[-the foretold-] When the last cadence of the Garou's voice falls away, they are left alone, lost, suspended in a darkness that obscures even their awareness of themselves. It's like they've lost all proprioception -- all sense of where their bodies begin and end -- all sense of living, of being alive, of having physical form at all.
There's an interminable period of this. Or perhaps it's only an instant. Such oblivion obliterates all time-sense as well.
Then: things begin again. Things are, they come into being. First, the tolling of a distant bell; but this is different from the urgent toll of the bell in the tower, warning dangerdangerdanger with every strike. This is a freer, more melodic toll, many sounds blending into one, and as it swells and grows they become aware of other things.
Voices, a backdrop of overlapping voices, some speaking, others calling. Merchants hawking their wares; heralds shouting the news of the empire. People in the streets -- hoofbeats on cobblestone, wooden wheels groaning. Animals lowing and neighing and grunting. Children, shouting.
Darkness lifts and they stand in the central square of a much larger city than the village they saw before. In 2009, this would hardly count as a village, but now, in 1100-something, it's a bustling city, large enough to justify a church, paved roads, a market square. The stone edifice of a christian church faces them, pigeons roosting in the eaves. The sun is in the sky; their shadows on the stones say it is midday.
It is warm. They are no longer dressed in their everyday clothes, but in the unfamiliar, roughspun garb of the time: long simple gowns belted at the waist for the women; knee-length tunics and braies for Kemp. Each of them carries a leather satchel or purse, inside which they'll find their personal belongings -- whatever they may carry into the world on an ordinary day. It is not necessarily the same assortment as they found on their persons the last time they awoke.
The herald behind them cries: "A royal decree from his Majesty, Alfonso VII, King of León and of Castile, King of Galicia, beloved of our Lord, in the second Sunday of the seventh month of the most holy year eleven hundred thirty-one: henceforth, all tax monies are due at the first of the month. Questions of date-keeping should be addressed to your local priest. No further notice will be given..."
Across the square, a group of preadolescent boys break out into shouts and laughter, running helterskelter beneath the eaves of wooden buildings, past merchant's stalls. From the church come the last of the Sunday mass worshippers, the women straightening their veils, the men shielding their eyes from the brilliance of the summer sky.
[Danicka Musil] This time, the first thing Danicka does is not straighten herself up but look around, checking on the others, making sure she knows who she is with and who they are. Her hair is parted down the center and braided, covered by a veil. In this era that is no surprise: she is middle-aged for the twelfth century, and of course would be married by then. Unless there was something wrong with her.
Her bag is weighed down with things no woman of this time would ever be carrying: a book, for one thing. That's not even mentioning the firearm, the talens, her makeup, a notebook, her cellphone. She shades her eyes with her hand and looks up at the church, then turns her head and looks at the herald.
Three years. Which makes her watch the boys across the square, then, holding her tongue for now just as she did the last time the six of them awoke in a strange place. Strange time.
[Kemp Oates] Leon again. He blinked as his vision cleared and he found himself in....
"Fuck...."
He felt down his body and bent, lifting the front flap of the tunic.
"...panty hose."
Kemp was not the typical Fenrir when it came to coloring. His complexion and hair coloring was suited to this part of the world. His faint breeding and coloring showing that indeed at least once in his ancestry there had been either a Native American or perhaps Spaniard. What didn't blend in was his nearly six and a half foot height.
One foot lifted then the other as he examined his footwear and twisted to look at the backside of the tunic before the church spilled it's contents out the doors.
[Lonna Larson] There were thoughts to be had here, and her first was the simple thought of.. well... she itched. The clothes were not so much comfortable as they were authentic. When the woman looked around, she took in the area. Lonna Larson was a lot of things, and a historian was not one of them... however, this was one of those times that she was fairly certain that she didn't need to be sticking out or something of the sort.
July. 1131.
She's already insanely tall for a woman, she has to stand like a giant in this crowd. Not bad for a spinster, not bad at all. BUt still, she definitely wasn't from here.
[Katherine Bellamonte] For Katherine it feels as if mere moments ago she had just finished waging a battle in defense of those she barely knew. Had it been moments? Or longer? Hours? Days? ... far longer. Suddenly it is bright, there is light surrounding her and her skin is warmer than it has been in weeks, there is material far rougher than she's ever felt rasping at her skin and the Silver Fang's eyes, once adjusted, blink and she raises her arm to shield them.
Wonderful, now where were they and why had they taken her lovely expensive clothing and replaced it with rags?
The Half Moon's fair hair was braided likewise to Danicka, mostly covered against prying eyes by more linen that felt awkward to her, and horrendously unfitting for someone of her stature and standing. Still, she tolerated it because she knew she was not in her own time and where-so-ever they landed now -- 1131 -- at least they looked less conspicuous.
[Liadan Whelan] Just because she's dressed like the common people of the time, Lee doesn't blend into the crowd any more easily than she did the last time she woke in this strange world. She's taller than most of the males who pass her by. Her thick red hair has been braided and covered, but there is still the matter of her glasses. She stands out in the crowd, and no amount of ducking or slouching will hide her, so she doesn't.
The plain leather satchel contains writing utensils, a notebook, a brush, a Canon PowerShot, and her wallet, among other things. She doesn't expect any of it to be particularly useful, unless she needs to call on lightning to give her an advantage in a fight again. She doesn't even bother looking inside to make sure everything is in place.
Her eyes go to the wares being peddled. The jewelry and crafts of 1131 Spain. Boys are laughing in the square. Lee lifts her head to look at them, then her eyes go to the church.
[Imogen Slaughter] Like Danicka, Imogen looks at her surroundings, at the herald who speaks, her brow furrowing at the year she hears.
A quick glance toward Kemp, his bad language, his declaration of 'panty hose', a glance down at the braies. A twist of her mouth, not really humour. "Not quite."
The shout of adolescent boys catches her attention. Her eyes narrow as one hand absently grasps the satchel at her waist, feeling the shape for her weapon.
"Does anyone see any that we saw th'last time 'round?" Her eyes scan the crowd.
The questions of why or how are left out - though she has begun to form her opinions.
[Danicka Musil] [perception + alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen Slaughter]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Per + Alert: Church goers!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lonna Larson] {per+alert: general layout of the town, anything familiar?}
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] He glanced up from examining the braies with Imogen's question, muttering something like.
"What the fuck? Hope I don't gotta go in a hurry, fucking no zippered shit, where's the damned buttons on this thing?"
