7/2/04 01:28 PM Logfile from Chaney. It is currently 10:28 Pacific Time on Fri Jul 2 2004. Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (99% full). Nat took the lupus cub downstairs in time to catch Sesame Street (brought to us today by the letters 'D' and 'Q', and the number '4'), then a single-viewing of Baby Galileo (Discovering the Sky). Then it was back upstairs for a potty break and back into the bedroom to shift. Something about yet more rules, or things to learn, or something equally dull. Chaney has been, again, picking at the bandages on her face and neck, worrying them with her fingers the way she might do with her teeth were she in lupus. Television wasn't quite as calming as usual, and the young Ahroun is edgy and, though submissive to the elder, tetchy. "Shift lupus," Nat directs as soon as the door closes behind her, "And stop picking at the bandages." Whereupon she shifts, but it's not to the much-familiar lupus, oh no. Natalie contorts and blurs as she is transformed. Natalie stretches as she changes, finally settling into Hispo. Chaney shifts, the bandages and gauze tearing away as she transforms. Dropping to all fours in lupus, she shakes herself briskly and then again, trying to rid herself of the hanging remnents. Underneath, the wounds Marcus gave her are healing cleanly. Come here, the hispo directs, stretching first forelegs, then hind. I will remove those. [Holds the Line in Hispo] This massive wolf looks like a cave painting come alive. She weighs easily twice or three times that of a normal wolf; her shoulders, neck, and jaw bulky with muscle. Sandstone-beige fur bristles over her body, darker brown hairs scattered singly here and there. Frequent small scars suggest she is the survivor of plenty of fights. Eyes of an unusual orange-gold watch the world intently. Many Faces's ears perk. Trotting forward, she makes a comment about 'big wolf'. Holds-the-Line agrees that this is very big wolf. Hispo. She plucks at the adhesive with her teeth, spitting the mangled bandages into a soggy pile on the floor. You can do this too. Try now... no, wait. A last stubborn bandage takes a bit more yanking. There. Now try. Many Faces yelps and bares her teeth as some fur gets pulled off with the sticky stuff, and then she shakes herself again and studies Holds, sniffing at the older Walker carefully. Holds-the-Line paws at her mouth with a comment about 'nasty tasting'. Make hispo, she then encourages the younger wolf. Think bigger. But not as big as crinos. Many Faces swipes at Holds' muzzle with her tongue and then bounds away, frisking. Big wolf. Big big big! She stops still and, after a moment of concentration, bulks up into a bigger version of herself. [Many Faces in Hispo] As a dire wolf, Many Faces is a little over five feet tall at the shoulder and is a brutish, hulking mass of fur and muscle, a war machine on four legs. Long legs end in huge paws, each one well-armed with wickedly sharp claws, and the heavy, fang-filled muzzle is perfectly formed for ripping and tearing. Many Faces's fur is mostly reddish-brown, similar in hue to that of an Irish Setter, but her paws, tail-tip, and ear-tips are dark brown. Dark brown spots cover her lower legs, petering out about halfway up. Her jaw, throat, and belly are all a pale yellowish color, and above each blue eye is a small white spot. When raised, her tail curls over her back like a husky's. Holds-the-Line plops her butt down. Yes yes! What is this shape called? Many Faces's curled tail waves happily. Big! Big wolf! Hispo! If there is a big wolf between Crinos and Lupus, do you think there is a big two-legs between Homid and Crinos? Holds-the-Line watches her cub carefully, absently pawing at her mouth again. Many Faces's tail slows as she thinks, head cocking slightly to one side. She pants lightly. Big human? Big wolf, big human, big-big, human, wolf? Holds-the-Line suggests that perhaps Many Faces should try it and see. Many Faces's massive jaws close, tongue disappearing behind fangs. She looks thoughtful. She bulks up into Crinos after a moment, pauses and pants there, then shrinks down until, in Glabro, she crouches on her fingers and toes. [Chaney in Glabro] Cross a Neanderthal with an Amazonian and give it a touch of something bestial. In Glabro form, Chaney is almost six and a half feet tall and possesses a build that wouldn't look out of place on a linebacker. She's pale-skinned, liberally freckled, and sports a thick mass of dark auburn hair that doesn't appear to have seen a brush or a pair of scissors in