[personal profile] kiananlogs
Friday, 27 January 2017
The moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (2% full).

Anyone paying attention would notice the white Camry turning off of the road and parking at the top of the Black Fury's driveway. A few might recognise it as belonging to Trace. The ahroun steps out of the car, puts on his jacket, and looks around the yard before walking over to the front door and knocking twice, slightly sharply.

There's a single light on in the Fury house in spite of its three occupants. Either the other two have been to bed early, or haven't returned yet. Either way, the Fury he's looking for is still here, opening the door a crack to look outside before opening it entirely, a curious, albeit cautious look about her.

"Hey," Monica says, stepping aside to motion for Trace to come in. "I'd say it's good to see you, but I'm guessing circumstances aren't that great."

To put it mildly.

The house itself looks like it's been through some remodeling. The windows and glass doors have been replaced, but not all of the furniture. Of that, the only pieces left are a couch, an armchair, a coffee table, and a throw rug. For a large room, it makes the small collection of items around the fireplace seem even more isolated.

It's in this direction that the Glass Walker is motioned, with Monica taking the easy chair for the moment. There's a couple glasses and a bottle of bourbon set out, as well as what appears to be an omnipresent glass bowl of pistachios. Presumably, they're free for the taking.

"So," she says. "What happened?"

Despite the annoyance that's still visible almost a day later, Monica gets a rather warm smile in greeting from the ahroun as he comes in, jacket coming back off an draped over his arm. "At the very least I doubt you're going to like what I have to say," he says, sitting down cross-legged on the throw rug despite the presence and availability of the couch.

"I ran into Reagan in the park," he snorts and seems to be trying not to laugh, "or rather, she ran into me. Not literally," Trace continues, "but she damn well needs to do better next time especially in Harbor Park, in the city in general. It's a new moon and I still nearly killed her. Point the first, waiting until another Garou is twelve inches away before greeting them when they're not paying attention? Is unwise. On any moon."

Monica seems braced for whatever it is that's coming her way; given everything that's going on, and has gone on, it's safe to assume that she's viewing this as 'par for the course.' Seems no less genuine about being glad to see the guy, though.

The fairweather expression she wears remains even as Reagan is given mention, the bourbon taken up and poured out into the pair of glasses. One is offered to Trace, while the other she takes up for herself.

Now… as for the rest of that… If she has an immediate reaction to her friend getting nearly killed, she isn't showing it. Instead, she says, "Think we can all agree on that," in a mild tone. "Can't imagine that she took all that kindly to being reminded of it, either."

The glass is taken with a nod, a sip taken and then rested on one knee as the Glass Walker returns to talking. "Well I wasn't precisely kind when I reminded her, as much as it goes," Trace says, baring his teeth in what might be a smile if it weren't backed with the ever present rage, and given the subject matter.

"She got enough of a drop on me when I was about a foot away from her— and , that's my fault I know— that she ended up not quite choked against the nearest light pole, and then started spewing stupidity at me like I was some wet behind the ears child until I got to the point where," Trace shakes his head, "I literally had to tell her I outrank her. Which pretty much ended it an' we each left."

At this, Monica frowns. It's not anger, necessarily— be it at him, or Reagan, it seems— but it's there, all the same. "What kind of 'stupidity' are we talking?" she says, not yet responding outright to what she's told beyond what's visible.

Trace sighs, and takes another sip of the bourbon before continuing. "She was… upset, that I was violent in full view of the park in the evening and went on about if there was a cop or anything."

"An' then she went as far as to say that, apparently, I 'wasn't an ahroun with rage there' and told me I should stick to the Bawn." This seems to be the aforementioned 'stupidity', judging by the Walker's expression and tone of voice. "I was trying to impress upon her the stupidity of surprising those of us with more…" he takes a breath, carefully, "significant Rage. I don't think it worked."

This time, there's another flicker of— something, in Monica's expression. The frown deepens, besides, the downward shift put to an end with a raise of her glass, and a hit off her whiskey.

"She's more human than Garou," she says, finally, "and she's used to operating that way. So used to compartmentalizing that part of herself that even her own fits of Rage get rationalized." She pauses. "Doesn't excuse what she's said, or done, but it might give you some perspective. We are talking about a werewolf that made it through graduate school, and can actually use the title 'Doctor' without doing it facetiously."

She pauses— considers. None of what she says is stated in an accusatory fashion; it's merely put out there. "What you did probably scared her half to death," she says, "and you saw how she reacted on the Bawn to being scared. Just another thing she has to work on." Beat. "I'll make sure she apologizes for it, though. She shouldn't have spoken to you that way. And, really— it's about time she knew better."

