Bond of Brotherhood (RUACH, PERCY)

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Oh, Grant liked Ruach now. He had the same sense of biting, sarcastic humor. As he spoke, Grant studied him for a few moments, but he was listening more to the words than looking at him. He obviously didn’t like women; some woman must have done something scarring to him in his past. Just like he hated Keepers.
As he offered to follow Sorcha, he shook his head. “I at least trust her enough to keep her word. Even if she believes this isn’t a TV show. It’s sad really. Hasn’t she realized that the Keepers are ALWAYS watching? I’m fairly certain they can even nudge us towards certain people in order to make things more interesting. That and the thousands of people coming to watch us daily. It is all a show. And the more tragic you can make yourself, the more they relate, and the less likely you are to be culled.”
He returned to the fire, and leaned back. “But now, to the more serious and pressing business. You said you’d like to join me. I am very amenable to that idea, but a few things need to happen first.
“First, we need to have some sort of structure. If other Rogues want to join this little mutual-defense pact, an organizational structure is essential. Second, after this night, we need to reloctate my things. There’s a nice place about 500 yards away. It should serve in case Sorcha is not so trustworthy as I am allowing. Then we might want to take our groups’ main gathering place somewhere else than my home. I don’t want it being a target. Or at least any more of a target than I would make it.”

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"Makes sense," Gideon responded. The way the anthro talked made him a little wary, however. More rogues? For some reason he didn't find another chance meeting in the night all that likely. But relocating always made sense. When your enemies know where you are, make sure not to be there. More of Michael's teachings came back to him. The two years they had spent on the run were more than enough to help him learn how to survive. And the most important part of survival was being able to think right. Oh sure, being able to punch potential enemies out was helpful, but being able to think correctly would win you more battles than strength could, and even lead to being able to defeat enemies without a struggle.

"Thus to fight and conquer is not supreme excellence. Supreme excellence is to defeat the enemy without fighting." From Sun Tzu, the great Chinese strategist. As applicable in the Menagerie as it was in the Warring States. Remaining mobile was of paramount importance.

He finished the roasted rat meat and proceeded to stoke the coals with the spit. Well, if he was going to be around Grant for an extended time, he might as well learn as much about him as possible. "Friend, If you don't mind me asking, how is it that you became so hunted by UNIT that they had to invent a terrorist organization to cover the crimes they committed to try to reach you? I was also on the run from them, and they didn't do anything of the sort."

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Grant smiled initially as he agreed, before quoting Sun Tzu. However, his next words instantly wiped the smile off of his face. "Friend, if you don't mind me asking, how is it that you became so hunted by UNIT that they had to invent a terrorist organization to cover the crimes they committed to try to reach you? I was also on the run from them, and they didn't do anything of the sort."
Grant sighed. “Might as well tell you while I still have the wounds fresh in my mind with that interesting conversation with Sorcha. Frankly, my circumstances were unusual.
“First, I’m the son of an antiques weapon collector and builder. I know how to make flintlocks, gunpowder, swords, knives. And I had more than a few of those, along with a couple automatic rifles, along with me.
“Second, I was actually captured first by the town police and put into the county jail. Then my two friends broke us out, and in the process, we, well . . . we blew up most of the prison. It was a complete accident, and in self-defense at that, but UNIT most definitely didn’t see it that way.
“Third, my friend, Matthew, was the son of one of the UNIT higher-ups. More specifically, the police force. And he had all the codes. All of them. For the next 5 years. He also held a substantial portion of the confidential files on the UNIT mainframe. This worried UNIT quite possibly as much as, or more than, me. That’s why they sicced Black on us. They were vicious because the evidence pointed to us being vicious.
“And finally, Black Squad was new then. It held the most vicious members, and they were nigh-on-impossible to control. They were overzealous, to say the least, in attempting to capture or kill me and my friends. Many people disappeared. It even got so bad to the point of them blowing up department stores, apartment complexes, in a desperate attempt to kill us. Some very nearly succeeded, but all of them cost hundreds of lives and many more injured. In order to keep the trap from being recognized, no one could be evacuated.
“That and I believe most of them enjoyed killing as many as they could. They were sadists, psychopaths. They enjoyed death and killing, and since they had absolute authority, they were free to take anyone who had contact with us. As I said, I greeted them on the street, they and their family disappeared. There were far too many of those to be blended into the numbers, and when the buildings began to come down and people started questioning, UNIT was forced into a panicked reaction of contingency plans they had never thought of using.
“I hope they executed every one of the bastards on Black Squad. By hanging. They deserve to stay alive for the rest of their lives in torment, but that’s unlikely. My worst nightmare, frankly, is UNIT deciding it was acceptable and sending Black out on more collection missions.”
Grant sighed again. That hurt. That really hurt to say. This was opening all the old wounds, cutting him to the bone.

