[Joe Holst] Restraint, at best something the hard- faced youth has only a tenuous grasp on, was an even less present thing when the moon hangs broad and heavy in the sky. His mood is not necessarily sour. Only his control of it. Happiness looks like mania in his face. In his step. While his anger during these times is the very heartbeat of nightmares. It becomes an awful, bright sort of wrath.. and his joy in that bloody guise skates too closely to the surface of his skin for the boy to be out in public.
At least he knows it.
So, Joe stalks the perimeter of the Bawn. Watchful, his eyes lash with the shine of an animal in the dark as he gazes out from the chainlink. Careful to duck further into the fenced off dockyards whenever a passing car would light his savage form with its headlights. Recent injuries on his head and arms are crusted with a patina of blood. Now and then he picks at a scab, or scratches something under his shirt.
A new battlescar is apparent as well. Chicago at night too hot to wear more than necessary, the jagged marks of giant rat teeth trace their way up the opposite side of his neck from the older wound. The boy will be a barber pole one day, at this rate.
[Karl Holds the Line] Full Moon.
For most Rotagar, it is no more then another phase of the moon, at the far end from their own. The rage that is normally so weak in them compared to others are not roused easily. Not so for the Norse No moon. Enough rage to match many Modi, he seeks refuge in the caern as well during nights like this. A shadow among deeper shadows, he stops as he nears the mouth of an alley, staring out across the street to the worn down chain-link fence. Glacial blue eyes catching the weak light. Too much of a wolf tonight. Not enough human.
As the young Modi passes this part, the Rotagar steps out, moving across the street to the fence. Strong hand coming out to grab at the metal, fingers curling through it as he looks to Joe. No chance that the two Get miss each other. Not on a night like this.
“War-Handed.”
Voice low and deep. That pale gaze locked on the form of the other.
[Joe Holst] It had taken little more than a twitch of movement from the oppsite alley to start getting a response. The boy is keyed up. In a human it would look like frantic paranoia. In a Garou under a full moon- its just simple watchfulness.
The stalking has iron in each step. Wrath boiling through veins swathed in heavy, swift muscle. Big in the way lions are big, Joe stops on a dime. There is little of slowing down or ponderous cessation of movment.
One moment he's walking. The next he is all but frozen. Nostrils flaring as the shining eyes snap across the street. Joe relaxes, his face spreading into a welcoming, half crazed grin as the No Moon approaches. A cut in the boy's lip spreads open. The scab cracking apart to allow a bit more bleeding. He doesn't seem aware of it- just favors Karl with the gap- toothed grimace.
"How's t'ings, Karl?" The transition is smooth. From watching the perimeter to watching for any observers, Joe's thick neck swings up and down the street.
"It's cleah. Hop on ovah." He says, indicating the high fence.
[Karl Holds the Line] (It’s Cleah)
The Rotagar grins a little, reaching up and grabbing the edge of the fence. Not the largest or strongest of men, but the Rotagar is surprisingly agile. In fact, it is damn near inhuman the way he flows over the high fence. Joe has seen him before, and he has always had an animal grace in him. Now, it is impossible not to notice it. A change in him for sure.
“Not bad, all things considered. Not bad at all.”
He lands without any noise, despite the gravel underfoot. No one is supposed to be that agile, that light on his feet. Something is clearly off.
“How about yourself? I've not seen you for a while. You look as if you have been keeping busy?”
[Joe Holst] Karl vaults the high fence like mist. Seamless in his form and graceful.. and Joe, being a smart kind of warrior.. takes note. His eyes widen in surprise, then travel up the jagged surface of the chain link fence, and down the other side. His gaze narrows again as it sweeps back to Karl.
"Dat was a new trick."
He tongues the cut at his lip, then turns his head and spits almost meditatively.
"Pretty." He says it with a nod. The word means more coming from his mouth. 'Pretty' is something that follows application. An awareness. Respect and something strangely like anticipation coloring his voice. A bloodthirsty thing, is Joe.
"Yeah.. pretty busy. Silence clearin' out left a nasty hole in t'ings a bit south uh heah. I'm lookin' inta fillin' up da gap. Looks promisin." He glances at the fence again, then quirks an eyebrow at Karl.
"Still need a Rotagar, dough. Thomas still approves of yah."
[Joe Holst] "Aint asked Kora yet..." Joe's brutish voice trails off as his chin swings slowly to the side. Chill blues snap in turn to each path that may lead to this section of fence. A comfort prickles along his spine. An approaching presence that can blunt the knife- edge of him when needed. Strangely, that seems a comfort too.
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl glances back to the fence, then looks to Joe, rolling strong shoulders slowly.
“Yes. Silence-rhya surprised me a little as well.”
That seems all the Rotagar has to say on that subject. Eyes burning pale as he looks around, following Joe’s gaze to search out the different paths.
“I do appreciate that you would consider me for Aesir’s call War-handed, but I have found a place with a war-pack.”
The Rotagar looks to Joe, reading the man. Joe is a dangerous guy at the best of days, and during the full moon even more so. That Karl walks so easily beside the young warrior, so relaxed despite what they are and who they are is an indication of something. Trust perhaps.
[Sorrow] Sorrow finds them by feel - the tug of the familiar bond, the one that lives beneath her skin, that extends her skin beyond her physical stuff, the one that stretches, now, a thing attenuated, to whereever Thomas is questing, a mute differential now in the back of her mind. She jogs across the darkened street, cutting past the potholes that opened up over winter and never have been filled in - finds one of the gaps underneath the fence, cuts a glance over her shoulder to be sure the coast is clear, then pulls it up, out of the way, enough that she can squeeze her tall, narrow frame through the chain link.
The fence rattles a metallic song in her wake. She pulls the rent back together as she straightens, a kind of crude surgery, this, fitting the diamonds together as best as can be managed in the shadows. The full moon is rising in the east, somewhere out over the lake, now, shrouded in mist. Sorrow glances up, finds it unerringly, and offers Luna a faint half-smile by way of greeting. The world fits better around her skin within the bawn, the gauntlet lessened, here, the division between spirit and flesh lessened. They are closer here to being whole things again.
Her greeting to Joe is wordless and keen, more felt than seen. She falls into step beside him with a subtle brush of her shoulder against his, cuts a look over at Karl by way of greeting, in time to catch his words - a place with a war-pack.
