The Tale of Slo Bro
| The Tale of Slo Bro | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 14 March 1995 |
| Location: | Forest Caern |
| Synopsis: | How Ryoko skinned a Biker |
| Storyteller: | Ryoko |
| Listeners: | Lunafreya |
Ryoko
The tunnels did hum with words getting distorted over distance, turned to nothing but murmurs and white noise by the soft surfaces of the roots. That's nothing strange in the Caern, just like the odd light of the crystals making navigation not too hard for me. I was wearing my own jacket of leather and colors, and yet I lugged a much larger biker jacket with me, a cocky smile on the lips.
When I stepped into the main Weirwood hall, I presented that jacket I brought like the coat of a slain animal over my shoulder. "I bring a trophy to show achievements. The colors of a certain ganger that thought he could outsmart, outrun, and outgun a fox. Now he is a nobody again, stripped of his honors among his peers. Maybe one day he will wear new colors, but till then... They are mine to give to the sept to honor our wins."
It was a swaggering approach, the jacket pulled forth to show the tags on the back, and the little marks the former owner had added for his wins and crimes. Indicators that it wasn't a nobody I had gotten it from. The Sept Alpha, Lunafreya was here, and she did regard my entrance and announcement with curiosity. And so, she asked me to elaborate what made it worth showing, and what it meant with amusement.
So I spread the jacket out on the floor like a coat in front of the silver one with golden eyes, before I spoke: "In ages past, hunters brought the trophy of their kill to show their prowess. Think of this as the coat of such an animal: The Common Biker. An elusive predator aniomal that would not part with its coat but for being utterly bested."
I fluffed my own leather jacket, a little similar to the one gotten from the prey, but much differently decorated. I continued my tale: "This coat shows the deeds and things that are done by the previous wearer." Pointing to a patch of three tuning forks and a date, I elaborated. "You see that he started with an old Yamaha some years ago, but when I caught him, he rode a Harley-Davidson FXDWG Wide Glide with custom handlebars, the tank painted with a skull and flames, his seat upholstered in snake leather. That patch there tells that he is callous and violent, a 1 percenter. These three skulls are violent crimes he claims to have committed and the six flames here mark him as a racing ace."
Getting the light to fall right onto the patches by moving it, I continued. "You see, a worthy prey he was indeed, I sought out to skin. A fighter, a runner, and he fell for the trap. Finding the pack of elusive predators took me a while, and exchanging a little help here and there for information. But then I tracked them down on the outer loop, at their watering hole. There fermented rye flows from the ground like a spring and the air smells of gasoline. So I approached."
"They were amused to see a woman on a bike, and it took me just a short bit of teasing to get them to boast about wanting things from me, and poisoned by their own drink and testosterone this one agreed to a bet: A race against the fox, but with a hefty price on the line. A kiss should he best me or a night of my life if he made the race with more than two minutes time before I arrive, but on the filpside he'd be branded with ink if he lost and if I would outrun him with more than a minute I would get to skin him of this glorious pelt!"
The sept leader listened, and seemed to approve even. She called my hunt cunning and praised who I lured him in and used his instincts against him and took his pride and the skin off his back. But most amusing to her was, that I made it a game. But she also wanted to know if he cried when I took it, or if he had some sense of pride to bow his head.
So I told her how he did his best not to cry when his buddies held him to the chair so they could get to his bloated belly and etch a caricature onto him. It might have been the shame of being skinned or the pain of his new marking of SLO BRO right over his waistband that made his eyes water. But the jacket he did depart with first and on his own.
I grinned as I picked the jacket up again, holding it out in an offer to drape it on the venerable Lunafreya's shoulders for a test. She wore it a little, feeling the weight and constriction, but also power that it spoke of, smelling the scent of road and freedom, before she gave it back.
"I ought to find you colors of your own, as these are for the hall of trophies, to depict this win and allow you to tell the spirits of my deeds in cunning, glory, and honor, so that some day they might bestow me with my third tail." I told her. Yes, the jacket was not for free, it was the price for a rite, chimanage. But I also invited her to a trip on my ride, and to get her a mechanical steed of her own.