2023.02.21 Painting a Future

02.21.23 Painting a Future
Through a good deed, a new cat (Trey) meets a friendly Garou (Irsa), and then an elder cat (Miguel), and is welcomed to the fold.
IC Date	02.21.23
Players	Irsa, Miguel, Trey
Location	Olympic Diner, later the Sept of the Enduring Spirit
Spheres	Garou, Gaian, Fera, Bastet

D St. and First Ave. D St. and First Ave. border right on the edge of the inner city, marking this street with the beginnings of larger structures and compounds while ending the pleasantville of minor suburbia with the thicker mixture of the downtown city district. A few smaller houses and complexes pack together here and there, though more along the avenue lies the market of smaller businesses and the like as one enters through the increasing rush of city life. Normal city noises are more common here from dogs barking and cats screetching at all hours to the background sounds of sirens in the distance adding to the constant humming atmosphere of basic life in the city. Amidst the dirt and grime, a pleasant smell washes over the area from a nearby diner and the scent of fries and cheeseburgers fill the block. Contents: Irsa Navigation:

It's a beautiful day in Sunny Southern California. or it would be, if it weren't for the cloudy, overcast sky and cool temperature. That hasn't stopped a tall, heavily-scarred woman from stepping out into the streets today. She's currently across the street from the Olympian Diner, setting down a number of battered-looking paint cans and a number of rattle cans near a wide brick wall. Irsa steps back to eye the marks of the local gangs left here and lets out a derisive snort.

Trey is strolling, a beat-up knapsack over one shoulder and an equally beat-up plaid shirt over his worn tee-shirt. The man is probably half a foot shorter than the tall woman, and he looks at her with curiosity, then at the paint cans. After a moment's thought, he says, "You're going to cover up all that," motioning with his hand to the signs. "If you'll tell me what the symbols mean, I'll give you a hand."

Irsa shrugs off her pack and is rummaging through it when the newwomer approaches. She turns to face him, nostrils flaring as she looks him up and down. There's a sense that she's gauging the man, sizing him up to figure out how he fits into the picture. "All of it? Naw," she replies, in a deep, gruff voice. "Just this section right here." She waves an arm to indicate a twelve foot by eight foot section of wall. "You wanna.. know what this is?" she asks, knitting her brows in confusion. "Why?"

Trey inhales deeply, his mouth parting slightly as he takes in the air of the woman -- or just the air, or something. He doesn't seem at all discomfited by the scrutiny. "Because usually those symbols represent groups of people that do shit I think is wrong, and I'm new, so I dunno the local shit-stirrers yet. If you're doing this, you know, and you're tough enough not to care if they get pissed off about it, so you'd be the person to ask for info. But information doesn't come free, and I do day labor here n' there, so I figured I'd offer."

Irsa frowns as she listens to this, reaching up to scratch at her nicked ear. "Huh," is all she says for a few moments. "There's 'wrong' and there's 'WRONG' out in th' streets, ya feel me?" She pops the top off a can of primer and begins pouring it into large paint tray. No sprayers here, she's old school. "As it happens, what ya see here? Mosta these gangers ain't here no more. They got themselves killed, run off, what th' fuck ever happened to 'em. But I'll oblige ya on a couple that're still kickin'." She picks up a paint roller and points at the largest of the gang markers. "That's for Blocc Side. Run crack, meth, numbers games here. Other one down there? That's for Rollin 40s Crips. They used ta roll hard. Now? They've moved on to other things. Petty shit, mostly lookin' after their own."

Trey nods. "Yeah, I do," he agrees, and listens as she talks, taking in the words, giving the sort of attention teachers wish they could get from students. "Happens to a lot of them, to anyone who tries to claim a place that way. Bigger predator shows up and eats the little fishes, or drives 'em off the land. Not unfamiliar. Same story all across this country that I've seen, some places worse n' others." When she gets to listing the names, he takes them to memory, matching symbol to word. "Wrong isn't stealing from a rich man to eat. Wrong is shitting where you eat. Only sick creatures foul their own dens." He doesn't take a roller, not just yet, not until she offers. Her territory, from all he can tell, and her choice.

Irsa locates another paint roller and steps forward to hand it to Trey. She's still looking him up and down, as if she can't decide where he fits into the scheme of things. "Exactly. You know the drill: 'If you see someone stealin' food, no ya didn't'." She turns back to the wall and points to the left. "Wanna take that side? I'll get th' right, meetcha in the middle."

Trey accepts the roller and dips in and gets the drips off with the air of someone who's probably taken way too little money to work a long damn day doing just that alongside other marginalized folks of many colors. "Yeah. Been there. It's not much different in some of the res towns. Worse in some. Lots of Dee Vee, lots of drunks. Lots of despair." He heads to the left and nods, working in a neat, deft series of motions to cover the spray paint opaquely.

Irsa grunts as she works. She's not cheap at all with the primer, there's a lot of tagging to cover. "Happens when ya kill people an inch at a time," she remarks. "Ya ain't a white boy, so I don't need ta paint a picture." Primer is getting spattered all over her clothes, but like artists everywhere she gives no fucks. "So, why me? ya coulda wandered up t' jaw with Julio over there, or Denise." She jerks her head in the direction of an old man sweeping out in front of the liquor store, and a middle-aged matronly-looking woman. "Hell, even them kids over there could tell ya shit an' ya wouldn't have to work for it."

Trey isn't cheap with it, nor does he overdo, he's just... careful, in a way that shows familiarity with scarcity. "No, you definitely don't." His lips twist at that. His clothes get spattered a little, but not too much. He doesn't seem to care much, though -- the shirt still keeps him warm, after all. "You looked more interesting," he tells her honestly, "And you probably have more stories to tell, though if you'd said no, I probably woulda moved on to them. I'm learning the city. You stood out. People who stand out tend to get hammered down, so when they don't, they always have truths to share." A shrug. "Plus, I don't mind honest work. If nothin' else, if gives me something to do while I sort out what I'm thinking."

Irsa grunts once more at the response. "Truth. Though you're missin' out on Julio over there. He's got stories from Iraq that'll turn ya white." She works quickly, making short work of her section of the wall. She's clearly turn this many, many times. "Ya got a handle you wanna share? Don't give a shit if it's real or not, but I gotta call ya something."

Trey works at a similar pace, meeting near the middle as promised. Her remark about Julio makes Trey huh quietly. "A vet, huh? I will, later on. Hearing what others see, knowing their experiences... helps you learn where you are." Her question makes him shift the roller to his off hand and extend his right. "Trey. Well, Steven Trevelyan, but just Trey for short." He snorts. "White guy name. Legal one, though."

"Shit, ain't nothing to be ashamed of. Time an' place, and all them before you who ain't woke yet." The scarred woman grunts again as she cleans primer from her roller and tosses it onto a battered square of cardboard to dry. "Irsa Rawlins. Might be stuck with the old slave name, but my momma picked Irsa out all on her lonesome. So I ain't got no complaints." She eyes that offered hand and shifts her jaw before accepting it in a firm shake. "So, ain't seen you around before. You new 'round here?"