Squinting at the scattering boys and people vomiting from the church.
"Try and look natural."
Yeah like that was gonna happen.
[Liadan Whelan] [also scoping out churchy peeps]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Kemp Oates] per+alert...church and boys
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] So far, no one seems to have noticed their sudden appearance -- if indeed they've suddenly appeared. This time they're all on their feet, standing in a loose group, like a cluster of friends conversing after Mass. Their clothes mark them as peasantry or tradesmen, one of the plebeian crowd.
Their height, of course, would never blend in here. Nor their cleanliness, their fine skin, their dental hygiene, their faces which, though they ranged from rather plain to rather pretty by modern standards, were all but edifices of ageless art in this time.
All the women have linen veils, however. That helps a little; shields the flame-red of Liadan and Imogen's hair, dims the brilliant gold of Danicka's and Lonna's and Katherine's, gives them something to pull over their faces a little. Kemp's coloration, indeed, blends here: darkhaired, much like the Leonese in the summer sun. He's also wearing a chaperon, a small cloak-and-hood that can be pulled over his head to obscure his face somewhat... though he'd still be left with his enormous height.
People are starting to notice them now, this group of beautiful giants in their midst. This is a large city, so at least strangers are not an uncommon sight here, but strangers such as these have surely never been seen in these parts before. They get passing glances as the plainfolk go about their business. One little girl stops to stare, her finger in her mouth, until her mother tugs her impatiently along with a suspicious glance toward the strangers.
Across the way, the boys are still shouting and laughing and running, a gaggle of them a dozen or more strong, roughhousing as boys will in this time or another.
The last of the churchgoers have left the stone building now. The last man out looks like an outlander as well: taller than most the men, perhaps as much as 5'9", 5'10" in height, and with very fair skin and hair. The priest seems to be on good terms with him. They speak for a while, then clasp hands and part.
[-the foretold-] You basically see what's already in the post *LOL*
to Lonna Larson
[-the foretold-] In addition to what's in the post, you all notice that the boys across the way appear to be following a leader: they run where he does.
to Danicka Musil, Imogen Slaughter, Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] Additionally, the fellow coming out of the church definitely doesn't look like he's from around these parts. His clothes are of finer quality than most, though, and there's a certain deferential quality to the priest's friendliness; perhaps a minor nobleman, visiting from abroad?
to Danicka Musil, Imogen Slaughter, Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] It soon becomes quite apparent to Liadan and Imogen, however, that the boys are not so much following one boy as they're chasing him. Most of them are laughing and shouting, but he's not. There's also a cruel, jeering quality to the laughter.
The boy looks quite a bit like the boy from the village, Christopher/Cristobal.
to Imogen Slaughter, Liadan Whelan
[Kemp Oates] It was the boys that had most of his attention and he started across the street, trying to avoid mud holes and puddles. Canting his head to those he passed as if greeting them as anyone would after Mass. A sweep of the plain cloak here and there as he regally canted his head murmuring greetings.
For once he was going to find it hard to blend in. He felt like a giant here.
[Danicka Musil] There isn't much hesitation on Danicka's part. She isn't paying attention to the church and doesn't really notice the man coming out of it, shaking hands with the priest. Her eyes are on the leader of the pack over there, and when Kemp starts heading that way, Danicka is just a step behind.
And then more than a few steps behind. Kemp has roughly a foot of height on her and isn't wearing a dress, and Danicka does not run to catch up.
[-the foretold-] Also, the man from the church: definitely a man of status. His clothes are well-made, his person clean and groomed. There are rings on his fingers, at least one of which is a signet ring, perhaps from his patron lord.
to Imogen Slaughter, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] Imogen has an almost preternatural sense of foreboding from the fairhaired man on the church steps.
to Imogen Slaughter
[Katherine Bellamonte] Rather than head for the boys, as Kemp does, the other Garou in their midst falls into her best rendition of a lowly-born wife of someone far too dirty for her to contemplate ever existing and makes a dignified, if careful, bee-line toward the Church steps and the well-dressed gentleman conversing with the Priest.
The other stranger, was, in her own time, far more likely to be her equal in terms of nobility.
[Liadan Whelan] Lee, staring at the church and the people coming out of it, is caught momentarily by the sight of the nobleman. It's not enough to hold her interest, however, the actions of the boys is.
She watches the boys at "play," and she frowns. Lee is not a fan of children, they make her uncomfortable, uneasy. There's a deep sense of hesitation as she takes a step forward, then another. And then, with more certainty, she strides across to where they're running and laughing as they chase one of their number. She recognizes the boy, after all.
Líadan stops just outside the perimeter of their play, waits until the boy being chased is within her reach, and she grabs him by the shoulder, hauling him toward her.
"Cristobal, we've been looking for you," she says somewhat cheerily.
[Lonna Larson] People are looking at them.
In turn, Lonna has found herself interested in the rather impressive, rather notable church in front of her. Katherine was moving in that direction and, in turn, the Child of Gaia thought that this was a good time to go make right with the divine powers that be. Even in the middle ages, women should probably travel in packs.
[Kemp Oates] At least he didn't have fleas. He didn't have louse in his hair. He needed a damned beard or goatee. He would of shaved his legs if he'd had any idea he'd be wearing this funky shit that tugged at leg hairs as he walked. The length of the tunic at least hid his ass in these damned thick, poor excuse for panty hose.
Then Liadan spoke, calling the lead kid by his name and Kemp veered off, finding sudden interest in a horse, who was likely not going to be too thrilled with the sudden interest. This was his version of looking casual.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze has been on the man at the steps. It shifts first as Kemp starts away, and then as Katherine starts toward the object of the slight kinwoman's attention.
She is not so slight here - likely a rare experience.
"Katherine," her voice is low, but carefully pitched. If the Silver Fang turns toward her, she steps forward, her homespun skirt rustling as she moves, eddying about her legs unpleasantly.
"Let me join you."
[Katherine Bellamonte] Lonna, and Imogen, as she addresses her, fall into step with the elegant blond. "Did you notice something?" She asks in what would, one assumes, have passed as the soft gossiping murmur of women of this time period.
[Imogen Slaughter] A glance toward the Silver Fang, her eyes carefully guarded, her expression composed. There is little betrayed of her emotion. If she finds this disorienting, or terrifying, if she is intrigued or resigned.
"Something's wrong," she says simply. "I'm not quite sure what yet."
A pause. "Perhaps when I'm closer."
