And her voice rings in his ears
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.80 and steady, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 42 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (52% full).
It is currently 16:58 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 7 2010.
Edgewood House: Downstairs
The front door leads into a small mudroom; coats are hanging on hooks. It opens into the spacious, well lit living room, with several battered old couches arranged into a sort of conversation pit facing the fireplace, a table in the center of them. There are a few chairs, some straight-backed, some plush and comfortable, arranged to make secondary conversation areas, with little end tables placed in strategic locations. There’s a notable absence of either breakable objects, or elaborate electrical equipment such as televisions. The walls, painted an increasingly dingy white, have some sweeping dark fabric prints on them, but no paintings or posters. A steep, uncarpeted staircase leads up to the second floor. There are several doors that lead out to other sections of the house, as well. (+view for details)
Contents:
Information Board
Obvious exits:
Front Door Upstairs
It’s only just past sunset, and the lengthening days of Spring make the twilight linger over the shrouded, rainy sky in a way it hasn’t for some months. The rain is light but cold, and Tim has accordingly sequestered himself inside Edgewood House to make some tea. That might not be the only reason he’s staying inside, though; every other action seems to take twice the time needed as he pauses to consider something with complete fascination. Everything from the tooling on a piece of flatware to the grain of wood in the tabletop gets pondered over and stared at. It’s a miracle the water’s even set to heat at this rate.
In contrast to the meticulous efforts of the Strider, the arrival of the Silver Fang elder is almost chaotic. Shortly after a car parks outside, the door opens and Zosia enters, several reusable grocery bags hanging from her arms. “Hello, Tim,” she says in a distracted voice, missing the preparations as she heads for the kitchen.
Tim is busy staring at the water formations on the kitchen window, and when the light from car headlights plays over them they get even *more* interesting. He blinks at the sound of the door opening and closing, and only just gets back to himself in time to say, “Hey, Zosia,” and not have it sound like he’s completely stoned. He watches her for a moment, then turns to looking at his waiting mug. “How’s things.”
Zosia, being a bit self-involved and also a theurge, actually doesn’t notice his spaciness immediately. She’s unpacking a few things into fridge or cabinet. “The damned food here seems to be disappearing faster than it used to, even with the cubs being elsewhere.” This is mostly muttered as she puts a few things into the freezer then starts to fold the bags closed. “Busy,” she adds. “You?”
Shaozu comes in warily, slipping through the front door as quietly as he can. He doesn’t appear to have come along with Zosia–he’s damp from the rain, water fuzzy on his hair and spotting his glasses. He’s also dressed somewhat more practically than usual, wearing jeans and heavier shoes, but this is not really helped by the flowing, silky, and now quite damp and clingy, shirt he has on. There’s also some mud and moss on various parts of him. He doesn’t try to call attention to himself, but looks around the mudroom trying to find some kind of de-mudding solution.
The kettle whistles, and Tim gets his mug of tea poured and steeping without incident (but there is a second where it looks like he might overfill it due to staring at the water as the tea stains it). “Keeping an eye on Fidelity’s territory in the city.” He frowns as he soon as he says that, like something problematic is occurring to him, then shrugs and sets the kettle aside. He glances out through the kitchen towards the mudroom, waiting to see who else has come in.
The motions–not nearly as precise as usual–catch Zosia’s attention. Frowning, she seems about to say something when someone enters. Her eyes go to the mug of tea and then back to Tim’s face before she ducks her head out of the kitchen, trying to get a good look at the person who has entered. “Come on in,” she calls.
Shaozu mouths a bad word, then obeys his elder, stepping into the hall like he meant to do that. “Uhm, hi. It’s me. I was, uhm, it’s raining.”
Tim gives Zosia an innocent look that turns contemplative as he regards her hair. Then he hears a familiar voice and is distracted. “Oh hey, Shaozu–want some tea?” he calls. “There’s some chammomile that’s pretty decent.” He turns to get a mug regardless of the actual answer, hesitating for a moment to look at something on the cupboard door before fetching out a plain piece of stoneware out.
There’s a sudden smile on Zosia’s face at the voice. “Shaozu! I was thinking of you the other day. I…” She looks at his feet then up at his face. “There’s some towels in the back. Since Tim’s getting you a drink, sit down and I’ll see what’s there.”
