ahroun elders and pools.

[Keith] He didn't actually have a pair of swimtrunks, so he was swimming without. He'd put a thoughtful note on the door in case Gabbie (or -- someone else) happened by. The note read thus: Ladies With Virtuous Eyes, Enter Not. No swim trunks! =( (Srsly, don't come in if you're just going to stare.)

And so the Silver Fang Ahroun was doing lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap.

[Lukas] ...and then something soft and balled-up hits Keith on the head.

It turns out to be a pair of swim trunks, when he stops and unwads it and looks. Plain and black, tags still on.

"Seriously, man," Lukas says from the edge of the pool, "you could've just asked instead of grossing up the pool."

[Sinclair] Around then the other blonde haired, blue eyed member of the Unbroken exits the dressing room in her suit, which is plain, and navy blue, and racer-backed. She's putting up her hair into a tight bun with deft, practiced motions. The tattoos and piercings on her arms are visible. The tattoo wrapped around her thigh is out. The scarring on her middle back is not.

She pads around the edge of the pool, hands dropping to her sides. "Be a little more uptight, man."

[Keith] He does stop, unwad it and look. He doesn't launch himself backward again; he hangs on the edge of the pool with his right hand, and he's dizzy, too much time underwater, too many swimmer's turns. The swimtrunks are held up with his left, and he blinks water droplets away from his eyelashes, which're stuck together, almost gunky, way too long for a boy. "I left a note," he says, with a grin. "But thanks." He grin fades, a little, when Sinclair comes padding in. "You didn't take the note off, did you?" He rips the tags off'a the swim trunks, depositing them neatly on the edge, and he casts a 'covert' -- which in Keith-land is sort've obvious as hell -- glance toward the door, as if he were worried 'bout someone else coming in. Which he is. Which is why he shimmies on into the swimtrunks as soon as he's stretched them out.

[Sinclair] The Galliard neither seems terribly bothered by Keith's nakedness -- or its effect on the pool -- nor terribly interested in catching a glance of Fang dong. She quirks a dark brow. "There was a note? I just got here through the dressing room. It's like Superman's phone booth. Shit, half the time I swim here nobody knows I've shown up."

[Lukas] "It's not a matter of propriety," Lukas replies. "It's a matter of hygiene."

The Shadow Lord's also in swim trunks. His are dark blue, a color that'll be nearly black once wet. There might be lobbying for a conversion of the sitting room and an expansion of the pool, soon.

There are scars on his body, of course, though perhaps less than would be expected of a Fostern Ahroun; Lukas is not the reckless type that survives and wins by sheer luck. His bone frame is large, the sort that will lend itself to a hulking, husky strength if he survives past 30, past 40; for now, there's still the last remnants of adolescent leanness to him.

The musculature of the shoulder girdle and the upper arm twist under his skin as he lowers himself to the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in.

"Anyway, you wanted to talk, Keith?"

He doesn't seem to mind that Sinclair is there; that the conversation might be private. Sinclair is pack, after all.

[Sinclair] "Dude," the Walker argues, heading around to the short end of the pool, "trunks are not a hazmat suit. They ain't keepin' germs out of the water. You just think he looks funny naked, admit it."

The last time Lukas heard from Sinclair was when Marrick died. She doesn't seem too broken up about it. Then: why would she be?

Any answer the Alpha might give to that, though she doesn't entirely expect one, is precluded by a thin splash as her body arcs into a shallow, careful dive. There is no denying who in the pack has a body built not just for war but for the thoughtlessly precise grace and force of athletics, whether tumbling or dance or swimming: Sinclair was born to move.

[Keith] Keith's still in the water, of course. He doesn't wanna get out quite yet. Water's pearling his earlobes, and his hair is all matted over his forehead until he pushes it out of the way, like maybe he should get a haircut already, huh?

