It is currently 12:21 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 22 2005. Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (81% full). Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 16 mph, with gusts up to 23 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.78 and falling, and the relative humidity is 58 percent. The dewpoint is 34 degrees Fahrenheit (1 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. Natalie pages: In the living room. Tu's near the armchair, Kevin's sitting (or standing? May have lost it in the poses) nearby, looking all sweaty. Nat finished showering a little while ago and is standing at the apex of the triangle. All talking, and reasonably well considering the moon. Kevin seems displeased at Natalie's suggestion. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not gonna be anyone's doormat," he responds tartly. "But if this is some kind of formal board-meeting type event I don't want to disrupt it by having a barney at the wrong moment." "Having a -what-?" Nat snaps. Kevin clarifies. "Barney. Punch-up. Fight." Grey comes prowling downstairs after a morning in which, apart from the usual morning jog with Natalie, he's been playing hermit. Natalie says "I thought you meant that stupid purple dinosaur." She narrows her eyes at him, just in case the cub actually -did- mean that, then turns back to Tu. "Start him on the basics first. Name, auspice, breed. Then the names for the rest of us."" Tu nods his head at the instructions. "Yes, Rhya. We'll get started right away. " His eyes flick towards Grey, then back to the Elder, waiting to see if he's been dismissed. Kevin's eyes follow Tu's, for similar reasons. Grey, unsurprisingly perhaps, pauses in the doorway to the living room, glancing with with a disinterested expression. Natalie's last in line - no surprises there - when she turns. Now the Philodox gets to have all three sets of eyes on him. "Thomas. Tu was just about to start Kevin on Mother's Tongue. You want to help?" Grey's sense of timing is obviously superb. "Be glad to," he says, though it's all bland courtesy over well-repressed anger. A soft sigh escapes from Tu, thrilled to have company. He pushes up out of the chair and prepares to move to the basement. Kevin stands and stretches, then runs both hands through his ever-bushier-growing hair. That boy's definitely in need of a barber. "Down?" he asks, one curt word. Grey, hands pushed into his pockets, steps aside to let Tu and the boy pass him on the way to the basement. Natalie turns away as the boys head downstairs. -She- has some furniture rearranging to do, moving all the big pieces to the walls. Tu doesn't look either of the other Cliaths as he heads out, expecting the cub dutifully to follow along as he makes his way down the stairs. Safehouse: Basement The basement runs about half the width of the house above, with a concrete block wall separating the two. Most of the the area is open and unfinished and sports the usual basement decor of cobwebs, exposed rafters, and cockroaches scuttling along the walls. The furnace and hot water heater stand in glory in the northeast corner along with the fuse box; the northwest corner has been set up as an open workshop with a pair of fluorescent lights bolted to the ceiling. In the southwest corner stands a vault: more concrete blocks enclose a room perhaps ten by ten and a sturdy steel door denies passage either into or out of the place. Steps lead up from the southeast corner. Natalie pages to Grey, Tu, and Kevin: Upstairs the scraping of moving furniture continues a little bit longer. Then it's replaced by faint new-agey music drifting downstairs, and the sound of someone moving around slowly. Tu sits down, leaning his back against one of the walls. He doesn't looks up when the others arrive, and says nothing for a moment. Then, he coughs softly to clear his throat and begins to speak. "The language is like us. It's a little bit wolf, a little bit human, and not really either." He raises his eyes to look at the cub, sure this was a helpful beginning. Kevin strolls along the wall as he arrives in the basement, looking for whatever reason at one particular spot on the wall as he threads his way between the scurrying roaches on the floor. Having seemingly checked out whatever he wanted to check he turns back to the other ragabash and listens up. "What form should I be in for this, Tu-rhya?" he asks. Kevin pages: He's looking at the bit of wall you hit in anger the other day :) Grey brings up the rear and positions himself equidistant between Tu and the cub. For the moment, the Philodox remains quiet. "Just Tu", comes the curt reply. "You don't need to call me -rhya unless I'm pissed at you or you're pissed at me." A side lesson, perhaps. "Glabro for now, but Crinos is the best form for it. You can try it in homid, but it requires a growling sound which can hurt your throat and, even worse, make you look foolish." Kevin nods. "At this full a moon I'd sooner be safe than sorry," he explains, and making use of that full moon, he wriggles and shifts into Glabro with -- by the cub's usual standards -- relative ease. Grey watches the cub change forms with an unsmiling, critical eye, as if taking note of even the smallest difficulty that Kevin might have. Tu sits for another moment, then realizes that he's going to have to shift as well. He slowly climbs to his feet. "We'll start with introductions. You'll need to be able to say your name, auspice, and tribe. Why don't we start with Auspice. He shifts, blurring to the near-man. He watches the cub intently, then emits a soft growl, almost a whine, which rises slightly as it escapes his throat his body subtly enhancing the sound. It sounds a little like the auspice, perhaps. Soft, subtle, and not as serious sounding as other words. Kevin places his long-fingered, yellow-nailed, hands on his knees and leans forward, the better to listen to Tu. He licks his lips and tries to imitate the sound. If one were to try to portray what comes out of his prognathous jaws in conventional terms, it might be ~Rrrberbashk~. Not a million miles off, but far from perfect. Grey remains in homid for a moment more before also taking the near-man, the loose pullover stretching to accomidate his greater mass. "Not /quite/ so much into the back of the throat," he rumbles in a blandly helpful voice that's a full octave deeper than his normal one. Tu, in contrast, shifts back to Homid as Grey shifts to near-man. He shakes his head slightly. "Close, but it's not just a word. It's a...", he grasps for the words himself, "...sense, maybe. A description of what a ragabash is, more than a word." He pauses again, knowing that he's not being clear. "The language is not just in the noise you make - it's how you stand, it's what you do with your eyes, it's everything." The glabro form lends itself quite well to a frown of puzzlement on its apelike features. Kevin's face adopts such a frown at this moment. His hands leave his knees and he adopts a pose more like the one Tu held earlier. His thick-lipped mouth cracks into a semi-smile, and he tries again. ~Rrajjabash~. Closer. Grey steps a bit closer to Tu, meaty, hairy hands hanging loosely at his sides now. ~Ragabash,~ he growls at the cub, enunciating the word properly and slightly exaggerating the non-verbal components of the term. Tu takes a step back from the half-moon and the cub, letting him take over the lesson. He crosses his arms and watches. Silently. Kevin tries a third time. His arms dangle, the fingers moving just a little, somehow giving the appearance of playfulness. His eyes twinkle with what is presumably at attempt at good humour, though in this form it does look more likely to be latent malice. His knees bend just a tiny bit. Lips pull back. Here goes. ~Rragabash~. Still a tiny bit off centre, but any Garou would know the meaning of the sound-and-posture combination. Grey glances sidelong at Tu, heavy brows furrowing in frowning puzzlement as the other Cliath backs off. He doesn't question it, though, but simply turns back to the cub. "Once again." ~Ragabash.~ Kevin takes a deep breath in, breathes a deep breath out, and gives it his fourth shot, controlling firmly his tendence to huff and puff at the start of the sound. ~Ragabash~. He raises his eyebrows hopefully to Grey and Tu, as though he feels he's on the button now. Grey nods unsmilingly. "Good. Now your tribe. Formally, we're called--" And he snarls out a long phrase that's smooth and careful and, when compared to the raw primal force of most of what is the Garou Nation, alien. "It translates to 'Those Who Walk Among Glass'. More commonly, it's--" ~Glass Walkers.