For some reason being mortally embarrassed just makes Shaozu look noble and dignified. Must be all that breeding. “Thanks, that would be great,” he replies to all the offers going around. He retreats briefly to pry his muddy shoes off, then pads silently over to Tim to investigate the tea.
Tim is peering into the steeper he had probably intended to use for Shaozu’s tea, his own mug sitting ignored on another section of the counter. The container of loose-leaf chammomile is standing open next to him, still unscooped. He turns the steeper over in his hands once, twice, then finally shakes himself out of whatever reverie he was in and fills it with tea. Looking askance at Shaozu, he asks, “How’re you doing? Water’s still hot.”
Zosia disappears somewhere deeper into the house, returning and tossing a towel in Shaozu’s general direction. She misses the bulk of Tim’s behavior as a result, seeing only that two cups have appeared and conversation seems to be commencing. She waits for an answer to his question as she pulls a glass down from the cupboard.
Shaozu snatches the towel out of the air with a deceptively lazy gesture and starts rubbing it over his hair. “Fine, how are you?” Now that nobody has asked him pointed questions, he looks at Tim, and a surprised frown appears on his face. “Did you get a concussion or something? Maybe you should sit down.”
Shaozu pages: lol per 4
Shaozu pages: he has Mind 3 <.<
You paged Shaozu with ‘If he has a peak he should be able to see Tim’s mind is distracted in a way that is wholly not-normal. Well, not for him; just about every thought process is getting sucked into pattern recognition and puzzling things out any time it’s not focused on doing something.’.
The question is answered with an evasive shake of Tim’s head and a weak attempt at being convincing. “No, nothing like that.” With some determination he sets Shaozu’s tea to steeping and doesn’t stare at anything else while getting out some honey for his own tea. It requires a bit of effort though. “Want any milk or anything?”
Zosia doesn’t speak at first, getting a glass of water and eyeing Tim. Then: “See, I know that you tend to be a bit quicker than that. I suspect Shaozu knows it too.” She glances toward the kin before leaning in to peer more intently up at the Ragabash’s face. “We don’t really get concussions,” she adds, “so I have to wonder just what he -has- been doing?”
“No, milk in tea is gross.” Shaozu leans in close to peer at Tim, his natural caution around Garou overridden, and lifts a hand to the Strider’s brow.
Tim sighs and toys with the squeeze bottle of honey. He’s doing his best to *not* look at it, and especially not its contents, but this leaves him glancing between Zosia and Shaozu. He misses Shaozu’s initial movement completely, and says to Zosia, “It’s chiminage to a rattlesnake spirit.” And then he sees Shaozu reaching towards him, and seems torn between jerking back and holding still. The later wins out.
You paged Shaozu with ‘He should be able to detect the presense of the venom, since it’s basically spirit venom messing with him in the spirit-sense and not the strictly physical/life sense.’.
“-Oh-,” Zosia says, her voice indicating that she understands -something-. It isn’t clear what. Sipping her water, she mostly manages to hide a vague sort of smirk behind the edge before eyeing him. “They have a nasty bite.”
Shaozu very delicately brushes back a stray lock of Tim’s hair and peers into his eyes. “Are you deciding to be a theurge now?” he asks, not exactly teasing.
Tim’s expression changes a few times at Zosia’s comment; at one point he looks like he’s fending off a blush. Whatever he was going to say to the actual Theurge in the room gets lost in a partly wounded, partly angry look he shoots at Shaozu, and he flinches back and looks out across the room, trying to find something else to fix his gaze on. One of his hands goes back to grip the edge of the counter. “No,” he says, his voice brittle. There’s an entire explanation trying to cram itself into that one word.
You paged Shaozu with ‘Button pushing 101. c.c If he’s still peering at hs mind there was a rather big explosion regarding Isabel.’.
The smile fades from Zosia’s face and she frowns, moving forward again. Standing beside Shaozu, she peers up at Tim’s face again, tilting her head. “No. He isn’t weird or spooky enough for that.” She keeps her voice light as she waits for his response.
“I wonder why you’re getting bitten by rattlesnake spirits then,” Shaozu says, seeming unperturbed by Tim’s overreaction. He steps back and continues drying his hair, and, futilely, his shirt.
