verdict.

[BWF] Not an easy task. Lots of close calls. When Sarita returns to the Caern, she's utterly drained; probably wants nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a few days.

Balance is still waiting for her, though. The challenge circle remains unbroken. And he doesn't give her a moment's rest.

"Welcome back," he greets her. "Report."

[Sarita] Sarita looks exhausted, a little wobbly on her feet. She rubs the side of her face as she approaches Balance Without Fault, holding SD card. When the Grand Elder greets her and asks for her report, she straightens a little bit, shaking off the weariness for a moment.

"Whoo boy…okay. So, on the way to the location you gave me, I called up a contact of mine, got the security layout for the place. Stopped by Katherine's loft and picked up a couple of talens for pack use that might do me well…a Chiropteran Spy and Nightshade. As it turned out, the Spy was useful, the Nightshade not needed.

"Once I got to the location, it was evident that the information I'd gotten from my source panned out. Security cameras, nothing particularly fancy but pretty extensive to prevent people getting in. The lights were more or less out, with the exception of one office across from Mr. "I Want To Believe." Peeking across the Gauntlet showed a few Banes, only one that was anything to speak of. It was creeping around the place, bein' a creeper."

She pauses, there, looking down at the SD card with a bit of a frown before she looks back.

"That office across from the blogger's got someone…less than normal inside of it. It needs to be checked out…I would have done it myself, but I was fairly spent and I figured retrieving the card was more time-critical. Judgment call. I'd be happy to go out with whoever might be sent.

"Anyway, I used the Spy to check the place out; it confirmed that there was something off about the guy. Had it do some guard duty while I checked out the security a bit closer…windows, circuit box, anything like that. Dropped into Silence and Blur of the Milky Eye, then decided to go pipe-climbing to the roof, found an in there that took me into the building. The crawlspace had a dropdown directly into the blogger's office.

"Once I was inside, I did a little bit of checking. There wasn't a hell of a lot I could do with the potentially Wyrm-ridden guy typing away right next door, but I checked phone messages…our boy got a call from the people who sent it, promising that there was more if they wanted it."

She pulls out the scrap of paper with the phone number on it. "This is the number that they left. Sounds like one of those ritzy posh areas. I got into the desk, grabbed the envelope, then came back the way I went."

She shrugs. "Outside of this and whatever our enemies are trying to pass over, there's not a hell of a lot that he has that seems legit. Alternative press bullshit, the usual. He's an idiot who's read too damned much Dylan Dog or some other bullshit comic book. If we take care of the source and strike out the guy in the other office, we should be fine."

She holds up the SD card. "There ya go. I'm sure that can be analyzed or some sort of thing to get some info on who sent it."

[BWF] Anyone can see Sarita is exhausted. And there are watchers now - curious parties drifting by to see what was going on. She can see the Ragabash Guardian in the audience. He raises a hand in a friendly wave as she looks his way.

Then it's Balance Without Fault, it's her report, it's the events of the night laid out and laid bare for inspection.


The Grand Elder listens carefully to every word. He weighs every word for truth, not because he distrusts this particular Ragabash but because that is his job. He listens to her explain her setup, her entry, the office next door, the extraction, the exit. Even more keenly, he listens to her rationale. Her reasons. Why she did what she did. Why she didn't do what she didn't do.

When she's done, Balance holds his hand out for the SD card, turns the small thing over in his hand a few times, then tosses it to the Ragabash Guardian.

"If you were the Ragabash Elder, leader of our scouts," he says, "what would your next move be?"

[Sinclair] There's an unexpected party that's come drifting over to watch the rest of the challenge. Around Sinclair there's a faint smell of ozone, her eyes a bit brighter than usual, like she's high on something, the edges of her body jazzed somehow -- that all may be illusion. No one in Chicago has seen her since she skipped town early one morning to drive to San Diego, but here she is.

Poor Lucille, dropping the phone in the Loft when visible electricity and soundwaves leapt out of the handset and conformed themselves in midair to the shape of the Galliard.

Someone -- maybe Lukas -- asked her why she didn't just call a phone at the Caern. Reason the first: she's not sure anyone would pick up. Reason the second: That just seems wrong, y'know, like... apparating inside Hogwarts or something.

She's not here to stay for more than a matter of hours, she told them through Perun, but she zapped her and drove to the Caern and walked up to this particular challenge circle tonight to stand and watch, observe, remember. Her long hair is down, arms crossed over her shoulders. There's a bright blue streak in that hair now, and a braid to the left side of her face that's got a couple of beads and a feather hanging at the end. Sinclair catches Sarita's eye sometime during her report.

Winks.

[Milo] Among the onlookers come to watch this challenge, there's a relative newcomer in the crowd. He doesn't exactly blend in today, because Maelstrom is a relatively small sept. Even so, Milo keeps out of the way, nondescript in boring dark colors, hands resting in the pockets of his zipped up hoodie.

He didn't come here specifically to watch. Still without a pack, the quiet Gaian pulls his weight anyway, helping out the Theurges that tend the land, and he scouts the area surrounding the Caern, including that notorious construction site.

On his way back through, the commotion at the challenge circle caught his attention. Curiosity tugging him relentlessly, he goes to watch how challenges are handled here. He recognizes Sarita, vaguely, from when he stayed at The Brotherhood before. He remembers she always had a friendly word when they passed each other in the hall.

Shifting around the small collection of onlookers, Milo makes his way a little closer, for a better look. He doesn't wink, should she happen to look his way, but if she does he tips his chin up, mouth quirked in a slight smile.

[Sarita] She doesn't notice Milo show up; she's too damn tired, both mentally and physically, to do so. If she did, he'd get a quick smile and a wink, but alas. She does however feel the pricking of a pack member drawing close, and is surprised, momentarily pausing, when she realizes that it's neither Lukas nor Katherine. In that moment of surprise there are no words over the pack link, just gratitude.

That momentary pause also has her considering her answer. She runs a hand through her hair, fingers clenching to gather it together right at the back of her skull as she purses her lips.

"I'd have that SD card analyzed, see if there's any infosend a pack out to do a fuller assessment and based on that, if they thought they could handle it, as quiet of a removal of the bane if possible. One that's balanced, has a Theurge in it at least for the extra spirit dealing-with mojo. If there're no packs immediately available, a grouping of whoever's available. Give Derek or Izzy a call, have them run the phone number of the guy who called our boy the Frog Broth…err, the ghosthunter. That would give us an address we could stake out, and give us an idea of where we could go from there."

She pauses and points at the SD card in the Guardian's hand. "I'd also have the data on that SD card checked out, see if there's any information on there that helps us identify the source. Might not help, but you never know.

"The one at the office would have to be done really quietly. The guy in the office across from Blogger Boy didn't seem to necessarily be the same kind of nasty as we had shining a light on our dubious affairs, but that doesn't mean the two aren't related. If we already have someone in place staking out the address, then any reaction from the elimination of Typity-Type could betray some sort of information in the Master Plan, so to speak."

She nods. "So yeah. Two-pronged situation, to deal with one—maybe two—possible threats. That's the way I'd go."

[BWF] There's no pause. No deep breath before the plunge. No drumroll before the envelope is opened. As soon as Sarita finishes, Balance speaks the verdict.

"Sarita Echoes-of-Laughter, you have proven yourself a worthy successor to Laughs in the Face of Death."

That's not where it ends. There's no room for celebration yet; no deep breath of relief. No time for that. He continues immediately -- levelly, pitilessly, dissecting each moment of her performance tonight. Point by point. Action by action.

"In the single question you asked of Janis Ian," he says, "you did not attack her, though you could have. You aimed at yourself instead, and that takes courage. It's also a necessity. No Ragabash can hope to question others if they do not question themselves first.

"Too often young Ragabashes forget that their role is not an excuse to be disrespectful, rebellious, or arrogant. A Ragabash does not question because she are always right, and everyone else is always wrong. She questions because that is her duty, and because by doing so, she strengthens the pack, the Sept, and the Nation.

"You did not forget that tonight, Sarita. Well done.

"What you did forget was to listen carefully; to pay attention. And what I said then is still true. A good Ragabash must listen carefully before she speaks. If your job is to find the weakness in any argument, any plan, then you must know the argument and the plan as well as its proposer. Poorly done.

"That said, that test was not wholly fair. But it was never meant to be. I wanted to test your wits and your ears. But even more, I wanted to test how you would respond to a setback. I wanted to see if you would grow sullen or combatative. If you would argue, or sulk.

"You did not. You responded with courage and good humor. With intelligence, and with tenacity. Well done.

"The concern that your sitting the Auspice Council may unbalance things in your pack's favor is a valid one. It is also one that will continue to dog you, I suspect, long after this challenge. You have defended yourself well tonight, but words are words. You will need to defend yourself again and again against this charge. You will have to prove with your actions that you are capable of thinking for yourself. That when you speak with the Ahroun and Philodox elders, you are not blindly following. That when you speak against them, you are not blindly rebelling.

"You have taken one step toward that proof tonight. You rejected my flatly ludicrous demand that you always speak against your pack. I don't think you ever realized my true intentions, and a Ragabash Alpha will have to be sharper than that -- but perhaps that made your trial by fire all the more telling. Even when you thought I, the Grand Elder of the Sept, demanded this of you; even when you must have thought I might fail you for refusing, you refused.

"Politely. Respectfully. But with the same courage and good humor you have shown throughout this challenge. Well done.

"Those were all tests of your social abilities as Ragabash Alpha. But we are a Sept of war, and at war. Your abilities as the scoutmaster will be just as important, if not more so. You will need to rally and direct the Ragabashes -- a task often harder than herding cats. You cannot hope to do that if you do not first prove yourself an adept scout yourself.

"That was the purpose of the final part of this challenge. You were tasked to retrieve a sensitive item. It was an urgent matter, and I was glad to see you wasted no time, and that you were clever and resourceful in your solution to the problem.

"Still, when offered any resource you could gather, you forgot the single most important resource of all: your allies. You could have asked the help of your packmates. Other Ragabashes. Even Broken Glass, the Ragabash who first unearthed this situation. You are a Strider, and perhaps accustomed to working alone -- but you have chosen to join this Sept, and you are challenging to lead its Ragabashes. A good leader doesn't merely dominate; she guides, and shapes, and weaves her followers into a coherent whole.

