After the screams, after the crashing, after the bellowing howls that sounded on planes both audial and mental befell a (terrifying) silence that swathed (smothered) the Galliard until the bolt threw like a gunshot (fire!) in the darkness

even then, minutes (hours, days) passed before there was any sound
the soft shuffle of tankboots (hunger prickling) across hallway slabs
water that drips (black rain) from blond hair
near forgotten soap used to scrub (beneath the scour of steel wool) last dregs of poison away

there's a wander to his steps (gaunt, starving) which finally lead to the gathering room and beyond to scrounge (desperate) in the kitchen

Not long after the starving wolf emerges, Kaj'sha appears from the depths of his own, sterile chamber. Immediately, black eyes note the open door, and nearly as quick, fall upon Taryn in the gathering room. He tilts his head to the kitchen beyond with its noises of desperate feeding, and raises his eyebrows in question.

"The butterfly has emerged from the cocoon, has it...?"

She looks up from the book in her lap that had captured her attention so completely - first to watch the passage of Asher (..teach me..) then again as Kaj'sha (Archangel, savior) enters. She shrugs her shoulders and nods.
"So it would seem."
Eyes fall again to the book in hand, an arm lazily wrapped around waist where fingers tapping against healed ribs (restless). She turns the page, and continues to read (or convincingly pretends).

it mattered not if the food were cold or raw (consumption) to the desperation to fill empty belly (indulgence) the young Dancer curled on the floor against a cabinet..... within easy reach of the 'fridge (even that door shut tight between raids) - each reach into its (steadily emptying) depths washing icy blue glaciers across dehydrated skin

there is little thought given to chewing (jaw still aches from the silver driven wound across his cheek), or the voices outside - only the steady bolt of food and drink down the wolf's gullet

"Hm," is all the comment Kaj'sha has for that, as he settles himself beside the young Spiral with the mindless ease borne of a pack mentality ingrained from birth. Metis that he is, individuality, personal space, and all else had never been as important a thing to him as it had for Taryn, a child of human, independence-fervid America.

Settling himself, he waits for the hungry Galliard to return.

She glances up as he sits beside her, offering a slight smile as she unfolds her feet from under her and sets them on the floor, (preserving her space) though fingers still remaind wrapped and tapping as she turns another page, continuing the pretense of reading while thoughts race along other tracks...

the feeding (frenzy) continues, endlessly, filling the (black) void created in the everlasting darkness

but finally the angry (red) tide ebbs, and gluttony pushed aside in favor of banishing the lonliness that hurt him perhaps worst of all, the Galliard lifts to his feet, satiation driving the smile accompanied by bowl of candy corn brought back into the main room and offered to his packmates without second thought of recent starvation pangs gnawing at his own belly (mindless ease borne of a pack mentality ingrained from birth)
Kaj'sha first (always first) and Taryn second
familiar (homidical) smile lopsided by the tendons still healing (above the new notch carved in bone beneath)

only after they have taken what they wish does he turn to the (his) couch


Kaj'sha, of course, shakes his head to the candy corn. Nevertheless, the sentiment is there, and appreciated in the Silver Fang's own cool and impossibly distant way.

"It's good to have you back, Asher," he murmurs after the Galliard has seated himself. "The wound on your brow, though; I noted it the night we spoke, and it has yet to fade. Silver?"

A brow lifts as the candy is offered... and after half a second she reaches and takes a handful, glancing up at the wound, then back down to the book before she marks her place and closes it, still quiet as she eats the candy corn one by one..

long tongue reaches out, scraping the sugar from the side of a candied treat before the voice (that voice) breaches the distance between them

"1873 Colt .45."

"Interesting choice of weapon," comments the fair fallen-one. His eyes are opaque holes, dark as the darkest night, darker. "Whose was it?"

Somewhere, perhaps he already knows.

The tongue, that voice - manages to lift the infant dancers lips in some semblence of a smile, it lingers, but she just concentrates on the sweet candy as it washes across her tongue... listening to them talk.

it is then
only then
that those mismatched eyes swing 'round to level on Kaj'sha (and may the air between crackle), skies of day and night meeting black nightmare's depths

"Madeleine's."

like so many other women (for so many other reasons) he never knew her last name (but a merit to at least know her first)

Those unnerving eyes drop briefly. Unreachable visions dance behind the screen of angelically long lashes, fade and die. Kaj'sha raises his eyes again.

