It is currently 15:48 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 5 2005.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (23% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 56 degrees
      Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      east at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.15 and falling, and 
      the relative humidity is 55 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.)

The afternoon started off so nice, so calm, so peaceful. So boring, in fact.
      Not that Grey -- preoccupied as usual and not half as 'cheerful' as he 
      was the other day on the Bawn -- seemed to mind terribly. Then CNN 
      dissolved into a blur of noisy static, and a small cockroach spirit came 
      crawling out of the edge of the screen. It paused, waved antennae around 
      for a bit, then flew right at the halfmoon's face, rasping its clarion 
      call of 'HELLO CUB YOUR ORDER IS READY NOW OPERATORS ARE STANDING BY 
      OFFER EXPIRES SOON FIRST 100 CALLERS GETS A FREE TOTE BAG!'
So much for a quiet day at home.
Natalie's upstairs - she got home just after three-thirty, and headed straight
      upstairs after grunting something about, "Shower." The shower itself ran 
      for nearly fifteen minutes, and since then the Galliard's been moving 
      about upstairs, blissfully unaware of how CNN's programming has changed.
Grey swats at the manic kinfetch, managing to catch hold of the little spirit
      in the second try. 'YOU COULD WIN A /BRAND NEW CUB/!' chirrs the roach 
      excitedly, vibrating in the halfmoon's grasp.
Grey's own voice thunders through the house, carrying upstairs easily.
      "/Natalie!/" Striding to the bottom of the stairs, he calls upward.
From upstairs? Silence. Or at least, quiet. After a few seconds a door opens
      and a muffled query floats down the steps.
Grey holds up the hand that's got the kinfetch trapped. It's uttering a tinnily
      loud rendition of the "Teen Titans" theme song, randomly inserting the 
      word 'CUB'. It's perfectly understandable... and not exactly pleasant. 
      "Kinfetch!" the Philodox calls up, over the ruckus. Amazing how much 
      noise one little spirit can make.
'WHEN THERE'S CUB-BLE YOU KNOW CUB TO CALL... CUB TITANS! FROM CUB TOWER CUB
      CAN SEE IT ALL... TEEN CUB-ANS!'
Natalie's, "...the hell?" -is- perfectly understandable; after a second the
      Elder pokes her head around the corner of the stairs to frown down at her 
      disgraced Philo. "What's that?" Her hair's wet, there's a towel draped 
      around her neck, and is that... makeup? Lipstick, at least, to go along 
      with her pretty pink bra.
Grey is taken aback for a moment, but the 'fetch keeps singing tinnily and thus
      is difficult to ignore. "It's a kinfetch." She can barely see it 
      vibrating within his hand, like an overlarge lightning bug.
"Kinfetch?" Nat blinks at the singing spirit, then blinks at Grey before the
      shoe visibly drops. ".../Hell/. Uh... Lemme go get a shirt. I'll be just 
      a second."
Grey nods and stalks back to the living room, 'fetch in hand, to turn off the
      television. The spirit's run out of 'Teen Titans' lyrics and has moved to 
      reciting altered commercial lingo.
'I'M CUB-CUB FOR COOCOO CUBS!' declares the roachy kinfetch. 'THEY'RE ALWAYS
      AFTER ME CUBBY CUBS!' Then it starts singing a parody of the Goldfish 
      crackers jingle.
A couple of minutes later Nat - now decently dressed in a red t-shirt, jeans,
      and untied white sneakers - comes clattering down the steps two at a 
      time. "Is it still here? Where is it? ...Damn, whose car are we taking? 
      And oh hell, I have to leave a note for Jon..." She hoists one foot up 
      and hops over to rest it on the back of a chair so she can tie the thing.
As if on cue, Jon keys his way into the Glass Walker side of the safehouse,
      admitting himself and looking around to catch who is around.
The kinfetch twirls its atennae urgently, switching over to a tinny rendition
      of the 'Cops' theme song. 'BAD CUBS BAD CUBS, WHATCHA GONNA DO WHEN THEY 
      COME FOR YOU--'
Grey comes back out into the hall with the kinfetch still trapped in his hand.
      "Mine has a trunk," he says to Natalie, and then stops to look sharply 
      over at Jon. The spastic, noisy little spirit has him rather on edge.
"I /know/," Nat calls urgently after the 'fetch, fumbling her shoelace.
      "Dammit. Thomas, can you grab some paper or something? Or hell, I can 
      call him on the way." She finally manages the simple task of having the 
      bunny run around the tree and then through the hole and switches feet. 
      "No, paper. He said he was going to be here around now."
Has she noticed the door opening? Of course not.

