Time/Date :It is currently 03:35 Pacific Time on Thu Feb 28 2008.
Place : Nicholson Meadow(#3582RJ)
Weather :Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.23 and falling, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
Moon Phase :Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (54% full).
The woods open out into a large meadow that has been allowed to grow wild, the grasses reaching a height of 5 feet or more in the summer months. A stream cuts across the field, from the northwest to the southeast. North of the flowing water, a wide circular garden surrounded by an amphitheater of slim mountain ash can be seen. The garden is at its best in warmer seasons, but yields some herbal treasures year round. It is divided into four quarters by neat flagstone paths. Three of the quarters are used to grow produce and herbs, while the fourth is used to grow flowers and ornamental plants.
Nestled among the trees to the south is a large house that fits well into the surrounding landscape. The forest surrounds the house and field on all sides, such that the building seems more like a last outpost and guardian rather than an intruder into the wild lands stretching eastward.
Looking at Cristian:
Standing in at just a little over five and a half feet, this young man's body looks like a gangly teen that's grown into his arms and legs. Olive skin browned deeper by plenty of sun, he's built like a runner. Lean muscle clings to his form and callused hands with nimble fingers mark him as no stranger to manual work. He's managed to make it work for him, though. There's a careless grace in him, his movements unplanned but always seeming to come good.
He's not your classically handsome guy. A little too lean, his features a little too narrow and there's a slight crook in his aqualine nose that says that at some point or another something broke it and it was never really set quite right. This does not help, although it doesn't leave him especially ugly either. He's just plain. Not plain enough that you'd forget him a moment after meeting him but he's just not really the 'worth a second look' type either. His hair is as black as the night and long enough to run down past his shoulders. Straight as an arrow and unkempt, it falls around and sometimes into his face but he doesn't tie it back or restrain it. From behind his often unruly hair, a pair of dark eyes sits in his tanned face and might look a little foreboding if not for the fact that he readily smiles.
His clothing is for the most part utilitary in nature, a pair of heavy drill fabric khaki cargo pants, skuffed hiking boots and a thick belt that holds a small pouch at one hip. His only non-utilitarian piece of clothing is his shirt. Black, it's still heavy grade and thusly durable. But there's a picture on the front of it depicting Marvin the Martian, ray gun in hand. The caption underneath the picture reads 'I'll bust a Martian cap off in your punk Earthling ass!'. The chances are very good that this is not official Warner Brothers merchandise.
Piercing his left ear are two small hoops. Around his right bicep is wrapped a black tattoo, words printed in a non-English language. Anyone who speaks Hungarian might recognise some of the words but without a look around his arm the message is obscured.
Sometime over the last couple of years, a teen girl with a poor attitude and a hair-trigger temper has grown up, and matured into a young woman. With a poor attitude and a hair-trigger temper. KL is a little over five-foot tall - no late growth spurt for her - and slimly built. She moves quickly, and is rarely still for any length of time. Her natural balance and co-ordination are clearly evident in her movement, but any hint of grace is smothered with her air of irritation, hostility and restrained aggression. She manages to turn even simple activities - like ordering fries - into not particularly subtle attempts to provoke fights.
Her mid-brown hair is now quite long, and she wears it in a long plait that falls down between her shoulder-blades, secured at the top and the bottom with wide black eather bands. She's really quite attractive, perhaps not a pin-up, but far from ugly, with a cute upturned nose and wide expressive hazelnut eyes. However, any level of appeal her physical appearance might have is swamped by the anger in her gaze and the sullen set of her mouth. She stares at people - particularly people she doesn't know - with a cold fury, as if trying to decide exactly which way to kill them.
KL has pale skin decorated in two places - on her left upper arm is a largish tattoo of something that looks a little like a bear, with its jaws spread wide and slaver falling in droplets. It has the words "No Mercy" written with gusto beneath it. On her right shoulder-blade, if visible, is a second tattoo, two-inch-square, of a winged horse. There isn't much in the way of excess flesh on her, her cheekbones are clearly visible and her bare arms have a tight musculature that speaks of regular and plentiful exercise.
She is wearing a pair of blue jeans that look brand-new, and have a designer label clearly visible on the rear, a pair of combat boots that also look new. On her upper half she is sporting a rather snazzy black leather jacket over a clean new white t-shirt.
Around her neck hangs a pendant, an oval disk made of some kind of bone. It looks like it's been decorated with carved designs, which are somewhat hard to make out on casual inspection. The pendant is hung on a leather thong.
On the back of her right hand, the legend "Be Nicer To People" is etched in black pen.
Cristian is out. On his own. In the wee small hours. Because he's awake. And he's bored. He's not going back to the RV. If he wakes Riot she'll probably chew his face off. So he's taking a walk. It's beautiful out here, it really is, and it's peaceful. Fresh air, away from the city. And the meadow is gorgeous. One happy Strider wanders carefree and light hearted in the early morning hours.
