It is currently 23:59 Pacific Time on Fri Apr 1 2005.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (48% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 41 degrees
      Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      east at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.19 and rising, and 
      the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

[City safehouse, a knock at the door.]

Thomas Grey is a man hard-used by the world. It shows mostly in his face, a
      hawkish visage that's extensively scarred down the left side, twisting 
      keloid making a ruin of aristocratic features. If not for the scars, he'd 
      probably be fairly handsome in a severe sort of way. The angles of his 
      face are sharply defined, the nobility in them scoured nearly to the 
      bone. His thick black hair hangs shaggily around his face, clean but 
      unkempt, and a short, well-kept black beard lines his mouth and jawline. 
      He looks older than his thirty-something years; his deep-set eyes -- the 
      right dark brown, the left blind white -- are often shadowed as though 
      from lack of sleep, and the set of his mouth is usually tight and grim.
At six-foot-three, he stands taller than most men, and an inherent athleticism
      indicates that he could probably hold his own in a fight. There's also an 
      aura of pent-up violence about him, a tightly-controlled rage and 
      bitterness within the lanky, muscled frame that could be lethal if 
      unleashed.
He's wearing an ivory-colored, long-sleeved thermal undershirt tucked into a
      pair of olive-drab BDU trousers. On his feet are a pair of Matterhorn 
      tanker boots, heavy black leather fastened with straps instead of laces.

Grey answers the door some moments after Jacinta's knock, his expression
      slightly bemused, but otherwise quite guarded. "Good evening, Jacinta," 
      the disgraced Philodox greets, an unspoken question in his words.
Jacinta offers a small nod, significantly smaller than the bow she gave Thomas
      Walker when last she saw him, but similar in intent. "Waqaa, Thomas." She 
      glances down the street to each side before looking again at the Glass 
      Walker. "May I come in?"

[Jacinta]
	 She stands proudly, this young adult; sure in her movements and comfortable
      in her body. Calloused fingers adorn small hands at the ends of muscular 
      arms. An Alaska Native, Jacinta is not the tallest warrior one could 
      imagine. Her stout figure falls just shy of five feet. Her eyes are a 
      brown so dark as to be almost black, and there is a steeliness about her 
      gaze which belies her easy smile. Her dark hair, once long enough to 
      reach mid-back while braided, now reaches just below her shoulders and 
      hangs loosely, untethered. 
	Her clothes are casual, relatively new blue jeans, and a dark blue T-shirt
      that has seen very little wear. On colder days, she wears a black, fleece 
      pullover, but when her arms are bare, a detailed tatoo of a long-knife is 
      visible along the back of her left forearm.

