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. A small stereo sits on top of it. 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.

Natalie's entry follows the usual 'call-answer-respond' pattern of her earlier visits; as always, the Elder doesn't even touch the doorknob until Grey's verbally (or physically) invited her in. And, as usual, she keeps her hands behind her back while she's in his room, though her facade of calm neutrality is just that. Tension thrums in every taut tendon, every flex of muscle. "I think I'm calm enough to discuss her," she announces, placing her back to the wall with the windows.

Grey has kept himself secluded for much of the day, using a CD of classical piano music (Chopin, mostly) and _The Moon is a Harsh Mistress_ to keep the beast soothed. The fact that he hasn't gotten much past the first chapter of Heinlein's novel is indicative, and his body language is as tense as Natalie's. He nods at her in reply and gestures toward the armchair, wordlessly inviting her to sit as he goes toward the stereo to turn the music down a notch, from 'quiet' to 'barely audible'.

After a second Nat abandons her post at the wall to take the indicated seat. Perching, really, on about six inches of cushion with her feet tucked underneath her and knees spread so that she could be upright in a heartbeat. "--Tell me what you know."

Grey settles himself crosslegged on the edge of the bed. "I woke up just after one, Saturday night." He doesn't bother to explain why. "I checked on the cubs on my way downstairs and discovered that Cy wasn't in bed. Nor was she in the rest of the house, this side or the common side. When I had, ah, calmed down," -- amazingly, nothing obvious had been broken -- "I performed Questing Stone and hunted her down." His lips thinned. "I was just too late. She'd already killed. Frenzy, I gather, judging from the way she looked when I found her."

Natalie's eyes close as he finishes, her jaw tightening. She inhales sharply, hold it for a second, then nods at him, encouraging.

Grey rests his arms on his knees, hands laced together. His voice is calm, even if it's a facade. "Fortunately, the area was somewhat secluded, and it's likely that any survivors won't remember what happened. I had her help me with the body disposal." His chin lifts slightly. "A little vomiting, but no hysterics and complete compliance. Once, she actually referred to us as 'us' rather than 'you'."

Nat breathes again before she dares open her eyes; when she does, they're nearly unreadable. "That's something, anyway. So. What do you suggest we do with her?"

Grey looks down at his hands for a moment, studying the short, clean nails. "I'm... not certain." He looks up, his eyes shadowed. "I do think that time in the box would do more harm than good. Of course, when I tried to get a suggestion from her, as a Philodox, she suggested culling." He snorts.

Natalie makes a short sharp gesture at the idea of culling. "No. No. That's not... no. No culling. Give me something else."

Grey squints at her, frowning rather incredulously, but doesn't give voice to whatever thought crossed his mind. "A little hard labor never hurt anyone. Bathroom duty, vacuuming, laundry, et cetera. I think, too, that it's time we got her running shoes, clothes that fit her, and she starts running in the morning."

Natalie says, "That's a little more appropriate." She relaxes out of her ready-to-leap-up sit, her weight rocking back onto her butt, instead of forward. "You think she's learned her lesson? If she's just going to take off again..."

"She found out that people who used to like her are afraid of her now," says Grey, his voice even. "And that she's very capable of murder."

"Is she safe, though," Nat presses, studying his face as if the weight of her regard will bring clues springing out of his skin. "Think we have to worry about this happening again?"

Grey shakes his head. His expression, as usual, though, is difficult to read. "I don't think so."

Natalie's fingers drum against her knees while she thinks. Another moment and she nods. "Good. Then she's got, hmn, clean-up duty for the next... week? Two weeks? and we'll call it even. Unless you want to add something to that?" She trails off invitingly.

"Two weeks," says Grey, "and I start getting her up when I do, in the morning. Even if she can't go jogging without proper shoes, she can at least get an early start on the day." Considering that the ex-Ahroun is often awake before six in the morning, Cy's in for a very early start.

