It is currently 15:12 Pacific Time on Wed Mar 30 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 52 degrees
      Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      north at 13 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.35 and rising, and 
      the relative humidity is 58 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (64% 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.

Grey left this morning in late morning, dropping a note about going to get
      Rina. He returns past the middle of the afternoon, for some reason having 
      traded the dark grey sweatpants for a pair of rattier blue ones. His 
      expression is introspective and thoughtful, but lighter, perhaps, than 
      it's been since he got back.
Upon Grey's return, Kevin comes popping up from the basement like a
      jack-in-the-box from its housing. "Thomas!" he smiles. "Was wondering 
      where you'd got to. What's all this about Rina? Is she okay?"
"Better than I thought," is the Philodox's reply, as he hangs up his coat.
      "Not... /perfect/, but." His mouth thins briefly, and he shrugs. "Is 
      Natalie about?"
Kevin shakes his head. "Not seen her since our morning jog. She may be on
      patrol or something. Emma came by, early, and laid down the law some for 
      me."
Grey's eyebrows rise quizzically. "Oh?"
Kevin nods. "Nat says that in lieu of paying rent, since she's got no dough,
      she can earn her keep by teaching cubs. Teaching me. Observing her on 
      patrol, going off to the bawn to learn lupus stuff, that kind of thing. 
      We did some more Mother's Tongue practice today, and Nat's been showing 
      me glyphs." His eyes dart for the quickest of instants to Thomas's 
      forearms before moving away again.
Grey's forearms are bare, the glyphs quite visible. He notices the glance, too,
      and his face hardens. He gives a curt nod and folds his arms across his 
      chest. "Feeling more comfortable with the language?"
Kevin nods, trying not to look anywhere near the dishonoured cliath's
      arm-markings. "Oh, I'm getting there, I think," he says tentatively. "I 
      can introduce all the local tribe now as well as myself... except you. 
      Thomas-rhya, do you mind me asking, what is your deedname? Seems I can't 
      remember ever having heard it used."
"'Grey' translates just as well into wolf-speech or the Mother's Tongue," the
      Philodox replies.
Kevin nods thoughtfully. "Damn, it does, at that. Grey," he says, then makes a
      very creditable approximation of repeating the word in Mother's Tongue, 
      given that he's presently in homid.
Grey eyes the cub critically, then nods. "How are you doing with brawling?"
Kevin's smile dies away a little. "I enjoy it, but I've not even come close to
      winning a bout yet. If I had another cub to go up against, I might, but 
      it's all you cliaths, and you're all hot stuff. All I've really got on my 
      side is speed, and Natalie, f'rinstance, just puts a stone wall up and I 
      can't get through one little bit. And if I can't land a blow on her, I've 
      no chance at all of touching you."
Grey reaches up and scratches absently at his jaw. He didn't really get around
      to shaving this morning, and there's stubble around the usually neat, 
      thin beard. "We can teach you the basics better than another cub. /We/, 
      at least, can tell you when you're doing something wrong." He steps back 
      and nods toward the stairs leading down to the basement. "Why don't we 
      see what you've learned."
Kevin shrugs and the corners of his lips curl upwards. "Long as you don't
      expect miracles from me, I'm always up for it." He disappears down the 
      basement stairs with as much eagerness as he popped up them a few minutes 
      ago.

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.