"Huh." The dressing room angle; he clearly hadn't thought of that. "You up for a race?" That's to the Galliard who's just left the dressing room -- although then Lukas speaks, and Keith is staring at him blankly. "But there's chlorine." He was about to say something else -- but then! Sinclair, and he laughs (hazmat) suit, and he's still laughing when she splashes into the water.

Lukas also said you wanted to talk, Keith, though. And Keith, once he's had his damned laugh, says: "Yeah. I wanted to talk. I'm sorry that Bones to Dust is dead." This is a prelude to more, but let it rest there for a second.

[Keith] ooc: Make that "But there's chlorine."

[Lukas] A furrow appears between Lukas's eyebrows. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."

[Sinclair] She surfaces at the other end of the pool. Takes a deep breath and turns around, treading water. "Yeah, but I doubt you are," she says belatedly to Keith, utterly unaware that they're talking about Marrick now.

[Keith] "Because she thought like a general," he clarifies. "Because she reached out to the other Full Moons, irregardless," oh, wow; look at that. Keith knows fancy words like irregardless. This is when Sinclair surfaces with her belated answer, and for a second Keith regards her with narrowed eyes, eyebrows drawn together. Then "Sure I am!" he calls over, poolhouse acoustics doing that thing where he sounds both louder and quieter than he should, echo, echo. "In a few!" Then, back to irregardlessing: " - irregardless of pack. She was trying to think ahead. She was trying to -- " He frowns, this time at himself. " -- hold the Sept together, make it stronger, make it work better, faster, more efficient. So," his gaze flicks up to Lukas. "I wanted to talk to you about that. Who else is thinking that way? Is anybody?"

[Sinclair] Oh. They're talking about Bones to Dust. Sinclair's eyebrows tug together tightly, suddenly, and then she's back in the water, her body in its suit a mix of dark and pale cutting rapidly down the length of the pool.

[Lukas] Lukas shakes his head. "No," simply. "That was always Bones to Dust's greatest strength. She wanted unity in a way that no other full moon did."

There's history there, behind what he says. It happened before either of them were in the Sept.

[Keith] "So now that strength is gone." A beat. "That would be a waste. You're a Fostern Full Moon. Will you call together the auspice? Continue the good work?" That could sound mildly sarcastic, that 'continue the good work' bit. And honestly, on any other day, on any other subject, at any time when Keith was not being the Keith he is being right now (serious, idealistic, not necessarily stupid as all get out, dancing through life, lazy) -- it probably would've been.

[Sinclair] Again she misses part of the conversation. Again she drowns her senses in the pool, as though this is not important enough to her to pause her workout. Or her play. Whatever it really is. But she comes out at the other end of the pool just as before, surfacing with a breath, and grabs the edge to pull herself up and out, twisting to perch on the concrete and tile surrounding the water. She shakes the water out of her ears. It drips off of the bar through her left bicep. It drips past the symbol on her neck. It drips off all of the metal in her earlobes and cartilage.

She listens. She missed parts of this, but she listens now. Which is part of what she's born to do, as well -- other than move.

Her eyes flick over to Keith, pale and opaque, almost alien. Move to Lukas to hear his answer.

[Lukas] "I tried once, a long time ago." This is just as simple. "To lead the auspice, I mean. I lost to Bones to Dust because of exactly what we spoke of. She was the only one that thought so much in terms of unity; in the strength of the Sept as a whole. I did not, quite. I thought to strengthen each of us, individually, but not ... not to pull us together the way Marrick did."

It's hard for Shadow Lords to admit failure. It must be hard for Lukas too, though if it is, that is subsumed. The Ahroun's face is smooth, his tone level.

"And now I'm the Alpha of my tribe. And of my pack, which will always be my first and foremost allegiance after the war. To be truthful, Keith, I don't think I could give the role of Elder of the Ahrouns the time and dedication another might.

"Are you asking me this because you intend to seek the role?"

[Keith] "No. I'm asking you because I want you to do it." He frowns, and doesn't say anything else just yet. His eyebrows have drawn together again. He looks like he's walking the line between paying attention and not. "But okay." Those two words? Very, very slow-ly spo-ke-en. Not but okay, so I guess I'll seek that role -- oh hell no. More a but okay, I have heard what you have said.

