Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (52% 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.

Cy pages: Terribly, I'd imagine... though she probably pretended to for the
      sake of Kevin (OMG I'M ROOMING WITH A BOY)
You paged Cy with 'Poor thing.'.

It seems that days start early in Werewolf Central. Natalie, Grey, and Kevin
      are all up at the crack of dawn, and after some muted discussion between 
      Natalie and Grey, both the woman and the gangly boy with the British 
      accent go out for a morning jog. Grey remains behind, checking on Cy 
      regularly but letting her wake up at her own pace.
The tempting smells of eggs and bacon drift up from downstairs.
Sometime around nine, bare-footed steps can be heard descending into the main
      room.
Grey's in the kitchen in t-shirt and jeans, in red-and-black flannel and
      sneakers that have been cleaned from the mess last night. The smells of 
      breakfast are coming from that part of the house -- eggs and bacon and 
      toast and... is that fresh-ground coffee?
Turning the corner into the hallway, Cy takes a moment to peek inside the
      computer room, then follows her nose into the kitchen. The girl's clothes 
      are rumpled from what appears to have been a restless night, and her red 
      hair has dried in an impressive array of messy tufts. She squints at the 
      tall man for a moment from the doorway, as though perplexed.
Grey glances over his shoulder, noticing the girl, then gives her a nod. "Good
      morning, Cy. How do you like your eggs?"
Grey's tone is perfectly matter-of-fact, like this is the most normal thing in
      the world.
Still clouded from sleep, the girl's eyes blink once, slowly. "Uhm...
      scrambled?" She scratches at a shoulder beneath the t-shirt, aimless and 
      confused for a moment, before padding her way over to the refrigerator.
The fridge is well-stocked; being a werewolf must pay quite well, or something.
      "Scrambled it is, then," says Grey, who seems to be a morning person. At 
      least, he shows no sign of sleepiness despite the dark circles under his 
      eyes. "How did you sleep last night?"

Cy pages: Any ice cream?
You paged Cy with 'In the freezer, yup. Cookie dough and Neopolitan.'.
You paged Cy with 'Breyer's. The good stuff.'.

She checks the fridge first, the freezer second, and grunts. "Fine," she
      answers hoarsely, pulling out the bucket of cookie dough ice cream after 
      a moment of consideration. The dark shadows around her own eyes, plus her 
      general bleariness, sharply contradict the cub's answer. "Spoons?"
Grey's mouth thins in irritation when she gets down the ice cream. With his
      spatula, he gestures to a drawer. "Silverware's in there. Bowls are in 
      the cabinet above you." A pause for emphasis. "Use one."
Another grunt, as she goes rummaging for a spoon and bowl--the second requires
      her stand on tip-toe, which seems to annoy the diminutive girl mightily. 
      Once ice cream is scooped and the carton put away, she starts eyeing the 
      coffee maker near him. "Wh'else lives here?" She eats her ice cream with 
      the biggest spoon she could find.
The coffee maker's three-quarters full and keeping what it's got nice and warm.
      "Natalie and Kevin." Grey cooks the scrambled eggs with the skill of a 
      long-time bachelor who some time ago decided /not/ to live on ramen, 
      pizza, and Chinese take-out. "Tu stops by occasionally, and Natalie's," 
      he pauses a second, "...boyfriend, Jon, lives in the other third of the 
      house." A gesture with the spatula toward a wall. "He's wolf-blooded, 
      like Rina, but not a full shapeshifter like you or I. We also have a few 
      people living in the third section of the house who aren't part of our 
      /particular/ branch of the family." He gestures down the hallway at 
      'third section', toward the fancy-looking door at the end of the hallway.
Cy tilts her head, watching him cook with a hungry gleam as she listens.
      "Natalie's th'one I threw shit at," she says flatly, as the looking for 
      confirmation of the name. Her attention turns towards the coffee maker, 
      and she sets the bowl aside to pour a full mug. Black, no sugar.
Grey nods. "A fork. She told me." He turns off the burner and starts scraping
      the eggs onto a plate. It's like he expected her to wake up right about 
      this time. Toast pops up right on cue. "How many pieces of bacon would 
      you like?"
