It is currently 12:19 Pacific Time on Mon Mar 14 2005. Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 26 degrees Fahrenheit (-3 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.32 and falling, and the relative humidity is 92 percent. The dewpoint is 24 degrees Fahrenheit (-4 degrees Celsius.) Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (27% full). Safehouse: GW Main Area Like the public safehouse, the foyer of the Glass Walker's private area is set off from the living room by a four-foot-high half-wall. The steps to the second floor disappear off to the left, mirroring the other set. There the similarities end - where the public area is painted unoriginal white, the walls of the Walker house are a dusty pastel teal above polished maple hardwood floors. A hallway leads back toward the kitchen, pausing at a computer room on the left outfitted with enough bells and whistles to satisfy a small LAN party. At the back of the house, through an arch, the kitchen is big enough to comfortably allow two active cooks and boasts a half-sized refrigerator and full pantry in addition to the usual stove/fridge/sink combination. A dining room, nearly as large as the kitchen, is set off by another half-wall like the one in the foyer. The furniture throughout the house is in better condition than next door, though only a few pieces are close to new. 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. Sometime last night, before retiring to the room upstairs, Thomas had gotten his things out of the neutral-brown, road-worn sports car that he drove up in. He slept like the dead (well, the restless dead) until mid-morning... an ungodly late time to be getting up, for him. By now, though, he's up and showered (though not shaved) and dressed and all that, and is, currently, standing in the living room and looking out one of the front-facing windows, hands buried in his pockets and expression pensive. Nat's little green truck comes up the driveway and parks, dumping the Elder onto the concrete. She heads for the front door; moments later the security door into the Walker half opens to admit the woman. She's dressed in heavy-duty work clothes under her zipped bomber, and a faint band of red across her forehead speaks of previous hard-hat wearing. As the door closes behind her she spies Grey and her chin comes up. "--You're awake. Good. Suppose you slept like crap as usual?" Her voice is light, though there's an undercurrent of tension; she also looks as though she didn't sleep well, though she's no where near as drained-looking as he. Grey glances over as she comes in, and though he doesn't look as ragged as he did last night, it'll take more than one night's sleep to bring him back to normal. The darkness under his eyes is especially prominent. He turns away from the window with a shrug and replies, flatly, "Some things never change." Natalie snorts as she unzips her coat. "Ain't that the truth. So. Have you eaten?" She continues to watch him as she wriggles free of the bomber, as if he were a particularly interesting biological specimen. Grey's jaw tightens at the continued stare; he doesn't squirm, but he does seem tense and uneasy under it. His gaze shifts away from her, toward a lamp. He nods in answer to her question. "Give Rina half a chance, and she'll bring enough to feed an army." "She'll bring it for -you-, you mean," Nat corrects, turning to hang up her coat on one of the free pegs. "I think I've seen her all of... four times? since you left. No, only three, I think. Did you call her last night, or was she just a damn lucky guesser?" With a little jerk of her head she tosses him toward the kitchen, though she pauses to unlace her work boots before padding, sock-footed, down the hall. Grey seems to take the reply as an accusation, and his mouth thins out. Obediently, he precedes her into the kitchen. "I called her," he admits. "Right after I got off the phone with you." "Well, there's that little mystery solved," Nat drawls dryly. The kitchen still smells faintly of bleach - as it has done all morning, though not last night. "And only three more new ones this morning. Such a deal." She drops a nod toward the little pile of paper on the counter under the empty beer bottle as she crosses to the fridge to investigate its contents. "Any idea what the hell any of -those- mean?" Grey glances at it, though not closely, and shakes his head slightly. "No idea. I didn't hear anything last night." Natalie says "You and me both. So." She pulls the forsaken plate of pizza out - again - and sets it on the counter before diving back into the fridge for a can of Coke. "What did you think of Kevin?" Grey leans up against the halfwall and folds his arms across his chest. "Seemed fine. I didn't get to speak to him more than an introduction, though." He hesitates a beat, then asks, with pessimistic dread, "How'd Joshua end up?" Natalie eyes him with wry amusement as she peels back the layer of plastic from her lunch. "And you accuse -me- of wanting to go straight to the point. He's a damn Ronin. Cockroach tossed him out on his ear in a nice big splashy