Don't sneak up on me.
Thursday, 30 June 2016 10:50![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trace_logs
30 June, 2016
The moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (30% full).
The clearing isn't empty, this morning, and the weather having chilled down somewhat from yesterday finds Trace sitting by the cookware, which has been built up, and wearing a sweater as well. The ahroun is reading a book, or at least he was reading a book up until he got distracted by his phone. That's most of his attention, but there's still a portion of his attention to his surroundings and the edges of the clearings as he taps repeatedly on the touchscreen.
There's a rustling noise, somewhere in the trees behind the stack of firewood. The sort of rustling that suggests something quite large made it.
Trace slowly folds the book shut and sets it to one side of him on the log. But there are many noises of 'something quite large made it' in the forest, and the young man seems used to it enough. He continues tapping at his phone, though his free hand has moved to one hip, resting there.
For a minute or two there's no further sound from beyond the clearing. Then a figure emerges, slowly and carefully, from the treeline, at close enough the exact spot that's behind Trace's back. A lean young man, with an unruly mop of dark shaggy hair. He takes a careful, slow step or two closer, as though stalking the seated man.
It's not quite the speed of rage that fuels the next movement, but the sound prompts the furthering of the movement that had already been started, and the ahroun doesn't turn fully around, but there's a bit of startlement nonetheless. It increases the tension set in his shoulders, the restrained snarling and evidence of just how close his rage is now that he's not distracted. Trace turns just as much as is needed to aim the revolver at the newcomer, one brow raised. "Don't sneak up on me," he says, words clipped with a southern California accent that betrays Spanish as a first language. "I don't particularly want to kill anyone today."
There's a moment of complete silence, during which the newcomer develops a thoughtful expression suggesting that he's trying to come up with a suitably snappy answer to that conversational gambit. Eventually he goes with, "If I stop stalking you, will you put that pop-gun up?"
Trace takes a bit of a breath and lets it out, slowly, and as a response, lets the gun drop from being aimed at the other, then spins it on his finger and slips it back into the holster. There's a nod, and a half curious expression. "Trace Garza, Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, packed under Coyote, and Guardian for the time being," he offers, still cautious. And his hand is still on the holster.
"That's the right answer," says the other man, and comes out of his frozen position, sauntering casually towards Trace. "Heard we'd got a new body in town. Kevin Lockwood. Ragabash, adren and roach. Good to catch up with you. And top marks," he adds, "for alertness, Mister Guardian." He selects one of the logs around the firepit, straddles it and drops into a seated position.
Trace lets out the breath the rest of the way at the introduction from the other, and shakes his head, clearing messy hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. Another deep breath seems to banish most of the tension from the startlement, and Trace offers a tentative grin. "Nice to meet you," he says, poking at his phone a moment before finally slipping it into his pocket. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?"
"Only when they're on the bawn of my caern and I'm not aware of them having a right to be there," is Kevin's reply. "Do you always point guns at people?"
Trace grins a little bit more, and picks up a water bottle from next to him, unscrewing it and taking a sip. "Only when they show up out of nowhere and I don't know them from Adam," Trace admits, grinning.
"You might want to be circumspect with that thing in your pocket too." Kevin's pointing at the phone, not the gun. "There are still garou round here who think bringing an iPhone onto the bawn is as bad as driving a backhoe onto it. Course, I'm not one. How are you coping out here? I get antsy if I'm out of the city for longer than a few days, me."
There's a pause, and a nod. "Antsy pretty much sums it up," Trace admits, "and I can't say I'll be sad when I get to go back to the city." He shrugs. "I'm coping." The two Glass Walkers are sitting by the firepit, each on one of the logs. "Good to know. I haven't run into trouble for it yet, but I mostly only use it here and it stays in my duffel the rest of the time. Few games, news feed, the like."
"Oh, if I were Guardianning, I'd probably do the same," Kevin confesses. "A guy needs some link to the big picture, damn it… Sorry it's taken me so long to run into you. I've not been out here much, of late."
There's a small rustle in the trees—deliberate, it sounds like—and the shadow of a lupus form before it becomes fully visible. Trace has seen her before, although he may not associate her lupus form with her yet, but to those who haven't, the patagia, slightly too long, too-thin furred ears, and obviously metallic teeth and claws are likely at least a little alarming, though her body language is cautious rather than threatening, with her tail at a downward slant.