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Gideon leaned back on his elbows, whistling quietly. Well, that was something. The Anthro said his piece with such frankness that he couldn't help but understand what he felt. Pain, remorse, scarring deep on his soul. Gideon made up his mind completely in that moment.

"Well, since you told me your story, I might as well return the favor." Gideon got comfortable as he looked for the words. "I was born in Tel Aviv, Israel. When I was ten years old both of my parents died in an accident, and I moved to live with my mother's sister and her husband in Acre." He closed his eyes.

"My mother and her sister were both shifters, though my father, uncle and I didn't know. When UNIT began rounding up shifters, my aunt turned herself in. When they said that they were going to exterminate them well... my uncle was distraught. His soul went into a dark place for a while, and when he came out again he was different. Harder, with a strong hate for UNIT. He had been a soldier for them, regional security, grandsons of the old IDF. Anyway, UNIT Regional Defense: Israel taught my uncle how to fight and survive in the wild, and some of the older guys in his squad taught him Krav Maga, the old Israeli combat style. Used to be the most vicious form of martial arts back in the day."

He organized his thoughts one more time, inhaled and then continued. "Anyway, he learned a lot, and he loved the work but left it all behind to marry my aunt. So he felt personally betrayed by what UNIT had done. When my shift cropped up, he swore to himself he wouldn't let them have another member of his family. So we hit the road, meandering around the Middle East and the Balkans. Michael was smart. We avoided populated areas, stayed off the roads. All the while he taught me everything he had learned as a soldier. It was wonderful. We grew together as friends, and he became my new father for the first time."

"Then, when we were moving through Georgia," he stopped for a second "the nation, not the American State, we came across the orphan girl, about my age. She was like us, on the run from the law. Didn't have a place to call home and never knew where her next meal was coming from. So we took her with us, had to rough up some guys who were abusing her."

Gideon stopped. His voice filled with emotion. "We became... close. Quite close. Peruca, she was so beautiful. Looked kind of like Sorcha, small, dark hair, but with bright blue eyes. Eyes that were more beautiful than all the psalms in the Talmud. I loved her, and I thought she loved me back. When we were outside the city of Perm, Russia, she went to find supplies. Somehow she found out who we were, and that we had a bounty on our heads. She went to get the local UNIT police and brought them to our camp. Michael fought like an animal, took four of them out but then they put a bullet in his head and he just died. Like a dog. I was furious, and I lost my mind for a bit. I shifted and flew at Peruca, so mad with loss and betrayal and clawed out her eyes with my talons. "

He sighed. "The rest is the same as everyone else. I was tested on, the whole nine yards, though they did some weird testing on my head that made me loose all my hair. Then they dumped me in here, and now here I sit."

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Another land traveled, and another land explored. A shake of her head to rid the snow, and a yawn escaping blackened lips that greeted a hungry maw. The Lioness slowly stretched her way into a standing position before surveying her surroundings. A park? It seems that the blizzard had brought her here. At the time of the whiteout, she was more concerned with finding shelter, and there she was, laying in the high bushes at the very edge of a park. Her mismatched eyes slowly drifted across the mostly white landscape before a light caught her attention. Fire, the smell of food, and people. Her head tilted to the side as she felt aggression slowly bubbled up in her belly.

