2017.04.02: False Narrative

False Narrative
Rhys heads to the Sept of the Grandfather to break a tie regarding the punishment of a pair of garou.
IC Date	April 29th, 2017
IC Time	Evening
Players	Rhys
Location	Sept of the Grandfather, Fianna sept, Appalachia
Spheres	Gaian Garou

Regardless of how much time Rhys is spending at the sept these days, at least one or two rumors are floating back to him. There's a Fianna that's arrived recently, one that has, apparently, been asking a lot of questions about him personally. Seems she's been consulting Galliards, and hasn't been particularly covert about it.

Probably doesn't come as much of a surprise, then, when a summons is sent out for Rhys to appear at the caern, given some loose directions to the spot in the living area where a wiry, short-haired redhead is seated, looking over what appears to be a notepad of some kind. Upon seeing the Philodox arrive, she flips it shut, and favors him with a closed-lipped smile that's liable to make just about anyone nervous. Woman can't be much older than he is, and, in spite of the red hair, doesn't stand out as having much in the way of pure breeding.

"Rhys Stoker," she says; higher-pitched voice, no trace of an accent, has that kind of tone that suggests someone who's used to speaking in Biting Sarcasm, and little else. "About time I got to meet you in person." She extends her hand to him, keeping her eyes squarely on his the entire time. "Kara Murphy. Rited Pit-Viper. Fostern Ragabash of the Fianna." She nods loosely to one of the logs used for seating, and says, "Take a seat. I've got some questions I gotta ask, and we may be here a while." There's an air to the request that says 'order,' but she's being polite about it. "First things first-- do you know why I'm here?"

Given the givens, Rhys' trips to the caern have dwindeled to the 'only as necessary' side of things. Still, he has consistantly gone out of his way to make himself contactable to those of the sept, so it is an easy thing for word to reach him about a newly come Fianna. When the summons is issued, he makes himself available, heading to the caern and following the directions to find the Ragabash. It is with no small amount of curiosity that Rhys meets the gaze of the red-headed Fianna, his perusal holding nothing inappropriate and his body language is respectful. When she introduces herself, there is that little lift of his chin, his customary signal of respect to those of higher station. The gesture speaks of life-long habit, one perhaps understandable in a child raised by an Ahroun. "Well met, Pit-Viper-rhya." There is a friendly smile offered, closed-lipped of course. Her tone is not yet phasing Rhys' typical warmth, no overt signs of tensions within him. When that last question comes there is a shake of Rhys' head. "Not a single clue. If you were a kinfolk I'd take a guess that Da was up to his old tricks, but you're not, so..." He shakes his head and holds his hands open wide. "What can I do for you?"

"Get me out of here as fast as possible, for one," Kara replies, staying on her feet for the moment, the notebook flipped back open to go over some-- well, notes, presumably. "And to do a little fact-checking." She looks back up at him. "Your old man's been pretty good about tracking your record. Said you had a challenge coming up." She looks back down at the notepad, and her brows raise, lips pursing. "Guy's got a pretty impressive record of his own. Made it to Athro, which says enough on its own. You, though?"

She gives him an almost sympathetic look. "Gotta be honest," she says, "I'm having trouble making heads or tails out of you. Near as I can tell, you're bucking to fill dad's shoes with some noteworthy feats of your own. Just, you know." She gives a little shrug. "Not really the resume of a Philodox." Only now does she seat herself, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "I'm here to try and help you fix that," she says. "You know, before it's actually go time. Not really my choice assignment, but when Fiachra's War Hammer says 'jump,' you ask 'how high?'" Beat. "That *is* the reason you're delaying the challenge, isn't it? You have to see all the same problems I do."

When the puzzle pieces begin to snap together and the purpose of the Ragabash's arrival becomes clear, there is a shift in Rhys' body language, his spine straightening a little more, his shoulders broadening. When she mentions his father, there is another nod and a soft chuckle. "He is. He's the very figure of a Fianna Ahroun." The sympathetic look is met with a slight lift of a brow and then there is another nod when she clarifies. "I see. So, you're saying that my father is bringing you in as... what? A rank consultant?" He's clearly trying to understand her position. Though when she suggests he's delaying the challenge Rhys' head tilts to the side, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Am I understanding from your words that you feel that my deeds do not adequately reflect my Auspice? That I am... trying to be an Ahroun like my father?"

Kara considers the 'title,' and gives a brief nod. "'Consultant's as good a word as any," she says, and notes his overall disposition, offering a wry, largely humorless halfsmile. "And it's good to know you're on board with this," she says. "Spares me the trouble of spelling it out." It's not a very personable method of chatting about it, granted-- "But," she continues, after a time, "I'm apparently not the only one that thinks so. Originally, your old man was looking to send a Philodox, but-- way I hear it, he's starting to get nervous." She shrugs. "Reason number one to be grateful my mom had the good sense to die before she could start screwing around with *my* life, but far be it from me to suggest a guy with such a proud legacy is a serial meddler."

Except, apparently, he is. "Anyway-- all that aside:" she sobers quick as she moves on, the crass approach dropped in favor of something more serious, "yes. I'm your 'rank consultant.' You may not like me, or my methods, but I think we both know that's not the point, here. So, I suggest you take this seriously, and answer my questions honestly. You manage to impress me by the time I'm done here, and you may get a shot at moving past the rank where getting shoved around by jerks like me is mandatory. Understood?"

As Kara continues, there is a deeply drawn breath and Rhys's arms cross his chest. There is much spoken via body language, the fact that no, he is not particularly on board with this situation, but for the moment he is silent, though it might just be so that he can gather his thoughts. The characterization of his father as a serial meddler hits close enough to home to quirk up the corners of Rhys' lips, a spike of amusement that is felt, clearly, however given the circumstances, he exercises the restraint needed to let it pass. "I assure you I am taking this all very seriously. I have no desire to waste your time or my own. I will answer your questions, certainly." There is an almost audible 'but' hanging there. However, for the moment, he holds his tongue, simply watching the Ragabash, willing to hear her out.

"Good," Kara replies. "Means we'll be out of each others' hair faster. Last thing you want is me sticking around during the New Moon. Puts me on edge." She looks back down at the notepad, then, and clears her throat, looking over what's jotted down there.

"All right, so... What I'm looking at here is, in fact, a guy that's bucking for Ahroun. Only thing that reads to me like 'judge and arbiter,'" she glances back up at him, "and it'd read to pretty much anyone the same way," though her gaze goes quickly back down to her notes, "is participating in a Satire Rite, giving some good advice to-- he's a packmate, right? And," she looks back up at him, "then there's the exact opposite. Breaking a promise."

She straightens a bit, though it's more to get comfortable than anything else, it seems. "Given all of that-- how about you tell me, in your own words, how you've represented your Auspice. Because, so far as anyone back home's concerned, you haven't." A pause. "Not that it seems to matter. I've got it on good authority that the folks here are a bit more liberal than they are in more-- let's call them *traditional* septs. But that's where you're from, and that's who you're answering to. So... tell me a story. Tell me how this record reflects the duties you're meant to carry out."

Rhys listens while Kara speaks, and while it's clear from the little shifts in his posture that he may not agree with her, he does not interrupt, staying silent until it is clear that she expects him to reply. His blue eyes linger on the Ragabash and finally, when he is ready, he answers. "Each Auspice has their role to play. Each of us has a job to do, and while to those outside our Auspice, our assigned task may seem simple, Ahrouns fight. Galliards tell stories, Ragabash question -- there are always layers unseen by the other Auspices. The same holds for my own. The Philodox are tasked with judgement and mediation. But I ask you -- what is the value of a mediator who does not have an intimate understanding of the perspectives of those he is mediating for?" Rhys's arms unfold and he gestures with one hand, "The deeds you have written down, well, I mean I can try to read upside down, but I can guess at what they might be. Does it read as a text book Philodox? Is there such a thing? I act when I am present and able to act. I'm not cherry picking my participation to ensure that each action taken fills a requirement and that I waste no energy on something outside my purview. That's not how life works. That is... gaming a system, not working within it. I do what I can, when I can. I embrace the lessons I am taught. I try to expand my perspective so that each time I am given a chance to mediate between two foes, or septmates in a dispute I can do so knowing that I have actively worked to deepen my understanding of the perspective of all Auspices. That I can see beyond my own window, so to speak. That is the task of a Philodox. To see through the eyes of all of us."

"Problem," Kara says. "I'm not seeing a whole lot of 'mediator.' Actually-- I'm not seeing a whole lot of anything outside of 'kicked ass, took names,' which, granted, is *good*, but-- No storytelling, no local anecdotes about being contrarian and challenging authority, no fetish-making. And-- let's just be clear about this: *your* problem isn't 'I'm not textbook.' Your problem is more--" She considers the word. "Let's call it optics. As for the list?" She raises it up, and gives him a look, though the chicken scratch isn't really easy to read. "That's everything you've gained, and lost renown for since you showed up here. The whole shebang, in one neat little package. So-- how about we focus on that, and focus a little less on the cultural lessons."

