Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash if they want, while the Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a door down a short hallway off to the left of the main doors, near the stairs. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Natalie's once again working on the half-wall, standing in the foyer - what used to be the foyer - as she does so. The air is full of the whine of the drill as she forces the bit into the wall, grinding holes into the concrete blocks. The air is full of dust and grit; the Galliard is covered with it from head to toe and doesn't really seem to give a rip, her teeth clenched as both drill and concrete protest.

Marcus wanders in, and coughs as soon as he does. "Oh for fucks sake, I don't know why I bother coming to visit anymore." The Philodox complains to the air. "I should just learn and stay away, I'm certainly no builder."

Natalie whirls at the voice behind her, brandishing the drill like a gun and teeth bared. After a second's recognition she lowers the drill, posture relaxing out of its tension. "Marcus." She coughs twice, then wipes a hand across her mouth. "What are you doing here? Come to check on the... the..." A grimace as she struggles for an apt descriptor, and fails. "Scratch?"

"Well, I came to check on things in general." Marcus replies, adding with a wry scowl. "Seeing Scratch is just a perk. It's one of those Elder things I have to do, you know?"

Natalie bares her teeth again at the repetition of the Ahroun's name. "Lucky you," she spits. "Damn... slacker ran off. My rules," she twists the word mockingly, "Were too damn hard for his little drug-addled brain to remember." Another gesture with the drill, and Scratch is lucky he's not standing there. "You're Elder; you deal with him!"

"I am Elder." Marcus growls in agreement. "So you will treat me with respect. You will not merely tell me 'you deal with him' like an exasperated parent." He bares his teeth for a moment in emphasis. "Now, tell me exactly what he has done and not done."

Perhaps it's the Philodox baring his teeth, perhaps the thought of Scratch is just the last straw onto the camel's back. With a scream that drops through registers into a howl of sheer frustration, Nat surges up instantly into Crinos and lunges for Marcus, nothing but blood lust in her eyes.

Snarling angrily, Marcus erupts into Crinos himself. He, however, is in control of himself and finds it quite easy to deal with Natalie. Evading the Galliard's flailing, the Elder grabs her by her throat and attempts to push her backwards as his grip tightens.

Holds-the-Line gets in a few good slices to the Elder's biceps and shoulder as the pair struggle, careening around the cluttered foyer. Ironically, it's her own drill that sends her sprawling, one foot sending it skittering into the wall. The bulkier Philodox has yet to move his hands from their crushing grip on her throat; her eyes are beginning to glaze even as they both topple. A few seconds longer and her eyes roll back into her head, form withering back down to homid and her shirt in tatters.

Marcus lets go once his Beta returns to homid, doing likewise. "More good clothes ruined." He mutters, wincing as he moves his shoulder experimentally. "Get up you stupid bitch." He snarls down at the prone Natalie, kicking her a few times.

Natalie uhfs as his toe connects with her ribs - not once, but three times. She struggles onto her side away from him, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Now, are you ready to talk about this so I can possibly do something, or am I wasting my time?" Marcus asks, clearly not big on patience at this time of the month.

"--God," Nat manages through yet more coughing. Twisting her head around to peer blearily at Marcus, she groans and flops back onto her back, lifting her chin to display throat. "C'n... shift?"

Marcus nods, eyeing Natalie's throat approvingly. "Go ahead." For some reason he himself is staying in homid for the time being.

Natalie satisfies herself with the smallest of nods before closing her eyes. A few seconds later, she's in the larger Glabro, but still flat on her back. Two deep breaths pass before she opens her eyes again, finding Marcus unerringly. "Scratch," she sighs, "Ran off. My rules for his Chiminage - for Jamethon and Gunnar, too - is eight hours a day, five days a week, starting no later than ten a.m. They could come in earlier, and it didn't have to be all at once as long as the hours got put in. But ten at the latest."

"Very well. Sounds reasonable." Marcus agrees with a thoughtful nod, as though he can guess what's coming. A gesture with his hand indicates that Natalie should continue,

"The last... hell, I dunno. Couple of weeks, I guess, he's been coming in later than ten. Five after. Ten. Just a little later every day, but not always." She clears her throat experimentally, the vocal cords sounding entirely healed now. "I've been letting it slip, 'cause hell, it's the holidays, right? But today I come down at ten-thirty. Ten-thirty-five, actually. I'd already put in four hours and was ready for break. I find him down here, stretching and looking like he's just gotten up. You know how he is."

Marcus nods. "Yes, I know how he is. He always looks like he's just gotten up. But I take your point. Please, continue."

Natalie continues with a rueful little half-smile, "So I ask him where the hell he's been, and he gets all... male-superior on me. Tells me the Chiminage is shit, and that he's done. I tell him it isn't, and he throws the key at me and leaves." She falls silent to let that sink in, her eyes on his face, but not meeting his.

Marcus' face looks like it's in the process of turning to stone. "I see." He growls, voice dangerously quiet. "I hope he knows he's not just denying your authority but denying mine, since I put you in charge of his Chiminage."

Natalie doesn't answer immediately, but shrinks back down to homid first. "I told him Megan'd run him out of town on a rail, and he called me a tin-plated bitch." She snorts something that isn't a laugh, then cautiously pushes herself up on her elbows, blue eyes checking with him as she does. "He ought to know by now that I'm cast iron, not tin-plated."