Slowly, she stalked through the snow which did not do much for her paw steps. Her tail slowly tucked as she attempted to sneak away from the men that were still quite a bit away. She attempted to stalk silently, but her graceful movements were meant for fighting, no sneaking. She was a big girl with musculature meant for battle, not for retreat, even though maiming was oh so tempting. She was hungry, but the scent from the men seemed to be fairly putrid, and stung her sensitive nostrils. She sniffed again slowly, but seemed to have caught another scent in the air. Food?

She twisted her head around to stare into the direction of the scent which was mixed with garbage, and fur. A snort escaped large nostrils before she proceeded to peek through the bushes again, only to see a rat. Well, beggars can't be choosers. It was a skinny thing, but it would ease the ache. Percylla pushed herself back on her haunches as she judged the distance to the morsel. She jumped, and squished it to death. The feline laid on top of it with her head tilted to the side until it stopped moving. It attempted to make distressed noises, but that was halted by the amount of muscle that crushed it. Once she was satisfied it was surely a pancake, she slowly climbed off.

The mute picked up the snack in her jaws before tilting her head back to push it to the back of her throat. The chewing was not the worse part, but the taste was not very something to be desired.

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With a crunch, Grant finished the last of his rat and casually threw the stick into the fire. He was about to say something, but he cocked his head. He thought he had heard something—a muffled thump in the snow. Within a few seconds, there was a squeak of a rat, then silence.
He held up a hand. “I think we have yet another visitor. I’m hearing some pretty heavy footsteps outside.” He grinned wryly. “How many people can manage to stumble into this remote part of the park in a day? For months no one, really, even came close. Now it’ll be, what? Three people? My word, today seems to be trying to make me nice and popular.”
His eyes narrowed. “Or it’s Sorcha, back again. And likely with friends. Do you have any weapons? If it is indeed Sorcha, we are going to need them badly. If you don’t have any weapons, use one of the fireplace stones. I picked them because they’re perfect as a weapon of last resort; comfortable to hold and swing and yet heavy enough to cause some serious damage.”
Not waiting for a reply, once again he silently crossed to the door and stood behind it, taking the spear out of his makeshift sheath and holding it firmly in one hand. He placed the other hand on the door, preparing to fling it open as he had done to Ruach only a few minutes ago. He looked back to see if Ruach was prepared for whomever was outside.
But Grant thought better of his loud and noisy shock techniques. Instead, he thought, ‘Stealth may serve our aims much better this time around.’ He shook his head, before crouching low and moving back to the fire, which he extinguished, making sure to leave some coals. He crept back to the door and slowly began to open it, careful to not make any sound.

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Gideon's hearing picked up on the sound of the dying rat just outside the shack. Then silence fell and his hackles rose as he realized what the noise meant. Someone was outside. Grant held up a hand, and then spoke, showing that he had also heard the noise. When the anthro pointed out the fireplace stones, Gideon took one in hand and hefted it. It was a reasonable improvised weapon, nothing spectacular. He had been trained in knife fighting, though he preferred the survival hatchet he had owned out in the wild, outside the Menagerie. But when it came down to it he was most skilled fighting unarmed. Not that he wouldn't take any advantage that he came across. A stone did more damage than any fist.

The anthro moved across the room and extinguished the fire, casting the room into darkness. Damnit! He swore in his mind. He didn't have nearly as good night vision as a human as he did as an owl. He quickly discarded the idea of shifting, it wouldn't do much good in the confined space of the hovel. It would be dangerous if a fight broke out in here. Grant moved through the shadows to open the door. Gideon hoped that whatever was outside wasn't all that dangerous, and that they would either act like civilized people or could be easily driven off. And if Sorcha had come back with reinforcements, well the best thing he could hope to accomplish was a kind of Masada at best. "Damn," he swore again quietly, and readied the rock as the door creaked open, and moonlight spilled in.

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As soon as silence reigned on the area did she finally notice movement out of the corner of her grey eye. A shot ice slowly pushed through her spine as she saw something gently swing open to reveal a dark space. She assumed there was someone behind the door to make it do such movement because of the lack of wind in the area. Her ears perked forward as her head slowly turned to stare at the opening. She was merely twenty feet away from in, but she could smell, and hear the shuffling on the inside. Percylla attempted to put together if these beings were a threat, they certainly did not smell appetizing, but they still could try, and attack her, which she would not particularly stand for. A puff of air out of her nostrils that quickly turned to steam in the darkened environment.

