The Prodigal Son

Reunion

2006-12-31T04:17:00.000-08:00

Two and a half years was a long time...long enough for the city to change and the tribe to dwindle. Long enough for Cat to wonder if he had come back a ghost, telling Gabriel each night before he fell asleep that it didn't feel like home. Something, someone, was missing.

Starring: Rina

Safehouse: Guest Room(#2890RAJ)

Once an apartment in its own right, the second floor is now converted back to living quarters. A hallway bisects the length of the house, lit only by a pair of fixtures in the ceiling and and light from outside spilling through the open doors of the bedrooms or office. Four of the six doors lead to bedrooms - or empty rooms that could be used as such anyway. The door immediately to the left of the stairs hides a bathroom behind it, while the door at the end of the hall leads into the turret, currently used as an office.

The stairs lead back downstairs, turning left at the landing.

Obvious exits:

Common Area

Rina has arrived.

Cat(#3913Pc)

He brushes 5' 9", with long thin fingers and bony shoulders. His pale skin ismarred by a few freckles across his nose and cheek. Light blond hair, soft and curled, dangles in sky-blue eues and over his ears. He appears to be sixteen or seventeen. He's beautiful in a haunting, frail way; the hollows in his cheeks are starting to fill out, although there are dark circles under his eyes and a dazed look on his face that hints at addiction or insomnia.

His right hand is wrapped in a few bandages around the first and second fingers. The left hand is bare. Both hands are marred by a swirling, discolored pattern of scarring on his palms and fingers that looks like someone tied twine around his hands again and again, then set it on fire.

He's wearing a plain white button-up shirt over a grey t-shirt. The sleeves are too long for him and one of the buttons is hanging loosely by a few white threads. His black dress pants are nice and clean, the kind you wear to church, and held up by a cheap black faux-leather belt. His socks are white, as are his plain Keds with crisp new laces.

Rina
Dark-brown eyes, touched with amber, look out from a pixie-sharp face. Rina's skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive from generations of pure Italian ancestry. Her black-brown hair is left just long enough in the front to fall almost into her eyes; the butch cut tapers to an army-short buzz at the sides and back, hardly more than a velvet fuzz covering the nape of her neck. Her chin is delicately-boned, her mouth small, the line of her jaw well-defined. Her eyes have a shadowy, bruised look, either from fatigue or the artful use of makeup; save for that Gothic touch, she might have stepped from a pre-Raphaelite painting. She can't be more than twenty-five or so, but in that youthful face the eyes are cynical, brooding, world-weary. Athletic grace and a certain streetwise confidence show in her movements, but there is often an element of tension as well.

A black barbed-wire tattoo encircles her throat, and matching inked bracelets are visible on her wrists. There is another marking visible at the nape of her neck, not ink but a scarred-in symbol that looks as if it was branded into her skin. (page for details if taking a closer look)

Sinfully tight PVC pants slick down the scant curves of her legs and hips, descending into buckled thrash boots with shin guards of ridged metal. A shirt of thin, soft dark-green mesh drapes over her upper body, clinging to arms and torso in transparent, shirred layers. It is just transparent enough to display the word scarred into her belly: ANGEL, the G encircling her navel. She has a small shamrock painted by one eye, in Clockwork Orange style.

A traditional biker jacket in black leather, at least two sizes too big, adds a layer of toughness to the petite woman's attire. Several patches of electrical tape cover a few holes and rips in the leather: the front and back of both shoulders, and a spot near her waist on the left. There are more additions to the body armor: scraps of circuit board, metal spikes and rivets, and a pair of mismatched vambraces that make her look like some sort of Mad Max knight errant.

She wears two rings, both a silvery white gold. Her right hand bears a single diamond framed by two smaller ones, the decorative work on the ring elegant and subtle, perhaps Art Deco. On the left she wears a simpler band decorated with letters and scrollwork.

Rina lets herself into the house without fanfare, weaving her way inside.

The upper floor is relatively quiet, most of the inhabitants out or asleep. The second door on the left is slightly ajar, a sliver of light inching into the hallway at large. The only other door that's open is the one for the bathroom, which is wide open.

"Hello?" Rina's voice is low, hoarse. "Cat?"

She walks slowly down toward the light, one hand going out to steady her against the wall.

No response. Then the sound of something sliding to the floor, a muted thump.

Rina's expression turns guarded, and she stops for a moment. "Hello?"

Someone's shadow covers the light as a hand pulls the door back. Then, catiously, Cat leans against the doorway, nervously peering around the corner at the ladykin with wide, unbelieving eyes. "Miz...Rina?"

Rina swallows, and watches him with dark, dilated eyes. A slow smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. "Hey."

At her greeting Cat's eyes cloud over, warring between guilt and happiness. "Sorry'm late." He scuffs the floor with his shoe like a child rebuked. "Coming home."

Rina's brow furrows slightly, and she blinks. "Late...?"

Cat finally smiles, a brief quirk of one corner of his mouth. "Bad joke," he mumbles. "It sounded...better in my head."

Rina wets her lips, suddenly nervous. "I, ah..." She rubs at the back of her neck, ducking her head like a schoolboy.

She looks up, then, and her eyes have that hawk-sharp artist's quality--along with a touch of the ecstasy-induced spaciness. "You..."

He swallows hard, one hand falling to his side and then being shoved into a pocket. "Y-you look good," Cat offers weakly to her feet, looking up again quickly with a faint smile. "Not like Say...Grey. Not as tired."

Rina swallows. "You're beautiful." She looks down again, quickly, her expression slightly puzzled. "Wasn't prepared for that," she murmurs."

