It is currently 08:50 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 15 2005. Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (33% full). Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.08 and steady, and the relative humidity is 79 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.) 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. Though it's well after her usual breakfast time, Nat's only now wandering down the hall from the kitchen, a glass of orange juice - high pulp, the only sort she allows in the house - in hand. She pokes her head into the computer room for a quick look around, then across the hall to the basement door to do the same. There's a relaxed possessiveness to her actions, as though all is well and she -expects- all to be well so therefore it will be. Grey has been up for hours. Up, out for a near-dawn run, and back for shower and a change of clothes. Now he comes down, shaggy hair wet around his ears and the unkempt face-stubble tamed into a short beard that lines his mouth and jawline. He's headed for the kitchen, but pauses when his path crosses Nat's and offers up a polite, if not especially cheerful (or cheerful at all) good morning. "Morning," she replies, stepping out of the hallway to let him pass. "I knocked on your door a little earlier, but you weren't in. Thought we might go running together." She hesitates, glass hovering near her lips, and adds, "You did used to go running, right?" Grey nods once. "That's where I was this morning." Going into the kitchen, he takes out the carton of orange juice and hunts down a glass. Natalie trails after the man, stopping at the spot where the hallway empties into the kitchen to lean against the wall there. "You know, speaking of things never changing..." Her tone's gone dryly teasing. "I -still- have to threaten you with the Rusty Pliers of Conversation to get more than five words out of you. --Beat Kevin up if you have to," she adds, leaping to yet another conversational track. "I chewed him out yesterday, but I don't know if it's sunk in yet." Grey glances over at her with a slight frown, but the change of topic derails whatever reply he might make to the teasing. "I will if I have to," he says. He finds where the glasses are hiding and pours himself some juice. "But I'm not that worried about it. There have been very few cubs that 'take' to me. Especially at first." "Bet Chaney would have loved you," she replies with a wrinkling of her nose. "Of course, you would have had to have passed her rigorous first impression test by playing with her talking frog." Nat's maudlin little smile is drowned under more juice and another subject change. "--All your damn boxes are down in the basement, you know." "Oh?" He glances at her, eyebrows rising in mild surprise. "...Good. Thanks." While putting the carton of juice away, he asks, "What did you end up doing with the Yugo?" "Left it at the Dominion when it was foreclosed on. I tried to get it running, but it was dead, Jim." A toast for the ghost of the long-departed Yugo. "Maybe it was in mourning, or something. --/Oh/. You don't know who happened to own the Dominion before we did, do you? I had an antiques dealer up going through the furnishings, and he found a clump of what looked like Crinos fur. Red." Grey shakes his head. "Not as such. Rumors that he was an eccentric, and that the place had a vaguely sinister reputation even before we bought it. Kept people away, and the Theurges didn't find anything actually /wrong/." He leans against the counter nearest the fridge, sipping his juice and looking more at it than at her. "I've no idea whose fur that could have been." Natalie says "It was wedged into a drawer, or something, not just floating about. Up on the third floor, where we kept all the furniture under sheets." She shrugs again, draining the last of her juice, and heads over to place the glass in the sink. "Damn - I was hoping you'd know. You've been around forever and a day. I don't know who else to ask. -Is- there anyone who's been here longer than you?" "Megan," comes the answer, and the name prompts a grimace to form on the halfmoon's scarred face. Grey adds, after a moment, "Eamon. Cutter. Isaac." Natalie grimaces as well, her eyes going vague for a moment. "--Yeah. /That's/ one talk I'm not looking forward to." The other names bring a curious glance over. "Oh yeah? I never see Eamon around. Cutter... ick. And Isaac... yeah, I remember him. Well. I think I'm going to go call Megan, let her know..." She eyes her tribemate dubiously for a second. "Let her know I need to talk to her and you're back in town. If you want help hauling boxes, I'll be around later. They're down in the basement of the other side." Grey, while not obviously cringing, has taken on the air of a man bracing himself for a blow or an unpleasant visit with in-laws. He nods tightly. "Thanks. Should be fine." He must mean the boxes. "Yeah, well. You know where my door is. Just knock." She sends him a quick, thin-lipped smile probably meant to be encouraging, then heads for the hallway, already pulling her cellphone free. Grey looks down at his orange juice as though it's turned into a glass of weasel snot stirred with a Gnawer's nose-picking finger. But he finishes it anyway, cleans the glass, and heads downstairs to see about those boxes. [...] It is currently 14:03 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 15 2005. Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (34% full). Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 13 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.06 and falling, and the relative humidity is 59 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.) Early afternoon finds the scarred Philodox hauling boxes, one at a time, down from the basement and up onto the second floor, into the room at the end of the hall that Natalie's allowed him to claim. There aren't many of these boxes (each one labelled 'Salem'), maybe three in all, but his bootsteps aren't light as he trudges up and down stairs, passing the door to the Bunkroom more than once. This current load's the last, and the smallest. As the revenant passes the door to the cubs' room for the third time, it opens and a head pops through. Kevin's face is almost unrecognisable from the pale, sickly caricature of yesterday, and the cub looks almost cheerful. "If I offered to lend a hand, would you be grateful or take it as an insult?" Kevin hazards. Grey pauses halfway down the hall and turns around, looking back at the cub with a critical and forbidding eye. "I'd accept it," he says coolly, "but it's unnecessary. This is the last one." Kevin gives a little smile. "Okay. Anything else I can do for you? Make you some coffee? A sandwich?" The cub seems to be trying hard to please. Grey raises his eyebrows, looking not just a little skeptical. "Feeling better, I take it?" "One hundred percent," is the British cub's reply, spoken in evident sincerity. "I don't know what the hell got into me but a spell in the near-man seemed to burn it out again." A moment's pause. "I was a jerk, and I'm sorry. I thought when you said I might be Wyrmtainted... it meant I was going to get put down with a silver bullet or something. You know, 'combat the Wyrm wherever it lives', and if it lives in /me/... bye bye Kevin." He gives an apologetic, hangdog look. "I know better now." Grey grunts. "It's a rare Garou that doesn't get Tainted at /some/ point. Some of the things we fight are damned infectuous." It's hard to tell if he's really accepted the cub's apology; his manner is stern and uncompromising. "Even our Rage can be our downfall. It's only when you become so sick that we can't Cleanse" -- the capital 'C' is, somehow, audible -- "you that you'd have to be put down." Kevin nods, solemnly. "So my friend Jer was telling me. Oh, hope you didn't mind me telling him you were on the scene. He kind of flipped his wig and started bouncing off the walls making happy noises. I guess you two are old pals... So, any news on when I get the Wyrm geiger counter run over me yet? If I've got something yukky I'd sooner know right away." The look that passes across the man's face at mention of Jeremy is difficult to read; he nods, though, at the cub's guess of 'old pals'. As for the other question, he just shakes his head. "No idea." Then, shifting the weight of the box in his hands, he nods the cub toward the stairs. "Why don't you head down to the living room." It sounds more like a command, albeit a mild one, than a suggestion. "I'll meet you down there, and we'll talk." Kevin nods. "Sure thing, Thomas-rhya." The cub turns and scoots down the stairs two at a time and through the door at the bottom, leaving Thomas to drop off his last box and follow in his own time. The cub, heading downstairs, doesn't see the angry, bitter grimace that twists Grey's mouth, just before he turns away to stow the box in his room. When the Philodox does come down to join Kevin in the living room, his expression is composed and neutral. When the half-mooner appears in the living area, Kevin is seated quietly, if a tiny bit on edge. "Coffee pot's on," he informs Thomas, "milk's in the fridge. I'd offer you some beer, I know Scratch left some behind, but it all seems to have been drunk." "That's quite all right," Grey says coolly. Taking a chair opposite the cub, he sits back, arms resting on the arms of his seat. "So. How long have you been with us?" "Depends on how you measure it," is Kevin's reply. "I went through first-change on the winter solstice night, so it's coming up to three months. But for whatever reason, I had no kinfetch, so I spent two or more of them stuck at the farm being someone else's problem to everyone. I've been out here a few weeks, with Natalie-rhya and Tu-rhya showing me the ropes and trying to get me up to snuff." Grey nods. "What have you learned so far?" Kevin starts to tick points off on his fingers. "The Litany. The twelve tribes... or thirteen... or fourteen, depending on how