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Who: Brigid and... everyone.
Where: Everywhere
When: Day 82-84
What: The Full Moon is coming and Brigid is losing her grip. Going Omega is no fun.
Warnings: Possibly swearing, definite blood and attacks. Also, discussion of mental health.

OOC: This is a catch all log, since we had a lot of people who wanted to do things. I'm going to put up a few big headers, and then it'll be a free for all.

If you have any questions, please, feel free to ask.

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That might actually be useful information. His eyes narrow as he tries to work out what she might want in return for this help.

"Which trees are the hardwoods? We don't have most of these on Gaia. But why do you care how well I succeed?"

He hopes it's just a share of the fish he'll catch, because refusing anything else might make her nasty again. He keeps his saw clenched tight in his fist.

"Oaks, maples. I think the ashes are as well, but I could be wrong. There's probably a book or three in the library about identification and which ones to use. I know the pines are generally softwood." She cocks her head to the side. The distance and his lack of calling her 'woman' means the wolf is in check. For now.

"Because fishing may be the only way we eat for a while. The game is driven away, some back behind the defenses and with more bears patrolling. We need the food." It's as simple as that. "No one deserves to go hungry."

He'd have an easier time believing she's capable of holding such an innocent, high-minded notion if he hadn't seen her true face.

"How long would something like you starve before you considered the rest of us food?"

Edited 2013-06-22 17:31 (UTC)

She stares at him. Something like her? She's human. Just because she also happens to be a werewolf...

"I wouldn't. Long pig is toxic, even to werewolves." Okay, she's not sure about that part, but it makes sense. The thought is disgusting to her, anyway. "And I hope that St. Raphael wouldn't let us starve."

He grimaces at that name for human meat. Of course monsters would have their own term for it.

"That god of yours is merciless. He may feed you, but he wouldn't extend any miracles to those who don't love him."

"My God isn't here." She's confused now. Her God isn't here. His angels are, but they are messengers, soldiers, not Him.

She holds her hand out for the saw. "I can cut you some hardwood, if you'd like." It'll help focus her. At least some.

His eyes narrow at that response.

"Why does Raphael of the Heavens protect you if you don't worship him?"

He pulls his hand away as she holds hers out, sure now it's a trap.

"I'll do it myself."

Oh. Raphael. "He's the protector of children and animals in my faith. He's one of God's soldiers, messengers and His hand, but St. Raphael answers to his Father, my God."

Her religion isn't really as complex as the See makes it out to be. It's simple, really. She prays to the Archangels so that they might intercede with their Father on her behalf.

Most of the time, the answer is no and Brigid is alright with that.

"I am stronger than you. I will be faster."

His jaw tightens at her reasoning. It's like she's rubbing salt in the wounds she left on his pride from the last time they met.

"I'm going to do it myself."

"I can smell the pain on you. Stop being so misogynistic and let me just help." She's frustrated and short-tempered. Why can't he just... let her help. There's nothing wrong with need help now and again.

And when it presents itself, it should be taken.

The pain is now mixed with a sudden waft of of angered fear at that tidbit. He hadn't thought the pain be visible to her in that way.

"I don't want your help. I want you to keep away from me!" It's a bad idea to lose his temper, he knows, but he can't help let it slip.

Her own temper, so short, sparks. She grinds her teeth together. "Fine." She growls out the word. "I was trying to help. If you could remove your head from your posterior for long enough to realize that, I'd count it a miracle."

Turning on her heel, she stomps off toward the woods before she does something... serious.

It's only when she stomps out of sight that he lets his knees sag. He really needs to avoid these woods, what with her affinity with them.

He grabs the branch and his basket of twigs and starts limping out of there. There's no way he's spending more time there playing 'Guess the Tree'. He'll burn some grass instead and live with the results.

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