The GarouMUSH Log Page of Clemency Haynes

Brownstone -- Basement Apt.(#3328RJ)
The basement of the brownstone has been split into two sections. The stairwell leads down into the northwest corner section, which contains the boiler room, furnace, and the elevator shaft. The rest has been converted into another apartment, and Signe's made it into a rather fortified one at that. The only entrance is through a re-enforced steel door with no less than three dead-bolts. There are absolutely no windows at all in any of the four concrete and brick walls. It's a rather stark but functional space. Overhead, the air ducts and plumbing pipes are exposed, while the cement floor is covered by a ragged dark wine and gold Oriental throw rug. A makeshift shelving unit of two-by-fours and cinder block has been erected along the length of the wall with the door, and it houses a stereo, tv and old vcr. Directly opposite this is a beat-up leather couch and two mismatched recliners. The kitchen is small but functional, with a round wooden table and four chairs. Half of the back end of the building has been walled off for a private bedroom, while the rest is open to the living area. This space has been converted into a home gym--complete with wrestling mats, weights, and a full weight boxing bag.

Emma has returned to the Brownstone this morning and is busy working on tidying up. The stereo is playing some alternative station and the scent of Febreze fills the apartment. The young Ahroun seems in a good mood.

Even Clemency seems in a relatively good mood as she walks up the street to the Brownstone. Luna hangs at her thinnest in the sky and the Silver Fang ahroun is relatively untroubled as she strides along, though other citizens still tend to give her a wide berth. She hops up the steps at the entrance to the building and leans with her thumb on the entryphone.

Emma goes through the efforts of unlocking the door and the lift gate and inviting the other down. As the door open, Emma grins, "Hey, what's up? You come by to help me do some spring cleaning?"

The look Clemency gives Emma suggests that that was not what was in her mind, but she forces it off her face and replaces it with a more friendly expression after a moment. "I can help out if you need," she says. "Or is spring cleaning code for something else?" The front door closes and she adds "Such as killing nasties?"

Emma laughs, "Never even thought of that, and no. Serious cleaning. I need to keep this place looking good for when Signe comes back. Since I don't know when that might be, can't be caught unawares." She nods to the fridge, "There's some beer in there if you want."

Clemency raises one eyebrow as she accepts the offer of a beer, pulling one out of the fridge and popping it open. "Signe's coming back, you reckon? In my experience, not a great many of those who go to the Amazon return. Either they die there, or they get so engrossed in the battles and campaigns..." She doesn't finish the sentence, preferring to start quaffing the beer.

Emma is short and terse, "She'll come back." The Get grabs her dust rag and swipes it over the wooden frame of Gunnar's viking-throne-thingy. "We need to reestablish pack territory and figure out patrols."

"That was the kind of thing I wanted to talk to you 'bout," Clemency responds. "I figured, now when the moon is low, is the best time for ragebags like us to actually do rational planning without ending up getting mad at one another over some trivial thing or other."

Emma snorts a little, "You, are going to be working on that blowing a lid over trivial stuff bit. We have too many Ahrouns in one pack for you to be such a hot wire Clemency." She looks up, her tone softer, "You willing to work on that?"

"I already said I was," Clemency responds in acerbic tones which only go to reinforce that the Silver Fang even at new moons is on a very short string.

Emma nods her head, "Good. Then we'll start today." She grins at this and moves to the stereo, turning on a heavier song and raising the volume. "Gets the blood pumping don't it?" she asks. "Come have a seat."

Clemency looks at her not-long-opened beer. "Should I not have started this, in that case?" she asks as she slides into a seat, frowning briefly at the thumping beat of the music.

Emma shakes her head, "Beer get ya riled up or chill you out? Don't matter. Learning to keep your rage under control, means under control in all situations. You always been the type to be quick to blow up?"

