View source for 07.30.2019 Blood maps

{{Infobox Log
|name      =  Kaati does magic
|summary   =  Gets a magic map
|icdate    =  July 23rd, 2019
|players   = [[Kaati]], [[Ansel]], [[Ratsputin]] as ST
|location  = Tijuana
|spheres   = Garou Gaian 
}}


[[Category:Kaati]] [[Category:Ansel]] [[Category:Ratsputin]]
[[Category:Logs]][[Category:Shifter]][[Category:Gaian]][[Category:Garou]]

Tijuana. A little south of the city proper, where earth meets ocean.

Kaati's scouted out a spot at the uncultivated end of a beach, where the water is too close to a shore access road for any tourist-friendly recreation space. Dune plants get in the way of sightlines, and the new moon will help as well. Most of this ritual will take place in darkness. 

Kaati's already done meditation and purification. She scuffs a circle in the sand, compass points marked with rocks or sticks, within the circle. Supplies are laid out: smudge bowl for spirit and wind, small rock-lined pit for fire and energy, a little cairn of found stones for earth and matter, a bowl of salt water for water and life. A meditation pillow, a map and pendulum and a couple of pencils are placed in the center. 

"Just keep watch," she tells Ansel. "I think... I'd rather have you outside the circle, I feel like there's more danger of someone coming along and interrupting us 'cause we're in their spot for their drug trading or whatever." And then she sets a hand to his cheek and gives him a kiss. "Don't break the circle unless it looks like I'm having a seizure, or there's like an explosion or something. Okay?"

"Okay," Ansel agrees. He's been mostly stone-faced and silent, in a mix of tension and concentration. While she's been setting up, he's been visually scanning the area, watching for signs of drug-trading or Gaia knows what else. When she kisses him, he blinks, then softens, but only for a touch and a moment. "Seizure or explosion," he repeats. He's armed, although his gun stays tucked under his jacket, rather than flashing it around and risking undue attention.

Dark eyes meet his, barely visible in the starlight. "I love you," she whispers, and then she turns to cross into the circle. 

They came down to the beach earlier, before dark, but she's waited until the last invisible waning sliver of the moon has just barely risen. It is not, in fact, visible to them.

Two hours before sunrise, she begins the dance. Calling the quarters and the elements, calling the ancestors and, most important of all, calling the slain warriors and fallen souls. Each element is summoned in turn: the smudge lit for air, a small fire kindled, her blood spilled to bless the seawater, a lock of her hair and a handful of sand sprinkled on the stones for earth. Then she dances the circle again, chanting, and the medicine wheel is made sacred. 

"When she returns to the center, her eyes are already a little strange. "The circle is cast. We walk between the worlds. What happens in one world touches all the worlds." Dropping to sit crosslegged with the map and her bag of supplies at hand, she picks up a mug of cold tea and drinks, wincing slightly at the taste of it. "Mother Gaia," she whispers. "Help me to seek and find. Mother Gaia. Let me aid your children in their work. Mother Gaia. Show me the way." Setting her hands in a mudra, she settles herself into full lotus, knees touching the sand; she breathes deep, ujjayi, joining her breath to the sounds of the ocean.

Ansel keeps watch. While his gaze might stray to her from time to time, marked interest, likely due to being kept well away from any such thing growing up, he seems to be relying on his military background to only monitor Kaati for seizures, as directed. Arms folded over his chest, if anyone should be looking their way, he attempts to strike a balance between being intimidating enough to warn off anyone who might want to casually approach, but not interesting enough that anyone looking for a fight might be lured in.

She holds a stone in one hand, and has her crystal necklace wrapped around the other wrist, where her palm is hovering over the map.


Objects anchor the map: the bone-handled knife, a larger quartz point, a fetish containing bones and claws, relics of dead things. 

An hour and a half later--just before sunrise--Kaati's breathing changes, a sudden quick and gasping sound as her head tips back and her body tenses. Her eyes are open, wide, seeing nothing... and then she looks into the distance and takes up the knife, cutting slashes across both forearms and shuddering. The little stakes of wood end up jabbing into the the map, and then her fingertips are painting lines of blood. A whole network of them, along a portion of the coast. She's making small sounds in the back of her throat, and by the time she's through her entire body is trembling. Tears run down her cheeks as her eyes finally begin to focus, as her breathing slows. Blinking her way back to awareness, she spares a moment to look at the map and etch it into her memory.
"Thank you," Kaati says hoarsely, relief in her voice.

Well versed in long, uneventful nights, Ansel stands by. When the cutting starts, his teeth clench, and it takes effort for him to draw his gaze away, only watching her in the peripherary of his vision. Hearing her express her gratitude, he presses his lips together into a fine line. It's a mixed blessing, right, to have a map to a hive? Tensing himself, he eyes the path to the bikes, ready to get the hell out of Tijuana.

Kaati rises, a bit unsteadily. She recites something for each of the guides and aids she's called in, a message of gratitude, ending with "Hail and farewell." Then she claps her hands once, wincing slightly, droplets of blood flaying to spatter the sand. "The circle is open, but never broken. I walk the narrow path. Gaia, guide me." 

She droops then, to one knee, and starts digging into her bag for the muslin bandages and the other first-aid supplies.

Ansel waits outside the circle, still in that same stoic silence. It may be open but not broken but he's sure as heck not going to take any risks one way or another. He scrunches his brow, ever so slightly, like he's wondering if bandaging can't be done behind closed, locked, and barricaded doors. But, he keeps that thought entirely to himself, probably assuming that if it could be, it would be.

Kaati looks across to him, breathing still a little forced and hard. "Ansel," she calls out, hardly more than a whisper. "Help."

Nodding, Ansel gives the area another quick sweep, looking for any signs of trouble before stepping into the circle. "What do you want me to do?" He's direct, his tone no nonsense, although far more likely due to the situation than the person he's speaking to.

The Dreamspeaker holds out the rolled-up bandages to him and says, "Just wrap them tight. I'll have to ride behind you, pick up my bike later--" When he actually *looks*, he might be a little appalled at the amount of blood on the sand, and the amount still flowing. Dark stains on lighter sand turn to red as the sky lightens and colors become clearer. 

"Hurry," she says, rather unnecessarily.

A subtle shake of his head, an arch of his brow - no bold statements or sighs, but, Kaati likely knows Ansel well enough to know that he's having second thoughts about any of this being a good idea or even remotely okay. But, even if he's long forgotten any first aid training he might have received, way back when in bootcamp, he manages to patch Kaati up.

After that, Kaati packs fast, kicking rocks into the sand, dumping seawater back into the ocean. She doesn't, at least, show signs of dizziness or anything dangerous like that. And she actually accepts his help, even. She cleans the knife carefully, though, with a whispered chant. 

Then the woman picks up her jacket and throws it on, grabbing up the messenger bag on the way out.