The Lioness stood stock still for a while minute as she watched them with eyes that glowed gently against the 'moon' that hung high int he sky. A wiggle of her ears, a flip at the tip of her tail to reveal slight irritation. She was an imposing figure alone, but she was not a threat until she was threatened herself. Slowly, her head hung low as she stared at the space, and the movement inside was easy to sense. Her torn ears perked forward for a couple of seconds before she did a turn on the forehand. The feline did not move her front paws, but slowly moved her rump around so her chest was facing the other creatures instead of her whole body. She came to settle at this point again, and stopped moving all together as before. She did not seem like she was going to attack at all, what was written on her face was something completely different.

Fear was not the emotion that settled on her features, but a dull fascination, and curiosity. Every once, and a while she would move her ears as if she were trying to hear for the very blood rushing through their veins. Who were they?

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Grant finished opening the door, and outside he could see a large, black shape against the snow and the trees. It certainly wasn’t Sorcha, but—she was in a ring, and that meant friends. Friends that were quite possibly waiting to kill him and torch his home.
He stood up. “Sorcha, if that’s you, and you’ve brought friends, I am going to rip out your heart and stuff it down your throat as you die.” He surveyed the Shifter for any response, but got none. It didn’t even move.
“If you didn’t get sent here to Sorcha,” he sighed, “You might as well come over here. It’s not like this place is a secret, not after today.” He gave a short laugh. “That and I’ve already been called an innkeeper once today. Might as well play the part.”
He fell silent, waiting tensely for a reply. The fate of this night very well hung in the balance of who this Shifter was. Would it be a battle like the Alamo or would it be another person that fate had thrown his way? Grant didn’t know, but he hoped intensely it was the second option. Things tended to end better for all parties when there was no mutual hostility. Especially for the weaker of the two parties; a position Grant was in and disliked fiercely. Too long had he been the weaker party, too long had he run and hidden from those more powerful than he. He wished he could change that.

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Gideon sat silently inside the shack and watched Grant stride through the doorway. His threat was more than a little creative, and he would have laughed if he didn't know that the anthro meant it seriously. Gideon moved to an angle where he could see through the doorway and stopped cold. There, in the snow before the door, was a lioness. He'd been to the zoo as a child, and had read enough ecology textbooks in school to know that of the two genders of the species, females were always more dangerous. Well damn, he thought. So much for a winnable fight. No matter how predatory the Eurasian-Eagle Owl was, it couldn't fight a lion. And he didn't trust Krav Maga and a stone against claws and teeth honed by thousands of years of evolution either.

If it came to a fight of flight situation, literal flight would be the only option. Heroics got people killed, and if Grant wanted to go toe to toe with such a well endowed shifter, then he could serve as a reasonable distraction. Live and let die, law of the jungle, you act heroic; you get killed. Plain and simple, cut and dried. No takebacks.

Grant opted for the more intelligent approach, calling out to the shifter. Diplomacy was always the better of two options, the other being death or grievous bodily harm. The lioness shifter stood in the snow, and stared at Grant expectantly.

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She was not going to go over right away, she was not dumb enough to blindly fall into a situation that could get her rump in a huge heap of trouble. So, she took a very slow approach. Percylla made a very long zig zag back, and forth as she eyed the two men that stood at the entrance. Her ears were cocked in a neutral position, but slowly peeked forward when she got closer, and closer to the two individuals. As she moved her sides swayed slightly to show her overall girth, and size, and the glint of the moon off her fur revealed the numerous scars that littered to muscular body.

By the development of her feline body she was quite young as she was in human form. Eighteen years old, and still aggressive from her years of fighting, but only to an immediate threat to her form. She was a big girl, and she was considering shifting into human form. The mute was just as deadly in both forms so as she stood ten feet away from them she felt eye level rise quickly. It was hard to even tell where the Lioness went, the shift was clean, and simple as she had been doing it her whole life.