[Joe Holst] Joe's posture opens with a seamless ease. An old instinct that belies the boyish killer's relative youth.. its done differently by all of them. One allows the addition. Another simply assumes. Joe is too rough around the edges for either of those. Joe's posture demands. Nearly threatens. Insists on that space being for Kora from the earth and shadowy hulks around them.
His return of her greeting is swift. A subtle thrum through his bulk. Once Kora is close enough to join the conversation, Joe's eyes narrow.
"Aesir's Call...is a war- pack." He quirks an eyebrow. Watching Karl's face closely. He might have been mistaken as to the Rotagar's meaning.. but the moon above them clouds such things- sometimes dangerously so.
A breath later he continues. A touch crestfallen. "Aw damn..." Real regret in his voice. The youth's mouth cast in a pugnacious line.
"Who'd yew pack up wit?" Clearly the Jarl is thinking of Mattias- and can't quite believe it.
[Karl Holds the Line] ”Did not mean it was not War-Handed. But Aesir’s call already have some of the finest warrior’s in the city.”
Yes, complimenting them. They are Fenrir after all. There are no finer warriors in the nation.
“I have joined with a couple of Bone Gnawers under Hummingbird. Mama Ankle-Biter leads us.”
His pale gaze settles on Kora for a moment, giving her a nod in greeting before his attention returns to Joe once more.
[Sorrow] Sorrow is dressed in clothes that are by now tediously familiar to her packmate - jeans, old and worn, well-fitted to her narrow frame, calf-high Dr. Marten's, black and dusty, now, the finished dulled by mud and wear, and a black t-shirt that says PIXIES in white letters across her chest. The t-shirt clings to the whip-lean lines of her torso, the hint of sweat evident at the collar, down the lines of her spine.
Her hands are tucked neatly into the front pockets of her jeans, and she walks with them just like that, an easy gait, her shoulders forward, her elbow just swung outward, her legs swinging from the hip in a long, sure stride. She responds to Karl's nod of recognition with a curving half-smile, an attractive twist of her expressive mouth.
Then Karl reveals that he has packed with Bone Gnawers under hummingbird. There's a moment when her eyes glint - but her body stills, and the burgeoning humor in them sparks and dies. The line of her gaze slants back to Joe, and she bumps shoulders with him again, casually familiar.
[Joe Holst] "What?"
Surprise. Open surprise. Joe's brutal face swings from Karl to Sorrow, then back again. He blinks- at a loss for something to say- but the awful Jersey bray returns with a vengeance.
"Wha- did sumpfin' kick yew inna head? Urrah, feh fuck's sake?"
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl gives a short bark of a laugh, nodding at joe’s surprised statement/question.
“Yes, they are indeed. That was my reaction as well until I gave it some thought.”
Another slow roll of his shoulders. A glance to Kora, still noting her silence, but he continues talking with Joe.
“Then the tactician in me raised it’s ugly head. Who better to fight with in a city like this? I can learn a lot about the scab from them. Learn how to best fight the Wyrm here where it hides everywhere. They can make good use of my skills in battle. They give me something I need, and I provide something they need.”
It seems Karl has given it some thought at least. Then he grins a little.
“Besides… Mama has made her home right in between Bronzeville and Chinatown, so it will let me continue to keep an eye on that place, and give word if the Furies decide to act up. So one of your flank’s is covered by someone you can trust.”
He had given his word to Joe that he would help keep an eye out after all, and the Norse Rotagar seems to put great weight in his word when it is given.
[Sorrow] "And hummingbird?" Kora's voice is pitched low - both in tone and in volume - for a woman's voice, but there is an underlying resonance there, a richness that serves as a tattered velvet counterpoint to Joe's joisey bray. Her features are otherwise still - not because she is unreadable, but because she is reserved, because she is watching Karl with her eyes, which are dark blue, intent behind the frame of blond lashes.
The subtle thread of inquiry brings her voice up a fair fifth at the end. The question is genuine, largely neutral as yet, though there is a sort of sketicism embedded around the edges of the tone.
She watches Karl, patient and sure and considered as he contemplates his answer.
[Joe Holst] The grind of Joe's teeth is audible. His face swings belligerently between the path they walk and Karl. His blocky shoulder brushes Sorrow's now and then. The moment of contact as natural as it gets.
"We buried da last Get what fought wit' Ankle- Bitah. He died feh dat bitch, an' I don' recall 'er leavin' no grave goods widdim. Be shuwah she aint linin' yew up feh da same t'ing."
When he says it, his voice is stone cold and solemn. The words more than just a burst of hate. He believes them. To the bone.
When Kora's rich voice curls among them, Joe's attention swings to her. Then back to Karl.
[Karl Holds the Line] Kora joins in, and Karl offers her a ghost of a smile.
“It suits my moon quite well. It favors speed and surprise above brute strength, and for scouting and advanced assaults, its abilities are near enough unmatched. Ferocious and hungry. Like myself. A surprisingly good fit.”
But Joe’s word silence the Rotagar for a moment, and it takes him a while to respond. When he does, there is no humor in his voice. It is just low and deep.
“Garou fall much to frequent, with or without others there. Are you saying that she let him die, that she sacrificed him? Are you saying that she is at fault?”
His gaze is direct. It is hard. Karl is a very intimidating man, from the intensity of those eyes, backed with the purity of his blood and lineage. He is not challenging Joe, but he is not bowing for him either. Not now. The Rotagar waits to hear what Joe has to say, and the choice Jow makes now might be very important.
[Sorrow] "He is saying that an Adren Get of Fenris - " Kora interposes, her voice smoldering now, a neat coil of a thing, which curls around them the way smoke curls on its way up to the sky. " - who fought to raise the Caern in which you now stand died to defend her in battle. She brought him no grave goods. She did not attend his gathering."
The edge of her mouth twists, but it is not a smile. There is a deep anger behind the words, richer than rage. The mounded earth is settling into the grave. In another handful of months, the curve will be faint, and then it will fade away altogether. Just a monument. Just the memory of a corpse. Just the words that they have offered each other, and the spirits that flock around the Caern's heart.
Her dark eyes linger on Karl's face as he explains his choice of hummingbird. Speed and strength. Ferocious and hungry. The sense of something withheld, there - which is written into the surface of pain and anger over the loss of their former Alpha - a sort of provisional watchfulness as she weighs whether to remain silent, or to speak.
"None of Fenris' brood suited you?" A sidelong look at her Alpha, familiar, that - " - or were you concerned that Fenris' own would not accept the urrah with whom you are packed?"