Trey says, “Yeah, exactly that." He mimics her action with the primer and roller after introductions are done, and nods. "Irsa. Almost like the Latin for 'bear.' That's a pretty powerful name to bear, pardon the pun." His flash of a grin is quicksilver but sincere. "Yeah, wandered into Prospect about a week ago. Came down from Denver. Long walk over the course of a few months, with a long bus ride to Nevada in the middle.""

"Ya ain't the first that's told me that," Irsa replies as she fishes a sketchbook out of her pack. "Didn't ask for this size, but fuck me if I ain't got it anyway." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "Denver, huh? Ain't been out that way. Ain't been a lotta places, if I'm bein' honest. Me, I'm outta L.A."

Trey says, “Well, Bear's a powerful totem, and a protector." He's probably just talking about Native American beliefs. "At least, a lot of our Nations believe that. I'm Seneca, myself. Out of Upstate New York originally, around Buffalo, near Canada, so being here with all this warmth and sun is kinda weird for February. Welcome, but weird." He inhales, and says, "If you ever can, or want to, the Rockies are worth seeing. The air is so clean it hurts to breathe, when you get high up. Hard to imagine when you're used to breathing this, but... it's a spiritual experience, at least it was for me.""

Irsa checks her sketchbook and tucks it away. "Don't know much 'bout Native life," she admits. "Got some of that blood myself, but white folks from Spain fucked everything up for my ancestors. Ya lose track after Mexico." She turns to a stack of thin cardboard and tosses Trey a craft knife. "Wanna help with trimming these t' fit? Measurements are here." She hands over a slip of paper with the info.

Trey says, “There's a lot of crossover if you go back a ways. I know there were some freedmen and -women who married in with us, back in the day. The Spanish coming here fucked up your folks and mine pretty bad, yeah." He catches the knife and says, "Sure, I can get that," taking the paper and eyeing it, getting an idea of how to cut the stencil. "Native life these days is mostly a lot like po' white trash in trailer parks, only worse, unless you're lucky enough to be a casino tribe. The casinos are some of the best kinds of revenge we could get." He smirks at that and perches so he can cut cardboard, careful as his hand finds the curves and lines of the shapes."

Irsa grins at this, showing off several overly-large teeth peeking through that lovely facial scar exposing them for all the world to see. "I hear that. Sounds like we got some things in common. No trailers for me and mine, tho. We got homeless encampments, slapped-up shacks and maybe some space under the overpasses on the freeway and down by the San Gabriel river. Shitty excuse for a river, if ya ask me. I mean, it's all in a cement channel. People in charge of shit are fucked up." She sets down a large piece of cardboard and remarks, "You remember that 'All Lives Matter' shit? Couple of the brothers copyrighted that shit so that group got none of that, no lie." She throws back her head and guffaws.

Trey answers her grin without hesitation. The hideousness of her scar doesn't seem to upset him. "Been to more'n a few of those, too, over the time I traveled. Long as I shared what I got, nobody had a problem sharing with me. Yeah, they call that a river? That's more like a -- what, aqueduct? Something like that. But yeah. People in charge always wind up being the fucked up ones, because the people who fight the hardest to take charge are always the ones least suited for it. The wise ones should be the ones calling the shots, but greedy types don't like being told they can't take everything their grasping little hands can fit." While he's talking, he's neatly cutting. "No shit?" He bursts out laughing. "That knowledge just made my day."

Irsa's hideous grin widens. "Yeah, they did a solid with that one. Keeping green outta the hands of racist fucks? Hell yeah." She tucks her craft knife into the waistband of her pants and flexes her hands. She walks up and down the length of the primer-covered wall, checking it for thin spots. "I got offers for road trips," Irsa remarks. "Yellowstone, I'd love to see that. Only wildlife I ever got t' see growin' up were rats, possums, and maybe a raccoon or a coyote if you were up real, real early or dragging your ass in late. Mostly rats, though. Oh shit, and a buncha feral cats and dogs. Dunno if those count, though." She sounds a bit wistful as she works on her own stack of cardboard. "Trees and other shit, too. Only place you saw much of that up in L.A. was up in Griffith Park, and you definitely don't wanna go there. I don't count palm trees, that shit ain't native."

Trey grins at that. "Anything that works against that bias shit is good by me." He ohs and says, with a smile, "If you can manage it, Yellowstone is amazing. There's so much that's amazing in the wild, and people think the wild means only forests, but let me tell you, the desert's even less forgiving." He nodnods and says, "I was lucky, I grew up in the sticks, so I got to see all kinds of things. Fox, bobcat, lynx, bear a few times, occasionally wolves... and of course, the smaller ones like squirrels and raccoons and all." Her wistfulness makes him fall silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Yeah, palm trees are in Cali and Florida both and neither one is native. They like the climate some, but from what I heard, they had to really work to make 'em survive. Florida was mostly swampy scrubland before people decided it was vacation land." And, he doesn't say, one of the sites of historical "relocations" by force of his people, but it's in the momentary tightness of his jaw. "But palm trees are *pretty*, so they don't care that they don't really belong here."

Miguel has arrived. Irsa thinks this over and shrugs. "I guess. Shit, rats and squirrels and crows and shit nest in 'em, so they ain't all bad. I just HATE the bullshit of forcing things into places where they got no business. Like all th' fucking RICE the state grows in a motherfuckin' desert." She's got opinions and to spare. "If you could go anywhere, where would ya go?" she asks out of the blue. She and Trey are working on cutting up cardboard into various-sized squares near a section of wall that's been primered over. It's an art installation in progress.

Trey nods, "As if California doesn't already have water issues with so much of the wild places getting wildfires... and people still insist on green grass lawns. I like to see things where they grow and thrive, you know?" He glances up to Irsa at the question, thoughtful. "Anywhere? Huh. You know. I think Australia. If anything, their natives had it even worse than we did, and their land is desert but wild, filled with life and death for the unwitting, and... like, Ayers Rock? That's gotta be an amazing experience. I don't think they let people climb it, and I wouldn't if it's forbidden out of respect, but just... how many dozens of generations of shamans worked their faith there, how powerful and amazing must that place be?"

Miguel comes walking down the block, large and in charge. He's seriously fucknormous but he's moving carefully around those smaller than him, and he's carrying a cardboard box and smiling when he spots Irsa and he heads in her direction.

Irsa looks vaguely uncomfortable at the mention of Australia. "Yeah. I hear that. Woulda been nice for people to keep their asses home and stay in their own yards, left th' original folk alone. But people are fuckin' stupid, cruel and sadistic assholes in general." Her gruff voice is rumbling with thinly-veiled anger. But lo! She is saved from more in this vein by the arrival of a true giant. "Yo, what up?" she calls to Miguel, raising a fist in greeting.

Trey says, "You won't hear me argue that." Her anger seems to not put him off much, though he does calm his tone a bit to sound more soothing. Her recognition of the even more huge man approaching. "Holy shit," he says with surprise, "He's the entire brute squad." He says it with a grin, though, clearly meaning no offense. Trey's skin is probably not more than a shade off Miguel's, but he's a LOT shorter. He doesn't interrupt, figuring he'll introduce himself after they're exchanged pleasantries.

