Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (61% full).

Safehouse: Grey's Room

It's a spacious bedroom, if not as big as the one across from it. The door at the end of the second floor hall opens into a small space about five feet deep which, to the left, opens out into a wider area. Windows along the longest wall and near the top of the other outside wall provide plenty of sunlight, and the room is bright for most of the day. The walls are a dusty pastel teal above a polished maple hardwood floor, and the furniture, though not new by any means, is in good shape. Though the room doesn't lack for tidiness, there's a certain absense of the little touches that would give it personality; either its inhabitant hasn't made it a home yet or simple doesn't care to personalize.

A neatly-made double bed is set lengthwise against the longer of the two interior walls, its head near a small nightstand which holds a reading lamp and an alarm clock. The closet door, which is usually closed, is across from the foot of the bed, and a large, solid-looking dresser stands against the middle of the longest wall, on the other side of the bedroom. There's a somewhat venerable armchair in the corner made by the two exterior walls, and a low bookshelf (mostly empty) squats along the shorter of the exterior walls, underneath the windows.

Grey went out last night, amazingly enough, leaving a note on Nat's door that said, "Going to pick up Lucas w/Alicia & Signe. -- T." By the time he returned, it was well into the wee hours of the morning, and unless a certain Galliard accosted him, a certain bone-weary Philodox went straight up to his room to collapse.

Natalie was gone as well - something about patrolling. The Imp of the Perverse, or perhaps just sympathy, keeps the certain Galliard away from his door until a sharp double-knock on his door just after one in the afternoon.

Unlike Scratch, it's quite rare for Thomas to sleep past ten in the morning, so the fact that here it is, well past noon and no sign or sound from him, is noteworthy. The door opens a few moments after Natalie's knock, revealing a groggy-looking ex-Shadow Lord in gray sweats and untucked white t-shirt, looking like he only just woke up.

"Sorry to wake you," Nat says briskly, sounding at least marginally sincere. "But I need your advice." She holds up last night's note and adds, "And a run down of what happened with this. I got a freaky call, well, a freaked-out call from Alicia on my voice mail last night." She looks as though she might just shake him down now, but she takes a second look and adds, "--It can wait, if you want to shower first."

Grey rubs his face and rakes fingers back through his hair, his expression disgruntled. "Nnh. Yes. It'll help clear my head. Meet you downstairs?"

Natalie studies him a heartbeat longer, then nods. "All right. I'll make pancakes. You've got about twenty minutes until they start getting soggy." With that she turns and heads down the hall, then clatters down the steps.

Grey nods and closes the door. Ten to fifteen minutes later, the Philodox heads downstairs into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower, clean and dressed though unshaved and looking somewhat more alert.

Safehouse: GW Main Area

Like the public safehouse, the foyer of the Glass Walker's private area is set off from the living room by a four-foot-high half-wall. The steps to the second floor disappear off to the left, mirroring the other set. There the similarities end - where the public area is painted unoriginal white, the walls of the Walker house are a dusty pastel teal above polished maple hardwood floors. A hallway leads back toward the kitchen, pausing at a computer room on the left outfitted with enough bells and whistles to satisfy a small LAN party. At the back of the house, through an arch, the kitchen is big enough to comfortably allow two active cooks and boasts a half-sized refrigerator and full pantry in addition to the usual stove/fridge/sink combination. A dining room, nearly as large as the kitchen, is set off by another half-wall like the one in the foyer. The furniture throughout the house is in better condition than next door, though only a few pieces are close to new.

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.

As promised, the Elder's made pancakes - is in the final stages of pancake making, to be precise, carrying a bowl to the sink to run water into it while two 'cakes sizzle on the griddle. The oven is on as well, warming the room nicely, while over in the dining room a place has been set with butter, syrup, and a glass of orange juice. The chair across from it has only a glass of Nat's usual chewy OJ.

"Do you want the basic summary first?" Grey asks blandly, prowling into the kitchen. "Or the whole story from the beginning, and to be kept in suspense until the end?"

Natalie turns, elbowing the water off, and arches her eyebrows at him. "Well, if this story ends up with someone charach, I'd like to know that now, thanks. But otherwise... Alicia told me Lucas and Jarred killed each other. And I got your note. Other than that, I'm in the dark." "--Go ahead and sit, they'll be done in a second."

Grey scowls, mismatched eyes narrowing at her for a moment, suspicious. Then he grunts and stalks around the half-wall to the dining room table. "Right. From the beginning, then." He drops into the chair at the place setting and leans his elbows on the table. "First of all, we went merely to pick up Lucas and take him to the Bawn. Megan's orders, according to Alicia. Lucas' packmate, the Philodox, was there. Edge, I think was the name mentioned? Jarred was there, too."