[Danicka Musil] The Fenrir veers off, but Danicka keeps heading towards the boys. Her jaw tightens when Lee grabs one of them and pulls him over. She finishes her strides to come up to Cristobal and Lee, looking down at the other boys. She must be ancient, to them.
[-the foretold-] As the priest returns to the sanctuary of his church, his fairhaired friend begins to descend the stone steps. He carries himself confidently, head up, shoulders back, spine straight. Already tall and bright, his poise gives him an aura of mastery, a presence that makes the plainfolk look upon him with instinctive respect. They keep out of his way, giving him a clear path to the beautiful gray gelding tethered at the foot of the steps, which must belong to the fair-haired man.
Which makes Imogen, Katherine and Lonna stand out all the more as they not only fail to step aside, but approach him directly. Three women, one taller than most the men in this town: the fairhaired man looks at them with mild surprise, which burgeons into a sort of closekept appreciation. His eyes are a clear, soft gray. He is young, his beard neatly trimmed to chin and jaw, a fashion that will not reach this town for at least another decade. He bows to them, a shallow, polite dip from the waist.
"Gentle ladies." He's not speaking modern English, either. They don't even notice unless they stop to think about it -- not the strange consonants and shifted vowels, not the upended word order. "Can I be of assistance?"
--
Meanwhile, the horse Kemp has approached is none other than the fairhaired man's. It is a mature gray, most its coat faded to a pure white, blinding in the sunlight. Only the dark lashes and the dark skin visible at the nose and mouth indicate that this horse was born gray; a true white horse would be pink-skinned.
It dances sideways, apprehensive, eyes rolling when its tether snaps taut.
--
Meanwhile, Liadan has strode across the square. The boys are running in earnest now, the one in the lead plunging straight ahead, not looking back. He's zigzagging across the square, doubling back, heading not for the church but the narrow, cobblestoned street beside the church.
The boys behind him are shouting:
"That's right! Run!"
"Run, you fatherless bastard!"
"Devilspawn!"
"Freak!"
"My mother says anyone who doesn't go to Mass is condemned to burn!"
Liadan cuts Cristobal off, snatches him to a halt. Danicka is behind her, quickening her steps to come up beside the redhead. The boy, Cristobal, stares up at Lee with wide frightened eyes, panting too hard to speak, squinting against the glare.
The group of boys skid to a halt too, panting. One or two shout a few more insults, then fall silent, shifting uneasily, looking to each other for courage.
[Lonna Larson] [per+empathy: what's this nobleman thinking about?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (counterroll! specialty applies. not revealing specialty. *foldspaws*)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] For his part, he was doing his best to blend in and hold back the low rumbled growl that boy's calls made rise from his gullet. In this day and time the Church held great power, he'd seen more than one movie. Anything not explainable, anything that went against the grain was pointed at as Witchcraft and Demonology. But he had been called a Bastard. He'd been taunted for not having parents. He'd gone through a lot of this bullshit and bullying as a child. And he had felt the shame, the hurt and pain of not belonging to anyone. Not being good enough. Of being a freak because he was different.
The dancing horse was forgotten as he fought his own demons and the urge to step into the path of the boys and bare his teeth with a growl. Tension sang from his body and posture, no doubt making the horse all the more unhappy.
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Per + PU]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] They have a hard time seeing under this one's skin. As far as they can tell, he's affable, friendly, aware of his status but not made arrogant by it, and rather pleased -- albeit surprised -- to be approached by such unusually pretty ladies on a pleasant Sunday noontide.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lonna Larson
[Liadan Whelan] Even in the modern world, Lee is too tall for most children to handle. Now, in this era, where more youths are underfed and poorly cared for, she towers over the bullies. Even in plain, homespun clothing, she looks regal compared to the women of this era. And she doesn't even have the poise of the beautiful blonde woman at her side.
To the boys, she quirks a reddish brow and says, "Really? Mass just let out, and I didn't see you boys with the crowd."
She maintains a grip on Cristobal's shoulders, oddly protective.
[-the foretold-] The horse is snorting and blowing now, its front hooves dancing. It jerks at its tether. Soon enough its owner will notice its distress.
[Kemp Oates] He completely ignored the horse, stepping away from it and towards the pack of braying boys. Stepping right into the path like one great big, mean tempered Giant that was going to grind their bones to make his bread. That's what the bearing of his teeth at the group of boys said.
[Danicka Musil] He's not a leader, then. They weren't following him but chasing him, and realizing this, hearing their insults, a muscle in Danicka's jaw tightens slightly. She has never gone out of her way to fuss over those around her, stroking their hair back or asking after their problems. She is not known for her compassion, at least not back in Chicago.
Once upon a time, in New York City, she had such a stellar reputation, was such a good mark on her family, that even Garou who had never met her knew about Night Warder's daughter, Heals By Pain's sister. A good woman. A good kin.
But not necessarily a tenderhearted woman.
Kemp resists his urge to step in front of the boys who would be about as able to handle his rage as that horse over there and terrify them with a snarl. Danicka tips her head at the group, finds the largest of them, the one with the brightest eyes, the one most likely to be the leader, and backhands him across the face. In 2009 treating a child like this, even a preadolescent, is flat-out abuse. She suspects that to one of these, it's little better than a lovetap.
Or a warning.
She jerks her head down the street. "Christ didn't go to Mass and his Father was in Heaven, as is Cristobal's. Run along."
[-the foretold-] The boys clustered around, sullen with thwarted ill intent, are by and large preadolescents. The youngest is perhaps eight; the oldest and the de facto leader, maybe twelve, which makes him about Cristobal's age and almost a man. He's a tousle-haired, dark-eyed boy, lower lip pooched out now as he glares up at Liadan.
"He has the mark of the Devil on him," he insists to a chorus of yeah!s. "Look at his face. You can even see the claws."
Cristobal's narrow shoulders flinch in Liadan's hands. He's taller than the ringleader -- quite tall, in fact, nearly Danicka's height already -- but slighter, thinner, without the other boy's solid, compact build that was already starting to widen with adolescence. Silently, Cristobal's hand comes up to cover his marked face --
and that's when Danicka's hand flies out to slap the ringleader across the face. The other boys gasp in shock. One or two of the smaller ones clap hands over giggles. The ringleader gapes at the blonde, his own hand now across his cheek, an unconscious mirror of Cristobal.
[Imogen Slaughter] (aw, what the hell.