[Jon]
This man does not immediately strike the eye as anyone notable of appearance,
      but observation of him over a short period of time conveys the sense of 
      that rarity of rarities, a sincere salesman--the kind of man who you can 
      identify right off the bat was born to shmooze, but even knowing that, 
      there's the sense that he's genuine about his interest and personable 
      approach.
He seems somewhere in his mid-twenties and stands at just about 6' tall,
      average build and comfortably fit, someone who works out regularly but 
      doesn't spend his life in the gym. He parts his medium brown hair on the 
      left side, brushed to the right in a gentle sweep that only stays put 
      occasionally, stray strands often falling to curve boyishly over his wide 
      forehead, the overall cut short and business-like. His eyes are an 
      unusual shade of brown most closely approximating the color of good 
      Scotch whisky, or could be called dark amber, a few shades darker than 
      skin tanned lightly from outdoor activities such as golf.
His clothing varies but is nearly always appropriate for the situation, suits
      and ties during business hours, khakis and casual shirts in the off 
      hours, with the occasional need for jeans usually paired with polos. He 
      nearly always wears a couple of elegant gold rings on his long, slender 
      fingers.

Jon's look back to Grey is as assessing as the Philodox's, but then speaks up
      to ask, "Call who? And what the hell is that racket?"
Grey's nostrils flare. Rather than answer the stranger, though, he turns toward
      the shoe-tying Galliard. "Do you know this man?" His tone's a little too 
      curt for the difference in their station. The kinfetch trapped in his 
      hand begins to vibrate more urgently, slogans and jingles and theme songs 
      breaking up into a stream of 'CUB CUB CUB CUB CUB NOW CUB ORDER NOW CUB 
      CUB...'
Natalie replies to Grey's query with another blank, "Huh?" her expression
      brightening as her eyes slip past him to the Kin. It would seem she does, 
      and the hypothesis is only confirmed when she says, "Hey babe. I hate to 
      do this to you, but we've got," a jerk of her head toward Grey's fist, "A 
      cubnapping. Do you want to come with us?" "--Oh, Thomas," she adds, 
      turning back to her second shoelace, "This is Jon Stark. Jon, this is 
      Thomas Grey. Nee Walker, Nee Salem. And can you get it to chill? I swear 
      these things have no sense of proportion."
Jon's demeanor relaxes somewhat at Natalie's introduction, a smile turning up
      the corner's of his mouth. "Thomas," he says to the Philodox with a 
      polite nod of the head, "Nice to meet you, Natalie's talked about you 
      quite a bit." There's a pause while he shifts to look back to Natalie, 
      visibly coming to a decision. "Sure, if you want. Need me to drive? I 
      should grab another piece before we go, if I do."
Grey turns back to Jon, his eyes narrowing somewhat at something he says, then
      gives the other man a curt nod before answering Natalie. "I'm not a 
      damned Theurge. It'll probably shut up once it starts moving again."
'OFFER ENDS SOON SOON SOON SOON CUB SOON ENDS...'
"We /know/," Nat hisses at the 'fetch, giving her shoe up as a bad job for now at
      least in favor of grabbing her coat. Then to Jon, "--Um, I don't think we 
      have time for you to go get anything. Why don't you drive, and Thomas and 
      I will take care of things? You can stick in the car, where it's safe." A 
      quick glance toward Thomas, nominally to see if he agrees with this, and 
      she's heading for the doorway stopping only to rise up on her toes to 
      give the Kin a quick peck on the cheek.
Grey's mouth tightens into a thin line; his whole manner is businesslike and,
      though not actively hostile, less than friendly. He nods to Natalie, 
      agreeing with the plan, such as it is.
Since she's past him, Natalie would miss the slight grimace Jon makes, but then
      turns on his heel to follow afterwards, peeking under the right side of 
      his coat to check something before settling the jacket firmly across his 
      shoulders.
Natalie takes shotgun with Jon driving his Outback, leaving Grey to glower
      alone in the back seat. As soon as they're on the road the Philodox opens 
      his hand and the 'fetch zips off, leading the Walkers a merry chase 
      through yellow lights and hard turns. Once or twice they lose it, but 
      Grey is always able, after a few heart-stopping seconds, to pick it up 
      again. The cockroach leads them on a merry path always south and east, 
      finally dumping the three 'Walkers on the western side of Harbor Park. 
      "--Looks like this is the place," she announces as she opens the 
      passenger side door. "Jon, did you want to come with us, or stay here?"
Jon climbs out of the car, answering outside it. "I'll come part of the way to
      play look out, but I know better than to get near whoever you're here to 
      find."
The path the kinfetch led them on seemed to follow a trail of shrilling car
