GarouMUSH - Tuesday, December 09, 2003, 12:19 AM

(Emma, Olga and Craig have been sitting around, shooting the breeze for awhile.  Emma left, 
then came back with a dead frog, which ended up stuffed in her pocket.  Then...well...)

Emma just drops her mouth open, "Ok, two seconds ago you were half near yelling at me, 
and now you are offering me cigarettes? What the fuck, the moon ain't right this month, I am 
sure of it." She huffs and flops down into a chair, and a sickly SquishSlop sound follows. 
"Awe FUCK!" she screams.

Craig's eyes fly open, and he starts to choke on his mouthful of sandwich. In between trying 
to work the chunk of bread free by smacking his chest, the boy convulses with laughter.

Olga laughs along. "That'll teach y', Em, f'r trackin' around the dead, and for the record, I 
was _showing_ you my smokes, not offerin'. Be damned if I'd do that," she says, still 
grinning at Emma's predicament.

Emma sits there for one oddly calm moment, but her jaws tighten and her cheeks start 
trembling like a boiling pot about to blow it's lid. All at once she snaps, so cleanly and 
obviously one might swear they physically heard it happen. Her hands fly to the edge of the 
table where she sits, and push up on it hard in attempt to flip it. "Is it so funny?" she growls 
out. "Ha ha!" She stands up then and grabs her chair, flinging that around towards the counter 
area too. "How's that for funny?"

Craig coughs the bread up, and gets a table to the belly for his trouble. The impact jerks a 
weak snarl from the no-moon, and he kicks at his chair, getting himself away from the 
tumbling furniture before it lands on something important. "FUCK," he shouts as the 
full-moon hurls her chair at the counter.

Olga freezes, stock still, her laughter ripped right out of her throat. She simply stares at the 
cub, tense, not knowing nearly what to think, just sitting there. When she hears Craig's 
exclamation, though, she gets angry, quickly, her eyes growing wide. "What the fuck are you 
doing?" she shouts at Emma.

The Ahroun cub is still boiling over, and her expression is not hard to read. "Yah not so 
funny now." She stands by the door, but doesn't look one bit on the verge of running. "Teach 
you to fucking laugh at me!" Running out of things to throw or push, she turns her hands to 
the counter, taking whatever plateware or odds and ends are there, and shoving them off in a 
tantrum, her throat filled with growls.

The Ragabash is a man of action. With the table out of the way, the Gnawer lunges at the 
Ahroun, grabbing for her hands and trying to hook her feet out from under her with his own. 
"Quit it, Emma!" he shouts, flailing at her hands and kicking at her shins. It looks like a 
deadly serious playground fight.

Olga pushes herself off the counter, staring at Emma in disbelief and anger. She watches as 
Craig scuffles with her, a little unsure of what to make of all of it. Her Rage is evident just 
below the surface, her form shifts, chattering up and down like the lid of a pot left on to boil, 
and finally she just shifts up into Glabro form. She puts herself into a position so that she can 
reach in quickly and do, well, whatever needs to be done, she's not quite sure yet.

Emma is too blinded by her fury to be of much challenge to Craig, all that she manages is a 
few wild flailing arm waves at his direction. Eventually he grabs onto her wrists and the rest 
comes easy, her feet swept out from below her and she goes down. It doesn't stop the fight 
in her, only fuels a more desperate need to get past her foe. "I'll fucking kill you if ya don't 
get offa me. I swear it..." Knees and hips are all she can really use right now, being 
overpowered by the other Garou.

"Ow, ow, fuckin' ow," Craig growls, trying to keep the cub pinned. "O, I think she's goin' 
over th' edge," he shouts to the other Gnawer. "Fuck, EMMA, CALM THE FUCK 
DOWN! YER GONNA LOSE IT!" Blood seeps from under his shirt as the wound he 
showed Olga earlier is pulled open. The no-moon keeps his grip, as used to death threats as 
he is, focusing more on where Emma's face is than on the blows raining down on his legs.

Olga leans over the two grappling on the floor, eyes wide, angry as all hell, shifting her feet to 
a strong position, looking for an opening. She aims carefully, taking her time, waiting until 
Emma is distracted, so that she won't see the attack coming, not at first at least, and then 
throws her fist down right at Emma's forehead, putting all her weight behindit, closing her 
eyes and even shifting to Crinos, praying this works, because if not there'll be very little 
keeping the cub from frenzy: but Olga assumes there's very little keeping the cub from 
frenzying now, so she feels she has little to lose. She just hopes she remembers that bit about 
Emma's glass forehead correctly.

