans, and holding a wicker basket by the handle. The wicker basket is lined in a clean blue calico print, which also covers its contents.

Dillen comes into the room looking much more like himself, only wet. His hair sticks up at all angles and what he wears makes him look positively wrong. It's a bathrobe, thick and luxurious with Cedric's monogram on the pocket. He looks around the place. "Nice shower." He admits, "With all the jets and stuff. I think you got out more stuff from my ears than I ever had." He scrubs a hand through his hair. "So. New place, huh?"

Cedric grins at Dillen. "A good hot shower cures most of the ills to which flesh is heir, what?" Then he hops up to open the door to Reggie. "Ah, here you are." He eyes the basket in some confusion. "What gives, Reggie?"

Dillen looks to Cedric once again. "Huh? Oh yeah, I guess." Dillen then peers to the door to see Reggie, "Looking for Grandma's house? It's down the block, on a hill, after the Three Pigs."

Reggie hands over the basket towards Cedric. "I found this baby in a basket on the doorstep--no, no, just kidding. Pumpkin muffins. Got good shit like raisins and walnuts. They'll go with the tea and crumpets. You are serving tea and crumpets?"

"Tea, yes. Crumpets, sadly, no," Cedric says as he takes the basket, with a pleased expression. "Can't get the deuced things for love nor money over here. Come in, come in. Can I get either of you tea? Pot's fresh and full."

Dillen just stands, spending quite a deal of time trying to figure out how to sit down without exposing himself.

Reggie steps into the house, with a brief wave towards Dillen. He peers briefly about, but the only muddy prints he sees are Dillen's, and he inspects the decor. "No crumpets?", he exclaims. "Nice house. All this came with the place?"

"Previous owner died or something," Cedric says offhandly. "Got lucky, really. You should see the upstairs. Very snazzy. And there's a decent size mirror in the guest bedroom for you know what."

Dillen rolls his eyes and decides to just flop into a chair, pulling the back of the robe up and between his legs. "No. What??"

"Well, damn", Reggie exclaims, "I've got to check that out. You rent that room out by the hour or anything?", he inquires, as he heads towards the stairs to investigate the upper story.

"For stepping sideways, clot!" exclaims Cedric as he follows Reggie. "Come on, Dillen, I know you've seen the bathroom up there but let's give you the grand tour."

Dillen looks down to make sure his naughty bits aren't on exhibit. "Yeah. Sure." He stands back up, keeping the robe closed. He gestures, "You two first. In case my ass decides to make me fall."

A diamond remains a diamond even if hidden in a dungheap and you will remain a Silver Fang even if you live among urrah and half-dogs.

Clemency House: Living Room(#2823RFJ)

The living room of the townhouse is well lit, with simple white walls and mock wooden floors. Theres a few basic carpets that line the floor to keep feet warm, as well as air vents...but overall, the living room is rather barren. There is an old recliner sitting in the corner, a leather couch with a few small rips in it against the wall, and an old late 90's model CRT TV that sits on a stand, gathering dust. There's no gaming system, but there is an old VCR player sitting there under the TV.

Most of the light in the living room really isn't from the outside. There are a pair of windows with blinds to cover them, but, the sun moves so that they rarely light up.

There is a staircase that leads upstairs, as well as a second staircase that leads downstairs right next to it. The one leading up seems to lead to another hallway while the down staircase has a door at the end. There is a front door that is wooden and freshly painted, while the kitchen behind seems to be just as barren as this room.

This house isn't what most have seen of it before, and in fact...dosn't look right. There are claw marks on the walls, and a few broken things around. Theres a smell of rotten food coming from the kitchen, no doubt over three months old by now, and hopefully been trashed yesterday. No matter how you look at it, Mathias is in the living room, sitting on a recliner, seeming to meditate.

Cedric looks very much out of place in such chaos and decay, immaculate as ever, a slight wrinkle around his nose where his nostrils are narrowed in a mostly failed attempt to keep the stink from the kitchen out as he opens up the door and enters the house, Katya in tow behind him.

Katya comes in looking rather shaken up from the ride here, glancing around the room like something might suddenly jump out of the shadows and bite her head off. With her rather feral looks and unkept hair, she actually looks rather in place in a house such as this, like ye old crazy lady with 57 cats. Her clear blue eyes flutter around the house suspiciously, and her gaze lands on Mathias, eyes narrowing as she glares at the Theurge a moment too long for comfort, before shifting down into lupus with plop. Her nose wrinkles as her increased smelling capacities amplify the rotting smell in the next room.

Mathias dosn't comment, instead he holds his pose, you may notice his heart pounds a bit quicker for a moment when the pair enter, but, he's trying his best to surpress it. His eyes closed, and his hands together in front of him.

"Alarm call," Cedric enunciates to Mathias. He gives the theurge an expressive look, though with the inadequacy of homid body language compared to lupus, what he's expressing may not be quite clear.

Blackriver turns her head and ears briefly to catch what Cedric says, her tail lowering so it's held at a slightly downward slant out behind her. She licks her nose once, and turns to pad towards Mathias, taking in a sharp intake of air as she does so, and slowly sniffing the homid over.

From afar, to the room, Blackriver flicks on Sense Wyrm. Bound to pick up some background noise in the city and thus be useless. But such is life.
Mathias pages to the room: Actually, here it may be slightly higher then background. Just bad emotions here have festered?

Mathias opens his eyes and looks to Cedric, though he keeps his posture. He dosn't comment, though he looks from Blackriver to Cedric, then out the front window.

From afar, to the room, Blackriver doubts that would be the case, but lets the wizard call on that. ;)
You paged the room with 'Wyrm isn't just bad emotions, or rotten food, Mathias.'.

Cedric speaks again. "Mathias. At some personal inconvenience to both myself and to your elder, I have arranged this meetin'. You will kindly show the respect to Blackriver that she deserves as your elder, take the lupus form, and answer any questions she thinks it necessary to ask. Remember that you told me you are here to do Falcon's will. Sittin' there like a stone buddha won't achieve that."

Blackriver's nose twitches, and her posture stiffens considerably. Finishing her inspection, she sits down on her haunches in front of Mathias, tail curling around her front legs, and tilts her head to one side. Well? Her expression seems to say.

From afar, to the room, Blackriver flicks on ToG at this points to. Okay, that's the end of my gifts. ;)

Mathias looks to Cedric for a moment, "I'm sorry Cedric-Rhya, I was trying to keep my composure, and was working on keeping my center." he pauses, as he changes to lupus form, his white fur shining again...well, more of a dirty white color. He's not exactly the best of breed here. With that, he hops from his chair and looks to Blackriver again, before he looks away. Hellow again Lightning-on-Four-Paws-Rhya.

Cedric follows Mathias into lupus and sits back on his haunches on a clear patch of floor. Again you take a good intention and fail to turn it into a good action, he points out. Then he turns to Blackriver. As I told you, he is Falcon's servant, just as I am. Thank you for taking the time to revisit your decision. Have you anything to ask him, or me?

Blackriver's nose wrinkles in disgust at the ill-kept lupus, and she slowly tilts her head to the other side, quiet for a moment. Why are you still here? She asks Mathias after several seconds of silence. In lupus, it's impossible for her to keep the hostility out of her voice, nor does she try to hide it.

Promises-Kept keeps his gaze straight ahead, not looking at ethier directly, or challengeing. One was called by falcon to this sept, and have not been told to go elsewhere. One stays, because one must.

