Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (40% full).

Stairs in the foyer lead up to the second floor, while a doorway tucked under the curve of the stairs heads down to the basement. A heavy door in the foyer with a monitor and intercom beside it goes back to the area set up for communal use by the Sept's Garou.

Natalie's sitting on the floor in the living room, in front of the couch, and doing a spot of gun cleaning to a pistol. It's not going particularly quickly; she has to stop every so often and pull an open manual off the sofa behind her and refer to it.

Tu comes wandering into the safe house area, glancing here and there. When he spies the elder, he approaches slowly, arms in the air. "I didn't do it. And if someone saw me not do it, I was right in doing it."

"--Tu!" Nat replies with a happy smirk. Then, "--Huh? Oh, this?" She hefts the stripped carcass of the pistol at him. "Oh, I don't think so. I've got proof. You just wait until I put it back together so I can shoot you. Stay right there."

Tu,in obvious fear for his life, grabs a seat next to Natalie. "Actually, Jeremy is supposed to be nabbing one of those for me. I had one, but left it in San Francisco. You getting ready for something?"

Natalie nods and twists to take another peek at the manual. "Yup. A little field trip for Kevin. Grey and I are going to give him a practical lesson in being shot." She nods at the book, then twists back to apply her new knowledge to the pistol's carcass. "You want to come? I might even let you shoot one of us."

Tu frowns at that admission. "Isn't it better to teach him how to avoid being shot?" He toys with pressing the idea, but submits before being forced to. "Does he know what's in store?" He eyes the gun as Natalie continues to clean it.

From upstairs there comes a piercing, untuneful whistling that is just barely recognisable as the tune of the old Bob Dylan number "Hard Rain's Gonna Fall." Ain't but one person round here who whistles like that. And it's getting louder, which means Kevin's coming downstairs.

"Oh, that too," Nat says glibly as she picks up two bits and fits them back together. "But eventually he's going to be hit. I'd rather it happened -now- than he have his first time be in the middle of a firefight. This way he'll be able to deal with it on his own." She tosses a curious glance up and back toward the Raggie. "Weren't you ever shot? That's how they got me to Change, first time." Unsurprisingly, she hasn't noticed the whistler's approach.

Tu nods his head. "I had changed before that, but yea. I wasn't a huge fan of it, though," he adds quickly. "Also, the whole stabbing slash abuse thing by the Get seemed to mess with the kid somewhat." A soft laugh escapes. "Of course, he might actually look forward to it with his hero complex."

Kevin leaps off the bottom of the stairs. The cub strikes an exuberant pose, gripping an air guitar firmly in both hands, strikes the two-chord intro to the verse of the song he's been whistling, and sings. "What'll you do now, my blue eyed son? What'll you do now, my darling young one?" Having uttered those lines -- in a singing voice not much more in tune than his whistling -- he belatedly spies that there's company down here, and ceases his posturing with a grin. "Hi, Tu, Nat," he chirps, evidently in a sunny mood. How long will that last?

"Oh, I'll get shot first," Nat assures Tu airily, only to be cut off by the leaping and singing. "--Morning, Kevin." The cub's offered a bland smile before she goes back to her gun cleaning.

Tu says, "Let him shoot you, he could probably use the experience on the other side of a gun as well." He looks up when Kevin appears, surrounded by noisy whistling. "Speak of the devil."

Kevin catches sight of the gun and frowns momentarily. "OK, more guns? We expecting an invasion?"

"Gun, singular," Nat corrects mildly, nodding the teen toward one of the other chairs. "And no, we aren't. I'm just doing some cleaning. Later on, Grey and I are taking you on a little field trip."

Tu pauses for a second, something finally clicking in his head, before he asks. "Who is Grey, by the way?" His impromptu poem is unintended.

Kevin takes a chair as bidden. "Gun, singular," he explains. "That gun, plus the one Alicia waved at me yesterday, equal guns, plural. Field trip? Two legs or four?" He turns to Tu. "Grey is... ahh... Nat'd better explain him, I think."

"Thomas Grey," Natalie answers, picking up another mysterious gun-bit and sliding it into place. "Cliath Philodox. Newly returned to town from a year's absence, and also," the metal clicks and she looks back at Tu, "Charach. For which he's been punished elsewhere. He's a good guy. I trust him at my back."