Emma continues to struggle, her teeth gritting tightly together. Her hands are pinned and for 
the life of her she can't break free - not in this form. Below the surface her body reacts as it 
needs to in order to escape and she teeters on the edge of bursting into crinos. It is then that 
Olga's attack comes crashing in: like a freight train straight to her forehead really. Everything 
flashes a bright white and the cub falls limp, and still.

Craig keeps a tight grip on the cub when she's smacked unconscious, and for a few seconds 
afterwards. Then he slowly, very slowly releases her. Fingers prod around and find her 
pulse, and then he breathes. "Okay...still alive," he mutters, taking a breath and leaning back 
on his heels.

Fat-Ripper rears up after her strike, breathing heavily, looking around. She looks down at 
the cub, and raises her massive Crinos paw to cover her own face. She is far from proud. 
She looks to Craig, not knowing what to say, and then back down at Emma. She gets down 
on her knees to look at the cub, praying she didn't do any serious damage, looking her over 
and still, to her great shame, feeling mightily angry.

"O, yer makin' me nervous," Craig says as the massive crinos hunkers down next to him. 
With Olga's paw clear of the cub's face, the damage becomes clear. Blood has rushed to 
Emma's forehead, turning it deep purple before their eyes. Speaking of those, one of them is 
bulging free of it's socket, a revelation that causes the no-moon to retch. "FUCK," he says, 
after spitting on the floor. "FUCK. Are you a healer? FUCK." He scrambles to his feet. 
"FUCK!"

As Olga notices the damage she's done, her legs give out under her, and she collapses down 
to the floor. She reaches out to her but can't seem to get her hand working right, they keep 
trembling, twitching. She perseveres though, her face creased with effort and beginning to 
tear. Olga gets her hands under Emma's prone form, and slowly, gently, lifts her to her chest, 
practically smothering Emma in her fur. ~Oh, God,~ she says quietly, looking down at her, 
rocking back and forth, as a mother gorilla would cradle a dead child.
   
Craig breathes, trying to calm himself down. "Oh fuck. Holy fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck." The 
no-moon watches Olga's gentle display with the detached calm of a Chihuahua on crack. 
Finally, a thought makes it's way clear of his panicked mind. Gotta find a healer. "I'm 
gonna...gonna go get help. Fuck. Gettin' help. FUCK." He runs for the side door, looking 
for someone, anyone, to help.

Adrian steps into the room and cocks his head, "What's all the nois...." He looks at what's 
happening and steps back. "What the fuck?"

Craig shifts to Crinos as he gets out of the house, and looses a howl, calling for healers of 
any sort.

Fat-Ripper continues rocking on the floor, cradling the cub, great tears streaming out of her 
eyes, shaking her head and occasionally pounding it against the fridge, causing it to shake 
under the violence. She says nothing at all, a little distraught.

From Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room, Craig can be heard to howl, ~~Fire-Dancer is 
badly hurt! We need a healer at the Farmhouse!~~

Adrian blinks and steps forward, "Emma...." He looks at Olga, "What happened?" He waits 
a moment, "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?"

Craig drops back to homid as he comes back inside, watching the doors for signs of aid. He 
continues to curse under his breath as he ransacks the kitchen for something, anything, to 
help fix this. "You know anythin' 'bout healin'?" He snaps at the new arrival.

Fat-Ripper slowly raises her gaze from Emma to meet Adrian's. She says nothing, merely 
stares at him, with such Rage in her eyes that she can barely restrain herself. She snarls out, 
viciously, ~Leave me alone!~

Adrian shakes his head, but rips off his shirt to help stop the bleeding. He moves close to 
her, watching Olga catiously. The young blonde blinks, "Leave you alone? Leave *YOU* 
alone? Do you not see my tribemate in your arms?"

Craig soaks a dishtowel in water, then wraps it around his hand. "Olga, put her down. We 
gotta...Um, fuck...put that eye back in." The ragabash, less rage-filled than the others under 
the full moon, seems to have gotten some of the panic out of his system. "Put her down. 
Fuck..."