      alarms, and the next one that goes off nearby the park is accompanied by 
      the distinct sound of shattering glass. Moments later, a black-clad 
      cyclist goes zipping along the path lining the river. The buzzing 
      kinfetch loiters stupidly for a moment, then takes off in the bicycle's 
      wake.
Grey gets out of the car in time to see the kinfetch go zooming off again.
      "Never easy," he mutters to himself, then shoots a look over at Natalie.
Natalie blinks at the alarms, then turns slowly to stare after the 'fetch.
      "...Hell. Thomas, go get 'em. Jon, you up for a jog? If you are, come 
      with me." That's all the direction either man gets before she takes off 
      at an angle to the biker, obviously guessing that it will turn and she'll 
      be able to cut it off on one of the paths.
Those long legs the Philodox has have to be good for something, right? Grey
      nods and takes off after the cyclist, his path angled differently from 
      Natalie's in order to flank the target.
The figure on the bicycle does not, indeed, turn--instead, it follows the path
      south along the river into the shadows that pool beneath the hulk of the 
      Municipal Bridge. The kinfetch follows suit, trailing just enough to stay 
      within sight of the Walkers.
Natalie doesn't spare the breath to swear, just keeps pounding after the biker.
      A quick look to one side finds Grey; another back and she flashes the 
      briefest of smiles at the kin. After that it's all business: hurdling 
      flowerbeds, dodging past the rare park-goer, swinging slightly wide or 
      pulling in again to avoid benches and stay out of the biker's sight. 
      She's fast enough - for a runner. But the bike is faster.
Grey is also no match for the bike's speed, but he's faster than Natalie, and
      when he sees where the target is headed, he bares his teeth in a feral 
      'grin' that isn't good cheer so much as energetic savagry. Nothing quite 
      gets a wolf's blood pumping like a good chase.
The path lining the river becomes more deserted and less well-kept, hooking
      around a corner of dense shrubbery that conceals the space directly 
      beneath the bridge; the cyclist disappears behind it. Moments later, a 
      ragged collection of hoots and and drunken greetings echo against the 
      underside of the bridge. The kinfetch, now on the ground, skitters beyond 
      the shrubs, out of sight of the Walkers.
Natalie slows to a fast walk as the biker appears to have been brought to bay;
      she flips a 'stay here' hand at Jon that's likely entirely unnecessary. 
      Another look toward Grey and a jerk of her head, once the Philodox looks 
      over, sends the man through the screening bushes. She turns to walk 
      backwards a few steps, eyes skimming the park, then jogs back to exchange 
      a few quiet words with the kin.
Grey doesn't even spend the second necessary to nod acknowledgement to Natalie;
      he just catches her look with his eye, then lopes quickly around the 
      bushes and into the shadowy space under the bridge.
Jon shrugs his shoulders at Natalie's words, saying something quietly back to
      her, but seems to be settling in where he stands to wait.
Natalie murmurs something back, then plants another peck on Jon's jawline
      before turning to head for the shadows. Not at a full-tilt run this time, 
      or even a jog, but a swift, predatory stalk that will - hopefully - bring 
      her up around behind the people Grey's so obligingly distracted.
"--/Eighteen/ motherfuckin' SUVs. Beat /that/, Crash." The space directly
      beneath the bridge is taken up by a sloping hill of concrete, and the 
      hill is occupied by a handful of seven or eight rough-looking black-clad 
      youth. There are a number of bicycles scattered along the path, discarded 
      by their riders in favor of brown-bagged bottles. The small cyclist, now 
      dismounted, has a hood up and back towards the bushes as she tosses a 
      heavy U-lock onto the pavement. One of the taller kids, a boy, laughs 
      loudly: "Eighteen? I can hit /twice/ that many during rush hour." The 
      group is full of beer and banter, relaxed--until they spot Grey jog 
      around the corner. His arrival is greeted with a collective tensing of 
      muscles and wary stares.
The Kinfetch, visible only to the Garou, skitters up the leg of the slight
      cyclist, perching atop the filthy hooded sweatshirt in a meaningful way 
      before fading into a fog of snowy static. The cyclist, meanwhile, has 
      whirled to glare at the tall man, face veiled by a black bandana.
Grey certainly looks like someone to be wary of -- or, indeed, outright
      threatened by. The savagely scarred face is twisted into a tooth-bared 
      snarl as the six-foot-plus man makes a beeline for Cy. "You filthy little 
      /shit/!" An angry SUV owner, perhaps. He makes a grab for the skinny 
      figure.
Natalie slips around the far side of the bushes, her eyes skipping over backs
      of heads, trying to see who Grey is making the beeline for. Other than 
      the simple neck-twitching presence of her Rage the Galliard is silent.