She pauses. "Not a bad try, though. Well-spoken deflection to derail the conversation. Makes for a good method of arguing, but here's problem number two: Ragabash wrote the book on deflection. And that, friend, was the longest non-answer I've ever heard to a perfectly reasonable question." Beat. "So. Let's get this back on track. That problem I mentioned earlier. You've got all the hallmarks of a good Ahroun. Apparently, you're even learning from one of the Fenrir guardians on a regular basis, which-- you know, you do you, I suppose - really wouldn't be *my* first choice, since I'm not a masochist - but it doesn't really fall in line with what you're selling."

She rips out the page, then, and hands it to him. Indeed: his record is more or less written down. In short-hand, but it's legible enough that it's clearly his. "No one ever said you had to cherry-pick, by the way. I just asked how your record reflected what your Gaia-given and Luna-certified role in life happens to be. And you're getting a little long in the tooth for 'observant' to be a noteworthy quality. That's just expected. So, let's try this again. What have you, Rhys, been doing lately that paints the picture of a Philodox ready to take on the kinds of heavy-hitting tasks the higher ranks are expected to perform?"

Once more, there is silence from the Philodox as the Ragabash talks. There are a few little tics, a curving of lip that is no real smile, tilts of his head one way, then the other as he continues to hold his eyes on the woman in front of him as she speaks. His arms, which had been uncrossed are crossed once more as his weight shifts from one foot to the other. Again, there is a pause, a measured beat or three of silence in the wake of Murphy's words, as Rhys composes his words. "I have been learning rites, the Satire rite, for instance, as well as Opened Caern. I've been spending time in meditation, I assisted my Theurge in the creation of a Mercy fetish for the caern. I've spent hours coaching kinfolk who have only recently discovered their extended family and the world they walk in. I've been working with a number of groups to speak out about local policies that chafe, helping to develop ways of dealing with the situation. That list has a lot of battle prowess in it? Who gave it to you? My Ahroun father? Don't you think his accounting might shade a little more towards the stuff he understands?" Rhys' arms unfold again, "Gaia and Luna made me a Philodox. I am a Philodox. I think before I speak. I look at a problem from all sides. I put aside my feelings, my pride when I assess a situation so that I can be the vessel I am supposed to be, filled with Gaia's judgement. I study law. I study the Litany and I work through different interpretations of its tenants so that when I am asked to, when I have the opportunity to give my opinion, it will be well reasoned and thoughtful. I maintain that my goals are as I said they are. I am seeking to better understand the perspectives of each Auspice. I never said I was done. This is a life-long task. I'll never be done growing or learning. I stand by my actions. Even the broken promise, it taught me something. About the cost of social niceties, and what it means to swear complete honesty."

Kara's brow lifts subtly at the question of where she got the list, and makes a vague gesture towards her surroundings, wordlessly suggesting that she got the information from those around the sept. The rest, she listens to, nodding every once in a while, her eyes tracking every movement, every tic, to such an extent that it may well become unnerving. Another layer to what is effectively an invasion of privacy by a superior.

She nods again when he finishes speaking, still not looking terribly convinced, but, nonetheless: "Still leaves that little problem of 'hasn't done much in the way of judging things,'" she says, flipping the notebook shut now that the page has been torn out, and handed over. "Which, arguably, is the biggest challenge you lot can face. Probably *will* be your challenge, when it comes right down to it: actually rendering judgment on one of your peers. Say, maybe-- I don't know, I'm just spitballing here, but: the packmates that abandoned you. Or something along those lines."

She shrugs a little, slipping the notepad back into the small pack she's got with her. "Never really seen any history of being forced to be impartial in situations where you're most definitely 'partial.' Where you're forced by circumstance, or just by a sheer lack of local Philodox, to arbitrate over something where you can't help but be biased. Unless you have, and it's just never seen the light of day."

"Part of that is simple lack of opportunity." Rhys answers with another gesture of his hand. "I can appreciate that you feel I'm lacking in experience judging things. There hasn't been much opportunity for a cliath to stick his nose into the doings of higher-rank Garou. If you think it wise, I can certainly make an ass of myself, inserting myself into situations that I am not part of. Granted, if I see a violation of the Litany, you can bet your ass I'll be making it my business. However things have not often progressed to that stage. The stage where judgment is required. I've offered counsel to my packmate, particularly when his heart was leading him into something dangerous. That's another thing that Philodox do. I don't see how I can be considered lacking if by my advice those around me fail to require judgement. Not," And here, Rhys grins, "That I can take that much credit. But there have been a few instances of nipping buds."

"Uh huh." This, too, doesn't appear to be impressing Kara overmuch, the redhead having leaned back enough to rest her hands against the log she's seated on, fingers tapping against the bark. "You know," she says, "there are small septs here and there that don't have the benefit of retaining this kind of population. A real tryhard would be going where the need is; making sure he's boning up on his studies, making sure he's got the experience to really take a crack at the heavy-hitting shit he'll have to put up with when he goes from a wet behind the ears nobody to a 'veteran.'

"'Sorry, teach, I just didn't get an opportunity' doesn't work in law school," she says to him simply. "What makes you think it'll work here?" A pause. "I mean-- 'veteran' has certain implications. It means tested; proven. So-- how are you proven? You just said it yourself, you can't take *all* the credit, but that's what Philodox do. They take all the credit for decisions rendered on behalf of someone else. You've made-- zero decisions. You haven't ruled on anyone's fate, or even been consulted about it. How is anyone supposed to trust that you're ready for that?"

"Again, your argument is inherently flawed. In law school there are opportunities waiting to be taken. Life doesn't just make situations happen at convenient moments." Rhys replies, his voice firming, his jaw lowering and his arms crossing once more. "I do, however, acknowledge the idea of going to where I *am* needed. Nothing says I can't take the show on the road, so to speak. Seek out smaller places that need a mediator for an issue. Not to abandon my role here, if I did that I'd be no better than my former packmates." The Philodox shakes his head, "That being said I still believe my experiences here are valid, they are each a lesson that will then shape and inform my future decisions. I do agree with your critique, I do need more opportunity to demonstrate my judgements. But I think that the things I have accomplished are useful to me as well."

Kara arches a brow at the initial assessment, but continues to listen, nodding every once in a while in that 'yes, that's nice' fashion that no one really wants to see in situations like these. "No one said the experiences aren't valid," she says, finally. "I said they weren't enough." She cants her head. "And you still haven't answered my question," she amends. "How are you proven? What makes you a veteran? How can anyone trust that you're ready to make the kinds of decisions that you'll need to, in the future?" Beat. "I could pitch hypotheticals at you, get a read on *that*, but hypotheticals don't put you in the moment. They don't make you watch what comes next. They don't force you to deal with the impact *your* decision has on the life of the 'defendant,' or the people around them. So. Tell me: what makes you so sure you're ready for that?"

There is that sense once more of the Philodox reaching -- turning inward, examining and sifting through his own accounting of his deeds and what it all means. "How am I proven?" Rhys nods slowly, turning his gaze back to Kara, focusing there. "I am proven by my loyalty. When Khaled and Athena left, we could have easily folded as a pack. But I assumed the responsibilities of alpha and I pressed on. When Duncan disappeared, again, we could have vanished, letting our pack be stillborn. But I knew we could survive it. And I lent my strength to my brother and we preservered. We're growing again. We have a new brother who has joined our fold, making us that much stronger, allowing us to continue to work to defend the local kinfolk. Our pack has become honored by the Sodals, a totem that relies on absolute loyalty and dedication to your packmates. And they favor those who understand the strength and value in honoring and protecting our kinfolk. I am proven by the fact that despite those above me, I hew to what I believe is the spirit and truth of the Litany and I work to establishing that with the aid of my peers who know me and respect my vision and share in my interpretation of our Laws." Rhys unfolds his arms, his posture calmer, more centered and less defensive. "I am proven by the fact that I show wisdom in my actions, honor in those I choose to defend and, yes, glory from my victories. Those in this caern have seen my judgements through the actions I take, my wisdom in the advice that I impart. There is more to being a Philodox than making judgements. Wisdom and honor are shown just as much in day to day interactions as in moot level punishments or trials." Rhys' gaze is steady, his mouth mildly curved up at the corners, a confidence of self has him steady, not smug nor cocky. This is closer to serenity than douchiness. "How do I know I'm ready? Because I trust myself. I see the things I have accomplished, I look inside myself and I *judge* myself. Every day. Every single day. The broken promise? Who do you think made that known? I did. I don't hide my failures, I learn from them and I move on."

"This is all well and good," Kara says, "and you're right, there's more to Philodox than rendering judgement. But, unfortunately for you, that's your headline." A pause. Then, "Like I said, I could throw a lot of hypotheticals at you. I could probably come up with some good ones, too. The kind that'd make you think real hard about what you'd do. But you can't know what you'll do until you get there. Trust has nothing to do with it. You guys-- you deal with the repercussions of the good decisions, at the bad ones. So, all right, let's go with at least one hypothetical.