~ Again, there's that same alien touch, hinting at straight lines and concrete. Even detached from the lesson, Tu offers a small smile to the cub when he succeeds. "That was pretty good, actually. This one is harder, though." Kevin pulls a bit of a face at that one, noting in agreement with Tu that the sound and the posture involved are both more complex than the last exercise. He pulls his mountainous Glabro self upright to its full length, as though to signify a tall building, and his arms straighten, his body seeming to become somehow more angular. ~Glsshwrrkers~, one might depict his attempt. The posture is actually very good for a first pop, but the sound is a good deal less accurate. "Not quite," says the Philodox. He repeats the term for Kevin, enunciating it, as many times as it takes for the young Ragabash to get it not only right, but perfect. Kevin tries a couple more times, and by the sixth attempt, has it down pretty much pat. ~Glass Walkers~, he says, then has another go at the first to make sure he's still got that one too. ~Ragabash~. Once the cub's mastered saying his auspice and tribe, Grey moves onto the rest of the introduction, and Kevin is drilled on saying, ~Homid,~ ~cub,~ and (this is a hard one), ~Long Climb Ahead.~ As before, Grey is an unforgiving teacher, insisting on nothing less than perfection. Kevin's own name in this format is by far the hardest one, but with encouragement from Grey and Tu -- firm without being overly harsh -- he is finally able to introduce himself as Kevin Lockwood, ~Long-Climb-Ahead, Ragabash of the Glass Walkers~. He looks as pleased as a Glabro ever can look pleased with his success. Before the cub can look /too/ pleased, however, it comes clear that the lesson's far from over, and the next couple of hours or so is spent drilling on the other breed-names, the other auspices, and the other tribes. With one break to fetish a pitcher of water to wet dry throats. Kevin works determinedly through the remainder of the lesson, mastering all the breeds, auspices, and tribes -- though, ironically enough, he has most trouble with ~Get of Fenris~. By the time Grey and Tu are content his tongue's pretty well hanging out with thirst and exhaustion. As the lesson stretches on, Tu seems to lose sight of whatever was bugging him. At least for the time being. Done with language lessons for now, he turns his thoughts to other cubly concerns. "We should probably fill you in a little bit on what to expect tomorrow night. So you don't get into trouble." Grey settles into a crouch, squatting on his heels like a well-dressed caveman. Having taken point with much of the linguistics lesson, he seems more than content to let Tu resume the alpha-teacher role. Kevin finishes off the pitcher of water before turning his attention back to the other ragabash. "Good idea," his deep voice rumbles. "Fire away. I'm list'nin'." Tu reclaims the floor, once again leaning himself against a wall as he sits. "Moots are, in many ways, the monthly business meetings of the Garou. Which, of course, means they are filled with a lot of yelling, a little magic, and a little killing." He takes a sip of his water. "There's 5 parts" He says, then lists them off. "Opening howl, inner Sky, Cracking the bone, revel, then stories." A pause. "You won't be allowed to join the hunt, so you'll only get to take part in four of them" Kevin frowns. "Which one of those is the hunt?" Perhaps not an unreasonable query from the cub. "Some people call the revel 'the hunt', because it usually involves hunting down a wyrm thing and gleefully destroying it.", Tu replies. "Which is dangerous, and why you can't take part as a cub." Kevin looks less than pleased at the prospect of being excluded, but nods. "Yeah, I s'pose I see the point." Grey adds, "The energy and emotion released in the revel re-charges the caern, keeps it powered." Seeing the cubs disappoint, Tu adds, "Don't worry. You'll be killing things soon enough." He stops to collect his thoughts, then starts at the beginning. "The opening howl is exactly what it sounds like. We all howl together. A symbol of unity, I suppose. Then the Master of the howl and the fool remind us of the laws." A beat and then with a little pride, "I'm the fool this month." Kevin's frown is maintained throughout Tu's speech. "Whatever else you may be, you're no fool, and anyone who calls you one deserves a good slap," he growls. Could the full moon be weighing heavy on the cub? No bets on that one. Grey snorts. "It's a title, and a position of honor, boy, like all Moot positions. The Galliard, the Caller, speaks each Law, and the Fool refutes it. Then the Sept as a whole speaks against the Fool." Kevin still looks less than 100 per cent happy, but relaxes his frown somewhat. "The laws, as in the litany?" he double-checks. Grey