Grey's mouth thins, brow furrowing behind the black hair hanging too-long over
      his forehead. His response, however, is unfailingly polite. "Of course." 
      He steps aside, allowing her entrance.
Jacinta follows Grey into the house, her manner tense, but not aggressive or
      antagonistic. "Quyana." Her voice trails off, the single word stretched 
      out longer than it should be.
Grey closes the door behind them. "Please, have a seat," he offers, gesturing
      toward the living room area. "Can I get you something to drink?" His good 
      eye follows her movements with that same air of puzzlement; other than 
      that, there's little more than aloof courtesy and a subtle deference to 
      the Wendigo Elder.
"Qanga," Jacinta says, and then repeats in English as she moves toward the
      living room. "No. Thank you." She sits, somewhat uncomfortably, on the 
      edge of the seat. Her gaze falls to Grey's sleeve-covered arms, but only 
      for a flicker before she brings her focus back to his face. There is a 
      warring of intention there, and her gaze wavers between the Glass 
      Walker's chin and his eyes for a moment before settling on the latter.
Grey shifts his own eyes away after barely a couple of seconds and dips his
      head, a more obviously submissive gesture; it's accompanied, though, by a 
      slight tightening in his bearded jawline, a tension that's completely 
      unreflected in his utterly polite turn of voice. "In that case," he says, 
      clasping his hands formally behind his back, "may I ask about the purpose 
      of your visit? The safehouse is open to all affiliated with the Sept, 
      but..." He pauses a moment. "I'm a little surprised to see a Guardian at 
      our doorstep."
Jacinta rests her hands on her knees, but her fingers flex and tense as she
      draws in a breath before she speaks. "At moot I challenged Guards the 
      Flame for the rank of Fostern," she begins, now watching the other's face 
      for reaction. "Her terms require that I spend the next two moons in the 
      city."
Grey shows no surprise at the news she's Challenged; he was at that same Moot,
      after all. It's the actual terms that jerk his eyebrows upward. "I see. 
      Well. As I said, the safehouse is open to all from the Sept, so if you 
      need a place to stay, you're quite welcome."
Jacinta sucks air in between tight jaws and she gives a small shake of her
      head. "Quyana, but, at least at the moment, that is not necessary. There 
      are other terms." Here she pauses, and the pause draws on for quite a 
      while.
Grey, unsurprisingly, looks curious. When Jacinta doesn't elaborate after a few
      seconds, he asks, "What terms?"
Jacinta allows the silence to drag on for a bit longer before she answers.
      "Several parts." Again an indrawn breath gives her space before she 
      speaks again. Her pauses seem less like avoidance than they might have at 
      first, and more a searching - for the right words, for the right tone, 
      for the right time. When she speaks again her words are sure and 
      confident. "I am to serve both Bone Gnawers and Glass Walkers as a 
      Fostern Ahroun would do. I have already spoken with Olga to explain my 
      challenge to her, but it is more complicated with your tribe."
Grey frowns slightly for a moment, then schools his features back into a
      politely neutral mask. "How so?"
Jacinta catches the corner of her lip between her teeth, then notices that
      she's doing so and releases it. "While you have been gone things have not 
      gone so well between our Tribes." She looks almost appologetic, but, like 
      Grey, regains control of her outward expression. "A part of my challenge 
      is to rectify this situation."
Grey's mouth takes on a dour little downward twist. "I see." The Philodox
      unclasps his hands and folds his arms across his chest. "Does this have 
      anything to do with Cockroach finally rejecting Joshua?" Apparantly, he's 
      been told /something/ of what went on when he was away.
One hand reaches up to the back of her neck and Jacinta's fingers push down on
      a presure point there. "Qanga," she says with a small shake of her head. 
      "That is between him and her. I did all that I could to help him 
      reconcile with her. It was not enough. When she could no longer see 
      herself in him, she cast him out." She gives a small shrug. "I wish it 
      could have been different."
Grey grunts. "I /did/ warn him," he mutters, shoulders rising and falling
      minutely. After a moment's hesitation, he asks, "How /is/ Joshua, in your 
      opinion? He's packing with you, I've hear."
Jacinta sighs. "In many ways he is well. He is a good Guardian. He is a good
      beta. He has lost too much of his human side." Her face drops into a 
      frown and from there to a scowl, though she does not expound on whatever 
      brings that emotion to the fore. "He is seeking Stag, seeking Fianna. 
      Firewatcher invited him to do so."
"I'm surprised that he didn't seek out Uktena," says Grey, studying the Wendigo
      in a careful, sidelong manner. "Or did he?"
Jacinta returns the sideways look. "He did seek Uktena. Though Firewatcher's
      invitation came first. He was concerned about the Fianna ways. Too many 
      of their tribe still act without," she struggles for words and then 
      continues on, "without learning from the past. But there was only one 
      Uktena, here, and he did not know the ways to test one seeking entry. 
      White Bear studied the Fianna after that, and saw that Stag is honorable, 
      even if not all of his tribe act true to this ideal. It is enough for him 
      that some do, and that the Yua will accept him as he is."
Grey grunts again, the sound noncomittal. "I had simply thought that, what with
      his close association with the Wendigo..." The halfmoon trails off and 
      shrugs, his gaze shifting away from her, and then back.
Jacinta's gaze does not waver from Grey, even as his shifts. Her nostrils flare
