Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (69% full).

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.

The sounds of a murmured conversation can be heard just before Jeren steps out of one of the guest rooms. She has a cell phone to her ear. "...Still not an excuse...yeah. Yeah, I slept alright." She pinches the bridge of her nose, grimaces, and leans against the wall. "I did enjoy last night though. Thanks for that."

The security door between the safehouse and - presumably - the rest of the Walkers' lair opens, disgorging a tall, strongly built woman. Easily identifiable as Glabro, she's also banged up quite severely - scabbed gashes on her face, bandages on her neck and right arm, while her left forearm is splinted and in a sling. She pushes the door closed, then eels around the half-wall separating the foyer from the living room without once glancing up the steps.

"Sure," Jeren murmurs into the phone, just before reaching the bottom of the stairs. "And that's a two-way street, just so you know. You've got my number there, right?" She looks up, eyebrows lifting incredulously as Natalie enters, before she says into the phone, "Ah. I should let you get back to what you're doing. Thanks again." She pauses, probably for a reply, then hits the hangup button and turns her full attention to studying what little she can see of Natalie through the half-wall.

A large chunk of the woman is visible - the wall's only four foot tall, after all. She's limping, that much is obvious, but none of her bandages or wounds seem fresh. Probably a day old, at least. Nat doesn't linger in the front room, but pokes her head into the dining room before disappearing down the hall, presumably heading back to the kitchen.

Jeren touches her tongue to her upper teeth for a moment, before she slips the cell phone away into a back pocket and trails after the limping elder. She clears her throat to make her presence known, but rather than settling for an introduction, she remarks, "Did you two go swimming in a hungry shark tank, or...?" Tact. Yes. She doesn't seem to have it this morning.

This woman is not tall, standing at only 5'1, possibly 5'2 if you're feeling generous. She has a slender frame, but with an athletic build--she looks like a runner, or a gymnast perhaps, and when she moves, it's with smoothed and balanced motions. While the shape of her features are predominantly Caucasian, her skin and hair coloring suggests at a slightly more exotic genetic background--but it is very unclear just what that might be. She has dusky skin that can't quite pass for brown or tanned, rather somewhere inbetween. Her hair is a silky black, but cropped at about chin length and layered. It's one of those haircuts that keep themselves in line without too much maintenance, or at least that's the idea. Overall her looks are pleasant enough, somewhat plain, and this is helped by the fact that she doesn't seem to bother with makeup any more than she does with elaborate hairstyles. A thin tracery of scars, possibly from some animal or another, arches over and around her left eye and into the hairline, with one spidery branch stretching dangerously over the eyelid itself, though there is nothing to suggest the eye is damaged.

Natalie startles but doesn't whip around, rather, turns in three easy steps to face down the stranger at the other end of the hall. She fixes the tiny woman with a stare, nostrils flaring. "--And you are?" she demands, the roughness in her voice not entirely attributable to her form. As for the question? It's ignored.

Jeren drops her eyes to about chin level as soon as Natalie turns around, and tips her head very slightly to show a brief flash of throat. "Jeren Harper," she replies. "Cliath Ragabash of the Glass Walkers, formerly of the Sept of the Eternal Sentinels in Colorado."

Natalie's posture eases as soon as the throat's shown, a brief smile twitching across her lips. "No deed name? --Let's take this back into the living room. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Not yet," Jeren replies. Her right arm has started into a rather interesting little exercise of slow, methodical muscle tensing. First the fingers, then the palm, then forearm, and so on up before starting over. "--No deed name. Or...well, yes, I have--had a deed name. I left it behind."

"Breakfast, then," the Elder decides, her eyebrows jumping up at the admission of the woman's lack of name. "And just to be official: I'm Natalie Baker, called Holds-the-Line. Cliath Galliard, Elder of the Glass Walkers." She hesitates a beat and adds, "And Beta of the warpack Havoc, running under Wolverine." She turns again, limping for the kitchen, tosses over her shoulder, "Come rummage and see what we've got. I'll grill you over food."