way." Grey grimaces. He doesn't look at all surprised, but he doesn't look at all /happy/ to be unsurprised. "Told him it would happen. Somehow." He brushes overlong hair away from his forehead in an absent-minded gesture. "I hear that Cat's gone, too." "Give a Galliard a chance," she replies, sliding the plate into the microwave and rescuing the topmost slice before punching the keypad. "This is going to take a while. Sure you don't want anything?" Grey, rebuked, crosses his arms over his chest again and shakes his head. "I'm sure." Thus encouraged, Nat launches into the whole sordid tale of what's been going on with the tribe since the Philodox left just under a year ago: Leala's Challenge, and subsequent disappearance. Cat and Tony disappearing. Jon's arrival. Marcus's arrival, Challenge, and disappearance. Joshua's ejection from the tribe in front of a large portion of the Sept, including the Alpha. "--She refused to consider running Lone Wolf on him, you know," she adds, licking a bit of tomato sauce from one finger. "Even after he turned all but feral. That damn Wendigo's still got him in her pack, working as a -Guardian- of all things. Even after all that." Tu's arrival. Scratch's arrival, and his aborted departure. His -real- departure, just over the weekend. "...And then there's the cubs." Grey absorbs it all like a very grim sponge. He shakes his head a couple of times, and his jaw tightens more than once, but he offers no interruption and spends most of the datadump gazing moodily at a spot somewhere near the floor. Natalie continues throughout lunch, alternating story with pizza and less frequently, sips of pop. How the Dominion was lost once Leala left and stopped payments. How Jon helped her find this place, and how the last few months have been non-stop remodeling action. Chaney the lupus cub. "--Sent her back to Minnesota because I couldn't train her properly. Not... not the way I wanted to." Lucas, the lost cub who turned to the Shadow Lords. "Whined because I wouldn't hold his hand or spend all my life out at the damn farm." Saul, who was around at the same time as Chaney, but who died on his Rite of Passage about three weeks ago. And now, "Kevin. Damn fine kid. We're lucky to have him. I just hope I manage to get him through -his- Rite. It'll make a nice change." Grey grunts. "Even better if he stays around afterward. I know that Rite, by the way." Natalie studies him from her spot leaning against the pass-through counter between kitchen and dining room. "--Good. So do I." The last of the pizza crust disappears into her mouth; she carries her empty plate over to the dishwasher. "You left me with a hell of a lot of surprises, Thomas. You deserved every millisecond of last night's little greeting." Grey rubs his jaw, remembering. "I know. To be honest, I was expecting worse." "If you come over here," she invites pleasantly, "I'll knee you in the balls." She offers him a little smirk before retreating to her spot, and her Coke can. "Ebony, for instance... -that- little surprise nearly got me my very own throat ripped out by one hella pissed off Adren Philodox Alpa. It's not /every/ Cliath that gets to say that." Grey may have a martyr complex, but he doesn't take her up on the offer of testicular abuse. The mention of Ebony draws forth a tight grimace. "No, I suppose not." Natalie says "So." She leans on the counter again, studying him. "Any -other- little time bombs I don't know about, Holds-His-Tongue? Just here in St. Claire for now; we'll get into the rest of your story later." Grey's hand comes up to rake back through his hair and then rub the back of his neck. He thinks for a moment, lips thinned, then says, "There was another vampire in town before Ebony. He agreed not to make any trouble in return for being left alone, but he left town long before Ebony got turned." A beat. "Yi claimed, once, to owe our tribe a favor. Smith knew, but didn't tell me, and I didn't find out until that mess with Renee." A grimace pulls at his face and partially lingers as he thinks on. What else doesn't she know? Oh, yes. "We have a mage on the police force. Nicodemus Dalton. At least, I /suspect/ he's a mage. He could be something other. He helped us with some problem with Wyrm-tainted party drugs and has, to my knowledge, always acted in the best interest of the city and its inhabitants, so I left him alone." Grey adds, "He's skittish, though. He's afraid of us. I think he'd be upset if he knew that too many of us knew about him." Natalie lips pull back from her teeth at the Gnawer's name, but she keeps her silence... at least, until Nico's name comes up. "Waitwaitwait. A -mage-." She pushes off the counter, one hand held up for silence, all but quivering in her excitement. "Dammit... I think I've been talking to him. How many are there in town, do you know? Because -damn-, my mage is paranoid. Says he goes to other towns to call, and only calls from pay phones. Uses a voice synthesizer, too." Grey frowns. "There was Dana," he says slowly. "Kin to the Children. Or the Wendigo. Who was going to marry some Silver Fang, once upon a time." His voice