Miguel grins at Irsa before saying (in a thick mexican accent) "Got some stuff for one of the cousins from a man I saw about a thing. Also I have some more pictures of the cubs at the sanctuary if you want to see."

Miguel did glance at Trey but is leaving that aside for the moment.

Irsa perks her ears up at this news. "For real? Shit yeah, that's dope as hell." She nods over at Trey, and jerks her chin towards Miguel. "This big dude here is Miguel, friend of mine. He does rescue and rehab work for our local wildlife sanctuary. Miguel, this is Trey. Just met th' dude, but he's been givin' me a hand here with this art."

Trey looks up, shifts the boxcutter to his off hand, and bravely offers his right hand to the man in greeting. "Good to meet you," he says with an amiable air. "I heard about the sanctuary, was hoping it was a good place. Some of them aren't, seen a few that set me off a little." A lot, but who's counting?

Miguel shifts his box to tuck under one arm and shakes Trey's offered hand, firmly but not super macho "Kitten-Itza. We work with all sorts of Felines specifically, its easier to stay focused on what's good for them when you aren't trying to juggle a wide variety of types of animals. We take the welfare of our little cousins seriously. Even when they are not so little."

Irsa cracks her knuckles and locates a wide roll of painter's tape in her pack. She slides it over her wrist and turns back to the primered wall while the dudes get acquainted. It's mostly dry by now, so she begins taping up cardboard to frame out areas for text blocks and art panels. She hums to herself while she works: 'Gin and Juice' for all the hiphop fans out there.

Trey's mouth quirks up at the corner at the name of the place, more so when he hears about its mission. "So what kinds do you have right now, just out of curiosity? Always had a place in my heart for cats of all kinds," he says. "How do you find them?" He seems to be really, really interested in this.

Miguel's EFFECTIVE SCENT_OF_THE_TRUE_FORM is at least 1

<---======##====================[ Dice Roll ]=====================##======--->
Miguel rolls Perception + Primal Urge vs 6 for 2 successes.
1 1 3 3 4 5 +6 +7 9 10
<-------------=============++++++++++++++++++++++++=============------------->


Miguel gives Trey a look as he expresses significant interest in the sanctuary, a wrinkle of his nose and a head tilt of consideration lead to a broad smile before answering "Jaguar, Lion, Cougar, and Tiger at the moment." Then to Irsa he says "We will have to take our new friend inside for one of Karen's milkshakes when you all are done here."

Somehow Irsa has small slivers of blue painter's tape joining the splatters of primer on her attire, but hey! These things happen when you're an urban artist. Her humming shifts from Snoop Dog to Nina Simone's 'Go To Hell' as she works. At Miguel's words she remarks, "Yeah? He worthy of the gold ribbon, blue plate special, ya think?"

Miguel's EFFECTIVE SENSE_WYRM is at least 1

Miguel grins and nods at Irsa "He's closer to my family than yours but I think he'll do well here. We can take him over to the Smoke and Barley some other time."

Trey echoes the smile, recognizing that he's just been checked out in some manner. "A good selection," he says, "I know a lot of big cats are rescued from people who think they should run roadside zoos." He spits on the ground to one side at that, well away from his companions, but perks up again quickly. "That sounds great," he says, talking as he finishes off cutting his last piece for Irsa's art. "I'd really like that." He seems to know he's passed muster, at least for now.

<---======##====================[ Dice Roll ]=====================##======--->
Trey rolls Perception(3) + Awareness(2) (5 dice) vs 10 for -1 successes.
-1 2 5 6 7
<-------------=============++++++++++++++++++++++++=============------------->


Irsa ponders the response as she finishes up her work. "Yeah, this'll keep 'til after lunch. I'm fuckin' STARVING, G." She packs up the portable bits of her supplies and lets out a shrill whistle. "Yo, Julio! Ya mind keepin' an eye on this shit for me?" An older Hispanic man sweeping outside a liquor store calls back, "Yeah, I gotcha, chica!"

Miguel nods and sets his own box down with Irsa's stuff before turning to lead the way inside "And the burgers are amazing here too."

Miguel walks into The Olympian Diner, a little bell jingling upon the opening of the door. Miguel has left.

You walk into The Olympian Diner, a little bell jingling when the door is opened. Immediately, you are hit with the strong smells of cheeseburgers and fries.

The Olympian Diner - Main Room

Upon entering the dinner, one is greeted with the the brightly lit restaurant that seems to resemble nearly any other small mom and pop style eatery. The glass door and long wall length windows let in plenty of light in the day and at night the streetlights help though it is well kept. There is no greeting booth but there is a long bar set up with various stools set along its length. There is a long window cut in the wall that divides that back of the bar from the kitchen, a heated shelf and a carrousel of tickets all set there to pass orders back and further between them without a waitress having to go all the way around.

The seating area is fairly standard. Along the walls there are booths to seat up to six people, if they cram in. The booths are upholstered in that red plastic material known so well in diners, and what isn't upholstered is painted to try and look like dark stained wood. The tables have what was once a glossy finish of clear plexiglass over what were once pristine wooden tabletops. Each table has standard restaurant faire: A napkin dispenser, sugar and sweetener packets, and ketchup. In addition to the booths, there are rows of tables, set up to allow walkways between to navigate the room easily enough. The tables are similar to the booth tables, with red upholstered chairs keeping with the theme of the booths.

The kitchen is always bustling with activity, the sounds and smells filling the room whenever it is open for business, and despite the fact that it is a rather dingy neighborhood, it seems to be frequently busy. Overall it is a wonderfully smelling place the scent of cheeseburgers grilling and fresh batches of fries and chips cooling make it one that often incites the hunger of those passing by.

+view here/menu



The Olympian Diner - Clubhouse

The room is warmly lit at all times and the red bricks of the upper part of the building have been left unpainted on the inside. The wooden floor looks rough though it doesn't seem to have any issue of splinters coming through on it and the ceiling is likewise aged wooden beams that hold up the flat roof. Exposed copper piping can be seen running along them and there are even a few exposed ducts for the HVAC system that is hooked into the ceiling. There is a large 'L' shaped bar set against one of the walls with stools placed along it, the low wall of it is built from white painted bricks with a wooden bartop. There are booths ringing the place as well covered in fresh, brown leather.

Set in the back of the room are two large curved booths that can fit large parties while not being totally squished together. A few tables that can fit groups of people up to four are on a separate wall and fill up some of the empty floor space in the center. There is even a battered ping pong table in the open area of the floor space set up with four paddles and a handful of balls so people can have some fun in the less crowded part of the hangout. The crowning achievement is set right next to the bar though, an old style jukebox that doesn't even require quarters to play yet there is a sign about it that reads 'Looped songs get ass kickings'.

Contents: Irsa Miguel Menu Karen

Irsa's demeanor shifts once the group is inside. That wary, hard edge she exhibited outside fades away, replaced by a more confident surety of her surroundings. "And here we are, where th' best food in town is. Fuck th' Smoke," she rumbles, heading directly for a booth next to the jukebox. "So, who wants to kick off th' real introductions first?"

