caleb, erick, banes, scouting.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Katherine had gone off to shed her tattered clothing, and Caleb had ventured upstairs to follow but stopped outside of her door. His cousin had promised him a drink, and he would be glad to partake in such. Given the hour his footfalls should of been lighter, but the theurge felt that there was no immediate danger to warrant treading lightly.

The Philodox having run off with his coat, Caleb stood in his shirtsleeves with arms folded across his chest as he looked for a suitable place to park himself. Mind turned inward for the moment, he was reflecting on what Katherine had told him. A wyrm-riddled sector just outside of the bawn. The bawn, and caern, were Caleb's duty as Keeper of the Land. It irked him to find out that such a thing occurred on his watch.

When one looks for the larger threat, one can't help but miss those underfoot, or some such his tribemate had said. All well and good, but it still didn't make him feel any better about the situation.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Upstairs, Lukas is in what might be termed his usual spot: the corner of the sectional couch, with the TV off and the lamp on.

He's reading, though it's not a book today. It's a map -- large, laminated, stamped with a Property of Chicago City Libraries in the lower righthand corner. As Caleb nears, he'll see it's a waterways map of the greater Chicago metropolitan area, with rivers and currents and watersheds superimposed on a physical terrain plot.

The Ahroun looks up as the Cajun Fang appears head-first from the stairway. The hour is late, or perhaps better termed early, but it's impossible to tell if Lukas has just woken up, or has not slept yet. He looks alert, calm, steady: his eyes are not bloodshot, and he is neat and groomed.

"Darkensky-yuf. I was hoping to run into you." Lukas straightens up, gestures to the opened bottle of wine on the table. There's a glass beside it, still half-filled; there's still enough wine in the bottle that it's almost certain the Ahroun has had less than a glass all night. "Will you join me?"

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Eyes alighting on Lukas first, the map second, and the wine third, he nodded a trifle before coming over to find a seat either beside or before the Shadow Lord. The wine was lifted, and finding an empty glass -- perhaps he had expected another guest, but as yet the second glass was empty, Caleb poured some out for himself.

"Certainly," he said in that cajun drawl of his. "I have heard from Katherine that you and yours ran into a bit of trouble tonight. To say the least, your alpha was worse the wear." Was, meaning she'd sought Caleb out for healing.

Raising the glass, he saluted his antithesis before taking a sip of the wine. Eyes falling again on the map, and knowing the ahroun well enough, he began to figure that Lukas was planning something. What, he couldn't possible know as yet, but something indeed. That was the second rule of battle: know your terrain, after know your enemy.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas' reaction is minimal at best: a faint flick of his eyebrows upward. "You healed Katherine, then?" A beat. "My thanks, Yuf."

After Caleb pours and drinks, Lukas gestures toward the adjoining section of the couch, in case the Theurge wanted to sit. Whether he does or not, Lukas turns the map so that Caleb could see it.

"There was a group of radiation banes just outside the bawn, here." His finger indicates the spot on the Chicago River. "They were ... frolicking in taint. At first I was afraid a core of rot had erupted on the riverbank itself, but after we killed the banes and Cleansed the area things seemed to calm down a bit. It seems like the taint is actually coming in from elsewhere. Maybe it's getting carried downriver," which would explain why he's looking at maps of current flow, "or maybe someone's actually dumping there.

"Either way, I'm glad you're here. The Keeper of the Land should be amongst the first to know about this. I've requested a Warmoot as well; hopefully we can piece together whatever knowledge we have, and our Wyrmfoe will have orders for us."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "Indeed," he said as he sat down as Lukas directed. As far as the Silver Fang was concerned this was not his home, and while considered neutral territory for any and all Garou the Unbroken Circle held the largest group bunking here. As far as thanks went, he waved it away as his mere duty as his auspice demands.

