Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (34% full).

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.

The first thing one might notice about the main area of the Walker side of the house is that it smells like lemon cleaner. And only recently, for that matter, within the past hour or so. The second is that the main floor, never terribly messy to begin with, has been cleaned from top to bottom. The kitchen is sparkling, the furniture is dusted, any fingerprints on the walls have been wiped away, and even the rug in the computer room has been given yet another, albeit futile, scrubbing.

In the midst of this, Jeren is sprawled out on the couch, gazing ceilingward and smelling more of lemon cleaner than the rest of the room. She looks generally haggard--like she hasn't had enough sleep, or any sleep, within the past twenty-four hours. Her clothing is rumpled, her hair is hopelessly mussed, and there are dark bruises forming beneath scabs on both knuckles. She's the one spot of dirt in the whole room, really.

Natalie lets herself in from the public safehouse, another smudge of dirt onto the Spring cleaning's gleam. There's a pink band across her forehead as if something's been pressing there; her face and hands are grimy and she smells of asphalt and sawdust. Absently she kicks the door closed, her hands and eyes full of envelopes, and heads for the back hallway. Two steps down it and she stops, sniffing, and turns to peer suspiciously into the newly painted computer room, then around to give the living room the same wary study. "--Hello?"

Jeren idly lifts one hand above the back of the couch, waving it to catch Natalie's attention. "Hello," she answers as she sits up, turning to face the Elder with a difficult to read expression. Appraising of her mood, perhaps.

Baffled, that's Natalie's mood. She doesn't bother to try and erase the scribbles all over her face that proclaim her so as she heads back into the living room. "--What's up with the," another sniff, "Lemon freshness? Did we buy stock in Johnson and Johnson Wax, or something?"

"Cleaner," Jeren explains. "I've been battling Dirt Banes with the Fetish of Lemon Pinesol." This is said with a completely straight face, but the Ragabash's demeanor suggests it's more indicative of her own current lack of humor than an intent to add to the joke. "--Have you seen Thomas at all today?"

Natalie's answer is a single side-to-side head shake. "No. Went to work today." She 'sniffs' her way around the room without moving, then lifts a shoulder at the Ragabash. "Skipped lunch so I could get out early, and I'm starving. There anything left?"

Jeren grunts, and shakes her head. "I don't know, I wasn't here." She glances briefly toward the metal door, toward the computer room, and then heaves herself off of the couch entirely. "Nat--Natalie-rhya, we've got a big problem. And I honestly don't know how much I've contributed to it."

"...Hell." Nat studies the younger woman for a second, then jerks her head invitingly toward the kitchen. "Well, you might as well come on and tell me about it. This something internal or external?" She takes Jeren's obedience as a given and turns to toss the last over her shoulder as she heads down the hall.

Jeren follows after, absently rubbing the knuckles of one bruised hand with the other. "It's Jeremy," she says quietly, cutting right past any preamble. "We've been running into each other frequently; talking. He told me some things, some private things, and I've been... I've been really pushy about it, and I've pushed all the wrong buttons with him. And I feel like a complete heel telling you about this, but I'm really, really worried."

Natalie pauses in her path to the fridge only long enough to sigh - just once, but with the 'give me strength' overtones. "--So dump," she says as the door comes open and she peers in. "Start at the beginning and babble 'til you're done. I'll just make encouraging noises until you are."

Nodding, Jeren turns and presses her back against the counter, as if physically bracing herself. "It started the night I came into town. I was going out for a walk, and we spotted each other when he came out of a bookstore. He's the one who I first called, so we'd already met earlier. He invited me for some late night food, so we went to that Chinese place, the fancy one nearby. He just... it really didn't take him very long to tell me some personal things. I think he really needed someone to dump on. He told me how he felt like he wasn't welcome around here, and how he felt that no one, that you, didn't really value what he could offer."

Natalie, as promised, merely grunts as she backs out of the fridge with a tin-foil covered plate of left over fried chicken in one hand and the half-gallon of her high-pulp orange-juice (Fortified with vitamins A and D plus calcium!) in the other.

"He said he was thinking about moving," Jeren continues. "Back to Portland, or San Francisco. Anyway. So at first, there was just that complaint about you, and someone named Marcus who I guess was the Elder before. Well, the next night, you remember, I blundered right though that conversation between you and the Bone Gnawer Theurge, well, right before that, I met Jeremy again at Denny's. He was bugging the waitress out of boredom, so I sat down to talk with him."

