2024.5.09: Boots' Fostern Challenge

05.09.24 Boots' Fostern Challenge
A Tribal Challenge with Kinfolk, Weird Shit and more!
IC Date	05.09.24
IC Time	Day and Night
Players	Boots, Irsa (ST)
Location	Mystic Valley - Deep Forest and Harbor District -- Heart of the Scab ; Sept of the Enduring Spirit
Spheres	Garou

Mystic Valley - Deep Forest(#1747RJU)

The forest floor of the Large Cavern begins to slope sharply downwards into a deep, subterranean valley, the pathway ages ago etched into long, wide steps worn by countless feet and paws over the years. The walls of this valley cavern are high and extremely steep volcanic rock and granite slabs, the ceiling of the cavern so high that the valley has taken on its own internal weather system. Hundreds of feet overhead, the vents and cracks allowing sunlight to filter through can no longer be seen, light spreading as though the valley were lit with a gentle and unseen underground sun of its own. Mist from underground streams and waterfalls create en endless cycle of clouds, brief rains, and evaporation into clouds again, while breezes from any number of caves and tunnels bring fresh air and move the clouds through their false sky. The subterranean forest is thickest here, towering evergreen trees are dwarfed by the sheer size of the valley cave, weeping willows hang curtains of greenery over meandering streams and pools of mineral water. The steep, unclimbable valley walls are dotted with vines and bushes that have, against all odds, found purchase and growth potential. Stone pathways wend and meander through moss and wild grass along the valley, creating miles of walkways all throughout this sacred place. A large central meadow has become a meeting point for the valley. Near enough to the Large Cavern's steeply stepped pathway and with wide stone avenues branching away to living areas, shrines, and the amphitheater. A well maintained seating area takes up the middle of the meadow, with a stone pit made for a large bonfire, several old logs and small boulders pulled up around it for comfortable seating. A large and ornately carved totem pole stands tall nearby, detailing the leadership of the Caern. Also nearby, a massive stone tablet jutting four feet out of the ground has inscribed upon its polished face the rules of the Caern, unmissable by anyone in the area.

Odd time for Boots, being a new moon. It's like his antethesis of an evening! Still, he had a mission today - to find Irsa and put his butt on the line. To that end, he was wandering through the caern - axe and shield strapped to his back. Just in case. Booted feet carry him towards the rite area, should he not see her present in the general Caern.

"Irsa!? Boss?" He calls out, glancing about for any sign of a response.

It doesn't take long to spot the theurge. Irsa makes her way out of the ritual circle in Crinos form, speaking with a small knot of theurges. She's waaaaay across the way though, so good luck hearing what she's talking about. There's nothing wrong with those wolven ears though, when Boots calls her name. >> What? << she growls back, ears twitching. >> Did someone mess with Breaks-Chains again? << That would be a lupus Ahroun of the tribe, also young, infamous for her Rage and sheer dislike of humans.

Turning to the sound of her voice, Boots shakes his head. "Nope. No one is that dumb. She'd fuck them up. And if she didn't, I would." The young man makes his way to stand in front of his elder Tribeswoman. "Hammer-Tooth-Rhya, I wanted to find you, cause I am ready to challenge you so I can be a Fostern. Me, Boots, FAFO, Ahroun of the Bone Gnawers." He hitches a thumb and points it to his chest. "I can't think of anyone better to challenge - no one understands us like you do."

You could hear a pin drop in the caern when the gauntlet is thrown down. Nearby sept members stop what they're doing to watch, and one of older theurges nudges Irsa-Crinos in the side. "Hah! Runs-Swiftly owes me twenty bucks!" Irsa eyes Boots up and down and nods as she straightens to her full height. >> I, Hammer-Tooth, Athro Theurge and Leader of the Bone Gnawers, answer your Challenge. So! You're ready for Rank? Perfect, I have just the task for you. One of our Kinfolk in the city, Rachael Jones, has been having troubles. Your task is to find her, listen to what she needs done, and help her with them. Your Challenge is this: if there is danger, use the appropriate level of force. If there is another need, use your best sense and judgement to guide you to the solution. Above all things: do NOT break the Veil, and do not harm helpless humans. You have 24 hours to complete this Challenge. Do you accept the terms, FAFO? <<

The Ahroun nods. "I understand, and accept." He says, giving a bow of his head in respect to the Athro. "I will return here when it's done. Then I will take my rank." He grins, cocky as ever. Oddly enough, he leaves his sheild and axe with Hammer-Tooth, not wanting to draw too much attention working in the city. "Be back soon!"

ST Note: And with that we cut to a new location! Hammer-Tooth leads Boots to the Scab via the Umbra.