Jeren smiles faintly and briefly, an expression that looks more like a grimace at the promise of grilling. "A pleasure to meet you, Natalie-rhya." She crosses to the refrigerator, and obediently begins to 'rummage'. In reality, she's paying more attention to any liquids present than foods.

"Call me Nat," the Galliard directs, leaning against the halfwall between dining room and kitchen, on the kitchen side. She watches the Ragabash silently, but makes no further comment.

"Nat," Jeren repeats. She pulls out a carton of milk and sniffs at it, then quickly puts it back in favor of orange juice and closes the door. Her eyes turn up to the cupboards. "Glasses?" Even as she asks the question she opens one of the doors to check.

"Glasses are to the right of the sink. --No, the other one." Another faint smile curves the Galliard's mouth, but she turns and heads into the dining room, claiming the chair at the head of the table.

The door to the Walkers' side of the house clicks quietly open and a lanky sketch of a teenage boy slides through it quietly, his face wearing a thoughtful expression, and also a significant amount of sticking-plaster and bandages down its left side. Quietly, steadily, he walks up to the half-wall and places both hands on it, looking through at the area beyond, and noting its inhabitants.

Jeren abruptly switches to the indicated cupboard. She pours herself half a glass of orange juice, returns the rest of it to the fridge, and then follows Natalie out, settling into a chair one down from the elder. Apparently, juice is her entire breakfast today.

Natalie doesn't even turn her head at the sound of the door opening; all her attention is on the other woman. Once Jeren's sitting she leans forward in her chair, resting her right arm on the table, and invites pleasantly, "Thomas called me last night, told me you were in town. Why don't you go ahead and fill in the rest of the blanks?"

Kevin clears his throat gently. "This a bad time, Natalie?" asks the cub, remaining behind the half-wall, looking over it like a World War I soldier looking over the edge of a trench.

A single sip of juice is all Jeren takes before she settles back in her chair and crosses her arms lightly over each other. A careful observer might note that she's continuing her muscle tensing exercise, if slightly more muted. "Well..." Kevin's voice draws her attention, and her eyebrows arch high. "Mmm. I think I should make sure I have a large supply of bandages handy." She tips her head back and hoods her eyes. "I'm from Denver, originally--Aurora, to be more precise. That's a suburb."

Natalie says, "One sec," lifting a hand to interrupt the story. She half-turns, just enough to bring a wince to her face from the twisting, but not far enough to actually see the boy lurking in the other room. "Kevin? Come in and sit. You're just in time." For what? Turning back she adds with a little nod for Jeren, "Excuse me."

Kevin releases his grip on the top of the half-wall and walks -- slinks, almost, for he moves with a quiet nervousness about him -- through to join the other two. He doesn't take a seat, but stands quietly by the table, looking subdued, as though awaiting orders.

"Sit," Natalie repeats sharply, tossing a scowl at the boy. "And introduce yourself."

Kevin pulls out a chair and drops into it. "The full intro?" he says pointedly, with a meaningful look at his elder.

Jeren smiles briefly, continuing after Natalie's turned back around. "--Anyway, I was trained in Denver proper, for the most part. Over the past few years I've been running with a pack under Weasel, and our activities took us out of the city, and more recently up into the southern parts of Yellowstone. The pack alpha and myself had a...a falling out of sorts a few weeks ago, and we agreed to go our separate ways. Amiably, or as close as one can get over such a thing. And so I came here."

Natalie flicks an irritated hand at Kevin, sending a narrow-eyed glance at him while Jeren finishes her story. "And how does your leaving your deed name behind fit into all this?"

Jeren chews the inside of her bottom lip for a moment before answering. "I've known my former pack alpha since before my Rite of Passage. He's the one who gave me the name. When I left, I felt a need to..." She pauses, and makes a vague motion with her fingers. "...start over fresh. Hanging on to the name would only remind me of what I've decided to leave behind me."

