[Sandra] :: LOG :: Staunch the Bleeding

[gmlogbox]

Characters: Jamethon, Sandra, Slug
Location: Sept Compound
Time: 3/15/2018 - Mid-day - New Moon (Waning)

Summary: The Alpha Problem is solved-- and Sandra informs what are now the Sept Alpha and Beta about her camp affiliations.

By winter standards, it's practically balmy outside. A lovely day, actually, with a steady breeze and minimal cloud cover, sunlight cutting through the canopy of trees closer to the center of the bawn. Springtime is sluggishishly making a show for itself, however briefly, though how long it's likely to stick around is anyone's guess.
And it only seems natural that the calm is shattered by the sound of a howl, raising from the Sept Compound.
There's no immediate urgency to it, but there's a pitch to it that speaks of 'official business.' The Shadow Lord's howl, making no attempts to disguise who it is she's calling - ~Reflection's Howl, Finds-His-Way~ - coming in at the top - ~your presence is needed~ - and thus, it's fair to say that she's making no attempts to disguise her intent, either.
She's in her homid form when they arrive, at whatever time they happen to do so. Wearing a thermal shirt and jeans, a thinner jacket tied around her waist, and the look about her is one that's purposeful; intent. She stands by the cookpit, a recently stoked fire burning in it to add just a touch of warmth to the clearing. Just enough to be 'room temperature' comfortable. There is, perhaps, a rather lengthy discussion in mind.

Finds-His-Way... does. The black wolf lopes through the woods as quietly as a feather drags through the air, appearing as a quirk of long darkness, a shadow moving against the light. He shifts up to Homid almost mid-stride, flips back the hood of his sweater, and stands there with his hands in his pockets.
"Just think," he says, looking up at the sky. "Soon we'll have rain and snow instead of snow, and then days of rain after that. Not the best time of year to be a Warder, not unless you like mud and the smell of wet wolves." He jerks his head at Sandra. "Speaking of, hope you've been keeping dry out here. Hard enough in the city. Sucks under a canopy."

It takes some time, and the pace is somewhat languid, but soon enough... Reflection's-Howl arrives with a greeting chuff at the edge of the clearing. He looks disheveled and still coming down from recently raised hackles, mood unpleasant. He doesn't give off a sour attitude, just a focused one.
That felt like putting on wet jeans...

"I don't mind the rain," Sandra replies. "Or the snow. Viewed from the comfort of a den, it's almost pleasant." A brief pause. "I could live without the mix, granted, but that's neither here nor there." She looks to the big Get as he makes his appearance, her head inclining by way of a subtle greeting.
"In any event," she says, "it's good to see you both." A brief pause. "As you might know, I recently petitioned for, and - by virtue of there being no contest - gained the role of Master of Challenges. That the effort felt both futile and somewhat pointless says far more to me than anything else I could say in the here and now, about the direction this sept is heading.
"At the moment, the ooze sits, and waits. I think it's safe to say that we can let it, for the time being-- and I think you both agree with me, or *would* agree with me, given time to think it over, that we need to be spending more time tending to our own wounds. As it stands, since Thane's departure, we've been bleeding members faster than we can replace them. Our Groundskeeper hasn't been spotted in nearly half a year-- Frederick's packmate, a Guardian, has gone AWOL for some time. We've lost a Master of the Challenge, a pack has been dissolved, and all that's left are those who've taken office, and some of the elders. Soon, little will remain, and what preparations we can make for the Eater's next move will be moot. We'll have lost anyway.
"To lay that squarely at the feet of the de-facto Alpha is an unfortunate burden, but it's one she's chosen for herself in what I feel we can now call outright negligence. The challenge to see who it is that becomes the new Alpha needs to take place. And we need to discuss a way of forcing her hand, to that effect." She pauses for a moment. "Either, or both of you, are welcome to tell me I'm wrong in that assessment, of course."

