So west they go, the three of them: the hero, the sidekick, and the damsel in distress. The hero whose surety of her conscience does not translate into surety of action. The sidekick who... well let's be honest, she's a tried and true sidekick, eager to get out of the mundane routine of her life and out into the world, eager to help, bright and clever and inexperienced but surprisingly useful. And the damsel who, in the depths of her distress, is determined to put at least one bullet in her assailant before she slams one home into her own skull.
If this was a traditional story, they'd be doing it all wrong. But if this was a traditional story, Ilyana would love Ethan, and Avery would drive in the direction the Questing Stone -- her necklace, a gun -- takes them knowing exactly what she's going to say and do when she finds Midsummer's Shadow, and exactly how she's going to put herself back together again after she dashes her honor, her name, and her chance at fosternhood against the rocks of Ilyana's broken life, shattered hope.
They have only been driving a few minutes when she reaches into the center console's compartment for the bracelet that Iron Tooth gave her. She dangles it from her finger over her shoulder, eyes on the road, telling Ilyana:
"This is what Iron Tooth gave me to find you with. He said you always wore it, but the fact that you did not take it with you makes me question its value to you. I believe that if he is tracking us, he is doing it with the bracelet. If you can bear it, I would suggest throwing it out the window."
-shadow-Ilyana doesn't so much as blink. She glances at the bracelet, plucks it out of Avery's hand, punches the window button on her doorhandle and sends it flying.
It hits the sand. They speed on, through the night.
--
It's another long drive. West and south and west again. It's a drive even longer than the first one, made to seem nearly interminable by the fact that they don't know when it'll end. The Questing Stone gives little to no indication of absolute distance. It tugs harder or it tugs softer, but all things are relative, and when the hours begin to creep by with little change in the Stone it becomes hard to remember. Was it tugging harder an hour ago? Two? Are they getting closer? Will they ever arrive?
In the back seat, Ilyana slips her feet from her shoes. She folds her body in the seat, legs crossed at the ankles, knees drawn up. She does not sleep. She stares out the window, smudges turning to shadows turning to circles under her eyes. I sleep when I am dead, is her answer, abrupt, if anyone suggests rest to her.
In the passenger's seat, Bright Spear has no such compunctions. The girl starts to nod off before an hour passes. Her temple presses to the glass, her cheek cradled by the seat belt. Before long her mouth is slack, her face relaxed. Hours later she wakes with a start, looks guiltily around, sits up and rakes fingers through her hair.
"I can drive a while, Rhya," she offers,
and if Avery lets her, she drives more than a while. She drives the rest of the night, both hands on the wheel, eyes big on the road ahead.
--
Dawn comes. They have nicked a corner of New Mexico. They have crossed most of Arizona. They are passing into Nevada, and the Questing Stone is still pulling, pulling, pulling west. When Avery wakes -- if she slept -- she finds that even Ilyana has succumbed to the hour and the monotony of the road. The kinswoman is restlessly asleep in the back seat, fine brow furrowed, giving near-animal whimpers now and then.
Bright Spear looks over at Avery. She looks -- a little elated, to be truthful. "I think he's in Vegas, Rhya," she says,
and two and a half hours later they are crossing the state line, they are passing man-made Lake Mead and the Hoover Dam, they are approaching that most artificial of cities. Born of veterans of the Manhattan Project and gangsters of the postwar era, raised out of barren desert by human will and human greed alone. The cradle of vice, the city of sin: shimmering like a mirage in the morning sun.
Reverence of DawnThey have to stop a few more times. For gas, for rapidly-procured food, for a bathroom break, but they are quick stops and then back on the road. Avery doesn't try to talk to Ilyana, or to Bright Spear. Avery is lost in her own thoughts, challenging thoughts, and with every mile they begin to gel a little more. And with it comes rage, a cool and crystalline clarity of fury that is so palpable, and so dangerous, that it is a wonder if either the kinswoman or the Cliath attempt to speak to her.
