emma_mahler | Three Days Back

While the temperatures might be cool, the humidity has left the area of St. Claire feeling like a damp rag blanketed the area. For Emma, that means quite a bit of sweat as she runs through some steel work in the garage of the Edgewood house. The clank-rattle of a loaded barbell can be heard from outside; must be deadlift day.

         Cold *and* clammy is always a brilliant way to start the morning. Thankfully, there's a full pelt with guard hairs that takes care of that problem, even if it does leave for a slightly overheated Philodox by the time she enters back into the garage. Been in homid for long enough to break into a sweat, at least, shedding the last vestiges of necessary warmth to the bone-deep chill the humidity manages to convey, and looking a mite incredulous at the company she finds herself with. Doesn't last, though, a perfectly polite, "Laerer Modi," offered once she steps inside to close the door to the barn behind her.

Emma looks up at the arrival, hands clapping together to brush off some of the excess chalk dust. "Huh?" is the first reaction, followed by a chuckle. "Are you trying to troll me?" The barbell is guided back to the wall with a few pushes of her foot; apparently she's done lifting it for the day.

         Dressed down in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless white shirt, the scars on her upper arms that much plainer for having done so, Sandra inclines her head with what appears to be a faintly amused smile, her brows lifting. "Even when I'm at my most polite, people think I'm playing games with them," she says. "I should probably use that to my advantage *some* day," this noted with a dry tone, "but that's not quite the angle I was going for." The expression sobers, then, and she says, "I can leave you to it, if you prefer. I was just looking for a change of clothes."

Emma shakes her head quickly, "No no, I'm just putzing around. Just finish a run?" she asks of the other with a nod. "And I didn't mean anything by it- I just don't know that I've ever /heard/ that term before. Certainly not pointed at me."

         Sandra's brows arch again, and a faint smile crosses her features. "I think it goes without saying that I've become accustomed to greeting Fenrir with their preferred terms," she says. "That-- and the sept I was introduced to, Tower Falls, was rather insistent on it. Laerer for Athro-- Modi for Ahroun." She gestures loosely to herself, then, and says, "Voksen Forseti." Then, that dry tone sneaking back in, "At your service."

"Strict sept huh? Obviously, anyone who has heard anything, about us here, knows we're about the furthest from strict. Most of my cubhood was under a Fianna and a Gnawer," she grins at the memory, clearly fond. "I try not to pry, but you've got me curious. Better Get manners than

Sandra inclines her head at the first question, as good a 'yes' as any, with no overt reaction to the mix of tribes cited. And, of course, there's the question-- one that she's clearly been anticipating. She'd, argubaly, be silly not to. "But not Get," she completes for Emma. A pause; her expression sobering, hands clasping together loosely behind her back. "I wasn't Rited as one. Never broke the pact with Fenris. But I was informed quite early on that my breeding-- and age, for that matter, would still lead to misinterpretation." She offers a faint smile, though it's somewhat humorless. "You wouldn't be the first to wonder, and you won't be the last. As I said last night-- any questions you have, I've heard. You won't offend me by asking."

Emma holds up a hand, "I'm the last to judge based on shit like that. You do me, or the Sept wrong, or you go after someone that's not good at standing up for themself just to be an asshole, then we've got concerns. It's just a bit amusing how well versed you are in Get etiquette, even more so now that you've admitted to not even riting as a Get." Her head tips, "And yeah, I suppose being of similar... adult age," she fumbles for a good word there, "as me, assumptions would lend to the idea of you bailing out on Fenris within the last few years."

Another incline of Sandra's head, a subtle gesture she's proving quite fond of. "I've had to show my throat before," she says, "even if I left the tribe in good standing," this stated with some certainty. "Retaining what I learned has been an asset that I don't intend to let go of. As it is, it's-- understandable. I suspect if I'd stayed, I'd feel the same way, seeing someone like myself walking around." A pause. Then, "And I did, actually," she goes on to say. "Bail, as you say. Six years ago. A year after I changed."

At first the math gets overlooked. "So you opted out before your rite of pass-" then it hits. "Wait. You firsted only seven years ago? You get wyld-touched or umbra-aged or something?"

         "I don't know what happened, speaking frankly," Sandra replies, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "One day I was kin-- the next, I wasn't." Beat. "I'd heard it's been happening more, lately. Garou changing well into adulthood, for reasons that no one can adequately explain. A sign of the times, maybe. Or even an adaptive strategy."

Emma gives a slow shake of her head. "So you were raised as Get /kin/ your whole life, until one day you weren't." There's a dark look that crosses her features at that, questions or ideas simmering below the surface that she seems unlikely to voice. "Wow. That's pretty nuts."

     The look doesn't go unnoticed. It, in turn, earns an equally silent raise of Sandra's brow, but there are no prompts beyond that. "I'm sure I said something similar when I finally came out of my stupor," she says dryly. "Though I can assure you, it came with a lot more obscenities attached." This, with a faint, wry smile. "Those few that were vaguely coherent, anyway."

Emma shakes free of the thoughts that held her, then grins at the confession. "Oh for sure. So, more importantly, what brings you here to St. Claire. You got in while Thane was still here and in charge, so was it a call to arms from him?"