Perception)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, not successfully peering as deeply as she'd have liked beneath this gentleman's skin settles for regarding him with a forthrightness that does not belong to one of her social standing. Beneath her veil, her hair is fair, her skin wonderfully clear of any markings of malnourishment, of the ill-fed this nobleman is no doubt accustomed to -- or pretending to be. Her lips curve in a smile befitting one utterly humbled by the figure before her.
She all but titters.
And inwardly feels revolted.
"My most humble and revered Lord, we are not fit to stand before you," Katherine lowered her lashes, peeped at him from beneath them. "But myself and my sisters are but travelers here, and we wondered if you could tell us about this great village. Please, spare some time out of your days to inform such ignorant folk as us."
[Lonna Larson] She's usually quite good at reading people. However, right now, she can't get a feel off of this guy. He's affable, he's friendly, he's well aware of his status but it does not make him any less of a gentleman.
Lonna knows how to talk to her betters, and she knows how to ask questions of her betters while she was trying to determine something. She looks down, and she smiles gently. For her, humility was something genuine. She holds her hands in front of her, and instead finds his attire more interesting.
"We would greatly appreciate it, good sir," she might know this sort of thing in two thousand nine, but trying to keep up here was throwing the child of Gaia for a loop.
[Kemp Oates] "How would you fatherless sons of dogs know the mark of the horned one?"
He waved them away.
"Go, return to your homes before the Priest makes you clean the floor for your lack of studies and makes you recite scripture. Go on."
Again the shooing motion as he towered there like a wall between the boys and their intended victim of torment.
[Imogen Slaughter] Even in modern times, the health and strength of these women borders on the preternatural. Here, it is supernatural, inhuman, beyond possibility.
They have white teeth. Clear skin, bright eyes with healthy, white sclera. Their gums do not bleed, and they know the taste of spearmint.
Imogen is still as Katherine titters, asks her questions in a self-effacing manner, and Lonna follows it up. Imogen merely remains silent, still, her veil lowered to half hide her face, in particular her eyes as she watches the nobleman, and then their immediate surroundings.
[Liadan Whelan] The boys gasp and stare at Danicka in shock. Lee takes a step back, then turns, keeping her arm across Cristobal's shoulders as she leads him away toward Kate and the others.
"Do you remember us?" she asks as they walk, tilting her head so the boy can hear her lowered voice. He might not remember them. A moment ago they were in the shadow of a tower on a hill, learning that Cristobal's father had been killed as the world faded away. It's been three years for the slight young man nestled in the crook of her arm. It's an awkward gesture, one not meant to comfort so much as it is to protect, guard. "We were there the day your father died."
[-the foretold-] The fairhaired young lord's eyes flick past the women, touch first on his horse and the forebodingly tall man beside it, then to the boys, just in time to see Danicka smack the boy. He frowns a little, then turns back to Lonna, Katherine and Imogen.
"Ah. I myself am a traveler. I am Durand of Rennes, in the County of Brittany, a few months' ride and sail from here. Nevertheless, let me be the first to welcome you to Compostela. I would be happy to answer all your questions that I possibly could, gentle ladies, but -- " his eyes flick again to the boy, " -- I'm afraid I see an act that cannot be tolerated. Excuse me."
Without waiting for a goodbye, with all the innate assurance of one born to privilege, the fairhaired young man strides past them, across the square and toward where the others are facing off against a gaggle of boys.
[-the foretold-] The boys may have summoned the courage to backtalk two women -- albeit two preternaturally tall, lovely ones -- but when Kemp looms up between them and their target, that's the end of that. The smaller ones simply turn and run, some of them heading straight for their mothers picking at the cheap jewelry and sundry wares of the merchants in the square; some disappearing down crooked, winding streets.
The larger ones bluff and bluster some more before following suit. Last to leave is the ringleader, who takes the time to give Kemp the pretense of a narrow-eyed once-over, head to toe and back again.
"When I'm bigger," he threatens, "I'll show you. Bully."
Off he goes too, then. But as soon as he turns tail, Cristobal pulls free of Liadan, throwing her arm off his shoulders. Head low, fists jammed into the single pouchlike pocket in the front of his tunic, he starts walking away from them.
Across the square, they can clearly see the fairhaired young lord altering his path to intercept Cristobal.
[Kemp Oates] "Come see me when you have grown hair on your lower regions. I wait for the moment."
He called after the leader, chuckling just to add a little salt to the wound.
[Liadan Whelan] The boy pulls away, and Lee lets him go. She's not the type to chase after someone like a mother hen, especially not a boy she knows nothing about. Except that the Wyrm wants him, has already tried to harm him. This could be the time the Wyrm tries to ward him, or tries to corrupt him.
Or both.
Regardless, the tall redhead hooks her thumb against the strap of her satchel and watches Cristobal, watches the fine nobleman alter his course to intercept the boy. She slows her pace by a fraction, hoping to be passing by them as the man reaches Cristobal so she can overhear or easily intercede again. Or something.
[Danicka Musil] "Cristobal," Danicka calls after him, just before she sees the nobleman, "where is your brother?"
As though he should be here. As though he should be the one protecting the boy, watching him. Her brow is furrowed, her neck and shoulders tense as though she had to exert just as much effort as the boys -- more -- to stand her ground when Kemp bared his teeth.
[Katherine Bellamonte] The nobleman abandons them in favor of chasing down Christobal, and Katherine wheels to follow at a more sedate pace, she cuts a look to both Imogen and Lonna, murmuring as she begins in pursuit. "Durand is the key somehow, I am certain of it. We cannot let him leave with the boy."
[Kemp Oates] "Philip."
His voice was a low murmur not far behind Danicka when she spoke to Cristobal. Having a feeling with the day and time and location they last saw this boy, his brother had perhaps died in a later raid.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen reaches out, but stops short of actually touching Katherine. It is merely a motion, a gesture to get the Silver Fang's attention.
"Should it be necessary," she says quietly, "I imagine a wolf would make a brilliant distraction."
Katherine moves in persuit and Imogen steps away, moving through the crowd, to where she can see the nobleman and the boy, but not in direct confrontation.
There are enough of them for that.
[Katherine Bellamonte] Imogen gets a glimpse of a blinding smile at that, half-concealed by the Half Moon's headdress. "I agree, that it would, as would any of those ware-carts overturning."
[-the foretold-] Approaching from the other direction, Katherine, Lonna and Imogen can see the boy's eyes flying wide open a second before he abruptly wheels around.
