Nick "Nicodemus" Dalton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nick_garou) wrote2014-05-25 09:52 pm
nick_garou) wrote2014-05-25 09:52 pm
Meeting Mae, chatting with Val and Slug, and thoughts on death.
Sat, May 24 -- A blast from the past and dwelling on death in the future
More reading. It's interesting, how I read. A dash of Mind magic and I can speed-read at a ridiculous pace through a book. But a tome on magic? I can still use Mind to speed-read it, but I don't get that deep-rooted comprehension that comes from chewing on--and savoring--ideas. So while I can (and did) simply speed-read through the Celestial Chorister's Correspondence tome, twice now, I find myself reading through it bit by bit and gnawing hard on the concepts within. And that's how I spent most of the day Saturday. Up until I decided I needed some food. I swung by the White Stag in Kent's Crossing, had a nicely cooked vegetarian meal, grabbed some groceries and a case of Budweiser, and went to go drop them off at the farmhouse.
At the farmhouse I ran into a new person: Mae. Cliath Fianna Theurge. Curiously enough, she'd stepped into the umbra back in 1931, gotten lost for what seemed like a week, and come out of the umbra 83 years later and over halfway across the continent. (Sounds kind of like what happened to Dirk.) She seems to have adjusted well. Better than I think I would have, knowing that everyone I knew and was friends with was almost certainly dead. And she seems VERY eager to learn new technologies. I should get her a Kindle. Or, rather, I could get me a new one and give her my old one. I mentioned that we had very few Fianna at the sept, despite the last Alpha being a Fianna, and that I hated to make assumptions based on tribal stereotypes, but that Mae making custom-brewed alcohol might go over well with the sept insofar as chiminage--and that I certainly would not mind getting a little for myself. She confirmed she did brew make alcoholic beverages, but said she'd have to give me a watered-down version because the full-strength stuff might kill me, and it'd been known to knock out homids in glabro before. I asked for a bottle I could save until I was on my death bed so I could drink it as I lay dying. She might have considered accommodating that request, but I can't be sure. Charlene then showed up, talked about how she'd finished her workshop nearby, and I inquired about coming out to see it sometime. Then I headed out, back to the Winnebago at WWNP's campgrounds.
I dwelt upon death that night. Specifically my own. With the company I keep, and the power of the magic I can work, and the usual problems mages face, I find it highly unlikely that I'll die of old age in a deathbed. I suspect I'll end up being slain by a garou. And while I'm not happy about that fact, I think I've come to terms with it. I wonder if Chloe had gotten to this stage in her life when she was cut down by the local garou who used to consider her an ally? Or Dana when she moved away and married a garou? They are violent creatures. Ever so violent. And frequently quite myopic. But they typically mean well--if one takes the time to get to know the right garou, at least.
But I would like to get a bottle of authentic Fianna-brewed alcohol. I suspect Pavel would love it--and possibly want to replicate it.
Sunday morning Val called asking about borrowing the Walker's white cargo van. I met up with her at Denny's, where she was having breakfast with Slug. Slug continues to impress me with his philosophical pragmatism, even if what he's become accustomed to (kill or be killed) is something I've managed to avoid and steer clear of all my life. He pointed out that even if I've not killed, I've still got blood on my hands by proxy of the people I support who do kill. (Of course, this was a thing I'd been heavily debating with myself for well beyond a decade, so.... Nothing new here.) The most profound thing Slug said was that he wished he had the ways and means to not kill--that he wishes her were something different--or perhaps normal. I suspect he fully realizes how being a werewolf has fucked over his life, while simultaneously given him the power to reshape his and others' lives. Many garou just wholeheartedly embrace the violence. I get the impression Slug embraces it, but only because that's the hand he was dealt and he means to make the most of it--even if it's not ideal or what he'd care to have.
And that made me feel a little guilty about not offering to help more with the scouting mission that Alicia, Slug, and Val (and possibly others) seem to be working on. I could just go over there, get a nearby hotel room, work some low-end magick, and do all the recon that they're planning to do--but better, faster, easier, and with less chance of detection. But I'm not going to. One, I'd have to work up an elaborate lie/conspiracy to get the info to Val so she could pass it along to the garou as something she did instead of me. Two, I don't want the garou (especially the ragabash, which are the trackers/tricksters) who specialize in spying/infiltration to feel useless. Three, if I offer once, they'll expect it the next time. And the next. And the next. No. Let them have this one unless they need assistance or get stuck. Then I'll feed Val a clue/tip.
Val and/or Riley will turn up to collect the cargo van from my place in the next few days. (I told Val I didn't foresee a cougar being loose on the premises anytime soon, but that if my car is at the house but no one comes to the door, then it's because I've got company. Which reminds me. After leaving Denny's, I stopped at both the fountains in town to harvest tass from each and to meditate a little at each. I feel like I can breathe again. Which set the tone for me pulling up stakes at the WWNP campground and moving back to my cabin. The cameras and motion sensors turned up nothing unusual since my umbral encounter with Karuvar. He might know I was no Pumonca in cougar form, but I don't think he knows where I live--or he simply doesn't care. I'm okay with that, so I moved back home. LOLcat is certainly excited about escaping from the Winnebago after nearly two weeks of close quarters confinement. So am I.