"Perhaps that, too, is an unfair expectation. After all, you were in the middle of a challenge, and perhaps you thought that you would fail if you did not go alone. Still; this is something you will have to keep in mind from here on out.

"As for the mission itself: you proved yourself a more than capable scout tonight. You accomplished the task I laid before you, as I suspected you might. You retrieved the flashdrive. You even unearthed its source. Well done.

"But as you may have already guessed, that was not the true test. We knew, long before I sent you in, of the man across the office and the bane that follows him about. I withheld this information to see what you, alone in the field with a time-sensitive mission, would do in response. And more importantly, why.

"Had you attacked blindly without concern for your mission, you would have failed. We have no use for a stupid Ragabash Alpha. Had you ignored the situation simply because you were not instructed to take care of it, you would have failed. We have no use for a Ragabash Alpha who cannot think for herself.

"Had you decided the threat was too great not to investigate, and investigate now, you may well have succeeded all the same. But in the end, you decided it was more important to return to the Sept with the stolen data before the workday begins. You decided that your given mission was more time-sensitive, but you did not forget about the snag. You gave your reasons clearly, without attempting to spin it in your favor. You have a clear plan of action for dealing with the additional confounding factor.

"That is completely valid, and shows sound judgment and wisdom on your part. Well done.

"One final detail, then. When you spoke of your next plans, you laid forth intelligent and sound ideas. However, don't forget that your role as the scoutmaster of this Sept requires you to disseminate information to the other Elders; to hear their input; to formulate a cohesive response.

"I trust your judgment and your expertise. I know in an emergency, you will act quickly and with cunning. That is why you have proven worthy of the position you seek. But there is no room for uncertain plans and weak alliances in this Sept. As the old human adage goes, we must stand together or die alone."

At last, a pause. Balance Without Fault rotates his head on his shoulders, cracking his vertebrae. Then, with a ring of formality in his voice:

"Echoes of Laughter, knowing now the full burden of your duties and responsibilities, do you still seek the position of Ragabash Elder of Maelstrom?"

[Sarita] There may not be time for a breath of relief before Balance Without Fault starts assessing, but one is taken just the same. She couldn't have avoided it even if she'd tried. The tension in her shoulders, running down her spine doesn't vanish, but does alleviate somewhat as the pressure of at least a couple details, like "Whoops, lost us the totem, guys" vanishes into the ether.

That moment is purposefully kept short-lived, though. The Grand Elder goes into his assessment, and she listens. She hears the points she did well, and the places where she slipped up. There is a hint of a grin, tired as it is, when the Glass Walker mentions that the datacard was not the true test. Not a 'I'm so cool for realizing,' but an appreciation of the ruse. It's exactly the sort of thing that a No-Moon should appreciate, after all.

Her praises get little nods, maybe a smile here or there when something she wasn't totally sure about—the assertion regarding going against her packmates, or her decision to return instead of learning more about the bane—is detailed. The critiques, the things she could have done better…she listens, and she nods. The idea of going to others in the Sept for aid gets a look on her face—the kind that you would expect someone to get when they knew they had the right answer on Jeopardy! but went for something else instead. But in all she listens, she files away as lessons learned.

Then he straightens. And he asks her if she still seeks the position. And she understands why…after all of this, some people might actually say no, thinking it's too much.

She doesn't say no. She just nods, and speaks four words.

"That I do, Rhya."

…hey, a simple "Yes" would have been too straight-forward. This is Sarita, after all.

[BWF] "Then it is yours."

Balance Without Fault takes a step backward, his heel deliberately breaking through the challenge circle. He turns to the onlookers - raising his voice loud and clear.

"Wolves of the Maelstrom: your Ragabash Elder, Echoes of Laughter."

[Kate] Katherine has approached, toward the end of things. She brushes against her sister who also watches; a hand briefly twitching one of Sinclair's fingertips in a wordless hello before she turns her eyes on the Challenge Circle.

Watchful.
Waiting.

When Balance Without Fault officially names her sister the Ragabash Elder; the Silver Fang's smile is genteel in its pleasure. Ever dignified, that was Katherine. "Well done, Ragabash Elder for Maelstrom." She greets her with the new title, her warmth tinged with a pack-mate's tease.

[Lukas] Lukas did, indeed, want to know why Sinclair hadn't just call someone at the Caern. Sinclair explained it in Harry Potter terms; this led to a conversation in his car, en route from Loft to Caern, about how lame or awesome each of the HP movies were.

"I can't wait for the next one," he confesses, pulling the chainlink fence open to slip through into the bawn,

and out of mortal sight.

--

Later, much later:

Of all the packmates, Wyrmbreaker is the only one tonight who's chosen to take his animal form. It's cold, after all, and he walked out in his pajamas. When that first thrill of mingled excitement and relief comes across the totemlink, the black wolf's ears prick. When the final question is asked, he shifts where he sits, front paws stamping back and forth once or twice.

Then Sarita accepts. And he rises to his feet, ready. When Balance Without Fault breaks the line, the black wolf bounds forward, rears up on his hind legs to plant big muddy paws on Sarita's shoulders. Whuf! he says, closes his teeth lightly and affectionately on his packmate's -- well. Her face. It's a gentle gesture, though, and brief. A moment later he drops down. He circles around his packmates a few times as though to keep them, protect them, ward them, then sits, lolling his tongue out.

In this form, even his thoughts are feral and fragmentary:

Good words. Clever scout! Proud!

[Milo] Milo listens to the Grand Elder's words as he details where Sarita went right and where she went wrong, his eyes on the Strider. Her humor in the face of it all, weary as it is, is a relief to see. That she doesn't sulk or flail about or make excuses for a misstep or a thing overlooked. And also that she doesn't preen when she receives praise.

His mouth quirks when she says those four words. Congratulations will wait for another time, though, maybe when Sarita's had some sleep. Now, her packmates go to her, and the quiet Child of Gaia slips away.

[Sinclair] Perhaps due to the nature of her auspice, Sinclair is silent and steady for the remainder of the challenge after that wink given to Sarita. She flicks Kate's fingertips back, a subtle hello, but otherwise she's watching Balance Without Fault and Echoes of Laughter. She stands by Lukas's lupus form, but she understands the words the Grand Elder and Ragabash use better when she's like this without the urges and instincts of a wolf's body tugging at her.

She'd remember it just as well if she were in lupus. She'd remember it differently, though.

Of all the Unbroken, her reaction is the quietest. The two Adrens move forward to congratulate Sarita, one tidily and one muddily, one with a tease, one with a nomf to the face. Sinclair hangs back a bit, then walks forward. She's taking a breath, letting go the role, hanging onto the challenge for later to write it all down, but as she comes over to her pack she grins. Her hand drops and scritches Lukas's neck and behind his ear affectionately as he circles them -- happily, proudly, protectively.

She gives the Strider a tight, quick hug. "You kicked ass," she tells her while she squeezes her, offhand, as though implying that it's so obvious it goes without saying. Letting her go, she swings around and claps her hands on Kate and Sarita's backs, slings her arms around their shoulders. "Lukas, putcher manface back on. I got til eight a.m. central before I have a phone call to catch back to San Diego, so we're gonna go get wasted. Champagne for Kate, vodka for you, Hpnotiq for me, and...Idaknow, we gotta figure out what the Strider tribal booze is."

[Sarita] When the announcement is made, she finally relaxes, slumping a bit. Katherine greets her by title and a smile; Lukas puts lupine paws on her shoulder and bites her face. They're a varied pack, you see. Sarita almost stumbles at the sudden gesture, laughing a bit. She finally notices Milo, giving him a little nod as he departs just before Sinclair comes up. She's pulled out her cheapo ancient cellphone and sending a text—poorly—when Sinclair comings up and hugs her.

"Thanks, guys." She rubs at her eyes, and smirks at the question of Strider tribal booze.

"I don't know what it is worldwide, I ain't society enough to know what Egyptian booze there is. But here in Chicago, I decree it's freakin' Jimmy Cuervo." She chuckles, the blinks and shakes her head.

"Let's do it." And after a nod of respect to the Grand Elder, she turns to leave with her pack, texting along the way.

eclipse.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The moon is all but gone.

It is a sliver in the sky above, and it blackens them all; turns the black Wolf to little but the suggestion of his body and those impossibly, unnaturally red eyes; burning like lava; like the last final drop of blood ever to spill in this War. Sinclair speaks again; and the Wolf finally moves.

It rises; and stands.

It looks from Asha, to Lukas, and finally, finally down at Sinclair.

We must go now. There is no more time. She cannot cross. Her time to choose is done.

It watches; impassive, impressive as the Ahroun Elder says his farewells and steps back. When he says okay, there is a sudden swell of Rage in the air. They can hear the snarl of predators, dead and gone; the clash of blades and fangs and the tang of blood; hot and vital in the air. There is a tidal wave of red; it blots out everything; everyone.

When it is over -- they are gone.

And Sinclair is alone.

You are never alone, the Voice whispers to the Glasswalker; it is full of sorrow. My child.

--

The little girl smiles over at the Theurge when she starts talking about Gaia and Luna and what means what; and its the impression of approval; but she doesn't speak another word. Not to Adamidas, not to Katherine or Gwen, nor to Danicka's question of what she was planning to help her with.

"It's time."

She says, with sage aplomb and lets go of Danicka's hand -- it tingles faintly, when she does -- and before them all there's another pop and Lukas and Asha appear; dwarfed by the massive black Wolf. It looks down at them; then follows in the footsteps of its white and gold mirror; which the others can now see.

The two Wolves, the little girl as she takes ritualized, slow steps up toward a marble throne; sitting empty until now. She moves to stand to one side of it and rests a little palm on it. The Ahrouns are now themselves standing with their brethren in an open field of wild grass; the sun and moon pass overhead at lightning speeds.

Day to Night.
Night to Say.
Light wheels over them; they do not feel the cool of the evening nor the warmth of the day.

There are two crumbling columns framing the throne; and ivy shapes itself around them. Now assembled; the three spirits speak as one; a strange and harmonious blending of feminine, masculine and child.