"How many do you have?" She looks at him frankly with sleep-hooded eyes and
      leans against the counter, plopping a large scoop of ice cream into the 
      steaming coffee mug.
Grey prods at the sizzling strips of pigflesh in the pan. "Six."
Cy grunts. "Three," she answers, and as an afterthought: "Please." Pushing
      away from the counter, she shuffles into the dining room area with her 
      coffee and ice cream.
"Three it is," Grey says mildly. Breakfast gets served a few moments later, a
      plate with plenty of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs, three slices of bacon, 
      and a slice of wheat toast. Butter and jam's already set on the table. 
      "Eat up. After you've showered and such, we'll start going over a few of 
      the basics."
She tears into the food with gusto, as per usual. "Basics?" She blinks at him,
      much less blurry than a few minutes prior.
Grey returns to the dining room with the remainder of the bacon and a cup of
      coffee for himself. Black. "Who you are. Why we, the Garou, exist. Your 
      auspice and tribe and what that means. Our Laws." She can practically 
      hear the capital letter.
She was swinging her feet a little as she ate--food always seems to put her in
      a good mood--but she stops now, with a hint of her usual frown. "Lemme 
      finish my breakfast," she mutters, taking a gulp of ice cream-laced 
      coffee.
"You asked," says the scarred man, but he doesn't add anything more, thankfully.
Cy scowls a little, but refuses to let him ruin her breakfast: she eats the
      rest of the food he's given her without a word, falling into one of her 
      easy silences.
Grey seems perfectly comfortable with silences, too. He finishes off his bacon
      and drinks his coffee without a single hint of hurry or unease. He 
      finishes while Cy's still eating and goes into the kitchen to take care 
      of the dirty dishes.
The plate is practically licked clean, by the time she deposits it in the sink.
      The red-haired girl glances at him with an unreadable expression, 
      muttering, "I'll be down inna sec." Her shuffling gait carries her out 
      into the main room, where her footsteps pause as she eyes the foyer door 
      leading into the other side of the house.
As if he's sensed her thoughts, Grey calls out, "Wolves are excellent
      trackers." There's a warning note in his voice.
He's answered with a dull thump--sounds like someone kicking a wall with a bare
      foot. The footsteps continue up the stairs.
Grey snorts and continues cleaning up the kitchen and dining room of signs of
      breakfast. By the time Cy returns, he's in the living room, flipping 
      channels with an idle, abstracted air.
"That shit'll rot y'brain," the girl notes lowly as she comes back down the
      stairs, fifteen minutes later. Her hair's not wet--no evidence of a 
      shower, but she does seem entirely alert now.
Grey snorts. "My brain has survived worse than cable television." But it seems
      he was just waiting for her, since he turns off the tube and waves her 
      toward the couch; he himself has taken one of the armchairs. "Have a 
      seat."
Cy hops over the back of the couch, landing with a 'plop' onto the cushions.
      She seems somewhat restless, one skinny knee jiggling as she glances at 
      the dark-haired man.
Grey leans back in the chair, long legs stretched out, sneakers crossed at the
      ankles. He rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and loosely laces 
      his fingers together. "I'll begin with a story. It'll sound like myth, 
      but it isn't. The details have been obscured after thousands of years of 
      oral tradition, but the truth is there, in the center, at the foundation 
      of the tale. Right now, I'd like you to simply listen and keep your mind 
      open." He looks at her with raised eyebrows. "Whenever you start to think 
      I'm spouting nonsense, remember that you're a /werewolf/. Understood?"
The skinny girl wrinkles her nose: for a split second, it looks as though she'd
      like to stick her tongue out at him. The moment passes, though, and she 
      crosses botha rms over her chest with a nod. Slumping back into the couch.
Grey takes in a deep breath and lets it out. "It begins with the Triat, three
      forces, three entities. The Wyld was chaos and creation, infinite energy, 
      infinite possibility. The Weaver was order and form, taking what the Wyld 
      made and turning it into stars, planets, time, physics. Between them 
      stood the Wyrm, the balancer, breaking down and destroying whatever began 
      to tip the scale too far in either direction. The universe was created 
      and maintained by these three, including our own little section of the 
      cosmos. Gaia, the earth, warmed by Helios and moved by the rhythms of 
      Luna, the moon, her sister. The earth was alive -- /is/ alive, still, and 
      in those days the barrier between matter and spirit didn't exist. It 
      wasn't paradise, but it was vital and vibrant."