The Strider may be happy and carefree, but the dark haired woman he's about to run into certainly isn't. KL is heading towards Nicholson Hall with a purpose, crossing the meadow, giving the RV a wide berth. In other circumstances she'd probably have spotted Cristian earlier, but she does notice him, and stops, crouches, then stands up again, making a beeline towards him.
Cristian is wide awake and, for a change, actually looking around. He's been ambushed one too many times lately. Gladly all were friends, and there was no battle, but it's a little embarrassing. He's the no-moon. /He's/ supposed to be doing the ambushing. So when the strenger spots him and starts marching at him he spots her, stops and waits. He's patient, but not relaxed any more. Instinct is what it is, and no predator likes to be approached like that. His muscles tense, his eyes widen a little. But he remains where he is, because he's acutely aware that to another predator he's the stranger here. He's not passive, merely respectful, and he waits for the newcomer to come to him rather than accidentally spooking her with some kind of action of his own. Great way to end up the world's Owliest chew-toy.
"Who are you?" KL demands, in a low voice, once she's within range to talk. "And what are you doing in my meadow?" She stops about five yards from the Strider, glaring at him, eyes and pose screaming hostility and challenge. One hand is held behind her back, tucked up underneath her jacket. The other is shoved fiercely into a pocket.
Cristian sighs, inside his own head. OK. So this one lives in that mansion Riot was telling him about. Well, time to worry about that later. Time for pointedly not dying right now. He adjusts his stance a little, easing off on his wariness and pushing his instincts back in their box. His eyes lower a little, shoulders drop a little, and it's about as respectful as he can be without rolling onto his back. "My name is Cristian Fekete." In his accented English it comes out 'Feh-Keh-Teh'. "I am a friend of Riot's." There's more, of course. The introduction thing. But he needs to /get/ that far first. He hopes the dropping of Riot's name gets him that far, "I am a newly arrived child of Owl." Nothing tooooo naughty, just in case she's not 'in the know' and just a really pissy chick.
"You're a Strider?" KL says, hardly thawing at all. "And you're a friend of Riot's? It seems unlikely that Riot *has* any friends." She sniffs, eyes glinting in the moonlight. "And you have a flexible attitude to territory as well, I see." She takes a step towards him. "Welcome to St. Claire." Flat monotone. About as friendly as a punch in the face. "What brings you here?"
Cristian wrinkles his nose boyishly. OK. So he's wandered a little too far, and she's taken it as a territory challenge. That's fair. He should have been watching where he was going, and the limits of Riot's borrowed territory. His bad. But busting on his friends? "Heeeeey."he murmurs, his tone not so neutral. "Riot has a friend. I am it." And make of that what you will. Nyah. "I apologise for stepping into your immediate territory. I confess that I was caught up in my thoughts, the thoughts of a good day with kind people, and I did not observe where I had come to wander." And, assuming that this angry, angry girl hasn't cleaned his clock yet, he answers her question. "I was born here. My mother spoke lovingly of this city before she passed. I miss her. It makes me feel closer to her to be here." His tone is a little, well, toney at the end of that. Bust on him, fine, but nobody trash talks this guy's mother. He'll open up a can of spindly-arms-and-legs-flailing whoop ass.
KL blinks, and obviously thinks about this carefully. "I think it is unclear where Riot and Quiet's territory is. The RV certainly is. The meadow and the hall belong to the Furies." She ponders some more. "I am unsure of the current arrangement. I can't really be annoyed with you because of that, then." She lifts her hand from behind her back, a flash of metal visible in her hand, and she crouches again, lifting her jeans leg and sliding her knife back into the concealed sheath. "Do you have an introduction?" she asks, still crouched.
Cristian frowns a little, then nods. "I would have to admit that the fault of territory lies with me, not Riot. The lack of clarity is mine, not theirs. Again you have my apology. And my introduction. I am called Dreams-of-Home. I am a no-moon of my people, and a cliath." He pauses for a moment, eyeing the woman. Because he's really not quite sure whose territory he's actually /on/. He's a stranger here and, well, nobody seems to give details. "May I ask whom I have offended with my careless wanderings?" Which is so much nicer than 'So. Who are you then?'. She has a knife. And she radiates enough aggression to be a small plethora of ahroun.
"I am KL Cole, Escapes-From-Money, Cliath Ahroun of the Black Furies, packed under Wolverine as part of HAVOC. Oh, and probably the Fury Alpha, now," KL says, with a grimace. "And no, you're wrong. The RV and the land it sits on, and whose territory is whose is not clear, and I need to resolve that." She pauses. "Dreams-Of-Home? And *here* is your home?" She sounds disbelieving. "Do you have any other, less obviously veil-breaking names?"