"Bone Gnawer Elder," Nat corrects, delicately spritzing Olga's title with an extra twist of lemon. "But go on." She continues to let Jeren ramble while she carries her booty into the dining room, then returns to the kitchen with juice in hand to find a glass.

The basement door opens and Kevin pops through it, stretching and looking a little rumpled, but -- at least compared to how he's been in the last several days, assuming anyone else saw the low-profile cub at all -- happy. "Coo-ee!" he calls out to the empty living room. "Jeren, you still here?" As this phrase leaves his lips he detects movement from elsewhere, and walks over towards the passage leading to dining room and kitchen.

Jeren grimaces. "Yes. Well, anyway, we talked about his job for a bit, and then I mentioned how messed up the computer room was. He said he hadn't seen it, because he didn't come by very often, and I, being the complete idiot that I am, pushed him a little. Said he should. Said I'd be glad for someone else being around. It declined from there. He kept saying how it wasn't his place, how he had stopped making his own decisions a long time ago, how he was depressed. Then. Ah. Then we got onto the subject of family. And he talked about an old pack Thomas was a part of, and how everyone else was gone, and how Thomas was still here but changed--" She stops abruptly as Kevin makes his presence known, looking like the proverbial kid caught in the cookie jar.

Natalie only turns after Jeren stops, glass in her hand. "--Kevin," she says, her voice mild. "Jeren's busy right now. You're welcome to listen in, however." Unscrewing the cap to the juice she begins to pour, then adds, "And I do mean listen."

Kevin gives a polite nod and slides silently through to the kitchen, where he retrieves his textbook from the table, takes a seat with it in front of him, and looks up with bright eyes and metaphorically perked ears.

Jeren continues, though her narrative becomes noticeably less detailed, if not less rambling. "He said he was the crap leftover. And from there we've just been talking, off and on, over the past few days. He showed me a picture on his desk, said it was taken shortly before his friend Roger died, and named off the people in the photo. And he named Thomas, but he called him 'Salem'. And of course, because I can't keep my stupid nose out of people's business, I asked Thomas about the name. You can probably guess the reaction, and then I realized what a shit I was for doing that, and told Jeremy. And then he just..."

She shakes her head. "So the next day he came over, and we started to talk, and it escalated into an argument. My fault. I pushed him. I told him to stop lying to himself. I told him it was obvious he wasn't happy with what he was doing, and to go out and do what he really wanted. He freaked. He threatened to buzz me with a taser and make me kill him if I didn't get out of his way."

Natalie sips from her glass as she listens, her left arm folded over her belly. Once the Ragabash has wound down she grunts and refills it, then returns the juice to the fridge. "And? --Come sit." The last's added with another inviting jerk of her head as she ambles back to the dining room, though her body language is tense underneath the covering of relaxation.

Kevin listens quietly, but the way his lower lip pushes itself outwards just a tiny bit seems to hint that he may not be entirely happy with what he's hearing.

Jeren follows, jaw tightening. "When I told him about mentioning 'Salem' to Thomas, he broke the frame of that picture of his. Threw it against a wall, then locked himself in his room. I picked it up--forgot I even had it 'til I got back here. So I pulled it out, tossed it at him, and got the hell out of his way. And then I started thinking, the night before he'd pulled two barretas on Thomas. I thought it was just nerves, because that was right after the whole debacle with Signe, but I think it's more than that. And last night." She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "Last night I was so strung up, I went running. Went all the way down to the Park, and of course, Jeremy was there."

"Of course," Nat says mildly, as she pulls out a chair and sits. Pulling the tinfoil off the plate of chicken claims her attention for a moment, but only that, and soon enough she's got a thigh-leg quarter in one hand. No dainty nibbles for her - she goes to like she's starving.

Kevin's only reaction is to frown at the word 'barretas', as though he's unfamiliar with it.

"A bunch of drunken teenagers were also there," Jeren says, as she pulls out a chair and slumps into it. "I didn't hear most of what was said. I didn't even realize Jeremy was there until one of them started picking at him. Making fun of his Goth clothing, and such. Jeremy tried walking away, but the guy moved after him and grabbed at his jacket. Then Jeremy rounds on this kid, grabs him, half pulls him into the fountain, and before I know it he's got that fucking taser pressed to the kid's neck, and he's threatening to buzz him while he's in the water, telling him what a loose canon he is."

