gmlogbox | [Sandra] :: LOG :: No Good Answers (Reply)

Yael chuckles. "That would be rather untraditional. But traditions are not law," she says, thoughtfully. "And actually, from what I've seen, I wouldn't find it a bad option." She resettles where she's seated, pulling her knees up to her chest to lean forward against.

There's no skulking approach from Sandra this time around; just a straightforward approach from one of the branching footpaths, the usual dress shirt and slacks look set aside in favor of a sleeveless shirt and a pair of jeans that scream 'work clothes' more than 'casual.'
A nod is offered to both Yael and Nolan, though the former gets a flicker of a halting smile, the Shadow Lord appearing more relaxed than she did over the past couple days, but-- well. That doesn't take much effort. "Still circling around the question of leadership?" she asks mildly, the question largely rhetorical.

Nolan, grey hoodie folded at his side, quirks a grin at Yael. "Non-Traditional is something of a reputation to uphold, I think," he says just as Sandra steps into view. He offers the same grin to her, and a wave as well, his fingers resettling the pendant at his chest before his hand drops back to his side.
Long distance to Yael: Sandra hmm. I'd like getting-to-know-you stuff to be more on-screen than off. I'd say more just shooting the shit, maybe idk about academia or something.

Yael lets out a soft huff, and nods, although Sandra is offered a slight grin in return. "Pretty much," she says. "I mean, I do find this place significantly more pleasant than most 'traditional' Septs I've visited." There's a snort. "And there's been a /lot/ of those."

Sandra mn's faintly at the observation, stepping close to the fire but, as with before, not seating herself just yet. "Given its size, the method is preferable; allows for greater flexibility." A pause. "But not always," is amended somewhat flatly, in light of prior conversations. "Arguably, though, if we're going with non-traditional, we'd probably be best served by whomever is best suited to take on the current threat. If it's an appointment made regardless of one's desire to challenge for it."

Nolan laughs, shaking his head. "I don't think we were going that far," he says. He tips his head toward Yael. "She was just asking who I thought might step up. I suggested a few people, including the far less traditional, as alpha of a sept, Bone Gnawer ragabash."

Slug is likely heard before he is seen, rustling through the brush- not fast, not like a running man, but like someone who's deliberately walking into limbs and onto sticks they could avoid. He pops up over the edge of a cliff and peers down into the Caern, sniffing, head tilting to one side.

Sandra quirks a brow. "Certainly fits the definition," she says, to the suggestion, not seeming particularly bothered by it. "And I should point out that I wasn't being facetious with my suggestion," she continues, but while she may have something to add to that, her attention is drawn instead in the direction of the Man Who Would be Heard, affording him a more exaggerated arch of her brow in answer to the headtilt.

"Well, that would certainly be a new and different way to do things," Nolan says, but his gaze follows hers, and he twists to see the man at the top of the cliff. He doesn't try to call up that far, but he does lift a hand in a wave.

Yael looks like for a moment she might say something, but instead she notes Slug's arrival with a nod to the Gnawer. After a moment, though, she adds, "There's never just one threat, though." She falls silent after that observation.

Slug walks up to the edge and sort of hunches down a little bit, looming over the edge with most of his weight resting on the balls of his feet. He scuttles a little to one side like a bird on a wire, then step-hops off the edge and onto the path below. A few long-legged steps take him further along, and he jumps the final ten or so feet and lands in the Caern proper. "Hi," he says, scratching at his hair. It's been dyed black- but not quite. Notes of purple are mixed in, highlights done by someone with a good grasp of what they were doing.

"No," Sandra agrees, turning her attention to Yael, but only partly, "but that's why you go with an interim leader, rather than a permanent appointment. It's a strategy that's been employed by packs before, and for a sept this size, it may well be an optimal solution. A temporary one, but one that would at least see us through the current, and arguably most prominent threat. Find the right traits, and from which tribe they hail from ceases to matter." Then, without so much as missing a beat, she inclines her head to Slug, and says, "In any event, I don't believe we've met before," gaze taking in the man's overall look. "Sandra Ulrich. Brings Winter's Bite. Fostern Philodox. Shadow Lords."