Fat-Ripper turns around, cradling Emma, putting her back to Adrian and between him and the 
injured cub. She twists her head to look at him, sending out a high, mad growl, spittle flying 
at him, the sound more a hiss than anything else. There is not even recognition in her eyes, 
only anger. She pants hard, huffing, unsure even of where she is now, on the verge 
of... something. She just stands there, though. Her ears flick at Craig's commands, though the
gesture is near-impossible to interpret.

Adrian stands his ground and something in him snaps, "PUT HER DOWN" He shifts to 
Glabro. "FUCK being a cub and showing respect, put her the fuck down right now or so 
help me..." His Rage grows as he stands up to the Gnawer.

"Fuckin' QUIT IT!" Craig yells, crouching down in front of Olga, nose to muzzle. "Olga. Put 
her down. Need ta help her. Put. Her. Down." He's starting to shake a bit, tension building 
over his shoulders. The cloth in his hand drips water continuously, he's squeezing it so hard. 
"Can't help her if you don't put her down. Just put her down." He reaches for the 
unconscious cub with his free hand, holding it open so the Theurge can see it's no threat.

Fat-Ripper pants, looking from the one to the other, frantically, eyes darting around, and 
clutching Emma's body to her chest. She remains like that, frozen, staring at them both. She 
doesn't move, doesn't flinch, but as Craig pushes out his hand, her breathing stops and she 
looks down at it. There is dead silence for a full second.

Adrian stands his ground still and a low growl rises from his chest, "Last chance..." He flexes 
his hands, his flesh ripples, on the verge of shifting again. His eyes find her, a challenge. The 
cub thinks he will challenge.

Craig's hand doesn't stop moving towards Emma-she needs to get healed, after all, and 
no-one else is coming. Clenching his jaw as hard as he can, biting his tongue until blood flows,
 the Ragabash rests a hand on the cub's shoulder. Good, she still has a pulse. "Olga. Think 
like Momma Rat. Momma Rat doesn't want any kids who're hurt stayin' hurt. Ya gotta put 
her down, Olga. I don't care what ya do after, but ya gotta put her down. I c'n help, but 
y'gotta put her down first." He just keeps talking, trying to catch Olga's eyes.
                  
The sliding door into the kitchen quickly opens, and only the guiding hand of he who opened 
it closing it just as quickly as he comes in prevents it from crashing all the way open with 
powerful force. The Get Elder isn't out of breath, but with the powerful heaving of his chest, 
it wasn't just a little jog he took to get to the Farmhouse so quickly.

Fat-Ripper looks at Craig, into his eyes, and her own, slowly, drop their anger. She looks 
down at the cradled Emma, and then back up at Adrian, and begins to shake her head again, 
slowly, from side to side. ~Oh, God,~ she says, tears again beginning to flow, ~I didn't 
mean to.~ Her grip on the cub slackens, and Emma's head lolls to one side.

Adrian shakes his head, "Fuck, NO!" The young man moves to take Emma's body away 
from the Gnawer, "What the fuck did you do? Put her down, LISTEN TO ME!" He shifts 
again, giving into his anger. His eyes flash with Rage and he draws his fist back.

"Fucking CHRIST," Craig yells as Adrian shifts up as well. "Fucking full moon 
motherfucking..." and it goes on like that, as he moves between the cub and the other 
Gnawer. The tension he's feeling is quickly reaching a peak when the door opens and closes. 
Jamethon looks like salvation to the Gnawer, now trapped between two hulking Crinos. 
"Emma needs a healer," he blurts out.

Jamethon rushes in, time doesn't seem to pass between seeing the cub and James kneeling 
over her. He doesn't bother to wait for Olga to let her go or for anyone to do much of 
anything. He places his hand over her most obvious wound, "Adrian, get the fuck out of 
Crinos now before I kill you myself... do not lose your head here... there is time for /justice/ 
later. Just everyone be quiet and let me work... Olga, hold her tight and still... she still lives 
which is enough," apparently he sees something the others do not, " She'll live if I can close 
the wound to... outside elements. Just shut up for a minute and hold still." James' hand lowers 
till a slightly wet sound is heard as his flesh smears against the copious quantities of blood. 
His other hand then moves into place on the other side of the wound and the Get elder and 
theurge starts chanting something in a language no one here has ever heard before.