Trace grins a bit, and puts down the water. "'S alright," he responds. "More to life than just the forest, that much is for certain. Helps that my packmates aren't doing this and can do supply runs. Pie, booze, magazines and books," Trace says. "And it's a big bawn, that keeps me pretty busy." Ghost comes into view, and there's a half a moment of reaching for his gun before recognition sets in and he picks up his book instead, setting it a bit further aside. "Hey, Ghost," he offers, friendly enough. "How's it going?"
"Hello, hello, I thought I could smell someone else as well just now," Kevin murmurs, giving the lupus a faintly wary smile.
Ghost gives an instinctive flash of (metal) teeth and a sharp step back in that half moment of reaching, but as it passes for Trace, it passes for her. She steps forward again and then slides upward until she hits glabro, where she stays. There's a simple but well maintained scoped rifle slung about her shoulders, and her teeth and fingernails look, in this form at least, normal, or as normal as glabro gets. "Hey," she says, voice low. "It's not going, just waiting." She gives Kevin in particular a studying sort of look for a moment.
There's a nod, which seems to be agreeing with what Ghost says, and a bit of a well-masked grumble. "I'm pretty sick of waiting, myself," Trace admits, attention going to the rifle for a moment with an appreciative nod.
"Waiting is something you get very good at," says Kevin, with all the authority that comes of being the oldest person present while still in his twenties. "Don't knock it. Or would you sooner someone were actually here right now trying to throat you?"
"I haven't done this before," Ghost notes. She seems to settle in place rather than make any move to join the other two. "We would have left when they first came around."
Trace's lips pull away from his teeth ever so slightly, and then his expression settles, less feral and rage pushed back as far beneath the surface as he can, for the moment, manage. "You want the logical, thought-out answer, or the instinctive one?" he asks the adren, tone of voice clear enough as to what each of those are. "I'm good at dealing with the immediate. I'm not so good at waiting."
"Personally I find it best to put myself into situations where logic and instinct both point the same way," Kevin says, "but I accept that isn't always easy, or even possible."
Ghost gives Trace a glance that's clearly wary. Her own response seems to die before it leaves her lips.
Trace settles, not quite motionless, but close, still except for another nod. "I've already gotten better at waiting," he admits, though he doesn't make it sound like a positive. "Keeping busy helps."
Kevin turns toward Ghost. "How do you cope with all the waiting?" he enquires benevolently.
"There are things you can do," Ghost says a little slowly, with a slight jerk of her head toward Trace. "Plan. Train. Patrol. Prepare. Worse when you have to stay in one spot. Like, um, when you're watching your target. Or hiding."
Trace listens without directly looking at either of the other two Garou, and nods once again. "Mm," he says, quietly.
"All good things," says Kevin, rubbing his chin. He could do with a shave. "So you got a pack already, Trace?" he goes on, though he's still looking at the metis.
Ghost's attention mostly— mostly— shifts to Trace, though she's still clearly watching Kevin as well. There's a blink-and-you-miss-it wrinkle to her nose at something.
Trace chews on his lower lip for a moment. "Yeah," he says. "I joined the Coyote pack, seemed about the right speed." There's a tight note to his voice, though it's as well masked as he can manage, which isn't too much. "Thane said that everyone should pack up, so I did. First pack I've been in since Los Angeles." Whatever it is, though, he shakes it off, and picks up the water bottle again to take another sip.
Kevin doesn't fail to pick up on that sign of stress. "Not meaning to pry," he says. "Just making conversation. Getting to know a guy in the same house as me. We Ravenclaws got to stick together…"
"…Ravenclaws?" Ghost asks.
Trace snorts at Kevin, and grins. "It's okay," he says, and then pauses a moment. "It's from some fantasy books, Harry Potter," he offers to Ghost. "But I'm definitely a Gryffindor."
"Yeah, I can believe that," Kevin says. "I think too much to be a Gryffindor. Probably why I'm still here, y'know? I don't suppose," he adds thoughtfully to Ghost, "you're much of a reader?"
"I know Harry Potter," Ghost says, in a tone that suggests that this should be obvious. "Yeah," she says to Kevin. "When I can anyway. I read a lot when I was a cub, less after I rited."
Trace grins a bit more. "I don't think I think enough to be in Ravenclaw," he says, thoughtfully.
