World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Invitation to a Bug Hunt (Complete)

[Astra D.]

January 21st, 2009. 9:32pm.

"...and in my drunken stupor, I did what I shoulda never done. Now I'm sittin' here, talkin' to you, drunk and on the run, I'm sittin' at a bar on the hmmhhhhm, mhhmhmmmhm mm hm hmm mm..."

Bare feet padded quietly across the cool floor, and Morgan lifted a large mug to her lips mid-verse, hips swaying slightly as she hummed the rest of the lyrics around a double espresso. The song continued to play in the background, echoing throughout the largely-open third floor of the art center; though not deafeningly loud, the lack of other activity in the building lent it an odd, hollow quality that resonated clearly in the empty space.

"Okay," she breathed, replacing the mug back on the floor and returning to her easel. Reference photos and drawings covered the window frame, and a chunk of broken concrete sat on the sill alongside a jar of polymer compound and a small bag of sand. This was something a little less abstract than her usual work, but so far, she was fairly pleased with her progress: a pair of large, masculine hands almost completely filled the canvas, and all the proportions seemed to be correct.

As her brush moved, the faint scent of oil and turpentine filled the air, and the crisp graphite outlines were slowly filled with color. She continued to sing quietly to herself, sipping her coffee now and again, as she allowed herself to become completely absorbed in her painting.

[Owns-The-Night]

The first clue the girl, eyes narrowed as she worked, had that she wasn't alone was the smell of warm food that mingled with the turpentine smell, gradually penetrating her awareness. She sniffed lightly: it smelled Italian.

The second clue was the low, rumbling voice that set off all kinds of feelings down her spine and into her belly.

"So I was passin' by and kinda figured you hadn't eaten yet." She peeked over her shoulder to see the powerful shape of UCLA's resident groundskeeping werewolf leaning comfortably against the doorjam. His dark brown hair was longer, coming down to his shoulders now. He had grown a short beard. But the gleaming silver eyes were the same as always, maybe even brighter than she remembered as he gave her a lopsided grin. He held up a plastic container, one that she recognised as having once contained venison stew, in one hand. "Want help me eat these meatballs? I'm warnin' ya, it's my first attempt mixin' meat with anythin' more than pepper and salt."

[Astra D.]

She laughed at that, genuine pleasure mingling with surprise in her voice as she dropped her brush into the jar of thinner and all but skipped across the intervening space. There were smudges of paint on her clothes (not all of them recent, by the look of it), her hands, on her cheek, and even hints of the stuff in the hair around her face. Even her bare toes hadn't escaped a splatter here and there, but there was precious little time to think about rogue paint drips as Morgan flung her arms about his midsection in a warm embrace.

"Declan!" she exclaimed happily, all thoughts of Graham and the painting he'd inspired fleeing at the sight of her long-absent friend. "I was hoping I'd get to see you soon." Her cheeks flushed slightly at the possible implications of that statement, and the memory of the last time they'd been in this room, and she finally released her hold on the big man to get a better look at him.

"You look great," she grinned up at him, twisting a lock of his hair around the tips of her fingers. He definitely didn't let himself go while he was gone, she mused, as her gaze swept briefly downward and back up again. Visibly, Morgan's bright green eyes lingered over her favorite parts (thighs, stomach, chest, and the decidedly non-platonic glance southward) before finally meeting his silver ones; a slightly guilty grin teased at the corners of her lips. And smell great, too, she added silently, savoring the familiar ripple of tension that fluttered through her abdomen as she inhaled. It was more difficult to focus around him than she remembered, but, then, it'd been months since she'd seen him last, and only narrowly did she resist the urge to rub her cheek against his chest and drown herself in pheromones.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were stopping by, or I might've cleaned up a bit," she said apologetically, rubbing her palms down jeans-clad hips. "And, yeah... Dinner was a no-go tonight, so if you're planning on feeding me, I've got no complaints!"

[Owns-The-Night]

"No need to scrub-up on my account." He grinned at her, trying to ignore the flare of longing her hug had sparked off. "You're lookin' good enough to eat as always." The Uratha smiled mischievously at that, and his eyes were no less boldly evaluating than hers as they traced the lines of her body through paint spattered clothing, finishing on her face.