Lightning keeps silent, only a slight twist of his ear betraying that he's paying close attention to this exchange.

Blackriver's ears twitch, and she leans forward slightly. And while you have hidden here in the scab, what have done? Have you fought the Wyrm, helped other Garou, tried to be a good Silver Fang? The Philodox pauses for moment. Or have you sulked in the shadows, whining about your fate? The way she says it makes it pretty clear which one Blackriver thinks is most likely, although the trash house helps too.

Promises-Kept gives a negative reply. One has worked with the scab wolves, and was able to find a lost cub. One spent time as he was able to teach the cub, to make way to becoming something great. One has walked the scab, and listened to find what one could find. But, there was time to which one was weak.

More silent listening from Lightning. The fostern remains immobile, intent.

Blackriver doesn't seem very impressed. Her ears settle down in a lupine frown, and she stares rather eerily at Promises-Kept. No. What have you done? What have you fought? How have you tried to do what Falcon has asked of you? How have you tried to be a good Silver Fang? You found and taught a lost cub... is that all?

Promises-Kept flattens his ears and looks away. One has lived. One cannot claim more then that. He looks a bit shamed to that, is tail curled tight around his side.

Lightning interjects a comment at last, with sympathy evident as well as regret. He took the rejection by this sept hard. I think he has been hard put to do more than live.

Blackriver looks rather... disappointed, ears drooping down a touch and weight shifting over slightly to her right side. But you stayed. She mummers, partially to herself. Why do you do nothing? What do you wait for?

Promises-Kept pauses a moment. Look to the walls. They are my tale of despair and anger. Again, there are multiple claw marks on the walls, many obvious. One left to the city to forget it, to find the center, and if need be, live as a gnawer to serve Gaia.

Twitch, from Lightning. To serve Gaia is good, he agrees, with a fairly obvious 'but' looming up. But... (there it is), you are a Silver Fang, a noble. It is not right that you should live on the streets in shame. This is why I rescued you.

Blackriver's lips curl back in a silent snarl, and it's clear she agrees with Lightning's comment. If you wish to leave our tribe. Then leave. She snarls.

Promises-Kept keeps looking away, as he replies. One does not want to leave the tribe, but one does what one must to serve Gaia. Even if one must leave the tribe, One works for Gaia first.

You will not leave our tribe, Lightning insists. Your bearing, your blood, your fur, all show your lineage. A diamond remains a diamond even if hidden in a dungheap and you will remain a Silver Fang even if you live among urrah and half-dogs. He turns to address Blackriver. What he wants and what we all want is for him to remain one of us, and do Gaia's bidding and Falcon's, without bringing himself or us into disrepute. Can this be achieved?

Blackriver's bright pink tongue comes out to smooth back her whiskers, as she considers Lightning's words. It can. She decides after a moment. But he must be willing to work hard, to remember the creeds and think before he acts. A pause. And it will take a long time. She angles her head to the side and stares at Promises. How much are you willing to do to be a part of this sept and fight for Gaia as a Silver Fang and a guardian of the Hidden Walk?

Promises-Kept tilts slightly, a human gesture. One has risked life living so close, has tried as hard as possible for everything he has done. There is nothing one will not do. The last bit is both a statement and a sort of boast, he stands behind it, all four paws.

Lightning, for the first time in this tense three-way exchange, seems to express a positive air towards Promises-Kept. Well said, young wolf. Now I hear the true spirit of Falcon at last.

Blackriver lest out a soft huff of approval. Then show me. Show us. Show your tribemates and the people of the sept you wish to join. Soon the last leaves will fall off the trees, and the snow and cold wind will come. Then we will have the rite to keep the sun on the darkest night of the seasons. Before then, you must do five things. Five things to combat the wyrm, to help your fellow Garou, to show your willingness to work and be a member of the sept, to convince us that you have learned honor and wisdom. Then, if those five are enough, whoever is elder then can give you new chimminage.

Promises-Kept pauses a moment, then looks to blackriver, meeting her gaze for the first time. As you have said it, it will be done. His eyes burn with fire in them, not in a challenge, but rather a show of will.

Lightning 's tension starts to relax as Blackriver pronounces her decision in her best halfmoonish way, though it blips back up again at her last hint that she may not always be elder. For a moment he turns his head and looks at her, his nose twitching in a half-suppressed query as to what she means by that and whether she has him in mind. Then he turns back to Promises-Kept as he makes his vow, and once more expresses approval. I suggest you begin by cleaning this den up, he comments. You should be proud of yourself and you cannot be proud of yourself while you live in a house full of filth and decay. To show that I wish you nothing but well I shall help you.

Blackriver's tail waves slightly in the air at Promises' enthusiasm. She turns briefly to look at Lightning, giving the Fostern a 'well, duh' look.

Promises-Kept seems to agree, as he changes forms back to homid, then going into the kitchen, where running water is soon heard, as is the clashing of pans.

Lightning looks at Blackriver again. The homid-born garou seems to find the lupus-born one's frankness about the eldership issue a little disconcerting. Shall I take you back to the bawn? he offers by way of changing the subject.

Blackriver on the other hand (or paw) seems to find Lightning's tactfulness regarding the subject rather confusing. Thus, she's also quite happy to change the subject, chuffing an eager yes to the Galliard's suggestion, and reluctantly shifting upwards into homid.

"I will not have a Silver Fang living on the streets. It is shameful and dishonourable."

Even a luxurious hotel room can become very dull after a few days' residence. The television has been on a great deal, and Cedric and Mathias have been showing signs of mutual annoyance at their continued sharing of the space. Right now, Cedric has gone to take a bath with the local paper, while the TV is burbling inconsequential news bulletins at Mathias. The room's telephone rings.

Mathias grumbles a moment, then looks over to Cedric's bathroom for a moment, then goes over to pick up the phone. Lifting it to his ears, he says simply, in a deadened voice to try to help mask his identity. "Hello, this is room 207, how may we help you?"

The voice on the phone has a British accent, akin to Cedric's but a good deel less genteel-sounding. "Is that Mr. Ambermere?"

Mathias pauses a moment, then looks over to the bathroom. "Sorry, but I'm afraid he is currently busy. May I take a name and message to be delievered when he is free?"

The voice's owner sounds inexplicably pleased with himself. "Who's that speaking?"

Mathias pauses a moment, not seeming sure, before he says simply, "My name is Mathias Sorrendale. And as I've said, Mr. Ambermere is currently occupied."

"Sorrendale," repeats the voice on the phone. "And you're a friend of Mr Ambermere's? An employee?"

Mathias pauses a moment again, trying to order his thoughts with the voice on the phone. "I would believe the description fitting. Is there something I could help you with?"

"Which description?" comes a question fired back. "Friend? Employee?"

Mathias responds quicker this time to the voice on the phone. "Both. While we both continue our professional careers together, we have also become friends."

"I see," says the voice, now sounding smug. "So are you close friends?" Meantime, Cedric shouts out from the bathroom, "Who's on the phone?"

Mathias holds his hand over the speaker a moment, "Some british sounding person that was asking for you." he grumbles a moment, then removes his hand, "If by close you mean getting to enjoy a meal together after a hard week, then sure. Romantics ain't a part of this."

Nothing from the phone but a click and the buzz of a dialtone. Cedric emerges from the bathroom, dripping and clad in a towel. "British person?" he demands crossly, pushing wet hair out of his eyes.