The Galliard's smile at that is more of a thinning of her lips than a display of humor. "We seem to get a lot of those. All right. I saw a note from Grey this morning that you've been sniffed and cleared, so after you're finished," a minute nod toward the juice, "we can get you set up Walkerside."

Kevin, hearing the stranger's mention of packs, totems and alphas, relaxes some. He waits for her to come to a pause, before resuming. "Okay, the full intro. Just checking. Kevin Lockwood," he says, indicating his chest with a hand gesture, "Long-Climb-Ahead, new-moon cub of the Glass Walkers." His bandaged face gives a one-sided, knowing smile to Natalie at the mention of his tribe.

Jeren relaxes visibly, and even stops her tensing exercises. "Good to meet you, Kevin," she says toward the cub, then indicates herself. "Jeren Harper, also Ragabash of the Glass Walkers." She tips the glass to her lips and swallows the remaining liquid in two large gulps.

"Kevin," Natalie continues, still in that politely-even voice, "You and I need to talk. About Tuesday. Would you like to start with the grovelling, or do you want to wait until after I've threatened your life if you ever do something so mind-numbingly stupid ever again?"

"I was going to start by thanking you from the bottom of my heart for saving my life," Kevin replies quietly, "but I'll do it while grovelling too if you think fit. You're the boss." He flicks a quick, rueful, tight smile to Jeren.

Jeren 's lips tighten into a quick, not-quite-smile in return, but otherwise she settles back, putting the empty cup in front of her, and crosses her arms once again. This is homid body language for 'I'm so not getting involved'.

Natalie's bright eyes flick over to the cub, confusion and apprehensive pleasure warring with each other for display rights. After a second the pleasure wins out; she even drops the boy a short nod and a wary smile. "As long as you remember that. You're welcome. --If you'll get Jeren's glass, I'll take her over and show her around. Feel free to catch up with us." A flash of a smile for Jeren, and she pushes back her chair and stands.

Kevin nods affably enough. "If being scared of you wasn't enough to make me remember, this would." He points at the damage to his face. "You-know-who needs her nails clipping like woooah." He grabs up Jeren's empty drink and scoots through to the kitchen with it, returning a few moments later without the vessel.

Jeren stands a moment later and pushes her chair in before turning toward Natalie. "Should I go ahead and fetch my bag?"

"You can do that now," Nat rumbles as she shoves in her own chair, "Or..." Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "Kevin. Wash it. Don't just put it in the sink. Unless you want to be the one to explain to Emma how she swallowed the Walker germs." "--Get it later," she finishes, abandoning the dining room for the kitchen, and thence the foyer.

Kevin gives a slightly theatrical sigh, rotates one hundred and eighty degrees, and runs back into the kitchen. A tap is turned on, perhaps a little more forcibly than strictly necessary, and running water may be heard. Then a clink as the glass is set down and left, no doubt, to dry itself, and Kevin comes trotting back out.

Natalie stands in front of the keypad, enters some sort of passcode, then holds the door open for the newcomer. "After you."

[Travel deleted]

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 doesn't hold the door for Kevin, but instead moves past Jeren to escort her into the living room. "Upstairs are the bedrooms; we've got three on this side plus a bunk room for the cubs. We've got two right now - Kevin, who we expect to go on his Rite by June, and Cy, a Philodox we only picked up at the beginning of the month. Cubs here are expected to Rite before their third Moot, which happen every couple of months."

Jeren nods faintly to Natalie's explanation. Rather than looking toward the Elder as she talks, the Ragabash is studying her surroundings with careful scrutiny. Overall, she looks quite satisfied--heck, maybe even impressed. "Well, I've met Thomas, and Kevin obviously. And I met Jeremy last night. Are there any more of us?"

"There's another ragabash cliath," Kevin chimes in. "Regular no-moon party time, here, it's getting. Tu, his name is. Nice guy."

