zg_shadows | A jaded and bitter metis writes... (Reply)

So. This is the court of the Silver Fang High King, was it?

The foremost Silver Fangs in the country, politicians born and bred. Manipulators without peer, apparently.

Well, that was the image, anyway. Skullsplitter is a thug, plain and simple (in more ways than one, not that he can count to them) and must have required a frightening amount of careful steering to reach the dizzy heights of Fostern. The High King is a simmmering puddle of rage (I would be, in his position. Hapless and aware is not a good combination), and Voice of Luna seems competent but nowhere near competent enough. Yarn, meanwhile, seems to be a complete tool. Hurrah for the Children of Gaia, changing the face of Garou society one well meaning concessionary submission after another. I'd roll my eyes if it wasn't completely out of character.

None of them - the very best a high king can gather around him - not one of them can hold a candle to my alpha.

A room full of politicos, alphas and experienced werewolves, and they're all dancing on his strings, and they don't even seem to know it. Funniest piece of the entire trial is Jamie's opening shot - "Please forgive the poor words of this ahroun" - a lovely way to horribly undermine his Galliard opponent, a beautiful way to rub salt into wounds that haven't opened yet in combination with a cover for any slight stumbles he may make (probably because he's stopped paying attention out of sheer boredom). It's a forerunner of the way this trial will go.

I look around the room, at the High King on a throne, and even the members of his court are watching Jamie move. Wonder if you've noticed, your Grace? Does it irk you, that you can't hold this room back from rolling over to an Athro in preference to you? Bet it does. Bet you can't do anything about it.

I spend the trial trying my hardest not to yawn - I already know the outcome, and I'm not too bothered about exactly how we get there, although I'm hoping for combat, since I could do with a little excitement. I'm watching faces instead, playing the good little metis omega, even though I'm pretty certain that no one is watching me and my back is creaking from trying to stay lower than all the important people in the room whose gene pools were apparently too shallow to provide for height as well as muscle.

There are a couple of moments of plain idiocy that make me want to open my mouth, either that or slap someone around the head, but then I remember what rank I am and I shut up again, consoling myself that at least I can still flatten a cub and make it look effortless. Go me.

A half hour recess is eventually called. I believe that's the cue for the unimportant people to sit around and make small talk whilst the outcome is decided behind closed doors. I'm vastly amused to note that "unimportant people" apparently includes an Elder Philodox, a sign that the pomp and circumstance of the Silver Fangs has not yet given way to, oh, the rank and tradition of the entire Garou nation. But then again, if it had we wouldn't all be here - and I very much doubt Lex would either. Rght now I'm not sure that's a price I'd be willing to pay, if only to get somewhere where I'm not required to cringe as my own tiny part in this charade. My back hurts, and I want to punch someone.

Eventually the Players are back, and I'm somewhat pleased to discover that it's going to be trial by combat. Maybe this will at least be interesting?

Apparently not, because it's over so very quickly, with nothing left but the discussions on whether or not it's provable that Lex cheated (not even the cubs are naieve enough to think he won fairly). But I've got what I was wishing for, because I was keeping my eyes and other senses open during the brief duel and I caught a hint of something very very disturbing indeed.

Flicking my eyes around the room, I begin a mental catalogue of who could possibly have seen what I've seen, and who could possibly know what I know. Fortunately they appear to be two different lists, mostly due to unknowns - Petra's the best candidate, and I think I'd've heard about it by now if she'd managed to get hold of it (a fact that in less disquieting moments would give me some very smug feelings for a while, but I'm too disturbed right now).

So. There'll be a trial later, it would seem, after the time of mourning.

And no one else has put it together in the same way I have. No one else could possibly know what I know.

Oh, f*ck.

Goodbye honour. At this rate I'm never going to make adren again.