Irsa sits down at Bar.

You go over to join Irsa.

You sit down at Bar.

Miguel sits down at Bar.

Miguel joins you.

Miguel grins at Irsa and rolls his shoulders as he takes a seat "I am Mirror-Shadow. Miguel Hernandez of human name, Bon Bhat Jaguar Warrior of the Tenocha Balam. From the lodge of Tlilpotonqui, warchief of the land of blood and water. Now keeper of Kitten-Itza, a Sanctuary for Bastet feline kinfolk of all kinds."

Trey notes the change in demeanor, and smiles at the change. Irsa's confidence is echoed in his stance, as well -- not arrogance, just a catlike sense of 'I am exactly as I should be.' He follows her to the booth and slides in with her and Miguel, dropping his knapsack on the floor at his feet as a sign of trust. "I'll spare the usual cryptic part." He inhales and says, "Steven Trevelyan among the monkeys," and he says it without rancor. Monkeys are animals too! "Among the People, I am Treads-on-Thin-Ice, born on four feet to the Riddler's Tribe, ranked Tekhmet." He ohhhs and grins. "Our kin?! Oh!!"

Irsa turns her head from side to side, working out a kink in her neck. "Irsa Rawlins, known 'round th' fires as Hammer-Tooth, two-legged Theurge of th' Bone Gnawers, Adren an' leader of my Tribe here in Prospect. I'm th' Alpha of th' Mistseekers Pack. Our territory ain't too far from here. We ain't got no tolerance for th' Wyrm or th' Weaver in our protectorate, as Mirror-Shadow can tell ya."

Irsa adds, "Yeah, that makes me a wolfskin. Can't help that, but I can promise ya I ain't a dick."

Miguel nods at Trey and grins "That's why when you got interested I took a closer look. I take my guardian duties quite seriously." He nods in agreement with Irsa and adds "Most of the Garou around here are at the very least tolerant of other fera. Most are quite friendly. Irsa and I go hunt vampires together."

Trey answers Irsa, "I could tell that right off. That you're not a dick, that is." He relaxes a bit more and turns to face Miguel, nodding. "We lose more of our feline kin with every passing year, so protecting them is important. Where I came from, we had to start making pelt hunters disappear. Some assholes pay good money for lynx fur." He growls at that. "Like to see them try and take mine." He draws himself back to a calmer state and says, "We all should take those duties seriously. I take mine as Nala's Eyes very seriously... and I try to learn all I can, of those who are friends, those who are enemies, and those who are... just interesting." He oohs at that. "Well, if you ever wish to bring along a small cousin, I would be more than happy to help hunt leeches."

Irsa grunts. "Might have a personal hate-on for Leeches. Up in L.A., th' fuckers hunt in packs an' shit, when they ain't killing some poor apes or each other. Some of 'em throw fire an' shit, if ya can believe it."

Miguel nods enthusiastically at Trey "I take groups on field trips fairly frequently, I will make sure to keep you in mind if I find some more targets for us to chase. Not always leeches you understand but someone will come up with something I'm sure."

Trey nods agreement. "I will be happy to hunt. Wandering doesn't leave me with many allies to draw on, usually, if I encounter something a little too *big* for me." He grins ruefully. "That will change with time, but I'm more mystic than warrior for the most part. I need to work on my battle skill."

Irsa skims over the menu while she listens to the others, even though she knows it by heart. "What kinda skills ya got?" she asks Trey. "You said you're a mystic, that mean ya do th' same kinda thing I do? I ain't familiar with Bastet, I'm sorry t' say. Didn't meet any other Shifters 'til I moved here last year. Mirror-Shadow's th' only other Bastet I've met. Lynx are your folk, ya said?"

Miguel grins at Irsa and comments "Prospect is a learning experience all around. So many new things I've encountered for the first time here. Its been quite fascinating."

Trey says, "I'm well-read about mystical things over all, but hell, that's not unusual among my folk. I can fight some, not an expert. Tale-teller, when the inspiration or the need arises. Leatherworker of some skill, fair-to-middling scout on four feet or two. I can cleanse the tainted, and I am looking to learn rituals of all sorts. I can heal, as well. And survive most natural situations."

Irsa waves Karen down. "Double cheeseburger an' chips, and gimme a strawberry shake this time." She huffs a bit as the waitress goes to place the order. "Booze is fine, but I don't need it in my shakes," she mutters to the others. She listens closely to Trey's response. "Stories are somethin' ya can always trade 'round here. I love 'em, and so do our Galliards if ya can find 'em. Don't think our Rites overlap when it comes to teaching an' learnin', but dealing with spirits? That's definitely a yes."

Miguel nods and considers "Bacon Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake." Then he says "And Rituals are often taught and traded. I've heard it joked that the Prospect Gaian community is like a university for shifters, always something to learn or teach."

Trey asks the young woman for the same thing as Irsa with a chocolate shake while she's there, and keeps his tone polite. He's in another's den, manners matter. "I think we may do things differently, and I know totem spirits react differently to the Bastet than to the Garou. But the forms shouldn't be all that different." He smiles at the idea of trading learning. "Well, I am happy to trade what I can, but I don't have the breadth of someone with more experience, least not yet. But I like learning, don't mind teaching. I learn a lot of more mundane stuff from observation or books. Which reminds me, I gotta sign up for a library card. One of the truly helpful things in cities -- large libraries."

Irsa leans back in her seat, as comfortable as can be. "Huh, ya learn somethin' new every day. Had no idea we could trade Rites like that. Pretty sure that's gonna be common ones, not th' family trade secrets." Her scarred mouth curves into a grin. "Couldn't do it even if I wanted to. Our totem's not down with givin' that kinda thing away." She's among other Shifters, Totem Bans aren't news to anyone. "That ain't in my section a' town. Think th' big one's uptown a ways. I like books, don't get me wrong, but it ain't my specialty. Ain't a lotta Bone Gnawers that even GET access to books, most places."

Miguel nods at Trey and grins "There are many libraries all over town, and some gaians with private collections. Including a number of kinfolk sorcerers. I learned weather magic from one."

Trey says, “I think that it depends on who is learning and who is teaching, as well, and bans, like you mentioned," Trey offers diplomatically. "Some folks just don't share as a rule. Some can't. And there are always limits given to us by those Spirits we choose to bring in close to us." His gaze moves back to Miguel, and he blinks in surprise. "Kin sorcerers who teach as well?" His eyes go wide. Apparently he's a fan of cat magic. He considers them both, and then drops his voice low. "I know a small amount of magic, the secret of magical craft. I hope to make items someday that are both Fetish and magic.""

"I'm gonna guess ya learned that from Mercy's mate," Irsa remarks to Miguel. She's not giving the man's name away here, not without that Kinfolk's express permission. "He's th' smartest dude I know, hands down. If ya don't mind, Treads-on-Thin-Ice, I'll drop him your name so he can make contact with you if he's up for it. You got a place where he can leave you a message?"

