Forgers and Fetishes

[Emily Makerith]

Emily's tools are in excellent condition. There are clearly some newer sets, down at the far end away from the stairs, but the older sets are kept clean and rust-free.

"Eh, no worries. I can contact the Ithaeumin in my own way. They're very close to the spirits, for obvious reasons." She looks ever her shoulder at him and grins broadly. "Bleeds, I have a pretty liberal interpretation of everything." She laughs.

[Bleeds Well]

He looks around for a fridge and another beer and a seat. Making himself quite at home. A home, the idea gives him a longing and makes his skin crawl at the same time. The feeling of walls closing in on him nags at the back of his mind. He distracts himself noticing something in the playful Ithaeur's words, and her backside.

"So you've settled on Bleeds as a nickname for me? Circles back to our other conversation now doesn't it"

[Bleeds Well]

He clears his throat.

"Do your tattoos have anything to do with your brands?"

[Emily Makerith]

Emily had been busy dicing, and chopping. She'd kinda zoned out.

"Mmm? Wha-?" She looks back around over one toned shoulder, then back to the chopping board. "Oh, not... really? But Bleeds Well doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Plus, I can't exactly shout it when there's a lot of people around. I get that you've earned your stripes with a name, I do, but I never heard of people abandoning their... 'human' name, I guess, completely for an earned one." She shrugs. "Guess I just like having something I can use all the time."

Emily grins, dumping the onion into a large pan and winces slightly as a spat of oil catches naked skin. "Gah, fuck. Um, mostly vanity projects. Except for this one, obvs," she jumps her left shoulder, which has a Crescent moon starting at her shoulder, curving down along her side and back in along a muscular shoulder blade. "I want the vine further down my arm. Just been so busy. And all money went into the refurbishment." She begins to add mince, and dump rice into a saucepan. "I did hear about binding spirits into scar fetishes, like tribal tattoos. I'd love to give that a try."

She opens the fridge, cracks open another beer and begins mixing things. "Here, take the wheel," she adds, handing Bleeds Well the spatula and slinking off to the opposite end of the flat. There's a muffled sound of relief, and after a minute, a flush, and she slinks back, leaning on the kitchen door. "What about you, man? Besides Klaives, anything you want to put together?" Perhaps oddly, her tone isn't even remotely suggestive. She scoops up her beer and takes another drink.

[Bleeds Well]

"It's not uncommon in my tribe. Suthar Anzuth often throw off their herd life completely. We are at war, a war without end, and to be elite, tier one soldiers in it takes complete dedication."

His stomach gurgles as the scene of cooking food fills the area. Cooked food... vegetables. The meal he shared with Hector comes to mind. Bonding over a meal, a long standing tradition among apes and wolf alike.

"Fetish tattoos... the idea always gives me the heebie-jeebies. There are some spirits I might not mind keeping so close to me.... but very few."

He takes up the spatula like someone handed a gun for the first time, but he doesn't hesitate to take his place at the stove. As the sound of water hits his ears, he uses it to mask his own relief. The brew had been brewing in his stomach, unaccustomed to digesting beer. His previous joke comes back to bite him and his nose crinkles. Grabbing a kitchen rag he waves it, trying to clear the air before Blue returns. No need to offend the sensibilities of his Ritesmaster.

When she hits the doorway he waves the rag over the stove, continuing his work of moving the pans contents from one side to the other. "Well obviously I want a big ass axe or hammer or something cool. Cause how fucking scary is that a giant Gauru chasing you down wielding a war axe? But I was thinking a helmet that assists the fight against Kuruth." His voice takes on a somber nature as he stares intently at the pan, not daring to meet Emily's eyes. "Not for me, but for Pale-Wolf. Sister Brigit has had a hard enough road. If she could receive help keeping her rage righteous, it might by her the time to restore her harmony to her nature. I know there might be a part of the pack that hates me for demanding her punishment. But one must suffer penance to receive atonement in the eyes of Father. She is moonless, but no less Urdaga for it. I want her to find balance and return to Harmony. It's up to us to help her and hold her responsible for her actions, lest her actions resonate poorly across the whole pack throughout the hisil."

[Emily Makerith]

Emily shrugs. "Eh. Maybe it's a Crescent thing." She steps in and takes the spatula back. "Depends on what's being powered, I guess."

There's an eyeroll. "Subtle. And how will you lug around this monstrosity the rest of the time? In my experience, Garau rarely like to employ tools."

She stares into the chilli, much as he did. "No, it was right, and B was wrong. It was that simple." There's a long pause, where she drinks her beer. "I'll have to check if there's a way of doing that. Not sure off the top of my head. But don;t worry about Brigit. I reckon she'll be just fine."

The Crescent starts adding the rest to the chilli.

[Bleeds Well]

Relieved that everything is in the chili pot he steps aside and lets Emily stir. "Well the Ralunim notoriously only assist Rahu, and good luck getting a lune to agree to life as a fetish. But there has to be someway we can help our sister. I refuse to give up on family."

He makes himself at home, opening cabinets to find a clean glass and pouring himself some water. He tries not to make a fast at the first sip, all those human chemicals in it for keeping it "clean". He changes subjects to back to something less heavy.

"You've never met my Grandfather. He has this giant fucking club he'll take out if he knows he's going to fight something particularly nasty. Rage Warden in think. Doubles his time in Garau, my god is that a scary thing. Old fart seems to be able to walk around in the skin for damn over minutes as it is. But for me, I'm thinking something more along the lines of an essence stealing ax for fighting spirits like Sweet-Release."

[Emily Makerith]

"Oh, fuck. No. No way. I wasn't thinking of a Lune. That's just..." EMily exhales loudly. "Spirits aren't all or nothing, y'know. There's nuance there. Like... philosophy of a tribe. Always more than you first see."

Stirring gently, Emily looks over her shoulder, brow furrowed. "You know we can do that anyway, right? Though biting a spirit and tearing out it's essence? Or do you just want a weapon to do that? I mean.... it should be possible, I guess. Make the essence the payment to the spirit..." She scratches her hip and drinks the beer.

[Bleeds Well]

Bleeds Well bursts out laughing at Emily's response to his mention of the lunes, "Yeah, it's a spectrum. Gotta see the rainbow of spirits. Rage gifts us with ways to take the anger from another I'm sure something can be worked into a fetish to help suppress your own."

He raises his eyebrows at her comment, "I've been hunting errant spirits for many years now, sis. To steal their essence is to steal their strength and add it to our own. But a weapon that makes that transference easy is always welcome. And if we must go to war with the Pure..." he sighs and leans back against a counter sipping his water before continuing. "I'd prefer not kill them, but to steal their strength to deter them."

[Emily Makerith]

Emily shrugs. "I'll look into it, see what I can dig up. I've been a bit busy with other... uh... priorities."

Calling Mable a priority, are we?
Shut up.

The Crescent turns the food down to a low heat and scoops up the used utensils, adding them to the sink. Pausing to burp again, she turns and leans against the fridge. "So have I," she says emphatically. "I just always preferred that kind of hunt with claws. I mean you're... what. My age, ish? Thirties?" The mechanic snaps her fingers and wanders our of the kitchen, returning with a small sewn bag that she bundles into Bleeds Well's hands. "Before I forget. Decay Dust, one dose. Runs out in about three weeks. You'll know it's bad when the powder disappears." The mechanic shivers, and wanders into her bedroom, returning quickly in a fluffy bathrobe.

"Well... as long as we don't have another Oath break about killing Pure. That's a much more... heat of the moment style thing. And let's face it, more likely to happen that not." Emily scratches a hip idly.