Bright Spear falls asleep, the questing stone necklace hanging from the rearview mirror and pulling, pulling, dangling and weaving and pulling again. Avery's eyelids are heavy, and she is glad for cruise control. When the guardian wakes, Avery nods, pulling over to switch seats with her. She balls up her coat as a makeshift pillow and sleeps, instantly, the way a soldier does when they know it may be their only chance. She wakes with the light, a bad taste in her mouth and eyes bleary. God, the car is still moving. Dawn hasn't even completely broken yet.
Sitting up slowly, breathing in, she drinks some water from her bottle in the center console. That's when Bright Spear speaks, sort of elated, but the anger this stirs in Avery is like flames jumping up from a wok, sudden and searing. She exhales, straightens, and after they pull over for another bathroom break and to grab some coffee and scones -- because Avery wants a scone, even a dry scone from Starbucks -- she takes the wheel again.
"If he's at Caesar's Palace," Avery mutters as they drive into the strip, "I may just kill him."
-shadow-The Questing Stone pulls, and pulls; pulls them into Las Vegas, past those suburbs that most people forget even exist; past the business sector that most people overlook. To the Strip. To those enormous hotel-casinos, each more outrageously opulent than the last: the rooms, the buffets, the malls, the burlesques and the shows -- all of it at a pittance, all of it only to establish an atmosphere, a mood, a sort of endorphin rush that lowers the inhibitions and loosens the wallet. Spend, spend, spend. Roll those dice again.
It is mid-morning. Early enough that only families are awake and roaming the city. Later on come to bachelorette parties, the frats, the high-rollers and the wannabe-high-rollers. For now, the sidewalks are host to tourists in small family-flocks: mom and dad and maybe a grandparent or two, plus a gaggle of kids. At the seedier, older end of the strip, there are video stores with darkened windows; newspaper bins that sell magazines in opaque plastic wrap. Parents pull curious kids away by the hands. As Avery and her accumulated sidekicks and damsels roll down toward the new Strip, the hotels get ever higher, the fountains and fixtures more grand, the street broader, the tourists more numerous.
Midnight's Shadow is not, at least, at Caesar's Palace. Not much better though: the Questing Stone, when at last it wavers from its singleminded pull toward the west, begins to angle
toward
Bellagio.
-shadow-[FLIPPING A COIN HERE :D]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Reverence of DawnHer teeth are gritted when she pulls the dust-splattered Juke towards the Bellagio.
She slowly exhales, and with that exhale, restrains the urge to get out of the car, slam it shut, go into the casino in hispo, roar until the tourists run in panic, and demand in the High Tongue that Midsummer's Shadow show himself,
submit himself,
to judgement.
--
The car idles, and she looks at Bright Spear and Ilyana. "You can stay with the car," she says, not an offering but a strong suggestion. "I believe it will be best if I find him and see him alone."
-shadow-A flash of wariness on Ilyana's face. She sits straight, looking around the parking lot. Bright Spear, all valiant -- and also chewing gum again -- pops her gum and grins over her shoulder.
"Don't worry," she says. "You've got a gun. I've got claws and teeth. We'll be cool."
Ilyana snorts. She rolls down her window and starts to light a cigarette -- then, with a glance at Avery, thinks better of it. She folds her arms across her chest and returns to staring out the window.
--
That's how Avery leaves them: Bright Spear popping her gum in the front seat, her window rolled down, a lanky forearm hanging out. Ilyana in the back, taciturn and cheerful as ever, staring into the sunblazed distance.
Even in October, Vegas is a desert. It is hot by day, and searingly dry. The horizon wavers with heat. The sky dazzles. The sun etches Avery's shadow onto the ground, carves it black across asphalt, then cement, then the fanciful paving of Bellagio's grand entrance. A fountain ripples, jets, splashes. It sheds some precious moisture into the air, misting the Philodox as she passes.