"Now you will see.
Now we will show you."

[Wyrmbreaker] The crossing is as sudden as any, as jarring as any. Lukas physically staggers on the other side -- wherever he's gone -- and gives his head a single, canine shake. Night and day wheel by. In the ever-shifting light, the Shadow Lord blinks, rubs the heel of his hand over his eye.

Sees Danicka. Sees Katherine. He goes to stand with them, Asha in his wake -- reaches out with his hand and takes Danicka's without comment.

For a moment he looks away from the empty throne. He looks at his mate's hand in his, and he does not question why she's here, in this world so clearly beyond mortal reach. He laces his fingers with hers, squeezes once, gently, and then raises his head to bear witness.

[Adamidas] She waits.

She's standing with Gwen, and doesn't make any overtures to indicate that she would leave Gwen's side any time soon. She's taller than she seems. It doesn't matter if she's five feet four inches tall, she's standing like she's a linebacker. She's standing like she's the President. She's standing like she's a goddamned Fostern theurge in the wake of spirit dealings.

Adam's attention flickers, briefly, from Gwen to those who came with... noting the lack of one particular party. She looks at Lukas, and cocks her head to the side. Her eyebrows knit together, then the right one arches. She doesn't say anything. The look is brief, and her attention goes back to the male, the female, the child.

Now you will see,
Now we will show you.

[Danicka Musil] Danicka and the girl have walked back towards the throne and the dais it sits on. She looks as she did before, in the hotel room, but maybe... a little taller. She holds herself straight, without making herself seem small as she has in the past, at times. She seems unafraid, for all that she doesn't belong here. She seems strangely at ease. At home.

When Lukas appears her mouth flickers with an expression that she fights only for a moment, before it blossoms to a smile. There's relief in it, and maybe even some wariness -- to some extent, Danicka only seems at ease. She notices that at least one of the number in the motel room isn't with them, but doesn't comment.

She walks through the grass, and slides her hand easily into Lukas's, looking at the wolves and the girl.

[Sinclair] They all vanish.

She can still smell Asha's blood, and she can feel Lukas's kiss to her brow, and she can hear an echo of Kate's voice. But they're gone, and she's standing in a fucking Travelodge motel room with the window open, letting in icy air, her hands gripping the windowsill. There's black-mottled droplets on the ledge from her tears.

Sinclair feels no shame. Not for that, at least.

never alone, says the Voice, matching her sadness.

"Liar," she whispers, and closes her eyes.


She stands there, the cold air outside drying black, salty streaks on her face, and waits for them to come back. Waits for something. And if she's honest (she's always honest) she doesn't entirely know what it is she's waiting for, or what it is she hopes for.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, for her part, has been a silent witness to a majority of this. When she crossed over, it was with only the tiny spoken oh and the sudden, burning need to comfort Sinclair, because she could see, suddenly, because she understood what this was. And she opened her lips to express -- what? -- something to reassure the Fostern on her knees but she could not.

Not before she was taken to see.
Not just to see, but See.
But Hear.
Like Voice, it was, it should be, it shall be Witnessed.

--

The three forms around the marble throne lift their heads; then, and begin to shimmer, and glow. The light is a soft blue-green, and within it sparkles like a silvery firecracker rush outward; dancing as the sky dances; wheeling as the stars and moon do overhead. They flow around the Garou; the darker green melding with black; the blue with the golden white; the sparkling, silver orbs with the pinkish glow emanating from the girl child.

The energy crackles the air; sets their hair on end; widens their eyes and draws gasps from their throats.

It is splendor; it is enchantment.

Where Lukas and Danicka's hands meet; the black and pink lights twist like translucent rope. While energy pours from the three creatures around the throne; rising upward to meet in a triad of pulsating; glorious light it rushes back down and hits the throne; setting off a slow, persistent hum; gentle as bees after nectar, then steadily growing in quantity, and quality of sound.

--

you are whole united

Voice says again; and it comes from that great axis point before them; where the pulsating light seems to belong. The pink energy rushes up Danicka's arm; twists around her and explodes forward; a fine mist shaping her form in the air. It adopts the stance of a human. The darker energy repeats this process on the Ahroun holding her hand and explodes outward.

It's the most curious of sensations; not painful but ... energizing. Like touching a lit bulb, and feeling the zap before it can burn.

The black mist rises before the Garou and falls to form that of a wolf.

The blue energy spreads; seeks out the Philodox present; wraps about them and again explodes outward; little pinprinks of light falling like tiny fireworks; born only to burn and die out. It repeats this process on each of those that stand before the dias; the throne and three fine mist forms; like the tribal paintings of old found on cave walls move to linger above the Wolves, the young girl.

The Wolf, Voice says and the mist form opens its jaws to howl; the Humanity, the Kinfolk shape twists and spins in a graceful dance; and the Spirit; the final mist, a free floating Orb gives a single, vicious pulse as it remains suspended there. They are the Triad of Soul, of Beast, of Man.

You are united together; but weaker apart.

Suddenly; with a pop; the light show ended. The stars and moon ceased to spiral and instead hung; perfectly suspended above the throne where no longer where there two Wolves and a Child but a single figure; seated upon it. Her hair was strung fine with the glint of stars; her eyes the golden-red of flame and Sun and her clothing the spun brilliance of the skies above.

When she smiles; the Wolves feel whole; when she looks toward the Kinfolk; they sense only home.

"I gave you each a Gift," her voice was wind, was the rush of spring water and the glory of the re-birth. "I gave you a taste of the Beyond." Her hand wheels upward; and the sky flies anew; ahead. Her eyes burn suddenly red. "You are my children; and I am your Curse, and your Creator."

[Adamidas] This is home, she thinks. How she feels. It lingers in her chest, in the pit her stomach, on her skin and in her mind and in her heart- the real one. Not the one that pumps blood and beats hard and fast. She feels equillibrium- something she's never felt before. Not a pull from the spirits or the nagging insistence of her will or even the quiet ember of rage (and only Alethea could call rage a nagging, insistent ember.)

They are united together; but weaker apart.

She watches, with her shoulders back and her head high. Her attention doesn't move just yet. We were given a gift- a real gift. She takes a second, and her mind wanders. She thinks... she thinks about how glorious it is, how it makes her feel to be what she is. How she'd felt lost, how she'd been confused... how she'd been gone, how she'd felt lost and confused.

Alethea Adamidas has been between the worlds, and is reminded for the moment that they must exist in both of them. About how special this truly is.

She can't come up with words, she just looks at the figure.

[Wyrmbreaker] Three.

The Garou know much of this number. They know it in the Triat: the Weaver, Wyrm and Wyld. They know it in themselves, those tangled forces forever battling it out within their own skins in the form of their will, their rage, their spirit.

Three, the god-spirit on the throne tells them again. Soul and Beast and Man, she says, and instantly Lukas's mind leaps to the three beings, the black wolf and the white, the girl. Danicka can feel his hand tighten on hers for a spasmodic second. Whatever he expected of his solstice night, it was not this.

It was not this.

His eyes sting. There are tears in them, and he can't say if it's the brilliance or the voice or the emotion choking him, too intense to name. He keeps ahold of his mate's hand -- of course he does, and would, whether in the face of the Creator or the Destroyer, the beginning or the end. His jaw works as he swallows, and then he lifts his chin to face the being on the throne.

"If you are our creator," he says quietly, hoarsely, "if you are -- "

the name catches in his throat; after all the times he's invoked it in the motel room, the tiny, shabby little room so entirely dwarfed by this presence that it seems a memory from another life -- after all the times he spoke the name there, he finds it hard to say it in this presence,

" -- Gaia, then you must know that we who stand before you are not the ones who most need to see you. Hear you. We are the ones who came when you called. There is another. My sister -- she -- "

Lukas can't go on. He bows his head, overcome, and squeezes his eyes shut.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The figure; Gaia, or Luna, or whatever impossible embodiment it was stares down at the gathered. She does not sit with haughtier; or with some Goddess' decree of her position above them; her palms lay flat either side of her, resting on her throne. Her face is luminescent, but it cannot be labeled beautiful without being called monstrous. It is the Two Sided.

There is Beast and Man and Spirit in her; and the passion of a million wasted, wounded souls.

"I am not Gaia," three voices speak in tandem within her, "Gaia has no true Voice to be heard, I speak on her account. I speak with the presence of Luna on this Eclipse Night. She has taken your Beast, as I have taken your Spirit from you. Your Humanity cannot be taken." The strange, potent eyes fix on the Kinfolk.

"They live in those you surround yourself with. They are the core of what makes you Human. Created from you, to remind you. Of what must come to pass in the end."

The fire is stoked again in her eyes; her voice dips lower, is violent and rough as the black Wolf rises within her form: The ones who stand before me are examples. The Daughter of Cities refused to be a Prophet. She cannot be shown what she refuses to See.

The red glow fades; and the voice is sweeter; almost child-like: "I am always with your sister."

[Danicka Musil] All the while, as colored lights move along their bodies and dance in the air in front of her, Danicka's eyes are tracking them. She's as curious as an animal cub, in some ways, flicking her gaze here and there, following. Her hand never leaves Lukas's, and she doesn't move from his side. Good, obedient kinswoman. Good, loving mate. But her eyes darken slightly as the Voice speaks to them.

Lukas speaks to the Curse, the Creator, and her hand flexes gently with his, holding it a little more tightly. It is all but imperceptible to those around them, and why not? That she should try to comfort him is as inexplicable as Lukas showing, this openly, how close to overcome he is. How pained.

The grip of her smaller hand on his is sustained.

There's no sudden weakness in her knees in the face of a spirit that speaks for Gaia. She doesn't bow. Nor does she speak, though that's hardly surprising, either: it takes a lot for Danicka to unfurl her thoughts in front of anyone, even those she trusts.

Danicka looks back at the figure on the throne as it fixes its own gaze on her. Words come from the Voice, and her eyebrows tug together slightly. Whatever that look is, it fades a moment later.

[Wyrmbreaker] "But she doesn't know that."

There's tension in Lukas's form. Of course there is: he's speaking to the Curse, the Creator, she who speaks on Gaia's behalf. He's not just speaking -- he may as well be arguing.