"I like the tan." he told her while he reached out with his free hand, finger-brushing a lock of hair away from the beautiful paint-smudged face. Her scent was... well, mainly paint and turpentine to be fair, but there was Morgan underneath it, the scent that he could never forget, no matter how it was masked. He wanted to step into that scent and drown in her green eyes. Her fingers were toying with his hair and it felt gooood. A shiver went down his spine and he lowered his head, nuzzling briefly at her hand with his cheek. Then he blinked his lambent eyes and smiled at her, a trifle sheepishly.

"So... Lets eat before I drop, roll over, and ask for a belly-rub, huh?" He took her hand in his and kissed the fingertips before gently releasing it. Seeing no more furniture present than last time he had been here, Declan set the large bowl on the floor in the middle of the workspace as his hand dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out two forks and a large wad of napkins. Setting those down, he shrugged out of his jacket, revealing the clean, white, and fairly tight t-shirt underneath. He needed new ones, he had discovered on returning to L.A., but the old ones were still good for some things. He grinned slightly to himself as he set the jacket on the floor and, turning, gestured to Morgan.

"Here ya go. Grab a seat and lets dig in."

[Astra D.]

Surreptitiously, she watched the fabric of his shirt stretch as he pulled off his jacket, admiring the tautness of the cotton over his broad shoulders. Her fingertips itched as she imagined running her hands over the crisp white material, following the line of his collarbone as it flared outward, and slowly trailing downward to...

Easy, girl, she chided herself. He brought you dinner, not a copy of the Kama Sutra. ...Yet.

"Mmmmm," she hummed contentedly as the smell of home-cooked food wafted up towards her. "You don't have to ask me twice."

Eating was a welcome distraction from the barrage of impulses assaulting her brain, and she tucked away the savory meatballs and sauce with all the gusto of a college student living on grants. If the quiet murmurs and eye-rolling groans were any indication, she was more than pleased with his prowess in the kitchen.

In-between bites, fragments of conversation surfaced:

(Casually) "So..."

Her head bobbed slightly from side to side as she chewed.

"When did you get..."

Another mouthful disappeared past full lips.

"Back?"

She rolled one of the meatballs idly, before spearing it with her fork and taking another bite.

(More quietly) "This is freakin' awesome, by the way..."

Morgan folded her legs indian-style, getting more comfortable as she leaned in for more.

(Glancing up from the bowl) "And you still..."

As she finished chewing, an impish grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Swallowing, she licked her lips and added,

"Owe me a story."

[Owns-The-Night]

Watching Morgan eat was, for Declan, both an unalloyed pleasure and a very pleasant torture. Why oh why did I pick meatballs in sauce. He watched in rapt fascination as the Enchantress licked lips reddened further by tomato. Oh. Yeah. That's why. Glad I skipped the spaghetti now. He was nearly hypnotised, his own appetite nearly forgotten - well, one appetite at least. Cindy had been earthy, lovely and fun, but Morgan had something else altogether. Even when she wasn't trying to, she radiated an almost ethereal sensuality that filled his mind (and parts lower) with silver fire. Was it her Awakened nature? Was it something else? Once or twice in the past he had almost suspected a spell of some kind, but she seemed so blissfully unaware of the effect she had that he immediately cast that though away.

With a small shake of his body, he forced himself to focus on what she had said, and smiled.

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you a story." He speared a meatball of his own and made it disappear in two bites, tongue flashing out and swiping the blob of sauce from his lower lip. "Where to begin?" His eyes took on a thoughtful look as he regarded her.

"You remember I told you about the man-eater. How we were gonna track him down and stop him?" Morgan nodded. "Well, we did it, but it went badly. Long story short on that: the little pack we almost had fell apart before we were really even a unit. Most of that was my own damn fault, but I didn't realise that until much later."

"So I was mopin' around feelin' sorry for myself like a girl without a prom date, and my duty to my territory started goin' to hell. I felt apathy, real apathy. I wondered what it was all for, what the point of it was. We tend to get a bit funny in the head without a pack, y'see. We're social creatures, but I'd spent my human life bein' a loner. I wasn't adjustin' well." He ate another meatball and shrugged. "So one night, I have a dream. I was back up in Montana, and Luna was smilin' down at me, showin' me that I needed to go there, to find out who I really was, where I had come from."

"So I went." He looked up at Morgan, apology in his gaze. "I looked for you, I really did. Tried a few times to call you, but for some reason I couldn't get hold of you." He frowned. "I realised later on that there was a good reason for that. But at the time, I was going slowly crazy as the urge to head north turned into a headache."

