----------------------------------

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (21% full).

Cockroach Mansion -- Downstairs

The heavy, dark opulence to this mansion known as Dominion is perfectly exemplified by the room vistors first enter, this front hall. Dark-stained wood serves as paneling on the walls, gleams with high gloss in the hardwood floor, and supports a semi-circular balcony in carved pillars. The heavy double doors, made of oak, open into the hall from the south, opposite the huge, hourglass-shaped staircase composed of red and black gneiss which soars up to the balcony; both are fenced in with a wooden railing of simple spiraled posts. Several doorways can be made out on the second floor, nearly blending in discreetly with the back wall. The wall to the left of the front doors is composed entirely of windows which run from the forty-foot-tall domed dark wood ceiling to the floor; if drawn, the heavy velvet drapes of deep red would completely mask them from view, but when parted, as they often are, one has a marvelous view of the grounds outside.

A doorway to the right of the front doors leads to a parlor, and towards the back are the kitchens, the large dining room, and Salem's office.

Obvious exits:

Tower Stairway Salem's Office Front Doors

Midmorning's a perfect time for second breakfast... or at least something to drink. Natalie's just coming out of the kitchen with a mug of something held up to her face. Her eyes half-closed as she inhales the steam, she can just about see where she's going, but her mind's clearly not on the Here and Now.

Heading in through the front door is Jeremy, shouldering his backpack and offering up a broad smile at the sight of Natalie. "Hey." He says, actually not Goth'd out for a change. He is wearing a pair of baggy jeans, a simple gray sweater, and, his trench coat. No chains or collars. "I'm back and alive."

"Gah!" Nat jumps - not high into the air, but enough to set her drink sloshing. "Ow, -crap-." Shaking one's hand doesn't heal it, unfortunately, but it does give her something to focus on before she squints down the hall. "Jeremy? Hey, good. How'd it go? No problems? Crap, that hurts."

"It went fine. We got a lot of footage and bugs set. Even was able to get myself a video on how they've been spying on Salem." Jeremy says, tilting his chin up a bit, looking quite proud of himself.

Natalie says, "Yeah?" She takes a quick look at the floor - nothing wet there - transfers her mug to her other hand, and shakes her injured one again. "That's great. 'Ve you told Salem yet? How're they doing it?"

Jeremy nods his head. "I burnt all the info to DVD. I'm sure he'll be showing the tribe soon. Well.. seems like they were doing a supernatural verison fo jackass. This guy is very strong, very powerful an can deflect bullets, even when shot in the face. The camera man who was watching the guy attack Salem, was moving just as fast, videoing it. So we are dealing with more than one supernatural perp'."

Natalie stops fussing about her hand in order to frown at the Kin. "Run that one past me again?"

Jeremy chuckles slightly. "Someone has been video taping these genetically engineered humans and has sent them to attack us. Then, they video tape it."

Natalie's first comment is a thoughtful, "Hunh." "--But doesn't that mean that they know who we are in the first place? So they can send people off to attack us? Him? Do they know about anyone besides Salem-rhya?"

Jeremy shrugs his shoulders. "They had Rina, Cutter and Salem on camera. Thats all I know so far." He explains. "I don't know if they know we are werewolves. But, the dude did have silver bullets in his basement."

"That's no good." Understatement of the year, anyone? "...Wait, who's Cutter? And Rina's kin... wonder where this leak started anyway? I mean, someone had to be the lucky one that made them start thinking 'supernatural', right? Maybe they just started watching everyone that person spent time with."

"Cutter is a Shadow Lord. Fostern.. um... I think he is packing with Salem." Jeremy says as he rubs his neck, offering up a grin. "So far we have no leads on where it came from, but we got the entire house tapped. So.. we may get lucky."

"I think we better get lucky," the Galliard retorts. "Though if they're smart enough to videotape us, they're probably paranoid to write all this crap down. Gaia only /knows/ how far this could spread." She pauses to slurp delicately from her mug. "And where'd they get these super-humans?"

"Genetics. Created 'em." Jeremy explains. "From what I can tell. Looks like they've been mutating people or something, screwing with their genes, giving 'em power-ups."

Jeremy:

Here stands a young man nearing the age of twenty-one, thin, pale, and not much to look at. When once he was a shy, mild mannered and ignored computer nerd who couldn't weigh much more then a hundred when wet, now stands the exact same person, yet, gothlike. The glasses on his face reveal the pair of blue eyes he bares. His black hair still sprawls out over his face, but no longer dipped in blonde about his bangs, just a solid darkness.

His clothing has changed dramatically as well, having abandoned the button down shirts and slacks, replacing it with baggy dark jeans, a solid black shirt that simply reads: "Chicks dig scrawny pale guys" A long, ankle length trenchcoat billows about his thin frame, nearly cloaking him like a cape. Upon his feet is a pair of heavy steel toed boots, those which travel halfway up his calf. Chains adorn his jeans, three hanging off his wallet, and two more simply embedded into the fabric, jingling and clanking as he walks. To finish off his ungodly apparel, there is a leather collar bound around his neck, with a small metal skull dangling from the end of a steel hoop.

Natalie only shakes her head, her lips pressed thinly together. "Right. That doesn't sound normal to me. Anyway. You want some tea, or something? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Y'look good, by the way. Not so much... weird."