you define them. The Garou hierarchy. The Triads. Shifting... though that's still a weak-ish point. What the Umbra's like... i.e., spooky as hell." By now he's out of fingers and breath both, and pauses. "Auspice duties?" Grey prompts. "The Creeds? Fighting?" Kevin nods. "Auspices, yah, all five. And my particular new-moon things... questioning the ways, helping others see things the other way up from normal, that kind of thing. Fighting, a fair bit, though no real practice since I came to my senses and stopped making come-hither eyes to the Get of Fenris. Creeds... I don't /think/ so..." He bites his lower lip, seemingly concentrating and trying to dredge his memory for this topic. Grey purses his lips slightly. "Honor? Wisdom? Glory? As a Ragabash, you're not confined to following any particular one, though most members of your auspice prefer the ways of Wisdom, followed by Glory. Each one has a certain set of, mm, behavioral guidelines attached to it." Kevin shakes his head, more decisively. "No, this is new stuff, I'm pretty sure. All my learning's been kind of piecemeal up till recently. Got some big holes still. Mainly, I've not learnt the language yet. Wisdom, me? Now you've got to be kidding." He gives a little laugh. "We're perfect strangers. Nodding acquaintance at best. Can you go into more details about these... creeds and guidelines?" Grey doesn't laugh back. Nor chuckle. Nor even smile. He simply shifts his weight, settling into the chair and steepling his fingers. "Wisdom, Glory, and Honor are the three creeds of morality and behavior that we follow as a people. The Litany contains our laws, but following -- or not following -- the creeds are what earn you renown, or cause you to lose it. With renown comes rank, prestige within the Nation and with the spirits, and access to the more powerful Gifts. "Glory is the most common," Grey continues, fully into 'lecture' mode and, it seems, quite practiced at it. "It's also the easiest to follow, presuming that you're not an utter coward. A Garou known for his Glory is considered brave, valient, successful in battle. The creed itself is as follows: 'I shall be valorous. I shall be dependable. I shall be generous. I shall protect the weak. I shall slay the Wyrm.'" He pauses here to allow for questions. Kevin listens up, smiling a little tightly as the philodox begins to go into detail upon the subject. Just as Thomas seems to be in the habit of lecturing, so Kevin is evidently no stranger to listening. "All makes sense," he confirms, "apart perhaps from the generosity clause. That sounds to my untutored ears more like honour or even wisdom than glory?" "It goes along with protecting the weak," Grey explains. "The Litany says that the first of the kill goes to the greatest in station. But a truly strong Garou knows that he doesn't need to keep all of the kill for himself. Call it our version of the noblesse oblige." Light seems to dawn on Kevin with the explanation. "Yup. Makes sense now. Alpha don't feed the rest of the pack, rest of pack starves, can't help Alpha hunt, Alpha starves too. Yeah?" "You could see it like that," says the Philodox. "In any case, it's something to remember, that even the strongest Ahroun is nothing if he does not respect those beneath him and those around him." Kevin gives a quick thumbs-up. "So noted. Thanks. Okay, that's glory. Honour?" Grey nods. "Honor." His mouth thins. "In many ways, this is the hardest of the creeds to follow. It's also the ruler by which a Philodox's standing is measured, just as Glory is the ruler for an Ahroun. Your Honor lies in your honesty, your integrity. It can screw you over, give your less reputable enemies an advantage over you, and it's easily lost. Break a promise once, be caught in a lie, and it puts all else you do under suspicion." He takes a breath, then continues. "The Creed of Honor is as follows: 'I shall be respectful. I shall be loyal. I shall be just. I shall live by my word. I shall accept fair challenges.'" "Philodox as in..." Kevin makes a gesture in the other garou's direction. "Well, just because something's hard doesn't mean it's not worth chasing after, right? Don't think there's a single garou I've met who's not said that, or something equivalent, to me at some point. What was the third?... oh yeah, Wisdom. See, I told you Wisdom wasn't my thing, I couldn't even remember for a second..." Grey nods when Kevin gestures toward him, though his expression remains grim. "Wisdom is a Theurge's bread and butter, like Honor for the Philodox and Glory for the Ahroun. Careful thought, foresight, caution, insight characterize a Garou who's considered wise. 