"I left LA in wolf shape and ran damn near the whole way, travelling away from roads and cars. It was... good." He smiled at her. "I... wished sometimes that you were there. That you could see those places with me, all the wild areas." He shrugged and grinned, a little embarrassed. "Maybe I'll take you that way sometime. Course, you might need to get a spell that'll change you into a wolf first, unless you want to hike the whole way." He chuckled, then continued.

"So I got up there and met..." He paused. "I met a woman. Cindy. She and I... well." He smiled a trifle uncomfortably. "She took me home." He winced a tiny fraction, watching Morgan's eyes, wondering how she'd feel. "I was lonely and... she kinda liked me, I guess."

[Astra D.]

Morgan listened quietly, hands resting on her thighs as he explained why he'd left. She couldn't help it; the beginnings of a pleased, mildly flattered smile crept over her face while he spoke, crinkling the corners of her eyes and tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He'd tried to find her.

She wouldn't have gone, of course. Well, probably not, she amended, as she considered the possibility. The idea of an extended vacation for two held all sorts of promise, but as a girl who'd been born and raised in the city, being stuck in the wilderness in the middle of winter was a rather daunting proposition. Still, the fact that he'd made the effort at all spoke volumes about his sincerity, and that was a novel enough trait to the young mage to score some serious brownie points.

That smile didn't vanish when he talked about Cindy, either, and if there was a momentary flicker of envy in her eyes, it didn't last. At the core of things, she was still human, with all the emotional frailties that entailed, but she certainly couldn't fault him for seeking companionship when the opportunity presented itself. Hadn't she done the same?

"Thank you," she said, tilting her head to one side as she took in his slightly abashed expression. "For trying to find me, I mean. But if it was supposed to happen," the girl continued, spreading her hands, "it would've." She shrugged, teasing laughter in her eyes and warmth in her smile. "And as far as this woman you met, really... Could I blame her for wanting to take you home? Besides, it's not like you've got my name tattooed on your arm, or anything, you know."

Morgan sobered slightly, then, her smile softening by degrees.

"As long as it's what you wanted, as long as it meant something to you, you have no reason to be ashamed or embarrassed. When you're with someone like that, it should always be the most important thing you're doing at that moment. Maybe it's only for a night, or a few weeks or months, but it should never really be empty, you know?"

Her gaze flicked downward for a moment, considering her own words, before once again meeting his. It was easy to say, and easy to be sincere, because it was true, but the taste of the words still left a faintly bittersweet taste in her mouth.

[Owns-The-Night]

He relaxed somewhat at her reaction and got comfortable, laying down on his side the cool floor next to her, uncaring of it's hardness. He smiled, still a little abashed. "Well, it was only the one night, but yeah: I remembered what you said about sex before, right here in this room in fact, about it bein' fun and warmin' and stuff." He nudged her knee with his hand, then flashed a truly wicked grin as he remembered the encounter. "It was good advice, but I think I wore her out. She was fast asleep when I left."

"So from there, I hiked up to the old family place. It was a fuckin' mess: roof gone, two outer walls needin' fixin', a family of raccoons hibernatin' in the wood cellar... A mess." He grinned up at her green eyes. "I left the raccoons alone and got to work. Bought a few basic tools and fixed that sucker up good. Hard livin', but clean, y'know? Chopped the wood I needed, bought supplies only when strictly necessary. I slept in the mornin' in the little shelter I made inside the intact room in the house, and worked through the afternoon. Night time, I hunted. Was on my own for the first week, but there were wolf tracks everywhere, so I figured I'd run into some sooner or later." His eyes went distant and he smiled, a peaceful serene expression that was almost shocking on his stern features.

"Sure enough, I bumped into them one fine night with Luna sheddin' light on the snow and not a cloud in the sky." His eyes focused on hers. "Wolves are pretty nervous around us, same as humans are. But once they'd decided I was friendly, I was pretty much part of the pack. I let the alpha know I didn't want his spot, and he was happy as anythin' to let me run with them. It was good, Morgan. It's like the purest joy I've ever experienced. There's no bullshit, no complications. Just the hunt and good fellowship. But I wasn't completely one of them. Can't be. They would still be skittish around me, and they didn't understand why I turned down their females. I just said that I kinda had a female a long way away, and that was that." He winked at her. "So that was pretty much how the first month went. Hard work, hard play. Did me a lot of good."

He stopped for a moment, snagging another meatball from the few that were left and popping it whole into his mouth.

[Astra D.]