[Joe Holst] Joe's boots crunch to a stop, and he turns toward Karl like a warship tacking under sail. Hard eyes land against Karl's without an ounce of hesitation, the moon reflected fever bright in his eyes.
"What I'm SAYIN... is when someone dies fah yew- fah yew specifically... yew owe 'im. Yew owe 'im at least yowah respects ta go widdim tew da next woyld. An' if yew don't show yah respects, yowah eithah an ungrateful piece of shit.. owah yew caused 'is death an' yew know it.."
The other boot crunches against gravel. Both toes pointing at Karl. Joe's eyebrows rise against his forehead, and the bullish Modi's cheeks bunch as jaw muscles boil and clench.
"Ga'head Karl. Tell me I'm wrong."
That was a challenge. The boy waits to hear Karl's response.
[Sorrow] (actually! delete the bit about hummingbird. assume joe talked over her? otherwise, the thread of conversation goes weird. :) )
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl stops as the others does. He looks from Kora to Joe, meeting the others gaze evenly enough, If without a challenge. Yet with the moon the way it is, the tension in Joe and Karl both with their rage, things can go from bad to worse in moments.
“I have seen a fair share of death’s among our tribe and others. Enough to know not to judge others with customs that seem strange to me. Truth in Frenzy dies for us all War-Handed. I never knew him, nor the raising of this caern, but I have visited his ashes. How many others here that knew him have done the same? Many I think, but not all.”
A slow roll of his shoulders again, working the tension in them. He does not let his gaze wander from the Modi in front of him. That freight train heading his way.
“I don’t know what happened in that battle. I most likely never will. Neither do you. It is not my place to judge. Not Mama, and not you. But have no doubt War-Handed… It is my place to question. If I find that she did cause his death? I will deal with it. If not, then my question will not be for her, but for you.”
What he means by that, he does not expand on for the moment, instead he squares up, eyes narrowed at Joe. The moon does not cause his blood to boil now, but it speaks to the wolf in him still.
[Joe Holst] Joe shakes his head slowly. His eyes remain narrow, but through the thin veneer of wrath and boiling desire to loose it, the paws of the Bannerman remain firmly on the head of his child. Giving focus and a thin line of clear thought. He leans toward the other male, each word slightly less clear for the accented delivery.
"I do know what happened. Me an' my pack went ta da Battlegroun's ta see it and experience it feh owahselves. Ovah and ovah again. He died fah her- an' she gave 'im no grave goods. Jus' like Kora said."
Joe's chin swings toward Sorrow, but his eyes don't leave Karl.
"Now listen. Yew be careful. Whatevah else she is. She aint woyth loosin' anuddah uh my wolves. Sah yew watch yah back, an' yew make shuwah yew ain't gettin' used, owah set up. Yew hearin' me now? Wha' me an' Kora boff told yew aint questions. Dey aint speculations. Its what we seen wit owah own eyes."
The challenge is still there. The fury as well. Ankle-Biter herself all but disregarded. Treated as little more than a circumstance. Joe's attention only for the tribe.
[Sorrow] "Attending the funerary rite of a Garou who died deflecting a blow that would have killed you - " Sorrow replies, her anger in the moment unchecked, a bright line through the rich amber tones of her Skald's voice. " - is not some strange tribal custom of the children of Fenris."
When Joe lifts his chin in her direction, she affirms his statement quietly, the bright burst of anger subsumed in memory. Her voice is backgrounded, quiet, insistent, this tattoo of sound, like the drumming of raindrops on a tin roof. " - five times. We fought the battle five times, Karl. I know what happened the way I know the workings of my own body. I performed the rite, too. I know who stood here to honor him. Who watched us light the pyre, who watched it burn. Who brought offerings, and who brought us nothing more than a corpse."
- this is somewhere between I do know, and Joe's cautions to Karl. Sorrow does not interupt again thereafter. She remains where she stands, her hands still in her pockets, her pale hair loose about her face. In another light, in another life - she would be a pretty girl, the curve of her mouth, the richness of her eyes a fair counterpoint to her lean, boyish frame. She isn't a girl, though. And she isn't pretty - such a paltry word, particularly when the easy edge of her engaging smile has filtered away, and left her features stark with remembered grief.
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl takes a deep breath, and slowly he relaxes. A nod, lowering his eyes just a fraction. He takes the time to ignore the pull of the moon, fighting it down. He seems to accept Joe’s words for what they are. Not a challenge towards his pack alpha, but care for one of his own tribe.
“You have my word War-Handed. But I do trust her not to betray me. She has given me no reason not to do so, but your warning, and caution is appreciated for what they are.”
Brutally honest. It is a fault in the Rotagar, and goes against what many consider the no moons to be. At least what many that are not Fenrir considers the No moons to be. His gaze goes to Kora then, focusing on her. He does not know her as he knows Joe (Even if knowing Joe is to go far really)
“Truth in Frenzy was a great warrior. If he choose to stand between a theurge and those that tried to reach her, was that not by his own choice, for some cause? Were they alone in the battle? Be careful with how you put these things out. Truth in Frenzy acted by his own will, under his own strength. Will you lessen his sacrifice because of your own bitterness?”
Something tugs at his attention then. It is brief, a if trying to focus on something that is not really here, just beyond sight.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The gauntlet pulls open easily, the black and gray speckled form of the lupus-born slips through it. An ear flicking back along her skull as she can feel the presence of pack nearby. Tail flicking, paws set to the gravel path, the small wolf begins to wind her way through the caern towards the edges of the bawn. Head lowering to the ground, nose twitching gently to pick up the different scents that tickle at her nose, trotting downwind as she draws closer. Ears plucking out the sounds of voices, words not comprehensible from the distance that is still between her and the trio of Get of Fenris. She follows the familiarity of pack, the connection of the feral-minded has with one of them.
[Joe Holst] A deep, brazen roar boils up from Joe's chest. It demands attention. Splits the night that mutters with the distant sounds of planes, trains, and automobiles. Joe steps closer. His posture subtly different, though the weight of the frenzy- inducing moon makes the gesture seem a wanton desire for violence and little else.
"ROTAGAR!" It follows quickly after the roar itself. Joe turns from beside Kora to form a triangle of bodies. Kora to his left, Karl to his right.
"We only listen to KINGS more carefully den SKALDS. Sah yew needa SHUT UP a minnit, an' LISSEN ta what Kora's fuggin' SAYIN. Jus' lissen tew da woyds. Lissen careful. I ain't gonna ask 'er ta repeat 'erself again! Fuggin' SHUSH."
