At the Sept Compound.
Mar. 3rd, 2017 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiananlogsFriday, 3 March 2017
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (39% full).
The night is chill and dark, clouds overing the moon and stars, the bawn nothing but shadows, the ceaseless whisper of trees in the wind, and the occasional wolf howl as one patrolling guardian calls to another, relaying information, though nothing urgent, no incoming attack or invasion tonight. In the compound, the fire burns bright and warm, and Salem— dressed for the weather in thick jacket and wool cap, sits on one of the log 'benches', his expression contemplative as he pokes at the fire with a stick. A backpack's lying on the ground behind him.
Footsteps as one person or another crosses the bawn aren't uncommon. The ring stone on a string that Yael tucks back into her pocket as she steps into the Sept Compound clearing is potentially more uncommon, and then she squares her shoulders and tucks her headscarf into her jacket as she moves over towards the fire, giving Salem a once-over glance. "Good evening," she offers.
First impressions can be misleading. As Yael arrives, one of those shadows outside the reach of the fire moves, accompanied by a low rumble and the glint of metal teeth. It's not so much a threat as an announcement, with one ear turned toward Salem, but the other Walker doesn't look to be in a particularly good mood, even if one ignores the features that would otherwise be unpleasant in any situation.
The boy who looks neither like a Glass Walker and nothing like someone who is a Sept's eldest and highest-ranked Philodox glances over at Ghost— unsurprised by her presence and unperturbed by her appearance— and then looks up at Yael. "Evening." His greeting is mild, decidedly neutral.
Yael offers both Glass Walkers her usual and polite smile, along with a nod of acknowledgement for Ghost, and then sits down somewhat across from Salem. "Good evening," she agrees. "I was hoping to find you, actually." Despite trying, she can't quite hide the disbelief that's there, and instead simply masks it with a question. "You're Salem?"
Ghost-in-the-Machine slowly sinks to her haunches, allowing the two Philodox some distance, but not nearly enough to exclude herself from the conversation. The firelight plays across her dark and darker fur, occasionally catching on the unnatural, metallic teeth and claws again. She seems to settle, acknowledging Yael in return with another flick of her ears and a quick tongue swipe over her nose and muzzle.
"Jack Salem, called Scar, Adren Philodox of the Glass Walkers and alpha of pack Sagacity under Chimera." He rattles off the introduction like it's an annoyance to do so, like he's only just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes while doing so.
Coming from the direction of the caern is the sound of cheerful whistling, familiar to some, if not all, of those present.
Yael nods once, and grins. "Just the person I was looking for," she says, and glances towards the whistling for just a moment. "I may be staying in town longer than I originally intended, I've done so already," the Strider continues, "so since I am I wanted to touch base, to make sure I am not stepping on any toes and such. Or to make sure I know where the lines stand, at least."
Ghost-in-the-Machine sits up a little straighter and turns her head toward the whistling, ears pricked. Unlike Yael's arrival, whoever's making the sound doesn't get a warning growl— while it's very subtle, her mood actually seems to pick up, just a little— but he clearly has her attention.
Salem glances at Ghost, noting her reaction to the whistling, then turns his attention back to Yael. "We don't exactly do auspice elders around here, if that's what you're asking. If someone asks you to Philodox for them, feel free to do so."
The whistling comes closer, and before long the source becomes visible through the trees. The grey hoodie and jeans are difficult to pick out in the dim beyond the reach of the firelight, until Nolan steps into the clearing proper. He pauses just within, takes a brief look around, and lifts a hand in a lazy salute before approaching.
Yael turns a somewhat curious glance to Nolan as he arrives, but the nod that follows is directed towards Salem. "Alright," she says. "That is most of it, along with a hope to talk of gifts and what the other knows, once I have finished the rite teaching that I am doing at the moment." She grins. "Everywhere is different in that regard, and better to make sure now than find out later."
Ghost-in-the-Machine gives Nolan a low, amiable chuff in response, before shifting her attention more toward the conversation.
Salem nods to Nolan in greeting, then asks Yael, "Is there a particular Gift you were looking to learn?"
Nolan gives Yael a momentary look, and then nods, apparently to himself. Grinning at the three, he joins them at the fire, finding a spot not too far from Ghost. "Evening," he says, apparently to the wolf, and quietly enough not to interrupt the others.
Yael nods, and there's a brief glance towards both Nolan and Ghost, watching, but the majority of her attention is still on the conversation. "I've been hoping to learn the gift to sense balance," she says. "It feels… needed, in these days."
Ghost-in-the-Machine shifts to homid, though with deliberate slowness, and goes from her crouch to a cross-legged sit. "Hey," she says in return, just as quiet.