Harbor District -- Heart of the Scab:

Here in the rundown section of town, buildings seem to be far older, dating back to the early 1800's. Their cracked and crusted surfaces tell the tale signs of old age, wear and tear on the ancient structures. The streets within the area are also have seen better days as the cement is cracked and caked with dirt, oil stains and grime in many areas from parked used cars sitting there on the side of the streets for God knows how long.

Trash lies strewn about the gutters every which where and about as cigarette butts fill within and around the sidewalks. There's a heavy drag of despair and hopelessness that seems to fill the 'air' within the area, simply lingering about like a second pungent wind. Definitely not a place for the faint of heart as one that doesn't seem to know their way around these parts could tend to find 'trouble' all too quickly.

Hammer-Tooth leads the way to the City, first stepping across to the Umbra. Why waste a perfectly good Crinos form when you can just wear it and save the skin-changing thing? The green, broad expense of the wilds soon gives way to the city, and all the urban decay that entails. In this part of the Umbra, pattern spiders, electricity elementals and other City spirits hold sway. Rats, feral dog and cats spirits, pigeons, crow and seagull spirits, cockroach spirits and other beast spirits have set up nests here. There's even a small Heap spirit that they pass, grumbling to itself about how the quality of trash has gone down in this place. Hammer-Tooth stops at the edge of a charred section of ground, surrounded on all sides by old, shredded webbing. >> So, do you remember the rules and what you're supposed to do? Say it back to me,<< she rumbles. <<

Boots looks around, sorting out the surroundings first. "Find Rachel Jones, family to us. Find out what she needs done, and do it. No breaking the veil. Use appropriate force. If she needs somethin' else, do that if it is part of the solution. No harmin' helpless people." He looks to Irsa. "And I got 24 hours to do it." A look to the Heap. "I figure bein' smart will be involved, just as much as kickin' ass."

>> And you'd be right to think so, << the theurge replies. >> Good sense never killed anyone. When you step across, you'll see an apartment building across the way. That's where Rachael Jones lives. She'll be easy to find, just ask around. << Hammer-Tooth peers at Boots. >> One more thing: stay out of the Umbra. We act in the physical world when we're aiding our Kinfolk. The idea is to see how you do here, facing all the City's consequences. Your 24 hours begins now, meet me back here in the Tellurian when you're done. I'll step across to join you. You ready to rock, Cruz? <<

Boots cracks his knuckles. "Yah, I am ready." He nods in response. "No Umbra. I figure if I need to chat up a spirit, things went south." A snicker, the man rolling his neck to work the kinks out. "Ready ready." He says, looking as if he's ready to jump across the Gauntlet.

The Tellurian side of things is so different than the Umbral side. Boots finds himself in a small building when he steps across: the burnt-out remains of a parking attendant booth. Blackened, scorched pavement surrounds it on all sides. The rusting remnants of a chain-link fence surrounds the property. It's a corner lot, with two streets on each side. There's old apartment building to the south, and scattered shops and other buildings to the east. There's a traffic light on the corner, but it hasn't worked for years. Traffic is thick at the intersection, vehicles cut each other off while their drivers lose their minds and flip each other off. On the plus side, that bodega to the east smells amazing. Ah, Home Sweet Home.

Boots's nose lifts up to the air, scenting the area. Bodega... yum! "Rachel Jones." He murmurs to himself, tucking his hands into his pockets for now. A look around, his head tilting to the side to hear if anyone is around. Anyone he can ask about for her. His feet start him towards the apartment building.

The apartment building is an old courtyard style, with two tiers of apartments surrounding a central lawn. There's no balconies, so the residents have set up lawn chairs, a picnic table and a couple of BBQs. There's a steel gate keeping strangers from strolling in, but there is one of those buzzer things outside. Too bad someone here can't read. Luckily for Boots, there's a group of young kids double-dutching like mad inside.

He's familiar with these sort of buildings. They are more often than not a community with the people, thankfully. A look to the gate, then beyond to the kids. "Yo!" He calls over in as friendly of a manner as he can. "Hey, is Rachel home, do you know?" He asks, watching the action. He taps on the gate in time to their hopping feet, enjoying the show.

The kids look up as Boots calls out to them, and one of littler girls edges towards the gate. She's not dumb, she was raised in this town. "You're a stranger," she lisps, looking him up and down. "Why do you smell like my uncle?" An older girl working the ropes looks up with a scowl. "Ain't no Rachael here. You better leave, my brothers ain't gonna like you being here."

Boots nods in agreement to the stranger comment. "I am. But I am family to Rachel. Distant cousin." He keeps his smile for now, stepping back from the gate to avoid spooking the kids as they get closer. Not too far, just a step - showing he's not going to try to force the issue. "I don't want beef with your brothers, 'specially if they are keepin' folks safe here. I can understand that kind of view." A nod to the little girls and a smile. "What's his name? I might know him."