"Tu," Natalie begins, only to be interrupted by the cub. "--Excuse me." Her voice has gone decidedly cool again. "Kevin, why don't you go see if all the bloodstains in the carpet are gone now that they've dried? If they aren't, you can think about how you'll be ripping it up." The three of them are just on the other side of the wall from the foyer, with Natalie once more - still - in Glabro.

Natalie's not the only one. The hulking, Neanderthalish form of Thomas Grey makes his way down the stairs. He pauses at the sound of Nat's voice, his brutish face unreadable, and then continues on into the common part of the house.

Jeren 's lips twitch, though what specific sort of expression they might be trying for is completely up to interpretation. "Tu." And something seems to click with her, but she doesn't elaborate. She watches Grey pass with a bemused look.

Kevin may not always be good at tact and such things, but he's getting better at taking hints. The British cub detaches himself from the two females and walks over towards the computer room, which now looks oddly bare compared to the appearance it had before the recent fracas within its walls. At the approach of Grey, he looks distinctly uncomfortable, and pops like a startled bunny inside the room itself, emerging again only after the philodox has departed without paying any heed to anyone else whatever. He drops to a squat and ostentatiously stares at the state of the carpet, humming tunelessly.

Natalie watches Kevin flee with a stony expression, Grey's entrance and subsequent escape missing her completely. "Tu's the other cliath Ragabash," she elaborates once Kevin's disappeared. "Spies-the-Wyrm. Then on the kin-front we have Jeremy, Rina, and Jon. Jeremy's married to a Coggie Theurge. Rina's... hmm. Simplest way to explain her is to say she's a Mafia don. Serious mental issues, though - even worse than most of us. And Jon's my boyfriend. He runs a security company. He's the one that put up most of the money for this place." At 'this place' she glances around, indicating the house as a whole.

Jeren runs a finger along the line of her jaw. "It's a nice place," she murmurs, quirking one eyebrow toward Natalie. "Of course, my opinion probably doesn't mean too much. I've spent the majority of the last year in the woods or half-condemned buildings."

Kevin completes his judgment on the carpet, a judgment worthy of a Philodox. "Well, either we call some Kinfolk housework service with a really good carpet cleaner, or else this carpet's only fit for a bonfire," he says with a hint of shame in his tone.

"I'll just pretend you said the first part, and say 'thank you'," Nat replies with another of those small half-smiles. "--Kevin," she adds, in a 'not now' tone of voice that's dropped several degrees from her earlier chilliness. "Jeren and I are trying to talk." The stress she delicately places on the attempt must be one of those Galliard skills. "Go find Cy and tell her what you told me about the carpet." Another pause. "Now."

Kevin pulls a very sour face at the mention of Cy, but he returns to an upright pose and with a polite nod to Jeren, he crosses the house towards the stairs that lead up, and takes them at a run, his feet thudding on every other step as he ascends.

Jeren returns the look to Natalie before she watches Kevin's retreat. Back to the thoughtful expression, with pursed lips. "...So," she says after a moment's hesitation, and not a little awkwardness. "Unless you have a really large aquarium in there," she indicates the computer room, "I'll assume it wasn't sharks."

Natalie closes her eyes as Kevin lopes upstairs, adding a 'Lord give me strength' sigh. Only then, after the boy's gone, does she open her eyes again, smiling ruefully for Jeren. "--No. Not sharks." She limps over to the door and nods in encouragingly. There's an untouched computer desk along one wall, but no other furniture, and there are signs of blood spilled - a lot of blood on the walls, carpet, and even the ceiling. Most of them on the walls have been cleaned up, but to an experienced eye, they're still obvious. "Kevin was stupid on Tuesday. Baited both Thomas and myself. Thomas Frenzied on him; I had to take him out. Then Kevin goaded Cy as well, and, well. We were nearly down one Ragabash cub."

A soft 'heh' follows this explanation as Jeren peers into the room. "Well, I can't say I didn't make the same sort of mistake when I was a cub. They thrashed me well enough that I never actually frenzied anyone before I figured out how stupid it was, though." She rubs her jaw again, ruefully this time.