[Cy]
	There's not much to look at beneath the film of city grime and bicycle grease;
      five-foot-four would be a generous height estimate. She has a pale, 
      weak-featured face that adds to her apparent youth--she could be taken 
      for about twelve. Dirt-streaked round cheeks, snub nose, and brown eyes 
      are haloed by a hacked-off bob of hair that's been dyed fire-engine red 
      with an inch of dark roots showing. A stainless-steel menagerie of 
      varying gauges lines both ears; her most notable piercings are a pair of 
      heavy black talons that stretch both earlobes to almost an inch in 
      diameter. She rarely smiles, and tends to squint. On the occasion she 
      does show her teeth, it's obvious that she's missing her upper left 
      incisor.

	Monochrome black garb fits her tightly for the sake of utility, rather than
      fashion: jeans, t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, bandana knotted around the 
      neck, duct-taped All Star sneakers. The most prominent patch on her 
      hoodie is stamped with the words, "ONE LESS CAR". The cut of her clothing 
      reveals a sexless build with a short torso and nimble, stick-like limbs 
      that are obviously underfed. There's usually a grubby bike messenger's 
      bag strapped across one shoulder and a heavy length of chain draped 
      around narrow hips, strung through the belt-loops of her jeans. She looks 
      like just another pan-handling street urchin.

The bandana'd kid squawks and makes a move to run, but it's too late: the tall
      man is faster. Snarling ferally, the youngster flails every limb 
      available, hoping to catch him with a kick in the balls.
"Fuckin' /TOLD/ you not to bring /pigs/ up here, Cy," the oldest-looking of the
      punks calls out; the group is already scrambling for their bikes, or 
      ditching their beer in favor of running south towards the other side of 
      the bridge and hopping a chain-link fence to freedom.
The problem with trying to kick a man in the balls is that he tends to expect
      it. In any case, the Philodox has Cy immobilized in short order, with one 
      arm wrenched painfully up her back, forcing her up onto her toes. "Quit 
      struggling, you little brat," he snarls, fingers digging tightly into her 
      other arm. "I swear I'll fucking break it."
Natalie lets the others make their escape without a murmur of protest. Once the
      area's clear she steps into the rough clearing, ignoring the discarded 
      debris to focus on the single girl remaining. "That her?" she asks 
      unnecessarily, eyes poring over the teen's face as if reading Braille 
      with her eyes. "Want to just knock her out? It'll be easier."
Even on tip-toes, she's pretty short. The youngster freezes stiffly, growling
      through gritted teeth in reply to her captor. The hood of her sweatshirt 
      came down sometime during the struggle, revealing a disastrous shock of 
      fire-engine-red hair. That bandana still shrouds half her face, but the 
      panic in her eyes is obvious.
Behind Cy, Grey nods. He releases her painfully-twisted arm, but before she has
      time to react, there's an expert blow to the back of her head, and 
      everything swims off into blackness.