"Pretty much always," Clemency says. "I was born right at the very fullest moon and I've got a rotten temper, as well you know. Which is kind of cool in a way, Luna blesses me with such righteous fury... but the hard part is keeping it in except when it's called for. Do you not have that problem? Most full moons do, to an extent. Alcohol," she adds, "tends to mellow me, a bit at least. Which is why I drink more than I should."

Emma nods her head as she listens. "I have my triggers. But compared to you... to Grey, the number of things that'll set me off at the drop of a hat are few. We need to get you to that point, because honestly?" She laughs at this, "Grey has more control than you do." She takes a deep breath, "Can you tell me what things push you over that line the easiest?"

Clemency winces, a little theatrically. "My pride is wounded now," she proclaims, though thankfully her tone is light-hearted. "Grey's at least ten years older than me and that's ten years more practice at self control. Ehh. I'm touchy about my pride, and my tribe, and my honor and the tribe's honor. Being talked back to, I hate. Stupidity annoys me, in other Garou... people like the local Wendigo and Uktena. Babies freak me. Anything of the Wyrm of course, or any breach of the litany. Are you taking notes?"

Emma looks at the Fang with wide eyes, "Ok ok hold up, lets start with what ya got. And, I'm totally with you on the being talked back to and the babies... hate those too. Alright. First off, none of those thinsg, save the wyrm, are worth letting that rage loose. You will get your point across far better by keeping your cool, then by falling back on the old rage fury. When you feel that blur start to haze your sights, what do you do?"

Clemency shrugs. "Get out of there fast?" It's a question, not an answer. "Usually by the time I feel it start to rise within me it's too late to do much else. I can go from zero to sixty faster than any sports car."

Emma chuckles a little. "But you feel the engine start to rev at least? Or is really one second you're laughing, the next second your jaws are on someones throat?"

"Sometimes," Clemency says a little cautiously. "When I get some warning I try to get out. You must have seen me stamp out of a room a dozen times, rather than smack someone around. But the times when I don't... take the last occasion, when I frenzied on Peter-yuf," she recalls, her face flushing. "That just hit me out of the blue."

Emma nods her head a little, "You need to stop yourself from getting to that point. When I was a cub, I flew off the handle more easily. Jamethon worked with me on exercises and meditations that just kept me cooler all around. That, and thinking- alright don't laugh at this, but mental rehearsing can do wonders - you set yourself up for success that way."

"Music sometimes keeps me calm?" Clemency suggests. "Not this kind --" She gestures at the booming radio. "Proper music, classical music. It's why I carry my MP3 player round with me... I know it's probably weaverish, but better that than even more frenzies from me."

Emma nods, "This music sorta gets into your pulse don't it? Try thinking of your classical music while this is going on. Practice focusing on something outside of the here and now."

Clemency shakes her head. "Can't carry one tune while there's another going on," she declares. "I find it hard enough to stay focused at all, any time. And any rock music, anything with a beat, has the opposite effect if anything."

Emma nods at this, "I know. But you have to learn how to. Keeping yourself under control is an exercise of your mental power, your willpower. Willpower is not some thing that just... floats in us, some more than others. It's how much effort you've put into using your own mind to reinforce the will that's there." She reaches over to turn the music up just a hair. "And I don't want to hear 'cant' from you again. Hum me something from Beethoven."

Clemency raises her eyebrows and hums the four-note opening to the Fifth Symphony.

"More than four notes. C'mon, how am I supposed to tell what song that is?" Emma grins at the other again, "Hum the whole song. Direct if you have to. Drown out my Stabbing Westward."

"Beethoven," Clemency states icily, "did not write 'songs' as such." She sighs and repeats the four notes, then continues into the first movement of the symphony. She gets perhaps eight bars in before the beat from the radio distracts her sufficiently that she loses her mental place, and pulls an angry face.

Emma holds up a finger and tries to catch the others attention. "Practice- does not always come easy. Try again." And this time, as the Fang begins, Emma hums along with her, giving her some aid in the drill.