Miguel snorts and shakes his head "Not that one, though from what I hear he is just about everywhere when kin and sorcery are brought up together." Miguel has nothing else to say about Branton, because promoting one's own alt would be tacky.

Trey draws a notepad out of his knapsack, and scrawls something on one page, and then on a second. He tears them out, handing one to each of his tablemates -- 'Trey,' an address at a crappy apartment building near the water, and a phone number. "I have a mobile phone, I just don't use it much. I have friends behind me, elsewhere, who like to stay in touch. And you can feel free to put your Kin friend in touch with me. Talking to someone who's the smartest one you know is a worthy pursuit. If I don't answer, I'll call back." He's pleased at the use of what he considers his *real* name, and basks. "It's welcome, to be able to just be myself around others for the first time in a while."

Irsa raises a brow at Miguel. "Yeah? I ain't met Kin outside th' Garou, but that don't surprise me. That kinda thing should be secret from my people. Th' ones here are mostly reasonable, but that don't mean shit. If th' leadership changes or we get wiped out, I wouldn't wanna risk it." Survival is something she understands and respects. "Eclipsing Tempest's another option. I'll point him your way as well, but that might take him a while. He's hella busy doing his own thing."

Trey says, “I haven't met many of the Garou's kin, at least not to my knowledge. I don't go out of my way to step on wolf toes." Three guesses as to why. He adds, "I wouldn't tell most of your kind, but if a Bon Bhat of our people is comfortable trusting you, and I am going to trust him, I'm going to take his lead on where the lines are drawn. In most cases, I wouldn't -- but you've been nothing but honest, and you welcome us. Not true of many others among the Garou." He tilts his head. "Eclipsing Tempest... evocative name. If for nothing else than to see who fits that name, I'd like to meet him.""

Miguel shrugs at Irsa "What comes up when I ask my kin a thing and what comes up when a stranger garou asks are probably not the same thing. I consider your warning well given though." Then to Trey "If you need a place to say there are rooms in the main house for Bastet to lodge in. And you are of course welcome to come mingle with the kinfolk." and he takes out his phone and brings up a picture of a pair of Jaguar cubs "Including my daughters, they are four months old or so."

Irsa is there in an instant, checking out those adorable pics of adorable cubs. "Man, they're gettin' big fast. When do they start huntin' with their momma?" she asks Miguel. She was born on two-legs, like the city rat she is, and has no clue how wild animals work.

Trey peers over at the photo before answering. "Ohhh, they are *adorable*," he says with sincere approval. "Look at those perfect little ears, and perfect little paws, and perfect little whiskers!" He grins, then, and adds, "If rooms are available, I'd be happy to accept that offer. I'd rather not pay for what is considered acceptable at the prices I could afford." He wrinkles his nose. "It took me two whole days to make it fit for denning. And I hate the smell of bleach."

Miguel nods at Trey in understanding "Easy enough to get sorted out." Then to Irsa "They've started following her around a couple of weeks ago actually, they've only just recently started taking some meat with their meals."

Irsa perks up as her food arrives. In true Bone Gnawer fashion, she makes it swiftly disappear down her gullet, though her manners are far nicer than the bulk of her Tribe. She's the leader, for one, and her momma raised her better than that. "Not a lotta wolf-born left in my Tribe," she remarks to Trey. "The' Bone Gnawers ain't got access to wild places, other tribes got that on lockdown. But when it comes to cities? Ain't nobody can touch us. We thrive where we gotta."

Trey nods. "I'll contribute, of course, but I'd rather have the money I have going to our folk than a random person." He's definitely pleased with how this day is turning out, from the look of it. He perks up even more as food arrives, and Irsa's remark about Kin makes him nod sadly. "I am sorry for that," he says sincerely, "But your Tribe gets the worse end of the stick most of the time, the way I understand it, and that tends to make survivors." And speaking of which, he picks up the burger, grins broadly, and takes a happy, toothy bite. Tasty, tasty dead cow.

Irsa cracks her knuckles. "I ain't complaining, truly. Lotta shit happened long, long ago. Was it right? Fuck no. Does it piss me off sometimes? Fuck yeah it does." She crunches thoughtfully on a handful of chips. Salty deep-fried goodness. "Ya only got one sure freedom in life: to lie down an' die, or stand on your feet and refuse ta give in." There's no mistaking what path she's chosen for herself. "I intend t' die with my claws and teeth in the throat of the Enemy, and fuck what others think 'bout me. I know what my duty is t' Gaia."

Miguel nods at Irsa and says "When I trained with the Garou at the Amazon war front one of the leaders said 'Make of your rage a weapon fit to break down the gates of hell'. I had to ask to have some it explained but the sentiment is one I can appreciate."

Trey shakes his head. "Didn't think you were, just saying truth." He piles some of the chips inside the bun, atop the other toppings on the burger, and smiles, crunching his way through another bite. That's a happy cat. After he swallows, he comments, "I'll count my life well-lived if I've walked my path with truth, cleverness, and honor, and met the challenges without hesitating." He nods at Miguel's statement, and notes, "My Rage burns lowers than many, but it's mine, and it's one of the weapons I was given to fight. So I will."

Irsa grunts at Trey. "I get it, all good." She offers a fist bump, and extends another to Miguel. Solidarity! "Yeah, I hear that. Rat's a Totem of War, and I started off runnin' the streets with a pack that followed her. I got a lotta scars from that. But I'm a Theurge, I definitely ain't up to snuff with our Full Moons. They're th' true warriors among us. Me, I tend towards smart tactics an' planning. Goin' in blind's a great way to die."

Miguel grins broadly at Trey and Irsa "And as I have learned it’s all about teamwork yes? Find targets for hammer swinging murderhobos like myself counts as helping yes?"

Trey fistbumps and notes, "My Jamak is one of hope, but she gives me much reason to carry on no matter what." He takes it all in, listening and learning, and says, "Tactics are always a good idea, likewise planning. Scouting, too, if you can." He chuckles at Miguel's comment and says, "Teamwork makes the dream work, even when the dream involves eviscerating the enemy. Murderhobo -- that's a term I've never heard." He laughs. "I like it."

Irsa snickers at Miguel. She turns back to Trey. "You shoulda seen him when that last dude made a break for it from that cabin they were hidin' in. Mirror-Shadow was waitin' for him in the fog, smashed him flatter than a cartoon pancake. Ya could hear the crunch yards away." There's a story there, by the sound of things!

Miguel grins broadly at Irsa as he remembers and he explains to Trey "One of those field trips I mentioned. Myself and one of the Garou Elders took Irsa's pack hunting a nest of vampires. And Jaguars are ambush predators and I have a very large hammer. It was a very flat vampire."

Trey makes a squelching noise with his mouth and drops his flattened hand onto the table. "Squish!" He laughs brightly, seeming to enjoy that visual. "I only use my own claws, though I've considered getting better with knives just to add a little more oomph. Or a spear. I heard a tale of a spear, a very special kind, that could be hidden within a cat's own body. That perked my interest up. But it would make a vampire hole-y, not flat."