"Ah," is all he says. "It is done, then?"

She just.. listens, really. A cubwith respect (or simply nothing to add at the moment) perhaps. She just continues to munch on the candy, slender legs crossing under closed book.

perhaps, if those eyes had not dropped (or if his Alpha could actually see in their world's terms), they would have noticed something new would have twisted, writhing in the Galliard's eyes, something none of the Pack had before witnessed (Dances-In-Blood), chin raising slightly before it drops in nod

"I kept her head unblemished..... if you still want it."

lips sealing to not offer the details he know will not be asked (though that malicious smile, it creeps velvet across his features)

An odd expression crosses the Dancer's face then, something caught - and pulled like a man on a rack - between revulsion and wistfulness and longing and uncontrollable, unreasoning anger. At last, he exhales, leans back, and his face clears.

"Yes. I would. Thank you, Asher. You have done exactly as I hoped."

Tensions rise and twist and sing through the air and the infant dancer tilts her head... just so... vivid blue flickering between them, catching various (visions and quests) emotions as they flicker through expressions that are so carefully, and quickly (but not quick enough) schooled, pulled back and calmed again.. the last piece of candy is slid between lush lips (what else does she still taste..) tongue chasing after lingering sweetness before pulled (intotheheat) back again...

the expression raises hackles (invisable) across lean shoulders (in life you were premature, in death you upset..... I'm glad I cursed your soul, inbred bitch.....) but there is little else he says or does but rise, bowl set within Taryn's reach and the youth disappears into the kitchen

the freezer door opening

black garbage bag crackling (popcorn), ice sloughing across tankboots as they draw into the gathering room once more, folding into (submissive) crouch before his Alpha, the head (unblemished) set at his feet (both hands used in the offering) and those eyes raise once more (you're lucky I saved this much) and hold Kaj'sha's gaze.....


He looks at the black bag for a moment, leaving it where it lay - between his feet. Moments pass, and he decides he will take care of it later. Clearly moving on to the next subject, he continues, "Now that you are well again, Asher, I expect you to take your place as my Beta once more. I also expect that you will take the matter of Taryn's education into consideration.

"Sooner or later - sooner rather than later, I hope - we should invite our distant cousins the fomor and the spiderling to meet with us. I am, of course, hesitant to bring strangers into the pack's hold. However, this being something of a dinner party, I doubt a conference room above will do.

"I would prefer if you and SickBoy could obtain a large home in a discreet part of town for the purpose of entertaining our guests. The occupants of the home must be harmlessly taken aside and stowed for the evening, and returned to their normal lives with as little disturbance as possible. Use the Rite of the Survivor if you must, and take Taryn along if you believe it would be a valuable learning experience for her. That judgment, however, I leave to your expertise as instructor and mentor."

Well, this is morbid. All through the little speech, the dead kin's head slowly defrosts at his feet.

morbid?
there's absent wonder how many noticed the frozen head lay next to the frozen meat and microwave meals for the past week, lividity should make her rather becoming (....perfect) for a corpse - bruises' flush, dark eyes, pale skin and flaxen hair.....

but a relaxation weaves through the lean frame (at home, once more, within the pack) a careful consideration of his Alpha's words play across his features

"I'd prefer Bianca and Manetheran never find our hold, though her fear of Pentex should keep her far from the lab. Should she ever be captured, he will surely give the location away far before she can blow up in their faces. Taryn......" a glance (molesting) to prim seat .... seeing Karnala's child with her legs crossed brings great amusement..... "... is improving quickly, already, if all goes well the progress shall continue as it has so far..... but I'll organize location scouting to being tonight. I need the walk. Is there a view you prefer?"

high society etiquette still something of a mystery to the Galliard

After a moment's thought, "Anything but the overtly gaudy. No hedges trimmed into animals on the front lawn, if you please...anything else will do fine. Taryn," attention shifting with sudden, liquid ease, "have you an evening gown?"

