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dagnyWho: Cael, Dagny.
When: Late night, Oct. 28, 2007
Where: Barn.
What: Bad stuff. A conversation a short while before this log went bad, and left these results. Ganked from Cael, 'cause I'm too lazy to edit.
Whatever practicing she had in mind, surely, this was not it. There is no brownish black figure racing back and forth in the barn, no strange human-like, or giant-wolf-like thing, either. There is quiet, save for pathetic sounds existing in the space of a single stall. In the farback corner, wedged between stall wall and outer barn wall, pale Dagny's face is buried behind a fortress of knees and forearms, feet buried in straw, hair messily sprawled over her back and sides. The occasional messy sniffle breaks the silence, but not much beyond that.
The moon does silly things to Garou, especially when it is still at the peak. The door to the barn creaks open, settling a shaft of light through the dusty interior. Moments later, the small, familiar figure slips inside, and he thunks his bag down at the entrance and shrugs off his jacket, letting it settle to the ground. However, that is the only moment of calm he takes; walking out boldly into the aisle, he almost instantly explodes into crinos. A moment more, and there is only an explosion of hay drifting down from the hay bale that they had been using for practice only an hour before, and strands drift through the light-stirred dust, setting across massive, quivering shoulders and balancing delicately on a twitching, wet nose. His breath heaves for a moment, but the rage that was swelling is quelled. It is only then that the presence of another is detected, and the twin triangular ears prick forward.
It is hard to tell which makes her move. The creaking of the door or the bits of straw that are suddenly everywhere. Whatever the cause, the sound of straw stirring is subtle, quiet. Even the instinctual sniff is kept quiet as hands raise to fold over the back of her head. Another thing she is not yet aware of: wolf senses and their heightened states. She may as well be honking an airhorn, because she's noticeable no matter what she does.
The twin nostrils of the giant beast flare, and slowly - and almost hesitantly - he shrinks to lupus. The red pauses there, but he follows the scent and the sound of the girl over to where she is. However, as soon as he spots her, his ears slick back and he draws to a sudden halt, unsure of where to go. The thing about lupus is that one cannot hide their emotions or their true state very well, and it can be easily read that he is both ashamed and embarrassed, were she to look. Slowly, and after a stretch, he pads foward, dropping into a slink the last few feet. This one is sorry. Said things he shouldn't have.
She stops breathing, fingers sinking into handfuls of auburn strands. Found, she is. Recognizing the voice for what it is, she lifts her head. One mystery solved: she is not one of those lucky enough to cry beautifully. Her eyes are raw, lashes stuck together and sticking out in wide points; nose red at the very tip, cheeks flushed and wet. In short, she's a mess. Lines form near her mouth and she covers them with a hand, muscles tensing as she waits the next unpleasant sob out. "M'sorry." She whispers, voice reaching the pinched stage, sort of a whistle as it squeezes out. "I didn' mean t'hurt your feelin's.. I c-called you P-Pinky earlier and you din' seem t'm-mind. I th-thought it was okay." Her head dips down against her knees again, a productive snarf sounding again.
New Brother pauses there, shuffling from side to side, looking massively uncomfortable. However, the wolf edges forward, and soon enough there is a cold wet nose nudging up against her cheek, and he offers a low whine. Was not that. This one shouldn't have said those things. Don't be sorry. He is not mad at you, only... He whfs, obviously frustrated with the limitations of lupus, but he leans forward and headbutts her arm. This one was stupid, not you.
At any other time, a nose on her cheek would've coaxed out a smile, but she is given over to temporary misery. Her head lifts again, palm stuffed into one socket and clearing away the hot salt left over. She listens, lower lip trapped in her teeth, strands of hair stuck to her face. "What'd I say, though? You were okay, but I.. said s-somethin', an' then you weren't." Her knees slowly sink down, legs sprawling out at a weirdly flexible angle. One hand reaches out, hovering over the top of his head, as if asking permission without actually using words.
New Brother does not grant express permission, though he turns his head upward, pressing the bridge of his nose up against the curve of her arm. He doesn't mind, apparently. This one does not know, for sure, sometimes. Sometimes things make him very angry, feel very weird, until he comes down here. The wolf looks rather subdued, before continuing: This one misses his family, terribly. It just made him feel very sad, and he got defensive for bad reasons, and took it out on you. He is very sorry.