"I remember you," he hurls at Danicka, at all of them. There's surprising venom in his voice. "You think I don't? You were dressed differently then but the fox can't change his fur. I remember the six of you, pretending to be spirits of G-- goodness and grace. Pretending to be guardian angels.
"You let my father die! And now look!"
And then the fairhaired man is there. His hand, strong and firm, descends on the boy's shoulder. Cristobal flinches, but doesn't pull away. Durand of Rennes, if that's his name, leans down to look the boy in the eye.
"I saw what the other boys did," Durand says quietly, ignoring all others now. "That was not right."
[Danicka Musil] [perception + empathy: durand]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]
[Danicka Musil] [perception + empathy: cristobal]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (Durand, resisting!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] Yeah, he knew that was going to turn around and bite them on the ass. He had been touched by the wrym alright. They saved his life, but they changed his life in failing to protect the father. This flash forward through time had not helped matters and there wasn't a whole lot he could argue about in what the kid said. He knew what it was like to grow up without a father. He knew what it was like to lack protection and connection.
Still Kemp had a bad feeling about this guy and in the next moment the hood was pulled up on his cloak and he was doing his best strolling, casual saunter towards that horse again. Fully intending to turn the fucker loose with a low growl to send it running.
[Liadan Whelan] Reddish brows hop up at Cristobal's venomous words, but Lee has no retort, no explanation, nothing to give the boy when the man comes up and lays his hand on him. The flinch is not missed.
Dark eyes sweep over the well dressed man, cold and analytical. Then her eyes drop to the area of the man's waist. Lee reads comics, she's watched anime and movies and television shows about this scenario. People from the present being thrown back into the past. It's not something she ever romanticized or even fantasized about doing, and yet here she is. It looks strange, such a tall, solid figured woman looking so demure.
"I beg your pardon, but why does it matter to you what other boys do to him?"
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Durand, when close enough]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Liadan Whelan] [Durand]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] Durand is intensely interested in Cristobal. Far more interested than a stranger should be, even a sympathetic one.
to Danicka Musil, Katherine Bellamonte
[Lonna Larson] [poor Cristobel, whatcha feeling?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] In fact, Danicka gets the feeling Durand is here specifically on Cristobal's account.
to Danicka Musil
[-the foretold-] Cristobal is angry and resentful toward the six. He blames them; that much is clear.
to Danicka Musil, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] He also OWed pretty hard when his brother was mentioned. But oddly, it didn't seem much like the sort of grief one gets about a dead relative.
It's hard to say what the 'right' thing to say to him right now is. He's immensely upset by the reappearance of the six, though he's not showing that very readily. He blames them and sort of ... wants everyone to just LEAVE CHRISSY ALONE.
to Danicka Musil
[-the foretold-] fugg. that empathy read should've gone to lonna, not liadan.
to Danicka Musil, Liadan Whelan
[-the foretold-] Shit, sent this to Lee on accident:
Cristobal is angry and resentful toward the six. He blames them; that much is clear.
to Lonna Larson
[Danicka Musil] When he was younger -- and still a boy, despite being perhaps eight or nine, still a boy because he was more protected than anyone else in his village -- Cristobal was given a bead that did not so much break down in his body as turn into a supernatural weight that dragged him under the earth, melded him with mud and dirt and stone. He was aware of the fight going on above him. He could hear the screaming of his neighbors -- family, friends -- as they were cut down. He could only wonder if his brother would live, if it was all his fault, if there was something he could have been doing.
He was buried alive while his father died. And he remembers them from that night, and that night alone, pretending they were going to protect him. Protect any of them. Danicka tips her head as he references foxes changing fur, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly then stilling.
This is the first time that Danicka has gotten a good look at Durand, or whoever he is. Her head straightens, noting that flinch. She looks more closely at the nobleman, holding to the strap of the bag she has. Lee asks him a question about why he's interested in the boy, and Danicka glances over her shoulder at the church. She notes Kemp heading towards the horse and exhales, glancing at Imogen and then back to Cristobal.
She walks over to him, dropping her eyes to the boy's birthmarked face. "Who told you that we were Her spirits?" A pause. Her eyes are not green in this light, but a pale, cloudy blue. "Who told you that we could have saved your father and did not?"
[Katherine Bellamonte] This time, when the Garou makes her approach, she does not even attempt to dress down what she is; her Rage has spiked a notch, her patience wearing away with being stuck in an age before cleanliness was even an object of real concern. If she were forced to long consider the germs abounding her, she would lose her grip on sanity.
So, she focused on the one man she was certain was involved -- Durand of Rennes. She strode right up to the pair, and stared at him, then, dropping her eyes to the boy, added quietly. "We were not the ones who killed your father, Christobal." She leans down, bringing her face nearer to his own and studying his eyes. "You know this, in your heart, you know this." She offers the boy a clear insight into her pale blue eyes, before lifting them to Durand.
"Who are you and why do you focus on this child? I am fast out of patience with you, Sir so do not do me the dishonor of attempting to lie."
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen has taken a position away from the group, isolated but still in sight. She lingers near one of the ware-carts, her attention shifting from those surrounding the boy to the surrounding crowd.
It is simple: she watches for anyone who might be taking undue interest, anyone who might begin to interfere. She watches the group for any need to act on her part. The moment where a distraction is necessary.
As Katherine confronts Durand of Rennes, her attention sharpens.
[Lonna Larson] She looks at Cristobal, and there is a quiet sort of concern in her eyes, and she bridges the gap.
He resents them, it's all she knows. The woman doesn't crouch to be on his level, she doesn't stoop, she doesn't give any indication, in fact, that he is any smaller than her or beneath her in any way. When she speaks, she speaks to him in the tone reserved for... well... adults.
"Resentment and hatred leads down a terrible path," she says, and she is all sweetness and light because that simply is who and what she is. Ever the voice of a mediator and bleeding heart, "be careful. Be watchful, you're a man. Trust your judgment, and don't let anyone manipulate you."
Present company included.
[Katherine Bellamonte]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]
[Kemp Oates] Distractions and chaos, these were his bread and butter. Hard to make points with the boy, hard to keep your attention focused when there was chaos. If this had been back in Chicago and other circumstances, Kemp might of stolen the guy's car to remove his quick get away and cause some chaos. But this wasn't home and the getaway car had four legs. He moved closer the buildings, closer to where shadow might lay and did that thing that might make him a little less noticeable. Then he moved for where the horse was tethered to release the reigns. Just waiting for the right moment to let out the right amount of a growl to send it running.