Grey follows the cub down the stairs, rolling his shoulders and cracking his
      knuckles. "Who else have you fought, besides Natalie?"
Kevin thinks. "Since my first change... Emma, Dillen, Gunnar, Brom... Oh, and
      KL. All pretty feisty garou, none of your Bone Gnawer weaklings," he 
      grins. "What form d'you want me in?"
Grey prowls around in a rough semi-circular path, avoiding the cockroaches that
      scurry away from the sudden intrusion of light in their domain. "Homid. 
      You'll be in it more often than not, in the city." Turning to face the 
      young Ragabash, he shifts into a ready, balanced stance. "Let's see what 
      you can do."
Kevin nods, just once, a gesture not wasting any movements. He doubles his
      fists, and adopts a boxer's pose, jiggling up and down on his feet a few 
      times. Then without further notice or warning he darts in towards Thomas, 
      right fist swinging in a roundhouse for the philodox's head while his 
      left aims in a straight punch for his gut.
Grey dodges away from the roundhouse, reaching up with almost insulting
      casualness to catch the boy's right wrist and using his motion against 
      him. Kevin's left punch goes nowhere, then, as he finds himself sent 
      stumbling past the Philodox and toward the wall -- not as hard as Grey 
      threw Natalie, that day they'd urged Icy-Toes out of hiding, though, 
      thankfully.
Kevin yelps as his speedy attack is countered with almost lazy ease by Thomas.
      It takes all his agility to spin back round so that he hits the wall with 
      one shoulder and bounces off, rather than with his face, which would have 
      been an even more unpleasant experience. Nothing loth, he uses that 
      shoulder to launch himself back off the barrier, straight for Thomas once 
      more, this time essaying a kick to the teacher's knee as well as another 
      body-punch, evidently hoping that he's quicker to recover from the last 
      movement than the philodox.
Grey is easily as quick-footed at the British sprinter; even without using
      Rage, he's dexterous as a cat. Again, the cub doesn't even touch him, 
      though at least this time Kevin's not thrown into the wall. "Hold," he 
      commands.
Kevin brakes to a halt and unclenches his fists as bidden. "Already?"
"You're projecting too much," Grey says. "At a guess, you've been fighting
      people who aren't as quick as you are. Am I right?"
Kevin nods. "Absolutely. But most people aren't as quick as I am. It's my one
      strength in a fight, so..." He shrugs. "I tend to use it."
"Doesn't do you much good against someone who /is/ as quick," Grey points out.
      "Or quicker. You /should/ use it, but you shouldn't completely rely on 
      it." He begins to circle the cub, dropping back into fight-worthy body 
      language. "Moreover, the way you broadcast your moves and come at your 
      opponent directly, you're going to get thrashed if -- when -- your enemy 
      is stronger."
Kevin tenses up in tandem with the older garou. "And how'd you keep from
      telegraphing your moves?" he asks, forming fists again as he fixes a keen 
      eye on Thomas.
"Think like a Ragabash," the Philodox advises, still circling. "Distraction.
      Misdirection. Be /subtle/."
Kevin seems to ponder that advice as he eyes the circling cliath. "So, if I'm
      to be a success as a fighter, I have to --" He doesn't complete that 
      sentence. Instead, with (he hopes) no forewarning, he springs forward as 
      Thomas circles in front of him and lashes out another kick, in an attempt 
      to take him by surprise.
The cub is rewarded by a slight widening of the eyes, and though the blow
      doesn't connect, at least it gets close. "Better!" the Philodox barks. 
      "/Much/ better."
"I keep telling myself," Kevin drawls in forcedly casual clothes, "that most
      people I may end up fighting will hopefully be less bloody good at it 
      than Garou." He begins to walk towards Thomas. Just a slow, steady walk, 
      not indicative of any forthcoming attack. No, he could just be an 
      ordinary teenage kid out for a stroll in a concrete-lined basement.
Grey cocks his head, favoring his blind side as he watches the cub approach.
      "Most of the time, you'll be with a pack, as part of a concerted effort. 
      And sometimes you'll be fighting things /more/ dangerous than us." Isn't 
      that comforting?
"Things that may need their bodies disposing of," Kevin comments. One fist
      punches out at Thomas's body, a telegraphed move. But within a second the 
      feint is revealed as his other clenched fist shoots with equal speed, and 
      less forewarning, in the direction of the cliath's nose.
Again, the cub strikes air, not flesh, but the older Garou is nodding in
      approval. "Feints. Excellent." Things continue in this vein for some 
      time, as Grey works the cub into a good sweat, occasionally pausing to 
      demonstrate a move he's learned in his long experience in being a warrior 
      for Gaia. Sometimes, this requires that he let the cub strike him, but 
      it's always exactly that -- he /lets/ the cub strike him. Still, the 
      Ragabash has learned a trick or two that ought to let him surprise his 
      next sparring partner.
Kevin's face betrays throughout the lesson the fact that he's enjoying himself
      to hell and back here, for all that he never scores a single blow on 
      Thomas that the philodox didn't permit to get through. "Damn it, you're 
      too good," he curses, good-naturedly, as yet another of his would-be 
      lightning moves is shut down and deflected into empty air. "I told you 
      I'd not manage to get near you, and I was damn well right."
Grey grunts. "I've been around longer." A gesture waves the cub back as he
      drops back into a more casual stance. He's far less winded than the 
      younger Garou. "You do have excellent potential."
Kevin holds his fightin' pose for a couple of seconds more, then follows the
      cliath's suit in relaxing. "Okay, pax. Thanks for the work-out. Apart 
      from being good practice, sparring helps be blow off steam. Just watch 
      me... I'll be good as gold for a couple of days now. No backchat, no 
      lip." He draws a circle over his head with one finger, describing a halo.
Grey snorts, the sound almost amused. Not that he smiles or anything. "Right.
      Go shower. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Kevin takes the stairs at a run, with a cheerful wave of the hand. "Byeee!" he
      calls to Thomas as he leaves.

