"No garou ever regretted takin' too many troops along on a rumble."

Brownstone -- Basement Apt.(#3328RJ)
The basement of the brownstone has been split into two sections. The stairwell leads down into the northwest corner section, which contains the boiler room, furnace, and the elevator shaft. The rest has been converted into another apartment, and Signe's made it into a rather fortified one at that. The only entrance is through a re-enforced steel door with no less than three dead-bolts. There are absolutely no windows at all in any of the four concrete and brick walls. It's a rather stark but functional space. Overhead, the air ducts and plumbing pipes are exposed, while the cement floor is covered by a ragged dark wine and gold Oriental throw rug. A makeshift shelving unit of two-by-fours and cinder block has been erected along the length of the wall with the door, and it houses a stereo, tv and old vcr. Directly opposite this is a beat-up leather couch and two mismatched recliners. The kitchen is small but functional, with a round wooden table and four chairs. Half of the back end of the building has been walled off for a private bedroom, while the rest is open to the living area. This space has been converted into a home gym--complete with wrestling mats, weights, and a full weight boxing bag.

The brownstone has been exceptionally empty lately, but just now, it is creaking back to life as Emma starts tidying things away. A sort of lost appearance has etched upon her face as she puts things away and heats up the oven to start a pizza.

Bzzt, bzzt, comes the sound of someone at the front door just as Emma opens up the oven door. Looks like her guest has impeccably bad timing.

She looks to the pizza oven and then to the door. With a sigh, the pizza is postponed and she moves to answer the door. The peephole brings a jolt of shock to her, and she quickly opens the door up. "Well well," she grins. "Before I say anything else, should I be pissed or relieved at finding you here?"

Cedric looks out at Emma from behind the fine golden hair which falls across his eyes like a fencer's mask, and gives her a slightly rueful smile. "That's for you to decide," he says. "I've had a few... problems lately, not all of them resolved as yet."

Emma nods her head, and opens the door more. "Well, let me get the facts then before I make my decision. You just get in now? I took off for the week to check in on my mom. Holidays and all that." The Get turns to the kitchen and replaces the pie into the oven.

Cedric follows Emma down into the kitchen and leans on the wall, looking like an oversized Christmas angel decoration whose wings have fallen off. "Hope your family's well," he murmurs. "Didn't get chance to visit mine this year... but they generally seem to find that the further I stay away, the better they like me. I tend to be troublesome. But also, I got myself stranded Umbraside and nearly killed by spiders. Not a very jolly three weeks."

Emma looks up at this, one eyebrow lifting. "Three weeks eh? How'd that happen. You don't seem the type to go spider hunting on your own, or for an extended hunt."

Cedric shakes his head. "Wasn't just me," he clarifies. "Three of us ended up in nice little coccoons, all mod.cons, slowly gettin' our gnosis eaten away. Thankfully we were rescued. One of your tribemates and his packies. Dillen."

Emma grins a bit at that, "Good to hear. I'd about thought you just upped and ran off, no word was coming around about anyone. Not that many folks come down to these parts anyway. You none the worse for it though?" She eyes him more critically now, as if gauging his remaining stamina.

Cedric peels himself off the wall and strolls across the kitchen. "No lastin' effects," he confirms. "Other than a persistant desire to slap the livin' bejasus out of Mathias for gettin' us into the mess. We still need to go back into the umbra and cleanse that house of spiders, but I guess we need a few more than three of us."

Emma snorts a little. "I've got a bad experience with 'em too. Spiders I mean. So what is it, a giant house full of webs and spiders? How many you think it should take?" The pizza is checked on by means of cracking the oven open, even though it was put in just a moment ago - it would appear the Get is hungry.

Cedric extends one hand in front of him, palm down, and rocks it back and forth. "I'd like half a dozen at least. More if possible. No garou ever regretted takin' too many troops along on a rumble. I'm up, so's Mathias, so's Ashley, so's Blackriver and Jonathan of my tribe. If Havoc all came along, I figure we'd kick some serious ass."

Emma looks up at this, "Ashley?" She grunts, and there is a definite, and palpable change to the Gets mood. "You want something to eat? I wasn't planning on sharing the meat lovers." The topic also, seems quickly changed.

Cedric seems oblivious to any overtone in Emma's voice when the Black Fury is mentioned. He presses on regardless. "Oh yes. She got caught up tryin' to rescue us. Brave, but crazy. I don't need feedin', so you press right on and scoff the whole pie if you've got the munchies."

It's rather hard to open a door that heavy quietly, and Abraxas doesn't make much of an effort to do so anyway. He opens it just enough to slip in, and then lets it shut heavily behind him. His standard sour look is in place, though the very observant might notice there are less lines between his eyebrows, and a slight lessening of his scowl.

Emma looks over to the door when it opens, "What a reunion." She smirks to Cedric as well, nodding in regards to the pizza. "Well, where Havoc is concerned, we've still got a lot to consider. You've not had the chance to tag along as we arranged, and I've been half gone myself. Hell, Abraxas been around more than us combined."

Cedric's eyes narrow just a fraction as he regards the Shadow Lord. "Everyone has extra-mural calls on their time now and again," he says mildly. "Hope everythin's been tickin' over nicely in the city, Pete?"

Abraxas's eyes narrow far more than Cedric's, and as probably expected, his response is tinged with faint suspicion. "I've been staying near the Brownstone. I suppose it's as nice as can be expected for a human city."

Emma nods her head, "Anything screwy going on while I was out Abraxas? Pull up a chair in here, and fill me in. Us, really. Ced's been out of the loop longer than I have. I need to check in with Grey too yet. So much for holidays."

Abraxas takes a seat, though he remains perched on the edge of the chair, as if he expects to have to leap up at any moment. "There's nothing really to tell. It's been quiet, at least here."
Cedric snorts. "Holidays? What's a holiday?" he asks with irony. "There's Laura and her littl'un too, isn't there. Any news from her?"

"God, she didn't pop the kid while I was gone, did she? I think she's got a while yet, though it's getting closer. We should have a proper pow-wow I guess. It's time we get settled and get back to dirtying our claws into something useful." The oven dings at this point, and with a wide-eyed smile, the Ahroun rises to fetch her pizza.

Emma needed to go, so the scene cut off there.

"Okay, you're a werewolf, I'm a werewolf, we're all happy little werewolves."

Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.

Cedric comes through from the farmhouse kitchen bearing a late breakfast in the form of grilled bacon and eggs over easy on toast; not high cuisine, but he seems happy enough with his lot. Only the cruel would suggest that the Silver Fang is proud of having made his own breakfast for once instead of having a servant make it for him. He's about to sink into a chair when he hears footsteps from the stairs, and he remains standing, waiting to see who's coming down.

He's short, for one thing, but that's to be expected in children. Of obvious Arabic descent, Hashim has the typical olive-brown skin, dark hair, and other facial features that mark his heritage. Early guesses would put him in his early teenage years, and of roughly average height and build. He often seems caught in mid-frown, and this combined with his generally taciturn and withdrawn nature gives the impression of a somewhat moody, somewhat sullen teenager.
His clothes are a little more ragged in appearance than the rest of him, second-hand cast-offs that wouldn't suffer from a closer acquaintance with washing machines. At least they're warm, if not somewhat aromatic. Those baggy jeans are a little too big on him, and the long-sleeved Mickey Mouse sweatshirt a little too small, but they work well enough. That's all covered with the type of ugly brown winter jacket that no reasonably sane person would buy new, and rounded out with a pair of cheaply made sneakers on his feet, their laces left untied as some minor act of rebellion. Or maybe he's just lazy.

Hashim tromps his way noisily down the steps, no missing him or his heavy feet, with hair still damp from a recent shower. In sullen teenage fashion, he just seems to radiate annoyance, if not at Cedric in particular than at the state of the world in general. A few steps shy of the bottom he pauses. His eyes are drawn toward the sword that Cedric has. "You some sort of ninja?" he asks eventually, and one can almost hear the smirk behind the words.

Cedric gives Hashim a long intent look. Then he places his plate down on the table slowly and deliberately. "I am not 'some kind of ninja', no," he retorts in an icily British accent. "I am Cedric Glazebrook St.Mawr Ambermere, fostern galliard of the Silver Fangs, who Strikes like Lightning from a Clear Sky. This sword I carry was given to me as of right by the Shadow Lords of the Caern of the Dripping Water in Ontario, and I bear it for Falcon and Gaia. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" He gives the word 'pleasure' a heavy, ironic emphasis, and his handsome face fixes in a frown as his eyes transfix Hashim.

Hashim still exudes sullenness, it seems rather ingrained with him. He loses a very, very slight edge of the attitude, though. You'd need a fine measure to gauge it, though. "Hashim," he answers, and just the first name, as if to counter Cedric's length introduction. He does, however, think to add: "Of Spokane." There's some sizing up of the man on his part, too, and whatever he sees, it keeps him quiet for a few moments longer. Until he adds, with another faint smirk, "I'm not a ninja either." Only then does he clump his way down the remaining three steps to floor level.

"Ninjas are rare in these parts," says Cedric with an air of understatement. "So if you're not a ninja, what the dooce are you?" He's still eyeing up Hashim with an inquisitive air. "You got a tribe? Or an auspice?"