Mathias looks back up and just hangs up the phone. "Bastard hung up. Was asking for you. Had a british accent, and then wanted to know if I was your employee, or friend."

"Hell," swears Cedric. "British people after me on the phone means one of two things. Either my family, or... not."

Mathias pauses a moment, "I told them that you were currently busy, and unable to come to the phone for the moment. It just...doesn't feel right somehow. If I didn't know better, I'd bail now."

Cedric shakes his head. "I doubt it's anything to panic about. For the first year or so I was over here, in Canada, the British press were still sniffin' at my heels. I sang pretty small and didn't get into any public dust-ups, wasn't seen with any young debs on my arm, and eventually they gave up. Wonder if they're after me again for some reason." He slips back into the bathroom and comes out in a dressing gown this time.

Mathias just looks at Cedric. He pauses a moment, "That's even worse. If I was to leave, they'd jump all over it. I don't need my pictures in the papers again." he looks about, "Well, just means we can't have hot and raunchy sex. Seeing how hard that would be."

A look of distaste spreads over Cedric's face. "No-jolly-old-thank-you," he says firmly. "I'm not havin' my name in the papers again, never mind linked with yours. How old are you anyway?" He looks piercingly at Mathias.

Mathias rolls his eyes, "Guess I'm not even worth associating with? Well..." he pauses a moment, "Actually, since my picture appeared in the paper before...gah." he taps his chin, "Can't even remember too well, birthdays aren't well...kept track of. 17 I think."

Cedric gives a very hollow laugh. "I bet that's it. I bet some low scoundrel on the hotel staff who knows my name and knows I used to be newsworthy, has tipped off the press that I've got... got a pretty rent boy stashed away in my room with me." He gives Mathias a thunderous, and most unfair, look.

Mathias looks up a moment, "I can't help being pretty you know. To some of us, it's natural." he looks over, "Well...what do you want to do then? I've sorta stoped caring what people say about me. You on the other hand..."

Cedric gives Mathias another glare at the hint that the theurge is naturally pretty. Certainly Cedric himself doesn't look his normal handsome, dashing self while clad in a bathrobe, dripping wet, and fuming in rage. "Got to get you out of here," he says. "But where the hell can I put you? That'll be safe? While we wait for Blackriver to be ready to see you?"

Mathias gives a look to Cedric for a moment. "I can disappear. I'm used to it, and I've lived in the city for nearly three months on the streets. However much time it takes, I don't mind. It'll be back to the normals."

"No," Cedric almost barks. "I will not have a Silver Fang living on the streets. It is shameful and dishonourable."

Mathias holds his hands up. "Then, well, I don't know. I could just return to clemency house and all."

Cedric nods. "I'll check out of here," he says, "and come with you. If we leave carefully, and at night, hopefully we'll evade any paparazzi. I don't want to have to outrun them in my car -- remember what happened to poor old Diana."

Mathias ahhs and hehs. "I didn't think she was driving though? Besides, paparazzi are plus ten points each. If you can hit them while they are taking the picture, it's triple score over time."

Cedric laughs, at that, and some of his bad mood dissipates. "Okay. I'll feel all the better for not being cooped up here any more. Hotels are the most frightful borin' places. And soon I hope we'll have you sorted out, and me with a house of my own."

The two garou pack up their belongings -- which takes Cedric a lot longer than Mathias. The fostern calls down to reception to advise that he'll be checking out late that night, and after a few hours waiting rather nervously, they emerge with their cases and sneak down to the reception desk where Cedric pays off the room on a gold card. Then they head to the parking lot and burn rubber, reaching Kent Crossing and Clemency House without obvious mishap.

"I dashed well knew you were too good a cub to be true."

Big Red Barn(#3420RA)
The barn is built in the old style, a vast three level structure that is greater in height than a mere three stories, actually closer to five. Great wooden posts support the weight of the upper levels and roof, sunk into the hard-packed dirt floor of the first level like a sparse forest of regularly spaced, naked trees. The stalls and flagstones which once were here have been torn out to leave a rather open area where even crinos Garou may roam freely without fear of running into anything but the supports or the walls or the ladder at the back which allows access to the other two levels.
The first two levels are relatively open to each other, the second being only little wider than a catwalk going around all the walls but the front one, which has massive, twenty foot tall doors set into it. The third level is a true second floor except for a place cut out that allowed hay to be tossed down to the ground floor when the farm was actually worked. Now, it is a hayloft where Garou can sleep outside of the house.

'Indian Summer', they call it; a final spell of warmth and sunshine before Autumn's crispness succumbs to Winter's chill. The maple trees planted in the barnyard are naked of all their leaves, like cold black hands stretching out of piles of orange and brown leaves, but the grass and fur trees are still green and growing. The fading afternoon sunlight shines through the doorway of the barn, forming beams in the dusty air. Erika stands near the entrance, an aluminum washbin at her feet, and is struggling to try to wring out a huge wad of sopping-wet coarse blue cloth.

The familiar note of Cedric's car engine echoes through the stillness of the air. In homage to the unexpected warmth of this October, he's got the top down, and his fine golden hair is blowing in the breeze as he skids round the corner of the farm with his usual panache, pips his horn in a cheery greeting to Erika as he sees her at the barn door, and parks up at a jaunty angle in the yard before hopping out and striding over. "Erika! Got you at work on chores, I see?"

"Hey, Cedric!" the girl calls, her face brightening as the wooden walls of the barn echo her high, twangy voice. "Good to see you! Yeah, Cole thought it would be a good idea to muck out all the blankets and stuff before the weather gets any colder. How are things with you?"

"Been a busy bee," Cedric replies. "Had to dabble in tribal politics, and politics are a thing I truly detest. But it's dashed hard to stay out of them once you're an adult garou." He sighs. "Maybe good will come of this episode in the end, though, Falcon willin'."

Erika squeezes a final trickle of water from the blanket, then walks over to throw it over a low-laying beam supporting the wall of the barn. When she looks back, her eyebrows are raised in concern. "Is everything okay? Things seemed to be going so well for you last time we talked."

"Okay for me," Cedric says, stressing the 'me'. "Not so okay for someone else, and I may find myself bein' smeared by association if things turn out badly. You want the whole story? It's not entirely pleasant."

Erika glances around. "Uh, sure. I sure never won any popularity contests or anything." She smiles wryly. "And usually when the girls talked, I was the one getting smeared. But it's probably something I should learn to do better." She walks over towards the haybales scattered in piles at the back of the barn, and takes a seat. "I ain't seen anybody else around this afternoon, so should be okay to talk here."

Cedric walks over with Erika and seats himself. "Well, let's see," he says, settling into story-telling mode. "About a week back, I was feelin' a spot peckish, and spyin' a donut shop in town, I decided I'd pop in and grab some. Sweet tooth, don't you know." He gives Erika a disarming smile. "On my way out I bumped into a guy coming out from behind the store. Kind of a mess, like he was living rough, but... he had Falcon's blood. I recognised it in him instantly. And what's more, he recognised mine."

Erika listens with wide eyes, curling her knees up to her chest. "He was a Silver Fang? You can just tell like that?"

Cedric nods. "Not always, not infallibly, but a lot of the time. There's something about the way we look." He eyes Erika. "You've got it. Anyway, we spoke in the alley... after some initial unpleasantness..." His hand strays absently to his stomach. "Turns out the fellow was called Mathias. He'd been run out of the sept before I got here for various offences. Just a young cliath, not much older than you. A theurge."