[Much later. Early night.]

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partially cloudy. The temperature is 49
      degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
      from the east at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.37 and 
      rising, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 41 
      degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)

Bawn: Western Forest
Tall Sitka spruce and sequoia crowd around and above you. Many of the trees are
      old, their branches twisted into impossible shapes, trunks broad and 
      draped with lichen, mosses and creepers. Tendrils of moss hand down from 
      them like green spiderwebs, snaring the unwary with cold, ghostly 
      fingers. The patches of younger growth are dense and pale, needles tinged 
      with silver. Matted undergrowth huddles sullenly in the occasional small 
      clearings, clutching with thorns and burrs at the legs of those who would 
      pass. Deer seldom venture here, but the forest is full of rustlings, and 
      tiny glints from wary, watchful eyes.
The forest spreads out to the east, bounded on the west by Sunrise Road. From
      farther to the west, one can occasionally hear the distant sounds of the 
      town of Kent's Crossing.

Grey has been walking for some time, from the place off Highway 22 where he
      parked his car, but he isn't walking now. Hands in pockets, the Glass 
      Walker stands at the base of one of the larger sequoia, gazing upwards 
      into the branches.
Stacey has just finished her daily patrol, this time of the western portion of
      the bawn, and is now wandering through it at a more idle pace. Her gaze 
      is lowered, searching the ground in front and beside her and nearing the 
      area in which Grey stands, although she has yet to notice him.
Hard to say what alerts him to her presence. Maybe it's just paranoia. He snaps
      out of his introspective leafward gaze and turns sharply toward the 
      figure approaching in the moonlight.

Stacey has light brown curls that have been pulled back into a high pony-tail
      by a purple ribbon, although a couple of the smaller strands have come 
      loose and frame her oval-shaped face. The preteen's features are soft and 
      childlike, with a small nose, slightly prominent cheekbones, and large 
      hazel eyes. A fading tan and a few freckles color her otherwise fair 
      complexion. This slender girl is wearing blue jean overalls with a 
      long-sleeved shirt that is decorated with purple flowers, along with 
      white tennis shoes. A leather thong necklace with a pendant of a dove 
      carved of smooth white shell with bits of mother-of-pearl on either side 
      is tied around her neck.

