[Howl Mingle] Wolves Outside and They Wear Sheeps' Clothing

[holtfinder]

WHO: Everyone's invited!
WHERE: The grassy area north of the memorial at Green 19
WHAT: A Howl!
WHEN: Under the light of the full moon
WARNINGS: Please put them in TLs if they apply to your story


The area has been cleared of rocks, making it comfortable for people to sit on the grass or some of the larger boulders that were already there. The full moon shines overhead, making it bright enough to see one another. While some people would put a bonfire in the center of the ring, Moonshade is doing this the traditional way; the Wolfriders avoid fire at all costs.

That said, she's gotten someone to cook a portion of the piglet-squirrels she's hunted to share with everyone, skewered and nicely charred, enough to go around. But there's also raw meat available for anyone like her, who prefers to have theirs fresh.

Moonshade directs everyone into a rough sort of circle, standing in the middle as she waits for the late arrivals. She's dressed in her usual leathers, but there's some flowers from the greenhouse tucked into her hair, something small and purple that catches the moonlight. "Thank you all for coming. My people, the Wolfriders, hold howls regularly. We sing to the moon as our wolf-friends did even before we joined them. And we tell stories. This is how we keep our history alive. I know that I don't share a history with any of you, but I could think of no better way to learn who you all are, what Way you live by, than hearing your stories, and sharing one of my own."

Her smile turns a little wry, and she glances at Steadypaw. "But before the stories, we sing." And the wolf moves from lying down to sitting, throws his head back, and lets out a proper howl. Moonshade joins in a moment later, closing her eyes. It's an eerie harmony between them--she can't help but wonder who'll join in. Or, for that matter, who'll share a tale or two.

Comments

[ms_unknown]

Hey, Drake. There's someone behind you holding their own weapon. It's loose in her hand, but she's got her eye on you.

"You know, it's rude to barge in on a ceremony with a weapon. You might want to put that down before someone gets the wrong idea."

[dr_riley]

Drake's been accomanying military teams off-world long enough that he should take the sudden voice behind him as a cue to hold very still and offer some kind of response.

But he isn't quite that well trained and his nerves are a little frayed, so instead, he spins around in surprise, instinctively bringing the blaster up to high-ready so that it's right beside his face and aiming up at the trees.

Unless Nat interprets it as an aggressive move and takes the split-second opportunity to disarm him.

[ms_unknown]

Aggressive or not, the guy's nervous and a gun in his hand is a danger to everyone, especially when he's waving it around like that. In a flash, she holsters her weapon and dashes forward. One hand grabs his wrist, using her forward momentum to twist it and pull his arm up and behind his head. Her other hand yanks the weapon free from his grip.

Sorry, Drake. You can have that back when she's sure you actually know how to handle it.

[dr_riley]

To be fair, he wasn't waving it around like a bubble blower. He'd been pointing it down, and then up, in a recognizably trained way - never at anyone. But despite having seen more action than most enlisted airmen, he wasn't military, nor did he ever consider himself cut out to be - which may be evident by the yelp he emits and the way he does nothing to fight back.

At the moment, all Drake can think is, Why am I always getting captured?!

[ms_unknown]

Training or not, you don't draw a gun unless you're planning to use it.

Once she has his weapon, she releases him with a small shove. "Are you going to pla nice or do we have to put you in time out?"

[dr_riley]

While that was absolutely the case when it came to home or public use (which was pretty rare in England, anyway), Drake's little bit of training, coupled with his observations of his military team members, had taught him that if there was a strong possibility of combat, he'd better have it out and ready. And he'd come worried about hostilities.

When she pushed him away, he had the gall to look affronted.

"I am playing nice." He gestured at the gathering angrily. "I came because I heard trouble, and damned if I wasn't ambushed."

[ms_unknown]

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Did it occur to you to verify that there was trouble? As far as anyone here is concerned, you were the one doing the attacking."

[dr_riley]

Drake looked absolutely stunned frozen for a full four seconds, after which he began spitting out half formed words and sounds that suggested an electrical outlet shorting out.

"Atta-Attacking?! I-dchzt- Veri- I was-!" After a few seconds of unintelligible stammering, he put his hands to his temples and took several deep breaths. Be calm.

Be calm. I know it feels like you're having a breakdown. You're not. Shhh.. Listen. Feel the breeze, and listen to the leaves, and be calm. Take a breath. Another one. Good, see? That's better.

It was a little trick he'd picked up in times of stress. Every once in a great while, his wife would mentally pop by and handle things for him, get him back on the right track, walk him through the steps of coming off a panic attack. He knew it wasn't really her, of course, but it helped just the same.

And now he could look his attacker in the eyes and not be stressed and angry. Well...frustrated, maybe, but not about to pop a vessel.

"That's what I was doing. I heard trouble, so I came prepared, and I haven't attacked anyone. You attacked me. And it's funny you should mention bringing a weapon to a gathering as such a sure sign of aggression, seeing how you have one as well."

He held both his empty hands out to the sides.

"Two, actually."

[ms_unknown]

She didn't bat an eyelash at his outburst. Her face remained neutral as she waited for him to finish. High strung, much? Seriously, dude, try some yoga. Lay off the caffeine. Something. She could practically see a vein pulsing in his forehead. It reminded her a little of Alexei, though his outbursts were generally more in exuberance rather than... whatever this was.

"Having a holstered sidearm while watching the perimeter of an event for threats is different than rushing into said event with a gun naked in your hand. Surely a trained professional such as yourself can see the difference." She holstered her weapon, holding his own in a neutral grip by her side. "You can have this back once you've calmed down a bit."

[dr_riley]

Ohhhhh, she was trying him good and Drake found himself offering up a brief prayer for patience.

"It's called low ready," he said slowly. "A 'trained professional' would recognize it as a...ready position." While he was trying not to actively seethe or growl, he still couldn't help the sarcastic tone and raised eyebrows.

Just to drive the point home, he mimed a gun in his holster. "Not ready." Then he pointed his finger at the ground about ten feet in front of him. "Low ready." Then he pointed directly at Nat, but paused.

"....attention? Intention? Something like that. Wait," he snapped his fingers, "Retention."

[ms_unknown]

She was good at that. She was also learning quite a bit about this man. Nearly everything she needed to know, actually. Trained, but definitely not used to combat. He was knowledgeable, but too jumpy to be used to being out in the field. Also really easy to push his buttons. He was going to be a fun one. But at least now she's confident that he really does have some amount of training.

Smirking, she inclines her head. "Thank you for your cooperation." Having thumbed on the safety, she tosses him his gun back. "There's no emergency here. You can join the party if you want, or you can head back to whatever you were doing."

[dr_riley]

Drake maintained steady, defiant eye contact with the woman as he caught the weapon out of the air and holstered it.

Or, that's what happened in his head. He actually maintained steady, defiant eye contact with the woman as he reached out and made the slightest miscalculation as to where his hand should be, knocked the gun into a spin, and then fumbled to catch it with both hands. And after that, he holstered it with as much dignity as he could scrape together, looking grim and serious, but a little pink in the cheeks.

To redirect, he rolled his eyes at her remark and then gestured at her with an indignant wave of his hand. "And what about you? What're you doing skulking about in the shadows with a weapon, attacking well meaning citizens putting their own safety at risk to investigate a possible community dismemberment?"