Natalie hums a little thoughtful noise and crosses back to the electric griddle to check on the pancakes. "Probably the other... yeah. Shadow Lord. Kenneth, I think his name is. Deed name of Dagger's-Edge. He and Dillen - Get, aka Bane-of-the-Bloodsuckers - were a pack. Requiem. They claimed the wharves." Peering underneath, she finds them acceptable enough to flip.

Grey nods curtly. "Dagger's Edge, yes. No sign of the Get. Anyway." He continues the tale. "Jarred immediately started getting huffy over Alicia's telling Lucas to come with us, saying how he wasn't in the habit of letting 'his' Shadow Lords be taken off by other tribes. Alicia confronted him with what's been happening with Lucas, but Jarred refused to acknowledge the validity of her accusations. More insults. Smarmy fuck." His mouth twists in distaste. "The Cliaths, meanwhile, were not buying anything Jarred was saying. He tried to provoke Signe into attacking him, but Signe didn't bite. Finally, Lucas decided he'd come along of his own free will, and you can imagine how insulting Jarred got over that."

Natalie huffs as well and mutters, "'His' Shadow Lords," but for the most part keeps quiet, letting the Philodox speak.

Grey scratches his chin absently, then takes a swallow of orange juice. "Things degenerated from there. Lucas told Dagger's Edge how he'd been told to kill him on their Rite of Passage, should Dagger's Edge prove weak. Jarred didn't even bother to refute it, though he twisted the words around into the usual Shadow Lord survival of the fittest crap. 'Teamwork until someone proves a liability.' Nothing surprising. The Cliath Lords took it to heart, I suppose, though, since they both attacked Jarred at once." He takes another sip of juice. "And I'll give Jarred one thing. He held is own pretty damn well. Lucas took, and gave out, the most damage, and died as Dagger's Edge managed to get in the final blow. Alicia tried to heal Lucas, but failed."

"Lucas was Ahroun," Nat says evenly, shooting the ex-Shadow Lord ex-Ahroun an unreadable glance. "--These are almost done." Almost, but not yet, which gives her time to cross to the oven and pull out a stack of pancakes. "--That's going to destabilize the Lords. I think all they have left now is Cutter and Kenneth, Theurge and Philodox."

"An Ahroun packed under Fenris," Grey says. Her unreadable look gets a narrow, guarded one in return, though as usual for him these days, he doesn't hold it long. "Better they be down to two than have that treacherous shithead at their helm."

Natalie says, "They could be down to none and I'd be a lot happier." With a spatula she checks the undersides of the last two pancakes, then slips them onto the lopsided stack. "Here you go. You want anything else, as long as I'm up?" Up, but not in the kitchen, for she plays waitron and carries the pancakes into the dining room. "And Kenneth's OK, right? I mean, not on death's door or anything?"

Grey digs into the pancakes, though his manner is terribly businesslike, as though he really has no appetite and is just taking care of the meat machine. "Physically, he's fine. Otherwise..." The Philodox grimaces. "Before taking out Jarred's throat, the boy attacked Jarred's genitalia. With Hispo jaws." Such lovely things to discuss over breakfast/lunch.

Natalie hesitates for a moment, then when she isn't requested to refill his coffee or bring two slices of bacon, slips into the chair across from him. "Charming. Makes me wonder if that was just the closest target, or if he was aiming. Not," she adds, holding up a hand, "that I really want to know. Blech. So. That just leaves a few people implicated in this... taint thing. Jamethon for certain. Maybe Dillen and Kenneth, depending on if they knew about it. They probably did - I mean, they were packmates."

Grey grunts. "Lucas didn't seem like the type who'd be able to hide such a thing. The Judges will find out for certain, though."

"Judge," Nat corrects, wrapping her hands about her glass. "Unless Layne decides to judge it at a different time, and not at the Moot." Her attention drifts inward for a few seconds, then she shakes her head, looking sour. "Alicia said that Jarred was in her head when he died. She sounded pretty damn rattled."

Grey continues eating despite the grimness of the conversation, cold bastard that he is. "Yes. She started screaming something about art and emptied a clip into Jarred's carcass."

Natalie says, "Yeuch." She shivers, though the room isn't cold. "The Sept will be better for him gone." "--Anything else with that... lot, or are you ready for your philodox-y turn now? I'm just happy you and Signe didn't mix it up. Let the Lords take care of their own, and keep the splatter guard in place."