"Hubert," the little girl blurts out. "Don't tell him that!" the older girl says, in that 'OMG-I-am-so-DONE-with-this-baby' tone. She drops the rope and huffs, "Are you happy? Papa is gonna be So mad at you for tellin'. I'm gonna get him, right now!" she says, shooting a threatening look at Boots and her obviously-younger sister. "Stay there, and don't let him in!" she orders the other kids. She darts off into an apartment nearby.

Boots' hands come out of his pockets, slowly. Palms forward, showing he's got nothing in them as he waits on Hubert to come down and handle the stranger. A wink to the younger girl. "Sounds familiar." He assures the tiny girl. "You got some good jumps on you, too." He nods to her, motioning to the ropes. "Keep it up, yeah? You'll be a champion."

The kids boggle at Boots, and who could blame them? Look at the cool stuff he has! A boy about eight begins to edge closer just as the apartment door thumps open. Kids jump back and go right back to jumping rope, like they weren't about to talk to a stranger against orders. A bearded black man in his late 20s rolls out in a wheelchair. He's a burly guy, with the broad shoulders and arms of a man who's used to working hard for a living. He's wearing a white undershirt, basketball shorts and sneaks. His legs are a mess, twisted and scarred from some kind of accident. He rolls right up to the gate and stares up at Boots fearlessly. "You want somethin'?" he challenges.

The young man gives the man a nod of respect. "I'm lookin' to talk to Rachel, if she's home. I got some errands to run, an I figured I might be able to help her with a couple of things too, if she's amiable." A shrug and a smile. "I ain't lookin' for trouble, honest."

"You got a name, brother?" the man says. "I can ask around, but I ain't gonna waste my time if ain't no one knows your handle, no how." He rolls his wheelchair back and forth a bit.

Boots nods. "Boots Cruz." He offers over, without hesitation. "She may not know me, I ain't gonna lie. But we're related, distantly. Like kin from the south and stuff." He tries to explain. "I got a tip that she is needin' some help, so I want to help her out where I can."

"Magic password, right there." The man rolls up to the gate and buzzes Boots in. "Momma's been waitin' for ya'll for a bit. I'm Drew. Drew Jones." He neatly spins his chair and rolls further into the courtyard. "Makena! Move your game a bit outta sight. Next time, make it harder for strangers to see you from the street." The older girl nods and herds her sisters and friends away. "How's th' Boss?" Drew asks, as edges the apartment door open for Boots. The place is tidy, with run-down furtniture showing its age. Clean and cozy, with an elderly. thick-set black woman making lunch in the kitchen. "Momma! Got Boots here for ya," Drew calls out.

Boots grins. "Fair. Just didn't want to spook no one. Nice meetin' you, Drew." He comments, stepping in once invited. "She's good - been helpin' me learn and grow. She's an awesome boss. Sent me out here on this trip. I got a challenge goin' on... but more importantly, we got family who needs help. So I am gonna help, regardless." A smirk. "I been focused on the mall, but I can help here if y'all need it." He follows along, showing respect for the home and the comfort of those there.

The old woman joins the group in the living room. "Boots, huh? Irsa said she'd be sending you by," she says, handing the Garou a sandwich. It's fried bologna, slathered with mustard and topped with crisp dill pickles. She hands another one to her son and steps into the kitchen to bring out a pitcher of lemonade. "They call me 'Mrs. Jones' 'round here, but don't let me catch you singing that song. That was my momma Kenny Gamble wrote about, not me." She wipes her hands clean on a dish towel and smiles. "I got a couple things we need done 'round here." Drew shakes his head. "It's stuff I used to do, but I can't since the accident. Ain't no way I'm sending my boys out for that gang, no how. I ain't riskin' them winding up like me." Mrs Jones sighs. "'Another new one. They've been harassing people up an' down the street, and they even tried to beat up poor old Noah the other day."

Boots gives a dip of his head in respect for older woman. "Thank you, ma'am." He offers over, taking the sandwich and enjoying a bite. No reason to insult the woman hosting him! A slight smirk about the song - though he's not familiar with it, he'll take her word. His eyes go from Mrs. Jones and Drew, listening to each as they explain the situation. There's a bit of anger that he might have been crippled by this gang. "They need to understand the proper order of things, yeah/"

"You'd know Noah if you saw him. He sticks out, he's usually by the bodega," Mrs Jones says, sitting down at the table with her own lunch. "He's got th' Sight, totally crazy. He ain't Kin, Irsa says he's somethin' else that ain't human. She's confirmed he's not dangerous, he's given folks 'round here good advice and warnings 'bout danger since I was a girl. But it ain't his job to fight for us. That's your job." She peers keenly at Boots. "This gang is botherin' me. They ain't all young men, and they ain't scared of nothin'. I got a bad feeling is all, but I'm old enough to trust my gut. And they keep comin' around more an' more, trying to get my grandchildren to go outside." Her dark eyes flash angrily.