The admission makes the theurge blush, the color spreading through his cheeks like red paint through water. He moves out of the doorway slowly, as though he might take a step towards her, but then stops before he actually closes any distance and stands there awkwardly. He lets his eyes fall to his sneakers. "You've always been beautiful."

Rina presses her lips together, hard, and looks to him. She blinks again, several times. "Would it be aright if I-- gave you a hug?" she asks, very hoarse.

Cat's eyes screw shut, a quick shudder passing through his shoulders. He nods mutely.

Rina takes half a step back, nervousness flashing through her eyes. "Or not, she says quickly, the sting well-concealed behind a laugh. "I know-- tennagers are, like, s'posed to be self-conscious and shit."

"No! No, I-" His head flies up, eyes bright and desperate. Cat swallows again, the blush in his cheeks becoming shameful. When he speaks his voice breaks. "I want you t'hug me. And play with my hair. And say y'didn't forget about me and..."

Relief flashes across Rina's face as she steps toward him, crossing the distance in a rush and enveloping him in a hug. She almost draws back in surprise, looking up. "You-- I--"

Cat flinches the moment she touches him, bowing his head to hide his face in the collar of her jacket and stifling a sob in the thick leather. He doesn't say anything when she looks back in surprise, just blinks down at Rina in sad confusion.

"You're so tall," she says with an odd, heartwrenching little smile. One hand reaches up, though, to muss his hair as promised. Her eyes are shining with more than the drug now, glimmering with tears that refuse to fall.

Cat leans his head into her palm gently, closing his eyes tightly. His expression is terribly sad and relieved all at once. "Gabriel said I was asleep, for a long time," he whispers. "He said when I woke up, I wasn't broken anymore. That's why...why they made me sleep..." His eyes open slowly, and he brings one hand up to touch her face, fingers tentatively hovering near her cheek.

A slow, faint smile widens on her lips. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispers.

"I..." Two fingers brush the edge of her jaw, a tiny caress. He stares at her, fascinated by her smile, no longer caring that the tears he'd pretended he didn't have were trickling down his cheeks. "I'll never go away again, I promise. -Never-."

Hungry eyes consume the sight of his face, and Rina mirrors his gesture, touching the opposite cheek and brushing away the wetness there. Her fingers betray a slight tremor.

His eyelids flicker when she touches his cheek; relief washes over him and threatens to destroy what is left of his composure. "Never," he repeats, his whisper fierce. Then his eyes widen with a memory, trigged by her shaking fingers. "Did...did you go out, dancing? Before you came?" The question is soft. "Do you want to sit down?"

Rina ducks her head again, with an awkward half smile. "Yeah, and no, I'm good..." She hugs him tightly and breathes deep. "It's all good. Jesus you're big. You're huge! When did you get so HUGE?"

Cat laughs shyly, the sound hoarse at first. He lets his head rest against hers when she hugs him again. He even tries to return the hug, although it's an awkward motion and he puts his arms around her with extra care as though she still had broken ribs. "When I was sleeping in the Umbra," he tells her shoulder. He pulls back a little, to meet her eyes with quiet pride. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

Rina draws back enough to look up, worried. "'Msorry... I-- I forgot--" A tremulous smile overwhelms her, and she reaches up again to mess up his hair. "Can we-- you wanna go downstairs, have some coffee or somethin'? Or I c-- could bring it up here..." She glances past him, tipping her head a bit.

The worry in her eyes confuses him, and he cants his head like a little blue-eyed owl. "Coffee ana chatski?" Cat asks hopefully. "I'll help you make it...I know where stuff in the kitchen is, mostly." What Rina can see of the room is clean, but sparse. A copy of the bible lies discarded on the floor.

Rina nods, her smile softening around the edges. There are faint lines at the corners of her eyes, just barely visible.

[they go downstairs for coffee! :)]

The Return of Cat

2006-12-28T08:03:00.000-08:00

Two and a half years ago, the boy the Walkers invested so much time and energy in- well, Salem invested so much time and energy in -disappeared. No word, no warning, not even a note. Just gone. Years later and all but forgotten, like a burned and broken baby Moses, something comes down along the river...

Starring: Basil, Kevin, Reggie, Grey

Harbor Park -- The Meadow(#194RJ)

One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass
and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the
construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The vegetation
seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much
healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain.
Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about five feet
tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two breaks each at
the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end. Wooden posts are being
erected at regular intervals all along the earthen wall, while tasteful iron
gates and fences are being added at the entrances. Overpowering the scent of
living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and
an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. From the street
view or river view, the park is now isolated, as if it existed apart from
the city. People in tall buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons
for now, though. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees
and a flower bed surrounds the fountain.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the
park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St.
Claire.

Contents:

Basil

Obvious exits:

Bridge Street Fountain First Street River

Cat (desc)
Cat's a slender young man just brushing 5' 9", with long thin fingers and bony
shoulders. His pale skin is marred by a few freckles across his nose and
cheek. Light blond hair, soft and curled, dangle in his wide, sky-blue eyes
and over his ears, long overdue for a trim. He appears to be sixteen or
seventeen. From far away, at the right angle, he could be mistaken for a
girl. He's beautiful, in a haunting, frail way. He looks like he hasn't
eaten in over a week. He has minor scratches elsewhere on his body and he
skin is slimy where it was in the river. On his chest is a gaping wound,
deep gouged scratches that look burned and infected, red with inflammation.
His worst wounds are his hands; they are severely burned, and the left hand
is starting to twist into claws made of scar tissue.

For such a nice sunny Sunday, there should be more people in the park. But
it's cold, and it's the holiday season...people don't have the time to take
a stroll through the city. They have presents to buy, places to be. Instead,
crows and pigeons are spending the afternoon here, waddling around the
fountain and poking at the dirt for stale bread.