Joe's thick neck, veins thick with the thrum of blood, turns toward Kora again.
"Give it anuddah try. Get yah point across."
[Sorrow] "This is a very simple story, Holds the Line-yuf. If I have led you astray with rhetorical flourishes, I apologize. I will strip it down further, to the bones of the thing. I will strip it to the marrow - listen well," the Skald remarks, her dark eyes now fixed on the Rotagar, an undercurrent of anger evident in her body, the livewire coil of it hot against the darkness. "Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died taking a blow that would have killed your alpha, defending her so that she could summon a spirit to cleanse the Wyrmhole in the basement of the community center. Not once have I blamed her for his death."
Her head is cast aslant, pale hair gleaming in the light of the full moon, like running water. "Listen, then: twice I've told you this part of the story. Mama Ankle-Biter, Kire Moving-Mountain, Iona Banshee, sklora-Myrgen, and Muerte Fria brought his body back to the Caern and to his pack. They brought his body back: only Banshee offered him gravegoods, to see him on his way to Valhalla. Of those who were saved by his sacrifice, only Banshee stood before his pyre and leant her spirit to the Gathering for the Departed, to ensure that he can return to us as an ancestor spirit, when the tribe has need of his wisdom and his skill.
"Mama Ankle-Biter lives because Truth-in-Frenzy died to save her, but she did not offer him anything to see him to the next world. She did not give the least of her possessions to him for his journey to the lands of the dead, and she did not stand witness at his pyre. She did not lift her voice then, that the spirits would know his sacrifice for her."
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The softest of sounds carries on the winds, it toys through the thick pelt of the Gnawer as an ear cocks to the Skald's voice, she can hear the recanting of a tale she lived through by the sacrifice of another. The roar of the hot-tempered Modi does not make the wolf flinch. The little speckled wolf's gaze retains their blue hue, carrying to any form she takes. As for now, she remains in the skin that she is most comfortable in.
Her tail flicks along the inner thigh of her hind legs, head cocked to the side. Head angled to lift higher as her nose scents their smells, pink rough tongue washing over her muzzle tastes the air, drinks in War-Hand's anger. This little Gnawer would know how to read the emotions - so openly expressed. She grunts softly.
'Someone spits a Gnawer's name to the winds, eventually they's gone hear about it.'
Air chuffs from her nose, regarding the triangle of Fenrir thoughtfully, 'Ways of Fenris' Children in how they tend to their dead ain't the same as the Ways of Rat's brood. Ya think cuz Mama didn't show up at a Fenrir's funeral that she's defaced the honor of one of Maelstrom's best warriors?'
[Karl Holds the Line] The roar grabs the rotagars attention, like a flame would grab the attention of a puddle of Gasoline. His eyes snap to Joe, narrowed. There is a small shift in his step as he angles his body to fit the triangle, to keep both Fenrir in view. A breath drawn in, ragged. A rumble, deep in his chest that never quite forms into a growl.
But he turns his attention from Joe to Kora, focusing that cold gaze on the woman. Joe has a point, and the Rotagar is willing to give it a another chance. If there is a lesson there, and not just the bitterness of loosing a respected elder, the Rotagar will try to decipher it. So he listens close, gaze even.
The Skald tells the story again, more fully this time. She gives information that had not been made available to the Rotagar before. About what the battle was about, about the others involved. The Skald does her job well. Before the Rotagar has a chance to reply, if he ever intended to do so, The Wolf in question joins them.
The glacial blue eyes turn on Mama, then to the others to gauge their reactions. Mama said in her own words what Karl had been trying to impart on the two Fenrir. Not all honored sacrifices the same way, and Karl knows enough to know exactly how little he truly knows about the affairs and dealings of the Crescent moons.
[Joe Holst] Joe growls again. They'd been so close. His attention lands hot and hateful on Mama, and his reply is off the cuff.
"I don' give a shit abaht yew owah yowah opinion, owah Rat's fuggin' brood. All I wanna know is whethah owah not Karl gets da point Kora was makin. Sa' shut up a minnit owah fuggaf, Urrah. Dis is tribal bidness heah."
With that, Joe looks back at Karl, waiting.
[Sorrow] Sorrow cuts a look to Mama as the Bone Gnawer arrives; as she chuffs out a handful of words. The creature's dark eyes linger there, the spark of a passing moment. If she were going to reply to the Bone Gnawer, her Alpha's words cut her off, draw her attention directly back to Joe and to Karl. Her features are still, her eyes fixed once again on Karl, waiting, watching.
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl snaps his gaze to Joe when he snaps at Mama. She might not be Fenrir, but she is fostern. She has earned her place with Glory, Honor and Wisdom of which the likes the cliaths can only hope to attain before the war turns them to ashes and dust. Of course, he also just told Karl’s alpha to fuck off. Neither sits well with the Rotagar. He bares his teeth at Joe, lips pulling back with a growl that is only started deep inside the Norse fenrirs chest.
“Watch your tongue War-Handed…”
Warning in both posture and tone, but the Rotagar does not let Joe respond before he continues.
“She who offers sorrow makes the point clear enough. Mama Ankle-Biter-rhya did not join the rite. Her choice for not doing so is between her and the spirits. While I do not claim to understand he reasoning for staying away, I do not try to stand in judgment for it.”
He draws in a breath before going on. That glacial blue gaze is affixed to War-Handed, burning now.
“Truth in Frenzy-rhya sacrificed himself for Mama Ankle-Biter-rhya. He sacrificed himself for the caern and all of us who now walk alive. I do not know enough about the ancestor spirits to say if Truth in Frenzy is among them or not, but I doubt that his honor in the afterlife is determined by those who remain alive. Perhaps I am wrong. I am young enough to not have uncovered the secrets of such things. How about you?”
[Joe Holst] (Guys! We gotta pause! Cause we need to go to combat, but I'm starting to drop. Do you guys mind if we pause?)
[Karl Holds the Line] She gets up, pokes him and teases him, and it brings out a wide smile.. No, a grin from the Rotagar. When he speaks, he cant really hide the hopeful tone in his voice.
“You bringing the paint with you?”
He watches her go, then, biting his lower lip in thought, he follows after the kin, hands going into the pockets of his jeans.
“Moira?”
[Karl Holds the Line] ((LOL!
Talk about dropping a psot in the wrong window haha and yeah, ))
[Mama Ankle-Biter] (ROFLMAO)
[Sorrow] (pause is good for me. I'm tired!)
