Forgers and Fetishes

[Emily Makerith]

Emily blows air loudly through her mouth. "Jeez. Sounds like he was a tough guy to please." She takes a long swig from the can. "I don't see them as parents. More like patrons. Idols. Icons to live up to." She drains the rest of the bottle. "Believe me, you don't want that. We had one. Val. Iminir psychologist. She was..... well, she was nice, but she had no concept of personal space or of when jabbing the darker corners of one's past was against her best interest. Soo... you've joined a Lodge?"

"Yeah, well, it's not as if I can turn it off. I hope that everyone by out age has a decent understanding of basic biology. Then I'm the one that Bleeds Well!" Emily starts giggling incoherently. She groans, and then burps loudly. "Oh, no... I was better off not knowing that!" The Crescent sighs. "How are you finding things here, with it being so different?"

[Bleeds Well]

He shrugs, "I guess it's like children imagining their 'real' parents because they feel like they must be adopted. They don't have a connection with their parents. I had that feeling, then I changed and had the Mom and Dad I always wished I had. Mythical gods of yore, fighting for balance in a chaotic world."

Another drink and a nod, "I am Ralunim, a member of the Lodge of the Fury Choir. Only Full Moons receive the lessons of the Lunes and the gifts they have to offer in return for strict observance of the Oath. If our pack was playing DnD, I'd think I'd be the paladin."

He sniffs and chuckles, "No one seems to be bleeding today at least. It's a curious miracle that our enhanced metabolism and regeneration doesn't mean rapid gestation, fertility, and hormonal cycles." He dodges the question as long as he can but finally, "Things are different here for sure. But it's nice to finally really belong to a pack. To have a place and purpose. To be the one leaping into battle at the tip of the spear instead of bringing up the rear. The biggest adjustment is feeling like I belong. That I can hang out and talk to you or approach Hector. I'm allowed to live my life rather than be cloistered like a monk, isolated in servitude."

[Emily Makerith]

"Wow..." Emily says. "I could never think of it that way. I loved my Dad. I mean, sure, we fought like.... well, a pair of werewolves, but we loved each other."

She shrugs. "Dunno much about DnD. I did have sex in one of the tents of the Live-action Roleplayers that sometimes meet out on the East side - does that count? Really cute fighter guy. I think he missed is tournament because he was busy with his lance." She sniggers.

She listens. "Huh. What to the Lodge of the Fury Choir believe in then? Besides the tenet of Purity?" The comparison makes her frown as she cracks open her... umpteenth beer of the evening. "Paladin, huh? What would I be? Pretty sure 'hot piece' is not a class, right?"

There's a notable wince. "C'mon, man. Not cool. Don't check if I'm coming on. Not unless you're here with ten candy bars and a gallon of ice cream. And believe me, you don't want me going through those cycles any faster than a normal human." She begins drinking the beer, offering the other to Bleeds Well.

[Bleeds Well]

BW laughs, "At least he was well armed!"


He calms down taking on a more somber but still mirthful tone. "So you got Lunes right. They are the perfect balance of purity, light, war, and combat. They should be ideal totems, but they can't be. But they have so much knowledge and skill to gift us. As a member of the Lodge I'm charged with keeping the Oath, traveling in the Shadow, and discovering methods for fighting spirits. Because of this dedication I'm blessed by a close association with the Lunes granting me access to their knowledge and gifts without the madness. I'm currently pursuing a particular Lune that is rumored to know how to harness the power of the Death Rage without fear of turning on an ally."

He pauses and smirks, "You'd have to be a hot piece of ass first. You're probably more jester in a king's court with all you snark."

[Emily Makerith]

"Mmmm..." Emily hums, smiling wickedly. "He was..."

She listens, and nods. "There are gifts where the Ithaeumin Choir pass on their knowledge of the Spirits directly to me. I suppose it's a similar idea, but for the Full moons. Is it like... a discussion? Do you actually.... meet one?"

The Crescent's jaw drops. "Bitch, please. I've seen me - I'm adorable. The fact that I'm fucking hi-larious is just another wonderful perk of my stellar personality." She drains the bottle and burps loudly.

[Bleeds Well]

"Meet a Ralunim?" He smirks. "Of course." All members of the choir call themselves Ralunim.

"But not really. When I was a branded, my brand was blessed by a Lune and so it glows like the full moon in the Hisil. But they did not speak to me. I hope to meet one very soon to begin learning the gifts only the Purest can now," he shrugs. "Purity is often lost in the hunt for Glory, I think we can be the beasts that we are without falling from Mother's graces. It's that razor's edge that we have to walk to be the best Uratha we can be. It's very important to me, ummm but I think I lost the narrative on your question."

He chuckles as he finishes his beer, "Don't forget about your social graces and spectacular edict. If this was Georgia you'd be a peach."

[Emily Makerith]

"Really? Wow.... Do you think I could?" She asks curiously. Meeting a Lune would be incredible.

Emily shrugs. "I meant like, conversing with one. Just.... curious. Purity is important though. I was never a Glory-hunter, even though I have a brand somewhere. Some of what I did was pretty Glorious. But I never did things for that, y'know? Mostly just because it was right." She knew Purity. Maybe not as well as the Rahu, but well enough.

"And don't you forget it, buddy," the Crescent retorts without a trace of irony. She begins strolling towards the stairs. "Hungry? I was just about to make something. Unless you fancy more raw fish?" Emily grins.

[Bleeds Well]

B.W. offers a shrug. "Like I said, I'm pursuing the favor of one now. If you can keep the snark to yourself, I'll let you tag along when I meet with it. Probably next full moon."

The idea of tasting food makes Bleeds Well visibly salivate. He's struggling to hide the pavlovian effect behind the dregs of the beer.

"Sure, but only if you let me help you. A wolf must hunt."

[Emily Makerith]

The Ithaeur's eyes light up. "Really? You got it! I'd love to see that. I'll be good. Just let me know!"

She moves up the stairs. "I mean, if you like? You came hunting for knowledge and insight, so you got your kill this time. If you happen to also find a meal, you still hunted." Emily grins. "Hunting is a metaphor for things we need. I mean, sure, it can be literal, but is a hunt for a mate any less a hunt? Or for the Spirit that possesses knowledge?"

The Crescent clomps to the top of the stairs and begins pulling off her boots and overalls. Underneath she's wearing just socks and a short t-shirt, which are similarly discarded - Bleeds Well can see her assortment of tattoos normally hidden by fur or clothing. Emily wanders into the kitchen and starts pulling out several tins and packets. "I was going to make a chilli - you're okay with hot things, right?" she calls out. This time there's no sound of innuendo - the Crescent doesn't mess around when hungry.

[Bleeds Well]

Alone downstairs he takes a moment to look over her tools, checking to see how well they've been kept and the level of organization of the garage. Eyes lingering for a moment over things like cutting torches and acetylene tanks.

"No problem. Unfortunately I don't know anyway of contacting the lunes of your moon. But the Ralunim are a beautiful bunch."

After a good long gawk he follows after her.

"So I take it you have a more liberal interpretation of the Oath?"