Shuffling along in the cold with his hands in his pockets and the collar on
his jacket flipped up, Basil scowls slightly at the world around him. But as
the cigarette in his mouth burns lower and lower his face eases up, his
expression becoming more of a stony gaze than a stubborn glare at nothing.
Pausing on his pathway, the boy lights up another cigarette and turns to
face the river, letting his first fall on the ground.

No sooner has the cigarette hit earth than do half a dozen pigeons take to the
air at once, flapping urgently away from the fountain and coming back to
land near the iron gates that lead out of the park. They coo uneasily. The
usual smog smell and cigarette smoke in the air is replaced with the scent
of electricity. Another power outage, somewhere?

Basil doesn't seem too concerned with the flying rats taking to the air,
though he does take a brief pause from his reverie to glance around himself.
Then the boy is staring back out over the water, and it isn't too long
before he moves on to sit on a bench to half sprawl across it.

The electricity smell gets sharper, when Basil sits down. The river is rushing
by, as dirty and polluted as ever, although there seems to be some old
clothes caught on a branch in the mud.

Basil either wanting to see if the river could ignite or to put out his
cigarette, Basil flicks a half burning stub into the water near the clothes
and stands up again. The boy gives another glance around him and tilts his
head back, sniffing at the filthy air with a dissatisfied grunt. "Merry
fuckin' Christmas."

On the second glance he sees it. A cockroach, right where his cigarette
tumbled down the bank, sitting in the dying grass and mud. A cockroach the
size of a small dog.

Basil narrows his eyes and just sort of stares at it for a second or two, then
looks down at his hands. The Gnawer checks around him to make sure he hasn't
'slipped' into the Umbra, then towards the roach again. "It's usually
spiders... " He half mumbles aloud, shaking off like a dog fresh from the
water.

The cockroach stares back, antennae flicking about in a rather distressed
manner. It scuttles a half step forward, then backtracks, scrambling further
down the bank where it's harder for Basil to see it.

Basil rolls his shoulders and spaces out his feet a little, and cautiously
sets his hands up in front of him. He edges down a tad closer towards the
bank of the river, without getting too close too quickly less he fall or be
pulled in... But he's still curious enough to try and get a glance, at
least.

No more than two, three feet away from Basil, is a body. The clothes, caught
on the branch, are attached to a person. Most of his lower body and right
side are submerged in the river; the exposed portion of his chest is bloody
and burned, gouged flesh that looks swollen, infected. He floats and bobs,
the current threatening to pull him fully into the river. The cockroach is
gone.

Basil takes a quick first step when he recovers from seeing the body, then
immediately stops and looks around again. The boy shortens his stride and
lowers his body posture, his eyes more on the river than the body as he
cautiously edges up to it. Once he's close enough to get a better look and
satisfied doom isn't impending after all, the Gnawer hunches down and does
his best to get the body out of the branch and onto the shore. He isn't
gentle though he doesn't grab any wounds directly, pulling on whatever and
wherever he can find the surest grip and most leverage less the body fall
into the icy water.

It takes a little wrestling before the unconscious boy is free of the brambles
that probably saved his life. His skin is slimy, and there's a frightening
moment where Basil almost loses his hold and balance. But there's enough
shirt left on the boy to grab onto, and even soaking wet he doesn't seem to
weigh that much. After a few minutes the Ahroun's dragged him out. The final
movement of being hauled to solid ground elicits a murmur of pain from
chapped lips. It sounds like a name? The boy's eyes open briefly, before
rolling up in the back of his head, and more incoherent mumbling is coughed
up, along with riverwater. Out in the sunshine his wounds look even worse.

Basil nearly loses his balance with mild panic and curses with frustration
when his grip slips, but when the boy is finally on land the Ahroun
purposefully falls back onto his ass. He's muttering and cursing his
frustrations into the cold winter air as his jacket is taken off and wrapped
around Cat's body as much as possible without getting in the way. After a
quick series of muttered checks, he takes a few deep breaths and starts to
carefully do CPR on the unconscious boy. "What did you say?" He asks
hopefully between counts of pumps, alternating his concentration between the
boy's face and his chest. "What were you saying? Don't go to sleep." Basil
says in an effort to rouse him, then leans in to give Cat a breath of air
despite the foul taste of the river water on his lips.

Hopefully Basil wasn't too attached to his jacket, as putrid-smelling water
spills off of Cat and soaks into the cloth. The CPR compressions make
horrible squelching noises, much louder than the half-whispers the nearly
drowned boy is managing. "...riel. Imon-" He's starting to twitch and
thrash, jerky, seizure-like motions, each time the Gnawer presses down on
his chest. Basil gets in one breath, then two, before the boy's eyes flutter
open again. He promptly spits up dirty water and phlegm in Basil's face.

Basil doesn't even pay attention to where the water goes, though every time
some comes up his face varies from eagerness to disgust as it hits his lips.
"Come on, keep talking." He half coos, half commands, keeping a good and
steady count of his compressions. They aren't the best and might make a
paramedic cringe, but they aren't breaking Cat's rib cage. When the boy's
mouth erupts in a polluted spray the Gnawer immediately cringes and seals
his lips, managing to keep *most* out of his mouth if not off his face. He
bites the bullet and stays close to Cat though, pulling him up quickly to
sit up and lean over less he choke on his back. His face and odd mix of
anger, relief and worry, Basil manages to grunt out "You ok?", looking like
Moe as he drags a hand across his features to get the liquid off.