Clemency shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket and begins again. Around the point where the first silence comes in she once more loses her place and thumps her hand on the arm of the chair.

"Knock it off," comes Emma's more authoritive tone. "Those little fits of frustration are only adding to the fuel tank - whether you feel it or not. Now start again, hum with me. Push the other music out of your mind, seperate from it."

Clemency tries to focus, concentrate... but that pounding, driving beat from the radio won't go out of her head, it seems. She gets only a little way further than the last occasion before she snarls at Emma "This isn't going to fucking work, I can tell you right here and now."

Emma reaches out and slams her fist into the power button. "Is this better? How's this feel?" Her tone matches Clemency's now, full of that fire and irritation. "This is way better than trying to fucking block it out isn't it? Just get it all out in the open!" She casts a hard look at the Fang, nostrils flaring. "Why won't it work!?" she demands.

Clemency seems about ready to spit on either Emma's floor or Emma herself. "Because it won't," she shouts back. "Do you really think I haven't tried everything like this already?"

"It won't because you have yourself convinced it won't. You're a fucking pessimist Clemency. This pack is for people that have the balls to do what needs to be done. For you - step one, is getting your fucking control in line. You get pissed off if something doesn't come easy to you, well tough shit, you're going to have to work on this." Emma's voice is strong and tense, perhaps more Get-like than most would consider her under other circumstances. And just as quickly as she let that rage fuel her, she backs off and takes in a deep breath. "I'm going to give you three chances. This here now, was your first chance and you said you 'can't' do it. When you tell me for the third time, you can't... then we're done." She stands up and flips the dial on the radio, landing it on the classical station and raising the volume to a moderate level. "You let me know when you've gotten yourself together and want to try again." And with that, she turns to the kitchen and reaches for her dust rag.

Clemency looks even more infuriated at the accusation. "No balls? I'll fucking show you what balls I've got." She glares at the radio. "Come on, I'm ready any time you think you are."

Emma turns back around at this, "You sure you are ready to try again?" She takes her time in replacing the dust rag below the sink, letting the classical station lull through the measures of symphonic music. Once she's washed her hands, she comes back to the living room and flips the channel to the driving rock beat. "When you're ready Clemency." And with the ease and posture of a noble sitting down for a Shakespear play, she plants herself into a seat.

"I. Said. Any. Time." And Clemency remains in her seat, lip curling as the radio starts blaring out rock again. "Da da da duuuh... da da da duuuuh..." She launches once more into Beethoven's fifth. This time she starts beating time with her left hand, as though she were a conductor and Emma an orchestra of one, and she makes it almost a minute before Beethoven gets mixed up somehow with Blink 182 and the symphony breaks down in a confused tangle.

And right as that happens, Clemency's cellphone starts chirring at her. She thumps her chair arm once more, jerks it out of her pocket and snarls "What?" into it.

Cristofer pages: There is a long drawn out moment of silence. "I will no longer be affiliating myself with the Silver Fangs Mistress Haynes." finally comes across from the other side of the line, each word is slowly spoken and drawn out as if the speaker is having difficulty saying the words.

Clemency gasps into the phone. "What the FUCK? Is that... Dragomir there? You little pissant shit. Haven't you the guts to tell me to my face?" she demands of the caller.

Cristofer pages: There is a long sigh. "Of course not, call me a coward if you will Mistress Haynes but I am more concerned with you snapping and myself be nothing more than a red stain on the floor... although perhaps that is what I deserve. Things are... complicated."

Emma was looking quite pleased with the Fang's work on the drill when the cell phone goes off. Out of courtesy, the radio is lowered and she remains quiet, brows pinched as she listens in on the conversation.

Clemency snorts into the phone again. "Complicated? You just fucking resigned from the Silver Fangs and you've got the nerve to say things are complicated?" She squeezes the phone in her hand till it's in danger of being crushed.