"Little Johnny Butt-Sniff. Let's say he went and fucked his best friend in his pack, produced a mule. Sept looks to you for answers. You give a judgment, 'cause hey, this is a pretty bog-standard violation, and the two lovebirds ain't talkin'. Except, as it turns out, Little Johnny got put at the end of a gun with silver bullets all primed and ready to go; got forced to rape his best friend, and it all comes out in his suicide note." A pause. "That's on the low end of the scale, by the way," she says. "The ambiguity only gets worse from there. So-- where are you when it all comes out in the open? What happens the next time you get a decision to rule on?"

There is a tilt of Rhys' head as his entire argument is shunted to the side. "Headlines aren't substantive. It's not exactly like there's someone skimming through a file folder of cases on a docket and is making a decision based on the big bold text. That's the wrong way to examine a case. That is, in fact, the worst kind of Philodoxing." Yes, he just used his Auspice as a verb. If there was any further evidence that he was raised primarily in California... well. The case is put to rest. He quiets as the hypothetical is given and his brows lower, his head tilted to the side. "I have to argue your hypothetical. He's going to kill himself and lay it all out in a note, but he's not going to spill to the Philodox there to help him? I harbor some insult that you're so sure I wouldn't be able to get the story out of him, or his friend. Pushing that aside, assuming that I didn't find out, that it did go down as you say -- that shit isn't on me. He chose not to tell me the reasons. He chose to take his own life. I did, I assume, everything I could to get to the bottom of it. That leaves my conscience clear. Grief aside... I approach my next judgement with the same clear eyes as I did the former. Though I would try harder to get my guy to talk."

"And if he did talk," Kara replies. "Same story, same everything. What then?"

"If he talked and still killed himself? Then Gaia help him, there's nothing more I could do. I would have done everything I could to help him work through the trauma. Obviously my judgement would have been lessened do to the circumstances. The shame from his community should be less or nothing at all given the givens. But again, if he still dies? If he still takes his own life?" Rhys shakes his head, "The answer is still the same. I did all that I could. I would grieve his loss but I couldn't -- I wouldn't let it change my actions."

Kara's brows raise a bit at the mention of the community's response; it's a very unguarded moment of incredulity, on her part. "Well," she says, "I mean-- that's pretty great of you, personally, but did you forget what tribe you're from?" Beat. "You'd be dragged out into the street and shot with the both of them just for saying the word 'lenient.'"

Rhys's jaw sets and he looks at Kara steadily, "I have not forgotten I'm a son of Stag." Rhys' brows lower and he for the first time seems to get a little irritated. "You really think that we're that hard-hearted? Should he have taken the bullet rather than rape his packmate? Of fucking course. But some consideration should be given for the fucking circumstances. He didn't get drunk and cooerce himself into her pants. He was cowardly, yeah. He should of eaten the bullet. But should he be judged as harshly as some nimrod who just let himself do what he knows he shouldn't? I don't believe so."

"Our Elders don't usually give a crap what the circumstances were," Kara replies. "So, yes. We are. If you're not aware of that, or at least can't accept that, then I don't know what to say to you. I mean-- hell, I've seen septs that exile the victims of Black Spiral Dancers, just to prove a point." She's getting a little - just a *little* - incensed, herself, but she pulls herself back a bit. "It happens," she says. "So-- can you say, openly, honestly, that you'd fight centuries of 'tradition' to ask for lenience? Even knowing that you might end up as the tribe whipping boy until the 'sin' is cleared from your record?"

Rhys heaves a sigh and looks up at the ceiling of the cave system for the count of three. He looks back at Kara and nods, "I've heard of septs like that too. And yeah, that's great. Victim blaming is right up there in my estimation with assuming kinfolk don't have a choice in mating. Now, in this particular situation, maybe I wouldn't ask for lenience, given he should have just let them kill him. Especially if he just killed himself. But in any instance where I truly believe something to be right -- even if it counters tradition -- I would allow myself to be a whipping boy if it meant standing true to what I think is right."

Kara just watches him for a time, the more fairweather attitude apparently abandoned for the moment. Then, finally, she says, "Spirals do some pretty terrible things to people. That was one example. And it's hard to know just how many layers are there to pick through." A pause. "Either way," she says, "we've got a moon bridge to catch by morning, and seeing as you've already got the gist of what the sept is dealing with in a Cliath by the name of Ryan Donnelly--" She trails off for a moment. Then, "You can sleep on it. But you'll be making a decision about it tomorrow, whether you want to or not. We need a tiebreaker-- and you need an opportunity."

Rhys's eyes widen slightly at the revelation of the case and his jaw sets. There is a tight nod of his head, "Will there be time to speak to him and the other garou? The rest of his pack?" Rhys' previous display of emotion seems to have been cast away, now that he knows this is real, he is all business. His expression is one of intense thoughtfullness.

"Some," Kara replies, watching his reaction carefully, "but not as much as you might like." She inclines her head. "I'll see you by midnight, Rhys. Get some rest. Let your pack know what's going on. And be ready."

However the remainder of the evening is spent, the outcome is the same: Kara meets Rhys within the caern, alongside one of the resident Theurges who, dutifully, opens a moon bridge for the both of them (with the usual warnings regarding how trecherous it is to travel during such a slender moon). The Ragabash, sure-footed, seems certain that all will be well. According to her, the trip is a "short" one, and they'll be present at the Sept of the Grandfather in Appalachia by the time the sun is threatening to rise.

She's not wrong, though the trip isn't an easy one. But with a combination of keen eyesight and the use of Faerie Lights to illuminate the edges of the fading bridge, she does a good job of leading the way. As a wolf, she's small - 'compact,' she'd probably say - mirroring her not-altogether-diminutive but not-altogether-looming 5'6" in height. She's got her fair share of scars under a pelt comprised of tawnies, a salt and pepper backsaddle, and dashes of bright ginger along her ears, tail, and the bridge of her muzzle. Some of those scars seem 'fresh'-- new enough to have been received very recently.

She keeps a swift pace, not nearly as chatty as she was before, apparently determined to reserve the bulk of her strength for the trip itself. It pays off, in the end: the two arrive on Grandfather Mountain just a good half-hour before dawn, right around the time that there's some concern of losing their mode of transport altogether (and, thus, running the risk of being pitched off into a random Umbral realm of some kind).

Upon arrival, Kara shifts back upwards into her homid form, met as she is by an older woman in her early fifties, visibly Fianna, herself. Given the way she carries herself, she has a position of some authority here, her disposition calm but concerned. She favors Rhys with a quiet once-over, giving him a moment or two to size her up, in turn. She looks familiar, and he'll get the sense that he should *probably* know who she is, or at least her Auspice. The location in Appalachia, her obvious bearing and pure breeding, her manner--

It's neither here nor there, at this point, as she says, "Please don't take what I'm about to say as an insult," to Rhys personally, "but--" then on to the Ragabash, "Kara... is this all you could find?"

Kara inclines her head. "I know it's not ideal," she says, "but when you said 'fresh perspective,' I figured, you know. Make it *really* fresh." She glances to Rhys, inclining her head towards the woman in a 'go on, introduce yourself' fashion.

The silence, or near silence, during the trip surprisingly, suits Rhys just fine. There's a lot on his mind, though the precariousness of their bridge given the phase of the moon means he can't lose himself completely in his thoughts. He follows Kara, swift on his long legs, showing off the results of his recent training in increased nimbleness and stamina. When they arrive, he too is reverting to his breed form. He looks around the area, curious and inquisitive, though as they are approached by the older woman, Rhys focuses there. It's clear that he is aware that he *should* be able to bring her name to mind. There are sparks of recognition firing, but no big flash. There is a swallow at the words shared between the women, and the corners of his mouth curve up in a flash of self-deprecating humor. When it is clearly his time to speak, "No insult taken at all, ma'am. I'm Rhys Stoker, rited Deals With Both Hands, Cliath Philodox Fianna. Alpha of the Neighborhood Watch Pack, honored by the Sodals. I am son of Fiachra's War Hammer, Athro Ahroun, Great Grandson of Tread Shakes the Water, Athro Theurge and Great-Great Grandson of Fergus' Well Healed Eye, Elder Ragabash. I'm here to help, in any way I can."

Though the woman offers a patient smile, it's a halting one; all the more halting for having heard the rank of Cliath. Kara seems not the least bit bothered by this, but that's no surprise; the Ragabash has been nothing if not mercurial, save for a couple fleeting moments of Being Serious.

"Bridey-Kate Davis," she replies. "Sister of the Winds. Athro Philodox of the Fianna, and Alpha of the Sept of the Grandfather." A pause. "I've met your father once or twice, during the Highland Games. You'll have to give him my regards when you get an opportunity." Another pause. "Anyway, while your pedigree speaks highly of you, this matter really isn't one that a Cliath should be involved in."

"All due respect," Kara says, though, given her interruption, 'respect' is given a loose interpretation, "I think a Cliath is exactly what we need."

Kate frowns; shows a kind of weariness that suggests this isn't the first time they've had this conversation, but she's got a good poker face, otherwise. "Have you been informed of the situation, then?" she asks Rhys. Assuming she gets confirmation, she says, "And what is your read on it?"

