Dustin Redd was five years old the day he drowned in Ferrel Lake. He was at day camp. It was June, 1996. Officials rushed to name the playground at City Park after him, and the name has stuck. People have forgotten the controversy over that naming, a rushed affair that even the boy's family was not in favor of. Playgrounds are not normally named for dead children. It's been over seventeen years, though, and the playground is a bit broken-down, the wooden structures faltering, and the city is currently planning some grand loop as a replacement, and that's a whole new controversy for the citizens in Park Hill.
The playground doesn't notice, or mind, or care. After dark, in winter, it sits ignored and idle, the wood sometimes creaking. The night is breezeless, still, frozen. It is cold. Not cold enough for the nearby Duck Lake to be frozen over, but cold enough that even during the day no one was out here playing. They stayed inside DMNS. They maybe traversed the trails of the zoo. Children came and begged but quickly grew overly chilled and wanted to go home.
The playground's namesake would be in his early twenties now, finishing college, had he survived day camp. Most kids who play here don't realize the playground even has a name.
The chains of one swing creak, softly, back and forth. The others do not move.
Erich ReinhardtErich likes City Park now. He likes DMNS. He looks at it sometimes when he passes nearby, thinking of that IMAX theater, thinking of its exhibitions and displays. Sometimes he wonders if some of them, like the wardrobe in C.S. Lewis's stories, hide portals to other worlds. Maybe he could go back in time and see dinosaurs.
He's not breaking into DMNS to look for dinosaurs, though. He's nearby, at that playground that he doesn't realize is named, much less named after a dead boy who would be about as old as he is now. He is too big for the sandbox animal rides, the tigers and the lions and the horses and the seals. The merry-go-round -- just a squeaky plate of steel with handles atop -- always made him dizzy. He always did like climbing stuff, though.
So it's the jungle gym for him. He's up on top of it, perched way up high where he has a nice view of everything all around. Not that he's looking at any of it. He has his phone out. He's smiling, the tiny screen lighting his face up. And his gloves are off and he's texting someone,
(probably Melantha,)
some combination of acronyms and smiley faces and less-than-threes.
Sam EvansThe year is winding to a close, and while most businesses are slowing to a lumbering, stumbling gait toward a week or two of semi-hibernation, many tech industries are just getting started. The company Sam Evans works for just landed two new accounts, which means new deadlines, long hours, and a kind if a bit worn out Bone Gnawer childcare worker being asked to work later on a Sunday.
The Glass Walker kinswoman's night has been made even longer by the fact her vehicle's in the shop and she's forced to take public transportation to get from where she was to home. She's cutting through the park, trying to get from one corner to the other as quickly as her legs will carry her, hands in the pockets of her olive green coat, chin down, bag bouncing against her left hip. Mortal women would be concerned about cutting through empty parks late at night, worried about the predators that could be lurking in the shadows. Sam Evans is concerned about those things, too, but for entirely different reasons. She just wants to get home to her son and god she could do without the distraction of a mugger thinking she looks like a pretty sweet mark.
A shadow moves at the playground that causes her steps to slow just a little. Something on top of the jungle gym. It's the light from the phone that gives Erich away and ultimately makes Sam think he's less of the threat that he actually is. The unknown figure is obviously distracted. Picking up the pace again, Sam hurries on.
Sam Evans[shit! nightmares!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
only the wind.[per/alert rolls please]
Erich ReinhardtDice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
Sam Evans[percept+alert]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
only the wind.[There are 3 swings. It is a windless night. One of the swings is moving.]
Erich ReinhardtEvery so often Erich does look up from his texts. A hunter's natural awareness, maybe, or just a young man occasionally surfacing from texting his maybesortagirlfriend to smile at the whole world because if he keeps smiling at those texts he's going to just implode from the happy. Anyway, it's in one of those brief look-ups that he notices,
hmmm,
one of the swings is moving. Which is weird. But maybe not catastrophic; it could be just. The wind. Or something. Okay maybe not. Yeah, that is weird. Erich pauses a moment. Then he taps a quick message:
brb i gotta check something out kinda weird, talk to you on totemphone if something's up k?