"Okay," Salem says to Yael, like it's just that easy. "I've known that one for a while."
"Seems appropriate to the caern," the Fianna chimes in, looking between the pair of philodox.
Yael turns, though first she adds, "Thank you. Much appreciated," and looks at Nolan, then and nods. "Something like that. I think I saw you at the gathering, briefly, but I couldn't stick around that day." The tone of voice has an implied question or perhaps request for an introduction, but the Strider doesn't seem to care so much as to outright request it.
Ghost's scowl is so terribly brief at something Yael says that it's very easy to miss, especially in the low light. She glances toward Nolan.
Salem leans backwards, stretching, his balance on the log shifting to the point where one would expect him to topple backwards off of it… but he doesn't, and in a moment he shifts back forward and yawns.
"Mmm, yeah," Nolan allows at Yael's comment. There's a flicker of something through his expression as he glances toward Ghost, there and gone again by the time he returns to the others. The pause is long enough it may seem he either missed the Strider's hint, or is intentionally ignoring it, but eventually he adds, "Nolan Fahey. Squirrel Talks to No One. Fianna. Ragabash," and he reaches up to scratch at the back of his head.
Yael draws the slightly worn jacket around her shoulders, and reaches over to pick up a log from one of the nearby piles, then carefully adding it to the fire. The very end of the introduction gets a soft 'heh' out of the woman, and a nod of acknowledgement, and then continued fussing a bit more life into the fire.
"You mentioned having been part of the Ahadi in Africa," Salem says, looking at Yael.
Nolan leans forward at Salem's prompting, elbows resting on his knees.
Yael nods again, though her attention is on the fire as she speaks. "Yes," she says. "I was drawn down there looking for books— manuscripts— and then when I was there even when the job was done, I found it hard to leave." She grins a little bit, although there's a flicker of something else as well. "Although not all of my tribemates who go in and out of Africa become part of the Ahadi, I did." She trails off, more as though unsure where to start or to continue than unwillingness to.
"Manuscripts?" Ghost echoes. The question remains half formed, as she doesn't add to it, but her puzzled expression is easy to make out.
Salem looks at Ghost and then back at Yael, obviously also interested in the answer to her question.
Curiosity is a common factor, as Nolan's brows rise.
"Lost books," Yael says, and nods, poking the fire one more time before sitting back, one hand automatically going to keep her headscarf from falling to her shoulders as she does so. She's sitting near the fire, somewhat across from the other Garou, and draws a breath in. "The older the better, I had read almost everything that I could in the libraries in Israel, and Lebanon, and Syria. I love books, the glimpse into what there was. And all my life I'd heard of the books lost across Africa— the Library of Alexandria, the collections of Timbuktu. Some of them had been protected by families for generations, but some get— lost to conquest and expansion and archaeologists. But a lone Garou in Africa gets nowhere, or worse, dead very quickly."
Ghost still looks a little puzzled, but her expression closes off at this answer. "Oh." A beat. "So, just human books then."
Yael cracks a bit more of a smile, and there's a spark of light in her eye, "Not all of them, or even most of them," she says. "Although sometimes, there, the lines are less obvious. Some of them are 'just human books', but many of the families that guard even the human books are kinfolk. Some of what we'd heard of were records from times lost even to many of the Mokolé. What few kin are left for some of the other members of the Ahadi." Her lips purse for a moment, but she's silent again.
"Interesting," Salem says. "So then, what do you do, after you've found a rare book like that?"
"What kinds of records?" Nolan asks, nearly on top of Salem, though he seems equally interested in the answer to the Glass Walker's question.
There is, it appears, a newcomer at the edge of the clearing the compound is housed in— an oversized, predominantly grey wolf, returning from what appears to be one of the patrol circuits. Her posture is relaxed, look curious, gaze drifting first from Yael to Nolan in a fashion that speaks of having been familiarized with the two of them, then on to Salem and Ghost. The lattermost gets the bulk of her attention, though she keeps her scrutiny to a minimum, slowing her movements as if to debate whether or not to keep moving on the next circuit.
Yael looks at Nolan, and grins, "Wish I knew," she says, "that particular one in question was simply chasing ghosts around Cape Town and never lead to anything. It was supposed to be an account of something, but if we knew it wouldn't be lost." It's difficult to tell if the woman is using a metaphor, or misusing the English language there, or in fact means what she says, and then she continues with the answer to Salem's question. "Depends. Find somewhere it will be safe, in one of the existing collections. Take it to someone who it rightfully belongs to, if any of them survived Black Tooth and that gigantic mess. Take it to a Caern for a Sept. Make note of where it is and pass the information along to someone else. It was always nice when I got to find it myself, though." Missing in that list of what to do, seems to be 'keep it'.