"She feels alone. She feels that what you've given her has destroyed everything else in her life. Everything she wants or needs or loves. She said she's tired of being jerked around, of having this ... gift or curse or whatever it is thrust upon her without her knowledge or permission.

"What am I supposed to tell her when I go back to her? What do you want for her?"

[Adamidas] "Wyrmbreaker-" and her voice is even. It is about as calm as she can be in the presence of something that speaks on behalf of the divine (they all do- all are of Gaia, and as such, there is something inherently sacred about all things). She looks at him, but stays where she is.

"She made a choice, and she is not with us right now... when she's ready, she'll listen, and when she's ready, she'll understand... but that's not right now. It's your duty as her Alpha, her friend, and her brother-" the word is more sacred than that of the other two "-to help her become ready. She'll come around, or she won't. At the end of the day, you can't wish this for her. This is, ultimately, an acceptance of the Self. I don't know what your sister has lived through, but you and your brothers and your sisters do.

"We don't ask for permission to exist and Be. The best that you can do is understand why she feels alone, and attempt to remedy that. No matter what you tell her, or the Spirits tell her, at the end of the day she is the one who makes the choice to accept or reject it."

[Danicka Musil] Without taking her hand from Lukas, and knowing full well that this may be the only chance she ever gets, Danicka suddenly speaks up.

"Is that all we are?" she asks the figure. "Made from the leftovers of the creation of the Garou? Are we really nothing more than what we can be to them? Do we serve no other purpose to you?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] When the figure moves; she takes the alignment of this universe; this place with her.

Stars and moon shape themselves around her motion; as she leans to one side of her dais; her throne that is not really hers at all but the impression of one; as she is the impression of gathered Gods and Warriors and the embodiment of all that is and will be. As a figure; she leans to one side, all the better to lean down toward each that address her.

The Ahroun receives the eyes of fire; the voice of his own Rage speaks to him.

"She sees what I have given this day as a blessing; therefore she sees me as her Curse. That is my role to her. So that is what I become after tonight; the Curse of anger." The fire fades; and a softer, warmer glow takes possession and turns her hair to fire-spun gold. "I want her love. I want her devotion. But these things are hers alone to give, you cannot force my hand, as you cannot make her love my offerings."

The Theurge speaks, then, and the figure blends to the world as she shifts; leaning the other way. "You are the Child of the Spirit Self," she addresses Adamidas. "You speak for them, to them. Do not neglect them in these coming days, my Daughter. You are going to need them."

Then, the Kinfolk speaks up; and the figure on the throne straightens, and her face morphs, her smile is the forced manifestation of the girl-child within, plastered atop that of a grown female form; it's more than slightly impossible. But then, they are not on their own plane of existance. "You are the future. When I took their anger, their Gifts from them tonight, there is a reason why they retained only that which they had always to begin with.

You are everything.
You are the stone amongst the grass.

The building block and point of origin.

Without you, they are Doomed souls. You are their greatest teachers; you give them Gifts they do not see, or grasp. But they will, after the End of Things. Your love, your wisdom and your strength will be what keeps this world alight. You are made from them, but you are forged by elements as great as I. Know your power, and embrace it."

The child fades; absorbed back into the whole; the figure rears back.

"Do you wish your Beasts returned now, or would you the remainder of this night without them, as my Gift for hearkening to the call?"

[Danicka Musil] Something in Danicka understands -- knows, intuitively -- why the universe changes when the figure moves. Sees that shift of celestial bodies, real or imagined, and how they correspond to the movement of an arm, the tilt of a head, the sound of the Voice. Danicka notices that the throne isn't really there, that it -- no more than the grass, the pillars, any of it -- never really was.

The truth is, something about the smile of a young girl shown with the figure of a woman below it sickens Danicka in a way she can't articulate, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Even as Lukas looks at her, because he alone has much reason to and he alone has much chance of understanding what he sees, she remains as challenging to read as she was when he barely knew her.

There's no sudden rush of relief in her, no gently burgeoning smile on her lips when she's told you are everything. To call Danicka a skeptic or a cynic denies much of what she is, but there is not a drop of innocence left to her. There hasn't been for a long time. She lacks naivete yet somehow avoids pessimism.

After she's given her answer, she turns to look at Lukas, meeting his eyes for a moment. As she's looking at him, the spirit asks them if they wish to have their wolves returned to them. There's a propecy of motion in Danicka's hand where it laces with his, prophecy that never sees fruition. Her expression does not change.

[Danicka Musil] [And since she's willfully concealing her reactions to Stuff...
Manip + Subt]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [...SHADOW LORDS DON'T FAIL.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Wyrmbreaker] [i gotta take that bait. EMPATHEE!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] [SHADOW LORDS DON'T FAIL!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Adamidas] [Per+empathy: I LIKE ROLLING THIS! (+1 diff, doesn't know Danicka at ALL)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Danicka Musil] [Because I'm nice, and she failed her first try, and because she's kinda trying to communicate something to Lukas there in the first glance: she's got some doubts about this experience, and this spirit. It isn't necessarily wariness, but she's not wholly committed to believing everything it says.]
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas listens with furrowed brow; listens carefully as the spirit answers him; listens as carefully as she answers Danicka.

At the end he looks away. He looks at Danicka instead, studying her face, her eyes. Once or twice, his hand firms on hers, but he says nothing; makes no remark or gesture. A moment after, he looks to Kate; to Asha; to Adamidas, and then to the spirit again.

"I want to be without my Wolf for the remainder of the night," he says. It's quiet but clear, and without hesitation. "Give me until the dawn, Spirit, and I will be -- I am -- grateful to you."

[Adamidas] This was when there was hesitation. She looks at the spirit, and she thinks. She's obviously thinking. She looked from Danicka, from her nice cheekbones and her hair, to Lukas. She looks at Gwen, at Asha, at the sky, at the vines, at anything she can look at, as though they would give her the answers, or at least give her enough time to think.

Because it takes her time. In the end, it's an acceptance of self, and the Fury has her own answer.

"I want to stay as I am right now," she says, "until the eclipse is over."

Because it's different, now. It's different when it's voluntary. She doesn't hurt to think of it. Her throat doesn't hurt, her stomach doesn't growl, she doesn't feel like she's going to throw up. Nothing has been taken.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Whatever this spirit is, whoever she is the manifestation of in her various forms; she does not seem to carry any personable characteristics; she is at once the giddy joy of a child and the weary anger of a warrior; she was the embodiment of their spirit and the pure joy of their lives. Whatever cause had set Gaia and Luna to meld together in this spirit was untold; and likely never would be.

The Theurge Elder would assure them of this fact; that you could never hope to yield forth the secrets of spirits.

Her question has answers, a yes from the Theurge, from the Ahrouns, from the Philodox females as well. Katherine in particular, seemed most eager to remain without her Wolf; her face reading at once hope and agony at the thought of its eventual return to her.

"It is done, then." The spirit says; paying testament to their replies.

"Remember this night; my Warriors, my Soldiers all of you before me. You are my Prophets; and this is the story you tell. That you saw a vision this night without Beasts, that you know the end is coming for good or not. That you fight for a real cause, and not the idea of one."

There's a crack of light from above, and as reality fades from them; they can hear, distant, called over the fading reach of one reality to another: I am with you, always.

--

The next memory they have; they are standing within their motel room, clocks read but moments have passed since they vanished. There is no trace of Rage among them.

There shall not be, until the new dawn.

[Danicka Musil] Her hand flexes in Lukas's when he tells the spirit -- whatever it is, wherever it came form -- that he wants to remain as he is until dawn. Just a little longer. She has nothing to say to that, no wolf to lose or regain but the one that she's standing beside.

Words flow through her mind, and then her eyes blink, only to open again upon a tattered room filled with the Garou she was with before. Her hand is still linked to Wyrmbreaker's, and she turns her head to look at him. Her voice is soft.

"I'll wait for you in the car," is all she says, before she gives his hand one last squeeze and parts them. She takes his keys, and her shawl, and leaves him with Gwen and Adamidas and his packmates, for now.

[Wyrmbreaker] Questions, questions. Perhaps it's no surprise that the Ahroun, least spiritual of all the auspices, should be the one with the most questions. "Wait," he says, "what does that -- "

and then nothing. A crack in reality, an instant or an eternity, and his only awareness the grip of his mate's hand in his. No pack, no Wolf, no rage, no spirit. Just himself: human, as he never was and never truly could be.

In the next moment his eyes open and he's in the Travelodge again. They're all there, those who made it. The two Garou and one kin who didn't show up still haven't shown up. Lukas looks around, half-dazed, half-dazzled. He sees his packmates but cannot feel them. He looks down at the squeeze of Danicka's hand, then up: finds her eyes, does not find words.

He just nods. And as she's drawing away, he pulls her closer; kisses her once, a quick but firm plant of his mouth to the corner of hers before he lets go.

She takes his keys and her shawl. He takes a breath and looks at the others.

"Adamidas," he says quietly, "can you bring news of this to the Caern? Make certain the Sept knows that ... "

a hesitation; a moment of thought, his mind slow, still awhirl from the events of the night.

"That we've been given a message of hope," he says at last, half-faltering, "to serve as a light on the... longest and darkest of nights. I want to stay and talk to my packmates awhile."

[Sinclair] They aren't gone very long. The eclipse is still in progress, and every so often Sinclair looks at it. She waits. Any other night and she might have gone with them, if only to bear witness. To remember. To do her job. Tonight she couldn't. Refused to.

Then there's a sound, a sensation, and they're with her again. Sinclair is as she was when they were taken away, standing before the open window with her hands planted on the sill. She turns her head and looks at them; they're okay. They look much the same. Unchanged. She looks in herself, as she takes her hands off the windowsill and straightens, and knows the same is true for her.

Her wolf is still gone. Her connection to Perun is gone. The presence of her packmates in her mind is gone.

She watches in silence as Lukas lets go of his mate and as he speaks to Adamidas. Sinclair closes the window and the room is icy, ice cold. The heater finally kicks on, rattling, choking out lukewarm air. Sinclair, who is not sure she is a Galliard right now any more than she's sure of anything, leans against the wall by the window and crosses her arms over her chest.