And then there is a less-than-three. And then he tucks the phone into his back pocket and puts his gloves on and pushes off with his hands and drops, nimbly, agilely, rather silently, to the playground sand below.
He's still relaxed. He walks on over to the swing and he puts out a gloved hand out, ever-so-gently touching the rubber seat of the swing to bring it to a stop.
Sam EvansSam is moving like to get the hell out of here and to the next bus stop quick as she can get there, but she notices things. And she knows, has learned, was taught to pay attention and listen to her instincts. And her instincts are pointing out that while that swing could be being pushed by the wind, the other two are not. Nothing tugs and pulls at the long dark hair that spills out from beneath a blue knit beanie. There is no sharp bite that drags over her cheeks.
That is not the wind that's doing that.
Unlike Erich, Sam does not reach out to someone else, because there aren't others, really. There are Garou that check in with her from time to time to make sure her adopted son's supposed birth-father hasn't busted down her door looking for his kid, but it's not like Vermont with her family always closeby. It's not like rural Virginia or even DC. Her left hand pulls free of her pocket but her phone remains tucked away. Sam merely wraps gloved fingers around the strap of her bag, holding it close.
She doesn't think it's the best idea to go poking at weirdly swinging swingsets, but then Sam is a rather pragmatic sort. Better that tall burly stranger than herself, right?
only the wind.Denver is a safe place. Really, it is: compared with places like Detroit and Oakland and Chicago and New York it is positively Pleasantville. That doesn't mean bad things don't happen here. Sam's son is the result of bad things happening. Erich is sometimes the bad thing happening. They both represent the good things that bad things can be turned into, though; Erich is not always in frenzy, Erich is not always soaked in the blood of his enemies. Sam's son is too young to be told of how his father raped his mother, how no one is quite sure who his father is exactly but hopefully he's dead or will be before Sam's son is old enough to ask, how his genetics come from some of the worst creatures to ever walk the earth. Maybe he'll never know, never be told, where he really comes from. For now it is his job to grin as he shits his diaper and bounce excitedly in his babysitter's arms when his mom shows up to get him.
The smiley faces and less-than-threes: good things.
The almost-toddler putting his head on his mom's shoulder adoringly: a good thing.
Swings that move of their own accord: probably not good things.
--
Erich hops down, and touches the seat to bring it to a stop. The chains quiver; the seat feels warm. And from the nearby trees, the barren bushes, there is a low noise, not quite a growl but close enough.
An unseen hand touches Erich's hand.
A voice on the air, uncarried by wind, whispers tremulously to both Erich and Sam's ears.
help me
--
From the underbrush, another growl.
Erich ReinhardtOkay that's weird. The seat is warm. Erich's brain, which is not stupid by a long shot but isn't quite the whipcrack of Melantha's or even the eldritch pattern-seeker of Charlotte's, is still trying to process this when SOMETHING HE DOES NOT SEE TOUCHES HIS HAND.
"YAAAAAAAGH!"
Brave and ferocious, those Fenrir. Implacable and dreadful, those Shadow Lords. That's the stock, genetic and spiritual, Erich hails from. And what does he do with it? He screams like a pig being slaughtered when a ghost spooks him. He jumps like a foot, straight up into the air, and comes down rigid and eyes-wide and jerking his hand back and looking wildly around
while something growls in the bushes.
"YAGH." This isn't so much a scream as just a verbal shudder. "Are you a ghost? Holy CRAP. I've never met a ghost before. I didn't think they were real. Which is stupid 'cause I'm a werewolf and I've met vampires. Um, more like eaten their heads. But anyway.