"Pah. I never look weird. Gothism is just a style I adopted. I am capable of dressing normally once in awhile." Jeremy explains. "And, maybe a hot chocolate. That'd rule."

Natalie jerks her head back toward the kitchen. "Saw some Ghiardelli-in-a-can. I think the water'll still be hot." She leaves the Goth=weird topic alone for the time being, yesindeedy. Safer to just retreat to the kitchen. "You free for a tour, or anything? Or will you be around for a while to buzz me back in if I go out? I'm getting a little stir crazy."

"I can give you a tour if you want. I don't have anything planned until I catch up with Salem." Jeremy says, heading into the kitchen after her, hands slipping into his pockets. His hair is a thick blonde by now, the bangs only tipped with black after having been grown out.

"Yeah? When's that?" She slips into a chair at the table, blowing on her drink and watching Jer move about. "He seemed pretty pleased about Anthony, huh?"

"Whenever he wakes up and comes around I guess. And yah, he did seem happy with Tony. It's about time he spoke up." Jeremy says with a chuckle. "I think Salem is also in a good mood to get his voice back."

"He sounds a helluva lot better," Nat agrees, 'screwing' a knuckle into an ear. "Damn. Gaia's small mercies, at least he's not a Galliard. I think I'd rather go Ronin than have to listen to myself sound like that."

"I bet. Did he explain to you how that happened yet?" Jeremy asks as he starts to make himself a cup of cocoa, glancing sidelong towards the Galliard.

Natalie shakes her head, finding things worthy of Deep Study in the bottom of her mug. "Haven't asked. Hell, I haven't even found time to ask him about shifting rules in the house. Y'think I'm going to just open up a conversation with my Elder with 'Hi, so how'd you screw up bigtime'? No thanks. I want to at least finish chiminage before I start digging myself a grave, y'know?"

There's a loud knock on the door. It's a rather severe knock.

"True that." Jermey says, taking a sip of his mug once he finishes stirring. Upon hearing the knocking outside, he turns and heads for the front door, hmmm'n to himself. He presses the buzzer, unlocking the gates that lead to the front door. His voice can be heard through the box. "Hey, c'mon in."

Natalie pushes herself out of the chair and follows, but only far enough to lean on the doorframe of the kitchen. "Who is it?" she asks curiously, with another sip from her mug.

"Trevor. A Fianna Galliard. Probably wants to know why I broke it off with Aubrey." Jeremy says with a soft breath, offering a grin. "You'll protect me right, if he starts throwing stuff?" He teases.

When Trevor enters the house he seems very severe. He's definetly here on buisness. Looking around the room, his gaze eventually settles on Jeremy. He dosn't exactly seem thrilled to be here.

Natalie's reply to that is a crooked grin. "Maybe."

Glancing over at Natalie for a moment, then over to Trevor once he enters the house, Jeremy offers a quick wave. "Hey, how can we help you?"

Not waving in reply, Trevor dosn't even smile. "I need to see Salem. Official buisness."

Natalie remains leaning on the doorframe, silent, hipshot, and casual.

"The Don right now is currently occupied, can I pass along a message to him, or, perhaps be of some assistance to you?" Jeremy asks, his features turning into one of buisness, arms crossing over his chest, hand slipping subtelly into his jacket.

Trevor:

A tall man, roughly 6', Trevor has long black hair that frames his face and sits atop his collar. His eyes are a pale blue, just this side of watery. While he's certainly no weakling he's not exactly a muscle-bound hulk either. In fact physically he's fairly average. In good shape, but a little stretched out because of his height. He's wearing plain black trousers, a semi-formal white shirt and a large black traveller's greatcoat.

"Why can I never manage to show up when he can actually see me?" Trevor sighs. Then he nods to Jeremy, ignoring Natalie for now. "It's like this. I'm trying to keep track of what Rites people are using, and what they know, and that. It's fairly easy with the none-City Tribes. And any Rites that performed on the Bawn, I automatically hear about. But you guys and the Gnawers, it's more difficult. So I need to work something out with him."

"I do not believe that any of us in the Glass Walkers are using Rituals, because we have no Theurges present in this Sept." Jeremy speaks matter of factly, removing his hand from his jacket, revealing a silver palm device. He begins to poke at the screen with his stylus, humming to himself. "Any rituals that we 'could' preform, would most likely take part in the city, not at the bawn."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't say a thing.

"No Theurges? You have no Theurges?" Trevor sighs. "Jeremy, tell me you're shitting me. Please tell me you have at least one. No Theurges is a disaster!"

"...I'm sorry, but we have no Theurges. By my inventory, we have two Half Moons, a Galliard, one Galliard cub, an Ahroun cub, a Theurge cub by the name of Cat, who will be partaking on his passage next month and hopefully he will be a Cliath." Jeremy says calmly as he stares at the screen, tracing the stick up and down. "The only Theurge that used to be of proper age was Daisy and she has left the area years ago. Since then, we haven't had many spirit speakers come this way."

Jeremy adds in the midst of that. "One Ragabash. Leala."

"You really are invaluable Jeremy. I admit I'm not comfortable with it myself, but this technology thing seems to be useful. Cat, you say?" The look on the Fianna's face says 'Oh dear'. Perhaps he dosn't think the cub will come to much. "I'll have to speak to Salem about arranging for one of the other Theurges to be on call to you guys then. It's not as if you're in easy reach of one, after all."