         This sobers her some, Sandra's gaze dropping to the ground between them before it lifts again. "Not quite," she replies. "And you'll forgive me if, from here, not all my answers are strictly straightforward. The fact of the matter is, I was sent here by my former sept superiors-- after ousting my pack Alpha, and earning my rank. Given everything that occurred with the defeat of the Queen, it was considered a plum assignment. With his departure, however..." A pause. "Let's just say I've been left to speculate. But no. It wasn't a call to arms."

Emma raises a brow just briefly, but then nods. "So you were sent here, and now you're left to your own decisions on what to do with the changing currents." At this point, the Get takes a seat on the bench and runs one hand back to push sweat-laden hair off her brow. "Fight's not over here. I sometimes think the enemy must look at Triquetal Accord- by whatever name it goes by at the time, really- and consider it the mark that'd earn them the highest respects if they took down. We're a strong Sept, if completely unconventional most of the time."

     "That fight is something I wanted to talk to you about," Sandra replies. "We have a Spiral Hive breathing down our necks now, certainly," and she's kind to refrain from saying why, though that's already a given, "but we also have an enemy that doesn't seem to care, one way or another, what it achieves, or earns. One you've dealt with personally."

Emma drops both hands to her sides, fingers curling around the edge of the bench in a loose manner as she leans into the conversation. "Speak plainly- that works best with me. And remember that I'm just getting regrounded here. I have some people to talk to about what's been going on with things. Specifically, the Nothing? Is that what you're inferring?"

     "Yes," Sandra replies. "My apologies. I was referring to the Nothing." A pause. "Though you'll find that 'not much' is the answer, I'm afraid. Thane apparently took a dim view of pursuing matters regarding the Nothing, enough so that following up on a lead wasn't given a great deal of priority." How's that for speaking plainly? "That appears to be changing." A pause. "I was speaking to Ghost about it last night," she says. "She'd mentioned you as someone who'd had direct experience with facing off against some of the-- for lack of a better phrase, 'monsters' that it creates."

Emma gives a nod to that. "I have. I was trying to headman some progress on that front when it first came up." There's a look about her at this confession that brings a tension back to her shoulders and jawline. "Part of the reason I answered Steel Angel's call, was because I sorely needed an enemy I was made to fight." She holds her hands up at this, "Tooth and claw is more my style. Tactics against an enemy that wages a physical war. The Nothing? That gets in your head. Nightmares, messages left behind, ... sickness. And most of that came just from /thinking/ about it too much- digging too deep. I'm Ahroun. I'm not wired to think on the same dimensions as our Theurges or Philos. But, I can try answering some of your questions- if that's what you've got."

         Sandra's expression is largely unreadable throughout, save in the fact that she's clearly paying close attention to what's being said. There's a tic, however, where nightmares are concerned-- slight, but for someone whose look is measured in degrees of neutrality, it stands out. Even if it is followed by a slight, and entirely humorless smile at talk of how one is wired.

    "Ahrouns have the ability to read the Rage of others, as I recall," she says, which seems-- entirely besides the point. Until, "If you possess it, use it. I think you'll find we're more likeminded than you might be otherwise lead to believe." A pause. Then, "Speaking personally," she says, pivoting back to the point at hand, "combating nightmares is the last thing I want to be doing. Any more than anyone on the front lines; anyone told that their claws sinking into the enemy could invite a wasting disease that could erase them entirely. And yet, here I am. Dreaming of a grave of black oil, home to a creature too vast to fathom-- and a woman, eyes gouged out, flanked by wolves that aren't wolves at all." A pause. "Is any of this sounding familiar?"

Emma draws in a breath, pinches a hand to the bridge of her nose, then exhales. "It's been a long time since I thought on this. The fight in LA was refreshing in it's pure brutality. But... yeah. Maybe. I mean, the whole thing is riddled with maddening analogy surreal ideas. How much do you know about the what, the where, and the who?"

     "Not enough," Sandra replies. "I know the Nothing has a counterpart. A spirit just as ancient, and equal in scope. I know that two caerns have been lost to it, one by the Furies, and one-- perhaps fittingly, by the Get and the Shadow Lords." There's not much humor in that statement, but there's a tip of the hand to it, at least. "And there's talk of the magpies vanishing," she says. "A creature whose totem spirit was devoured when the caerns were destroyed. Beyond that, I think I-- and several people, could probably use a refresher."

Emma gives a grunt to that, nodding. "There are gonna be others who know more and have a better handle on what they've figured out. Me, personally, I feel like this goes back a long time. You know of Hanford, right? Too much of what's been muddled through seems to have a connection to that disaster. But nothing concrete. Anyway, Hanford is leaking. Nuclear waste kind of leaking. And The Nothing? It loves that shit. It feeds off it. And yeah, there's supposed to be a thing that counters the Nothing- but I'm out of the loop on that. As for what it does? All I can say is it gets in your head. But I don't know if that's the /Nothing/ capable of doing that, or entities corrupted by it." A pause, "Or in league with it. Half the time it feel like someone trying to paint a warning. The other half, it's all impending threat."

