It is currently 20:48 Pacific Time on Fri Apr 15 2005. Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (46% full). Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.99 and falling, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.) 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. Several hours after dinner -- near nine o'clock -- Grey heads down to the bunker, his footsteps far less noisy in the new sneakers than they were in the boots he used to wear. He listens briefly at the steel door before knocking briskly. "Cy? Are you awake?" There's already sounds of movement in the vault before his query, but they're muffled. As soon as he knocks, they fall abruptly silent. No reply, verbal or otherwise. Cy pages to the room: Is this a usual time for him to stop by? You paged Cy with 'Not really, no.'. Grey leans a hand against the door, fingers spread. He looks down for a moment, then says, "Cy, if you don't answer me..." He grimaces suddenly and mutters, "Oh, fuck it," just before he straightens up and opens the door. The door opens up to a putrid mess: the Luggable Loo has been overturned, its contents spread across the concrete floor in a stinking swath of urine and feces. The pallet of blankets is a mangled, urine-soaked mess in the middle of the room, and there's one very terrified young wolf crouched in the corner. She freezes at Grey's entrance, ears slicked flat against her skull; the bedraggled creature is half-tangled in t-shirt and sweatpants. A plaintive whine escapes her throat. Stuck! Stuck! [Cypher (Cy in lupus)] The dark wolf appears to be somewhat scrawny for her kind, but she's obviously in good health: a compact, young bitch with short but well-built legs and expressively large ears. Her pelt is mahogany brown with black accents, often betraying temper or tension as it twitches over wiry musculature. There's a strange sort of sentience behind those dark amber eyes, fixing their chosen subject with a laser-like intensity. She shows no sign of scarring besides a series of perfectly round holes along the edge of both ears, and a missing left incisor. Grey wrinkles his nose at the stench and mess. "God dammit." He sounds -- and looks -- more weary than angry, though, as he fixes a dark eye on the panicked cub. "Cy. /Cy/." He speaks her name, her human name, with emphasis, attempting to get through the unthinking terror to the mind within. "Be still." He eyes the floor again, seeking a non-sewage-soaked path across the floor. She's not hearing it--the young wolf's eyes roll in terror, showing white at the edges. Stuck! She wriggles in panic, trying to free a trapped forelimb from the cloth of the shirt, struggling back against the wall. Somewhere beneath the tangled sweatpants, her tail is tucked tight between her legs. Yipping shrilly, she insists: OUT! OUT! Grey mutters a few words in a Slavic language and, after closing the door behind him, picks his way around the mess and toward the cub. "I said be still, Cy," he says as he approaches, his voice calm and firm. "Be still, be quiet. I'm coming to help you." Cypher's panic ratchets up a notch as he comes towards her, and she turns to rear up against the wall, scratching frantically with the one free forepaw as though she could dig through concrete with her nails alone. NoNoNoNoNO NO! OUT! STUCK! The cub's scrawny lupine body is off-balance, unpracticed, and she almost topples over onto her side. Grey keeps talking in that same calm, firm voice. Speaking her name, telling her to be quiet, be still, be calm, et cetera. He reaches her without getting too much mess on his nice clean sneakers and crouches down to take the cub's scruff in his grasp. It doesn't hurt. "Shh." The physical contact triggers a sharp twist of the cub's filth-smeared head and a panicked snap of teeth in his direction, her whine dropping into a open-throated snarl of fear. LET _GO_! A wolf is fast, and Cy gets a taste of blood as her snapping teeth score Grey's wrist. As with the shiv, it's a momentary victory at best. Grey moves faster than a wolf, faster than is properly natural, and suddenly the cub finds herself with all four feet in the air, nothing to kick against and unable to bite. Ignoring the filth, the older Garou -- now in Glabro -- has one massive arm around her chest, just under her forelegs, and his other hand is closed firmly around her muzzle. She can breathe, barely, but is effectively muzzled. And then he's moving, stalking back across the bunker and shouldering the door open, and holding her firmly all the while. Combined with the restraints of her tangled clothes, Grey's hold is effective--but that doesn't stop her from wriggling like a trussed pig, kicking ineffectually. She keens her distress through clenched teeth, muzzle vibrating in the elder Garou's grip as she's hauled out of the cell. Out of the cell and out of the basement. Up the stairs to the second floor, to the big bathroom next to Natalie's room. He kicks the door closed behind them, then dumps the cub, clothes and all, into the tub and turns on the shower. Full. And /cold/. Cy lands in an ungainly heap, claws skittering against the tub's porcelain and smearing filthy brown on white. Another yelp as the water douses her: COLD! Stop! Mean! She attempts a jump over the lip of the basin that ends up depositing her, muzzle-first, onto the floor of the slippery tub. The cub lays there in a dazed sprawl, shivering; dark eyes roll up towards Grey accusingly. Grey, still bleeding from his right wrist, glowers back down at her, then slowly turns on the hot water; the shower gradually rises in temperature from frigid to lukewarm. /Scared/, the wiry cub keens in distress, trying