[Danicka Musil] [And Danicka's out until followup scenage on another date! Thank you all for the scene! Jacqui, thank you sooo much for STing! :D ]

[Adamidas] "No prob," she says. she arrives back at the Travelodge, and goes to gather up her things. Backpack goes on her back, messenger bag goes on her shoulder, and she turns to look at Gwen. She grins a litle at her, the left side of her mouth upturns more than the right. She takes a few steps forward, "c'mon Gwen, let's go be messengers. It's a fine art."

She leaves with Gwen, whether they stay together or not is an entirely different story. Whether she tells the tale with glory and amazingness is a different story. Alethea Adamidas runs on pure charisma. She leaves with little fanfare after that, and the Fury gets to walking.

She takes the door, not the mirror.

strength.

[Booker Abbot] This is a trick question, it's like a mexican stand off. If he says the wyrm and they're BSD's he's fucked. If he says Gaians and they're Gaians.. he's fucked.

He decides to stay quiet.

A shrug is what Gwen gets, and a knowing smile. She's a smart one.

[Asha Singh] Sinclair offers no apology, and Asha doesn't ask for one. There's something direct about the girl's eye contact as they draw apart, something firm underneath, whatever bedrock Falcoln has given his crazed children to see them through the waning days of their influence - that solidity bespoke by blood, by age upon age, measure upon measure, by memories that are not and could never be her own, but live in her nonetheless. Maybe there's gratitude there, whatever strength underscores the girl's wildness.

And she sits, Asha, her delicate jaw set firmly, her constants in the chaos her packmates. The conversation moves on around her and someone says Eclipse and Adamidas mentions times, dates, assures them that their enemies must be affected as well. "I saw the moon," says Asha. "In the sky. It's full." As if they might forget; though there's more weight to her emphasis than just reminding them of the phase. That familiar rush of -

- all gone. "And, it's foolish to assume they're cut off like we are. It makes you complacent. Like a - [xxx]." She finishes with another incomprehensible word that sounds like a curse, some dark, foul, foolish thing, and stands, glancing to Lukas (as ever) for direction. "Thomas is outside. He can put the room in his name. We'll get two with a connecting door."

[Kristiana Coleman] The building rage tickles at the back of her neck, and she looks over her shoulder with slightly narrowed eyes as she scans the crowd, seeking out the source.

[Adamidas] [this is my willpower score!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] Sinclair nods, and gets up -- without nearly knocking anything over this time -- and grabs Lukas's arm briefly before going anywhere. She stands on her toes to utter something in his ear, then lowers herself down and lets go of him. "My car's outside," she says, but doesn't offer anyone in particular a ride. She hesitates, though, before she heads for the door, and her brows pull together as she looks at Lukas, who drove her alone, and Asha, with her Tomas, and Kate, who probably got here in her own car, too. She can't say what she wants to say to them, not when all that's left of her pack in her mind is an endless silence, but perhaps, after all this time, they can read it on her face.

"I'll ride with you," she says finally to Asha. Her car can just stay the fuck here.

[Bridget Geroux] "How can I help?" Bridget asks without a beat.

She notices the lost, torn, frustrated faces around her. Mostly new ones, all are severely out of their element. She remembers faintly leading the play spirits around with her harmonica and it spreads a small smile to the corner of her pouty lips. The kinfolk isn't about to be left behind, however, since Simon's persistent warnings of the Sept being at war come surfacing up from her subconscious.

Bridget indulges in two mouthfuls of her coffee before raising to her feet.

"I'm not going to bother with introductions. Can I hitch a ride with one of you?" she asks.

[Sinclair] The whisper is quick, and flat-toned, as though to get the bare minimum of information across as quickly and clearly as possible. "Asha's hurt. I don't know how bad, but she was mid-hunt when this happened to us."
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] [Folks! We've reached a branch point. Since this scene is moving into STed territory, let's have a headcount on who wants to do what, and most likely we'll be splitting into 2-3 groups. The options are:

1) Roll dice for a oneshot -- i.e. your char gets ambushed on the way to the Travelodge
2) Participate in a cinematic scene figuring out why we've lost our Wolves and how to get it back
3) Keep freeform RPing

There's no pressure to do anything, but if you could let me know in PMs (so as to avoid cluttering up the screen) I'll figure out how to divide us up!]

[Adamidas] [3-2-1 Cinematics!]
to Wyrmbreaker

[Booker Abbot] 2) -- unless you need someone else to ST.
to Wyrmbreaker

[Milo] [cinematic's cool with me!]
to Wyrmbreaker

[Bridget Geroux] 1, because I'm brave.]
to Wyrmbreaker

[Asha Singh] +2 for Sinclair and Asha please!
to Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] As Lukas is moving to stand, Sinclair leans in. A quick whisper. The Shadow Lord's brow furrows; he shoots her a glance, then looks at Asha.

Nods. "Okay. Have Thomas do that." Then he's buttoning his coat, having never even taken it off, bringing up the rear as the group begins to move toward the door. As Asha is passing him, he reaches out and snags her by the arm, pulling her back.

[Wyrmbreaker] A mutter in her ear: "How bad?"
to Asha Singh

[Kristiana Coleman] Hey. I'm a newbie, so if I could get involved with the Garou it would be great, but I totally understand that from a game flow standpoint, there's absolutely no reason why she'd be recognized as kin yet. Whatever you think is best is fine with me.
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] heya! glad to see you playing. sorry this is so hectic -- we're doing an event where the Garou have all lost their wolves. check this thread for more details:

http://www.chicagodusk.com/smf/index.php?topic=8005

and -- i'm try to get you hooked into the action in a sec here. do you have a preference on dice or cinematic scene?
to Kristiana Coleman

[Adamidas] She gives Asha a rather pointed look. It's a lot more intense than one would assume that a teenage girl should be able to muster. She does, however, only let the look linger for a second, and she gathers her things. All things gathered up, the Fury counts what she has, and looks at Gwen. She smiles, it's about as reassuring as she can offer.

"We're going to figure this out," she says. She waits to see who is coming with.

[Asha Singh] Some other night, even wild, Asha might look like she belonged here. Might imagine it a game, this place full of people, full of humans, full of sheep to be menaced by the elegant, slinking little wolf in her. Tonight is different. Sinclair is coming with her and her kinsman; Asha nods, a significant glance slipping from Sinclair to the door, looking through the reflections in the windows trying to catch the attention of the kinswoman outside when Lukas draws her back. Her fine little mouth tightens around her teeth, the expression suggests suppressed anger, as if she meant to bare her teeth but swallowed the threat back at the last minute. Tension lingers in her neck, the long slope of her trapezius until it disappears underneath the big collar of that black wool coat.

[Asha Singh] "Not good." Asha says, back, mutters between her teeth. " - but I can walk."
to Wyrmbreaker

[Kristiana Coleman] Cinematic, if there's a choice. Last place I played was largely diceless unless something horrible was about to happen. Thanks, I appreciate it. If it's too much to work me in somewhere, I totally understand. I can be patient and jump in another time.
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] [OK - so this seems to be the breakdown:

Oneshot: Booker, Milo, Bridge -- Nomey STing
Cinematic: Adam, Asha, Sinclair, Lukas, Kate, Gwen, Kristiana -- Jacqui STing, unless 7 is too many, upon which it's me and Jacqui STing!

Let's split up into rooms. Oneshotters, go to GC Day; Cinematics, let's head to GC Night and leave this room for latecomers who just wanna RP (or maybe start their own oneshot)]

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Okay! Welcome to the finale of Lunar Eclipse Night, version Cinematic! Bear with me as I get myself sorted and type up a sort of intro to pull everyone together for what I have in mind. This scene is probably going to have at most, some perception dice but nothing combat-driven.

If you have to crash out for whatever reason, feel free and I'll figure something out for your character.

So, off we go! ]

[Wyrmbreaker] [btw, if you have AIM, join the chatroom Chilltank -- it's where a bunch of chicago players tend to hang out while RPing.]
to Kristiana Coleman

[Wyrmbreaker] [or just ping me at TheDamonian and i'll invite you]
to Kristiana Coleman

[Wyrmbreaker] [just a headsup: lukas would have called danicka on way from cafe and picked her up en route to travelodge! just in case that affects your opening post]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Some say the world will end in a catastrophe so large, nothing will live to tell the tale. I venture not, we'll go out in darkness. Fighting nothing but the memory of our own shadows." - Unknown Galliard, Silver Record

--

They all feel it. As one. Not even the Kinfolk amongst them are spared, though for them, the more their blood sings with breeding, the tougher it is to ignore. It's a tugging from their bellies as if a hook were thread by invisible wire and suddenly; abruptly -

wake up

-- whether or not they sleep; as one the voice is there. It is neither a man's voice distinctly, or a female's. It is simply voice; as wind is wind and rain is rain. Voice is here, and Voice is speaking to them; whether they're showering, sleeping, or scrolling newspaper clippings for details about an Astronomical event. Voice finds them in the street, or in the bathroom; it brings with it for the Garou a flare; a flash in the pan sensation.

It's almost painful; the sound of Voice.
It feels strangely familiar though, almost like -- home.

A definition they cannot quite describe but that it makes them start; turn faces, eyes, ears -- all to the windows, to the sky outside. Come, Voice instructs and brings with it an intense tug. To resist seems unspeakable; and the longer they do, the more blinding the Voice sounds, as it returns.

Not angry; not violent -- but here, but now.

[Anyone who resists the urge to move outside must roll WP against Diff 7.]

[Gwen Sullivan] [Willpower]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Sinclair] [Willpower]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Danicka Musil] [Willpower]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Wyrmbreaker] It's a short trip from the cafe to the Travelodge, but Lukas is one of the last ones there. He's not alone when he walks in. He has his mate with him, and everyone knows instantly why it took him so long to drive a block and a half.

They've been here a while now. They talked about eclipses, solstices; some grew frustrated; someone threw a pillow across the room. Stripped of their rage, their anger is not so fearsome as it was. The fit of pique was more amusing than frightening.

They've consulted almanacs, newspapers, laptops. They've come up with nothing, and Lukas is sitting on the corner of one of the doublebeds now, one hand on his knee, elbow outturned. He's diminished by that lack of rage. He seems -- younger, perhaps, or perhaps only normal. A young man a few years out of college, good-looking, with crystalline eyes that might smile easily.