He does not speak to interrupt, though his eyes go back and forth as if the women were playing tennis. He is so very obviously listening to everything, absorbing tone and shades of inflection. His expression is one of neutrality, giving very little of his emotions away, other than his clear curiosity and interest. Even when it seems he is being rejected, he does not immediately leap in to protest, and what might have arisen damps down with a glance to the Ragabash when Kara defends his being there. When he is once more directly addressed there is a nod of his head, "Two members of a pack were taken in by Black Spiral Dancers. The male, Ryan Donneelly was at gunpoint, with silver bullets, instructed to rape his best-friend and packmate. She's pregnant now, yes?" There is a deep breath drawn and there is the sense that he wants to look at Kara, his body language speaks of it, but he fights this and holds his gaze on Kate. "I have my initial reaction to the situation from the facts related to me by Kara. But that reaction is still mostly uninformed. For it to be a true answer, I need more context. I'd need to speak with both wolves. The whole pack, if I might."

The two women share a glance between one another for a moment. It's hard-- damn near impossible, actually, to get a good read on Kara, per usual, but Kate appears concerned, and she's doing a poor job of hiding it, the frown etched into her face. More reason to gear up for rejection, potentially, her gaze then shifting back over towards Rhys.

"That could prove difficult," the Athro says, then. "Save those two members, the remainder of the pack was slaughtered. Donnelly, or Light-on-the-Water, as he's known, as well as his 'friend,'" there's a slight lift of her upper lip as she says it, "are the only survivors." Whether or not Kara shares in that contempt, she's not letting on ito it, but it seems unlikely. "In any event, I suppose we don't have a lot of time. We're at a stalemate, and we need it broken. Even if it's a Cliath's voice chiming in, it'll be better than nothing." A pause. "Again-- I mean no offense."

She shoots a look at Kara. Then, "You can take him to Ryan," she says, and little else. No mention of the female packmate involved; probably assumes the Ragabash will take care of them. "We convene in three hours," she says to the both of them. "Be ready to state your assessment."

Rhys's face remains neutral, though there are faint lines of tension where his muscles have tightened. There is a nod, "None taken." There is a breath drawn in, a frown threatening to tug down the corners of his mouth. When there is such a weight of emphasis placed on the word 'friend', Rhys's shoulders broaden further. Still, he doesn't contest it, "I will, Sister of the Winds-rhya. Thank you." He looks to Kara as Kate exits, his hands folded together behind him, clearly tapping into some inner reserve of zen. Once Kate has left, Rhys lifts his brows and looks to Kara offering a tight closed-lipped smile, "Shall we?"

"Right this way," Kara says, gesturing towards a raised wooden guardhouse, a ways down the footpath.

The whole place bears a resemblance to a campground, all told, with paths leading up to one side of the mountain where, presumably, the caern itself is housed. The overall appearance is lovely; rustic, of course, with a mix of Scottish and Irish decor on the various lodges to either side of the footpath. No signs of generators, or anything else that looks Weaverish, besides the buildings themselves. Simple creature comforts, probably, but there's only so much a number of these older caern totems allow for.

Ascending the steps to the raised shack, Kara stops once she gets to the landing, and gestures towards the door. "He's all yours," she says, and appears to be making it a point of remaining outside. If she's given any questioning looks, she merely says, "Think he's seen enough of the locals for one week."

Rhys pauses to take a moment to appreciate the view. Really? Is that what he's doing? It looks like that's what he's doing. Still, it is only a moment, and soon enough he resumes following Kara. The buildings are taken note of, the artwork and decor of each seems to steal bits of his attention and he gives the impression that he'd be able to describe it all in detail after he leaves. When they arrive at the shack, Rhys looks to Kara and then nods his head. "Thank you." He lifts a hand to knock on the door, calling out, "Ryan? My name is Rhys. Can I come in to talk to you?"

Kara offers little more than a nod, turning her eyes to the door as Rhys moves to knock on it.

A pause follows. The silence is perpetuated for some time, though there can be heard what might be the occasional footstep from inside. The sounds of someone pacing, maybe. Finally, after a moment or two, Kara looses a sigh, and says, "He's the tie-breaker, Ryan. You'll have to talk to him eventually."

The footsteps slow. Then, after a moment: "Fine," is called out from behind the door. "All right. Come in."

The interior of the shack has the look of an old west drunk tank, all told: a 12 x 10 room split down the middle by metal bars, the look of which is a mix of wrought iron and some kind of silver alloy, giving credence to the impression that this place could actually hold a werewolf for any respectable amount of time. Makes one wonder what the walls are reinforced with.

As for Ryan himself: he's a tall, lanky fellow. Black Irish by appearance, with short, dark hair that spikes naturally, and a wiry frame that speaks of being stronger than he looks. He's back to pacing, rubbing at his mouth and chin intermittently as a show of just how much nervous energy he has built up. He wears a simple tank top and jeans, and has a small gold cross around his neck. Homid, clearly; brought the remnants of his Catholicism with him into life as a Garou, as many often do.

"So," he says. "Rhys, huh?" He looks up at the Philodox. "Need the whole introduction, or are we just gonna dive right in?" There's a defensive nervousness to his tone; a weariness, both paired with a kind of wild energy to him that speaks of at least a keyed up Galliard, or a baseline Ahroun.

"Thank you," This to Kara when she speaks up and gets Ryan to open the door. Rhys steps into the shack, giving it a once over. He doesn't comment on the place, but he does reach into his back pocket and draw out a flask. He offers it to Ryan and says, "If it'll give you some comfort we can go through the whole recitation. I'm happy to hear it. If you'd rather cut to the meat, I can do that too. Right now I just want to listen to your side of things. I want to understand as much as I can." Rhys' voice is pitched low, a baritone rumble that tries to be soothing given the calmness of it all. He's clearly trying to show a measure of respect in an attempt to get the other man to open up.

Ryan's eyes flicker from the flask, to Rhys's face, and back again. There's some obvious distrust in that look, but, eventually, he makes a grab for it, "Thanks," said grudgingly before he pulls back a quick swig. Then another. "Think I'll take a pass on the rest if it's all the same to you." The introduction, probably. He tilts the flask back in Rhys's direction, careful to avoid the bars between them for-- obvious reasons. "Pretty sure I'm not doing myself any favors by answering questions, either, but if she says jump," meaning Kara, probably, "I guess maybe I ought'a jump." Doesn't sound like he has a lot of faith in the arbitration; overall read on the guy is someone resigned to fate, even if he's trying not to be. Doesn't really seem like the suicidal type, to be sure, but-- appearances are, as always, rather deceiving.

Rhys carefully takes the flask back, as he has no desire to touch the silver-infused bars either. Rhys looks around for a chair or stool, anything really that would support his weight and pulls it into position so that he can face the other man. "I'm here because I don't know any of you. I'm coming to this without bias. There are no irritations or history from when we were kids. Tabula Rasa, mate." Rhys holds up his hands, palm flat, facing the bars. "So you'd be doing yourself a disservice if you didn't talk to me. I want to know what happened. I want to give you the fairest shot possible. And if I don't get your perspective, I'll only have theirs. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I don't know. I don't know them. But I'd really, really rather hear it from you."

The caged Fianna gives Rhys another once-over; a kind of keen-eyed appraisal that speaks of someone constantly on alert, constantly on guard; the kind of person that has an instantaneous read on people in social situations, be it right or wrong. Try as he might to put up a tough-guy front, however, there's an undercurrent of fear in the way he looks the Philodox over; an uncertainty that betrays the acceptance of fate as its own ruse. This is someone who wants badly for someone to trust, but may not be able to find the capacity to do so.

He trusted Kara, though, apparently; or trusted her word enough to speak to Rhys in the first place. So, there's that. A way in, if nothing else.

"Already told this story, like, ten times so far," he says under his breath. "But fine. All right." He starts to pace again. "Our Alpha, big Get named Lisl, had us headed for the Pigeon River, out near Canton, North Carolina. Got it in her head we should get some intel on it-- score some points." That much reads as true; even the 'score some points' part of it. "Whole place is a shithole. Too many Banes to take down in one shot, with a Hive as backup. I don't know what the fuck we were doing there. But she made a good case for it. Said we'd be in and out, you know? Coffee and cake run. Or some fuckin'-- I don't know." He gives a wave of his hand.

"Lisl got her head pulped the second we stepped into the local Umbra. Just-- pssht," he makes what may as well be an exploding gesture, "gone. She hits the deck, our Theurge panics, and leaves me and Scoops just standing there like tourists that took a wrong turn." Beat. "Scoops," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's--" he shakes his head. "So, we've got Banes and Dancers on all sides. Easily outnumbered." This, also true. "Scoops says 'surrender,' like she's got a plan or something. So--" A pause. "I don't know. I listened. And spent the next five days getting my ass beat," among other things, it sounds like, "asking why.

"She just kept saying, don't be *too* interesting, but don't, you know, just give up, either. Pretend to be buying what they're selling, but pull back at the last second. And she knows how to pull these things off, right? I've seen her do it a million times, work a crowd like it's nothing. Except we've got this Spiral, a Ragabash, that's listening to all her coaching. And he's getting tired of it. He comes to us, calls her out on stalling for time, gives an E for effort, and--"

He pauses. His jaw shifts, a frown tugging over his mouth. "And he starts saying-- since we spent so much time trying to not be too interesting, it was about time we started."