      as she studies the Glass Walker and mulls over his words. Though her 
      words begin slowly, quietly, they grow in intensity and volume. "Your 
      Elder has led you to believe that I took him from your tribe? That I 
      corrupted him with my ways? She did not tell you that I called upon 
      Cockroach herself to help him come back to his tribe, did she? For one 
      year I have fed her children. Even after she came to cast him out, I kept 
      my word to her. No. I did not turn him away from his family. His family 
      turned away from him. /She/ did that." There is a change in her tone with 
      the last sentence, as though the Wendigo refers to a different individual 
      in that final statement.
Grey's expression darkens soon after Jacinta starts talking and remains so,
      though he holds himself still until she's finished. Sometime in the 
      middle of it, his arms unfold, and once again he clasps his hands behind 
      his back. When he replies, his tone and manner are polite enough, but the 
      temperature's dropped several degrees. "Actually, she said no such thing. 
      Only that he was packed with you, as a Guardian, with others of your 
      tribe, and that he does these things of his own free will. Considering 
      how you had helped him when he was a cub, this did not surprise me. 
      Moreover, since Joshua was promoted to Cliath, he has been free to make 
      his own choices, and I do not believe that one can 'steal' a Cliath. Nor 
      does my Elder."
Jacinta struggles to pull her emotions back under control and she remains
      silent while she does so, eyes half closing for those moments it takes. 
      "Pitsaqenritamken," she says, finally. "I am sorry. You asked me if the 
      difficulty between our tribes came because of White Bear. It did not. It 
      came because of difficulty between your Elder and myself." She sighs 
      again, shaking her head side to side. Twice, she begins to speak, fails 
      and starts again. The third time she manages only, "Perhaps I should 
      return another time."
Grey nods to this. "You'll wish to speak to Natalie about the terms of your
      Challenge." The polite deference never falters, even as chilly as he is. 
      "Unfortunately, I don't know when she'll be back tonight, but I will of 
      course pass word to her. Is there a number at which you can be reached?"
Jacinta opens her mouth to speak and closes it again. Her gaze drifts to the
      far wall, resting there as her expression grows sad. Rising, she turns 
      back to Grey. "If I give you this information, and ask you to keep it for 
      yourself and not share it with your elder until she and I have come to an 
      acord, will you find yourself in conflict?"
Grey's eyebrows rise, and he regards her with bemusement and a bit of skeptism.
      "I asked only so that she'd be able to contact you, to let you know when 
      she'd be available. Alternatively, you can continue to drop by in the 
      chance of catching her when she's in."
Jacinta nods slowly. "But there is reason to ask. I stay with one who calls you
      friend. Would you find yourself in conflict?"
Grey's mouth is tight; behind his back, his hands tighten on each other and
      then relax. "If I may be frank," he says, with a submissive dip of his 
      head that causes the tips of his hair to partially obscure his eyes, "I 
      don't believe that forcing me to act as an appointment secretatary, 
      rather than arranging things directly with Natalie, will ingratiate 
      yourself to her. But she cannot fault me for keeping my word, should I 
      give it, not to share a phone number."
Jacinta again gives a small shake of her head. "I do not mean to ask you to act
      on my behalf in any way beyond keeping this confidence until Natalie and 
      I have made our peace." She takes a scrap of paper and a pen from the 
      pocket of her sweater. "It is just that, I would trust you to treat my 
      kin," and again she pauses, searching for the proper words, "with honor 
      and care. And this is at the core of my difficulty with Natalie. Sarah 
      considers you a friend, and it was only because of your help that I was 
      able to contact her. If you feel free to promise that you will not share 
      this information with Natalie until we have ... come to an agreement, 
      then I would tell you now how you can reach Sarah. For it is with her 
      that I am staying."
Grey lifts his head at mention of Sarah, a flicker of surprise passing across
      his face. He purses his lips and nods tightly. "I see." He pauses a beat. 
      "I'll keep her number in confidence until you say otherwise."
Jacinta nods, the edge of the sadness lifting with the corners of her lips and
      she quickly writes a phone number on the scrap of paper. "Quyana, Thomas. 
      I know that she would like to see you." Holding out the paper to Grey she 
      tries a friendly smile, but the other emotions make it a weak 
      approximation, lopsided and frail.
Grey does not return the smile as he accepts the piece of paper, though he
      seems slightly mollified. "I see," he says, studying the number for a few 
      seconds before carefully stowing the paper in his wallet. Clasping his 
      hands behind his back once more, he asks, "Is there anything else I can 
      do for you tonight, Jacinta?"
"Qanga. Quyana." With a small bow of her head, similar to the one she gave as
      he opened the door, Jacinta takes a step backward. "If you wish, tell 
      Natalie I was here seeking her. I will come again. I do not know how well 
      your tribe relates to the Bone Gnawers, but I will spend much time there, 
      until I have found Natalie. Should she wish to seek me out." Another 
      backward step, another repeated thank you.
Grey dips his head to her in a similar gesture and, ever the courteous host,
      escorts her to the front door. "I'll let her know. Gaia watch your steps."
"Ii," Jacinta offers as she steps through the door. "And you, Thomas. Piuraa."