"Which is auspices for you," concludes Kevin. "Remind me, Ghost, you're a new moon like me? Yeah. Take time to read if you can. It takes you out of… where you are. And sometimes, I find I need that. What house are you, d'you think?"
Ghost nods. "Ragabash, yeah." She hunches her shoulders for just a few moments, then relaxes. "I do. Um, read, I mean. It's just after I rited my family made it clear I had different priorities. I uh," her cheeks go a little pink, which looks pretty funny on the glabro face, "Well, nevermind. I read when I can, and when I can get books."
Ghost adds, "I um, I don't think I'd be in a House."
Trace tilts his head to one side, and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fidgeting with flipping the pack open and shut a few times before pulling one out. For the moment, though, the ahroun listens quietly.
"Might get lonely," Kevin says, quietly and not unsympathetically, "not being in a House."
"…Yeah," Ghost says, after noticeable hesitation. "I don't think I fit very well though. Um, better than some I've known. But still not very well."
Trace furrows his brows a little as he pulls out a lighter and flicks the flame over the end of the cigarette. There's a quiet sigh, and the ahroun offers, quietly, "Everyone's different, though. Not your fault other people can't always see that."
Kevin wrinkles his nose a little, and looks up to the sky. "If you need to change a fuse," he says, to neither of the other garou in preference to the other, "and you didn't have a screwdriver, would you pull a knife out of the drawer and use that to get inside the plug? Or would you sit there in the darkness because you didn't have the exact tool for the job?"
Ghost actually gives a short, gruff sort of laugh. "I almost never have a screwdriver."
Trace grins a little bit. "Use what works, not what people expect," he notes. "I mean hell if all you had was a safety pin that'd work, but I admit I'm far more likely to have a knife."
Kevin says, "Yeah! Who the hell's organised enough to have a screwdriver, right?" Kevin makes a show of digging in his pockets and coming up empty.
"Tools are heavy," Ghost points out. "And they clatter around if you don't pad them. I have to travel light."
Trace purses his lips and takes a drag from the cigarette. "Or they poke you in awkward places and get in the way of other things."
"Yeah! There's a reason they're called tools! Hell with 'em," says Kevin, a smile playing about his features. "So, 'long as I'm out here on the bawn, any news from these parts? It's been a while since I was out of the city, like I was just saying to Trace."
Ghost frowns a little, as if she's not entirely sure Kevin isn't making fun of her, but the change in subject is taken in stride. "No. It's quiet."
"Not news, just waiting. I know there are some plans being formulated about various attacks, but I've been patrolling more than planning," Trace says, shrugging once more. "What about news from the city?" he asks in turn.
"Quiet there, too. Everyone seems fixated on the plans you're mentioning… at least I assume they're the same plans… but I've seen nothing to distract the focus from them," Kevin says. "Hell, it's getting to me, and I'm a raggie. I can only imagine how it's weighing on the fatter moons." He shoots Trace a quick glance. A very quick one.
"You only get one chance for it to go right," Ghost says. "Planning until you're ready is the best option."
However much it's clearly weighing on him, Trace seems to be handling it well enough, and offers the adren a brief shrug of response. "Yeah. The more we plan and delay the more they can prepare, but…" there's a tense shrug. "Not my call either way."
"Nah, I wasn't blaming you. Or anyone." Kevin swings one of his long legs idly and his foot bumps against the log he's sitting on. "So where do people gather, now?" he asks. "After, well, after you know what."
"The Caern?" Ghost suggests. "Here sometimes, but I see most people over um, over there."
Trace nods. "Pretty much. I think people are trying to keep things…" There's a pause and then he continues, "decentralised? Avoid giving another opportunity for a trap or ambush against us." He shrugs. "I'd love more chances for a shower, but that's life."
"Yeah. We moved our HQ… were you here when that happened, Trace, or is the old place before your time? Happens every few years. But we all seem to wind up in the same place after, which is risky, I guess. I'd tell you to come grab a shower at my place, but making an offer like that to a guardian would probably be construed as breaking the last rule of the litany by some half-moons I know…" murmurs Kevin.
Ghost glances between the two Walkers. "…There's a stream?" she offers. "A few of them."
Trace grins a bit, and chuckles. "I'd heard about the old place, but it's a bit before me," he says, "and yeah. Nah, I'll make do with the streams for now." His lips purse, and he gets to his feet. "Speaking of, I should be getting back to things, and I need a run anyway. Nice meeting you, Kevin. See you both around?"
The moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (30% full).
The clearing isn't empty, this morning, and the weather having chilled down somewhat from yesterday finds Trace sitting by the cookware, which has been built up, and wearing a sweater as well. The ahroun is reading a book, or at least he was reading a book up until he got distracted by his phone. That's most of his attention, but there's still a portion of his attention to his surroundings and the edges of the clearings as he taps repeatedly on the touchscreen.
There's a rustling noise, somewhere in the trees behind the stack of firewood. The sort of rustling that suggests something quite large made it.
Trace slowly folds the book shut and sets it to one side of him on the log. But there are many noises of 'something quite large made it' in the forest, and the young man seems used to it enough. He continues tapping at his phone, though his free hand has moved to one hip, resting there.
For a minute or two there's no further sound from beyond the clearing. Then a figure emerges, slowly and carefully, from the treeline, at close enough the exact spot that's behind Trace's back. A lean young man, with an unruly mop of dark shaggy hair. He takes a careful, slow step or two closer, as though stalking the seated man.
It's not quite the speed of rage that fuels the next movement, but the sound prompts the furthering of the movement that had already been started, and the ahroun doesn't turn fully around, but there's a bit of startlement nonetheless. It increases the tension set in his shoulders, the restrained snarling and evidence of just how close his rage is now that he's not distracted. Trace turns just as much as is needed to aim the revolver at the newcomer, one brow raised. "Don't sneak up on me," he says, words clipped with a southern California accent that betrays Spanish as a first language. "I don't particularly want to kill anyone today."
There's a moment of complete silence, during which the newcomer develops a thoughtful expression suggesting that he's trying to come up with a suitably snappy answer to that conversational gambit. Eventually he goes with, "If I stop stalking you, will you put that pop-gun up?"
Trace takes a bit of a breath and lets it out, slowly, and as a response, lets the gun drop from being aimed at the other, then spins it on his finger and slips it back into the holster. There's a nod, and a half curious expression. "Trace Garza, Ahroun and Fostern of the Glass Walkers, packed under Coyote, and Guardian for the time being," he offers, still cautious. And his hand is still on the holster.
"That's the right answer," says the other man, and comes out of his frozen position, sauntering casually towards Trace. "Heard we'd got a new body in town. Kevin Lockwood. Ragabash, adren and roach. Good to catch up with you. And top marks," he adds, "for alertness, Mister Guardian." He selects one of the logs around the firepit, straddles it and drops into a seated position.
Trace lets out the breath the rest of the way at the introduction from the other, and shakes his head, clearing messy hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. Another deep breath seems to banish most of the tension from the startlement, and Trace offers a tentative grin. "Nice to meet you," he says, poking at his phone a moment before finally slipping it into his pocket. "Do you always sneak up on people like that?"
"Only when they're on the bawn of my caern and I'm not aware of them having a right to be there," is Kevin's reply. "Do you always point guns at people?"
Trace grins a little bit more, and picks up a water bottle from next to him, unscrewing it and taking a sip. "Only when they show up out of nowhere and I don't know them from Adam," Trace admits, grinning.
"You might want to be circumspect with that thing in your pocket too." Kevin's pointing at the phone, not the gun. "There are still garou round here who think bringing an iPhone onto the bawn is as bad as driving a backhoe onto it. Course, I'm not one. How are you coping out here? I get antsy if I'm out of the city for longer than a few days, me."
There's a pause, and a nod. "Antsy pretty much sums it up," Trace admits, "and I can't say I'll be sad when I get to go back to the city." He shrugs. "I'm coping." The two Glass Walkers are sitting by the firepit, each on one of the logs. "Good to know. I haven't run into trouble for it yet, but I mostly only use it here and it stays in my duffel the rest of the time. Few games, news feed, the like."
"Oh, if I were Guardianning, I'd probably do the same," Kevin confesses. "A guy needs some link to the big picture, damn it… Sorry it's taken me so long to run into you. I've not been out here much, of late."
There's a small rustle in the trees—deliberate, it sounds like—and the shadow of a lupus form before it becomes fully visible. Trace has seen her before, although he may not associate her lupus form with her yet, but to those who haven't, the patagia, slightly too long, too-thin furred ears, and obviously metallic teeth and claws are likely at least a little alarming, though her body language is cautious rather than threatening, with her tail at a downward slant.
