2023.03.12 Instructus Interruptus

03.12.23 Instructus Interruptus
Stolen moments with friends are precious.
IC Date	03.12.23
Players	Branton, Irsa, Lyric, Mercy’s-Messenger, Trey
Location	Sept of the Enduring Spirit
Spheres	Bastet, Garou

Ritual Clearing - Deep Forest

Twisting through a maze of massive trees and boulders, the long stone pathway from the meadow passes dozens of shrines dedicated to different spirits and totems . Nestled between shrubs and huge roots, or set upon large stones marked with the likeness of animals and elements, altars are covered with offerings and dotted with candles and incense. Set well away from the activity of Sept life, a large clearing has been given over to the trappings and performance of ritual work. Around its edge, baskets dangling from tree limbs contain most common ritual supplies, with larger items found in neat bundles at their bases. The ritual space itself is a wide patch of grassy earth, like an unobstructed blank canvas awaiting the actions and Chiminage necessary to appease the spirits. There are no writings or glyphs alerting visitors to danger here. Instead, the area itself speaks to the hazards of complex rituals and angry spirits, the healed scars of explosions and gouges creating an uneven terrain and leaving permanent marks in stones and trees.

Another overcast day at the caern, with mild wind stirring the leaves overhead. The ritual circle is quiet today, with one three mystics in attendance. The first is an older Hispanic man, scarred along one cheekbone with ritual markings and wearing an armband decorated with shells. He's tending to a small fire near the center of the clearing. The second is a tall, gray-furred crinos with extremely long arms and claws, sitting at the far edge of the clearing near the woods near a pile of stacked wood. She is rumbling something at Ragged Brown Wolf, who has a large branch clamped in her jaws. The wolf is dragging the branch behind her in a circle, clearing away leaves to leave a somewhat bare space on the ground.
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Trey is also there, though most certainly not a theurge. He pops back in, a well-loved leather-bound notebook and pen in hand; he squats, leaning the book on one knee as he writes down a last few notes, tucking a feather into the page and closing the book, then tying it shut and placing it back in his leather knapsack. He can't quite understand the conversation between the grey Crinos and the wolf he knows to be Irsa, but he doesn't interrupt it, either. Watching the circle in progress, he imagines they are prepping a ritual. He picks a spot to observe in quiet, eyes avid.
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The older man is the first to spot Trey. He looks the newcomer over curiously, offering him a nod of greeting as he continues to work. "Buenas," he says, stuffing more tinder around his fire. The human word draws the attention of the two other garou, who turn their heads in Trey's direction. >> Who is that? << the gray Crinos rumbles at the wolf. >> I don't know his smell. << The wolf rumbles a growl between her teeth as she drops the branch. >> That is a new Fera, but let us greet him and you can both introduce yourselves. Do you mind taking ape-skin, so he can understand us? << The gray Crinos' jaw part in a wolfish smile. >> I don't mind. He looks like he asks questions. <<
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Trey nods his own greeting in return. "Hola," he agrees, and that is about a tenth of his understanding of Spanish. He's cordial enough, though; he steps in to let them scent him better once the discussion begins; he can't tell what's being said, but he's seen enough of similar conversations to understand 'Who's the NFG?' He doesn't meet gazes head on for long -- no challenges there.
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The older man grins as he's spoken to in his own language, and snickers at whatever the gray Crinos has just said. The creature stalks forwards on all fours, eerily silent as she approaches Trey and begins to shift. Her human form is that of a young woman with slate-grey hair matching her crinos coat. Her attire is simple: a plain blue chambray shirt and scuffed denim jeans. She wears no shoes. "Hello there," she says, holding out her hand. "It's very nice to meet you. My mother named me Anya, but I'm known here as Second-Breath-of-Wind." It's a short introduction, extremely informal, and definitely friendly. Across the way, the wolf is finishing up her work and steps back to huff a few more leaves out of the circle. Those claws are still present on her hands, by the way. Lucky you!
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Trey notes the claws. He smiles, even so, and extends his own hand, taking hers in greeting. "I'm Trey Treads-on-Thin-Ice of the Qualmi Bastet. Born on four paws, ranked Tekhmet. A pleasure to meet you, Second-Breath-of-Wind." He considers her hair, thoughtfully, and then shakes his own, showing the grey streak in his. "Does your tribe mark you like mine does?," he asks, flicking a free finger at the streak. Yup, he's a question-asker.
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"Never thought I'd see another Riddle-Dancer before I died," the older man remarks, poking up the fire with a short stick. Anya perks up her ears but saves her own questions for now. Manners! "I'm sorry, I don't know ranks for the Bastet yet. I'm Cliath myself, and a Galliard. A newly-made wolf, and a talesinger," she adds, juuust in case Trey has no idea what all that meant. She flexes her hands, showing off those extremely long claws. "Metis," she adds. "Are you here to consult today, like I am?" The wolf shakes out her ruff and begins to shift, smoothly taking on her human shape. For now, she's listening to the pair.
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Trey turn to check out the older man and notes, "Not many of us this far south, or this close to cities, no. I'm just a little weird for a Qualmi." He smiles, though, and nods to Anya. "Tekhmet is the same as Cliath. I'm still relatively new. Born a lynx, and we don't have moon auspices like Garou do -- we just tend to follow our natures. I'm a mystic by nature, though. So I come to learn, and when I have stuff to share, teach." He looks to Irsa and adds, "And that rite you mentioned, the Rite of the Peacock? I caught one of the elders in a good mood the other day, won a gamecraft challenge, and he agreed to teach it to me. So... I'll be happy to pass that on."
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The older man grunts. "Don't know her name, but I met one of your people many many years back, at a march in Washington D.C. The policía cracked down on the organizers, and we ran into each other when we crossed into Spirit to escape. Had to dodge some Banes. It was -not- a good time." Anya's eyes widen a bit. "Was that the Trail of Broken Treaties, Uncle?" It's an honorific, clearly, not indication of direct family relation. "It was," the older man says simply. "Ramon Jesus Perez, known to the Uktena as Son-of-Water. I am a shaman, like Hammer-Tooth over there, and also Adren." He stares at Anya, who guiltily flushes. "She is also Uktena, by the way." Irsa snorts at both Garou. "Cut her a break, she's excited t' meet folks. Ya beat someone at gamecraft? Nicely done. Happens I don't know that one, so it's your lucky day. Pull up a seat over by th' circle, and we can talk trade." Bones snap and break, shrinking and shaping into a new form. The creature before you becomes a dark, scarred woman.
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Trey Ohhhs. "It's my pleasure to meet you, Son-of-Water, even more so knowing you were a friend to one of my kin. Not enough of us around, any more." He watches the exchanges between the Garou, at ease. "Often see the grey in the hair of the Qualmi and the Uktena," he notes to Anya. "It's the hand of Brother Air, some say, blowing back our hair so hard it loses color." He beams back at Irsa and says, "I always try. Don't always succeed, especially not against Elders, but this time I did it." He does, indeed, pop a squat nearby, getting comfy, and says, "I'd be happy to trade. I don't know a lot of Rites yet, so there's a lot of them I'd love to learn."
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"Gimme a few minutes, Second-Breath-of-Wind. I'll call ya over when we're done tradin'." Irsa sits down on the western edge of the cirle while the two Uktena speak quietly near the central fire. The older shaman is clearly filling in his younger Tribemate on the tale, if the way the Galliard's eyes are getting bigger and bigger is any indication. "So, what d'ya know for Rites so far? And what kinda Rites are you wantin' to learn?" Irsa asks.
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Trey hrms thoughtfully. "I am working toward being ready for the Rite of the Fetish but I don't think I'm there yet," he admits openly. "You know the one that lets you awaken sleeping spirits, I would assume? I'd like to learn that one, if you're good with that." He's considering this carefully, it seems, and while he could probably rush into learning to make Talens, he's taking the long-view.
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"Spirit Awakening. Yeah, I know that one. One of th' first of the advanced rites I learned," Irsa replies. She fiddles with the bracelet around her wrist, thinking. "You got th' Gift that lets ya speak t' spirits? Sounds an obvious thing, I know, but ya'd be surprised how often peeps that don't know how t' talk to spirits ask about mystic rites."