A soft grunt, as Caleb had indeed heard from Lukas' packmate. Lips pursing, he frowned considerably at the map as his mind worked in thought. "That might be it," he said at the other's suggestion. "Pollution and refuse floating downriver and collecting in some pool or pocket that would be attractive to banes and other Wyrmlings alike. Dumping sewage or chemicals isn't out of the question, but perhaps it's being dumped upstream somewhere first before it strikes the boundaries of the caern instead of being dumped on the spot. Pentex?"

The wine was sipped again, and Caleb used that time to collect his thoughts. On the way over he had a few theories himself as to the how and why. He nodded at the request of a warmoot, completely agreeing. "Kemp Oates is as close to Ahroun without being Ahroun, and the Get of Fenris know their business. I hear he has attained the rank of Adren," Caleb added. He and the Rotagar were perhaps not friends in that sense, but more the sort of folks you acquired friendship with in the work-place. "Perhaps we should scout upriver a ways, see what can be seen and report back our findings."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas picks up his wine and swishes it carelessly in its glass. His eyes remain on the map though -- it being a largely geographical chart, there are no indications of what factories, what plants, if any, were upstream.

"Pentex; a Pentex subsidiary; a totally unrelated corporation cutting corners; careless humans. Who knows? A toxic spill isn't pleasant, but it isn't the worst that can happen. My fear is that it's a deliberate dump, and whoever's behind it is doing it because they know exactly where our Caern is.

"I think Andrew-rhya took a look realmside right after the fact, too. He may have seen something. But if you're up for a scouting expedition, I'd be glad to join you."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] The wine is held loosely with one hand beneath his nose, breathing in the aroma. A French vintage perhaps, or from a vinyard in Spain. These were things Caleb only knew in rudiment. He was no Silver Fang dandy like many are wont to see, taking pleasure in fine dining and wine; he was a bit too American for that sort of thing.

His eyebrows rose a touch before he smoothed his features, eyeing the map laid out across Lukas' lap. "That anyone would know the location of the caern aside the Garou and the Kinfolk that need to know, I feel as though someone has just danced across my grave." A slow shake of his head as he took another sip of the wine. Andrew, again. "I don't know how far I can trust Dances-on-Fire," Caleb said. Without the honorific -rhya. "The man killed my packmate in nearly cold blood."

A small smile flicked Lukas' way. "A scouting mission, yes. I think it necessary so that we don't jump to conclusions. I can ask the Wyrmfoe to come along, or perhaps your own No-Moon. They are exceedingly useful in such circumstances, Ragabash."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas' eyes snap up to Caleb as the Theurge speaks of what Andrew has done. The Ahroun is frowning. He's clearly surprised -- this is clearly the first time he's heard of it.

The matter of the scouting mission is briefly forgotten. "What happened?" he asks, simply.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "I do not know the circumstances entirely," Caleb said evenly. His voice was forced to remain even, that much the Shadow Lord could tell. What could also be told by his voice or even his facial expressions was that the Silver Fang was biding his time over what to do about the situation. "As far as I can tell, Barcode went to challenge the man over his Kinfolk mate. A Child of Gaia Kinfolk, and Barcode a Bone Gnawer. No matter who challenged whom," Caleb said, "it ended with my packmate dead. It seems that Andrew has been given the Voice of the Jackal for the time being, but that seems a mere slap on the wrist considering that another of Gaia's warriors has been killed over a mere Kinfolk."

Caleb grunted sourly and drained the rest of the wine and poured another, even went so far as to top off Lukas' for him. "How that man rose to the rank he has attained astounds even me," he said scornfully. "Christ, the man makes a mockery of my own auspice and acts more like a blood-thirsty Red Talon Ahroun. No offense to your own auspice," he added. "Simply beating Erick would have been enough, but to kill him?"

Another grunt, there.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas' brow is furrowed. He wordlessly extends his glass when Caleb moves to top it off. His thank-you is equally wordless: a faint nod. Then he sits back, leaving the map where it lay on the coffee table.

"I didn't know Barcode-yuf was your packmate, or that he was dead. I didn't know him well, but he seemed a good man. I'm sorry."