Tu's head bobs at the information, as he stores it away. His gaze moves over to Kevin. "You know what a Charach is?" he asks, always in teaching mode.

Kevin nods. "One who breaks the first law of the Litany. Given that whenever anyone mentions Thomas, the word seems to never be more than a sentence away, I begin to see just how seriously people take that offence." He pulls a face. "Sex. Why're people so messed up about it?"

"Have you met a Metis?" the Galliard asks instead of directly answering his question.

Kevin pulls another face. "Just one. But that was enough to make me swear off the concept for life."

"That doesn't mean he's useless," Tu adds to the cub's response, "Just that he broke one of the rules. And he paid for it, so the past is the past." Lesson taught, he moves on to other things. "I wanted to update you on my Chiminage. I met with Signe, and am moving forward on the hospital stuff. If it's okay, I'd like to have Jeremy do a little electronic snooping for me."

Natalie nods her support of the Ragabash's words, then turns more fully to face him. "Oh yeah? That ought to be all right. I'll trust you not to put him in too much danger - and I'd like an overview of what you're planning before it happens."

"Never said he was useless," Kevin retorts to Tu. "Scary, perhaps, useless, no. You'll see what I mean when you get to meet him."

"Just making sure," he says to the cub before looking back to Natalie. "Yea, no problem. Birdseye is meeting tonight to work out a plan, and Signe gave permission for us to do recon in Havoc's territory. I'll keep you in the loop."

"Thomas has... presence," Nat adds, then nods again to Tu. "All right. Sounds good. --Damn, where'd that piece go?" She scowls at the pieces scattered on the carpet, then pulls the manual off the sofa so she can scowl at it, too.

Kevin slides off his chair onto all fours in order to peer at the floor under the couch. "This what you're looking for?" he asks, retrieving a small metal doohickey.

The stairs creak under Grey's boots as he heads down. Like yesterday, the man was up and out of the house just before sunrise; the morning run seems to be a habit. He's been some time back from that, though, sorting through the boxes he'd hauled up from the basement yesterday. Now, apparently having decided to be social again -- sort of -- he emerges from his lair. His destination's the kitchen, or at least it was; the sight of the others in the living room makes him pause.

Tu looks up at the unfamiliar person, eyes moving along him - examining and evaluating, perhaps. He doesn't acknowledge him, however, waiting to see if he ventures into the room.

Natalie takes the bit from Kevin, eyeing it, then grins and tosses it onto the book. "Yup. Thanks, kiddo. Whenever I do this I always end up losing at least one bit. Drives Jon absolutely nuts." She hasn't noticed the new arrival yet, nor Tu's study of the man.

Kevin, kneeling down and peering under the couch, is well placed to see a pair of boots, if nothing else, as he passes the fragment of weapon to his elder. "Ah ha," he comments, sitting back on his heels and looking over the couch like a meerkat out of its hole, "it's the man himself."

Grey's eyes narrow at Tu, his expression turning hard, invisible hackles going up. Still, he's the one who jerks his gaze away first, and Kevin is the lucky next recipient of the halfmoon's glower. "Talking about me?"

"Cannot tell a lie. I was indeed," Kevin admits, not without respect.

Tu drops his gaze from Grey to the cub, then to Natalie letting her do all the introduction work.

"After a fashion," Nat says casually, cranking her head around to study the Philodox. "Morning, Thomas. Tu, this is Thomas Grey. Thomas, Tu Dinh." Everything else, she lets the two men work out for themselves.

Grey, puts his temper on a tighter leash and approaches with a more neutral expression, offering Tu his hand for shaking. "Philodox," he says, adding to Natalie's introduction.

Tu stands up to meet the half moon, accepting the hand with a firm grasp and a polite smile. "Ragabash," he says in response. "It's good to have another person in the ranks."

Kevin sits back down on his heels, nodding in agreement at the other new-mooner's statement. "Specially one who's knocked around as much as I understand Thomas-rhya has."

Once the beginning intros have been made, Nat turns back to her gun-reassembling, though she's probably keeping an ear open.