Erika narrows her eyes a little. "A theurge?"

"So he said," Cedric confirms, "and I have no reason to doubt him... why do you ask?"

The girl shakes her head. "I don't doubt you, Cedric-rhya. I was just remembering what Blackriver-rhya had told me about running him off. She said that there was a theurge who had recently been at the sept, but had acted erratically and irresponsibly and been told to leave."

Cedric's lower lip pushes out for a moment. "That sounds pretty much like the same chap. Irresponsible is a good word and an apt one. I believe him when he says that he never acted from anythin' but good intent, but we all know what the road to hell is paved with, don't we?" He sighs. "I don't say for one moment that Blackriver did wrong in orderin' him off, or failed in her half-moon duty, or anythin'. But there's more to the story."

Erika's forehead wrinkles and she purses her lips. "Uh, is this guy gonna get in trouble for staying in town? And are you gonna get in trouble for chumming around with him?"

"As I said," Cedric goes on, "more to the story. I've told you how Falcon ordered me here, via Osric? What Mathias told me is that Falcon sent him here too. Maybe we're meant to do somethin' together. Maybe not. I don't know and neither does Osric, yet. But for that reason, and because it goes against the damn' grain to see one of our tribe living in alleys and eating from dumpsters like a Bone Gnawer, I took him off the street -- where, I might add, he was livin' because he couldn't bear to go against Falcon's orders and leave town, yet couldn't return to the sept proper because he'd been ordered off -- put him in my hotel room, and went to speak to Blackriver. She heard me out. And I've got to bring Mathias back to her shortly."

Erika seems to relax a bit, leaning forwards on her arms and letting her legs down to swing against the hay bale. "So what is he like? And, who is Osric? We were in lupus when you told us that Falcon had sent you, so I might not have understood everything you said quite right."

"He's not a well boy," Cedric sighs. "I fancy he was a wee bit high-strung even before he got into hot water. Theurges often are, you know. All that talkin' to the spirits. But I think a spell of eatin' and sleepin' properly would fix him. And speakin' of spirits, that's what Osric is." He holds out one hand, in the manner of a falconer inviting his bird to land. "Falcon spirit. Of the highest purity. Stays with me, guards me, guides me, commands me."

The cub's mouth goes open a bit, and the color drains from her face. She glances around at the wooden supports of the barn, and towards the door, and shifts around uneasily on her seat.

Cedric ducks his head forward to bring it closer to Erika's. "What's the matter? Osric's nothing to be scared of. He's an avatar of our tribal totem."

Erika shies away from Cedric's advance, hunching over and bowing her head to avert her eyes. Her voice is tiny, barely audible. "Sorry, Cedric-rhya. Those spirit-things just sorta freak me out."

"You have my word of honour as a Silver Fang and a Briton," Cedric vows, "that Osric will never harm you or wish you ill, so long as you follow the proper path of a true Garou of the Silver Fangs." He glances to his still-outstretched wrist, then back to Erika. "He says he promises."

Erika sits up slightly, but is still leaning away, looking at the space above Cedric's forearm with raised brows and tensed lips. "If you say so, Cedric-rhya, then I will believe it. But it still makes my hair stand on end, and my skin crawl. I don't like being around them. Blackriver says that all Garou have spirits inside of us, and it creeps me out to think I have something like that wriggling around inside of me."

"My dear girl!" Cedric exclaims. "Spirits don't... wriggle. Not in that sense. And if they did, you couldn't feel 'em in this world. Have you been to the Umbra yet?"

The girl's face turns from white to ash-grey. "Yes. Blackriver made me go there once. I ran and ran and ran."

Cedric rubs his chin thoughtfully. "You will need to learn to overcome that fear," he says, gently but firmly. "This is not a good time of month to take you to the Umbra, but in a few weeks, I shall take you, Blackriver willing."

Erika hangs her head, and is silent a long time. "Okay, Cedric-rhya. If you think I should go...But I warn you, it takes me forever to cross over. And I really got freaked out last time...I'm not proud of it. Blackriver had to chase me down."

"I shall be patient," Cedric promises. "And I shan't expect miracles from you. If we need to take baby steps with this one, baby steps we shall take. I dashed well knew you were too good a cub to be true," he adds flippantly.

Erika smiles wanly. "Sorry, Cedric-rhya," she says, and waits a long moment before adding, "I will try."

"I know you will," Cedric says with an encouraging smile. "Now, put it from your mind. No point frettin' over it and wastin' away. I've somethin' to show you. The house I may end up the owner of. Not far from here. Only just started dealings with the realtor, but no harm in givin' you a spin in the car past it...?"

The cub smiles genuinely, a broad grin that shows her teeth and brings a twinkle to her eyes. "That sounds great, Cedric! A day like this needs to be enjoyed a little bit. You never know if you're going to get another one."

"That's the spirit... if you'll pardon the expression in the circumstances," quips Cedric. "C'mon, we'll go for a spin round the little country roads. Enjoy what a damn' beautiful planet we have here, and remind ourselves what we lose if we don't fight for it." He stands and beckons Erika to the barn door.

He is a foolish young wolf in many ways but so were we all, once.

Undeveloped Forest
This tough group of thinning trees has never known the forester's axe, or indeed any blade of man. Lack of easy access routes and the rocky nature of the ground have conspired to make it of little value in human eyes. Those of a more natural bent, however, can appreciate the quiet glades, small brooks, and the healthy flora and fauna that live here.
Eastward, the land grows more rocky and rises upward into the northern range of the Blue Mountains. The area is bordered on the north by the railroad, on the south by the border of Wolf Woods National Park, and on the west by State Route 22, winding its way south towards the park entrance.

A pure white wolf comes sniffing through the trees, seeming in no hurry, nosing around as he goes. He puts up a squirrel which races up a trunk in fear of its life, but evidently he's not hunting for food right now, as he barely gives the fluff-tailed critter a second glance. After a while he pays particular attention to a clump of three trees, snuffling at their base, and then he sits down on his haunches and howls. I seek she who crosses the black river! I must confer with her in Falcon's name!

There's an answering howl a moment later, and soon Blackriver's grey and white form comes blurring out of the forest, trotting along at a brisk pace. She pads forward to sniff Lightning over, tail held straight out behind her and wagging slowly.

Lightning remains seated for a moment as the female wolf joins him, then hoists himself to his feet so that the lupus can give him the usual sniffs of greeting. Well met, he bids her. I have been busy since I last was with you. I hope to have a good strong den soon, not far from the other one. And then I shall be recognised as a member of this great sept, yes.

Blackriver takes her own sweet time sniffing the Galliard over, before withdrawing her nose and trotting back a step, flicking her ears once in acknowledgment of the Fostern's words.

There's something definitely uneasy about Lightning's posture. His stance towards Blackriver isn't deferential, but neither is it confident, at least not as confident as normal. He cocks his head on one side, and seems to be gearing up to communicate further. Blackriver's nose, meantime, is likely to have picked up on him a scent she's not known for several weeks, and probably never expected to smell again. The scent of a garou who was supposed to have departed the sept some time ago. The scent of Promises-Kept.

Blackriver's nose twitches and her ears splay in confusion as she leans closer, confirming the scent in her mind. Her posture goes rigid, and her fur bristles a bit, but she waits for the Fostern to speak before saying anything, although she seems dearly to want to.