Hashim fingers the side of his neck, scratching there idly as he tries to recognize the words. He's not straying from the stairway quite yet even though a glance is given toward the kitchen, his destination earlier. "I-- maybe." He shrugs, then makes some vague motion with his hand as he asks his own question. "So are you one of them? You know?"

"If I wasn't," Cedric deadpans back, "I wouldn't be standin' here watchin' my breakfast go cold. If you weren't," he adds, "I would be killin' you and disposin' of your body while my breakfast went cold. Come on, boy. Give me some information." He takes a step towards Hashim. Just one.

Hashim's posture shifts slightly, something touched more with both wariness and a certain sense of alertness. He's not particularly comfortable in the house here, 'kidnapped' by strangers, but is doing his level best not to show it. "I'd tell you if I could. I told you what I name. Hashim Farah. I'm from Spokane. In eighth grade. Werewolf." That's all said in the same slightly sullen manner he's been exuding, which continues as he draws a hand up, making hooked fingers like a claw. "Rawr." That has to be the most half-hearted, ambivalent mockery of a growl ever given, too.

Cedric doesn't step any closer to Hashim, but neither does he back off. "Okay, you're a werewolf," he drawls, "I'm a werewolf, we're all happy little werewolves. Who brought you here? What did they tell you?"

"I'm not happy," Hashim states quite definitely, lest someone get the wrong opinion here. "And it was... uh, I forget her name. I don't even know where 'here' is, I forget what happened, exactly. I got some story about staying put and doing what I'm told and not trying to run, respecting elders, and, uh, oh yeah, don't tell anyone who's not inside the house about werewolves or I'd be killed. Maybe there was some more stuff, I was distracted."

Cedric rubs his chin. "Goddamn," he sighs. "It ought to sound like a thin cover story, but in this crazy sept I can quite believe it, especially if you're a lost cub. Does the word 'kinfetch' mean a damn' thing to you?" he asks, with the air of a man expecting the answer 'no'.

Hashim doesn't disappoint. "Not a thing." Then he points at the breakfast plate, already going cold. "Is there more of that in there? I'm starved."

Cedric nods curtly. Then he seems to relent a little. "Hell," he says, "have that yourself. I'll whip some more up." He beckons Hashim through to the kitchen. "Let me tell you some stuff. Sit at the kitchen table and tuck in while I talk." The words are spoken pleasantly enough, but he clearly expects to be obeyed.

Hashim actually doesn't hesitate here, and though there's still that sullen teenaged mood that hangs over him like a cloud, he actually does show some manner. "Okay. Thanks." He takes the plate, and scarfs down one piece of bacon before he even reaches the kitchen. "What did you say your name was, again? By the time you got to the end of all you were saying I forgot the beginning." And there goes a second slice of bacon. He'll wait to sit before attacking the eggs.

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 walks through to the kitchen with Hashim in tow, and opens up the fridge again. Through chance or laziness he hasn't put the frying pan in to wash, and it's still warm on the stove. "Cedric's enough," he says. "Unless you're one of my family, and..." He looks at Hashim critically. "I very much doubt that, alas. Cedric Ambermere, or Lightning. And it's polite, in our society, to add '-rhya' to the name of one who's your social superior, which I'm afraid is pretty much everyone for you at present, Hashim."

Hashim sprawls in a sit at the table, and attacks the eggs with a fork. Stab, chew, swallow, talk. "Cedric, okay, I think just one name is enough for me to remember, I suck at names. Cedric-rhya." There. He adds the honorific, and if he sounds sullen still, well, that's probably just how he is. "Were you making more bacon? Because I could eat more bacon. More toast, too." You know. Growing werewolves and all.

Cedric gives a dry chuckle and empties the whole packet of bacon into the pan. "Okay, Hashim," he says as it starts to sizzle. "Let's start with the very very basics. Werewolves, or garou as we tend to call ourselves, come divided into a dozen sub-groups or more. Tribes. Some larger than others. Those of us who know our family history know what tribe we're from. These days, though, a lot of youngsters like you aren't easy to place. I shan't patronise you by asking if you had any garou in your family tree that you knew of," he adds, "since garou don't advertise their existence. That's rule one of fight club, as it were."

Hashim resonates with that reference. "Hey, I saw that movie too! I saw it on DVD last summer. 'The first rule of Fight Club is -- you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is -- you DO NOT talk about Fight Club.' Hey, did you see that Gladiator movie? I saw that one too, with what's his name, that guy in it, you know?"

"Russel Crowe?" Cedric asks. "But hey -- this isn't Fight Club. Nor is it the Roman empire, no matter what some folks may say about my tribe's mindset... we have a lot of rules to live by, and I'll come to that in a moment." He prods the bacon round the pan. "I was gonna tell you about the tribes, though. First and foremost, the Silver Fangs. My people. We are in charge of the garou nation," he says forthrightly, "and what we say, goes. Some of the others aren't always keen on that, but when the chips are down they usually fall into line..."

Hashim, to his credit, refrains from commenting much offensively. He finishes off the eggs, and is making steady progress on the toast and remaining bacon. "Is there going to be a test on this?" he does ask. It might be mistaken as a sarcastic question, but his tone is actually quite serious.

"Eventually," Cedric says. "I'm not expectin' you to memorise them all, and if you write it down you'll get slapped for riskin' the secrecy thing -- writin' stuff down about garou is not a smart idea -- but you'll learn them all eventually. Hell," he adds, "you'll meet the tribes, all except a couple who don't live around here. Like the Red Talons," he says with a grim smile, "or the Black Spiral Dancers... to name two vastly differin' examples."

Hashim says, "If I wrote it down, it'd mean I knew where there was paper and a pen. Which I don't." He's listening. Honestly he's listening. It's just that his attention keeps wandering, and now it's straying to that window set on the western wall. More specifically, he's eyeing the land outside. "Where is this place, anyway? How come I don't hear cars and stuff?"

"We're way, way out in the country here," Cedric confirms. "Forgive me if I don't give you zip code and grid references. Awkward if you tried runnin' off. Once we know we can trust you we'll be more forthcomin'. We're in the US, still, despite my voice," he adds, before Hashim can start to worry he's fetched up in England.

You paged Hashim with 'Sorry, I'm starting to flag, it's late here. Will you be around tomorrow, in which case, we can pause and resume? Or would you rather handwave Cedric teaching you some tribal and litany basics?'.
Hashim pages: We can handwave the basics.

I do not ask you to lie. I know that falsehoods come hard to those born of wolf.

At the Rock Outcropping
The rocky wall of the caern flattens out here, a more stable and solid area than around the steam vents or even the caern's center. A small outcropping juts out slightly over the caern, forming a natural dais from which to address the gathered. The stone bears chips and faint stains from past abuses that can't quite be rectified. Scrub grass and mosses eke out an frail existence on this otherwise inhospitable terrain.
The forest surrounding the caern's border is far less dense than the rest of the nearby forest. Scattered, centuries-old oaks stand majestically over their fallen, decaying, moss-covered comrades. This peculiarity seems to surround only the area just outside the caern.
The caern circles away from the walls east, towards the swirling area, and south, towards the steam vents; the center is southeast of here. A dangerously slippery, muddy trail winds up towards the rim of the caern from here. One false step could result in tragedy.

Blackriver sits on the rocky outcropping in the caern, curled with her tail tip covering her nose. She's half-asleep by the looks of it, breath rising and falling rythmatically, eyes fluttering open and shut.

Muttering to himself under his breath, Cedric comes walking slowly through the caern, his feet seeming to carry him fairly aimlessly. His breath forms little clouds of condensation in the cold air, which is barely heated at all by the pale winter sun, and maybe it's this which tips him off that there's someone else present -- Blackriver's breath too is forming little puffs of steam as she rests there. "Why, it's you," Cedric remarks quietly as he regains focus and looks to see whose breath it is that's releasing the telltale condensation into the air.

Blackriver's ears twitch and the lupus slowly lifts up her head and turns towards Cedric's call. Her tail thumps lethargically against the ground, and she pulls herself to her feet, stretches, and waddles over towards the Galliard, tail angled down and ears docked in submission.

Cedric squats down to bring himself to Blackriver's level. "Easy does it," he remarks. "No need to... oh, damn. I keep forgettin'." He slips out of his heavy overcoat, folds it quickly and puts it on the rock, then melts down to lupus himself. Now we can understand each other. What is the matter?

Blackriver's ears twitch in confusion, and she cocks her head to the side. She sniffs lazy at the fostern, and replies that she doesn't know what the matter is.

You defer to me, Lightning explains, pointing out the obvious. You not only defer, you do so blatantly. You almost roll over.

Blackriver blinks again. You are Fostern. She points out, keeping up with the 'obvious' theme. I am Cliath. So I submit. She sniffs again in Lightning's direction.

Lightning shakes his head in thought. But even as he thinks his tail ratchets up and so do his ears. I am greatest in station, he agrees. So I shall lead the tribe, just as the tribe leads the other tribes? And you will be my beta?

Blackriver wags her tail in agreement, and then tilts her head to the other side. It's almost time for Promises-Kept to come tell me what he's done. She brings up, demeanor changing to a more pensive, unsure posture.

Lightning chuffs angrily at the mention of that name. I can tell you what the flailing-fool has done, he informs her with demeanor almost as icy as the recent Washington weather. He has nearly killed me and himself and a third garou, he has nearly created a Weaver focus in the town nearby. He has no more sense than the pup that was born yesterday and I shall knock some into him if he does not get himself killed before I can.