"It's an interesting idea," Nolan says. He doesn't bother with an introduction, but does repeat the wave as Slug nears. "How would it work? I don't suppose Garou make for a very good democracy."

"I've been to Septs which have a council of elders instead of simply an alpha," Yael remarks. "It either works very well, or very terribly." She shakes her head. "And even then, that is not democracy as much as-- what is the word-- meritocracy?" Yael shrugs. "This Sept is small, but not, I think, /that/ small."

"No, they don't," Slug says to Nolan, voice dragging like a lame leg. He looks from Nolan, to Yael, to Sandra, and then at something that seems far beyond the Garou ( and the Caern, for that matter ). Hands dig into his pockets and his shoulders push in together, his head bent forward. "Slug," he says to Sandra, rolling his shoulders. "Bla-" he jerks his head to one side, kissing his teeth. "Finds-His-Way, Elder of the Bone Gnawers, Omega of Sagacity, Ragabash Adren." He tips his head far enough to indicate some respect, but not so far that his eyes are taken off the lot of them. He skirts the group and settles on a log near the dormant firepit, toeing the edge.

Sandra nods when Yael puts forward the word 'meritocracy,' both in agreement and in confirmation that it's the correct usage. "A pleasure," she says to Slug, first, answering his nod with one of her own. "And you're right," she continues, to his answer. "Democracy isn't one of our stronger suits. But," she looks to Yael, "This is why I stress the word 'interim,' and why I would put it forward as the one thing that might - *might* - convince other Garou to fall in line. People, even our people, are far more willing to accept something temporary." Beat. "And I'd point out that, if we're speculating, it never hurts to explore all possible avenues, rather than just the ones with which we're most familiar."
A pause. "Nonetheless," she says to Nolan, "your question is a good one, and, unfortunately, has no good answer."

Nolan laughs again, a slow shake of his head more in amusement than disagreement. "I'd be willing to bet that any garou who has ever one a challenge will tell you that the usual way _is_ a meritocracy." He tugs at the folded sweatshirt beside him, opening it and refolding it before setting it down again. It isn't as clean as it usually looks, smudges of dirt and debris visible in various places, the cuffs ragged and worn with age, a couple holes visible near the pocket as he sets it back down.

"The problem with democracy is that it only works so long as everyone goes along with it, which... would probably be right up until the first disagreement. Some other problems I can think of, too, but... I don't know. I am just walking in on this, so I don't really want to just start stabbing your ideas to death without knowing why." He waves offhandedly, his hand returning to his pocket in the same motion. "You're talking about the leadership vacuum. You're worried, right?"

Yael chuckles a bit and shrugs her shoulders. "Concerned, perhaps," Yael says, with a brief furrow of brow. "We were pondering the possibilities." She draws one knee slightly closer, and scoots a bit closer to the fire as well.

Sandra spreads her hands in a kind of feigned surrender, "One of the pitfalls of thinking out loud is stating the obvious," offered as a dry mea culpa to Nolan's amusement. Slug's observation earns a nod, and though she seems dubious about the term 'worried,' she doesn't contest it, either, Yael's comment seeming to follow along with the look on her face. "It's also worth pointing out that we're already dealing with an interim appointment," she says, then. "So far, there hasn't seemed to be a great deal of pushback to it, save from the appointee herself, stating that her attention is divided. I'd also point out that the last Alpha that earned the role using traditional methods showed, by your own admission," this, to Nolan, "a startling lack of initiative in investigating a clear and present danger. I'd therefor argue that this-- pattern of stagnation has made it prudent to deal with the problem in a timely fashion, with practicality in mind, rather than adherence to tradition."

"So who has the initiative?" Nolan asks, once again leaning back, resting his head on the pillow of his sweatshirt. "Who has the drive, and also the skills we need?" He throws a hand up into the air, not as if volunteering, but rather as a gesture of curiosity. "Drive to move us forward, skills to know how, strength to pull people together. Any volunteers?" He gestures toward the Strider without looking at her. "She already said no."

"The old ways aren't much different from the new ways," Slug says after a long pause, shifting around until he comes up with a quarter. He rolls it around in his palm, catches it between thumb and forefinger, and looks at it in the firelight. His lips purse as he considers the Garou around him, and then he asks, "What is the difference between a king and a president? I'm not talking about a blue-blood that just won his throne by being born, either."