“I owe this one,” Tim says in a low, strained voice. He gives up his examination of the living room and look between the two Silver Fangs. Shaozu’s lack of reaction earns the Kinsman a brief and intense look, but eventually he just sags against the kitchen counter. “It’s a long story. Kind of complicated. But I was the best person to do it. Probably the only one who wanted to.” He puts down the bottle of honey and raises his eyebrows at Zosia. “Aren’t Theurges always telling us to keep things between Garou and the spirits copacetic?”
“Yes,” Zosia says, leaning against the counter now and holding her glass in one hand. “Course, most Garou are also pretty damned stupid. Or not smart enough to ask for help from theurges to understand what’s needed”
Shaozu meets Tim’s look, locking eyes with him briefly, but the reason for this is as opaque as anything else the kinsman does. He drops his gaze after that moment and starts undoing his shirt, which must be chilling him to the bone.
“If it gets and weirder, I’ll ask for help,” Tim says in an offhand promise, and rubs at his eyes. “It’s just hallucinating and sharing wisdom. About as dangerous than hanging out with your average Unicorn Child.” He stares at Shaozu’s shirt, then straightens up and moves to exit the kitchen. “There should be something dryer than that in the back. Got a sports team you like?”
Snorting, Zosia wags a finger at Tim. “Depends on the Unicorn child. Try being packed with August some time.” Her eyes move to Shaozu again and she doesn’t bother to hide that she’s watching. “There must be -something- better than that back there,” she says in disgust.
“It’s whatever the Good Will parts with no questions asked,” Tim says over his shoulder. “Almost always 2X and for the Seahawks or the Giants.” He comes back with a red hoodie that may only be a 1X, or even an XL, with a large logo for Texas A&M. “Wonder where this came from,” he mutters as he peers at some of the embroidery with interest. He shakes his head and offers it over, pretending like there’d been no pause. “It’s free, it’s clean, and it’s dry.”
Zosia’s expression is what one might expect from a Silver Fang: a politely restrained horror at the choice. “That is…awful,” she says with a little shiver. She doesn’t try to -stop- the kin from using it but she does shake her head as she turns back to put her glass into the sink.
Tim rolls his eyes once Zosia’s not looking his way anymore. “He can put his sexy shirt back on once it’s dry,” he says, but the sly look he had in mind for Shaozu is waylaid by his regard for a section of the couch.
Shaozu peels out of the once-flowing-and-now-drooping-and-clinging shirt, and eyes the, uh, garment Tim has procured. “I don’t know, Sonahari. I mean, maybe your packmate is okay with dressing like that.” He’s definitely teasing now.
The name Shaozu uses causes Zosia to frown in confusion though the frown quickly changes to a smirk. “If I were really being a pig, I’d tell him to not bother with a sweatshirt,” she points out.
Tim doesn’t stop watching the couch, but reaches out in an attempt to reclaim the hoodie. “Okay, you can go shirtless, apparently neither of us minds. We’ll just turn up the heat.” His attention wavers from the upholstery and he looks around, trying to determine precisely how the house is heated.
Shaozu bows to the Garou with a little smile, and starts unbraiding his hair. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that cold as long as I’m not wet. Of course, I am wet,” he adds thoughtfully. “Well, maybe it’s kind of cold.”
For some reason, Zosia begins to laugh. She doesn’t bother to explain why or expand on it. Instead, she resumes folding the cloth bags, glancing toward both Tim and Shaozu and waiting to see what it is they do.
Tim leaves off the search for the heating and gives Shaozu a long-suffering look. With a sigh, he shrugs out of his jacket (pausing once to grimace as he eases out his left arm) and hands Shaozu that instead. Given the music patches and Anarchy embroidery on the back, it might not really be an upgrade, though it’s leather at least. “Okay, here. *That* more suitable?”
Shaozu humbly accepts it; after all Tim is now literally giving him the clothes off his back, and it’s impossible to refuse. “Very suitable, Sonahari-rhya,” he says with another bow, and slips it on. It makes him look bizarrely disreputable, with no shirt and his hair loose.
“I can’t decide if that makes the pair of you boyfriends or not,” Zosia teases, exiting the kitchen finally and holding her bags against her chest. Clucking her tongue, she adds, “Though I dunno. The leather does give you a roguish charm,” she adds, pointing a finger at the kin.