[-the foretold-] The fairhaired man's eyes slice toward Liadan; he doesn't answer her. He sinks to his haunches instead, turning the boy to face him fully. Cristobal's eyes are sullenly fixed in the middle distance, but this doesn't seem to deter the man, whose own eyes are keen on the boy's face, picking up flickers and traces of emotion with every bit as much adeptness and wiliness as Danicka ever did.
"But," he continues, gently, "that is the way of the world ... Cristobal, is it? That is how things work. The strong take advantage of the weak. The strong rise and the weak are trampled. You cannot count on anyone's protection."
Durand's eyes flick to Danicka as she speaks, then back. Cristobal's eyes rise briefly to fix on Danicka's. He doesn't have an answer for that. No one actually told him that.
Before he can speak, though, Katherine strides forth. The boy's shoulders tense. Durand's hands pull him a little closer: protective.
And the boy flings at Katherine, defiantly: "You didn't save him! You could have! The villagers told me everything; they told me the magic you had"
(and perhaps it's noteworthy that Durand doesn't even blink at the mention of magic)
"the thunder and lightning you wielded. You could have done anything, but you let my father die!"
Durand speaks again: that soft tone, gently chiding, words laid down like radiant truths.
"Now, Cristobal, what have I just told you? You cannot blame them, because you could not rely on them in the first place. You must rely on your own strength," his eyes shift to Lonna briefly, and he nods at her as though they were compatriots, as though they were in agreement, "just as this lovely lady says. Your own strength and judgment, and no one else's.
"You have a brother, is that not so?"
At this, Cristobal's head snaps around. He faces Durand now, startled and wary.
"An older brother? One you trusted to protect you?"
Cristobal nods, slowly.
"Where is he now, Cristobal?"
[Katherine Bellamonte] "Did we not bleed with your own villagers, Christobal," The Silver Fang argues gently, genteelly, looking down at the boy, even as he twists to face Durand. "Did we not risk ourselves to save you all? Tell me what sort of evil-doer would do all this and yet allow your father to die? We are not here to hurt you," her eyes snap back to Durand.
"Do not tell him where your brother is. You cannot trust this man's words."
[Liadan Whelan] Lee's eyes rise to look at the boy, to frown at him. Durand lowers himself to be on a level with Cristobal and she watches him manipulate him. Tell him that the strong domniate the weak because that's the way the world works.
She looks at Cristobal, cocks her head slightly to the side.
"Is that what you want to do, Cristobal? Hurt people? Take advantage of those weaker and less able than you? Make people fear you? Is that what you think strength is?"
[Kemp Oates] Distractions, distractions. Hood up, he skirted closer to the tethered horse and sure enough, untied the reigns. Then he bared his teeth and let out a low growl a human throat should not be capable of before darting back for the shadows with a dramatic evil villain swish of cloak.
[Lonna Larson] He's not going to listen to reason, he's young and he's... well... negativity cloud's one judgment. The blonde doesn't speak, she doesn't quite say much of anything. She steps forward, and there's no reason why a woman should be, well, stepping into a man's space, much less the space of a man (boy, something) who resents both herself and her company. She laid her hand on his arm, and it was gentle. Her skin was soft, her demeanor was calm.
[cha+empathy: try and move some negativity]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]
[Imogen Slaughter] She remains where she is, a hand reaching up absently to tuck a few stray strands of flaming hair beneath her linen veil.
The red is dulled beneath the white, but still present.
There is nothing to be done yet.
[Danicka Musil] Danicka glances at Kemp, and at Imogen, but it's a flick of her eyes, little more. She watches Lee and Kate speak to Katherine. She watches Lonna touch him, feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at the woman's preternatural calm. Danicka exhales, snaps:
"Yes, I wonder how many more of your villagers would have died that night if they had all relied solely on their own strength and judgement. You're an idiot," she says, these last three words pinned at Durand. "And likely a coward as well."
[-the foretold-] For the first time, the fairhaired man, Durand, seems irritated by the persistent interruptions. His eyes rise to the gathered women and he lets out a short breath.
"Gentle ladies," he says, "please. This is a conversation between men, and not for your delicate ears. Please," he says again, and extends his hand, directing them aside.
Meanwhile, Cristobal opens his mouth to answer. Katherine cuts in. The boy's eyes slice to the Philodox, and for a moment -- for the first time since they've met him, this slight, damaged boy with too heavy a burden of destiny laid upon him -- there's a sudden, true strength in him; a flash of the steel that will last through his line for a thousand year.
Staring her boldly in the eye, he answers:
"My brother is not here."
Durand's attention comes back to him immediately, focused.
"My brother is home. With his wife. And their children. He sends to market on Sundays and he tells me it is so I can stretch my legs and see the world, but I know the truth. He just wants me gone. He--"
This is when across the square, Durand's horse suddenly rears, screaming, hooves slashing the air. Kemp vanishes back into the shadow of the church, but the horse is free. It wheels, sending townsfolk scattering from its path, and begins to bolt.
Simultaneously, Lonna lays her hand on the boy's arm. Cristobal struggles against her grip, but only for a second. In the next he suddenly goes limp, staring at her as
memories, emotions, resentment and sullen, seething anger floods from boy to woman. She gets an impression not only of the anger he has spoken of -- that they protected him by letting his father die -- but the rest of it as well.
Growing up in a village surrounded by kin and Garou who know of his destiny. Who know that he could rise to greatness or fall to abominable depths. Who know his fate is already decided, already chosen. Who look at him askance and wait for him to Fall; who restrained their suspicion and their distrust and their hate for respect of his father
who died three years ago.
"Damn it!" The fairhaired man's shout breaks Lonna's concentration, breaks the bond and sends woman and boy gasping apart. Durand bolts upright, looking after his horse -- then turns back, hurried now. His hands move at his waist, and then suddenly there's a dagger in his palm, sheathed still, encrusted in jewels, worked in silver and gold: a weapon fit for a prince.
"Here." He holds it out to the boy. "Take it, boy. The next time the other boys come for you ... you'll defend yourself. Won't you?"
The horse is cantering for the street now, bolting from the square in terror.
[Kemp Oates] Horse down, man to go. He smiled from the shadows, watching the terrified horse run while wanting to howl with glee. And it was through those shadows he moved again. Fortunately he didn't hear the offer of the dagger. He didn't get to click the message of "Take this dagger." Warding/Corrupting/False hope But he was heading that way.
[Katherine Bellamonte] The Garou reaches out to prevent the dagger being passed to the boy. "Violence for violence? What sort of answer does that bring him?" She snaps.