years. Behind that tangle lurk wide, often confused blue eyes that are almost lost under the caterpiller eyebrows and the heavy shelf of brow. Her face isn't bad... for a caveman; the heavy jaw detracts considerably from the straight nose and high cheekbones. It doesn't help that she's hairier than most women, or that her teeth and nails are long and pointy. She's currently dressed in a big pink t-shirt with a doe-eyed kitten on the front and a pair of baggy pink sweatpants with a white stripe down the outside of each leg. The sweatpants have been hacked off at the knees to turn them into shorts, which bares coltish legs lightly dusted in reddish hair. Her feet are bare. Holds-the-Line pushes herself to her feet once more, tail wagging slowly. Yes! That is glabro. It can speak like homid can, and more. But for now, I want you to come back to hispo. Chaney's shift back to the near-wolf form is quicker and smoother; in this, at least, the lupus catches on quickly. In hispo, she frisks, claws further scuffing the hardwood floor; she's terribly pleased with herself. Holds-the-Line lets her play for a moment as she scrapes the bandages against the wall, then paces forward. Very good. Now. Think of the pictures you just saw. The moon. Do you remember? Many Faces makes an abortive attempt to pounce at the elder playfully, restraining herself at the last moment and lying down sphinxlike. Her tongue lolls out. Yes, moon. Holds-the-Line snaps at where the cub would have been had she actually pounced, then settles down herself. Yes. Garou are... connected to the moon. Big moon, thin moon, no moon. What your moon says is what you do. A disgusted snort immediately follows this 'explanation', but she waits to see if Chaney understands. Many Faces looks puzzled. I have a moon? There is only one, though? Holds-the-Line flops over onto one hip. Yes. One moon. Many faces. Like you! Moon can be gone, thin, half, thick, or full. You see? One of those moons is your moon. One moon is my moon. Many Faces absorbs this, her nose working visibly, tongue swiping out once to slurp over it. Moon. Many faces. Many forms. Moon shifts. Moon is Garou? Moon is... friend to Garou, Holds-the-Line corrects, taking her time about replying. Moon is Luna. Luna is Moon. Luna teaches us things. Luna tells us where we are in... Garou pack. Pack of -all- Garou, not just nearby. Many Faces's tongue hangs out and she pants. Where am I? What is your moon? the Galliard asks. Many Faces licks her nose and shifts her weight, flopping her hindquarters onto her side. She looks confused. Holds-the-Line snaps teeth at herself. I was not clear. Are you asking what is your moon? If not, what were you asking? Many Faces wants to know where she is in Garou-pack. Your moon, Holds-the-Line agrees. Your moon is full moon. That means you are Ahroun. You are to be one of Gaia's fighters. I am a thick moon. It means I am Galliard. I am a teacher, a messenger, one who listens and one who tells. Many Faces's tail sweeps back and forth along the floor. Yes, yes, Holds-alpha teaches! And I fight! Fought Does Something To Rules While Happy, but he fights better. Is Does Something To Rules While Happy Ahroun too? Bends the Rules While Smiling, Holds-the-Line corrects firmly. Or Remus. No, Remus is a half moon. Philodox. He is a balancer. He knows the rules. Many Faces blinks, becoming still for a moment, confused at the idea of 'bending' rules. Holds-the-Line informs the other stiffly that Remus likes to work around the rules instead of always following them. Bend them. He does not break them, but the he makes the rules say what he wants them to say. Many Faces absorbs this, her jaws working slightly as she 'chews' on the information. And he is happy when he does this, so he smiles. The cub pauses, then tilts back her ears and looks uncomfortable. I don't like him. He always looks like he wants to hurt me. Remus does not like you, the Galliard agrees. But he will listen to me, because I am Elder. I will not let him hurt you. She corrects herself, not unless you are bad. Now. There are two other moon faces. Thin, and gone. Many Faces listens in a subdued sort of way, chewing on the top of one dark forepaw. Holds-the-Line continues, Small Cat is thin moon. Theurge. They talk to spirits and are healers. Last face is gone. Ragabash. Omega, but not omega. Always puppies. Scouts. They seek out what we kill, and then the Ahroun hunt it. Holds-the-Line's ears flick toward the window, then swivel back to the cub. Sun-Hair is not Garou. She is Kin. Like us, but not. She cannot