Fat-Ripper does as ordered, which is easy enough, as it simply requires her to hold Emma 
tighter. She clutches at the cub, stifling her own breathing, even, to keep her still. She closes 
her eyes to keep in the tears. Adrian could claw her in the eyes for all she knows or cares 
right now.

Stonehenge listens to his elder and shifts down. He keeps his eyes on Olga, his hands 
clenched, ready to strike if need be. He steps back and quietly watches. His shirt gone, he 
stands there barechested.

With Jamethon present, Craig just gets the hell out of the way. His jaw works furiously as he 
watches the Get Elder work on the Ahroun cub, and his eyes flick between Olga and 
Adrian.

Jamethon suddenly lets out a low pitched sound like a syllable from a monk's chanting song. 
As this pours from his mouth so to does a faint white light pour forth from beneath the 
healer's hands, cascading in a swirl into the wound like some kind of waterfall of light into a 
whirlpool below. The vocalization becomes louder and more intense, grinding from his throat 
with a strained pitch as he starts to push his hands together. Small pulses of brighter white 
shoot from beneath his hands through the stream and into the wound as the wound closes 
slowly... finally, with a loud almost anguished sounding grunting yell the wound closes 
completely and James becomes suddenly silent, eyes snapping closed tightly.

Fat-Ripper opens here eyes, wide, and looks down at the cub. Her breath comes heavy and 
faltering as Jamethon uses his gift, and she stares wide-eyed at its effects, her lips moving 
mutely, praying quietly to Gaia for her. When the elder is done, she sniffs, loudly, drawing in 
her breath, and asks, in quiet, fractured voice, ~Emma?~

Adrian quietly stands there. His demeanor cold.

Craig watches intently as the healing takes place. When the wound closes, his hands 
unclench and he exhales slowly. He breaks the silence following Olga's question. "Olga. Shift 
ta Homid, aight? Just...get outta Crinos. Bad moon."

Jamethon moves his hand to rest upon her eye now, another moment passes with a grunting 
sound similar but calmer than the other one. The light appears dull beneath his hand and after 
a few moments in a sing song voice, James lifts his hand away... as he does so the eyeball 
starts to grow back into place, still looking liquid, bloody, and pulpy... but far superior to 
how it was before, its obvious to any expirenced Garou that at least this wound will heal with 
some time in a healing form. "Now..." James asks with a breathing heavier than when he first 
stepped in... "Take on the homid form before I take this as an act of war against my tribe... 
and tell me what in the /FUCK/ just happened to my /GODDAMN/ cub you stupid fucking 
bitch." With the exception of the two well punctuated words, his voice is a quiet torrent of 
rage held in check... barely.

Fat-Ripper looks at Jamethon, very quietly, very softly, her eyes drained of all anger, of all 
emotion, almost, except for a residual concern for the cub she holds in her arms. She shrinks 
down into her Homid form, not even caring that her dedicated clothes are elsewhere, and 
that the dress she'd worn in her is now in a tatters on the floor. Left in a slip, eyes red, 
sniffing back tears, she looks down at the ground. "Ah, Craig," she says, looking up a the 
Gnawer and avoiding the gaze of both Get, "c'd y' hand me an apron?"
             
Jamethon looks over to Adrian now, "Stonehenge, take Emma, get her upstairs to the 
showers and get her cleaned up, bandage up the eye like I showed you... and make sure to 
clean your own hands often, I'll not have an infection cause her to lose that eye." This said he 
looks to Olga with pure rage daring her not to relinquish the cub to Adrian's arms.

Craig drops the dishtowel and steps back, locating an apron hung on the wall and pulling it 
down. He walks slowly over to where Olga sits on the floor and hands her the apron. Every 
move is kept within eyesight of the Get Elder, and once he's retrieved the coverup, the 
no-moon stands next to Olga. The boy forces himself to breathe slowly as he waits for Olga 
to explain.

Adrian nods, "Yes, Sir." He moves over to retrieve his tribemates limp form. His own gaze a 
mirror image of his elders.

Olga looks up at Adrian, eyes brimming, and stays locked like that, for a brief second, 
before handing him Emma's body, now weighing very heavily in her strong but still only 
human arms. She takes the apro from Craig, and wraps it around herself with shuddering 
hands. This done, she finally looks up at Jamethon, looking up into his eyes as well, although 
there is no challenge left in them, and she quickly lowers them to the ground. She says 
nothing through all this, collecting herself.