Grey returns the hand-clasp just firmly enough to show strength, not nearly enough to crush, then lets go. He gives Kevin a sharp, unsmiling glance and a slightly raised eyebrow, then turns back to Tu. "I could say the same," he replies, his tone polite but cool. "How long have you been in St. Claire?" Ah, small talk. He claims one of the empty armchairs.

Tu reclaims his seat before answering the interrogatories. "Just a few months," he admits. "I moved here recently from California. I'm not even fully set-up here just yet. Still learning people and places." He leans back in the chair, "You were here and then left?"

Kevin is every inch the quiet and respectful cubs, letting the two cliath speak without interrupting them further. He keeps a watchful eye on Nat as she concentrates on fitting together the parts of the gun like a metal jigsaw puzzle.

Grey lays his arms along those of the chair. "I first came into town in the late nineties, and joined the Glass Walkers. I've had to leave a few times since then, though only twice for an extended period." His expression, not to mention his voice, remains bland.

Tu nods slightly, not sure exactly what to make of the philodox's tone, though maintains a pleasant tone. "What brings you back this time?"

"It's home," Grey answers simply.

Tu falls silent at the response, a subtle tension hanging around him, before suddenly shifting gears and turning his attention to the cub. "How are your studies coming along, Kevin?"

"Learnt some new stuff," Kevin chirps. "Creeds. Honour, Glory and Wisdom." The capital letters are quite as audible in his speech as when Grey spoke of them to him, previously.

Grey nods at the cub's words, but doesn't add anything.

Natalie continues fitting all the gun bits, only having to stop and redo her work once, with a muttered expletive.

"Good," comes the reply from the no-moon. "Those are important. Have you started any combat training yet? Sparring?"

Kevin makes a hand gesture of equivocation. "Did quite a bit of that earlier," he responds, "but since coming into the city I've not really had the chance. Why, you want a piece of me?" he quips to his fellow ragabash.

Tu smiles. "I wouldn't dream of it." He glances at Natalie and the gun, then back to the cub. "Though, if you're ever going to get sprung from lock-up here, you're going to have to show you can handle yourself."

Natalie finishes her gun reassembly - finally - and flips the manual closed. "I'm not worried, Tu. We'll get him started on it. I'm thinking a gun, a little hand-to-hand... mostly we want him avoiding trouble, not wading into it." She offers Kevin what's probably meant to be a reassuring smile, then pushes herself to her feet. "Thomas, Kevin - you two ready for the field trip? And Tu, want to come along? The more the merrier."

Grey pushes smoothly to his feet a moment after Natalie stands. "I took a turn by the place this morning," he tells the Elder. "Key still works. Doesn't appear to have been used, fortunately."

Kevin cocks an ear to Thomas's cryptic words. "You're letting me loose with a gun... ooookay..." he murmurs to Natalie, as he stands up and stretches. "It's your funeral. Well, let's hope it's not..."

"We'll take your car," Nat tells the Philodox, slipping the gun into the back waistband of her jeans. "Oh - and I'll run upstairs and get a couple of t-shirts we don't mind getting shot up. Kevin, Tu: you're with Thomas."

[Travel deleted]

Grey's car is leagues better than the cantankerous Yugo that was abandoned at the Dominion, but it's still an old car. A repainted Ford Torino, in fact, that's probably as old as the halfmoon himself, if not older. But it's clean (if one doesn't mind the smell of cigarettes) and it runs. Thomas drives the Roach Gang to the outskirts of the city, down a narrow, weedy side-street in a bad part of town, and parks before a low, squat concrete block with overgrown grass all around it and a single heavy door.

Stepping down into the bunker, it seems to be a single, large, rectangular room of concrete. Metal shelves line the walls, filled with various crates; in the centre of the room, there's space with scattered cots nearby, and signs of entertainment devices. A mat. A radio. There's a few small rooms - probably amenities - cut into the shape, with doors, and an open kitchen area, near the back. Unshielded light bulbs with economic wattage cast the only light in the place.

Nat lets Thomas lead the way into the place, taking second spot right behind him and leaving Tu to play sheepdog on the cub. "This is perfect. Wonderful. Now we just have to decide who's getting shot."