Automatic doors whisk open. As with so many other Vegas hotels, the entrance opens into the casino. A world of noise and flash: slot machines, electronic poker, hot dog concessions for those too addicted to even visit the buffet. Mortals crane their necks about, their eyes widening; they shy away from Avery without understanding why. Security has an eye on her already.
The pendant in her hand pulls subtly upward.
Reverence of DawnWhen Ilyana throws that glance at Avery, she finds the Philodox already staring at her. Flicking her eyebrows up. Given the mood the Silver Fang has had for the last half of the drive and since waking, the Look has a bit of a you wanna go, sister? vibe. Ilyana decides not to smoke in Avery's car. Avery clips out, leaving her coat in the front seat, taking her necklace from the rearview mirror. Some time ago she pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Now she opens her outer white jacket, revealing more of the black vest-like shirt beneath.
And she stalks inside, a place that she both seems to belong in and stands out in without even trying. She ignores security. She ignores the starers. The mantle of judge, jury, and executioner has rarely hung on her so heavily, but it hangs on her now, as intimate, as part of her as a shadow.
She follows the pendant. Up.
-shadow-Up.
But first: a frustrating series of twists and turns; a veritable maze of slot machines and blackjack tables and you could win this Toyota 4Runner! kiosks and, and, and --
It's harder to find the elevator to the lobby than it is to find the exit in Ikea. But she finds it. And she finds the lobby, glorious, opulent, no expenses spared. The truth is these hotels are actually rather cheap, all things considered. The truth is the clientele here is, by and large, tourists from adjoining states. Ordinary folk. That's the whole point: give them a taste of the high life. Make them feel important, make them feel rich. Make them feel like dropping twenty dollars,
a hundred,
a thousand,
doesn't even matter. There's a psychology to all this, and it's not even subtle.
Amidst the grandeur, the decadence, Avery at once belongs and stands out. She, of all the guests, looks most like she belongs among heavy mahogany furniture and subtle, tasteful lighting. She, of all the guests, feels most like she isn't even a part of this little fantasy world of cheap, safe thrills. She burns with righteousness and fury. She is a desert storm sweeping through the lobby and into the elevator: silent, crackling with electricity.
--
Up she goes, then. Ten floors. Twenty. Thirty -- and abruptly, somewhere around the twenty-eight floor, the pendant swings down.
So she stops. She gets out of the elevator. She rides it back down, or she takes the stairs. Either way, she emerges onto the twenty-eight floor. Thick carpets and silent halls stretch out in both directions. She knows where the pendant pulls. She need only prepare herself, and follow it.
Reverence of DawnThey come here for the playact of wealth, of beauty, of royalty.
Avery is the real thing.
--
The door to the stairwell slams open -- yes, slams, noisily and angrily -- as she emerges onto the 28th. And she stalks, until her rage can be felt licking at the doors, until combined with her breeding, there is very little way, perhaps no way, that the Ragabash won't know she's coming.
So she stops, before she gets to his door. The door the pendant is pulling her towards. And she takes a breath and says clearly, carryingly:
"Midsummer."
-midsummer-No answer.
No answer as she slams out of that stairwell. No one takes those stairs. No one except those that don't matter, the servicemen, the maids, the fire marshal when he comes through to make sure this goddamn building gives half a hope of escape. Those stairs were narrow, were so cramped the flights folded back and forth on themselves; no space to look down between. Were strangely lit by caged bulbs. In that claustrophobic space Avery rage ricocheted and multiplied on itself, roared out to blanket the hallway.
No answer as she stalks its length, either. No answer as she passes those anonymous doors, those indistinguishable rooms hiding college kids, middle managers, overfed families on one last roadtrip before winter settles in. No answer as she stops before that door the pendant pulls to. No answer as she calls the name of the Garou she has been charged to find,
to capture,
to judge,
to punish.
--
No answer.
