Knife fight.

Sunday, 15 January 2012 10:00
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And other things, too.
15 January, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (55% full).


On a bitterly cold day in Washington State, Kevin has dragged Flint out into the countryside. The adren has, in deference to the weather, donned the woolly hat and scarf knitted by Mouse's grandparents, and could be seen from a helicopter from half a mile up as a consequence. He seems unconcerned as he leads Flint out of the house and into the field beyond. "Okay, my son. There's no better way to keep yourself warm than some physical activity, so that's just what we're going to do."

Flint didn't object to the field trip, bundled as he is in several more layers of clothing than usual. The white stuff on the ground, though, receives what is more of a look from the cub than anything else. "It's snowing," the boy states, with a slightly bewildered look on his face. Distracted, Flint reaches down to touch a bit of the snow.

Kevin glances up. "Oh, so it is," he smiles. "If it settles, we can build a snowman! Course," he adds nonchalantly, "before that, you'll have to survive this." Reaching into his pocket, the mop-headed ragabash pulls out a butterfly knife, snicks it open, and begins to advance on Flint. Not at a run, but deliberately, and with the knife poised in a most unpleasant way.

Flint narrows his eyes, holding his ground for a moment as Kevin advances, and when the distance between them has closed more, grins just a little and drops quickly to a forward roll, aiming to come up close enough to have some advantage on the much taller ragabash, and out of the way of the knife as well. It's a very much street taught move, and one the cub seems comfortable with, one part of his gaze on Kevin as he goes.

Kevin is pretty quick on his feet himself, and jumps back, so that Flint's roll forwards doesn't bowl him over. He's certainly in no position to make use of his knife for a second, though, and it'll be a second or two before Kevin's in a position to press another attack.

The boy also seems to know to stay on the outside edge of the knife hand, as a moment of circling shows. There's a wariness, an alertness, to the boy's posture, watching Kevin's movement for anything that a smaller opponent could use to their advantage.

Kevin moves crab-wise for a few seconds with Flint, the two young men circling as the snow begins to fall more heavily. Kevin feints left, then darts in right, bringing the knife up from below toward Flint's gut area.

Flint nearly slips on a patch of snow, backing up with the attack. The cub's brows furrow in concentration, and there's an attempt to kick the knife out of Kevin's hand, followed by another more roundhouse-style kick towards the other.

If that move had worked, it would have been a very smart one. Unfortunately it doesn't. Whether due to the snow, or to simple misjudgment, or to blind chance, Flint's kick misses Kevin's hand by inches, and even though the second kick connects with Kevin's leg, it does so as Kevin's knife hand is already in under Flint's guard. The blade doesn't strike the cub at right angles; if it had, it would likely have been a disembowelling stroke. As it is, there's a flash of pain across Flint's abdomen, and blood begins to soak through a long gash through his shirt and across his belly. "Whoa!" Kevin calls, holding up a hand.

There's a bitten-back cry and a wince from the cub as the knife connects, and a stumble backwards, which turns into a fall. "'s okay," the boy hisses through his teeth as he lands, shifting a moment later to lupus form and sprawling out on the ground, head on his front paws.

Kevin has retained hold of the blade. He wipes it on his track-suit leggings, and folds it quickly away, watching the cub carefully. Upon four legs, it's not possible for Kevin to see underneath the wolf and check the wound, but he seems to take heart in the way that the blood soon stops dripping onto the snow, leaving red spatters on the settling white. "Good, good," he says. "You remembered to shift. Do bear in mind, though… you won't always have the luxury of being able to shift. If you got in a knife fight on a city street, you couldn't exactly zip down onto four legs. You need to know how to handle yourself in a fight where maintaining the Veil is crucial."

All-in-Stride sits onto his haunches, a low whine of acknowledgement that he knows given as the cub twists to lick at the already mostly healed wound, tail curled around his back legs. Satisfied with that, there's a moment of stretching out limbs, and moving to sit on somewhere other than the patch of bloodied snow. The cub knows the Veil is important, it just hurt, is added as he settles again. At least now, the cub doesn't seem at all bothered by the white stuff all over the ground.

Someone in the house peers out a window; a moment or two later, a man, swathed in a very old and puffy coat, with a mug of something hot in his hands, emerges out the back door, looking interested. Djehuti stays on the porch, watching.