Natalie pauses eating to close her eyes for a second. "--Anything else?"

Kevin's eyes remain fixed on the other ragabash.

Jeren nods. "The kid's buddies were all starting to get up, and I--frankly, I wasn't sure what Jeremy was likely to do if they ganged up on him. And he was still holding the kid in the water, with the taser. So I grabbed him from behind, made him release the kid and the weapon--but I startled him enough that he knocked his head pretty good. I was going to haul him out of there--I started with some excuse about his being tripped out on acid--and then some other guy shows up, telling the kids to get lost and pointing a damn gun at them. It's a wonder no one called the cops. So I started trying to drag Jeremy off, and I got out my own gun just in case, and while I'm trading snarls with the other armed guy--Garou, it turns out--Jeremy sticks a gun in my side."

Jeren sighs. "Jeremy was furious. Said we wouldn't even let him stick up for himself, on top of treating him like trash. Said he hated us. Said a lot of other things too, right there in the middle of the park where anyone could have heard. Then he pulled away from me and tore out of there."

Natalie's jaw goes tight, and she drops the half-eaten chicken back onto the plate with the others. "--Hell." It's all but a growl. "Don't beat around the damn bush. He a Veil-breaker?"

Kevin's face has been growing grimmer and grimmer throughout this tale. At Nat's words he lifts one hand to his face and squeezes his forehead as though he's got a headache. He still says not a word.

Jeren puts her forehead into her hand. "The kids were long gone. It was late, and I'm damn sure no one else was around, but shit. You don't talk about turning into a nine foot tall beast with fur in the middle of a city park. You don't talk about moon rage and us all being ticking time bombs. He says he's been clued since he was seven, he /knows/ this. I'm afraid he might not care anymore. I'm afraid of what he might do to one of us, or to himself, or to some random stupid drunken kid who pushes his buttons."

Natalie's fingers curl around the edge of the table, her knuckles and the skin around her mouth and nose going equally pale. "Hell," she says again, the words barely audible across the table to reach Kevin's ears.

Rub, rub, goes Kevin's hand silently across his forehead.

Jeren lets her hands drop into her lap. "--So...I don't know what to do. I don't know how long his bomb's been ticking, but I don't think it's going to last much longer. And I'm afraid I've helped shorten the fuse." She glances at the stairwell. "I was going to talk to Thomas about it, before last night. But at this point, I don't know if he'll see any Garou meddling as anything but a conspiracy against him."

"Hell," Nat repeats - or maybe there's an echo in here. She leans back into her chair, head tipping back so she can stare at the ceiling. "He's always been... unbalanced. But this has crossed the line straight into suicidal."

"Openly so," Jeren murmurs. "I've heard him say as much more than once."

Kevin seems to be on the point of bursting if he doesn't speak, but like the Spartan boy in the fable, he keeps his silence, even with a (metaphorical) fox gnawing at his guts.

Natalie murmurs a sardonic, "Wonderful," quickly followed up by, "Damn." She stares at the ceiling a few heartbeats longer before her hands slide off the edge of the table and fall into her lap. "Well, Kevin? Let's play 'let's pretend'. You're the Tribe Elder. What do you do?"

It looks as though Kevin will finally get to speak, as Jeren closes her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. She suddenly appears a great deal more tired, even more so than she did before.

Kevin blinks as the spotlight of attention suddenly turns on him. "Oh boy, I'm a Philodox!" he exclaims with dark humour. "Well. I guess... first thing is find him and make sure he's not making some veil breach right this instant. Check in with Dakota, see if she's home. Probably warn her about all this, though I can't believe she doesn't have some inkling..."

Every day's just a learning opportunity for the cubs at Walker Central. Nat lifts her head to study the boy across the table, but that's the only move she makes. "...And? Is this a tribal matter, a Sept matter, or a personal matter?"

Kevin, the pretend Elder pro tem, looks out from under his brows at the real one. "If it's really a veil breach waiting to happen it concerns every garou in town, which I guess would make it a Sept matter. But," he goes on, raising one hand as if to point up a contrast, "we don't want to make ourselves look like a tribe who can't handle a simple thing like a kinfolk who's in a grouchy mood, so if we /can/ keep it to ourselves we should..."

Natalie inclines her head at him inquiringly. "And?"