As soon as Ryan begins to speak, Rhys is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin propped up on his hands. He is staring at Ryan, watching every moment, searching the other man's face, studying his body language, the position of his eyes, his hand movements. Rhys, in contrast, is utterly still. He sits there, taking it all in. About half-way through he sits up, leaning back to watch the man from another angle. Still, he does not interrupt, he doesn't halt the flow of words. A deep breath is taken when Ryan speaks of his alpha being killed, another when they are captured. Rhys' expression shows hints of compassion, his eyes sympathetic. His breathing is slow, measured, but there are frown lines showing. When Ryan's story hits a natural pause point, Rhys speaks, "Scoops. She seemed to have a good idea of what to do, or at least tactics to try. Had she ever been in a situation like this before? Captured by the Dancers?" The question is gently asked, no overt accusation or suspicion audible in his tone.

If anything, Ryan seems a little dismissive of the sympathy, in that 'sure whatever' fashion that isn't altogether uncommon. A hallmark of someone who isn't looking to mourn the dead in the presence of a stranger. As to the questions, he hesitates somewhat, his gaze flicking towards the door, then back to Rhys.

"She says Dancers are like any scumbag you'll run into on the street," he says. "Kind that likes feeling like they're breaking you down, wearing you thin. Says to give 'em what they want, or what they think they want, and they'll leave you alone." A pause. "She says we treat 'em like they're boogeymen, and they're not. Says they're just people, and that's the part that makes 'em frightening. The rest is her story to tell, but-- you seem like a smart guy. You can put two and two together, right?"

There's a brewing anger as he speaks of this; a darkening in his tone and in his expression, a deeply rooted protective streak that demands some kind of retaliation for whatever trauma this packmate apparently went through. He bows his head, then, looking down at the ground, one arm raising to lean against the wall, a hand running through his hair. Just more nervous energy being let out.

"She has weird ideas sometimes," he says, then. "Thinks outside the box. She knew something was coming, I guess, just wasn't telling me shit 'cause she didn't want to 'pollute' my responses." Sounds more like it was her word, rather than his. "And I'm used to that. She thinks it's easier to pull off something underhanded if not everyone is on the 'joke,' even if it hurts the people she's around sometimes. We just-- weren't ready for this."

He frowns, tension springing up all over him, the look in his eyes gaining intensity. "Do I really have to go through this again?" he says. "Go through the whole story? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, I'm getting real fuckin' tired of saying it."

Despite Ryan's dismissive attitude towards the sympathy, nothing really changes with Rhys' expression. He doesn't try any platitudes or condolences, but that look in his eyes, the one that seems locked onto the pain found in the other Fianna, that sticks around, there is empathy there, in the lines of Rhys' brow, in the downward tug of his lips. Rhys' head nods as he listens to Ryan break down Scoop's logic, and the more Ryan speaks, the more Rhys' expression subtly shifts, reflecting the pain of the story and of the teller. "I can't imagine what this experience has been like for you. I can try, but nothing in my personal experience comes close to the kind of physical, mental and emotional torture you've been put through. And to have all these disapproving voices, making you relive it." Rhys' voice holds the same empathy and compassion found in his eyes. He offers that flask again, carefully slipped through the bars. "To go through all that and come home, where you're supposed to be safe... and to be put in here, like this?" Rhys shakes his head and sighs. "I know this has to be painful. But the more you can share with me, the more I know the better my argument can be. I'm supposed to be the tie breaker. Help me understand?"

The response gets a mix of emotion from the younger man. One leg bounces up and down on the ball of his foot in a rapid, repetitive motion, some of that pent up energy startin to manifest elsewhere, clearly. And while there's definitely a desire to have *someone* understand, someone actually give a damn, there's a flash of anger in there, too, enough that it might give the impression of having wandered down the wrong path.

"Don't talk to me like I'm just some whiny faggot," he snaps, pushing away from the wall to pace again. "And don't try to score points by pulling the sympathy routine, all right? I'm not some broke-dick retard you can just trick into spilling his guts. You hear me?" He paces a couple more laps, then brings up a hand to rub at his face, at his mouth. His hand drops, and he gives a slight shake of his hand again.

"You're right. You've got no idea what it was like in there. No one here does. They say they do, but they don't. They just sit there pretending to give a fuck about it, but all they're thinking is 'look at this fucking trash, this charach, oughta have him neutered and get the bitch spayed before they're at it again,' like we're just another pair of fucking drunks that can't keep it in their pants. We did what we had to do. Okay? Gutted the asshole that did this to us, got out, and got home. How many of them can say that?"

"I'm not." Rhys watches the man pace, watches him work himself up as the pain eats away at him. Still that sympathy remains in the eyes of the Philodox. "When Kara first put this scenario to me as a hypothetical, I told her that I'd ask for leniency. I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head." Rhys flashes a half-smile. "There are extenuating circumstances. What I *need* to know are the details. The painful ones. I need to understand what happened. Was Scoops there with you in this bid for survival. I need to know where your head was at. I have never given a thought to this being something you did for shits and giggles. For fucks sake you were taken prisoner. This was fucking torture, not a drunken game of slap and tickle. I understand that. But I need to understand as much as I *can*. I am here to give you as fair a shake as I can. I want to help you *and* Scoops. You've fucking been through too much for me to just... fall down on party lines. This is *important*. Tell me."

Ryan keeps pacing for a time-- at one point, finally accepts the flask that's offered to him to take a swig. Then another. He hands it back, and continues pacing, his hands going into his back pockets. He doesn't seem any more relaxed for having drank, but he seems slightly less pissed off, at least. For all that he's trying to figure Rhys out, trying to get a read on whether or not he can trust the guy-- he seems to at least recognize a 'last chance' when he sees one.

One gets the impression, just by his manner, that he wouldn't have survived long enough to even become Garou in the first place if he didn't know how to spot an opportunity, however bleak that happened to be.

Finally, he says, "I don't know if I should say you're fucked up for thinking 'lenient,' or what. Even if I didn't have a say," which reads as true, "I still *raped* someone," which, by contrast, reads as a half-truth. "I deserve what's coming to me. I just wish you, and all the other-- thumbs-up-their-asses jackoffs would leave Scoops the fuck out of it."

It doesn't mitigate the rest of the story, but that half-truth is an odd one. It's vehemently stated, and something about it is so practiced that there's a sense that, had Rhys not been paying stricter attention than usual, he might have missed it-- with or without his Gift. Perhaps others had, as well?

Like a hawk seeking to flush a rabbit, when that declaration of rape is made, Rhys' left eye twitches. It's a minute thing, involuntary perhaps, but in the wake of it, Rhys is once more leaning forward. When this isn't enough he gets to his feet and steps as close to the bars as possible without touching them. "So it wasn't rape." There's a squint, "Well. It *was* but not... Scoops she didn't fight you? Or she was at least as willing as she could be in the circumstances." Rhys is sounding this out, watching the other man for any tell, any break in expression, seeking confirmation for this theory. "She didn't want to die. She didn't want you to die either. She knew that doing so would be enough of a distraction. Get the Dancer to let his guard down enough that you could attack? Kill him for what he'd done not just to her, but... the both of you?"

Ryan pauses in his pacing. He doesn't look at Rhys; his jaw is tightened, his anger amplified, his head turning to look at the far wall. He stays silent for a long time, tension edging its way into his shoulders, into his posture.

"I wouldn't be anywhere without her," he says, finally, turning to face Rhys. "I'd still be bottom of the barrel. The sept whipping boy for some backwater burg no one gives a fuck about." His jaw tenses again-- then, "You have any idea what it's like to be a shit Galliard in a tribe like this? I don't do-- storytelling. I don't do 'creative.' But she didn't care about that. She saw utility where other people didn't. Convinced Lisl to give me a shot. She's the only one that fucking cared, and I'm not gonna let her get taken down because of this, no matter what it means. If I have to walk, fine. I'll hook up with the Gnawers. But if she wants to stay with the tribe, she should have that chance. At least with her, they'll be lenient. I don't give a fuck what they do to me."

It may as well be confirmation that Rhys is on the right path, at least. Followed as it is by, "Just let the first asshole that walked in here believe he got the right message. If this follows me through my life, then fuck it. I've had worse. Way worse."

Rhys' expression is briefly inscruitable, but there are cracks in the facade. This story has its hooks in him, and there is pain, or at least the echoes of the Galliard's pain in his eyes. There is a swallow from Rhys and he clears his throat before he nods. "Thank you. I know this is... I know reliving this is a nightmare. Please just... try not to lose hope. I'm going to try to talk to Scoops. I promise to treat her with respect, the same I've shown you, ok?" Again, there is a softness to the Philodox's voice, there is an entreaty as well, a sincere attempt to mitigate any of that anguish. He holds up a hand, "I will see you soon." With that, the Philodox moves to the door, though he lingers there, before opening the door to step through.