Dagny's free hand reaches up and takes care of the other eye, the redness fading, leaving broken patches on her cheeks, and around her eyes and nose. She's /too/ pale. Maybe he was right. "M'sorry.. I shouldn've said anythin'. Shoulda known better, jes'.. Didn' know it wasn' okay t'talk about it. I didn' mean t'make you sad.. 'D never do it on purpose. Y've been so nice t'me, I don' wanna be bad t'you.." The cold trail on her underarm doesn't bother her, and her hand gently smooths one of his ears before backing off, in case that sort of thing was unwated. "I won' say anythin' bout it again." Sneeef.
New Brother seems about to convey something further, but he grunts, shifting his ears back. There is a long moment of quiet consideration, and he pulls back; however, it is only to shift up to homid, so he can crawl over and sit back next to her, back thunking against the wall. "Hard to talk that way," he mutters in explanation, a hand lifting to rake through his hair. "No, it's not ... I didn't mean to..." He looks momentarily frustrated, but it soothes away a moment later, and he takes a long breath. "I haven't been here long, myself. It's just been hitting me these past few days that things aren't ever going to be the same again, you know? I shouldn't have gotten mad at you. I /hate/ this, what the moon does. It's not an excuse for being mean to someone." He looks down, still looking rather guilty. "I don't want you to think that you -can't- say anything to me. That's not what I want at all. Next time I won't open my big mouth and say something stupid."
The shift is watched quietly, eyes still wide. The utter surrealism of shifting still mystifies her, even though she can do it. Watching it and doing it are two different things. Sneef. "You're not all to blame.. I came across as bein' unsensitive back there, just.. askin' blatantly. I should've known some folks'd still be sore about it. I mean, I know how I feel. Stupid to think that everyone else got okay with it somehow." Her chin hangs again, dark spots still appearing on the tops of her thighs, soaking into the fabric of the borrowed sweatpants. "I'm not.. good at talkin', sometimes. Truth told, you're the first thing close 'nough to a friend I've made since I got shipped out to St. Claire." She laughs, a little sadly. "You din' know, either. Jes'.. never been naked n'front of so many people b'fore."
Cael rolls a shoulder in a shrug, though it's a bit of a miserable guilt-ridden one. "Most the people here wouldn't care. I...dunno." He picks up a piece of hay, twirling it between two fingers. "Me'n my parents were close. I had a little sister, and a dog. Me'n my father used to play football out in the yard." The little piece of hay does a twirling dance in the dim light, eventually splitting at the seam. "Morning that I got taken, I had an argument with my mom. Told her to go to hell when she told me to go up to th'school. Was a Saturday, you know. And dad yelled at me, and I left. Never got to say goodbye, and now they probably think it's their fault I ran away." He drops the piece of hay, letting it flutter down. His voice remains steady, and he looks directly over to her sadly, though the last quirks a smile. "Yeah, well. Me neither. And if it makes you feel any better, my entire tribe was in here and made me strip down naked when I was learning to shift."
The overall weight of the conversation increases, and Dag grows quiet, save for the occassional sniff now and then. Her shoulders sink as his story continues, particularly at the part where he mentions last words to his parents. Perhaps stupidly, given the moon and all, she raises one arm and slips them around his shoulders, palm gently squeezing the far joint. "Ain't from here. Folks that adopted me sent me out 'ere for boardin' school, 'cause it could offer better than any school in Montana. Told 'em I didn' wanna go. Got told I was goin' whether I liked it or not. Asked 'em what they'd do if I just went an' died while I was out 'ere 'fore gettin' on the train. No I love yous. No I'll call yas. I'm a dick. Miss 'em. I did wrong by 'em, and now s'too late to fix that." She chews her lower lip, and looks at the boy's face. "/Whole/ tribe?" She grimaces. She offers a weak attempt at a smile. "Least /you/ got some color on ya. I make Casper look like he's got a damn tan." A moment passes and she asks, "Think you can forgive me for bein' dumb with questions?"