Dear God, he was planning to shove even SickBoy into a three-piece suit...

Which, of course, may be just why her legs are crossed - so says the mischivious playful glint in those eyes..
...though the compliment surprises her, it doesn't get the reaction that Kaj'sha's questions does. In fact - she almost chokes on the candy corn, managing to swallow it down as she laughs, outright.
"An evening gown? You must be kidding. I've only what was in my pack when ya'll grabbed me - very little. I don't normally pack around formal wear, even if I owned any..."
Still chuckling - not disrespectfully, but genuinely amused. Two pairs of jeans, 3 t-shirts - that's the complete extent of her wardrobe. Of course - this is not to mean she even bothers to hide her excitement over a shopping trip... she is, after all, a 16 year old girl...

his nose wrinkles at the hedges remark (raised in the Garou society, even he knows better than that) but the sudden visualization that SickBoy will indeed be included in this plan (insanity) makes one wonder if he'd be able to to stay in a three-piece suit or simply ooze out the cuffs

the urge to cackle outright only manifests a (loving) sneer at Taryn's choke

"..........so I suppose part of the scouting trip will include the Caesar's plaza?"

spoken half idly, not mentioning most of his wardrobe was destroyed in the frenzy, either, but if Kaj'sha is planning a party, he'll be sure they impress


"Didn't think so," replies Kaj'sha, neatly clipping off the tail end of her protests. Rising easily to his feet, he picks up the garbage bag (symbolism there, Asher?) and starts toward his room. "We'll go shopping tomorrow. I'll have Sian bring the Bentley--" oh, wait, it was crashed, "--excuse me, the Mercedes around at 4pm sharp. Be ready.

"Asher," to his first, "I'm not to be disturbed. I have some..." turning away, the head of the kin frozen beautifully in his hands, "...loose ends to take care of."

frozen, preserved (be glad he didn't piss in it) carted away and (finally) out of his sight (good. fucking. riddance.) the only acknowledgement

"Yes, Kaj'sha."

murmured to the Philodox's back as those eyes taken in the Theurge, far more amusement glinting in the Galliard - giddy as a schoolgirl indeed

She wrinkles her nose a little as Asher looks at her, knowing the Galliard will tease her for her excitement, but she doesn't care (a formal gown!), she returns her feet to where they had been tucked under her before Kaj'sha sat down..

there's a slashed (wry) grin

"What were you reading?"

interest, instead of mockery, strange the effects deprivation can bring

"Just some studying.. found thus when doing research for you. Has some good suggestions in it, others that I already knew."
A shrug of slender shoulder.

and this he knows, perhaps it is what keeps the slight grin hanging around

"And is there anything else you've learned or studied in the past few days?"

She can't help but chuckle..
"Not to attempt a bargain to make you feel better while sitting on your bed?"
Though her smile is still playful, fingers tap against her ribs.

"Good to know.... good to know...."

chortled softly (the devil musing) before he rises and turns towards the tunnel entrance

"I'm going to find SickBoy and pull him away from his labrats so we can begin scouting for Kaj'sha..... if you wish a walk, feel free to join us"

She tosses a candy corn at him as he turns.
"You're welcome."
Then she shrugs, and unfolds to stand.
"Sure, why not. Lemme toss this in my room, n grab my boots. and I'll be ready."

deep in the pit (the darkness, the soothing darkness) hidden in his chambers (away from the others, never show weakness) curls the Galliard, blanket tucked around chilled (fevered) form, concentration narrowed on the skin drum surrounded (captured) by crossed legs, soft rhythms (bone rhythms) echoing off the walls (echoing in his mind)

distractions
(cravings)
he will be strong.....


"Should I call Ayydis to tend you?"

To the wracked mind, time and space are indefinite and vague. The words float to him as though from very far away, beyond his chills and fevers, beyond his maddening craving.

Just one shot. Just half. Just a single, damned, milliliter, a drop of it and he'll be fine...

