2017.02.14:Just Keep the Scars

Just Keep the Scars
Sandra challenges Jake for the promotion to Fostern.
IC Date	February 14th, 2017
IC Time	Evening
Players	Billy, Felix, Giselle, Gren, Jake, Marcel, Percy, Sandra, Sebastien, Starjumper
Location	Caern Amphitheater
Spheres	Gaian Garou

Though it's no longer a full moon, the waning Galliard's moon isn't much better in terms of timing for what's about to take place. Word's spread rather quickly that a Get of Fenris Cliath has issued a challenge to a Shadow Lord Athro, which is practically unheard of. There must be something else to it, though, as rather than be laughed straight out of town, the Cliath's challenge was accepted. And so, here, tonight, the two 'headliners' make their way into the Amphitheater, each with their respective 'seconds.' Giselle follows after Jake, much like Cinder follows after Sandra. There's no ceremonial garb on either of them, and no Ritemaster present. There's only a ceramic bowl in the Get Ahroun's hands, filled with a kind of black dye. She makes her way up onto the stage alongside the Athro, setting the bowl aside, nodding to the mottled wolf that follows her to take a seat nearby, away from the 'Arena,' but close enough that she's clearly here at Sandra's behest. Once people begin to filte in, Sandra raises her voice, loud enough to be heard through any murmuring, to say, "Cinder, Cub to the Get of Fenris, serving under my care and my instruction, and known to her future tribe as Little Sister until such time as she's properly Rited, will be administering the dyes on my wounds when this is over," without introduction or pre-amble. Then, softer, she amends, "And thank you, Jake, for giving me this opportunity." Given the energy in the room, it's likely the last thing she's going to say that's in any way placid.

Starjumper sits on his haunches next to Giselle to watch the proceedings.

Felix is among that first group to filter in, sauntering down to a good seat in front the stage where he can see everything, whatever exactly everything turns out to be, today. Both the presumptive-combatants (and their seconds) get a grin and chin-lift of greeting as he settles in and gets unreasonably comfortable-looking for someone resting on a log.

Cinder takes a place near the outer edge of the stage, close enough for some small measure of prominence as she's called out but not so much she'll interfere or be in the way. The lanky mottled grey wolf doesn't look all that impressive for her given tribe, certainly not physically. But there she is all the same, sitting next to the bowl in her Lupus form, yellow eyes darting here and there to take in all the faces around her.

Sebastien isn't one to miss a good challenge. Especially not a good Ahroun challenge. Try as he might to be sophisticated, his moon is what it is. So he turns up, still overdressed for being out in the wilderness, and finds himself a seat with an empty spot beside him. It's important to leave room for packmates.

Jake's usual easygoing smile is gone. He's DEAD serious and regards Sandra with a curious expression that is quite hard to read. The Ahroun regards her cooly, accessing. Is he pissed? Amused? Surprised? Again, it's hard to tell but one thing is sure...Sandra has his COMPLETE attention. "I...am honored that you would ask me as I have complete faith in your abilities as a warrior. I'm not Get, as you know, and my views on a Challenge are different. But I do understand, as you explained to me, that usually you would require two or more higher ranked Garou to battle and since we are, at the moment, limited in our Get population, I shall be standing in for them." He scans the room then, assessing the group, then looks back at Sandra.

Leaving room for packmates /is/ important. Otherwise said packmates have a tendency to decide that /you/ are, in fact, their seat. Not that the tiny Theurge is very difficult to move from wherever she's decided to park herself, but still. It's the principle of the thing. So in she bounces (just a step behind Sebastien) and settles into the seat left open. There's a waterbottle full of what looks like Mountain Dew in one hand that gets set on the ground at her feet and from the looks of her, bundled up in her hoodie like that, you'd think it was actually /freezing/ in here. All the same, she is present and watching.