"Mmm." Jeremy says slightly, tapping a few more times on his screen, before slipping the stylus back into the device, then puts it away into his jacket again. "Alright. I will let the Don know that you are seeking him out and leave a text message and email. I am sure he will be able to get back to you rather soon Mister Argyle. I will warn you, the tribe in a whole is dealing with two situations at hand. It may take a few days until you can gain a proper audience."

"I understand." Trevor nods. "My people are not exactly on the sunny side of the street themselves, right now." Evidently thinking of Luke's coming gathering, mostly. Then his face loses its seriousness, and he slips out of formal mode. "Hey there." He holds out a hand to Natalie. "Sorry about ignoring you, just been chasing after Salem for a few days now."

Natalie doesn't immediately respond to the offered hand, but after another moment she pushes herself off the doorframe and pads toward the men. "Natalie Baker," she introduces herself, not taking Trevor's hand in hers. "Who're you?"

Jeremy takes a step back from the two Garou and decides to mind his business as they talk.

Since he didn't get told off for mentioning Rites around Natalie, Trevor gives her the full introduction. "Trevor Sings-To-Spirits, Galliard of the Fianna, Master of the Rite, Warden of Escrowe Farm."

Natalie studies Trevor for a heartbeat before offering, "Called Holds-the-Line. Galliard, Cliath. What's Escrowe Farm?"

"It's a place Tribes can keep their cubs." Trevor explains, studying Natalie.

Natalie ahs and nods "Gotcha. That's not this 'farm' where Cat is, is it?" She finally sticks her hand out, the skin pink and irritated. "I know a few Rites, but you'd still have to talk to Salem-rhya about it. Haven't completed Chiminage yet."

Glancing between the two as he settles himself into a chair, Jeremy raises up a brow. He seems interested in the interaction, slightly.

Natalie's got her right hand stuck out toward Trevor. The other curls around the handle of a mug. The Walker Galliard doesn't look like she's about to leap upon the Fianna; in fact she seems fairly relaxed.

Salem enters from the front door, shrugging out of his big black leather coat as he does so; the Elder's face is withdrawn and pensive.

Taking Natalie's hand in his own, Trevor shakes it firmly. He dosn't immediately notice Salem enter, glancing from Natalie to Jeremy and back again thoughtfully.

"Good morning sir." Jeremy says, glancing up from his PDA, for a change, not Goth'd out. Black jeans, a thick gray sweater and sneakers. No collar. Surprise, surprise.

Natalie winces at the pressure of the handshake; retrieving her hand it's seen that the skin of her fingers is flushed pink. "Nice to um..." Salem's entrance snags her attention as well; she nods past Trevor's shoulder. "There he is now. Morning."

Salem finishes hanging up his coat and slips the mirror shades into a shirt pocket. He's looking remarkably corporate, though long-time residents of the Dominion have occasionally seen him dressed in the plain, dark gray business suit before. Loosening the black necktie, he wanders toward the parlor entrance, gaze focussing almost immediately on Trevor. "Morning."

"Something wrong?" Asks Trevor, noting the wince, before turning to see Salem. "Morning, Salem-Rhya. I'd be hoping to catch you at home."

Anthony walks in through the front door a little after Salem does, putting the binder in his hand on the floor for a moment so he can take off his jacket, then scooping it back up as he heads for the parlor, opening it and paging through it idly.

Jeremy leans back and relaxes some in the chair, glancing over towards Tony. He offers a slow nod of his head, before tending back to his PDA that he had fished out once more, tapping a few more things away.

"And your wish has been granted, it seems," the Walker Elder grunts. He lets Anthony pass him into the parlor, then follows. "What can I do for you... Trevor, right?"

"Just spilled some tea," Nat answers quietly, sipping at the aforementioned as she retreats to stand beside Jeremy's chair. "Hey, Anthony."

"Right, Salem-Rhya." Trevor nods in confirmation. "Need to talk to you about Rites, that being my department and all. And from what I've heard from Jeremy, we need to get some sort of easy access to a Theurge going for you guys."

"Hey," Anthony replies casually, glancing up momentarily and waving with his free hand, heading for a chair.

Salem's eyes narrow slightly. His gaze flicks to Jeremy, then back to Trevor. "Cat will be Riting at the end of the month," he says coolly. "And I'll likely be packing with Cutter and Jean, too... once we can organize someone to perform the Totem ritual."

Jeremy lifts up a shoulder in a slight shrug towards Salem, before looking back to Trevor.

Natalie leans down to murmur something to Jeremy, her eyes watching the other Garou curiously. ("Let me guess: Trevor isn't one of Salem's favorite people? Or is it his tribe?")

Jeremy glances upwards slightly at Natalie, offering a smile before leaning forward, whispering back against her ear, then turns back to his PDA. ("It's the way Salem is when he conducts business.")

Getting the impression Salem isn't interested in cooperation, Trevor presses on regardless. "Well, I can do that for you if you want."

Natalie huhs thoughtfully, then nods, offering Jer another sottovoice comment. ("Good for business, anyway. Keeps ya on your toes.")

Salem lifts a brow. "Can you? Good. Do you know the Rite of Cleansing?" His tone suggests that he'll be surprised if Trevor says 'no'.