For a moment Tim stares at Shaozu, then his hair, and then his jacket on Shaozu. And then he retreats into the kitchen, trying not to look triumphant and managing more of that manufactured innocence he’s so bad at, announcing, “He has to armwrestle Syd for me first.” He takes up his tea, mutters something under his breath in an Indic language, and has a sip.
Shaozu coughs politely and finds somewhere to settle down. “I could never armwrestle Sydney, I hear she has knives,” he murmurs.
“And a flamethrower,” Zosia points out, snorting faintly.
“I wouldn’t let her use the *flamethrower*,” Tim says with mild annoyance. Presently, he admits, “The knives I might not be able to negotiate.” He comes out of the kitchen with his tea and Shaozu’s, handing the Kinsman his mug with a nod. He tries not to get stuck looking at anything, but does dally for a moment when his eyes find something of note on the floor.
Sofia stomps up the front steps to the porch, and, singing some strange wordless tune, stomps around some more to get the mud off her shoes before coming inside. She breezes into the living room, beaming as she sees Tim and Zosia. “Tim! Zosia! Is good to see you–” and then she spies Shaozu. She stares openly for a few seconds, then says quietly to Zosia, “Erm, Zosia? Who is this man?”
Shaozu accepts his mug with a cheerful, “Thanks,” and as Sofia bursts in, stares back at her before abruptly realizing what he’s doing and dropping his gaze. He sips the tea and tries to pretend he didn’t just stare a strange Garou in the eye.
“This is Shaozu,” Zosia says after a moment too long, pulling her attention away to study Sofia with a far too innocent blink. “He’s one of my tribe’s kin. Shaozu, this is Sofia. She’s a Wendigo.” Not her usual sort of introduction but she seems distracted.
Tim wrenches his gaze off his tea with honey and nods a hello to Sofia. As he moves to sit, he almost misses his chair for staring at something in the Wendigo’s skirt. He realizes this at the last second, and grabs for the arm to ease himself in. Trying to cover for that mishap, he adds, “There’s hot water for tea, if you want any,” to his unvoiced greeting.
Sofia blinks at Zosia’s introduction. “Kin to your tribe? Really?” She contemplates this for a moment, then shrugs and breaks out into a big grin. “There are Wendigo in Finn and Saami lands, so why not? Hah!” She gets distracted from her joke when she looks back at Shaozu again, though. “Is nice to meet you, Shao…zu?” She coughs and heads towards the kitchen, muttering about tea.
Shaozu rises gracefully to bow to Sofia. “My line descends from the Mongolians in the south of Russia,” he explains briefly. “They swept down into China and became the royal family. It is an honor to meet you, Sofia.” As the Wendigo goes in search of tea, he looks at Zosia with eyebrows raised and half a shrug.
Shaozu pages: For some reason since you gave Shaozu his tea, the patterns are just getting stronger and more vivid.
Zosia shrugs slightly at Shaozu, though her mouth curls up in amusement again. “There are a variety of nationalities for our Tribe,” she points out. “Much like yours. Thinking us all -Russian-,” she says as contemptuously as someone Polish might, “leads to surprises.”
Tim has a few sips of tea, paying a nominal amount of attention to Shaozu and Zosia’s explanations of how the Silver Fangs vary. His focus is drifting, though, and soon he’s looking at a few stray chamomile flower petals floating in his mug. Staring at them, really, and he murmurs something under his breath that has the distinct ring of a mantra. If he’s not careful, he’s going to put his face into his tea.
Shaozu pages: And so much more compelling, it’s a lot harder to focus on anything not them now.
You paged Shaozu with ‘Hm, think burning a WP helps?’.
You paged Shaozu with ‘(I figure Wits 5 gives him enough presense of mind to try it once.)’.
Shaozu pages: I’d think so 
Sofia comes back with a mug of tea, idly swirling a spoon in it. “Yah, there is many strange places for tribes to live, peoples to know.” She pauses, seeing Tim staring into his tea. Brow furrowed, she stands on her tip-toes and tries, as discretely as is possible, to look into Tim’s mug.
Shaozu, with exquisite politeness, pretends not to notice Sofia doing that, and sips his own tea. He smiles at Zosia though, giving her a knowing look as can only pass between Silver Fangs.
“He’s doing some screwed up chiminage to a rattlesnake spirit,” Zosia explains, glancing at Shaozu and raising one brow. The look…..well, suddenly Zosia is clearing her throat and nodding toward the door. “Should get going.”