remains flat, offering little editorial comment on that. "Another, a rogue, named Carter that Smith kept trying to hunt down and never could. Those are the only ones I /know/ of who /might/ still be in town. The problem with them is that they're damned hard to detect." A pleased little smile curls the Galliard's lips. "Oh, frabjous day. Dammit, Thomas, I think you've solved my little problem. See, David - that's what I call 'my' mage - brought in a pal to help fix a few things. Turns out this pal was Wendigo kin. That must have been this 'Dana'. And unless I'm completely whacked in the head, it sounds like Dalton is my David." She pauses, eyebrows drawing down, gaze turning inward. "Huh." Grey takes in Natalie's brainstorm with a singular lack of enthusiasm. "Could be. Carter didn't sound like the paranoid type. And Dalton is definitely... over-cautious." Natalie's smile broadens. "Well," she says, looking and sounding like the proverbial cat with the canary, "Now there's another card in my hand. And for -that-, I'll forgive you a hell of a lot. --So what did you and Rina talk about, after I took my shell-shocked self off to bed? And what'd Kevin say? --Did you see that weird note, by the way? It looks Norwegian, I think. Dunno, though, not for sure. Might have to ask Gunnar." A distinct touch of bitterness passes across the halfmoon's lean face. "We didn't talk about anything," he says tersely. "Rina and I. Not really. She was upset." He grunts. "Didn't get more from Kevin than an introduction, but all things considered, I wouldn't blame him." Natalie's elation shifts to curiosity. "Upset? About your story?" "She knew about Lara and I," he answers, naming the mysterious and enigmatic Metis for the first time. "She was probably hoping it would work out somehow." He huffs out a breath. "And she has an overinflated sense of my worth. So, yes. She was upset." Natalie snorts derisively. "More like she doesn't understand the Litany." She tilts the Coke to her mouth, aiming a pointed look toward the other Cliath as well. "--Look," she adds once she's lowered the can, "Let's get this out, right here and now. Hell yeah, I'm angry at you. Both for hightailing it out of here when I /needed/ you, dammit, and because of the reason for it. There's nothing wrong with Metis by themselves, but the Litany's there for a -reason-, and it's the number one rule. I'm not going to punish you - I think you've been punished enough for it. You screwed up, you took your lumps. Now I need you -here-, with /me/, not... not thinking about her all the time. Gaia knows I'd be maudlin about Jon," and this is the first time she's mentioned any sort of relationship with the Kin, "but -get over it-, Thomas. Pull your head out of your ass and give me your best. We're going to have enough of a ding with a known Charach in the tribe; I don't need you going out of your way to handicap us further. All right?" Grey's jaw tightens during this speech, especially when she mentions the Litany; his teeth clench as though biting back words. At the end of it, he nods tightly, still looking more at the floor than at the Elder. Kevin comes down the steps from the second floor, the treads creaking faintly under his weight. Natalie and Thomas are back in the kitchen; Nat's a few steps from the counter between the kitchen and dining room, while they very maudlin and sulky-looking Philodox stands about ten feet away, scowling at the floor. "-Good-," she says, nodding once, sharply. "Now. Do you have any other... things that need to be said? Or ideas about those?" a nod toward the pile of notes. "Or questions for me? I've given you the basics of tribe since you left, but you probably know squat-all about what else has been going on." From upstairs there is a heavy and rather sickly thud. Grey pulls back on his anger, swallowing it with difficulty, and makes an effort to compose himself. His arms unfold, and his hands vanish back into his pockets. "Hardly know where to start," he begins, and then glances upward, hearing the thud. "Like I tell Kevin," Nat says blithely, "There's a big red button on my forehead. Just give it a push." "--What?" she follows his eyes toward the ceiling, though she's plainly looking for problems -on- the ceiling, and not past it. After some seconds' silence, footsteps may be heard descending the staircase from above. Very slow footsteps. Almost zombie pace, for those who watch such movies. Grey, naturally, does not assume that the safehouse would be infested with zombies, so turns back to Natalie. "Any changes within the caern, or the Sept as a whole?" Natalie frowns at the unblemished ceiling, but turns back to Thomas, apparently not noticing the dragging footsteps. "Megan-rhya's still Alpha. Um... Seeker is Warder, though I rarely see him. The Wendigo have packed together with the Ronin and are guardians, and their elder has a stick up her butt. Um... Huh. Lessee. Olga's still Gnawer Elder, there's a new Fang in town who's their Elder. Signe... oh!" Her face lights as she lifts it to him. "Signe's Challenging Megan for Adren. She has to carry a baby to term - /and/ she's