That arm would find tense, taut shoulders, drawn to the point of quivering just barely with the restraint of staying emotionally calm. Because, after all, Boys Don't Cry. However, it isn't rejected; in fact, the friendly gesture is one that has been sorely missed over the last few weeks, and it dredges up a little smile. "I thought that you accepted this quick," he murmers, though it's only a soft observation. "Guess this is better than school, huh." He exhales a sigh, and nods to the last. "Nearly. Two of 'em were girls, too." He shoots her a glance. "Come on, you may be white, but if you've seen how red I can get when I'm embarrassed..." He snorts, shaking his head. "And... duh. I wouldn't be out here if I wouldn't. And hopefully you can forgive me for saying stupid things."
Since the first arm wasn't chomped off, another joins it, this one around his front as she hugs him for real. Lightly, of course, in case he wants to be out of it. "Better than waitin' to die." She agrees, and sort of chuckles. "I'll prolly see it someday. Had a friend, looked kinda like you. So Irish he pooped shamrocks. He'd start at his ears and go down to his toes blushin'." She slips away, taking her arms with her and looks at him. "'Course I can. 'Sides. Kinda like th'name Firefly." She crinkles her brow a moment. "We allowed to give eachother nicknames?"
For as lightly as hers was, his hug is fierce, and he returns it gratefully; almost desperately, really. However, as she peels back, he does, as well, smirking vaguely at the description. "Not official ones, I don't think," he admits. "Though they won't get on our case for having fun. Not that strict. I'll come up with somethin' else, though, just 'cause I don't want to embarrass you. Hell, maybe I'll just call you Brain." He grins, a little embarrassed, still, and offers up a hand to shake. "Friends?"
Dagny blows a raspberry at him when he suggests 'Brain'. She blows it around a smile, so that's an improvement. She clasps his hand, not in the old hand-shake style, but in a way that makes their thumbs connect solidly. "Friends. And with any luck, packbuddies." Her free hand stretches up and wipes away the remainder of eye-unfriendlies and she /yawns/. "S'go get some sleep. It's late, and I think we both could use some shut eye." She stands, waiting for him.
Cael laughs and gets up, pushing himself up with a hand. "Yeah, sounds good," he agrees, nodding toward the door entrance and heading that way. Oh, hey, look, a butchered haybale. How did /that/ get there? "'n we'll get the pack thing worked out. We'll make it happen." With a solid nod, he pushes out the barn door, heading back up toward the farmhouse.
When: Late night, Oct. 28, 2007
Where: Barn.
What: Bad stuff. A conversation a short while before this log went bad, and left these results. Ganked from Cael, 'cause I'm too lazy to edit.
Whatever practicing she had in mind, surely, this was not it. There is no brownish black figure racing back and forth in the barn, no strange human-like, or giant-wolf-like thing, either. There is quiet, save for pathetic sounds existing in the space of a single stall. In the farback corner, wedged between stall wall and outer barn wall, pale Dagny's face is buried behind a fortress of knees and forearms, feet buried in straw, hair messily sprawled over her back and sides. The occasional messy sniffle breaks the silence, but not much beyond that.
The moon does silly things to Garou, especially when it is still at the peak. The door to the barn creaks open, settling a shaft of light through the dusty interior. Moments later, the small, familiar figure slips inside, and he thunks his bag down at the entrance and shrugs off his jacket, letting it settle to the ground. However, that is the only moment of calm he takes; walking out boldly into the aisle, he almost instantly explodes into crinos. A moment more, and there is only an explosion of hay drifting down from the hay bale that they had been using for practice only an hour before, and strands drift through the light-stirred dust, setting across massive, quivering shoulders and balancing delicately on a twitching, wet nose. His breath heaves for a moment, but the rage that was swelling is quelled. It is only then that the presence of another is detected, and the twin triangular ears prick forward.
It is hard to tell which makes her move. The creaking of the door or the bits of straw that are suddenly everywhere. Whatever the cause, the sound of straw stirring is subtle, quiet. Even the instinctual sniff is kept quiet as hands raise to fold over the back of her head. Another thing she is not yet aware of: wolf senses and their heightened states. She may as well be honking an airhorn, because she's noticeable no matter what she does.
The twin nostrils of the giant beast flare, and slowly - and almost hesitantly - he shrinks to lupus. The red pauses there, but he follows the scent and the sound of the girl over to where she is. However, as soon as he spots her, his ears slick back and he draws to a sudden halt, unsure of where to go. The thing about lupus is that one cannot hide their emotions or their true state very well, and it can be easily read that he is both ashamed and embarrassed, were she to look. Slowly, and after a stretch, he pads foward, dropping into a slink the last few feet. This one is sorry. Said things he shouldn't have.