to push herself to all fours--one forelimb is still trapped in the now-soaking shirt, though, and she falls again. Where am I? Her ears are plastered to her head, and she squints and quivers under the fall of water. HELP ME. Grey shrinks back down to human form. "Are you going to bite me again?" He crouches down, hands resting on the edge of the tub as he stares at her, his gaze authoritive and heavy. She hunches, tail-tucked, in an attempt to move as far away from the pounding water as possible within the confines of the tub. Trembling violently, the drenched and bedraggled cub chokes out a yip-bark of impatience and fear. No Bite! Stop water! Grey's eyes narrow slightly. He stares at her for a moment more, then nods and turns off the water. "Fine. Now shift back. You can do it, Cy. You were human for fifteen years. You ought to remember what it's like." The trembling shows no sign of stopping with the water. Still half-stuck in the shirt, the cub attempts to shake herself out with pathetic results. The whites are still showing at the edge of both eyes--she won't quite look at him. Scared, she keens again. Scared. Grey's expression softens. Slowly, carefully, trying not to spook her, he reaches a hand toward her. His left, the one with the unbloodied wrist. Palm down, fingers loosely closed. That motion earns him a show of teeth--just the barest pulling-back of black lips over white canines. She does not, however, make a move to snap. Shivering in place, the cub blinks as a few stray water droplets fall into her eyes. No more box, she whines. /Scared/. No more box. "No more box," Grey agrees. He pulls his hand back, then sits back on his heels. "Now, why don't you shift back, hm?" One wet ear half-rises from her skull in puzzlement, then snaps down flat again. She keeps her head low, her posture hunched. How? "Remember your roots," Grey answers. "Your humanity." Cy yowls in the back of her throat, a small sound of frustration. The soaked cub falls still for a moment, hunches into herself.. and then rearranges before Grey's eyes, shifting into a very bedraggled and miserable-looking homid. The girl blinks once, clutching her knees to her chest. Utterly stunned. Grey lets out a deep breath and nods. There's a hint of relief in his scarred face. "Good." His voice remains calm, quiet. "How do you feel?" A few long heartbeats pass. The girl finally lifts her wide-eyed gaze to meet his, and she opens her mouth as if to answer--but then shuts it as her eyes well up with sudden tears. She doesn't make a sound as the salt water spills down her cheeks, but simply /stares/ at him. It's hard to tell, but... she almost looks relieved. Grey nods and stands up slowly. "Use the shower. I'll get you some clean clothes. But." He cocks his head, fixing his good eye upon her. "That means I'm going to trust you not to run. Can I trust you, Cy?" Suddenly reminded of her semi-clothed state, the bedraggled girl blushes furiously through her tears and tugs the t-shirt over her knees; the sweatpants were lost somewhere in transit from the basement to the bathroom. Cy nods her head once, quickly, staring down at the floor of the tub in still-fresh shock. Grey shows absolutely no interest in Cy's body. He just nods curtly and leaves her alone in the bathroom with the shower, the tub, the soap and shampoo and conditioner and the big clean fluffy towels. Once Cy's safely shut away in the bathroom, it takes a long time before the shower can be heard. It takes even longer for the water to shut off. But eventually, the building's plumbing shudders into silence, and the bathroom door creaks open. She pokes her head out, her red hair a few shades darker with dampness. Grey is leaning against the wall near the bathroom door, dressed in a long-sleeved white t-shirt now and a pair of dark green sweatpants. His feet are bare, and there's a bundle of clothing in his arms -- baggy jeans, black t-shirt, underwear and socks. He offers this to the girl. "There's a trick I can do to make sure you don't ruin these... or end up trapped within them when you're in wolf form." His tone is matter-of-fact, his gaze intent, his face difficult to read. From afar, Cy flashes Per 3 or something. Disapproving expression? You paged Cy with 'Nope. Doesn't seem disapproving at all.'. You paged Cy with 'Not /approving/, mind you, but not /disapproving/.'. The freshly-scrubbed cub clutches her towel--draped poncho-style--around her shoulders closely, and accepts the bundle after a moment's hesitation. Her eyes are still a little glazed from shock, and carefully averted, but at least she's not crying anymore. She doesn't say anything as she disappears back into the bathroom. Grey folds his arms across his chest and patiently waits for her to come out. He keeps an ear cocked at the bathroom door. Again, it takes her a long while to re-emerge: this time, fully clothed, nervously hitching up the waistband of the baggy jeans. The cub looks a bit like someone emerging from a cave, blinking owlishly as she takes a brief inventory of what she can see of the house. It's a very normal second floor hallway with normal-looking doors and some stairs leading downwards. Carpet underfoot and painted walls. Grey eyes Cy critically, then says, "You need a belt." He straightens up and nods toward the door at the end of the hall nearest the stairs. "Presuming you're ready to join the rest of the family, you'll be bunking in there, with Kevin... the other cub. Come on." There's a definite note of command as he gestures her to follow and walks toward the bunkroom. Safehouse: Bunkroom The room prepared for the Glass Walker's cubs is sizeable, spanning the entire width of the