"Thomas renounced from Ahroun," the Galliard adds. "And he's got about ten more years of experience than I do. I was a close thing." She lets Jeren look her fill of the ruin of the computer room a moment longer. "I don't think Kevin will ever make that mistake again either."

Jeren gives a low whistle. She draws back from the room. "One hopes not."

Natalie says, "If he does, I'll just let Thomas kill him and deal with that aftermath," tonelessly, letting Jeren decide if she's kidding or not. "But everyone gets, as I've said before, a nice vacation in stupid-land. I figure Kevin's just come back from his." Another hesitation. "--Any questions for me before we talk Chiminage? I assume you plan on staying, yes?"

Jeren crosses her arms over her chest. "Mmm, yes, I do. Plan on staying that is. Do you have room here for another body, or would it be easier if I found another place?"

Natalie limps back into the living room before she answers. "There's a spare room upstairs, yes. You're welcome to crash here for however long you need. I live here, so does Thomas. Tu lives in the city. The safehouse next door is open to anyone in the Sept. All we ask is that if they stay there for more than a few days, they provide some sort of hmn, compensation. Food, money, chores, that sort of thing."

"I'm willing to pitch in for all of the above," Jeren murmurs as she trails after Natalie once again. "To be a little more open, I've...been missing my pack. It would be nice to stay around other garou again."

"I'm all for all of the above," Nat tosses back, smile evident in her voice even if she doesn't - can't - look back to show the one on her face. Arriving at what is probably 'her' chair she carefully lowers herself into it, then leans back against the upholstery with another sigh. "Let's see, what else? Oh yeah - I'm a tin-plated bitch. I've been in town just over a year. Like I said, I'm a Child of Wolverine. My alpha is the Fenrir's Jarl, and the other two members of Havoc are both Get too. Theurge and Ahroun - Emma's the Ahroun, and she stays next door when the moon gets big. And," she adds, rolling her eyes over to find Jeren, "I've got a big red button on my forehead. Anything you need info about, just ask and push. --It's a metaphorical button," she adds dryly. "I know you Ragabash."

Jeren settles onto the couch. For her part, she listens quietly and without reaction to Natalie's words, at least until her last sentence, where said Ragabash can't resist a faint half-grin in return. "Well, I do try to keep that under a tight leash. The Ragabash jokes, that is. I've found most people don't really go in for my type of humor anyways." She pauses a moment. "Mm, well Thomas asked me about my previous experience last night. To quote him 'the usual' fits it best."

"Expand," the Elder directs, wincing absently as she gets herself settled.

Jeren nods. "Denver is full of leeches, for one. We--I, didn't end up in too many actual fights with them, and not without the pack, but it's safe to say I've had a few run-ins." Her nose wrinkles. "He mentioned the ones around here aren't too many, and not organized, for which I'm damn thankful."

Natalie says, "Tu and I killed one just last week," closing her eyes. "What else?"

"Fomori," Jeren says. "Poachers. The occasional gang or tainted animal. And," she makes a motion with her fingers, "Spirals." The word is practically spit, making her feelings on that particular group quite clear.

"And you were a child of Weasel," she muses. Nat's settled into her usual chair, leaning back against the upholster with her eyes closed. Jeren's claimed the couch as her territory, while the cubs are nowhere to be seen. "So you're more of a, hmn. You're more used to being the point of the spear instead of doing the recon well in advance, yes?"

Grey closes the door behind him, pauses a moment to gather himself, then starts making his way toward the sound of voices.

Jeren nods. "Pretty much. At least, that's where most of my efforts in the past few years have gone. Before I packed up, I was more into the advance recon bit."

Natalie decides, "I'll have you talk to Tu. But." Her eyes flick open again, lazily studying the Ragabash across the room - though this time they glance over to the sound of the door. "Thomas." Back to Jeren. "Let's talk Chiminage."