shift forms. Many Faces blinks. But she is part of our pack! Like Dark-Hair and Many-Scars. Yes, Holds-the-Line agrees. Dark-Hair, Many-Scars and Sun-Hair are part of our Tribe. Those Who Walk Among the Glass. But they are not Garou. They are... sisters and brothers to us. Many Faces thinks about this, licking the pads between her forepaw as she does so. They are... part of _our_ pack, but they are not part of _Garou_ pack. Yes? -Yes-, the older wolf agrees, her tail thumping once. Very good. Sings To Spirits also has kin. Part of his Fianna pack, but not part of our pack. Or of Garou pack. Many Faces looks very pleased with herself and sits up. Lessons done now? Play now? Holds-the-Line says that it is -almost- time to play. First I must teach you to speak in Crinos. Your name, auspice, and tribe. Auspice is moon-face, she adds. Then we will go outside and play. Many Faces brightens, ears perking and tail wagging energetically. Outside! Outside, outside, outside! Very much so outside. With... She pauses, lips curling up in a grin. Your truck. But first. This is your introduction. Listen now. I am Many Faces, Ahroun cub of Those Who Walk Among the Glass. ~I am Many Faces, Ahroun cub of Those Who Walk Among the Glass~ An ear flicks again. You see? Many Faces does her best to concentrate, though it's quite difficult when 'outside' is so near. Her head cocks. Strange growling. Holds-the-Line disagrees. Not strange growling. Crinos-speech. Listen to my introduction. She pauses again, to make sure the cub is paying attention, then, ~I am Holds-the-Line, Galliard and Cliath of Those Who Walk Among the Glass.~ Many Faces licks her chops then rumbles, slowly and crudely, ~Among the glass.~ Holds-the-Line thinks that that is a very good start. Try again. ~Those Who Walk Among the Glass.~ It is our tribe. Many Faces repeats, ~Those Who Walk Among the Glass,~ and then wags her tail. Holds-the-Line chuffs her approval. Yes yes! Now try ~Ahroun~. Ahroun. Many Faces growls out, ~Ahroun,~ and is even more pleased, noting that this is much easier than human-talk. Holds-the-Line lets her tongue loll out. For you, perhaps. For homid cubs it is difficult. Now your name is ~Many Faces~ and you are a ~cub~. A cub. Many Faces growls out, ~Many Faces. Cub. Ahroun. Those Who Walk Among The Glass.~ Go outside now? Many Faces's pronunciation isn't the best, but it's understandable. Holds-the-Line wriggles like an excited cub. Yes! Shift to homid, and we will go outside. I will get your truck. And in a flash, the Galliard is back to her breed form, a broad smile on her face. Many Faces bounds to her feet and takes human form as quickly as she possibly can, then as Natalie gathers the firetruck, she bounces on her bare feet in an enthusiastic sort-of dance, arms waving. Dominion Estate The Dominion estate spreads out over a small hill, giving the mansion built at the peak a view of the surrounding suburban countryside. The grassy lawn is dotted with statuary and encircled by hedges grown up to hide the stone wall which surrounds the estate. A gravel driveway snakes elliptically up from the front gate northward to the house, east from there to the garage, then back towards the front gate. Preparations for some sort of garden have been made on the western slope of the hill. The house itself is old and appears to have had had work done it over the years. The original, main part of the house is made of gray stone and reaches four stories high with the tower. The east and west wings appear newer and are made of brick and wood. The previous decay and disrepair can still be seen, but there also seems to have been some effort put into fixing the place up. Natalie led Miss Ecstatic down the stairs and back through the kitchen - stopping for a pair of apples - then out into the back yard. "There you go." She waves a hand at the expanse of lawn. "Knock yourself out, Chaney. Just stay where I can see you." Which may have been a better directive to give in lupus, considering. Of course, the Elder barely has time to get those words out before Chaney's off at top speed, charging down the sloped lawn as fast as her long legs can carry her. Pure energy and exuberence carries her in a wide arc. Natalie snorts an amused "Heh," drops the apples, and charges off after the girl. She doesn't follow the arc exactly, but cuts straight across to end up behind and just to the left. Chaney glances behind her and, spotting Natalie, pulls up short, arms pinwheeling for balance, and then takes off in a different direction. Natalie's not about to