Grey makes a noise of agreement, though her mention of 'philodox-y turn' catches his attention. He chews and swallows, eyebrows raised quizzically, mouth drawn into a frown.

She sighs, "It's been a busy day," and scowls at her juice. "--I got an email from Jeremy this morning. A few hours ago, really. It was nearly incoherent, but it sounded like Tu asked him for help - or told him to help, maybe - and Jeremy got his toes stepped on. I don't know what happened, but Jeremy was threatening to change his number. Something about 'not putting himself through college so he could sit around playing X-box' and how he's 'not happy with Kin/Garou relations in this Sept anymore'. I was hoping you'd have some... hell, I don't know. Insight, or something. Jer goes through these cycles where he does what he's told, and then flips out about being ordered around. Any hints? Help? Anything?"

Grey grimaces and focuses his disgruntlement on the pancakes. Cut, stab, chew. "Jeremy's high-strung. Always has been. Did he say what Tu wanted help on?"

Natalie snorts loudly at the 'high-strung', her words coming out sharp and clear. "Sort of. Tu's Chiminage is to help Signe with her Challenge - he's scouting out the Hospital. It sounds like Tu asked Jeremy to help him hack the place. Most of that I know from talking with Tu, though, not Jeremy's email. That was five words of useful and a rambling incoherent paragraph of... high-strung." If he can use those words, so can she. "He needs a damn reality check is what he needs. Treated like a pet, hah."

Grey grunts. "He'll get over it and then be just fine. You watch." Slice, stab, chew, swallow. "Renee threw him into a wall, just about, and two weeks later, he was her best friend again. Short attention span."

"I need a kin, not a Golden Retriever." She scowls at her juice, then slugs it as if it were vodka instead, two fast swallows. "--So what do I do? Just... ignore him? I'm in no mood to hold his hand and tell him it'll be all better. Not to mention that doing that will just tell him it's all right to whine and kick his feet. Dammit, Thomas, I'm crappy at dealing with Kin. They don't do what I expect them to."

Grey raises eyebrows at her. "Of course not. They're human. We're not. Their instincts are pure primate. Ours are lupine, mostly in any case." He takes a swallow of juice, then sets about finishing off his pancakes. "Some of them know a great deal, but there are damn few that actually understand, and those that do, understand intellectually only. Or they understand only that we're dangerous animals that are best not made angry."

Natalie tells her juice, "Jon knows. Or at least he thinks he does." Her face, when she tips it back up, is weary. "--That's one thing I envy you for, over... that. Lara. You could see her any time of the month. But Jon -- all of them. Jon knows that he can't be around me now. The others... I damn near had to chase them away with a frying pan. They'd come and hang out in the big moons, and I nearly lost it a couple of times. Then they pout at me."

Grey's eyes darken at mention of Lara. "Except I couldn't see her, not whenever I wanted. I suspect that you've been with Jon a great deal more." The wound there is still unhealed, and his voice is bitter. "You could be open about your mate. You even gain renown for it."

"--Drop it," she orders, eyes narrowing. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm not attacking you for something that's over and done with."

Grey snarls, flashing teeth, a thin rasping noise grating out of his throat. He drops his eyes, shoulders hunched, body tight and defensive, and angrily makes the last bite of pancake vanish.

Natalie huffs once that furious dark eye drops, an exhalation that pushes out anger to dissipate in the air. More juice gives her another few seconds to keep her temper so that when she speaks her voice is only slightly frayed. "--So what should I do about Jeremy? Do you want to talk to him?"

Grey finishes off his juice and then wipes his mouth with a napkin, anger still coiling around him like the smell of cigarette smoke. "How badly does Tu need his skills?"

"I don't know," Nat says tightly, staring over his shoulder. "I don't know what Tu needs him to do. The last I heard, Tu was going to be helping Signe scout the place. Then the incoherent mail from Jeremy. Something about hacking is all I know."

Grey pushes back his chair and gets up, gathering his plate and silverware and glass. "If he needs Jeremy's skills badly, I can talk to him." His voice is flat and cold, expression stony over a restless, resentful anger. "Otherwise, I would say to leave it until the moon's thinner."

Natalie says, "I'll let you talk to Tu, then. No point in me playing telephone." She stays in her chair, brooding over her last few swallows of juice. "Jeremy'd take it better from you anyway. He damn near idolizes you. Same with Rina."