"Oh, I'm sure it hurt," Kevin agrees readily enough. "Knives tend to. But this is the thing about being a garou. There are people out there who will try to kill you. And knives are one of the things you have to fear least, compared to some weapons you may see soon enough. Apart from silver knives, that is. Now why are silver knives so much more dangerous to you than an ordinary metal blade?" Kevin asks. He happens to have his back to the house, at the moment, and so doesn't see that the Glass Walker field trip has a spectator now.

Ears swivel slightly in acknowledgement, as the cub listens to the ragabash, momentarily returning to grooming his abdomen. The cub indicates he knows, that he has been told that silver burns and wounds from silver does not heal like other wounds do.

The man stirs. "But have you felt it?" Djehuti asks this with a quiet intensity in his voice, as if the question matters a great deal.

Kevin gives a start and spins around. "Whoa!" he exclaims. "Who in hell are you, dude?"

All-in-Stride seems to recognise the newcomer, though there's a low growl of annoyance at the question, as the cub moves to behind the Ragabash. That will happen when his elders think he is ready, and that is as much as the cub needs to think about the question.

"Djehuti," says the man, simply. "If you like, I can give you the flowery versions of my name and its attendant identifiers, as well." He regards the cub with a slight, upquirked smile. "Of course," is all he says.

Rather than speaking to Djehuti, Kevin turns to the cub. "You met this fellow?" he asks his young charge. "Who is he?"

All-in-Stride turns his head towards the Strider for a moment, watching him before assent is indicated to the ragabash. Yes. The cub met him, once, inside, several days before. He is Wisdom's Long And Twisting Path. Fostern Half-moon of Owl's tribe.

Djehuti adds, from the porch he has not moved from, "Gaia and I have something of a disagreement over the fostern part. Since I was cliath and had no challenge for the rank. And my use-name is Djehuti Mesu-Ma'at." With that slight smile still on his face, he asks, "Why, may I inquire, did you ask the cub and not me?"

Kevin smiles. Not a supercilious one or a knowing one, just a friendly one. "Because this is my tribe's cub, and I wanted to know how much he's been keeping his ears and eyes open and finding things out for himself over and above what I and my tribemates are teaching him. Nice to meet you… Wisdom's Path." There's a definite pause there, as if Kevin has considered, and rejected, an attempt at pronouncing Djehuti's give name. "I'm Kevin Lockwood of the Glass Walkers. Ragabash, adren. Also called Knows-When-To-Speak-And-When-To-Keep-Silent. You new around these parts, then?"

There is some evident happiness in the cub's manner at Kevin's words. He does keep his eyes and ears open, or else why would the cub have eyes and ears if not to use them. A pause, and then the cub moves to nose at a pile of snow, tail wagging slightly behind him, before he sprawls out once more.

Djehuti laughs, quietly and briefly. And openly. "That, is a very good reason." He puts his hot chocolate down on the railing, and puts his — mittens — together, bowing to Kevin. "Well met." He straightens again. "Please, do not let me interrupt your lessons."

"Well, he's a pretty good cub." Kevin grins at the wolf beside him, not without pride. "Nah… the rate this snow is coming down, we're due a blizzard. I'm gonna call this one, and we can go inside. That drink of yours is making me thirsty. I'm sure, as a Strider, you've some tales of the road you could tell? Perhaps you could share with Flint here any experiences you've had with silver, since we were mentioning that subject."

The cub paws idly at a small snowdrift that is building up around where he is laying. Lots of white, comes the remark, as the cub gets up again. A small amount of snow is pushed at Kevin's shoe, with his nose and a great sense of amusement in the cub's actions, before the cub takes off for the porch, shaking himself off as he does so.

Djehuti retrieves his hot — now lukewarm — cocoa before he goes inside, telling Kevin over his shoulder, "Strider I may be, but Galliard I am not. I will happily speak of whatever the cub wishes, however." He takes some time to remove his coat and mittens. (Underneath the mittens are his thin gloves.) "There is a still somewhat warm kettle on the stove, for your edification and delight. And meantime, cub, shall I speak of silver?"