Jeremy nods his head slightly, tapping Natalie on the arm as he continues to whisper to her, smiling a bit wider. ("It sure does. I think it intimidates other Garou as well when he comes off like that.")

Anthony glances up at the conversation before settling into a chair and turning back to the binder, reading through it and the tables and diagrams it contained more carefully now.

Natalie grins, showing a hint of teeth, but turns her attention to Trevor and Salem. Nobody here but us flies on the ceiling.

Why do they always ask the difficult questions? Trevor has to admit that the answer is in fact, "No. But, I know people who can perform it for you and it is on my list to learn."

Salem's mouth thins. "On mine as well, as it happens. Megan knows it." He heads for his usual armchair (like any head of the house, the Elder has 'his' chair and woe befall anyone else who dares sit in it), shrugging out of the suit jacket as he does so. "What rites do you know?"

A corner of Nat's mouth lifts, perhaps at the sight of questioner questioned. "Hey," she says, kicking lightly at Jeremy's chair to catch his attention, then drops her voice again.

Jeremy rises upwards from his spot and pockets his device again. "Hey. I'm going to take off for a bit. I got about thirty hours of video to ... " Kick. He looks over to Nat. "Word?"

Nat whispers to Jeremy, ("I had a couple thoughts about that Russian stuff you gave me. You wanna go somewhere else, give these guys some privacy? Or do you want the Elder to hear all this too?")

Jeremy mmm's. ("I'm about to work on that Russian stuff now actually. You are more than welcome to join me, but I'll be surrounding myself with a lot of nerd shit, computers, stuff like that.")

Natalie snorts good-naturedly. "Gaia forbid. All right, I'll talk to you about it later."

Jeremy rises upwards from his seat, grinning a bit. He gives her a slight bump as he shoulders his bag. "I'll be upstairs in the conference room. Just come find me later, we'll snag lunch."

Feeling rather inadaequete in his job all of a sudden, Trevor reels off the list. "Questing Stone, Moot Rite, Talisman Dedication, Wounding, Passage, Awakening, Totem, Huntfire, Sand in Shoes, Housekeeping, Litany of the Ancestors and Lughs Touch, Salem-Rhya. Currently learning Binding." He looks over art Natalie and Jeremy thoughtfully again, glancing between them.

Salem glances over and gives Jeremy a nod as the kinfolk leaves. Then, with his jacket draped carefully over the back, he settles into his chair and turns back to Trevor, his mismatched eyes cool. After listening to the litany of rituals, he raises an eyebrow. "Why learn Binding before Cleansing?"

"You wish," Nat retorts, waiting until Jeremy's standing before stealing his chair. "Later." She settles herself down, looking quite comfortable to be playing obvious eavesdropper.

Jeremy snorts as he peers down at Natalie, then shrugs his shoulders. Eyes roll heavenwards for a moment, before returning the nod to Salem. "She shoulda been born a new moon. Always stealing chairs." With that, he starts up the stairs, yawning to himself.

"It was offered to me, Salem-Rhya, by someone who was teaching as Chiminage. That is why I am learning it before Cleansing." Trevor explains.

"Artemis? The Fury?" Salem's expression remains bland as he regards Trevor.

Anthony glances up for a moment at Salem at the mention of the Fury, then back down at his book, taking a pen from his shirt pocket and starting to underline things.

"Yes Salem-Rhya, Artemis." Trevor nods. He's fully aware. Furies and Fianna, especially male Fianna, are not supposed to get on.

Salem says, blandly, "Interesting." He leans back, elbows propped on the arms of the chair and his fingers laced loosely together. "You're a Galliard, aren't you, Trevor?"

"That's right, Salem-Rhya." Trevor nods. He can almost hear the thoughts. But after recent events, this is one position he'll have to be scraped out of.

Natalie's gaze flicks from Salem-and-Trevor to Anthony, then back. She taking a last drink from her mug before setting it on the floor, then leans into her chair, fingers of both hands drumming lightly on her thighs.

The Fianna can almost hear the thoughts... or is it just the voices of his own perceived inadequacies. Salem simply nods and says, "You can pass some news for me, then."

Anthony continues his underlining spree, shifting in his chair a little.

"Of course, Salem-Rhya." Trevor replies, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

Salem leans back, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "The first is for Megan herself, though it's no secret. Natalie here," -- he indicates the Walker Galliard with a nod -- "is new in town and would like to touch base with the Sept Alpha, as is proper." He smiles thinly. "She's staying here at the Dominion, for the moment anyway." The smile vanishes, his expression turning more somber. "The other bit of news is for the Sept at large, especially those Garou who spend any time in the city, and it's a warning that should be spread widely."

Natalie grins ferally again, teeth flashing for a breath before she controls herself. No no, calm. Cool. Collected.

"Right, I'll get that to Megan-Rhya right away." Trevor replies when Salem mentions the first part. His own expression becomes buisnesslike to reflect Salem's. "A warning. I see."