house - almost thirty feet - and about half that deep. The walls are painted a pale spring green, while the floor is maple hardwood. All of the windows have been treated with a frosted vinyl that lets light in but prevents any clear view either in or out. Half of the room has been set up as a bedroom, with a bunkbed, a pair of used dressers, and a pair of computer desks. A bookshelf close to the door boasts a random scattering of books - anything from paperback fiction to books on programming and computer security. The other half of the room has been turned into an impromptu workout room: a heavy bag hangs from the ceiling and several mats have been piled along the edge of the room to wait for use. A door in the middle of one wall leads back to the second floor. Cy follows the tall man with an almost mechanical shuffle, rubbing at her damp hair with a hand. "--Cub?" She echoes him faintly, her voice very small. Grey lets her explore the bunkroom as he digs up a braided leather belt and hands it to her. "Think about wolves. Or, rather, a wolf /pack/. There are ranks, a heirarchy. You and Kevin are cubs, new to this life. Nothing really in the way of status, but this is your time to learn. And listen." He nods toward the bunkbeds. "Have a seat. There are a few rules we need to go over." Dark eyes blink once, absorbing the room slowly. It's been a while since she's seen furniture. Cy takes the belt from him easily enough, but doesn't move to put it on yet as she follows his order to sit, perching on the edge of the mattress. There's no sign of her usual rebellious spark--it's been replaced by a dazed stare and a resigned sort of quiet. Grey studies her, frowning slightly as though worried. He forges onward, though. "First, some rules specific to your situation. You are not to leave this section of the house unless accompanied by myself, Natalie, or Tu. Neither are you allowed to let anyone /into/ this section of the house. And no shapeshifting unless you're in the basement or up here in this room." His eyebrows lift. "Also, you're expected to shower at least once daily and help out with the housework. Think you can handle that?" Her skinny throat bobs once as she swallows, with difficulty. She nods once, as though only half-hearing his words; the girl's eyes rest on some invisible spot on the carpet. Her small hands are white-knuckled around the belt in her lap. [The question comes up as to where Kevin is during this, and I decided that the poor kid would be saddled with poo-cleaning duties down in the basement.] "Good." Grey reaches up absently and brushes hair away from his forehead, back from his eyes. It resumes its previous position only moments later. "There are other rules, but we'll go over them another time, when you're more..." He pauses for the right word. "...Rested. One more thing, though." His gaze sharpens. "Don't try to run, and don't try to contact the outside world. We will find out, and we will find you. And we'll have to put you back in the bunker." That last part triggers a sharp, involuntary twitch from the quiet girl, and her eyes fly up to meet his--beseechingly? There's definitely a flash of terror, there. Cy shakes her head in a tight motion, almost imperceptible. Grey keeps his gaze steady and his face bland. "Exactly." He pauses, cocks his head slightly. "Any questions so far?" Cy drops her eyes down to the belt in her hands, brow furrowing slightly. After a breath, she asks hoarsely, "..Where's the kitchen?" Grey's eyebrows rise. "Downstairs," he says dryly. "Come, I'll show you." The prospect of food seems to enliven the girl enough to put the belt on as she trails behind him, still halfway absorbing the environs of the house. "'S a nice place," she comments lowly, her tone somewhat distant. Grey leads the girl downstairs, giving her the five-cent tour -- living room, computer room, kitchen, dining room, another bathroom. "Natalie's work. Her and her... friend, Jon. She did much of the remodelling. How hungry are you?" "Hungry," she replies promptly, with some emphasis. She seems to be relived by the distraction of the tour, lingering to peer at the spines of books or any telltale signs of personality in the house. Grey nods and gestures her toward the dining room. "Have a seat. How does some leftover ziti sound?" Cy scans the room as she perches in a chair at the indicated table, taking it all in. It's hard to tell whether she's admiring, or measuring. "Fine," she murmurs, glancing at him briefly before scooting her chair in. What follows is reassuringly homey and normal. The ziti's good, and there's ice water to go with it. Afterwards, though, when the dishes are put in the dishwasher, Grey takes her back upstairs to the bunkroom and does some kind of mystic ritual over Cy's new clothes, belt and all. It involves her blood -- or her spit, if she shows skittishness -- and murmured words in that rough, growling language he'd been teaching her. It takes about ten minutes overall. Cy's uncharacteristically compliant, through it all--still somewhat dazed, with that faraway look in her eye. Almost like she's half-listening to something the older Garou can't hear. After the ritual is finished, she perches on the edge of the bunk that is apparently 'hers', and meets his eyes briefly. "'M not gonna run," she offers hoarsely, after a moment of consideration. Offering him her word, for what it's worth. She's rewarded with what passes for a smile in the scarred, dour man, a wan twitch at the corners of his mouth. "Good. You'll find staying more profitable anyway." The smile, faint as it is, fades as he turns to leave. "Get some rest. In the morning, your education begins for real."