Kevin kicks the snow which the cub pushes at him up in a little flurry, before following the other two inside, where he shakes the snowflakes from his hair and shoulders like a severe case of dandruff. "I never yet knew a Strider of any auspice without some good stories," he comments. "You want a cocoa, Flinty? Or a coffee, or…?" He heads for the kitchen. "And, owl-wolf, do you need a refill while I'm here?"

All-in-Stride lingers in the mudroom a little longer than the other two, before making his way all the way into the house. Very carefully, but the cub seems perfectly happy to remain on four feet just a little bit longer rather than returning to his birth form. Inside or not, fur is warmer, and All-in-Stride knows that very little of the spare clothing for two-legs fits him well at all. The cub turns to the Strider, ears perked at attention. If you would. Speak of silver.

"Thank you," Djehuti says, handing Kevin his mug before he escapes to the kitchen, "I'd love some." Then he looks to the cub. He's thoughtful a moment; then he looks about to launch into words, but pauses. And then he asks, "Have you heard of Erebus?"

Kevin takes the cup as he passes and disappears into the kitchen, where rather than use the water already in the kettle, he fills it and puts it on to boil on the stove once more.

Rori wanders in from outside, hands in her pockets and peeks into the house to look around, waving as she sees a couple familiar faces.

The cub threads to where the couches are, before sprawling out on the floor on his stomach. Tail wags once when the cub spies Rori, but his attention is on the Strider. Only a little, he answers. The name, a bit more.

The Strider inclines his head to Rori, and then refocuses on Flint. "Then pardon the recap, of things you may already know. It is the Garou version of Hell, for those who are Tainted beyond saving; rather than flames, they live in silver, constantly. There are other punishments, but that is the primary one. And if you have not felt silver, as you have not — though you should — you cannot know that even one milligram of it is agony. And so, living in it, being covered in it, until your Taint is burned off…That is, to say the least, difficult." He finds a chair, but doesn't sit yet. He instead looks at Flint, eyes shadowed. "And so, when I tell you that I once had a packmate who was encased in silver — no, not encased, permeated with silver — you may understand when I say the experience was less than entertaining. And that we killed her rather than let the pain continue."

Rori glances at the Strider as he talks, then back to the cub and nods at everyone. She doesn't say anything about the lesson, just grabs a cup and fills it full of water from the sink.

The whistle of a kettle coming to the boil comes from the kitchen. "I do like having a kettle here," comes a voice from the same direction. "Reminds me of home…"

All-in-Stride rests his head on his front paws as he listens, ears and gaze attentive. There is assent at what he already knows, though the cub notices with interest the differences in the Strider's phrasings. A wince follows, at the mention of the packmate, and her fate, and the cub raises a paw to rub at his muzzle.

He shakes his head minutely, perhaps at the memory, perhaps at the kettle's whistle. "On a more mundane level," Djehuti says, voice wry, "I once got a scar from a letter opener. It was…rather absurd. But it was close fighting, and simply because of the strength of the pain, I could not get it away from him. And so this thing barely as large as a toothpick hurt me enough for that." He confesses, "I felt rather machismo challenged, until I realized I had never had such a thing to begin with."

Kevin emerges from the kitchen with one mug of coffee and two of cocoa, all balanced on a large plate in lieu of a proper tray. "Drinky drinky," he says cheerfully, offering first Djehuti his mug back, refilled, and then moving to the cub. It's funny how warm beverages on a cold winter day make the terrifying vision of Erebus and the Deep Umbra seem a very long way away. "S'funny," he says, having evidently been listening from the kitchen. "One of this Sept's most highly regarded members got scarred all over from bathing in a river in Erebus… He tends to get quiet and broody when the subject comes up. Well. Quieter and broodier. He's Wendigo."

All-in-Stride stretches out a little further as Kevin returns, the cub regarding the cup of cocoa with faint amusement. He knows what to do with it on two legs, but isn't quite sure how to manage the hot drink in this form. Still, there's a certain unwillingness to shift back yet, and instead, the cub moves to be ready to steady the cup with both forepaws, regarding it. Carefully. The cub is too young to have ever had much of by way of male too much pride, though, or even thought he had it.

Djehuti murmurs his thanks to Kevin; and then his eyes widen at the tale the Ragabash tells. "How — how long was he there?" He looks down at Flint, considers him, and goes to fetch a shallow bowl, which he asks, by way of gesture, if he should decant the cocoa into.