'I shall be calm. I shall be prudent. I shall be temperate. I shall be merciful. I shall be just.'" Kevin doesn't look as though he relishes this third creed over much. "Something tells me this isn't going to be my strong point... but you say as a new-moon, I get to pick and choose rather than being, say, a Philodox and being bound to the path of honour?" "Precisely," says Grey. "This flexibility is to your advantage. It also allows you to be unpredictable. It is, though, difficult for your auspice to earn Honor. Sneaking and stealth aren't considered honorable. Nor is a Fool often considered to be wise." "Glory, glory Yeovil Town," Kevin sings cryptically. "Now I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it seems to me this conversation is starting to point in a particular direction..." He raises both eyebrows to the Philodox, apparently in search of confirmation. Natalie pages: Ring ring goes your cellphone? Grey shrugs. "As I said, as long as you're not an utter coward, Glory's the easiest of the three creeds to follow. You're not limited to one, by the way. You're allowed to mix and--" His cellphone goes off, interrupting him. He grimaces. "--match. One moment." Getting up, he takes the phone out of a pocket and answers it with a terse, "Yes?" Natalie pages: It's me. Are you at home? And is Kevin with you? You paged Natalie with 'Yes and yes.'. Natalie pages: Good. Alicia's agreed to come get the pair of you sniffed." A beat and she adds, voice lower, "I told her. Long distance to Natalie: Grey pauses for a moment, then says, blandly, "I expected you would. It can't be kept a secret, after all." Kevin takes advantage of this break in the lesson to rise, walk over to the kitchen and get himself a coffee. He tries to catch the half-moon's eye to see if he should make a second cup for Thomas. Natalie pages: Just letting you know," her voice returning to its previous briskness. "So if you and Kevin could be in the other half in, oh, about 15 minutes. We'll be right over. Grey paces a bit away from Kevin as he continues speaking into the phone. "...Yes, and yes." There's a pause, his body stiffening, expression going stony. His next words are very... bland. "I expected you would. It can't be kept a secret, after all." Glancing over at the cub, he shakes his head, then says into the phone, "We'll be there." Then he clicks off and addresses the young Ragabash again. "Natalie's bringing someone over to check for Wyrm." He's all brisk and businesslike now. "Non-tribe, so we're going into the other half of the house." Kevin looks regretfully at his freshly-poured coffee and takes a token mouthful. "Okay," he says, having swallowed. "Best foot forward and let's get it over with." The cub seems to have at least modified his expectations of being culled on the spot if he fails the test, and now appears more in the mood of a man with toothache about to sit in the dentist's chair. Grey heads for the non-roachly part of the house, pocketing his cellphone as he does so and trusting the cub to follow. [Safehouse: Common Area] Grey leads the British Ragabash out into the non-roach-blessed section of the safehouse and makes sure that the door is closed behind them. His expression is stonily neutral, giving little and revealing less. Perhaps fifteen minute pass between Grey's phone call and the arrival of Alicia and Nat through the front door. "Crap, Alicia, I'm sorry," the Walker Elder's saying as she holds the door open for the other woman. Spotting the other two she gives them a pleasant nod. "And there they are." Kevin follows the philodox in, his face a good deal less of a stone wall. It's plain that the cub isn't relishing the experience ahead; equally evident, though, that he appreciates it's a necessary ordeal. "Here, indeed, we are," he drawls in forcedly casual tones. "Eh.. don't worry." Alicia says as he steps through, her eyes landing on Thomas, staring at him for a long moment, arms crossing over her chest. She raises up a brow, letting a breath out through her lips. Grey greets Alicia with a nod, not meeting the Gaian's eyes, and clasps his hands behind his back in a rather formal manner. "He's a good deal more polite today," he notes to Natalie, obviously referring to Kevin. "I like polite," Nat answers, coming around the half-wall to lurk in the arch that leads back to the dining room and kitchen. She doesn't add anything else, letting the Gaian Galliard take center stage. Kevin looks from one of the garou surrounding him to another; not in panic but a calm appraisal. "I'm not feeling like someone hit my head with a sledgehammer today," he explains. "Okay. What do I do?" Nodding back towards Thomas, Alicia sniffs the air a bit, hands gliding into her pockets. "Hey Kevin." She says in a tired voice. Her eyes look dark and she seems to be shifting her weight from one hip to the next, constantly. Grey doesn't seem inclined to say anything more; he just stands near the cub, hands behind his back. Natalie keeps quiet while Alicia stares at the pair, her attention on a spot halfway between the two males. Where usually her thumbs would be hooked into her pockets, right now her hands hand at her sides, loose and open. "They're clean." Alicia says in a relieved tone to her voice. She rubs behind her ear, then glances around for a chair, moving to flop down into one, sliding her head