Adrian takes Emma's prone body and carefully takes her away. He glances back, a slight 
frown that he will miss what happens next.

The gnashing of teeth is audible now, the Get elder almost seeming to want to shatter his 
own teeth from the pressure evident in his clenched jaw. Forcing deep breaths through the 
grating of his teeth, he stares her down immediatly as she looks into his eyes. "God damn it 
woman... tell me what the fuck happened." His words alone are violent and forced... and 
one can see if they pay attention that his eyes and teeth seem to glimmer to and from homid 
and lupine in form, the beast struggling to escape and wreak vengence, "Trust me when I tell 
you, that you don't have time to think about it."

Holy. Fuck. Craig looks down at his tribesmate, fear extremely plain on his face. If she 
doesn't start talking in the next few seconds, he will.

Olga remains stock-still. "Emma was on the chair, she sat down, with a frog underneath," she 
begins to speak, voice cracked and tense as Olga fights for control over it, "we laughed. 
Emma got mad, really mad, crazy mad, started throwing things. Craig tried t' stop her, they 
wrestled a bit, 'n' I was worried that she'd lose it completely and go Crinos and lose her 
mind: so I hit her. Hard. Harder than," she loses herself a bit, there, shaking her head, "harder
 than I should've, harder than I wanted to. Oh, God," she repeats her earlier statement, 
barely keeping herself from breaking down, "I'm sorry Emma." She keeps her gaze focused 
on the large man's feet, not lifting them from that position the whole time.

Jamethon listens to this, the moment she finishes speaking he just says, "Barn. Now." This 
said, the Get elder stands and moves to the front of the house and out the door, not 
bothering to look back to see if the order is being followed.

Craig holds out a hand to Olga, if she needs a hand getting up. "C'mon," he says quietly.

Olga brushes aside the offered hand. "Stay here, Craig," she tells him, her voice growing 
more under her own control, now. "Please?" she asks, looking him in the eyes. She follows 
Jamethon, mutely, out through the door and to the barn. The hard cold ground makes her 
naked feet numb, and she feels like she's walking on air.

(Everyone goes to the Barn.)

Jamethon stands away from the barndoor, in the center of the barn to be exact, shirt thrown 
to the side showing almost superhuman musculature.

Olga pads in quietly after Jamethon, moving slowly, but with a clear purpose. Her eyes are 
no longer staped to the ground: she seems to be recovering. She steps into the barn, closing 
the door before Craig can enter, though putting nothing else up to bar his entry. She takes a 
few steps towards Jamethon, not liking where this is going, but seeing little way around it. 
She looks at him expectantly, eyes still red from spent tears, but dry, now.

Craig follows his tribesmate, not bothering with his shoes as he walks to the barn. When the 
door is closed, he opens it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. The Gnawer Ragabash 
finds a place to stand next to one of the supports on the ground level. Jaw tense, the young 
man shoves his hands into his pockets, just watching now.

Jamethon looks over Olga for a moment, a definate distaste worn upon his visage as he 
begins to speak... his tone calm and all business right now despite the clenched fists and 
bright violently gazing eyes. "Olga, so called theurge, of the Bone Gnawers. You have 
displayed a grevious lack of wisdom. A failure to abide by logic any cub that is properly 
taught is expected to know before they may be allowed to reach their Rite of Passage. 
/Almost/ frenzying does not warrent you attacking with such force that you look back upon it 
and do not even /understand/ your own strength! You are taught control and thoughtfulness 
as a /cub/, and doubly so as a theurge cub... you have disgraced the code of wisdom and 
befowled the word honor. Are you going to salvage at least your honor and take the 
punishment, so fitting the crime, as declared by the elder of that cub's tribe?"

Olga looks at Jamethon, tilting her head, searching for understanding. She raises her head, 
quickly, regaining her sense when it becomes evident to her just what is on the line. She steps 
forwards, towards Jamethon. "If Emma had frenzied," she says, slowly, speaking the words 
with care through tense voice, "I don't know that we could've snapped 'er out of it without 
killing her. She is a Get Ahroun." She pauses a moment, and looks up at Jamethon, head 
bent. "You want to punch me?" she asks him.