Kevin, following up behind the two senior garou with Tu's watchful eyes on his back, gives a sudden, sardonic snort. Doesn't say anything verbal, though.

Grey mutters, "I was surprised that the lights still work. Probably something Smith arranged." He makes sure that the door is firmly closed behind them and pockets the key. Is that an old bloodstain on the floor there, near Kevin's feet?

Natalie catches the snort and tosses a little grin over her shoulder at the cub. "Besides you, I mean. I figured you'd take it better if I was the one to shoot Thomas, instead of me shooting him. And we're not just doing this for shits and giggles. Running in the city, it's not a matter of if you get shot, but when. It'll be better for you to learn to handle it now, when you're in no danger, rather than in the middle of a firefight."

Kevin looks coolly and evenly from Nat to Tu and onto Thomas. "I didn't think for a moment you were doing this for kicks. Who do you think I am, a Shadow Lord?" The cub, for whatever reason, seems to be taking the prospect of copping a bullet or three with remarkable equanimity, though his jaw is set in a fairly grim scowl.

Grey, preparing to take a bullet for the team, lays his coat aside on one of the cots, then removes the faded (but quite nice, in a dressy-casual kind of way) blue chambray shirt as well. The short sleeves of his t-shirt do nothing to hide the ugly, ash-darkened glyphs scarred into his forearms -- 'charach' for the right and -- this one new to Natalie -- 'dishonor' on the left. He clasps his hands behind his back, his expression stony.

Tu glances around the place, curious as to it's history, but doesn't disturb the proceedings to inquire about it. He seems slightly on edge, clearly not thrilled with the lesson, but understanding it's importance. "This isn't a test", he says in response the cub. "We don't expect you to take it all manly and stoic. It's about preparing you so you don't panic when it happens for real."

"Getting shot hurts like nothing else," Nat agrees, freeing her gun and slipping a cartridge out of one coat pocket. "--Tu, I don't remember - are you a better shot than I am? You want to get me after I get Thomas?" A glance back at the stoic one, her eyes drifting over not one, but two scarred forearms, and her eyebrows jump though she doesn't say anything.

Kevin stands, rubbing one hand through his ever-bushier-growing hair, and nods to Tu. "Hurts even more than getting stabbed?" he asks Nat. "No, don't answer that... I'll be able to report back with comparisons for you in a few minutes, won't I." He sighs and takes a deep breath or two. "Do I get to see it coming? Or know where you're aiming at? Or is it all one of those things that'll be revealed in good time, when I feel the bullet?"

"Course you'll see it coming," the Elder answers. "Well, I'll tell you when I'm shooting, anyway. Thomas, any preferences? Places to avoid? Or is 'torso' good enough?

Tu says "I don't mind taking a shot too," Tu replies to the elder. "Whichever."

"Torso's fine," Grey answers, as if it's no more than the difference between having a blue pen to write with or a black one. His stance is close to parade rest, and his chest presents an excellent target.

"'Sjust in most places when they shoot you in cold blood, they stick a blindfold on you first," Kevin quips dryly. His eyes keep returning to that big, black, round hole at the end of the gun barrel Natalie is toting. Awfully big it seems and awfully black all of a sudden.

"The difference," Tu says to Kevin, "between being shot and stabbed is the velocity. Bullet will generally pack more punch and can bounce around..." he trails off, realizing it's probably not too helpful. He decides on a shorter summary. "It's different."

Natalie waves Tu over to the other side of the bunker, as long as he's volunteering, then does all those last minute gun-safety checks you're supposed to do. "Cover your ears," she advises Kevin over her shoulder before lifting the muzzle of her pistol to point it at Thomas. Feet apart, elbows locked... when the sound comes, it's almost deafening; the blossom of blood, bone, and bits bursting just above Thomas's stomach, in the rib cage.

Grey's face hardly moves when the bullet slams into him; his eyes flicker a bit, perhaps from the noise, but he shows no sign of pain. And unlike in the movies, he doesn't go flying back into the wall.