And that's it: condolences, plain and simple, but genuine. There's a moment's consideration before he continues, levelly, "Andrew-rhya has acted with dubious honor and wisdom in the past. I've given him the benefit of the doubt, as it can't be easy for the wolf-born to adjust to an urban caern, and his intentions have seemed good on the whole. Slaying another Garou outright, though -- that's excessive, even for him. I can think of situations, reasons it may have become necessary, but they're few and far between.

"The truth of it should come out to you at least, if not to the whole Sept. What happened; why it happened, and how. And, if appropriate, reparations should be made to Erick's pack and tribe."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "The most I have gotten out of Andrew was 'he is dead, I killed him,' when I asked," Caleb returned. The man's condolences were answered with the faintest of nods, as if between war-comrades. Each knew the dangers of the life they and their fellow Garou lead, the tripwires and pitfalls in this bitter war. "The man can speak well enough in the human tongue, but I am afraid I would get little more out of him than that. Lupus ever were the sort to not bandy words."

Nodding thoughtfully, he sat back on the couch and swirled the wine in its glass before shaking his head. "Reparations to me I do not believe necessary, but to his tribe I believe are. They are only commoners, little better than beggars," Caleb said, "but to offend the entire tribe is not something any wise man could want."

A soft sigh escaped the theurge's lips as he shook his head again, peering into the wine. "It will be dealt with at the next moot. I am not a man to seek out revenge."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Another beat of silence; an impression of thoughts behind the Ahroun's pale eyes, decisions made.

"You should know," he adds quietly, "that Andrew-rhya himself was accused of harassing kin without permission, even after being warned against it. I think it would reflect badly on him that he has now slain another Garou for doing -- as far as you know, anyway -- less than what he himself has done.

"You might want to talk to Milo Maevsky, the Fostern of my tribe. It was his sister Andrew was harrying."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Caleb's eyebrows rose again, looking over to Lukas not quickly, but not slowly either. "Indeed? Somehow that does not surprise me. I am surprised that Milo Maevsky did not, shall we say, rip him a new one. From what I know of you Shadow Lords, such things are not taken likely concerning your Kin." Or Silver Fang Kin, for that matter. Suffice to say that there were few Kinfolk of Caleb's tribe mated, or even allowed to be associated with in such a fashion, any members of another tribe. If such a person ever attempted such with Caleb's younger sisters, they would find either Caleb's sword or Gregor - Caleb's father - ripping said man apart.

"Thank you," he said slowly. "I will indeed speak to your tribemate so that I may learn more of Andrew's character."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Milo and Caleb aren't the only ones with kin sisters to protect. Lukas has one of his own, though she's older than he is, and hardly a shrinking violet, and she's out in California, and as far as he knows there are no ill-mannered Lupuses sniffing around her.

If there were, the truth is he would probably react every bit as violently as Caleb suggests. He may not even do it out of anger. But he would do it because it is, in his mind, the right thing to do. His right.

And the truth is, he does not know why Milo did not retaliate.

For all that, Lukas is not, and has never been, the type to break ranks in public. His loyalties are strong and they are many: to pack, to Nation, to tribe. In that order. And his response is even, unruffled: "Milo has his own reasons for doing as he did, I'm sure. At any rate, what's done is done, and as far as I know, Andrew hasn't bothered Nessa lately."

He takes a swallow of wine, sets the glass down, and returns the conversation to the more important matter at hand.

"I'll see if Sampson is free to go on a scouting mission. You're welcome to invite the Wyrmfoe as well, of course. It's almost dawn -- we should put this off 'til dark, and make the trip under cover of night."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] The matter of Milo and his sister really were not his concern, except for when it came to garnering a little bit of information about the man he planned to call to account at the next moot.

Caleb finished the wine in the glass, which was set down next to the bottle as he nodded, making to rise. "I will be in contact with Kemp," Caleb said. Whether it was a gaffling sent with a message, or himself in person. "I am sure my wife would like to know the possibilities of my not returning tonight after the mission."

Rising, Caleb made to clasp hands with the Ahroun before departing. "I will be in touch," was all he said before giving a nod and making his leave.