Even more of a flash of anger at that thought. Boots finishes the sandwich, wiping his hands on his coat. "All right. Either I will cow them, or run them out with no reason to come back." He assures. "If it's worse... I'll make sure they get the proper treatment." He says, trying to avoid letting his anger take over at the moment - no need to get rowdy around the kin. "Where do they usually hang?"

"I was pickin' up some things at the bodega when they went after Noah," Drew says. "He was jabberin' like he usually does, and a few of 'em tried to lay the beat-down on him. They ran off after he broke a couple arms." He shakes his head and tackles his sandwich. "He looked right at me and pointed down the street a ways. Went right back to muttering like he usually does. It's right where th' bastards hang out. It's an old shoe store, been boarded up for years." Mrs. Jones adds, "And when you're done with that, I gotta few things 'round here that need doing. Drew can do ground level repairs, but higher up is a problem, and my grandsons are visiting their mother. And someone needs to pick up my groceries. Lot of folk 'round this place need feeding." Surely this last part will be off-camera, action awaits!

Boots grins. "I'll be glad to help with whatever you need, Mrs. Jones." The man assures, giving another nod. "I'll go check it out - roust out the bad guys." He assures, streching and moving to the door. "I'll come back for the other chores and to help grab the groceries." A wave to her, and Drew, and then he's off towards the shoe store.

It's a bit of a walk, but not too far. Fifteen minutes later (and possibly a short stop at the bodega along the way for snacks), Boots finds himself approaching the gang's hang-out. There's a group of five young people sitting on the steps outside the store: three boys, two girls, all of them no older than their late teens. They're a mix of racial types, not the norm for most gangs. They're playing Spades and arguing over the tricks. The only obvious gang color is a gray bandana tied around their wrists.

Boots does his best to look like someone to victimize - slouching more, trying to hide his confidence. His steps are shuffling, as if he's under the influence too. All he can do to bait them into acting out. Sneaky Ahroun.

"Fuck off," the tallest boy snaps at one of his friends, throwing down his cards in disgust. His hand was garbage. The gang doesn't spot Boots at first, but finally a girl about 17 does. She nudges the angry boy and mutters something to him. He flashes an evil grin and gets up to approach Boots, his friends trailing after him. "You lost?" he says in a mock-friendly voice.

Boots takes a breath or two to respond, looking over blurrily. "Nah. Lived here my whole life. You all shoe salesmen?" He asks, playing up on the less than lucid state. He wobbles a minute, coming to a stop in front of the steps and regarding each of them.

The tall boy is completely unphased by the Curse, but three others begin to look nervous when Boots gets closer. The 17-year old girl crosses her arms over her chest and stares at her friends. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she hisses at them. One of them has his arm in a cast, an obvious souveneir from the Noah encounter. He shakes his head and begins to back away. "Nuh uh, fam. I'm out. Catch ya'll never." The deserter is gone by the time the tall boy turns around. "The fuck is his deal? Whatever. Yeah, we're salesmen. Want some sweet kicks?" he asks.

Boots's eyes go a bit clearer as the one singles himself out. He looks to those leaving, nodding in approval. "Don't go fuckin' with the people around here no more. You don't want the smoke you're callin' down." Then to the brave one, the one unafraid. "You're a special kind of stupid, ain'tcha?" He regards the other person, trying to determine if he's kin, tainted, or other. Hard for the Ahroun to suss out. "You got some kicks for me?"

The two remaining nervous ones puff up a bit when Boots threatens them. They aren't being brave though. "Yeah, whatever. He ain't worth it, let's get some grub," the non-brave girl says, tugging her boyfriend away. They quickly turn the corner and are gone. "Oh, fuck this," the tall boy hisses in disgust. "You want some sweet kicks? Get some!" And with that, he launches a punch at Boots, taking a cheap shot right for the gut. The braver girl backs up a step and pulls a knife out of her jacket.

Boots grunts as the punch lands, pretty solid for a quick sucker punch. Eyes go to the girl with the knife, and a shake of his head. "Don't fuckin' start playin' for keeps, girl. You ain't ready to lose that bad." He stands up straight, not in the least detered by the punch. "That's a freebie, punk. One more chance to leave on your own."

