Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (75% full).

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.

After that oh-so-chummy jog this morning, the Galliard took off for parts unknown - "Patrol," she said, though it's been well over five hours, and no sign of her yet. Though that may be about to change - the heavy door downstairs opens, closes again, and someone takes the steps two at a time. It's likely not Kevin - whoever it is doesn't enter the cub's room, but heads down the hallway, steps slowing, then approaching the recluse's door.

Said door is closed, though music can be heard dimly through it. Something classical, something opera-y.

Silence reigns out in the hall. Finally, after most people would have left, there comes a light double-knock on the door.

"It's open," comes Grey's voice from behind the door. He doesn't sound terribly enthusiastic.

"I'm sure it is," Natalie replies. She sounds polite. Almost calm. The door, however, remains closed, not even the doorknob rattling.

Grey's muttered curse is not in English and doesn't make it through the door. A few moments later, the door opens, revealing a frowning Philodox wearing a plain white t-shirt and dark green cargo pants, feet bare on the hardwood floor.

Natalie stands there, clad in a red tee and her ubiquitous blue jeans, thumbs tucked - as they always are - into the front pockets, her face tilted up to the taller man. "Afternoon. I've come for my answer."

The glyphs scarred into Grey's forearms are quite visible as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. He glowers down at her some more, then steps back, holding the door open for her. "I'll talk," he says, like it's either that or the most horrible torture imaginable. "I don't know, exactly, what you expect me to say, but..."

Natalie lifts a shoulder and lets it drop before taking the silent invitation and entering his lair. "I don't what you expect to say either. So I guess we're even. I just know that I feel better after being able to dump on Jon, and figured you could use the same." She stops at the end of the alcove, letting him resume his hostly duties and lead the way within. "Talk to me about anything."

She adds tentatively, "Nothing goes beyond these walls, or my ears."

Grey closes the door behind her and leads her inside, gesturing her toward the armchair. As usual, the bedroom is well in-order, not a single piece of clothing out of place. The small portable stereo on the dresser is a new addition, and the Puccini comes from that -- at least, it does until Grey crosses to it and turns it off. On the bed -- made, but the top quilt not entirely smooth -- a large towel has been laid out underneath the disassembled pieces of an old-looking bolt-action rifle; the presence of oil and cloth makes it clear what he was up to when Natalie knocked.

Her words prompt a narrow-eyed glance and a deepening of the ever-constant frown. "I'd hope not."

A flash of irritation. "Call it... insurance for you, considering what I am." She doesn't sit in the chair immediately, but studies the nearly empty bookshelves for a second before turning that same curious eye on the rifle. "--What's that? Besides a rifle, I mean. That much even I can tell."

"Mosin-Nagant," he answers, padding back to the bed and taking a seat cross-legged upon it. He resumes the task of cleaning the parts with gestures both practiced and methodical. "Used by the Soviets during the second World War."

Nat says, "Yeah?" Encouraging, and she sits. "Where'd you get hold of it?"

There's something almost calming about the way the Philodox tends to the firearm, even meditative. And it gives him something to focus on, something to do. "Gun show, back in the late nineties. They used to go quite cheaply... sixty dollars. Every dealer had some, it seemed. They're getting harder to find now, for some reason." He tends to the bolt, paying special attention to the potentially cantankerous mechanism. "This one was more expensive, a couple of hundred, because the bolt's been modified. Bent. So it can be fitted with a scope."

Natalie leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and watches his hands. "Huh. You use a pistol, or just this baby? --Sniping?" she guesses, stealing a glance at his face.

Grey has on his controlled, neutral face. Not raging, not morose, certainly not jocular. He nods slightly. "Sniping, yes. Put a nice hole in a Dancer, back when they still held the caern. The scope was lost, though, when the old safehouse was attacked and blown up." His mouth thins at the memory. He shakes his head at her other question. "I can use a pistol, but in general, I prefer not to carry. Less chance of getting in trouble with the law, since what I do not have is a permit."

"We ought to be able to fix that," Nat says, eyes flicking over the various bits. "If you wanted to, I mean. I still shoot at the range, but I haven't... I don't carry one as a matter of course. Jon does. He's got a concealed carry."

Grey shakes his head again slightly. "I've come this far trusting in what Gaia's given me for everyday affairs," he says, finishing cleaning the bolt. The barrel's turn is next, with not only oil and rag for the exterior, but oil and rag-on-a-stick to make sure the interior is whistle-clean as well. There's a reason that the old weapon looks brand-new. "And, anyway, I make people too nervous as it is. Imagine a policeman confronted with the Curse and the knowledge that I'm armed."

"Or even the suspicion. Yeah, I get you." She pushes herself up, left elbow still on her leg but no longer resting her weight so heavily on it. "What about the scope? How easy would it be to replace it?"

Grey grimaces faintly. "Not very. The problem is, a dealer typically sells the rifle with the scope. To be honest, I was quite lucky to get this one for as cheaply as I did." He glances over at her. "I did a bit of searching online, and these days, a reproduction Mosin-Nagant with a scope attached goes for near eight hundred dollars. An original, like this one? A couple of thousand at least." He turns back to his task, cleaning the long barrel. "I figure that the scope, by itself, would be several hundred dollars at minimum."

Natalie whistles softly. "Huh. Well, maybe eBay will come through for us. Keep an eye out for one - if you find it, it's yours."

Grey glances over at her, studying her intently for a moment, then nods curtly and turns back to the rifle. The barrel's soon finished being cleaned, and with that done, he begins to reassemble the firearm. Again, his movements are practiced and sure.

She continues after a little while, "--I think I'm going to give ol' Icy Toes a few days to chill - no pun intended. The fact that he's Get means he'll behave himself for a bit. I have no idea what to do after I've talked to Signe, though. Any ideas?"

Grey grimaces at mention of Signe. "I suppose that depends on what Signe says."

Nat settles back in the chair, still watching his hands in lieu of studying his face. "Let's say she agrees with me: Kevin's ours. I just want to deal with the kid's extra personality, not worry about... other things. Do I get in his face again and lay on the smack-down?"

Grey nods. "I would say so. Let him know that the local Jarl doesn't want him. Little he can do to protest that." The rifle's back together. With quick, sure gestures, he pulls the bolt back -- smooth as silk --, sights down the weapon -- the barrel pointing well away from Natalie, even though it's clearly not loaded -- and pulls the trigger. Click. He doesn't smile, but seems satisfied nonetheless.

Natalie, on the other hand, is outwardly satisfied. "Cool. See you tomorrow morning for the run?"

Grey nods again. Putting the rifle and the cleaning implements away occupies his attention enough that he doesn't have to look at her. "Same time as today?"

"I'll meet you downstairs," she agrees as she stands, nodding even though he can't see it. "I'll pick route, and then you can get Wednesday. We ought to think about dragging Kev along, but he's more of a sprinter than an endurance type. Some day you'll have to take him to the track and watch the kid open op."

Grey gets gracefully up off the bed, taking the encased rifle to the closet. Everything in its place. "Isn't there a track at the college? We can take him down there. Nobody should look twice."

Natalie starts a slow drift toward the door. "I've been taking him to the high school in the evenings, but yeah. I'll see you at supper."

Grey closes the closet door and watches her leave, one hand coming up to rake back through his hair. "Right. Supper."

Natalie nods, and slips out the door. A second later her own room door opens and closes again.

[End of log]