Yael drums her fingers on her knee, and shakes her head. "I mean, and it's different with how small a sept is, versus how big a whole country is," she says. "Our leaders are not just abstract faces and charisma alone is not enough, although it is a part of it." She lets out a breath, and looks up at the tree.

The look on Sandra's face suggests little in the way of surprise that Yael refused; if anything, there's a slight flicker of amusement to come with it. "You'd know better than I would," she says to Nolan. "But," she looks to Yael, then, "respectfully: I'd also say that, were it the case that you *were* the best candidate for the position..." She doesn't finish the thought, as it presents itself without the need for further explanation. As for Slug's question... At first, it merely earns a slight arch of Sandra's brow; not so much a show of confusion or lack of understanding, so much as a prompt to finish the thought. Upon getting a nudging look in return, she thinks on it, and offers an answer.
"I'll spare you the semantics side the equation and say that the most basic difference beyond what's been is term limits, and that the power of a king - a traditional king, rather than a royal family serving as figurehead - is absolute, where a president's is not." A pause. "That said, I think I see where you're going with this, but I'm curious to hear it."

"Heredity, divinity, democracy, corruption," Nolan lifts, waving a hand in the air as if keeping time to some song only he can hear. He pauses, tipping his head to see Sandra, and then Slug.

Slug runs his coin from finger to finger, passing it between like some sort of dexterity exercises. He listens, and smile-smirks about something or another, but doesn't so much as chuckle. "I think," he says, tonguing a canine, "that a king's rein can be as long as a decade, or as short as a knife. They've always had term limits." He rubs his lips together. "But what I mean is that a president by any other name would smell as sweet. If you change how things are done so blatantly, so obviously, it will attract attention. It'll make some people uneasy. It would be better to just..." he shrugs. "You want people to see that the old ways are being observed, that they're being followed. And they can be. At the same time, someone new, someone different, someone with a different point of view would cause change. It isn't the method, it's the man that matters." There's a beat, and he waves at Yael. "Or woman."

Yael pushes to sit up a little, and furrows her eyebrows and levels a momentarily direct look up at Sandra. Not harsh, but pointed. "If I was," she notes, "I'd be grumpy. And I'd do it. But I don't believe that I am." She shakes her head. "Which is part of why we have challenges and such in the first place," she points out. There's a slight pause, and then she laughs and shakes her head. "And now we've managed to make a full circle around the concept, I think."

"More or less," Sandra says to Yael's observation, not seeming particularly ruffled by the look, but instead inclining her head and line of sight in such a way that speaks of tacit deferral. "In any event," she says, her attention shifting back to Slug, "as I said, if we're speculating, there's no point in limitations. And I think you're speaking a bit more broadly than I am, in this case. I'm thinking more in terms of a stewardship that's meant to see us through our problems with the Nothing. But you're not incorrect to say that moving everyone out of their comfort zones may be more deleterious to the outcome than not." She shrugs. "Still, it's a thought."

"What about you?" Nolan says, gesturing over head head toward Slug. He sits up, then, and pulls the worn and rather dirty sweatshirt into his lap.

Slug smiles a little bit and shrugs, then says, "I think that anyone who got us through the Nothing problem would be a good enough leader for whatever came after. Ah, well. I guess we will see." Slug digs his heels into the ground and pushes his way up without using his hands for leverage or balance, and turns on Nolan. "I think that I am many things. I am an Adren, but I am a Bone Gnawer. I have been here long enough that my deeds are well known, but so are my... fuck-ups. I think that Renegade would think it was funny if a Ragabash was leading the Sept he intended to fight, and I think it would be funny if the omega of a pack was the Alpha of a Sept." He cocks his head to one side, pausing. "But mostly, I think that if I challenged, it would be for just one reason." Without elaboration, confirmation or denial, Slug turns and starts off back the way he'd come.

Yael watches the other adren leave, and leans her head on her knee. "Hm." That seems to be all that she has to say for the moment, though. At least on that topic. To Nolan, she notes, "Your necklace is... unusual."