pregnant, thank you for asking - and organize a raid on the hospital." When the footsteps finally reach the foot of the stairs and the door swings slowly open, what is revealed is, indeed, not a zombie. It's Kevin. That said, he looks little better than a zombie. His face is paler and his eyes are more hollow even than they've been over the previous week or two, and he walks in a slow, shambling gait. Every step he takes seems to cause him pain, if the wincing that movement elicits is any signifier. He focuses blearily on the two adult garou and mumbles something that's quite incomprehensible, though sharp ears might detect that it ends in "-rhya". Grey grunts. "Good for her. Havoc still going, then?" Mismatched eyes flick over toward Kevin, and he lifts an eyebrow slightly at the faux-undead state of the boy. "I'm Beta," Nat agrees with a smug little smile. Anything else she'd add is cut off by Kevin's entrance: she stares at him for a heartbeat before blurting, "What the hell happened to -you-?" Kevin props himself up on the half-wall and takes a few deep breaths. "I feel... dreadful," he says succintly, and a little more comprehensibly. No kidding. He looks like death warmed up, but not warmed up much. Grey gives the cub a critical look-over, frowning, but offers no comment. "C'mere," Nat orders, gesturing him closer even as she takes steps to close the distance between them. For now Grey drops from her attention; it's all focused on the cub. "What's the matter? You feel sick? You look about as good as Thomas does, and /he/ gets crap for sleep." Kevin hesitantly releases his grip on the wall, takes a few steps towards Nat, then veers off in the direction of the sink. "Hang on," he gasps as he clutches that fitting, eyes closed. One might suspect him of being about to vomit, but he doesn't. After a few seconds he reopens his eyes, grabs a glass, fills it with water and drinks it thirstily, right down in one. Thus fortified he looks at Nat again. "Oh dammit, my HEAD..." Grey shakes his head slightly. Vaguely restless, he prowls around the half-wall and into the dining room, staying within hearing distance. Natalie trails after the cub like a worried den-mother and hovers over his shoulder. "--What? What your head? What the hell's going on, Kevin?" "Aches like I got hit by a thunderbolt," comes the British boy's reply. "Is there any aspirin in the house?" "You don't /need/..." Nat begins, frustration beginning to clamber over her worry. "-Talk- to me, Kevin. Why do you look like something the cat brought up?" Kevin gives an eloquent shrug, then shudders as though he regrets the generosity of his bodily movement. "Beats me. I was feeling okay last night. Practiced shifting up in the bunkroom, came down late and met..." he gestures at the lurking figure of Thomas. "Ate some of Rina's lasagne, went up to bed... and woke up feeling like this." Grey glances up from his study of the dining room table. "I had some of the same lasagne," he remarks. Natalie looks between the two of them, her gaze lingering on the man for a moment. "--You didn't... shift or anything, did you? Last night?" Kevin hesitates for a moment to make sure he's the one being addressed. "Not after I came down for food," he avers. Natalie turns back to Grey, expectant. Grey shakes his head. "Went straight to bed. No shifting." Kevin shakes his head. Very cautiously. "I don't /think/ it was the lasagne." "Well, -that's- not it," Nat says with a frown. She takes a peek out the nearest window, then adds to Kevin with a nod, "But just in case, shift up to Glabro." While the boy's doing that she turns back to Grey, eyebrows knitted. "And you ate supper and went to bed too, right? Well, this morning I wake up to a pile of dead rats in the kitchen, courtesy of Rina and a note in... Gaia only knows what languge. I'm going to assume that you didn't write it?" She heads back to the pile of papers under the empty beer bottle and, after a few seconds of paging through the sheets, extracts the gibberish-covered one. Kevin leans on the wall, trying to focus his dissipated energies enough to shift. Natalie's words, though, distract him. "Rats...? Language...?" he mutters as though he doesn't comprehend the words. "I didn't write it," the Philodox confirms flatly, stepping closer to the half-wall but remaining on the dining room side of it. From afar, to the room, Natalie merrily beats Kevin into a pulp. :) "/Shift/," Nat spits at Kevin, enunciating the 't', before taking the note over for Grey's perusal. "Well, /I/ sure as hell didn't write it. And I don't think Rina did... could be wrong, though. Ought to compare handwriting to be sure. And Tu wasn't here last night, and Jon assures me it'd take C-4 to get through the door." Which leaves... Slowly her head cranks around to study Kevin. Dispassionately, almost. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ...in the morning, there's a sheet of paper, held down by one of Scratch's left-over beer bottles. In large, untidy, scrawling letters, it reads: "Du har taget et eller andet at var ikke jeres. Indevrende var forkert i jer. Ubrugelig vil nedstamme fra indevrende." ============================================================================== Kevin closes his eyes and his body bulks out as he gains his aim of Glabro, exchanging one unattractive look for another. He shivers once or twice, not seeming to notice the keenness of the galliard's eyes upon him. Grey accepts the note from Natalie, but only looks briefly at the writing. He hands it back to her with a comment of, "Looks Germanic. I'm not a linguist, though." "Norse," Nat says absently, watching the cub's transformation. "--Getting better, kiddo. C'mere and take a look at this." 'This', of course, is the note which she flips at him. Kevin relinquishes his support on the half-wall for a second time within mere minutes, and still looking very much below par, c'meres and takes a look at 'this'. His already furrowed brow creases some more. "Not mine," he says succintly, then frowns. "...Nah." "Rina doesn't know Norse, far as I know," Grey offers up, dispassionately. "Doesn't look like her handwriting, either." Natalie scowls at the note as though it's the source of all frustration before dropping it onto the counter. "Well -damn-. Maybe... damn. I'll have to ask our boarders next door. Maybe one of them asked Rina to drop it off, or something." "We have boarders? Boarders, plural?" Kevin asks. "Not just Emma?" Grey folds his arms across his chest, his attention tennis-ing from Elder to cub and back again. "Couple other Cliath," she explains succinctly, still eyeing the note sourly. "They ran into something major, banged them up pretty bad. --Which reminds me," she adds, lifting her eyes to Grey. "There's a girl over there too. Rina thinks she /might/ be Kin because she was dating some guy named Cameron. We're not running a free hospital for Veil Breeches. Do you know who this Cameron might be?" "Hence the rats?" Kevin is still speaking, it seems, in as few words as he can get away with. "Fianna Theurge," the Philodox says blandly, answering Natalie. "Rited during the Dancer invasion a few years ago, but he's been gone for a while now. Packed with Aubrey and Tobin for a while, in Crescent Wing. Founding member, in fact." Natalie answers the cub, "I have -no- idea what's up with the rats. But note for the future: the next dead body in my kitchen, and whoever left it there will /eat/ it." Grey's info gets a thoughtful, "Huh," and a nod. "Well, there's more in favor of this girl getting to live. Could you wander over there later, see if you recognize her?" Grey purses his lips and nods once. "Very well." Kevin's face twists and for another second he looks once more ready to toss his cookies. "/Please/," he says to Nat in heartfelt tones, then seems to veer onto another track of thought. "...I wonder if Scratch is okay. Mebbe it's some after-effect of our night out." "Scr..." begins the Galliard, turning on the boy only to pause, brought up short. "Scratch is gone," she continues evenly. "He left Saturday night." Kevin says "Yeah, I /know/," Kevin responds curtly. "But that doesn't mean he's not necessarily got a bug of some kind if we both picked it up /Friday/ night." How tetchy the cub seems at the subject." "Ought to check him for Wyrm," Grey points out, mismatched eyes tracking from the cub to the Elder. "Just on the safe side." Natalie's temper is fraying, slowly and steadily. "Don't know it," she answers Grey, though her eyes remain on Kevin. "And if you had 'a bug', being in Glabro would fix it." Kevin directs a laser-beam glare at Thomas, heedless of the disparity in their status. Yup, very tetchy today. "Pardon me for trying to make helpful suggestions," he growls. Grey's upper lip wrinkles back away from his teeth in a way that's more lupine than human, answering the cub's glare with one of his own. Natalie glances between the two, but keeps out of their little show of teeth. Kevin can't meet that gaze, and breaks it by dropping his head. "Well, you got any /better/ suggestions?" he mutters. "'Snot nice to say things like that without evidence." Grey covers his teeth, but his temper is slow to withdraw. Turning back to Natalie, he repeats, grimly, "Definitely should get someone to check him for Wyrm. Physical illness isn't uncommon." Natalie says "Dammit. --You don't know it?" she adds, looking back at the gaunt Philodox, though from her tone it's clear she expects the answer to be 'no'. "We need a damn Theurge. --And Kevin, by the time we /have/ evidence, you could be dead, or ruined. Permanently tainted, which is the same thing as dead." Kevin takes a long, deep, and evidently meant to be calming, breath. "In which case," he muses in response to the other two, "unless the Wyrm's right here in this house, the /only/ place I could've got it in the last week or more was with Scratch on Friday night. And since the old bugger's made himself scarce, we don't know if he's... affected as well. Though I'd guess it'd take an atom bomb to give /him/ any ill effects." "You're forgetting the rats," Grey points out coldly, his temper still simmering. "And that note from nowhere," Nat adds, pushing herself off the counter to pace a short