[personal profile] kiananlogs
Thursday, 26 January 2017
The moon is in the waning New (Ragabash) Moon phase (4% full).

Compared to the earlier clear and sunny day, the evening has clouded over, and Trace's patrol takes him back through Harbor Park once again. The ahroun enters the park from a division in the earthen berms on Regan Avenue, diverting to one of the running paths at an easy jog. Aside from the fact that the average jogger doesn't run in jeans and a button-down shirt, and the fact that most of the humans at the park stay out of his path without as much as noticing they're doing it, he fits right in with the evening crowd. The leather jacket is he often wears is nowhere to be seen, but the ahroun is wearing a grey knit sweater to ward off the cold.

The traffic on the streets boxing in Harbor Park have shifted from the busy rush of work commute to the thrill seekers looking for evening entertainments after the drudgery of wage slavery. A white Prius sits in traffic at a stoplight on Regan Avenue and the driver slumps in her seat with tasked patience. One hand on the wheel with the other propping the side of her face, she glances out the window idly to see the evening crowd walking back and forth sparsely.

Blinking once her head rises from her knuckles as she catches a familiar shock of messy hair above the unfamiliar sweater suddenly rings a bell. Briskly weighing her options as the light changes, she follows traffic for a block until she signals into a tight parking spot in front of a closed office building. A short time later the jogging young man may notice a thick white coat on top of several layers of city clothing and the glint of her glasses under the acute street lamp. "Hello Trace." She states in an even tone just as he would begin to jog past her, arms folded over her chest in a stand-offish posture.

The young man skids to a halt as he hears his name over the volume of his music, and when recognition doesn't set in, the speed with which he reacts is alarmingly quick. Trace takes two steps forward, grabbing Reagan and pushing back until she's against the light pole, his hand almost but not quite around her throat.

From a passerby's perspective, it looks more friendly, perhaps a reunion of good friends, but the expression aimed at Reagan is decidedly less friendly, teeth bared even as he takes the time to take out his earphones and drape them over his shoulder. "Who are you?" The words carry the weight of a demand, rather than a question.

Pack> Trace emanates a slight wave of anger and frustration into the pack link, although it's wordless for the moment.

There is a moment of surprise on Reagan's face as she's forcefully escorted to the back of the lamp post. She does not struggle, her arms unfolding quickly as she swallows a yelp of surprise. Her glasses askew on the bridge of her nose with her blonde tresses threatening to come undone from her bun. Hands held up at her sides but not moving to fight back for a moment as she takes stock with several mutters under her breath, none of them terribly flattering.

Perhaps its the subconscious Garou in her, as she tilts her head back to expose her throat… What milky skin can be seen under the wrap of her warm scarf anyway in surrender. Once she gets a grip of her tone while balancing on the toes of her boots, she answers quietly. "Jesus. It's Reagan… Monica's friend?" Eyes glancing about as if this assault was potentially the least of her worries.

Trace slowly lets the woman down so back to the ground at the offered throat and nods, letting her go a moment thereafter. "Hola," he offers, not unfriendly although there's still a hard edge to his voice. "I guess that Mona has not told you not to surprise folks like us," he says. "Especially ones with more rage, like ahrouns." He looks around the park and then sets a hand on the Gaian's shoulder, gently, then steps back, and continues. "I could have easily killed you."

Pack> Trace mutters. "More something than sense for all that is holy what made her think that was a good idea?!"

Reagan is eased to the ground as she quickly looks back and forth along the street, eyeballing nearby pedestrians, cars and evening park-goers as a hand moves to her coat and sweater, readjusting them briskly.

Once she seems satisfied she pushes her glasses back up with an index finger, then brushes away the reaching hand in the same motion. Her expression is stern, but she hides anger well.

"What the actual fuck, Trace? Has 'Mona' told you not to go ham on someone in plain view of… people? What if there was a cop or some white knight? Jesus." She says nothing about the extremely dire consequences of breaching the Veil should push come to claws, but figures he doesn't need to be reminded of that one. Her voice becomes more of a hushed tone as someone walks by.

"Remember you aren't an Ahroun with Rage here. If you can't handle that you should stick to the damned Bawn." Her gaze briefly trailing the nearby pedestrian before staring back up to him, perturbed but calm.

Pack> Felix is pretty used to slight waves of anger from one or another member— probably especially the Ahrouns— but the mutter gets a more evident sense of curiosity, as well as, "Who what now?"

Pack> Trace says, "Reagan. Is attempting to lecture me about the Veil."

Pack> Felix says, "…"

Pack> Trace says, "She surprised me in the park, so I grabbed her and shoved her against a light pole until she told me who she was."


Trace goes off in Spanish under his breath, and when he continues in English the kindness has gone from his words. "And just who the fuck do you think you are," he says, voice pitched low enough that it doesn't carry. And in fact, the pedestrians seem to be giving the ahroun a wide berth. "The thing you're missing here, is that in fact, I am an ahroun, with Rage, right here." It's the tone of voice one uses to lecture someone who is particularly not getting it. "I am a Glass Walker, who is used to dealing with the city and all the intricacies thereof," he continues. "And more than that, I am a Fostern. In short? I. Outrank. You."

Pack> Trace just sighs, after.

Pack> Felix says, "I'm assumin' this ain't in Crinos or nothin' so… what's the veil issue s'posed to be?"

Pack> Trace says, "Apparently I 'went ham' on her shovin' her up against the pole 'cause I grabbed her throat? Or whatever if there was a cop around."

Pack> Felix's brow is probably furrowed. "Went… ham? Like, hard as a motherfucker? 'cause I ain't really met her but I gotta say from what I heard that ain't the kinda thing I'd've expected her to say. Anyway, ain't never cops in the Park."

Pack> Trace makes this sort of strangled garbled noise. "I don't think she really… gets… rank? I don't think she even feels it."

Pack> Felix says, "How d'you not— I mean, a'ight, I was a fuckin' snot as a cub an' I'm pretty fuckin' democratic with this shit as it is, but she's gotta at least feel it a little, don't she?"


Reagan stares back with a coldness that saps the expression from her face. Her shoulders straighten as her arms slide back into a crossed position as she absorbs the retorting lecture in turn from this kid.

A kid who happens to outrank her, just as he states.

All argument is dropped flat. It's an insurmountable defense, even if the other points she very much would argue. Not to mention, as a few people are starting to notice their spat as he states words that should very much remain in the Garou Nation, she decides this idea was a bad one.

With acute motions she readjusts her scarf about her neck, "Sorry to interrupt your jog." She replies in a very chill, yet reasonably diplomatic tone. Turning away from him she calmly begins walking down the street and leaving him be, figuring it's better to just let this go rather than risk it spiraling into something dramatically worse.

Trace takes a few deep breaths and walks in the direction he was originally going, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. And within the minutes, life returns to normal as it was, people continuing to go about their business like nothing had ever happened.

Pack> Trace sighs again. "Well she had enough sense to walk away. Y' at the Library? I'll bring booze."

Pack> Felix says, "Yeah, an' sold."


Trace shakes his head a few more times as he walks down the path and back out of the park.

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Kianan Rowan Abrams

July 2017

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