Offering a nod and a curious look in Slug's direction as he departs, Sandra's expression ultimately ramps up said curiosity at Yael's seemingly random observation, her brow arching. A glance *is* cast in the direction of said necklace, but it's the Strider that - for now - has her focus.

Nolan laughs at Slug's reply, shaking his head as he watches the apparently older ragabash depart. Yael's voice pulls him back, and he traces the edge of the ouroboros with a fingertip. "Yep," he answers, offering the Strider a grin.

Yael glances from Nolan to Sandra, and the other philodox gets a slightly quizzical look in response, but Yael's attention ends up on the tree, arms looping around her knees and back half to the firepit, although not so much as to not face the other Garou present. "Not sure 'it would be funny' is entirely the best motivation for leadership... not the worst, either," she muses, not to either of them in particular, but just thinking aloud.

That just amplifies Sandra's incredulity, her brow arching just a touch further as if to ask if Yael is feeling all right. "I'd place it firmly near the bottom wrung, however," she notes, some of the incredulity easing. Most likely in favor of assuming this has something to do with fatigue. Or some eccentricity she hasn't yet witnessed.

"There are stories," Nolan says, smoothing the folded hoodie in his lap. "Some ragabash who came to an open challenge for Warder, just to prank everyone there. Apparently it made everyone else there actually think about what they were there for. So I suppose it isn't the worst reason in the world."

Yael lets out a soft huff. "See," she says, "getting people to think about what they're doing is something we can all agree upon." There's a pause, and she adds, getting to her feet. "I think." After another glance at the tree, she offers, "Pardon. I have a phone call that I should go and make, now that it's morning back in Casablanca."

Sandra offers a nod, expression easing back to its usual neutrality, "Of course," offered by way of response. "Take care of yourself. I'll likely catch up to you later."

Nolan offers the Strider a two-fingered salute and then lays back down on the bench, placing the sweatshirt under his head as a pillow. "Take care," he says.

Yael nods to both of them, and takes a few steps towards the edge of the caern before shifting into lupus and making her way to the trees.

Sandra considers for a moment or two as Yael departs, watching the Strider go. Then, after a time - apropos of nothing save, possibly, their prior conversation - she says, "How well do you know Jamethon?" her attention shifting back to Nolan.

Without lifting his head, Nolan lets out a short laugh. "He's very Jamethon," answers the ragabash. "I haven't talked with him, much, but I have a sense of him. What do you want to know?" He grins, turning his head to look to Sandra.

"Whether or not he'd be interested in challenging," Sandra replies. "Do you get a sense that he would be?"

"Oh," Nolan says, sobering, and he rolls back up to a sit. "I don't know. He's already the Gatekeeper for the sept, which is, arguably, at least as important. If he were to take the position, it would be much more traditional than some other choices." He pushes the rest of the way to his feet. Not nearly as spry as Slug, he takes his time and has no problem making use of his hands in the process.

Sandra nods, turning that over in her head for a moment or two. "We could do far worse than a Theurge from a largely martial tribe," she says, "even leaving aside the office he currently holds. And, as I recall, he's already working with the resident Mage. Unless I misheard?"

Nolan stretches, pulling one arm across his body and then the other. "That I don't know. I've had a few conversations with the cat, but nothing about the Gatekeeper."

Sandra offers another nod, going quiet for a moment or two longer. Then, "I'd be curious to know what he has to say about it. I know Warder and Alpha were consolidated into one role here already, but I'm not sure consolidating Gatekeeper and Alpha would be as practical."

"There's consolidation, and then there's a power grab that only leaves us in trouble," Nolan agrees with a grin. He casts a glance toward the sky and then returns his focus to Sandra, one hand snatching up his hoodie. "But I think it's time for me to head out," he says.

"I should probably do the same," Sandra says absently. She turns her attention to Nolan, then, and says, "A pleasure speaking to you, as always. And if you find yourself making grocery runs for Edgewood anytime soon, keep an eye out for some decent coffee, and let me know how much it cost so I can reimburse you for it."

"I'll find coffee," Nolan agrees with a grin. "But don't worry about paying. We all chip in how we can." That said, he folds the hoodie over his arm, gives a brief salute with the other hand, and heads off up the trail.