Cy listens without a word, gaze absorbed by some loose thread on the knee of
      her jeans. She picks at it absently.
"Then the balance broke." Grey grimaces. "No one knows why, or exactly how.
      Some say that it was the Weaver's fault, that she wove her webs of order 
      and law too quickly for the Wyrm to destroy. I've also heard it said that 
      she gained sentience and went mad watching the Wyrm change and destroy 
      the patterns she was making. What point was there in her work, if it 
      would change and be corrupted, broken down?" He shrugs. "Or perhaps the 
      balance was meant to break. Who can say? These are beings so vast that we 
      are less to them than single-celled organisms are to us. 
      Anthropomorphizing them is useless, in my opinion. What we /know/ is that 
      the Wyrm got caught in the Weaver's webs and lost his purpose. If the 
      Weaver went insane, the Wyrm went more insane, and instead of a balancer, 
      he became a force of corruption and entropy. Death without life. Pain 
      without pleasure. Pure destruction. He lashed out, and it was felt here, 
      on earth, on Gaia. She became sick, wounded. She was unable to defend 
      herself. So, with Luna, she created those who could defend her, watch for 
      her, protect her. She created us, the Garou, wolves who could walk as 
      humans, who could live in the natural world and the human world both, who 
      were as much spirit as flesh. Since the Triat had begun to war with 
      itself, the Gauntlet had arisen, a barrier between this world, the Realm, 
      and the Umbra, that of the spirit. Two worlds, paralleling each other's 
      pain, eternally separated.
"There were many of us, back then, and we thrived. The Wyrm's hand wasn't felt
      so strongly, then. Nor was the Weaver's. Humanity..." Grey rubs his chin. 
      "Humanity were barely out of the monkey stage. Wearing furs and using 
      tools -- the Weaver taught them that -- but little more."
There's a blink, and Cy raises her head to look at him as the Garou describes
      the concept of the Wyrm. She keeps her mouth shut, though, and simply 
      takes it in.
Grey shifts his weight slightly. He's keeping an eye on Cy to see how she's
      absorbing the tale, but continues whether or not she looks like she 
      believes any of it. "This is the beginning of the history we /really/ 
      remember. At first, we watched over humanity very closely, and we -- the 
      Garou as a whole -- kept them under our direct control. Mud huts and 
      caves, if that. Some groups of Garou chose certain populations as their 
      mates. Others just hunted and culled them when they grew too numerous. 
      Eventually, though, the humans began to fight back. They kept failing, 
      but they kept /trying/, and who could blame them? No one /wants/ to live 
      like sheep, like a herd to be slaughtered at whim." Grey's expression has 
      turned dark, scowling. "Humanity learned to fear the forest, the wild 
      places. Finally, two groups of Garou saw the folly and injustice of this 
      treatment, and they challenged the alphas. Challenged... and won. The 
      Garou made it law, then, that we would withdraw from humanity's knowledge 
      and no longer interfere with their development except where it directly 
      harmed Gaia. The cullings would end."
Grey sits up, raises a finger. "But. Even though the Garou would not interefere
      with humanity anymore, they wished to keep an eye on them. A pack was 
      formed for this purpose, called the Warders of Men. There was a pack set 
      to watch over the wolves as well, but wolves tend not to do anything... 
      interesting."
Cy opens her mouth at something, then closes it. The girl's listening intently,
      now: that restless knee has stopped jiggling.
"The Warders of Men watched humanity more closely than any other Garou, and
      soon they began to marvel at humanity's ingenuity. Gaia had denied them 
      claws, sharp teeth, swiftness of foot, all sorts of gifts that she'd 
      granted her other creations, but she did give them a brain, and 
      creativity. From humans, the Warders learned how to create bows and 
      arrows, how to mold clay into pots, how to take metal from the ground and 
      melt it into tools and weapons. The first cities were built, and the 
      Warders of Men -- our ancestors -- marvelled at them. They took human 
      form more and moved in. The Bone Gnawers, the least of all tribes of 
      Garou, were there, too, eating trash and scraps, living on the outskirts. 