Blackriver's ears twitch in agreement, but she remains fairly calm. I told him I would speak for him if he did five things to prove he was worthy. I keep my promises. But, you are elder, and if you do not wish him here then he cannot stay. She seems rather relieved to have that resolved.

Lightning rubs his head against the back of the former alpha's neck. I will not countermand your decision. It would not look good to the sept. And besides it was a good and wise decision from a good and wise philodox. If he does these five things, then so far as I am concerned he may stay. Though the sept elder may require to be convinced. And I shall keep a sharp eye and a keen nose out for him in any case.

Blackriver lets herself get rubbed, leaning back and putting a bit of pressure against Lightning as he does so. Culls-rhya said she would kill him is she saw him. She points out gravely.

Lightning growls faintly. Did she really? he enquires. It's hard to ask a rhetorical question in lupus, but that's the effect of his response. She had better not try. He may be a flailing fool, but he is our flailing fool, and if she kills him he will never learn better. My first command to you, Blackriver, as your alpha, is to refrain from letting Culls-Herd-rhya know that he is still among us. Then if we decide to send him away, she will never know that he remained. And if we decide to keep him we can then argue with her if we know we shall need to.

Blackriver looks confused for a moment and replies that yes, she really did say she'd kill Mathias if she saw her. At Lightning's command the lupus looks a bit uneasy, obviously not too comfortable with deceiving the alpha. I won't tell Culls-rhya, she already knows Promises didn't leave. But if she asks me I will tell her he is still here. She is alpha, she is Adren. And we have to tell her about the Weaver-spirits, they are the problem of the sept. She points out cautiously.

I do not ask you to lie, Lightning clarifies. I know that falsehoods come hard to those born of wolf. I ask you only not to tell her, unasked, of his presence. As for the weaver spirits, when Luna regains her size and strength, I shall return, yes, I shall go back to their place with others and cleanse it. You must come with me, he adds.

Blackriver relaxes at the Fostern's clarification, and chuffs an eager agreement to his last proclamation. Should I bring my pack? She asks eagerly. Cycle-Breaker knows the rite for cleansing.

Yes, yes, yes, Lightning confirms. Bring many, bring all. The flailing-fool himself will be there to help and so will the Black Fury who nearly died trying to save me and him from his folly. Others too. We shall pull the legs off the Weaver-spiders and show the Weaver that just because we fight Wyrm, does not mean we cannot fight Weaver too when Weaver does wrong.

Blackriver's tail waves eagerly in the air. Yes! She agrees, energy building at the thought of the fight. Protecting Gaia means fight the Weaver too.

Lightning gives a half-bark of approval. We shall fight! he proclaims. And we shall triumph. We are the Silver Fangs! Greatest of garou, leaders, legends, conquerors! By now, he's making enough noise for anyone else in the caern to hear him.

Blackriver joins in the noise making, sending up loud yips and barks of excitement that don't form into any words. After a few moments of this, she become quiet again, and with dead seriousness asks if Lightning-rhya is being challenged by anyone for Fostern at the moment.

Lightning lets out a few yips of his own that serve only to express pleasurable anticipation of the forthcoming fight and his high regard for his tribe and himself. He calms down enough when Blackriver asks him this question to respond in the negative.

Blackriver swishes her tail once, back and forth, and lets out soft yip of excitement. I lead this tribe until you came here. I lead a pack now. I've killed Wyrm creatures and acted as judge. So I challenge you for Fostern. With that she settles back onto her haunches and curls her tail around to fluff over her front paws.

Lightning lets out a little noise which serves as the lupine equivalent for a frown. Wait, wait, he bids the other Silver Fang. I have not been challenged yet, but one other has told me that he wishes to challenge me and will announce his challenge at the next moot. In fact he is your packmate, the Get known as Bloods-Bane.

Blackriver's posture changes into a big droop. Oh. She offers rather awkwardly, just kind of standing there, looking somewhat deflated. He isn't even alpha. She grumbles after a few moments, He challenged and he lost.

Lightning sits down abruptly and scratches his face with one paw in a pensive way. I do not pretend to tell Wildfire how to run its affairs, he muses. It seems to me that both of you are good young garou and both would have a fair chance of winning a fostern challenge. But I can only challenge one at a time. Before full moon and moot, you two should decide by what means you see fit who is to challenge me and that wolf should then declare the challenge at moot as normal. Yes?

Blackriver's tongue comes out and smoothes back her whiskers. She flicks an ear in an agitated 'okay,' and stands up, stiffly shifting weight from one paw to another. After a moment of distracted thought she lets out a soft sound that announces that she has one more thing to say.

Lightning remains seated, focussed on the philodox, and with majestic politeness invites her to come forth with whatever statement she wishes to make.

Blackriver likes her nose once more. A while ago, after Fire-Burns-Forever died, a falcon spirit told me that one of raven's children owed one of falcon's children a favor. The Philodox pauses and tips her head to the side before going on. Then a raven-changer told me she owed our tribe a favor. She said something small, not very dangerous. Another pause. When that happened there was nothing the tribe needed that she could do. So she still owes us a favor.

Lightning still beckons Blackriver to go on. Do you think you know a favor the ravens could grant us? Do you know a raven who would grant it?

Blackriver tips her head to the other side to peer at Lightning. No. She answers succinctly to the first question. The raven-changer will grant it. The raven-changer is... the raven-changer. She tries to explain, somewhat exasperated. Everyone knows her. The lupus' hair raises up a tad and her lips peel back, showing her opinion of the Corax.

Lightning indicates that he at least does not know this particular raven-changer, and queries whether, if Blackriver's opinion of her is low, it is wise to seek payback of the obligation? Sometimes, he adds, it is better to have an obligation owing for the future, than actually to collect on it.

Blackriver flicks her ears in a shrug, and points out that she hasn't collected on it. I tell you because you are elder now. She adds. So you know.

Lightning bumps heads with Blackriver gently. Yes, I know. And as elder I must listen to my tribe. So if you think of a favor they can do us now, or later, let me know.

Blackriver wags her tail lightly in silent agreement.

Lightning climbs back to his feet. Although I am alpha of tribe now, he tells Blackriver, you must always be ready to take the place back again if I fall. I am chosen of Falcon, yes, but I am not immortal. Meantime, run bravely and with light feet now that the responsibility is no longer yours.

Blackriver lets out a soft chuff, and trots off down the caern, tail waving out behind her.

"...and before all the spirits of my ancestors do I give affirmation that this oath shall be kept..."

In the Swirling Wind
The rugged walls of the canyon grow narrower to the northeast, forcing the gusts of winds that it catches to rush down into this small clearing. Here the breezes meet with the drifting mists off the waterfall's spray, becoming swirling bits of haze that dance and whirl like merry ghosts. Occasionally, the canyon's rim pushes swifter air into the caern, breaking up the dance and sending the mists, scattered, back to their source.
The forest surrounding the caern's border is far less dense than the rest of the nearby forest. Scattered, centuries-old oaks stand majestically over their fallen, decaying, moss-covered comrades. This peculiarity seems to surround only the area just outside the caern.
Swirling in the area is some of the mist sprayed up by the waterfall to the south. To the west, a rock slab juts out of the ground at an angle. the caern's center is to the southwest; the rest of the valley extends northeast, toward the mountains.

It's flurrying down in the Caern, but nothing is really sticking for very long at all. It's just been too warm down in the low lands, lately, for any kind of serious accumulation, and so it's just been wet. Up in the mountains, one can see the clouds dump snow at a prodigious rate, but that's thanks to their higher altitude. Circle Keeper's checking back into the caern this cloudy afternoon, sniffing at this and that as he goes about his normal business. He's been down around the core of the bawn more often lately, making unhurried patrols through and around the important sites of the bawn.

Cedric has taken heed of the weather sufficiently to have exchanged his normal immaculate suit for a long, herringbone-weave overcoat. Even so, he's getting both wet and windblown sitting where he is, balanced on a flat ledge of rock, his legs dangling down, his dark golden hair whipping round in the gusts and squalls. The only attention he pays is to now and again raise one hand to his brow and clean his hair from his eyes; meantime, he's muttering something under his breath repetitively, and frowning, like an actor trying to memorise his lines.

Circle Keeper pauses at the windy spot, eyes almost immediately rounding out as the arctic wolf bores his gaze in on the relative stranger. His nostrils flare, and his hackles inch upward, but his temper seems to be kept in check after just a second, as he shakes the impending anger out of his posture easily. Guess the Gatekeeper remembers the other's introduction.

Cedric is either too focused upon his monologue to heed Circle Keeper, or else the white wolf is too well camouflage in this snowy weather. Or maybe it's a mixture of both. He brushes his wayward locks out of his face again, and keeps on muttering. A few words come to the Uktena's sharp ears: "...and before all the spirits of my ancestors do I give affirmation that this oath shall be kept..."

Circle Keeper's eyes go from rounded to narrowed, the Uktena applying a more sharp gaze to the Silver Fang. His ears perk forward as the arctic wolf struggles to make out what the stranger Silver Fang is doing.