Kevin puts his own coffee aside for a second, and stoops, about to place All-In-His-Stride's drink on the floor, before the Strider's sensible offer intervenes. From his crouching position, he responds. "I don't know. I must admit I've never had the gall to sit Touch Deer down and interrogate him about exactly what happened to him. I've never been to Erebus myself and please Gaia I never shall have to. The few trips I have made to the Deep Umbra have been wild enough rides, and they weren't to any of the more notorious Realms."

All-in-Stride glances to the bowl, moving so that there's easy space for the cocoa to be decanted as he accepts the offer of help, head bowed gratefully to the floor for a moment. Ears cant to listen to the ragabash speak, quiet except for the indication that he is listening and interested.

Djehuti crouches rather more creakily than Kevin, to pour out the cocoa. Reaching over to lean against the wall, he stands again. "No." The one word, contrary to his otherwise mellifluous tone, is stammered out. Recovering, he says, "No, Erebus is not on my list of places to enjoy a summer holiday in." Shaking his head minutely again, he returns to his chair. "I would not interrogate. Inquire and be easily turned away, perhaps…" He trails off, possibly replaying something, as he looks over to Kevin with interest. "Tell me, where in the Deep Umbra have you been?"

"Well," Kevin says, seeming not to mind that it's now Djehuti questioning him rather than vice versa, "through a long series of circumstances I won't go into in detail, my pack, Vendetta, found ourselves in possession of a stone which didn't belong in this realm. Turns out, it was actually a scale from off the body of an enormous celestial serpent, and the serpent was feeling its absence rather badly. Making it irritated, and that was threatening its whole dimension. Vendetta travelled all the way through the umbra to find the serpent and … well, basically to glue the scale back into place on the serpent's belly. Which was a ticklish job. I got thrown off, and I thought I was going to be lost in space and float around forever, but luckily my packmates managed to haul me to safety. Reggie, my Uktena friend, took his deedname from that voyage. He's called Snakepatcher to this day."

All-in-Stride chuffs slight amusement at the story told. The dark-moon's safety is good, the cub observes, the amusement still present, else the cub would not get to learn from him. Attention is turned to what is now a bowl of cocoa. Much easier to drink from on four feet, and the cocoa is good.

Djehuti drinks the story in (as well as some of his own cocoa). "Goodness. It is definitely a positive that you were able to come back. Would you go again, had you the time?"

Kevin doesn't seem to relish that question. He pulls a face, as if to indicate thought. "Depends, I guess. If another quest took me there, I mean… if there was a mission for Gaia, you know… I would. I don't think I'd like to go there just as a tourist. Especially not on my own. The Umbra is one deeply scary place."

The cub just listens for a little bit again, sitting himself up on his haunches in order to both listen better and be neater about drinking from the bowl of cocoa.

"Yes. I love it, but I would not go as a tourist, either, nor for the love of exploration like many of my theurge comrades. I have gone for purpose, and I would continue that trend," Djehuti says, lowering himself carefully into his chair. "But while I am there, I feel as if I never want to leave."

Rori wanders back in from outside, shucking her coat and finding a spot to sit on the floor. She's rolling a cigar around in her fingers, but hasn't lit it yet.

Kevin checks his wristwatch. "Devon should be here to take charge of you in a minute," he tells the wolf sitting on the floor lapping up cocoa. "I hope this snow doesn't delay him. I need to get back city-side. Where are you staying, Djebetti?" There, he's finally taken a crack at the Strider's name.

As if on cue, there's a faint crunch and creak of snow as someone steps onto the porch. It's not long before the door opens and a tall, lanky looking youth steps inside. The door is closed behind him, shutting out the sweep of cold air that had followed him in. A glance to the entryway would show Devon lingering, leaving a longish looking object propped in a corner, his jacket used to conceal it before he presents himself to the rest of the house. Dirty, tired, and one hand displaying the pink of fresh skin associated with recent healing, it appears the boy has had some kind of adventure.