"You have a 'female,' huh?" she grinned, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she leaned back on her hands. "Careful. Next thing you know, you'll be thinking about settling down, having a litter of your own..."

It really was good to see him, she reminded herself. Even though she'd been absent, too, she'd often wondered, sitting on Ka-Ren's front porch in the evenings, if he was still out there somewhere. Good friends were hard to come by, and harder to keep, and the relief she'd felt upon actually seeing the big man was immense. It was strange, she mused, how easily she'd fallen in with "Crazy Perault," and the realization of how much she'd actually missed him- the easy way he smiled, his all-encompassing hugs, and a distinct lack of awkward silences- had come as a bit of a shock during her own little "vacation" from urban life.

She was quiet for a moment, lost in her own thoughts as she watched him eat. A faint smile lingered on her lips, but it broadened into a grin as she pointed to her chin.

"Missed a spot," the young mage laughed, indicating a smudge of orange beneath his lower lip. "Thanks again, by the way. Next time you feel like experimenting in the kitchen, feel free to bring some by. If you can cook this well all the time, I'll be happy to play guinea pig."

[Owns-The-Night]

"Thanks." A pink tongue swiped out and down, cleaning the smudge of sauce before doing a quick circle of his lips to make sure they were clean. "I admit, cookin's definitely in my top five favorite things to do." He gave her a sly, wolfish smile. "Anyway," he continued with a ghost of that smile lingering on his lips. "That was the 'normal' side of my vacation. Now for the fun stuff." He sat up and got comfortable, his face sobering.

"There was this other werewolf I met who knew about me, said he knew my mother and could tell me about her..." Dec settled into storytelling mode, his deep voice describing the encounter with Speaks-With-Fire, reciting the tale of Fair-In-Her-Wrath, explaining about the Pure. There was a primal simplicity to the Uratha technique, a cadence and structure that still translated well into human speech. Though no Cahalith, Declan's voice and the shimmer of emotion in his silver gaze helped impart meaning into the tale: how the tumultuous events had affected him personally. True to form, he held nothing back from Morgan as he told her of the Glade where his mother's remains rested, and the battle between him and the Pure. Of how his blood and that of his foes had mixed on the churned snow under Luna's full gaze, of how She had smiled on him in what he thought were his last moments, and of how, finally, he had stood alone on the field of battle and howled his victory to his true Mother.

The tale was of brutal combat, bloodshed and rage. But there was a finer spirit about it too: bravery, honor, an unwillingness to back down or go gently. He gave emphasis to how he felt, rather than what he did. And interspersed with the sorrow, aggression and defiance, he told the girl opposite that he had thought of her as his last conscious act before entering what he believed would be his last Rage. It was the tale of a soul deciding on its identity, of choosing that which was central to its being. And it was told unselfconsciously, honestly and with total trust.

"...so I didn't see them again after that night. Guess the Pure's word was good enough. I spent the rest of the time there hunting with my four-footed friends, fixin' the cabin up right, and visitin' my mother's grave." He looked down at the empty plastic bowl reflectively. "Not sure why I did that. I guess I felt... that there was some answers to be had there. But I was gettin' restless. The cabin was done, and the wolves were my only company. Good company, but not... not what I truly needed." He looked back up at her. "I didn't really get that until late December. A wolf-spirit pack found me there in the Shadow by my mother's cairn. Their alpha was happy with me, because I'd helped the local wolves survive. So he gave me some advice. Basically, he kicked me in the pants and told me to go home." Dec grinned a trifle sheepishly. "I bristled a bit, but he was right. Up there..." he waved a hand in a north-ish direction "... is a refuge, a place to get away from it all. It's a place for hidin', healin' and relaxin'. But it ain't a place for Livin' with a capital L."

"Life is down here, with all the chaos and shit to deal with. Challenges to meet, and friends to meet them with." He looked Morgan in the eye. "Down here is everythin' I need to be who and what I am."

Click to reveal.. (So How Good Was The Story?)

(21:11:09) (Dec_rowr!): Hmm. To tell a story and make it compelling. Presence and Expression. +1 for striking looks. 5 deece

(21:11:40) ChatBot: (Dec_rowr!) rolls 5d10 and gets 7,1,10,8,6.

(21:11:46) (Dec_rowr!): whee

(21:11:50) ChatBot: (Dec_rowr!) rolls 1d10 and gets 6.

2 succs

[Astra D.]

