[Adamidas] She was a handful of glorious deeds away from being allowed to challenge for rank. This of course, didn't occur to Alethea Adamidas. No, this thought had not flittered through her mind as of yet, and when it did she would be astounded.
That was neither here nor there, and not important as to why she was at the caern.
Adam had asked the concrete, who told her that the scab birds had seen Kora here recently. Adam was making it a point to seek the other female out. She held her shoulders back, her head high, and she thanked the concrete accordingly. In a city there wasn't anything that concrete didn't see. There wasn't anything that didn't travel on the wind or by a bird's tongue.
Adam was at the caern, and she was looking for Kora.
... too bad she was ambling while she did it. At least it wasn't horrifically important, or else the Fury would have been (presumably) more focused.
[Sorrow] In the umbral reflection of the Caern, near the base of Maelstrom's hill are the shrines to the totems of the packs of Maelstrom; to the tribal totems as well. The graves are close by, five still raw, the earth mounded there rather than settled, some of the monuments still unfinished - or brief enough that they reflect the lives beneath, unfinished.
The shrine to Great Fenris is one of the grimmest. It is a spare and bloody affair, littered with bones and dried, cleansed visceral from the kills the Get have made in his honor, in his name. There are a pair of Hrafn spirits settled on the chalk-white superstructure that marks the shrine. It was the ribcage of something, that - great curving ribs like the ribs of one of the Fenris-kin's longships from the distant, half-remembered past. Glyphs are carved into it. Names of the dead, names of the living, names of the lost, the half-remembered, history turned inside out, written back into the world.
There, a pair of Hrafn perch, their black wings folded neatly bisecting their backs, back eyes alert, keen, watching as the pale-headed Skald in front of them unearths an small collection of eyeballs from where they have been stashed away in an old, battered bag, brown corduroy, allowed to return itself to itself against her skin when the eyeballs have been sifted free. Sorrow offers the dead, clouded eyes, some larger, some smaller, only two apparently human in origin, to the spirits. They drop, backwinging, to peck at the buffet spread out before them.
Sorrow is wiping her long fingers clean on the thighs of her jeans when Adamidas ambles closer; she looks up, giving the young Fury a direct, clear look, accompanied by the faint edge of a half-smile, clear at the corners of her mouth. "Adamidas," she says, stepping away from the shrine, where the bird-spirits consume the eyes she has offered them, lost in the delights of such a buffet.
[Adamidas] She is back to reality, listening to words and more importantly the sounds of Fenris' spirits feasting. Ravens- close to the sun, holding their secrets, flying high and cunning. She remembered them for this... remembered them for their keen eyes and sharp beaks.
When Adam comes upon the shrine to Fenris, the Fury recognizes that this is not a place that she needs to be, or really belongs for that matter. This is a shrine to Fenris, and all his brood and children. It's not a place where a Fury should be comfortable-
Note, however, that Adam doesn't look uncomfortable. Out of place yes, because she's the wrong thing for the landscape, but the theurge looks as at-ease as she possibly can with being nearly surrounded by a bastion of... well...Fenrirdom.
"Kora," she says. She's smiling, and it comes too naturally, "keeping the spirits happy?"
[Sorrow] "Keeping them fed," Sorrow allows, her mouth twisted, just, at the rightmost corner. The expression is neat and direct, as always. Her pale hair is pulled sharply back from her features, gleaming in the light shed by Luna waning toward the new moon above them, twisted into itself, one of those self-defining knots such that the weight of her hair keeps it in place. Her clothing is quotidian, utilitarian. Adamidas well-remembers it from their quest to the underworld and back - worn jeans, and old black concert t-shirt, black boots, scuffed and stained, secured around her calves many times over by once-colorful laces.
The shrine smells of blood; old and new. It smells of bone. It smells of dust and it smells of snow, the promise of the icy north. There are new glyphs carved sharply in the old bone.
Tucking her hands into the front pockets of her worn jeans, Sorrow gives the shrine - and the squabbling Hrafn - one last look, then steps fully away from it, the whole of her tall, lean frame pivoting toward the young Fury. "You have your voice back." The half-twist of a smile deepens, briefly. "I'm glad to hear that."