When had the Alpha spoken, and how long had he been there? (Where?) There: at the door...no, no wait, just a shadow. There, beside him, supple and crosslegged in the darkness, visible only by the light creeping in under the crack of the door reflecting, however faintly, from his clothes and skin.

the rhythms continue (a smoke signal rising from the bale fire that burns within) moments, minutes, decades, before mismatched eyes open - they look not for his Alpha (he would know where he was without looking) gazing into the tone-filled darkness

"Is methadone in her bag of tricks?"

chuckled softly (pained) a chill driving down lean spine
will they spend time together blood does not shed?
would a drop hurt?
yes
his head shakes to send sweaty bangs latent dance across his forehead

"It was of her I wished to speak with you......"


"No," replies Kaj'sha, softly, "but the Touch may help the symptoms, though the addiction is yours to battle and break."

A slight pause, as he tilts his head to the side. "Oh?"

"I will not suffer others my sickness....."

whispered (she offered to pull the silver from his back, he did not ask, but he will not refuse) as the battle is his - cold turkey - the Galliard will be strong, he will over come this test from the Father, prove himself, fingers (itchy, twitching) coaxing a soft cadence from the flesh drum

"What are your plans for her, Kaj'sha......"

He thinks a moment before he replies, but he does, he is honest.

"I intend to draw her into the fold, tonight. She is a Crescent-Moon...we have none, and would benefit from her powers."

His lightless eyes are a steady, light weight on Asher's body, caught in the throes of withdrawal, caught in the pains of longing. It seemed the Father's test was one and the same for all, at the root: to abandon that which one craved most desperately.

"Your words lead me to believe you would suggest another path of action, Grra'ack."

"Do you truly believe she is ready?"

it is then those eyes (hazed, pained) lift to search the voids darker than even the shadows wrapping the room (the beg choked away, crave rattling the soft rhythms) holding what would frighten others to their core as if it were porceline
before casting back to the shadow sea he fills with drops of notes from each touch of his fingers

"I do not...... she still needs to learn. She makes mistakes."

"I gave her a task...a test...she performed swiftly and admirably. And thus far she has yet to fail before my eyes.

"But I would have your reasons and your concerns, my Galliard."

"What, exactly, did she tell you in her report on the boardwalk? And how she gleaned the information for you......"

while he could not hear it, he could see it, the gestures gave half away

"She told me of the one who is infatuated with her. That he is a spider...serving Weaver and Father Wyrm. The former does not bode well for him, but for the latter we will tolerate him for a time.

"You gleaned the information. Some. She received the rest straight from the spider's lips. Fear not, Asher," smiling, "I am not so foolish as to believe all that this Kang tells us."

softly, whispered (crooned)

"Did she tell you she walked alone the streets she did not know...... and we both remember what happened last she walked alone." a strange, idle, smile, what would have happened had he not found her and shown the way "We only so recently recieved her..... I would hate to lose her to further mistakes as we did Gur'thek.........."

so many layers in those words, how much of recent events seem to be repeating, carefully choosing the words (that hurt dry throat)

"She is premature. Allow her time to learn before trusting her at your back."

"The Dance cannot be undanced. The Spiral cannot be unwound. She is ours, Asher; the others cannot take her back. They would choke on their own jealousy and rend her to shreds if she tried. This I believe.

"But...

"You are more perceptive than I, and see more." If there is a second meaning in those words, it is unconscious; never would Kaj'sha admit, even to himself, that his eyes were not what the Wyrm promised: vision perfect. "And because your Cassandra to Gur'thek's Odysseus was true, I do trust you at my back.

"It is true, also, that her powers as Theurge do not yet exceed mine, and her use to this pack will come later. It is merely a precaution...I want her close, where I can see her, and where my word over her is final.

"You say she is premature; perhaps this is so. But who, Asher, will teach her what she must learn? Who will watch her when I cannot?"

He already knows the answer.

"She cannot be returned to them, but I see how she may benefit us as well, and would rather she not be killed..... "

unless (the whim strikes) it is by his hands
there is a smile, wry (he knows his Alpha well) and perhaps the next words are more a rececitation than an offer

"I will not be leaving the tunnels until the cravings themselves leave, Kaj'sha." there is no need to speak of the dangers involved therein (though how he hates to be backed into a corner with no escape) glancing up to his companion (packmate, alpha, brother, and how he wished more) "I will teach her our ways..... Kyrsha'wai'gas as well...... if you think I will be able to when you are elsewise occupied.