down into her hands, fingers lacing behind her neck. Kevin blinks in surprise, saying nothing. But his body language screams "Is that /it/?!" Grey glances sidelong at Kevin. "Not as bad as you thought it would be, mm?" His voice is cool. Nat lets out a long, patently relieved breath and paces back into the room. "Good. Thank you, Alicia-rhya." A corner of her mouth twitches up as she leans on the back of the couch, forearms braced. "Getting checked for Taint is pretty simple. Though like I told this one guy once, you usually notice it happening." She offers Grey the other half of her smile. Kevin shakes his head in response to Thomas. "Hell, no. Where are the spotlights in the face, the nice-and-nasty cops, the rubber hoses and the hand in the toaster?" The release of tension on the new-mood cub seems to have put him in rather a silly mood. "You mean you didn't tell him about the shot I have to give him right afterwards?" Alicia murmurs, patting her jacket down some, then begins to fish in her pocket. "I know its in here somewhere." Grey doesn't return Natalie's smile, though he does give a nod which suggests that, yes, he remembers her saying exactly that. Sometime in the past year, his sense of humor got surgically removed. Or stuffed in a bag and dumped over a bridge somewhere. It wouldn't have made that big of a splash. "Well, we -could- shoot him," Nat comments thoughtfully, studying the back of her cub's head. "I was going to have Jon do it, since he's the best shot of us. But... you're handy with a gun, right, Alicia? Are you packing?" Kevin turns his head, either to look at his elder or to take the back of his head away from her gaze. "And get my blood all over the nice paintwork that we all spent so much time working on? Oh, I think not, I think not." The cub laughs, but the laughter is painfully, obviously brittle. Alicia flips her jacket back and reaches in, drawing out one of her Glock's. She checks the magazine, then shrugs. "Got two more shots of black talon in there. The rest of it went into Lucas." She raises up a brow and looks to Kevin. "The Shadow Lord?" Grey glances over at Natalie for confirmation. "The Shadow Lord," she confirms with a nod to her tribemate before looking back to Alicia. "Black talons are a little bigger than I'm thinking. We don't need that much oomph. Thanks, though." Back to Grey she adds, "Got himself Tainted - /really/ Tainted. Alicia and Stacey caught him running around the wharves in hispo. He had a nice little den set up with munchies for later. Dogs, cats..." She pauses to eye Kevin before adding, "Humans." Kevin looks hard at the weapon that Alicia is carrying in what evidently seems to the cub to be an overly casual manner. "Humans," he mutters. "Bye bye Veil, bye bye Litany..." "I kicked his ass in and dragged him back to the Compound with Cutter later." Alicia murmurs. "I preformed the cleansing ritual on him with Tobias supporting me and I think we fixed him, but then I found out a /lot/ of people knew that he was tainted and chewing on people and no one did anything. Jarred and James were /supposed/ to fix it, but that was almost.. two months ago." She lets out a slow hiss. "So as you can see, I'm frustrated, because I'm going to have a talk with Jarred, now that I've talked with Megan. Thomas, you want to come with me when I do it?" Grey's eyebrows rise, vanishing behind the black hair hanging raggedly over his forehead. "Jesus Christ." He's disgusted -- revolted, even -- at the news of maneating and grimaces when Alicia explains the situation further. The Gaian's request takes him by surprise, somewhat, and he frowns slightly at her, bemused. "Me?" "I suggested you," Natalie interrupts, pushing herself off the back of the couch and straightening. "You've got the experience. I'm not Fostern yet and, well. If Jarred would try to kill Alicia, he's got a chance at taking us both down. Taking -three- of us out, though... It ought to be enough to make even him stop and think, but it doesn't tell him we're afraid of him." Kevin keeps his mouth shut and his eyes open. And focused on that gun still. Alicia nods her head. "You know how he is.. when he gets scared, he'll try an take me out most likely to save his neck. Which is kinda why I spread the news about this to a few Elder's before I got this far. Ya'know.. if I go missing.. you know why." She glances over at Kevin, then back down to her gun, holstering it into her jacket again. "That and I /know/ you two are best buds." She says with a faint, weak grin to Thomas. Grey snorts. "He's every bit a Shadow Lord. All their worst qualities." No, there's no love lost there between him and Jarred. "If you need the backup, I'm there." Natalie says "Just let us know when and where you want us," with a nod for the other Elder. "If you've told Megan, I'll tell Signe. She might take it a little more calmly from me." "Ah, yes, the Shadow Lords," Kevin says quietly. "Jarred told me, when I was looking for my tribe, that the Glass Walkers are a twisted