distance away and punch numbers into her cell. "--Dammit, Thomas, those damn ghosts from the Dominion didn't pull anything like this, did they?" "Nothing to do with me," is the cub's succint reply. "Never knew they were here even." He folds his arms thoughtfully. "Actually... I guess I'm feeling a bit better..." Grey shakes his head at Natalie. "Illusions only. Occasional computer malfunction. But mostly illusions." Natalie smirks, "So much for -you- being the haunted one," at the Philo as she holds the phone to her ear. "We're still getting you checked, Kevin. Better safe than sorry." Kevin keeps his arms tightly folded, as though to unfold them would run the risk of the glabrous limbs running amok and smashing things. "Well, if you think it's the rats," he comments, evidently trying hard to appear reasonable, "you two ought to be worrying too. Not to mention... was it Rina who brought them in, you said? Can Kinfolk get... tainted? And how /do/ you get checked, anyway? I assume it's not a visit to the doctor's surgery and saying 'Ah' while he looks at your tongue." Grey frowns at the Galliard, puzzled by the remark and still irritated from having to stare down the cub. Rather than ask, though, he just shakes his head and prowls off toward the other side of the dining room, away from the half-wall. The cub's curiousity will have to remain unsated, at least for a few minutes more - Nat's still on the phone, though silent and scowling. She does hold up a 'just a minute' finger at him, but that's it. Kevin sighs, and unfolds his arms at last to run his long, yellow-nailed fingers through his mop of hair to straighten it some. The effect on his appearance is minimal; though it's true that a little colour does seem to be wondering whether it dares return to his cheeks. Grey purses his lips, then abruptly comes stalking back toward the kitchen. "I'll be upstairs," he tells Natalie, and makes good on his word. [...] Safehouse: Common Area The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a steel door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen. 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. Rina doesn't stir from the couch until about 2 in the afternoon--and then she wakes with a decided groan and a curse loud enough to carry across the house. "*FUCK*!" Bolting upright, she hurries (stiffly) upstairs to check on the injured girl, fumbling with her cellphone on the way. Cole, for his part, is woken up by the sound of the obscenity. Having slept off the night's events in the same room as the other two Garou, he's across the hallway from the room Rina finds. Pushing himself to his feet, he makes his way out. "What?" Rina hits a speed-dial number even as she's checking over the young woman's breathing and pulse. There are lots more bandages than there were when Cole went to sleep, and Summer is covered up with a sheet. "Yeah," Rina murmurs. "Look, I have kind of an emergency. There's this girl..." Brian Cole is immediately jolted into wakefulness by the sight of the girl and Rina's words. He looks disheveled from spending most of the day thus far asleep, but his eyes are alert. He keeps silent, waiting for Rina to finish her call. Rina glances over her shoulder, giving the boy a tight smile. She has two fingers on the girl's wrist, checking her pulse. "No. No. But I think she's Kin. I'm pretty sure, anyway. Cause she and Cam had a thing, and I remember her goin' out to the farm... and anyway, she's really hurt. Like if the hospital wasn't hell on earth, that's where she should be. Will you help? Do that thing that you do?" Rina wets her lips. "I can't promise that," she says dryly. "I'm at the new safehouse." She rattles off the address, and it just happens to be down the street from a certain deceased person's apartment on Osprey Drive. Rina hangs up the phone and looks over her shoulder, a flicker of worry in her eyes. "You okay?" Rina herself looks like a hundred miles of rough road. Brian Cole is looking down at Summer. "Better than her, at any rate. She's Kinfolk," he asks. knuckling his hair back from his face. "The Touch of the Mother would put her to rights, if someone who knows it is around." He's still not back to his usual self, but he appears better than last night. He's barely even favoring his right leg. Rina nods minutely. "Yeah. That's who I just called. You want coffee? Or-- or juice, or somethin'?" She sets the girl's wrist down carefully. Brian Cole snorts, then shrugs. "What would really help me out is the strongest liquor that's available inhouse, but coffee couldn't hurt either. It'd wake me up, at least. Does she need to be watched until this guy shows up?" Rina's expression twists slightly as she looks over her shoulder. "She's going downhill slow, not fast. But I'd rather someone stay with her. I don't guess you know CPR?" Brian Cole nods grimly. "I know enough to buy some time, if worse goes toward worst. My certification should still be current from the Scouts. I'll stay here and hold down the fort." He finds himself a place to sit down. Unexpectedly, Rina reaches over and tousles his hair. "Thanks. I'll