[...]

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 trades places with Grey on the way back, ceding Shotgun to the Philodox
      so she can stay behind with the unconscious girl. The single time it 
      seems she might be rousing Nat hits her again, sending her back into 
      dreamland. Jon pulls the Subaru up at the front door so Grey can pull her 
      out in a fireman's carry; a last quick exchange and the kin continues 
      around to the far side of the house leaving Nat to dart on ahead and open 
      doors for the Philo. Down into the basement they go, the flick of lights 
      sending roaches scurrying for shadowed corners, and over to the concrete 
      rumpus room where Nat lurks in the doorway. "--Want to force it tonight? 
      Or let her chill for a couple of days and see how things go?"
Grey has no trouble carrying the skinny little streetrat into the 'vault', and
      in marked contrast of his earlier behavior, he sets her down on the floor 
      quite gently. "Let's see how she is when she wakes up first." Standing 
      up, he looks down at the cub with a frown. "She'll want some aspirin, 
      probably. Glass of water."
"I hit her pretty hard," Natalie answers, thoughtfully studying their new
      addition. "It's been a while since I've tried to just knock someone out, 
      instead of kill them. I need to go out brawling more." A snort and she 
      adds, "In all my free time. You going to be all right watching her?"
Limp and unconcious, the skinny kid looks like a punk-rock version of Raggedy
      Anne--red hair and all. She couldn't be more than twelve.
Grey grunts. "The day I can't handle one little girl..." He trails off with a
      grimace and settles down into a three-point crouch near Cy's unconscious 
      figure.
"...Is the day I get you a nice cane," Nat retorts with a grin. "All right.
      I'll be back in a few. I'll grab an almanac as well, in case she's 
      chatty." One last look at their new cub and she pulls the door closed 
      with the hollow ring of steel. There is, Grey might notice, no doorknob 
      on his side of the door. Just the single bulb high up and protected by 
      the wire cage.
Grey looks up sharply at the sound of the door closing, and his face tightens
      when he notices that he is, effectively, locked inside. Twitch. He closes 
      his eyes, breathing slowly and deliberately.
It takes a few minutes, but there's sign of movement from the collapsed
      youngster as her fingers twitch. Her throat moves in a swallow, 
      interrupting shallow breath.
Just after Cy twitches Nat comes down the steps again. At least, the steps are
      too heavy and deliberate to be Kevin. "She awake?" the Elder calls from 
      just outside the door.
Grey pulls himself back into the here and now, focussing his attention on the
      waking cub. The bandana's long since been pulled away from Cy's face. 
      Hunching forward, the crouching halfmoon looks more a beast than a man, 
      especially with the overlong bangs falling over his dead eye.
He cocks his head toward the door, answering without taking his good eye off
      Cy. "Starting to."
"Coming in," Natalie announces as she hips her way through the door, half
      kicking it closed behind her. There's a flat book under one elbow; the 
      same hand holds an unopened bottle of water while her other is wrapped 
      around an opaque plasic container. "--Why don't you take the door. I'll 
      probably be a little less intimidating, huh? Oh, and grab the 'nac, too."
She's starting to--and then all of a sudden, she's /there/. Eyes flying open,
      the kid barely registers the monstrous face above her before she's 
      scrambling backwards, half-scooting backwards on her butt until her 
      shoulder hits the concrete wall. She slumps there with a groggy wince, 
      rubbing at the back of her head.