"...must be a reason for this," he's saying. "We might not be able to reach our Wolves or our spirits, but it doesn't mean we can't look for a reason -- "

and right there, right then, he breaks off. Sits suddenly upright, face taut and alert. Without another word, he gets up and walks to the window, dragging it open, letting the cold pour in. He sticks his head outside.

[not resisting!]

[Kristiana Coleman] She's obedient. No one can deny her that. Without waiting for her specialized coffee, she moves for the door and out of the coffee shop, looking up at the sky as the door swings behind her.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Kinfolk -- you can roll WP resistance + whatever your PB is. So, PB1, take a +1 Diff.]

[Danicka Musil] [With PB difficulty added: Failure]

[Adamidas] When she hears voices, and when they tell her to move, she listens.

She doesn't really try not to follow along. When one feels the pull of home, the intense urge to go, she goes. It is a voice. It is Voice, just like wind is wind and rain is rain. She pulls her backpack back over her shoulders, and makes sure that her bag is secured.

No one has to say a word. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't explain, she doesn't pretend that this is anything but right. Lukas gets to the word must and she's moving.

Most natural thing in the world.

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen was heading outside initially anyways. Lukas had rapped his authoritive knuckles on the table to announce so, Adamidas had smiled reassuringly, and that was enough. Get the fuck out of dodge.

But then came that voice, that tug, that stomach-wrenching thing that felt more... thrilling than painful, more pleasant than disgusting. She paused at the door and stared out the front window, eyes leaping up into the sky, hunting for the moon, searching, needing like it was the key to taking a deep breath that would let her be at ease. That was a lie, though, and the lure to come outside was strong as a mother telling your five-year-old self to come with the urgency that compelled, like a lover gesturing you into their chest after being apart for far too long.

But one couldn't charge blindly. One had to think. This couldn't... It couldn't just be as simple as that. They weren't made to be blindly obedient, or just plain blind. Her brow creased and her teeth clicked at the piercing in the cleft of her upper lip, muscles rigid, trembling along her shoulders and biceps.

But Lukas brushed by and out the door, and Adamidas followed. Gwen felt her feet drag after, and as though she was leaning backward against an unrelenting force that pushed her forward, she too moved out the door, eyes scanning the sky, the street, the shadows-- anything and everything, with one hand pressed on her upper stomach as though to quell or cut off entirely that urging tug.

She didn't like this. She didn't trust it. But she couldn't ignore it.

[Kristiana Coleman] (Oops) She drives to the Travelodge as if guided by something, looking unsure as she gets out of the car.

[Sinclair] The ride in Asha's car is much, much smoother than it would have been in Sinclair's. One is a Lexus. The other is...

an El Camino. A very nicely restored El Camino, but motherfucker, an El Cam is an El Cam and there's nothing one can do about it.

At the motel, Sinclair is preparing to argue with Asha about getting cleaned up and attended to by a Theurge, or anyone who might be able to help her. She's preparing to argue because... well. It's Asha. If everything with Asha weren't tinted with the scent of battle, she wouldn't be Asha, and Sinclair wouldn't have been quite as overjoyed to welcome the girl into the pack.

She's standing by the window, hand on one of the thick, ugly curtains, staring outside. Some people aren't here. Notably, a purebred kinswoman of another tribe and two total strangers. Her jaw is tight, and she's itching for a fight regardless.

Then Voice starts luring her outside, and she remembers when Voice was a little girl in the umbra and she remembers when Voice was a butler leading a charge and she remembers when Voice was something shadowy seeping into her mind, and Sinclair snarls. Out loud, and full-throated, she growls against the tug, even as her Alpha is getting up and coming over to the window.

"Don't," she says, putting her hand flat on the cold glass. It clouds around her fingers. Adamidas is doing it, too, and Sinclair says again, louder. "Don't." Gwen now, too. "Guys, stop!" she snaps finally, and it says something that even now, lacking rage, lacking the fury that backs her authority, Sinclair has the skill to infuse her voice with something like power.

[Asha Singh] Underneath that fashionable military style wool coat - purchased this evening, to hide the exact wounds the rest of those who make it to the hotel will see on her when they get they - Asha's fine white blouse is stiff with blood. She cannot shift, and wounds that would have once been an annoyance - something she could grit her way through a fight with, and then sleep off in a day or two or three, curled somewhere in lupus - are deeper.

In the hotel, the creature changed shirts - something cheap, something handy. Available for $15 bucks from the miniature gift shop run by the front desk clerk: I HEART CHICAGO - the cheap t-shirt reads, with a poor rendition of the Chicago skyline that looks rather more like the view of Shanghai from one riverbank to the other than anything like the actual city in which these Garou have made their stand against the end of days.

Thomas tore her blouse to strips and rebound the claw marks scoring her ribs, and then the girl paced, watching the windows while the rest researched, a shadow behind the front windows every time pale lights from some passing car skimmed across the icy screen.

That's as much tending as she'll allow. If there's anything left in the theurges, says Asha, they should save it. Who knows how long -


- and here, now, a voice rising in the darkness, an urge deeper than meaning that reminds her so much of the link she shares not just with the spirits of her tribe and house, but with the mad spirits of her ancestors, the voices she always wanted out of her head, whom she misses now like a piece of herself.

Close to the door, Asha is moving before she can think to resist or even begin to say why. It's only with the sharp snap of Sinclair's interjection that she pauses long enough to look at the Galliard.

[WP!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Danicka Musil] The woman that Lukas brings with him into the little motel room at the Travelodge is a stranger to many of them. Even his packmates don't see her often, though there are perhaps several reasons for that. She's dressed as she was when he picked her up -- not at her apartment, but the place where she was 'safely' surrounded by mortals -- and that means that she's dressed very strangely, compared to the rest of them.

Perhaps strange for a Shadow Lord, Danicka wears black only rarely. Tonight she enters the hotel room in a pair of flat-soled boots underneath the long skirt of a black dress. It's exceedingly simple, more than a little old-fashioned. The collar is off the shoulder, the sleeves are long. It isn't velvet, but the fabric is heavy, draping well. Her hair, often compared to gold in at least one mind, is in a single braid tied with a thin black ribbon without a bow. The strands of it cut across her fair skin, over her clavicles, braid resting on her shoulder. She has a black shawl as well, and she smells faintly of woodsmoke and ash.

Since she got here she's been quiet. She's occupied an armchair near a corner and she's not participated in the conversation about how, and why. She's watchful, alert, seeming as much curious as tense. Her eyes have, at some point, watched all of the Garou in the room with equal closeness. Mostly, though, and by no surprise to anyone, she keeps her eyes on Lukas.

When Voice tells them to come, she rises to her feet with a single smooth lift, her skirt falling around her legs again, and follows Lukas.

[Wyrmbreaker] [oFINE]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Adamidas] [WHY ARE WE STOPPING?! wp]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Wyrmbreaker] Something almost like irritation flickers over his face. Lukas stops at the door, spreading his arms to bar it completely, then turns to look over his shoulder at Sinclair.

They no longer have a totem link, a way to speak into one another's minds. They can still communicate without words, though, and the lift of Lukas's eyebrow says, Why?

[Katherine Bellamonte] For those who move to windows, for the Kinswoman getting out of her car and turning her face to the sky, for the Cub; so uncertain to begin with, still so new to all of this -- they see something. The sky is darkening, the shape of the moon changing as shadow creeps across it. Beneath it; sitting in the middle of the street amongst people; amongst traffic and cars and store-fronts that suddenly feel too bright; too artificial --

they see a Wolf.

To Lukas, it is almost nothing but a pair of red eyes. Its fur blacker even than his, its claws sharp and white even with the dimming moon. It is the largest Wolf he is ever likely to see; more the size of some prehistoric creature than that of any wild mortal cousin of theirs; even their mightiest Ahrouns in war-form would pale beside this Wolf. Its eyes are the red of fire; of unbiased anger and they are fixed on the Ahroun at the window. A pair of moon-watchers step off the curb beside the black wolf and through the black wolf and its form shimmers; like the disturbed surface of a pond.

The wolf feels like that which Lukas has lost.

--

Adamidas sees the same Wolf, but it is purely, starkly white. Its eyes are gold, and as a couple step off the curb; they step right through the giant Wolf as if it were not there at all. A car travels past; and the Wolf does not move an inch. It simply sits in the middle of the road as the moon begins to shrink --

and waits.

--

The Kinfolk see neither Wolves, but a young girl. Her shape is blurred but for the suggestion of a dress; of silver hair that dances over her shoulders. She sits, cross-legged and patient in the midst of a street with a ball in her hands; she's looking at Danicka and Kristina as if she's been expecting them.

She holds the ball out.

--

The Wolves stand as one; whether they see it as a black creature with burning red eyes; or white, with warm, golden eyes.

--

For those that resist; they feel a wave of sudden despair; a high keening that grows inside their skulls and pounds like the waves against the shore; there is rhythm with each keening smash against those rocks inside their heads: come, come, come it repeats over and over.

[Sinclair, Asha, ...okay, EVERYONE resisting soak 1 bashing!]

[When they glimpse the Wolves, Lukas, Sinclair, Asha see it as a black form. Katherine, Gwen, Adam are seeing it as a white form. Danicka and Kristiana, see a little girl.]

[Sinclair] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Asha Singh] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Adamidas] [Oww!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kristiana Coleman]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Gwen Sullivan] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] [yelp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Gwen Sullivan] Lukas stops at the door, braces an arm within it to prevent others from going out, but he's turned and left his body narrow so he can look back at Sinclair and Asha, demand why he should stop. Adamidas stops short as well, convinced by Sinclair's compelling words to halt her feet and pay mind to what the Glass Walker has to say.

Gwen, though, her resolve is not so great. She wants it, the logic in her mind tells her to stop, had been doing so from the beginning, but it was nothing compared to instinct and what her belly and her heart told her to do. Lukas was easy to look up to, especially for somebody so new to the game, but this Voice, this... this beautiful white wolf with the liquid gold eyes sitting in the middle of the street, waiting so patiently. People pass through it, it is beyond them. It waits exclusively for them. Who was she to keep it waiting?