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Trey nods agreement. "I do..." He grins slyly. "I learned it by watching Mercy's-Messenger do it. After a little poking at it in my head, I figured out the trick of it. There's an inherent game in their speech, but it's... I'm not sure I could explain it clearly." A pause. "Or maybe that's a Qualmi thing. But anyway, I *did* learn it, just so's I could keep learning more."
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Irsa's scarred mouth twists into a grin. "Smart lynx. Half of learnin' is watchin' and listenin', as my old teacher back home used t' say." The two Uktena are growing more animated by the fire: the older one is moving his arm in a snaking motion, then gesturing to show the parting of an invisible curtain. The galliard is well and truly distracted. "So, Spirit Awakening for Peacock? Done an' done. It's one less thing I need t' harass my Elders t' learn, that's for damn sure. I gotta list of Rites I need to learn longer than my arm." She opens her pack and begins unrolling a somewhat clean, but ragged-edged piece of canvas. "What d' ya know about th' Rite I'm gonna teach you? What do' ya think it does, for real?"
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Trey grins back, and nods slowly. "You have no idea how many times my old Kuasha smacked my ears to make me shut up and listen before I got the idea. I was a pretty hyper kitten." He peers over as the Uktena talk, just because his brain can track multiple things, or at least sequential things that shift quickly, and often does. "Well, that I know about it is this: It takes a slumbering spirit and awakens it. There's a spirit in almost everything in this world -- anything born, anything made by hands, anything that comes from inspiration, concepts, anything that grows... you get the idea. What this does is wakes it up, brings it to awareness, but it's limited by the spirit's own ability to perceive things."
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Irsa whistles at the response. "That ain't a bad answer, at all. Better than I'd get from most theurge cubs, that's for damn sure." She picks up a stick laying off to one side and begins sketching out a figure in the earth, just outside the ritual circle. It's a stylized sketch of a lynx kitten, nicely done at that, with floofy tufted ears and wide, bright eyes. Its little mouth is parted in a very happy cat-smile. "I'm sure ya've heard this tale. Once, there was nothin' but Spirit. Everythin' was born, grew, lived, died, an' was born again -- over and over, in an eternal cycle." As she speak, she draws a series of panels, showing the lynx kitten growing into an adult, hunting and raising a family, finally growing old and passing away into Gaia's bosum to be reborn again. "Was that once since time outta mind, and mighta stayed that way forever, 'til Spirit was torn asunder. Ask any spirit, any shifter, any shaman of any kind, and ya'll get a hundred diff'rent answers as ta WHY." Now the drawing shifts, becoming more ominous: a fierce wind cuts through a happy scene of countless plants and animals, tearing the world apart and scattering the creatures far and wide. Some begin to take on a fell and darker aspect.
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Trey offers her the amiable smile she knows to be his, and watches her sketch in the earth with the stick, chuckling at the kitten. Probably not far off what Little Teeny Treykitten looked like, back in the day. Her drawing skill and speed impresses him; it's clear from his expression that he admires that talent, appreciates it. "There are as many answers as there are people with useful opinions. And by people I mean spirits, too." He chews his lower lip for a moment, then offers, "Among the Bastet, it is said that Rahjah, the Weaver, was trying too hard to impress Nala, and making too many things to win her heart, that Cahlash, the Unmaker, was driven mad trying to Unmake all of the many things that Rahjah made."
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Irsa nods as she begins sketching some more panels. "I like that name better for th' Wyrm, if I'm bein' honest. The Unmaker. That's what its been since time outta mind, even warped and twisted as its become. For th' Garou, th' common view is that th' Weaver went stark, ravin' mad. Th' Wyld, the heart of Creation, was churnin' out things at a pace that she couldn't keep up with, and her need to lay down rules an' keep things under control is what drove her mad. So she started spinnin' her webs everywhere, calcifying everythin' and threatening to lock Creation into eternal stasis." Now the drawing depict a landscape cloaked with webs: nothing grows or changes, and pattern spiders rule over all. "The Wyrm, who was all about Balance an' keepin' things in check back then, tried to stop her, and bam! Weaver somehow managed t' wrap him up in her webs. He got stuck their forever, watchin' as the Weaver went on caging the Wyld, sealing away more an' more of creation, 'til finally he also went stark ravin' mad."
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Trey says, “The Unmaker is... well, that was just his job. Cahlash was not an enemy, just part of the order of things. Things that are tainted by the Corrupted Wyrm, among us, are described as being of 'Asura.' We... differentiate, which is often misunderstood." Especially during the War of Rage, he's pretty sure. "Without growth, without change... when things become identical and unchanging, there is no life, because life is perfectly imperfect. Even the Weaver has to change, as paradoxical as it sounds. Even Rahjah is imperfectly perfect and must evolve." He nods and takes in her words, and says, working out the story with what he knows, "Both the brothers became something they shouldn't, because one sought supremacy over the other in Gaia's eyes. One wished to keep her creations perfect and unchanging, not knowing that in her heart, all things that change and grow are not perfect, but perfectly imperfect.”
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Irsa grunts as she circles all the panels, making arrows connecting them and also indicating independent directions. "Stories we got for how things went wrong are our way of dealin' with what happened. To make it makes sense in a way we'll understand." She sets the stick down and says, "All stories are true an' false at th' same time. There's no difference between 'em." She lets Trey think that over as she flicks over a corner of her unrolled ritual bundle to expose a variety of seeds. She hunts in her pack and lays out a handful of rusted steel bolts and washers next to the seeds. "Look here, Treads-Thin-Ice, and speak true. Which spirits rest in these things? No Gifts, nothin' but your own eyes and senses on this side of th' Veil."
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Trey hrms. He *does* consider that for a time, and it gets his mind working, twisting around itself, curious and never really stopping. When Irsa returns to speaking, he listens again, about to answer, but she shows him a selection of things and asks... and his mind goes in a new direction. "The spirits of the plants that could grow from these," he says, motioning at each of the seeds, "But also, spirits of the Wyld itself, of Nala herself. Of growth." He moves to the nuts and bolts. Picking one up, he considers. "Potentially, the spirits of industry, of steel itself, of fire used to make the steel, of workers who shaped these parts. Most likely, though, the spirit of the things they were specifically made to join." He isn't a hundred percent sure of his answer, but being wrong is an opportunity to learn, so he's not afraid.
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Irsa's scarred mouth twist in another grin. "Check out th' brain! A good answer, real good answer. You're only partly wrong." She skims her fingers over the objects laying before her. "Some of these things ain't got no spirits at all. See if you figure out which, and why."
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Trey hrms and looks thoughtful again. He considers the items before him, and shakes his head softly. More thought, more focus, and he hms and says, "I admit, I am not sure of the answer. I could guess, but I think that would be insulting, so I am going to simply admit that I do not know."
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Irsa shakes her head. "Naw, I ain't gonna be insulted. Neither will th' spirits, and definitely not them two over there pretendin' not to be droppin' eaves." Son-of-Water bursts out a laugh at Second-Breath-of-Wind's expression. "Sorry!" the cliath bursts out. The two Uktena fall back into conversation, this time gossiping over tribal affairs. "Think it over, and guess all ya like. Intuition is somethin' every mystic can sharpen."
<---======##====================[ Dice Roll ]=====================##======--->
Trey rolls Intelligence(4) + Enigmas(3) (7 dice) vs 6 for 2 successes.
2 2 3 4 5 +6 +7
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Trey bursts out laughing, shooting a wink at the other two. He doesn't seem at all offended at it. Because hey, why not. "Well," he says, thoughtfully, "I think I'm overthinking it. Because anything that's made in bulk by machines is probably not something with a spirit in it. Anything *handmade* is going to have the wyld parts of inspiration in it as well, so..." He exhales. "So the metal bits, no spirits."