Kevin clapped his hands over his ears as instructed before Nat fired, but the noise still reverberates in the confined bunker like a bomb, or a particularly enthusiastic thunderstorm. His face reacts for just a moment, twisting into a snarl, before he forces his jaw back into its would-be poker-face position. His eyes are fixed on the philodox, intent, unblinking, waiting for... whatever.

Tu makes his way to the other side of the bunker, grimacing slightly at the noise of the gun as it goes off. He watches Grey as the bullet find his mark and, seemingly, doesn't effect him much. Taking his position, and clenches and unclenches his fist as he waits for the ringing echo to die down. "In a real fight, the anticipation won't be nearly as bad," he says to the cub helpfully.

"You'll be hopped up on adrenaline," Nat agrees, swinging the muzzle over to the older Ragabash and pulling the trigger again. This time the bullet catches her target in his right shoulder - not as messy as Thomas' chest wound, but gory none the less. "Damn. Got to work on my aim. Sorry, Tu."

Grey glances down, noting the bullet hole and blood -- there's quite a lot of the latter -- with the detached air of a man noticing some lint on his suit. As Natalie turns to shoot Tu, he takes the opportunity to shift upward into Glabro form and heal. Almost absently, he cups one meaty hand under the bullethole, waiting for his body to eject it.

Kevin boggles quietly at Grey's supernal calmness. The youngster's jaw is still set, but it's trembling just a little now as his eyes switch between Grey and Tu with the speed of a man with nystagmus.

Tu does move when shot,unlike the philodox, his body twisting slightly with the impact and at the same time his face hardens noticeably. Still, it considerably less dramatic than one might expect - no curse or wild flailing, just plenty of discomfort.

Natalie lets the weapon's muzzle drops as she watches her tribemates, waiting for the last echoes of the report to die away and making sure that they're not going to suddenly collapse. "You're allowed to say 'Ow', you know," she tells Thomas in the over-exaggerated loudness of one who's just gotten to fire a loud gun in an enclosed space. "Well, Kevin? You ready? Or want to see it again?"

"No need," Thomas answers Natalie, with no humor whatsoever. The bullet pops out of the meat of his chest and drops into his hand. Only then does the halfmoon revert to human form and turns to watch the cub, jiggling the spent bullet in his hand absent-mindedly as he does so.

Kevin exaggeratedly ticks things off on his fingers. "Changed into non-dedicated clothes... check. Last cigarette... I don't smoke. Will written... no, but what've I got to leave anyone anyway?" He shrugs. "I'm gonna let out a yowp, I tell you straight," he confesses. "At least, unlike certain muscular gentlemen of the Fenrir, you guys won't see it as weakness, necessarily." His eyes, almost against their will, track slowly to the barrel of Nat's gun. Pointless really -- he's not going to see the actual bullet come out, is he? "Ready when you are," he concludes, gritting his teeth.

Tu lifts his hand to his shoulder as he shifts up to Glabro, moving away from the target area. "Damn," he says to the Alpha, "Where were you aiming?" If the cub was watching, he could probably see the wound beginning to heal.

Natalie smirks at Tu but doesn't answer. She lifts the gun again, taking what undoubtedly will seem to Kevin several years to make sure of her aim. In reality it's less than four seconds before the bullet slams into his belly just below his ribcage.

Kevin's eyes widen and he lets out a little 'oof' noise. For a long second, he stands there looking foolish with a bloody hole in his abdomen. Then, as though in slow motion, he folds up like a deck-chair at the end of a day at the beach; head comes down, arms tuck in, knees bend, and he flops down onto the floor in a heap, eyes still wide and boggling as they mutely gaze at the Galliard.

Grey, still juggling the bullet in his hand, observes the cub's reactions aloofly, unsmiling.

Tu tenses, but fights the urge to move to the cub. "Shift!" he says with a commanding voice.

"Shoulda done this on a bigger moon, maybe," Nat comments to no one, still in that too-loud voice. She's also watching the cub, thumb absently flicking the gun's safety on and off. She lets Tu do the encouraging, though, keeping both her physical and emotional distance.