Ghost doesn't ask any more questions herself, at least not yet, though her expression doesn't really change from Yael's explanation. Instead, the newcomer draws her attention. There's a marked tension that starts along the young woman's shoulders and spreads down her spine.
Yael gives the wolf a slight nod of greeting when she's finished speaking.
"Black Tooth?" 'Ahadi' might be a term Salem knows, but the name of Africa's most infamous werelion, not so much.
Something in what Yael says seems to trigger the Fianna ragabash's questioning compulsion, but he bites it back and rises. "Fascinating," he says as he stands. "I hope to hear more, sometime." He offers a nod both to Salem and Yael, a glance cast to the approaching wolf, and a slightly longer look in Ghost's direction. "Unfortunately, I have to be heading back to the city. If there's anything anyone needs?"
A light chuff is offered as a more 'polite' alert to her presence, the sound doubling as a greeting to the Strider. She trots a couple more steps forward before reverting with ease to her human form, and though she continues a leisurely advance, she remains on the periphery of the conversation for the time being, a nod offered to anyone who chances a look in her direction. "I'd happily pay mileage and an additional bonus for coffee that isn't stale," Sandra replies to Nolan, not seeming the least bit shy about throwing her two cents into the bid for requests, "if that's something you can arrange. Otherwise, I'll leave it at 'have a pleasant evening.'"
Ghost nods toward Nolan, though she seems decidedly reluctant to take her eyes off of the large wolf for more than a few seconds.
Yael shakes her head slightly, and looks at Nolan, "No, but thank you." A slight silence after, she grins. "I'll be around," she says, "there's always more." Salem's question gets a less pleasant expression, almost a scowl. "There was," Yael says, "one of the Simba, who thought that he was God reincarnated and was going to single-handedly 'save Africa'. He started by killing as many of the Ajaba as he could. And he didn't limit it to that either."
Dryly, Salem says, "Oh, good, a shifter genocide that our people didn't do."
"Coffee it is," Nolan says to Sandra. "I'll drop a bag at the house sometime tomorrow." He lifts one hand in a gesture of farewell, nodding again as he makes his way out. The whistling can be heard not too long after, fading into the distance.
"It's appreciated," Sandra says in return, her attention shifting back to the conversation for the time being.
Ghost eases up from her sit into a very careful, very tense three point crouch.
Yael glances to Ghost, brows furrowing for just a moment, but the expression is the only question before she looks back to Salem. "Yeah. And much more recent too. It's what actually formed the Ahadi, because it took all of the Bête and some pretty significant working together to bring Black Tooth down, from what I understand. Heard a lot of second- and third-hand stories about it when I was in Africa. But even though the Garou weren't the perpetrators, doesn't mean we're looked kindly on as a whole. On an individual basis, I found most of the other shifters willing to sit down and share a meal and listen, as long as I listened in return."
Salem shrugs and gets up, grabbing his backpack as he does so. "Honestly, I never really expect any of the other shifter sorts to look kindly on us. After all, one case of Lion Hitler hardly matches up against our record." The youthful-looking halfmoon's smile is humorless. "Hell, half the time I wonder why our own kin even tolerate us."
"In those instances, 'tolerance' has little to do with it when, ultimately, there's little choice in the matter," Sandra says simply. "Once they know anything, they know too much." There's more to it than that, obviously, but it's what she leaves it on, her gaze shifting to Ghost again for a moment or two. "That said, I don't mean to disrupt the conversation," she says, neutral tone at least maintaining some polite airs to it, "but I don't believe we've met before." This, to her, must be a suitable method of cutting through some of the tension.
"No," Ghost says. She sounds a little flat, but that seems more likely due to her visible tension than anything else. "I'm Ghost," she says, after a moment. "A Ragabash."
Yael raises her eyebrows, and pushes one hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back underneath the headscarf. "Pretty much," she says— seeming to agree with Salem rather than Sandra on this. "Especially when we can't even frequently tolerate each other." Whatever else she might have to say, though, she instead picks up a stick to poke at and adjust the fire.
Salem cuts a quick, sidelong look to Sandra, then nods to Yael. "Let me know when you're done teaching that rite, and we'll see about you learning Sense Balance," he says as he shoulders on his backpack. Then, with a brusque, "Later," he heads out.