      The Warders immersed themselves in human culture and human life. When the 
      other Garou threatened the cities, the Warders claimed them as territory 
      and the humans as their kin. And their numbers continued to grow as more 
      Garou learned to marvel at humanity's works.
"Eventually, a spirit came to the Warders of Men and adopted them as its
      children. Cockroach, who was among the oldest of spirits but hardy and 
      adaptable. Cockroach, who like the Warders of Men had learned to walk the 
      webs and walls of the city without becoming wholly enslaved to it. 
      Cockroach, who was wise and who could not be tamed. As Rat chose the Bone 
      Gnawers and Falcon the Silver Fangs, Cockroach chose the Warders of Men."
Tipping her head to one side, the girl looks lost in thought. Almost enthralled.
Grey reaches to a glass of water that he's set on the end-table near his chair.
      He's obviously anticipated the need for such. After taking a sip, he 
      continues. "Time passed. Humanity grew in power. Unfortunately, the Wyrm 
      did, too, and it wasn't long before the Wyrm learned to prey on the 
      cities even as we learned to walk within them. Other Garou tended to keep 
      distant, and they called us ~urrah~, tainted ones, for choosing the city 
      over the woods or mountains or tundra. Even the Bone Gnawers mocked us, 
      calling us Weaver-rutters because we chose to become a part of the system 
      rather than grovel on the outskirts." He snorts, shrugs, takes another 
      sip of water. "These days, we're called Glass Walkers -- Those Who Walk 
      Among Glass. We still love humanity's works, even though many of us 
      aren't as fond of humanity itself. We see Gaia within the city and 
      understand, as most Garou don't, that concrete and steel make up a jungle 
      just as well as tree and vine. Like our patron, we walk the Weaver's webs 
      without becoming enslaved to it. And we fight the Wyrm's influence with 
      tooth and nail." His voice has strengthened; he's speaking with more 
      passion than she's yet heard. Leaning forward, his gaze intent on the 
      girl, Grey says, "Gaia is in the city. Gaia is in humanity. That's what 
      the other Garou don't understand. And the Wyrm is in it, too. /These/ are 
      the front lines, /this/ is the battlefield. If we succeed... I've seen 
      the perfect blend of Weaver and Wyld, in the Umbra, in our tribe's 
      Homeland. If we fail..." He grimaces and sits back. "The whole world's 
      fucked."
He takes another sip of water. "Any questions?"
Cy looks up slowly, breaking from whatever reveries had her in its grasp.
      ~Urrah,~ she says finally, echoing him in that homid version of the 
      language he introduced to her days ago. "Y'make it sound like there's a 
      lot of people condemning you." Very pointedly, the girl refrains from 
      using the word 'us'.
Grey wrinkles his nose. "Most Garou are stuck in a Luddite philosophy, where
      anything more complex than a spear or a knife is 'Weaver-thing! Kill!'. 
      They distrust us." Subtle emphasis on the last word. "Even the ones who 
      live in the city don't really understand."
A thin breath is released, as Cy slumps further back into the couch. She frowns
      at him, searching his scarred features. "Saying that it's true--how come 
      I've never heard about any of this before, huh?"
"Two reasons." Grey sets down his glass of water. "One, it's part of our Laws
      to keep our existence a secret. We've had thousands of years of practice 
      doing so. Two, our middle form, Crinos, triggers a temporary insanity in 
      humans who don't have wolf-blood. It's called the Delirium and typically 
      sends the human who witnesses that form into blubbering panic, and 
      afterwards they don't remember exactly what happened. A mad dog, a bear, 
      a man in a suit... anything but the truth."
The girl frowns and closesly her eyes, rubbing at her temples for a moment with
      an almost pained expression. "What does any of this have to do with me?"
Grey raises his eyebrows. "You're one of us, Cy. You can't escape that any more
      than you can escape being born a girl, or having one heart or red blood 
      cells. You were born Garou. You simply didn't awaken to it until now, 
      until adolescence."
Cy opens her eyes to meet his, fingers still pressed to her temples. "But
      what'm I supposed to /do/ here?" She looks frustrated, simultaneously 
      absorbing his story and arguing.
"Right now, you learn what we have to teach you." Grey's gaze is steady.