"Yo," Slug says, greeting Jamethon with a quick salute. He takes a seat down on one of the logs ( which is reasonably dry ), then turns his attention to Sandra, and listens. Nodding here and there, he sighs by the time she's said her piece and sits there, elbows on his knees, slumped over a cigarette.
"I mean, you're not wrong. But challenges and so on, they're... not my speciality. I don't know how to poke things along. I don't know what the proper way of doing it is. I've talked about things with Jamethon, in passing, but... it isn't as though we can just declare an outcome. I think." He exchanges a look with the Fenrir, shrugs, and swivels his attention back to Sandra. "Mouse gets lost in her own world sometimes, doing things that someone of her Rank, her Auspice, tends to get lost in. I don't even know what kind of relationship she has with time and space. Things get hazy with THeurges," he says, not so much excusing as explaining.

The Gatekeeper gets closer and sits with a heavy thud and a huff of exhalation. Large Fenrir head nods to Slug and Sandra in turn. He listens and his tone does not shift as Sandra and then Slug speak. Though he can't help but give a snort of humor at the mention of the haziness of Theurges. Here he lifts up to the human body, leaning on the Chimeric spear that is practically become his trademark. The large Get looks tired, but not quite at the level of exhaustion. To Slug, "Things get no less hazy with the Ragabash, my friend." Then he follows up back to Sandra, "You are not wrong. Progress must be made or we will settle into the sediment and oblivion will over take us easily. I do my work at the behest of the Alpha, but without... leadership, focus? I may as well be going through the motions."

Sandra nods. "We all are," she says. To Slug, she says, "And I do realize this puts you in a strange position, as she's not only your sept Alpha, but your packmate. Nonetheless, I'd like to believe that, if the situation is properly expressed, she'll see reason. She's been a member of, and a participant in ensuring the well-being of this sept more often than most, and would almost certainly like to see to its ongoing health. At the moment, she's running counter to that, and it's high time she was made aware of that fact.
"'At the behest of the Alpha,' by the way," she says, turning her focus to Jamethon, "is an interesting way of putting it. So far as I can see, we *have* no Alpha. The last Garou to arrive and petition for inclusion in this sept didn't even gain an audience with her. So-- where it comes to the challenge itself, I believe it's time to move on that, ourselves. She's had her chance to judge the both of you on your merits, and make a timely decision, which is a responsibility she opted to take.
"I'm readily available to make the judgment, myself," she says, then, "with the Master of Rites present to lend a second voice to the proceedings. I'll also ask him, in his capacity as Galliard, to look into precedent that we can call on to bloodlessly approach the problem. But I need you two to be on board with a plan of action, or at least be willing to state alternatives, before we proceed. I'm Fostern, after all-- merely suggesting this to her personally could be grounds for a punishment rite, as she is well above my station in rank."

"We could just do a challenge, declare a victor, and see what she does," Slug says. "You know. If she doesn't actually get in touch with any of us. Having someone else declare a new Alpha would pretty much force a reaction of some kind, hopefully, ah, not a bad one. I suppose we'll need to set terms, if that's the way we go. At this point I am so ready for there to be a new Alpha, that, honestly, I would cede to Jamethon so there was no contest."
He glances at Jamethon. "I think you'd be a better choice, of the two of us. And without a three-way split, that would mean things weren't tangled anymore. Mouse would have to present and either deny you, accept the challenge, or... be the Alpha. Any of those outcomes would be better than the situation we've gotten ourselves stuck into. Geeze- figures the first time I ever put myself out there for a position, something like this happens."