Sandra hardly seem ruffled by the lack of consensus (or the look), though that might have something to do with her attention being elsewhere for the moment. "Sandra Ulrich," she replies to Ghost. "Brings-Winter's-Bite. Fostern Philodox; Shadow Lords." She offers a nod to Salem in spite of the chilly reception, though this, too, has left her largely unbothered, her gaze centered on him for a few moments as he takes his leave. "Yael," she greets the Strider, then, though she seems content to split her attention between the two that remain by the fire. "Good to see you haven't tired of the usual questions. I'd imagine these education seminars will be the bulk of your repertoire for the next few months, and— as it happens— I still have a few of my own. Something for a later time." To Ghost, she says, "Thane tells me you're a ward of the Glass Walkers," she says. "Is that accurate?"
Ghost looks a little less than comforted as Salem goes, but her attention is clearly focused on Sandra, and the Walker gets only a brief, quick glance. "…It's complicated," she says to the Shadow Lord. "Ward doesn't, uh, sound quite right, but I guess it works as well as anything."
"Of course— I'll find you," Yael says to Salem, lifting one hand for a brief wave, "and thanks." The stick from poking the fire becomes the next piece of firewood, and Yael looks to Sandra, "It is pretty much expected," she agrees. "I get to learn some of what has gone on in the Nation in that time, though, so." And somehow, Yael manages to make that sound like a negative thing rather than an equal trade.
Given the look on Sandra's face, one of underplaying amusement, she doesn't seem to think it was all that equitable either. This, underlined with a dryly stated, "You have my sympathies." To Ghost, she says, "To be fair, I don't know that he was entirely able to place a 'proper' term on it, either." She pauses, then, glancing again in the direction Salem had departed. "And you should know, it's not my intention to demand you stay and answer questions, if you'd prefer to join him," she notes, brow raised slightly. "Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what 'complicated' means."
Jamethon is heard before seen coming from the direction of the Caern. He whistles a random sounding ditty, in more of a distracted fashion than attempting to be particularly tuneful.
Ghost shifts in place a little, though she doesn't actually make a move to stand up from that three point crouch she's in. A quick glance is cast in the direction of the whistling— this time, she doesn't seem to recognize the source— then back. There's noticeable hesitation before she answers, "…It means what it sounds like. I'm not uh, I'm not part of the Nation. Never have been. But I am a Glass Walker… sort of. I'm a child of Cockroach."
The sound of whistling doesn't quite get Yael to stand up. But she does shift, drawing her feet in to the point where standing would be easier should she choose to, a supported crouch against the log she had been sitting on. And in the mean time, she watches the interaction between the other two Garou, brow furrowing a little.
Before long, the source of the whistling arrives. The giant of an Adren Fenrir steps into the clearing with a woodaxe in one hand and some already sectioned log pieces suitable for chopping into firewood under the other arm. He looks around and those already there and says nothing, but with a grunt goes over to set up to do some chopping.
Sandra's expression suggests more curiosity than outright hostility, though that could have something to do with being told (or, conversely, warned) about this ahead of time. Then again, "Then you might not be in a position to notice that it's not really my place to cast aspersions," is said, right in time to hear the whistling, her own attention turning in that general direction. "Beyond that, you have the Alpha's blessing, so—" And then she sees who it is, and her chin raises slightly, her own posture getting just a little tense. Just a little. "Evening," is offered to the Fenrir, regardless.
"I'm not sure I'd—" Ghost starts to say, but whatever was going to be the end to that sentence, she clearly thinks better of it. James gets a careful eyeing. "…anyway, you can ask questions."
Yael lifts a hand in vague greeting of the newly arrived Fenrir, and then she does get to her feet, although she doesn't move away from the fire quite yet. To Ghost, she finally offers a question, "Something that the Nation did in particular, or the general principle of the matter?" A moment after, she clarifies, "If you're comfortable answering that. Don't if you're not, it's alright."
Jamethon sets the first log down and stands, preparing to swing the axe. Before he does, the Fenrir glances up to Sandra and offers a near perfectly neutral, "Ulrich." Then WHAM! The axe comes down splintering the log into two halves. He grunts a vague approval and knocks the split wood aside with the steel of the axe.
To Sandra's credit, she doesn't flinch— not from the use of the surname, or the sudden crack of splitting wood. There's just that low, underlying level of tension that doesn't seem fearful so much as preparatory. And while she has something to say in return, she waits, for a moment, to hear Ghost's answer, keeping the Fenrir Adren in the corner of her vision.
Ghost does, however; she twitches, a rather slow, sharp jerk that seems to encompass her head, neck, and shoulders. She inhales, then looks to Yael. "I've never been a part of it. Ever. Being here is the uh, it's really the first time anyone's actually suggested it was possible."
Yael nods at Ghost, and looks at her another moment. "I'll talk to you again," she says, and then with a nod for the other philodox, heads out of the clearing.
The moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (39% full).
The night is chill and dark, clouds overing the moon and stars, the bawn nothing but shadows, the ceaseless whisper of trees in the wind, and the occasional wolf howl as one patrolling guardian calls to another, relaying information, though nothing urgent, no incoming attack or invasion tonight. In the compound, the fire burns bright and warm, and Salem— dressed for the weather in thick jacket and wool cap, sits on one of the log 'benches', his expression contemplative as he pokes at the fire with a stick. A backpack's lying on the ground behind him.
Footsteps as one person or another crosses the bawn aren't uncommon. The ring stone on a string that Yael tucks back into her pocket as she steps into the Sept Compound clearing is potentially more uncommon, and then she squares her shoulders and tucks her headscarf into her jacket as she moves over towards the fire, giving Salem a once-over glance. "Good evening," she offers.
First impressions can be misleading. As Yael arrives, one of those shadows outside the reach of the fire moves, accompanied by a low rumble and the glint of metal teeth. It's not so much a threat as an announcement, with one ear turned toward Salem, but the other Walker doesn't look to be in a particularly good mood, even if one ignores the features that would otherwise be unpleasant in any situation.
The boy who looks neither like a Glass Walker and nothing like someone who is a Sept's eldest and highest-ranked Philodox glances over at Ghost— unsurprised by her presence and unperturbed by her appearance— and then looks up at Yael. "Evening." His greeting is mild, decidedly neutral.
Yael offers both Glass Walkers her usual and polite smile, along with a nod of acknowledgement for Ghost, and then sits down somewhat across from Salem. "Good evening," she agrees. "I was hoping to find you, actually." Despite trying, she can't quite hide the disbelief that's there, and instead simply masks it with a question. "You're Salem?"
Ghost-in-the-Machine slowly sinks to her haunches, allowing the two Philodox some distance, but not nearly enough to exclude herself from the conversation. The firelight plays across her dark and darker fur, occasionally catching on the unnatural, metallic teeth and claws again. She seems to settle, acknowledging Yael in return with another flick of her ears and a quick tongue swipe over her nose and muzzle.
"Jack Salem, called Scar, Adren Philodox of the Glass Walkers and alpha of pack Sagacity under Chimera." He rattles off the introduction like it's an annoyance to do so, like he's only just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes while doing so.
Coming from the direction of the caern is the sound of cheerful whistling, familiar to some, if not all, of those present.
Yael nods once, and grins. "Just the person I was looking for," she says, and glances towards the whistling for just a moment. "I may be staying in town longer than I originally intended, I've done so already," the Strider continues, "so since I am I wanted to touch base, to make sure I am not stepping on any toes and such. Or to make sure I know where the lines stand, at least."
Ghost-in-the-Machine sits up a little straighter and turns her head toward the whistling, ears pricked. Unlike Yael's arrival, whoever's making the sound doesn't get a warning growl— while it's very subtle, her mood actually seems to pick up, just a little— but he clearly has her attention.
Salem glances at Ghost, noting her reaction to the whistling, then turns his attention back to Yael. "We don't exactly do auspice elders around here, if that's what you're asking. If someone asks you to Philodox for them, feel free to do so."
The whistling comes closer, and before long the source becomes visible through the trees. The grey hoodie and jeans are difficult to pick out in the dim beyond the reach of the firelight, until Nolan steps into the clearing proper. He pauses just within, takes a brief look around, and lifts a hand in a lazy salute before approaching.
Yael turns a somewhat curious glance to Nolan as he arrives, but the nod that follows is directed towards Salem. "Alright," she says. "That is most of it, along with a hope to talk of gifts and what the other knows, once I have finished the rite teaching that I am doing at the moment." She grins. "Everywhere is different in that regard, and better to make sure now than find out later."
Ghost-in-the-Machine gives Nolan a low, amiable chuff in response, before shifting her attention more toward the conversation.
Salem nods to Nolan in greeting, then asks Yael, "Is there a particular Gift you were looking to learn?"
Nolan gives Yael a momentary look, and then nods, apparently to himself. Grinning at the three, he joins them at the fire, finding a spot not too far from Ghost. "Evening," he says, apparently to the wolf, and quietly enough not to interrupt the others.
Yael nods, and there's a brief glance towards both Nolan and Ghost, watching, but the majority of her attention is still on the conversation. "I've been hoping to learn the gift to sense balance," she says. "It feels… needed, in these days."
Ghost-in-the-Machine shifts to homid, though with deliberate slowness, and goes from her crouch to a cross-legged sit. "Hey," she says in return, just as quiet.