Emma pinches those brows together even more now, and reaches over to turn the dial back to the softer station, leaving the volume low.

Cristofer pages: The voice on the phone is trembling now. "What am I supposed to say Mistress Haynes? Do you think I'm happy with this idea!? Do you think I wanted this to happen... I don't have a choice!" there is the muffled sound of crying briefly. "I need to protect someone and this is the only way I can... can't you understand? I'm not like you, I'm no warrior... I... I'm just human."

Clemency stares at the phone. "There's always a choice," she says into it coldly. "Who are you protecting?"

Emma remains still and quiet, though there is a rising, visible tension in her posture that states the young Get is ready to move at the drop of a hat.

Cristofer pages: I can't say..." he replies hesitantly into the phone. "I'm so sorry Mistress Haynes... I never meant for this to happen, but it's too late now there's no turning back."

Whatever the caller says in response to that seems to finally incense Clemency beyond measure. She hurls the phone at the wall, and it smashes into it, leaving a mark, and skidding away across the room.

Cristofer pages: Loud bells can be heard echoing in the background. "I'm so very sorry, you have every right to hate me Mistress Haynes... I bear no resentment towards you for it." as he probably speaks into nothing more than a dead phone. "We all have our roles to play, and if I need to be casted as the traitor to protect people I care about... then it's a price I gladly pay."
You paged Cristofer with 'As you surmised, you don't hear any more.'.

"What's happened?" asks Emma, her voice tense but without accusation at the Fang's outburst.

"That fucking little wimp of a..." Clemency raises her fists again, then catches sight of Emma and drops them slowly. "He's quit the tribe, he says. You do not just quit the Silver Fangs. Why, WHY, are all our fucking male kin such wimps?" And as she asks that, the cellphone bursts back into life, chrrring for attention.

Emma frowns at this explanation, "Did he say why? What would make someone quit their tr-... alright, bad question. And far as I knew, kin can't just up and quit, can they?"

Clemency stands up and stalks over to retrieve the phone. "This one," she says tightly, "is also kin to the Shadow Lords." And she punches the cellphone. "Yes?" she snaps once more.

Cristofer pages: Sighs deeply into the phone. "I'm at Saint Michael's right now Mistress Haynes."

That brings a startled gesture to the Get, and even as she picks the phone up, she questions, "He's both?"

Clemency frowns. "What or where is Saint Michael's?" she asks, perhaps just a fraction less infuriated, and nodding to Emma in affirmation.

Cristofer pages: The catholic church in town Mistress Haynes." he replies faintly.

"Oh, marvellous. So you've gotten religion and left us for God?" jeers Clemency. "You stay right there, Mister Dragomir, and I'll come to you."

Emma looks up to the Fang, "I know this is a tribal affair Clemency, but I'd like to go with you."

Clemency gives Emma a very positive thumbs-up in response to that.

Clemency then terminates the call and stares at Emma. "He's hiding in the Catholic cathedral in town," she says venomously. "You sure you want to come with me? I swear I may kill him on the altar steps like Thomas a Becket..." She jerks herself out of the chair.

Emma clears her throat, "I'm actually coming with to make sure you don't kill him Clemency. At least not out here in the city. You need to deal with him in a more severe way, we can take him out to the bawn." She grabs her coat and powers off the stereo, slipping her arms into the sleeves of Signe's old leather jacket.

St. Michael's Catholic Church(#3005RJ)
This relatively small parish church has a refined simplicity that harks back to the turn of the century. Though worn with age, the floor and furnishings are kept meticulously clean. Brass-inlaid seals of the saints, polished recently enough to gleam in the dimness, mark paths down each side aisle and down the nave. Two side chapels stand at either corner near the entrance: one to the Virgin, bedecked with blue candles, and the other to Saint Michael, the mosaic portrait glinting with gold in the flickering light of red votives. Beyond them, several curtained confessionals give privacy to sinners, and alcoves provide a few additonal pews of seating, these benches shorter and turned to angle toward the altar.
The church's vaulted ceiling draws the eye to rose windows at either end of the nave, the stained-glass worked in stark and modern elemental designs. The sanctuary is almost plain, the altar laid with white embroidered cloth, the fittings simple. Art-deco brass candelabras light both sides of the raised area behind the altar, and similarly worked railings define the choir stands to either side.
Tall double doors, carved with images in deep relief, lead back out to the streets of the city.