All-in-Stride nods, pushing himself all the way to his feet and stepping over and around the cocoa in order to nudge Kevin gently in parting. The cub will behave, he promises, and will, eventually, get back to two-legs and dressed. Prefers being warm and unbothered by the snow, though, even inside. Sharp hearing catches the sound of Devon at the door, ears turning towards for a moment, before All-in-Stride moves back towards the bowl of cocoa.

Djehuti inclines his head to Rori again, and then rather visibly takes pity on Kevin. "If you like, you can call me Derek. I respond to it quite easily, as it was my name until I was 21. As for where I am staying — here and there. Sometimes up in the garage, sometimes off in the woods. Sometimes other places." He pauses, about to say more, and instead studies Devon.

Rori sits off in the corner and then as more and more people come in, she lights up the cigar and props it between her teeth, taking a nice long hit.

Kevin gives Rori's cigar a rather disapproving glance, but before he can say anything, Devon appears. "Oh, there you are!" he exclaims. "Was just starting to worry about you. Everything's good, here…" Kevin catches sight of the state of Devon. "Um. You all right, boss?"

"Uh…" Devon shows a moment of faint wonderment as he takes in, not only the number of people present, but the two faces he doesn't recognize. "Hey," he continues, one hand tucking into his jeans pocket, the other raking through his hair. "Yeah," the Ahroun finalizes, giving his head a small shake before focusing on Kevin. "Sorry, we got… delayed."

Rori lifts a hand in salute. "Sorry, tend to get into fights in large groups without the rite." She offers the cigar to anyone else who wants a hit and then nods at the two she doesn't know. "Rori Murphy," she says in a thick Irish accent. "Danger Magnet. Full Moon Cliath of the Fianna."

"Kevin Lockwood. Glass Walker ragabash. Adren," says the owner of those names to Rori. He shakes his head at Devon. "Tell me when you see me back in town. It looks like quite a delay. But if I don't head off now I miss the last bus back to St Claire, and I'm damned if I'm walking it in the snow…" And so saying he slips out of the front door quickly.

Djehuti tells Kevin, redundantly, "Rite. The calming one," though his attention is still mostly on Devon; he shakes off the offered cigar. "Djehuti Mesu-Ma'at. Or," he adds, with the flash of a grin toward the Ragabash, "Derek Ramsey. Wisdom's Long And Twisting Path, or the Son of the Ibis, to Garou. I am Silent Strider and Philodox, and as Flint has heard one too many times, Gaia and I have a mild disagreement as to whether I am cliath, or fostern. What… Happened, this night?" He adds, "Goodnight," to Kevin.

The cub licks the inside of the bowl in front of him a few times, making sure it's fully empty, before stretching out again on the floor. There is a long, low whine of concern given for Devon, but All-in-Stride quiets not long after.

Devon frowns slightly at the cigar, head shaking over the offer. He steps aside to let Kevin step past, head ducking slightly at the Ragabash. His other hand retreats into his pocket, attention returning to the other Garou and feet carrying him a little further into the room. "Devon, Red-Hands-Wields-the-Knife. Cliath Ahroun." He pauses, then adds as though mildly unnecessary, "Glass Walker. Nothing …much happened. Really. Just some hunters got too far out of their area."

Rori absently puffs on the cigar as she watches. "Rite. Yeah. Willing to teach to anyone who wants to know. Looking for a pack, working on my chiminage for the sept. Thinkin' about staying."

Djehuti considers the burn on the younger man's hand, and then merely nods. "Pleased to meet you."

Owen might now can be heard stomping the snow off his boots out by the back door of the farmhouse, taking a few moments to do so before finally entering the building. Once in, he pauses only long enough to make sure no bullets are flying before taking time to kick said boots off to deposit by the door.

The whine of concern for the cub's tribemate is repeated, although at a much lower volume, before the cub's attention turns to Rori, head bowed in greeting to the Fianna, ears then twitching at the sounds by the backdoor. A moment of evident contemplation follows, before the cub decides that obviously, it is better to remain laying where he is already comfortable.

"Yeah," Devon responds, tipping his head in a nod. "Likewise." He glances in the direction of the back door, making note of Owen before looking back at Djehuti, Rori, and Flint, the cub earning a slightly incredulous look. He shakes his head to whatever thought crosses his mind and turns for the kitchen. "You two non-cubs want anything," he offers.