[Sinclair] "Let's not canonize the dead, alright?" Sinclair says, and quietly -- for her. It's loud enough to bespeak familiarity with being heard over the lapping of water in motion against hard poolside walls, the echo of words off of surrounding glass. She doesn't sound bitter. She doesn't sound exasperated.

"All the idealistic thinking and noble intentions in the world didn't make her an effective elder or leader," she goes on, her voice still level, still carrying without effort or shout. Her words seem mostly aimed at Keith. "Her failure to follow through on her aspirations of unity may even suggest that a better Ahroun Elder would be someone seeking to strength individual Full Moons, who will then strengthen their packs, who will then strengthen the sept."

A beat. "But that's just one way to look at it. To some extent it will be up to Kate, come next moot, what kind of Ahroun Elder can best serve the sept."

[Lukas] "I might," Lukas replies, "if no other worthy Ahrouns take the position. But that you saw Marrick's strengths so clearly makes me think you could ... well." Wry now, "Continue the good work. And maybe improve on it. Because ultimately, Marrick's greatest weakness was that she couldn't realize any of the ideals she held."

Maybe that was harsh. Bones to Dust is barely cold in the ground. But there's little softness in this pack, despite their trappings of wealth and courtesy. That much is obvious enough when Lukas speaks; when Sinclair does. He's quiet until his packmate finishes, and when she does, he has nothing to add to it. Then:

"I think you should try for it next moot, Keith."

[Keith] His gaze flicks to the Galliard when she starts to speak, and stays there. His expression doesn't change a whole hellofa lot. "Fine," he says, and it sounds dismissive. "I'm not trying to canonize her, and I definitely don't disagree that strengthening individual Full Moons etcetera should -- or even can -- be ignored or given less attention when trying to ... But it's important to have someone who thinks like a general. Outside his or her own pack. Outside his or her own tribe. Someone who looks at the whole board," and he cuts himself off, frowning again, if only because Lukas is talking, and he's listening to the Shadow Lord now. His expression softens somewhat, by the end, although the I think you should try for it next moot, Keith just bounces off him much like the swimsuit trunks had earlier. "How many moons had Bones to Dust been trying to bring the Sept together? Sounds like she'd been trying for a while from what you guys are saying, and without result."

[Sinclair] Her eyebrows flick upward as Keith's tone turns dismissive. In layman's terms, her expression is very close to Excuse me, Bitch?

And she rolls her eyes when he repeats the word 'general'. And she slips back into the pool again, her eyes still pinned on Keith, like she's silently drawing lines on his face where she'd like to drag a claw through the flesh. Then again, there are those who say that's how she looks at everyone. All the time.

Without even realizing it.

[Keith] Excuse me, Bitch, is Sinclair's expression; Keith's own expression goes baffled/wounded. What? Huh? Why you givin' me that look, lady? Isn't he just the most perceptive perceptor of perception-y things ever in the world? He totally is. See!

He braces himself against the side of the pool and hauls himself out. And also? He listens to whatever Lukas has to say, before making some sort've farewell, some sort've, "Huh," response, followed by a, "I'm hungry; still wanna race later?" But Sinclair might be underwater when he says that, or maybe she isn't. And a, "Thanks for the trunks, man." And a: gone! So very gone. Gone, gone, gone.

[Lukas] "She's been trying from the moment she took the position to the day she died. But Bones to Dust," Lukas says, rather bluntly now, "was dogged by the simple fact that she lacked the strength to see her ideals come to fruition.

"That's not an indictment on her character, and I don't mean to speak ill of the dead. But we're an auspice of warriors, first and foremost. We value strength and honor. And it's hard to follow an elder who lost nearly every fight she was in. Who lost her totem over and over again. Who sometimes, when the chips were down and the enemy was facing us, simply did not lead.