After a journey through the streets of the city, Clemency and Emma find the church in question. Clemency strides straight up to the double doors that lead inside and barges them back, heedless of who may be inside or what ceremony or service may be going on.

Cristofer is sitting in the back pews of the church, looking a lot worse for wear. His suit is all wrinkled, with the hem of the pant legs stained with mud. His suede shoes are ruined by this point as he has been walking aimlessly in the wet snow all night. His eyes look tired, along with being red and sore now, as he looks nerviously down at his cellphone checking the time on it occasionally.

Emma gives her throat a gentle clearing as Clemency barges in to the church. "Easy now, ain't our turf."

Cristofer looks up with a nervious start at Clemency's arrival along with her companion, he slowly rises to his feet and does his best to straighten his coat, a futile effort on his part. He looks like he want's to say something but is at a loss for words, so he simply looks down at the floor ashamed.

"It may not be," snaps Clemency, "but he is." She barely slackens pace as she stomps up towards Cristofer, but his appearance when she finally confronts him gives her pause. She may be a ragebitch, but the bedraggled kin looks so woebegone that she doesn't seem able to remain at the height of her anger with him. For a moment she stands over him, jaw working like a cow chewing cud, then she squats down by the pew he's in. "Okay. Now talk to me, Dragomir, huh? Tell me what happened?" She's still taut as a wire and likely to set Cris's alarms ringing, but compared to how she was on the phone she's like rain after a hot day.

Cristofer looks nerviously to Clemency's companion unsure as to whether or not he should speak in front of her.

Emma steps in with the Fang, but gives her adequate space. While the two converse, she seems content to stand sentry; her gaze flicking from door to door to door.

Clemency jerks a thumb at Emma. "This is Emma," she explains, "and anything you can say to me you can say to her. She is one of us."

Cristofer hesitantly begins to speak. "I'm protecting some people I care about alot... Mistress Vera found something out I wish she hadn't."

Emma may be listening, or she may not. Only at her name does she turn to look at the two and give a bob of her head in greeting. Otherwise, she stays as neutral as possible, tense, and alert.

"Vera," Clemency says coldly, then again "Vera. I might have known. Is this something you can tell me? If not, I will not force it from you. Unlike a Shadow Lord, I have scruples."

Cristofer slumps his shoulders, and sighs deeply. "I'm concerned about how you might react Mistress Haynes... you are wound quite tightly all the time. Either way Mistress Vera wins, either she keeps silent on her discovery and I obey her whims, or you over react and she uses that as ammunition agains't you Mistress Haynes."

Cristofer smiles weakly. "I suppose you didn't realize... one of the people I'm trying to protect... is you."

Emma pipes in at this point, "Clemency can manage without overreacting. I'm sure she has the balls for it."

Clemency gives a weary shrug, then freezes and frowns. "Wait. How could she use it as ammunition against me?" she blurts. "How are you protecting me? Against what?" Her voice is a low intense hiss. Emma's comment goes unheeded, complimentary though it is.

Cristofer frowns deeply. "That is why everything is so complicated..." he sighs deeply. "I've already said too much on the matter, my loyalty now lays with Mistress Vera for as long as she keeps silent. I can't say anymore on the matter without betraying her, and while I despise her for the extortion tactics she has chosen to use, I cannot break my word."

Emma looks to the kin at this, "If Clemency is in danger of anything .. I want to fucking well know."