She stops breathing, fingers sinking into handfuls of auburn strands. Found, she is. Recognizing the voice for what it is, she lifts her head. One mystery solved: she is not one of those lucky enough to cry beautifully. Her eyes are raw, lashes stuck together and sticking out in wide points; nose red at the very tip, cheeks flushed and wet. In short, she's a mess. Lines form near her mouth and she covers them with a hand, muscles tensing as she waits the next unpleasant sob out. "M'sorry." She whispers, voice reaching the pinched stage, sort of a whistle as it squeezes out. "I didn' mean t'hurt your feelin's.. I c-called you P-Pinky earlier and you din' seem t'm-mind. I th-thought it was okay." Her head dips down against her knees again, a productive snarf sounding again.
New Brother pauses there, shuffling from side to side, looking massively uncomfortable. However, the wolf edges forward, and soon enough there is a cold wet nose nudging up against her cheek, and he offers a low whine. Was not that. This one shouldn't have said those things. Don't be sorry. He is not mad at you, only... He whfs, obviously frustrated with the limitations of lupus, but he leans forward and headbutts her arm. This one was stupid, not you.
At any other time, a nose on her cheek would've coaxed out a smile, but she is given over to temporary misery. Her head lifts again, palm stuffed into one socket and clearing away the hot salt left over. She listens, lower lip trapped in her teeth, strands of hair stuck to her face. "What'd I say, though? You were okay, but I.. said s-somethin', an' then you weren't." Her knees slowly sink down, legs sprawling out at a weirdly flexible angle. One hand reaches out, hovering over the top of his head, as if asking permission without actually using words.
New Brother does not grant express permission, though he turns his head upward, pressing the bridge of his nose up against the curve of her arm. He doesn't mind, apparently. This one does not know, for sure, sometimes. Sometimes things make him very angry, feel very weird, until he comes down here. The wolf looks rather subdued, before continuing: This one misses his family, terribly. It just made him feel very sad, and he got defensive for bad reasons, and took it out on you. He is very sorry.
Dagny's free hand reaches up and takes care of the other eye, the redness fading, leaving broken patches on her cheeks, and around her eyes and nose. She's /too/ pale. Maybe he was right. "M'sorry.. I shouldn've said anythin'. Shoulda known better, jes'.. Didn' know it wasn' okay t'talk about it. I didn' mean t'make you sad.. 'D never do it on purpose. Y've been so nice t'me, I don' wanna be bad t'you.." The cold trail on her underarm doesn't bother her, and her hand gently smooths one of his ears before backing off, in case that sort of thing was unwated. "I won' say anythin' bout it again." Sneeef.
New Brother seems about to convey something further, but he grunts, shifting his ears back. There is a long moment of quiet consideration, and he pulls back; however, it is only to shift up to homid, so he can crawl over and sit back next to her, back thunking against the wall. "Hard to talk that way," he mutters in explanation, a hand lifting to rake through his hair. "No, it's not ... I didn't mean to..." He looks momentarily frustrated, but it soothes away a moment later, and he takes a long breath. "I haven't been here long, myself. It's just been hitting me these past few days that things aren't ever going to be the same again, you know? I shouldn't have gotten mad at you. I /hate/ this, what the moon does. It's not an excuse for being mean to someone." He looks down, still looking rather guilty. "I don't want you to think that you -can't- say anything to me. That's not what I want at all. Next time I won't open my big mouth and say something stupid."
The shift is watched quietly, eyes still wide. The utter surrealism of shifting still mystifies her, even though she can do it. Watching it and doing it are two different things. Sneef. "You're not all to blame.. I came across as bein' unsensitive back there, just.. askin' blatantly. I should've known some folks'd still be sore about it. I mean, I know how I feel. Stupid to think that everyone else got okay with it somehow." Her chin hangs again, dark spots still appearing on the tops of her thighs, soaking into the fabric of the borrowed sweatpants. "I'm not.. good at talkin', sometimes. Truth told, you're the first thing close 'nough to a friend I've made since I got shipped out to St. Claire." She laughs, a little sadly. "You din' know, either. Jes'.. never been naked n'front of so many people b'fore."