[Adamidas] "They are hungry things," she admits.
She inhales the smell of glacial air and bone. Fresh bone; she knows what bone smells like. A few years ago, this notion would have surprised, or even disturbed her. She tried not to think about the way that bone smelled very often when she had first changed, and now it's almost something welcoming. Something that reminds her of strength or purpose. It keeps a surprisingly serene expression on her features. the carrion stench, however, was a different story. That was one she definitely needed to get used to.
Attire was comfortable. Jeans were ripped, ripped again, and ripped a third time so that they had the equivalent of air conditioning. Her shirt was comfortable, and something that came out of a package. Short sleeves. her hair was a mess; Adam switched from a ring to a stud today, so the fact that she has a nose ring isn't readily obvious.
"I am, too," she says, "it's been back for a little while... until then, I kind of had some time to think about failures to communicate. It's really... well... nice."
A beat.
"My sisters came back, too."
[Sorrow] The Hrafn cast a darting shadow over the pair of humanskinned Garou; a moonshadow, more prominent in the umbra than it would be in the real world, where only a full moon could be so bright, so clear, so shining-sure that it would illuminate faces and give bodies long, dark shadows etched round with silver light. Sorrow looks up as the cut of a wing crosses the edge of ehr vision, her dark eyes narrowed against the dark night, that certain stillness about her as she tries to separate the dark sheen of a flashing wing from the dark sheen of the irrepressible sky.
Then, her gaze falls back to Adamidas, level and sure. "I saw you with them at the moot." The curve of her mouth, like the curve of the moon, fine and expressive. "You must be pleased to have them back."
[Adamidas] "I didn't feel right without them," she said, "it's different when they're here."
Tip of the tongue moments lost, and she continues watching Kora in her natural environment. Adam smiles, lips still upturned, outwardly and openly pleased with the way things were working out. There's a moment, and that smile falters. She hasn't spoken to Kora in so long, in her eyes and in her posture, she seems to mourn this fact. And she wears the expression openly.
"The gathering you performed for your Alpha was amazing," she said. Compliments, "I've not seen anything like that before."
[Sorrow] [pause pause!]
[Sorrow] Transcript!!
to Sorrow
That was neither here nor there, and not important as to why she was at the caern.
Adam had asked the concrete, who told her that the scab birds had seen Kora here recently. Adam was making it a point to seek the other female out. She held her shoulders back, her head high, and she thanked the concrete accordingly. In a city there wasn't anything that concrete didn't see. There wasn't anything that didn't travel on the wind or by a bird's tongue.
Adam was at the caern, and she was looking for Kora.
... too bad she was ambling while she did it. At least it wasn't horrifically important, or else the Fury would have been (presumably) more focused.
[Sorrow] In the umbral reflection of the Caern, near the base of Maelstrom's hill are the shrines to the totems of the packs of Maelstrom; to the tribal totems as well. The graves are close by, five still raw, the earth mounded there rather than settled, some of the monuments still unfinished - or brief enough that they reflect the lives beneath, unfinished.
The shrine to Great Fenris is one of the grimmest. It is a spare and bloody affair, littered with bones and dried, cleansed visceral from the kills the Get have made in his honor, in his name. There are a pair of Hrafn spirits settled on the chalk-white superstructure that marks the shrine. It was the ribcage of something, that - great curving ribs like the ribs of one of the Fenris-kin's longships from the distant, half-remembered past. Glyphs are carved into it. Names of the dead, names of the living, names of the lost, the half-remembered, history turned inside out, written back into the world.
There, a pair of Hrafn perch, their black wings folded neatly bisecting their backs, back eyes alert, keen, watching as the pale-headed Skald in front of them unearths an small collection of eyeballs from where they have been stashed away in an old, battered bag, brown corduroy, allowed to return itself to itself against her skin when the eyeballs have been sifted free. Sorrow offers the dead, clouded eyes, some larger, some smaller, only two apparently human in origin, to the spirits. They drop, backwinging, to peck at the buffet spread out before them.