Craig pulls a candy out of his pocket and stuffs it into his mouth. He rolls his shoulders, trying 
to work the tension out, then shoves his hands back into his pockets, keeping them from 
fidgeting.

Jamethon shakes his head at this, though as time passes the anger to seems to be leaving him. 
Still, he manages to continue to stare down the offender with impunity. "If. You rely alot on if 
do you. You can not reason your way out of this. You lost your control, Beats-Upon-Cubs. 
There were many ways to handle the situation. With others around you can take a wise path 
and have a group take her down collectively. Three Garou can hold down one. Hell... you 
just could have tried /thinking/ about what you were doing before just braining the cub as 
hard as you could to try and pacify her... and I dare you to tell me you did otherwise." His 
expression hardens, a dare indeed. "Your punishment is simple." Hes speaking of it, and not 
acting it out the rage of the moment dwindling away perhaps due to his cub's health being 
assured, "Which would, I will have you trust me on this, be much more severe if she were 
dead in your arms you lucky idiot... do you know the rite of contrition?" He asks of the 
theurge.

Olga listens to him speak, swallowing hard every once in a while. She nods. "Yes, I do."

Jamethon nods to the answer, arms crossing over his chest as he speaks with all the seeming 
authority of a truthcather at a sept moot... the position of Gatekeeper holding its own Sept 
authority of a kind that is confered in his voice and manner. "Good, then it is simple. As 
much as I would love to break you in my own bare hands... it would be of no use to us to 
yet have /another/ recouperating Garou on our hands while there are battles to be fought. So 
instead, you will peform the ritual of contrition to Emma. It will be performed in the Caern 
proper, in the presense alone, of all the Get currently here at the Hidden Walk, and my pack."

Olga stands there, mute, keeping her gaze directed at Jamethon's feet as he speaks. Her 
hands shake a little, but these would seem to be after-effects: her face is calm and collected, 
thoughts racing. "I ask you," she begins to speak, softly, meekly, but then breaks off. She 
waits a moment longer, and shakes her head. "No, never mind, you are right, I," and she 
breaks off again. "Yes, I will," she says. "But your pack has no reason to be there," she 
offers, "so far as it's your problem, your responsibility, it is a Get responsibility. So I ask that 
it be only the Get of Fenris; but whatever you decide, I will obey." She waits, head down, to 
see what he will make of this.

Jamethon continues to look forward, no shaking of his head this time to dismiss her words, 
he lets his words alone do this. "What did they teach you at Gnawer boot camp?... A 
Garou's pack, /is/ him. My pack /is/ me. The packmates of a Get of Fenris, are /watched/ by 
Fenris. They will be there, if they so choose... I would not be suprised if some had better 
things to do, but I assure you, I would sooner disallow my right arm from joining me then any 
one of those I call brother or sister under Scourge."

Olga only nods. "Yes, alright," she replies to him. "You'll tell me when?" Olga asks, looking 
up and into his eyes for the first time, before quickly lowering them. She takes control of her 
hands for the first time, now, tucking them into the pockets of her apron, spreading it against 
her legs as some defence against the cold.

Jamethon nods to this in answer, "It will be soon after the moot... be ready for us." He sighs 
now, seeming voided of his rightous anger from before, "Damn Olga..." he growls, "Yeah, I'll 
tell you when... and I hope it'll instill a god damn shred of thoughtfulness in what you call a 
brain for the next time someone gets uppity where human's could potentially see us at any 
given god damned time... I really do hope so." He looks towards Craig, than regards his 
shirt with an idle glance of an eye before moving to reclaim it. "And I'll be teaching Emma 
some meditation, taijiquan exercises and martial artistry. Either of you are welcome to 
observe... An Ahroun's rage must be tempered to make it stronger, so it will not break 
against illusions of red." The Get makes no more words to explain himself as he dons his shirt 
once more, and starts walking towards the main door outside.

Olga walks balkwards, out of his path towards the door, keeping her front to him and her 
head down, showing all due respect. When he passes her, she shuts her eyes down tight, 
deep in thought.

Craig steps aside, dropping his eyes respectfully as Jamethon passes, then closes the 
distance between himself and Olga, pulling off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders. 
"Thanks, Jamethon-rhya," he says quietly as the Get passes.

