Brian, by the pool, paces, back and forth along the rocks. He stops once, to stoop and dip his fingers in the water, then straightens, running that damp-hand through his hair, and paces again.
Shea makes her way into the Grotto, test driving her singing voice. Not bad, actually. "Say here boys... now take my advice," she sings. "To America, I'll have you not be coming. There is nothing here but war, where the Mardren cannon roar, and I wish I was at home in dear oul' Dublin." The tune is slightly melancholy, full of slides from fifths to thirds. It's catchy nonetheless.
Crouched at the treeline, Kristine's diminuitive form can be made out. Shea's singing causes the Fang to tilt her head that way, but she doesn't move. She's too busy trying to give herself a Fae-induced aneurism right now.
"We're not from Dublin," the Righ says over his shoulder, before he turns and spots who's singing in the first place. Dark eyebrows lift. "There you are."
Shea nods, the Righ's voice cutting off her music. "I don't write them," she tells Brian. "I just sing them. Your voice is actually quite nice," she says, grinning. "I sang several of my favorites on the drive out. Aside from the fact that they're all an octave or two too high."
An undignified snort comes from the treeline. The Fang Theurge still not having detached herself from the side of a tree.
There is the sound of muttered cursing, in a male voice, in /Greek/, and slowly the body of Steven comes into view. "/Remind/ me," he growls, "That I'm not quite as nimble, in this body?"
Brian's attention flickers to Kristine's hiding place, first, and then to Steven's approach, and he summons up a lopsided smile. "You're not quite as nimble in that body." Shea gets a faint nod, and a lift of one shoulder, "We don't sing much, either. Thanks, all the same."
Shea continues to approach the ahroun, minding Brian more than her packmates. "What'd you call me out here for, anyway?"
Kristine remains where she is, but she addresses Steven. "It'll be over soon. Perhaps once we figure out why Stevie got slapped in Jail."
Steven looks puzzled. "In jail?"
Kristine nods to Steven. "That's where he was put on the Monopoly game. He must've been bad."
Brian looks over at Kristine, squints at her consideringly, then looks back at the Fianna theurge. "We have to apologize. It was my, er, his idea. Brian's. That maybe you pissed them off, shagging one of their own without a by your leave."
Shea looks faintly amused. "She didn't protest," she replies to Brian. "But if you think it would help, I can act contrite." Her hands fold under her chest as she comes to stop just a step or two from Brian. "How do we make contact?"
Kristine snorts and grumbles, "Just like a man to not think with the right brain." She stands up, thankful for her distant position. She slowly makes her way towards the rest of the pack.
Brian's attention swings back to the fall. "Well," he says, and clears his throat. "We, ehm, invite her out, I imagine."
Shea's eyebrows lift, and she tilts her head to the side, just so. "Go ahead," she says, sweeping her arm towards the water's edge. "Unless you want me to help."
Brian glances once more at the rest of the pack, Steven and Kristine included, then clears his throat a second time, and shrugs out of his jacket. "Without names, it'll be hard, but we have to try, hey?" The jacket is tossed onto a rock, and he rakes both hands backward through his hair. Gaelic, then, he begins, "Cousins at court, we'd be glad of your ear."
Kristine strolls leisurely to a rock that she's proclaimed 'hers', and shoves her hands in her pockets as she waits.
Shea shrugs out of her jacket too, throwing it on top of Brian's. She steps closer to the water's edge, and glances back at Brian. "That's it?" she murmurs. With an 'I-Can-Do-That' smile, Shea says, in Gaelic, "Children of the Danae, grant us an audience, hey?"
The water in the pool stirs slightly.
Shea lifts her arms above her head in a grand gesture -- probably more show than substance. "Hear our request and grant us but a moment of your time," she continues to speak, in Gaelic towards the pool. Once more her green eyes flicker back toward Brian.
Another disturbance shudders the surface of the pool unnaturally.
Brian nods agreeably, as if in answer to the water. "It's not to ask a favor," Brian adds, Gaelic-still. "It's to make an offering. To ask peace. We won't keep you beyond your will to stay."
Something white and flat seems to be rising from the pool bottom, coming into view slowly. As it breaks the surface, there is a violent eruption as the rest of the "iceberg" rolls out of the water, spraying what seems to be half the pool over the Garou in the clearing. When the water finally settles, a large teacup bobs in the pool. An ancient hag sits comfortably in the cup, paddling herself in aimless circles with a giant silver teaspoon.
Shea reaches up to wipe the water dripping from her now bedraggled hair. She shifts her weight, looking chagrined at being water-logged and confused.