Rori chews on the end of the cigar. "Whiskey in there? Something decent?" The Fianna pipes up, looking at the cub with amusement. "Decided you liked playing on four feet, eh?"

Djehuti holds up his cocoa in a clear 'nope, I'm fine' gesture, to which he adds a verbal, "But thanks." He cranes his neck, from his seat, to get a glance of Owen, but waits until he's done with his boots for further interaction.

Owen finishes up with his little task at hand, then proceeds across the kitchen to the coffeemaker and all its wares. When he takes the pot to the sink is about when Devon gets his attention, to which he simply nods before going on.

Devon tips his head to Owen as well, a far deeper nod than the others have yet gained. "Hey," he offers, poking into the fridge for a Coke before beginning a hunt for whiskey.

Cold outside. Fur is warm. The answer from the cub is plain as he curls up a little bit more, though he may as well be giving his reasoning for remaining in lupus form to Devon rather than to Rori.

Rori nods in understanding and approval. "Good, the more time spent on four feet while you grow, the more effective a fighter you'll be as one in the future."

Djehuti smiles faintly at Flint, and sips some more cocoa. "And explorer," he adds to Rori's comment. Oh, there's a Strider here?

Owen points up to a cabinet absently for Devon as he makes his way back to the maker and gets the pot started. Only then does he look into the other room to see who all is there. The wolf on the floor get s a double-take, however, causing him to straighten up a little in consternation.

Devon looks back at Owen when the cabinet is pointed out, nodding his thanks. His reaction to the wolf-shaped cub earns a faint grin, hidden when he turns to fetch the whiskey. "Cub," he says, as though that alone would explain it all. A glass is retrieved as well, coupled with the whiskey before he returns to the living area. The drink is offered to the Fianna and another shake of his head is directed at Flint, though nothing is said of the cub's continuance to be in lupus.

Rori takes bottle and class with a dip of her head in thanks, saluting Devon with the glass. "Thanks. Cub was prancing around, so I chased him around a bit yesterday. He's doing a lot better." She pauses. "Day before yesterday?"

Djehuti offers to Owen, "Djehuti," from his corner seat. He seems to think Owen's attention is otherwise engaged.

All-in-Stride pointedly ignores the explains-it-all comment from Devon, though the ignoring is playful if anything. Assent is added after Rori's statement, that she got the day right. Not prancing, though. Lesson, earlier, the cub adds, with Kevin. Then snow. Mostly, the cub can't be bothered to shift back because of the snow.

Owen simply grunts. "Make him eat. He looks sickly," he says very plainly before turning to regard the Strider whom offered a name but little else. He takes in a deep breath as he squares up in the doorframe some more. "Owen Hollsinger. Wildfire by Fenris' own voice. Adren Modi of the Get of Fenris. Formerly a child of Wolverine, Fenris, Weasel, Black Unicorn, Wyvern, and Hrafn. Rited in the Sept of the Sentinel but once and again full member of the Sept of the Hidden Walk, once the Wheel Renewed. I stand as guard outside of the Guardian Pack and as the sept's Master of Challenges. Grandson of Ule Gathering-Storm Hollsinger, Skald and warrior of the blitzkreig then later hero of the retaking of Dresden, himself a great grandchild of Otto Dragon-Thane Von-Heisling, Modi during the rise of Prussia."

Devon returns to the kitchen to retrieve his Coke, pausing only briefly while Owen recites his introduction. His can of soda reclaimed, he again ducks out of the kitchen and sidles back into the seating area, dropping to sit slightly slouched in a chair. "He eats, just a runt. Looks less sickly when he's human, but no less ugly."

Rori looks amused. "Just give him time. He'll start to fill out with training. Just feed him and make him run alot."

In the midst of this recital, Djehuti stands. When Owen is done, he bows to him, palms together. "Well met. Your pardon for not speaking further, but your attention was on the cub. Djehuti Mesi-Ma'at, I am, also known as Derek Ramsey to humans. Wisdom's Long And Twisting Path to the Garou, as well as the Son of the Ibis. I Rited at Grey-Sky, now fallen. I would list the Septs I have been a member of but since I am of Owl's tribe, you would soon become bored. My father was David, Banebdjedet Who Rode On The Clouds, a ragabash of my tribe. I have packed with Owl, the Triune Goddess, and Stag, in my time, and have been from California to Mongolia. I am Silent Strider and Philodox, and, as these fine folks have heard before, Gaia and I have a mild disagreement about whether I am cliath or fostern."