[Joe Holst] ((Alright! By popular opinion, this scene doesn't happen until after the fight is over with. So from start to finish, everyone put this script in the box in your head that says 'hasn't happened yet'! And thanks for everyone's patience.))
[Mama Ankle-Biter] (Aight)
At least he knows it.
So, Joe stalks the perimeter of the Bawn. Watchful, his eyes lash with the shine of an animal in the dark as he gazes out from the chainlink. Careful to duck further into the fenced off dockyards whenever a passing car would light his savage form with its headlights. Recent injuries on his head and arms are crusted with a patina of blood. Now and then he picks at a scab, or scratches something under his shirt.
A new battlescar is apparent as well. Chicago at night too hot to wear more than necessary, the jagged marks of giant rat teeth trace their way up the opposite side of his neck from the older wound. The boy will be a barber pole one day, at this rate.
[Karl Holds the Line] Full Moon.
For most Rotagar, it is no more then another phase of the moon, at the far end from their own. The rage that is normally so weak in them compared to others are not roused easily. Not so for the Norse No moon. Enough rage to match many Modi, he seeks refuge in the caern as well during nights like this. A shadow among deeper shadows, he stops as he nears the mouth of an alley, staring out across the street to the worn down chain-link fence. Glacial blue eyes catching the weak light. Too much of a wolf tonight. Not enough human.
As the young Modi passes this part, the Rotagar steps out, moving across the street to the fence. Strong hand coming out to grab at the metal, fingers curling through it as he looks to Joe. No chance that the two Get miss each other. Not on a night like this.
“War-Handed.”
Voice low and deep. That pale gaze locked on the form of the other.
[Joe Holst] It had taken little more than a twitch of movement from the oppsite alley to start getting a response. The boy is keyed up. In a human it would look like frantic paranoia. In a Garou under a full moon- its just simple watchfulness.
The stalking has iron in each step. Wrath boiling through veins swathed in heavy, swift muscle. Big in the way lions are big, Joe stops on a dime. There is little of slowing down or ponderous cessation of movment.
One moment he's walking. The next he is all but frozen. Nostrils flaring as the shining eyes snap across the street. Joe relaxes, his face spreading into a welcoming, half crazed grin as the No Moon approaches. A cut in the boy's lip spreads open. The scab cracking apart to allow a bit more bleeding. He doesn't seem aware of it- just favors Karl with the gap- toothed grimace.
"How's t'ings, Karl?" The transition is smooth. From watching the perimeter to watching for any observers, Joe's thick neck swings up and down the street.
"It's cleah. Hop on ovah." He says, indicating the high fence.
[Karl Holds the Line] (It’s Cleah)
The Rotagar grins a little, reaching up and grabbing the edge of the fence. Not the largest or strongest of men, but the Rotagar is surprisingly agile. In fact, it is damn near inhuman the way he flows over the high fence. Joe has seen him before, and he has always had an animal grace in him. Now, it is impossible not to notice it. A change in him for sure.
“Not bad, all things considered. Not bad at all.”
He lands without any noise, despite the gravel underfoot. No one is supposed to be that agile, that light on his feet. Something is clearly off.
“How about yourself? I've not seen you for a while. You look as if you have been keeping busy?”
[Joe Holst] Karl vaults the high fence like mist. Seamless in his form and graceful.. and Joe, being a smart kind of warrior.. takes note. His eyes widen in surprise, then travel up the jagged surface of the chain link fence, and down the other side. His gaze narrows again as it sweeps back to Karl.
"Dat was a new trick."
He tongues the cut at his lip, then turns his head and spits almost meditatively.
"Pretty." He says it with a nod. The word means more coming from his mouth. 'Pretty' is something that follows application. An awareness. Respect and something strangely like anticipation coloring his voice. A bloodthirsty thing, is Joe.
"Yeah.. pretty busy. Silence clearin' out left a nasty hole in t'ings a bit south uh heah. I'm lookin' inta fillin' up da gap. Looks promisin." He glances at the fence again, then quirks an eyebrow at Karl.
"Still need a Rotagar, dough. Thomas still approves of yah."
[Joe Holst] "Aint asked Kora yet..." Joe's brutish voice trails off as his chin swings slowly to the side. Chill blues snap in turn to each path that may lead to this section of fence. A comfort prickles along his spine. An approaching presence that can blunt the knife- edge of him when needed. Strangely, that seems a comfort too.
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl glances back to the fence, then looks to Joe, rolling strong shoulders slowly.
“Yes. Silence-rhya surprised me a little as well.”
That seems all the Rotagar has to say on that subject. Eyes burning pale as he looks around, following Joe’s gaze to search out the different paths.
“I do appreciate that you would consider me for Aesir’s call War-handed, but I have found a place with a war-pack.”
The Rotagar looks to Joe, reading the man. Joe is a dangerous guy at the best of days, and during the full moon even more so. That Karl walks so easily beside the young warrior, so relaxed despite what they are and who they are is an indication of something. Trust perhaps.
[Sorrow] Sorrow finds them by feel - the tug of the familiar bond, the one that lives beneath her skin, that extends her skin beyond her physical stuff, the one that stretches, now, a thing attenuated, to whereever Thomas is questing, a mute differential now in the back of her mind. She jogs across the darkened street, cutting past the potholes that opened up over winter and never have been filled in - finds one of the gaps underneath the fence, cuts a glance over her shoulder to be sure the coast is clear, then pulls it up, out of the way, enough that she can squeeze her tall, narrow frame through the chain link.
The fence rattles a metallic song in her wake. She pulls the rent back together as she straightens, a kind of crude surgery, this, fitting the diamonds together as best as can be managed in the shadows. The full moon is rising in the east, somewhere out over the lake, now, shrouded in mist. Sorrow glances up, finds it unerringly, and offers Luna a faint half-smile by way of greeting. The world fits better around her skin within the bawn, the gauntlet lessened, here, the division between spirit and flesh lessened. They are closer here to being whole things again.
Her greeting to Joe is wordless and keen, more felt than seen. She falls into step beside him with a subtle brush of her shoulder against his, cuts a look over at Karl by way of greeting, in time to catch his words - a place with a war-pack.
[Joe Holst] Joe's posture opens with a seamless ease. An old instinct that belies the boyish killer's relative youth.. its done differently by all of them. One allows the addition. Another simply assumes. Joe is too rough around the edges for either of those. Joe's posture demands. Nearly threatens. Insists on that space being for Kora from the earth and shadowy hulks around them.