"...and if... and if..." Cedric tails off with a frown, and shakes himself. He sits a little more upright on the rock, and as he does so, realises a wolf is watching him intently. His eyes, too, focus in on the other garou's. "Good afternoon," he says in his normal tone, "and how long have you been sittin' there watchin' me make a botch of things, hm?"

Circle Keeper remains there for a long moment, unblinkingly watching the other. When Cedric finally turns his attention to Circle Keeper, the Gatekeeper's posture tightens up, but he doesn't actually move from his spot, or from watching Cedric. Stranger. he states, bluntly.
The Uktena's comment is blunt enough to be clearly discerned even in this weather and wind.
Cedric frowns. "I am no stranger," he contradicts. "I am a paid-up, full-standin', member of this sept, old chum. My chiminage has been passed and signed off by Vera-rhya."

Circle Keeper's ears scoops back, the Uktena turning somewhat flummoxed as Cedric responds. There's a few sniffs in Cedric's general direction, before his ears finally gimble forward again. He takes a few steps towards the other, looking not entirely sure, before he repeats: Stranger.

Cedric brushes his hair out of his face again, then, perhaps to aid conversation with the lupus, or perhaps merely because he's fed up with the gale whipping his aristocratic locks about, he stands up on the ledge, takes off his coat, and then shifts through the forms until he too is in lupus, leaving two white wolves confronting each other. Come sniff my scent, he invites, and see that I am no stranger.

That seems to parse better with the arctic wolf, his tail relaxing slightly, and his eyes no longer so squinted. Lightning, from moot, he ventures, taking another half stride forward. Does not know Lightning; Is stranger. Circle Keeper shoves his head forward, sniffing hesitantly, as if to test the waters to make sure the other isn't incredibly foul before he brings his nose any closer.

Lightning remains still and planted with all four feet on the ground, awaiting Circle Keeper's approach. The wind howls through his thick white pelt and tugs his tail to one side, but other than that he makes no move.

Circle Keeper pages: Sniff sniff? Anything very city-ish or the like? Any strong cologne, or aftershave?
You paged Circle Keeper with 'Well, he doesn't smell like he's been to the city in a long while. If anything he smells a little musty, as though this is his first exposure to fresh air for a while. But he smells physically healthy. No artificial scent.'.

At the lack of any strong, offensive odours, Circle Keeper finally starts forward for the other, sniffing at the Fang's silver pelt as soon as he gets close enough to do so properly. His tail flags high, exposing his rear, as he starts to work his way back to the other's posterior. He's definitely taking his time about things.

Lightning still barely moves while Circle Keeper's nose travels around his body. His motionlessness somehow contrives to give him an air of both languidness and firmness, together.

Circle Keeper's tail remains flagged high, as if Cedric might any moment reciprocate the nasal investigation, until he's satisfied and finished. At that, the Uktena spins about to walk back to the front of the other. This one is Circle Keeper. Is Fostern Warrior for Uktena. Guardian in honourable bison-pack. Gatekeeper at caern. Elder of his tribe. His introduction is choppy, being delivered in short bursts, like Cedric might miss something if he told it all at once.

Lightning finally bestirs himself and digs his nose into Circle Keeper's rear in turn once the Uktena's introduction is done. The Silver Fang, unlike some homids, doesn't seem to see this as anything other than a perfectly everyday occurrence between two garou.

You paged Circle Keeper with 'Anything untoward or unusual in your scent?'.
Circle Keeper pages: He's rolled in some deer droppings, a few days ago. It smells swell, if you're a lupus. Also, some fish, some plant smells he can't quite identify, and some other garou.

Circle Keeper, for a chance, is taken by a bit of a surprise when Cedric finally does sniff, the wolf clearly having thought that the Silver Fang wouldn't have. In fact, it makes him just a tad leery. His tail flags high, though, his head lifting just a little more upright.

Lightning notes both Circle Keeper's cautious reaction, and his dominant pose. He also gets a good hint of everything the other wolf has rolled, trodden, or danced in lately, which is a medley of odors. Withdrawing his nose, he sits down, hindquarters tucked underneath him, front half raised up so he's still looking at the Uktena at pretty much eye to eye level. I came here for a peaceful place to think, he informs the Gatekeeper. I am learning a rite from another Silver Fang and around the caern, it feels easier to work on such things.

Circle Keeper's eyes lift, the Uktena's posture perking slightly as the Fang explains his presence. Lightning knows many rites? he asks, rather curiously.

Lightning indicates a negative. Not many rites, no. I find them hard to learn and difficult to remember. But I know how to bind an item to one's body so that it remains with you when you shift. And I know how to call upon one's ancestors in order to inspire you.

Circle Keeper's eyes widen a little, the Uktena pawing at the ground. If he could, you could almost imagine him simply going 'oh' in that terribly unimpressed sort of manner. He scratches at the ground once, without much comment beyond that first impression.

Lightning carries the conversation back into Circle Keeper's territory. Do you know many rites, then, Gatekeeper? he enquires.

Circle Keeper indicates an affirmative. Knows many rites. Some big rites. Rites for keeping Caern happy. There's a long pause, as the Uktena limps back a step, before he adds rather 'helpfully' that he's Gatekeeper, as if it was just in case the other forgot.

It is good that the Gatekeeper knows rites of the caern, declares Lightning. He turns his head on one side a little as Circle Keeper steps back. I know more spirit-gifts than I do rites, he adds, perhaps feeling a little outmaneuvered by the other garou.

Circle Keeper's interest quickly piques again, and the Uktena leans forward to sniff in the other's direction. He lets out a long, wordless inquiring whine, something not too far off from being the equivalent to the homid 'oh?' It's as if he thinks he can sniff the matter out of the Fang.

Yes. Yes. Lightning confirms that quite firmly. Some are those of my tribe, others are spread between other tribes. I use some rarely, others more often, all for the good of us all and for Gaia.

Circle Keeper does not think Silver Fang tribe has many spirit gifts, he replies dubiously. Not care very much about spirit lands as much as it cares about animal lands. Gifts make Silver Fangs shiney and bright or fast on snow. Not know of any Silver Fang spirit gifts.

Lightning indicates to Circle Keeper that he knows the gift which will make him shine brightly. But I know others too, he adds. With Falcon's blessing I can see far off things as clearly as a bird in the sky can spy them from above. And also, I have the gift which makes me appear huge and invincible and noble. The Silver Fang licks his chops, and qualifies that statement. /More/ huge and invincible and noble, he corrects himself.

Circle Keeper's only response is a gruff, noncommittal at seeing the other's comments. The Uktena sniffs a few more times in the other's direction, before scratching lightly at his side. Leave Lightning to practice rite thing, he offers.

Lightning considers a moment, then lets out a soft noise of assent. I will be here for a while. It is good to be near the caern. Good for garou, good for caern. Even in this weather.

The Uktena turns readily to stalk away from the Silver Fang. He makes his way along the track of the Caern, lumbering away from the Silver Fang without any further comment.

Lightning remains on his haunches, watching the Uktena disappear into the snowy gusts of wind. After a while, he turns to his discarded coat, emits a small cross growl as he sees it's now wet and snowed upon, and reverts to homid in order to pick it up and shake it out.

Circle Keeper, by that time, has made his way around the track of the Caern and out the other side. He quietly makes his way up the valley towards the west.

"I have always held that the duty of a Galliard is to speak truth whenever a lie is not called for outright."

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.

For anyone looking out the picture window of the house at the moment, a slightly odd sight would greet their eyes. A figure is walking up the paved driveway. He's still a good bit of distance out yet, but even now a few details are readily visible. First off, he's (if it is a 'he' after all) wearing some sort of wide-brimmed hat, as well as a duster that does a good job of obscuring his figure. Secondly, the figure moves with awkward shufflings, occasionally turning literally in mid-stride to peer around. It might come off as an amusing mixture of nervousness and drunkeness to one who doesn't know better. To Garou eyes, though, it's probably easy to tell that this person is acting like a wolf entering unfamiliar territory.

Cedric sits in the biggest chair, feet on a footstool, staring languidly out of the window, lost in thought. But not lost enough that he doesn't notice and heed the figure slinking up towards the door. One eyebrow rises in a mild expression of surprise, and with a sigh his feet descent from the stool and he walks over to the door, timing it to open just as the approaching figure should be about to reach it.

Jonathan is certainly surprised by the door opening. His hand is curled into a loose fist, held out as if just about to knock. There's a quick, audible intake of breath, just short of a gasp. His eyes are visible beneath the brim of his hat, blue and surprised. "Oh! Hello, I, uh, I was just about to knock," he finishes lamely.

"I didn't think you were plannin' to punch my nose," the other man drawls in an accent as British as the visitor's, if not more so. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressin'?"

Jonathan tilts his head up at the sound of a familiar accent, briefly meeting the stranger's eyes. "Jonathan. Black." His accent is somewhat hampered by the lack of more than one word in a row, but it's notable enough. "Are you Cedric? I have an invitation to v-visit this house?"

Cedric beams at Jonathan. "Cedric Ambermere, yes. I've been dyin' to meet you! I heard there was another chap from the old country knockin' about here, but nobody seemed to know quite where I could find you... and then I got taken out of circulation for three weeks courtesy of a clueless little pea-brained theurge and a shedload of Weaver-spiders." The smile turns briefly into a frown. "But I'm still upright, Falcon be blessed. Come in, come in. Can I get you anythin'?"