Kristine's brows raise at the display, and she props herself on the rock, pulling a leg up. This is their area of expertise. She's not going to say anything that'll cause further problems for the pack, so she's just not going to say anything. Especially now since she's soaked. She'll say something that 'won't be nice'.
Steven just stays silent. He only pushes a hand back through the top of his hair to push wet bangs back. Oh, and he adjust his clothes a little. Soaking fabric always sticks.
Brian, too, wipes a hand over his face, and then once more through his hair, brushing away the worst of the water. He looks down at himself briefly, then kneels by the waterfall pool, leaning forward on his elbows toward the little woman. "Good of you to come," he allows, "and we promise to be quick. We wanted to apologize."
Shea clears her throat, glancing at Brian, and then likewise kneeling. "That is, I wanted to apologize," she says to the figure bobbing in the teacup.
The old woman nods once, sharply. "And right you should too," she scolds in a gravelly voice. "To do somethin' like that and just ... not even THINK of the consequences! Mortals!" She shakes the silver teaspoon at all the Garou. "For shame! For shame!"
Shea bends her head, low. She looks shamefaced. "Please convey my heartfelt apologies to the wronged lass." Her voice certainly *sounds* contrite.
"Oh, I won't need to *convey* anything!" the crone bellows. "Just look at what you have wrought, mortal, and think on your sorrow. Hee hee heeeee!" She gestures wildly with the teaspoon, spraying more water over the Garou.
From behind a tree in the vicinity of the hag's gesturing, a small, red-haired woman peers. Her face is heartbreakingly beautiful, framed in a flaming mane and topped with two perked, pointed ears. One slim hand -- with a small trail of ginger-colored fur backing it -- braces her on the tree trunk for her hesitant appearance.
Brian glances sidelong at Shea, then back at the woman in the cup, just in time to get an eyeful of water again. He closes his eyes, wipes it away, then looks toward the newest arrival. His climb to standing is slow.
Kristine braces her chin on her knee, watching the humble Shea and the frantic Teaspon woman.
Steven still stays silent, his eyes shutting in quiet thought, even as the water washes over him. This time, there are no cutting remarks about the Fianna Galliard. This time, he has to learn on his own, without nagging from the Fury.
Shea must be muttering something under her breath at God, the world, or possibly the Fae just as another torent of water splashes over the contrite theurge. Reaching up to wring out more water from her hair, she stands, just after Brian does and glances toward the trees, sighing. One side of her cheek is pushed out from the pressure of Shea's tongue. One can almost hear the cogs turning inside of the raven haired woman's head.
"Come out, my pretty one, come out!" invites the old woman in a singsong. "Come out and show what playing can doooooo!" She cackles hideously, paddling herself in circles again.
Slowly, the heart-shaped face looks from one to another of the Garou, and then a slender, flame-furred leg emerges on paw-tip. She slides sideways around the tree to stand in profile, her hands resting gently on her bulging belly, her bushy red tail flicking shyly away behind the tree again. Her eyes fall from the Garou.
From behind the Garou, the old woman mutters, "Her family tends to have such *large* litters too. Such a shame, such a shame."
Shea's jaw drops.
Steven winces to himself now, "Oh merciful Hera,..."
Brian's eyebrows climb, one after the other, toward his hair line. "Oh, Sweet Gaia..."
"By the Mother," Kris' words come out in a whisper at the very pregnant woman.
Shea steps back from the water and toward the shy, but apparently quite pregnant faerie. She holds her hands out towards the female, a lame visual attempt at supplication or ... repentance. She finally gets her jaw to close, but she can't quite find the right words yet.
The slender little woman looks up through her tangled ginger mane with brimming green eyes.
Kristine shakes her head with a mutter, "That'll slap'm in Jail alright."
"Oh, God," Shea murmurs, looking back towards the teacup crone before she comes even closer toward the other Fae. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says. "I know it's too late to make this right, but how I can help you?" she asks, sincere earnestness washing through every syllable.
"We," Brian croaks out, clears his throat, and looks back at the crone in the cup. "What my blood does, I do, lady. Is there a way we can make it right?"
Steven's eyes open slowly, and he nods, indicating a willingness on the Fury's soul to help, as well.
Kristine nods as well, not saying anything. But she is willing to assist.
The bushy tail twitches slowly back and forth across the vegetation at the foot of the tree. The emerald eyes drop to the ground, and the delicate body picks a slow path to Shea. A small, hot hand reaches out and takes one of Shea's hands and lays it gently on the protruding, stretched skin. Under the surface, there are movements and kicks and shifts.