Clemency's head moves down and forwards like the digging bucket of an earth-mover about to scoop a big hole. "If you are really now loyal to Vera-rhya," she points out, still in a hiss, "your words are no longer bound by the respect of a Silver Fang for truth and honor. No Shadow Lord would hesitate to lie or to spill a secret if the situation seemed to call for it." To Emma she simply says, with a sideways glance, "I'm in no danger I can't guard against, Emma-yuf, of that I can assure you."

Cristofer turns away from Clemency, looking towards the double doors. "I just thought, you deserved some sort of explaination... even if it is a weak one Mistress Haynes. I fear reprisals against those I'm trying to protect if I tell you."

"Oh what the fuck!" comes the call from the shortish Get. "This kinda shit gets people killed. You know that right?"

"Don't swear in church, Emma," Clemency frowns to the Get. Then to the kin: "Weak is right, Dragomir. It's no explanation at all. What will it take to get the truth out of you? I won't threaten you, I won't force it. That is beneath me."

Cristofer frowns deeply again and looks down at his feet. "I... I've been involved outside of tribe with someone since arriving in the city. Mistress Vera found out, and said she wouldn't tell you if I promised to do what she told me. From our past encounters I feared you might hurt them or worse if you found out, for trying to take what you saw as Silver Fang property. I couldn't let that happen because Mistress Vera would crucify you as a new moon and sept leader if you did. So I accepted her deal."

Emma just pinches her lips together and listens to the kin relate the story. A gentle shake of her head is the only reaction this time.

"I see," Clemency says in a businesslike manner. "So rather than 'fess up to me that you'd boffed some bimbo... and I'll do you the honor of assuming it wasn't some guy... you've allowed yourself to be placed in this position. Jesus, Dragomir," she says, calling upon the one to whom this building is dedicated without any sense of irony, "wrong priorities much? Didn't the family where you come from teach you? Never ever ever EVER get in a position where a Shadow Lord has power over you."

Cristofer sighs deeply, and turns away finally and begins to head towards the door. "Goodbye Mistress Haynes." he turns briefly and gives a polite nod in Emma's direction.

The Get turns to glance at Clemency, gauging the other Ahroun to see what move she might make next.

Clemency doesn't make a move to prevent Cristofer leaving the pew and heading for the doors. Indeed, as he vacates his seat, she moves into the pew herself and sits down with a sudden motion, landing on the wood with a thunk. She looks at Emma in a kind of helpless confusion.

Cristofer pauses at the door briefly, looking back briefly at Clemency and Emma. "I am sorry once again Mistress Haynes... I know you hate and are ashamed to have once called me kin of your tribe."

Clemency thumps the back of the pew in front of her. "I do not hate you!" she shouts, loud enough to make echoes arise in the church.

Emma stands by the pew as the position shift occurs, silent and sentry like once more. A deep breath is taken and she looks to the Fang she would call packmate.

Cristofer looks hestiantly at the door again and then back to Clemency and her packmate. "What are you going to do now Mistress Haynes?"

Clemency meets the look across the church. "What do you want me to do?" she snaps back. "Tell you how wicked you are? Tell you you're forgiven? Go straight to Vera and challenge her?"

Cristofer sighs a bit. "I expect you to act with the dignity of someone who claims to be descended from the blood of kings, with a sword in one hand, tempered by the wisdom of the other. Just don't let your temper get the better of you Mistress Haynes, because that's what Mistress Vera wants.

Emma shrugs a shoulder up, "Sounds like you're looking for some damn knight in shining armor - and well, way I see it, this falls along the lines of you made your bed, now sleep in it." She glances to Clemency, "Considering he's a halfsy-halfsy."

Clemency gives the kin a peculiar look. "Dignity," she says in a slow deliberate tone, "I can do. And I shall think very carefully. Keep your cellphone by you." She gestures him away with a languid hand and remains in the pew, looking into nothingness with a furrowed brow.