Kevin's well seems to be running dry. "So... we check with Dakota if he's home, but if he's not, we don't tell her to put out a hue and cry, we go find him ourselves. Using... our noses?"

Natalie shakes her head, lips pressing together. "No. After that. What do you do with him. Not how do you find him. We have ways of finding him, that's not a problem."

Kevin's hand returns to his forehead, squeezing the flesh. "Talk to him, I guess. Find out what he thinks the problem is. If there is an actual problem, see if it's something that can be fixed. If not, get the guy some help, I guess... isn't that what happened with Rina?"

"Rina's a different sort of suicidal," the Elder says mildly. "There's suicidal by trying to kill yourself, and then there's suicidal by running off your mouth about the Garou." A pause during which she studies Kevin very carefully indeed. Her voice is low, pitched for their ears alone. "--The question is, is Jeremy suicidal?"

Jeren's eyes open, if only to small slits, and she looks toward Kevin.

Kevin wilts under the intensity of Natalie's gaze. "He might be," the cub says, with evident reluctance. "He... was in here a couple of hours ago. Wouldn't talk to me. Said he was the man I never saw. His head was all bandaged up..." Kevin swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "I didn't try to stop him. He looked terrified of... well, of me, I guess."

"So what," Nat asks, nipping off the end of each word, "Are you going to do about him, as Elder?" She and the others are down in the dining room, seated one-two-three along different sides of the table. Nat's the only one with refreshments - a single glass of orange juice at one elbow and the plate of leftover chicken (sans tinfoil) in front of her. The entire house smells Lemony Fresh! and all but sparkles.

Jeren is looking particularly rumpled in comparison--tired, hair messed up. Her arms are folded across her chest, which gives anyone who looks a clear view of her banged up, scraped and bruised knuckles. She does, however, smell more lemony than anything else. She's watching Kevin from under hooded lids, and contributing nothing further to this conversation at the moment.

Kevin slams shut the mathematical textbook that's been sitting, unread, in front of him for the last ten minutes. "First, find him. Bring him home. By which I mean here, rather than wherever the hell he lives with Dakota, assuming he does live with her, how should I know, he never talks about her to me. Then, try to talk to him without freaking him the hell out any more. Then, take appropriate action. Antidepressants, counseling... imprisonment..." He swallows again. "Culling even if he's totally lost all sense of the importance of the Veil, but dear Gaia I hope it can't be that bad."

"Here isn't exactly safe," the Galliard points out, her hands coming up to rest on the edge of the table. "And unless we shift Thomas or Jeren out of their rooms, the bunker is the only place to keep him." She cocks her head, eyes still on the boy. "So you'd talk to him, get him some, hmn, drugs, and then set him loose again once you think he's better?"

Grey, at last, comes home from a day at -- well, judging by his attire, the office, though it's hard to imagine him in such an environment. His attention very much focussed inward, he stalks heavily down the hall and into the kitchen, only noticing the trio in the dining room as he's reaching for the fridge. He pauses, then, staring over at them with a flat, unreadable expression.

The look Jeren lifts to Grey is, in contrast, intensely defined. She looks as though she's about to tell him she ran over his dog--if he had a dog, and if he'd be devastated over having it killed, that is. The Ragabash, however, remains silent.

Natalie studies Kevin a moment longer before grunting, a sound that is neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She looks over into the kitchen then, eyes sliding past Jeren; she remember her half-eaten chicken enough to pick it up, though not to resume gnawing on it. "Thomas. We've got a... problem. With Jeremy. I want your input... no, I /need/ your advice."

Grey's jaw tightens. He abandons the fridge to prowl closer to the half-wall between himself and the dining room, loosening his tie as he does so. "On what?" His voice is bland.

Kevin is happy enough to shut up. His eyes swivel round to Grey, and his eyebrows rise as he notes the philodox's more formal than usual dress.

Jeren purses her lips. Once again, her eyes close, and her face angles more toward the table than any of the other Garou.

Natalie cants a look toward Jeren, but lets the Ragabash stay silent while she demonstrates her auspice. "He's more unbalanced than usual. Apparently after pulling guns on you the other day," she keeps her voice nice and neutral over that little bit of information, "he's been whining to Jeren about the Sanctified Dead Walkers again. Including... you. Sort of. He's also threatened Jeren with a taser, pulled another taser on a group of teenagers trying to beat him up, stuck a gun in Jeren's ribs, and then started babbling about nine-foot hairy monsters. This is after he's been complaining about how he's treated like scum of the earth."

