Log edited with Logedit 2.6.6pl on Mon Oct 20 19:11:16 EDT 1997

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Davy comes down the stairs. As is his usual for coming to the pack
hangout, he's carrying two paper grocery sacks. One makes clinking
noises as he moves.

Hershey is stretched out on her usual mattress with a paperback Stephen
King. She glances up and waves the book at Davy in greeting.

Jackson comes in from the stairs.

Green Room -- The Rialto(#3680RAJ)

Once a home to the backstage antics and off-stage life of actors from
the grand Shakespearians to the slapsticks of vaudeville to the props
mistresses, this broad room parallels in size the stage above it. Old
and gaudy couches, chez-lounges, and rockers sit in haphazard groups
about an old but functional pot-bellied stove whose smokepipe leads
off into the bricking of the back wall.

Pairs of dressing rooms lead off at each side. To one side, stairs lead
up into the theater itself. Off to one side, a wide door leads into
the darkened alcoves of the props and costume closets. Opposite those
closets, a bricked up archway leads nowhere.

Alexander comes in from the stairs.

Davy grins over at Hershey. "When I finish apartment hunting, we'll have
to have a Steven King movie fest. Hey, I bought some more of the
candies. But don't eat all the Krackle this time, huh?" He sets the
bags on the table and begins to empty the food into one of the prop
closets that the pack has thus appropriated. Most are unperishable
staples, like peanut butter and bread, but there's a sizable amount of
junk food too, incluing the aforementioned tiny chocolate bars. He
pulls a six-pack of draft beer out of one bag and a six-pack of Coke
out of the other and sets them on the folding table. Looking up while
he folds down the bags, he grins at everyone. "Name your poison, as
long as it's beer or Coke. They're cold, anyway."

Hershey whoops, dropping the book to help herself to a huge handful of
chocolatey goodness, plus a Coke. No wonder she has acne. "Bitchin',
Davy."

Alexander comes downt he stairs a little after Davy, calling out,
"Anybody home?"

Hershey calls back, "Nobody but us mutts, boss!"

Davy calls up, "Allllexander, come on down. You get to choose between a
lifetime supply of Rice-a-roni, the San Francisco treat, or what's
behind door number 1!"

Jackson appears at the top of the stairs, a small stained duffle bag
strapped over one shoulder and a white plastic grocery bag in his
other hand. "Yeah, m'man," he says, right behind Alexander, grinning
as he starts down toward Davy and Hershey. "Well, if it ain't a party
I didn't get invited to," he says, shaking his head. "Don't got much
choice but to crash it now, do I?" The plastic bag lands in an old
recliner, falling open to spill its guts -- another six pack of beer.

Davy gives a whoop, "A man after my own heart." Alexander grabs a Coke,
then goes back outside, saying he'll return.

Jackson lets himself drop like a stone into a second recliner, but only
after swerving over toward Davy to snag a Coke and a handful of mini
candy bars. His blue bag slides off his shoulder and onto the floor
beside him, his elbow guiding it relatively gently the last stretch.
It clinks and clatters softly, contentedly into place. "So, what's
news lil' sis?" he asks Hershey before raising his can toward Davy in
a toast and then gulping half of it away.

Hershey washes down a mouthful of chocolate with a swig of Coke. "Went
out ta that halfmoon party last night. Out in th' woods."

Davy himself takes a beer and snags his favorite comfy chair. He raises
his can in return and chugs the lot without stopping. Finally lowering
the can, he smacks his lips and makes a long 'aaahhhhh' sound.

Jackson nods, leaning back and letting the chair swallow him. "Good,
good," he says, a little distractedly, nursing the Coke. "They alright
folks out that way? I mean, you don't go that way much do you? They
don't treat you like you don't belong, I guess is what I'm sayin'." He
makes a perplexed face, then adds, "Suppose I oughta get out there and
see things for myself, huh?"

Hershey shrugs. "The Fianna who organized the thing, Ravenfeeder, she
turned sour when I said I was a Metis, but she wasn't, ya know, a
_bitch_ about it. Everyone was pretty cool, 'cept for Bites Back, who
was a _total_ dork. Still, everybody thought he was a dork, so it
wasn't just me, ya know?"