Trace lifts his free hand to his forehead and sighs, "It explains a lot," he says. "An' let's just all count ourselves lucky that the moon is so small right now, ¿sí mija?" He offers a twitch of half of a smile that follows, and most of the tension has gone from his shoulders back to more normal levels. "It was supposed to scare her, maybe not that much."

"An' while there's a part of me that can appreciate… being cautious in the city, sure," Trace continues, and shrugs his shoulders. "if she's gonna go about like that she needs to learn up from down an' left from right first. Work wi' my tribe an' Bone Gnawers to learn how things work there or t' stop treading on people's toes."

"I'll be sure to mention it to her," Monica says, not seeming to take to the term of endearment poorly. "I've been hoping to keep her focused on working out the whole matter of the black ooze, so, I'll admit: I might've gone a little lax in regards to her 'lessons', lately. Clearly, that was a mistake." She looses a slow sigh.

Then, "Anyway… easy as it'd be to snap at you for what comes naturally," ie: the near choke-slam, "on the simple basis that this poor girl is the closest thing I have to packmate on site," which should be at least somewhat understandable, though she still doesn't seem actively mad at him so much as disappointed in said 'packmate', "I'll just ask a favor." Beat. "Or rather, I'll ask some questions, then determine whether or not it's a favor I'm comfortable asking." She pauses. "When you said she talked like you were some wet-behind-the-ears child— what all did she say, exactly?"

Trace nods, and tilts his head to one side. "Just th' tone of voice and expression she had on her face," he says. "Sadly y' want an exact what was said, you'd want Felix to do it, my memory is a little… fuzzy from the anger of being surprised and the fight-or-flight response crap." There's an apologetic half-noise that follows, and the ahroun tugs at his lower lip.

"Maybe I was reading more into it, but I don't really think so. She said, after trying to say I wasn't an ahroun with rage there— and I mean, I have rage, it's never going to go away no matter where I am, best I can do is keep a lid on it as much as I can, do yoga, hit shit enough that I don't want to burn everything to a motherfucking crisp and kill anyone who so much as looks at me wrong, because I have those days— that 'maybe you should stick to the damned Bawn', and it came off as… patronising. Like you talk to children." He glances from Mona, to his lap, and back to the Fury, and lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug.

Monica's brow furrows a little more, and she raises a hand to rub at her eyes a little. "I'm sorry you had to put up with that," she says gently. "Still—" She pauses. Her hand drops. "When she does come to apologize to you, which she will— if you can find a way to say you're sorry for frightening her like that, I'd appreciate it. But only if you feel like you can be sincere. If you can't— it's fine." Which seems genuine, on her part. "Like I said, she's coming at it from a very human perspective, and a woman's perspective, besides. Doesn't excuse how she spoke to you, or how she treated you. Everyone that isn't completely buttoned down understands the paces Ahrouns put themselves through to stay level; having those same traits thrown in your face like you're some out of control monster by someone who's tone goes beyond patronizing in the best of times—" Beat. "I'd've probably reacted the same way."

The smile this time is a little broader, and he nods as he listens, nodding once more at the end. "Well, I mean I wasn't sorry in th' moment," Trace says, "but I am sorry now, so." He purses his lips, and adds, "Was talkin' to Felix last night. I think it's also… important for Reagan to realise, one way or another, that a lot of us don't have that luxury of pretending to be human. We're half human and half spirit, and that's going to set us apart even if rage does not. We make do as best as we can, but." He adds, "Thanks. I mean, I get that there's some stuff going on. 's why I'm not making a big thing of this, you know? If it was someone else, might have been different, but let's chalk it up as a learning experience and hope it doesn't happen again."

Monica lets out a short, soft chuckle, the frown broken to afford Trace a quirky half-smile. "Thank you for not taking this straight to Alicia," she says, "though I suppose I probably have Felix to thank for giving you the heads-up on that." The smile fades, and she takes another sip of her drink. "Really, though, it's no problem. There's— a lot about being Garou that she still doesn't understand. Hell, it's the primary reason she's here at all. As for whether or not it'll happen again?" She lets out a slow breath. "I'll put even money on 'it will,' but I'll be putting some extra time into making sure it doesn't go as far as it did this time around. As is— I'm starting to wonder if paying dearly for that kind of mistake is the one thing that'll snap her out of it."