"When it comes ta Leeches an' other Wyrmspawn, they're ain't no single best way ta make 'em dead," Irsa points out. "If I ain't using claws and fangs, it's a crossbow for me."

Miguel grins and holds up a finger to Irsa "We cannot forget your sack of bricks, a cultural treasure of a throwing weapon for your people yes? And you are very good with them too."

Trey hrms. "I wonder if you could make a bow that did that instead of a spear. Probably," he muses aloud, apparently caught up in the idea for a moment. "Then I'd need to learn to use it..." He stops, looking back to the other two. "Sorry, thinking out loud there. A sack of bricks?" He chuckles at that, and says, "Rebar makes a pretty decent weapon too, in a pinch."

"Shit, I was gonna save the brick-throwing story for another time," Irsa grouses. "I -did- kill a fomori and a Black Spiral Dancer with a huge fuckin' desk one time. That was hella fun. Bastard deserved it, he sicked a couple a' Banes on me." The nerve of some Wyrmspawn.

Miguel laughs and grins at Irsa, not sorry at all, then he says "There are a number of skilled Archers in the community that you could learn from. Mercy's Messenger, the Elder I mentioned is one. She makes some interesting arrows as well."

Leave the war stories to the experienced warriors, Trey. He grins at that, though, and says, "A *desk*... well, hell, that's a better use for it than most." He's just way too amused and way too engrossed. "Yeaaaah, I should learn to use one before I spend the time and effort to make it and eventually make it a fetish with a part of my own body, you know? Oh, I could make some special arrows as well, but likely not the same sort. Cat magic arrows."

"It was one a' them huge-ass things. Ya know th' kind you see in a mayor's office. Eight feet long, probably weighed half a ton, at least." Irsa gestures across at another booth, showing just how big the desk was using the distance for scale. "Probably woulda been solid mahogany or oak or some shit, if it hadn't been in th' Umbra. But hey, Gifts are a thing. I can pick up a dumpster and throw it accurately, thanks to a spirit's teachings."

Miguel nods at Trey and grins "One step at a time. It does seem like the Black Furies and their kinfolk are going to be a worthwhile contact for you to make. They are fascinating people."

Trey says, “Oh, so it was one of those 'waste of good wood' desks for guys who experience a lack of confidence about the size of their dicks." He oohs at the idea of accurately throwing a desk, though given his Tribe, he's not gonna be picking up solid mahogany desks any time soon. Even in warform. "That's a damn handy gift." He scoops up the burger and enjoys another happy mouthful, nodding as Miguel makes note of potential contacts. "It sounds like, yes," he agrees, "I don't know much of their tribe, aside from the fact that they're all women and originate from Greece...""

"They're keepers of the Wyld spaces," Irsa says, as she polishes off the last of her food. She's smart enough not to guzzle down that strawberry shake, brainfreeze is a thing for everyone. "They got males in th' Tribe, all of 'em are metis or Kinfolk. And they're probably th' most mystic of our folk I've met so far, next to the Uktena. I don't care what th' Silver Fangs claim."

Miguel nods at Irsa before adding "And Mercy's Messenger is a Realmwalker. She knows the paths to walk to take you to the moon. And further if you have the stomach for it."

Trey gives the teaching the attention it deserves -- he's still a young cat, he's used to being on the receiving end of teaching. "I knew one of the Uktena's kin back east, a while ago. She was a friend, still is, I just don't see her much." He ohs, and notes, "I'd have the stomach for it just to experience that! I can't even cross the gauntlet on my own yet."

"I've been to a couple of Realms with her now," Irsa remarks, stretching her hands waaaay up over her head to work out a kink in her spine. "You can't cross into th' Umbra yet? Huh, I never knew that was a thing. Is that common among Bastet, or just your folk?"

Miguel nods to Irsa and taps a bracelet he wears made of leather and polished bits of obsidian "I only could because I cheat. Eventually we learn gifts from the spirits that allow it though, so I don't really need this any more."

<---======##====================[ Dice Roll ]=====================##======--->
Trey rolls Perception(3) + Awareness(2) (5 dice) vs 6 for 1 successes.
1 4 4 +6 6
<-------------=============++++++++++++++++++++++++=============------------->


"Which realms, if I may ask?" There's an eager hunger in his eyes as he asks, seeking all the knowledge he can take. "We eventually can, I just can't yet. First I need to prove to the spirits that I'm worth the effort to teach." He shrugs and looks rueful... then rapt, as he looks more closely at the bracelet, attempting to assess its magic for himself, chewing his lower lip in focus.

Irsa scratches her ear as she thinks over Trey's question. "Might be best if she tells ya that herself. I dunno if she's here in th' Tellurian or not, but if she is? Caern is th' best place to find her."

Miguel nods and finishes up his food and gets to his feet "Lets head that way then. Even if she isn't around herself we should get Trey introduced to the warder and all that."

Trey says, “Oh, that sounds good," he agrees, rising to his feet and draining the last of the milkshake which was, in fact, really damned good."

Irsa slides out of the booth. "I'll meetcha both there. I gotta drop my supplies back at my place." And with that, she wanders outside to collect her things.

GAME: Miguel wants to meet you at Large Cavern - Deep Forest. Turn to +help +meet for more info as what this means or type +meet/accept to accept. Large Cavern - Deep Forest

The winding cave from the surface broadens into a massive cavern, bramble-covered gaps and fissures in the stone ceiling high above allowing light, breeze, and rain to infiltrate these hidden depths. Over the ages, soil and seeds have filtered down into the cavern, spreading out and taking root with all of nature's persistence; wild grasses and flowers cover the ground and even trees have managed to grow tall and untouched amongst thick bushes.

Birds have found their way down here to nest in safety, their chirping song and the hum of insects echoing softly in the cavern. The buzz of large honey bees is loudest; someone long ago established an abundance of apiaries to boost local hives and please Bear. Their boxes are hidden out of the way of travel paths where they can be tended and harvested in safety.

A meandering stone path is worn through the light cave-forest, widening into a large intersection. A short branch leads to a fire-lit cave filled with racks and the sounds of grinding, while another wends towards a cavern that rings with laughter and music. A final path moves further into the forest, beginning to slope downwards and farther underground, lit in dappled patches through cracks in the high ceiling.

Contents: Miguel Warder Iron Flail (LOOK AT ME) Irsa has arrived.

GAME: Irsa arrives ICly to meet with Miguel.

* ALL who enter for the first time will be checked out by the Warder using Scent of the True Form and/or other gifts. There is also a routine check for Wyrm/Weaver taint.

    If you're OOCly blocked from entering the Mystic Valley, then please type this command:
                              +warder/handwave                               
    Or if you think you have a way of ICly fooling the warder, then stop here and submit a +request instead.
    * Possessed may go no further than the Mystic Valley. They can venture further with permission and a guide. The guide will be responsible for the behavior of the Possessed.

Irsa turns up not long after the others arrived, as promised. She grunts a greeting at the Warder when she spots him. He grunts back. Maybe its a Bone Gnawer thing. Once the Warder's inspection of the new arrival is completed she begins to change her form, bones snapping and twisting as she takes on her wolf form. With a low growl she darts forward, winding her way through the passages leading into the caern.