Salem nods. "A warning." He frowns. "There is an organized criminal element in the city right now. A... Russian mafia. We have reason to believe that they're not, at least at the top, merely human, and we have strong reason to believe that they are of the Wyrm, even if they don't know the Enemy as we do. Operations are under way to deal with them and remove their stench from St. Claire, but any Garou coming within the city needs to exercise some extra care and caution. At least one member of this organization can turn invisible at will, leap like a lupus with the kangaroo Gift, and can withstand bullets without flinching. Gaia only knows what other members are capable of. Also... at least one encounter with them has been recorded on tape. Fortunately, none of our people exhibited any Veil-breeching behaviors... but next time, who knows?" His eyes narrow; he glowers at the Fianna. "In short, beware who you deal with and beware of shifting or doing anything overtly supernatural."

Anthony puts the pen down, chewing his lip and considering the warning as well. He glances over at Natalie, then back down to his book, though it doesn't look like he's reading it any more.

Clearly listening intently, Trevor nods when Salem is finished. "I shall spread the word, Salem-Rhya."

Salem nods once. "Good," he says curtly. "Is there anything else?"

"No Salem-Rhya." Trevor replies, bowing his head slightly. What is it about this man that has him feeling like a cub again?

The Pure Breed? No; Trevor's just as well-bred. Maybe it's the eyes, the thousand-yard 'I've eaten things that'd make you wet yourself' stare. That Salem doesn't sound like a chihuahua with a throat cold anymore probably helps the intimidation factor a lot. "Good," he says again, getting up. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get changed and such. Feel free to stay as long as you wish, Trevor." A nod toward hospitality -- and a nod, too, to his tribemates as he heads for his rooms at the back of the house.

Natalie makes a move as if to stand as well, then apparently thinks better of it, for she only gathers up her mug. "Rhya - do I have your permission to discuss Rites with Trevor?"

Salem, taking up his suit jacket, arches a brow at Natalie and nods. "Certainly."

"Thank you, Salem-Rhya." Trevor replies. He seems about to move, when Natalie speaks up and he waits.

Natalie echoes Trevor's, "Thank you," adding a head bob of her own.

Salem disappears into the office at the back of the house.

"So, you wanted to discuss Rites?" Trevor asks, turning to face Natalie.

Natalie says, "After a fashion. I know a few that you don't. Erm..." She looks off toward the far wall, eyes going vague. "Hangover Cure, Bone Rhythms, Caffeination, and Gathering for the Departed, I believe. I think that's all I have that doesn't overlap yours."

"Ah, I see." Trevor nods. "You have an interest in Rites?"

Natalie stretches her legs out in front of her, her mug cradled in both hands on her lap. "A bit. You were asking about them, though, and I figured I'd make your job a bit easier."

"Thanks, every little helps." Trevor replies, before sighing somewhat.

"Doesn't it though," Nat says, not unsympathetically. "So the Alpha's name is Megan?"

"Indeed. She's a Fianna Philodox." Trevor adds.

"...Fostern?" the Walker guesses. "How about yourself?"

"Adren, actually." Trevor replies. "I am Cliath."

Natalie repeats the ranks to herself, then nods. "Gotcha. So, um... You been Cliath long? How long've you been in St. Claire?"

"I'm 26." Trevor reveals. "I have been Cliath a long time, for reasons of Duty. And I have been in St. Claire for less than one year."

Natalie says, "Longer'n me, all counts. Coming up on five years as Cliath, myself." She fidgets again, fingers drumming hollowly against her empty mug. "You, hmn, want something to drink? Water, tea, hot chocolate?"

"I'm fine thank you." Trevor shakes his head. He knows what he wants to drink, but he can't have it.

"Suit yourself," Nat shrugs and is silent for a few minutes. Before the quiet can stretch out into complete awkwardness she adds, "Anything you can tell me about the Sept? No big secrets, mind, just little stuff. I know there's supposed to be Garou from all tribes here, right?"

"Wrong." Trevor shakes his head. "Sadly wrong. Not all Tribes have Garou here. Perhaps they did once, I don't know. We're a... small Sept." He dosn't want to use the word weak.

Natalie says, "How small is small? I know there's not as many Walkers as I was expecting, for the size of St. Claire."

"There are, give or take, very roughly, no more than a hundred Garou." Trevor says, tone emotionless and factual. "At any given time, around one fifth of these will be cubs."

"Eighty ranked Garou's not that shabby," Natalie points out, lifting an eyebrow. "Back home we had about that many over three states."

"Eighty ranked Garou is awful." Trevor says with firm conviction. But then, as his accent tells, he's from Britain. Perhaps things are better over there.

Natalie glances away. "If you say so," she replies politely, in the tone of one not about to argue.

"We lost..." Trevor begins, before stopping. He shouldn't share that with her, not until she's a full member.

Natalie turns back, eyebrows lifting politely. "Yes? You were saying?"

"I probably shouldn't..." Trevor says. On the other hand, it's known history, and it might help her understand.

Natalie lifts a shoulder and amuses herself by balancing one heel atop the other toe. "If you shouldn't, you shouldn't. I understand; it's not like I've even met the Alpha yet." She covers a slight yawn with the back of one hand, her eyes drifting off toward the windows.

"Look, you have to understand 80 Garou isn't many when half of them have real lives, and are off somewhere most of the time." Trevor says. He's still not going to mention the fall, but he's mentioned a bit of what troubles him about the number.

"Oh, I understand that," the other Galliard says, bringing her attention back to the Fianna. "There's few enough Walkers that we rattle around in here like seeds in a gourd. Plus if all three cubs Rite in the next month, I figure that'll practically double our numbers."