"We can get her shoes in a week or so," Nat nods, eyebrows drawing down as he attention dives inward. "--Sooner, if Jon's willing to run an errand. And yes, get her up whenever you want. We might as well all be early birds together."

And suddenly, there's a quiet rapping at the bedroom door.

Grey looks up at the knock, then raises eyebrows questioningly at Natalie.

Natalie glances up at him after a second, blank. "--What?" A quick look around proves that there's no one else suddenly materialized in the room, so she turns her attention back to the Philodox.

Grey exhales a sharp breath, then gets up from his seat on the bed and stalks sock-footed to the door to answer Cy's soft knocking. He stares flatly down at the cub for a moment, then steps back and ushers her inside.

Cy's in the doorway, looking down at her feet and rubbing at the back of her neck. She doesn't look too pleased to be there. She steps in at Grey's gesture, mumbling, "There's no more toilet p--" She trails off as she spots Natalie, and blanches visibly.

Natalie's gaze follows the Philodox to the door; her burgeoning confusion disappears as he pulls open the door. "Then you'll have to replace it," she tells the girl, voice cool.

"Ought to be plenty in the bathroom closet," Grey agrees, his voice as cool as Natalie's. He's between the cub and the door, somehow.

The skinny girl was about to start backing towards the exit, but it's too late now. She shoots a look between the pair, panic taking over her haunted expression. "Uhm--sorry f'the interruption." She shoves both hands in her back pockets, eyes skittering around the room.

"You're not interrupting," Nat denies, shifting her weight forward once more so that there's scarcely anything holding her into the armchair. "Thomas and I were just discussing what should be done with you. Tell me, Cy," and her voice is, at least, neutral despite the tension of the moon, "what happened?"

Behind Cy, Grey clasps his hands behind his back and stands very tall and very still, a pillar of tightly controlled rage.

Cy's sharp brows drop low over her eyes, which she keeps trained carefully on a spot near Grey's nicely-made bed. "I ran," she says hoarsely, narrow jaw clenching. "I freaked out. I killed two of my family. I got caught." Not a Galliard, is she.

Natalie's used to that. "Why'd you run, Cy?" she asks quietly, going straight for the heart of things. Her eyes, at least, are fixed on the girl's stopsign-red hair.

"Killer cows," is the girl's first dry answer. Then, with a tight, agitated roll of her shoulders: "I'm... itchy." Her eyes cut sidelong in Grey's direction, but she doesn't quite look at him.

Grey's jaw clenches. "Brom stopped by to discuss the tainted farm near the Bawn," he offers, possibly to explain the 'killer cows' remark.

"Killer cows," the Galliard echoes flatly. Cy's hair is freed from its study for a second while she glances back at Grey for an answer, but the rest of the cub's explanation draws her attention before he can reply. "Itchy I understand. Trying to run I don't."

The thin muscles in Cy's own jaw are working visibly, now. She dares a look at Natalie's face, head still ducked low. "I'm climbing the walls, here."

"Why didn't you talk to anyone?" the woman presses. "--Or Thomas. He's your teacher. You think we wouldn't understand? -We're- your family, Cy. We've all gone through this." She stands in one abrupt movement, cutting off any retort. "--Enough. I've got to go patrol. Thomas..." She looks at the elder Philodox, not without sympathy. "I'll be back in a few hours. Don't wait dinner for me."

Grey moves away from the door to let Natalie depart; a hand, light, on Cy's back between the shoulderblades encourages the cub to move aside as well. He nods wordlessly to the Elder.

Cy twitches at the physical contact with a slight curl of her lip and steps away, arms crossing over her chest. "Didn't think it was real," she mumbles--perhaps towards the departing woman, perhaps at the floor. "Know better now."

Natalie moves past the others with a queen's expectation of personal space; pauses at the door to turn back. Sympathy laces her voice. "I'm sorry you had to learn that way. --Have a good dinner, you two." A nod, then, and she's gone, closing Thomas' door quietly behind her.

[End of log]