Lightning walks a couple of paces, then turns back to face the philodox. I have something of importance to ask you, he finally begins. Just after full moon, by chance or by Falcon's will, in the scab I stumbled across one of our tribe. He was ill and dirty and hungry. He told me his story. He is a foolish young wolf in many ways but so were we all, once.

Blackriver lets out a growl so low it's almost inaudible. I told him to leave. She half snarls, half mumbles, mostly to herself.

You did, agrees Lightning. And he did not. But he has told me that what kept him here was not wilful disobedience of your command but confusion between the commands of his elder and his totem. For he, as I, hears the words of Falcon. It was Falcon who sent him here, and he was hesitant to slink away with his tail between his legs when he was under order to do Falcon's work. No wonder that he became confused and sick in the head when torn two ways as he was.

Blackriver begins to pace in a wide circle around Lightning, tail fluffing out behind her and ears held down in unhappiness. When he was here, She explains, Promises-Kept did nothing but get into trouble. Many Garou were angry at him - some even wanted to kill him. He did not seem to want to get into trouble, so I told him to go so he would stop hurting our tribe here, and would not get killed. It is not my fault that he failed to do what Falcon told him to when he had the chance to. I warned him.

It is not your fault, Lightning is quick to agree. And I do not seek to question your judgment as half-moon upon him. He knows that he acted badly, though his intentions were always good. Guilt weighs him down. Wherever he goes now, other garou will see him consumed by it, verging on madness. He is of our blood, Blackriver. I would not have the lesser tribes elsewhere see him and sneer at him. I ask this, not without hesitation. Give him the chance to do what he was sent here to do. The chance to redeem himself for his errors. Only thus will Falcon's work be done, and Promises-Kept saved from the pit of despair on whose brink he is teetering. (Lightning conveys this metaphor with a disturbingly realistic impression of a wolf on the edge of a steep cliff, staring down over it in fear.)

Blackriver pauses mid-step as the Galliard does his little metaphor, suddenly frozen in confusion. It takes her a moment to answer, first to work through the words and extract their meaning, then to weigh them. Maybe. She finally replies, slowly and hesitantly. Bring him to me, so I can talk to him. So I can see if he is willing to work hard to earn back his honor and another chance. What he says and whines are different then what he does. There's a long pause from the Philodox before she goes on. Falcon does not talk to me. He does not tell me what he wants me to do. But I do not need him to. I know what I know. And I know Promises-Kept has lost honor and acted foolish. But I also know the Wisdom creed tells me to be merciful. So bring him to me and I will see if he deserves another chance.

I shall bring him, vows Lightning. And you shall use your wisdom that the half-moon gives you to act for the best. He shakes himself all over as though to rid himself of the whole tricky topic, as though it were so much water on his body. How do you fare? How is the cub Always-Walks-Ahead? Is there news I can take back to the city?

Blackriver too seems more than happy to change topics. I am healthy. She replies. Walks-Ahead is living at the cub den now, I am teaching her how to fight and walk in the spirit world. She fluffs herself up a bit before going on. Tell the scab Garou that Wildfire is coming to the scab soon. We are hunting the tainted mirror-bird spirits that live in people's dreams. Circle Keeper of the Uktena told us what they are, and we are going to trap them and kill them.

Lightning gives a little growl at that news, a growl containing both annoyance at the existence of these spirits, and relish at the promise that they are soon to face their nemesis. I shall tell them, he promises. Will Wildfire hunt them alone or will others be called to help? I will gladly fight if called upon, and I think the pack Havoc will too. I hear there is another scab pack called Vendetta but I do not know them well yet.

Blackriver shakes herself lightly. Yes, yes, of course! You may fight with us, and tell Stone-Spirit-rhya that Wildfire would be honored to have her pack fight with us too. They are weak spirits, but they run very fast and we must kill them quickly so they do not run away. We will also need Garou to sleep, to lure the spirits into the trap. There's a pause as Philodox's bright pink tongue comes out to lick her nose. The raccoon pack is bad. She replies solemnly. It is full of charachs and metis, and they do not follow the traditions. They have been a pack for a while now, and I hear nothing of what they have done to fight the Wyrm.

Lightning gives a little chuff-snort of distaste. A pack full of those whom no others will pack with, he sneers, dismissing Vendetta. Will those who lure the spirits be new-moons as usual or will any garou serve? And how will sleeping lure spirits? I sleep, he notes majestically, as though Blackriver might think that so noble a Silver Fang might be immune from the need. Even Osric sleeps.

Blackriver's tongue skins the outside of her lip before slipping back into the large wolf's jaws. The spirits will come to taint the sleepers. She explains. I am thinking the ones who sleep will be the ones the spirits have come to taint before. That way they will think they can taint them again. The lupus cants her head oh so slightly to the right. Who is Osric?

Lightning seems slightly disappointed that Blackriver has to ask. He is Falcon's messenger. He guides me and commands me. He is the most noble and pure of spirits. He would not taint anyone in their sleep.

Blackriver glances around, as if the falcon-spirit might be hovering above Lightning's shoulder as they speak. Slowly, she flicks her ears in acknowledgment, admitting that she does not know much about the spirit world.

Lightning looks up, too, and a hypothetical watcher might well believe that the spirit is hovering not far above their heads. Or that one or both of them think it is. Many garou today do not know as much as they should, Lightning comments. Perhaps one day soon we shall spend time together with the spirits. But the moon thins and it is not good to be in the shadow without Luna's full light to guide. I should return to the city and make sure the foolish young Promises-Kept is still well. And then I shall start to spread your news.

Blackriver chuffs an okay, a bit uncertain about a field trip to the umbra, and wags her tail softly before beginning to meander away, sniffing at this and that on the forest floor. How's that for goodbye?

Lightning turns away once the exchange is obviously over, and as is often the way with garou when in lupus form, he simply trots off without any of the obvious farewells which humans usually conclude their conversations with. Soon he's lost to sight.

"I am no philodox to judge you, but so help me, I am a fostern to command you. "

West Bridge Street
The desperate hopelessness of the industrial sector just to the south makes itself felt here, in crowding tenements and dying trees. Many of the people here leave their homes to go to the factories and warehouses, and to return again to noise, crowding, and the tempers of too many people in too small a space. The street is a patchwork of potholes and attempted fillings of them, cracked across with the imperfection of the work. The occasional shop is tucked in here, small building among those a few stories taller. From 13th to 15th Streets, every inch of land is used, mostly for buildings, occasionally for a small, struggling garden which even in the best years cannot hope to provide all the needed vegetables.

The door to the donut shop here in the bad part of town swings open, and a tall man in a suit comes striding out in what seems to be a great hurry, heedless of any pedestrians who may be on the sidewalk in his path already.

Mathias has been around here before, but, he's wearing a hoodie...and he dosn't come out of the front door, instead he's hanging around the back. There were some stale donuts there that he grabed, a turnover no less that hadn't sold the day before. With that in hand, he makes his way around the front of the store, no doubt his path going to meet Cedrics

Cedric swings through ninety degrees, still walking very fast, and heads along the sidewalk in the direction of a smart yellow sports car parked illegally at the roadside, just the other side of an alleyway's entrance across which he strides, only to walk full tilt into a younger guy emerging from the alley clutching something a little furtively. "Excuse me!" he calls out, not in an automatic kind of way, but sounding genuinely apologetic as he looks at the guy he walked into. One eyebrow rises as he does so.

