Being human is getting strange.

[nick_garou]

Shortly after working to put out the forest fire last September, I found a voicemail on my phone one evening. Lawyer. My dad had died, and I was the last surviving relative. I headed to Bombay Beach, California, overlooking the Salton Sea, to deal with his estate and a funeral. I hadn't even realized he'd moved, but it's unsurprising; we hadn't spoken in probably a decade and we'd never been close. I ended up staying in his house, looking for signs of foul play: none. I've always been worried that if my name got out in the supernatural community, there might be splashback on my family. Even if my dad was an ass, he damn sure didn't deserve a nocturnal visit by Spirals. Or Garou. Or vampires. Or mages. Or all the other things that are out there. That's why I've been so careful about not revealing who I am. That and if you own a house or something that can be tracked back to you, you can never really be "safe." You can never really turn around and walk away from it all.

The coroner said the cause of death was respiratory failure from opioids. It looked like an overdose instead of suicide. And no note. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe I should be glad there were no last words other than the ones we spoke a decade ago.

I stayed in his apartment until the rent was up, Craigslisting away his assortment of things until there were only things worthy of putting on the curb. Left the key on the carpet, closed the door, and walked away. But can one ever truly walk away? I tried. I popped across the southern border, blew most of the cash from the estate sale on a Jeep Wrangler modded for offroad and sand, and went further south into Baja, Mexico. Toured the entire coast down the west side and up the east side, with occasional jaunts inland from time to time. I slept in the car or in a tent, bathed in the ocean. I am no stranger to the life of a nomad. Before I knew it, it was January. I sold the Jeep before crossing the border, collected my Audi wagon from the impound lot (I guess people notice when you leave a car parked on the street that long), and headed off.

On the way home, I stalled in Portland to visit and teach my two Orphan apprentices there. They're hardly apprentices anymore, really. And I did a little teaching with a member of the chantry there in exchange for access to their library. March finally rolled around, and I packed up and left for Saint Claire.

 

I'm still getting my feet back under me, but it seems like there's fewer garou around nowadays. Fewer everything. But there's something in the air. I can't place my finger on it. It's not bad. It's not good. It's.... change. Change is coming. 

That observation is about as nebulous as a fart in a hurricane.

Jamethon, the sept Alpha, recently asked me for a way to help get new garou to the sept via magical means to aid in its defense. I suggested he contact a Walker to discuss their secure means of tribal communication and that Val might be willing to tap into her Corax network to spread word of mouth (beak). I suppose I could set up some kind of early alert warning system like I have at the Mountain Bowl. We'll see if they're desperate enough to let me work that kind of magick in and around the caern, though. If they aren't, that's less work for me and more for them. So I'm not going to push it if they don't want it.

 

October, November, December, January, February: I think this is the longest time I've spent in human form in many, many, many years. The cougar form is... I barely notice it save for the initial transformation/transition.