"You are," Sandra says, nodding. "And the honor is mine." A pause. "Though far above my station," she continues, raising her voice again to be at a 'hearable' range, "you have by far been the best judge of my abilities, as a fellow Ahroun, and a fellow guardian--" --with a small g-- "--of this caern. As you've said, though this challenge is meant to be conducted with two Ahroun of my own tribe, there are none present with whom I've served. As such, though unorthodox, my choice couldn't be clearer." She takes a couple steps forward, and assumes her massive, ten foot war form. Though there may be some doubts as to Cinder's allegiance with the tribe, there's little to doubt in the Cliath's case, her breeding is made abundantly clear in both size, bearing, and coloration. She takes position at the far end of the amphitheater, far from shy about psyching herself up for the challenge, dropping to all fours to rake her claws over the ground. The calm, neutral look is long gone, given way to bared teeth and a low growl. It takes a moment or two to lock the mindset into place, but once she's there, she's clearly there. ~This challenge is to prove that I'm worthy of the title of Fostern,~ she growls openly, speaking to the Shadow Lord as much as she's speaking to those assembled. ~To show I have the tenacity to remain standing against even an insurmountable force, without fear or frenzy. You, Defiant-Storm-rhya, renowned Ahroun Athro of the Shadow Lords, are the witness to my abilities. I call on you to test, and prove them to the sept at large. Do you accept?~ It's all said forcefully, as if she's daring him to back down, even after the rumored agreement's been made. Not too surprising, though: there is some ritual to be observed here, after all.

Cinder remains seated, silent and attentive like a good cub should. The energy building as the first of the formalities begin brings a prickle to the fur at the back of her pale neck but she doesn't stir.

Jake turns slowly, his steely hazel eyes locked on Sandra and the man doesn't speak for a long moment. It's not exactly a stare down but damned close. Jake's definitely deliberating, brows furrowing deeply. Finally, he does speak and his voice reverberates throughout the area, loud and clear, not unlike a clap of thunder. "Your challenge is accepted, Razor-Eater. Prepare yourself." The Ahroun then touches his forehead and, immediately, begins shifting into his war form as well. He doesn't rake his claws however he does mutter something under his breath which causes his deep black fur to shimmer with Luna's Armor.

Gren slinks in, just in time to see the Ahroun take warform. He stays to the back, though, mostly away from the wolves, his narrowed, usually hateful-looking eyes on the Get and Lord, and he licks at his split lip.

Starjumper remains silent and watching the proceedings. He sits on his haunches next to Giselle.

For all that his position is hard to read as anything but a casual sprawl, Felix does seem to be watching and listening to the proceedings on the stage quite attentively. There are glances to take in the rest of the audience, as people continue filtering in, but most attention is of course for the main event, with a certain amount of anticipation as the two prepare.

Yuri walks in and looks around, he frowns a bit when he sees a Cliath challenging an Athro. He crosses his arms and watches the event.

The dead silence should be enough cause for nervousness. Hell, the eyes of the crowd should be enough to cause nervousness, given how this is likely to go down. Not so, in this case. Razor-Eater stands, poised, watching Jake closely, the beginnings of a growl rumbling its way through her throat. At his acceptance, it loosens, deep, anticipatory, the Get Ahroun's lips pulled back to show her teeth and let out a sharp snarl. The time she's given as Defiant-Storm shifts and concentrates allows her to do the same, her fingers flexing and hooking abruptly, the faintest cracks heard along her knuckles. Or were those her claws? Those things look deadlier than they did before she started scraping the ground, in an action many will recognize as the invocation of a Gift. Perhaps this is similar. ~I won't ignore pain with any Gifts, nor use any weapons or shielding that isn't naturally my own,~ she says. ~If you leave no marks by the time this is over, next time, it's *your* title I'll be coming for.~ Goading! Probably not the best idea, but it leaves little doubt that this is a Get of Fenris he's dealing with. This, too, has an incredibly anticipatory vibe to it, the adrenaline that's already coursing through her tightening every muscle into a coiled knot of energy. Though the Shadow Lord is imposing, Razor-Eater shows no fear in the face of a visibly superior opponent, looking more eager to start the fight than anyone rightly *should* be. She bursts into motion at the first sign that he's about to do the same, and the clash begins in earnest.