The hag continues to circle for a moment, muttering to herself, "Her mother, now she had ten the first time, that was a lot, near killed her it did, but that was with the Beast Lord. Mortals, now their get are always huge buggers." She clears her throat. "Oh, I don't know what you can do. There's so little one can do to make such things right, isn't there? Can YOU think of anything?"
Shea's eyes scrunch tightly closed, and without warning she starts to cry; not audibly, but tears start to flow from her eyes. She reaches up with her other hand to wipe them away, trying to keep this fact from her packmates; a feeble attempt to maintain something of her dignity. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs once more to the mother. She is reluctant to pull her hand away from the fae's womb, but at the same time she's completely bewildered and little sick to her stomach.
Kristine lets out a slow breath. She offers nothing, letting Shea make the first move. She hops off her rock to stand next to Steven.
Brian shakes his head a little. "We could help to care for the babe, if it's born of both worlds, lady. Or help to teach it. I .. what else could we offer?"
Tears still falling from Shea's eyes, she leaves the side of the pregnant Fae and walks a bit closer to the crone. "Mother," she says, lifting her voice -- cracked and weak, "did you say this fair maiden will die if she bears the child she carries?"
The old woman casts her rheumy gaze toward Brian, then Shea, then the little fae. "I'd say she'll probably have six. Mortal get are big buggers. Probably no room for more than that. She might die. She might not. I am," she says, puffing up a bit, "I AM the best midwife in all Faerie now, aren't I? She mightn't die, no, probably not. But then again she might."
Steven can no longer remain completely silent. Pain of this nature calls out to the Fury. "I.. in my tribe, we are mothers, as well as fighters. I... will do what I can. I have to."
Shea hand runs back through her hair and she approaches Brian. She stands on her toes, trying to speak privately with the Righ. "Righ, I get the feeling that... the only way I can change this -- make it right is that I should "take" one of these children to term." Her green eyes look out at the crone and then back at the bulging woman, before she looks up at Brian once more.
Kristine's teeth worry her bottom lip briefly. "Yeah, count me in." Is all she can say. She's not a mother, she's not a true warrior. She's just some ditz by blood that's pretty okay with spirits.
Shea pages: You are so evil.
Shea pages: Like the fruits of the devil.
To say that Brian's mouth drops open would be kind. His forehead wrinkles and he stares down at Shea as if she's just spewed a string of filth into his ear. Stares, that is, long and hard at the theurge before him, before he looks over her head at the diminutive fae with the swollen belly. Green eyes shift back to Shea. "Are you out of your mind? D'you have any idea what sort of deal you'd be stepping into?"
Shea just shrugs, silently. Her eyes drop to the ground. "I don't know what else to do," she mutters.
Steven touches Kristine lightly on the arm, then walks towards Shea and Brian. His jaw sets, and he focuses mainly on Shea. "If I... could get /my/ body back. And this would work. I... would do that for you." A quick glance over his shoulder, and he looks sadly thoughtful. "For her..."
Shea looks up, sourly, disappointment, frustration written on her expression. "This isn't your burden to carr..." She almost says when her mouth snaps closed and she blushes a deep crimson. "Nevermind," she mutters, still studying the ground.
Steven frowns, and touches Shea quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We didn't, and don't, always get along. But... I thought maybe we'd... come to something, the other night, when we talked. You know how I feel about things."
Brian's eyes only flicker to Steven and then back again. "Absolutely not, Diana. Stick to your tribe, we'll keep to ours." He's considering Shea, seriously.
Kristine opens her mouth, but closes it. She looks down and toes the ground. "Let's not get into tribal battles, 'kay? We're pack. Maybe that's why Di's in Stevie's body in the first place, huh?"
Shea inhales a deep breath and looks out toward the crone again. "How long before the children come to term?" she asks the floating teacup.
Steven starts to open his mouth, at Brian's comment, but bites it back. With quite a bit of effort. At least until any possible reaction is made on Brian's part to Kristine's comment.
The thin, tiny, flame-haired woman returns to leaning on the trunk of her tree, fingers laced over her gravidity.
"Riddle me this, wolf-children," the crone snaps. "What is the first rule when mortals deal with our kind?"
Kristine doesn't answer. Not her territory.
Steven's jaw just works, but there are /definitely/ wheels turning in that Fury brain.
Brian murmurs, attention still on Shea, "Rest assured that your doing will have consequence, no matter the joy in the doing, that's what." Shea's given a longer moment's consideration, and then he closes his eyes, lets his head drop, and murmurs toward his toes, "Do it, then, Steven."
Shea swallows, still looking out toward the floating tea cup. Her jaw sets as Brian speaks. "The first rule?" she mutters, silently counting off numbers on one hand. "Never make any deals lightly," she says, her brows knitting closer together.