"You're fuckin' pathetic!" the girl hisses at her friend. The tall boy backs up, looking a bit uncertain now that his punch did nada. "Wait 'til Raphael hears about this!" And with that she chucks her knife right at Boots' head and runs off. Doesn't even wait to see if it lands, she's gone. The sole survivor is now totally alone. "Oh, fuck this!" he rasps. "You want this shit-hole, you can have it. Fuckin' fight Raphael, for all I care." He's leaving and taking his cards home!

The knife is tracked as it whistles past his head - by a mile. "I see you again, girl, and you're gonna have a reckoning." He growls, even as his arm lashes out and grabs the man who's trying to bolt. "How 'bout you tell me where Raphael hangs, and I won't fuckin' stomp you into the curb?" He pulls the man in close, nose to nose. "Then you can find your way out to fuckin' San Francisco or somewhere far the fuck away."

"Shit! Okay! Fuckin' chill out, man!" the boy spits out. "Look, I just joined up, okay? I've only met Raphael once." He squirms out of Boots' grip and hugs his arms to his chest, looking uncomfortable. "There ain't no work here. What, you think money grows outta trees? If I had it, you think I'd be here?" he hisses in frustration. "I can't just leave, my old man man's here, he's dying." He backs up some more and kicks a empty beer bottle away.

Boots growls. "Don't fuckin' bullshit me, boy." He snarls, fists balled up like he wants to beat him into oblivion. "I catch you around here again, roustin' people, or even fuckin' jaywalkin', I'm gonna beat you so hard you forget your name." There's no lie in that - he's willing to do that. "Find a new place. North or fuckin' south. Don't care. But not in my town."

The boy folds like a cheap suit, of course. Who wouldn't with an angry Ahroun in their face? He backs off and drops his keys on the steps. "Candice. She brought me in," he stutters. "The girl who threw her knife. We don't got a name, no tags, no signs, nothin'. The bandanas were her idea, Raphael thought the whole idea of having that kinda names or any of that shit was funny." He rips his bandana off and tosses it on the ground. "Go on, check the place out. Raphael don't live here, he tells Candice to come get him or he surprises us here." He shifts, looking more afraid. "He's... weird. Y' know? He looks like a Calvin Klein model or some shit, but he's..." he shifts again, like he wants to bolt. And he does, if Boots lets him go.

Boots keeps his grip for one more moment. "But he's..." He leads on, eye to eye with the guy again. "Tell me, then beat feet."

"It's wrong. He feels wrong, you feel me? It ain't natural, he scares the shit out of me." And with that, the boy bolts, never to return. Boots can unlock the store with those keys. It's a typical abandoned store inside. Crude phallic grafitti everywhere, old defunct gang names, trashed interior, the works. A camp stove and sleeping bags show the gang's been living here. There's a sketchbook here, showing a rough drawing of a very attractive man in his early twenties. Even as a sketch, he exhibits a strange, eerie beauty.

Most of the scents Boots picks up here belong to the young humans: slightly-funky bedrolls and laundry bags, trash that should have been taken out last week, old take-out boxes left all over the place. If this wasn't an abandoned shoe store you'd be forgiven for mistaking it for a college dorm room. It's not until Boots checks out the common area that things change. Most of the seating are the benches left over from retail days, but there's a small couch the teens dragged in from somewhere. Mostly human and old food smells again, but one end smells more strongly. It's a mix of something musky and floral, like night jasmine that's bloomed too early and begun to rot.

Boots' twitches his nose at that scent. That's not good. And from the drawings, it's doubly-so. He finds a corner out of the way, out of sight, and leaves the door locked. No need to raise anyone's suspicious who might be returning, especially not Candice's. He doesn't even collect her knife from the street! He hunkers down, eyes open and ready - waiting to see if she'll return.

It's not a long wait. Probably about a half-hour. Footsteps are heard on the pavement outside. Keys jangle and scrape in the lock. "They just ran!" Candice's furious voice can be heard outside the door. "From a homeless guy, can you believe it? He acted like he was drunk, then got all pissy. It was like they all got pimp-slapped. Deshawn, sure, but Lucia and Tomas too? And Chen! I could have just killed him!" The door swings open and two people step inside. One is Candice, looking just as angry as she sounds. The other figure is slender, just over six feet, wearing fitted gym pants and an athletic hoodie that covers the torso. The hood has been pulled up to obscure their features. It's hard to make out the gender: the body build is slender but muscular, as lean and graceful as a rapier's blade. And then this person speaks.

Their Voice. Gaia and Rat, their voice. Angelic, heavenly choirs would weep to hear it. Light and musical, with all the ancient wisdom of the world. It's the most beautiful voice Boots have ever heard, even in his dreams. "Now, now. It's just one man, Candice. He caught you all unaware and surprised you. Come, sit down with me." Raphael, for surely this must be he, claims the spot on the couch that Boots noted earlier. The girl joins him there with a sigh and rubs her eyes. "They forgot you were coming," she says sorrowfully. "How could they do that?"