Grey grunts. "He hated my guts a few times," he replies over the sound of rinsing out the dirty dishes and putting them neatly away into the washer. "Like when I bitched out the Gnawer cub who he was moon-eyed over at one point. I eventually stopped bothering, and sometime in the year before last, he decided that I was good people." Shutting the dishwasher with a bit more firmness than is necessary, he dries his hands off and stalks back toward the dining room, hands in his pockets. "As for Rina..." He shrugs dourly. "We go back quite a ways."

Natalie offers him a thin-lipped smile, a facade of good humor balancing over a Galliard's temper. "You were well on your way to joining the Sanctified Dead Walkers club. As an honorary member, anyway. Seems like anything I did in the past year, it was wrong. Rina got all worked up over Ebony, you know. Said I was wrong to claim him as kin, and want to protect him. I thought she was going to pull out a gun and start shooting."

Grey leans against the halfwall, his head slightly lowered, black hair almost in his eyes. "Rina hates vampires," he says flatly. "For that matter, I hate vampires. But Ebony'd been a good kin. So I was merciful. He wanted to tell his mate, anyway, a 'Walker you never met. Wanted her to have the choice to cull him or not."

Natalie says, "Well, apparently she decided against it. He came back, ran afoul of Yi... and died anyway." She flicks her fingers dismissively, but her scowl says that she, at least, hasn't. "--I'll tell you what I told Tu when he asked about them: I want to know about any you come across. If we can use them, if they aren't... dangerous, then we do so as long as we can. If they need killing, we kill them. It's not a popular opinion with the rest of the Sept, but they're not the ones who have to deal with the things."

Grey grunts. "That was pretty much my attitude, when I was Elder." Something occurs to him, then, and his eyes narrow. "Has Yi ever approached you about a favor she owes our tribe? Either personally or through Rina?"

Natalie barks a sardonic, "Hah. No. She went crying to the Sept Alpha, joined her pack, and has kept well to herself since. The way I figure it, she owes us big. Her and all the Gnawers by default. Especially since she's screwed up since then. But the chance of getting them to actually show honor and pay back? I've got a better chance at being made Sept Alpha on Wednesday."

Grey shakes his head, sour and unsurprised. "From what I've gathered, she's owed us for a long damn time. Maybe since Smith was Elder. But didn't say anything to me about it until we were all Jackaled over Renee and Craig's metis. Which got out because Yi was being chummy with the Garou who was most after Renee's throat over the issue. This despite Yi was Renee's packmate." His mouth thins. "I've long since told her that I, at least, want nothing to do with her."

"And now she's packed under Stag," Nat drawls, lips curling at the contradiction. "None of the Gnawers are worth the air they breathe. Olga's passable, as long as you don't need her to actually do anything hard. Or scary. Or requiring a spine. They've got a Ragabash who was going to pack with Requiem, but I heard Fenris wouldn't have anything to do with her."

Grey grunts again. "They're Bone Gnawers. Dregs of the Nation. All my life, I've met three who were worth anything." He purses his lips, looking thoughtful all of a sudden. Almost wistful. "You would have liked Kaz. She had a spine. And a fucking head on her shoulders."

Natalie says, "I'm willing to give anybody a chance," her voice neutral but eyes curious. "--She one of those three decent Gnawers?"

Grey nods curtly. "Her, a halfmoon named Lyra, and a Ragabash named Merria. All of them long gone, unfortunately." He grimaces. "I had hopes for Renee, but you know how that turned out."

Natalie snorts, nods. "--She was back in town for a little bit, you know." Collecting her juice again, she turns in her chair to watch him. "She did the same... well. She was calling herself 'Eve', and had renounced to Theurge. Got stuck in jail, and when she got out, ran away again."

Grey shakes his head. "Like I said. I had high hopes for her." He folds his arms across his chest and scowls at nothing in particular.

Natalie studies him for a few seconds longer. "Anything else? Questions, comments, rude remarks?"

Grey's anger has sunk under the waves of thoughtful gloom. He glances at her, then shakes his head, mouth tightening. "No."

Natalie nods, tossing back the last of her drink before standing. "All right. I'll even take polite suggestions, if that's what you've got. I'm going to try and get hold of Alicia, though what she thinks I can do is beyond me. Can you make supper tonight? I've used up all my cooking-fu on the pancakes, and I think Kev's repertoire is limited to PB and J."

Grey nods unsmilingly. "I'll put something together."

"Spiffy," Nat says, and while it might not be at a waning moon's cheerfulness, it's a far cry happier than his mood. She heads over to deposit her glass in the dishwasher, then heads out to the living room leaving the bulk of the pancake dishes in the sink.

[End of log]