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"There, y' got it in one," Irsa replies, looking pleased. "Natural mystic, all th' way." She separates the seeds and metal bits into two piles, poking each lightly with a broad finger. "If ya ask most shifters, everythin' has a spirit inside it. That ain't technically true. You can see th' proof for yourself, when you're able to step into the Umbra. The city's the easiest place t' spot that. Most buildings don't appear there. Neither do cars, other vehicles, lightpoles, a lotta machines an' so on. Sure you'll see lightning spirits cruising where wires might be, but th' lightpoles themselves ain't always alive. You mentioned something bein' handmade. Let's use a car as an example. They don't appear in the Umbra for the most part, but one that's been cared for, been around for a while, and had attention lavished on it by its owners? Those can. Its how industrial Totems are born, by th' way. Stourbridge Lion is a good example. These bits an' bobs here, they'll never awaken on their own. Like ya said, they gotta be part of a thing, and that makes them -that- thing itself." Irsa says, “These drawings I made? They definitely ain't got no spirits in 'em. Not really gonna draw a Muse in.”
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Trey seems pleased with the praise, basking in it like the sunshine that isn't peeking through the valley at the moment. He blows out a contented breath, and then says, "I have to rely on imagination, mostly, though I can peek through like a window, I can't cross yet. I think being able to look, though, gave me the biggest advance in my learning about spirits because I could *see* the other side, and see what's there -- and what's not." He hrms some more and says, "I just got a motorcycle, so if I take good care of it, it'll be Umbral too, eventually, yeah? I was considering Spirit Awakening it." He picks up a bolt, looks at it, and says, "Sorry, friend." Then he grins, playful as he so often is. Trey huhs? He seems surprised at that. "I think your art would have its own spirits, if it was more permanent. It's a talent."
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Irsa tucks those metal bits away in her pack, leaving the seeds out for now. There's a good variety of them there: mosly native flowering plants, but there's a few trees in the mix. "Motorcycle? Maybe. Lot depends on how old it is, what kinda experiences its had, how much care ya lavish on it. That, y' won't know until you can see it Spirit-side." She pauses a few moments, thinking. "If ya'll take some advice from a city wolf, I'd suggest ya wait on that a bit, 'til you've learned more about Weaver spirits and have travelled in th' city spirit-side. Know what you're dealin' with, b'fore you start wakin' things up. It makes doin' that easier, and ya won't risk angerin' a spirit. Some of 'em don't -wanna- wake up. I got stories about an old printing press that'll turn your fur white." She shrugs as she wipes away the drawings with her hand. "Ain't existed long enough, and they're a teachin' tool meant for right now, in this moment. I wasn't pouring my heart an' soul in, and there ain't a buncha people around to admire it for years. See what I mean?"
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Trey chuckles. "One owner before me, guy laid it out and it got fixed up. I just got it literally two days ago, took a full-day crash course in how to ride it. So.. it's pretty new, but I'm giving it a polish before I put it on the charger at night. Good habit, I figured." He nods again, taking the advice and giving it thought as she speaks. "Yeah, that makes sense. And hell, I'm not gonna force it, but... yeah, I see your point. I've been trying to be careful because... when you deal with spirits, you're dealing with people, not things." He draws in a breath, then flashes a quick grin. "I do. If you poured a piece of you into them, it's different. And that's what all of this comes down to -- a piece of something greater inside something."
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Irsa scratches her chin, thinking over what she's heard. "There's a pack of Bone Gnawers that got an Awakened dunebuggy. It's th' conduit for their Totem, one of th' industrial ones. I'll talk to their theurge, see if she's willin' ta meet up with ya here and offer some suggestions. She'll probably be game, but ya gotta be patient with her. She's Metis, and one a' them ones that're a bit touched in th' head." Her scarred mouth cracks into a grin. "Fate a' every Bone Gnawer theurge as we get older, we got a lotta Wyld thanks to Rat. She's gettin' it faster thanks to th' birth combo." She spreads out the seeds on the edge of the circle, as deftly as a Vegas dealer laying out a hand of cards. "So, wanna learn how to wake up a spirit? Pick a seed out, and I'll show ya how. Plants are easiest t' start with. They're friendly, and always willin' to be Awakened."
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"I heard about the dune buggy, I know the Kin who made it. It's Awakened too? Cool," Trey offers, his expression showing interest. "Oh, that would be great, I'd like that. And hell, all of us have our own bits of 'touched' in some ways. Me and my riddles, for one. Though I'm mostly trying to be straightforward these days, at least until people know me." He mmms and adds, "I didn't know that happened, but... well, in some ways it makes you closer to the Mother, too, Right?" He looks over the seeds, and closes his eyes, placing a hand on one. "Looks like an apple seed, I think," he says.
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Irsa shakes her head. "Got th' Dunerunners confused with someone else, I reckon. There's a couple people workin' on cars, so it's easy mistake to make. Go on, take that seed ya picked out. Lay it in the center of th' circle and offer it some earth an' water. Come sit down next to me when you're done."
Irsa has a handy flask of water next to her, and earth is literally everywhere. The woods are wild like that, ya'll.
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Trey ohs. "Okay, because Erin mentioned a dune buggy she made for one of the Garou...? Must be a different one," he nods, chuckling. "Or there's the possibility that she's BSing me, though I can't imagine why she would. Not much to gain by impressing a cat when you're mated to a high-ranking Garou." He waves aside his words, and turns his focus to the seed. He digs a hole with his fingertips, keeping the earth he removes mounded to one side of the hole. He then places the seed in the hole tenderly, then takes the flask to drip a little of the water in, then place some earth, then add a few more drops, then the rest of the earth, and then a last few more drops. Excessive? Maybe, but nobody fails by doing things carefully, right?
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Irsa knits her brows. "If she did, was way b'fore my time here. And yeah, she might be. She's a Changeling." Her jaw shifts at the rest of Trey's words, but she offers no further comment. She's teaching important things here. The theurge is seated next to a ritual circle, watching Trey add earth and water to a seed sitting in the middle of the circle. She watches his movements and hunts around in her pack once Trey has joined her. She pulls out a small instrument: a hand-sized, crude-looking drum made from an old paint can with a hammered steel lid. Glyphs adorn every inch of its surface. Two Garou are are nearby, one an older Hispanic man and the other a younger gray-haired woman with unnaturally long arms and claws. They're locked into their own conversation.
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"Changeling?" Lyric asks as he breezes along through. "The fae sorts? Or are we talking about something else?" MAN Lyric's pretty. And even that leaf that's stuck in his hair makes him look good
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Irsa snorts at Lyric when he appears, looking like some gorgeous escapee from a photoshoot. "Look what th' wind dragged in. It's been a dog's age. How ya been, Lyric?" she asks the newcomer. That homemade drum shifts in her lap, to a more comfortable position.
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Lyric takes a seat, wherever Irsa is, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him. Someone take his picture! "You were saying about changelings? Did you know that there's a part of one of my gardens that I think used to belong to a fae?"
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The older Hispanic man turns when he hears Lyric's name and leans down to murmur something to his younger companion. Lyric might recognize the man as Son-of-Water, an Uktena shaman well-respected by his tribe. The gray-haired woman startles a bit and darts a look from Lyric and Trey, then back again. Irsa has Trey right next to her, so no eye-darting there, alas! She cracks her knuckles thoughtfully as Lyric invites himself to join them. "Just fillin' th' new dude in on th' locals," she replies. "He just met Erin." She adds nothing else, Trey can speak for himself.
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Trey mmms. "Yeah, she is." He doesn't explain how he knows, and he lets the rest of it go to the side, because there's more important things at stake right now. He looks at the drum, offering a smile -- he's fond of upcycling things as well. He offers a smile toward Lyric, who he's met briefly, in a rather interesting situation, and he considers the man's statement. "Probably, there's all kinds of chimerical stuff in your shop, too. Books, little creatures."
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Lyric gives a polite salute to the Uktena and then shrugs to Trey. "So I've been told. I can't see it. I only know what I've been told, what the rumors are, what Anyu told me, what I gather from people staring around the place like there are fairies sneaking out of the books."