Grey looks about as well as he did last night when he met Jeren, i.e., not that much at all, though better than Natalie, truth be told. He dips his head to the Galliatrd and rumbles, "Is Kevin available? Emma's up front and wants to see him."

Jeren nods. "Right." She glances up at Natalie's 'Thomas', merely to confirm Grey's presence, and then slips her hand under the collar of her shirt. "Obviously I'm not sure what it is that you'd need. But I did bring something."

Natalie holds up a 'just a minute' hand to Jeren, answers Grey. "He's upstairs with Cy. What does Emma want with him? Today isn't her training day." Clearly, she's less than willing to let the boy talk to this 'Emma'.

Grey shakes his head slightly, his eyes somewhere between the floor and the wall past the two women. "She just said that she was looking for him. Do you want me to send her off?"

Jeren falls silent, fingers still just beneath the collar of her shirt, listening with interest.

Natalie sighs again. "--Hell. Yes. I don't know. Would you see what she wants, please?" A rueful smile to be split between them both and she adds to Jeren, "No rest for the wicked. What were you saying about Chiminage?"

Grey ducks his head again, dismissed, and slips back out to the front.

Jeren slides her fingers up, this time holding a leather string around her neck. She slides it over her head, gives the object a slight jerk to twirl it up around two fingers, and holds it up for Natalie's perusal. "Wyrm Fang," she explains. "It's not the most powerful fetish, but I've found it rather useful."

This appears to be a simple, pearly white fang, possibly of lupine origins, hanging from a leather thong. To the casual, non-supernatural eye, it would appear to be nothing else but a trinket, possibly purchased in some tourist shop.

Natalie looks decidedly interested, if vague. "And what's it do?"

"It reacts to Wyrm taint when you activate it," Jeren explains. "This," she taps the fang itself, "Turns green if there's taint nearby. The nastier your surroundings, the darker green it gets. It's not exact--I mean, you can't tell precisely where the taint is coming from, unless you want to get within arms reach of the source. And if you're in a blighted area with a fomori somewhere in the middle, well...that's not going to help you locate the fomori either. And there's a limitation to how often you can use it."

Jeren explains, "You can only clear it by taking it into the bounds of a caern for an hour. And only on the quarter moons. New, waxing half, waning half, and full."

Nat's eyebrows head straight for the ceiling. "Nice. And what if you are in arm's reach of the source? --We're rather short on Theurge at the moment," she explains, not taking her eyes off the fang. "So we have to ask out for checking Wyrm taint and the like. Having that would be a decided plus. I'll still have to check with the Alpha, of course, but..."

Jeren nods. "Well, if you're in arms reach of the source, and you're sure you're not in a tainted area, it'll go about as dark as the source is tainted. So, if you wanted to use it to sniff," she makes a vague gesture, "Like Alicia-rhya did to me last night, I imagine it would work pretty well."

"I'll accept it," Nat says immediately. "Like I said, I'll have to clear it with Megan-rhya, but I can't imagine she'll say no. She'll want to meet you as well."

Jeren nods and starts to offer the object toward the elder--and then thinks better of it, instead standing up to hand it to her, so she doesn't have to stretch to reach it. "Megan-rhya," she repeats. "She's the alpha then?"

"Adren Philodox Fianna," Nat agrees, stretching out a hand for the fetish with a nod and small smile for the courtesy. "She's got more to it than that, of course - what Fianna doesn't - but those are the basics. She leads a pack that follows Stag based out of Kent Crossing."

Jeren settles back onto the couch, drawing up her legs so that she's actually sitting cross-legged on the cushions. She nods yet again to the information, and purses her lips. "Mmm. Well. Like you said, I'm sure I'll meet her soon." She manages to put a slightly dubious spin on her tone, though whether she's being serious or not is anyone's guess.