Jamethon all but ignores Craig as he leaves, though if perceptive enough the Gnawer 
ragabash might notice the slightest nod of the Get elder's head in response to his words. 
Moments later and the Get has left the building.

Olga stands there, letting herself shiver in the cold once the Get has left. She shakes her head 
as the old feelings wash back over her. "Christ, Craig," she exclaims softly, "I could've killed 
'er."

"Yeah," Craig replies quietly, staring at the door that Jamethon made his exit through. "Yeah, 
y'could've. But ya didn't, 'n' that's somethin'. C'mon. Let's get our stuff, get back to th' Zoo," 
he says.

Olga shakes her head, biting her lip. "No," she says, shaking him off, "no, I want to stay here, 
I want to be here when she wakes up." Her eyes remain dry, her tears all spent; she's strong 
once again, able to take care of herself, or so, at least, she thinks. "Thanks, Craig," she looks 
over at him and smiles, "you've really kicked ass f'r me today."

Craig shakes his head. "Didn't do anythin'," he mutters, digging in his pockets again. "Just 
helped ya s'much as I could." His explorations turn up the lighter, and the pack of smokes. 
He slips one free, then hands the package over again, as well as the lighter. "Y'mentioned 
somethin' 'bout stress," he adds.

Olga smiles at him, a sad and tired smile. "Mmm," she says, looking at her, "I'm not stressed 
now, Craig, 'm exhausted. I just want to sleep. Hey, would y' do me one last favour? Would 
y' run in and find me a nice, out 'f the way place I c'n sleep, where I won't have to pass by 
Jamethon?" Her face shows weariness beyond belief.

"Yeah, th' Zoo," the boy replies with a weak smile. "Why not just crash in here? Straw's 
warm. Cathy..." He pauses, thinks, then sighs. "Cathy 'n' I usedta sack out in th' loft." He 
looks up at the hayloft as he speaks.

Olga closes her eyes at the mention of the name, holding a hand to her head and even 
bending over a little. "Oh, God," she says, as other issues come flooding in on her 
consciousness, "how is she, have we heard anything?"

"'Licia hasn't said anythin', no," Craig replies, putting a hand on the other Gnawer's shoulder. 
"O, fer now, seriously, ya gotta either go to th' house here, 'r come back to th' Zoo. I got 
cash, once we get to th' city, we c'n get a cab t'drop us at Yellow River, 'r Harbor Park, 'n' 
we c'n walk from there."

Olga shakes her head. "There's few people in th' world I'd listen to more than you right now, 
Craig," she says, slowly, enunciating clearly each word, "but one of 'em's in there with a bash 
on her head that perfectly matches my fist. I'm staying here tonight." Tired as she is she 
seems quite determined. "'N' I'm gonna see 'er when she wakes up, even if there were a 
dozen Jamethons and a handful 'f Nexus Crawlers t' boot between us." She looks at him, 
though, her usual barriers broken down by exhaustion, both physical and emotional. "Thanks, 
though," she says, looking in to his eyes with her very tired own, "I mean that. Y'ever need 
_anything_, I'm y'r girl."

Craig nods slowly. "Aight. Keep m'jacket, though, til y'got somethin' t'wear. Just...don't go 
fuckin' 'round with th' Get too much tomorrow. None of 'em. Jamethon 'r not, some of 'em 
are gonna be fuckin' pissed, aight? 'N' if it gets too rough out here, you make sure y'come to 
th' Zoo. I'll be there, 'Nee might be there..." He trails off, rubbing an arm over his eyes. "I 
fuckin' hate th' full moon."

Olga looks at the jacket hanging off her shoulders, and is about to reject the offer, opening 
her mouth, but reconsiders, and closes it. "Thanks, Craig," she says, one last time. "'M goin'
 t' sleep now. Maybe out here, maybe in th' basement, I dunno, somewhere. I'll see y' 
around, eh?"

"Yeah," the no-moon boy replies. "Aight. Let 'Licia know what happens, aight? She sees me 
alla time, so she c'n let me know what's up with Emma. Let th' cub know I hope she's okay." 
Craig starts to leave the Barn. "'N' take care of y'self, too," he adds, before turning, stepping 
outside, and walking to the house.

Olga nods at him, watching him go. She walks off to a hay-bale and collapses on it, just for a 
brief rest until she can work up the will to go inside. She doesn't raise her head again until the 
dawn wakes her.