Jamethon grinds his teeth, arms crossing tightly, at the idea of circumventing the (perhaps only defacto) Alpha being presented. "I welcome the responsibility and want it over and done with. The method is not to my liking, but it is not any less desireable than Mouse claiming authority and yet not exercising it." The Fenrir licks his upper teeth under his lip and then gives a more pointed look to Slug, "I always welcome a challenge, but I do believe we have no time for just pleasures. I would have you as my Beta, Slug, if it comes to that. The Sept is fragmented at best... practically non-existent at worst, and likely to collapse if we do not grow to face these challenges. I would need strong leadership in the City as I fortify our position and bolster the heart of our work out here in the Bawn. We need more places of power, protected well. I'd task you with determining those places. Which shine with a touch of the Wyld still in the city, and foster them and those that live around them to health." Here the Fenrir speaks to Sandra again, his tone a little lower and little more annoyed, "But yes... first... we must have a leader. So I will confront Mouse. Declare my solo viability to be Alpha, and have her be done with the decision once and for all. Will she step aside and let us move forward? Or will she lead? Any other choice and I may have to..." He gives an malcontented sigh before concluding, "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

Sandra glances between the two, measuring the responses given, and, ultimately, gives a short nod. "If that's how you two prefer to do things, it certainly cuts down on the amount of red tape we'd have to face ahead of time-- even if I'm quite aware that it's an uncomfortable proposition. My sole concern is that she demands a ceremonial challenge to even that, and again delays the matter-- but, as you say, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it," the repeated phrase punctuated with a slight raise of her brow.
"It won't solve all our problems, of course," she says, "we have an anemic populace that ebbs more than it flows, but hopefully this will at least staunch some of the bleeding. Give us a direction, if nothing else. We have too many loose threads to leave this hanging, and--" She pause. "And," she says, in lieu of whatever else it might have been, "I'm pleased to hear that you two are in agreement on this, even if I'd prefer it be under better circumstances."

"I... would be happy to serve as a second, even if the honor comes somewhat unexpectedly. It wouldn't be the first time I've served with you, Jamethon," he says, with a short, respectful nod. "We both bring different things to the table that serve, together, better than we could apart or opposed. I'd like to be Alpha," Slug says. "But I'd like to set the Sept on course much more. My pride ain't worth all this," he says, looking around at the forest.
Turning his attention back to Sandra, his cigarette flares up with a puff of smoke. "We go back," he explains, to Sandra. "There was never any animosity in it. I just challenged for different reasons than Jamethon did. Winning or losing wouldn't have mattered much to me, because either way, the Sept would have been in good hands."
Slug pauses a beat, scratching at the stubble just beneath his fine chin. "Besides, not being Alpha will give me more time to spend with my friends."

The Fenrir looks back to Slug and as the skinnier man speaks, Jamethon lowers his arms to his side. He reaches out to grasp Slug's shoulder and nods. "I would have served, as I do now. But I think we each know our strengths, even if we could branch outside of them if needed. Yours is in the city, mine is in the woods." Here Jamethon releases the shoulder and crosses his arms again, "Beside, when we contain the ooze, return Magpie, and solve the problem of an unstable suicidal Warper? You will have all the renown in the world to challenge anyone on this continent."

Sandra glances briefly downwards to Slug's last statement, a little smile appearing on her face that's difficult to get a read on. Probably something like faint amusement; good natured, to be sure. She gives a nod, besides, at the sentiments expressed, her attention shifting then to Jamethon.
"And others, too, probably," she agrees, looking between the two of them for a time. There's a pause-- then, "For what it's worth," she says, looking to Slug specifically, "it doesn't come as a relief that things shook out this way. Though I was the one to petition Jamethon to approach the role in the first place, and openly questioned your bid for Alpha in the beginning, getting to know you, and your motivations-- taking the time to discuss matters with you--" A brief pause. "It would have been an incredibly challenging decision," she says, "judging between the two of you. You both bring a great deal of experience, expertise, and methods of leadership to the table. That we'll be privy to both, as members of this sept, is heartening."
She quiets for a moment. Lets that sentimentality come and go before she says, "With all this in mind, there is something I was leaving for a time when the Alpha was chosen. It's not something we need to discuss now, but it's something I feel the leader of any sept I'm a part of should be made aware of, and I trust you're both discrete enough that I feel comfortable telling you. Be it now, or some other time, it's a resource you should be made aware of, even if it is one that I'll ask you both to keep to yourselves."