Throughout the telling of Declan's tale, Morgan sat still and silent, the slow rise and fall of her chest and the occasional blink of elfin green eyes the only indications that a living woman sat across from him. The intensity of her attention was almost eerie in its completeness, as if every word was an ephemeral gem to be studied, admired, and carefully stored away for safekeeping. He might as well have been recounting the adventures of Ulysses, as far as she was concerned; it was from such stories that myths were born, after all, and later experiences would only nurture them.

Words were important, she had learned. Words shaped reality in subtle ways that even the wisest sages only dimly understood, and while Declan was no effusive bard, it was the passion with which he spoke that lent his story weight and substance in this world and those unseen. He had changed, the young enchantress realized, and the transformation had been a difficult one. She wondered, as he related the trials he had faced, what the price had been.

A flicker of something indefinable passed over her features when he described the moments leading up to the Rage, and how he had thought of her. Not Amber. Not his mother. Not Luna, or Father Wolf, but her, and a strange torrent of emotion rippled through her consciousness. Confusion, pride, elation, gratitude, affection, and sorrow flowed into and over one another, until they were a single sensation for which she had no name. She was still trying to define it, give it a name, a form, when she realized he'd finished.

With a slightly abashed smile at his expectant gaze, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and nodded.

"You should be proud. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult that was for you, but, here you are. And," she added, tilting her head and regarding him with an uncharacteristic softness in her eyes, "it's good to have you back. You've been missed."

[Owns-The-Night]

He smiled at her, glad he'd told the tale despite being no Cahalith. "I missed you too." His voice was soft, made reflective by the storytelling as he held her gaze for a long moment, then ducked his head to the side slightly, his eyes still on hers as his smile turned sheepish. "Yeah, I am a bit proud, I guess. I mean, five damn Pure, and I didn't have to kill one of them." The smile became a grin. "Okay, luck and Luna were definitely with me, but there's sayin's that a warrior makes his own luck. I guess I had more to fight for than they did." Again he met her gaze, again ducked his head to the side slightly. He didn't realise what he was doing, the knowledge not impacting on a conscious level. This was how the wolves courted! When a male who wasn't a female's alpha liked her, he'd bring her food and stay near, and his body language would be by turns confident and playful. Declan Owns-The-Night didn't realise he was mimicking his four-footed cousins. It's unlikely he would have minded if he did, but he might have reined it in a little. Morgan wasn't the sort to settle for one guy, at least not yet, and though casual sexual encounters were one thing, when a wolf Mated, it was for life.

"So..." he tilted his head at her "How've you been, Morgan? Living rough in the desert, if I remember aright from the chatroom."

[Astra D.]

"Mmmm," she hummed in assent, rocking backward and grinning as she grasped her knees. "Something like that, yeah. It was rough for me, anyway." She shot him a teasing look that was clearly intended to ward off any impending retorts about her urbanity, and drummed paint-smeared fingertips on equally multicolored jeans. White teeth worried briefly at her lower lip; Where to begin? her expression asked plainly. It took her a few moments to sort out her thoughts, and while she did, one bare foot swept outward in an arc across the floor. Idly, her toes trailed back and forth against his leg, the slow, rhythmic contact both affectionate and familiar, and thoroughly unconscious on her part.

"Before the holidays," she began finally, her voice clear in the quiet studio, but distant with the recollection. "I was looking for somewhere to go, something to do. Anything to keep from having to go home. I found an ad posted over in the Shadow Box... Someone looking for a short-term housekeeper and studio assistant. I figured, 'Hell, it couldn't possibly be worse than spending a few weeks with my mother." A mirthless grin pulled her lip into a taut, thin line.

“So I ended up out at this guy’s house. Ka-Ren was his name.” Here the smile became more genuine, crinkling up the corners of her eyes with amusement. “Apparently, he’s had issues with mispronunciations, because he was pretty quick to point out that it wasn’t ‘Karen,’” she continued, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Pretty decent guy. Phenomenal sculptor.”

She paused for a moment, stretching almost full-length across the floor to retrieve her then-lukewarm coffee and wincing in disappointment as she took a sip. Her nose wrinkled with distaste, she set the cup down behind her, out of sight.

“He makes these huge… Monoliths, I guess, out of metal, but they’re functional.” She frowned, trying in vain to convey exactly what the arcane artwork looked like. As she spoke, her hands moved of their own accord: broad arcs indicated shape and relative size, while deft motions of her fingers painted mental images of more delicate designs and smaller workings. “Moving parts, but no electric mechanisms or anything. He said something about using the earth’s natural magnetic fields, but it was way over my head, and I half-think it was bullshit anyway.”