"Dude. Seriously. If you're a ghost, please just talk to people instead of reaching out and touching them. That's really rude and really creepy. And also sort of poltergeist-y. Jesus. Okay. Lemme get my heart to stop hammering before I ask: what do you need help with, anyway?"
Sam EvansSam does not know the story of this park, or the little boy for whom it's named. She doesn't know much about ghosts or the spirit world, either. What she knows is that tug in her stomach when someone asks for help, cries for help, begs for help. It's different than the pang of fear she's felt sometimes when hanging out with Ahrouns. No, this tug she feels when a tiny small voice of an invisible speaker says "help me" is the one that told her to stop looking for exits where there are none and do the only thing you can - hug the Spiral cub. Even though it means you're probably going to be dead in five minutes, maybe less.
Sam does not walk forward completely unprepared. She realizes she's coming up on someone bleeding Rage who hasn't noticed her presence, and so she's careful to scuff her sneaker on the pavement once. This, as she's reaching into her bag to pull out a pistol, and its clip, and sink the ammo into place with a click.
When she's close enough to recognize who that young man is, Sam can't help a small smile. It's genuine, but strained. She's seen Erich maybe three times total, and two of those times were decidedly Not Good. If she were the betting type, she'd wager this is about to be another mark in the Not Good category.
"Not a ghost," she says, forcing her voice to sound soothing, calming, gentle. For the ghostly voice, yes, but also for the spooked Garou. Because she really hoped she left all her panicky Shadow Lord Ahrouns behind in Virginia. "Promise."
"You hear that?" she asks, circling to put distance between herself and the growling bush.
only the wind.That's the danger with kinfolk in situations that might turn sideways: they always have to reach for their weapon. Erich already has his. Erich is his. So kinfolk learn to prepare early: to load the gun when they see the bushes rustle, when they hear a strange noise at night. Kinfolk become parents who hold a gun in one hand when they go to check in on their little one at night. Kinfolk become used to high blood pressure, to surges of adrenaline, to battlefield stressors in everyday life. For some, it becomes so second nature you hardly even notice anymore.
She promises Erich this isn't a ghost, perhaps just to try and be calming. But in the meantime, she distances herself from the growl.
--
The touch on Erich's hand flinches away at his shriek. The swing jostles, then stills. He jabbers, and he wants to know what it needs help with, even though he doesn't know what 'it' is.
Invisible footsteps thud away from the swings over the woodchips, leaving brief dents. The footsteps are close together, the steps small. And then, quite suddenly, a spray of dust and chips of wood goes up from near the bushes, an unseen something launching out after that tiny runner.
They hear a sound like a scream that turns into a whistle on the air, easily ignored by anyone who isn't standing right there. A growl, a snarl, a guttural noise of satisfaction, of teeth-sinking-in, of
something being dragged back towards the brush, the woodchips spreading away from open dirt, a tiny voice begging again for help, help.
Near the bushes, Sam and Erich's attuned eyes see a glint. Two glints. Eyes staring balefully at them, golden-green and cruel. That snarl, muffled by whatever is held in its mouth, warning them off. Mine. This one is mine.
only the wind.[nix the line about what sam promised erich!]
Erich ReinhardtAw, okay. Seeing those tiny little footsteps in the sand, Erich feels bad. It was a baby ghost! And it was probably more startled by him than he was by it. "Hey," he calls, trotting after it, "it's okay! I didn't mean to scold you!"
And then Sam, pulling up next to him. Did he hear that? Erich's mouth turns into a grimmer line. "Yeah," he says, "I definitely did -- hey! Baby ghost! Wait -- "
and then the snarls. And then the crunch. And then the low rumbling satisfied growl, the cries for help, the sound of a body dragged through undergrowth.
None of that is okay for Erich. None of that sits right with him. He doesn't think twice; he almost never does. "HEY," he shouts, and this time it's a bark, it's angry, it's a directive and an invective. "HEY. NO. STOP. I DON'T THINK SO."
