Bonegnawer Tales: Mulligan Stew

[Bratty]

Annie, the bag lady, sat around a campfire in the local campgrounds of Wichita, Kansas. The moon was gibbous, just right for spinnin' yarns. Normally creatures of the city, the Gnawers, as they are called in short, gathered round the campfire for a special kind of Moot. A Moot just for them.

"Listen here, young 'uns! Pay attention to your Elders! An' I tells ya a story of Stiff Peter and Lunchbox."

The young cubs gathered round with wide eyes, while those who have heard the stories chuckled and looked amongst themselves. They knew what was coming, and waited with just as much anticipation as these young whippersnappers with peach fuzz under their arm pits.

The bonfire in the middle of the storytelling created for dramatic effect, casting the light and shadow over the storyteller in emphasis only heightened by her voice. She was an Elder Talespinner, after all. A Galliard. This was her birthright.

The mutton and stews made of godawful crud turned into magnificient culnery creations were forgotten. Marshmallows were forgotten. Even the fried chicken was forgotten. The stage was set for one barnraisin' Moot.

Annie was old. Unlike other Garou tribes, the Gnawers prided themselves on their age and stuff accumulated. While Shadow Lords and Silver Fangs performed the rite of the Winter Wolf, the Rite of death of the elderly, the Gnawers considered themselves to be in the Golden years. Her eyes were sunken with wrinkled age, and she smelled of cheese. Her grey stringy hair stuck out of her doo rag in insolent fashion. She is dressed in oversized gypsy skirt and shirt, with scarves and rags about her, holes in each piece of clothing and patchwork holding those clothes together. Stiched with love, Annie would say. Her shoes had holes in them, that she considered air conditioning in the summer, and she packed with newspapers during the winter. To complete her appearance and ensemble, she has a tool belt of her ...stuff. A waterbottle with a spigot instead of a sprayer, lint brush, old wire hair brush, and a canteen with a faded hula dancer painted on it are among her stuff she has on her utility belt. This ain't even the beginning of her stuff. But this is stuff she needs to move with. One never knows when they get ousted.

Her eye began to twitch, a muscle spasm that ailed her and made her witchy in the right light. "Once upon a time, just last spring..."

And so the tale begins....

--------

[imperfect vision]

"Yo lady come ride the Bone rollercoaster! Wooo!"

The nasaly voice called out to a woman walking across the street, but she paid it no mind. Its wielder was harmless. Or so she thought.

Peter was his given name. Well, the name he knows he was given, and as far as he was concerned that's what mattered. He had earned the deed name ~Stiff~ for various reasons, none of which he was too bashful to go into. He had long hair tossed over his shoulders, a blue workshirt with "Hi, my name is..." stitched over a pocket filled with a lighter and a pipe, and regular jeans.

"Bitch's just playin' hard to get. I ain't got time for hoes like that."

[Bratty]

Lunchbox smacks ~Stiff~ Peter across the abdomen and makes a facial expression. They got work to do.

[imperfect vision]

"Man Lunchbox, why're you so uptight? I know we have bidness to take care of, but there's always time to get some. Word!" He bobs up and down as he starts walking along, expecting his co-hort to fall in step. "Where we gotta go anyway? And why do we have to talk to these fucks anyway? They ain't shit to Gnawers.." He stops in his tracks. "Arent' they?"

It is pretty apparent that he doesn't know what he's talking about. At all.

[Bratty]

Lunchbox pulls out a couple of smokes and offers Peter one. They had things to do. They had a dream given to them by Mama Rat. Something's cookin'. Literally. Strange, for both of them to have the same dream...

[Cynical Cat]

Jimmy trailed behind. He looked like what he was, a skinny, underfed sixteen year old kid who had lost his innocence a long time ago. He twitched a little. Peter scarred him a little. Remind him too much of his former foster dad.

[imperfect vision]

Peter fishes out the lighter from his pocket and lights the cigarette. He takes a long drag, and ponders for a moment. "You know Lunchbox, you know me like no other. We gots us a dream to fill, just like Spike Lee and that X movie. Or that guy with the farm and the dead baseball people. You know lunchbox, I'll bet those bastards were zombies lookin' to hook up with his wife 'n eat his brains. Shit, I'll never own a farm."

