It is currently 16:08 Pacific Time on Sun Apr 3 2005.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (37% full).
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 
      southwest at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.66 and rising, 
      and the relative humidity is 66 percent. The dewpoint is 41 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (5 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.

A little bundle of energy appears to have come to stay in the Walkers' living
      area. On close examination, it may be recognised as Kevin. The boy's 
      cleaned out the entire room, hoovered the floor free of dustbunnies, and 
      is now in the process of doing push-ups on the newly spotless flooring.
Grey comes in from the Sept-public side of the house, having been gone since
      mid-morning. He pauses while passing the living room and stands watching 
      for a moment, arms folded across his chest, his expression flat.
Kevin glances up from his activity for a second, but doesn't immediately stop.
      "...thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty," he says, completing three more 
      push-ups, and rolling over to sit against the nearest piece of furniture 
      to catch his breath. He meets Grey's emotionless expression with a 
      breathless smile.
"Been keeping busy, I see," remarks the Philodox neutrally. He takes a step
      inside the living room and stands over the boy.
"Yeah, well, it's that or go stir crazy," Kevin remarks cynically. As Grey
      steps over and begins to loom over him somewhat, his bright expression 
      darkens just a shade. "Don't tell me I wasn't meant to clean up? Have I 
      put valet service out of a job?"
Grey snorts. "Absolutely not. How are you at toilets?" Impossible to tell if
      he's joking or not. He leans down, offering Kevin a hand up.
Kevin pulls a face, but allows Grey to assist him to his feet, the philodox's
      grip on his own hand as strong and sure as one might expect from the 
      tough, wiry older wolf. "I've been buzzin' ever since the other day when 
      Emma had me out in the countryside all day long," Kevin explains. "Seems 
      a run round the bawn's just the thing to charge your batteries up so you 
      can come back here, ready to kick the Wyrm out of town."
Grey releases the sweaty hand as soon as the teenager's on his feet, then
      absent-mindedly wipes his hand on his trouser leg. "I do know what you 
      mean. The great disadvantage of the city is that there's little 
      opportunity to stretch your legs. In the lupine sense, that is."
"Yeah, I know," Kevin says. "Going lupus is... liberating. Everything looks so
      different. Lots of things seem as clear as day suddenly. All black and 
      white and clear-cut where, when you're in homid, they all go shades of 
      grey. No pun intended." He scratches his head thoughtfully. "But 
      someone's got to look after the city..."
Grey stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles; his elbows rest on
      the arms of his chair, fingers laced together. "Tu's taken you into the 
      Umbra, correct? Has he shown you the Harbor Park Glade?"
Kevin shakes his head. "We went once, nearly a month ago. He said he was
      planning to take me again but wasn't sure if he'd be able to before the 
      moon got too thin. I'm guessing it's thin enough now, it'd not be a good 
      idea till it's grown fat again. That first time, all we did was stand 
      around and..." He hesitates a moment before pressing on. "...and talk to 
      the mountains. That's where Long-Climb-Ahead came from. The name. It's 
      what they said to us. We thought." He wipes his brow on the back of his 
      hand, and takes a few deep breaths as though to recover from his recent 
      exertion. "What's this Glade? Is it a cool place to visit, or a dangerous 
      place to look out for, or what?"
"It's a safe place in the city Umbra," answers Grey. "You remember that
      feeling, when you visited the caern? A Glade is like that, a place where 
      Gaia's strong. Not as strong as even the weakest caerns, but... a good 
      place." He shifts his weight slightly, gaze turning a touch inward. "A 
      pack named Crossing, under the patronage of a Raccoon spirit called Mask, 
      were the ones who nurtured the park into its current state. Since then, 
      it's remained a sacred place, and by tradition, no one pack may claim it 
      as territory. It belongs to the Sept."
Kevin's eyes seem to gleam just a little at this news. "That sounds pretty
      awesome. I'll have to ask him if he'll take me. I was under the 
      impression that it was risky to go flipside in the city because of all 
      the spiders and spirits."
Grey nods. "It is. But the Glade is, as I said, a safe place. One can take
      refuge there."
Kevin nods, and then a fresh thought seems to strike him. "But to get from the
      Glade to, well, anywhere else umbral, you'd have to thread your way 
      through the city still?"
"Either that, or cross over while in the park itself, at the fountain." Grey
      unlaces his hands and pushes a lock of hair back off his forehead. "Have 
      to worry about not being seen, though."
"They have a mirror at the fountain?" Kevin queries, looking slightly
      incredulous.
Grey casts a brief glance toward the ceiling. "No," he says, patiently, "but
      you can see your reflection in the water."