abruptly shrinks back into Homid, nodding. "The fool is almost always a no moon", the ragabash points out with a nod. "His job is to help remind people why we need the litany. The laws of the Garou." He leans in towards the cub. "So, make sure you make a point of loudly shouting down my ideas. It looks good for a cub to take part in the yelling, and shows he's been paying attention." Kevin smiles unexpectedly. "Even though I'm another Ragabash?" he asks, a lopsided grin forming on his face. Grey mutters, with a mildly scornful look, "Even so. Only the Fool speaks against the Litany. And if you can't think up anything witty, just snarl and spit a lot. That'll impress the ferals." Tu chuckles slightly. "Anything but silence will do. Everyone is too busy shouting to hear much anyway." He leans back against the wall, then continues. "The Inner Sky is when we honor the spirit of the Caern, and thank them for their help." Kevin turns his dark smile to Grey and gives the Philodox two long-nailed thumbs up. "Deal." Turning back to Tu he listens again. "And how'd we do that?" Grey deadpans, "More howling. Or just awe." He shrugs. "If you've never seen a spirit manifest itself... you'll be impressed." He glances at Tu. "Is the totem still Chimera?" Tu nods at Grey. "Yes. Last time she appeared as glowing lights, it was quite a show, really." Grey nods slightly and turns to Kevin. "So, prepare yourself for a bit of a show." Kevin nods. "So I basically don't get to do much but sit and join in with the choruses. Like church, only less boring..." "Well, if you have crowds of werewolves in your church, then sure." Tu smiles, and tries to reassure the cub. "It's not nearly as boring as it sounds. There's a consistent energy everywhere - you feel electric during the moot. Invincible." Grey pours himself a glass of water and takes a drink. "After that comes the Cracking, lead by a Philodox. That's where introductions get made, challenges issues, news, et cetera. Only the Garou who holds the bone may speak, though there's usually someone who decides to say something out of turn." He eyes the cub sternly. "Don't." "And introductions would be where I get to say my little piece?" Kevin queries before running through it one more time. ~Long-Climb-Ahead, Ragabash cub of the Glass Walkers~. Tu nods to Kevin. "Yes. Of course, you'll probably have to introduce yourself a few times before that as well, as people gather for the moot. So you'll get plenty of practice." Grey takes another sip of water. "After the Cracking of the Bone, we break to Revel, to hunt. Some stay behind, like cubs or those who choose to guard the caern from attack, while the others leave, under the leadership of the Wyrmfoe, an Ahroun. And then it's done." Kevin soaks up all this information. "Looking forward to going back to the caern," he volunteers. "Only been there once. Spooky place. But in a good way, not a bad." Tu claps his hands together. "And that's that. Just remember what we told you. It will be a full moon with a lot of angry Garou, so watch your step, and don't let any of the lupes sniff your behind. Once you do that, they'll never stop." "Just keep close to us, and you'll be fine," Grey adds, though he doesn't sound especially comforting, and he doesn't look like he's anticipating the Moot with any joy. His left hand rubs absently over his right forearm, through the soft grey sleeve. Kevin greets this last zinger from Tu with an eloquently protruding tongue. The Glabro form is, he proves, good at blowing raspberries as well as scowling and growling. "I'm sure you guys will send White Bear packing if he comes sniffing round /my/ butt." "It's the Furies you have to worry about", the ragabash replies to the cub in conspiratorial tone. "They're always looking for male cubs to serve as slaves." Warning given, Tu climbs to his feet. "Anyway, I have to go take care of a few things. I think we have you ready to at least look like you know what you're doing." Grey grimaces at mention of White Bear. Kevin grimaces at mention of the Furies, but only briefly. "Thanks for the tu-torial," he puns to the ragabash cliath. "Looking forward to your show as Fool. Blow their little minds for the Walkers." Grey straightens up as well, rolling his shoulders a bit, but doesn't move toward the steps. "Be seeing you," he says in farewell to the other Cliath. A small glint of mischief lights Tu's eye, the first time today, as he replies to the cub. "I'm just hoping being fool doesn't get me killed." He nods to Grey on the way out. "You bet." Kevin doesn't follow Tu upstairs, waiting for Grey instead, in case the philodox should have further teaching or suchlike for him. Grey rubs his beard thoughtfully, eyes the cub for a moment, then waves him upstairs. "Go. Take a break, get some food. You're probably hungry." Kevin nods, runs to the stairfoot, then arrests himself with an "Oops," and stops to shift back down to homid before scampering up the steps. "Thanks, Grey-rhya," he calls out before vanishing out of the door at the top. [Much later...] 