Cael rolls a shoulder in a shrug, though it's a bit of a miserable guilt-ridden one. "Most the people here wouldn't care. I...dunno." He picks up a piece of hay, twirling it between two fingers. "Me'n my parents were close. I had a little sister, and a dog. Me'n my father used to play football out in the yard." The little piece of hay does a twirling dance in the dim light, eventually splitting at the seam. "Morning that I got taken, I had an argument with my mom. Told her to go to hell when she told me to go up to th'school. Was a Saturday, you know. And dad yelled at me, and I left. Never got to say goodbye, and now they probably think it's their fault I ran away." He drops the piece of hay, letting it flutter down. His voice remains steady, and he looks directly over to her sadly, though the last quirks a smile. "Yeah, well. Me neither. And if it makes you feel any better, my entire tribe was in here and made me strip down naked when I was learning to shift."
The overall weight of the conversation increases, and Dag grows quiet, save for the occassional sniff now and then. Her shoulders sink as his story continues, particularly at the part where he mentions last words to his parents. Perhaps stupidly, given the moon and all, she raises one arm and slips them around his shoulders, palm gently squeezing the far joint. "Ain't from here. Folks that adopted me sent me out 'ere for boardin' school, 'cause it could offer better than any school in Montana. Told 'em I didn' wanna go. Got told I was goin' whether I liked it or not. Asked 'em what they'd do if I just went an' died while I was out 'ere 'fore gettin' on the train. No I love yous. No I'll call yas. I'm a dick. Miss 'em. I did wrong by 'em, and now s'too late to fix that." She chews her lower lip, and looks at the boy's face. "/Whole/ tribe?" She grimaces. She offers a weak attempt at a smile. "Least /you/ got some color on ya. I make Casper look like he's got a damn tan." A moment passes and she asks, "Think you can forgive me for bein' dumb with questions?"
That arm would find tense, taut shoulders, drawn to the point of quivering just barely with the restraint of staying emotionally calm. Because, after all, Boys Don't Cry. However, it isn't rejected; in fact, the friendly gesture is one that has been sorely missed over the last few weeks, and it dredges up a little smile. "I thought that you accepted this quick," he murmers, though it's only a soft observation. "Guess this is better than school, huh." He exhales a sigh, and nods to the last. "Nearly. Two of 'em were girls, too." He shoots her a glance. "Come on, you may be white, but if you've seen how red I can get when I'm embarrassed..." He snorts, shaking his head. "And... duh. I wouldn't be out here if I wouldn't. And hopefully you can forgive me for saying stupid things."
Since the first arm wasn't chomped off, another joins it, this one around his front as she hugs him for real. Lightly, of course, in case he wants to be out of it. "Better than waitin' to die." She agrees, and sort of chuckles. "I'll prolly see it someday. Had a friend, looked kinda like you. So Irish he pooped shamrocks. He'd start at his ears and go down to his toes blushin'." She slips away, taking her arms with her and looks at him. "'Course I can. 'Sides. Kinda like th'name Firefly." She crinkles her brow a moment. "We allowed to give eachother nicknames?"
For as lightly as hers was, his hug is fierce, and he returns it gratefully; almost desperately, really. However, as she peels back, he does, as well, smirking vaguely at the description. "Not official ones, I don't think," he admits. "Though they won't get on our case for having fun. Not that strict. I'll come up with somethin' else, though, just 'cause I don't want to embarrass you. Hell, maybe I'll just call you Brain." He grins, a little embarrassed, still, and offers up a hand to shake. "Friends?"
Dagny blows a raspberry at him when he suggests 'Brain'. She blows it around a smile, so that's an improvement. She clasps his hand, not in the old hand-shake style, but in a way that makes their thumbs connect solidly. "Friends. And with any luck, packbuddies." Her free hand stretches up and wipes away the remainder of eye-unfriendlies and she /yawns/. "S'go get some sleep. It's late, and I think we both could use some shut eye." She stands, waiting for him.
Cael laughs and gets up, pushing himself up with a hand. "Yeah, sounds good," he agrees, nodding toward the door entrance and heading that way. Oh, hey, look, a butchered haybale. How did /that/ get there? "'n we'll get the pack thing worked out. We'll make it happen." With a solid nod, he pushes out the barn door, heading back up toward the farmhouse.