"Cat won't." Trevor says in a rather dismal tone. "At least, I don't think he will. I hope I'm wrong."

Natalie doesn't say anything immediately, just, "Hunhs," to herself. "Well, you might be wrong, you might not. I can't see any Elder sending a cub off on a fatal Rite, not with the numbers you're telling me."

"I don't think he will die. But I do not think he will make it in the next month." Trevor explains.

Natalie's "Ah," is enlightened. "I see. Well, the 'next month' was just an example. That's assuming we don't find any more cubs and no new ranked Garou come into town."

"If I thought Salem-Rhya would be more cooperative, no disrespect to him of course, his tribe is very busy right now, I would ask him to send for a Theurge of his Tribe to join them here." Trevor admits, on the subject of new ranked Garou.

Natalie says, "You can ask, but I dunno what sort of a response you'll get. Anyway, it's not like there's some nationwide holding pool of spare auspices." Her fingers drum on her leg again. "I can't think of any back home who'd be free to leave. Either they're just Rited or else they're up to their eyeballs and can't go traipsing around the country."

"True, true." Trevor nods. "It just worries with me, with you being so removed from us, and having nobody."

"Is that you me," she points to her chest, "Or you us?" with a hand flip toward the house.

"You us." Trevor explains, gesturing to the house at large. The City Tribes have always worried him like this.

Natalie shrugs again, apparently unbothered by the idea. "Salem-rhya isn't exactly chomping at the bit to get anyone, nor did he suggest I renounce. This Cutter seems to be good enough for now, at least until Cat rites. He doesn't seem to think there'll be any problem."

Trevor being a traditionalist, he's sure he'll be proved right. But he merely nods. "He is Elder, and I am sure he knows well his charge."

Salem emerges from the office at the back of the house.

Everyone's still where Salem left them - well, except for Anthony who has disappeared. Nat's still in possession of Jer's chair, though. "Of course he does," Natalie says brightly, with just a hint of an edge.

Salem returns, freshly showered and dressed far more casually, business as usual. He makes a detour through the kitchen to grab an apple and then pokes his head into the parlor.

Trevor sighs, checking the time. "I should be going. It's been nice talking to you, but I have much to do."

Natalie says, "I'm sure you do," as she draws her legs back under her and stands. Her attention's on the other cliath, and not on sneaky Elders. "It was good to meet you, Trevor."

Salem takes a bite out of his apple, chews and swallows. "Good timing. I just got off the phone with Megan." He gives Trevor an amused look, then turns to Natalie. "Feel like a drive?"

"And to meet you, Natalie." When Salem makes his pronouncement, Trevor returns the amused look. It was indeed good timing.

Natalie doesn't either leap for the Philodox, shrieking her joy. Nono, she just turns quickly, expression lightening. "Absolutely. Let me just go put this," She hoists the 'this', her mug, "into the dishwasher. Who's driving?" Trevor gets a distracted farewell nod.

"I am." Salem moves out of the parlor doorway to give Trevor room to make his exit and takes another bite out of his apple.

Nodding farewell to each, Trevor leaves. He seems thoughtful.

Trevor makes his way to the front doors of the mansion, passing through the double doors and out to the rest of the estate.

"Gotcha." She eels past Salem and down the hall; when she returns she's mugless. "Lay on, Macduff."

[Travel deleted]

Porch

A lathe-turned wooden railing runs the length of the porch save where the steps are, well-worn with use. To the right of the stairs, a wide swing is suspended from the overhang which shelters this area; to the left, a small table is the centerpiece for several chairs pulled around it, all of which face out to the front yard and the fields and trees beyond. The biting cold of winter is tempered somewhat by the sheltering of the roof, but it is still enough to make the porch an inhospitable place to tarry for long. Even the low shrubs seem to avoid it, their leafless woody stems closed in tight upon themselves.

An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.

Contents:

Salem

Megan

Obvious exits:

Front Door Lane

Salem's rust-orange Yugo pulls up the gravel drive and parks to one side of the farmhouse. The Walker himself gets out of the driver's side a moment later, dressed in the usual long black coat -- bundled against the chill, of course -- and black mirror-lensed sunglasses.

Megan is settled in what is becoming one of her usual places, on the swing of the porch, wrapped up in a blanket along with her coat, and watching the light rain sweeping the grey-green vista that is the farm's 'front yard'. Her head tilts with interest as the car pulls up, and she gives a wave of her hand in greeting when Salem emerges.

Natalie closes the door of the Yugo firmly, her hands in her jeans pockets as she turns a small circle. "Huh. Very... rural. This the Farm Trevor was talking about?"

"This is it," Salem confirms. "Doesn't even have a phone." He shrugs, then leads the other Walker up to the porch, lifting his hand in greeting toward the woman sitting on the swing.

Megan glances to Salem's companion, quirking an eyebrow curiously, but nods in confirmation of his statement. "Afternoon, Jack," she says flatly, neither warmly friendly nor coolly hostile--perhaps 'polite' is the best description of her tone.

Natalie falls in behind Salem, her shoulders hunched against the chill and rain. "Primitive." That's her last word until they're safely up on the porch.