Grey rests his hands on the half-wall and leans against it slightly. He looks tired. Then again, when doesn't he look tired, these days. "Ah. Jeremy."

Natalie's 'smile' is a thin, tight thing. "Exactly. So now we - I - need to decide what the... what to do with him. I'm collecting opinions."

Jeren finally speaks again. "--I don't think he's actively out to create a Veil breach. I think he's dangerously close to not caring about whether he creates one though. And I think he's more close to flipping on someone, and getting himself, or them, or both killed."

Kevin's eyes swing back from Thomas Grey, bounce off Natalie's stony visage like a baseball from a bat, and come to rest on Jeren, where they remain, the cub seeming to find what little hope exists for him in this situation in the other ragabash's face.

Grey grunts. "Goes to show what rooming with a domineering and insane Metis will do to one." He straightens up and rakes fingers back through his unkempt hair. "Honestly, I have no fucking idea. Rina's at least finally accepted the idea of therapy. She's even moving out of that studio she shared with John."

"Kevin thinks," Nat supplies, inclining her head toward the boy though her eyes remain on Grey, "we need to bring him in and try to talk to him. Antidepressants, perhaps. Counseling." Her tone goes up at the end of that, all but asking for Thomas' input. For now Jeren's slipped off her radar.

Out in the main room, the basement door can be heard opening and closing. Cy appears in the doorway of the kitchen shortly -- wearing the now-ubiquitous headphones -- with a small empty plate and the house's 'STFU' mug in hand. She avoids any eye-contact, pacing over to the coffee maker.

"Kevin is not tribal elder for a reason," the owner of that name points out somewhat acerbically.

Jeren pipes yet again, more cautiously this time, "I think Kevin's right, at least about the first part. We need to find him, and we need to make sure that while--whatever it is we use to try and help him is going on, he's not able to cause damage. And that goes for himself too."

Grey glances over at the younger Philodox, his eyes hooded, then turns back to the trio in the dining room. "Who's going to do the counseling? Prescribe the drugs?" He finger-combs his hair again, which generally refuses to stay out of his eyes. "Bring him in, yes. Sit him down and talk to him, yes. Hope he decides to meet us half-way... yes." The scarred one is Mr. Pessimism.

The lucky woman who is Tribe Elder shoots Kevin a quelling look before turning back to Grey. "And...? Then what? Or would you handle it differently in the first place?" "--Cy," she adds, raising her voice to (hopefully) catch the newcomer's attention, "Come over here. We're having a... discussion."

Kevin leans back dejectedly in his chair and chews on a fingernail quietly, making no overt acknowledgment of Cy.

Jeren says, "--Have him sniffed. Just in case. Counseling?" Her nose wrinkles at that, but she does ask, "Are there any Kin in town that would qualify? Ours or other tribes'?"

*Tsk-tsk-tsk* go the headphones. Someone's listening to angry music at full volume. Cy pours her coffee in punk-rock oblivion, bobbing her head a little.

Grey glances over at Cy again, when Natalie calls on her, and a scowl darkens his face. Crossing quickly over toward the oblivious girl and snatches the headphones off her. "Cy."

The girl actually goes 'eep' in her startlement, whirling to yank the headphones out of his hands by their cord with an angry glare. This isn't the first time she's had her music yanked off her ears. "What." She glowers up at her elder. The 'phones, having been disconnected from the walkman in her pocket, are silent now.

"Come over here," Natalie repeats, her tone icily cool. While they're waiting she resumes her delayed lunch, eyes on Cy. "We're having an impromptu moot about a Tribal, hmn, problem. I want your input, as Philodox."

Kevin seems relieved that Nat's attention is now on the half-moon cub. He lets his hand drop from his mouth and looks at Jeren again.

Grey lets her take the 'phones back, though the look in his eyes is dire. He jerks his head toward the dining room.

"Someone fill her in," Nat adds around a mouthful of chicken thigh. "--Briefly."

Jeren clears her throat, and then poses her previous question once again. "Do we have any Kin, ours or other tribe's, that would qualify as a counselor?"

Cy glances over at the trio in the dining room as though noticing them for the first time. She looks like she has more she'd like to say to the older Philodox, but she grabs her coffee mug and stalks through to the table. Taking whichever seat is farthest away from the rest.