He took another drag and kept walking.

[Bratty]

Lunchbox took a drag and gestured to the kid following. She grins. Awww yeah. The message is spreading. Never mind that it is the punk who follows Peter around like a bitch in heat. If you build it, they will come. Come join the dark side of the force, and some such shit. Lunchbox hands Jimmy a smoke. Poor kid. Ain't eaten nothing today. Musta gotten the crap beaten out of him again too.

Lunchbox gestures to Peter with a thumb. Should they let the kid in on the dream as well?

[Cynical Cat]

Jimmy flinches away from the cigarette and shakes his head.

[Bratty]

Lunchbox nods her head. Smart kid. More smokes for her.

She reaches into her pack and hands Jimmy a half moldy sandwich instead with a grin. Her Mama taught her to share.

[Cynical Cat]

Jimmy devours the sandwich with gusto, bolting it down in big bites.

[imperfect vision]

"Yo Jimmy, what's the w0rd? Ya ratty fuck. No more ratty 'n me but still. We gots some choice meat for stew tonight, aint we Lunchbox? Just suck that smoke down 'n we'll get down to bidness."

He took a seat on a covered trashcan and folded his arms. "Behold I'm royalty! Now listen to this shit. Lunchbox 'n I curled up with a fatty blunt, 'n I have this dream that there's this big ol' pot sittin' on fresh charcoals with some bubblin' broth. It looks like it's at this spot a li'l outside of town. I look around 'n see some furry critters, but I know they ain't Spirals 'cause they don't stink like 'em. I take a peek in the pot 'n see some of the usual shit, but I also see somethin' floatin to the top."

He puts on a shocked expression and grabs his hand at the wrist. "It's a severed hand givin' me the finger! OoOOOOooo! Wells I reach in to grab that bitch 'cause there's no way I'M gettin' the finger, when some rat bites me. Ain't that some shit?"

He takes another drag and crosses his legs like a Sultan.

[Cynical Cat]

Shit like this was why Jimmy liked Lunchbox and stayed the fuck away from Peter. He sayed nothing and hunched down.

[Bratty]

Meanwhile, Lunchbox was actually nodding along with Peter, pointing at Jimmy to pay attention. After all, she had the same dream.

Lunchbox was a Theurge, you know, use the force Luke, kinda kids. Lunchbox was accustomed to dreams and Rat. But it kinda freaked her out to see the stew giving her the middle finger.

Kinda wierd how the rat scurried away from the pot and went into the woods. DAMN that shifty rat bastard.

[imperfect vision]

"Somethin' tells me there's Wyrm taint all over that shit. Makes me sad, good stew ruined by that fat fuck."

Peter shakes his head and crosses his heart.

"So's I follow that rat, 'cause I'm gonna chop that bastard up. 'Cause it's a fucker. I see his ass and run and I'm all wolfin' out 'n stuff 'cause that's the best way to get the job done.

I chase 'im and I see we're over by the highway, 'n then I see mile marker 117. An' that's where I wake up. That bitch better be glad they caught me like they did; I loves Rat 'n Rat loves me but anybody who fucks with Peter gets a foot in the ass, Bruce Lee style."

[Umbras]

Shiner listens to the others from the shadows, he does'nt fit in to well. He is considered a bit dense but knows when the others start talking its best to listen.

He has been unsettled as of late, his dreams are muddled but have left him antsy.

what he has been hearing has raised the hairs on his neck.

[Bratty]

Shiner Bock, Lunchbox and Stiff Peter call him, because they like the beer. Lunchbox sees him; she always knows. She offers a smoke to him to calm his nerves and bait him from the shadows.

[Bratty]

----

The detective loosened his tie and slung it over the back of a chair. Next the sports coat which had seen better days. Matter of fact, so has the rest of him. His partner got shot tonight. That makes two in less than a week. They just don't make academy trained bozos like they used to. All of them want a piece of the action. 'Put me on the street, chief!' They say with their wide eyes and ideals that they will stop the bad guys, and that they wear the white hats. Barney is beginning to wonder what they are teaching in the Academy, any more. Sure as hell ain't survival skills.