Goading...doesn't seem to be working at ALL. Or, if it is, you wouldn't be aware of it. The Crinosed warrior doesn't respond in the slightest. He simply keeps staring, as if he's going to bore a hole through the Get with his Rage and will alone. Now, very few here have ever seen Jake in combat and, truth be told, it's rather terrifying and startling to witness. It's such a complete contrast to his homid counterpart that you would swear it was a totally different person. No way this is Jake. It can't be. This is someone to /avoid/. This is a warrior that takes NO prisoners. This is a warrior that kicks ASS for Gaia. THIS is a warrior NOT to be FUCKED with! ROOOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR! The Lord simply blurs into a shadowy trajectory of death as he launches himself at Razor-Eater, fangs and claws gleaming with grisly intent. He's on her in the blink of an eye, massive jaws clamping down on her right shoulder and a sickening *CRUNCH* can be heard. Blood begins to spray as Defiant-Storm bites down harder and shakes his massive head to inflict even more damage. Je-SUS, is he ripping off her arm? Sure looks like it but...whew, thankfully no. When he finally releases her the arm is thankfully still attached to her body. She's bleeding like a stuck pig though. Blood is fucking EVERYWHERE! Nope, Defiant-Storm's not showing even an ounce of mercy. If there are any healers here, better get ready to help out!

Billy sits neatly and quietly in his breed form, tail wrapped around his paws, watching with his ears pricked up. His gold eyes are focused on the pair during the ritualized beginning, although he can't help but startle slightly at the flash of movement that is the beginning of the combat.

Well, luckily, there /is/ a healer prsent. Sebastien winces a little at the look of the wound on Razor-Eaters shoulder, and re-distributes his weight so he's a little more properly on the edge of his seat. You know... In case a healer /is/ called for.

Giselle is sitting WAY in the background, tucked out of any bit of harm's way. Sable and Luna, the wolves, were both sent away to other things and Giselle just watches on quietly, studying every move Marcel arrives and sees a crowd and pauses and stays on the edges and watches. A nuetral expression on his face, moreso studying than anything else.

The impact of Defiant-Storm's body against Razor-Eater's own is enough to send her skidding back a couple feet, the claws of her digitigrade feet digging trenches into the ground, her teeth grit and bared, right up until the point that the Shadow Lord's teeth sink into her shoulder. There's no doubting that the pain is immense, but she faces it with a fierce snarl and a grimace rather than a shout or yelp, the yanking of his jaws on her muscles jostling her - the sound of bones cracking painfully apparent with each wrenching movement of his head - but-- as it's been said, thank god, it's not enough. Nearly enough to tilt things on its eat, though. A distinct flash of rage cycles through her in the midst of this, those eyes going hazy for all of a split second before she reins herself in, and practically rips herself free from the hold Defiant-Storm has on her. Her arm hangs limply - incorrectly - at her side, but even that's difficult to see in the blur of motion. Incensed, she *lunges*, closing what little distance there is between them and striking out with her good arm to rake her claws from his chest to his abdomen, trenches that *should* be practically splitting him in two - nearly *does*, hell, if those'd stayed open for a split second longer this'd be an anatomy lesson - sealing up just as quickly, as if they'd never been there. There's no doubt the blow was, or *should* have been just as devestating as the bite-- but the Gifted armor, and his own natural healing, remove all signs of the disemboweling gashes. At the tail end of that strike, not deterred by the ineffectuality of it, she wrenches her hand downwards before her claws disengage entirely from his flesh, all four of them ripping audibly off the tips of her fingers and lodging inside his belly as her now-bloodied hand pulls away, adding only insult, as injury is clearly off the table. For all that effort, it's visible to any and all watching that the bite took more out of her than she's willing to concede. The way she's breathing is awkward - produces a rattling, constricted sound in her throat - with only one side of her chest rising and falling, and her arm-- Her arm, she grabs and forces straight back into the socket, though there's only so much functionality that can restore. Shit's broke. That said: no matter the hit taken, she's still on her feet, still starling, and ramping up for her next attack.

As Cinder watches the combat, every hair from the back of her head to the hollow between her shoulders goes on end like an outraged porcupine. Her toes curl to sink her claws into the ground and her lips pull back twitching in the expression of a heavily retrained baring of her teeth. Perhaps by only discipline or sheer will does the cub remain sitting there while her mentor's blood rains over the ground.