Trace grins a bit, and puts down the water. "'S alright," he responds. "More to life than just the forest, that much is for certain. Helps that my packmates aren't doing this and can do supply runs. Pie, booze, magazines and books," Trace says. "And it's a big bawn, that keeps me pretty busy." Ghost comes into view, and there's a half a moment of reaching for his gun before recognition sets in and he picks up his book instead, setting it a bit further aside. "Hey, Ghost," he offers, friendly enough. "How's it going?"
"Hello, hello, I thought I could smell someone else as well just now," Kevin murmurs, giving the lupus a faintly wary smile.
Ghost gives an instinctive flash of (metal) teeth and a sharp step back in that half moment of reaching, but as it passes for Trace, it passes for her. She steps forward again and then slides upward until she hits glabro, where she stays. There's a simple but well maintained scoped rifle slung about her shoulders, and her teeth and fingernails look, in this form at least, normal, or as normal as glabro gets. "Hey," she says, voice low. "It's not going, just waiting." She gives Kevin in particular a studying sort of look for a moment.
There's a nod, which seems to be agreeing with what Ghost says, and a bit of a well-masked grumble. "I'm pretty sick of waiting, myself," Trace admits, attention going to the rifle for a moment with an appreciative nod.
"Waiting is something you get very good at," says Kevin, with all the authority that comes of being the oldest person present while still in his twenties. "Don't knock it. Or would you sooner someone were actually here right now trying to throat you?"
"I haven't done this before," Ghost notes. She seems to settle in place rather than make any move to join the other two. "We would have left when they first came around."
Trace's lips pull away from his teeth ever so slightly, and then his expression settles, less feral and rage pushed back as far beneath the surface as he can, for the moment, manage. "You want the logical, thought-out answer, or the instinctive one?" he asks the adren, tone of voice clear enough as to what each of those are. "I'm good at dealing with the immediate. I'm not so good at waiting."
"Personally I find it best to put myself into situations where logic and instinct both point the same way," Kevin says, "but I accept that isn't always easy, or even possible."
Ghost gives Trace a glance that's clearly wary. Her own response seems to die before it leaves her lips.
Trace settles, not quite motionless, but close, still except for another nod. "I've already gotten better at waiting," he admits, though he doesn't make it sound like a positive. "Keeping busy helps."
Kevin turns toward Ghost. "How do you cope with all the waiting?" he enquires benevolently.
"There are things you can do," Ghost says a little slowly, with a slight jerk of her head toward Trace. "Plan. Train. Patrol. Prepare. Worse when you have to stay in one spot. Like, um, when you're watching your target. Or hiding."
Trace listens without directly looking at either of the other two Garou, and nods once again. "Mm," he says, quietly.
"All good things," says Kevin, rubbing his chin. He could do with a shave. "So you got a pack already, Trace?" he goes on, though he's still looking at the metis.
Ghost's attention mostly— mostly— shifts to Trace, though she's still clearly watching Kevin as well. There's a blink-and-you-miss-it wrinkle to her nose at something.
Trace chews on his lower lip for a moment. "Yeah," he says. "I joined the Coyote pack, seemed about the right speed." There's a tight note to his voice, though it's as well masked as he can manage, which isn't too much. "Thane said that everyone should pack up, so I did. First pack I've been in since Los Angeles." Whatever it is, though, he shakes it off, and picks up the water bottle again to take another sip.
Kevin doesn't fail to pick up on that sign of stress. "Not meaning to pry," he says. "Just making conversation. Getting to know a guy in the same house as me. We Ravenclaws got to stick together…"
"…Ravenclaws?" Ghost asks.
Trace snorts at Kevin, and grins. "It's okay," he says, and then pauses a moment. "It's from some fantasy books, Harry Potter," he offers to Ghost. "But I'm definitely a Gryffindor."
"Yeah, I can believe that," Kevin says. "I think too much to be a Gryffindor. Probably why I'm still here, y'know? I don't suppose," he adds thoughtfully to Ghost, "you're much of a reader?"
"I know Harry Potter," Ghost says, in a tone that suggests that this should be obvious. "Yeah," she says to Kevin. "When I can anyway. I read a lot when I was a cub, less after I rited."
Trace grins a bit more. "I don't think I think enough to be in Ravenclaw," he says, thoughtfully.