"I'm good to those beneath me," Slug says, amused about something suitably Ragabashy. "But I don't mind serving my Sept, my allies, my friends." Clapping his hand to James' opposite shoulder, he gives a squeeze, then drops his hand aside and shoves his hand into his pocket. "Nah. Who would believe me? Besides, I'm always sticking my nose into something that sends my Renown back down again."
When he turns to look at Sandra, the motion puts him side to side with Jamethon- and purposefully or not, he stands as such so that the cigarette smoke doesn't blow back into Jamethon's face. Considering her words with a mute smile, he ashes his cigarette into a throw-away bottle and ponders an appropriate response.
"Were I Alpha, it would have been a pleasure to have a Garou so strong and capable and sound of judgment working tirelessly under my command."
Her next words make him quirk his head to one side, makes his smile fade a little, but there's nothing more than muting of his fascial expression. He waits, looking more curious than anything else, head tilted back like a dog sniffing a new wind.

The Fenrir gives a shifting of his shoulders and grows a mock-askance expression as he looks to the side, a definite amusement that he can't hide despite, clearly, trying. Then, he nods to Sandra and rolls his hand through the air in an 'out with it' fashion. "Litany-willing, your secret is safe with us."

Sandra glances first to Slug, then back to Jamethon. After a moment, she says, "You're both aware of camps within tribes," her tone careful, but there isn't much in the way of apprehension. "Some tribes look on them as a natural extension of the greater whole, as is the case with the Shadow Lords-- others, not so much. But that's neither here nor there.
"For my part-- I'm a member of a camp named the Bringers of Light." Beat. "Our task is simple in statement, but hardly in its execution: infiltrate the Wyrm's strongholds, using whatever means we have at our disposal, and - should we succeed - return that information to our tribe, or septmates, so it can be acted upon." She pauses a moment-- then, "Thane," she says, "was a member, as well."
Another beat; then, "What this means to both of you may amount to 'not much'-- but what it does mean is that I'm fluent in Wyrmish tongues; I can decipher a number of enemy communiques, be it glyphs or spoken word. And with the help of some of our own Gifts - ones you'll forgive me if I opt not to describe them - I can go where others can't. To that capacity-- I'm at your disposal. However you see it fit to use that expertise."

Slug glances sidelong at the mention of the Litany, but considering, it would be expected. He listens to Sandra with a thoughtful tap-tap-tapping on his chin, rolling his shoulders. "I trust that you're good at your job, and I don't have any reason to distrust you. But I'm also not a fan of sending lone people into the darkest places- because even if they come back into the light, sometimes a little dirt sticks to their fur. What we do defines who we are, after all."
He exchanges a look with the Theurge beside him, then refocuses his attention on Sandra.
"Is there anything else we should know about that, or... anything else? It's as good a time as any to get this sorta thing outta the way, given that there's just the three of us here, out in the middle of nowhere."

Jamethon doesn't look all that impacted by the news, though if one is attentive he gives a bit of a dubious furrowing of his brow occasionally. "Similar to Wyvern's mission, and I have fond memories of my time under him," the Fenrir offers and looks in the direction of the Caern. He seems to have another thought to offer, but waits for any answers to Slug's question.

"I'll leave that for another time," Sandra replies to Slug. "There are things worth mentioning, but only after this current-- problem-- is resolved." A brief pause. "That said: the Lightbringers are all well aware of what we're getting ourselves into. Someone has to make their peace with what might come of gathering necessary intel-- and, in this case, that just happens to be us." Beat. "In any event, if either of you have any questions, you're welcome to ask. Be it now, or at some other time."