Kevin gives an 'ah' of comprehension. "Didn't know you could do it that way. So
      I could run a basinful of water in the kitchen," he says, gesturing in 
      that direction, "and use that to cross over, if I needed to?"
"They didn't have mirrors back in the dawn of time." Grey points this out in a
      dry, sardonic tone of voice.
Kevin gives a sly grin. "Must have been awkward for ya when /you/ were a cub."
Grey's eyes narrow dangerously. The Ragabash's joke hits a wall of concrete and
      splatters like an egg, making no dent. "How old do you think I /am/, boy?"
Kevin's grin fades. "Okay, okay. Not /that/ old." He sizes the philodox up.
      "...Forty?"
Apparantly, this was the wrong answer. Grey's mouth tightens into a grimace and
      he says, icily, "Try again."
Kevin's grin is now fixed in position by the thinnest of threads. "Thirty-five?
      Thirty?" he hazards.
"Thirty-one," says the Philodox, still chilly. "Almost thirty-two."
Kevin's grin finally falls right off his face, drops to the ground at his feet
      and shatters into spillikins. "It's hard to read ages for garou once 
      they're past about twenty," he says softly, in self-justification, 
      avoiding Thomas's eyes.
Grey snorts. Rising in a single smooth, graceful motion, he prowls toward the
      kitchen. "What else have you been up to, besides frolicking in the woods?"
"Jogging, you know about," the cub says. "Thanks for taking me out. Helps me
      burn off spare energy. Haven't practiced scrapping since your last 
      lesson... Done some more work on the language, and the glyphs. And yet 
      more practice at shifting. All my weak points, really."
The sounds from the kitchen indicate that Grey is pouring himself a glass of
      juice. "How are you with the Litany?" he calls over to the cub.
Kevin walks as far as the connecting area between the living and kitchen areas,
      the better to carry on the conversation. "Not reviewed it for a while," 
      he says with caution, "but I think I still have it all off pat... shall I 
      whiz through it?"
Grey takes a deep swallow of juice before turning back to stare intently at the
      cub. "No, I have something else in mind. Head down into the basement."
Kevin gives a single nod, turns and strides to the basement door.

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 finishes his juice as he heads downstairs after the cub. "What we're going
      to do," he says blandly, "is go over the Litany in Mother's Tongue... and 
      you're going to get some practice being a Fool. Take Crinos."
Kevin gives a sharp snigger, then bites it off short. "Right you are," he says,
      and with only a little grimacing and posturing, he grows like a mushroom 
      overnight, into the menacing war-form. ~I am ready~, he says.
Grey sets his glass down and follows suit. He rolls his shoulders, then lowers
      himself into a bestial crouch. That one golden eye fixes on the young 
      Ragabash. ~Recite the Litany.~
Long-Climb folds his clawed hands together, bending the long fingers backwards
      and flexing them in a moment of silence and preparation. ~A garou should 
      not mate with another garou~, he begins tentatively, then pauses for 
      feedback from his tutor.
Grey gestures for the cub to continue with his right hand. The Charach glyph is
      quite visible, fur pelt or no. ~Go on. All of it.~
Long-Climb continues. He evidently has not had the Litany recited to him in
      this format, and many of the laws he gives are phrased differently to the 
      usual way in which they are spoken in Mother's Tongue, though his 
      understanding of the meaning of the laws seems clear. ~Always fight the 
      Wyrm wherever you find it or wherever it is growing...~ he continues, all 
      the way through to ~It is wrong to do anything which means a caern is 
      lost~.
The Philodox listens patiently, eyes narrowed. At the end, he nods curtly.
      ~We'll work on proper phrasing another time. For now, though -- do you 
      remember the Fool
The Philodox listens patiently, eyes narrowed. At the end, he nods curtly.
      ~We'll work on proper phrasing another time. For now, though -- do you 
      remember the Fool's part at the Moot?~
~Oh yes,~ responds the cub. ~The Fool challenges each part of the Litany, and
      the other garou mock him for it and shout him down.~
~Exactly. So.~ Grey crouches down and stares intently at the young Ragabash.
      ~Start with the last law. Take no action that shall cause a caern to be 
      violated. What do you say to that, Fool?~
Kevin thinks for a moment. ~Or if you do... make sure you can run fast?~ he
      chirps hopefully. Not the greatest ever retort from a fool, but a start, 
      perhaps.
The Philodox snorts, not amused, but not looking apt to smack the cub for a
      poor answer. ~I picked a hard one. Try this. Submission to those of 
      higher station.~
Long-Climb thinks again, and bares his teeth for a moment before responding.