There was more, of course, but she didn’t know how to tell him. She’d come to know Declan as a relatively uncomplicated man, and the bizarre twists of her own thread in Destiny’s tapestry were, she worried, more complex than he’d willingly accept. How could she explain to him her morbid fascination with death, and the fact that she’d courted it on more than one occasion? Or that Ka-Ren had shown her a tiny fraction of the control a will-worker could exert over its power?… Or that it had left an ache in her soul so potent it was nearly a physical thing?

No, she decided, watching his attentive, open features wistfully. Not yet. Let the shadows stay in the darkness for now, where they belong. Don’t ruin this, Morgan. You’ve got precious little light now as it is.

With another bright (if somewhat forced) smile, and a shrug of her narrow shoulders, the Rahu’s companion seemed to discard the remainder of her absence as unimportant.

“That’s about it, really. No epic battles for my soul or anything. Just lots of time to study and think.”

[Owns-The-Night]

He smiled as she described the eccentric dude she'd been helping out. "Okay, sounds like you had an interestin' time at least. Magnetic fields..." He shook his head with a low chuckle. Her comment about 'epic battles' brought his mind back around to the other reason he'd come, though, and the Enchantress blinked and looked a little nervous as her werewolf friend(?) grinned at her, his eyes gleaming. She noted that the silver was far more pronounced these days, as though his gaze was lit from within.

"Speakin' of epic battles and souls..." He said with deceptive casualness that didn't fool her one bit as he stretched. "There's a little situation here on campus you might be interested in." He swiftly outlined Titus's problem student, the fact that the Prof was a mage, and that there might well be a locus under the Earth & Space Sciences Building that was the source of the spiritual infestation. "I was thinkin' it might also be where that Azlu bitch made her lair." He said more soberly. "Now I don't think there'll be anything that big in there, but ya never know. I'm plannin' a massive strike on this place. We're talkin' mages, vampires, and of course werewolves. All the locals I know and trust. And on the trust list, you're right up at the top." He smiled at her, his head tilting to one side.

"So... Interested?"

[Astra D.]

It took a few moments for Morgan to process all of that, and a few moments more to wipe the wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look from her face.

He can't be serious, she thought incredulously, but the look on his face said it all.

He's serious. Holy shit.

"You're talking about a... a..." She faltered for a moment, searching for the right word to describe what he was asking. Her voice rose appreciably in pitch as she continued slowly, "An assault on the Earth and Space Sciences Building? But what about security?" the young Acanthus asked, shaking her head in disbelief as she got to her feet. Her bare feet whispered rhythmically across the floor, moving from one side of the small studio space to the other and back again. "And if you don't think it's anything major, why so many? I'm not even sure what I'd be able to do, Dec, honestly. It's not like I can hurl fireballs or, or, stop time, or... Well," she sighed, hands waving in exasperation. "Anything! I can't even open portals across the Gauntlet, or make dark places brighter, or talk to spirits! The best I can do is see what's already happened, or do some minor auguries, or maybe give people a bit of an edge. Unless there are ghosts involved, or you want to make the spirits swear oaths all night..."

She trailed off with a sigh, dropping her hands to her sides.

"This is important, isn't it?" she finished quietly.

[Owns-The-Night]

"Yup." he nodded. "It's not just the spirit riding some poor kid or the danger of an Azlu-controlled locus on the campus. It's an opportunity, too. For us to reach across the differences we all have and see that we've got some common ground." He stood up and stepped towards her, his voice low and intense.

"Ever since you showed me the threads, I've been lookin' for connections. You, me, Amber, Sarah, Lucien, Titus.... the list spins on. We're all shadow people, we all live in this neighbourhood. We can work at cross purposes, get in each others way, misunderstand each other and go to war, like what happened to a pack of Uratha on the other side of town. They went to war with a bunch of mages and both sides took a beatin', but the werewolves lost that one. Why'd they go to war? Because neither side would meet in the middle." He smiled at her as he came to stand in front of her, taking her hand.

"We don't stand alone like islands. We're all part of the same, well, ecosystem I guess you could call it. That can lead to war, or it can lead to somethin' far more powerful and flexible. I want to show that it's possible to all sides." His smile was faint, his eyes blazed with passion for something other than her or battle.