Nearly five and a half feet tall, Mathias seems to be in his mid-teens. Rich blue eyes and blond hair cover his head, while a button nose and thin lips round out his face before ending in a strong jutting chin. He seems to be rather thin, with a slight build to his body, wearing a navy blue tee-shirt, with a brown leather vest over it. He also wears a pair of khaki cargo pants that end at his feet in worn hiking boots. His hair also has a small lock of metallic blue dye off to the right side, over his eye.

Mathias pauses a moment, and gives a low snarl first towards Cedric. An automatic reaction really. When he looks up to Cedric for more then a moment, it cuts off. He pauses a moment and slinks, before taking a step back, looking ready to escape by blending in with anyone else who might be around. "Don't worry about nothing." he claims quickly.

If the younger man's looks hadn't already set Cedric's alarm bells jingling, that ill-suppressed snarl would surely have done so. Taking a quick glance round himself, he steps forward into the alley as Mathias steps back. "Who in Falcon's name are you?" he hisses as quietly as he can while remaining loud enough for Mathias to hear.

Mathias looks at Cedric a moment, "Noone, and it'll stay that way. Falcon abandoned me, so I walk alone." and with that, he turns and tries to scramble away into the alley. Really, he still isn't in the best shape ever, if snarling over a stale piece of food wasn't enough to give it away.

"What the hell?" Cedric ejaculates, not to Mathias but ninety degrees to one side, to seemingly empty air. Then he strides forward again and catches up with Mathias at the point where the alley turns the corner behind the actual shop. "Falcon abandon you? The hell you say. You just hold still, now, and tell me who you are and what you're doing dumpster-diving like one of Rat's brood."

Mathias does a heel turn to face Cedric, a metal shiv in one hand (Silver? Unlikely!). "Who sent you? Why have you come? Bad enough to be run off because some bitch never bothered to listen to anyone outside her pack, but has she sent you to kill me?"he takes a quick swipe with it. "I won't go down that easy, not over something that bitch has said to stroke her ego!"

"Falcon sent me!" Cedric hisses as the shiv slashes across his stomach, slicing open his immaculate mauve shirt and drawing a long wound across his lower ribs and belly which starts bleeding immediately and profusely. "You little bastard!" he growls at that, and reaches out a hand to try to grab Mathias' wrist before he can strike again, while also striding forward to push him back into the wall either by physical contact or by pushing into his personal space to prompt a retreat.

Mathias lets his wrist get grabbed, as he utters "Liar! Falcon dosn't come for me." he gives a low growl as he tries to reverse it, to step to the inside of Cedric, and then throw him, using this wrist as a pivot over his shoulder.

Cedric finds to his relief that he's stronger than Mathias; quite a bit so. He hardly teeters under Mathias's attempt to perform a shoulder throw; instead, his fingers close on the theurge's wrist like a vise, and his other arm wraps round his upper body, whereupon he drags the youngster sideways and behind the shop. His fresh donuts lie forgotten as he yanks Mathias out of view from the street. Still bleeding profusely, he growls into Mathias' face. "I am the Chosen of Falcon. I am Cedric Ambermere. Your face proclaims your blood. Who are you? Speak before I snap your wrist. Or your neck."

Mathias gives a low growl, then a yelp as it's reversed back on him. He pauses a moment, "Mathias Sorrendale, Promises-Kept." it's low, mostly growled out, and with enough anger in the undertones to make mortal children flee in terror!

"You're Mathias Sorrendale?" For a moment, in surprise, Cedric's grip on the youngster loosens. "I was told you quit town..."

Mathias tries to buck free of Cedric. "Not that easily. But, if word reaches back to the rest of the sept, it'd be the end of me. I've no love among the liars."

Cedric's fist tightens again as Mathias tries to pull away. "They would dare, would they?" he growls menacingly. "Perhaps you'd better tell me just what the hell has been going on that you're in this position, in town dishonorably and furtively, stabbing your betters, with Shadow Lords sneering at the mention of your name."

Mathias is held in place because of Cedric. "So you've already heard what they've had to say? So? where is the silver to kill me? Or, am I not enough worth that much?" he pauses, "But, if you must listen to me talk before you kill me...I still own a house."

"My weapon is in my car," Cedric comments icily. "I did not come to kill you. I came because Falcon turned my steps this way, towards your path. I am no philodox to judge you, but so help me, I am a fostern to command you. And my command is, that we get out of this alley where the back door could open any moment," he nods to the bakery's rear entrance, "and someplace quiet where you can tell me all your story. Coherently. Without stabbing me."

Mathias gives a low growl. If he was a wolf, his ears would be laid back, and submissive. He finally says "Yes...Sir." looking around if he can, "If you want to drive...but the house is close to the bawn.

Cedric realises he's still bleeding quite profusely. With an oath he shifts to glabro for a few seconds, and waits for the stab wound to heal. Even in this form, he somehow looks more craggy and striking than many garou in their homid shape. "I have a hotel room that's closer yet," he comments, "and where nobody who wishes you harm, if there are any such, will think to look for you."

Cedric(#2777Pc)
A huge man nearer seven feet than six, with features that could have been chiselled from granite, and hair that seems more like a mane of long, dark golden locks, somewhat matted and windswept. His sheer bulk is enough for most people to find him offputting, yet there's something noble and Viking-like in him too, and a spark of intelligence in the hazel eyes set below his prominent brow-ridge. The sort of man who could break you in half with ease, but would then put the broken halves down carefully and gently.

Mathias pauses a moment, but doesn't comment more. "To your car then?" he grabs the stale turnover off the ground. "Or, to walk?"

Cedric shows Mathias his teeth. "Drop that," he commands. "Falcon's children do not survive on scraps like starving mongrels. Come to the car with me, we'll go to the hotel, and I'll call room service for a square meal which, looking at you, you seem to desperately need." The grip on him loosens a fraction. "Agreed? Understood?"

Mathias drops it out of reflex, he's slightly more docile now towards Cedric, more submissive. "Agreed Sir." he says softly,not looking Cedric in the eyes.

Cedric glances down at his healed stomach and his ruined shirt with chagrin. He releases Mathias. "Walk ahead of me to the car," he commands. "And don't even think of trying anything."

Mathias walks towards the car, possibly only splitting up to goto the passenger seat. Well, among other things,he's decently unshaven, that could be fixed too. He dosn't comment now, instead when he gets in, only buckling up.

Cedric reverts to homid and follows Mathias closely, trying to conceal his torn and bloodied shirt behind the other garou's body until they're at the car which thankfully has no traffic cop standing by it with a ticket. He quickly dives in and unlocks the passenger door for Mathias. "Right," he grunts, turning the key in the ignition. And then, mysteriously, he adds, "And I hope you're damn' well right about this, Osric."

Mathias dosn't comment, instead he just looks straight ahead out the front window of the car. "Could have healed it, but...you're a big garou. Don't really ask the spirits to help with minor cuts."

Cedric pulls out into the traffic. The sports car whisks its way through other vehicles with effortless speed until they arrive at what is not a particularly plush hotel, but is at least the best this city has to offer. Cedric says not a word more until they are in the parking lot and turns off the engine. "Very well," he says, then. "Come with me, Mathias."

"This was a long time ago, and in those days, even the chickens were heroes."

Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room
Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a twin-pane window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set into an alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep freezer as well as shelves of dry goods.
Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves containing a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few decorative nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room from the kitchen.
An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing behind the house.

Erika sits at the kitchen counter, reading over the sports page of the newspaper. By the grey sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms she wears, it looks as though she is getting ready for bed. In front of her, mostly in a bowl but with several dribbled kiblets on the newspaper, is a white plastic bowl full of a sugar-glazed breakfast cereal.

The familiar throaty roar of Cedric's MX5's engine is heard outside, and shortly afterwards, the Fang comes bounding into the kitchen through the back door energetically. Seeing Erika, he flashes her one of his immaculate, gleaming-toothed grins.

Erika is on her feet in a flash, sending the chair skidding backwards on the floor and the spoon clattering amidst milky drops on the counter. "Cedric!" The cub throws her arms wide, and runs up to the doorway where the elder Galliard stands. "Hey, Cedric-rhya!"

"Steady, steady!" Cedric smiles, holding up a hand to ward off Erika. "I know I've not seen you for a few days but you don't need to throw spoons at me."

Erika continues to grin, but hides her hands behind her back. "How are things with you? Did you ever get a hold of Cole-rhya?"

"We met very briefly," Cedric says. "Nice young fellow. I've been meeting all kinds of folk. Have you met Jamethon yet? A noble garou who well deserves his high position here. And," he grins again, "I'm hooking up with a pack. AND," he tops himself, "I've heard there's a possible house I may be able to get ahold of, right out here by the bawn's edge."

The kitchen is quiet at this hour, the cooking finished for the day, and the dishes washed and carefully replaced in their cupboards. A mess on the kitchen counter marrs the otherwise meticulously clean room however; some milk and breakfast cereal lays there, some in a bowl, some spattered across the sports page of the newspaper. Erika stands in front of Cedric, a few feet from the back door, dressed in her pajamas. The girl's smile fades a smidgeon, but her voice is still irrepressibly cheerful. "No, Cedric-rhya, I've not met Jamethon. I've been spending most of my time doing chores here, or with Blackriver-rhya out in the woods. I got to wrestle her today! She trounced me pretty well, too!"

Cedric is still smiling like a loon. "Well, don't be disheartened, my dear! Blackriver is a very skilled garou in a fight, and the more you lose to her, the more you'll learn. You may beat her one day!" He turns his head to the side abruptly, as though looking at someone or something immediately alongside him, though there's nothing there but the refrigerator.

Erika cranes her neck to look around Cedric and try to follow his gaze. "So do I get to know what pack you're joining, Cedric, or is it a secret for now? And what house are you buying? I guess you'll be staying here a while after all!" Her smile brightens at this prospect. "Oh yeah, I should pass on to you...Wildfire is looking into some sort of bad dreams that have been happening to people here. I guess they can give you Wyrm taint! Anyways, Blackriver asked me to pass on that they're looking to help anyone who has had the bad dreams, and also for the help of a Theurge in tracking down whatever is causing them."

Heavy footsteps sound out from outside before the backdoor slides open and a hefty man squeezes through the backdoor. He's dressed to endure a harsh winter, in gray wolfskins, sturdy jeans, and strong workboots, although it's a mild autumn night. His face and arm are mangled with scars, and his skin, where unscarred, is darker than even the more tanned parts of the Silver Fangs. Reggie's clenching the top half of a broken hockey stick with tatters of black duct tape hanging from it, and a burlap bag with something, roughly the size of a basketball, moving inside it.

Cedric seems not to heed Erika for several seconds, still staring at whatever he's staring at. Eventually he says "Mm hmm," and turns back to her. "Not seen the house yet, but a chap called Basil thinks it might be suitable. Hoping to check it out tomorrow. The pack's called Havoc, and runs in the city under Wolverine. As for bad dreams... maybe I have a clear conscience or something? I don't suffer from them, luckily." As he concludes, the door opens, and Cedric moves aside to let the new arrival inside. "Hello, hello, hello! What the jolly old deuce is this, then?"

Erika startles when the door opens and Reggie enters, but swallows and somewhat regains her composure, though she still glances about the room nervously. "Hello, Rags-rhya. Um, Cedric-rhya, have you two met?"

Reggie pushes the door shut with his elbow and studies the kitchen, blinking at the presense of Cedric, and stares at the cut of Cedric's suit, then blinks again to banish the demons of pastel shirts and loud ties from his retinas. "No, we haven't", he replies to Erika. "Member of the family, I take it." He puts aside his hockey stick, leaning it against the wall, and holds out his right arm, gnarled with scars, towards Cedric. "I'm Rags-Torn-to-Rags, a Ahroun Cliath of the Uktena. In the city I'm known as Reggie Coward. Reggie for short."

Three hundred pounds of muscle, fat, and gristle pour unevenly down a frame over six feet, puddling in an overflowing belly barely restrained by jeans desperately calling upon extra-strong reinforced seams and solid brass hardware. Army-short hair outlines the dome of the skull, newly decorated by a circular slice cutting bone-deep evenly around its circumference. A monobrow shelters sunken, piggish eyes. An unevenly flattened nose and cauliflowered ears have evidently received many a fist in the past. A patchwork of grey wolf fur hangs over his shoulders, arms, and chest, covering distorted, hairfree skin. The hands demonstrate a history rich in manual labor, with stumpy, thick fingers and fingernails broken to the quick. His right arm is a massive length of scar tissue from shoulder to hand, with the muscling of a paraplegic. A black feather is braided into the grey fur on his right shoulder. There's a faint scent of gasoline, nicotine, and alcohol.

Cedric blinks briefly too at the newcomer, with his unstylish haircut, heavy brow and begrimed hands, not to mention the patchwork of fur he's clad in. The very antithesis of the dapper, groomed Silver Fang. But nothing loth, he extends a hand. "Good evening, Reggie. Cedric Ambermere, Strikes-as-Fast-as-Lightning-from-a-Clear-Sky, gen'rally known as Lightning for convenience. Fostern and galliard, First Tribe. Offspring of a noble stock, but I shan't bore you with a recital of my heritage unless you actually tell me you want it. Unlike some of my tribe, I don't assume all the world's interested in the doings of my great-great-grandfather's cousins."

Erika glances up at the men's faces as they converse, and quietly walks over towards the new arrival to stare at his mysterious wriggling burlap bag.

Reggie wraps his begrimed hand about Cedric's in a very firm handshake that tests the Silver Fang. "Offspring of a noble stock--my grandfather was as noble as they come", the Uktena grins tightly, "But I take it that you're Silver Fang. And a Galliard. Come to gather tales about the Silver Fangs? There've been several Silver Fangs here, who've done mighty deeds, and I could tell you of their doings, although I couldn't tell you squat about their grandfather's cousin's doings." He holds out the bulging, moving bap towards Erika. "Here, tonight's dinner if it's not too late. If it is, tomorrow's grilled chicken on a spit."

"Always in the market for tales of my tribe or of any noteworthy garou," Cedric murmurs. On receiving Reggie's crushing grip he himself turns up the juice and squeezes Reggie's hand back; perhaps he can't quite match the ahroun's muscles, but for so elegant a dandy he's certainly no weakling. He eyes the bag. "It's alive," he comments, redundantly. "Fresh meat!"