Bones snap and break, shifting and warping into a new form, as the creature before you becomes a ragged brown wolf.

Ragged Brown Wolf is granted passage to the Mystic Valley.

Ragged Brown Wolf has left.

Trey approaches the Warder, and Introduces himself: "Trey Treads-on-Thin-Ice, tekhmet of the Qualmi tribe, born on four feet." He dips his head in a measure of respect, and is then found to be free of taint.

Ragged Brown Wolf enters the large cavern through some foliage and vines.

Ragged Brown Wolf has arrived.

The caern warder informs the elders what you are. You may now proceed to the Mystic Valley.

Mystic Valley - Deep Forest(#1747RJU)

The forest floor of the Large Cavern begins to slope sharply downwards into a deep, subterranean valley, the pathway ages ago etched into long, wide steps worn by countless feet and paws over the years. The walls of this valley cavern are high and extremely steep volcanic rock and granite slabs, the ceiling of the cavern so high that the valley has taken on its own internal weather system. Hundreds of feet overhead, the vents and cracks allowing sunlight to filter through can no longer be seen, light spreading as though the valley were lit with a gentle and unseen underground sun of its own. Mist from underground streams and waterfalls create en endless cycle of clouds, brief rains, and evaporation into clouds again, while breezes from any number of caves and tunnels bring fresh air and move the clouds through their false sky.

The subterranean forest is thickest here, towering evergreen trees are dwarfed by the sheer size of the valley cave, weeping willows hang curtains of greenery over meandering streams and pools of mineral water. The steep, unclimbable valley walls are dotted with vines and bushes that have, against all odds, found purchase and growth potential. Stone pathways wend and meander through moss and wild grass along the valley, creating miles of walkways all throughout this sacred place.

A large central meadow has become a meeting point for the valley. Near enough to the Large Cavern's steeply stepped pathway and with wide stone avenues branching away to living areas, shrines, and the amphitheater. A well maintained seating area takes up the middle of the meadow, with a stone pit made for a large bonfire, several old logs and small boulders pulled up around it for comfortable seating. A large and ornately carved totem pole stands tall nearby, detailing the leadership of the Caern. Also nearby, a massive stone tablet jutting four feet out of the ground has inscribed upon its polished face the rules of the Caern, unmissable by anyone in the area.

>>> Must read before RP: +info <<<

Contents: Stone Tablet Totem Pole

At some point on the journey to the caern, when civilization had been left behind, Miguel suddenly had a fuckofflarge Stone warhammer with a big rock the size and rough shape of a cinderblock for a head. It is carved with runes of earth and thunder and he carries it propped on one shoulder. Leading the way down through the tunnels into the underground caern he grins as the business with the warder is finished and then the gathering chamber is reached. Gesturing with his free hand he says "And that is the stone tablet that he mentioned, with the rules on it."

Trey makes a point of reading said rules closely, and nodding. "Understood," he says, "You don't shit in someone else's garden. Fair enough." He adds, "And this is a gorgeous garden..." He motions around him, trying not to goggle at the sight of the underground valley and its diffuse sunlight, smiling despite himself.

Ragged Brown Wolf drifts through evergreens clinging to the periphery of the cavern, working her way towards the central meadow where a number of campfires can be seen. The Garou and their Kinfolk surrounding them are tending to the own business, cooking and eating and laughing and talking amongs themselves. Several call out greetings to the brown wolf and Miguel. Hammer-Tooth croons to herself as she sniffs the air, working out all the scents on the breeze as Trey reads over the rules.

Trey seems to be finished, and his player is oblivious, so he perks up, moving to where Hammer-Tooth and Miguel are standing, ready to be drawn forward into the beauty of the terrain.

Miguel grins as he waits and makes small talk with the passing folks that greet him, he's obviously known in this community. When Trey comes back over after having read "It might seem excessive but the community here tends to be internally peaceful most of the time. At least when folks are mindful of others and their obligations. There have been some cautionary tales of course but for the most part its a nice place to live and do the Mother's Work."

Ragged Brown Wolf sneezes and lets out an annoyed whuf. Stupid leaves. She pads up to Trey and staresat him until she has his attention, then noses some of the leaf-litter aside to scratch some words into the dirt. LOOK. REMEMBER MY WOLF. And with that, she begins to shift: from wolf to dire wolf, from dire wolf to war-form. She lingers in each shape briefly, long enough for Trey to take in each of them. It's not a bad plan, since everyone knows all wolves look alike. Maybe.

Bones snap and break, elongating and warping into a new form. Irsa becomes an enormous wolf. No creature like this has stalked the earth since the end of the Pleistocene. An enormous, dire wolf with a ragged brown coat stares hungrily at the viewer, long tendrils of slaver dripping from its razor-sharp fangs. The beast's face and torso are heavily scarred. One ear is ripped and tattered along the edge, and a series of raking scars across the left side of its head have pulled down its lower lip and exposed its fangs for all the world to see. Its muzzle is battered and lumpy, as if the beast battled a bear and survived the encounter. Its forelimbs are scarred as well, marred by ragged slashes and old burns. Its right front paw is slightly twisted and turns inward.

Bones snap and break, shifting and warping into a new form, as the creature before you becomes a figure out of nightmare.

"You protect what is precious," Trey says, "Doesn't seem excessive to me, especially with everything outside here." He stops, reads the text scratched into the earth, and then nods, watching her shift among the forms. He's not likely to forget her, but in any case, he takes the time to memorize her. He might need to know this.

Hammer-Tooth A monster torn from childhood's worst nightmare. This massive, bipedal lupine creature towers over its surroundings, standing roughly nine feet high. Amber eyes in the creature's wolfen skull blaze with furious, murderous intent as it sweeps its gaze over its surroundings. Wicked, curving claws tip the fingers of its twisted hands. A series of deep scars have marked its muzzle, tattered one of its ears, and left twisting keloid ropes in the dark brown fur across its arms and torso. Everything, everything about the beast screams one word: RUN.

****DELIRIUM IN EFFECT. (+rules The Delirium)***

Miguel nods at Trey and says "A good way to earn favor with the community is to put yourself forward to help with the caern defense patrols. Most of them pass without incident and are not worth remarking on but the fact that you stepped up will be remembered. And You said you have skills as a scout? That's good, the Garou don't need help with the ultra-violence part. Find a group and head out some time."

Hammer-Tooth throws back her head and utters a deep, booming howl. Her voice carries easily through the space, and other Garou throw back their heads to join their voices to hers. Even some of the Kinfolk join in here. The theurge shakes out her ruff and utters a low growl as she returns to her birthform. Her clothes remain intact, not harmed by the shapeshifting at all. "Never know when ya'll run across my pack when we're out huntin'. Figured it won't hurt none ta recognize a friendly face."

Bones snap and break, shrinking and shaping into a new form. The creature before you becomes a dark, scarred woman.

Trey says, “That's good to know -- and I will," he tells Miguel, "I'm best in forests, it's the terrain I know best. I'll introduce myself to the patrols when I spot them, offer some help." He grins as Irsa shifts back, and asks, "Should I shift to show my feline form? It's likely how I'd patrol.""