Giselle brings her hands up to her mouth to cover the slack-jawed expression. Of course she's seen things like this before, but it's NEVER any easier. And the claws... oh.. just breaking a NAIL is bad enough. THAT had to hurt a WHOLE bunch. She sits silently, her eyes sliding from one combatant to the other

Felix shifts position and leans in a touch as things begin in earnest, then slightly more as it becomes clear just HOW in-earnest it's decided to start. Each of the blows get a bit of reaction -- a faint wince and sucking in of breath to the near-removal of the arm, perhaps a bit more of a wince to the near-gutting -- but there's also a feral little smile in there; one certainly couldn't claim they're not putting on a good show.

The blood spewing from the Get drenches Defiant-Storm, its rich, coppery aroma filling the room fast and seems to be energizing the Lord even more. Does he care that her arm is flopping around like a rag doll? FUCK-NO! Does he care that he's just been momentarily gutted? PSHAW! Does he care that he has ten claws stuck in him at the moment? HA! He's simply concentrating on his prey and moving like the wind. Defiant Storm doesn't slow at all. If anything his movements speed up, nearly blurring again as he spins on his heels and sinks his teeth into the Gets -other- shoulder. CCCCCCCCC-RRRRRRUNCH! More blood shoots from Razor-Eater, actually splashing onto some of the closer spectators. It's a massive bite, so massive that it appears that the Lord may swallow her whole. There's another violent shake of the head and a rather large hunk of meat is ripped from her body. EWWWWWWWWW!

Marcel winces slightly " that's gonna leave a mark." he mumbles

Razor-Eater does her best-- truly, all things considered-- to get out of the way of the oncoming bite, but it's too little, too late. This time, a choked sound like the beginning of a howl leaves her, but she bites it back with about every ounce of strength she can muster, her legs straining to keep her aloft against the harsh pull of the Shadow Lord's teeth until that hunk of muscle and sinew gives way. It's in that split second that she lunges back instead of skitter away, latching her teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder and attempting to do the same. It should've worked. God *dammit*. But though there's a brief rush of blood, there's no corresponding flesh to come with it when she jerks her head roughly to one side, her teeth cutting through him and coming away with nothing. It's here that she takes a couple stumbling paces back, but, by god, she's still on her feet. Panting, missing more pieces than she really ought to, biting back another shock of frenzy with likely more effort than is really seen, and-- actually looks ready to keep trying. There's no taunts to come with it, there's just the sharp, determined stare leveled on the other Ahroun as she flexes the newly afflicted hand, the claws that had been ripped out slowly regrowing. ~It's not over--~ she growls, near breathless, the signs of a punctured lung more apparent as she sucks more air in to keep talking, ~until it's over.~

Cinder is splattered this time, red painting a lurid brand across her face and chest. But yellow eyes continue to stare, tracking the motions of the combatants. For all the cub doesn't look the part of a Fenrir, there's a bloodthirsty gleam in her eye. She hunches slightly in her upright posture, crouching low enough that the shadow under her darkens. But still she's watching, waiting.

Maybe the front row should have brought umbrellas. It's hard to know if it's the bites up there or the spatter down here that makes Felix lean away, but either way it gets a low, heartfelt, "Daaaaamn." His attention stays firmly on the fight, following every move as if he were taking notes. Perhaps he is.

Gren's got a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes, too. There's no wincing from him, he just watches from the back, nostrils flaring at the scents of blood, lung fluid, flesh and whatever else.

Starjumper continues to watch the fight closely, he is now positioned between the fight and Giselle, he is standing at this point. Perhaps waiting, but for what...

Marcel mumbles softly "Gallager would be jealous." His eyes narrow slightly, blood in the air.

Giselle looks nervous. She shrinks back just a little bit. There's a LOT of Rage bubbling around right now... and she's VERY squishy. She does lean just a little to one side though, to peer around Starjumper.