"Okay," Salem says to Yael, like it's just that easy. "I've known that one for a while."
"Seems appropriate to the caern," the Fianna chimes in, looking between the pair of philodox.
Yael turns, though first she adds, "Thank you. Much appreciated," and looks at Nolan, then and nods. "Something like that. I think I saw you at the gathering, briefly, but I couldn't stick around that day." The tone of voice has an implied question or perhaps request for an introduction, but the Strider doesn't seem to care so much as to outright request it.
Ghost's scowl is so terribly brief at something Yael says that it's very easy to miss, especially in the low light. She glances toward Nolan.
Salem leans backwards, stretching, his balance on the log shifting to the point where one would expect him to topple backwards off of it… but he doesn't, and in a moment he shifts back forward and yawns.
"Mmm, yeah," Nolan allows at Yael's comment. There's a flicker of something through his expression as he glances toward Ghost, there and gone again by the time he returns to the others. The pause is long enough it may seem he either missed the Strider's hint, or is intentionally ignoring it, but eventually he adds, "Nolan Fahey. Squirrel Talks to No One. Fianna. Ragabash," and he reaches up to scratch at the back of his head.
Yael draws the slightly worn jacket around her shoulders, and reaches over to pick up a log from one of the nearby piles, then carefully adding it to the fire. The very end of the introduction gets a soft 'heh' out of the woman, and a nod of acknowledgement, and then continued fussing a bit more life into the fire.
"You mentioned having been part of the Ahadi in Africa," Salem says, looking at Yael.
Nolan leans forward at Salem's prompting, elbows resting on his knees.
Yael nods again, though her attention is on the fire as she speaks. "Yes," she says. "I was drawn down there looking for books— manuscripts— and then when I was there even when the job was done, I found it hard to leave." She grins a little bit, although there's a flicker of something else as well. "Although not all of my tribemates who go in and out of Africa become part of the Ahadi, I did." She trails off, more as though unsure where to start or to continue than unwillingness to.
"Manuscripts?" Ghost echoes. The question remains half formed, as she doesn't add to it, but her puzzled expression is easy to make out.
Salem looks at Ghost and then back at Yael, obviously also interested in the answer to her question.
Curiosity is a common factor, as Nolan's brows rise.
"Lost books," Yael says, and nods, poking the fire one more time before sitting back, one hand automatically going to keep her headscarf from falling to her shoulders as she does so. She's sitting near the fire, somewhat across from the other Garou, and draws a breath in. "The older the better, I had read almost everything that I could in the libraries in Israel, and Lebanon, and Syria. I love books, the glimpse into what there was. And all my life I'd heard of the books lost across Africa— the Library of Alexandria, the collections of Timbuktu. Some of them had been protected by families for generations, but some get— lost to conquest and expansion and archaeologists. But a lone Garou in Africa gets nowhere, or worse, dead very quickly."
Ghost still looks a little puzzled, but her expression closes off at this answer. "Oh." A beat. "So, just human books then."
Yael cracks a bit more of a smile, and there's a spark of light in her eye, "Not all of them, or even most of them," she says. "Although sometimes, there, the lines are less obvious. Some of them are 'just human books', but many of the families that guard even the human books are kinfolk. Some of what we'd heard of were records from times lost even to many of the Mokolé. What few kin are left for some of the other members of the Ahadi." Her lips purse for a moment, but she's silent again.
"Interesting," Salem says. "So then, what do you do, after you've found a rare book like that?"
"What kinds of records?" Nolan asks, nearly on top of Salem, though he seems equally interested in the answer to the Glass Walker's question.
There is, it appears, a newcomer at the edge of the clearing the compound is housed in— an oversized, predominantly grey wolf, returning from what appears to be one of the patrol circuits. Her posture is relaxed, look curious, gaze drifting first from Yael to Nolan in a fashion that speaks of having been familiarized with the two of them, then on to Salem and Ghost. The lattermost gets the bulk of her attention, though she keeps her scrutiny to a minimum, slowing her movements as if to debate whether or not to keep moving on the next circuit.
Yael looks at Nolan, and grins, "Wish I knew," she says, "that particular one in question was simply chasing ghosts around Cape Town and never lead to anything. It was supposed to be an account of something, but if we knew it wouldn't be lost." It's difficult to tell if the woman is using a metaphor, or misusing the English language there, or in fact means what she says, and then she continues with the answer to Salem's question. "Depends. Find somewhere it will be safe, in one of the existing collections. Take it to someone who it rightfully belongs to, if any of them survived Black Tooth and that gigantic mess. Take it to a Caern for a Sept. Make note of where it is and pass the information along to someone else. It was always nice when I got to find it myself, though." Missing in that list of what to do, seems to be 'keep it'.