"I'd like it if you'd tell us when you were going to do something, so we could be more vigilant in case the obvious happened. But if you can't, knowing what we know will... "inform" our decisions. Like, if you call for help from Seattle," He gives it some thought, then shrugs, throwing out both hands at his sides.
"But I'd probably come get you anyways."
"Assuming... whatever else it is isn't pressing, it can wait. I've got no reason to question the judgment of a Philodox who is older and wiser'n I am. Assuming neither of you need me, ah, I think I might go off for a walk. Maybe go do that thing everyone wants Gnawers to do- take a shower."

Jamethon considers the idea of questions and after a bit, during which he seems hesitant, asks, "Any news from other Caerns in the area?" He looks at Slug and gives a genuine huff of a laugh at his last comment.

Sandra offers a faint smile at the talk of Seattle, the expression grim; more humorless than anything. She looks to Jamethon, then, and shakes her head slightly. "Nothing that I've heard, I'm afraid," she says. "I've been away for a while dealing with tribal matters-- some of which was the fallout of pressing as hard as I did to let everyone here know about our role in Last Days." Which, by the sound of it, was an inevitability. "But no. I get the feeling outside septs are dealing with their own problems, and the Seattle Spirals appear to be minding their own business, as per their--" a brief hesitation-- "'agreement.'"

"Shame that things are what they are. I miss the old days," Slug pines. "Or at least, parts of them." He flashes Jamethon a grin and jerks his chin up at him, then turns on his heel, pivoting in the direction of Edgewood. "Let me know if I can help you with any of those pressing matters, Sandra. God knows I've got not much else to do, at least, not until I'm the Beta." He raises a hand, waving over his shoulder, and begins walking off. If no one sees fit to stop him, he shifts into Lupus and slinks away into the shadows, tail whipping behind him like a shark's.

Jamethon nods though more thoughts are on his mind clearly. He does have the present time consideration to snort about the Spirals 'behaving' themselves, but just lets it go for now. "Gaia watch your path, Slug," he offers to the leaving Gnawer. He looks back to Sandra and, again, hesitant, adds, "If any of your people pass through the Santa Cruz area and hear of the Sept there... I would be interested in that information. I haven't heard any news make it out of the Mountain's Heart in... too long."

Sandra's brow furrows for a moment, the name apparently striking a chord. "I'll see you soon, Adren," she offers distractedly to the departing Gnawer, opting not to jinx the plan of action by prematurely doling out congratulations. That, and she's still tripped up on that name for a moment, until--
"Mountain's Heart," she repeats, the furrow deepening. "It's been months," she says, "since August, actually, but--" A brief pause. "What was the last thing you heard?"

Jamethon has a slight growing apprehension when she reacts to the name of the Caern but swallows that down and considers her question. "At least a year ago. Last I heard there was talk of challenges to leadership. Things were looking like they might be improving for the first time since I left as a Cliath."

"I wasn't aware you were a member," Sandra replies, that furrow staying put for the time being. Judging by the look on her face, though-- 'improving' wouldn't be the word she'd use for it. And that much she says: "There was talk of a challenge. Mountain Heart's Gatekeeper had killed the Alpha, taken his position. The Warder-- he moved to challenge her, himself, but ended up having to flee." Another pause follows. "I haven't heard any updates. Only that their totem has changed hands from Bear to something that proclaimed itself to be Fog-- and that the Fenrir are no longer present there."

Jamethon listens with the classic 'bated breath' for a time and then it comes, bad news. "I... wish I were more surprised," he says as he visibly deflates. "There was a darkness brewing there since before I first arrived as a kid." He cracks the knuckles of his right hand into his left palm and looks like some aggitated energy is buildin in him. "Fog was once a totem there so long ago as to be unwritten history. But a demon, as it was called, tricked Fog. Convinced it to listen to a secret that must never be shared. The knowledge twisted the spirit into something... Wrong. They called it ~Sulfur~... It was sealed in a cavern so deep into the cave system that it hadn't been uncovered in all this time. Someone must have gone looking and reawoke Sulfur. It is a spirit of revelation. No secret survives it. Even dark things that must not be considered. The hidden knowledge in your mind that you protect yourself from is the bane's toy..."