Boots shakes his head, waiting another moment - perhaps trying to draw a bead on this man. With that voice, he can't risk a parley - who knows what wizardry he can work with his speaking?! His eyes narrow, listening for just a bit more, trying to see if there is anymore information to obtain before the violence.

Raphael's voice takes on a soothing tone. "There now," he says, leaning forward in his seat to take Candice's hands in his. "They were just frightened. We're all young, yes? So very young and vibrant, and beautiful. Violence is not our way." His fingers move over her wrists soothingly. His fingers are graceful and slender, with rose-dusky skin. It's almost hypnotic watching this simple action. Candice begins to relax, her expression shifting from anger to calm, becoming more beautific and worshipping as she looks at Raphael. "Can I see you?" she asks in a soft voice, like a lost child searching for comfort. A delighted laugh sounds from Raphael. "Of course." He reaches up to pull back his hood, and the world shifts and changes.

He is Beauty made flesh. Chen called him a model, but that doesn't begin to come close to describing Raphael. Olympic gods and goddesses would throw themselves from the heights to see him, weeping out their life's blood in despair. The heavens themselves would put out their lights one by one, shamed by their light in contrast to his burning star. His smile is the clouds parting, the song of travellers returning. If this man revealed his face to the masses, they would gladly let themselves be conquered.

Yep. Something wrong with this one. Likely a Fomori, or Vampire! Well, fuck it. Time for some Ahroun action. He steps out, eyes narrowed, fists balled up. A growl to Candice. "Get the fuck out of here." His eyes keep on the center mass of Raphael. "NOW."

It's so odd. There's singing coming from somewhere, like an unseen host given voice to praise. That is definitely enough to set any Garou on edge, and Boots chooses the best time to pop up out of the shadows like a jack-in-the-box. Candice's mouth was parting to join in the song, but she shrieks and bolts out of her seat. "It's him! The homeless guy!" She fumbles for her knife and chucks her knife at Boots, again. Raphael sighs as he watches violence unfold.

Barely ducking the incoming knife, Boots lashes out with a quick jab to her stomach, than an uppercut to put her lights out. Night night, Candice! Turning to face Raphael, he growls. "Why don't you and I have a dance, fucker? You fuckin' with people to get them to fuck with my people. Not on my watch."

That eerie ethereal music begins to swell as the chorus gathers strength. A faint, ragged voice whispers, so faint Boots almost misses it. "Kill me, please. I can't take it anymore. He's consuming me." It's not coming from the unconscious Candice. It's the voice of a young man, from somewhere in Raphael's vicinity. The whisper cuts off abruptly in a soft, ragged cry of pain as Raphael rises from his seat. "Enough of that," he says shortly. "Now, what do we have here? A violent, scarred, brutal young man. What a waste. With that bone structure you would have been perfect for us once." He shakes his head sorrowfully. "But it's all right. There is a use for all things. There's no need for violence. Let's talk."

It's the way he says it, backed with some sort of woojy bullshit, that spurs FAFO into action. His first swing was wildly off balance - due to his shifting and absolute rage at the situation. The second, however, strikes true. Heavy claws rend into Raphael, as FAFO goes to work. No roaring, no growls - just action.

The eerie, beautiful song cuts off in a jagged, predatory scream. Raphael's form changes, turning soft and malleable as warm candle wax. ~ NO! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!~ he screeches in a horrible, buzzsaw voice. ~ DIE! DIE! ~ His form elongates, his face melting away as lumpy pseudopods extend from his melting form and batter at Boots. There's an acrid stench as one of them hits the couch, and the sharp sizzle of burning, melting cloth.

OK, goopy silly-putty of acid is nothing FAFO was expecting. Diving out of the way of the pseudopo - he winces as he hears something sizzling. Not good. His first claw lands, though simply scoops out some goop to be flung away. The second one rends the monster open, taint to tits. Nothing living through that... hopefully.

The force of Raphael's final scream cracks the plate glass window of the old store. Good thing it was boarded up, that could have been much, much worse. Boots will find his ears ringing for a few moments more, then everything goes quiet. Candice is fine: she's out cold, none of that acid touched her. She'll need medical attention, but hey! That's what theurges are for. Raphael's body halfway-shifts to a human form, laying face down on the ground in a smoking pool of gore. His hoodie has been torn almost in half, revealing a smaller human face on his back -- Raphael's face in minature, stripped of that unnatural beauty. The eyes flutter closed, a look of peace coming over the features, and then it goes still.