Kevin blinks at Tu, his face still slack and stupid-looking from the shock. For a long, horrid moment it seems that the cub has forgotten the pressing need to change forms. Then the command seems to percolate through to his dazed brain, and in a matter of seconds Kevin has shifted, clean through Glabro and right up into Crinos with a savage snarl. He lurches up from his recumbent position, and comes within an ace of cracking his head on the bunker's ceiling as he regains his feet and the wound begins, at last, to lessen and heal.

Grey's body language becomes a good deal more alert when the cub takes the war-form. He watches Kevin carefully, frowning.

Natalie takes a metaphorical step back with a, "Woah," when Kevin misses Glabro to go skipping right into Crinos. The gun clatters on the concrete floor as she drops it behind her; she, like Thomas, tenses to watch the cub.

Tu maintains his authoritative voice, hoping that they won't need to take the cub down. "Four legs!" he commands loudly. "Go to four legs now, Kevin."

Long-Climb takes one step into the middle of the room, just one. His huge, sharp-clawed left hand goes to his midriff and feels the fast-healing hole, then moves up towards his own face. He sniffs, and scents his own blood, which elicits a vicious teeth-baring grimace. There is a soft tinkling sound -- faint by objective standards, but at this tense moment it sounds as loud as another gunshot -- as the bullet eases its way out of the shrinking wound and lands on the concrete floor. The noise seems to break the spell, Kevin's eyes meet Tu's, and understanding is in them. Another moment, and the cub is on four legs -- albeit a dire wolf's legs, but four is four nevertheless.

Grey grunts, apparently satisfied that the cub is under control. Turning away, he takes up the spare t-shirt he'd brought and heads into the back of the bunker to clean up and change shirts.

Natalie relaxes with an audible sigh, tossing the cub a pleased nod before she turns her back on him to rummage through the bag of clothing. "Good job, kiddo. When you're healed - and that should just be another second - slip back to homid and you can get out of those bloody clothes. Tu, did you want another shirt too? It's one of Scratch's old ones. You've got the choice of Jimi Hendrix or a cry for legalized marijuana. "

Grey was, clearly, a wise man to bring his own.

Tu exhales loudly, his breath visible as it mixes with the gun smoke which hangs in the air. He reaches up to rub his face lightly, the tension in his body slowly dissipating. He walks over towards the cub, starting to scan the floor when he nears him. He bends over and picks up the slug that fell out of the cub, and folds it up, metal and blood reflecting off the dim, light. "I'll take Hendrix," he says. "You want to hold onto this?" he asks the cub.

Long-Climb sits back down for a moment, on one flank so as not to get the concrete dust of the floor into the last remnants of his wound. The gun smells vile, he states curtly and briefly, as the exhaust gases of the weapon reach his wolf's nose. Thankfully for his sensibilities the wound is soon no more, and a moment's concentration brings him back to homid form. He takes the bullet in one hand with a wry grin and a "Thanks, man," to Tu, and picks up the remaining spare T-shirt in the other. "The Pope Smokes Dope!" his chest soon proclaims.

While all the boys are changing Nat joins in on the fun, though she only goes up to Glabro to work her jaw and rub at her ears. "--Damn, that feels weird. Anyone have anything else they want to do? Otherwise it's back to the Victorian."

Grey returns and gathers up his coat. Looking over at Natalie, he says, "I can make a copy of the key to this place, if you wish."

"Someone did make noises about me getting to use a gun," Kevin murmurs diffidently, "but if it's all the same I'd sooner that stood over to another day."

Tu nods, and slaps the cub on the shoulder lightly after giving up the slug, then changes into a new shirt as well. He makes sure they collect the bloodied shirts, stuffing them back into the bag they were carried in with. "Want to try it with an automatic?" he asks.

Nat's eyes flick over the gaunt Philodox, her voice considering. "So you can have one too?" Her glabro form sinks back to homid; she looks around for the discarded gun before stooping to pick it up. "All right. Tu, do you want a key as well? And yes, gun safety starts in another day or so. Give you a chance to assimilate all of this before we push you into the deep end."

"You're in charge here," Kevin responds to the other new-mooner. "Give me whatever you want me to learn to shoot, and I'll point and fire. But... tomorrow? Please? I'm kind of tuckered out."

Tu grins, slightly. "I meant getting shot with, but I suppose it can wait. How about we see if we can hunt down dinner."

[End of log]