In this form she was basically naked, but she did not seem to mind it as dark plumes of heat rolled off of her tall form. A ripped sports bra barely covered her beasts with her shorts seemed to just be able to hold her unmentionables from view. Muscular, lithe, and young. Her body was covered in scars, but her face seemed to have come out of the ring unscathed. Her large eyes continued to study them as her facial features held an expression of being unimpressed.

Perylla stopped three feet away from the door, and peeked in a bit with a deep sniff. Her head tilted to the side as her pupils became large as she kept her head just within the reaches of the outside. Her shortened hair, and partially shaved head swiveled a couple of times before a snort was blown to create another plume of steam. It took her over a half an hour to actually come that close.

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Grant sighed as the customary cautious approach began. He knew all too well about this—and what was the point, really? It worked on wild animals and those too far gone to have self-control, but, if he really wanted to attack her, he could wait like anyone else could. But whatever floated her boat.

And now it looked like she was purposely showing off. Grant put a hand to his face. Why did he attract the people just a little bit off? He stopped. He knew the answer perfectly; he was one of those people himself. Perhaps she had a history, making her so cautious. She didn’t look like a matron; the lion’s body was obviously young and fit. It was always worse, the younger it happened.

Had he gone through what he did more than a couple years earlier, he knew he wouldn’t have likely survived. Kudos to her, then. He always applauded those that managed to survive going through the fire.

-----

He stood, leaning on his spear, as she advanced, ever so slowly. This was getting past the point of caution; twenty minutes for 30 feet? But it wasn’t like he was going to yell at her. That would be tantamount stupidity.

Then, with startling rapidity, she Shifted. In the lion’s place was a rather large and imposing girl. She was covered in scars, long and white. Surprisingly, she was nearly naked! In this weather? It appeared like she was clothed in exercise clothing a size too small.

He sighed and looked at the ground. Everyone here was nuts. That didn’t really bother him, except they were nuts in ways nearly incomprehensible to his equally-crazy mind. (Of course, it didn’t slip his mind that while she was extremely underdressed in every sense of the word for winter, he was wearing a tweed suit. Here in the Menagerie. There were two sides to every spectrum.) As he waited, she cautiously peeked into the cabin, while wearing an expression of supreme apathy.

“Well, you done with the caution and the showing off? I’m sure you could fight us well enough to at the very least, escape. Frankly, I’m just hoping a fight never shows up. I’m not one to like having my neck broken or being disemboweled, and I’m sure you don’t like being impaled. None of those are fun options, and in the case of a fight, I’d be willing to bet those would probably all happen. Mutually Assured Destruction, you know?” He knew this was probably a bit too sharp, but half an hour in the cold was taking its toll; the breath fogged out of his mouth in clouds, and his arms had begun to shiver nearly imperceptibly. It was making him cross.

“Forgive me for the sharp tone, but it really is freezing out here. My name is Grant, and I’m the owner of this little home. May I enquire as to your name?” He smiled slightly; he was talking like his old English teacher. All it needed was a faux British accent, and Whala! He could be a television star. If he was human, at least. Maybe he could be part of a comedy............. or a horror movie. The second option seemed more likely. The smile was wiped from his face.

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Gideon watched with rapture as the lioness Shifted, into a decidedly underdressed young woman, about his age, maybe younger. She had short blonde hair, light skin and a number of scars that outweighed even Gideon's own. She held herself with the lithe grace of a practiced, if not formally trained, fighter. Gideon couldn't help himself, the waif was alluring. She was decidedly attractive, in the insane way that a woman could be dressed so immodestly in a climate such as this. Her unmarred face, her large eyes and expression of lax defiance, called to him, in the same way the songs of the sirens had called to Ulysses. Dammit, he swore in his head.
Michael's voice filled his mind, in a rage. GIDEON! What the hell do you think you're doing? The last time you went all star-eyed over some shiksa we DIED! Do you understand that? They killed both of us in Perm, and it was your damn fault! You got to continue, to carry on our duty. Our purpose, in our first life and our next. You may be a simple spirit now, but if you keep moving forward without distraction, you can become mal'ak ha-mashḥit, and bring vengeance down on the heads of our murderers.
Ruach reeled, off kilter by the sudden storm in his mind. Michael had never spoken to him so directly before. Was he mad? To do this, you must disrupt the carefully planned network that the UNIT slaver scientists have set up. Do all that you can. And if you fail, fail like the Zealots of Masada, deny them that final victory. Gideon nodded. He would use Grant, and all the others, to cause harm to UNIT in anyway possible. Survival is only important now if it serves that end.