Ghost doesn't ask any more questions herself, at least not yet, though her expression doesn't really change from Yael's explanation. Instead, the newcomer draws her attention. There's a marked tension that starts along the young woman's shoulders and spreads down her spine.
Yael gives the wolf a slight nod of greeting when she's finished speaking.
"Black Tooth?" 'Ahadi' might be a term Salem knows, but the name of Africa's most infamous werelion, not so much.
Something in what Yael says seems to trigger the Fianna ragabash's questioning compulsion, but he bites it back and rises. "Fascinating," he says as he stands. "I hope to hear more, sometime." He offers a nod both to Salem and Yael, a glance cast to the approaching wolf, and a slightly longer look in Ghost's direction. "Unfortunately, I have to be heading back to the city. If there's anything anyone needs?"
A light chuff is offered as a more 'polite' alert to her presence, the sound doubling as a greeting to the Strider. She trots a couple more steps forward before reverting with ease to her human form, and though she continues a leisurely advance, she remains on the periphery of the conversation for the time being, a nod offered to anyone who chances a look in her direction. "I'd happily pay mileage and an additional bonus for coffee that isn't stale," Sandra replies to Nolan, not seeming the least bit shy about throwing her two cents into the bid for requests, "if that's something you can arrange. Otherwise, I'll leave it at 'have a pleasant evening.'"
Ghost nods toward Nolan, though she seems decidedly reluctant to take her eyes off of the large wolf for more than a few seconds.
Yael shakes her head slightly, and looks at Nolan, "No, but thank you." A slight silence after, she grins. "I'll be around," she says, "there's always more." Salem's question gets a less pleasant expression, almost a scowl. "There was," Yael says, "one of the Simba, who thought that he was God reincarnated and was going to single-handedly 'save Africa'. He started by killing as many of the Ajaba as he could. And he didn't limit it to that either."
Dryly, Salem says, "Oh, good, a shifter genocide that our people didn't do."
"Coffee it is," Nolan says to Sandra. "I'll drop a bag at the house sometime tomorrow." He lifts one hand in a gesture of farewell, nodding again as he makes his way out. The whistling can be heard not too long after, fading into the distance.
"It's appreciated," Sandra says in return, her attention shifting back to the conversation for the time being.
Ghost eases up from her sit into a very careful, very tense three point crouch.
Yael glances to Ghost, brows furrowing for just a moment, but the expression is the only question before she looks back to Salem. "Yeah. And much more recent too. It's what actually formed the Ahadi, because it took all of the Bête and some pretty significant working together to bring Black Tooth down, from what I understand. Heard a lot of second- and third-hand stories about it when I was in Africa. But even though the Garou weren't the perpetrators, doesn't mean we're looked kindly on as a whole. On an individual basis, I found most of the other shifters willing to sit down and share a meal and listen, as long as I listened in return."
Salem shrugs and gets up, grabbing his backpack as he does so. "Honestly, I never really expect any of the other shifter sorts to look kindly on us. After all, one case of Lion Hitler hardly matches up against our record." The youthful-looking halfmoon's smile is humorless. "Hell, half the time I wonder why our own kin even tolerate us."
"In those instances, 'tolerance' has little to do with it when, ultimately, there's little choice in the matter," Sandra says simply. "Once they know anything, they know too much." There's more to it than that, obviously, but it's what she leaves it on, her gaze shifting to Ghost again for a moment or two. "That said, I don't mean to disrupt the conversation," she says, neutral tone at least maintaining some polite airs to it, "but I don't believe we've met before." This, to her, must be a suitable method of cutting through some of the tension.
"No," Ghost says. She sounds a little flat, but that seems more likely due to her visible tension than anything else. "I'm Ghost," she says, after a moment. "A Ragabash."
Yael raises her eyebrows, and pushes one hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back underneath the headscarf. "Pretty much," she says— seeming to agree with Salem rather than Sandra on this. "Especially when we can't even frequently tolerate each other." Whatever else she might have to say, though, she instead picks up a stick to poke at and adjust the fire.
Salem cuts a quick, sidelong look to Sandra, then nods to Yael. "Let me know when you're done teaching that rite, and we'll see about you learning Sense Balance," he says as he shoulders on his backpack. Then, with a brusque, "Later," he heads out.