Natalie pages: FYI - the door pushes in from the outside, and doesn't fasten
      tight until/unless it's closed from that side. There's no 
      latchplate-and-latch, but two bolts at top and bottom. So while the door 
      can be /closed/ from the outside, it can't be fastened closed. People 
      can't accidentally get trapped in here.

Grey is already on his feet as Cy wakes and goes scuttling backwards. He gives
      her a dour look, then takes the almanac from Natalie without a word and 
      retreats to the doorway.
Natalie certainly looks less intimidating than the six-foot-plus man with the
      scars and lack of haircut - heck, compared to him she's practically 
      mothery. "Hey kiddo." She crouches, then rolls the waterbottle across to 
      the girl. "Sorry about the headache. You want some Tylenol?"
A skinny leg shoots out to kick the water bottle back in Nat's direction, with
      as much vicious force as the disoriented kid can muster. "Want a lawyer," 
      she grunts, scowling at the throb of pain behind her eyes.
Grey leans in the doorway, effectively blocking that route of escape, his arms
      folded across his chest. Grim and silent, he seems content to let Natalie 
      handle the talking for now.
"Got one, thanks," the woman replies cheerfully as she watches the bottle come
      spinning at her. "--Guess that's a no on the Tylenol, then." A hand 
      reaches out to stop the bottle, then into a fist to give her a 
      three-point stance mimicing Grey's earlier. "What's your name, kiddo? --I 
      ask because I call Kevin 'kiddo' too, and it'll get confusing as hell if 
      you're both in the room at the same time."

Cy pages to the room: Is there /anything/ in the bunker?
Natalie pages to the room: Army cot. Couple of blankets on it, thin pillow.
      That's about it. There's some barred 'windows' high up near the ceiling, 
      where it looks like a concrete block wasn't installed. That's about it.

The black-clad girl draws both knees up to her chin, rubbing the heel of one
      hand furiously against her eyes. "Right t'main silent," she mumbles. 
      Obviously, she thinks she's in jail.
Natalie cocks her head at the girl, then over at the looming man. "Whatcha
      think?" she asks him. "Want to give her a quick dose of reality, or let 
      her chill for a couple of days?"
Grey's mouth thins. He gives Cy a long, analytical look, then turns back to
      Natalie. "The former. Get it over quickly."
The scrawny kid uses the wall to support herself as she climbs unsteadily to
      her feet, teeth bared at the rush of pain accompanying the movement. She 
      pats at her emptied pockets, and her scowl deepens. Cursing under her 
      breath.
Grey, at a nod from Natalie, straightens up from his lean and unfolds his arms.
      "You'll get your things later," he says with brisk authority. "Right now, 
      I want you to pay careful attention to what I'm about to tell you."
Still leaning a shoulder against the wall, the streetrat has enough focus to
      shoot him a dark-eyed look of distaste and hock an impressive loogie on 
      the floor between them.
Natalie keeps quiet, letting Grey take the lead. Her eyes remain fastened on
      the girl.
Grey answers it with a baring of straight white teeth. Straight white teeth
      that get bigger and longer and sharpen like daggers as the scarred face 
      pushes out into a long muzzle, as ink-black fur sprouts like a carpet, as 
      fingernails lengthen into wickedly sharp claws and as the whole mass 
      rears upward, almost as tall as the bunker is long and there's little 
      left of the man that stood there but that one dead eye and the savage, 
      twisted scars down the left side of the beast's face, and Cy gets her 
      first look at an honest-to-god werewolf.