"You need to promise me that you're not gonna rat me out on this," Ryan says, suddenly a lot more agitated at the sight of Rhys leaving. "Okay? You promise me. You know what'll happen to her if they find out. You *know*. Just let it fall on me. I'll even-- fuck, I'll even raise the kid, take it with me, I'll do whatever it takes, just leave her out of it." Those eyes are boring a hole in the back of the Philodox's skull, assuming he's waiting around to hear them. "Please, man. I don't ask for nothing from no one, but I'm asking you. I'm *begging* you."

Rhys's fingers tighten on the knob of the door and he looks back at Ryan through the bars of the man's cage, his dark blue eyes intense. "I promise you, I'm going to hear her side of it and I will do the best job I can for the both of you. I give you my word." Rhys nods to the other man, "Keep hope alive, Ryan." There's a flash of something worried in the Philodox's eyes and he pins the other man with a fierce look, "And don't do anythign fucking stupid like killing yourself. You didn't survive that shit to take your life now. Don't do that to yourself or to your friend." That said, Rhys opens the door and steps outside.

There's no immediate response from the Galliard. Just a kind of-- pained look that speaks of someone who isn't entirely sure what he just heard. "--Fuck!" can be heard from behind the closing door, and Kara, apparently having stood there for the duration, glances at it for a moment.

"Got him pretty worked up in there, I guess," she says mildly. "Guy's been a pretty tough customer ever since he came back." She turns her attention back to Rhys. "What'd you say to piss him off?"

"He doesn't trust me to do right by him or Scoops. I don't blame him. He doesn't know me." Rhys doesn't seem to have taken it personally. He looks at Kara and tilts his head, "So, where is Scoops being held? I'll need to get her to confirm what I got from him." Rhys is attempting to conceal the way he is leaning, attempting to project an aura of neutrality, but the emotions from the Galliard have left their echo on his face, in his eyes. The Philodox is tense, but his Rage is well in check. "He was a friend of yours?"

"Yeah." The answer comes easily enough for Kara, though it's subdued. Assuming she wasn't eavesdropping, this much is, perhaps, understandable-- even if she seems inclined towards leniency, herself. "Pretty close to Scoops, too, actually-- and she hasn't been too chatty lately." She inclines her head towards the dirt path they followed to get to the raised shack, then, and says, "Unfortunately for you, I'm gonna take that," the procession of no less than four individuals heading in their direction, Kate among them, "to mean that you're out of time."

Rhys frowns darkly, his jaw set, though he nods to Kara and straightens his shoulders, trying to look as competent as possible. He's got a good game face, and his charisma and leadership do afford him a certain amount of presence. He takes a deep breath and murmurs, "I would really have liked to get a chance to talk to Scoops. Since I can't, and you know them. Tell me, please. Do you think she was complicit in the act? I mean, obviously it was rape -- for the both of them. But do you think she accepted it under the circumstances.. or did he further violate her?"

Kara looks over at him, her brows lifting somewhat. She's silent for what is likely a nerve-wracking amount of time, given how soon the procession is likely to get into earshot, until finally, she says, "'Accepted' isn't really the word I'd use for it," knowing to at least speak in a slightly lowered tone, "but yeah." A pause. "I mean-- it fits her MO." Beat. "And Ryan'd do pretty much anything for her, given the chance."

Given the proximity of the others, Rhys offers no verbal reply, he simply nods his head and then turns to face the incoming crowd. He lifts his chin in a flash of throat to Kate and looks to the others there with her. He maintains an upright, professional posture, his eyes clear, unwavering as he looks from face to face. He is respectful, when he catches eye contact, he looks away first, offering no disrespect to those gathered.

"Deals-With-Both-Hands," Kate addresses him, as she steps to the foot of the staircase. "I'll admit, I had my doubts, but if what the mockingbirds have said is true, you've uncovered some pretty vital information. Information we didn't have before."

"You had the place bugged?" Kara asks, brow raised. "Not very trusting of you, is it? I know the guy's a Cliath, but--"

"That had nothing to do with it," Kate interrupts her, "and you know it. And you know *why*." She looks to Rhys. "I believe we're ready for deliberations. Reuben?" She turns to a large man alongside her, unmistakably Get. "Please bring Ryan to the council chambers. Rhys? Kara? If you two would come with me, please?"

There is a brief flash of surprise and mingled outrage in Rhys' eyes at the revelation of being spied on. It's quick, there and gone before he reverts to his neutral expression, nodding to the elder wolf. "Of course, Sister of the Winds-rhya." He glances briefly to Kara and then returns his attention to the others, specifically Reuben as he's directed to collect Ryan. There is a tight swallow and he nods, looking back to Kate before moving to follow in behind her. "Of course." Another side glance is cast to Kara a sort of 'I hope your Elders are wiser than mine' look before he schools his face back to neutral and goes where he is led.

The two are lead in silence to a lodge with a sunken firepit, and a large stone chimney overhead. Both features are at the center of a circular chamber around which seating is available, though, clearly, it's empty. For larger gatherings, probably; formal moots in which deliberations are performed, prior to any revelry. The decor here is lavish, of course, with metalworks, woven tapestries, and other items placed on the walls in a manner that appears the most aesthetic.

The four elders, lead by Kate, circle around the firepit as what is presumably an acolyte rushes to light it, performing a quick series of gestures that speak of hastily consecrating the fire. It's once this is done that Kara is directed to stand before the fire, and Rhys is given the gesture to join the four assembled elders on the other side.

It's not long after this that Reuben arrives with Ryan in tow, the Galliard looking accusingly towards Rhys and the others as he's shoved in place alongside-- Kara, whom he is, frankly, horrified to see standing with him.

"Pit Viper," Kate says, "we gave you the opportunity to find someone who would fairly address the divide in this council; someone who you felt would give Light-on-the-Water a chance to tell his story, one last time." A pause. "Since you're not asking your usual questions, I'm guessing you have some idea of what's been said."

Ryan looks between Kara and Kate-- and back again, blurting out, "I didn't say shit," in a fashion that isn't particularly helpful. "It was New Guy coming up with some stupid fantasy to make it all sound better."

"And yet," Kate replies, "no one here can understand why someone so loyal to his packsister would do such a thing to her. Or how she could be so forgiving of him, no matter her history." She looks to Rhys, then, and says, "Deals-With-Both-Hands-yuf. State for the council what you discovered during your meeting."

When bid, Rhys moves to stand where he is supposed to, at the edge of the line of Elders though there is a slightly larger gap between him and the next closest, as he is not their peer, despite being part of their group for the moment. When Ryan is led in, there is a flex of Rhys' jaw when he sees the fear in the other man's eyes, that desperation within him. Still, Rhys maintains his composure, though there is a thin frown when Ryan makes that declaration. When he is called on by Sister to the Winds, Rhys nods his head and addresses the line of Elders. "Scoops -- forgive me I have not been given her full deed name -- She is a clever wolf, by all accounts. She kept her head and did not let panic overtake her wits. She did her best to coach her packbrother, to give him and herself the best chance at surviving their torment. When a Ragabash Dancer saw through her attempts, he decided to up the stakes. Holding them at gunpoint, he demanded that they have sex." There is a pause as Rhys takes and holds a deep breath. "Neither of our tribe mates wanted to die. They had already lost their other packmates. They'd endured days of torture, physical, mental and emotional. Scoops saw in this an opportunity. She knew if they acquiesed to the demand they could lower the Dancer's guard. And it worked. By committing a sin, they gained an opportunity to survive. They killed their tormentor and were able to escape." Rhys's voice builds -- he's no Galliard, but he can be persuasive when he needs to be, and he clearly, wholeheartedly believes this narrative. "These two did not succumb to drunken folly. There was no disregard for our ways, our laws. These are two wolves who did something that hurts them... to survive."

There is some grumbling among the four present, one of which has assumed their crinos form - their breed form, undoubtedly, as the other has assumed lupus. All Philodox, presumably, all representing themselves in an official capacity. The metis in particular looks a mite uncomfortable, though it may not be for the reasons one might think. More than a few of the breed have turned hardliner against their own kind, in more than once instance-- especially among the Fianna.

"Some would argue that the central tenet of the Litany is the first," Kate says, "while other tribes, the Children of Gaia especially, hold that it is beholden to the second. The Fianna, traditionally, say *all* the laws have equal merit; that one does not supercede the other, no matter our interpretation. Yet, you seem to suggest that this is your stance on it: that committing a crime against our laws is permissable *if* one does so in order to survive."

<<Survival is key,>> the lupus chimes in. <<We abandon hunts if the prey is too hardy and our numbers too lean. And we make them leaner still by driving away the able-bodied, or demanding they lay down and die.>>

~'Do not suffer thy people,'~ the metis replies, but says no more on it. The lupus cocks his head, curious. ~They are not able in mind if they feel the production of a miserable, hated child is an apt solution to a problem, no matter how dire. They have inflicted unnecessary grief on this world: theirs, and that of their offspring.~

"One would argue that life as a whole is nothing but unnecessary grief," the woman alongside Kate says. Then, to Rhys, "And at least one of us should point out, as I believe you've been taken for quite a ride in getting here-- 'Scoops' is a Rite Name. When she made Fostern, she took a new name. Pit Viper."