see if I can rustle breakfast from the other side." She runs downstairs, then, finding the key and bursting into the Walker side like a suddent gust of wind. Brian Cole blinks at the unexpected gesture, watching as Rina walks out. There's a vaguely sullen expression on his features, but there's obviously no one there lucid enough to even notice. He goes back to watching Summer for any signs of a sudden decline. Grey is downstairs in that part of the house, staring moodily out of one of dining room windows, perfectly visible from the kitchen. He glances over briefly as the door opens, then looks away, jaw tightening. Rina looks like a ball of solid stress and fatigue, and that look doesn't help. Her brow furrows, and she ducks around the edge of the kitchen almost cautiously. "If, if you want some coffee, I'm gonna make some on the other side," she offers, like a tenuous olive branch. Or a puppy, carefully dropping a toy at the master's feet, uncertain of what she's done wrong. Grey looks back at Rina, unsmiling. Though he looks better than he did last night, he's lightyears away from his old self. For a moment, it looks like he's going to refuse, but then he turns away from the window. Resigned. "Cameron's girlfriend still out there?" he asks flatly. "Natalie wanted me to take a look at her. See if I recognized ner, I don't know." Rina swallows. "Yeah. I called Cutter, he'll be over in a few t'see if he can help." She turns away, stepping into the kitchen with her head down, quickly grabbing the tin of coffee and peeking into the fridge just in case something has materialized other than leftover pizza. It hasn't. Grey grunts. Though his body language expresses more than a little reluctance, he follows Rina back into the common area of the house. When she finishes getting coffee and heads that way, of course. "She was probably pissed, huh," Rina mutters, as she heads into the other half of the house and walks to the kitchen. Grey shrugs. "More like concerned about Summer actually being kinfolk," he says without enthusiasm. There is the sharp rap of metal on wood at the front door, impatience somehow imparted in the sound. Rina stops for a moment, hugging the coffee to her chest; then she turns and looks up at him, controlled, but with eyes that edge dangerously close to hysteria and tears. She is taking a breath to speak when the knock at the door freezes her; she practically runs to get it--or at least hurries, considering her level of exhaustion. Bolts slide back, and she glances over to check that the steel door is closed before opening the front door of the house. Grey stiffens at the sound, his expression turning stony as his gaze follows Rina to the door. You'd think he was in enemy territory. Cutter stands there, looking over his sunglasses, cane in hand. He slips through the door and leans down to kiss Rina on the cheek. "Hey. Where's your girl?" he asks as he strides into the house, sounding vaguely disinterested, "Sounds like it's a rush job." Rina's free hand clenched for a moment at her side. "I'm worried, yeah. Breathing sounded worse this morning than it did last night, and she really lost a lot of blood, I think. I wasn't there, though. Kid who saw it, he's upstairs." Her voice is hoarse and ragged, and she looks not far from the edge of collapse herself, movements a bit stiff as she turns to lead him upstairs. Carrying, of course, the tin of coffee. And then there's a very familiar-looking Glass Walker Philodox who looks very much the worse for his year out of town. Grey offers up no comment; this seems to be strictly Rina's party. Cyrano blinks in surprise. "Holy Shit. Salem? When did you get back in town?" He pauses on his way up the stairs, as if expecting an answer. Rina pauses a moment and shakes her head quickly. "It's Thomas. His name's Thomas." Her voice is hollow; there is something going on, other than cyber-rats and wounded Kinfolk. She just pushes herself into motion again, though, heading for the room upstairs where she left Summer. Grey grimaces. "Jack Salem's dead. That Russian thing, remember?" Cyrano makes a face. "Hunh. Pleased to meet you." He turns and continues up the stairs. "So where's the girl, and how does she plan to show her appreciation for having her life saved?" Rina pauses again, leaning on the door for a moment with her eyes closed. "Should I not have called you?" she asks, somewhere between resigned and upset. She lifts her head to look over her shoulder to the Shadow Lord. "I mean, if you don't want to help someone's fucking Kin, then just go. And I'll stay here and watch someone die, 'cause I'm so good at that." Her voice, rough-edged to start with, breaks somewhere near the end; she closes her eyes a moment and takes a deep breath, fighting back tears and exhaustion both. When they open again, they are downcast, her head bowed. "Sorry," she tells the floor. "I'm really fucking tired." Grey, following the Shadow Lord up the stairs, albeit not too quickly and not too closely, scowls deeply. Cutter sighs. "Please, don't be so dramatic. Did I say I'd make her sign a contract before I went to