He glanced back at the under dressed woman, and grinned wolfishly. She was inconsequential, either she would be an asset in his goal or a roadblock. Grant extended his seemingly standard invitation to the near naked Shifter. Gideon silently agreed.

Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

[Deleted]

She watched Grant with a dull gaze, and a stony face. He seemed to be throwing a tantrum in his own way. Percylla was slowly putting everything together about the man with a dull glare from the moon that caught her gaze. He was not threat to her, nor was the man that was more cautious, and was pushed further into the cabin. They were not food either, their smell told otherwise. It wafted into her nostrils every time she took a breathe through her flared nostrils. The smell was unappealing, and naturally the lioness would stay away from such a lot, but the idea of warmth pushed her to go into the cabin.

The moonlight that caught her hair outside to set off her blonde highlights died as soon as she entered the darkness to reveal the ashen brown it actually was. Her large eyes still held that defiance, but he face still held that critical caution that she used to calculate her every move. The mute moved fluidly past them as she sniffed silently floated around the room, but then the question came up. Her name. The girl stopped, and stared at the man for a couple of minutes before she went over to the wall of the cabin, and set her fingers against it. Her nails were unnaturally sharp as she carved in her name, 'Percy', and the word 'Mute' right next to it before tapping it with her pointer finger.

Then, she was faced with the other male who extended his hand to her like a man would a stray dog. The eighteen year old did not understand the point of a hand shake, and the short man actually offended her by doing such an action. In the animal kingdom touch was not given without a price, and she associated such a hand with the whip, and the belt. The large eyes narrowed into slits, and her normally large pupils tightened. She opened her mouth, and a strange, strangled growl escaped her throat that also had the deep undertone that came from her chest. The sharp teeth in her human mouth glinted in the light as she slowly circled him from a good distance with a constant growl echoing from her throat. After she did this three times the growling stopped, and she moved away from him. Her face went back to being stony before she found, a seat, and lazily sat down.

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((OOC—SO SO SO sorry for the crazy wait! I’ve just been really busy with other things. Many apologies!))
Grant watched as she apparently ignored his question, before entering the cabin. Her hair, which had been blond before, faded to a brown with blond highlights, certainly an interesting choice of colors.

As he began to follow into the cabin, she paused for a moment, before scratching into his wall the name ‘Percy Mute’.
Grant paused for a moment. That certainly was an interesting name... Wait. No. Her name was Percy, and she was a mute. No one gave full names within 30 seconds of meeting someone. That and the silence she seemed to exude clicked with being a mute.
Ruach extended his hand, and that somehow offended her. Grant winced as he closed the door behind him. She couldn’t be from the West; only the smaller countries and the Eastern ones didn’t get the purpose of a handshake. And apparently, it was something bad in her culture, for she began to circle Ruach, growling. It was quite the sound, with what sounded like a deep chest grumble and a strangled, higher note. It was unlike anything Grant had ever heard before.
Finally, she stopped circling him, and stopped growling. Again wearing an expression of apathy, she picked a seat and sat down.
“Well, that was much better than I feared it would turn out,” he said with a sigh, before looking to Ruach. “Grab another few rats, won’t you? They’re in the cellar at the back.” He turned back to Percy. “Percy, would you like a, well, a rat kabob? Not the best tasting, but it’s all I can offer in reasonable quantities.”
While keeping an eye on Percy for a response, he stooped down and grabbed his flint and steel. In reality, it was simply some kind of rock and a rusted piece of metal he had found, but it sufficed. “I’m going to start the fire up again.” Luckily, there was some tinder still unburned in the corner of the fireplace; there hadn’t been enough time last time he had lit it for everything to burn.
Piling a few sticks on top, he struck at the metal again and again until a spark caught and turned into an ember. Blowing carefully on it, soon a small fire was blazing. He threw some logs to keep it going, before taking a seat opposite from Percy.
“Much better, eh?”