Jonathan looks surprised by the sheer cheefulness of the greeting. Enough so that an upturn of his mouth is coaxed out of him. It looks uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes that haven't been broken in properly. "No, thank you, Cedric-rhya. I apologize for troubling you about my location. I..become lost easily, even when I remain on the Bawn." He takes the invitation to come in, looking around as he does. "A knife-moon took you out of action with Spinner-spirits? How?"

Cedric ushers Jonathan inside and closes the door. "Some winter ritual thing... don't ask me to explain that damn' theurge stuff. But he wanted me to be there, so I showed up... and both of us got swamped by the spiders, as did a Fury who came to try and save us. Thankfully the pack Wildfire yanked me out, and then Blackriver and I went back for Mathias and Ash. House is still choked with spiders in the umbra, though, so we need to get that cleaned out -- you up for a mop-up mission?"

Jonathan nods almost as soon as the words are out of the Galliard's mouth. "I'd be honored to help cleanse the house." He seems so intent on the spiritual side of things that the mention of Garou was largely ignored. "Do you know when the mission might be, Cedric-rhya?" He glances 'round again, as if taking stock.

"Soon as," Cedric just says. "Let's see, are you a theurge? You probably know better than I when a good time is to go umbral. My usual rule of thumb is 'not on the dark side of a half moon'..."

"It's a good rule, especially with a place that's not actually within the Bawn." There's certainty in his voice on this one subject, at least. "Of course, I should introduce myself. Forgive me. I am Lune-Calmer, Knife-moon of the First Tribe and Cliath of the same. A humble supplicant to the Moon Lodge and late of the Sept of the Riven Shell. Among humans, I'm Jonathan Black."

"Riven Shell!" Cedric plainly knows this name. "Down west-country way, isn't it? Never went there myself, but I think a few of its members have been to my old sept, the Lost and Found, while I was still livin' there. What brings you all the way to the colonies?"

Jonathan nods. "Yes, that would be the place. As for why I'm here, I was exiled," comes the plain statement. It seems to be without inflection, although Jonathan's normally indirect gaze is turned away for a moment as he speaks it. "I once had family in this Sept, and it seemed the only place I could go. Few Septs will accept a Metis such as myself if they have no ties already." His gaze returns to the air just a few inches to the left of Cedric's face.

Cedric's brow furrows just a little at the mention of exile, and then a lot more at the mention of Jonathan being a metis. "I see," he says brusquely." Just as Jonathan looks to one side of him, he looks to one side of Jonathon. "He's a sept member, then?" he asks the space to the side of him.

Jonathan doesn't seem overly disturbed by the change of manner of his host, even if there's a downward twist of the right side of his mouth. "She was Kin to our blood," he responds. He doesn't sound particularly broken up by the past tense. "One Kasia Decik."

Cedric keeps staring at the space for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Not a name that means anythin' to me, I'm afraid. Well, look here -- plainly bein' a metis you can't expect people to welcome you to their bosoms with glad cries, but you're First Tribe and Osric doesn't recoil from you in horror, so I guess you're not a dead loss. What have you to offer the tribe, or the sept? What're your strengths and weaknesses?"

Jonathan shrugs his shoulders, letting them slump at the end of the gesture. "I know rituals," he offers, in a tone that's increasingly losing inflection or any real sort of emotion. "Quite a few, and I'm willing to teach them. That is, in fact, my chiminage. I also bring the use of Shriek to the Sept and my Tribe. It is a whistle for commanding and censuring spirits."

Cedric turns his head to look at the metis full-on again. "You interest me strangely," he muses. "Think that could be useful against the aforementioned spiders?"

Jonathan raises his gaze a hair as he nods. "I believe it could. It is not fool-proof, especially against the superior spirits. But against small web-spinners, it should suffice. Who is this...Osric, Cedric-rhya?"

Cedric smiles. "You could try blowin' your little whistle and seein' if he jumps to attention," he suggests. "But Osric isn't any measly little spider spirit. He's an avatar of Falcon Himself, sent to guide me and help me. It was he who called for help when I was webbed up over at Clemency House." He extends one arm, pauses with the air of someone awaiting something, then brings it back towards his body and peers at his wrist. "That's why I came here. Falcon told me to, via Osric."

Jonathan watches the motions intently, as if trying to discern what his host is apparently seeing as well. "I would never," he begins. "Use it upon an avatar of our great Falcon. It is a weapon of pain." He's quiet a moment, considering. "If you would pass on my greetings and respect to Osric, I would be appreciative."

"No," Cedric says a little harshly, "I don't suppose He would manifest himself to a mule. Too bad, old fellow. But rest assured He hears you."

And that looks like it hurts more than anything else Cedric has said in the meeting. If anything can be said to look like it actually hurts him. "I am glad," Jonathan responds after he gathers his thoughts. "Cedric-rhya, if I might ask you a question?"

Cedric waves his other arm airily. "Make with the question, Jonathan."

Jonathan clears his throat. "Do you have any desire to learn the rituals of our tribe? That is, I mean, if you do not know those that I know already?" He glances off to the left once more. "Part of my chiminage is to teach a ritual of the Silver Fangs to a member of our tribe."

"My dear man," Cedric says affably, "that would be right on the mark. Lay out your stall. What have you to offer? I'm damnably low on rituals. Trottin' round the world like I've been doing the last few years doesn't leave much time to sit around learnin' the things."

Jonathan raises one brow beneath the rim of his hat and nods. "Excellent. For the rituals held dear to our tribe, I know the Litany of the Ancestors, the Revelation of the Shadow and the ritual of the Honorable Oath." He pauses for a beat. "The first two are of lesser importance to our tribe, and are somewhat personal in nature for each Silver Fang. But the Oath is universal. It is how we show ourselves to be creatures of our word."

"I have always held," Cedric drawls, though with a solemn face which ill fits his casual speech pattern, "that the duty of a Galliard is to speak truth whenever a lie is not called for outright."
Jonathan nods in return, and when he speaks, his voice has the first hints of excitement. "Then you wish to learn the Honorable Oath?"

"Do you think you can teach me?" Cedric asks. "With or without bein' assisted by the spirits?"
"I know I can." There, then is the surety in Jonathan's voice. He leans forward slightly. "I would only await your convenience to begin the lessons."

"Given that we can't go and mop up the spiders at Clemency House now Luna is less than half," Cedric points out, "I'm free for the next two weeks or so."

There's a flicker of a smile on Jonathan's face before he schools his expression to neutral. "I should gather my materials if I am to teach. Would meeting you here tomorrow morning suit you, Cedric-rhya?"

"Absolutely," Cedric agrees. "And I'll make sure the goods are in the kitchen for a damn' good breakfast besides."

Jonathan nods again, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster. "That would be greatly appreciated. The hunting is somewhat sparse of late. With your permission, I'll take my leave now, and begin preparations."

Cedric pauses for a second or two, as though gathering his courage to perform an unpleasant duty, then claps Jonathan on the back with moderate firmness. "I just want to say, as well," he goes on, "that this house is open to you should you ever need a place to stay."

Jonathan appears surprised by the clap to the back, tilting a little bit with the pressure. "Thank you once again, Cedric-rhya. I will keep that in mind if the elements become too foul at some point. I shall see you in the morning, then." He takes an awkward step toward the door, glancing back once. Then the door's opened, and he moves down the stairs without any further preamble.

"If that's your definition of a ritual that worked, young feller-me-lad, I hope and pray that I never get to see one that fails."

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.

Still looking gaunt and lean from his recent ordeal, Cedric and Katya approach the deceptively normal-looking suburban house at dusk on the winter evening. A hum of television from the front window shows that it's occupied, and Cedric scowls. He turns to Katya as though to pass a remark, but then doesn't speak after all -- presumably having recalled that Katya doesn't speak his language, in this form. Instead he beckons her on, up to the front door, pulling out his key.

Katya follows Cedric dutifully, shivering in the cold and wiping off a stream of snot that was running down her face. She doesn't seem to have changed her dedicated clothes, and is still wearing a light shirt, no wonder she's cold.

The door is still unlocked and Cedric can simply push his way inside. There in the front room sits Mathias, staring at the television that's rerunning an old Doris Day movie. Cedric walks up and calls his name, without response. Then he reaches out and shakes him by the shoulder, pretty roughly. Still no response. He looks questioningly to Katya, then shifts up to Crinos. ~What in Gaia's name has happened?~

As soon as they're inside, Katya drops down into her hispo form, and gives the living room a quick sniff-over. ~I don't know. Wyvern gave me a dream. I followed it here with Bloods-Bane and Cycle-Breaker. We went into the umbra with the water puddle and found Promises-Kept in a blue thing, with spiders draining the blue stuff from him. Then we went into another small place with a mirror and found two cocoons. The spiders were trying to freeze and capture us, so I called out a retreat, but Bloods-Bane clawed you out of your cocoon and we took you back with us.~

Cedric looks at Mathias' unresponsive form again. His face takes on an ugly scowl and he punches the theurge on the side of the head. Mathias jerks to one side from the impact, but there's no response otherwise. Lightning seems about to repeat the punch, but pauses. ~Wait... two coccoons and Promises-Kept? Whatever was in the other one? Or whoever?~

Blackriver flicks an ear. ~He does not move in the flesh realm~ She notes, peering at Cedric's attempts to rouse the Theurge. ~I don't know what's in the other cocoon. I couldn't see it or smell it.~ She adds this last bit in a, 'well duh' sort of tone.