let the game end so soon. When Chaney pulls up Nat keeps going, zooming right on past her, slowing down just enough to glance over both shoulders to locate the cub again. When she does, tally-ho! The Galliard pounds after, arms pumping and grinning for the sheer joy of running. Chaney runs in a wide circle around the expansive back yard, giving the other ample opportunity to cut inside. Which she does. Nat's comfortable enough with pack behavior to take every advantage, even those so obviously presented. Near the greenhouse she catches up again, only this time it's with a slap on the arm, a yelled, "Tag!" and now -she- heads off in another direction. Chaney lets out a human yelp at the slap, stops short, and after a moment of staring after Natalie, the cub takes off after her. Natalie slows again, glancing back over her shoulder, a grin spreading when she finds Chaney chasing after. She speeds up again, curving her path gently away from the house. The cub's bare feet pound the grass as she tries to catch up with the older Garou, cutting into the inside of the circle to do so. Natalie, far more used to manuevering on two feet, suddenly stops to cut off to the right, away from her previous path. "Catch me!" she calls back over her shoulder with a laugh. "Come on, Chaney!" Chaney's legs take her right past the Galliard, and it takes her a moment to change course. Eyes gleaming with determination, she races after Natalie at top speed, expending all her energy. Natalie slows again - not immediately noticable, but enough to give the cub a relatively easy catch. She sends frequent looks back to judge her pursuer's progress, then gently bends her path back toward the cub. Chaney's hands are reaching for Natalie as she gets closer and closer, and when she's almost within reach, the cub puts out one last burst of speed and grabs for the Galliard's shirt. "Hrklughk!" Nat gasps, coming to a sudden and complete stop, her hands lifting to relieve some of the pressure of her collar. "Gah, yes, you got me, tag." "Uh!" says Chaney triumphantly, gripping the cloth with both hands. "Mm-uh!" Natalie tugs at her shirt again, trying to ease it out of Chaney's clutches, and pushes gently at the cub with her other hand. She corrects, "/Tag/. Taaaag. And now you're supposed to run again." Chaney opens her mouth and says, "Aaaaah," getting the 'a' if not the 't' or the 'g'. Tricksy tongue-moving sounds. "Tag," Nat agrees, gently pushing her again. "Now run! I'm it! I'll get you!" Chaney seems to get the wrong idea, though, because she playfully pushes Natalie back. "Aaaah!" "Aaah yourself." This time it's not a push, it's another arm-slap, another, "TAG!" and another view of the Galliard pelting across the lawn toward the greenhouse. Chaney blinks once, but doesn't spend much time worrying about rules that may or may not make sense. She gamely chases after Natalie, though not as quickly as before. The Elder looks as though she could do this all day. When another look back finds Chaney moving not so fast she speeds up, just a tetch, and curves around the greenhouse. The polycarbonate walls are clear, so she's plainly visible circling the thing. Chaney is breathing hard as she rounds the greenhouse after the Galliard. Natalie slows again as she nears the back door, running in place for two or three steps before stooping to pick up the abused apples she dropped there earlier. "Good run, Chaney." She grins over a solid crunching bite and offers the other to the pink in clothes and face cub. "Uh," pants Chaney, taking the apple. She sniffs at it for a bit and then squats down and bites into it. *crunch* "Right," Nat agrees, her own breathing already starting to slow, "A good run. You're a damn smart cub, Chaney, and I'm glad you're one of ours. One of mine. That's an apple you're eating," she adds, unable to stop teaching - or maybe just talking. "Chaney's eating an apple." Chaney says, with her mouth ful and some juice running out of the corners of her mouth, "Ah ah ah uhh." Natalie says "Exactly. And I don't care what Marcus says. You're going to blow his socks off." She looks down at the ground, then gently kicks the firetruck where Chaney dropped it. "There you go, kiddo. You play with the firetruck for a bit, and I'll get us some water." Chaney had, apparantly, forgotten the truck, but now she pounces on it and holds it close and happily to her chest while she munches the apple with the other. Truly, life is sweet. Damn straight. Sunshine, a big yard, a firetruck, /and/ an apple. Not to mention the kitten on her shirt.