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. Kevin pages to the room: Nice timing Grey. Kev's sitting at table nervously over a half-eaten sandwich while Nat's slumped over the counter, face in hands. "Dammit," the Galliard says again - almost at a whisper this time, her voice thin and thready. For just a few seconds it's easy to remember that despite it all, she's only in her early twenties. Grey's boots make the stairs creak as he descends, his destination the kitchen. Upon reaching this part of the house, though, he pauses, eyebrows raising at the sight of Natalie and the cub, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. Kevin remains in imitation-statue mode, but his eyes are fixed on Nat to the extent that he doesn't stir or show any other sign of noticing Grey's return. Natalie pages: Nat's also got what looks like... huh. Hard to say what it looks like. Pale blue paper. An envelope? It's hard to tell 'cause it's in her hands and so is her head. "I wish it was..." Nat begins, utterly unaware of the arrival. "--Dammit. Dammit, dammit, /dammit/." This time she beats her head into her hands on each ejaculation, instead of hands onto counter - after all, she can take a lot more abuse that it can. Kevin grits his teeth damn near audibly. "Punchbag's up in my room," he reminds Nat, quietly, voice tense. Grey clears his throat noisily, letting people know that there's a third set of ears. He eyes Natalie almost warily. "What happened?" Natalie's shoulders go as tense as the cub's voice at Grey's question, but she doesn't remove her head from her hands. "--Nothing. Nothing happened." Grey grimaces. "Hypocrite," he accuses, and starts stalking past her to the fridge. Kevin finally looks at Grey and gives him a haunted look which he evidently hopes will convey to the philodox that it's all got nothing to do with /him/. /That/ got a rise out of her. Nat stands as if goosed, head snapping back, then -hurls- the bit of paper at Grey's back. It's a pale blue card envelope, much mangled and abused, and not nearly as aerodynamic as a stick, or a rock. It smacks gently into his back and drops to the floor. "/That/. /That's/ what's wrong." She points accusingly at the envelope, then turns her glare on Kevin as if daring him to call her on it. Grey turns sharply back toward her, scarred face splitting into a fearsome snarl. It settles into a mere scowl after a moment, though, and he bends down swiftly to retrieve the blue envelope. He studies it, frowning. Kevin picks up his sandwich and looks at it as though it's a rare work of art, or the secret code to the Illuminati's swiss bank account. Or as if he wishes it were a large metal sheet to take cover behind. But it's not. It's just a sandwich. Natalie pages: It's a birthday card - pastel roses on the front, gold script, the works. Inside: some trite verse about having a happy birthday, and an handwritten note: Thinking about you, hope you have a good day, treat yourself to something nice. Oh yes... and a fifty dollar bill. (The address is from Minneapolis.) Natalie pages: It's signed 'Pop'. You paged Natalie with 'Is the envelope still sealed when he picked it up.'. Natalie pages: Nope. Natalie doesn't say a word, doesn't even look over: her eyes are fixed on, boring into Grey's head, her fists clenched at her sides. Grey studies the address, then -- since the envelope's not sealed -- glances at the very nice-looking birthday card inside. His eyes narrow as he looks back at the Galliard. "You're upset about... this?" What a perfect specimen of the genus sandwich this is. So peanut buttery. So white-bready. So bite-marked. So fascinating to Kevin. "It's from my /Pop/," Nat spits out before leveling a shaking finger at the man - or perhaps the card. "Why the hell'd he send me money? He can't afford to send me anything, much less a fifty!" Greys voice turns desert-dry and isn't, it must be said, very sympathetic. "How dare he love