I will give Ayydis to you worthy of becoming the Spiral's Heart."

"There is none more able," he replies. The Galliard is, after all, the Lorekeeper. "But these few days, until you have defeated your own inner enemies, I will take the time to speak to her myself."

A brief frown, "Her and Kyrsha'wai'gas, whom I have seen far too little of."

a nod, accepting (he knew the truth in those) words, though the skull tilts (sweat rivulets of hair clinging to chilled and fevered skin)

"I have seen Kyrsha'wai'gas mostly at the apartment of Malcom's - but it seems she is moving. I know she spoke to a Gaian recently, in Camden, but seemed more determined after returning...... a paranoid redneck named Decker, but he did not follow her out of the Umbra." there is a shrug of tension filled shoulders "And there is another Spiral hanging around her.... but I do not know his name."

"She should not speak to the Gaians...at all. Especially if they do not strike her dead on sight. That is abnormal and it is dangerous. And they have an Athro... This other Spiral who does not come to us but sniffs after she who is ours, too - abnormal and troublesome."

The slim youth exhales, and the weight of his words seems to lift. He pulls his handkerchief from his pocket and gently daps sweat from his Beta's brow, though his own fingers never contact skin. "Nevermind that, Asher. You've your own battle to fight. I will see to this personally."

He presses his handkerchief, pure white, into the fallen Child's hand and moves to rise.

there's a soft sound that roils in his throat, leaning into the cool (wamrth) of the hankercheif, lips pulling back into a smile (thank you)

"Vos is a useful tool for you, Kaj'sha..." murmured, though a thought strikes "Wait."

"Vos?" Pausing. Considering. "Useful, but dangerous, and doubtlessly with his own agenda." A lean hand creeps up, taps against his temple. "I do not want him sneaking about here too much, and I see what he does to the others."

Mindfucking. Literally. It would probably drive Kaj'sha into fits of unrelenting madness.

"Wait?"

once again the wry smile returns (he would not be here now if Vos was not dangerous, there is no doubt the precautions needed around the fomor) rising (achingly) to stand, digging deeply into the pocket of baggy jeans

"Strange..... he does not attempt that with me."

but it is shrugged away (another tension so desperate to cast off the mantle across tight muscle) hand retrieved from the depths of denim to rub something (clean it) on a portion of open shirt

the key to the outer lock of his chambers
the ultimate trust
he knows it will be worse before it is better
and there is no other hand he would place that key within

"Perhaps," with a ghost of a smile, "he prefers girls."

Then, the smile fades as he looks down on the key, blank for a moment before knowledge dawns.

Even so, he does not take the key for a moment. He watches Asher and then, suddenly and warninglessly shutting the door on his own particular madnesses, the youth reaches forward and wraps one hand behind the head of his Beta. Gently, he urges the Galliard to bend his head down; gently, he angles his own up.

Like an angel bestowing favor, the Philodox presses his lips (...like a brand...) to his Beta's fevered brow.

The contact lasts no more than a second, and after Kaj'sha will spit and rinse and scrub and shudder for half an hour in his own rooms, but for one instant the phobia is overcome; for one instant, there is a connection true.

Then he draws back and takes the key. "Be well, Grra'ack," he murmurs, fingers closing around the bit of scrap metal that was the line between freedom and captivity, open spaces and the worst sort of oubliette. "I will not use this unless I must."