Boots shifts back quickly, shaking his head. "Fuckin' hell." He growls, watching the creature die. At least part of him has peace - but fuck... what a torture. He drags some items over the beastie, covering him for the moment. Then he scoops up the downed Candice. "Fuckin' girl. In over your head." He grumbles. A look around. "I will be crossin' in a minute, Boss!" He figures he's being watched. "Once I talk to Mrs. Jones an' get this girl a doc. Or a heal. Or fuck all. Still got chores to do, after I clense this thing too." The list gets bigger!

A large rat wearing a Stetson hat materializes in the space. Beanie of course. She has a toy plastic sheriff's bag looped around her neck with a strand of colorful yarn. ~ She's coming across, just a moment! ~ The spirit pipes, climbing up Boots' leg to perch on his shoulder. ~ Whew, what a mess!~ Irsa steps across a few moments later, already rummaging around in her ritual bag. "Shit. Hold up, lemme check a thing." She leans over to inspect the girl, frowning angrily. "Fuckin' Wyrm. She'll need t' be Cleansed. Let's get that started."

Boots nods, grinning at Beanie. "I got some jerky in the inside pocket of my coat, Beanie." He comments, setting the girl somewhere a bit away from Raphael, but close enough to be in the cleansing. When Irsa appears, he nods. "She needs a doc, or a heal too. I rung her bell really well - didn't want to kill her. Figgured she was like, under a spell." That said, he's ready to help cleanse, or lead if needed.

Irsa checks the girl out and shakes her head. "She's gettin' regular human-type medicine for th' most part. If I heal her all th' way, she'll wonder how th' fuck she got downed and is miraculously better" She slides Boots her ritual bag just in case he needs to borrow anything to supplement his own stuff. "Nice work. Those dudes that ran off weren't tainted, by th' way. Just controlled by this asshole. So, what'd ya think he was?" she asks, as she starts tending to Candice's injuries.

Boots starts making the circle for the rite, even as they talk. "I thought he might be some sorta vampire, or one of them Enticers." He says, honestly. "I knew he wasn't right when I heard him and saw him. He was fuckin' unnatural. Some part of him was askin' to be killed though, and I saw a second face on him as he died. Looked like I ended the suffering." A nod about the others. "I figured there was a kingpin or somethin' leadin' them. They were too chicken-shit."

Irsa grimaces as she leans over to check out the melting corpse. "Fomori," she says simply. "If you talk t' some theurges, they'll rattle off a standard list of types, like th' Enemy ain't endlessly inventive." She checks out the nasty bruise on Candice's head and applies an ice pack. "D'ya know what Fomori are, and how they come t' be?"

Boots keeps prepping the rite, thinking. "I heard they was people who either got duped into lettin' a Bane in, or got infested." A frown. "I ain't never thought if they brought it on themselves by bein' a bad person, or they just got in the wrong place at the wrong time." Boots shakes his head. "I gotta talk to a spirit about learnin' to sense the Wyrm."

"Most folks don't let 'em in voluntarily," Irsa says, finishing up her work on Candice. "Hell, a lot don't even know they're Possessed, or that anything's wrong. For every fomori you ever heard of who bushwhack Garou, there's at least two more that ain't immune to th' Curse and got no clue what we are. When we're done here, let's drop by this dude's place. If it ain't dangerous, we can step across. Or, I can check it out an' get you th' details later. Your call. Th' Cleansing is the most important thing right now."

He does listen - learning something new every day. The rite is completed, howling sounding a bit more like the domestic dog in the city. Once completed, he shifts back and gets all straightened out. "Yeah, I want to make sure all this shit is buttoned up. Then I gotta get back to help Mrs. Jones with whatever else she needs." He grins, not wanting to leave the Kinfolk hanging.

"Nice work!" Irsa compliments the ahroun. She sets the melted fomori corpse on fire once the ritual is completed. It doesn't take long, it continues to melt and run like candle wax. Soon only dusty ash and a scorchmark on the floor is all that remains of the late Raphael. "I got her," she says, nodding at Candice. "Get your stuff done, an' I'll meet you back at the parkin' booth."

Boots gives a salute to Irsa, grinning. "Yep. On it, Boss!" And then he's heading out of the scene of the action - leaving the door unlocked, and the keys in the room. Someone else may be able to make use of the place! He trucks on back to Mrs. Jones apartment complex, stopping by to pick up the groceries she'd mentioned.

Beanie chirps at Boots before she dematerializes with the beef jerky he gave her. Irsa nabs that sketchbook with Raphael's picture before she slips out with Candice.

Mrs. Jones is thrilled when Boots returns with her groceries. "Bless you, son. Now, if you don't mind helpin' around with some repairs here, I might just see clear t' feeding you some more." Home cooking, score!