All-in-Stride turns, watching Rori's comment and then as she leaves the room once again. There's a half whined protest that the cub isn't a runt, but even the cub knows better. Attention is turned and paid to the parts of Djehuti's introduction that he hasn't heard before.

"Don't think I understand the disagreement," Devon says quietly. The soda is cracked open, though he only looks at the top rather than drink from it. "Gaia says you're what you are. And since she's in charge, you can't really argue with her."

Owen certainly seems thoroughly sufficed with the introduction, glancing only briefly at the smoking Fianna as she departs. "I hope you have found wisdom in your travels. Have you been met by any of the Guardians?"

Djehuti grins, briefly. "I cannot say for certain, though I hope so as well. As to Guardians, indeed. I have met both members of Temperance, and of Heartwood. I have yet to give chiminage, but soon I will do so, and seek your Caern." Then he sits again, and regards Devon. "It is a matter of definition. Flint is probably tired of my saying this, so I shall be brief. Rank is made up of both powers, and many millennia of Garou tradition, and of Garou testing themselves against each other. I now have the powers, but I have not tested myself against my fellow Garou. That is all." He shrugs.

All-in-Stride looks up at the Strider, indicating that no, he is not tired of it at all, regardless of whether or not the cub has heard it many times in few days. The cub's attention goes to Owen, afterward, but only a brief glance.

Owen frowns a bit at the Strider's mention of the Caern, but the coffeemaker starts to sound like a popcorn machine, indicating that its done. He retreats back into the kitchen.

"I don't know," Devon says, thumbing the tab of his soda can. "Still seems odd to be in a disagreement about it. You want to be challenged for it instead of just going with what the creator says, you could probably find a Fostern or someone around here who'll humor you."

Djehuti says, holding one finger up, with a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye, "No, the problem being there is that if I wanted to challenge an appropriate person, it would be what we are currently calling Adren. (Fostern, before Gaia took a hand in things.) Except, since most are accepting the new definitions, therefore, I cannot legitimately challenge an Adren, for a challenge two ranks up is not legitimate. And I would not challenge current Fosterns, since in my own definitions, they are still but cliath." He shrugs again. "So, I'm in a logical bind, and I merely bring it up because I enjoy talking about the fact that the rank system is both powers and traditions, and I value those traditions. And," he adds, somewhat more seriously, the humor fading from expression and tone, "Someone who accepted my challenge just to humor me would not be honoring the challenge."

"What you should do, then," Owen offers from the kitchen as he fixes a cup of coffee, "is challenge an Adren, since you can always challenge high than your intended target. Prove your worth and stop debating it with yourself." He finishes by tapping a spoon on the edge of his cup after adding sugar. "Advice from the Master of Challenges."

"I think you're putting more thought into it than really needs to be." Devon carefully pries the tab from his Coke, eyes lifting just enough to look toward Djehuti. "You've already proven yourself to your fellows by just succeeding in your Rite of Passage. Beyond that it's, as you said, powers and tradition. No loss of honor in someone accepting your challenge as merely a formality for you to accept what Gaia, who overrules anything we choose to do, has given you."

The cub listens to this discussion with evident interest, ears perked despite that he sprawls across the section of floor he has claimed.

Djehuti blinks at Devon. "Putting more… My dear young man, I am a Philodox, thinking about the laws and traditions is what we do." He glances over at Owen. "Well. That would be a thought, except by some definitions, would I not be challenging for Adren? Since most of the Nation now thinks of me as Fostern?"

Owen re-enters the living area, coffee in hand. "No. You want affirmation, not promotion. Nein?"

Devon shakes his head, tucking the tab into his pocket. He looks over at Flint, a brow lifting. "You going to take two legs again any time soon? I'm not going to take you back to the house like that. You need to get used to the cold in all forms, not just in fur."

Djehuti considers Owen a moment. "Were I actually wishing a challenge, as opposed to merely reminding people that rank is far more of a Garou tradition than anything else, I would not be seeking affirmation; I would be seeking to prove my worth. But you are correct, I am not seeking promotion. So I may well, in fact, seek out one of my fellow Philodox, soon, to prove my worth. Simply for the sake," he says, with a smile, "Of my own stubborn peace of mind."