Defiant-Storm spins around again, the blood flying off him in all directions, then finally stops, stock still, facing the heavily damaged Get. ~Oh, it's over.~ he snarls, eyes still gleaming with Rage. ~You have satisfied the Challenge. There is no reason to go on. Consider yourself Fostern, Razor-Eater.~ It's not a mere statement. It's an /order/. Obviously the Lord is done inflicting damage. ~Well done.~ Yes, in Defiant-Storm's mind the challenge is done however Sandra lunges for him once last time and he simply reaches out and touches her chest and...THUMP! Razor Eater drops like a ton of bricks. She is DOOOOOOWN for the count. Defiant-Storm simply looks down at the Get and says, calmly, ~I said it's over. You have satisfied the Challenge. Consider yourself Fostern.~

Razor-Eater had to know what she was in for when she rushed in. *Had* to. But that's half the point, isn't it? It wasn't frenzy that compelled her, after all. It wasn't some crazy notion that she might *win* this, either. No, just Fenrir sensibilities getting in the way of personal health, where getting knocked out of the fight and *proving* she's capable of continuing is more important than simply accepting the verdict. That's made clear enough when she hits the deck, even if there's still just enough fight left in her to try and right herself. *Try* being the operative word. Though she gets just far enough to give a nod of acknowledgement before the shakes set in, the sheer amount of blood loss and lacking oxygen no longer something she can just 'fight off.' Might just be that 'tenacity' she spoke of before that leads to a ~Th--thank you,~ to Jake. Then, as loud as she's able to manage, ~Cin-- Cinder,~ between wheezing breaths, ~the dyes.~ So, yes, stubborn. But only stubborn enough to *stay awake* through this.

Sebastien rises from his seat then, approaching slowly but not entering the actual ring of the challenge. It's just an offer, a silent one, as he stands there, having just been the healer for a not dissimilar challenge recently. And he's not about to heal her before those dyes are in place, even if the healing is welcomed.

Giselle looks relieved when the fight is over and she pushes up to her feet, not stepping in front of Starjumper by any means, but looking like she rEALLY wants to right about now.

Starjumper feels the presense of the woman stand behind him, and steps to the side, and back a little to simply stand next to Giselle now that the fighting is over. <Its safe now> He barks quietly to her.

Felix nods slightly in agreement at Defiant-Storm's declaration that the terms have been met; certainly seems like it from down here! He gives an approving whistle, then calls out, "Good fight!" to the pair of them. He gets to his feet as well, wandering closer to the stage-edge, but doesn't go onto it nor get in the way of the approaching healer. This dye thing sounds interesting, though.

Jake nods to Razor-Eater, his expression still grave. ~You are a brave warrior and I look forward to fighting alongside you in battle soon.~ Yep, that's all he has to say to her. He glances at Sebastian, nodding his approval of him to heal when necessary. ~Just leave the scars.~ He then takes a few steps back, touches his forehead again and transforms back into his homid form. His very bloody homid form. In fact he looks like a male version of Carrie after the prom.

Only when she's asked does Cinder move. She takes to her Crinos form, the cub giving one more quick look to those gathered as if expecting something. The bowl is gathered up and she moves over to Razor-Eater. She dips a hand into the dark dye - her whole hand, not just fingers like might be expected - and tries to mark out the injuries. It doesn't take long before frustration is showing on her face for the effort of figuring out what is whole flesh and what isn't under all of the blood - while the Ahroun *keeps* bleeding and making keeping any dye in place all the harder. Finally she just snorts out and begins to pour it. ~...before there is no more blood.~ She grunts out her first words, perhaps apologetic or perhaps just explaining the hasty gesture.

Giselle nods to Starjumper, nervously putting a hand in his fur. She isn't petting him. She's holding on for dear life and she waits for Jake to shift and for things to be taken care of, then she moves toward Jake, not at ALL worried about him being covered in blood.

Sebastien nods his understanding, and then approaches Sandra and Cinder. He doesn't invade their space, doesn't push. Just, directed first at Sandra. "Congratulatons, Razor-Eater-rhya." He says with a small smile, and then addresses Cinder. "Tell me when you are done," And added to Sandra, "If you would consent to my aid."