you enough not to give a shit whether he can afford it or not." He holds the money-laden card out to her. "When's the last time you called him?" Kevin takes a small bite of sandwich and chews slowly. "Two damn weeks ago!" she shrills at him, refusing to take the card. "Not that it's any of your damn business!" Now her hands are back at her sides in fists; she's up on her toes, head dropped between her shoulders. Grey snarls again. Taking a swift step toward her, he closes the distance between them and all but /shoves/ the card and envelope into her chest. "Will you fucking /listen/ to yourself?" Kevin's mouth twitches as he notes that nobody in the room, and probably the house, has much option /but/ to listen. Natalie's teeth grind together as - somehow - she manages to keep hold of her snapping, snarling, frothing temper. "I -am- listening." And snatching at the card, mangling the poor thing further. Grey looms over the Galliard. "Good. Your father's more than old enough to decide for himself what he can and cannot afford. So call him up, thank him for the gift, and do not breathe a /word/ of how he shouldn't have given it to you. And stop being so goddamn pissy about it." Kevin is so, so keeping out of this one, him and his sandwich both. "He's -not-..." manages to squeeze out - somehow - from between her teeth before she clamps her jaw shut again. She stares poison up at the taller man for a long, long moment, then yanks her eyes away from him, ghosting sightlessly over the cub. Her lips twitch as though more words are trying to elbow their way free, but all she does is turn on her heel and stomp down the hall. A second later and the computer door slams behind her. Grey watches her go with a hard expression and no sympathy whatsoever. He growls a word in Serbian, then stalks over to the fridge, opening it with a yank. Kevin relaxes to an extent, but remains alert as his eyes track Grey's progress to the fridge. He takes another bite ungratefully out of his faithful sandwich-friend. Grey stares daggers into the chilly confines of the coldbox for a moment, then closes it with another Slavic curseword. Empty-handed, he drums his fingers on the counter for a few seconds, then stalks purposefully out to the computer room and raps on the door. Kevin looks at Thomas as though the philodox has lost his marbles, but still says nothing. "I'm sending him a damn /email/," comes Nat's voice, nice and loud and clear. "Shove off!" Grey lets out another of those hair-trigger, more-lupine-than-human snarls and slams his open palm against the doorframe. Seething, he turns away, pauses -- facing in the direction of the dining room and the hapless Ragabash cub -- and looks cruelly thoughtful for several long, long seconds. Then he shakes his head sharply and takes his angry self into the living room. Kevin seems to have had enough. Now that no other garou is within attacking distance of him, he crams the rest of his sandwich unceremoniously into his mouth and makes a beeline for the stairs up to the bunkroom, and -- presumably -- safety. Grey grabs up the remote, drops himself into what's rapidly becoming 'his' armchair and flicks the television on. Nothing like the drone of media to soothe the savage beast, right? Especially when it's the History Channel. Oh, look. They're talking about Nazis! Nat doesn't emerge from the computer room for several minutes. When she does, she's got a better handle on her temper - at least, it's less immediate. A look to the kitchen finds it abandoned; she heads the other way to stop in the doorway, a hand on the frame, and watch Grey. Grey doesn't notice the Galliard right away, and when he does, it's to give her a quick, frowning glance, eyes narrowed. "I emailed him," she says again, voice carefully neutral. She shoots him a scowl of her own, but just as quickly looks at the television instead. "I can't... I'll call him... not today. Not now." Grey grunts and turns away. On the screen, Hitler screams silently at a rabid mob while a droning Scotsman goes on about the events leading up to the invasion of Poland. "...Happy birthday, by the way." Terribly uncheery, that. "It's tomorrow," she answers neutrally, watching the little gesticulating Nazi as though it's the most fascinating thing ever. A quick clearing of her throat and she adds, "Thank you." "You're welcome," the Philodox says curtly. He cocks his head, eyeing her again, lips thinned, expression guarded. "Share a drink after the Moot, to celebrate?" Natalie