The looming attracts Tim’s attention long enough for him to glance up at Sofia and ask, “Do you see it?” He doesn’t waste another second looking at her; he’s watching those petals again. “There–just like that. Just like a field full of them. Just like they grow around the center. Or in a crack in the rocks.” He doesn’t sound like he’s aware he’s speaking out loud anymore. “We curse the Weaver, but Nature has patterns so finite even the Weaver can’t make them. And the closer you look the more of the whole thing you can see.” He also doesn’t catch Zosia’s departure.
Sofia stares at Tim, and very deliberately takes a set away from him. Throwing a look at Zosia she says, “This why I was born under the Philodox moon. Dealing with Garou people hard enough. Dealing with spirit people…” she trails off, shaking her head. “Is normal things happening? Litany broken? Territory trespassed? Charach?”
Shaozu rises, asking Zosia, “Do you need help out?” like a bagger at the grocery store, but freezes in place as Tim starts raving. He looks at the Strider with a slightly wild eye, and starts to say something, then stops, then starts again, then shuts up and just stares at Tim.
Zosia pauses, studying Tim thoughtfully. “Maybe you -did- land in the wrong auspice.” Shaking her head, she adds, “At least, when you’re high. When you’re sober you’re a dick of a ragabash.” She frowns at Sofia, grumbling, “Probably. There’s a lot of stupid at this Sept. I’m fine, Shaozu,” she adds more loudly. “Though you might want to duck out after a bit longer.”
Something Sofia has said makes Tim blink, and he pulls back from the mug slowly. “No,” he says, but thinks about what she’s asked again before repeating, “No,” in a firmer tone. “I’ll be fine in a couple of days.” He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and gives Zosia a frown. He finally dredges up a reply. “Proper jackassing takes real dedication.”
Sofia steps over to Zosia, though she’s looking sidelong at Shaozu. “Goodnight Zosia, sorry missed you,” she says, then in a much quieter tone says, “Is he, hmm, ahh…” But she trails off and doesn’t finish her question, instead emulating Tim and becoming absorbed in her tea.
Exactly why Zosia thinks he should leave soon isn’t lost on Shaozu, but he just nods to his elder. “Have a safe drive home, okay? Kiss the baby for me.”
“And much quicker wits,” Zosia points out to Tim in a dry voice. She smiles at Sofia….until the end. Then she fixes the Wendigo with a -very- flat, -very- intense look that clearly says ‘Not in twenty lifetimes for you’. Though she does at least refrain from saying the words outloud. The look slides off her face at Shaozu’s words and she smiles brightly. “I shall! She’s growing like a weed. You should stop over again.” And that said, the theurge heads out the door with an overly-casual “Gaia watch!”
Tim either can’t quite follow what sort of exchange the two women are having without words, or can and is deciding to show only ignorance. The result is the same: he faintly wishes Zosia a good evening, and sets his tea down on an end table, with a distracted look cast at Shaozu. Shutting his eyes, he comments, “I wonder how much longer it’ll be before I’m just immune to the venom.”
Sofia gives a little sigh of resignation at Zosia’s look and nods, bidding her goodnight. “Venom? Eh? Oh, from, hmm, rattlesnake spirit? What is rattlesnake, anyway?”
Shaozu sits down next to Tim, an indecipherable look on his face. Maybe it’s apprehensive curiosity or something like that. He lets Tim explain what a rattlesnake is, but asks the ragabash softly, “What were you saying about the Weaver? Tell me more.”
“The master of intuition and silence.” Tim says it like he’s reciting from a scripture, and his expression is appropriately distant. He comes back to himself, looking at Sofia, and continues with more practical information. “They’re vipers. They have a special spot behind their eyes that lets them sense heat, so they can find things without seeing them.” He looks askance at Shaozu. “A lot of Garou,” his eyes flit to the door, probably referencing the departed Fang Elder, “don’t like the Weaver. They prefer the Wyld. They think of any pattern as being the Weaver’s, and it’s bad to force things into structure. I always assumed that was just how it was. The blademoons tell you something and if you’re not one of them, how do you know any different?” Now he looks at Sofia, seeking confirmation on that manner of upbringing. But his gaze doesn’t linger; he returns to staring at his tea again. His eyes move when the flower petals do. “I’m not so sure now.”