[Astra D.]

Try as she might, she couldn't meet his gaze. He seemed so earnest and sincere, and he wanted this to happen for all the right reasons, but...

But what? What are you afraid of? Getting arrested? Dying? Morgan's lips twitched briefly at that. No. Death wasn't something she feared, not after having been through it once already. What then?

She forced herself to look up at him then, staring into the lambent silver pools of his eyes and losing, for just a moment, her sense of perspective. She could see herself reflected in those moon-bright discs, and the pretty, mournful face staring back down at her was haloed in that same luminous argent. The clarity of the image shocked her thoroughly, and she suddenly remembered the reverence with which he'd touched the scar over her collarbone.

Blinking up at him in surprise, the answer blazed itself across the forefront of her mind as surely as a comet crossing the night sky.

Failing. I... I don't want to be the one they're relying on. I don't want to be the reason they...

Her thoughts trailed off into incoherence as tears welled up in her eyes, only to be swiftly dashed away with the back of her hand.

"All right," Morgan murmured huskily, her dark head bobbing in assent. "I'll help you, if I can."

[Owns-The-Night]

He smiled widely down at her and leaned down to kiss her cheek, his short beard soft and faintly tickling on her skin. "Thanks, Morgan." He told her softly, still smiling into her liquid emerald eyes. "You're a troop. I couldn't even have thought of it without you, y'know?"

He couldn't help himself, being this close and seeing her so emotional. He pressed his cheek to hers and hugged her tight to him, letting the girl know how much she meant, how much he had missed her. Careful! Cut it out! She's not ready, and you ain't ready for rejection. his brain tried to tell him, but he didn't care. This, right here, was where his warm heart's song was, even as his soul soared with the Full Moon's song. He sighed as he held her, taking this moment heedless of what might come later.

[Astra D.]

It would have been easy, with her lips a hair's breadth from his, and his arms wrapped 'round her, to simply lose herself in the moment. The way he smelled, the way he felt pressed against her sent surge of liquid heat flooding through her, warming her skin as she leaned closer. At that moment, with him holding her so tenderly, all of her senses seemed sharpened, heightened, and every minute centimeter of contact was excruciatingly, delightfully rendered in her awareness. The rasp of his cheek against hers, the contented rumble in his chest, the feel of his torso crushed against her breasts, and the whisper of his breath all commingled to form a heady, sensual elixir that uncoiled languidly in her belly.

Already, her head was turning, lips tingling in anticipation as the remembered passion of his first hot, fevered kisses only fanned the spark blooming bright within her...

No!

She remembered, too, how angry and frustrated he'd been that night walking home from the party, what he'd said about not wanting her to simply be "a meal for his dick." It was like a gout of icy water, instantly extinguishing the insistent flame of desire.

Shyly, or perhaps dejectedly, she backed away, eyes downcast. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to forget it, to take what she could get while she could get it, but it wasn't right. Not with him.

He deserves better than the campus whore, she thought bitterly.

"It's getting late," she said finally, feeling his eyes on her as she withdrew.

[Owns-The-Night]

I told you, you asshole! There ya go gettin' all clingy and yup, there she goes away from that! Luna wept, Dec. When're you gonna learn patience! He was angry with himself, not her, but he turned to pick up the bowl from the floor, scooping up his jacket in the process. Let's get out of here before you get the 'friends' speech.

"Yeah. It is." He smiled at her, his eyes softening as he regarded the dark-haired beauty he wanted to tell so much more to... but didn't dare. She would shun him, not want to see him anymore. The thought actually caused the Rahu pain, and he moved quickly to cover up his sudden intake of breath at that stabbing silver sensation. "I'll see ya later, Little Red. I'll be around when ya leave here: you'll get home safe." He grinned, trying to be casual as he nudged her shoulder in passing. "I'll call you for the war councils, too. Those should be a blast." he said with cheeriness he didn't entirely feel. Then he was gone.

As he practically ran down the steps, Owns-The-Night fought the urge to turn around, run back up there and tell Morgan how he felt and damn the consequences! He didn't though. His bravery failed him in this test: he would not be able to stand hearing her actually say in words what her actions dictated: That they could only be friends, that she wasn't the sort to be tied down, least of all to a warrior of the moon. She liked him, he knew. But at the moment she was not ready for anything more than flirtation and casual sex. To be fair, Dec wondered if he himself was. The answer was easy.

With her. Only with her.