Sorrow is wiping her long fingers clean on the thighs of her jeans when Adamidas ambles closer; she looks up, giving the young Fury a direct, clear look, accompanied by the faint edge of a half-smile, clear at the corners of her mouth. "Adamidas," she says, stepping away from the shrine, where the bird-spirits consume the eyes she has offered them, lost in the delights of such a buffet.
[Adamidas] She is back to reality, listening to words and more importantly the sounds of Fenris' spirits feasting. Ravens- close to the sun, holding their secrets, flying high and cunning. She remembered them for this... remembered them for their keen eyes and sharp beaks.
When Adam comes upon the shrine to Fenris, the Fury recognizes that this is not a place that she needs to be, or really belongs for that matter. This is a shrine to Fenris, and all his brood and children. It's not a place where a Fury should be comfortable-
Note, however, that Adam doesn't look uncomfortable. Out of place yes, because she's the wrong thing for the landscape, but the theurge looks as at-ease as she possibly can with being nearly surrounded by a bastion of... well...Fenrirdom.
"Kora," she says. She's smiling, and it comes too naturally, "keeping the spirits happy?"
[Sorrow] "Keeping them fed," Sorrow allows, her mouth twisted, just, at the rightmost corner. The expression is neat and direct, as always. Her pale hair is pulled sharply back from her features, gleaming in the light shed by Luna waning toward the new moon above them, twisted into itself, one of those self-defining knots such that the weight of her hair keeps it in place. Her clothing is quotidian, utilitarian. Adamidas well-remembers it from their quest to the underworld and back - worn jeans, and old black concert t-shirt, black boots, scuffed and stained, secured around her calves many times over by once-colorful laces.
The shrine smells of blood; old and new. It smells of bone. It smells of dust and it smells of snow, the promise of the icy north. There are new glyphs carved sharply in the old bone.
Tucking her hands into the front pockets of her worn jeans, Sorrow gives the shrine - and the squabbling Hrafn - one last look, then steps fully away from it, the whole of her tall, lean frame pivoting toward the young Fury. "You have your voice back." The half-twist of a smile deepens, briefly. "I'm glad to hear that."
[Adamidas] "They are hungry things," she admits.
She inhales the smell of glacial air and bone. Fresh bone; she knows what bone smells like. A few years ago, this notion would have surprised, or even disturbed her. She tried not to think about the way that bone smelled very often when she had first changed, and now it's almost something welcoming. Something that reminds her of strength or purpose. It keeps a surprisingly serene expression on her features. the carrion stench, however, was a different story. That was one she definitely needed to get used to.
Attire was comfortable. Jeans were ripped, ripped again, and ripped a third time so that they had the equivalent of air conditioning. Her shirt was comfortable, and something that came out of a package. Short sleeves. her hair was a mess; Adam switched from a ring to a stud today, so the fact that she has a nose ring isn't readily obvious.
"I am, too," she says, "it's been back for a little while... until then, I kind of had some time to think about failures to communicate. It's really... well... nice."
A beat.
"My sisters came back, too."
[Sorrow] The Hrafn cast a darting shadow over the pair of humanskinned Garou; a moonshadow, more prominent in the umbra than it would be in the real world, where only a full moon could be so bright, so clear, so shining-sure that it would illuminate faces and give bodies long, dark shadows etched round with silver light. Sorrow looks up as the cut of a wing crosses the edge of ehr vision, her dark eyes narrowed against the dark night, that certain stillness about her as she tries to separate the dark sheen of a flashing wing from the dark sheen of the irrepressible sky.
Then, her gaze falls back to Adamidas, level and sure. "I saw you with them at the moot." The curve of her mouth, like the curve of the moon, fine and expressive. "You must be pleased to have them back."
[Adamidas] "I didn't feel right without them," she said, "it's different when they're here."
Tip of the tongue moments lost, and she continues watching Kora in her natural environment. Adam smiles, lips still upturned, outwardly and openly pleased with the way things were working out. There's a moment, and that smile falters. She hasn't spoken to Kora in so long, in her eyes and in her posture, she seems to mourn this fact. And she wears the expression openly.
"The gathering you performed for your Alpha was amazing," she said. Compliments, "I've not seen anything like that before."
[Sorrow] [pause pause!]
[Sorrow] Transcript!!
to Sorrow
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