Sofia looks a little uncomfortable with the things Tim is saying, but nods in confirmation. “To each auspice, their secrets, yes. Mysteries of Wyld, Weaver and Wyrm, the blademoons think about these, tell the rest of us. Heh, otherwise we just fight.” Her eyes slide back to Shaozu, almost involuntarily, but she coughs and drags them back to Tim.
<OOC> Tim: <gleefully blasphemes in front of the Wendigo>
<OOC> Sofia: In front of the /Philodox/ no less.
<OOC> Tim: <– smooth operator
<OOC> Sofia: lol
“Surely,” Shaozu says, still softly, and cautiously, looking now and again at Sofia to make sure she isn’t going to freak, “the Wyld unchecked is not the greatest thing. Don’t you fight that, too? And there wouldn’t be life at all without some kind of structure. We can all agree on that, can’t we?”
Tim straightens up from his tea and gives Shaozu and then Sofia each an assessing look. Sometimes he seems to be following something in their faces and sometimes he’s just watching them. “I had a Theurge tell me a little about that. She said the Wyld was deadly in its own way. Anything pure is, really, because we’re a mix.” He looks out at the rain on the kitchen window. “Maybe that’s what nature is, though, when you don’t cover it with a city. Patterns where you need them, change where you don’t. The way the rain falls on the window. That’s a pattern. But is the Weaver making it?” He doesn’t sound like he thinks the answer is yes, but he doesn’t offer an explicit opinion either.
Sofia gives Shaozu a puzzled look, then quickly looks away and hides a blush behind her tea. “Is, hmm, all out of balance,” she says haltingly. “World is supposed to be all three, work together, but…is not. Is war.”
“I say it is the Weaver.” Shaozu leans forward, eyes intent, Tim’s jacket falling open. He looks between Tim and Sofia. “What if all three are sick? The Wyld too. Shouldn’t we heal them together? What else makes patterns but the Weaver? The Wyrm is destruction, the Wyld is creation, the Weaver is all that holds the world together.”
“Plenty of Garou think the Weaver’s sick,” Tim says, readily agreeable to that idea. He keeps watching the rain, going from one stream of water to the next. “And I guess it looks like it is in some places. Parts of the city, for sure. That development over by Wildfire’s old territory. Not sure about the Wyld, though.” With reluctance, he leaves off following the rain and looks at Sofia. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the Wyld be sick. You?”
Sofia looks at Shaozu over the rim of her cup, giving him an entirely different sort of attention now. “To say Wyld is also sick,” she says flatly. “Is, hmm, could make Garou people mad, yes. Kin be careful in saying such things, yes.” She sighs, then and drops the sternness from her demeanor. “Is Wyld sick, really? I do not know. All is out of balance. Could say Wyld is sick from that. Garou people are of Wyld, and I have seen /them/ be sick. Is same?”
Shaozu mutters, “Garou people get mad about /everything/.”
Tim takes Sofia’s seriousness with equanimity for the way the conversation is turning, though he can’t fully repress a laugh when Shaozu mutters. “Guilty as charged,” he agrees, and sips from his tea. He looks at the flower petals, even swirls the mug to set them to moving more. “I’ll have to think about all this. See if I can decide anything for myself. Which was her point.” The ‘her’ in question doesn’t seem to mean Sofia or Zosia.
Sofia snorts in amusement at Shaozu. “Is true. Makes job of Ahroun easier, makes life of Philodox harder,” she says, a wry smile twisting her scars.
Shaozu smiles slyly back at the Philodox, conspiratorially. Then he too gives in to the temptation to peer into Tim’s mug, leaning close and putting his hand on Tim’s to steady it. “What /are/ you seeing in there, anyway?” It is totally coincidence that this puts him really close to the Strider.
Tim gives Shaozu a look that can only be some sort of dare. For proximity, or covering his hand, or maybe both. he breaks it off, though, to tips his chin at the tea. “See how they move around the mug when you turn it? And the way they run into each other…I bet you could predict that with the right math. And sometimes they fall out like they are on the flower. In that spiral, what’s it called…” He squints, but can’t think of the name. “You see it in a lot of plants. All over the place.” The mug is tempting him to focus on it again, but he salvages enough presense of mind to look at Sofia. He stares at her, then suddenly asks, “Did Zosia talk to you about Oskar? The Fenris cub?”