His return of her greeting is swift. A subtle thrum through his bulk. Once Kora is close enough to join the conversation, Joe's eyes narrow.
"Aesir's Call...is a war- pack." He quirks an eyebrow. Watching Karl's face closely. He might have been mistaken as to the Rotagar's meaning.. but the moon above them clouds such things- sometimes dangerously so.
A breath later he continues. A touch crestfallen. "Aw damn..." Real regret in his voice. The youth's mouth cast in a pugnacious line.
"Who'd yew pack up wit?" Clearly the Jarl is thinking of Mattias- and can't quite believe it.
[Karl Holds the Line] ”Did not mean it was not War-Handed. But Aesir’s call already have some of the finest warrior’s in the city.”
Yes, complimenting them. They are Fenrir after all. There are no finer warriors in the nation.
“I have joined with a couple of Bone Gnawers under Hummingbird. Mama Ankle-Biter leads us.”
His pale gaze settles on Kora for a moment, giving her a nod in greeting before his attention returns to Joe once more.
[Sorrow] Sorrow is dressed in clothes that are by now tediously familiar to her packmate - jeans, old and worn, well-fitted to her narrow frame, calf-high Dr. Marten's, black and dusty, now, the finished dulled by mud and wear, and a black t-shirt that says PIXIES in white letters across her chest. The t-shirt clings to the whip-lean lines of her torso, the hint of sweat evident at the collar, down the lines of her spine.
Her hands are tucked neatly into the front pockets of her jeans, and she walks with them just like that, an easy gait, her shoulders forward, her elbow just swung outward, her legs swinging from the hip in a long, sure stride. She responds to Karl's nod of recognition with a curving half-smile, an attractive twist of her expressive mouth.
Then Karl reveals that he has packed with Bone Gnawers under hummingbird. There's a moment when her eyes glint - but her body stills, and the burgeoning humor in them sparks and dies. The line of her gaze slants back to Joe, and she bumps shoulders with him again, casually familiar.
[Joe Holst] "What?"
Surprise. Open surprise. Joe's brutal face swings from Karl to Sorrow, then back again. He blinks- at a loss for something to say- but the awful Jersey bray returns with a vengeance.
"Wha- did sumpfin' kick yew inna head? Urrah, feh fuck's sake?"
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl gives a short bark of a laugh, nodding at joe’s surprised statement/question.
“Yes, they are indeed. That was my reaction as well until I gave it some thought.”
Another slow roll of his shoulders. A glance to Kora, still noting her silence, but he continues talking with Joe.
“Then the tactician in me raised it’s ugly head. Who better to fight with in a city like this? I can learn a lot about the scab from them. Learn how to best fight the Wyrm here where it hides everywhere. They can make good use of my skills in battle. They give me something I need, and I provide something they need.”
It seems Karl has given it some thought at least. Then he grins a little.
“Besides… Mama has made her home right in between Bronzeville and Chinatown, so it will let me continue to keep an eye on that place, and give word if the Furies decide to act up. So one of your flank’s is covered by someone you can trust.”
He had given his word to Joe that he would help keep an eye out after all, and the Norse Rotagar seems to put great weight in his word when it is given.
[Sorrow] "And hummingbird?" Kora's voice is pitched low - both in tone and in volume - for a woman's voice, but there is an underlying resonance there, a richness that serves as a tattered velvet counterpoint to Joe's joisey bray. Her features are otherwise still - not because she is unreadable, but because she is reserved, because she is watching Karl with her eyes, which are dark blue, intent behind the frame of blond lashes.
The subtle thread of inquiry brings her voice up a fair fifth at the end. The question is genuine, largely neutral as yet, though there is a sort of sketicism embedded around the edges of the tone.
She watches Karl, patient and sure and considered as he contemplates his answer.
[Joe Holst] The grind of Joe's teeth is audible. His face swings belligerently between the path they walk and Karl. His blocky shoulder brushes Sorrow's now and then. The moment of contact as natural as it gets.
"We buried da last Get what fought wit' Ankle- Bitah. He died feh dat bitch, an' I don' recall 'er leavin' no grave goods widdim. Be shuwah she aint linin' yew up feh da same t'ing."
When he says it, his voice is stone cold and solemn. The words more than just a burst of hate. He believes them. To the bone.
When Kora's rich voice curls among them, Joe's attention swings to her. Then back to Karl.
[Karl Holds the Line] Kora joins in, and Karl offers her a ghost of a smile.
“It suits my moon quite well. It favors speed and surprise above brute strength, and for scouting and advanced assaults, its abilities are near enough unmatched. Ferocious and hungry. Like myself. A surprisingly good fit.”
But Joe’s word silence the Rotagar for a moment, and it takes him a while to respond. When he does, there is no humor in his voice. It is just low and deep.
“Garou fall much to frequent, with or without others there. Are you saying that she let him die, that she sacrificed him? Are you saying that she is at fault?”
His gaze is direct. It is hard. Karl is a very intimidating man, from the intensity of those eyes, backed with the purity of his blood and lineage. He is not challenging Joe, but he is not bowing for him either. Not now. The Rotagar waits to hear what Joe has to say, and the choice Jow makes now might be very important.
[Sorrow] "He is saying that an Adren Get of Fenris - " Kora interposes, her voice smoldering now, a neat coil of a thing, which curls around them the way smoke curls on its way up to the sky. " - who fought to raise the Caern in which you now stand died to defend her in battle. She brought him no grave goods. She did not attend his gathering."
The edge of her mouth twists, but it is not a smile. There is a deep anger behind the words, richer than rage. The mounded earth is settling into the grave. In another handful of months, the curve will be faint, and then it will fade away altogether. Just a monument. Just the memory of a corpse. Just the words that they have offered each other, and the spirits that flock around the Caern's heart.
Her dark eyes linger on Karl's face as he explains his choice of hummingbird. Speed and strength. Ferocious and hungry. The sense of something withheld, there - which is written into the surface of pain and anger over the loss of their former Alpha - a sort of provisional watchfulness as she weighs whether to remain silent, or to speak.
"None of Fenris' brood suited you?" A sidelong look at her Alpha, familiar, that - " - or were you concerned that Fenris' own would not accept the urrah with whom you are packed?"
[Joe Holst] Joe's boots crunch to a stop, and he turns toward Karl like a warship tacking under sail. Hard eyes land against Karl's without an ounce of hesitation, the moon reflected fever bright in his eyes.