Davy chimes in, "Bites-Back /is/ a dork."

Hershey says "A dork who doesn't know _shit_ about bein' a halfmoon."

Davy rolls his shoulders and gets up to get another beer. This one goes
slower. "Well, he's sure not unbiased, I can tell you."

Hershey chugs Coke, then belches. "Yeah. But I arranged ta learn that
truth-sniffer gift, an' teach a rite ta one of the Uktena. So I figger
I'm in pretty good. Seemed like a bunch'a cool Garou."

Davy flashes a grin. "Excuse you. Most of them are, yeah. And
Ravenfeeder's not too bad. A little tight sometimes, but she's okay."

Hershey grins and nods. "Yeah."

Davy rubs his beard. "Hey, Alexander's girlfriend was saying something
about needing someone that could tell truth from lies." He shakes his
head. "Something about a guy wanting a fake id for a young kid, so he
could claim it was his. Maybe you could look her up, after you learn
it."

Hershey nods, finishing off the Coke. She crushes it against her
forehead. *crump*

Davy grins. "Head-Like-Brick."

Hershey grins back, toothily, and grabs a beer. "Damn shittin' straight,
Irishboy."

Davy's lips quirk. "You can shit crooked?"

Hershey quips, "Can't you?"

Davy snorts a laugh. "Guess I never bent over to watch."

Hershey snickers, nearly spraying beer out her nose.

Davy grins at his packmate, she of the stately social graces.

Hershey chugs down another swallow and a half of beer. "Hey, Davy. It
true what they say 'bout Fianna?"

Davy says modestly, "Yes, but I can't show you. It's against the Litany.

Hershey finishes off the beer and tosses the empty can at Davy. "Wuss!"

Davy ducks, grinning. "No, seriously, whatcha want to know?"

Hershey pushes her glasses up her nose and peers significantly at Davy's
crotch, then laughs and sits back. "They say youse guys can _choose_
if ya wanna get drunk or not."

Davy nods. "Yup. At least, it's a gift a lot of us have."

Hershey snags another beer. "Bitchin'. An' yer hung like Great Danes,
right?" She guffaws at this.

Davy snickers. "Never checked out a Great Dane, but I think that's apt."

Hershey cracks open the beer and chugs down a healthy portion. "You a
virgin?"

Davy shakes his head, leaning back in the couch again. Unlike his
earlier joking boasting, he doesn't elaborate on that with more sly
remarks.

Hershey picks up on the change of mood. "Sore spot?"

Davy shakes his head. He half-grins, then says, "Just kind of a
romantic, I guess. Doesn't seem right to brag on the women I've shared
my bed with, you know?"

Hershey makes an 'oooo' noise. "A _gentleman_."

Davy's grin grows and he gives Hershey a mock-warning look. "Don't you
go spreading it around, now."

Hershey slips a finger across her lips. "Mum's the word, Davyboy."

Davy just grins again. He then asks, "Why do you ask?"

Hershey shrugs. "Curious." She smiles, a bit doozy from the beers.
"Gotta know ya packmates, yeah?"

Davy nods. "Yeah." He then grins. "So, what's the most embarrassing
thing that ever happened to you?"

Hershey wrinkles her nose. "Eww. You'd _have_ ta ask that?" Then she
grins, scrunching up her face and thinking. "Probably the first time
my mom caught me lookin' at porno mags."

Davy winks. "Guys or girls?"

Hershey's ears turn an interesting shade of pink. "Girls. But I ain't a
lezbo. I was just, um..." Her cheeks turn red now, too. "I was
thirteen, you know? Growin' hairs where there weren't none. Not in
Homid, anyway." She giggles.

Davy grins back. "Just wondering." He drops his voice. "I think I know
where Pete keeps a stash, see."

Hershey giggles, nearly snorting beer out her nose. "You would."

Davy grins bigger, then says, "Hey, a new moon has to keep some
self-respect."

Hershey laughs, her usual donkey-bray of hilarity. "Yer _bad_, Davy."

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