<OOC> Tim: Burning WP.
Sofia, having lost focus on the conversation by the time Tim mentioned math, snaps back to the present when she is addressed. “Oskar? Cub who thinks he is, hmm, Hitler Youth?” She snorts again, this time in derision. “No, she has not mentioned him to me. Why?”
Shaozu murmurs, “Fibonacci sequence,” and lets Tim’s hand go, lowering his eyes, as the Garou talk about grown-up things.
Tim clenches his jaw, trying to stay focused on the Philodox when Shaozu says the oh-so-tempting word ‘Fibonacci’. He’s bound and determined to keep his mind on track for at least three whole sentences. “We’re worried about him, about how he acts around other cubs and Kin. We talked to Ears-rhya, and she set some rules for here, but we wanted to know if you could look into it. Talk to him, some of the other cubs, and his teachers–Viv and Paul–and find out if something needs to be done.” He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “If they need to be teaching him better, or if he needs to be reigned in.” That is, apparently, all he can manage. He casts around the room, then looks at the back of his hand, intrigued by something about it.
“Fibonacci?” Sofia says, shaking her head. “I have never had Italian food.” She listens intently to Tim’s explanation, nodding at points along the way. “Get,” she says with a grimace. “What cubs? And, hrm, their elders’ names? And I will talk to them, yes.”
Shaozu doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile, as he tells Sofia very seriously, “It’s a sequence of numbers. Math. Like counting, but in a special way. It makes spirals.” He draws a spiral in the air to demonstrate, then quiets down to let the Garou conduct their business.
Tim misses the look Sofia has when she says Get. He doesn’t miss her question, at least, and slowly replies, “Jacey, and Donovan, and BJ. And Alessandra. There was another, but I think she left. Jacey and Alessandra are Cole’s. Donovan’s mine. BJ is under Unicorn. August is her Elder.” He’s tracing a line along the back of his hand–one of his veins, maybe–out to his fingertip, then around to the palm of his hand. He draws the spiral there, ending it at the tip of his thumb.
Sofia listens to Shaozu’s explanation with mild interest, but is mostly distracted by her conversation with Tim. Or maybe she’s just not big on math. “Donovan, hmm. What was he said about Oskar?”
Shaozu watches Tim trace his own hand, focused on nothing but. “Uhhh maybe I should get going,” he says, not very convincingly.
After a few false starts, Tim says to Sofia, “He’s never said anything to me about him, but one of our Theurges, Chulash, has been worried about him. And I watched him trying to school Donovan in front of me.” There’s a moment where it seems like Rage should make him angry at the memory, but he can’t hold onto the anger long enough to feel it, and just flashes his teeth as an after-effect. “If you talk to all of them, and Zosia too, they can tell you more.”
Sofia grumbles something under her breath, then sighs deeply. “I will find them, and talk to them, and I will tell you and Zosia what I find. I will go now, and think on this.” She stands, drains the rest of her tea in a single pull. She turns what would, if not for her scars, be a brilliant smile on the Fang kin. “Shao-zu, was very nice to meet you. Maybe I see more of you later, eh?” she says with a glance at the open jacket. “Hah!” she adds, then heads out through the kitchen, leaving her mug there before heading out the back door.
Shaozu returns Sofia’s smile a little more hesitantly, and looks involuntarily down at himself. Then back up at Tim, watching him, but not speaking.
Tim nods at Sofia as she goes–an act of will, because his own wrist had become the current object of consideration, and he was really getting somewhere with it. He looks at Shaozu, trying to puzzle out something about the Fang Kin, then abruptly gets up. “I need somewhere with less things.” Though by nature he’s adverse to cold rain, he makes for the front door, stopping with his hand on the handle. “Sorry about being out of it,” he says as an afterthought. Convinced he should be saying something else, he stands there staring fixedly at the other man, but remains silent. After a second of this, he vanishes out the door. A tawny colored wolf ghosts out into the treeline seconds later, running at breakneck speeds.
<OOC> Tim: Hm, let’s see, the jacket has a switchblade in one pocket. And an old chrome Zippo lighter in another, and a ziplock bag of flour. And maybe 2-3 dimestore lighters too, but those are newer. So, if he chooses to rifle it.