Lightning looks pensive, or as pensive as a garou in crinos ever can. ~It might hold many spiders' eggs. Or something else of the Weaver. Or maybe there is another captive in it. We shall not know unless we go in and break it open.~

Blackriver shakes herself and huffs an agreement, shifting her weight from one huge leg to another. Even without words the message is clear: she's sick of waiting around.

Lightning doesn't fail to note the lupus's impatience. ~Very well. We go in. And come out as soon as we can. No matter how tempting it is to kill weaver-things. We must not let ourselves be trapped in there. I will die sooner than go back into a cocoon.~ He beckons Blackriver to follow him to the bathroom mirror.

Blackriver's ears twitch in acceptance at this, but she doesn't follow Lightning into the bathroom. ~If we go into the shadow in there, the spiders will start to attack us right away.~ She informs the Fostern. ~Their trap is in there. Before we went to that room, the spiders didn't bother us. Promises-Kept is in the other room, maybe we can free him first and then go into the trap-room to open the cocoon. That is safer.~

Lightning seems about to argue with the lupus, but then pauses. ~You know what is on the other side, better than I do. Tell me about this trap.~

Blackriver paces in a small circle, restless about the wasted time. ~When we went in the water-pool, there were webs everywhere, but no spiders. But we could hear the spiders. We were careful not to step on the webs, and the spiders didn't bother us. We found Promises-Kept in the same place he is in the flesh-realm, but left him to explore the rest of the place. Then we went into the room with the mirror and saw the cocoons. The spiders made more noise, and they came out and bit us. Their bites hurt, and they poisoned us. We began to freeze and slow down, so we went back into the flesh realm after grabbing you.~

Lightning listens carefully. ~Then we must be fast,~ he simply says. ~Go in, save this young worthless fool of a theurge, break into the other egg and see what it contains, and escape.~

Blackriver flicks her ears in agreement, and turns in a circle again. ~Are we using the water-pool to go in?~ She asks, motioning towards the bowl of water left on the living room table, still with a note innocently asking people to go into the umbra beside it.

~Would not the mirror in the washing-place be wiser?~ queries Lightning.

Blackriver blinks, and cants her head to the side. ~But then we would set off the trap.~ She points out, body tightening in frustration.

Lightning again seems about to argue, but chokes himself back. ~Very well, through the bowl it is.~ And he steps over to it.

Blackriver blinks again, and follows Lightning, letting the Fostern go first into the umbra if that's what he wants.

Lightning pauses for just a second before plunging in. Could it be that he was hoping Blackriver would precede him? Who knows.

Well whatever the reason, Blackriver doesn't stop to think about it, she just goes in after Cedric.
Lightning surprises himself with how quickly he bursts through the Gauntlet, which seems thinner than normal as he enters, yet seems to tighten up as he pops through and Blackriver arrives right behind him. There are webs all around, and a bright blue box, the hue of television tuned to a dead channel, stands before them pulsing. ~Whatever is this?~ snaps Lightning.

Blackriver blinks up at Lightning. ~I don't know. Promises-Kept is in it. That's all I know.~

Lightning peers at the box. On closer inspection, images may be seen shimmering within it. Doris Day... a college football match... a newscaster... the Smothers Brothers... Jay Leno. It's like a TV tuned to all the channels that ever were, playing every show that ever was at once. And it smells of Mathias. ~Then let us take him out of it,~ he snaps. He circles the box checking all around it, and finds several blue lines of power, one seeming to run in and the rest seeming to run out. ~If we lift it will it hurt him?~ he wonders. ~Then again, if we leave him here, the Weaver will claim him before long. If she has not already.~

Blackriver doesn't answer the Galliard's musings, instead keeping a lookout for any pattern spiders that might be nearby. Her nose twitches at the smell of Mathias.

Lightning picks up the box. It seems surprisingly light. Nothing untoward seems to occur. ~Shall we run for it with this?~ he asks. ~Or open the other egg?~

Blackriver blinks and freezes, suddenly thrown off guard by the elder asking her advice. ~If the spiders do not attack us for disturbing the blue thing, we should try to open the cocoon, yes?~ Her reply is fraught with discomfort at even this semi-ordering of a Fostern.

Lightning senses Blackriver's diffidence. ~You know this place, philodox, you know its dangers.~ He checks around to see what the spiders' reaction is; they seem to be moving more quickly, but more in confusion than in threatening mode. ~Come then,~ he commands, and with the box in one of his huge crinos arms, he makes a charge for the umbral bathroom.

Blackriver follows eagerly, ready to fight or flee as required.

The bathroom is plainly the heart of the spider-infestation, and it's hard for Lightning to fight his way to it through the milling hordes of circling, confused arachnids. A few of them make as if to attack him, only to be brushed aside or squashed. Others just blindly get in his way, and suffer similar fates. ~I will hold them off!~ he commands Blackriver. ~Break open the egg!~

Blackriver raises up into crinos and claws at the cocoon, careful to keep the hoards of approaching spiders visible in the corner of her eye.

As Blackriver's claws tear at the webbing, the form of Ashley can be seen, with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed. Her hair is stringy, and her clothing is soaked in sweat. Along her back is her bows, and arrows, and she seems rather straight as a board. As she blinks her eyes, she lets out a loud breath, then jerks forward, leaping up into the Crinos form, as if she was about to lunge at the Fang instinctively.

Blackriver draws back and tenses in surprise at the springing Crinos, taking half a second to collect herself. ~Get out of the umbra.~ She growls at the Theurge, motioning at the mirror. The Philodox then turns to glance at Cedric, to see how he's doing.

Lightning, between watching the spiders and keeping grip of the blue box, is trying to keep his eyes on several things at once. Ashley's sudden appearance and shift to crinos draws his attention to her, and he gives an instinctive howl. ~Danger! Black Sp... no! Wait!~ A hint of the Fury's scent, though overlaid by spiders and Weaverishness, hits his nose. ~Lures-the-Beast! How came you here?~

With a loud roar of obvious pent up frustration, Lures-the-Beast rips forth one of her bane arrows, then steadies it into her bow. There is a blaze of light flowing from her as she lets loose, sending the screaming arrow into the heart of a spider which leaps through the door, shattering it to dust. ~I came for you! I saw you dying in my dreams!~ Another arrow is notched as the war starved Fury pulls back her string. ~I was clawing you out, next thing I know, I was in darkness.~

Blackriver's body tenses and she lets out a growl, glancing at Lightning. ~We don't have time to talk.~ She grumbles. She looks ready to fight any spiders that attack, but she also looks ready to jump through the umbra and back into safety.

Lightning seems about to retort to Lures-the-Beast, but -- yet again -- the galliard finds himself choking back his words. ~She is right,~ he says instead. And indeed, the spiders are massing around them. ~We must leave, now. Save your arrows for another time, Fury.~

With a snarl, Lures-The-Beast is obviously hungry for war as she sends another spider sailing with a well placed kick, then jerks her head towards the mirror. She stares into the glass for a quick second, before feeling the familiar tug as she reaches through, then starts to pass.

Blackriver licks her nose and turns to the mirror as well, pushing herself through the gauntlet. She spares Lightning one more quick glance, to make sure he's getting through alright while carrying Mathias.

Lightning turns his back on the other two, allowing them to pass through first, while he brings up the rear, fending off spiders all the way. Only when he's seen them pass through the mirror does he seek to follow them.

After stepping through, Ashley shifts back down into her homid form, rubbing the back of her neck, and finding her clothing clinging to her in tattered remains. Sheathing her arrow once more into her satchel, and then slips her bow over her arm, she waits for the other two patiently.

Blackriver comes out, almost crashing into Ashley as her giant hispo form fills the small bathroom. She trots out of the room, sits down in the doorway, and turns to look at the mirror, waiting for Cedric to arrive.

There's a distinct delay, enough to start the two female garou wondering, before Lightning comes through the mirror. He comes backwards, clutching the blue box in a death grip, and falls on his regal crinos ass as he finally makes it through the gauntlet. The box drops from his grip and sits there on the bathroom floor, glowing and pulsing faintly. Lightning himself is panting for breath, and seems disinclined to get up in a hurry.

Mathias stands at the threshold of the bathroom. Just standing there. Vacant expression, body mostly slack. All in all, he sorta looks like a zombie, though his arms aren't raised in attempts to get at brains. Rather, he shuffles forward, looking about to fall over at any moment.

"So what the fuck was that all about?" Ashley barks out rather loudly as she turns her eyes to Mathias, then back to Cedric.

Blackriver melts down into lupus and blinks at Mathias, someone confused. She pads towards the glowing blue box, and nudges it with her nose, then looking back at Mathias.

Lightning doesn't immediately respond. Nor does he seem to have noticed Mathias. He does shift back down into homid, still sitting there on the bathroom floor, before answering Ashley. "How should I know?" he barks back. "It's all that colossal goof Mathias' fault. I'm just thankful we found you. I had no idea you were caught up in this mess."

Mathias shuffles forward more, until he just collapses, on top of the box. Though, as he does, it seems to disappear into his body, leaving only a solid chunk of webbing under him. Nope, he's not moving, but his breathing is slowly increasing!