And then he does what he does best: he charges that unknown Bad Thing in the bushes head on,
and turns into a Bad Thing himself.
Sam EvansThere is a part of Sam that thinks about things like nature and its laws and cycles. Predators need to eat and all of that.
But an invisible something asked for help. It is presumably that which runs, is caught, screams, is dragged away. She frowns, but she looks at Erich. As far as fighters go, he is always superior even in his birth form. He is twice her size, easy, and he can shift to something bigger, stronger, with sharp and dangerous natural weapons. If Erich wants to tell the tiny Kinfolk she should skidaddle on out of here, Sam is not the sort of Kinfolk who would argue.
He doesn't tell her to take off, well shit. She should go anyway, she knows she should go anyway, and for a fraction of a second the command from brain to legs to go go go begins to form.
Instead, Sam slips her gun into her pocket. Erich turns into a bad thing meant to take down other bad things. Sam tells herself that if something touched Erich and something Erich is about to rip to pieces can touch it, then maybe she can snatch it free and bolt for freedom.
Or she'll die caught in some big thing's jaws (Erich's or the Unknown's), but hey, isn't this the sort of thing Samantha Evans is known to do?
only the wind.[INITS]
Sam Evans[+6]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
Erich Reinhardt[+9!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (10) ( success x 1 )
only the wind.[Baby Ghost +2]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( fail )
only the wind.[Child Catcher +8]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
only the wind.[Init Order:
Erich
Catcher
Sam
Baby
Declare in reverse!]
only the wind.Baby
1: Try to flee!
Sam Evans[1. snatch dat baby!]
only the wind.Catcher
Sorry.
It's invisible.
YOU DON'T KNOW.
Erich Reinhardt1. Spur Claws, using sound and glow-y eyes to guesstimate at location!
R1. Shoulder-check the thing to the ground!
R2. CHOMP.
R3. CHOMP.
Erich Reinhardt[spur claws! -1R]
Dice: 10 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 1
Erich Reinhardt+2 dam!
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 9 )
only the wind.[YELP]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
only the wind.Catcher
Erich feels his claws sink into something: hot, meaty, real. He feels blood that he does not see. He feels a twist in a body that tries to reject what he's done. And then --
[1a!]
Dice: 9 d10 TN7 (1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
only the wind.Catcher
[Damage]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Erich ReinhardtHDY >:[
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5) ( fail )
Sam Evans[percept (insightful) + alert]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 1 ) Re-rolls: 1
Sam Evans[I WILL LEARN YOU HOW TO SNATCH A BABY GHOST: dex+ath+WP]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
only the wind.Teeth sink hard into Erich's shoulder, right into his ruff. This time the blood is real, visible, bright red on the steely gray of Erich's fur. He hears a growling as the thing rips its fangs out of him, taking an equal chunk from his body. The pain is intense, searing, and the snarl in his ear is an even louder warning.
--
Sam, in the meantime, tries to find the kid first. It isn't running anymore. She can just hear a tinny, airy voice begging for help, whimpering. She looks, searching for the scuffs in the woodchips that aren't being caused by the fight between Erich and the invisible monster. Her eyes, even in the dark, catch a hint of smaller, subtler movement and she goes for it, reaching into thin air until she makes contact with something that feels warm and alive.
It grabs at her arms with hands that are equally warm; strange, since people who make contact with ghosts typically describe their touch as icy cold. But it crawls into her arms no differently than Jake might, and from the feel of what she holds, the child in her arms that may not be a child at all feels only three years old, four at most. Heavy as one. But small, and trembling.
Erich Reinhardt[o right should probably -1WP for resist pain.]