Grey follows Cy, looking more like some kind of criminal than ever with his tie at half-mast and his expression thundery. He leans against the wall rather than sit, and folds his arms across his chest.

Kevin finally looks at Cy, glumly. He raises the hand whose fingernail he was recently chewing in a mute sign of greeting.

Natalie watches Cy all the way around the table, her teeth tearing at the cooked flesh. When no one pipes up her expression darkens further; she shoots a dire look at the two Ragabash that promises later pain. "Fine." Back to Cy, and she nudges the plate of chicken in Grey's direction, though her eyes don't leave the sullen cub. "Jeremy is a kin. I don't know if you've met him. He's always been unstable, but recently he's gotten even more so. He's threatened Jeren with a taser and a gun, pulled another taser on a group of teenagers in the park, and then started babbling about nine-foot hairy monsters while in the open. It's Jeren's opinion that he's not actively trying to create a Veil breach, but that he is suicidal and doesn't particularly care if he creates one. --What is your advice, Philodox?"

Grey eyes the chicken, then pushes off from his lean and takes a seat at the table, drawn-in by the offer of food the way any hungry animal would. He takes a leg and starts on it as Natalie talks.

Unanswered, Jeren doesn't try for a third asking of the question. Especially with Natalie's dire glare of doom involved. She falls silent again, looking down at the shiny tabletop.

Kevin chips in belatedly. "And he's out there somewhere now. Not sure where."

The punk-haired girl takes a sip of coffee and purses her lips, glancing in Grey's direction before turning back to the question at hand. She stays thoughtfully silent after Kevin's input, for a breath. "Why's he suicidal, d'you think?" The question's not aimed at anyone in particular.

Nat snorts and gnaws, rodent-like, at the remnants of flesh remaining on the ex-bird's femur. "Does it matter?" She answers her own question. "--No. Not for this. Just take it as given. I want your opinion."

Grey, still eating his own portion of dead bird, says nothing, but his gaze is rather intent on Cy.

Jeren pushes her chair back and stands up. Apparently, all the chicken-eating has got to her, because she too enters the kitchen--but only to once again fill up a glass with tap water and drop two icecubes into it.

Kevin rubs his forehead once more and exhales wearily. "Damn gothboy. He's given me a headache."

Cy's brows lower over dark eyes. "It does matter," she notes lowly. "Get to th'root and you can pull the whole fuckin' weed up. But--nevermind. I say take his guns, or anything that could make a big mess. Twenty-four hour watch, maybe. Regular check-ins, at least. I know he's got a cell phone." She pauses for a breath, as though giving a solicited opinion is somewhat painful.

"So you'd advocate a mental health check up as well," Nat says with a faint frown. "--Hmn." Keeping the chicken bones in her fingers makes pushing her chair back trickier, but not impossible; her left hand takes up her forgotten glass of orange juice as she stands. "I'm going to go shower now that I'm not going to fall over dead from hunger. --And to answer your question, Jeren: no. At least, not that I know of. I'd rather not delay his... fate while we scrabble around begging all the other tribes for help, though."

Around his chicken leg, Grey mutters, sourly, "So much for the vaunted healing powers of the Children of Gaia."

"Quite apart from the fact that it doesn't reflect well on us if it does all turn out that he's just having a fit of goth angst, and we've put the rest of the sept on red alert for nothing," Kevin contributes. "Damn it all. I'm going to go down to the cellar and think about it on four legs, clear my mind some... hopefully."

Jeren grunts into her water glass. Grey is given a brief glance at his remark, and then she sets the glass down onto the counter. "Short of giving him back what he views as the 'good old days', dead pack members and all, I'm not sure what will help."

Kevin pushes his chair back and stretches as he stands up. "If I think of anything more I'll letcha all know," he promises as he slowly paces out of the room and heads for the cellar door.

"You could always just kill him," Cy remarks flatly, hiding her expression behind her a gulp of coffee.

Grey gives Natalie a nod as she heads off, though Kevin hardly gets even a glance, thanks to Cy's comment. He looks at her, measuringly, and then grunts. "Last resort. Very last resort."

Natalie steps to the side to let Kevin rush past her and down the stairs, then disappears down the hall, still carrying her juice glass. A few seconds later the tell-tale sign of feet on steps creaks back to the kitchen.

[End of log]