The crone pauses, looking sideways consideringly, her wrinkled lips pursing. "Okay, what's *another* first rule of mortals dealing with our kind?"
The theurge perks. "Never get involved in a land war in Asia?" She seems pleased and then holds up her hands. "No. No. That's not it. Never mind. Sounded good though." She glances at Brian. "What's she want?" she asks her packmate.
Kristine sighs a bit, "Expect the unexpected." Well, she has to offer something.
The hag cackles broadly and waves her teaspoon around wildly. "You got that one right, chickie! Shall I tell? Shall I tell? Shall I spill the cojones?"
Shea swallows and cringes, vaguely. "If you please, Mother," she replies respectfully.
Kristine rolls her eyes slightly, mumbling as she turns around, "There's probably no babies in the first place."
Brian adds, "Please, lady, tell us."
Steven's arms fold across his chest. Oh, no, he's not saying word one, now. Nope. 'Their' foo. Artemis forgive them that they just /happened/ to drag a Fury into it.
The cackles rise in volume, until they're echoing around the clearing. "Glamour is the first rule, my chickadees," the crone grates. There is a whoop of laughter from somewhere in the trees, and giggles from the waterfall and the underbrush. The small woman has vanished, and the teacup and its occupant are sinking slowly.
The old woman pauses in her mirth. "But as false as it may be here, glamour is true as your beating hearts, beyond the River of Blood." With that, she sinks, her laugh growing richer and fuller as she enters the water, leaving echoes of that laughter ringing in the Garou's ears.
Kristine leans against her rock, sort of shocked. "Whoa..I was...right?"
Shea looks confused as hell. And still just as wet.
Brian sags, tension leeched out of his shoulders. "No," he answers Kristine, "and yes. There'll be no carrying to term," he says, eyes once more on Shea, "but there'll be a back of halflings scampering around Tuatha lands."
Kristine just seems to be shocked she even got -part- of the bit right.
"Maybe," intones the pair of glowing red eyes in the bush at Kristine's feet. "And maybe not." They blink once. Twice. Gone.
Shea studiously watches the suddenly placid waters of the pool.
With the others distracted by the sudden disappearance, and reeling from the revelations of the night, the Fury-Within-the-Fianna leaves. Without a word to anyone.
Kristine clamours back on her rock, and crosses her legs. She stares at the bush with the eyes. This is why she's a Fang. They don't deal with Fae on a default basis.
"More riddles," says Brian, choosing a rock of his own to perch on, regardless of lingering damp, "and nothing solved."
Shea nods up at Brian. "But at least I'm n-- you're not preggers," she mutters.
Brian points toward the bush that blinked demonstratively. "Maybe."
Kristine snorts a bit, "Well, maybe this is a lesson to keep it in your pants." When'd she get Fury'd? She continuest to stare at the bush.
Shea holds her hands out. "Look, the point is very well taken, you two. Sheesh." She shakes her head and stalks off into the grotto proper.
Brian begins, "Steven, it wasn't meant... ah, bloody hell."
Kristine takes a breath, "I'm sorry, Steven." She hops off her rock. "Maybe I'm the one who should leave." She turns, shoves her hands in her pockets, and heads for the treeline.
Shea just stands near the tree where the pregnant fae had been touching the same bark, peering around behind the trunk, before she looks back toward Brian. "Are we ever going to get to the bottom of this?" she asks.
Kristine steps out of the grotto into the forest.
Brian pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Aye, lad. We'll get to it if I have to dig us there with my bare hands."
Shea runs her hands back through her still drying hair, letting the ribbon that holds her pony tail fall away. She then fluffs out the rest of her hair and nods after a moment. "OK," she says, softly.
Long distance to the room: Old Hag drinks water to head off her asthma from laughing so hard, and is sorry for playing such a cruel joke. Well, maybe not sorry, exactly, but... ANYway, did y'all have fun?
From afar, to the room, Shea kicks. Evil wench.
From afar, to the room, Brian mutters, but had fun, yes. :)
Shea pages to the room: So. Are we done here for now?
From afar, to the room, Brian 'magines so.
Long distance to the room: Old Hag thinks so. :)
Shea pages to the room: Thanks for scaring the living bejeezus out of me.
Shea pages to the room: Remind me not to be nice to you next time I see you.
Long distance to the room: Old Hag cackles evilly. Just wait till you see what *else* I have planned for you. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ahem.
From afar, to the room, Shea wants her mommy.
You paged the room with 'And that's aside from what I've got plotted for y'all for the endgame of the bodyswap. Hee.'.
From afar, to the room, Shea is so doomed.
2/23/99
Go to home.