To which there is no response from Kara, though gazes shift in her direction. "Pit Viper," Kate says, "whom, out of sympathy from members of this council, was given the opportunity to find a representative of her own. Well-- she's done that. Unfortunately for her, it shows a level of duplicity that I hadn't thought her capable. And you?" She looks to Ryan. "How is it you can call yourself a wolf, even a Cliath, and accept the blame she placed on you?"

There is a long glance cast to Kara, Rhys' eyes steady on her for the span of several heartbeats. He turns then to the council, to address Kate. "Actually, I'm rather impressed that she kept that information from me. It allowed me to form my own opinion, unshaded by her story, her plight. Also, when she presented this situation to me as a hypothetical, she in no way attempted to sway me one way or the other. I find that... admirable." He glances to Kara once more before looking to the Metis, "You would say that it consistiutes mental illness to want to live, even if the means of doing so has a narrow possibility of producing a Metis?" Rhys tilts his head, "So, you would see Gaia's strength lessened by two brave and honorable warriors because they were forced to copulate or die?" He makes a bit of a face, nodding his head, "I can try to imagine what the life of a Metis is like. I would likely fail to understand the depths of despair and misery, but I have seen how they are treated. I know that I have my own biases. But do you deny the strength you bring to the fight on Gaia's behalf? Do you truly feel there is nothing of merit you offer? Your wisdom and insight is clearly valued, given the company you keep. You are on this council, are you not?" Rhys looks then to the lupus and nods, "Survival is everything in this fight. We need all the warriors we can get. And if a brave, strong pair of wolves can endure what they have endured... how can we even consider throwing that away?"

Kara keeps her own expression largely unreadable, but it's clear she's at least taking this more seriously than her initial, fairweather approach, even in the fashion in which she opts to incline her head in acknowledgement, however muted the gesture is.

"We're forced to re-evaluate a number of things with the new information at hand," Kate says, then. "Whether or not there was, indeed, the threat of being killed. That the Dancers kept the two alive for as long as they did speaks to me of a Hive looking for inductees, not two new bodies."

"And that's exactly what we would've been if they kept at us," Ryan spits out, more infuriated now than he was throughout the accusations leveled on Kara.

"Ryan," Kara says gently, just that one word seeming to do worlds for the Galliard's temper, though that's more in bringing it to heel rather than easing it entirely. He's still seething, even if he seems to trust her when she says, "I've got this." Then, to the council, she says, "He's right, you know. They weren't working us like playthings. They were working us like projects. And if we'd just-- held out, if we hadn't taken the opportunity we did, we would've been dead. Just not in the way I sold it to you before."

~Why lie, then?~ the Metis asks. ~Why let him take the fall?~

<< I'm wondering the same. Is he not your packbrother? >>

"He is," Kara says. "And he made it clear he wouldn't accept me telling the truth-- because he knows what the tribe means to me. And I know what it would've meant for him if the council heard the truth. You really think I wanted him to take the fall? *I* wanted to be the one to take responsibility. It was *my* idea to go along with it in the first place. Of course I was going to be the one to come forward with it, but he couldn't handle that. Not after what we'd been through."

"And you'd just put her through more of the same," Ryan spits out, unable to help himself. "Me? I'm used to being treated like shit. But she deserves better than that. If it weren't for her, we'd be screaming 'our true fucking names' in some pit somewhere, but does that even fucking matter?"

"Ryan," the unnamed homid says firmly, as Rueben begins to move in behind him. "Calm down. Please." She looks alongside her, to the Metis. "In light of this," she says, "do you wish to address Deals-With-Both-Hands?"

The Metis' ear flicks, and he growls lightly. Then, ~Pit Viper's methods have always been on the edge of good taste. She has many times proven herself incapable of drawing boundaries. No matter your admiration of her, she is broken, for which she has my sympathy. We all know her struggles and know them as real, but they lead to compulsions that cause greater and greater problems. Furthermore, this is not the first tenet she's violated in the name of 'the greater good,' and it will not be the last.~

"And yet," the unnamed homid says, "she is Ragabash; a cunning one that has ousted Alphas unsuited to their work, and done more to ensure the safety of this sept and her tribe than many of her age that I can think of. She tests our understanding of our laws, just as she should, and has never once asked us to be lenient on account of the duties Luna has entrusted her with."

"But surely this is a bridge too far," Kate says, mildly incredulous.

<< Is it? We don't know how we would behave under the same circumstances. Perhaps we would do worse, just for the opportunity to break free. Or perhaps we would fall. >>

Rhys watches the back and forth with the intensity of a biddy watching her stories. He is concentrating, clearly trying to figure out the relationships of those in the room. There are a number of times he seems about to say something, but he keeps his mouth closed as others on the council chime in on this or that. When the unnamed homid is coming so strongly to Kara's defence, there is a studious look there. He does, however, break his silence when it seems there's a question of the veracity of the story. "Sister of the Winds-rhya, I can tell you that I am trained in detecting deception from a body language and voice basis, and I also was tapped into Gaia's truth. Everything Light on the Water said to me was true, with the sole exception being his statement that he raped her." Rhys offers that, letting the steady surity in his voice add to the words.

Ryan even winces slightly at the word, now that he's no longer obligated to stand by the lie, his eyes turning downward. Kara keeps a stony facade, herself, though there's a slight tension in her jaw, blue eyes fixed on the fire, rather than any of the members of the council.

"Noted," Kate says, voice softening somewhat. "It's also noted that it appears we're still split on the matter of how to move forward."

"And there is no apt punishment for this," the homid reminds the group, "Not unless we want to appease the dissenters from other tribes. They already believe our treatment of metis and their parents to be atrocious--"

~And yet,~ the Metis says, ~I do not want it on record that this is an acceptable method of escaping capture.~

<< Nor I, >> the lupus agrees. << I understand survival. Understand its need. But the deed itself must be condemned for what it is. >>

"Ah, Christ, here it comes," Ryan says under his breath.

"Light on the Water," the homid says sternly. "No more interruptions."

He opens his mouth to reply, but again, it's Kara that stays him, her hand coming to rest on his upper arm. He falls silent, looking down at the floor.

"Leafbright raises a fair point," Kate says. "There is a controversy brewing here that doesn't need to extend beyond this sept, or those within the tribe, and I'd honestly like to keep it that way."

<< Perhaps the best method is no method at all, >> the lupus says. << No acknowledgement, good or ill. >>

~And what of the child?~

<< She bears it in solitude; gives it to a tribe more-- accepting than ours, and speaks no more of it. If she does, she and her packbrother both would be immediately ostracized from the tribe as a whole. >>

The metis snorts. ~I don't like this. It's too easy.~

"I'm inclined to agree," Kate says, though she sounds uncertain about it. "What of you, Cliath?" she says to Rhys. "Do you have a suggestion?"

There is a part of Rhys that is absolutely fascinated by the interplay between the coucil. This is the kid who wants to grow up and be a lawyer watching Court TV. He is so very captivated by those speaking, that when he is addressed there is a pause, a blink and then he nods to acknowledge he's been called on. He is quiet for several more seconds before he says, "I think the scars the bear are punishment enough. Had this been a slip of judgement on their part... an infatuation allowed to grow and blossom into sin, that would be a far different situation. We would hardly need a council to decide their fate." Rhys is quiet, again, collecting his thoughts, choosing his words, "They lost their pack. They were forced to engage in an act that will likely haunt the both of them, changing the relationship they have had and transmuting it into something different. That is an enormous loss. If they are able to remain pack -- if they are able to rebuild, there will always be a wall between them because of this. There is a child, which I agree, should be sent away, given to the Children of Gaia, or even the Black Furies, that child will live in both their hearts. It will haunt them. Why should we add to what they have already suffered when this act in and of itself has rained such misery on them? Are we seeking to send two more to Harano? Fianna hearts burn so brightly and can fall into such darkness. They resisted the call of the Spiral. They are still ours. Let them heal." There is a brief pause and then there is a tilt of Rhys' head. "If blood is required, you could always take them to Erebus. Have them submerge and return, cleansed. There could be no question of their purity after."

Sister of the Winds' brows raise noticeably at the mention of Erebus, her gaze shifting to the Metis who, so far, has shared her misgivings. Then Leafbright and the lupus get the same look.

The lupus is the one that looks to be in deep concentration, rather than showing any outward incredulity. In the end, he says, << Should it become known that this deed has been committed-- should it ever become common knowledge, a question of purity would be raised. Erebus would erase concerns that the council did nothing; the child's removal from the tribe would dissuade dissent. And yet... >>

~It is harsh.~ Odd, for the Metis to be the one to say it, but he's pondering it. ~But perhaps, for two so wounded in their human lives, and now so wounded in the lives they've moved on to, it would be-- a renewing experience. A catharsis.~

"Is there a middle ground?" Leafbright asks. "Erebus may be a bit extreme for those exhibiting no taint."

~Lacking taint,~ the Metis says, ~they won't suffer long. They would be cleansed, and returned, in short order.~

"And after that?" Kate says. "Should we allow them to remain packmates, should they decide that it's possible?"