Stacey notices his presence soon after he turns. She stops and looks up from
      her search, raising a hand slightly in greeting and frowning as she tries 
      to make out who the person is. "Hello there."
The clouds shift past Luna briefly, giving the preteen girl a glimpse of
      narrow, stubbled features, extensive facial scarring, and one dead eye. 
      It's a distinctive appearance, one she'd remember from the recent Moot, 
      if she was present for it. "Good evening," comes the guarded reply.
Stacey lowers her hand and visibly relaxes once she recognizes him. "Ah, I
      remember you now. From last week's moot," the young girl says, offering 
      him a smile. "I am Stacey Kynds, Walks-the-Middle-Road, Ahroun Cliath of 
      the Children of Gaia, also temporarily helping out Ridgeline as a 
      Guardian."
Grey's face is hard to read, between the poor light and his own practiced
      reserve. He dips his head slightly. "An honor," he replies, with cool 
      courtesy. "And how /is/ the Bawn this evening?"
Stacey smiles and nods slightly. "An honor to meet you as well," she says and
      then turns her head to look about. "The Bawn is quiet tonight. I saw 
      nothing unusual on my patrol."
Grey makes a noncomittal 'mm' sound of acknowledgement. "No news is good news,
      sometimes." He reaches up to rub his chin, then brushes hair away from 
      his forehead -- rather uselessly, since it falls right back almost before 
      he drops his hand again. "How long have you been with the Sept, if I may 
      ask?"
Stacey looks back over to him, tilting her head to the side a bit. "I have been
      here about eight months now, three months as a Cliath almost."
"And how are you liking it?" The man's tone remains one of polite inquiry; he's
      making small talk.
Stacey smiles then, shrugging a shoulder. "I like it well enough, like most of
      the members. Any Sept has its ups and downs, I'd imagine, as you probably 
      gathered we do here from the moot, but this is home to me."
Grey grunts. "Hardly a year goes by without something like that," he says,
      presumably referring to the events told about at the Moot.
Stacey sighs and looks away, out towards the woods to her left. "Yeah," she
      says softly. "I... liked him well enough, when he was under control. I 
      was sad to hear... but I'm glad he died well."
"Mnh." Grey glances away, squinting at the shadows off to the left, then looks
      back down at the pre-teen Ahroun. "Has he been Gathered yet?"
Stacey shakes her head. "No, I believe I would have heard if he had been. I
      heard rumors that a Silver Fang had offered to perform the Gathering for 
      him, though."
"That's good of him," is the Glass Walker's mildly bemused reply.
Stacey nods, smiling again. "I think so, and I think Kenneth appreciates that
      someone offered. Are you planning on attending?"
"I was, yes," says Grey. He pauses a moment, then adds, "How /is/ Kenneth?"
Stacey narrows her eyes a bit as she ponders this. "Kenneth... is a hard one to
      read sometimes. I believe he's doing a lot better now, though, judging 
      from our last talk. He has a lot of things to work out, but I have faith 
      that he'll do just fine, both him and Dillen will."
Grey nods curtly. "Betrayal by a tribemate's difficult to swallow. I'd be more
      concerned if he /hadn't/ been affected."
Stacey grimaces a bit, as if at some memory and nods. "Well, rest assured then,
      he has not been having an easy time dealing with all this, especially 
      about the betrayal. It is only recently, yesterday, that I've been able 
      to get him to open up a bit, have a normal conversation."
Grey cocks his head slightly, eyeing the little Gaian with something like
      bemusement. "Acting the healer, mm?" There's no recrimination in his 
      voice.
Stacey chuckles. "I suppose. I do what I can. I like helping people; it makes
      me feel useful. And..." She shrugs. "Kenneth's my friend."
"You're suited for your tribe, at least." There's a dour touch in the Walker's
      voice, a mild hint of cynicism. He changes the subject. "Think you'll 
      stay a Guardian?"
Stacey smiles at that comment, despite the cynicism, then she shakes her head.
      "No, I don't believe so. I'm just helping Ridgeline while Jacinta-rhya is 
      away on her challenge. Once she is back, I'll start working on forming my 
      own pack."
Grey's eyebrows, hidden behind the overhang of black hair, rise. The bemusement