swallows, nods, watches Hitler. "Assuming I'm still alive." A couple of beats pass and she turns to him, eyebrows knitting. "--A drink? I thought you didn't?" Grey's mouth, thinned, humorless, vaguely resembles something /somewhat/ approximating a smile, albeit a very faint one that doesn't come anywhere near his eyes. "Usually, no. But. Special occasion." The smile-not-smile vanishes like a drop of water on a hot lamp. "Besides, I have a feeling I'll probably want one." "You and me both," she says tightly. Another two seconds of watching the television - now it's a pharmaceutical commercial - and she pushes off the wall. "I'm going to... go out for a bit. See if Signe's in." A hand scrubs over her mouth as she heads for the door, bypassing the rows of coats. Grey's expression darkens at mention of Signe. He nods, offering up a curt, "Be seeing you," before turning back to the media morphine that is modern television. Natalie pushes open the door, stops. Offers a quiet, "Thank you," and then slips out before he can reply. [...] 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. Grey comes out of the Glass Walker side of the house, a rare enough occurance except when he goes jogging in the morning (usually with Natalie). His coat's hooked over one arm. On the couch and lightly snoring is one Emma Mahler. Even in sleep her brow has a semi-crease to it, and her arms are folded up defiantly across her chest. No blanket covers her, so her body is curled up into a neat little ball. A soft murmur followed by a grunt may be indication of an ongoing dream. [Emma] 5'2" of youthful energy packed up into a body all too willing to use it. Emma would be described as pretty if she were cleaned up and dressed the role, but all too often the scrapping tomboy paints herself with bruises instead of blush. Somewhere in her mid-teens, her features are strong but decidedly feminine. High cheekbones and full lips work well to compliment her almost button nose and deepset eyes, while dark, ash blonde hair frames her face. While not straight, it is not curly either, and untied it reaches down past her shoulders. Her eyes are a cool blue, reminiscent of a bright summer day - but like the weather they seem to hold an amount of unpredictability. There is a hardness to her gaze, and while her smiles can be warm and sincere, they are well guarded. Her posture is an odd mix of insecurity and confidence -or at least what might be confused as confidence. She seems surefooted and comfortable with herself, but exudes a certain edginess to those she might see as a source of ridicule. Grey's eyes narrow as he spots the Getling crashed out on the sofa, and he stares at her for a moment before heading into the living room. His coat gets tossed over the back of a recliner as he stalks toward the sleeping girl. Another grunt-snort is offered as her fists bunch up. A leg twitches much like the hind leg of an animal in the midst of a dream. "Grnf, not so big now huh?" is mumbled out groggily and in sleep talk. That said, Emma clenches her jaws together, the sound of her teeth grinding quite audible. Grey's eyebrows rise. He snorts, then leans over and gives the sleeping girl a shake via her shoulder. "Wake up." Emma startles awake with a quick intake of air and an abrupt upward motion. Legs kick out to land on the floor as she looks around to gather her bearings; all the while that crease on her brow. When she sees who has woken her, she tenses visibly and remains deathly silent. Grey straightens up, not looking the least bit repentant for waking her. "You know, we /do/ have beds," he says unsmilingly. "Upstairs. Though it's rather early to be going to bed yet, don't you think?" Emma glances away from him to look about the living room. A soft, "Oh, uh yah," comes as her reply as a hand reaches back to scratch at her neck. "I was just taking a nap. Before heading back out for the evening stroll." Grey grunts. "I see." He folds his arms across his chest and stares down at her for a second or two before saying, "Have you kept in contact with Joshua since you two Rited?" Emma lets out a short heh, "Who's that? Joshua? Dunno a Joshua." The traditional Emma smirk comes on her face, "I run into him on occasion, and he still pisses me off." Grey's eyes narrow dangerously at the jest and the smirk. Her 'real' answer is received with a grunt. "Tell me about him." It's not a request, not the way he says it. Emma pulls her legs up onto the couch again, scooting back and bending one