[Liadan Whelan] Líadan's brows rise again at being called a "gentle lady." And at the way he tries to dismiss them.
She doesn't know what Lonna sees, or feels, from the boy. All she knows is that he blames them for the death of his father, and that he thinks his brother doesn't want him around.
He's given a dagger, and Katherine cuts him off. Lee turns her head to watch the horse bolt, then back to the drama unfolding around her. "She's right. Violence begets more violence. If you hurt them, what will stop them from trying to hurt you? A life without trust is not much of a life at all."
She sounds like she's speaking from experience.
[Lonna Larson] The connection is broken, and the blonde's eyes widen slightly.
It's more than hatred, it's more than resentment and anger and insecurities, it's knowing what he has to go home to. It's knowing that your fate is already decided, that's been chosen. He has no control over this, it seems. It's being distrusted, simply for being born.
She inhales, and her breathing is unsteady for several different reasons. Her will is practically non-existent.
Her voice drops, and she is speaking to Cristobal... if for no other reason than, right now? Lonna understands on a level that is inhuman. That is supernatural.
"Your fate is decided," she tells him, "because you are the one who decides it."
She sounds so conflicted, so overwhelmed by that feeling, by wanting to despise those around her, by wanting someone or something to trust in. She does not wish to give him false hope, but rather, to give him some kind of hope at all.
"Trust that you will make mistakes, but also trust that you can repair them. "
[Danicka Musil] She gets away with it.
Danicka -- a woman, and a rather defenseless one -- calls Duran an idiot and a coward in the twelfth century, when that would get her beaten or worse, and he does nothing. He is more concerned with his horse. He does not rise up and slap her. He does nothing at all, and for a moment, the others see a faint glimmer of sudden delight in the blonde's eyes. It does not quite make her fight a smile, but she looks energized for a moment as he gets up and instead of beating her, hands the boy a dagger.
She flinches, though, when Katherine snaps. She has to exhale a breath of air to keep herself from taking a step away from the other woman. Lonna speaks, and Danicka waits a moment before she adds her voice to the mix.
"Cristobal," she says quietly, "Philip is not the only family you could have. You could have a pack. You could have those around you that will not fear you, or push you away, or ...vanish into thin air. Brothers and sisters you could rely on, whose strength will add to your own. But not if that," her eyes flick down to the dagger, "is the only way you learn how to lead them. By making them fear what you could do to them."
[Imogen Slaughter] The horse is freed, running nearly blind with panic, and soon the humans are doing the same. Imogen takes a step back, her gaze moving toward the horse's motions, then beyond toward the Garou - Katherine attempting to stop the nobleman to hand over a dagger, the nobleman turn between hurry and the offering of his gift.
She is jostled by the moving peasants, and in a way, this may be a blessing. It may mask her movements, her intention.
To make the horse's departure more urgent.
Horses are expensive. More than most farmers make in a year. Significant, even for a nobleman.
(barrel headed for horse!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] It's a tug of war, and the boy is the rope. He stares at the dagger, conflicted, as it's offered. His eyes are wide. It's possible he's never seen so fine a weapon in all his life. It's possible all weapons were kept carefully from him, even by his mighty father and his bold brother, for fear that one day,
someday,
he might take them and turn on them all. There's uncertainty in the boy's eyes, his stance, but when Katherine reaches for the dagger his hand darts out with surprising dexterity and possessiveness.
"It's mine, woman!" he shouts at her, but then Liadan intercedes, and then Lonna, and the boy's eyes dart from face to face, fixing on the Child of Gaia kin's for a second. On Danicka's, for another.
An inch or two from the gilded dagger, Cristobal's hand starts to draw back again. And just like that, sudden as a thunderburst, Durand loses his temper.
"ENOUGH." The young lord's face is so suddenly and ferociously twisted by anger that he's nearly unrecognizable. The dagger is snatched back, drawn in an eyeblink, the edge wicked and gleaming in the hot July sun. There's a collective inhale from bystanders; eyes turn in their direction, some fearful, most merely curious.
"I am the nephew of the Baron of Rennes," the fairhaired man proclaims -- more for the benefit of the gathered, perhaps, than for the women. "I will not have my affairs interfered with by a gaggle of foolish, meddling women who do not know their place. Silence your wicked tongues; they speak only heresy and rebellion against the natural order of things. Leave my presence now, or I will do what I must to rid this town of your presence."
They can be quite certain that none of the merchants and townsfolk will rise against the young lord. From the way some are grumbling, eyeing their height and their looks -- and the strange adornment on Liadan's face -- it's quite possible some would help.
On the other side of the square, there's an uproar -- the loose horse has crashed through a stall, and veers now toward the gathering. Peasants and merchants are diving out of its way. Imogen moves, quickly, using her relatively smaller size to her advantage, and suddenly she's there, grabbing a barrel half-full of seed that scatters across the cobblestones
(a merchant shouts: Stop her!)
as the barrel tips, and rolls, and collides with the bolting horse's forelegs. A sudden hush: they can all hear the animal's panicked scream, then the cracking of wood, then the duller, wetter snap of its legs as it hurls head over hooves, landing hard on the cobblestones.
There's a shocked silence. It won't last long.
[Liadan Whelan] The dagger is pulled, and Lee steps back. There is a threat on her person, a threat on all of them, and she reacts. Not physically, not with violence. She does something else, something that she can be very good at when she puts her mind to it.
She lies.
She stands tall, proud, and she glares.
"How dare you? Do you know who this is?" she gestures to Katherine. "She is Princess Katherine of Wales, niece of King Henry of England. How dare you speak to her as if you were above her?"
[lying]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Katherine Bellamonte] "Meddling foolish women?" The Silver Fang draws herself upright, and in an act of what may well be the foolhardy rebellion he accuses them of, tosses her veil to the ground, revealing the silky gold tresses beneath it, intricately wound together. "You stupid, ignorant man, have you any notion of whom it is you address? In the future, you will not only hearken to my words, but you will kneel before me like the sniveling wretch that you are.
Townspeople!"
Abruptly, the Silver Fang's finger swings around, reproaching each and every one of them. "Look at my skin, at the manner in which I speak, the guard that would protect me under disguise and then look upon this one who wields a blade at unarmed women! Who would deliver a weapon to a child and have him spill blood for blood! Pay heed to me, and protect us against this -- deceiver."