The sudden jolt to the upright position leaves the Walker limp, like a doll;
he is leaning heavily against Basil's arm, breathing shallowly and trembling
violently. "Aylem," Cat chokes out, coughing. He holds his hands in front of
him, palms to the sky and bleeding still. His chest wound is severe, but his
worst wounds are in his hands. They are burned raw and ragged, the fingers
starting to curl up into claws. "S-Salem..."

"Your name is Salem?" Basil guesses, holding the boy close to his body, trying
his best to expose Cat to his own body heat. He carefully arranges Cat to
practically cradle him in his lap, looking intently down at his face. "Who
hurt you?" He asks, then glances around again and looks down at Cat. "I need
to move you. If you stay here you'll die." Basil explains to Cat, then
carefully attempts to stand up with Cat in his arms ready to fall backwards
if he loses balance instead of onto the poor thing in his arms. "Keep
talking to me." Basil insists. "What's your favorite color? What's your
favorite food?" The Gnawer's eyes dart back and forth across the park,
scouting for people and landmarks before he starts to walk as fast as he
can.

Most parts of Cat's body are chill to the touch, although his face is starting
to flush and become unnaturally warm. He's still shaking. "Salem. M-mister
S-Salem, h-h-home. M-miz Rina." He stumbles at first, tripping over his own
numb feet, his murmurs becoming louder but less coherent. "Gay...briel?" For
the first time Cat looks at Basil and seems to understand that there's
another person in his presence. Tears streak down his dirty face. "..Where?"

Basil 's face is working around like he's chewing a piece of gum as he hears
the names and words rattled off. "Somewhere safe." Basil speaks without
looking at Cat just before he starts to jog, not at all making much speed,
but more than walking without throwing Cat around all over. "If you keep
talking to me, I'll make sure you stay safe. I need to get you warm but
until then keep thinking and doing things, if you sleep, you're going to
die."

East Bridge Street

The power plant to the south, chain-link fence delineating it sharply from the
street, takes up two blocks, from Fourth to Second. Across the street, and
down along Second and to First, are tenements, small bars, and the
occasional slightly-better-maintained building. Teenagers give older,
grim-looking men and women nowhere near enough space for respect, jostling
them and sometimes knocking them down while brushing arrogantly by. Trash in
the gutters and along the sidewalks is a glum reminder, with the filth
spewed from the power plant itself and the factories beyond to the south, of
the poverty of the area and the lack of care given to this section of the
city. The occasional shot rings out, down the street or in the tiny,
darkened alleys burrowing between buildings.

"Can't...l-let the Wolf get G...G...Gabriel." His eyes are starting to focus
on objects more; there are even a few glimmers of recognition as they
stumble out of the park and against the walls of buildings. Each time a car
screeches by, radio blaring and brakes squealing, Cat jumps, but there's a
momentary expression of relief that breaks through his otherwise pained
grimace. "G-Gabriel stood up to the Wo...Wolf..." He sobs, trying to bring
his hands up to cover his face but succeeding in only crying into his
wounds.

Basil 's attention is mostly on his surroundings, and looking as tough as a
girly boy frosted with puke can look with another puke frosted girly boy in
his arms. "We're almost there." Basil assures the gibbering boy, glaring at
every car that makes him jump. The Gnawer stops outside a tiny shop that
might have been nice once, but has since had all it's windows boarded up
along with it's doors. Graffiti, time and weather have scarred the outside
of the worn, dingy bricked structure into one few would use... Save for the
rodents that have nibbled through areas of the boards, and probably other
places. A large red 'KEEP OUT' painted across the front is the most visible
of all the displays and wear. Balancing Cat in his arms and fishing his keys
out of his pocket, the Gnawer eventually manages to undo a padlock around a
series of chains and step inside the dark dusty building. The lock, chain
and keys are thrown inside and a cheap flash light is taken out. A brief
sweep is enough to tell him the main room is clear, and the Gnawer quickly
shuts the door behind him and makes a bee line towards a doorway in the far
corner, taking Cat into a back room that's just as dark and nearly as empty.

They pass something that might have been a bathroom and another door that's
been blocked up with a gnarled pile of broken chairs, trash cans and beer
bottles amongst others. In the room they arrive in theres a pile of blankets
that look older than both of them towards the farthest corner, and a pile of
garbage bags. A few diapers have been left, scattered around the bag though
there is no smell they look 'used' to say the least. Almost immediately
Basil sets cat down on the blankets and then goes around the room lighting
four large, busted looking candles that've been duct taped up. The flash
light is left on near the both of them, and Basil's soon kneeling besides
Cat. "Hey, whatever your name is? I got to get you out of those clothes. Do
you understand? Can I get them off you without you thinking I'm a pedo and
you trying to kill me?"

Cat collapses into the blankets, a wet and sorry human version of his
namesake. He presses the sides of his hands and wrists together, trying to
pull the blankets around him without using his fingers or palms, with little
success. It's pathetic to see. Feverish eyes survey the room, before
settling uneasily on Basil. "Urrah," he whispers, before hacking up what
might have been a laugh. "W-wolf. Or dead." Cat takes a gulp of air like it
would be his last, closing his eyes and forcing himself to be still, turning
his head away from the Gnawer. This is probably as much permission as the
boy can manage.

Basil squints a little at Cat then shakes it off, deciding not to focus on the
boy's words just yet. Instead he starts to get the boy out of his shirt
without caring too much if it rips anymore than it already has, casting
aside his own jacket for the moment along with it. And then after
hesitating, and keeping his hands well clear of the center, Basil strips off
Cat's jeans and anything else beneath them and tosses them into a corner.
"Usually when I strip a boy, there isn't so much vomit." He half mutters,
then covers Cat up with the blankets again after a quick peak at his wounds.
"No severe bleeding. Probably no deep stab wounds. Aside from infection,
you'll live... Which is good. It means I get to puke on you eventually."
Basil reaches out and brushes some of Cat's hair from his face to get a
better look at him, to soothe him, or both. "You understand what I'm saying?
You follow me when I speak?"