--
And then--
[dicesnail! @ 7:18PM[dexstealth!]Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 ) VALID
dicesnail! @ 7:18PM[witsalert!]Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 6, 9) ( success x 2 ) VALID
dicesnail! @ 7:23PMfree attack: SHOULDER TO GUT! +1 from ambush succ.Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 6 ) VALID
dicesnail! @ 7:24PM[str dam +5!]Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 3, 4, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 3 ) VALID
Soak 3 bashing!]
--and then the door flies open. Avery has scarcely time enough to register, and no time at all to react before
Midsummer's Shadow, hirsute and coarse-featured in his near-man form, charges out of the door. Slams a bony shoulder into Avery's midsection, drives her hard against the opposite wall, knocks the breath out of her, shoves her aside,
runs.
Reverence of DawnAlmost, she begins speaking to him. To draw him out, to warn him, but she does not want other doors to open, other people to come peering. She squares her shoulders, letting herself settle into readiness, and walks towards the pull the questing stone gives, beckoning, luring.
Her steps touch the carpet, scuff gently, in front of the door. Before she can reach for the handle, however, it flies open. A fair shape, glistening ever so slightly with hair that is almost fur which is almost completely white even in this form, throws itself into her. The wind leaves her lungs instantly as her back hits the wallpaper opposite the door, and all at once her back and her gut and her ribs all ache
and she is furious.
If she were not so taken off-guard, she might grab his hair or slam her fist into his head when he's charging her. But he's a ragabash, and she is not. She is far more used to fighting beside other wolves, rather than against them. Avery might run after him, tackle him, sweep his leg, anything. But Avery's truest strengths lie elsewhere, and instead of any of those things, she gathers her will, calling on the spirit whose form can be seen in Ursa Major, and feels the pain seep instantly out of her as she steps into the middle of the hall. With all her fury, with the glory of her ancestors and her totem coming down upon her, she issues a single, resonant command. The sound of her voice is like rising with dizzying speed to some great elevation, like being clutched in Falcon's talons and lifted bodily from the earth to the sky, held as if weightless above every other thing that was once known, familiar, and solid. Like, suddenly, there is nothing to do but submit
and obey.
"Midsummer's Shadow, STOP."
[Reverence of Dawn @ 1:48PM[Soak!]Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4) ( fail ) VALID
[HA HA CAN'T BOTCH A SOAK ROLL YAAAY]
-1 WP for Resist Pain
Reverence of Dawn @ 1:53PM[Persuasion: Charisma (spec does not apply) + Subterfuge]Roll: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 2 ) VALID
Reverence of Dawn @ 1:54PM[Charisma (spec does not apply) + Leadership (compelling) + PB + Falcon]Roll: 14 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 5 ) [WP] VALID]
Reverence of Dawn[For Damon]
Dice: 14 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 8 ) Re-rolls: 2 [WP]
-midsummer-Avery's madness is of a more insidious, undercutting breed than mere megalomania, but just for a moment there, just for a second when the sheer power of her voice stops the fleeing quarry in his tracks,
(because that is what it does. she shouts: Midsummer's Shadow, fleetfooted and quickreflexed, fleeing the premises as fast as he can, stops.)
maybe she can feel the appeal of power. Maybe she can understand why so many Fangs lose themselves in their own greatness. Look at themselves and begin to think:
why, I am as a god.
--
He stops. He stops, shoulders heaving with his breathing. He turns; his eyes flash fire.
"I knew it'd be dangerous going up against an Adren Shadow Lord," he growls, because in this form every word is a growl, "but I never thought he'd turn my own tribeswoman against me."
Reverence of DawnShe nearly spits at him, a holdover from ancestors whose existence is barely even remembered in the names of her family's bloodlines. Her glance is enough; a warning.
"I was sent by Anvil of Justice-rhya," she says, almost growling. "I have spoken with your pack, who also came dangerously close to the same accusation you make about my loyalties. I have spoken with Iron Tooth-rhya, who offered rewards in one hand and threats in the other to try and cajole me into giving truth to those accusations. And I have spoken with Ilyana, who -- if I were to jump to conclusions so easily -- I would say has a better measure of your character than all the others."