The cub stands, pushing himself up one paw at a time, before sitting on his haunches for a moment. Ears flatten, and the cub indicates that yes, he will, and the cub pads out of the seating area and towards the stairs to find clothes. It is only when he is out of sight that the sound of four feet become the sound of two as the boy returns to his birth form.

Owen takes a big drink before speaking again. "I would recommend you find Salem. Half-moon. Been around here for… for a long time." As the cub re-emerges in his homid form, Owen raises an eyebrow. "Oh. You."

"Where's he…" Devon's question trails off as he watches Flint walk off. The question is directed to Djehuti and Owen. "I know he's shy and all, but wandering off to change his shape?"

Djehuti murmurs, "Salem," and then, slightly louder. "I see. Does he have a tribe?" Devon's question makes Djehuti raise an eyebrow. "Perhaps his clothes are not dedicated yet? Some cubs are still nervous about nudity."

Flint comes back down not very long thereafter. "No," he corrects both Devon and Djehuti both as he reappears. "I needed to find a new shirt, though." There's a shrug as the boy shrugs the entire thing off, pushing his hair back to redo the tie that holds it.

Devon nods slowly, then slants a look to Flint. "Salem's in my tribe," he says to the Philodox, though it's the cub he's watching.

Owen simply points a thumb at Devon, the question answered.

Djehuti flashes Flint a smile. "Ah." Then he nods to Devon and Owen, says, "Thank you," to both of them, and contemplates his empty cup. "I," he decides, "Should probably get going." Rising creakily to his feet, he heads into the kitchen to drop off his cup. "Catch you folks later," he says, around the doorjamb, and heads out the back door.

"Right then." Devon eyes his can of Coke, then tips back a drink from it. He glances first to Flint, then sends a longer look toward Owen.

Flint grins a little at the departing Strider, making his way to lean on the edge of an empty couch. The shirt he's found fits him rather well, though it's loose enough to hang on his frame slightly. Thumbs hook into his pockets, and the cub goes silent again.

Owen takes another pull from his mug. "How you like being the teacher? So soon."

Devon lifts a shoulder slightly, looking at his drink again. "Not sure if I'm really cut out for it. Hard, trying to come off of time spent together as cubs to suddenly having authority over him."

Flint stands a moment, before crossing over to where the shallow bowl from his earlier cocoa still is on the floor, before picking it up and heading for the kitchen. A small shrug is given after Devon speaks, but Flint doesn't say anything.

"Sadly, never did go into training." Owen finishes his cup and follows the cub into the kitchen as well.

Devon's gaze follows the Adren until Owen is in the kitchen. Then he sinks further into his slouch, head resting on the back of the chair and face tilted toward the ceiling. "Can't speak for Flint, Mouse's got to do that, but if you're looking for someone to train with — or teach, I guess — I'm still pretty green on tactics and knowing my own strength."

That shy thing is showing again. The cub moves quietly in the kitchen, washing out the bowl thoroughly and then making his way back to the living room, a nod to Owen as the Adren enters the kitchen, but the whole time, Flint remains silent.

Owen waits for the kid to finish with his bowl, then takes the time to rinse out his cup, dries it, then puts it away. "You're your own man, now. An adult in the nation." He lets that hang there like that as he returns to the back door and fetches his boots.

Devon smirks faintly, some dry humor found in the answer. "Exactly why I figured I could ask now. Since I shouldn't have before." He stands, twisting around the chair he'd claimed to walk toward the stairs leading upward. "Whatever. Have a good one, Owen-rhya."

Owen simply nods from the door before heading out himself.

Flint shrugs to himself, a questioning glance given to Devon as he heads for the stairs. "So." The word is let to hang in the air, awkward.

Devon looks back at Flint and shakes his head, clearly not something he cares to speak about. "Gonna wash real quick and then we should start heading back to the city."

Flint nods, making his way over to the couch for the moment. "'kay," comes the assent. Once seated, there's a faint lilt of humming, some strain of melody, and the cub seems thoroughly distracted by it.

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Flint Madden

February 2013

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