When the jeans come off Cat's eyes are screwed shut, and his entire body is
tense. But he doesn't say anything and doesn't move to strike Basil. Once
the blankets are pulled up to his chin he relaxes, a long-winded sigh that
is quickly followed by violent shivers. The touch seems to be unregistered
by the wounded boy, but his skin is hot to the touch. His eyes open briefly,
staring off into the space above Basil's head. "T-tell Miz R-rina I'm
sorry...I didn't...I prom..." His eyes half-close and he stops speaking.
He's passed out, from exhaustion or pain or some combination of the two.

As Basil kneels next to the unconscious boy, there's a soft scuttling sound-
and a strangely familiar smell of electricity. From behind the garbage bags,
an unnaturally large cockroach creeps out, antennae fixed pointedly on
Basil. It chitters softly, almost inquisitively.

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)

The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal
bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer,
turning and disappearing to the right, and a wooden door with a keycard lock
claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is
taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is
separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall.
The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living
and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and
kitchen.

A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the
living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for
quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with
four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too
old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or
at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard
from there.

Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the
Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have
their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors
themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Contents:

Basil

Kevin

Obvious exits:

Porch Guest Room Office Glass Walker Area

Reggie has arrived.

Grey has arrived.

The safehouse door bursts open and Kevin strides through. He leaves it open
for the others to pass through at their own speed -- doubtless a slower one,
since one of their number is unconscious -- and heads straight for the
kitchen where he quickly prepares and turns on the coffee machine, figuring
no doubt that even those who haven't been for an impromptu swim in the dirty
river will appreciate a hot drink in this wintry weather.

Locations Players

OOC Lounge and Garou Pet Shop Cedric

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ) Cat Grey Kevin

Reggie

Brownstone -- Apartment B(#3427RAJh) Dillen

Reggie is shortly behind Kevin, dragging along someone who looks like
something that cat dragged in. He veers off the path to the kitchen, and
dumps the body, soggy and dripping and all, onto the sofa in the living
room, and stares at Cat before bellowing out to the kitchen, "Who did you
say this was?"

"Consider him a friend of mine for now." Basil calls back and heads to where
Cat is, sitting close to the wrapped up boy on the floor with his hands
tucked in his lap. "I found him in the river, he's hurt. He could use a
medical touch if anyone's got it. Hypothermia probably almost got him."
Basil looks at the boy, then leans back a little to position his face near
it for display. "It's weird isn't it?" Basil asks. "Without the scar, we'd
look pretty close."

Kevin returns from the kitchen only to head straight for the stairs. "I'm
gonna grab some blankets," he calls over his shoulder as he takes them two,
if not three, at a time. He also twists the house thermostat as he passes it
to crank the heating in here up.

The heavy, powerful growl of a Ford Torino engine can be heard coming up the
drive, accompanied by a wash of headlights.

Despite being heaved to the sofa like a sack, and all the noise and commotion,
Cat does not awaken. Throughout the trip he's only mumbled names, or parts
of names- Simon, Hope, Gabriel. His hair is starting to dry, muddy and
plastered to his forehead. He smells atrocious. Hopefully nobody's planning
to sit on that couch for awhile.

Reggie's gaze shifts between Basil and Cat, and he grunts in response to the
rhetorical question. "Alike and yet not." He tilts his head as he listens to
the names Cat's mumbling about, then he trudges off to the kitchen, dragging
out all the towels he can find and tossing them hodge-podge into the living
room.

Basil glances when he hears the sound of a car pulling up, then turns his
attention right back to Cat. "I'm kind of glad he's a Garou. If he was a
human or a Kin I'm not sure he'd survive. After being in the river those
wounds are going to go massively infected unless he heals up. I wonder what
he was even doing there in the first place." Basil grabs one of the towels,
and starts to clean off Cat's face and pad down his head a little.

Kevin comes back down the stairs, still at a gallop, arms full of bedclothes.
"Here," he pants, "wrap him in one of these. You too, Basil, before you
freeze your gonads off." He throws one of the quilts on top of Cat and the
second at Basil, before adding, "Witticism unintentional."

Grey lets himself in with a rattle of keys, graying hair long and bedraggled
around his unshaven face, his steps and eyes heavy. "Now, who the /hell/ is
idiot enough to--" The sour, irritable growl cuts off when he gets a look at
the figure on the couch. He frowns.

The ding of the microwave sounds from the kitchen, followed by a hissing of
steam, then Reggie walks back into the living room with spaghetti tongs
holding a hot, wet towel. He tests its temperature by poking it with a
finger, then stops as he regards the latest arrival, his face first creasing
in a frown, then ligthening as he waits for Grey to come up with a name.

Basil pages to the room: Dun dun dun. They've met.

Basil looks up at Kevin and rolls his eyes, batting the blanket away from
himself and putting it on Cat instead. "If they get that cold I'll just sit
on your face. I'm a Garou, and I didn't even jump into the river... Mostly."
Basil looks between the assembled then at Grey, and asks after a minute.
"You know him?"

Kevin shrugs and places the second duvet on top of the barely conscious Cat as
well. And then he becomes the third member of Vendetta to pause and look at
Grey in bemusement, as he sees his tribemate staring at Cat with obvious
recognition on his face.

As far as recognition goes, it's dubious at best. After all, it's been a few
years, and Cat's grown... and is, not to mention, filthy as sin from his
dunk in the river. Grey's brow furrows as he stalks forward, head cocked to
favor his good eye as he peers down at Cat's face. "I think so."