"Yeah. Well... you're welcome." Ashley says as she runs her fingers back through her unwashed hair, letting out a heavy breath. Her eyes turn towards Mathias, then says. "Well, there's your rookie over there." She says as she looks down at herself. "Ah, fuck. There any clothes around here?"

Blackriver sniffs at the still Fang, and flicks her ears in annoyance. Her gaze drifts over to Cedric. Lightning-rhya. Are you healthy? Are you hurt? She asks, a touch of concern in her posture. Ashley is completely ignored.

"I've got some," Cedric responds. He seems torn between staring at the Fury and staring at Mathias. "I guess you're a Fury, you won't mind wearin' a man's shirt. I'm okay, Blackriver... which is more than I can say for this specimen." He climbs back to his feet and starts to move towards Mathias."

Mathias is just there on the ground. He ain't moving for the time being. Nope. But, he looks more 'alive' then beforehand, when he was on the couch, that much is obvious.

"What the fuck does that mean? Just cuz' I'm a Fury, does not mean I'm a dyke." Ashley says with a loud breath of exasperation. "Shit, clothes are clothes. I don't care where they come, long as people aren't staring at my tits when I leave this place."

Blackriver doesn't seem to care about this conversation at all. Instead she paces around the body of Mathias, giving a soft snort.

Oh dear. Ashley's comment about staring at her tits only makes Cedric do just that, and though he tries to keep a straight face, he fails. "As opposed to before you leave here?" he remarks.

Mathias is there. Like a rock. Yeah, like a rock, or something of the like. Weaver poisons kinda like slowing you down.

Blackriver sits down and lets out an exasperated sigh, glancing at Ashley. Can you heal? She asks.

"Why don't you take a picture pervert, it will last longer." Ashley says, crossing her arms over her chest as best she can, letting out an embarrassed huff. "Just.. someone give me a fucking shirt." With a tilt of her head to BR, she says. "No, I can't.. I can cleanse though."

Cedric manages to tear his eyes off Ashley. "If that were a serious offer..." he remarks playfully. "Main bedroom, wardrobe, help yourself." He peers at the motionless Mathias. "Now what the hell's going on with young Bull-Calf?"

Mathias is slowly reviving. Really! He just needs, umm, a bit of time to fully do that. Nothing is exactly the next moment when dealing with poison like this.

Blackriver lets out another huff, and begins to pull on Mathias' clothes to drag him out of the bathroom and into the living room. A slightly better place to be sitting around.

"If you weren't a Fostern, I'd cut your throat open and yank that dangling tongue out through it." Ashley sneers at Cedric, before sauntering past him with her confident gait, heading down the hall, flipping her tangled, blonde hair back.

Cedric chuckles quietly to himself. "Oh, those Furies," he murmurs towards Blackriver, squatting down by Mathias. "Promises-Kept," he says in a louder, and sterner, tone. "This is Cedric Ambermere. Wake up."

Mathias gets draged a fair bit, before he opens his eyes. "Uh?" is his great mind-blowing comment. He seems seriously out of it, though he tries to sit up, it's rather slow and his body looks stiff.

Blackriver lets Mathias go, propping him up against the couch in the living room. She walks back a ways then and sits down, letting Cedric deal with him.

Having rustled around in the wardrobe, Ashley pulls on a pair of sweat pants which seem to be a bit too big for her, and a simple T-shirt. As she ambles back out, her eyes continue to glower a bit, then tosses something small, and plastic at the Galliard, smirking. "Boy, are you a liar."

Cedric follows Blackriver and Mathias through, and then squats down over Mathias again. "Yes, you may well say 'uh', you young rogue," he begins, before being interrupted by Ashley's words and the small missile. He picks it up, raises one eyebrow, and tucks it into a pocket. "Is that a love-token, Ashley? Does the whole of your noble tribe conduct its romances by tossin' johnnies at guys?"

"Seeing how I caught sight of your tiny tightie-whities, I know that you won't be able to fit in one of those." Ashley says with a snort in his direction. "And you know what? You wish you could get a piece of ass like me. You wouldn't be able to handle it." Oh boy, that is almost a challenge, isn't it? "Is your shit head awake yet, so I can kick him?"

Mathias gives a look up to Cedric, then gives another earth shattering revelation. "Uh." more of a statement this time around, he'd assure you.

Blackriver's ears twitch and her fur bristles in growing annoyance at this all.

Cedric just smirks back at Ashley again. "If it wouldn't make me a charach, I'd damn' well show you," he warns her. "But it wouldn't make me a charach to put you over my knee and spank your backside till you quit cheekin' your elders and betters." With which, he turns back to Mathias. For a moment anger builds in his face, but then it fades again. "Confound it, I ought to tear you off a strip, but you look about how I felt when Dillen and Blackriver first got me out..."

There is a loud snort from Ashley as she glowers at him, fingers curling into a pair of fists. She looks eager to jump him for a moment, though its hard to tell if its anger or passion. It's practically the same. "Whatever." She scoffs.

Mathias tilts his head slightly to the side. "Huh?" this time more confusion added into the mix, and well simmered over an addled mind. He continues to sit where proped, though, when he moves an arm, "Oww." comes his reply. "Stiff."

Cedric turns to Ashley. "Pack your lip away," he invites her, "and have a look at him. He's so Weavered up, a human could smell it on him. You say you can cleanse?"

Mathias just sits there, addled. Though, it could be noted that he tries to stand up, making it just far enough before he knees give way and he collapses back to where he was.

"Yeah, though, since you said he's so much trouble, why not just kill him and go on with your life?" Ashley says as she makes her way over to the Theurge, kneeling down before him. She grabs him by the throat, then stares into his eyes, searching. "I can cleanse him, but I don't have all the right tools here. I'll have to head back to the Fury house."

Cedric sighs theatrically. "Okay. I can drive us over there, assuming my car battery's not flat as a pancake after bein' left outside this house for the better part of a month in winter. Blackriver, you come too... I don't want the Weaver taint takin' over this young ignoramus halfway there and makin' me crash."

Mathias seems generally more lively now. He looks half starved now that he moves, though he stands there with a piece of bread in his hands, munching on it. He dosn't really look anyone in the eyes, looking instead only towards the ground. He was cleansed, and it helped, now he's gotta recover the rest of it.

Cedric allowed Ashley to carry out the cleansing ritual without interruption, though by his frequent glares at Mathias during it, it was plain that this was only a temporary silence. "Well," he says to Mathias after it ends, "perhaps we could have a little explanation now of how come you nearly got yourself, me, and Ashley here all turned into scurryin' spiders of the Weaver, hmmm?"

"Yeah, speak fast male before I shove that piece of bread up your ass." Ashley says in a rather snappish, snarky tone as her arms cross over her chest, looking to be on edge.

Mathias mwuhs. "Last I remember, I was doing a ritual to help the hearth spirits through the winter. You saw it, and you were there." he pauses a moment, "And then we got attacked. After that, I don't know." he pauses a moment, then asks "So, how long were we trapped? A few days?"

"Yes. I was there. What I want to know is, how come your little ritual summoned every damn' pattern spider in the state of Washington to Clemency House?" snaps Cedric. "And for your information, I was in there for three weeks, nearly. You were in there almost a month. Ashley, how long were you stuck?"

"How the fuck would I know, all I know is that my spirit I attached to you came to me in a vision, and I followed it." Ashley says as she rakes a hand through her hair in a frustrated manner.

Mathias seems to ignore Ashley for the moment, "But, it worked. Nothing went wrong? The other spiders may have scented fresh gnosis, and came running. I didn't purposely summon them. Would never have done that." he pauses, then counts on his hand, "Wait, a month?" he pauses again and blinks his eyes. "Well. Fuck. That screws my plans up."

Cedric closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. "It worked? If that's your definition of a ritual that worked, young feller-me-lad, I hope and pray that I never get to see one that fails."

"Worked my ass, you're the shittiest Theurge I've met." Ash' says with a rather loud snort as she rolls her eyes, then huffs at him. "If anything, you just set shit back. You know how many Weaver spirits we had to wade through? I'm sure you threw something off balance." She says in a low snarl under her throat. "For the love of Gaia." She mutters, then ambles off to the kitchen.

Mathias shakes his head. "Nono, my ritual worked perfectly fine. Rituals don't exactly come around and grant you immunity to the wyrm and other spirits. There is no magic shield." he pauses, "They lurked, and found prey. The umbra isn't some happy place where everyone likes us, Cedric-Rhya."

"I am not unaware of that fact," Cedric says with heavy irony. "Now I am not a theurge, perhaps Ashley here can tell me more. But if you're doing a ritual in the umbra, surely it's simple damn' common sense to make sure you don't get overrun by fucking spiders in the middle of it? Or am I missing something very obvious here with my galliard's lack of understanding of spiritual matters, hmm?" His voice remains even, but his body language is becoming more and more irate.

Mathias mumbles for a moment, and continues looking down. "I thought it was safe, even looked around. Even if I knew how to sense weaver...in the middle of suburbia? It wouldn't have told me a thing." he just pauses a moment, then says "I'm sorry Cedric-Rhya. Maybe Vera was right, I am the flailing fool."

"Exactly. If you're ganna do a damn ritual in the Umbra, the last thing you do is go in there fucking alone, and you don't do it in a way that makes you a damn glowing beacon. You always need a fucking way out." Ashley says with a loud snarl in her throat. "You both are so fucking lucky that I had a friend follow Cedric around."