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Irsa eyes her drum and rubs her thumb over one of the glyphs. The paint there is flaking off, one more thing for a busy theurge to tend to. She's seated at the edge of a small ritual circle, with Trey and Lyric nearby. In the center of the glade is an older Hispanic man, easily recognized as Son-of-Water, a respected Adren Uktena shaman. He's speaking to a younger member of his tribe, a brand-new cliath galliard named Second-Breath-of-Wind. The young woman has all the hallmarks of being Metis: gray-haired, with unnaturally long arms and wicked curving claws even in homid. The Uktena both offer nods of greeting to Branton before turning back to their conversation. "Don't think I've ever been to your shop," Irsa says to Lyric. "Where's it at?"
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Trey tells Lyric, "It's not unusual when there are places where you have a lot of books, especially rare ones or ones with a lot of personal investment in it. Anyplace where you see a lot of things born of creativity or imagination. Or weird shit, weird shit is definitely part of the package." Trey hesitates for a moment, and then admits with a shrug, "I have some fae blood, way back in my lineage somewhere. So I can see their world, too. Not beholden to anyone or anything about it, though. I'm just an embarrassing distant relative who sometimes hangs out with some of 'em." He pops out a friendly wave to Branton, and sits back, looking at a small mound of dirt thoughtfully.
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Lyric says to Irsa, "Witch's Brew. In town. I don't encourage those with too much Rage to hang out there. Not that it isn't allowed. Everyone is welcome, but *I* freak out most of my patrons, so I tend to let my barista do most of the work there." Back to Trey, he nods. "Apparently, there was some sort of hubbub about my place before it was my place. Someone kept trying to come in and steal books or something out of the... whatever it's called. Their world, like the Umbra but different." He doesn't know SHIT about that and doesn't really want to (Except that he's a cat and he wants to know EVERYTHING)" He looks Trey over a time or two and nods slowly. "I believe the Garou have some horror stories about the Shifter sorts being in TOO deep with the fae because of family ties."
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Branton comes ambling in, mellow and easy going with a dragon shaped creature of precious metal wire and gemstones perched on his shoulder as they both look around. He nods respectfully to the Uktena teaching and heads over to more familiar faces "Evening folks. How's it going?"
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Irsa absorbs Trey's heritage news, but doesn't seem too concerned. Fianna, anyone? "I hear ya there," she says to Lyric. "Might check it out, but I won't stay long. Don't wanna scare off your customers." Garou and their stupid Rage. "Heya, Branton," she greets the sorceror. "Just th' man I was hopin' to see. I got a thing for ya." She rummages around in her pack and hands over a manilla envelope. "Invitation to a thing, for you an' your family," she says.
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Trey yeahs, and his expression waxes wry as he replies, "Oh, yeah, all kinds of horror stories, mostly about Sidhe but yeah. It's nice to have friends, but... getting too entangled is a bad thing. I mean, I know it makes me a little weirder than the average cat, but... I know who I am. Being able to touch the Dreaming is beautiful, wonderful, and the fae are pretty close to pure Wyld in a lot of ways, so... proceed with caution, you know?" He considers the wire-and-gem-dragon on Branton's shoulder with a curious air, studying it for a moment to see what it might do, if anything. "Goes good, man, good to see you." He flashes the sorcerer a smile.
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Lyric nods. "I meant specifically here in Prospect. I'm not chewing your ass about it. Just saying that there are bad things that've happened. I heard something about a guy named.. Chuu.... len? Chullen? Cullen? Chur..... some Fianna." He waves a hand. "Either way. Just be careful and butter your bread on the clean side." Or whatever that American expression is." He nods to Branton and offers Irsa something that's almost a smile. "As I said, you're welcome. Try the pastries for sure."
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Branton grins and takes the invitation "I'll be sure to let my Mate know. Pink okay to come if he's feeling up to it?" He hears mention of the Dreaming and chuckles "One of the many things I pretend not to be able to see most days." At Trey's reaction to the little dragon "You haven't met Lockheed have you? He's a construct I built." then turning to the creature "Say hello Lockheed." And a metalic and crystal sound of chimes and music box springs says >Hello Lockheed.< Branton dropped Lockheed. This is a clockwork dragonette about the size of a tabby cat and composed of platinum wire-frame and copper gears with fire opal eyes. Its fore-limbs end in delicate looking articulated hands with opposable thumbs. Its voice sounds like its made by music box tone keys.
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Irsa looks slightly confused as the others speak about the Fae. She's clearly ignorant of the true Lore, but it's not a surprise given her Tribe. "Huh, you learn somethin' new every day." She snorts at Branton's question. "Course he can! It's a big place, he'll have plenty of space t' run wild in whatever skin he wants t' wear. There any kinda food and drinks he likes? I'll make sure I got plenty there for him." She sits up as Lockheed pipes up and eyes him with interest. She's only seen the construct once before.
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Trey oh and asks, "Is this the dude with the castle?" Oh boy, that Fianna's never gonna live that down if even the low-rank kitties are mocking him. "Butter-- okay, I think I get ya," he says, and weirdly, he probably does. "The pastries there are really good," he agrees with Lyric, and then he's introduced to Lockheed. To his credit, he only blinks once, and then smiles the smile of 'wow, that's really fucking cool' of a sorcerer seeing a far better one's work. He studies the dragonet with genuine fascination, perhaps at the expense of attention elsewhere. Oops.
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Lyric laughs aloud. DAMN he even SOUNDS pretty. "No, that was a DIFFERENT Fianna.. I think?" Lyric glances over to Branton to confirm. "This was a long time back. Several years."
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Branton nods a Irsa "Strawberry Lemonade is his current fascination. Because its his color." Then to Trey "He's probably the most advanced single thing I've made. Even just as a proof of concept, you can see the notes sometime if you'd like." Then to Lyric "Chullain Fionn, Rited Claws-of-Gaia is who you're probably thinking of. Kennard was the one with the castle. And there was Boss, And Hjalmar, and Lleutrim. And those were just the Fianna." Branton's EFFECTIVE INTELLIGENCE is at least 6
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Irsa grimaces. "Fuckin' Kennard. Purebred Ahroun, one of them 'My lineage makes me super important blah blah blah, I got no real deeds to my name, respect me peasants!' types. He got busted down to -Cub- and lost his Rite Name, which tells ya how bad he fucked up th' forest. We had to talk Morning's Pride outta pullin' off his head, tempting as it was to let it happen."
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Lyric points at Brannton. "That's the guy, yes." he says, then nods to Irsa. "I don't think I met him. I don't think he would like me very much." Then his brow arches a little. "The Gurahl Elder? The.. mmmmm.." He taps his chin as he thinks of the word. "Matae?"
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Trey agrees, "I would love to see the notes -- even if it's way beyond me to make something like him, it'd just be interesting to see how it was done." Trey's eyes go wide at the mention of all of these Fianna who are apparently... interesting. He stifles a yelp of laughter, trying hard not to laugh. Trying. "Oh, *Those*. Yeah. He lost his *rite name*? Wow, you don't fuck up much worse than that and still remain breathing. Shit." He blows out another breath, and then chokes on it. "Elder Gurahl? Oh, please tell me that wasn't another idjit story..."
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Branton is standing there talking with Irsa, Trey, and Lyric. Branton holds out his arm and Lockheed moves down to perch on his forearm to peer back at Trey "Take a closer look if you like. He's set up as a lab assistant and translator. Most notably american sign language and Garou in warform. Makes him super handy to have around in mixed company."
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Irsa shrugs at Lyric. "I ain't sure what 'Matae' is, t' be honest. She doesn't use that term when she speaks to my pack. She's just been introduced as 'Elder' to us." She snorts softly at Trey. "Naw, that was just more of th' Kennard fuck-up. Morning Pride kinda takes a dim view of people messin' up th' forest and upsetting the wildlife and spirits. She was hella pissed, but she came with th' theurges when we went out to patch up the worst of the damage. She's a healer like nothing I've ever seen." In the center of the glade is an older Hispanic man, easily recognized as Son-of-Water, a respected Adren Uktena shaman. He's speaking to a younger member of his tribe, a brand-new cliath galliard named Second-Breath-of-Wind. The young woman has all the hallmarks of being Metis: gray-haired, with unnaturally long arms and wicked curving claws even in homid. The two Uktena are locked in their own conversation.