Blithely unaware of his newfound popularity, Cat continues to whisper a litany
of names and assurances to himself. "Can't....Simon. Gabriel." One hand
falls from underneath the covers, exposing the burned palm.

Kevin walks round the couch and squats down by Cat. "Ssh," he bids the youth
gently. "Take it easy." He looks back to Grey. "Who is he, then? Basil
thinks he's one of us..."

Reggie quizzically regards Grey, and shakes out the hot towel, now cooled to
less than radioactive, and wipes Cat's face marginally more clean then
before. He withdraws the towel and has another look at the face, with no
more success than before.

The heat of the towel causes Cat to stir. Who knew Reggie had such a gentle
touch? He blinks a few times, slowly turning his head and staring, without
comprehension, at everyone in the room. His glance lingers on Basil, as
though trying to put a great mystery together. Then he sees Grey. Blue eyes
get wide.

"He's important to someone. Theres a spirit following him around, or someone's
giving me a vision. Every so often I see a large roach around him. It's what
brought me him in the first place. If I hadn't seen the roach, he'd have
frozen to death." Basil glances back at Grey, then back at Cat. He smiles
and claps his hands softly together when Cat stirs and looks in his
direction. "Yay. You're not in a coma."

Grey pages: Oh, yes, those scars. Instant recognition. But he looks thinner.
More shadows under the eyes. OMG he's all /greyhaired/ he looks /old/, like
he aged ten years or so since you saw him last.

"Hmph," says Thomas Grey straightening up and shoving his hands into his coat
pockets. "That would be Gabriel, I'm guessing."

Kevin looks back to Cat as though the mere act of Grey's giving him a name
might mean that all his mysteries have been unlocked. When his head turns he
finds himself looking straight into wide pale eyes. "Hey, welcome back," he
says in his drawling British accent. "You like a coffee? You must be frozen
half to death, and I think it'll be brewed by now." He glances round the
other garou as though to extend the invitation of coffee to them also.

"Or tea", Reggie imitates Kevin's British drawls. "and crumpets. Think you can
move?", he waves his hand over Cat's eyes, as though not quite ascertained
that Cat's moving his eyes means he's actually seeing with these.

The look Cat was giving Basil was not particularly a friendly one, but more
like seeing something from a bad dream come to life. Kevin doesn't get much
notice. When Grey mentions Gabriel, the boy smiles faintly. "Mister Sa-"
He's interrupted by Reggie's handwaving and frowns, squinting his eyes like
an animal annoyed. If he could, he'd bat the hand away. "Stop that..."

"He's probably checking to see if your eyes follow motion. You being pissed is
a good thing." Basil replies, waving his hand at Kevin. He stays near Cat
unless told to move away, studying him and Grey back and forth, though his
eyes always turn to Cat when he actually speaks. "Your clothes are saved if
they mean something to you, or if you have something in your pockets."

"Don't be an ass, Reggie," the scarred Philodox says with a growl. He folds
his arms across his chest and, after that brief glare at the Uktena, stares
down at Cat some more.

Basil pages to the room: I can't help but ask. Why is Cat looking at Basil
funny anyways?

Long distance to the room: Cat laughs. Cat inherited a rather low opinion of
Gnawers. The rescue is just a jumbled dream to him. Now that he's actually
conscious, Cat doesn't really know what to make of Basil.

Kevin doesn't fail to note the truncated name which Cat started to call Grey,
and he turns back to the philodox with a knowing look and a perhaps
regrettable quick smirk. "Old friend, I guess," he comments.

Three hundred pounds of muscle, fat, and gristle pour unevenly down a frame
over six feet, puddling in an overflowing belly barely restrained by jeans
desperately calling upon extra-strong reinforced seams and solid brass
hardware. Army-short hair outlines the dome of the skull, newly decorated by
a circular slice cutting bone-deep evenly around its circumference. A
monobrow shelters sunken, piggish eyes. An unevenly flattened nose and
cauliflowered ears have evidently received many a fist in the past. A
patchwork of grey wolf fur hangs over his shoulders, arms, and chest,
covering distorted, hairfree skin. The hands demonstrate a history rich in
manual labor, with stumpy, thick fingers and fingernails broken to the
quick. His right arm is a massive length of scar tissue from shoulder to
hand, with the muscling of a paraplegic. A black feather is braided into the
grey fur on his right shoulder. There's a faint scent of gasoline, nicotine,
and alcohol.

The scarred Uktena taps Cat's chest, on the multiple layers of blankets. "Get
up. There's hot food and drink waiting for you. You're in a safe place."

Basil pages to the room: Look on the bright side. He can't see the Charach
symbol on his chest.

Kevin pages to the room: Hell, there's more charachs here than non-charachs!

Basil pages to the room: It's a convention.

Reggie pages to the room: And Cat's in a state of undress?

Long distance to the room: Cat ...

Grey pages to the room: ...

The young Walker doesn't know who to answer first. His stomach makes it easy-
there's a distinct growl audible from even under all the blankets. "How long
has it been?" he says softly, eyes still on Grey. Gingerly, using his elbows
to support him rather than his hands, Cat tries to sit up. The blankets fall
away from his upper body, revealing the red and angry wound. "Is...Miz Rina,
is she mad? Is Gabriel safe?"

Basil waves to Reggie. "Could you go get some food for him?" He asks in an
almost pleasant voice, half smiling at his packmate. "And a beer. Bring me
liquor or I will eat your colors." The Gnawer folds his legs up and remains
quiet aside from that, a fly on the wall.