Erika looks up with raised eyebrows when stories are mentioned, then takes the bag. "Hey, thanks, Rags-rhya! I'll take care of it. I think everyone's eaten dinner tonight--less you'd like some?--but it will sure cook up nice tomorrow."

Reggie releases Cedric's hand, which is not quite mashed to a pulp. "It's alive", he confirms Cedric's observation. "Are you here to offer tales?" He waves off Erika's offer for dinner. "Keep it, then, for tomorrow. Just don't keep it as a pet--we had a Fianna once, that kept a rooster as a pet, with tragic consequences."

Cedric wriggles his fingers surreptitiously. "Sure I'll tell you guys a tale, if you like," he offers. "And I've eaten too. Pizza with Emma, earlier, back in town. What kind of tale would you like?" He looks brightly from Erika to Reggie.

"Hey, all right!" Erika exclaims, looking from one Garou to the other. "Hey, let me take this outside first, okay! I'll be right back!" Sliding the door open wide, the girl steps out into the night.

Reggie waddles past Cedric towards the refrigerator, and fetches himself a beer. He looks at the door where Erika's just left, and comments, "Wonder if that chicken will live the night, wherever she puts it." He pops open the beer as he waddles towards the table and claims a chair, then looks over to Cedric. "Perchance a tale about a Fianna and a rooster?"

"If you're going to be that specific, Mr Coward," Cedric says a little acerbically, "I'll need to make one up instead of drawing on my stores from history."

Erika returns to the kitchen, slamming the door closed, and panting for a bit with her hands resting on her elbows. Looking up at the men, she says, "Okay!"

The chair creaks threateningly as Reggie leans back, one arm crossed across his chest, one hand supporting the elbow of his other arm, as he drinks his beer and studies Cedric's fashion sense. "I'd like a tale of the place you come from."

Cedric hmmms. Then a visible thought strikes him. "You know," he says, "I think I do know a story about a rooster. But it's got Silver Fangs in, not Fianna. Will that do? And it is told about a prince of my tribe, back home in England." He raises one eyebrow, seeking confirmation from his audience that they want to hear.

"Sounds right on to me!" Erika offers. She goes over and wads up the milk-sopped newspaper, wiping down the counter and bringing her soggy breakfast cereal to sit in a chair closer to the other two.

Reggie leans over to inspect Erika's food, and inquires, "That's your dinner?" Without waiting for the answer, he turns back to Cedric, and opens his hands, palms out, indicating no opposition to the proposed story.

Cedric pulls out a chair and sits in it, leaning forward. "Many centuries ago, many generations ago," he begins in a conversational voice, "there was a King of the Silver Fangs in England, and his name was Harold Diamond-Cuts-Glass. A great garou, he lived to be, and his exploits are sung by galliards to this day. But this story comes from earlier in his life, when he was only a fostern such as I, the offspring of royalty, to be sure, but young and still not fully proven. And as sometimes happens in the Silver Fangs," he goes on, "Harold was predisposed to suffering from stress. If you prefer bluntness, he sometimes went a little mad. Now usually he'd just had a strange fit for an hour or two and then be right as rain, but on this occasion, it was worse. He ripped all his clothes off, refused to talk or listen to anyone, and crawled round on the floor. He wouldn't even eat at table, or eat meat, but would only eat grain from the ground before him, In short, he had come to believe that he was a chicken." He pauses with a smile.

Erika giggles and mouths the word, 'snack' to Reggie, but by the time Cedric gets the story going, she is watching the Galliard with rapt eyes and an open mouth.

Reggie listens to the story until Cedric gets to the part about not eating meat and only eating grain, and he inspects Erika's food again, then looks from the food to Cedric as he helpfully points at Erika's cereal.

"Not even nice grain," Cedric adds as he sees Reggie's gesture. "Just raw corn, not Wheatie Pops! So his father, who was Elder, and his mother who loved him dearly, were at a loss what to do. All attempts to heal him or reason with him failed. But then a clever ragabash from a neighbouring sept came to hear of Harold's plight, and he had a plan." He smiles. "A cunning plan. The ragabash, William Devil-In-The-Details, asked his parents' permission to help Harold, and they granted it, desperate as they were. Whereupon William went to Harold, took off all his clothes, sat under the table with him, and started pecking at corn too. So now we have two Silver Fang chickens under the table, yes?" Cedric looks at his listeners. "But this was all part of William's plan. Once Harold came to accept him as another chicken, William began to talk to him, and told him 'I have a great secret, but you are my friend, and I shall share it with you'. And William showed Harold his clothes, and told him how they would keep him warm and protect his modesty, and how the finer clothes looked so handsome and pretty. And soon William and Harold were both wearing clothes." He pauses for breath and for any comment.

"Geez, I would of never thought of that." Erika says, looking around amazed.

Reggie takes a peek under the table, before returning to focus on the tale. "I would have brought in a fox", he ponders.

"Ah, well," Cedric points out to Erika, "you're not a Ragabash." Reggie gets a sort of dirty look as he goes on with the tale. "Once he had his clothes back on, William went on to show Harold another secret. "Look! I have found out that chickens can eat other things than boring old corn!" he said, and he brought Harold some meat and ate it with him. And after that it was "I have found out that chickens can talk to humans!" and he showed Harold how he could speak to his parents again. And finally "I have found out that chickens can be dangerous fighting machines for Gaia!" and he led Harold out to where a fomor was terrorising a local village, and between them they slew it. In the end," he concludes, "thanks to William's cunning, Harold was functioning just as well as ever he had been, and as I said, he went on to perform noble and heroic deeds for the Garou nation. But you know... even when he became King of East Anglia, they say that every now and again they'd find chicken feathers mysteriously in his bed in the mornings..." He chuckles, and folds his hands together as the story ends.

Erika grins with an open mouth. "So, wait...Was he really a chicken?"

Reggie chuckles at the twist in the tale, and looks askance at Erika. "You might want to check on tomorrow's dinner. See if it'll eat meat and talk to people."

Cedric raises both hands, palms upwards, arms outspread. "Who knows? If he was... he was a damn' heroic chicken. But this was a long time ago, and in those days, even the chickens were heroes." He rises to his feet. "It's your bedtime, I think, young lady. And by the time I drive back to my damn' hotel it'll probably be mine too. I can't wait to have a place of my own again."

Erika sets down her empty bowl and walks in the door, standing in front of it for a moment as though to bar the way, and grinning impudently. She only stands there an instant though before moving out of the way and opening the door for the elder Fang. "Good night, Cedric-rhya! I hope that things work out for you with the house. And that you can come back soon."

Reggie finishes his beer, dents the side of the can, and crushes the beer can against his forehead, and burps. "Ah. Not a bad story. East Anglia's where you come from?", he addresses Cedric.

Cedric winks at Erika as she moves out of the way. "Remember that story, Erika. It can serve as the first brick in a whole wall's worth of tales and lore which you'll be able to call on, if you're to be the skilful Galliard I think you can be if you apply yourself." Turning to Reggie, he replies, "Almost. I'm from Hertfordshire, which is just slightly to the west, nearer London. But nearer to there than Seattle is to here." He pushes the door open. "Goodnight, children everywhere," he bids them.

"Good night, Cedric!" Erika calls out into the night, as the sounds of his sportscar crunching over gravel fade off into the night."

"House?", Reggie inquires, then seeing Cedric's imminent departure, raises his crumbled beer can, and tosses it into the recycle bin without leaving the table.