Erich Reinhardt[dex+ath vs diff 7]
Dice: 8 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
only the wind.[Yeah not even gonna roll since diff is 6 + attacker's suxx. Thing fall down go boom.]
only the wind.[-2 diff for Erich's next attack]
only the wind.[Clawing at Erich from where it lies]
Dice: 9 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 1
only the wind.[Damage]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
Erich Reinhardt[RARSOAK.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 6 )
Erich Reinhardt[RARCHOMP.]
Dice: 10 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 9 ) Re-rolls: 1
Erich Reinhardt[dam+8]
Dice: 17 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 9 )
only the wind.[soak!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 5, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )
only the wind.[GRAR]
Dice: 9 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
only the wind.[GRRR]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Erich Reinhardt[GRRRRSOAK]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
only the wind.When Erich charges the invisible fiend, he feels it grunt in response to his force. It goes down easily, suddenly, skidding over the ground, lashing out at Erich... though somewhat feebly. Erich rips into it with his teeth, and he must have hit its belly because he feels viscous heat everywhere, feels what would be a rush of blood across his face and ruff. He sees nothing. He tastes nothing. There is no scent. Only that sensation. Only touch and sound.
The thing twists, yelping, the ground displaced by a flurry of motion. In Sam's arms, the child shivers, twisting as well, as though turning to look at something that even Sam cannot fully see. It tries to call to Erich:
watch out!
but it isn't needed. Even when the thing bits into Erich's shoulder, it does only glancing harm. Erich is, after all, made of stock from northern lands, open seas. His spirit hails from storms and mountainous crags. He'll be fine.
Erich ReinhardtErich wants to call something back. Thanks! Maybe he can add a kid, the way hardboiled detectives and cowboys and other assorted badasses from the movies do.
But Erich can't call back. His mouth is full of what feels like blood and viscera, though he can't see or feel or even taste any of it. His ears are full of the rush of his pulse, his mind a veneer of eerie painlessness overlying the cold removed awareness of damage done to his own body. His heart is full of thunder, and the way he sees it whether or not he'll be fine isn't really the point.
The point is:
he'll win this fight. Which must be won.
Erich ReinhardtDice: 10 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 7 ) Re-rolls: 1
Erich Reinhardt[dam+6]
Dice: 15 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
only the wind.[mother of god, erich]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
only the wind.x_x
only the wind.Erich Reinhardt grew up in Nebraska. Big family, farms, lots of drilled-in morals both mortal and supernatural.
Samantha Evans grew up in Vermont. Big family, protective father, lots of drilled-in morals both mortal and supernatural.
They are very different people. They are of different tribes. One is big and one is small. One lives in a condo in the city and one lives in a tiny wheeled house in the mountains. But both of them have deeply ingrained, reverently held ideas of what is right and what is wrong, what is okay and what is very very very not-okay. They have different ways of showing it. At Tommy T's, when there was no hope for victory or even survival, Erich still stood up and yelled in the face of something evil that he wasn't going to just slink away; he'd die fighting if he had to. Samantha, with a building burning down around her and only death at the end of the tunnel, rescued a near-catatonic woman and a helpless infant; she'd die helping them if she had to.
Not for glory. Not for pride. But because to do anything else would have been to turn their backs on something intrinsic to their natures. At the moot just a few nights previous, Avery Chase got up and called Erich's heart pure. If she knew Sam Evans and her deeds, she would say the same of the kinswoman. Some quote Dumbledore; they say everyone has to choose between what is right and what is easy. For people like Erich and Sam, it's almost as though there is no difference: they choose what is right. They don't find it easy to do anything less.
--
So he lunges for the thing, invisible and monstrous, that is making another invisible thing scared and helpless. Because even though he doesn't know everything about the situation, that is the only thing he knows would be the right thing to do.
So she lunges for the helpless invisible thing, lifting it up to her arms and cradling it close. It clings to her in a way that she is starting to find familiar from raising her own kid; surely by now she's getting used to being the recipient of instant, deep trust.
And Erich kills the monster.
And Sam rescues the baby.