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IDIOTS. Lyric would call them idiots, but not in such polite company (Not with the Garou around) He nods to Irsa. "I've been lucky enough to NOT get chewed on by her, though my ALMOST pack rubbed her the wrong way a few times."
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Trey takes a long stretch of moments to check out Lockheed, using all of his senses, including magical ones, to examine the work done on the dragonet. He smiles in a weird sense of wonder at it, even knowing it's well beyond his capability. He's listening to the chatter, as well, but he's definitely focusing on the creation. He likes shinies, okay? Branton's EFFECTIVE IMPROVED_ANIMATED_SERVANT is at least 6 This is a clockwork dragonette about the size of a tabby cat and composed of platinum wire-frame and copper gears with fire opal eyes. Its fore-limbs end in delicate looking articulated hands with opposable thumbs. Its voice sounds like its made by music box tone keys.
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Branton nods at Irsa "Matae is what the Bears call their Elders. Its easier to just skip the translation most times is all." Then to Lyric "I love to barter with her for some of her honey. Its pretty great."
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Mercy enters the ritual clearing in the most boring way possible: Walking. Ugh, so mundane. But she's got some junk in her arms, so it's best that she walks, otherwise there's a 98% chance that she would face plant and break literally everything. Her stuff is nothing amazing either, it's very obviously just refills for basic ritual junk. A thingie of pure water, a few willow wands, a sack of untouched rocks, all that sorta business. "Ahh, fortune!" she sings out by way of hello after coincidentally running into most of her favorite people all in one group.
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Irsa cocks her head to the side. "Yeah? Which pack was that?" she asks Lyric, shifting the instrument in her lap. A handmade drum is sitting there, fashioned from an old paint can with a hammered steel lid. The entire thing is covered with glyphs. "Heya, Pancake!" she greets the incoming Theurge Elder, earning her an eye from Son-of-Water. Hey, not his business what an Apprentice calls her Mentor, he's got his own things to attend to here. Back he goes to talking to his tribemate after calling out a proper greeting of his own to Mercy's Messenger. Irsa pipes up, "Just in time, we've been talkin' about spirits an' the Umbra and Rites and healin' and such."
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Lyric shakes his head a little "Halcyon. I was never officially a member, but I got to go on some cool little trips and I got some trinkets here and there. I think Alexander and Antonio are still around. I wonder if they're still hanging out with that hot little sorcerer kin of theirs." Hmmmm....... Nah. It'd never work. She's almost as pretty as he is. He looks up at Iris and lifts a hand to wave.
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Trey hears a word that snaps him out of delighted reverie over Lockheed: Pancake. He knows that nickname for Mercy! His grin is cockeyed and catlike as he waves to her, smiling. "Indeed, we were," he agrees with Irsa. "With a little gossip mingled in for good measure," he adds with a chuckle, and runs fingers into his hair to push it from his face, then pulls out his leather-bound notebook, one that's definitely seen better days and is mostly-full. He scrawls down some notes about the dragonet, and a quick but accurate diagram of the basic shape, with a notation here and there to explain what he saw, then puts it to the side.
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Branton grins broadly and since Trey's done looking over Lockheed he says "Lockheed, help put Mercy's supplies where they go." and the little dragon *flies* and starts carrying off parcels to stow them with the rest of the clearing's supplies. Then to Trey he adds "And yes, he is named for the Marvel Comics character. I'm a huge Excalibur fan." Then he smiles to his Mate "We have an invitation to a party!"
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Mercy's Messenger loves formality, she's the most formal person that ever formaled at a formal event. After a wave around and some smiles, she gratefully greets Son of Water with that deep, ancestral formality for which she is known. "WHAT UP, MONEY?!" with a massively exaggerated stupid wave at the fellow that matches her big dumb grin. Don't be fooled, it's in no way meant as a slight or disrespect, she's just... Iris. Straight lines, recitation of lineage, expected attitudes, she doesn't do those things. Instead, she's what happens if a rainbow does LSD and goes to a hippy festival. She goes to greet her husband next, planting lips on his cheek, but she does it all wrong and blows instead, greeting his face with a little fart sound rather than a kiss. Which makes it easy to get mugged by a tiny robot. Not that she minds. "We do?! Is it a *fancy* party??"
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"That's RAMON Money to you, Elder!" Son-of-Water calls back with a smile. The galliard smothers giggles as the Uktena theurge nudges her. "Come on, Niece. I'm starving." With a wave to the rest, the two Uktena make their way to the cookfires. Irsa rolls her eyes at her Mentor. "Course it ain't fancy, it's at my place. Pack's movin' into our new digs, so we're havin' a party. Hope ya like pizza."
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Lyric snorts as he listens. There sure are a lot of wolves around. Not that he's surprised. It's the caern at all. The moon is just now getting low enough so that he can handle these outings.
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Trey says, "I'm not sure how Lockheed ties into King Arthur's sword, but this is probably one of those things I miss as a four-foot, right?," looking to Branton with amusement. Oh, right, feline-born. He doesn't seem *bothered* by it so much as amused. Trey's easily amused. Just bat a ball of tin foil at him and see! He looks over to Lyric and says, drily, "There are catkin here?"
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Branton grins and nods at Irsa's explanation as he says to his wife "And I told her about Pink's new found affection for Strawberry lemonade." Then he nods at Trey "Amberlee, also one of the major figures in the local sorcerer community. She has a meeting space that I haven't been by in a while, I could take you sometime if you want."
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“Rrrrrrrramon!" MMercy curls that R like she's trying to give it an 80's perm, and waves goodbye at the Uktena folk. "Who's King Arthur?" she asks no one in particular, distracted by wincing and trying to psyche herself up to eat actual food at some point in the future. It's a thing that takes planning and mental fortitude. She sighs and says, "That kid's gonna need a dentist. They make those for metis, don't they? Surely.
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Trey nods slowly. "I haven't met her," he says with ease, "If you have time, at some point, I'd love to see the space and meet her." At Mercy's question, he explains, "King Arthur of England of the folklore. The dude who was chosen for leadership by yanking a sword out of a rock." He manages to resist making a Fianna joke because he's a small cat, not a stupid cat.
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Branton is resisting making a Monty Python reference for similar reasons. He nods to Trey "I don't make assumptions about what beast-born might and might not know, though if yo do want to know I can clarify at some point."
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Mercy sticks her tongue out for a raspberry :P and says, "Ah, right, the old 'I jerk my phalic thing out of a sheath best so I'm king' routine." She would definitely get burned as a witch back in those crazy days of yore by being mouthy. With her refills of basic ritual junk put in their proper places by the wee metalic dragon, she says, "Thank you!" to it and finds herself a nice spot on the craterred ground to sit and be comfortable.
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Irsa snickers as Mercy sits down. Bone Gnawers always appreciate sassin' the powers that be, and she's no exception. "Didn't except t' see ya out here tonight," she says to the Elder. "Ran inta Trey, and we worked out a trade for Rites: Peacock for me, Awakening for him. Ain't seen Journey about, I'm sorry t' say. Wanted t' learn that one from him, but..." she shrugs. Striders are known for being difficult to reach at times. "I was savin' th' most important request for you, though. Are ya willin' to teach Preserving the Fetish? I gotta make sure mine are kept in good shape, especially now that I'm gonna be makin' some for others." <---======##============[ Item Warming Wrap: 655097 ]=============##======---> Level:..................1 Magic Type:........Wonder Name:........Warming Wrap Owner:...............Trey Reference:......WW4254/71 Type:...........41/Wonder Created:....20230301-1603 by SassyCat Updated:....20230301-1603 by SassyCat Effect:The Warming Wrap is improved to give exceptional warmth, allowing the wrap to provide the equivalent coziness to a low-temperature-rated down parka from a sporting brand. (Created with Warming Charm by Trey). <-------------=============++++++++++++++++++++++++=============------------->
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"Sure, I'm curious. Plus, I love knowing things that four-paws-born normally don't. And I might wind up liking it, who knows?" Trey laughs brightly at Mercy's assessment of the mythos and says, "Yeah, that about sums it up." What else could be said? What needs to be? He ohs and adds, "Mercy, it's your birthday!" Well, okay, maybe THAT needed to be said. What the hell is he talking about? Somehow the crazy cat got the idea it's her birthday? It seems what he's talking about is what he hands to her. It's a cloth pouch about the size of a large hardback book, and inside is something made of soft black sueded leather. Once opened, it is revealed to be: A large shawl/wrap made of black suede, stitched and beaded with a night-sky design around the fringed edges, and lined with a deep blue crushed velvet. It is improved to give exceptional warmth, allowing the wrap to provide the equivalent coziness to a low-temperature-rated down parka. "I remembered you talking about how cold it got in Antarctica, so..." He smiles and says, "This'll keep you warm even there."