"What I'm SAYIN... is when someone dies fah yew- fah yew specifically... yew owe 'im. Yew owe 'im at least yowah respects ta go widdim tew da next woyld. An' if yew don't show yah respects, yowah eithah an ungrateful piece of shit.. owah yew caused 'is death an' yew know it.."
The other boot crunches against gravel. Both toes pointing at Karl. Joe's eyebrows rise against his forehead, and the bullish Modi's cheeks bunch as jaw muscles boil and clench.
"Ga'head Karl. Tell me I'm wrong."
That was a challenge. The boy waits to hear Karl's response.
[Sorrow] (actually! delete the bit about hummingbird. assume joe talked over her? otherwise, the thread of conversation goes weird. :) )
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl stops as the others does. He looks from Kora to Joe, meeting the others gaze evenly enough, If without a challenge. Yet with the moon the way it is, the tension in Joe and Karl both with their rage, things can go from bad to worse in moments.
“I have seen a fair share of death’s among our tribe and others. Enough to know not to judge others with customs that seem strange to me. Truth in Frenzy dies for us all War-Handed. I never knew him, nor the raising of this caern, but I have visited his ashes. How many others here that knew him have done the same? Many I think, but not all.”
A slow roll of his shoulders again, working the tension in them. He does not let his gaze wander from the Modi in front of him. That freight train heading his way.
“I don’t know what happened in that battle. I most likely never will. Neither do you. It is not my place to judge. Not Mama, and not you. But have no doubt War-Handed… It is my place to question. If I find that she did cause his death? I will deal with it. If not, then my question will not be for her, but for you.”
What he means by that, he does not expand on for the moment, instead he squares up, eyes narrowed at Joe. The moon does not cause his blood to boil now, but it speaks to the wolf in him still.
[Joe Holst] Joe shakes his head slowly. His eyes remain narrow, but through the thin veneer of wrath and boiling desire to loose it, the paws of the Bannerman remain firmly on the head of his child. Giving focus and a thin line of clear thought. He leans toward the other male, each word slightly less clear for the accented delivery.
"I do know what happened. Me an' my pack went ta da Battlegroun's ta see it and experience it feh owahselves. Ovah and ovah again. He died fah her- an' she gave 'im no grave goods. Jus' like Kora said."
Joe's chin swings toward Sorrow, but his eyes don't leave Karl.
"Now listen. Yew be careful. Whatevah else she is. She aint woyth loosin' anuddah uh my wolves. Sah yew watch yah back, an' yew make shuwah yew ain't gettin' used, owah set up. Yew hearin' me now? Wha' me an' Kora boff told yew aint questions. Dey aint speculations. Its what we seen wit owah own eyes."
The challenge is still there. The fury as well. Ankle-Biter herself all but disregarded. Treated as little more than a circumstance. Joe's attention only for the tribe.
[Sorrow] "Attending the funerary rite of a Garou who died deflecting a blow that would have killed you - " Sorrow replies, her anger in the moment unchecked, a bright line through the rich amber tones of her Skald's voice. " - is not some strange tribal custom of the children of Fenris."
When Joe lifts his chin in her direction, she affirms his statement quietly, the bright burst of anger subsumed in memory. Her voice is backgrounded, quiet, insistent, this tattoo of sound, like the drumming of raindrops on a tin roof. " - five times. We fought the battle five times, Karl. I know what happened the way I know the workings of my own body. I performed the rite, too. I know who stood here to honor him. Who watched us light the pyre, who watched it burn. Who brought offerings, and who brought us nothing more than a corpse."
- this is somewhere between I do know, and Joe's cautions to Karl. Sorrow does not interupt again thereafter. She remains where she stands, her hands still in her pockets, her pale hair loose about her face. In another light, in another life - she would be a pretty girl, the curve of her mouth, the richness of her eyes a fair counterpoint to her lean, boyish frame. She isn't a girl, though. And she isn't pretty - such a paltry word, particularly when the easy edge of her engaging smile has filtered away, and left her features stark with remembered grief.
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl takes a deep breath, and slowly he relaxes. A nod, lowering his eyes just a fraction. He takes the time to ignore the pull of the moon, fighting it down. He seems to accept Joe’s words for what they are. Not a challenge towards his pack alpha, but care for one of his own tribe.
“You have my word War-Handed. But I do trust her not to betray me. She has given me no reason not to do so, but your warning, and caution is appreciated for what they are.”
Brutally honest. It is a fault in the Rotagar, and goes against what many consider the no moons to be. At least what many that are not Fenrir considers the No moons to be. His gaze goes to Kora then, focusing on her. He does not know her as he knows Joe (Even if knowing Joe is to go far really)
“Truth in Frenzy was a great warrior. If he choose to stand between a theurge and those that tried to reach her, was that not by his own choice, for some cause? Were they alone in the battle? Be careful with how you put these things out. Truth in Frenzy acted by his own will, under his own strength. Will you lessen his sacrifice because of your own bitterness?”
Something tugs at his attention then. It is brief, a if trying to focus on something that is not really here, just beyond sight.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The gauntlet pulls open easily, the black and gray speckled form of the lupus-born slips through it. An ear flicking back along her skull as she can feel the presence of pack nearby. Tail flicking, paws set to the gravel path, the small wolf begins to wind her way through the caern towards the edges of the bawn. Head lowering to the ground, nose twitching gently to pick up the different scents that tickle at her nose, trotting downwind as she draws closer. Ears plucking out the sounds of voices, words not comprehensible from the distance that is still between her and the trio of Get of Fenris. She follows the familiarity of pack, the connection of the feral-minded has with one of them.
[Joe Holst] A deep, brazen roar boils up from Joe's chest. It demands attention. Splits the night that mutters with the distant sounds of planes, trains, and automobiles. Joe steps closer. His posture subtly different, though the weight of the frenzy- inducing moon makes the gesture seem a wanton desire for violence and little else.
"ROTAGAR!" It follows quickly after the roar itself. Joe turns from beside Kora to form a triangle of bodies. Kora to his left, Karl to his right.
"We only listen to KINGS more carefully den SKALDS. Sah yew needa SHUT UP a minnit, an' LISSEN ta what Kora's fuggin' SAYIN. Jus' lissen tew da woyds. Lissen careful. I ain't gonna ask 'er ta repeat 'erself again! Fuggin' SHUSH."
Joe's thick neck, veins thick with the thrum of blood, turns toward Kora again.
"Give it anuddah try. Get yah point across."