Barney removes his gun in shoulder holster and slings it over his coat. He makes his way, staggering into the kitchen. He is fatigued, but soon the staggering will be for other reasons. He pours himself a glass of scotch over rocks, and heads into the living room. He sits on the couch with a resounding thud reminiscent of the way his partner went down tonight. One more kid in the hospital who may live or die. Barney isn't even sure of his name. Or any of the others for that matter.

He lets the glass cool his forehead a moment as he lets the scotch permeate his soul, soothing him in ways that a woman or partner never could. The liquor doesn't care who he is. It doesn't judge him. It doesn't talk back to him. It just warms him and makes him forget. That'a girl He thinks. This was just what the doctor ordered.

The phone rings, breaking him of his intimacies with the spirits. He sets down his glass. For a split second, he doesn't want to answer, and his hand hesitates over the receiver, shaking. No escaping fate, kid, he tells himself. Just like his partner, good ol whatshisname. He picks up the phone.

"What do ya got?" He asks. He already knows who is on the other line. Work is the only one who calls.

After a moment of listening on the other line, Barney's experienced eyes widen with shock. Something mighty powerful must have been said to envoke any reaction, let alone one of shock. Barney has seen a lot in his twenty years on the force. "Jesus! I'll be right down!" The phone slammed on the receiver cradle. Barney gathered his things and threw them on, heading down to the station without a second thought, despite the lack of sleep the last 32 hours.

-----

[imperfect vision]

"So's I know what I saw, an' I know that's what Lunchbox saw 'cause she was scared out of her head!" He nods quickly at his lifemate and hops from the trashcan, straightening out his shirt. "Now, who's for a li'l excursion to the horrible fresh-air of the wild? Anybody who makes it back from this shit gets some fresh meat, hand to Gaia." He raises his right hand like he's swearing not to commit perjury or something to that effect. "Might be some wicked cool shit out there, somethin' for the monthly stew like dove or somethin."

[Umbras]

Shiner Bock, Lunchbox and Stiff Peter call him, because they like the beer. Lunchbox sees him; she always knows. She offers a smoke to him to calm his nerves and bait him from the shadows.

Shiner studies them and moves closer without accepting the cig, His pappy used to smoke them while fixin things in the shop/shack.

His pappy, like Shiner had not been bright, but had an uncanny ability to repair castoff and broken treasures(as he called them). This ability to tinker was the only gift he was able to leave Shiner with, before he passed on.

Shiner never grew up with a mother but had his precious snapshots of her he called memories stored in his head.

The only thing his pappy would tell him was she felt the call of the wild and had abandoned them both before he was three.

From her, he recieved his greatest gift, his secret that did not manifest until many years later after his pappy died. Shiner was alone, with no one left, he left the shack behind taking his pappy's tool case.

Still he was shy and wary of others, to many a time others knew of his handicap and tried to exploit it, but his instincs spoke to him and warned him to stay away from them. This was until he met the others, his "pack" and was accepted even for a dimwitted hick that he was.

His hieght was shown fully as he moved from the shadows at hair under 6'9 and his stocky figure showed a strength of the wrastlers he used to watch on the old black and white tv his pappy owned. He had raven black hair that was full of curls and cowlicks, but what always caught everyone attention on first meeting was his eyes, one brown and one green.

He gives a shy smile to Lunchbox, she is a kind one, she never tried to take advantage and had even stuck up for Shiner when the others joshed him to much.

His mind goes back to what they had been talking about, he has images from his sleep pass through his mind like a photo album as this is how Shiner dreams, just images no words, sounds or scents, just pictures.

Once again the hairs on his body raise in a foreboding, dejavu sense or as his paapy would say bad mojo. shiner tests the air with a few sharp inhales to ensure the coast is clear, then follows.

[imperfect vision]

"So, yous guys comin' with?" He starts walking into an alley and begins the change from human to wolf form, bones popping and re-shaping, sickening noises leaving him. He leaves no pile of clothes, as his are bound to his form, appearing as mottled spots.

A sticker that reads, "Hi. My name is..." clings to his fur.

[Cynical Cat]

Jimmy moves behind a dumpster and a moment latter an slender wolf with motled grey fur pads out from behind it.