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Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (48% full).

A doorway under the curve of the stairs leads from the main floor down to the basement. The exit from this part of the house is through a heavy door in the living room, which leads out to the area set up for communal use by the Sept's Garou.

Scratch putters around in the tribe section of the house, leaning on his cane as he limps around doing, well, minor stuff. The Ahroun's yawning and stubbly and is wearing yesterday's clothes.

The kinfolk is crashed out on the couch with his jacket pulled over him. Seems like he pulled an all-nighter after shooting at the range with Scratch. His iPod is still plugged into his ears, battery dead, and his hair tousled.

Upstairs Nat's radio is working just fine, thank you, and so are the sounds of a drill interspersed with the sounds of something more screechy - circular saw, no doubt. She's been at this for hours already. In fact... yes. The saw whines to a halt, the radio clicks off, and the Galliard's footsteps come clomping down the steps. Breaktime.

Scratch looks up at the sound of the dying drill, gives himself a long stretch, coming out of it just as Natalie hits the downstairs. "Yo."

The sound of the buzz saw turning off is probably what wakes Jeremy up. No odd sounds distracting him. Much like his apartment, with three computers beeping at different times. His eyes crack open, revealing sleepy blues, then starts to push himself up, smoothing his hair back, patting around for his glasses.

Natalie stops at the bottom of the steps, eyes the Ahroun with what can only be described as ire. "I expected you upstairs thirty..." She checks her watch, narrows her eyes at the man. "Thirty-five minutes ago." What, not counting off the seconds? Jeremy's emergence from the land of Nod doesn't even cross her mind - she's staring fixedly at the coot.

Scratch squints down at the Galliard, then looks at his watch. No, wait, there's no watch there on his wrist, which he only seems to realize this now. He drops his arm and shrugs. "I was just on my way up."

Blink. Blink. Jeremy's eyes refocus to the world and he glances over to Natalie, then to Scratch, then back to Natalie. With a yawn, he softly says. "...Anything I can do to help out?" He asks.

"You were on your way up," the Galliard repeats, scowling. "I've been at this since before six, and you were on your way up?" Her eyes linger on Scratch a moment later before she finally looks toward the sound of the other voice. "--Jeremy." She keeps it - barely - from sounding like 'what the hell are you doing here'. "No, this is Scratch's Chiminage. If he can't follow some damn simple rules, Megan'll just run him out of town."

Scratch pulls a grimace. "Hey, you said the schedule was fuckin' flexible s'long as the fuckin' hours were put in. Not everybody's a goddamn earlybird. S'bad enough you won't let me fuckin' smoke in here."

"...Kay..." Jeremy squeaks out a bit, finding his glasses, sliding them over his nose. He reaches over and gathers up his jacket, then starts to inch away from Scratch a bit.

"Ten o' clock, I said," Nat snaps, turning back to the Ahroun at Jeremy's submission, her hands fisting at her sides. "That's the latest you can damn well show up. Ten. Not 10:15, or five after, or closer to eleven, or gosh, I was up all night, I'll just start after lunch. Ten."

Scratch glowers right back at her. "That ain't what you said, honey," the Ahroun grates. "What the fuck difference does it make, anyway? S'not like the fuckin' house gives a shit what fuckin' time I start."

Twitch. Jeremy starts gathering up his things a bit faster, glancing at his watch. Half Moon. Geez. The backpack is slung over his shoulder quickly, and he starts heading for the door, ducking his head. "...um... ganna... go... an... um... yah... bye."

"Damn straight I said ten o'clock," the Galliard retorts, not moving from her spot at the foot of the stairs. If Jeremy wants to make a break for it, he'll have to pass right in front of her to do so. "Eight damn hours a day, starting at ten at the latest. You want that tattooed on your eyelids? Too many brain cells turned to Jell-O from all that pot you smoke to remember something that simple?"

Scratch stares at Natalie for a moment more, scowling. Then: "Y'know what? Fuck this. FUCK this." Turning his back on her, he stomps toward the front where his coat's kept, the foot of his cane THOCKing into the floorboards.

Pausing at the thonk, Jeremy finds himself right in the middle between Natalie at the stairs, and Scratch. He freezes, looking like a mouse caught in a trap, and two hungry cats are staring down at him. This is where he reveals his powers of invisibility! Creep. Creep. He starts inching for the door.

Natalie's voice, when it comes, is intense and low, her eyes fastened squarely on Scratch (thankfully for Jeremy). "Going to run back to Chicago, Scratch? Because they don't want you, remember? Your Chiminage is in my hands. I set the rules. You can't follow them, we don't want you either."

Scratch doesn't look back. "Then you can fuckin' well go to hell," he snarls, pulling on the motorcycle jacket and feeling for his keys. "This is a fuckin' bullshit chiminage and you know it, or you WOULD if you weren't such a goddamn tin-plated bitch." He finds his keys and heads for the door to the common area. "I'm outta here."

Almost to the front door. At the tin plated bitch comment, he stops and glances over his shoulder quickly, perhaps unwisely. Oh god, Scratch is heading his way! Jeremy's eyes widen even more as he turns, now full blown running for the door, nearly sliding on socked feet. Dammit. He left his boots back there. Fuck it, he can drive without 'em.

"Key," comes the Galliard's voice, cold and sharp as a blade of glass. "You walk out that door, you're leaving your key behind."

Scratch stops and pivots around, glaring icy daggers at the Galliard. Jeremy is completely and utterly forgotten, as all lucky kinfolk are in these circumstances. Lips twisted into a sneer, he digs in his jeans pocket, pulls out the safehouse key, and pitches it hard and fast through the air, aiming for her head, yelling, "Stick it up your twat, for all I care!" Then he flips her off and stomps out, slamming doors and such.

By now, Jeremy has made it down the driveway to his car, tucking himself away, fumbling for the keys at the ignition. When he sees Scratch heading outside, he ducks down some.

Natalie's reply is a snarl and to duck out of the way of the huzzed key. It clatters on the steps behind her, leaving her - now that the door's slammed closed - in relative silence, broken only by the sounds of hammering from the apartment next door.

Before too long, the cherry-red Beaumont's engine fires up with a growl that almost matches the Ahroun's own, and the car peels off in a screech of rubber.

[End of log]