Without another word, the fallen one turns and walks out, pulling the door softly shut behind.

the laughter is soft (he knows...he's tried) a small joy in the midst of the overwhelming pain, but it is replaced by the shock, surprise igniting within those bale-fire eyes

the reach so unexpected (dreamt of) the young Dancer nearly shies from it as if it were a strike

the tremble beneath the touch from more than the crave
(desire)
the smile warming
(lust)
the moan catching into soft whimper crawling across (dry) tongue
(begging)
the touch (brand) burning chilled flesh
(...... aching)
unable to stop the reach, fingers dragging lightly across clean (pure) fabric before balling into fist to restrain (prevent) indulging in more

"Thank you....... Kaj'sha."

so many layers
murmured to the closed (tight) door

the monster walks alone

talon's tck echoing in the dark, lonely tunnels below even where blood flows through the Spiral's Heart, long tail mesmerizing sway with each (solemn) step - journey beginning in the sculpted hallways of the Labs, finding where tile gave way to worn dirt, then those paths relinquishing familiarity to places rarely trod

it is still down here.
quiet
empty......

accompanied only by the still form slung across muscular shoulder (viscera weeping to leave breadcrumb trail) the singular procession does not halt until the end of a tunnel bars silent path

mismatched eyes (father's gifts) glow bale-fire in the darkness (nuclear warmth on night's horizon sky), crouching, body falling limply to sprawl prone before him (supplication even in death) and the young Dancer stills in silent (chilling) contemplation

............Twister..........

whispers echoing though black lips never move - verbal language forsaken and the growls, gestures, and mind-rending whispers of the Black Spiral Dancers embraced

talons drag through congealed blood (clothing powderburnt, flaking to the ground) near black ink drawn from the body itself (lividity my inspiration)

........... Gur'thek.........

glyphs are draw about the body of murdered (assassinated) packmate
stories told, lessons learned
a tainted record all his own

the creature unfolds, taloned hands reaching to caress the ceiling (Wyrm's skin - Gaia's underbelly) tears of green falling from razored tips..... and from the Father's consort does he rip handfuls of dirt to rain across the body as black hail until a mound of packed rubble (saturated with toxic claw's caress) covers the dead man (monster) before him

.........of the Father....... return to Him......

underhinged jaw lifting as a long, solo howl rips through the tunnels


A howl echoes through the den-lab-home that they had made. A death she might've wanted to see (....you know she wouldn't have cared.) And it had been a while since Sian was seen laying about (...you know they wouldn't have a cared.) her absense during the search for Malcolm highlighting the vacancy of steel-lined musculature and dagger sharp violence.


Where.
(...like a chainsaw.)
Was.
(...if my day keeps goin' this way--)
She.


The door to her room is left ajar; falls open under the seeking presence of another. The stagnant air of (..apathy..) still lingering in her ventless room. Opened door spills in the light of the hallway through darkened recess thick as molasses. Along the floor pieces of broke furniture lay as unburied bodies on a battlefield...


But it is the wall that draws your eye.
[RETURN & AHROUN]
Twining glyphs carved into the walls's surface.


He is there.

He who ordered it done.
He who had no part in the doing.
He who has no part in the burying of the dead.

But he is there, for the Rite is his to cast as the words are Grra'ack's to speak, and his black eyes watch, hooded, unknown.

Behind those eyes, within the fallen one's dark heart, what lies, what truths entwine? Sorrow, for the fallen brother? Pleasure, for the fallen foe? Or perhaps, merely a sense of (twisted) justice...

Out of darkness were you born.
Out of night came you to us.
Child of the Father, Bastard of the Corruption's Dance:
Your time has come. Your deeds are done.
Servant of the Deceiver, Spawn of the Defiler:
Back to the night shall you pass.
Back to the darkness shall you go.

The lean silvery wolf-man's right hand rises once. A handful of dust (I will show you fear...) drifts from his open palm, scattering over the remains of his once-packmate.

Malcom.
Twister of Tales.
Gurthek.
Brother.

The Philodox rises and walks away.

---

...into the main room of the pack's Pit. Corridors branch away from it, one to his own impeccable, sterile (...just like him...) room; another to Asher's; another to SickBoy's, and so on and so forth.

But something has changed. A room so often closed is open. Within, silence - and not the breathing sort that surrounds her so often.

The lean Philodox stops, wondering. He pushes the door open and he slips within, pitchblack eyes seeing effortlessly. He sees the mess, the overturned furniture, testaments to her great Rage...

...and he sees the glyphs, not because ink was visible to him, but because blood glows faintly in radiation's glare.

His mouth curves up, ever so slightly. Ever so inscrutably.