[Etiquette + Charisma + WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]
[Lonna Larson] Because of what she was, because of who she was, ire spiked and sparked much more quickly than it would have. In her rational mind, she knows that this is not the case. She looks at Danicka and nods gently. The blonde stands straight, and she looks at Cristobal.
She stops.
"What do you think?" a pause, "of all of this... of... what's happened, what's going to happen, what may or may not be?"
She is trying to make some connection again, and her own insecurities and concerns coming to light. The ones she stole, the ones that are makin it so difficult to keep her voice even, and the ones that are making ignoring the chaos so difficult. A barrel tips, a horse rears, people are moving and yelling and in the chaos she seems almost lost. All goodness and light-
Madonna-esque, without the whore's reputation that followed her in Chicago.
She looks, for a second, concerned. She looks at those with her and practically begs, "please calm down, this is not the place for this."
Someone could get hurt.
Someone could frenzy.
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Let's help the fib.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[-the foretold-] (peasants grabbing on imogen! cumulative roll)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Danicka Musil] He's angry. He's angry that they're talking, that Cristobal listened enough to pull his hand back, and Danicka's jaw tightens -- not with tension, but with the effort not to smirk. Duran shouts, and threatens, and she turns to him, about to open her mouth...
...when Imogen kills a horse. Or near enough. Injures it so terribly that it will need to be put down, and there's no farmers nearby with a shotgun handy. Danicka flinches harder than she did when Katherine snapped, more visibly than she did when Kemp snarled. It's not a twitch of fear but something else entirely, the sort of concern that does not usually come across when she's dealing with other people.
Danicka is caught by that for a moment, as Lee and Katherine join each other in lying about who the Silver Fang is. She does not open her mouth. She keeps her eyes down, she stays near Cristobal, and she does not reveal the truth. She simply says, quietly to the young man, as close to a whisper as she dares while still being heard:
"You will see, Cristobal, how those of Gaia stand together."
She moves away from him, then, goes to stand beside and slightly behind Katherine when she announces herself, folding her hands in front of herself and bowing her head.
[manipulation + subterfuge]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 8) [WP]
[Imogen Slaughter]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen Slaughter] (joining in the lie)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8 (Failure at target 8) [WP]
[-the foretold-] (Durand: You cannot lie to a liar! vs 6 cumulative)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[-the foretold-] (townspeople: duhhh what? vs 6)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[-the foretold-] The boy is simply petrified now, caught in the midst of a struggle he only peripherally understands. Lonna asks what he thinks. He stares at her. Danicka murmurs in his ear, and his head turns toward her sharply, and then away again to watch the standoff.
The six -- five now -- gather around Katherine. They join the pretense, some better than others. They flank the shining Fang, who throws off her veil, who reveals the glory of her hair, the beauty of her person, the flawlessness of her carriage and speech. No peasant could hope to match that in this age.
No peasant could hope to withstand that, and not believe they were in the presence of a princess. A queen. A goddess.
The merchant that had shouted for someone to grab Imogen forgets that his barrel is overturned, his precious stock all over the ground. He's the first to fall to his knees, bowing his head.
"Your Highness."
Others are joining him now, a sweep of genuflection and subjugation, all the villagers and peasants in the square sinking to the cobblestones, mindless of the screaming horse, mindless of the chaos in the market stalls. Your Highness passes from mouth to mouth, and here and there are cries of Have mercy! and God bless you, my lady!
The only one not to kneel is Durand. Standing proud and angry, his face twisting between disbelief and uncertainty, the point of his dagger lowers, then rises again to point directly at Katherine.
"This is not over. My uncle will have his reckoning."
He sheathes his dagger with a sharp, angry click. The young nobleman turns on his heels, striding swiftly away, leaving the boy, the five, and his horse where they are.
[-the foretold-] (also, i'd say: kate's WP is refilled +1. she's at temp WP 7.)
[Katherine Bellamonte] You are born to greatness.
The role of a Silver Fang is to lead her people.
This is why we put you here, why Gaia gave you your gifts, why Luna blesses you.
They fall to their knees around her, and she lifts her chin with all the nobility and all the haughty grandeour born to one of her stock in the modern age. The most bizarre of all the lies in this intricate webbing is that in truth, her ancestors are not so distant to Durand's. She carries some trace of his own bloodline; more than a trace. The game they now play is dangerous in new ways.
Katherine's pale eyes nail Durand in place; she does not stop glaring at him until he lowers his weapon and even then she continues to look upon him as if he were something to be snuffed out, something impossibly repellent to her person. He utters an oath of reckoning; and she sniffs at him as if amused by his words.
He strides away.
Katherine does not move.
The townsfolk are kneeling before her, and briefly, she raises her eyes heavenward as if feeling some great sense of destiny and fate, clasping hands over her and cheering her on. She turns her attention on the boy, eventually, and extends a hand to him.
"Come, Christobal. The danger has passed."
[Imogen Slaughter] (lost AIM again.)
to -the foretold-
[-the foretold-] (no worries!)
to Imogen Slaughter
[Liadan Whelan] Lee watches Durand level his dagger at Kate and tenses like someone who would jump on that blade to protect her mistress. But she doesn't move. She stays where she is, slightly to the side and behind Katherine, and she waits. For a word or a command for the woman whose identity they all just lied about. People are bowing in the streets, after all. Revealing the lie now would be a disaster.
Katherine extends a hand to Cristobal, beckoning him. Lee watches to see what he will do, which path he will take.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen waits.
[-the foretold-] Cautiously, then with greater confidence, the boy takes Katherine's hand.
As though some act of great significance has come to pass, the townsfolk raise a cheer when their hands join. Cristobal, however, remains solemn, his dark eyes looking up at Katherine -- at all of them.
"The elders have foreseen my fate," he says, low. His hand tightens on Kate's. There's a pleading in his eyes, a sort of wild and precarious hope that was not there before. "Tell me what I must do to avoid it."
[Danicka Musil] Thank god her head is down. The peasants murmur praise and prostrate themselves and Danicka closes her eyes as her veil falls past her cheeks to fight off the urge to roll her eyes. She sighs instead, opens her eyes, and as Durand leaves, she looks over at Cristobal to see what his reaction to all this is.
Kate offers her hand and tells him to come, tells him the danger has passed. Danicka does not lift her head, but whispers to the Fang, her lips barely moving but her voice rather clear to those immediately nearby: "Don't lie to him, Katherine."
The danger is never passed.
She looks at the boy then, again. "Be ready," she says. "Find those you can trust. Guard them with all you have."
celebration.
9 years ago