knee so her arms can wrap about it. She licks at a pair of suddenly dry lips and shrugs one shoulder, "He's tribeless, but a Guardian. He loathes the city and anything from it. You take too deep a breath around him and he calls you out for challenging him. Packed up with the Wendigo, Ridgeline. Dunno what else." Her eyes focus at the top of her knee, her fingers coming up to smooth off a bit of fuzz. Grey nods slightly, still frowning. "I heard about some of that from Natalie. How Cockroach rejected him. I've heard that he's gone feral. Is this true?" Emma takes a moment to answer. "I don't remember the last time I saw him in homid. I called him out on that, taunted him to prove me wrong. Best I got from him was Crinos and he was pissed. It ended with claws." She shrugs, "I don't much care about him," though the posture and tone suggests it tips further on scale than indifference. "Maybe Gaia will follow Roach's footsteps and reject him too." Grey snorts. "If Gaia chose to reject Garou merely for rejecting their human side, the Red Talons would have been gone a long time ago." His expression's difficult to read, though it's clear that he isn't pleased with this news. Emma just gives a faint nod, "He rejects more than his own human side though, it makes him biased against those who don't. He told me the other day, that he hoped the steam and ash in the sky was the city burning. That much hate is no good." Grey shakes his head, mouth twisting into an expression of disgust, rage simmering under his skin. After a moment, he speaks again. "You said he was a Guardian. Has he /accomplished/ anything for the caern?" Emma gives a nod, "I guess. I mean he's battled the wyrm whenever it hits /his/ territory. He is a courageous warrior at least." She glances from her knee to the man, quite briefly, before turning her gaze to, oh anything else that can catch her attention. Grey's mouth thins. "A Guardian can't exactly go out /seeking/ the Wyrm. They have to wait for it to come to them. So." He lapses into silence again, narrow-eyed and thoughtful and not quite looking at the young Get. "He could at least be seeking a damn tribe. It makes Hidden Walk look like a sept full of fuck ups. Should put up a big sign, 'Metis and Ronin: welcome here'." Emma lets out a sigh, "Oh, and pregnant folk. Because ya know, they are just /great/ in battle." Her foot slips down and she lets out a rather grumbly huff. Grey's gaze sharpens and focusses on Emma like the sights of a sniper rifle. "He's not Ronin unless he's received the Rite of the Lone Wolf," he corrects coldly. "Ronin is more than not having a tribe. Ronin have /no/ place. Not in a pack, not in a Sept, not anywhere within the Garou Nation. Ronin do not even have a /name/." Emma catches her breath short and holds it once the gaze hits her. Her eyes drop to the floor and she bites at her lower lip, shoulders rising and falling with a more labored breath now. "Then what is he?" she finally musters out. "Tribeless," says the Philodox, with certainty. "A rare enough occurance, for someone who isn't a cub, but essentially the same thing." Emma sighs, looking like she desperately wants to stand up and go now. "He's a pain in the ass is what he is. And the only time I catch him is on his ground and I so want to fucking knock him down a few pegs." She growls now, the topic getting the fire under her skin. "Why do you care about him?" Rage begets rage, and there's a hint of teeth between Grey's lips. "Because whatever he is /now/, at one point he was my tribemate, and my cub." The strands of her control are untwining rapidly now, and as the room begins to grow more full of tension, the young Get pushes her hands into tight fists. "Then go ask him about it! Or Natalie. Ya know, if she showed Joshua half as much posessiveness as she does with Kevin, maybe he'd not have gotten to this point." She stands up then, huffing angrily and aiming her nose towards the door. Grey is /definitely/ showing teeth now, his expression gone ugly. But he makes no motion to bar her path to the exit, though his mismatched eyes bore holes of anger into her. Emma shoves herself away from the couch, striding quickly to the door. A shake of her head and a mumbled, 'fuckin' Glass Walkers' is the last of her commotion. Behind her comes a growl that's just a little too deep and a little too savage -- not a full lupine sound, but far more primal than anything a mortal could produce. But she's able to exit the safehouse unmolested and undamaged.