"As soon as I can arrange," the Galliard assures, curling the fang's cord into her hand before settling it all into her lap. "I figure I'll be mobile again come tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I'll take you myself - Megan's not all that fond of Thomas any more, and Tu... well. Tu has his own things to worry about." "--You want to go up and meet the cubs?"

The door to the other side of the house closes rather loudly. A seething Philodox stalks -- he'd be stomping if he was wearing shoes -- past the living room, heading for the basement stairs.

Jeren looks curious, but doesn't ask. She'll push the 'button' later. "Mm, you said the bedrooms are up there, right? May as well make a single trip of it and grab my stuff from the guest room first--" Oh, hello Grey. She was in the process of standing, but she remains just where she is as he passes.

Natalie turns her head far enough to watch Grey pass, then offers sidelong, "...I'd wait for a little bit. Emma touches your stuff, and I'll thrash her myself." Hurriedly - wincingly - she pushes herself to the front of her chair, calling, "Thomas? Everything all right?"

"Fine," Grey snarls, though his obvious anger -- which for the moment supercedes pain -- gives the lie to this. Down the steps he goes, not even bothering to make sure the basement door closes properly behind him. Barely a few moments later, a gutteral roar of fury comes from down there.

Jeren winces. If anyone were paying attention to her, they might notice she's started that bizarre muscle flexing ritual again--on both arms, this time. "Yes, I think I will wait, in case the current definition of 'fine' range to this 'Emma' too."

Natalie winces at the roar, but the perceptive might note that it's more regretful than pained. "--Yeah. Think that's wise. Emma's my packmate, like I said. Get Ahroun. Been a Cliath for just over a year, but she still has stupid moments. She teaches Kevin one day a week in exchange for living here. But," her gaze flicks toward the ceiling as she levers herself out of her chair, "I'm wondering how smart that was. I think her Getness is leaking."

The angry Crinos noises continue downstairs until just before Natalie finishes talking. It trails off into growls and then silence.

"Ah," Jeren says. "Get. What's she been teaching him then? Brawling? Endurance?" The questions aren't meant to be a snide at the Get, but the way they're worded might nevertheless come out that way. She tips her head toward the basement door, watching it.

Natalie nods vaguely toward Jeren as she slides the fang fetish into her front pocket. "D, all of the above. Boy's got a past life in his head that's a Get, plus I figure it's good for him to learn how to get along with other tribes. But he's gotten more, hmn. More Ahrounish, more Getlike, and just plain more stupid and irresponsible since she's started teaching him consistently. He doesn't need that. We don't need that."

Everything remains quiet on the cellar front.

Jeren makes an 'mmm' sound. "Tu's teaching him? Do you know what sort of things he's focusing on?"

"Tu's his main teacher, yes." She heads down the hall, stopping at the head of the basement stairs, then glances down the steps into the darkness. "Hmn." Turning back to Jeren she adds, "He's got him learning scouting, recon, that sort of thing. You'll want to talk to him for the specifics."

Jeren stands and trails after Natalie at a distance. "Well, I was wondering if he was touching on any fighting tactics himself. I'll keep an eye out for him and ask. The Get are fine teachers for that, I imagine, but...Ragabash that fight like Ahroun have a good chance of ending up as pavement smears."

Nat says, "Exactly," sending an approving glance to the Ragabash in question. "Or like me, for that matter. I wanted him on a gun, but I don't know if Tu's had the chance for basic safety." Another look into the dark basement and she reaches over to flick on the lights down there, then close the door leaving Grey to his solitude. "How are you with guns?"

Jeren doesn't smile, but her overall expression does brighten a little. "Ah, well. To put it this way, I like guns. Hand guns at least...I haven't had too much experience with rifles or more heavy artillery. I usually carry, but I'm not old enough yet for a concealed licence."

Natalie blinks surprise at that, then shrinks down to homid. Her bandages buckle and warp under this abuse, but the tape is strong enough to keep them attached, though they're far to loose to be of any possible use now. "How old -are- you?" she asks, flat out and blunt, giving Jeren a serious once-over. "Eighteen?"