Starjumper moves with Gisell towards Jake, its only then that he sees the claws still embedded in the man. <You should have those removed> He barks at him. Maybe he's offering to do it, <You should also have yourself healed.>

Razor-Eater stays in crinos through the use of the dye, her teeth gritting the very instant the wounds are touched. After a while, sharp growls can be heard from her, with just a *hint* of a nasal sound to indicate some cover for a whimper she's not about to let out in front of a crowd. Despite her best efforts, at least one manages to eke its way out, followed as it is by a deeper snarl once the dye is dumped on her. It's not anger, just-- well. It's reaction. Hard to blame her for it. How she's still awake is anyone's guess. Sheer force of will, it seems, even if her eyes are getting bleary. ~It's okay,~ she says quick to Cinder, with more assurance and a kind of warmth than should be available to her after that kind of fight. ~It's okay. Thank you, Cinder-yuf.~ A hazy look is shot towards Sebastien, then, and she gives a nod, ~Do it,~ said quickly. ~Dyes-- leave scars.~

As Giselle and Starjumper move towards Jake he nods to them, expression remaining quite hard and unreadable. Again, this is serious stuff and his work is done. "I shall remove them and take care of it." Shit, he's not even phased by it. It's like he's talking about removing a ball of lint from his navel. "My work is done here. Let's go home." The man then turns on his heel and strides for the exit, like a man on a mission.

Cinder steps back with the bowl once her part is done, expressions calming once she's assured Razor-Eater is well - at least as can be expected. She looks towards Sebastien with a grunt of thanks before she leaves her Crinos form behind and drops into Lupus with the kind of ease only one's breed form can offer. Once there, she gives herself a hearty shake to free herself of the sensation of drying blood of her fur.

Sebastien nods once when permission is given, and he kneels at Razor-Eater's side. Holding his hand over her, he offers a quiet prayer to Gaia and Unicorn in French. This prayer is slightly less rushed than the last the Sept heard him utter. Even still, her flesh knits under his hand. Not entirely, but enough to satisfy him. And he backs off after it is done, letting the other Ahroun have her space.

"Congrats," Felix says to Razor-Eater once the dyeing is done, with a quick smile, and moves further out of the way as the healing commences.

It's hard to tell with all the dye and blood that's spattering her shoulders, but the dye seems to work as advertised. Rather than seal up entirely, the wounds become a rough tangle of scar tissue along her shoulders, jet black in some places, ruddy-black in others, twin symbols of the rise in rank. And as the healing continues, Razor-Eater draws in a sharp breath, this one filling her lungs in their entirety. She gives a nod to Felix in silent thanks, and looks to Sebastien, doing her best to drag herself into a not-prone position. She's still wobbly, still catching her breath. No amount of healing is going to help with that for now, especially with blood still seeping sluggishly from the wounds that remain. ~Thank you,~ she says to him. ~Cinder,~ she says to the cub, ~there's a living area. Dens. Wait for me there.~ And Cinder does, grudgingly.

Furio comes following after George into the Amphitheater. He looks around. Seeing and smelling blood on the air, he gulps a bit, turning a bit paler. "I, ah... I don't see 'im here, George," he says quietly. "I'll just go check back at the forge. Thanks for comin' down here with me, though." He gives the elder Garou another low nod and turns to head back up the way.

"Of course." Sebastien says with another nod. "It's a lot longer than most would have stayed standing. That scars are well earned." But he's not trying to keep her, and if she's of a mind to be off anywhere, Sebastien is happy to go back to his packmate.

George nods at Furio "I guess even I can be wrong. I'm going to stick around and see how wrong." Then he continues into the Amphitheater to be nosey.

Packmate Percy is here, sipping on her water-bottle of lime-green soda stuff and watching everything she can while huddled inside the hoodie that's like five sizes too big for her.

The scent of blood and adrenaline has suffused the air here, the remnants of a fight between both the Get - who shifts into her wolf form as 'gingerly' as possible - and a very familiar Shadow Lord Athro permeating the theater. Given the unsteady look to the Ahroun, it's clear who was the 'victor,' at least, though she at least has it in her to raise her head and look to George, << Mocks-the-Dark-rhya, >> offered in greeting. To Sebastien, she says, << Wouldn't be Get if we were put down so easily, >> with as much of a wry tone as one can expect from a wolf's inflection, as well as a *touch* of pride. Doesn't appear as if she's gearing up to head out just yet, either, the chance to actually catch her breath and come down from the high she was riding happily taken.

George nods and sniffs the air as he looks over the scene before commenting casually "Did I just miss Jake? Furio was looking for him too."