bunch of losers and I should steer clear of them. When I asked why, he just sneered and told me I'd make a good one. So in a way, you guys have him to thank for me being here." "Mm.. " Alicia murmurs, nodding her head to Natalie after Kevin's statement. "I will definitely be in touch." She pushes herself up out of the chair, shaking out her arms a bit, then yawns. ".. I think for now, I'm going to catch some sleep that I've been missing for a few days." She glances to Thomas again for a moment. "And.. we can talk later? You an me?" "There's a bed upstairs if you want to crash there," Natalie offers, cutting over the Philodox. "Or I could drive you back to your place...?" Grey's jaw tightens a little, but he dips his head to Alicia and answers, calmly and deferentially, "You know where to reach me." Kevin exhales gently, rubbing his hands together. "Thanks for pronouncing me clean, Alicia-rhya. Hey... good to see you again." The cub cracks a quick smile to her. "Oh.. if you could drive me home, I need to see Matthew when he gets off work. We have a lot to talk about." Alicia murmurs as she rubs her neck, offering a nod in Kevin's direction. [...] Renate pages: Tonight, or last night? You paged Renate with 'Tonight, if it's okay. :)'. Renate pages: Sure. Early-ish is better, then. Rina comes across quietly, pacing down the hall to the kitchen, her head down. Walking small, again. Grey's seated at the dining room table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, reading it with one hand on his neck and a frowning, pensive look on his face. He glances over as she comes in, and watches her over the half-wall separating them. His expression's hard to read, though the shadows under his eyes are deep. She tries not to look, after a first tentative glance. Her body goes through the motions of putting on coffee, turning on the oven, getting a couple of glasses out and filling them with ice water. "Is there anything to read around here? Any magazines or books or... or anything?" Her voice is quiet, hoarse. Grey's lips thin. Carefully, he answers, "I think Jeremy left some gaming magazines in the living room. I've got a few books upstairs." He straightens slightly and closes the newspaper. "And I'm pretty much done with this." "She's awake, is all," Rina says, a little strained. "And I'm sure she'll get bored. And she'll want something to take her mind off the pain. But don't let me disturb you." The water runs briefly, rattling ice against glass. "It's no trouble," Grey says, with just the faintest hint of a sigh. He pushes back his chair and stands, taking the newspaper in one hand and his mug of coffee in the other. Walking over to the half-wall, he offers the paper across the barrier. She sets down the glasses and comes over to take it--never once looking up at him. "Thank you," she says, numb and quiet. "I'm gonna put in dinner if you'll eat any." Taking the paper and one of the glasses of water, she walks quickly down the hallway. Grey just nods at mention of dinner and watchers her go out, terribly somber. Then he takes himself and his coffee over to one of the dining room windows. Twitching one of the curtains back, he peers outside. When she returns, she'll find him there, sipping from the mug and staring out the window. Or at his own reflection. A short time later, her voice breaks the silence, from the same place--just inside the kitchen. "I made more coffee if you want some." Quiet, and less than entirely steady. Grey, deeply lost in thought, didn't hear her return. He blinks at the sound of her voice and turns away from the window, regarding her almost warily. His gaze lingers on her face for no more than a second or two before he looks down at his nearly-empty cup. Then he looks back at her with that same air of guarded caution. "Thanks." She keeps her eyes down. "Sure." It's the familiar Chicago word, without any final consonant, the diphthong making almost its own syllable: 'shuah'. The bleak mask never falters, as she turns away to put the manicotti in the oven. Grey leans against the half-wall, arms folded on top of it, still on the dining room side. One eye stares out blindly while the other follows her movements. A few swallows later, his coffee's finished, but he doesn't move to refill the cup. Not yet. Rina pours herself a mug of coffee, black, and ignores the glass of water she obviously meant for herself. She doesn't try to come close to him--just leans against the counter, both hands wrapped around the drink as it cools off. The awkward, uncomfortable silence stretches out between them until he stands up and comes around the half-wall, heading for the coffee maker. After pouring himself some of it (black, of course), he turns to look her again, and makes a slight throat-clearing noise. But no actual words come out. She looks as if tears might well up at any moment; it's that familiar bleak, numb look, her eyes far distant. "Is there something you need?" she asks quietly. "They might have sugar. I don't know