"Twenty," Jeren replies. "So...in a few months." Not old enough yet to legally drink even. Hah.

"Twenty," Nat repeats apologetically. "All right. Well, once you are legal, we'll see what we can do. Guess it's time for house rules. No shifting in the lower level, where people can see." Like she just did, though with the distance from the windows, not to mention the lacy curtains, she's probably safe. "Upstairs and in the basement's fine. There's a rumpus room downstairs - a concrete bunker for when you lose it." Which probably explains where Grey is just now. "Do you know the Gift that allows you to twiddle simple machines?"

Jeren nods to each rule, and then again when she asks about gifts. "Yeah, I do." She gives the basement door another look, and then starts her muscle twitching again.

The stairs up from the basement creak. The light clicks off underneath the door a moment before it opens, revealing a very haggard -- and homid-form -- Philodox. Without a word or a glance at the other two, he limps toward the bathroom, hand pressed to his left side, which is oozing blood through the battered flannel shirt.

Natalie says, "Good," as the door pushes open; she moves out of the its way and perforce Grey's as well, but other than a nod toward the man, pays him and his bleeding no more mind. "I'll have to show it to you later. It's lockable from the outside, but not in. Eventually I want to convert the attic to a gym, but until then, there's just a heavy bag in the cubs' room."

Jeren watches Grey quietly, with a neutral expression, until he disappears into the bathroom. "Oh. That's a handy thing then." She trails off, apparently not sure what else to say. This garou sucks at small talk.

Kevin comes clattering down from upstairs, crossing the main room with the barest of bare smiles towards Jeren and Natalie, heading for the basement. "Be up again later," he advises the duo.

"We had one like it back in Minnesota. The bunker's where we put the, hmn, the unclued cubs before they wake up and smell the cordite." Natalie's eyebrows go up at Kevin's sudden appearance, but she doesn't try to stop him. "--Any thing else? If not, I think I'm going to try and get in another nap. It's not morphine, but it's better than being conscious."

Kevin pays no more heed to the adult garou, opens the basement door, and plunges in and down the steps, closing it behind him.

Jeren pauses to both note Kevin and consider the question, then shakes her head. "Nothing comes to mind just now. Go right ahead. If I need anything I can always ask--" she gestures toward the basement. Not the bathroom. She apparently knows better.

Natalie nods, her oversized bandages crinkling faintly. "I'll be down again later, if it can wait. Thomas' room is at the end of the hall, and mine's on the end on the right. Yours will be right across the hall from me, under the attic stairs to nowhere." She offers out her hand for the Ragabash. "Welcome to St. Claire, Jeren."

Jeren takes the hand carefully--mainly because her own fingers are still tensed, still flexing. "Thanks, Natalie."

Natalie makes no mention of the tension. "Nat," she corrects. "Natalie if you're asking for something, Natalie-rhya if you've screwed up. Remind me later to give you the contact info for the rest of the family, or get it from Thomas if you'd like."

"Right," Jeren says. "Nat." Handshake done, she slips her hands into her jean pockets. "I'm going to go ahead and drag in my stuff. If there's any sign of a raging Get, I'll hug the walls." Very, very slight almost-smile.

Natalie nods and heads - limping even more than she did in Glabro - for the foyer. At the half-wall she stops, turning. "Oh. The code for the door." She rattles off a string of ten numbers, phone-number style, then looks expectantly at the Ragabash. "Got it? If not, just bang on the door and someone will let you in."

Jeren confirms, "Got it." Or more likely, she's reciting the numbers in her head until she can get to a pencil, or commit them to memory. She lifts her hand in a small, two fingered wave, and starts toward the other side of the house.

"I'll see you for supper," the Elder says, ducking up the stairs about the same time the Ragabash hits the foyer. If Jeren were to look up, she'd see Nat taking the stairs slowly, pausing after every third or fourth. She doesn't look back, though, and soon enough the creak of steps is the only sign of her presence.

[End of log]