Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (33% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.08 and steady, and the relative humidity is 79 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

Though it's well after her usual breakfast time, Nat's only now wandering down the hall from the kitchen, a glass of orange juice - high pulp, the only sort she allows in the house - in hand. She pokes her head into the computer room for a quick look around, then across the hall to the basement door to do the same. There's a relaxed possessiveness to her actions, as though all is well and she expects all to be well so therefore it will be.

Grey has been up for hours. Up, out for a near-dawn run, and back for shower and a change of clothes. Now he comes down, shaggy hair wet around his ears and the unkempt face-stubble tamed into a short beard that lines his mouth and jawline. He's headed for the kitchen, but pauses when his path crosses Nat's and offers up a polite, if not especially cheerful (or cheerful at all) good morning.

Grey nods once. "That's where I was this morning." Going into the kitchen, he takes out the carton of orange juice and hunts down a glass.

Natalie trails after the man, stopping at the spot where the hallway empties into the kitchen to lean against the wall there. "You know, speaking of things never changing..." Her tone's gone dryly teasing. "I still have to threaten you with the Rusty Pliers of Conversation to get more than five words out of you. --Beat Kevin up if you have to," she adds, leaping to yet another conversational track. "I chewed him out yesterday, but I don't know if it's sunk in yet."

Grey glances over at her with a slight frown, but the change of topic derails whatever reply he might make to the teasing. "I will if I have to," he says. He finds where the glasses are hiding and pours himself some juice. "But I'm not that worried about it. There have been very few cubs that 'take' to me. Especially at first."

"Bet Chaney would have loved you," she replies with a wrinkling of her nose. "Of course, you would have had to have passed her rigorous first impression test by playing with her talking frog." Nat's maudlin little smile is drowned under more juice and another subject change. "--All your damn boxes are down in the basement, you know."

"Bet Chaney would have loved you," she replies with a wrinkling of her nose. "Of course, you would have had to have passed her rigorous first impression test by playing with her talking frog." Nat's maudlin little smile is drowned under more juice and another subject change. "--All your damn boxes are down in the basement, you know."

"Oh?" He glances at her, eyebrows rising in mild surprise. "...Good. Thanks." While putting the carton of juice away, he asks, "What did you end up doing with the Yugo?"

"Left it at the Dominion when it was foreclosed on. I tried to get it running, but it was dead, Jim." A toast for the ghost of the long-departed Yugo. "Maybe it was in mourning, or something. --Oh. You don't know who happened to own the Dominion before we did, do you? I had an antiques dealer up going through the furnishings, and he found a clump of what looked like Crinos fur. Red."

Grey shakes his head. "Not as such. Rumors that he was an eccentric, and that the place had a vaguely sinister reputation even before we bought it. Kept people away, and the Theurges didn't find anything actually wrong." He leans against the counter nearest the fridge, sipping his juice and looking more at it than at her. "I've no idea whose fur that could have been."

Nat says, "It was wedged into a drawer, or something, not just floating about. Up on the third floor, where we kept all the furniture under sheets." She shrugs again, draining the last of her juice, and heads over to place the glass in the sink. "Damn - I was hoping you'd know. You've been around forever and a day. I don't know who else to ask. Is there anyone who's been here longer than you?"

"Megan," comes the answer, and the name prompts a grimace to form on the halfmoon's scarred face. Grey adds, after a moment, "Eamon. Cutter. Isaac."

Natalie grimaces as well, her eyes going vague for a moment. "--Yeah. That's one talk I'm not looking forward to." The other names bring a curious glance over. "Oh yeah? I never see Eamon around. Cutter... ick. And Isaac... yeah, I remember him. Well. I think I'm going to go call Megan, let her know..." She eyes her tribemate dubiously for a second. "Let her know I need to talk to her and you're back in town. If you want help hauling boxes, I'll be around later. They're down in the basement of the other side."

Grey, while not obviously cringing, has taken on the air of a man bracing himself for a blow or an unpleasant visit with in-laws. He nods tightly. "Thanks. Should be fine." He must mean the boxes.

"Yeah, well. You know where my door is. Just knock." She sends him a quick, thin-lipped smile probably meant to be encouraging, then heads for the hallway, already pulling her cellphone free.

Grey looks down at his orange juice as though it's turned into a glass of weasel snot stirred with a Gnawer's nose-picking finger. But he finishes it anyway, cleans the glass, and heads downstairs to see about those boxes.

[End of log]