Today seems to be the day for Cedric to choke back on his own words. Must be the third or fourth time at least. Having paused for breath and to prepare another stinging rebuke to Mathias, Ashley's words come at him like a car through a red light and totally distract him. "...a friend?" he says, swinging round to look at Ashley. "Follow me around?" Then he regains some composure. "Well, goodness. I know I'm rich and famous and sexy but if you wanted to stalk me, why didn't you just do it yourself?"

Mathias keeps quiet for the moment, a nibble on the bread, though he keeps his eyes down.
"Fuck you asshole!" Ashley says, jabbing a finger in Cedric's direction. "You were all high and mighty about stalking after Vera and gutting her open because she insulted your lil shit head here at the moot, and I was worried that you were going to find yourself gored open." She growls loudly in her throat. "I was just.. looking out for you."

Cedric doesn't seem at all abashed by Ashley's words. "My dear young lady," he drawls placidly, "your concern for me is touchin'. And in the circs, I'm sure it was a good thing all around, though it did get you into a bit of a tight spot. Ah well, we all three of us were careless in the umbra, and we all need to learn better from it, I s'pose. Especially you," he says to Mathias, swinging round to address his tribemate. "Trouble follows you round like a chicken follows a mother hen. What are we goin' to do with you?"

Mathias pauses, and thinks, he offers up after a moment "If there is a known wyrm
target...then, I would at least be able to assault it, and get an honorable death."

"It's not an honorable death if no one sees you die. It just means you're dead." Ashley says, then glares at Cedric. "And I know plenty about the damn Umbra, more than you two combined. I only got caught up in all of that because I was trying to pry you out of that egg. You know what? I'm too fucking frustrated to deal with either of you right now. I'm... going to burn off some frustration." She says, stalking off.

Cedric clicks his tongue. "She's right, Mathias. Besides which, Falcon gave you a job to do, and gettin' your fool self killed against George the Crawler or some such isn't goin' to do that job. If I were you I'd find a place to rest up, get your brains unscrambled... if they ever are," he qualifies. "You can go to Fairbanks House if you like, even." He turns towards Ashley's retreating back with a sigh. "Feisty," he comments. "I like that in a girl."

Mathias just shakes his head a moment, then says "I wouldn't get mixed up with her Cedric-Rhya. She may be feisty, but, it'll bring you more trouble then I'll ever manage." he takes another bite. "Permission to return to Clemency house? I need to figure out what to do with my remaining two weeks."

Cedric just grins knowingly at Mathias. "Can I help being a babe magnet?" he asks with mock regret. "Damn, I wish she was kin. You didn't see her in the buff like I did, you were out for the count." He mimes an ample bosom with a hand gesture, then returns to seriousness. "Is it wise to go back to Clemency House with those spiders crawling all over it in the shadow?"

Mathias hmms and pauses, then shakes his head. "Probably not, but remember, while she was accusing me of doing a ritual alone. She tried to rescue us alone. She should have known even better if something grabbed you, or grabbed me, that going alone wasn't the smartest idea. The least I can say was that I was caught unprepared."

"Quite," Cedric agrees. "And I am a Fostern and should have been more aware than either of you two cliaths. Which is why I said that we had all three of us been foolish in our own way. Let's go back to my new place. Apart from anything else, it's nearer to here. We'll organise a war-party to fix up Clemency House and get rid of those damn' spiders in the next few days."

Mathias ahhs and gives a simple nod. "I don't really know how to repay you Cedric-rhya. Time and time again, I've failed you, yet you're always there. Anyone else from the sept would have killed me, and let the spiders have my spirit, without even a moment of hesitation."

"Blood is a strong tie," Cedric says. "But I won't always be here to pull you out of holes, Mathias. You have to wise up. Soon."

Mathias gives a simple huff. "I know, I know. But I've been trying to scramble around to get Blackriver's task done, and...well, losing half the time in one failed go..."

"So you need to catch back up," Cedric says. "It ain't over till it's over. Now, let's get out of Ashley's space before she throws another dykey fit at us, and get over to my place and relax. I still feel like warmed up crap and you probably feel worse."

Mathias gives a simple nod. "You drive?" he asks, really more of a statement before he makes sure to get the heck out of fury land.

"The day I let you drive my Mazda," Cedric declares, "will be a hot one at the North Pole."

Mathias laughs. "Really? Then, pass the keys and hold the mayo? Crazy fang to the rescue." he just shakes his head, "Last time I drove a van, even for the right reasons...it ended up me getting run off."

Cedric shakes his head in mock despair. "Come on, useless," he chides Mathias gently, heading for the door.

Mathias just laughs bitterly for a moment, before he leaves the house, and hops into the passanger side door. "Could be worse I suppose. Always could be worse, just thankful to Gaia it wasn't."

"Food, alimentation, nourishment, nutriment, sustenance, victuals, nutrition."

While unconscious, Cedric was finally rescued by the intervention of Wildfire on 3rd December. A log of the rescue may be found at http://blackriverwolf.livejournal.com/2821.html.

Shortly after which...

Infirmary
The soft glow of autumn sunlight fills the room with golden warmth. Thin white curtains keep the glare out while allowing enough light in to dispel shadows. A small ceramic heater sits on the floor near the bed, available for use when needed. A wide bed stands in the center of the south wall, white linens carefully tucked in around its mattress. A low table stands beside the bed, a small basin and pitcher perched atop it. Two large chairs sit facing the bed, and a small wooden chair sits against the south wall opposite the table. A tall cabinet occupies the northeast corner of the room, its glass door revealing a well-stocked medicine cabinet, various medical implements and supplies carefully arranged within.
The only exit from the room is a single door on the eastern wall.

Off to the side and slightly dozing himself, Dillen sits watching Cedric. His head bobs one more time before he gets to his feet and walks over to the sink to get a drink of water, drinking down a whole glass quickly.

Cedric has been lying like this, flat and unresponsive, since his rescue. Breathing fine, no apparent injury, just in a deep sleep... or a coma. But as Dillen drinks, he hears what sounds like a murmur coming from Cedric behind him.

Dillen spins around to look at Cedric. "Hey. Wake up. Wake up." As he moves over to Cedric's side. "Dude. Wake up!"

Cedric's eyes are still closed, but he's definitely speaking in a low even voice. Once Dillen is at his side he can make out words. "Eight hundred sixty, eight hundred sixty one, eight hundred sixty two, eight hundred sixty three. Checksum. Debug. Eight hundred sixty four. Add item. Eight hundred sixty five."

"What the..." Dillen leans in and listens close for another moment. "Cedric. Stop counting and wake up, dude." Dillen reaches and gives Cedric's hand a shake. "C'mon!"

"Eight hundred sixty six. Recalculate. Eight hundred sixty seven. Eight hundred sixty eight. Transfer unit. Debug." And Cedric's eyes snap open suddenly. "Mathias...?"

Dillen puts his hands on Cedric's shoulders to keep him down. "Whoa, big guy..." He says quietly. "What about that little shit?"

Cedric stirs. His eyes seem a little unfocused, but it seems he can at least tell that Dillen is not Mathias. "Whoa," he says with a trace of his usual drawl returning. "My head. I'm starvin'. Osric...? Where's this? Where am I? Debug."

Dillen keeps his hands on Cedric in case the guy tries to sit up. "You have been out for a while. Got trapped in some kind of spider cocoon. Mathias is in some kind of trance... You know anything? Talk and then I will get you some food."

Cedric struggles for a moment under Dillen, but lack of food has made him weak as a kitten and the Get can easily keep him down. "Unit failure," he says in a flat voice and slumps. "Reset to zero. Recalculate." His eyes close and reopen. "Mathias," he says, again in his drawl. "Stupid little kid. Got in too deep. Spiders. All over the house."

"Over the Fang house?" Dillen says, "What is wrong with him... He just keeps watching TV." Dillen tries to make sense over Cedric.

Cedric focuses in on Dillen with an effort. "You got him free? Free of the webs?"

Dillen shakes his head. "All we made it out was with you. I threw you over my shoulder after cutting you out of a cocoon. There was another one and Mathias staring into a TV."

Cedric has lost focus again. "Unit is low on power," he informs Dillen mechanically. "Second unit is also low on power. Third unit held in readiness. Recalculating. Eighteen. Nineteen."

"Fuck." Dillen mutters out... Then something strikes him and he bolts downstairs. In as quick a time as possible he returns with a bottle of milk and whatever leftovers he could find in the fridge. He pops open a bag and starts trying to feed Cedric. "Eat, man... Eat." Looks to be turkey. "C'mon."

By the time Dillen makes it back upstairs Cedric is out flat again. The scent of the turkey revives him, though. "Food," he murmurs as he manages to swallow a mouthful. "Food, alimentation, nourishment, nutriment, sustenance, victuals, nutrition." He breaks off and pulls one arm out to grab more. "Golly," he says, weaker but more like himself, "I'm so starving."
Dillen starts feeding Cedric anything he can get his hands on. The bottle of milk is thrust into the Fang's hand. "Drink. Milk will help too."

Cedric eats, and drinks, in silence now. Which is probably a relief.

Dillen blows out a low breath and sighs. "Get you full and then we will talk."