Now that the main event's soundly concluded, Felix takes another look around; this time Sebastien and Percy get longer and curious, if friendly, studying. George's question draws his attention before he heads either of their ways, though. "Yeah, he just left," he answers the Ragabash, "Most likely headin' somewhere with a shower. Prolly the Forge."

George's arrival is met with an upturned hoodie-head and a small wave from a pale hand just barely sticking out of the garment's sleeve. There's a smile there, too, but with the hood and the angle it's not like much of Percy's face is super visual. Felix probably has an easier time, though his study gets only most of the smile and none of the wave. Stranger Danger and all of that.

Razor-Eater gives a nod, herself, though there's little reason to offer any further answer on it, the exchange giving her a chance to test the integrity of her legs. Finding there's *some* stability, she begins to pad gingerly towards the exit, herself, lest there's any further questions to answer.

George decides that being nosey is too much like work and he nods to Felix's answer "Alright then. See you all around."

Felix tilts his head slightly at the Elder's departure coming so soon after his arrival, and glances toward Razor-Eater as the Get makes her careful way from the stage. Possibly he would've said more, but those Striders and their swiftly being elsewhere, am I right? Instead, he gives the Ahroun another congratulatory sort of smile. "Pretty kickass fight," he remarks, and takes another glance toward Percy, this time adding, "Evenin'!"

Felix's second pass and first greeting has the bad luck of catching Percy mid-swig from that water bottle of indeterminate drink. She cuts the action short, lowering the bottle and wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie while she swallows her mouthful. "Hello," she offers back, bending to set the bottle at her feet again and stuffing both hands back in her singular pocket. "A bloody one, at any rate." It's said with a small smile and lightly enough that it's clear she's not offering insult to anyone... it's just not exactly her wheelhouse. Which, honestly, she's 5' flat on a good day and maybe a hundred and ten soaking wet. Maybe. That brutal bloodbaths aren't her specialty should surprise exactly no one.

The Strider's departure gives reason for Razor-Eater to halt her slow progress for the exit, and sit the fuck down for a moment or two, a light grunt leaving her once the man's out of earshot. She turns her head to look towards Felix when he offers his compliments, ear flicking in acknowledgement, her gaze tracing over towards Percy. << If it wasn't, >> she says, << there'd be no rank to award. I'd be laughed out of the tribe by default. >> Again, she looks to Felix, head canting in a way reminiscent of raising a brow. << And 'kickass fight' is a horribly redundant phrase. But thank you. >>

"'s accurate, though," Felix says, with a grin, "an' even if there ain't different shades of meanin', ain't nothin' wrong with repeatin' yourself for emphasis." He's got half a foot on Percy at the very most, probably less if he were barefoot, but seems reasonably psyched about the brutal bloodbath nonetheless. "We ain't met yet," he notes to Percy, "Felix T. Sinclair, Fostern 'Gnawer Galliard, beta of Last Call, under Fox." It's punctuated with a playful bow, complete with sweeping arm movement. "Nice meetin' you."

The playful, sweeping bow is enough old-world ridiculousness to delight Percy into an outright laugh, which - this far into a cycle - is nigh upon miraculous. It's not more than quiet giggling and it doesn't last long, but hey. Audible laughter. Bonus points. "I'm Persephone, rited Brightheart, Cliath Metis Glass Walker Theurge, raised by Black Furies and then conscripted by this guy under Ser Grumpy Pants." 'This guy' is apparently Sebastien, though he seems inclined to wander off and presumably meditate his Gnosis back. Ser Grumpy Pants is perhaps more of an enigma until she winces and then stifles another little sound of amusement behind one hand and clarifies her position. "Sorry, Black Unicorn."

<< Fair enough, >> is Razor-Eater's only response prior to the greetings, and by that point, the small mottled wolf that had been sent to the living area returns. There's a bit of a hushed exchange, a look of irritation from the smaller wolf to the larger (likely, re: you said 'meet soon' not meet an hour from now), which earns an equally 'irritated' foreleg stab from the big female before she's back on her feet again. The three-- or, rather, two present are offered a canine grunt that serves well enough as a wordless goodbye, the two Fenrir walking as close to shoulder to shoulder as can be managed with the height difference (and injuries), the fussing of the cub accepted warmly enough in spite of the newly minted rank. How adorable.