"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.