    Sandra nods when Hanford is brought up; nods again at the talk of nuclear waste, a not entirely surprising quirk of her lip coming with it, though that eases. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to say that I've never witnessed any of it first-hand," she says. "It wasn't until two nights ago that I was given anything close to a clear visual, and, apparently, it wasn't terribly far off from what I should expect." She's remarkably calm about stating it, but-- a little distance helps.

She ponders for a moment. Then, "It seems fitting, doesn't it?" she goes on to say, before there's any room for any real interjection. "Eyeless creatures made of shadow." Beat. "Hanford's legacy is forged from creating weaponry that reduced people near the blast site to nothing more than their shadows. Turned eyes into glass. Pieced together tales of black figures shuffling through streets, too stunned and disoriented to realize they were already long dead."

Emma looks to the other and nods slowly at first, "Yeah. That is something! I mean, I always felt like Hanford had more to it than we'd given it. The connects were so loose, and the bigger Nothing was the priority. But visions along the river, spirits there talking about the thing that even they fear? It all connects up to that spot. Ghosts."

   Sandra's expression turns to one of intrigue, her brows lifting. "Visions by the river?" she asks. "Do you mind telling me more about that? And about these spirits?"

Emma shakes her head, "Slug. He'd be the one to talk to. He kinda did the talking. I was moral support." A pause, "The strong-clawed type of moral support. And there's a lot I think I compartmentalized about it all. Not to mention the year long fight with the LA Queen. I could share with you, the same thing I shared with the others back when I was neck deep in it. Just a bunch of rambled scribbles in an old notebook."

   "Please," Sandra replies, without a moment's hesitation. "I'd appreciate that." There's a pause, then-- a question in her expression that never quite makes it to spoken word. Instead, she says, "Similarly, if there's any thoughts on it that you'd like to discuss-- I think it's safe to say I'm at least hip-deep, at this point. And getting deeper, if recent history is anything to go by."

Emma nods her head, "Absolutely. On one condition. Things start mucking with your head at a crazy level- or you start getting sick? That's news we need right away. Fair?" There's a slight pause before she adds, "And you gotta remember these notes are gonna be all over. Just thoughts and info and ideas all thrown onto a piece of recycled paper."

<OOC> Emma says "And woo! Not all was lost in my absence. I was able to recover the notes and edit the link to work in the DWJournal again! http://emma-mahler.dreamwidth.org/47570.html"

         "Agreed," Sandra replies. "As much as pride has its place, I have no particular desire to take a swan dive off the deep end anytime soon." She allows for another wry smile. "I might, if the notes are *that* frenetic, but I somehow doubt they're any more or less scattered than some of my own. So long as they're legible, I'm sure I'll do fine."

Emma gives a nod to the other. "Legible. And in English!" She pulls away from the bench, "I've got it back at my place. You know where the Brownstoen building is in the city? It's a public building, kin owned, and the basement apartment is garou safe in the loosest sense of the term, but it's there in a pinch. I can either bring the notes back tomorrow, or you can stop in there later tonight."

         "I'll probably stop by later tonight," Sandra replies. She opens her mouth to continue, but a stray, "Oh," gets in the way. "One thing I'd been thinking about on my run this morning. The woman I saw-- in the dream, I mean. She had a scar, similar to the kind that I'd heard about before. A sign of a Rite of Caern Building gone-- not bad, necessarily, but not according to plan. Shaped like a teardrop." A pause. "I don't know if it's worth looking into. It's-- vague. But it was so specific that it's difficult to forget."

Emma considers that new bit of info for a moment. "Teardrop..." Brow furrows into lined creases, "God, why does that sound so familiar? And yeah, that's worth noting. I feel like every damn detail could be worth noting. What's that saying? About that's where the devil is?" Then she pulls out her phone, "Gimme a means to get a hold of you? I'll text you the address."

         Sandra retrieves her own phone from her pocket, apparently having to pull up the number to remember it. She reads it off, at a moderate, concise pace, and pockets her phone once she's done, though not before noticing the time. Cursing under her breath - not enough to be heard entirely, but enough to get the impression that the woman's got a mouth on her in spite of all the formalities - she curbs her frustrating as best as possible and says, "Unfortunately, this is roughly around the time I should be heading out for patrol, so this is where we'll have to call it for now." Beat. "It was a pleasure speaking with you," she says, that wry smile sneaking in again to add, "Learer Modi. I look forward to speaking with you again soon, though, arguably, I wish it was about a better topic." She starts to make her way towards the door again, before she pauses-- and says, "Another thing worth mentioning," the wry expression gone. "When the bomb dropped on Hiroshima, survivors recounted the appearance of black rain."

Emma grins at her Get formality and then gives a bit of an eye roll. "We'll talk more. I like where your head is on this stuff." The last bit is given a more thoughtful nod, "We'll see what part of the notes match up with things you're mentioning. It's been a while since I poked at them myself. Safe patrolling, Sandra."

         Sandra offers another incline of her head, and pulls open the door, already dropping to wolf form before it swings shut again, indicating that, perhaps, 'should be heading out' means 'I'm already late.'