      ~Outdated nonsense!~ he exclaims. ~Obey this rule literally and you will 
      spend all day every day showing throat to someone or other, and no time 
      will be left for anything else.~
Grey nods, then returns with, ~Respect for those below you in station. All are
      of Gaia.~
Long-Climb seems a little surprised, disappointed even, that Grey doesn't
      immediatly start cursing and booing at his attempted refutation. 
      Nonetheless he plugs on. ~The strongest wolves are those who will serve 
      Gaia best!~ he states. ~And you do not become strong and reach the top of 
      the tree of power except by treading on others on your way up.~
The Judge gives the young Ragabash a little snap of the jaws. ~Accept an
      honorable surrender,~ comes next. Grey's deliberately doing them all out 
      of order.
Long-Climb seems to be getting more into the swing. ~If others are watching~,
      he qualifies. ~If not, rip their throat out and who will ever know there 
      was a surrender?~ He laughs evilly. ~Perhaps I should have been a Shadow 
      Lord after all...~ he adds parenthetically.
Grey snaps his jaws again. ~Don't even /think/ it,~ he growls. ~Unless you want
      to end up dickless like that poor bastard from Requiem.~ Settling back 
      down, he snarls, ~The Veil shall not be lifted!~
Long-Climb frowns at an unfamiliar word in Grey's response. Perhaps it's just
      as well that 'dickless' is not yet in his vocabulary for Mother's Tongue, 
      and that Grey doesn't give him chance to seek clarification before 
      pressing on. ~The Veil?~ comes the cub's retort. ~We have hidden beneath 
      it too long. Let it be ripped apart, let the weak humans and the 
      corrupted ones see us in all our strength and glory... and they will run 
      and panic. We will triumph then indeed!~
Grey bares his fangs and leans forward. ~The leader may not be challenged at
      any time during war!~
Long-Climb is really getting into this now, and leans forward in turn till his
      snout is only inches from Grey's. ~Who defines when it is war? The 
      leader! This rule is circular and useless!~
Grey stands up, looming over the Ragabash cub, and gives his fiercest snarl
      yet. ~Garou shall not mate with Garou!~
Long-Climb matches move for move, glare for glare, not only standing but
      stretching in an effort to remain eye to eye with the larger wolf. He's 
      just about to come forth with something which from his face and body 
      language promises to be his loudest and most vehement response yet, when 
      he gives a sudden shudder and drops back down to a crouch, shaking his 
      head angrily, and saying nothing, biting down on whatever statement he 
      was about to make.
Still looming, Grey stares down at the cub, mismatched eyes narrowed. ~Why did
      you back down, cub?~
Long-Climb looks up and growls softly. ~As I understand it, Grey-rhya, the
      Fool's job is to poke holes in the Litany. I was about to go... beyond 
      that... onto a... personal level.~ His gaze drops to the floor again as 
      he finishes speaking.
The Philodox grunts and settles into a three-point crouch, dark and grim. ~I
      see. Shame. You'd built up quite a momentum.~
Long-Climb bobs his head in a gesture of appreciation for the semi-compliment.
      ~Had the moon been fatter I might have said it. But had the moon been 
      fatter you might have retaliated.~
Grey snaps his jaws together with an air of finality. ~Perhaps.~ He shrinks
      slowly back into human form and looks critically at the younger Garou. 
      "How are you feeling about the language now?"
~There were some words...~ the cub begins before coming to a stop and joining
      his teacher in birthform. "There were some words of yours I missed. There 
      were some words I wished to say that I did not know and had to work 
      around. But I'll keep learning. Did I do okay as Fool? It gave me a 
      surprising buzz once I got on a roll."
Grey nods. "For your first time at it, you did rather well, I thought." He
      snorts. "Certainly no worse than some Fools I've seen."
Kevin hmmmms. "I guess it must be rather like being a stand-up comic. Having to
      get up in front of a crowd and make a spectacle of yourself. And the fact 
      that I kind of like the idea, I suppose, proves I'm a new-moon all right."
"It would give you a lot in common with a Galliard." Grey takes out a
      pocketwatch -- the first time Kevin's ever seen it -- and glances at it 
      briefly. "Natalie'll be home soon. You should have time to wash up before 
      dinner." Referring to the cub's sweaty state from his earlier exercise in 
      the living room.
Kevin stretches, flexes his hands, cracks his knuckles. "Cool. Speaking of
      dinner, I know it's not a purely garou skill, but I so need to learn how 
      to actually cook something more complex than a tin of soup sometime..."
"We'll consider it your next lesson." With that, the Philodox waves the cub
      upstairs, and then follows after, turning off the basement light as he 
      goes.