The ahroun looks thoughtful, and drums his fingers on his knee in silence for a moment. "Greetings, introductions, and not tryin'a' get the drop on people will go a long way towards mitigating future incident," Trace says. "Or at least making sure she's got half an idea she's in deep shit before it happens. She needs t' at least give her tribe, and her rank, if she's introducing herself to someone." He pauses, and continues, though he doesn't sound hopeful of the answer, "Can she fight?"

"Barely," Monica says. "Easier to think of her as more cub than cliath, honestly. She has the renown, but building it up was in the distant past. There's a lot she has to relearn." Beat. "Introductions aren't really an issue, though. Normally, anyway. I thought I went over spots that were safe for her to speak openly, but I'm guessing she assumed Harbor Park's proximity to the city was enough to warrant keeping a stiff upper lip."

Another nod. "Park's safe enough, but because folks patrol it. The rest of the south side of St. Claire, the Industrial district, et cetera… she'd be better off not trying to go there alone. Excess caution will paint a target on her head even for a pickpocket," this gets a grin from Trace. "And any messes end up having to be cleaned up."

Trace turns the glass in his hands before taking another sip, and there's another moment of silent consideration. "If the bet's on 'it will'…" He trails off, and then resumes, serious for a moment, "I hope it's on an equally small moon. On a large moon the disrespect alone could get her in a lot of trouble, not just with me. I… don't know how hard it will be for her to understand how strongly rage pulls at those of us with bigger moons and how much even stronger that is during the full. But she needs to get there, or she's going to pay, an' she's going to pay by dying at least once."

"I have an idea of how to communicate that," Monica says. "I don't like having to do it, but… it should cut down on the bullshit." She pauses. "She's a smart girl, though. She has to know this would've gotten back to me by now. Fact that I haven't seen her since the incident kinda says enough about that on its own."

"Y' need anything let me know," Trace offers, quietly. "She's lucky to have you as a friend, though. Also, hm…" he purses his lips. "She prolly wouldn't like it. But maybe spending a small moon either out at Edgewood— it's kinda fixed up and getting moreso— or the Sept compound, interacting with the rest of the sept on a daily basis, might help. Or at least get her more used to it."

"Personally," Monica replies, "I think she'd be better off going toe to toe with Thane." She pauses— can't help but smirk a little. "How's that for being lucky to have me as a friend?" She sobers, then, and says, "Really, though, there may be some merit to it. Immersion therapy, let's call it. I'm her 'friend', Alicia's too nice, and too much of a 'flower child', by Reagan's estimation. I think it comes down to finding someone who's just as smart as she is, but just happens to be a full moon, themselves. Or at least has the same potent Rage to tap into. Girl squirms away from most arguments on the basis of telling herself she's smarter than everyone else, and, for the most part? She's right."

Trace snickers a little bit under his breath, and grins at Monica. "I mean, sure. But unless she wants to live out the rest of her life in… some science colony somewhere, been' smarter than everyone else's only going to get her so far," he says, "an' it's going to come off to those people she's smarter than like she's got a stick shoved so far up her… well." Trace shakes his head slightly, leaving where that line of reasoning was going clear without actually being overly profane.

"She might do well meeting Slug. I've only talked to him a bit, but he's been around the block more than once. He's got a lot of perspective that might help. And book smarts don't solve everything, and they certainly don't get you out of a chokehold. She did have enough sense to back down when I explicitly stated that I outranked her, and not to fight when I had her throat, so it… could have been worse?"

"Like I said," Monica replies, "she doesn't really know how. She's barely used to shifting, let alone defending herself." She pauses. "Like you said, it could have been worse. A lot worse." She finishes off her drink, and moves to pour another, offering the same to Trace in the meantime. "Getting her to meet more people around here isn't a bad idea, either." Beat. "Same goes for seeing them when the moon isn't small. Being reminded of what being around that kind of energy is like. I don't think she knows how to place it these days. Just another thing to 'rise above,' in her world, I suppose."

Trace lifts his glass to where it can be filled, and then sets it back on his knee, moving so as to at least lean against the couch despite that he's chosen to sit on the floor out of habit. "Everyone has instincts, she just... buried hers, it sounds like," Trace says, taking another sip and pursing his lips when he does so. "'Rise above'." He snorts. "Makes me think of Rise Against, the band. And yeah. Also, if she can see and be around to see other people blowing off steam it might help her remember how to?"

"Worth a shot anyhow."
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Kianan Rowan Abrams

July 2017


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