At the mention of Rina, Kevin's head swivels back round, like that of a
spectator at a tennis match. "You know Rina?" he asks Cat, eyebrows raised.
His eyes take in Cat's injury and he adds, "Hell, what'd you do to
yourself?"

Grey, now that it's clear that Cat is, well, /Cat/, appears mildly
uncomfortable. The kind of thing that makes him tighten his stubbled jaw.
"Rina's fine. Probably happier than she's been in years." His tone toward
Cat is gruff, in a mild kind of way. "It's been..." He pauses to think,
scratching his chin. "A few years."

Reggie examines the wound, hooking his fingers in the air above one of the
gouges, as though measuring if the gouges could have been made by someone
with four claws. "That's been some battle." He tugs up one of the blankets,
securing it around Cat's shoulders, then starts off towards the kitchen,
with a remark towards Basil, "Might do better eating my liver. More alcohol
in there."

Cat looks down, appearing surprised when he sees his own injuries. "The...I
guess the Wolf did this. Wait, years?" He watches Reggie head to the
kitchen, staring unhappily at his hands. Grey gets a sad sidelong glance. "I
only meant to, I mean-" He pauses, then sits up a little bit straighter,
meeting the Philodox's eyes. "I saw a lot of things. I'm going to be useful
this time." There's a glitter to the Walker's eyes that might be resolve, or
fever. He looks at Basil strangely again. "..Do I know you?"

Kevin climbs back to his feet. "Boy needs bed," he declares, notwithstanding
that the 'boy' is almost certainly older than Kevin himself. "I'll go get
one of the guest rooms ready. Try and get something warm inside him?" he
suggests. "And you can fill me in later." With that his eyes meet Grey's
once more and he nods, almost imperceptibly, before scurrying back upstairs.

Basil lifts up his hands and puts two fingers out apart from each other,
flashing either 'Peace' or 'Victory' at Cat while smiling at him. "I totally
saved your life. I'll tell you about it after you and Thomas over there are
done talking, 'kay? I haven't got anywhere to go. I can catch you up on
stuff and whatever I know too."

Grey, meanwhile, drops himself wearily into a nearby armchair and stares
broodingly at the battered figure under the blankets. "Hmnph."

There's a clatter from the kitchen. By the sound of it, Reggie's either busy
fixing a meal, or conducting an orchestra with the cooking implements.

Basil gets a long look. "...Kay," Cat finally says, unable to think of
anything else. He's quiet for a moment, head tilting towards the kitchen,
but still watching Grey. "You look..." Pause. "Tougher. Than I remember."
Another pause. "Where's Miz Natalie?"

"Thomas is like whiskey. It kicks harder as it grows older." Basil glances
over at the Philodox and looks at Cat. "If you mean the old Walker Elder,
that woman, she left." Basil rises up and gestures over to the far side of
the couch. "Can I sit on the other end?"

Grey nods slowly. "Natalie left. Jeremy left. Joshua... gave himself up and
abandoned Cockroach to become a ranger." His expression and tone turn more
sour with each name. "There aren't many of us left in town, these days."

The smell of cooking food drifts in from the kitchen.

The theurge nods slightly, pulling his legs up so that he doesn't take up as
much of the couch. He keeps the blankets carefully arranged so that he's
quite, quite covered. Cat takes the news of the changes with the faintest of
frowns. "...I'm sorry I was away so long." He stares down at his chest
again. "It didn't seem like longer than a day. Who is the Master of the
Rite? I need to...I don't understand everything yet." His smile is small but
proud, as he leans back and stares up at the ceiling. "I think I know what
the fourth spirit was. I think I did it right. I think I know now."

"Then it wasn't for nothing." Basil replies, patting Cat briefly on his foot
as he sits down on the couch. "Sometimes shit in the Umbra goes sideways.
Or... Just anything really. Being Garou in general means sitting down could
go sideways." Basil smiles and lifts up a hand palm out, waving away. "But I
don't have to tell you what being a Garou means. You've been one longer than
me."

Grey's coat rings. Or, at least, the cellphone tucked within one of its
pockets does. The grey-haired Glass Walker grimaces and heaves himself to
his feet. "Back in a moment," he says curtly, and heads out back.

Cat brings his gaze down to Basil, clearly still uncertain of how to feel
about him. "He warned me not to be careless in the Umbra," he says after a
moment, when Grey leaves, voice low so the Philodox can't hear. "That's the
last thing that happened...I went to meet Gabriel. But I came out somewhere
else." He takes a shallow, shaky breath and slouches a little. His head is
starting to hurt, too much to sit up properly. His brow furrows as he tries
to remember. "But now I know." Blue eyes beseech Basil plaintively. "I do- I
think I figured it out. I need to see the Master of the Rite."

"Gimme a name. What was their name? I can't remember the name of the current
Master of Rites... " Basil lifts up a hand and bashfully scratches behind
his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at the Umbra or Sept stuff really. I do a
lot of city things, around the house, with the people, stuff like that. I
think it's more important than that. Most of the time I'm partying when the
moon is this low but man, I wasn't in the mood when I found you. Good thing
for you I was moping at the park and having a cig. I was worried you weren't
going to make it."

The hefty Uktena marches back into the living room, bearing hot food on a
plate in one hand, and a mug in the other hand. There's no beer for
Basil--Reggie must have run out of hands. The dark liquid in the mug is
steaming, and the roast beef sandwich is dripping with gravy. "You're not
going to see anyone before this gets into you", Reggie addresses Cat.