      is echoed in his voice. "Your own pack? Not looking to join any of the 
      current ones?"
Stacey smirks a bit at herself and then nods. "I've thought a long time about
      this. I wouldn't fit in a war pack just my nature of who I am. Ridgeline 
      is too restrictive. I don't want to limit myself to staying in the bawn 
      or staying in the city, and I don't see myself as a Guardian. Crescent 
      Wing and Griphus would be a possibility, but they aren't active enough, 
      and I want to get things done. Birdseye would be as well, but I don't 
      want to be forever in my teacher's shadow. Even so, I probably would have 
      sought one of them out if Joey hadn't liked my ideas and said she'd be 
      willing to pack with me."
"Joey?" he echoes. "The Bone Gnawer?"
Stacey nods. "Yeah, the same. You've met her? I'd been working with her on her
      combat skills, among other things, and we got to talking about it."
Grey folds his arms across his chest, looking curious -- if aloofly so. "I've
      met her. So... what are your ideas?" Unwittingly, he takes on a teacher's 
      manner, authoritive and ready to be analytical.
Stacey looks up at him, seeming a bit surprised. "Well, I'm considering a
      scouting or hunting pack, only more based in the Umbra than the others. 
      Gathering information on the enemies and allies around here, seeking out 
      items or places that might be of use. There are numerous possibilities, 
      really. As far as Totems, I /was/ considering Owl, but that's definitely 
      not an option now, but I think Uktena would be a good choice to seek out, 
      if not better. I've been meaning to track down Reggie-rhya and find out 
      more about that."
Grey's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "If Owl's not an option, because of Joey I
      presume, then Uktena's a good choice. /If/, of course, you're willing to 
      accept the stigma of being one of his children."
Stacey gives a slight nod. "That is true, but I figure that if Uktena will be
      the best choice for the pack and agrees to accept us and the pack in turn 
      helps to aid Gaia and our effort, then it's worth it, whatever others 
      might think."
"Good girl." His tone's approving, and not as condescending as his words might
      suggest. "And good luck on finding others to join you." No sarcasm there.
Stacey smiles then, almost a grin. "Thank you, sir. I'll probably need that
      luck. I certainly hope it all works out." She pauses and then nods. "It 
      all will, somehow."
Grey has the good graces not to dampen the young Cliath's spirits with his own
      cynicism. He just nods and, again, changes the subject. "If you're 
      working with the Guardians, you must have met White Bear."
Stacey nods, tilting her head. "Yes, I have met him. That's one of the reasons
      Jacinta-rhya asked me to help out. He's a good Guardian, I think. Very 
      much an Ahroun, testy if he thinks someone under him is challenging his 
      authority. Takes his job as Guardian very seriously. Honestly, he's not 
      as bad as people make him out to be, and he's killed a lot of Wyrm 
      things. He used to be a Glass Walker, but he's lost touch of his human 
      side, really. Prefers the wolf and doesn't like the city. Not sure where 
      he'll end up now."
Grey exhales a soft breath, almost a sigh. He nods. "His wolf side was always
      very strong. I suppose he never really did manage to reconcile his two 
      halves." The halfmoon's voice sounds rather regretful.
Stacey nods, her expression more serious. "It is rather strong, but he helps
      out a lot. He does a lot of good, despite the annoyance he apparently 
      causes some people. I think things will work out for him. He has a good 
      pack alpha, at least. Jacinta-rhya understands and leads her pack well."
Grey grunts. "Gaia needs ferals, too. And it's not like he'd be the first homid
      to practically Renounce his breed."
Stacey nods. "That is true." She glances up at the sky and then looks back to
      Grey, smiling. "Well, it was nice to talk with you, sir, but it is 
      getting late. I should probably check on the Farmhouse now, make sure the 
      cubs haven't set fire to it or broken any windows."
Grey dips his head slightly, not quite a bow. "Gaia watch your steps."
Stacey smiles. "May she watch over yours as well," she says, and then turns and
      walks off towards the Farmhouse.