I do want to "play cougar" again soon, though. Just not when its the window I have for seeing Emma in the flesh.
More reading. It's interesting, how I read. A dash of Mind magic and I can speed-read at a ridiculous pace through a book. But a tome on magic? I can still use Mind to speed-read it, but I don't get that deep-rooted comprehension that comes from chewing on--and savoring--ideas. So while I can (and did) simply speed-read through the Celestial Chorister's Correspondence tome, twice now, I find myself reading through it bit by bit and gnawing hard on the concepts within. And that's how I spent most of the day Saturday. Up until I decided I needed some food. I swung by the White Stag in Kent's Crossing, had a nicely cooked vegetarian meal, grabbed some groceries and a case of Budweiser, and went to go drop them off at the farmhouse.
At the farmhouse I ran into a new person: Mae. Cliath Fianna Theurge. Curiously enough, she'd stepped into the umbra back in 1931, gotten lost for what seemed like a week, and come out of the umbra 83 years later and over halfway across the continent. (Sounds kind of like what happened to Dirk.) She seems to have adjusted well. Better than I think I would have, knowing that everyone I knew and was friends with was almost certainly dead. And she seems VERY eager to learn new technologies. I should get her a Kindle. Or, rather, I could get me a new one and give her my old one. I mentioned that we had very few Fianna at the sept, despite the last Alpha being a Fianna, and that I hated to make assumptions based on tribal stereotypes, but that Mae making custom-brewed alcohol might go over well with the sept insofar as chiminage--and that I certainly would not mind getting a little for myself. She confirmed she did brew make alcoholic beverages, but said she'd have to give me a watered-down version because the full-strength stuff might kill me, and it'd been known to knock out homids in glabro before. I asked for a bottle I could save until I was on my death bed so I could drink it as I lay dying. She might have considered accommodating that request, but I can't be sure. Charlene then showed up, talked about how she'd finished her workshop nearby, and I inquired about coming out to see it sometime. Then I headed out, back to the Winnebago at WWNP's campgrounds.
I dwelt upon death that night. Specifically my own. With the company I keep, and the power of the magic I can work, and the usual problems mages face, I find it highly unlikely that I'll die of old age in a deathbed. I suspect I'll end up being slain by a garou. And while I'm not happy about that fact, I think I've come to terms with it. I wonder if Chloe had gotten to this stage in her life when she was cut down by the local garou who used to consider her an ally? Or Dana when she moved away and married a garou? They are violent creatures. Ever so violent. And frequently quite myopic. But they typically mean well--if one takes the time to get to know the right garou, at least.
But I would like to get a bottle of authentic Fianna-brewed alcohol. I suspect Pavel would love it--and possibly want to replicate it.
Sunday morning Val called asking about borrowing the Walker's white cargo van. I met up with her at Denny's, where she was having breakfast with Slug. Slug continues to impress me with his philosophical pragmatism, even if what he's become accustomed to (kill or be killed) is something I've managed to avoid and steer clear of all my life. He pointed out that even if I've not killed, I've still got blood on my hands by proxy of the people I support who do kill. (Of course, this was a thing I'd been heavily debating with myself for well beyond a decade, so.... Nothing new here.) The most profound thing Slug said was that he wished he had the ways and means to not kill--that he wishes her were something different--or perhaps normal. I suspect he fully realizes how being a werewolf has fucked over his life, while simultaneously given him the power to reshape his and others' lives. Many garou just wholeheartedly embrace the violence. I get the impression Slug embraces it, but only because that's the hand he was dealt and he means to make the most of it--even if it's not ideal or what he'd care to have.
And that made me feel a little guilty about not offering to help more with the scouting mission that Alicia, Slug, and Val (and possibly others) seem to be working on. I could just go over there, get a nearby hotel room, work some low-end magick, and do all the recon that they're planning to do--but better, faster, easier, and with less chance of detection. But I'm not going to. One, I'd have to work up an elaborate lie/conspiracy to get the info to Val so she could pass it along to the garou as something she did instead of me. Two, I don't want the garou (especially the ragabash, which are the trackers/tricksters) who specialize in spying/infiltration to feel useless. Three, if I offer once, they'll expect it the next time. And the next. And the next. No. Let them have this one unless they need assistance or get stuck. Then I'll feed Val a clue/tip.
Val and/or Riley will turn up to collect the cargo van from my place in the next few days. (I told Val I didn't foresee a cougar being loose on the premises anytime soon, but that if my car is at the house but no one comes to the door, then it's because I've got company. Which reminds me. After leaving Denny's, I stopped at both the fountains in town to harvest tass from each and to meditate a little at each. I feel like I can breathe again. Which set the tone for me pulling up stakes at the WWNP campground and moving back to my cabin. The cameras and motion sensors turned up nothing unusual since my umbral encounter with Karuvar. He might know I was no Pumonca in cougar form, but I don't think he knows where I live--or he simply doesn't care. I'm okay with that, so I moved back home. LOLcat is certainly excited about escaping from the Winnebago after nearly two weeks of close quarters confinement. So am I.
I do want to "play cougar" again soon, though. Just not when its the window I have for seeing Emma in the flesh.
Meow.