Salem dips his head respectfully to the Fianna. "Afternoon, Megan-rhya." A touch of excessive formality, but it emphasizes both who the woman is and her comparative standing to his own. A glance at Natalie indicates this, at least partly, for her benefit.

Natalie steps out from behind Salem, literally if not figuratively, her chin jerking up enough to display throat. "Natalie Baker, called Holds-the-Line. Glass Walker, Galliard, and Cliath."

Salem idly positions himself so that he's partially blocking the stairs off the porch. His eye goes to Megan, watching the elder Philodox's reactions to Natalie carefully.

Megan gives a faint sigh of what might be interpreted as 'relief', a slight tugging on the corners of her mouth, amusement which is smoothed away as she assesses Natalie with an expression which suddenly turns shrewd. Her nostrils flare briefly as the examination stretches the silence, before she gives another nod, relaxing perceptibly from a tension which may not have even been noticable as she cracks a smile. "Jack may have already filled you in, but, Megan O'Brien, called Firewatcher or Keeps her Patience, philodox of the Fianna. Welcome to the Sept of the Hidden Walk, Natalie." Her gaze slides to Salem and back, asking, "You finding everything okay?"

Salem's posture eases back slightly as Megan registers approval; he smiles faintly and folds his arms across his chest.

Natalie glances sidelong at Salem; her own arm-folding is aborted, her hands tucking back into her jeans pockets instead. "After a fashion, rhya. My Elder still has me working on Chiminage, so I haven't had much time to explore. I know where the Lowes is, though."

Megan genuinely laughs at this, eyes continuing to sparkle with amusement after the sound fades. "Call me Megan. Or Megan-rhya if you insist on using the honorific," she adds, then, "What are you doing for Chiminage?" she asks conversationally.

"I'm having her build a greenhouse for the Dominion," Salem says, smiling crookedly. "Since she has some skill in that area."

Natalie, about to answer, closes her mouth and inclines her head toward Salem. "I've got a contractor's license back home. Trying to decide if I want to pick one up here, or knock about doing general construction for a while."

Megan's interest seems piqued. "Construction. Interesting profession for a Garou. So, you're planning on sticking around for a while?"

Salem steps back and leans against the porch railing; he settles into listening mode.

"A while, probably. Depending." Her eyes flick over at Salem again before she returns her attention to the Fianna. "I like it. Hours are good, pay's decent, and you can always count on finding work. Plus," she grins crookedly, "When the moon's big you can beat the shit out of nails and no one cares."

"Unless of course you break the board, too," Megan says with an amused grin. "Depending on what?" she asks, focusing in on the caveat curiously.

"Well, yeah," Nat allows with a shrug and another grin. "Huh? Oh, depending on if I find a pack or not." She might say more but doesn't, instead shivering against a wayward breeze that's come around the corner.

Megan:

This woman is rather attractive in an Amazonian kind of way. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, with auburn hair falling in thick, loose waves around her shoulders, held in check by a flat cord of braided leather tied around her forehead. Frequent use has sculpted her 5'10" height into a body of strong muscle-definition, long of limb and long of torso, softened only by the definite feminine curves of full breasts and hips, and the inward dip of her waist. Her features display character: fresh, tanned skin stretched cleanly over the sharp edge of jaw, rounding at her chin, across a wide brow and gently sloping cheekbones. Finely arched eyebrows curve over expressive black-green emerald eyes, often found narrowed with keen interest or dreamy in inward contemplation.

On her feet are servicable looking black hiking boots that blend into the black jeans held down by them. Under a red, black and white flannel shirt, the collar of a white turtleneck peeks out at the throat. When she's outside, she wears a long black trenchcoat. Check '+detail Megan's info' for other things noticable.

Megan tightens the blanket around her shoulders in the face of the breeze, continuing with the conversational questioning as if she's a pro at it. "What kind of pack are you looking to join?"

Salem's gaze goes a little intent as Megan asks her question; he focusses rather keenly on his tribemate.

"City pack," the Galliard answers immediately. "As for the rest... I used to pack under Cockroach. I wouldn't mind doing that again. Information gathering. I can't see myself packing under one of the totems of Respect, but that could change, depending on the members. War, maybe. Again, it really depends on who else is there. I haven't been in St. Claire near long enough to say what 'The City'," she pulls her hands out of her pockets long enough to make air quotes, "needs. But I know I'd rather be out doing something than sitting around and figuring out what it all means."

From behind Natalie, Salem flashes his teeth in a brief, almost feral, smile. The expression is gone in a moment.

Megan's expression, looks vaguely disappointed and both Glass Walkers can see it, but recovers. "I'm looking at pulling together an pack dedicated to information gathering and passing from city to woods and back again, but I'm looking to base it in Kent Crossing. Sad, really, as I am wanting to recruit at least one galliard, and at least one member of the ur--Glass Walkers or Bone Gnawer tribes," she says. "So, last questions, and the inquisition can be done," she says, flashing a fey smile. "What brought you *here*, specifically? Where did you come from, and why did you leave there?"

Natalie says, "Really specifically, I-90 by way of 94. I used to be based out of the Cities - Minneapolis/St. Paul. Minnesota. Less specifically, I screwed up pretty big time back home. I decided to see where the road'd take me, and I'd heard some about this Sept. I figure if I don't fit in I'll keep going - west to the coast and then down it. Maybe San Fran or LA. I don't think I'd be comfortable at a Sept based out of Podunk, Nowhere."