She felt something thump!. It didn't phase her an inch, it felt like little more than a second cramping, strange and unsure but not quite painful enough to dissuade her yet. She put one hand at the crook of Lukas's elbow and ducked her head some to pass under it, walking out onto the street with limbs and back stiff, expression grim and hard like granite. She needed to be out there, it was going to be too late before long.

[Wyrmbreaker] -- and then that eyebrow lowers; the Shadow Lord's ice-blue eyes squeeze shut. He flinches at exactly the same instant as everyone else in the room, everyone but the very few who are not resisting the call of ...

whatever that is. The Wolf. The girl. Something.

It passes. Lukas opens his eyes, lowers his hands from the frame and turns to face Sinclair steadily. "I think we should follow," he says, quiet but steady. "It feels like ... "

me, he wants to say. He gives his head a quick shake.

"It feels right to follow," he amends.

[Adamidas] Gwen's still moving, she thinks, and the female takes a few steps to catch up to the cub. She sees a wolf, and her hesitance hurts, aches, drones. She doesn't ignore the feeling anymore, and the Fury takes her steps outside, She looks at the wolf, and her head cocks to the side. Its eyes are gold, and it stands purely, starkly white.

"Come on," she insists to the group. She doesn't look back for long, just long enough to catch up to Gwen and just long enough to follow the white wolf. It's waiting for them. Both of them. Her eyes travel up to the moon- it shrinks some and wanes away. If Lukas is still in the door, she squeezes through, or at least tries to. Wyrmbreaker's a big guy, as such he can take up a fair chunk of a doorway.

The sound Alethea makes isn't human, not exactly. A close approximation of a whine of discomfort, though given their state it's more anxious-teen-at-the-dentist than animalistic. The balance is offset. She goes with what her instinct had told her.

The Wind is the Wind.
The Rain is the Rain.
The Voice is the Voice, and who was she to deny it?

[Sinclair] She wants to tell him don't you remember --

but she can't. Something hits Sinclair like a hammer to the chest and her hand clutches at the curtain. That black wolf outside takes her eyes off of her Alpha, and she doesn't try to tell him he can't listen to things that summon him when he's at his weakest, when he doesn't want to resist and isn't sure he can. She looks through the window again, the imprint of her hand vanishing from the glass, and closes her eyes.

They burn.

The loneliness that's been with her for almost as long as she can remember, growing stronger every year, is crushing her now. It was teachers and kids at school first. The boys who freaked out and couldn't stand to stay near her, the friends who drifted away rather than keep her in their lives. It was her parents, distanced by their own inability to understand what was happening to her. It was the Glass Walkers who took her at the beginning, who she couldn't bear to look at because they were the ones who locked her away.

It was Regina, who she could never quite reach. It was Colfax, who she ran away from. And every wolf she knew, every wolf she packed with. Something about what she is keeps her apart even from other Garou, and she's never understood why. She's never understood how it could be like this, and she's questioned a thousand times if this was really how she was supposed to be born.

Lukas is, perhaps, more connected to his nature than any of the other Unbroken. She could hear panic edging his words even when Kate was the one on the phone with him. Sinclair's never been that tied to being a Garou. A part of her has been asking since she woke up if what she really feels is relief. A part of her has been asking if she really wants to go back to being all the many things that separate her from her family, from humanity, from the one who her heart called mate even if she never even managed to say the word love out loud.

It was starting to feel less like living in solitary, with the Unbroken. With Tripoli. There was a world she could reach into that felt like home, but even there the spirits were wary of her.

Sinclair is closing her eyes so tightly there at the window, like she doesn't even hear Lukas anymore, like she isn't aware of him or Gwen or Adamidas or any of them heading out the door. Whatever it was that Sinclair had to say, she isn't saying it now. She's got one hand pressed flat against her breastbone as though applying pressure to a wound.

Gwen goes out. And Lukas speaks but isn't going without them. Adam goes. And Sinclair just shakes her head, slowly, twice, though it's unclear if it's in resistance. Tears come, without explanation or warning, seeping out from under her dark, soot-colored lashes. Right now there's no rage in her, no violence, none of the wrath that changed her so utterly when it began to appear in childhood. There's just a dreadful sense of loss. Of refusal.

She shakes her head again, and turns her head to look at Lukas. Her eyeliner is running, leaving black trails down her cheeks. "I can't be this anymore. I don't --"

Sinclair closes her mouth again, refusing to say the rest. Pain in her chest and her skull or no, she puts her hands on the windowsill and lets her head drop, and does not move.

[Asha Singh] Asha does not articulate what feels right about leaving this cheap motel room, with its scratchy comforters and its faux modernist prints on the walls, swirls of color so indistinct that they could not offend anyone anymore than they might inspire. Someone turned the television on and CNN is in the background, reporting on the weather. Correspondents are parked outside, peering up at the sky, in some cases through thick cloudcover while banal anchors beam white-toothed smiles back to the camera.

- the Silver Fang is still, shoots Adamidas a glance as she urges them onward, making noise in the back of her throat. The cheap cotton of her t-shirt is damp again as the tenuous balance of clotting and bandaging is broken again, and the wounds begin to seep, but by now she has the coat back on, which makes her look larger than she should, which diminishes the strangeness of seeing someone so well-bred in such cheap fabrics.

When Sinclair bends forward, Asha shoots Lukas a look, still and simmering and dark. She feels the urge as well as anyone else; trusts it and mistrusts it in equal measure. If she were going to -

- she says nothing. Stands there, watching her Alpha, edging forward to brush her flank against Sinclair's - a physical promise of presence - utterly animal, that, for all that she has lost her wolf and everything that came with it.

[Danicka Musil] The little girl outside looks nothing like the daughters Lukas saw once in a vision, in a rite, in the underworld. She doesn't feel like a daughter to Danicka. She feels like someone else, someone Danicka knows, though she's never spoken to her except in the recesses of her own mind or in the presence of humans who barely understand what they're trying to acknowledge.

Danicka has lost nothing tonight. She's been sitting here with Ahrouns, with a Philodox who may as well be one in terms of rage, with a young woman who would normally terrify her. She's been watching them all act like... well. Young adults. Lukas isn't even twenty-five yet. They're just people, for once. And they're unnerved and vulnerable and it's so strange to her.

On some level she feels sickened. This isn't right. She knows it isn't right. She worries about the whys, she worries about what's being planned for them. On another level, though, she is comfortable with ambiguity in a way few are, in a way few can tolerate. There are things she has done that even Lukas doesn't and probably shouldn't know about just because he would wonder what kind of sane creature would do that sort of thing. He would be terrified by how at ease Danicka is with some of the most profound risks, and he would hate himself if he understood that very little that the mortal world has to offer frightens a woman who has lived so close to death by frenzy since she was a toddler.

When she goes outside to meet the little girl, she puts her hand on Lukas's side briefly in passing, her palm against his ribcage, but says nothing. The threat of dying tonight inside this room, torn to shreds by the very wolves that are supposed to protect her kind, is gone. There is nothing outside on that street that she finds too horrifying to accept.

Danicka goes towards the girl with the ball, and holds out her hands as though to catch it, once thrown.

[Danicka Musil] [Ofine. "Lukas is only twenty-five."]

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas has a lot on his mind right now. He has his mate to protect. Wolfless and toothless as he is, he brought her here to be with him, so he could protect her. He has younger wolves to guide and watch over. A cub, even. He has another kin he's never met before quietly idling nearby, and he has his packmates, one wounded, all wolfless.

But a constant undercurrent in his mind through all this, all of it, is simply: end this. make this stop. bring my Wolf back. complete me. It was never: I'm happier this way. It's easier this way.

Even if his car wasn't choked with rage when Danicka climbed in. Even if he could feel the difference when he reached to embrace her then; feel how there was no tension in her when he wrapped his arms around her, even when he squeezed her tighter than she would normally be able to bear. Even if humans didn't dart out of his way. Even if people weren't afraid to call him an asshole now when he was being one -- never, not once, did he wish this to be permanent.

So there's something like shock, and incomprehension, when Sinclair collapses in on herself the way she does. When she says what she does. He stares. He startles when Danicka passes him, her hand against his side: warm against warm. He looks at her with wide eyes, catches her hand as she's leaving; lets her go.

Looks past her to the great Wolf. Meets its eyes unflinchingly, unchallengingly.

"I'll come soon," he says: a promise. "And whatever you want to show me, or give me, or take from me... I'll accept it then. But I need some time right now."

A pause. He puts his hand on Sinclair's shoulder, his eyes still on the Wolf.

"Please."

[Katherine Bellamonte] When Danicka reaches out to catch the ball from the little girl; there's a silent gurgle of laughter from the child and even as the Shadow Lord Kinswoman feels the reality of the toy hit her palms; both of them fade. Like the flash burn after a picture is taken; they are at once there; and then not.

Kristiana, too, passes from sight.

--

yes, they hear as this happens, and Voice is happy.

--

The moon vanishes a little more; and one of their fold unravels. She cannot, she will not, she does not want.

--

Please.

The black Wolf only stares at Lukas; and its voice is steel and blood; anger and decay, there inevitability in its voice. It is the rumble of the battlecry; the nature of his heart and soul. There's no pity to Wolf. There's only what is. What shall be.

If you do not come you will not know

--

The Theurge elder is edging toward the white Wolf; and it rises and speaks in tandem suddenly, with the black.

This is transcendent, it cannot be stopped

--

Voice is back, and it wraps around Sinclair where she's fallen like a shroud; at once comforting and insistent.

It is who you are, it cannot be changed

--

Black Wolf speaks again; a rumbling growl.

If you do not come by the time the moon is gone; you will never understand

[Gwen Sullivan] Gwen doesn't come close enough to be stricken by the wolf, though she does not believe it will lunge and use teeth on her.

She stops at the curb, aware despite the need to be with this wolf that it was still in the middle of the street, that she was still in the physical realm (she knew that because she tried to pass to the other earlier and she physically, spiritually could not make it happen). She could get hit by a car, and if she couldn't shift, hell, maybe she couldn't heal? She would not go out on somebody's windshield, or worse yet left broken and bleeding out in the middle of the street where her comrades couldn't heal her, while they couldn't put on the strength and swiftness needed to catch the vehicle when it sped away, fearing legal repercussions.