It would be amazing and incredible, if they were anyone but who they already are. And it is certainly heroic. But it isn't surprising. It shouldn't be, to anyone. This is who they are. This is why they were both here tonight: to simply be good, in a world that has gotten so dark that it finds goodness shocking.
--
Erich, panting steaming breaths into the chilled air, waits for another blow, a rustle, a growl, something. He hears nothing. He sees nothing. It probably takes a while for his hackles to go down, in fact. But no attack comes. And Sam doesn't feel anything trembling in her arms anymore. The child is relaxed, but urging her to let it down, leaning towards the ground to indicate this in a way that Jake does when he wants to crawl instead.
Erich ReinhardtIt does take some time for Erich to settle down. Some time, after that last catastrophic bite, for him to stop prowling in circles, for him to stop sniffing and growling and snapping at the darkness, for him to stop seizing that invisible dead-thing with his teeth and shaking it side to side to side to side.
Some time for his great heart to stop pumping gasoline and flame; start pumping blood again. Some time for his hackles to settle, some time for his Gift to depart -- for that unsettling numbness to creep away, for the stark awareness of pain and cold to return.
He pulls a small gourd from his fur. Charlotte gave it to him -- insists that he always carries at least one, even if he's only going to the corner store for milk -- and right now he is grateful for it. He holds it between his teeth as he pushes off the ground with his forepaws,
rises,
becomes a young man again. He spits the gourd out into his palm and he looks around for Sam, for the invisible child. He trots over to Sam, or he would, except he's not really all that capable of trotting right now. So, okay. He limps over to Sam.
"Where'd the ghost kid go?" He observes the position of her arms. "Have you got him? Do you think he's hurt? I have a Gaiasbreath talen here."
Sam EvansTerrible things happen behind her, but Sam is focused, just as she was in Babi Yar, just as she was in Tommy T's. She has a goal and she will reach that goal and then probably consider a new one. In this case, step one is Grab Tiny Invisible One. Step Two is Get the Liabilities Away from the Fight. Of all the lessons she learned growing up, one of the most important ones to her is to stay out of the way of the Garou when they're fighting. It's less concern about her personal safety and more a desire to not be a distraction. Erich may or may not be thinking about the kinswoman and the tiny spirit thing while he claws and slams into and bite bite bites the invisible thing, and Sam is going to make sure he doesn't have to.
She doesn't run away, though. There's distance but she stops, turns, watches a wolf fight against the air, blood streaming through his fur. Child in one arm, gun returned to the other. Watching.
Silence filled only with the heavy breathing of the werewolf descends, and Sam feels the invisible child-sized something shift in her arms. She can't see, but she can feel the way its weight pulls and it's familiar. How many times has she felt Jake do that? Or her baby sister back when she was actually a baby? Bending, she lowers the child to the ground. She leaves her free hand hanging at her side, fingers spread a little, palm open, there in case the child-ghost wants to take it. There even if he doesn't.
Erich limps toward her, and Sam moves to close the distance on her end, probably covers a greater distance than the much taller Garou. Just as he asks about the ghost kid, Sam asks, "Are you alright?" which seems like such a silly question considering he's bleeding all over the place. But he's Garou. He was made to handle things mere humans couldn't hope to handle.
"He's here, I think." She looks down, not for a child but for the small depression tiny feet would make in the grass.
only the wind.Sam, sensing a need, shifts the child downward, bending her knees to let it down even though she can't see when its feet touch the ground. She can certainly feel the weight shift out of her grasp, and she can definitely feel the tiny, warm hand slip into hers, tugging her forward as it jogs toward Erich, meeting him halfway. Erich already has a gourd ready, held in his hand, ready to heal, fix, yes, take care of the baby ghost they saved from the mean Something in the bushes.
Small hand lets go of Sam's larger one.
Small arms wrap themselves tight around Erich's leg.