Marcus nods as her eyes check with him. "Well, regardless, you are my bitch. He does not get to shrug off things he doesn't feel like doing. I'll speak to him about it, make my position perfectly clear." He pauses for a moment, switching to another topic. "So did you get anything nice for Christmas?"

When the sitting up isn't forbidden, Nat pushes herself all the way up to sit, one hand reaching to rub at her back. The plug of the drill remains innocently where she'd been laying. "Uh... yeah. Jon got me something nice." A blush slowly brightens from her collarbones up, which she steadfastly ignores, instead busying herself by plucking off the remnants of her t-shirt. "Which I was going to tell you about, actually. Um. He got me plane tickets up to Vancouver for the weekend." A pause. "This weekend."

"This weekend." Marcus echoes, trying not to smile at the blush and instead pretend ignorance and displeasure. "This weekend." He repeats, adding a touch of inconvenience to his tone. Then he breaks out in a rather large smile. "Well, enjoy and I'll see you back sometime next week I guess."

Natalie's eyes flick up to him again, eyebrows lifting at that smile. "Uhm... okay? He, um..." The rags of her shirt are fascinating; she studies them as she balls the fabric into her lap. "--He's bringing his daughter down this week. I'm supposed to meet her later tonight."

"Oh, really?" Marcus nods thoughtfully. "Remind me to send out a memo, then, about the correct way to behave when she's around and the dim view I'll take of those who disobey or slip up."

"I already told Gunnar and Jamethon," the Galliard says, drawing her knees up. "--Would have told Scratch, but we had this little... blow up." A smirk for that - it couldn't have been on the magnitude of this little blow up. There's no mention of his simple acceptance of the news of Jon's offspring. "--I'm a little nervous, actually."

Marcus nods. "I can't say I blame you." He admits. "Thinking about it, so am I. It's been... well, I've never dealt with really young children. It's going to be weird, and of course this isn't the greatest time of the month for me."

"She's ten," Nat supplies helpfully. "And unclued. So, um... that's going to be... I don't know. 'Weird' doesn't begin to cover it." Her fingers pluck aimlessly at the remains of her shirt while she watches them as if they're doing it on their own. "--Whatever you decide to do with Scratch, I'll back you up on. Obviously. "

"Ten and unclued." Marcus effects surprise, but not as much as perhaps he should. "Lovely. Just lovely." He frowns. "Sometimes I wonder what goes through that man's head." The comment about Scratch is given a nod.

Natalie looks up at him quickly. "Who? Jon? Lots. He told me they generally don't clue their kin until they're about fifteen, sixteen. A couple years earlier if they have to. Which makes sense to me - I wasn't clued until I was almost fourteen."

Marcus sighs and shakes his head. "No, no, that part makes sense. I mean the part where he thinks bringing her here is a good idea in the first place."

Nat says, "She's got to meet me sometime," as she - once again checking with him - pushes herself up to her feet. "I mean, if Emily had a daughter from earlier, would you want her to leave the girl back in Virginia, or where ever?"

That seems to raise Marcus' hackles slightly, the very idea. "Well, that would depend on what she wanted." He mutters.

"She wanted?" Nat echoes, confused. "Who, Emily? Or the hypothetical daughter?"

"Emily." Marcus replies with a gesture of his hand. "Obviously if she was dead-set on bringing the child down from Virginia I'm hardly going to say no."

Natalie ohs, though it's clear she still doesn't understand his reluctance. "Well, like I said, Susan's got to meet me eventually. I think Jon wants her to move in with uh-- him. Eventually."

Marcus seems pleased as the conversation moves away from some hypothetical child. "Well, that will be nice for the pair of you. However this isn't a good environment for a child. Especially not when it contains people like Scratch."

"Right now it doesn't contain people like Scratch," Nat points out, rather acerbically. "And she's not going to live here. Just take a tour. Meet people. See the place. Jon's probably gonna take her on a tour of St. Claire, too. I mean, it's not like we're gonna go out to the farmhouse, take a little waltz around the bawn."

Marcus mutters, but subsides. "Fine, fine. It's not like he'd listen to me if I told him otherwise anyway."

Natalie offers over a rueful little shrug. "Yeah. --Anyway, I, um... better go put on a new shirt. Or maybe I'll just finish getting these holes drilled before I shower. Gotta get the place at least a little clean before there's visitors."

"Indeed." Marcus nods in agreement. "I should go and find Scratch, and Jon at some point too."

Natalie says, "We'll probably be back here later, if you're planning on coming over."

Marcus considers this for a moment. "Perhaps. Though the moon is still a tad on the big side. We'll see."

Natalie only shrugs. "I'll have my phone on me. So'll he. If you want to wait a couple of days, that's fine." She tosses the rags that used to be her shirt over toward the stairs and adds, "I'm gonna be out of town starting Thursday, and I'll be back Monday. I'll leave notes for what needs to be done here."

"Well, make sure you leave them where whoever is doing it can see them." Marcus replies with a nod. "And I'll call one of you tonight perhaps, depending on what happens."

Natalie only looks at him and dryly observes, "This is where I say something about your grandmother and sucking eggs, Marcus. Of course I will." She jerks her chin up in a little nod, then heads over to retrieve her drill from where she kicked it earlier.

Marcus considers this for a moment, then smirks slightly. "You know, if you keep on making remarks like that one day I might just order you to suck eggs." He comments as he heads out.

Natalie rolls her eyes at his back, amused, and returns to her work. Even before the Philodox has left the porch the drill's whine starts up again.

[End of log]