      "You'll learn to control your shapeshifting, how to harness your Rage, 
      how to fight. You'll learn how to walk the spirit world, why it's 
      important. Since you were born under the half-moon, you're a Philodox, a 
      judge, like myself, so you'll also learn our laws backwards and forwards, 
      and you'll learn how to balance law with mercy, wolf with human, flesh 
      with spirit. How to mediate, keep your head when other Garou are 
      screaming for each other's throats."
The curve of her spine slouches, and she rests both elbows loosely on her
      knees. "Philodox." She echoes the syllables slowly, tasting the word. 
      "Natalie told me t'ask you how we were alike," she murmurs, as if this 
      explains his answer in some way.
Grey nods. "There are five auspices, one for each phase of the moon. Ragabash,
      Theurge, Philodox, Galliard, Ahroun. Questioner, Seer, Judge, Talesinger, 
      Warrior. New, crescent, half, gibbous, full."
"And s'posedly I was born on the half," she supplies. After a pause, she notes:
      "Maybe I lied to her about my birthday." A small challenge there, as she 
      lifts her chin. Dark eyes flash at him with a hint of that same light 
      Grey saw in the moment after she caught him with the shiv, days ago.
Grey shrugs. "When the moon's fatter and the Umbra is safer, one of us will
      cross the Gauntlet with you and check. Your kinfetch, the cockroach 
      spirit that led us to you, left a spiritual mark on you that will tell us 
      your auspice." He lifts his eyebrows. "Or you can tell me your birthday 
      now, and I'll know if you're lying or not."
Cy juts her jaw in stubborn defiance, once again crossing both arms over her
      chest. "All this 'spirit' shit is freaky."
Dryly, Grey asks, "And turning into a wolf isn't?"
Her habitual frown deepens, as she remembers. "I got scared. Started wiggin'
      out. I--" She bites back whatever else she was going to say, replacing it 
      with a low reprimand: "You shouldn'ta kept me down there."
Grey grunts. "We couldn't risk you deciding to escape. You were in denial,
      remember? Something about snuff porn?" His mouth twists into a grimace.
Cy looks at him flatly. "Seriously. What would /you/ think, if you were me?"
There's the sound of someone entering the house. Grey cocks an ear to it, then
      answers Cy. "Oh, a certain amount of denial is expected. I don't fault 
      you for that. Unfortunately, living in the city, we don't have the luxury 
      of dropping you off in the middle of the woods."
The girl's also sensitive to the sounds of the house--she twitches sharply,
      glancing towards the door. Her expression's unreadable, almost 
      apprehensive--as though she expects a werewolf to come bursting into the 
      room.
Something much smaller opens the door and comes in: Rina, head bowed, shoulders
      hunched in the armor of her riding jacket. She shrugs out of the leather, 
      glances toward the room--and then stills, blinking for a moment at the 
      sight of the cub there. A faint smile comes to her lips, and she gives 
      Grey an appreciative look.
Grey gets up and goes over to greet the kinswoman. "Come to see the
      ex-prisoner?" His expression's lightened considerably at Rina's arrival.
Cy doesn't look particularly relieved to see the woman; despite the clean hair
      and new set of clothes, she looks drawn and rather haunted. The 
      red-haired urchin scowls wordlessly towards Grey and scoots herself lower 
      into the couch.
"I din't know," Rina says hoarsely, giving him a weak attempt at a grin. She
      looks tired, shadowed, much like Cy herself; but she musters a more 
      genuine smile, at least, when she looks to the girl. "Glad you're out."
"Can I get you anything?" Grey asks Rina. "Coffee's still fresh." He glances
      back over at Cy, keeping quite aware of what the cub's doing.
The cub is scowling silently at the dark screen of the television. No words of
      greeting are offered to the kinswoman.
Rina swallows, a wounded flicker crossing her expression, betrayed in the way
      she sets her mouth afterward. Her eyes find somewhere else to look, 
      lowered and distant; she lifts one shoulder, an older and more weathered 
      mirror to the cub's apathy. "Nah," she answers. Hanging her jacket over 
      the half-wall, she looks across to Grey. "W'sup?"
Grey slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Just giving Cy here the
      basics. Legends and origins."
"Indoctrinating me into the cult," Cy adds dryly without looking at them, from
      her place on the couch.

[Abrupt end due to Internet dying.]