Cat's stomach growls again. The look he gives Reggie is one of pure and
unadulterated happiness. "Oh, okay," he says to the Uktena, although it's
unclear if he even heard his words. He reaches for the plate, but hisses
sharply when he only stretches some of the cuts in the act of moving his
fingers. "Can...can you tell me what happened?" he asks Basil, even though
his eyes are on the food. It looks like he's trying to figure out how to eat
it with no hands.

Basil puts a finger against his own lips in a pose of thought after glancing
at Reggie, then looks back at Cat and begins. "I was moping by the river and
I say a bunch of clothes in the water. Then this roach thing started moving
around and lured me back to where you were. I thought there might have been
some kind of Wyrm thing in the water or whatever using an illusion as bait,
so I edged up, then got you out. Then I carried you a *long* ass way and
kept you talking the entire time. Eventually I got you back to a safehouse I
set up, got you out of your clothes and in some blankets, and called the
guys when I was sure you were a Garou. I also gave you CPR and stuff. Sorry
if your chest is a little sore, I've never actually had to do it before."

Reggie puts down the coffee and sandwich on the coffee table, and takes hold
of one of Cat's hands, stretching it out, comparing the scars against his
own scarred hand. The food and drink remain within Cat's reach, if he could
grasp them with his hands. The wolfskin wearing Uktena releases the hand and
indicates the gaping wounds on Cat's chest as he addresses Basil. "That is
the way you perform CPR?", Reggie marvels.

"No, the Wolf did this," Cat hastens to explain. "I...held on to him. He was
made of something that burned." He looks at Reggie's own hands with
curiosity, eyes examining the scars and then traveling to the wolfskin the
Uktena wears. He tenses a little, then looks at Basil with renewed interest.
"A cockroach? You saw a cockroach? Was it Gabriel?"

Basil glances at Reggie and shakes his head. "It was there before I started
doing. I mean I've never actually done it before, and all, but... " Basil
smiles as Cat explains and he laughs a little. "You're lucky I slept with a
ranger for a while. I'd have never learned otherwise. I didn't talk to the
roach or anything but y'know, it seems to like me or something. Maybe it'll
show up again?"

"Ah, okay", Reggie nods. "CPr takes a ...lighter touch than that". He gathers
up the sandwich and accuses Cat. "You're not eating." He starts handfeeding
the invalid.

The Walker would say more, but Reggie is busy putting food in his mouth and
between chewing and swallowing, Cat's rather occupied. He's staring at the
wolfskin again, and the question is almost tangible. After a couple
swallows, Basil's words catch up to Cat and he tilts his head. "Mmf- slept
with a ranger? What does that mean?"

"There was a Kin ranger. I slept with that Kin, because really. That was the
only Kin around. It ended after a few weeks and I was back to moping around.
There are only a few Kin and Tribes don't like to share. Someone in the
Kin's Tribe got bitchy and threw a fit, then blammo. Over." Basil settles
back on the couch and yawns quietly. "Life's a bit more fun when you've got
someone to have fun with."

It might just be the injuries, but a lot of the color has drained from Cat's
face.

Reggie grows a bit sterner. "Eat up, young man, or you won't grow up to be big
and strong." He continues to feed the sandwich. "These wounds--if you're
Garou, you'll heal up faster in another form. This place has another room
where you can do that."

Still looking at Basil disapprovingly, Cat nods to Reggie, but not before
taking another hefty bite. He swings his legs to the floor, slowly and
shakily getting to his feet, and making sure that the blankets are swaddled
firmly around him. "I...I'll go there...I can prolly eat better on four
feet. Thanks for making me food," he tells the Uktena gratefully. And to the
Gnawer, on afterthought, "Thanks for pulling me out of the river."

Reggie looks dubious that Cat can actually stand unassisted, then after Cat
manages the feat, he gathers up the sandwich to carry it after the Walker.
He grumbles slightly at the thanks, and asks, "Who're you? Who did I make
this food for?"

Basil waves at Cat. "It's fine. It's not like I could leave you there, huh?
That wouldn't have been right. Though it is a little spooky how much you
look like me. My name's Basil by the way. We'll talk more after you aren't
all naked and stuff. I'll get you some fresh underwear and stuff later from
Wal-Mart."

Is he blushing? Cat dips his head deferentially to Reggie, although there's
equal chance the Gnawer's comment is to blame for his flushed cheeks. "I'm
sorry sir. I'm Cat, cliath theurge of the Glass Walkers." The way he says
'cliath' is like it's still new to him, still fresh and hardwon. "S'nice
t'meet you. Both of you."

"Hee. I didn't think anyone blushed anymore! I love it when people do that."
Basil golf claps, grinning at Cat and shaking his head. "Don't do that too
much though. You need your blood. I'm an Ahroun, I'm... Well, a Bone Gnawer.
But I'm a lot more like a Walker. You can't tell it /now/ because you puked
and leaked all over me, but I usually don't stink and am much cleaner. I
live here, and am the only Gnawer that does so. Now go. Shoo. Rest, Cat. You
deserve it and all."

"That's what I thought", Reggie comments, then addresses Basil, "He's a
Walker, and this is the Walker house. They'll have clothes here." Turning
back to Cat, he names himself, "I'm Reggie, cliath ahroun of the Uktena. Now
get to healing up, and finish off this sandwich, and you can talk to your
elder in the morning."

Calling attention to Cat's blushing only makes the boy go bright red. Wait, an
Uktena? Wearing a wolfskin? And a Gnawer lives in the Walker house? It's
clear that Cat is still trying to process all that information as he's
shooed into another room. In moments he's shifted down to lupus and made
short work of Reggie's sandwich; not five minutes afterwards, he's asleep
again. The burns are still there on his chest and paws, even in lupus. A few
hours later, if anyone checks in on him, he'll be sleeping curled up
protectively around the empty plate.