"Marrick had a vision. It was a good one. But for Ahrouns more than any other auspice, action comes before word. If you have the strength to lead by example, and the foresight to think beyond boundaries of tribe and pack -- well, then you might not struggle the way she did."

[Keith] ooc: (zip) thanks guys!!

[Sinclair] Keith gets a nod, slow and deliberate. Sinclair does want to race. Sinclair is something of a pinnacle of evolution, and her bloodline did not produce something like her without a certain innate drive for competition. She doesn't say another word, though, until he's gone and she's clinging to the edge of the pool

"Kate," she begins, "is elder of her tribe, one of the oldest and most consistent members of this pack, elder of her auspice, and the Mistress of the Challenge." He knows all this. "It's also not making her any less batshit crazy day in and day out, dealing with all that. That have anything to do with why you won't lead your Moon?"

[Lukas] They're both sitting on the edge of the pool now, feet in the water. Even in midwinter Lukas's skin is tan, the scars on his body faint, paler traceries. Beneath the waterline, his legs look paler than they are, distorted by refraction.

"What I told Keith was the truth," he answers Sinclair. "I'd make a perfectly adequate Elder of the Ahrouns, Sinclair, just like I'm a perfectly adequate Alpha of the Shadow Lords. But I'm only the latter because I've met no one else better for the position. And whatever I might have aspired to in the past, if I were to take Eldership now, it would be out of some sense of obligation rather than any particular drive.

"This pack means more to me than auspice and tribe and sept combined. What I put into this pack will always eclipse what I put into rallying the Ahrouns, or protecting the interests of the Shadow Lords, or even serving the Sept of the Maelstrom. And if someone else is both worthy of the role and willing to give more than I can, then I should and would stand aside."

[Lukas] >_>
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sinclair] He on the long side, she on the short. Only one of her legs is dangling. Her left leg is pulled up, foot perched on the edge. There is now -- as there always is, with Sinclair -- an easy perfection to her carriage, neither stately nor regal but unselfconsciously primal. It is not hard to imagine her on some cracked and barren heath, feet flat on the earth, legs bent, arms loose.

One has to wonder if she's ever been a normal human, if that was ever a life she led. If she grew up thinking she was kin. If she knew all along, as some do, that she would Change. Maybe that last: Sinclair does not seem a girl turned monster, nor even a wolf masquerading as a person. She is Garou. Whatever trappings of tribe or popular culture or history she bears, that always comes through.

Pinnacle of evolution.

Top of the food chain.

Beast.

"...So why did you tell that guy to go for it?"

[Lukas] "Because I think he might do a good job," Lukas replies. "And if he doesn't, then someone else will challenge him for it. Or I will."

[Sinclair] "And slowly, bit by bit, I will become the only member of this pack without a world of responsibility on my shoulders giving me a gradually sloping -- actually rather gracefully bent -- hunchback."

Sinclair says all this rather animatedly, her hands dancing in the air before her like spiders for bit by bit, swooping downward as she discusses the delicate curve of a malformed spine.

When her hands drop again, her balance on the edge of the pool unperturbed, she smiles at him, lips together but otherwise bright. "I shall sing many tales of how the Unbroken earned their humps."

Beat. "Their lovely little --" she paraphrases -- "lumps."

[Lukas] Lukas smirks, and then suddenly kicks an arc of water at Sinclair. "I'm taking your Galliard card. You just quoted Fergie at me."

[Sinclair] She laughs, and ducks her head aside as though she would dodge flying droplets of water. "Wait for it," she reassures him. "One of these days I'm going to quote some fucking epic shit, and you're gonna be like 'fuck, what was that' and I'm gonna just toss my hair and blithely say 'Proust' and you're gonna be like 'whoa'."

Sinclair kicks water back at him.

[Lukas] Lukas, laughing, shields his face halfheartedly from the splash. Then he pushes off the edge and plunges into the pool all at once, fanning a great splash of water at the Galliard.

"Won't that be the day," he says. "Come on, did you want to race or what?"