Both Kara and Ryan look more uncomfortable at this question than the mention of Erebus, to be certain. There's a sense that neither has made up their minds about it, but with the way they clearly work together, it's almost hard to imagine either of them being separated. Even if they've only been known entities for a short period of time.

<< That is up to them to decide, >> the lupus says, finally. << But I would suggest they speak first to someone who can offer counsel over the experience-- be a Theurge, or something more mundane. Someone they, and the council can trust. >>

A silence settles over the room. After a time, seeing no dissent from the others, Sister-of-the-Winds gives a nod of her head, and turns to Kara and Ryan. "Then it's decided," she says. "Pit Viper, Light on the Water-- both of you will be brought to seclusion. You will be supervised by another, but you will continue to act as packmates throughout the pregnancy. Once Pit Viper has given birth, and the child is given a proper tribe, you will both be taken to Erebus. When your cleansing runs its course, you will be returned to the tribe-- and allowed to live on, as you see fit." A pause. "Have you anything to say?"

The two glance at one another. Ryan merely shakes his head; he doesn't look happy about this, but he doesn't look quite as distraught, either. Kara just looks-- a little sad, all told. The talk of loss struck a nerve, apparently. "There's just something I have to clear up," she says, regardless. "Something minor I should probably apologize for." This, of course, sets the room on edge, which earns a little wave of her hand. "It has to do with Rhys-- with Deals-With-Both-Hands." A pause. "I got him to come here by letting him believe that he was taking part in his Fostern challenge. I wasn't sure if he would, otherwise." A pause. "I wanted someone who had the right pedigree, the credentials, the background-- and I wanted someone young enough to give a fresh perspective. So-- I lied to him." Beat. "I gave him a lot of shit for not being up to the challenge. That he didn't have the record of a Philodox. I'd ask that-- to make up for this, the council accepts his agreement to come with me as formal. Speaking personally-- I'd say he deserves the rank. Especially since he broke the tie, and offered all of you a solution."

~Even if that solution is Erebus?~

Kara gives a faint smile, near-humorless, but it's with a faint note of levity that she says, "I didn't say it was a *good* solution." She sobers. "But it got all of you to agree to something."

Kate offers a faint smile of her own, to that. "It's-- surprisingly altruistic of you to say so," she says. "Rhys?" she says. "Is it true that she presented this as a rank challenge?"

There is a calmness within Rhys as the others work over his suggestion. There are flickers of guilt that rise and fall in his eyes, and yet he doesn't flinch or recant. There is a look of surprise when Kara brings up the challenge and Rhys' brows furrow, he looks from her to Kate and nods, slowly. "Yes ma'am. However, I would have come regardless." He looks to Kara and there is something conflicted, "I know it isn't the best solution. But I truly believe you will not be there long at all. You're a damn good Ragabash, from everything I've heard." He looks to Ryan then, a long look, before turning his attention back to Kate. He has the air of someone who has something to say, but he's holding his tongue.

Kara merely gives a nod of her head, and a faint smile, though it's understandably not a particularly bright one. Kate, on the other hand, looks to Rhys curiously, that energy about him far from missed. "Did you have something to add?" she says, the other members of the council looking to him, the lupus and metis both actively studying him.

There's that pause that those familiar with Rhys likely expect when he's asked something. Rhys shakes his head and looks to Kate, "No ma'am. My feelings aren't relevant to the proceedings." Well, no one can say he isn't self-aware. There is a clearing of his throat and he nods to the others. Rhys flicks a glance to Ryan and Kara but then schools himself, focusing on teh council of Elders, waiting patiently for the final resolution.

Though Kate watches him a moment or two longer, she nonetheless offers a nod, and says, "Fair enough." Then a pause. "Though Kara's methods were unorthodox, however-- she has put forward a proposal." She looks to the others. "What say you to moving forward with it?"

The lupus raises his head, his ears pricked forward. << It is an unorthodox method, >> he says. << But we are a council of his peers. >>

~She is correct, that he provided a solution that could be agreed upon.~

"And he has put a surprising amount of himself into the proceedings, besides," Leafbright syas, "while still rendering a punishment that is amenable to the tribe, and perhaps even the Nation."

Kate looks back to Rhys. Though in any other situation, this may be cause for a smile, she adopts only a faint one, and says, "I'd say that decides it. Rhys Stoker? For your service to the Nation, and your work here today, I, as Alpha of the Sept of the Grandfather, Athro Philodox of the Fianna, recognize you as Spares the Child-- Fostern Philodox."

Rhys' eyes widen and while there is a brief look of intense satisfaction, of pride in his expression, it is tempered by a glance to Kara and Ryan. There is a swallow from Rhys, a nod of his head. "I am honored, Sister of the Winds-rhya." There is another swallow, a flex of his shoulders and a pause before he says, "If there is anything else I can do, please do let me know." He turns to Kara and Ryan and there is another hesitation before he says, "I believe in the both of you. I sincerely wish you both the best."

Should be understandable that neither Kara nor Ryan look to be in much of a mood for celebrating, though the former at least offers a sincere smile, of sorts. Ryan merely keeps his eyes down, appearing a bit mystified by what he's heard; like he has something else he wants to say, but he's keeping it to himself. Given his outbursts before, maybe it's better he did; that certainly seems to be his assessment of it.

As for the Sept Alpha, herself-- "As strange as it may seem, try to keep in mind that though the deed name reflects what you've done here today, in more ways than one," if not in the 'we are all Gaia's children' sense, then in literal deed, "speaking of the deed itself requires discretion. Eventually, should the truth of the matter surface, you'll be offered the ability to speak freely. But for now, it need only reflect your methods and character."

To the couple standing by the firepit, she says, "We've seen one good thing come of this mess. Let's see more of the same from the both of you." She nods to Reuben, then, and says, "See to it that they're accommodated in getting their things together. I'll have Aine--" --pronounced Anya-- "--and Oison--" --O'Sheen-- "--let them know what safehouses are available to them," these two new names presumably representing packmates.

Rhys nods once more to Kara and Ryan before turning to look back at Kate, "Of course ma'am. I will be discreet, of that you have my word." He nods and lifts his chin in that reflexive gesture of obedience that he has. He looks between the others and then looks at last to Kate, "Would it be possible for me to find a place to catch a nap before I leave this evening? I should have rested before the trip, but I admit my mind was too busy to rest."

"You're more than welcome to use one of our lodges to get some sleep, yes," Kate replies, nodding, her gaze flickering towards the couple being escorted elsewhere. "I'll have someone see you to the guest quarters we have here on site." A pause. "As it stands, your tribemates will want to hear about your accomplishments. Any excuse for a celebration, mn?" She offers a smile. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to take the celebration to your current sept. Though it may cause some disappointment, I don't think anyone would begrudge you the desire to return home with the news."

There is a sudden flare of perked energy at the mention of a celebration, though it fades just as swiftly, and Rhys is shaking his head. "I've got a kin at home that would like to skin me if I don't get back and share the news." His smile is a mix of amusement and chagrin, though there is a darting glance to Kara and Ryan, a less than subtle clue as to a possible reason not to party where he is.

There's a brief silence-- followed by, "They're both Fianna, Rhys," is said gently. "Kara knew when she put forward her recommendation that celebration would be a given. And I suspect that's what she was hoping for. Something to return this place with normalcy." There's faint reactions from the others, both good and bad, but they seem more or less in agreement. "Nonetheless, I'll applaud your prudence." She nods to one of the door guards, giving instructions on which lodge to place the newly minted Fostern. "Get some rest, in the meantime. You'll be departing for Enduring Spirit by tomorrow night."

There are soft congratulations offered by those Philodox present, the bulk of them shifting to homid to mingle, both the metis and lupus offering their own measured praise, no matter that the former seems a bit more reserved about it. And, as promised, Rhys is lead to a comfortable lodge with a woodburning fireplace, the Fianna that escort him seeming to think that he's capable of lighting it up on his own, with or without the assistance of lighters or matches. Though some brief hunting will reveal some matches on the mantle.

Whether the sleep he gets is good or bad, it's *sleep*, all the same, the Philodox allowed to rest for as long as his body requires it, without interruption. By the next night, both Kara and Ryan have already been relocated, with none but the council itself aware of what transpired. Queries as to whether or not it's possible to touch base get some loose responses, but the answer is clear: save for a pair of Garou serving as 'chaperones,' and as guardians to the glade they'll be entrusted to help defend, they're not to be disturbed.

A temporary exile, it seems, in accordance to the hardliners among the council.

"You'll get a chance to speak to them again someday, I'm sure," Kate assures him, prior to departure, should the subject be raised. "It's just something you'll have to get used to-- becoming invested, rendering judgment, and never again seeing your wards as you had before. Consider it another lesson you'll have to take to heart: that, unlike the defendants, closure is something you'll have to reach on your own."

If, indeed, there was any desire for it. And, whether or not he takes the advice for what it's worth - or says he knew that already - she merely reiterates it, without preamble, and wishes him well, just as the Theurge opens the bridge leading back home.