"Which is auspices for you," concludes Kevin. "Remind me, Ghost, you're a new moon like me? Yeah. Take time to read if you can. It takes you out of… where you are. And sometimes, I find I need that. What house are you, d'you think?"
Ghost nods. "Ragabash, yeah." She hunches her shoulders for just a few moments, then relaxes. "I do. Um, read, I mean. It's just after I rited my family made it clear I had different priorities. I uh," her cheeks go a little pink, which looks pretty funny on the glabro face, "Well, nevermind. I read when I can, and when I can get books."
Ghost adds, "I um, I don't think I'd be in a House."
Trace tilts his head to one side, and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fidgeting with flipping the pack open and shut a few times before pulling one out. For the moment, though, the ahroun listens quietly.
"Might get lonely," Kevin says, quietly and not unsympathetically, "not being in a House."
"…Yeah," Ghost says, after noticeable hesitation. "I don't think I fit very well though. Um, better than some I've known. But still not very well."
Trace furrows his brows a little as he pulls out a lighter and flicks the flame over the end of the cigarette. There's a quiet sigh, and the ahroun offers, quietly, "Everyone's different, though. Not your fault other people can't always see that."
Kevin wrinkles his nose a little, and looks up to the sky. "If you need to change a fuse," he says, to neither of the other garou in preference to the other, "and you didn't have a screwdriver, would you pull a knife out of the drawer and use that to get inside the plug? Or would you sit there in the darkness because you didn't have the exact tool for the job?"
Ghost actually gives a short, gruff sort of laugh. "I almost never have a screwdriver."
Trace grins a little bit. "Use what works, not what people expect," he notes. "I mean hell if all you had was a safety pin that'd work, but I admit I'm far more likely to have a knife."
Kevin says, "Yeah! Who the hell's organised enough to have a screwdriver, right?" Kevin makes a show of digging in his pockets and coming up empty.
"Tools are heavy," Ghost points out. "And they clatter around if you don't pad them. I have to travel light."
Trace purses his lips and takes a drag from the cigarette. "Or they poke you in awkward places and get in the way of other things."
"Yeah! There's a reason they're called tools! Hell with 'em," says Kevin, a smile playing about his features. "So, 'long as I'm out here on the bawn, any news from these parts? It's been a while since I was out of the city, like I was just saying to Trace."
Ghost frowns a little, as if she's not entirely sure Kevin isn't making fun of her, but the change in subject is taken in stride. "No. It's quiet."
"Not news, just waiting. I know there are some plans being formulated about various attacks, but I've been patrolling more than planning," Trace says, shrugging once more. "What about news from the city?" he asks in turn.
"Quiet there, too. Everyone seems fixated on the plans you're mentioning… at least I assume they're the same plans… but I've seen nothing to distract the focus from them," Kevin says. "Hell, it's getting to me, and I'm a raggie. I can only imagine how it's weighing on the fatter moons." He shoots Trace a quick glance. A very quick one.
"You only get one chance for it to go right," Ghost says. "Planning until you're ready is the best option."
However much it's clearly weighing on him, Trace seems to be handling it well enough, and offers the adren a brief shrug of response. "Yeah. The more we plan and delay the more they can prepare, but…" there's a tense shrug. "Not my call either way."
"Nah, I wasn't blaming you. Or anyone." Kevin swings one of his long legs idly and his foot bumps against the log he's sitting on. "So where do people gather, now?" he asks. "After, well, after you know what."
"The Caern?" Ghost suggests. "Here sometimes, but I see most people over um, over there."
Trace nods. "Pretty much. I think people are trying to keep things…" There's a pause and then he continues, "decentralised? Avoid giving another opportunity for a trap or ambush against us." He shrugs. "I'd love more chances for a shower, but that's life."
"Yeah. We moved our HQ… were you here when that happened, Trace, or is the old place before your time? Happens every few years. But we all seem to wind up in the same place after, which is risky, I guess. I'd tell you to come grab a shower at my place, but making an offer like that to a guardian would probably be construed as breaking the last rule of the litany by some half-moons I know…" murmurs Kevin.
Ghost glances between the two Walkers. "…There's a stream?" she offers. "A few of them."
Trace grins a bit, and chuckles. "I'd heard about the old place, but it's a bit before me," he says, "and yeah. Nah, I'll make do with the streams for now." His lips purse, and he gets to his feet. "Speaking of, I should be getting back to things, and I need a run anyway. Nice meeting you, Kevin. See you both around?"