Sandra hardly seem ruffled by the lack of consensus (or the look), though that might have something to do with her attention being elsewhere for the moment. "Sandra Ulrich," she replies to Ghost. "Brings-Winter's-Bite. Fostern Philodox; Shadow Lords." She offers a nod to Salem in spite of the chilly reception, though this, too, has left her largely unbothered, her gaze centered on him for a few moments as he takes his leave. "Yael," she greets the Strider, then, though she seems content to split her attention between the two that remain by the fire. "Good to see you haven't tired of the usual questions. I'd imagine these education seminars will be the bulk of your repertoire for the next few months, and— as it happens— I still have a few of my own. Something for a later time." To Ghost, she says, "Thane tells me you're a ward of the Glass Walkers," she says. "Is that accurate?"
Ghost looks a little less than comforted as Salem goes, but her attention is clearly focused on Sandra, and the Walker gets only a brief, quick glance. "…It's complicated," she says to the Shadow Lord. "Ward doesn't, uh, sound quite right, but I guess it works as well as anything."
"Of course— I'll find you," Yael says to Salem, lifting one hand for a brief wave, "and thanks." The stick from poking the fire becomes the next piece of firewood, and Yael looks to Sandra, "It is pretty much expected," she agrees. "I get to learn some of what has gone on in the Nation in that time, though, so." And somehow, Yael manages to make that sound like a negative thing rather than an equal trade.
Given the look on Sandra's face, one of underplaying amusement, she doesn't seem to think it was all that equitable either. This, underlined with a dryly stated, "You have my sympathies." To Ghost, she says, "To be fair, I don't know that he was entirely able to place a 'proper' term on it, either." She pauses, then, glancing again in the direction Salem had departed. "And you should know, it's not my intention to demand you stay and answer questions, if you'd prefer to join him," she notes, brow raised slightly. "Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what 'complicated' means."
Jamethon is heard before seen coming from the direction of the Caern. He whistles a random sounding ditty, in more of a distracted fashion than attempting to be particularly tuneful.
Ghost shifts in place a little, though she doesn't actually make a move to stand up from that three point crouch she's in. A quick glance is cast in the direction of the whistling— this time, she doesn't seem to recognize the source— then back. There's noticeable hesitation before she answers, "…It means what it sounds like. I'm not uh, I'm not part of the Nation. Never have been. But I am a Glass Walker… sort of. I'm a child of Cockroach."
The sound of whistling doesn't quite get Yael to stand up. But she does shift, drawing her feet in to the point where standing would be easier should she choose to, a supported crouch against the log she had been sitting on. And in the mean time, she watches the interaction between the other two Garou, brow furrowing a little.
Before long, the source of the whistling arrives. The giant of an Adren Fenrir steps into the clearing with a woodaxe in one hand and some already sectioned log pieces suitable for chopping into firewood under the other arm. He looks around and those already there and says nothing, but with a grunt goes over to set up to do some chopping.
Sandra's expression suggests more curiosity than outright hostility, though that could have something to do with being told (or, conversely, warned) about this ahead of time. Then again, "Then you might not be in a position to notice that it's not really my place to cast aspersions," is said, right in time to hear the whistling, her own attention turning in that general direction. "Beyond that, you have the Alpha's blessing, so—" And then she sees who it is, and her chin raises slightly, her own posture getting just a little tense. Just a little. "Evening," is offered to the Fenrir, regardless.
"I'm not sure I'd—" Ghost starts to say, but whatever was going to be the end to that sentence, she clearly thinks better of it. James gets a careful eyeing. "…anyway, you can ask questions."
Yael lifts a hand in vague greeting of the newly arrived Fenrir, and then she does get to her feet, although she doesn't move away from the fire quite yet. To Ghost, she finally offers a question, "Something that the Nation did in particular, or the general principle of the matter?" A moment after, she clarifies, "If you're comfortable answering that. Don't if you're not, it's alright."
Jamethon sets the first log down and stands, preparing to swing the axe. Before he does, the Fenrir glances up to Sandra and offers a near perfectly neutral, "Ulrich." Then WHAM! The axe comes down splintering the log into two halves. He grunts a vague approval and knocks the split wood aside with the steel of the axe.
To Sandra's credit, she doesn't flinch— not from the use of the surname, or the sudden crack of splitting wood. There's just that low, underlying level of tension that doesn't seem fearful so much as preparatory. And while she has something to say in return, she waits, for a moment, to hear Ghost's answer, keeping the Fenrir Adren in the corner of her vision.
Ghost does, however; she twitches, a rather slow, sharp jerk that seems to encompass her head, neck, and shoulders. She inhales, then looks to Yael. "I've never been a part of it. Ever. Being here is the uh, it's really the first time anyone's actually suggested it was possible."
Yael nods at Ghost, and looks at her another moment. "I'll talk to you again," she says, and then with a nod for the other philodox, heads out of the clearing.