Boots smiles in earnest to the Kin. "Not a problem - y'all help up, only right that we help you." He assures, setting the bags down on the counter or table where indicated. "Just point me at what needs done, and I'll do my best to get it done." He sets about the work, doing it as carefully as he can - no shoddy workmanship for Mrs. Jones.

The work's not bad at all. Drew might be in a wheelchair, but he's still a burly man and he can handle lifting and moving things at ground level. He's a solid presence, easy to work with and has a good sense of humor. He has plenty of stories about growing up in the neighborhood, his time in the army, and he's definitely proud of his four children. Mrs. Jones does not disappoint when it comes to dinner. She's made deep-fried porkchops, collard greens, mashed potatoes, and cornbread pudding for dessert. She's clearly the matron of the place: she's cooked for her neighbors as well. "Thanks for the help, young man," she tells Boots after dinner. "Come by anytime. It's good to see young people remembering community."

Boots is happy to shoot the shit with Drew, listening in earnest when it comes to stories about family. Those are always treasured by Boots. He eats, feasts, but minds his manners. It's her home, she's Queen of the roost, so to speak. "Thank you for the food, and the stories." He offers to both she and Drew. "That gang won't be botherin' you no more. They had someone pullin' the strings, and those strings got cut." A nod. Less said, the better. "I gotta phone - if you need me, don't hesitate to call, all right?"

"Good, we don't need none of that mess here," Drew says. The family sees Boots off, sending him on his way with more food packed up in plastic containers. Irsa, true to her wood, waits for Boots at the burnt-down parking lot shed. "You ready? Might wanna think 'bout what you wanna Howl at th' caern, Fostern," she remarks casually.

ST Note: Tasks accomplished, the two Bone Gnawers return to the caern. Hooray!

Mystic Valley - Deep Forest(#1747RJU)

The forest floor of the Large Cavern begins to slope sharply downwards into a deep, subterranean valley, the pathway ages ago etched into long, wide steps worn by countless feet and paws over the years. The walls of this valley cavern are high and extremely steep volcanic rock and granite slabs, the ceiling of the cavern so high that the valley has taken on its own internal weather system. Hundreds of feet overhead, the vents and cracks allowing sunlight to filter through can no longer be seen, light spreading as though the valley were lit with a gentle and unseen underground sun of its own. Mist from underground streams and waterfalls create en endless cycle of clouds, brief rains, and evaporation into clouds again, while breezes from any number of caves and tunnels bring fresh air and move the clouds through their false sky. The subterranean forest is thickest here, towering evergreen trees are dwarfed by the sheer size of the valley cave, weeping willows hang curtains of greenery over meandering streams and pools of mineral water. The steep, unclimbable valley walls are dotted with vines and bushes that have, against all odds, found purchase and growth potential. Stone pathways wend and meander through moss and wild grass along the valley, creating miles of walkways all throughout this sacred place. A large central meadow has become a meeting point for the valley. Near enough to the Large Cavern's steeply stepped pathway and with wide stone avenues branching away to living areas, shrines, and the amphitheater. A well maintained seating area takes up the middle of the meadow, with a stone pit made for a large bonfire, several old logs and small boulders pulled up around it for comfortable seating. A large and ornately carved totem pole stands tall nearby, detailing the leadership of the Caern. Also nearby, a massive stone tablet jutting four feet out of the ground has inscribed upon its polished face the rules of the Caern, unmissable by anyone in the area.

Feeling pretty proud of himself, if not a little depleted, Boots makes his way to the Caern to relax, meditate and just chill. He meandered into the caern, a full bag of cheetos in hand. He's monching away, glancing around at whomever might be around.

Irsa grins as she follows Boots in. Hey, he did a thing, he gets to shine now. She's not making a big deal about returning, just cruisin' along like it's just another day. But word's gotten out during their absense, thanks to gossipy, bet-placing theurges.

Boots grins over to Irsa as she steps in with him, chuckling just a bit. "So this is where I howl, right?" He figures, dusting his hands off from the cheesey goodness of the puffs. The bag is offered to her, of course - she's welcome to the snacks as well! A look around, to make sure he's not going to disturb anyone.

"Yep, get right on up in there," Irsa confirms, setting down her pack. She's found the best log in the place, she's not missing this announcement for the world. "Make sure you're loud, 'cause th' Guardians waaaay out there will wanna hear it too."

Boots shifts into his lupus form, hopping up where indicated. Taking in a long breath, he gives his explative-filled howl! <>

Ragged cheers, howls of approval and calls of 'Hell yeah!" sound from various groups in the area. Beanie perches on Irsa's pack and cheeps excitedly. Irsa is grinning from ear to ear. "Very, very nice work. I'm proud of ya. Now this, this is what it means t' be a Bone Gnawer Ahroun, and Fostern. You done good, Cruz."