A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there.

Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house.

Nat ducks out of the private side of the safehouse, keys jingling in her right hand and scowling at an envelope in her left. The envelope is a large one, the sort that cards, not bills, come in.

There are still signs of Emma's most recent visit upon the safehouse; the small half filled backpack near the couch being one of them, and the knock upon the front door being the other.

Natalie heads for the door, still scowling. She fumbles for the doorknob, pulling it open, then reaches to push open the screen door without realizing that there's someone standing just on the other side.

Emma hurries a half step back and to the side, managing to avoid the screen in the face. She grunts a bit and works to shake the slight scowl from her face. "Hey, all's quiet on the streets. Was hoping to catch you actually. Got a minute?"

Natalie's head snaps up, lips pulling off her teeth - a second later and she's grabbed her Rage and stuffed it back into a little tiny hole where it squirms and wriggles and gripes. "Emma. Yeah, I've got a minute." She steps back into the house, tapping the screen open for the Ahroun, but a good portion of her attention is still on that envelope. "Whatcha need?"

Emma steps inside and looks behind her to close things up. "Oh, well, it's about that time again. And Sigs is grouchier than usual, so here I am. Aside from that, was wondering what ya thought of Brom. I know he was supposed to meet up with you and stuff." Her tone is casual and almost overly friendly, as if it were intentionally made to sound like no big deal.

"I don't know," Nat says, finally looking up at her packmate. "I... we talked a couple of times. He seems very... scream and leap. All beating his chest about rahr fight with the Jarl and growl the honor of it. There wasn't much actual thought in there that I could see. His old pack... he said they fought where ever the problem was, but... I don't know."

Emma takes in a slow breath as she nods, "He's Get." She points out as if that notion might not have been considered already. "Signe is the same way, she just simmers more quietly. And I suppose I'll be that way too, once I get more experience under my belt. Nothing wrong with being proud about it." She moves to the couch and sits down on the edge, fussing with her backpack. "You worried he'd try to take Beta?"

"Signe thinks," the Walker corrects tightly. "And so do you. And so does Gunnar. Just because we're a Wolverine pack doesn't mean that we can't use our brains." She tosses the envelope to the top of the half-wall; it slithers across and drops to the other side. Too much oomph. "Dammit." Back to Emma. "Hell, I don't know. I asked him if he could handle a non-Get in the spot and he got all worked up. He was waving his testosterone around like I'd be impressed by it. He said all he wanted to do was serve, but then in the next breath he's bragging about how he led a war pack for years. Doesn't follow."

Emma watches the envelope fly. "He was trying to impress you, Natalie, because he really wants in to this pack. If you wanted to get a position somewhere, wouldn't you list off your past accomplishments with some amount of pride about it? Brom thinks. He comes off like a pro-wrestler, but he's really pretty decent. And he's loyal, and dead set in his fight against the wyrm." She shrugs, "I mean, it's your opinion. I just don't want you to write him off, you never seemed to be this put off by Gunnar, so it's kinda confusing me why he seems to be taking so much flak on things."

Natalie says snidely, "Because Gunnar didn't challenge me in my own damn living room? Because Gunnar didn't try and drown me in testosterone?" She cuts herself off with a sharp gesture, scowling. "--It's the wrong damn moon - and it was the other day, too. Give me a chance to calm down and think about it, not just... knee-jerk."

Emma gives a nod to the other at this offer, "Yeah alright. He's been going on my patrols with me, Signe said that'd be fine. Oh, and speaking of Signe, she needs to talk to you. Didn't say about what, but- uh, her mood is pretty thin, so I dunno. Might wanna at least check in and go from there." She smirks with some annoyance, "She fucked up the Brownstone. We got no working furniture now, so." A big sigh and she scoots further into the couch as a silent finish to her statement.

Natalie exhales, almost the short sharpness of a huff, but not quite. "I heard. I need to talk to her too. I was just heading out to see if she was in, actually." She pauses, eyebrows quirking. "She isn't, is she?"

Emma shrugs her shoulders up, "I left last night, haven't been back since. She's been out alot lately though." Her hands fold behind her head as she stretches out a little more.

Natalie snorts again and turns her back on the ahroun to head around the half-wall. "Great. I'll just have to take my chances. Damn I wish it was tomorrow. Tomorrow night."

Emma looks up curiously, "What's tomorrow night? Oh, you mean moot? You bringing Kevin out to it?"

"Yes," she says shortly, then ducks below the level of the wall. "Make our claim official. --That's one of the things I need to talk to Signe about, actually." She straightens, envelope in hand again, and scowls thoughtfully at the far wall.

Emma looks curious without being pushy. "Oh. Ok then, uh, everything okay? You're not trying to push him back on us are you?" The question is asked with a bit if humor, suggesting the Ahroun highly doubts that is the case.

Natalie shoots the Ahroun a flat glare, completely without humor. "No. No, Kevin is ours. He's just got a past life in his head tromping about and trying to throw his weight around." "--Get," she adds sourly, scowl deepening. "Trying to say that even though Kev was unmarked, he ought to be a Get and I - we should just hand him over."

Emma looks at the other with a flat gaze. "Wow. Good luck with that." The sentiment is not at all sarcastic, and she reaches down to pop her shoes off. "Least it wasn't a Bone Gnawer though eh? Would look tacky having the kid pick outta the garbage for you folk." Shoes off, she curls up on the couch and looks about ready to take a nap.

Natalie finds this statement even less amusing than the last: her lips peel right off her teeth as she stares, narrow-eyed, at the young cliath. "He. Is. Mine," she snarls again, then whirls to charge out the door, the screen banging closed behind her. The main door is left open.

[End of log]