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Branton nods at Trey and grins "I'll hook you up with some digital copies of the comics even, its good stuff." Snickers at his Wife's commentary, she's not wrong after all. Lockheed comes back to perch on Branton's shoulder when he's done and Branton says "Thanks buddy."
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"Uhhhhhh.... YES, yes, I do know that one, and I will teach it!" Mercy declares with gusto. As for being out and about, she says to Irsa, "I've still got... Like one or two days before I confine myself to the boat so that I don't literally burn down the forest with my incredible fail magic. And then I'll be hanging out there for my off-auspice days. You're of course welcome to visit though! But I feel it's best not to be on the planet when I'm made of mistakes and bad ideas and cold, unfeeling willingness to curse people. It's like PMS, except weirder." she then startle-wiggles excitedly and just goes right ahead and agrees, "It's my birthday!!" whether it actually is or not. Besides, the real birthdays are the friends we made along the way. Her aimless excitement settles though as she gets the pouch, pulls out the wrap inside and is just... quiet. Very, very quiet, and completely lost in looking it over. Not just a flip flip oh that's neat, nay fool. She needs to look at the whole thing. See the constellations in the beads, feel the suede, the velvet, admire the stitching, maybe squish the entire thing to her chest at some point and make some faces as she tries really god damned hard not to cry. That doesn't work, of course, but it DOES shut her up. It's really hard to talk and cry at the same time, so she'll settle with a non-verbal demand for a hug from Trey while she's being REALLY really emotional over the gift.
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Irsa eyes the shawl with envious interest, and why shouldn't she? It's very well made, and a craftman's care shows in every inch of the material and stitching. Plus! Antarctica, home to countless penguins and bad-ass leopard seals? Who wouldn't be jealous? She grins at Brenton’s remarks, and that grin widen at Iris' words. "You wanna teach on th' boat?" she asks. "Ya know I love visitin' ya there. I'll bring some extra supplies up for Pink, too, show 'em some things to do with shading."
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Irsa blinks as her mentor bursts into tears. Awww! She sniffles a bit as well, moved by the whole thing.
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Trey oohs and gives a thumbs-up to Branton, and says, "Thanks!" He watches as the dragonet returns, and then turns back to... the presentation! Trey smiles at Mercy's reaction, the warmth of a friend in his expression, and he gives her that hug, warm and sincere, awwing softly at her tears. He's already figured out they're the good kind, not the kind that mean he said something tactless. Judging from reactions, he already knows he's going to be making some more of these. He pats her shoulder gently, comfortingly.
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Branton puts an arm around Mercy's waist and nods to Trey "It’s a very nice gift, very thoughtful, thank you." Otherwise though he just lets his lady have her moment.
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"You remembered a comment I made and then made me a *gift*?!" Mercy blubbers really pouring into that her great love of that exact thing. People don't often do things the same way she would, so she's really extra touched. KINSHIP! "Thank you, Treads on Thin Ice, this is *beautiful*, it's... I'm gonna treasure the absolute crap out of this." She spreads it out over her lap and muses, "Oh goddess it's so warm! Branton! Feel how warm this is!" while dragging her Bigass Purse over to dig around for a sewing kit. A needle is plucked out and tucked between her teeth, and the scissors go to work under her dreadlocks to snip out a couple long, errant hairs that she can thread into the needle's eye. "And yes, I can teach on the boat! You know, Trey, if you weren't stubborn about not wanting to explore past the Gauntlet till you can move through it yourself, I'd drag you up there as well. Standing invite, of course, if you change your stance. Hey speaking of cats, wherer'd Lyric go? He straight ninjaed. out of view."
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Trey offers Branton a grin, too, and is genuinely happy to see Iris happy. He says, "Oh, you're welcome." He, too, lets Mercy have her moment, though, because... happy is contagious! At her statement about the boat, he hrms and says, "Well, when I said that, I thought I was going to be able to do it a little more readily... and then I did the math. The literal math, sorta, plus all of the materials, and the mystical whatchamadiggits and..." He sighs softly. "It's gonna be a good long while before I can do it on my own, so I am honestly rethinking that stance, because I think *being* there may help me learn how to *make* something to get there." He pauses, looks around, and says, "Tricksy cats, always sneaking off!"
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Irsa blinks as she looks around. Damn, Lyric -has- vanished, when did that happen? Cats are even sneakier than she thought. "Bet ya could go on vacation for a week wearin' that, easy," she remarks about the shawl. "Totally make the Leopard seals jealous." She cracks her knuckles thoughtfully. "Just finished movin' my stuff into th' new place, so I got some time. I can come up t' learn, then work on that art piece I promised ya."
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Lyric didn't vanish. He's RIGHT HERE, Irsa. Gosh. He had to pee or had to chase some girl around or maybe he was just hungry. That must be it. He comes back with a plate of whatever's being served, and then two more plates as well, al filled to the brim as he retakes his seat. No, it is not his intention to share. He's a hungry boy
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Branton grins and feels the shawl when his lady tells him to and he comments to Trey "I have a fairly squishy relationship with the gauntlet myself, on top of my patron having taught me how to slide the strength of it up or down. I once had the thought of wondering what would happen in a place if I could make it go away entirely, Elder Farshi was there and was...pretty firm on even trying that being a terrible idea."
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Mercy gets her needle threaded with her hair, and digs out of her purse a pouch with some tobacco and a Gandalf pipe to pack a little bit into. She finds an upper corner of the shawl's inside that's least likely to get caught by something and torn, noticed, or otherwise overly worn down, and pulls it in so that she can work on sewing a very small glyph into it. With her free hand she brings the pipe to her lip and puh puh puh's on its mouthpiece at Branton so she can get a light. She hasn't bought a lighter or a pack of matches in YEARS. "I can’t remember if I told you or not Irsa, but I made a crap ton of spirit paint so you can do that. Lots of colors, but it is admittedly a limited pallet, so you'll have to do a lot of your own color mixing." And to Trey, "I'll go through my notebooks and see if I can give you some research leads. I know cats have an odd relationship with the umbra, so do bears I think, but everyone's got loop holes somewhere. I'm pretty sure there's a sort of enormous fuckoff drum that'll do it as well, it matches the sound of the Gauntlet wall and warbles it out of synch."
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Trey ooohs and says, "Sliding the strength..." But then he, too, is hit with the concept of this being a Terrible Idea, and he sighs. "It's probably a really bad idea, but I have to admit that it would do the job nicely." He frowns and says, "Now I have to find another use for the Faerie silver -- but I'm sure something will come to mind. Maybe for a future fetish," he notes, "Though I'm sure as fuck keeping it from any random fae-loving folks I meet." Iris' comment about her notebooks brings a pensive expression to his face; he huhs and says, "You know, between what Branton just said and what you just said... maybe there's a workaround. I may not need to step *through*, just part the curtain briefly and step *past*." Apparently, that makes sense to him, at least. "I think I'll want to see and hear the drum. Maybe talk to its spirit if that was feasible?"
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Lyric shakes his head to Trey. "I wouldn't. As a Bastet, you are WOEFULLY unprepared for what you will find there." That doesn't SEEM to be a challenge, but you never know. Also, bread. Lyric loves bread. He tears off a chunk and takes a bite and looks like the sexiest carb-eater ever
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Irsa watches Mercy work, taking in how her mentor does this particular Rite. They always vary from Garou to Garou and tribe to tribe -- learning and appreciating those differences a wonderful thing. "Y' didn't, but that sounds amazing. Will I be able t' Moon Bridge up through my Totem t' visit, if I give you th' heads up?" she asks. "I got some old paint buckets and stuff to mix with that I'm sure th' ship won't object to." She eyes the food Lyric's helped himself to, and eyes the cookfires. Grub here is always free, music to any hungry Gnawers' ears.