where it would be." "Don't like sugar," he answers. "Prefer it this way." It makes sense, really, that he'd prefer it that way, harsh and bitter. "I know." She never looks up, never even lifts her head. Grey's brow furrows. He looks down at his mug, then takes a sip from it. Silence settles over the kitchen again. Renate drinks down a swallow, wincing slightly at the strength of the brew. The silence stretches thin, until she finally asks, quietly, "Is it somethin' I did, or is it just about where you are right now?" Grey hesitates, examining his words before letting them out. "The... latter." He looks away from her, cupping the mug in both hands. "I'm not angry with you." "I know," she answers, softly. "But you're not really anything else with me either." She lifts her head to look over to him, and the barest flicker of expression crosses her face. "I'm not sure how long I can handle that," she adds, in the same quiet, unsteady voice. Grey grimaces, his jaw tightening, taking the words like a blow, a rebuke. Bad dog. It matters little if she meant it that way or not. Anyone who didn't know him well would likely miss the little signs, though, would see nothing more than the usual cold, stony, defensive mask. "Sorry," he says quietly, still not looking at her. "It's okay," she whispers. The dark eyes don't leave him, even when tears well up to blind them. "I'll do the best I can. I just--" Grey remains silent, breathing slowly, steadily, deliberately. Control. His hands turn the coffee mug around, slowly. From afar, Renate figures he's on the opposite counter? Or next to her? You paged Renate with 'Same counter but maybe a couple of arm-lengths away. Good side of his face toward her.'. Rina lets out a sharp breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "We really should be able to talk to each other. Especially now." It has nothing to do with the tone of before; this is darkly witty, a rueful, dismal humor. "We're in the same boat. Both in love with someone we can only dream about." Grey hazards a sidelong glance at her, and there's no humor in it, dismal or otherwise. "True," he mutters. His eyes go back down to the coffee mug. He takes a swallow of it like it's something he has to do, not because he necessarily wants it. She isn't looking at him then--but when he speaks, her face falls. "Sorry," she mutters, turning her face away sharply. "Don't," he says, his voice flat. "Don't apologize for my... problems." He straightens up from his lean against the counter and stalks over toward the kitchen sink. "/I'm/ sorry. I'm just not very good company right now. I can't..." Stopping at the sink, he gestures vaguely with his free hand. "...hold you up. Carry you." This isn't delivered like an accusation. It's an admission of failure. He pours the mug out down the sink drain, then runs the faucet to rince it out. "You shouldn't have to," she says, her voice a raw near-whisper. Ducking her head slightly, she stares away from him, hard, failing to hold back the tears. "Nobody should have to." There's something hard, brittle in the low words, a core of self-recrimination. "I wish I could do something. Anything. To help. I wish you could talk to me. Or anyone. Not even me. Anyone." Grey finishes rinsing out the mug and goes to put it into the dishwasher. "No," he tells her while he performs this mundane little bit of housekeeping. "It's not important. It's nothing. It'll pass." He hardly sounds convinced of this; it's like a prayer recited by a lapsed Catholic. "I'm sorry, I'm not very hungry right now." And he still hasn't looked at her since that sidelong, humorless glance. "You know as well as I do that it won't 'pass'. And you oughta eat anyway." She sniffles, drawing the back of a hand across her face. "You think I'm ever hungry anymore?" She drinks down some more coffee, and steps across to pull the manicotti from the oven, getting down plates and pulling out silverware in a sudden flurry of efficient movement, like a cuckoo clock striking twelve. Grey eyes the activity without looking closely at her. He's unconvinced, but he doesn't fight the Whirling Vortex of Activity. His hands hang uselessly down at his sides, fingers twitching, before he shoves them abruptly into his pockets. Not many seconds later, there's a plate with a modest serving of stuffed pasta being shoved at his chest, a fork stuck under the mound of garlic-smelling red and ivory. She looks up at him, lifting her chin in defiance. "Eat," she says, pointing in the direction of the dining room. Whether he sees the sense of what she said or just doesn't have the energy to resist (and it seems much more the latter than the former), the result is the same. He does as ordered, taking the plate over to the table and sitting down to eat it. Every bite. Good dog. He offers no further conversation, though, and remains completely withdrawn. She doesn't stay, in any case, but fixes a plate for the invalid and takes it across to the other side. And then she doesn't come back.