[Grey, Crinos]
This bestial, violent-looking hybrid of wolf and man stands well over nine feet
      tall. Except for an indistinct, irregular patch of medium grey on his 
      chest, the thick pelt is almost entirely black, covering the werewolf 
      from lupine head to digitigrade legs. One feral golden eye, deep-set, 
      glares from underneath the wolfish brow; it and its brother are often 
      partially obscured by the long, wild mane that tumbles around his upright 
      ears and long neck. The left eye is blind white, lost within the tangled 
      jungle of scar tissue that covers the left side of his face. Broad of 
      shoulder and long of limb, he appears able to move about as easily on two 
      legs as on four, though he seems to prefer the former. Long fingers and 
      large hindpaws are equally armed with evil-looking black claws, and when 
      he snarls, the sharp white teeth all but gleam against the midnight 
      background of ebony fur. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility, and 
      it's clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins.
Rarely at rest, the werewolf's motions bristle with rage, his violence held
      back only by a near-iron control. There's a secondary scarred area on his 
      right shoulderblade that looks like it might once have been some kind of 
      glyph, but more claw-scarring has removed all meaning from it. However, 
      the claw-made scars on his forearms -- the glyph for Charach on the 
      right, the one for Dishonor on the left -- are not so obscured.

One second. Two seconds. Three. Staring at the impossible apparition is too
      much for the girl's already-strssed nerves, and she rips up into Crinos 
      with an unpracticed snarl, tearing cloth and scattering metal piercings. 
      Crouched unsteadily on all fours, the young Garou lets out a 
      full-throated bellow of confusion and pain, snapping at the air.
Natalie's lips peel off her teeth in a satisfied grin. Despite the horror of
      being trapped between two ravening monsters, the woman seems remarkably 
      unconcerned. She does push herself up to her feet when Cy shifts and take 
      a pair of steps backwards, her thumbs slipping into the front beltloops 
      of her jeans. "Sweet. I thought for a second we'd grabbed the wrong one."
It's gotten terribly crowded in the little bunker all of a sudden. Grey lets
      out a huff worthy of the Big Bad Wolf himself and steps forward to loom 
      over the panicking cub. ~Definitely not.~ He snarls at Cy, tail-raised 
      and bristling, not bothering to use any language but the crudest, most 
      simplest form of dominance-speech that any wolf -- or just-Firsted young 
      Garou -- would recognize. And if sheer force of will to settle her down 
      doesn't work, he can always hit her again.
The closed quarters, the pain, the confusion--they're all too much for the cub
      to take. Completely unbalanced in this form, Cy nonetheless throws 
      herself blindly forward at the pair, teeth-first.
Natalie clears the area with a certain small amount of alarm, ceding thumping
      rights to the Philodox.
So, fists it is. Grey gives the cub a good thumping, knocking her out and back
      into homid. A very naked little homid at that. She didn't even get to 
      taste the blood of her captors, poor thing. Yet Grey, shifting back down 
      to homid, shows no sign of sympathy. "Well, she's got a spine, anyway."
"I'll get her some clothes - grab a sandwich, too." Nat paces forward again to
      study their new cub from close up. "She needs a couple of cheeseburgers, 
      looks like." A sneakered toe nudges one bare leg, then the woman bends to 
      scoop the girl into her arms and carry her over to the cot. "Kevin'll be 
      happy."
Grey eyes Natalie. "You think?" Then he shrugs. "I'll be upstairs if you need
      me."
Cy is limp as a fish for the second time in the past hour. There are a few
      marks on her--bruises and scrapes from bike falls, no doubt. No tattoos. 
      Major body odor, though.
Natalie's eyebrows lift at the man. "--I'm going out," she corrects as she
      settles the girl on the cot and twitching the itchy army blankets over 
      her. "At eight. I'll be gone the rest of the night. If you've got 
      anything you need doing, go now. I want someone here to watch the cubs."
Grey opens his mouth, then closes it with a grimace. "Right." He pushes hair
      away from his face. "You get the clothes, I'll fix up something for her 
      to eat." He eyes the unconscious girl unsmilingly.
Natalie says, "Sounds good." She gives Cy another contemplative look, then
      turns for the door. A quick push and it bounces against the jamb, opening 
      far enough to get her fingers in and pull it open the rest of the way. 
      Only after Grey's left does she pull the door closed and fasten the hasps 
      at top and bottom, locking the girl in solitary with only the light bulb 
      for company.