work? Jesus Christ, did I not come quickly enough?" He reaches into his jacket pocket, drawing out a small knife. "Let's go." Rina swallows, not looking up at either of them as she opens the door and steps in. "No," she murmurs, "I'm sorry. Thank you, for getting over so fast. And for coming at all." Taking a breath, she looks to the young woman's still, pallid face. "She hasn't been conscious at all, that I know of. I slept a few hours, but somehow I doubt she popped awake then." Cole shakes his head, looking up when Rina returns with the two new faces. "Doesn't look like she would have, I think." He's made himself look a bit more presentable in the meantime. Before you stands a man, looking to be around twenty years of age. His hair is auburn, leaning more toward red than brown, creating a rich mahogany color. It's longer than before, enough so that it has to be bound back in a ponytail. His eyes are a warm, burnished grey, piercing and curious. He's changed recently, that's for sure. Gone are traces of babyfat, leaving him the appearance of adulthood. Still, there's a youthful, easy smile making its home amidst his strong features. His 5'10'' frame shows signs of an active lifestyle, now more than before. He wears a pair of black jeans, a leather belt cinching them in at the waist. He wears a button-down red flannel shirt, carelessly untucked. Hiking boots cover his feet. Summer's ripped clothing is bloodstained, but at least the wounds beneath are bandaged neatly. White wraps one shoulder, the only thing visible above the neatly folded cotton blanket; there is a patch of gauze along the line of her jaw, as well, and myriad tiny scratches on the skin of her face and neck. Cyrano moves to the girl's side, kneeling next to her and examining the body. "What's the story?" he asks, sparing Cole a glance as he places his hand on her stomach. Grey continues to hold back, approaching no further than the doorway, where he stands with arms folded across his chest, observant and unsmiling -- downright grim, in fact. Cole gets a brief look before he dircts his attention to the healer and the patient. [Cutter] Tall, lean and wiry with long legs and an angular face, blue eyes topped with short well-kept red hair and a felt fedora with a black feather tucked into the band. He wears a retro-cut black suit and sunglasses with black leather loafers. The outfit is lent color by a royal purple tie and a pair of dove grey gloves. In one hand he carries a cherrywood cane with a silver wolf's head "Cutter," Rina says quietly, "this is Cole. Cliath, Fianna Galliard. Cole, this's Cutter. He's a friend. Theurge." She paces to a corner of the room, puts her back to the wall, and slowly sinks down to the floor, her sweater rucking up a bit onto her shoulders. With her knees up, she curls into a tight little ball, arms wrapped around knees, head buried in arms. Cole nods to Cutter, having met the man once before. "Wyrm-ridden rats. Some kind of poision in their spit. Makes you convulse and pass out. My packmate and another are across the hall, sleeping it all off. She got the worst of it, though. They were on her en masse." Cutter nods, pushing his hat back on his head with the hilt of his knife. "She probably looked the tastiest," he says, frowning at the girl. "She looks familiar...." he says idly as he lifts the knife. With a firm and sudden stroke, he plunges the knife down through his hand, biting down hard on his lip as blood seeps out of the wound. Grey's gaze flickers toward Rina and then away, back to Summer and Cutter. "I've seen her a couple of times." His voice is still quite flat, almost monotone. "Cameron's former packmates would know her better, though. If they're still around." Rina lifts her head, leaning it back against the wall. "I think I have a number," she says hoarsely. "For the girl. I think Theurge. I forget her name... Bree?" Cole winces as the knife is driven home, though, to his credit, he doesn't avert his gaze. "So she is kin, then," he asks. He casts a glance over at Rina, blinking. "Aubrey? Yeah, I could get you in contact with her, if you need to." Rina is already fumbling her cellphone out of a pocket. She flips it open on the floor at her side, and scrolls through numbers and names. Cutter wriggles the blade free, wiping it on a corner of Summer's shirt. He leaves his hand protectively on her stomach as he slips the knife back into his pocket awkwardly. "She's a little better. I'm afraid there's not a lot more I can do at the moment." "It's okay," Rina murmurs, listless. "If she won't die on us, that's progress, as far as I'm concerned. You want coffee?" The tin is right there, set down next to her. Grey shifts his weight, preparing to leave. "If there's nothing else," he says, rather frostily, "I'll be going." He hardly waits more than a second before moving away from the door and back toward the stairs. From afar, Cutter watches Grey depart. "Shit. I said I was sorry." Cole look skeptical at Cutter's actions, but has the good sense for once just to keep his mouth shut. He looks wearily back to Rina and nods at her question about the coffee.