Okay, maybe the inquisition isn't quite finished. Megan's eyes narrow of a sudden. "Screwed up pretty big...what happened?" she asks, but lets her glance slide to Salem to see his reaction, to see if he knew about this.

Salem doesn't look at all surprised; at Megan's glance, he gives a slight nod as if to say he's heard about this. But Natalie's the one who gets to fill in the details, her being a big girl and all.

Natalie doesn't answer at first. She fidgets; hands drawing out of her pockets and -now- folding over her chest. Just in case her feet decide to answer for her she studies them... but they don't, the traitors. "I, um... pushed my Alpha. Too hard. He, um..." Each choppy phrase comes slowly. "Basically my Pack died around me. And, um, my, my Mom died and Pop and I weren't... speaking to me anymore." She snorts what could be interpreted as a laugh. "Extra stubborn, with a side order of stupid."

Megan's narrowed eyes turn throughtful, but then she gives Salem another meaningful look before letting her expression relax from the intensity. "This Sept," she explains, ennunciating each word carefully to make her point, "is based out of Podunk, Nowhere. Although St. Claire is included within the Sept's Protectorate, the Sept, the Caern," she jerks a thumb eastwards, towards the woods rather than the river, "is out here. Will you have an issue with that?"

Salem answers Megan's look with a minor shrug, his expression bland.

Natalie thinks for a minute, then two before shaking her head slowly, her eyes still on the porch floor. "I don't think so. Megan-rhya. I might be Walker, but Minnesota isn't exactly the Big Apple. Sure it sprawls, but you only have to drive an hour to go skywatching. I... I'm more comfortable in the city, but that's not the end-all be-all."

"Good," Megan pronounces, and pushes to her feet to offer a hand out to the galliard. "Welcome to St. Claire then, Natalie. And, as a galliard, you get my extra, special request. Communication between the city and woods has traditionally been atrocious. I've been asking that the galliards make a concerted effort to help me in rectifying that. I *expect* that, out of our wordy, storyteller types. Capiche, paisan?" And her Italian accent's not even that bad.

Salem, who hangs out with a real Italian on a regular basis, stifles an amused wince.

Natalie looks up from Megan's hand to Megan's face, her eyebrows jumping as she accepts the handshake. "I'll do my best. I don't know any Italian, but in the best Minnesota fashion: you bet."

Megan blinks with surprise, then grins, attention diverting to Salem to say quietly, "Y'know, I think Dale's from that area of the world." Back to Natalie, she releases her grip, and nods. "Good enough. If you ever need to reach me, Salem has my number...you'll understand if I'm currently restricting the knowledge of it. Or, you can leave me a note here," she jerks a thumb this time towards the inside of the house behind her. "I try to check in at least once a day. No phones here, landline or otherwise. It's a protection mechanism, both to keep them out of the hands of the cubs, and to make sure no undue attention gets directed out here."

Natalie says, "...Which reminds me," sounding startled. "Did you want to tell her, Salem-rhya, or wait for Trevor?"

Salem arches a brow for a second, then grimaces. "Go ahead and tell her now. No reason for it to wait."

Megan blinks with surprise as her tribemate's name comes up, and she looks perplexedly between the two Glass Walkers, a growing suspicion in her expression.

"You know more details than I do," Nat tells him wryly before turning back to Megan. "What I do know. There's a group of Russians in town, who may or may not be Wyrmy. Some of them are human, but maybe not the higher-ups. Anyway, there's been a potential Veil breach. The Walkers are looking into it, but until we can get it taken care of, we're all supposed to be less stupid than usual about shifting in town, or blabbing where ears can hear. Jeremy was telling me he thinks they know of at least a couple of us, and the rest of us may be guilty by association." Salem gets another glance before she adds reluctantly, "They know about Salem, Cutter, and Rina."

Megan's expression turns dark, but there's at least not surprise in it. "Cutter, too, eh?" she asks, tone as dark as her expression. "I have heard about that, but not for the last few weeks. Has there been any progress investigating on that front?" she asks, her gaze going between both of them equally. "And what does Trevor have to do with it?"

Salem clears his throat. "Remembering your remark at the last moot, I took advantage of Trevor's visit today to pass the information along to him. Since he's a Galliard."

Natalie chimes in, "I've only been in town since Thursday night. I know Jeremy and Leala were doing some spying, and Jer's probably sitting over a videotape right now, watching the footage. That's about all I know." Though Jer would have her thumbs for suggesting he was watching tape.

"We have one known Russian's house bugged. Quite thoroughly, in fact." Salem smiles thinly. "Thanks to Jeremy and Leala."

"Ah," Megan says, relaxing at Salem's explanation, although there is still a puzzled expression about her. She then thinks, before nodding to them both. "I'll... trust the Glass Walkers with all that fancy stuff. Just, keep me posted, and yes, thank you for the update," she adds with a wryly warm smile.

Salem inclines his head toward the Fianna, then straightens up and gathers Natalie with a gesture. "Come on. Quick tour of the Bawn before we head back."

"Professional gossip. Nice meeting you, Megan," Natalie grins before turning after Salem.

Megan flashes a grin at Natalie's term for it, and gives them both a wave as they depart, resuming her seat on the porch.

[End of log]