--
They see the playground around them shimmer and shift; there is some light snow on the ground from an earlier fall that mostly-melted, then iced over. It fades. The scuffs and dents in the woodchips smooth over. They hear laughter, and see flickering shapes running around the playground as trees and bushes change from dark, barren branches to greenery in the full flush of summer. For a moment, the area they are standing in is summer-lit, midday, even though at a distance they can still see winter and darkness.
Right now, though, they stand in a busy playground on a summer day. Children go up the ladder and down the slide. The swings are in motion, an almost musical rhythm of creaking. The children themselves leave trails of color and light behind them as they move, their forms not quite solid or definite.
One child in particular, hazy and indeterminate, with thick, tightly-curled black hair and pearl-black eyes, is hugging Erich's leg, one chubby cheek pressed against his knee. He, or she -- and it is difficult to tell, from clothing and age -- looks up at Erich with a grin full of baby teeth.
Doesn't seem hurt.
Just seems grateful to be saved. To be shifted from one terrifying, cold, lonely, dark plane with only one monstrous companion back to this one, a memory of summer, a vision of friendship and freedom. To be brought back to the right place, the safe place, where the only thing hiding in the bushes is another child to play a game with. Both versions of the playground are true: the empty one at night, the fear of something lurking, waiting to take you away... and the happiness of just jumping on a swing or climbing the monkey bars for no reason at all, wiling away an afternoon in the sunlight with strangers who really are just 'friends you haven't met yet'.
The skin around Erich's knee grows warm, very warm, as the child's body shines a bit brighter. And it's not the same as Mother's Touch, when he can smell his mom's pie or thinks he hears his sister's voice somewhere. It's more like when Melantha or Charlotte group hug with him, or when Avery says nice stuff, or Hector steps up to his side in a fight, or other garou show up at Cold Crescent, or a kinswoman he hardly knows refuses to run away and leave him -- and the baby ghost -- alone with a monster. Call it solidarity, call it loyalty, call it whatever.
That flood of warmth and light from the ghost's hug really just feels like friendship.
--
Laughing aloud, mouth wide open and eyes bright, the kid runs from Erich as his wounds knit back together, healing seamlessly. Runs over to Sam, jumping onto her and hugging her around her waist, face buried in her stomach for a tight, happy second. Runs off again, the way kids do, not really knowing how to say Thank You or You Saved My Soul. Especially not when there are other kids to play with, and a shining sun, and swings and monkey bars and slides.
As the child runs from them, the sunlight Sam and Erich feel slowly begins to fade. Starts to dim. The warmth fades, too, and winter comes back, and the playground empties out. Children dissipate into the darkness and shadow. Their laughter and shouting gets harder to hear, until
there is no wind. It's just dark, and cold, and he's got blood on his clothes but no wounds, and she's got a gun in her hand that she didn't need to fire.
Erich ReinhardtThey've met a few times before, Erich and Sam. Perhaps most memorably that day at Tommy T's, though the one that Erich actually remembers is that one time they played Giant Jenga together. That was in May. That was when summer was still a promise on the air, when the year was young, when this very playground was full of kids and their laughter.
She asks him if he's all right. He exhales this truncated little laugh, lifts an arm to peer at his torn side. "I'll be cool," he says. "Thanks for staying."
And -- and then something thumps against his leg. Something wraps its little arms around him, and Erich knows exactly what it is. It's a little kid. It's a little ghost, hugging him the way kids do, and Erich would know this because Erich grew up on a farm, in a big family, and there were always little kids underfoot.
He ruffles the child's invisible hair. He smiles, and the world around him shifts, and just for a moment --
just for a moment summer is back. It's May again. It's warm and it's bright and there's sunshine everywhere and the flowers are coming into bloom. The night will be cool but not cold, the stars will be bright; it'll be a night for beers with your friends and Giant Jenga with friends you haven't met yet. The playground is alive around them, squeaks and squeals and laughter and shouts.