Cristian's temper riles a little, in regards to the question of where his home is. "My /home/,"he grates, "was my dead /mother/! She was /taken/ from me! My /name/ comes from the memory of her I carry /with/ me!" He pauses and gets control of himself. He's a ragabash. She's an ahroun, and a child of Wolverine. Losing his temper, raging on her, can only end one way and not in his favour. He takes a deep breath, fights the urge to spit and claw down. When he speaks again his voice is quiet. "I gave you my name. It is Cristian. And, if it will spare my friends an unnecessary argument over a fault that is clearly mine I am prepared to enact the Rite of Contrition. Here. Now. Riot has been kind to me. It is not fair that my thoughtlessness should impact on her."
"I'm sure she died gloriously," KL replies, her tone sincere. "And don't you dare. If you try and do that Rite in front of me, I'll kick you in the fucking face." She pauses. "Did she hit you a lot, to make you say that? Riot, I mean."
Cristian scowls, and the struggle with his temper gets harder. His jaws clench tightly and his eyes start to mist up. Maybe they're girly tears, maybe they're frustrated tears. It's in the eye of the beholder. "My mother,"he wheezes, fighting the urge to do something he's really going to hate, "was a good, kind, unknowing Kin woman who too care of me as best she could, even when she didn't understand why everyone hated me! She died uselessly, at the hands of a coward with a cheap handgun! No chance to leave, no chance to run, no chance to live!" He scowls again, this time clearly at himself and drives the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing savagely at them. And changing the subject. "Riot has never laid a hand on me. She has been kind, and a good friend."
KL hisses angrily, though it's not focussed at Cristian. "I'm sorry," she says. "I've been jumping to conclusions." She offers her hand to him. "Please, feel free to remain here, to go up to the hall - there's one of my kin who owns it, called Alexander. If you say I sent you, you should be able to shower, steal some food, whatever you need."
Cristian pulls his hands out of his eyes, wrinkling his nose and doing that 'Not crying. Not crying!' thing that people do when they're trying not to blubber like eight year olds. He spots the offered hand and takes it, grasping it with his own. "It is three, perhaps four, in the morning. I daresay no one's judgement is particularly good, right now. I am where I oughtn't be. I would be no less hostile did someone I not know walk around mindlessly in my own territory." He pauses. "If I had any. I thank you for your hospitality. I will accept your offer of a shower, if only because if I return to Riot's company and she sees my eyes she will say something insensitive and I will have to boobytrap her toilet and nobody needs that."
"Oh, I don't know," KL replies, a grin twitching the corners of her mouth. "It might be quite funny. There is at least one other of your tribe visiting the Sept, by the way - Sera, who is a Theurge. And a Metis." She nods at the Hall. "Come on, then. I'll let you in tonight. A shower almost always makes things better."
Cristian nods and falls into step with KL. "I have met Sera. She explained to me the importance of Awakened liquor. My tummy gurgled." He pauses and mentally facepalms. Quick. Damage recovery. "After I had four bottles." Good one, Mav. Real slick.
KL laughs. "I tend to fall over after one bottle of beer," she admits. "And hold onto the floor because it's moving too fast." She grins at him. "But lets keep that a secret, heh?" The Fury walks quickly, her stride obviously well used to covering distance. Still, it's probably nothing to a Strider.
Cristian smiles a little. Because she so totally bought it. This is some kind of salvage for the night. Yeah. Now two people hold his fate in their hands. Riot knows his guitar secret and KL now knows he's a cry baby. He /deserves/ a little macho time, damn it. "Alcohol is never what it is cracked up to be. No trouble. Your secret is safe with me." Yeah. Nothing at all to a Strider. With gangly legs. It's the short, stubby Striders who have a difficult time of it. "Just, you know, promise not to tell Riot I got upset. Toilets. Exploding. I am not kidding. I spent three months learning how to monkey-wrench from expert Glass Walkers."
The Fury looks at him. "If you make my toilet explode, I will shove your head so far down it that you will gain a unique insight into the short existence of a piece of shit." She pauses. "However, I won't tell Riot." They reach the door to Nicholson Hall, and KL produces a key and unlocks it. She lays a finger over her lips. "Live up to the first bit of your tribename," she whispers. "I don't want to wake Alex. I haven't told him that I'm definitely pregnant yet."
Cristian wrinkles his nose a little. "I am a Silent Strider. And a no-moon." With gangly legs. Remember those. "I am as the wind." His words are joking but his eyes are surprised. Ten minutes ago she was ready to knife him. Now she's telling him a secret. A ragabash. A secret. Those eyes narrow a little, not in anger but in a promise. Lips. Sealed. He is totally as the wind.
"It's not a secret," KL whispers back. "And he was sort of involved in the process." She leads him towards the shower, grabbing a towel on the way. "I just haven't told him in person yet, and I think that's the right thing to do. Here you go. Have fun! I should get home and go to sleep. If you do happen to see Riot, warn her that I'll be coming around to discuss territory issues."
Cristian nodnods at KL, not speaking. Silent. See? Just like she asked. He takes the towel from her and gives her a wave by way of goodnight, rather than speaking and perhaps alarming someone. It's cool. He can sneak out afterwards. He flashes a small smile to go along with it and then heads into the bathroom. Shower time.