Irsa flops down onto the ground, shucking off her pack in the process. "Sure, that'd be a help," she agrees. "I'll get your scent later, but sight'll work for now." She gestures at Miguel. "What he said. Warder can always use more paws on th' ground, and a number of th' Elders about always have projects."

Miguel nods at Trey and grins "There is an armory near where we met with the warder, that is where they gather and gear up. If you need simple weapons you don't have your own of yet they will provide them for patrol times."

Canadian Lynx stretches a little, and then shifts to a smaller form, a large-pawed lynx with no notable scars yet. His knapsack disappears as he does, as do his clothes, and he nods to the information, scratching into the earth with a claw, THIS IS SCOUT FORM.

Canadian Lynx(#4222PXc) Four paws and whiskers A coat of grey, black, brown, white Tufted ears -- a lynx

This lynx is a big fella for his type, probably weighing in around 40lb or so on a frame the size of a Labrador, though much leaner. His thick, coarsely-soft fur is patterned in black, grey, and brown on snow-white, and his green-gold eyes are canny, constantly moving to take in the world. There's a cunning in the expression on his whiskered face that seems atypical and not at all animal, but it would be a mistake to assume he's a floofy friend. Concealed in his fur, weirdly, is a leather braid around his neck and a copper circle around one forelimb. He doesn't seem to have any marks or scars of note. He's not wearing clothes. Lynxes don't.

There is intelligence in those eyes, but it's hard to tell much more about his mood than that, except that he's not attacking anyone at the moment, so his mood must be relatively even.

Irsa flicks her gaze over each form as it appears, commiting them to memory. "Damn, you got some big paws," she observes dryly. She's seen bigger, of course, but for an animal this size? Yeah, those are huge freakin' snowshoes the cat is wearing.

Treads-on-Thin-Ice(#4222PXc) Four paws and whiskers A coat of grey, black, brown, white Tufted ears -- only HUGE

This creature looks like what might happen if you crossed a lynx with a saber-toothed tiger. He probably weighs a few hundred pounds, and his coat only slightly conceals the rippling muscle of this deadly, prehistoric form that is about six feet long. His tail is still stubby, though, and the lynx pattern of his coat is the same as a smaller version, patterned in black, grey, and brown on snow-white. His green-gold eyes are canny, constantly moving to take in the world. There's a cunning in the expression on his whiskered face that seems atypical and not at all animal, but his huge fangs drive home the idea that this creature is deadly and feral. Concealed in his fur, weirdly, is a leather braid around his neck and a copper circle around one forelimb. He doesn't seem to have any marks or scars of note. There is intelligence in those eyes, but it's hard to tell much more about his mood than that. His big fangs kind of ruin any effect of calm, even if he's currently placid.



Treads-on-Thin-Ice gives a toothy expression that's probably a cat grin, and holds up one paw now, as if to say, Now *these* are some snowshoes.

Treads-on-Thin-Ice(#4222PXc) Huge paws and whiskers A coat of grey, black, brown, white Monster on two legs This creature stands about eight feet tall and is the stuff of mixed nightmares. It looks like a what might happen if you crossed a lynx with a bodybuilder and grew it *bigger*. His maw is filled with sharp, predatory teeth meant to rip and tear flesh, and his pointed ears flick to take in sounds. His nose bears whiskers that also move as he does, aiding his grace, and there's a cunning in his expression that seems atypical and not at all animal, but his huge fangs drive home the idea that this creature is deadly and feral. Concealed in his fur, weirdly, is a leather braid around his neck and a copper circle around one forelimb. He doesn't seem to have any marks or scars of note. There is intelligence in those eyes, but it's hard to tell much more about his mood than that. His big fangs kind of ruin any effect of calm, even if he's currently placid. Miguel nods as Trey shows off his shapes and he comments "My forms are easy to recognize. There are very few jaguars around this area and none even close to my size."

Irsa snorts at Miguel. "He ain't lyin'. I dunno why he'd even need a weapon when he's got those mitts in his other skins, but hey, some people love their war hammers." And who could blame them? They make such nice crunching sounds in the right hands.

Trey says, “By size alone," he agrees, the sibilants sounding... well, very sibilant, the sounds tortured through a mouth not made to shape them. "Claws... work."

Trey shifts back down to his normal, smaller, long-haired self. "My teacher used to call our paws 'murder mittens,'" he says with amusement. "Back when I was just barely out of kittenhood and learning."

Miguel nods and shrugs "My inital training and instincts are as a grappler, have you ever seen a jaguar hunt? pound for pound we have the greatest bite force of any of the big cats. Just usually most Jaguars have fewer pounds than the larger cats. The hammer was a gift and I embraced it and the options it gives me." The mittens comment gets a snicker "That's great."

Irsa scratches her jaw, thinking. "Ya'll got five skins like we do, or four?" she asks the two Bastet. "Didn't show ya the Neanderthal, 'cause ya can recognize me real fast in that one."

Trey chuckles and says, "Five, I just didn't do Sokto because... welll... the tail's a little embarrassing, all stumpy and that. But I will." He grins and shifts again, amused.

Treads-on-Thin-Ice(#4222PXc) Two legs and whiskers A coat of grey, black, brown, white Tufted ears -- no man

This being stands about six and a half feet tall or thereabouts, and would never pass for human, despite being human-shaped. He looks like something from an anime, a cat-man with lean muscle showing beneath clothing that has stretched to fit this much larger body. Pointed ears with furry tufts peek out from his mane of long, dark brown hair hanging halfway down his back. His skin is covered in a light coating of fur in a mix of black, grey, and brown on snow-white. His green-gold eyes are canny, constantly moving to take in the world. There's a cunning in the expression on his whiskered face that seems atypical and not at all animal, but his large canines drive home the idea that this creature is deadly and feral. There is a braided leather necklace around his neck and a copper circle around wrist. He doesn't seem to have any marks or scars of note. He is currently dressed in a faded black-grey t-shirt with a checkerboard logo advertising a diner and a worn pair of jeans, their distress clearly the product of age and wear. He wears a pair of worn hiking boots on his feet, battered but still serviceable, and over one shoulder is slung a well-loved backpack in brown leather. There is intelligence in those eyes, but it's hard to tell much more about his mood than that. The fur on his face and the twitching whiskers and ears interfere with normal understanding of facial expressions.

Miguel grins at Trey "Its less for your enemies to take advantage of, my tail is long and majestic sure...but also something foes grab a hold of and pull on, which is no fun at all."

"Holy shit, you look like that dude from Helsing,' Irsa says with a completely straight face. "Don't turn up at anime conventions wearin' that skin, th' weebs will hound ya for autographs." Someone's been talking to Glass Walkers again.

Trey laughs at the idea, even if he doesn't get the specific reference. He knows what an anime convention is, at least. "Oh *hell* no," he says with a shudder. "Last thing I want is people trying to *pet* my damn sokto form, I'd probably eat some fingers, and I don't want to eat people, it's frowned upon." He's kidding. Probably.