Erich looks around. Looks every which way, everywhere he can. He is smiling, he is laughing, the sun is glinting off his fair hair and warming his skin, and he keeps one (slightly bloody, we must admit) protective hand securely on the babyghost's back. He sees all of them, all the rest of them climbing the slides and swinging in the swings, and nostalgia and ache are alive in him. So much loss, he thinks, so many young lives cut short. But also, yes: so much hope and joy and brightness.
His wounds close. It feels like friendship. He looks down at his new friend, smiling, giving that curly hair a last ruffle as the little ghost runs off. Not for the first time in this city, and probably not for the last, Erich finds himself giving his eyes a quick swipe with thumb-and-forefinger before he steps back,
and back,
and lets that brief, golden dream of summer recede from him. It's just him and Sam, then. And he looks at her, smiling a little awkwardly and don'tknowwhattosay-ly, shrugging as he puts his hands in the pockets of his fleece hoodie.
He doesn't ask her if she saw that. He doesn't try to discuss it, parse it out, figure out whether they were seeing a slice of little kid heaven or the spirit of this place or one possible spirit of this place or -- what. He leaves it as it is: a little bit of magic, a little bit of supernatural inexplicability.
"Drive you home?" he offers.
Sam EvansSam can't help but grin. Erich will be cool. She remembers his packmate, tall slip of a Silver Fang, doing a surprisingly great job of sliding thick heavy blocks of wood from the giant Jenga pile and carefully balancing them on top. She remembers Tamsin who is like a little sister to her. So many good, warm memories of that night. So many good, warm memories since. She's glad that this is one of the good ones with the Ahroun, that the scales of good times and not-so-good times is balanced.
And then there is a small, curly-haired child wrapping arms around her waist and Sam can't help but laugh. One hand slides into that mess of hair, tight little curls coiling around her fingers. She looks around them, too, feels the summery warmth soaking into her wintery clothing, making her for a moment a little warmer. And she smiles, because there, sad as it may be, is the visible representation of what she tries to create. The world around them is dark and cold, but there must be warm comfortable sunny spaces. There must be oases where their kind can sit and relax and take a load off for a little while.
She doesn't hold onto the child when it runs off to join their friends, just stands there and watches. Her mouth smiles but her brows pull together, because she knows. She'll see this again. There will be warm summer days, perhaps at this very park, where Jake will hug her tight and then run off to play with his friends and his friends-he-has-not-met-yet.
Near her, Erich moves, and she sees him swiping at his eyes. Closing that small distance between them, she places her hand at his elbow. Like I get it and like I've got you. It's good he doesn't try to discuss it. Sam has thoughts on moments like these, but honestly, she knows less about this kind of thing than he does. To her it's a piece of magic not meant to be understood, only felt, accepted, and made a part of them.
Then he asks if he can drive her home and the spell breaks. Sam's dark blue eyes widen, her chest puffs out and her shoulders lift with a deep, grateful breath that lets out to say, "Oh my god yes please!"
Erich ReinhardtSomehow that tips that balance of joy and sorrow in Erich, too. It makes him laugh, open and free and unfettered: not because there's anything really all that funny about a drive home, but just because --
because he's happy. Because tonight was a good night, and they did a Good Thing here.
"Let's go," he says, giving Sam a little nudge with his elbow without removing his hand from his pocket. "I'm parked over here. And y'know... you should come by Cold Crescent sometime. It's a real Sept again. And I bet we could find a box of Jenga down on the dorm floor."
Sam Evans"Is it?" Sam says, brightening up. "Javed said people were hoping..." she says, and maybe that trails into another conversation, about how the other Ahroun hoped to see it restored, and how he said he'd call her if there was anything she could do. Maybe what Sam can do is find a box of Jenga, or maybe Sam will make a stop at Home Depot tomorrow for a bunch of 2x4s so she can make a set for the sept.
only the wind.[MY EMOTIONS.]
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