One step forward, just enough to indicate to him that she will, if necessary, come after him. "I have a duty to uphold and promises to keep, with or without your cooperation.
"And with or without your cooperation, I am your Judge."
Avery lifts her arm and points into the room he just ran out of. Now her words are a growl, each one a snarl: "Now get in that room."
-midsummer-Were she not watching Midsummer so closely, she would miss it. The moment his eyes flick aside. The moment his will breaks -- if only a little bit.
"If you've spoken with Ilyana," he says, "then you know the truth of what happened. You know I didn't kill anyone. You know I didn't rape anyone. You know I saved a kinswoman from a monster. And you know, you must know, that that monster isn't going to let any of us get out of this alive if he can help it.
"Don't make me go back into that room. If you are who and what you say you are, if you are an impartial Judge of the Nation -- then we have to run."
Reverence of DawnAvery is unmoved.
"I know your pack's truth, Iron Tooth-rhya's truth, and Ilyana's truth -- as much as they would or could tell me." Her arm lowers. "I do not know yours, and that is why I am here."
There's a moment, and a quiet pause. "My impartiality is not for you to determine. I will not run. And as you already know that you cannot run forever, the least you can do is stop dishonoring your name, your pack, and your entire tribe with your cowardice."
Her voice is heavy then, her eyes intent. "Midsummer, you have a chance here with me. And I believe you are too smart to blow it."
-midsummer-A taut moment. Taut as a bowstring.
"Swear you are who you say you are," Midsummer demands. "Swear it on Falcon's eye."
Reverence of Dawn
Avery doesn't hesitate. No prideful affront at having an oath demanded, no sputtering refusal. She tips her head at him, looks at him almost with pity though it never entirely crosses that line.
"By the eye of Falcon, patron of my tribe and my pack, I am Avery Chase, Reverence of Dawn, From Whom the Stars Shall Not Be Hidden By Sunlight. I am a Cliath by rank, Philodox by moon, Silver Fang by blood and rite. My mother was Miranda Chase, Dawn of the Moon, Who Meets the First Breath of Night with Glory, Galliard of our tribe. I have been sent here by Anvil of Justice-rhya, also of my moon, to determine the nature of your crime, judge you, and if necessary, punish you."
There is a beat. A heartbeat, a level comment added just because it is also the truth: "And I am losing patience."
-midsummer-She makes her vow. Then, and only then, does Midsummer's Shadow relent. His mouth tightens, but his form diminishes. He becomes a young man, imbued with the height, the long bones, the lean cheeks, the narrow well-formed nose of so, so many Silver Fangs. Look long and hard enough and Avery will see in him a shadow of her own father. Her own brother. Of Sophia, of Charlotte; perhaps even of herself.
One blood. One tribe. The similarities stop there.
"Well met, Reverence of Dawn," he mutters -- archaic, reflexive. Silver Fangs and their courtesies. He nods at the door wordlessly, and they walk inside.
--
It is one of the smaller rooms at Bellagio, but even so, reeks of the sort of luxury that would cost three, four hundred dollars a night elsewhere. Thick carpet, soft bed, enormous bathroom; sunken tub, walk-in shower. Not much sign of Midsummer in the room, though. A well-made, lightweight backpack, the sort of thing Denver daypackers wear on moderate hikes. Car keys.
The Ragabash is restless. He looks out the window. This high up they can see to the edge of Vegas and beyond. The garish clutter of a city raised by ambition and greed; past it, the open desert, white-hot and endless even in October. Blue skies; a few spare shreds of cloud knitting into a sheet in the east. Cars in the parking lot below, their windshields glittering like jewels.
"He's going to come for me now," he says. "I know he is. He's a subtle bastard and he's damned patient, but he knows when to clean up loose ends. The longer we wait, the closer he'll get. So whatever you need from me -- please, yuf, make it quick."
-midsummer-[*whistles*]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (2, 7) ( success x 1 )
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