[Sorrow] "This is a very simple story, Holds the Line-yuf. If I have led you astray with rhetorical flourishes, I apologize. I will strip it down further, to the bones of the thing. I will strip it to the marrow - listen well," the Skald remarks, her dark eyes now fixed on the Rotagar, an undercurrent of anger evident in her body, the livewire coil of it hot against the darkness. "Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died taking a blow that would have killed your alpha, defending her so that she could summon a spirit to cleanse the Wyrmhole in the basement of the community center. Not once have I blamed her for his death."
Her head is cast aslant, pale hair gleaming in the light of the full moon, like running water. "Listen, then: twice I've told you this part of the story. Mama Ankle-Biter, Kire Moving-Mountain, Iona Banshee, sklora-Myrgen, and Muerte Fria brought his body back to the Caern and to his pack. They brought his body back: only Banshee offered him gravegoods, to see him on his way to Valhalla. Of those who were saved by his sacrifice, only Banshee stood before his pyre and leant her spirit to the Gathering for the Departed, to ensure that he can return to us as an ancestor spirit, when the tribe has need of his wisdom and his skill.
"Mama Ankle-Biter lives because Truth-in-Frenzy died to save her, but she did not offer him anything to see him to the next world. She did not give the least of her possessions to him for his journey to the lands of the dead, and she did not stand witness at his pyre. She did not lift her voice then, that the spirits would know his sacrifice for her."
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The softest of sounds carries on the winds, it toys through the thick pelt of the Gnawer as an ear cocks to the Skald's voice, she can hear the recanting of a tale she lived through by the sacrifice of another. The roar of the hot-tempered Modi does not make the wolf flinch. The little speckled wolf's gaze retains their blue hue, carrying to any form she takes. As for now, she remains in the skin that she is most comfortable in.
Her tail flicks along the inner thigh of her hind legs, head cocked to the side. Head angled to lift higher as her nose scents their smells, pink rough tongue washing over her muzzle tastes the air, drinks in War-Hand's anger. This little Gnawer would know how to read the emotions - so openly expressed. She grunts softly.
'Someone spits a Gnawer's name to the winds, eventually they's gone hear about it.'
Air chuffs from her nose, regarding the triangle of Fenrir thoughtfully, 'Ways of Fenris' Children in how they tend to their dead ain't the same as the Ways of Rat's brood. Ya think cuz Mama didn't show up at a Fenrir's funeral that she's defaced the honor of one of Maelstrom's best warriors?'
[Karl Holds the Line] The roar grabs the rotagars attention, like a flame would grab the attention of a puddle of Gasoline. His eyes snap to Joe, narrowed. There is a small shift in his step as he angles his body to fit the triangle, to keep both Fenrir in view. A breath drawn in, ragged. A rumble, deep in his chest that never quite forms into a growl.
But he turns his attention from Joe to Kora, focusing that cold gaze on the woman. Joe has a point, and the Rotagar is willing to give it a another chance. If there is a lesson there, and not just the bitterness of loosing a respected elder, the Rotagar will try to decipher it. So he listens close, gaze even.
The Skald tells the story again, more fully this time. She gives information that had not been made available to the Rotagar before. About what the battle was about, about the others involved. The Skald does her job well. Before the Rotagar has a chance to reply, if he ever intended to do so, The Wolf in question joins them.
The glacial blue eyes turn on Mama, then to the others to gauge their reactions. Mama said in her own words what Karl had been trying to impart on the two Fenrir. Not all honored sacrifices the same way, and Karl knows enough to know exactly how little he truly knows about the affairs and dealings of the Crescent moons.
[Joe Holst] Joe growls again. They'd been so close. His attention lands hot and hateful on Mama, and his reply is off the cuff.
"I don' give a shit abaht yew owah yowah opinion, owah Rat's fuggin' brood. All I wanna know is whethah owah not Karl gets da point Kora was makin. Sa' shut up a minnit owah fuggaf, Urrah. Dis is tribal bidness heah."
With that, Joe looks back at Karl, waiting.
[Sorrow] Sorrow cuts a look to Mama as the Bone Gnawer arrives; as she chuffs out a handful of words. The creature's dark eyes linger there, the spark of a passing moment. If she were going to reply to the Bone Gnawer, her Alpha's words cut her off, draw her attention directly back to Joe and to Karl. Her features are still, her eyes fixed once again on Karl, waiting, watching.
[Karl Holds the Line] Karl snaps his gaze to Joe when he snaps at Mama. She might not be Fenrir, but she is fostern. She has earned her place with Glory, Honor and Wisdom of which the likes the cliaths can only hope to attain before the war turns them to ashes and dust. Of course, he also just told Karl’s alpha to fuck off. Neither sits well with the Rotagar. He bares his teeth at Joe, lips pulling back with a growl that is only started deep inside the Norse fenrirs chest.
“Watch your tongue War-Handed…”
Warning in both posture and tone, but the Rotagar does not let Joe respond before he continues.
“She who offers sorrow makes the point clear enough. Mama Ankle-Biter-rhya did not join the rite. Her choice for not doing so is between her and the spirits. While I do not claim to understand he reasoning for staying away, I do not try to stand in judgment for it.”
He draws in a breath before going on. That glacial blue gaze is affixed to War-Handed, burning now.
“Truth in Frenzy-rhya sacrificed himself for Mama Ankle-Biter-rhya. He sacrificed himself for the caern and all of us who now walk alive. I do not know enough about the ancestor spirits to say if Truth in Frenzy is among them or not, but I doubt that his honor in the afterlife is determined by those who remain alive. Perhaps I am wrong. I am young enough to not have uncovered the secrets of such things. How about you?”
[Joe Holst] (Guys! We gotta pause! Cause we need to go to combat, but I'm starting to drop. Do you guys mind if we pause?)
[Karl Holds the Line] She gets up, pokes him and teases him, and it brings out a wide smile.. No, a grin from the Rotagar. When he speaks, he cant really hide the hopeful tone in his voice.
“You bringing the paint with you?”
He watches her go, then, biting his lower lip in thought, he follows after the kin, hands going into the pockets of his jeans.
“Moira?”
[Karl Holds the Line] ((LOL!
Talk about dropping a psot in the wrong window haha and yeah, ))
[Mama Ankle-Biter] (ROFLMAO)
[Sorrow] (pause is good for me. I'm tired!)
[Joe Holst] ((Alright! By popular opinion, this scene doesn't happen until after the fight is over with. So from start to finish, everyone put this script in the box in your head that says 'hasn't happened yet'! And thanks for everyone's patience.))
[Mama Ankle-Biter] (Aight)
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