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Branton dutifully lights the pipe for Mercy. He loves doing things for her and he loves setting things on fire! this gets him both. He tilts his head and considers "I know we talked about making a Drum but did we actually do it and I forgot?" Then to Trey, his magical metallurgy sense tingling "Faerie Silver you say? When I was learning about the different tribal customs around the crafting of silver weapons I heard about that in the lessons about the Fianna, sort of put aside those documents because I wasn't sure how to even begin to get a supply line for it. Haven't had any Fianna around here approved for getting a silver weapon forged so it hasn't been a big deal regardless."
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Mercy pppfffttt's, "Preparedness. What ever happened to just hurling yourself face first into things just because?" It's probably been mentioned before that she's a bad teacher, but just in case it hasn't, she's a bad teacher and she gives bad advice. She shakes her head at Irsa though, "Alas, no. Moonbridges go left to right, sky bridges go up and down. Unless you're already in space, in which case there's no such thing as direction anyways. If you find a naturally occurring moon bridge, though, you could follow it upwards, if you're not too picky about walking a whole lot and don't mind the possibility of falling to your death or getting lost and ending up in Kansas instead. The moon's gettin dark, so natural moon bridges are starting to get really treacherous till Luna starts filling up again. Still though, ADVENTURE!" Meanwhile, she mellow-puffs smoke out onto the spot she's putting the little glyph in, transferring her gnosis from herself to her work through the exhalations.
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Trey chuckles at Lyric's remark in rueful agreement, "Of course I'm woefully unprepared. How can I be prepared for something I can only peek into like I'm staring into a porthole? Only one way to learn. Plus, there's a reason my ritename is Treads-on-Thin-Ice and not, say, Does-the-Smart-Thing." He huhs at Branton's comment and says, "I can get it as long as I have something I can barter for it. Maybe not in huge amounts, but I've got a chunk big enough to make a medium-sized knife blade. Fae materials, I can barter for, we'd just need something they'd consider of equal worth to trade. I had pelts, so those were worth a lot, being tanned by hand. Gems, creative works, handstitched fabrics are a big draw, from what I saw. But the down side is you need to be able to see what they see to use it." He chuckles and adds, "Adventure-- I need to do more of that."
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Lyric nods slowly, eating his bread, dipping it in whatever sauce there is on whatever. "Well, don't die," he informs Trey in a rather stern tone. That's an order from someone of MUCH higher rank. He waggles his piece of bread at Irsa. "And don't get him killed either."
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"Aw, hell no," Irsa growls. "Just had my wild Umbral adventure, thank you very much. I'm waitin' on learnin' Rite of Becoming so I don't get totally lost next time." She's not completely insane -- not yet! Give her a few years for Rat's Wyld influence to mark her, like it marks most theurges of her Tribe. "Me? What'd I do?" she asks Lyric.
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Branton grins at Trey "I can see all four worlds I know of. I just keep it to myself mostly because its safer that way. Secrecy laws among the different groups are taken super seriously. If it winds up that I need some I am sure I can come up with something suitably creative for you to barter with." Then to Irsa "Dragging new guy on adventures? Its fun though."
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"In that case, I'd suggest using the row boat parked at Branton's house and just risk whiplash. I really have not got that thing dialed in on speed yet. I try, but I think it resets itself every time I make adjustments to the winches. But whatever, if it likes going fast, more power to it, I guess. Who am I to oppress a tiny boat?" She grins at the back and forth between Irsa and Lyric. "Adventuring is the best." she says in apparent agreement with Branton. "I have a couple things I wanna do whenever Trey decides he's ready to challenge the path to the moon. I need cheese." She gets the little glyph (Mine! in Garou) sewn into place with just a little bit of her hair left over, and gets the tail tucked in nicely so it wont look dumb. A little cleanup snip and a wipe of her fingers before she puts her stuff away. "There! Now it wont fall off when I cross the Gauntlet." she says happily and swings it around to rest on her shoulders.
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Trey nods to Lyric with a smile. "I hear and obey, Ilani. No dying. If I die, you can feel free to smack the living crap out of me." See what he did there? "Not that you need my permission, of course, but..." He's way too merry, this Tekhmet. He's not gonna make it to Akaa if he keeps it up. He ohs to Branton and says, "Ah, then you're all set. I'm happy to do some bartering for you when and if the need pops up. Did you have the sight on your own or did you make something to let you see it? And I can understand why you wouldn't tell people for the most part, it's -- yeah, secrecy rules. Everyone has a version of 'em." Trey's mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again. No, he doesn't put a foot in there. "How inadvisable, precisely, would it be to do it now-ish, just as a hypothetical? Because truthfully, I feel like the only way I'm gonna learn more things is to do more things. Once Irsa and I have done our promised Rite exchange, I can be free as I want to be." A cat honors his word.
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Lyric nods and seals the deal by chucking a small piece (VERY small. We don't waste food) at Trey's head, then shrugs his head at Irsa. "Specifically? Nothing. But that one will kick the shit out of me and you might try, but I THINK maybe I can take you." He beams the brightest, most brilliant toothpaste-commercial smile at Irsa.
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Irsa's eyes glint at Lyric's words. "Ya don't know me," she rumbles. "So, you got no reason t' trust me. You're welcome t' ask your own 'bout me, get all the details. Mirror Shadow's called on me and my pack, he can confirm I ain't a fool."
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Lyric grins at Irsa and shrugs. "I'm mostly joking. You're right. I don't know you. My apologies." But that's all. He really WAS probably kidding. Maybe
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Branton shakes his head at Trey "I have the Sight naturally. It makes driving super awkward, that's why I tend to teleport places a lot unless I’m transporting cargo. I have a number of rental properties and safe houses scattered across the city, with locked storage rooms or utility closets. That I can use as landing points. Makes good time that way and I have pretty good range coverage."
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"What, go to the moon?" Mercy asks Trey, her head tilted and eyes narrowed a bit in some semblance of focus. "That's honestly not a very dangerous journey, the tricky part is getting to the place you're trying to get to, and naturally I'm going to make you do all the work there. If you're confident in your ability to unravel puzzles, then that's really the most taxing part. Luna loves cats, she's not gonna throw up a wall of swords against you, but she does prefer that her visitors aren't dummies. Worst case, you fail mark the path for us and we try again later." She also treasures Lyric herself, just in case, "I won’t let him get smote, don't worry. I've got tethers and stuff."
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Trey catches the small hunk of bread and eats it. Come on, nothing else could have been expected. He ahhhs at Branton's answer, understanding. "That's why Jackie gave you the lift the other night. That's... got to be distracting as hell. It's bad enough driving with faesight. But if you can teleport that easily and that readily, it sounds like you pretty much have it covered. That sounds incredibly useful." He hrms now as he listens to Mercy, pensive, considering his own skill. "I'd expect no less," he says, nodding, "I'm reasonably confident. I wouldn't say I could beat any challenge thrown at me, at least, not yet, but... I feel comfortable with the idea of testing the waters." He grins and notes, "As far as it goes, it would be embarrassing as hell to fail, but from what you're saying, it won't harm me, so I'm game to try in a couple of weeks, if that's workable."
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Irsa eyes Lyric up and down, but there's no malice in it. If the man wasn't standing up for his own, she'd be surprised. "Ya will though!" she says cheerfully. "Startin' here, maybe, or if ya need a hand with anything." She turns her head to listen to the others. "Ya ain't gonna need green cheese, are ya?" she asks Mercy. "Someone told me once that was actually a thing. Probably you, now that I think about it."
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Branton nods at Trey and considers "And we can make sure you have a Hurry Home. It won't cross you back over the gauntlet but the Umbra around my place is pretty secured and one of us will be able to bring you back across if we wind up coming home separately. I've gotten very good at the 'nested contingencies' game."