She stood in front of the Travel Lodge, out of the way of traffic, of claws and fangs of this gold-and-white wolf, and waited for it to lead.

[Wyrmbreaker] There's only a single nod, unwavering.

"I understand."

--

Then he's turning away from the black wolf, the embodiment of -- what? Rage, certainly. His own rage? Everything he is? For a moment, Lukas wonders if he will lose himself forever if he doesn't follow. Now. By the moment of totality. He wonders this and he feels a surge of panic, but he bites that back, too, like all the others, and his hand firms on Sinclair's shoulder.

"Listen to me," he says, quiet and low. "Listen to me. No one can force this on you. Not even Perun, or Cockroach, or Luna, or Gaia herself. If you don't want it anymore, there are ways for you to renounce all that you are. To let this cup pass from you.

"But Sinclair, listen to me: that is not what Gaia asked of you. She asked you to stand up and sacrifice yourself, sacrifice everything in the end, so that she can live. So that everything good that you love can live. And she didn't ask this of you to hurt you, or to crush you. She asked this of you because you are strong enough."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Every step brings Gwen closer.

She feels that little pulse again, little surges like electricity at her fingertips; setting her hair on end. It's the same kind of sensation that comes from stepping into the Umbral realm. White Wolf turns its massive head and stares into the Cub's eyes. It has no real mannerisms to suggest its form; it does not wag its tail, nor flick an ear. Its eyes are solid; absolute.

The warmth it radiates is intoxicating.

--

When Lukas speaks; the Voice rushes around him like a blast of wind, rustling the leaves on a wintry day.

[Adamidas] She should be panicking.

She should be clawing at the walls, pacing, screaming, railing, wanting this all to go away. She should want it all back. She should be outraged at the mere idea that someone could take this from her. Take away a very vital, very pivotal piece of her being. Alethea should feel naked, she should feel concerned, she should feel lost. The fact of the matter is, though, that she isn't. She doesn't. The Fury isn't lost or confused or anything.

The path is different, the dance is the same. Some part of her was afraid that some vital, valuable part of herself could be taken away. Her throat hurts, it aches to swallow right now just from memory. But she isn't afraid, instead she moves with the confidence and the insistence that she is used to. It's a strength of purpose that drives her, and without her connection to Gaia pulling her in one direction, without her rage silently clawing at whatever it can get its hands on, all she has is her will.

Resolute.

And right now, it's all she is, and the fact that her connection to that hasn't waned keeps her going. She steps forward and stays with the cub. She is not afraid or nervous because her will is strong, and they will figure out what is going on.

"Lead," she tells the white wolf, "and we will follow."

[Gwen Sullivan] Adamidas is at her side. Lukas and Asha, Sinclair and Kate, they all stay inside the lodge room, stuck for some reason that Gwen isn't paying a lot of attention to. Someone was reluctant, someone was missing themselves. She'd be soaking up every detail in a typical situation, but right now it was impossible to pay mind to the world outside of her immediate proximity and the Wolf. The Kinfolk across the way? All but invisible, lost in the glow of the Wolf.

The warmth is beautiful. It was golden, it smelled heady like wine, beautiful like a bouquet, and tasted sweet and thick like honey. She spoke to Adamidas, and it was lucky she was near otherwise her words would have been lost-- Gwen breathes them more than she speaks them. "Is that Luna?"

From the mouths of babes, they say.

Adam tells the Wolf to lead, and Gwen steps forward after a brief glance left and right for incoming vehicles (some small semblance of sense remained) before stepping out and approaching the apparition.

[Sinclair] Sinclair's shoulder tenses under Lukas's hand, against the way Asha brushes against her. She doesn't jerk away from either of them, but the contact doesn't seem to ease whatever pain comes with being torn in half and choosing which half to let go of. Lukas tells her, twice, to listen to him, and she bristles, looking away.

He gives her a really great speech. A very Ahroun speech, a very leaderly speech, about Gaia and sacrifice and being strong, and Sinclair shakes her head. She shakes him off. She gives him a Look. "Fuck Gaia, Lukas," she says, those tears and that makeup drying on her face.

"Gaia never asked. She made me this, and it took away everything else. If what she wants are willing soldiers, then this is my answer: no. My mandatory tour's over. I'm done," she says, her voice cracking on the last two words. "But you know what? That fucker out there just told me that this is who I am. That it can't be changed. So my thinking is, when all this is over I'm going to wake up a wolf again, whether I understand or not, whether I want it or not. Whether I'm 'strong enough' or not."

Her eyes go back to the window, staring out at that Wolf.

"Go," she tells Lukas. "It's not going to wait forever."

[Asha Singh] "I know what those things feel like. But sometimes things trick you, make you think they're right when they're wrong. And if they're wrong those two are going to get eaten up, -rhya." There's an urgency in Asha's voice; she doesn't have Lukas voice and doesn't repeat his assurance that Sinclair is strong enough. It feels almost - insulting, to reassure a werewolf of her strength, and she cannot bring her throat to make whatever words might be suggested by the idea - renunciation, surrender. Give this up.

"We're stronger together than apart, and we can't leave them alone out there." With an urgent roll of Asha's eyes, suggesting - something of her opinion. "Come - on." With that, a brief, direct look at Lukas. "We need you. Let's go.."

[Sinclair] "To be honest, Asha," Sinclair says quietly, her voice steadier now than it was a moment ago, "you guys are stronger without me right now."

She always tells the truth. No matter how brutal. No matter how shameful.

[Katherine Bellamonte] When Gwen and Adamidas approach the great white Wolf and tell it to lead; it gets to its massive feet; it's chest at the tops of their heads; its paws the size of craters. It looks down on them, and while it cannot be a smile; the feel of one is suddenly around them, they can hear the distant sound of laughter; and intense warmth floods them.

They begin to emit a glow; it becomes blinding in short order.

Standing amongst her pack-mates; Katherine makes a noise, it is a short soft oh; her lips shaping surprise, her mouth rounding around the words. "Sinclair, it's --" she fades before she can conclude her thought. So too, does Gwen and Adamidas.

--

The moon continues to darken.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas doesn't look away from Sinclair, except for a single slice of his eyes toward Asha. He shakes his head.

"We're stronger together than apart," he repeats, affirms, "and that's why we're going together, as a pack, or not at all. Sinclair, you've always told me the truth, even when it wasn't pretty or nice or pleasant. So I'm going to do the same for you right now and tell you:

"You're being selfish.

"You might have spent your whole life so far giving and giving and never asking a thing for yourself, but that doesn't negate that you're being selfish right now. It doesn't make it all right for you to say, fine, I'm done, I've given enough. I quit.

"I'm sorry I'm saying this, but I have to. To give is why you exist. It's why we all exist. Gaia doesn't want willing soldiers. She wants sacrifices. That's why she made us."

A beat.

"But that doesn't mean we can't find good things along the way. That doesn't mean we shouldn't hold on to what good we have. And -- Christ, I know right now it feels like it'll be easier if you just give it all up, throw it all in Gaia's face and go be a ... a human or something, but Sinclair, you have a pack. You have brothers and sisters that love you and need you. You have a family that you need, too. And I promise you, if you turn your back now, you will regret it. Not because of Gaia, or because of fate, but because you'll be severing the last real bond you have.

"You heard the Wolf. You are what you are. You can deny it, but it won't change what you were made to be. And it won't change what your spirit will always long to be."

[Sinclair] "Stop," Sinclair says, like a plea, when she looks at Lukas again. "For fuck's sake, you're not helping me right now.

"We don't know if what's out there is good or bad. Our wolves are gone and whatever this thing is, it's hurting us if we try to resist listening to it. I know that right now you feel like the right thing to do is listen, and go. I know that you don't want to go without me and I know you believe every word about duty and being chosen and sacrifice. I've given you the same sort of speech, Wyrmbreaker. And when I did, you said 'okay'. Every time it feels like a choice presents itself to you, you've made it, and you've done it with all your heart.

"Listen to me," Sinclair says. "Every good thing I've had, every good thing I've found, has gone away because of what I am." She points outside. "If whatever is out there is Gaia or Luna or some spirit thereof, then all I want to say to them is that I am sick of being jerked around. If being what I am means slowly getting so angry and so embittered that I hate the very thing I'm supposed to save, then let me pretend for tonight that I have a choice. Don't tell me what I am or what my spirit wants, and don't be one more shard of Gaia reminding me of how alone I really am."

There's a pause there. He may think that wasn't what he was saying, how could she feel that he's just reminding her of that? And Sinclair, reading it on his face or imagining the question being seeded, shakes her head. "I love you and Kate and Asha, Lukas, but lately I feel just as alone around all of you as I do otherwise.

"So look: maybe when this is over I'll still be Garou. And I'll take my shame with my head up like I always do and I'll live with the consequences like I always have. But I didn't choose to be this. I would never have chosen this life. And I won't choose it now. If the wolf comes back to me, let it come the way it did the first time I Changed. And if it doesn't, then okay: then I'm done. I'll live with the consequences of that, too."

A beat. This is a plea, too, as aching as the one for him to just let be, only it isn't selfishness -- or whatever it is that makes her cling to the windowsill like she does -- but something else. The truth of what she said a moment ago: she does, in fact, love him. "Now go, for fuck's sake, before you lose your soul forever or some shit. Please."

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a twist of pain on Lukas's face, and something else, too: incomprehension; an utterly inability to understand how or why someone could do as Sinclair does. Choose otherwise. Choose to deny ... what? Gaia; fate; herself. The Wolf.

Then she says: I feel just as alone around all of you. And that, he understands. Because he doesn't everything else -- he understands this.

It doesn't wipe the frown from his face entirely. It does quell it a little, though. Lukas reaches out -- wolf or no wolf, his hands are as warm as ever, and he takes Sinclair's face in his palms. Kisses her forehead, firmly, like a blessing or a brand or a goodbye or a see-you-later or --

kisses her forehead, and then draws away.

"Okay," he says. And then he looks at Asha, and he nods as though in affirmation. "Okay. Let's go."