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Mercy nods very seriously to Irsa and says, "That's exactly what I need. It's a crap shoot to try and get to it, but I really *really* want to, so... I mean obviously I'm *gonna*. And then I will make amazing grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for everyone! ...Branton will. I suck at cooking, but he's amazing at it. You'd be down to cook with some celestial dairy product, right?" she asks the kin.
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Trey says, "I have one, that I got as a birthday gift, as it turns out," he explains to Branton warmly, "A Hurry Home talen, I mean, and I think as long as I'm prepared, I should be okay. Can you use that teleportation across the Gauntlet?" He has no idea if it would work, clearly, but hey, he has Ideas. "Nested contingencies... sounds complicated, but worth the effort." Green cheese sandwiches? Count the sea lynx in! He grins at the very idea that sounds both so much fun and so completely reasonable all at once. He mmms, and takes out his notebook again, losing himself in scrawling down notes.
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Irsa lets out a slow breath, thinking. "Rat spirits," she suggests. "They go crazy over that kinda stuff. I bet if you hit up Old Mother she might know. Just need to get her to talk t' ya first. She don't trust easily." She's referring to the large Jaggling inhabiting her Tribe's home territory. Irsa was totally talking about Green Cheese, obvs.
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"It's a perspective thing," Mercy says while fiddling with the corners of her spiffy, warm new shawl while B and T do some design colaboration stuff. If Lyric ALSO was doing that, it'd totally be BLT. "You have to start really close to the earth and get the moon lined up with the atmospheric horizon *just so*, and then you can get there. But how easy it is to find the correct angle is where the problems arrise, it can take several hot, hot minutes to get it to work, and you might miss your window for the day because the planets are still moving while you're trying to get lined up for your shot, and then you gotta start all over from a different spot. And like, the boat is amazing for doing this stuff, but it's not a speed boat. It's kinda fat and ungainly in a lot of ways."
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"Hope you can do that kinda thing by eye, 'cause I suck at math," Irsa remarks. "Don't get me wrong, I love books and stuff, but Ada Lovelace I ain't." Somewhere, somehow, there's probably the ghost of long-dead mathematician perking up as she's remembered.
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"It's not so bad, you'll see. I mean if you're there, and you should totally be there," Mercy insists, "Then I'm gonna make you do a bunch of it yourself for experience's sake. Hands on umbral travel planning. It's very important, you go getting out of the Weaver controlled places and directions get real fuzzy when you're not paying attention. But hey, if all goes well and Trey gets us there, you can help me put a new piece on the orrery! It's funner than it sounds."

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Irsa slowly turns her drum around in her lap, using her palms to do so. "It does sound like fun," she agrees. "Lot more fun than th' last trip I was on. I mean, I learnt some things, and had a valuable experience, but it woulda gone a lot smoother if it wasn't for th' getting lost part. Skirting th' Atrocity Realm? Hell no, do not recommend. I'm lucky I didn't get pulled in. The Battleground was totally wild, though. You ever been to that realm, Mercy's Messenger'rhya?"
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"I have not! But I will be." Mercy admits, and then makes a bit of a face, "Neither of them are super high on my to-do list though. At one point I was like hey, I've got some me-time, nothing to do with it, I'll knock off a couple of the unpleasant places to visit, shorten the list and then that's one or two less places to worry about later. I picked Phobos and Demos rather than go to Atrocity or Battleground. Fear and Dread, I'd rather deal with *that* than the other two. And that was awful. Really awful. When did you do this? I feeeeeeeel like you mentioned it, but maybe you were talking about someone else, or it didn't happen at all and I'm imagining it."
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Irsa snorts with amusement and cracks her knuckles. "Wasn't high on mine neither, but it was part of my Adren challenge." Aha! She did indeed mention it before. "When I went back to Los Angeles to bring some more of my Kin down here, realized I had enough renown t' challenge for rank. Don't think I ever told you this, but my old teacher back home made me promise I'd come seek her out when I was ready to challenge for Adren." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "So, I did. And that cranky ol' witch asked me t' go hunt down her GRANDFATHER. He'd gone into th' Umbra long ago, took a fetish with him that was supposed to be passed down. Apparently, he clean forgot 'bout leavin' it behind."
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Mercy pfffttt!'s and commiserates, "Grandpas!" You just can’t trust them to remember to turn things over OR to know where they left their glasses. "I take it you found him though and got the thing back. And hopefully grandpa was still alive and livin his best werewolf life. Those kinds of realms though, that's why I'm building the orrery. Well part of the reason. Certain bigass, very very dangerous and shitty realms like that, or the Scar, or whatever else, they like... touch down, kinda, and the barrier between the physical realm and that realm can get like *stupidly* thin to the point that just normalass people can accidentally blunder in there, or a pack of Cliaths that are already hurtin' and tryin' to get home, or whatever. But if you can predict where some places are orbiting before you set out to begin with, you can avoid those spots. Or discern a really good reason for disappearances or whatever other influential thing the realm might be doing to a place."

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"You don't even know th' half of it," Irsa grumbles. "Old bastard was tough as nails, they told me, and he wasn't havin' none of this sittin' around, gettin' weaker and weaker while he's waiting t' die. So he fucked right off to th' Umbra to find a good death there." She takes a deep breath and lets out a snort. "Well, he found it, all right. Kinda. He'd made his way to the Battlegrounds, packed up with some spirits there. And he was there so long he stayed there, got absorbed right inta Spirit. Shoulda figured it out sooner: Sergeant Richard E. Lancer, 4th Armored Division under general Patton." Yes, that means he was called 'Dick Lancer' while he was alive, haha! "I found him an' his crew runnin' around in a goddamn fetish tank of all things." Holy shit. "Lucky for me, that wasn't what I was there t' get. Just a small thing, a remembrance piece meant t' help keep tabs on your Kin. I died so many damn times in that place, tryin' to keep up with that old bastard long enough t' convince him t' hand it over. He wouldn't do it until he could 'see what I was made of'." She shifts her jaw, clearly wishing she'd kicked the old Ahroun's ass right out of the Umbra. She perks up as the orrery is mentioned again. "How long d'ya figure it'd take to complete?" she asks.
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Mercy snooooooorts a laugh and grins at Irsa. Dick Lancer, HA! "I saw a Tom Cruise movie once that sounds a bit like that!" Edge of Tomorrow, or Live, Die, Repeat. She considers and then... Shrugs. "I don't know. A long time. I mean I've been working on it for a few years now and I've only got so much filled in. Granted, the planets take a while to deal with, cause they're far away and the celestines can be real convoluted about what you need to do to win their favor. And the stuff on earth, you have to *find* that shit first, which isn't easy, then research, try to find out how you get in to the realm, then how you survive it as best as you can tell, then do the actual finding and entering, work out how to talk a location into parting with a piece of itself, which has all its own trials and tribulations, and then you gotta get back out and get home. Easy peasy for simpler places, but some stuff's just weird. And there's a LOT of realms, girl. A LOT of realms. You wanna see it? I don't think I've shown it to you."
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Irsa snorts a laugh right along with her mentor. She just turned twenty, and dick names will always be hilarious. "For real? Shit, I'm lucky he didn't wander off to th' TV realm. World War 2 was bad enough, no way do I wanna see th' A-Team version." She cracks her knuckles and smiles at the invitation. "You know I do," she replies. "Seein' a grand thing like that bein' made? Hell yeah." She'd be a terrible Bone Gnawer if she hadn't inherited her ancestors love of new places. It's the only thing they reliably leave behind for their descendants.
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"M'kay, come on then." Mercy says, and since it seems the boys are doin their own thing, she's cool to leave them to it, though she does say, "Back in a few!" just so no one accuses THEM of ninjaing out of sight. She gets her crap together during the call, and stands up, still thrilled about her new shawl and swishing it around when she moves. She produces a moonbridge via a gift and with a sweeping gesture says, "Aaaaaafter you!"
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Irsa gathers up her things and tucks them away in her pack. Damn, that thing holds a LOT. She offers a wave to the boys and trundles after her mentor, hopping through the moonbridge as instructed.