It is currently 14:27 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 19 2005. Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (71% full). You leave the bedroom. With the moon getting fatter, Grey has kept close to home. Not that, these days, he goes all that far in general unless it's the morning jog or to work -- and that only on thin moons, naturally. There's plenty to do around and outside the house, though, what with the coming of spring, so he's not been idle. Currently, the Philodox is in the dining room, finishing a late lunch and perusing the newspaper. Indeed. Yesterday Natalie and Cy played Happy Home Renovator in the downstairs bathroom, installing a serious-looking wall safe between the studs. Today she's been mostly puttering around in the basement, where the high-pitched whine of a drill's wafted up sporadically, along with the smell of hot metal and rock. Footsteps come up the steps after several moments of silence, then Nat pushes the door open and heads back to the kitchen, kicking the door absently closed behind her. She's lightly covered in rock dust, her hair dull and lifeless from the stuff. Grey glances up from the editorials page. He watches her for a moment, his expression bland, and then asks, quite suddenly, "Why the bathroom?" Natalie says "Huh?" She turns, surprised but not startled, and continues over to the sink for a glass of water. "I figured it was safest. I don't want it in the living room; too many eyes to see in. That cuts out back here, too. That leaves the computer room, hall, and bathroom. Hall's too trafficked." Grey purses his lips, then nods. "Just seemed... odd." He shrugs, gives the newspaper another glance, then looks up again. "Did I mention to you that Jacinta stopped by again? A few days ago?" Natalie looks over to frown at him, slapping off the faucet, then turning to lean back against the counter. "No. Don't think you did. Was that a night I was on patrol?" "I think so." He combs his hair back away from his forehead with his fingers. As usual, it falls back almost immediately. "She wanted me to mediate between her and you." His mouth twists, rueful, a touch bitter. "I agreed, until she mentioned that Megan was involved." Natalie says, "Hmn," and takes a swig from her glass before giving a proper reply. "--That's why I didn't ask you to do anything with it. Megan told me that she was going to run the Rite of Contrition for us both, and make it a formal apology. There's no way in hell I'd step on her toes over it." "Ah. So it /is/ going to be settled between you two?" asks Grey. Natalie nods over the rim of her glass. "Yup. As soon as Megan says frog. I -might- ask you to sit between her and me and translate, though. Before Megan, I mean. Did I tell you about her Challenge?" Grey just shakes his head at this. One hand remains on the newspaper, which remains open though ignored next to his crumb-scattered plate. Natalie grimaces and studies the bottom of her waterglass for a second. "She has to... how did she say it. She has to live in the city for two months and work as a Fostern Ahroun for both the Gnawers and the Walkers." Another grimace for whatever she found there and the woman places the glass on the counter at her side. "So I told her I didn't have anything for her, but I'd think about it, and to give me a way to contact her. She said no because she couldn't trust me, and that's when I gave her her marching papers. I have no idea what goes on in that woman's head. Everything she says is so damn deadpan. I can't tell if she's thinking about a nice sandwich or how to best gut me." A shake of her head and she retrieves her glass, holding it in both hands. "She's just so damn... /insulting/." There's a faint rustle of newspaper as Grey's fingers absently go tap-tap against it. After a moment's mental debate, he says, "I don't think she means to be. And she doesn't understand you, either. She doesn't know how to talk to you." Natalie pushes off the counter to pace the width of the kitchen, leaving her glass behind to better wave her hands. "How hard can it be to talk to me? Hell, for a Minnesotan I'm practically an open book. I say what I mean and don't try to hide it. If I'm happy, you know it. That's how it works. I don't say one thing and mean another, like some damn Shadow Lord." Grey grunts. "I don't know. She's a Wendigo, and she's grown up in a difficult culture. Different /human/ culture." He sits back in his chair, folding his arms. "I don't know what to tell you, apart from the fact that apart from not being able to understand you, Jacinta doesn't trust you with her kinfolk. More than that..." He shakes his head. Natalie snorts, whirls on him. "Yeah. And isn't -that- just charming. Last time I talked to her she was all, "Yeah, I used to think you were Honorable, too bad I had to change my mind." Which is a -great- way to ask for help from someone for a Challenge, let me tell you. Made me all warm and fuzzy and see the error of my ways /damn/ quick." Derisive snort, and she folds her arms too. Grey rubs the scarred area around his dead eye, head leaned forward enough that his overlong bangs obscure his eyes. He /definitely/ needs a haircut. Not that he's likely to get one. "Why didn't you tell her about Harold's... activities?" His tone isn't accusatory at all. Natalie's chin jerks up at the kin's name; she takes a few long seconds to respond, watching him bemusedly all the while. "--I forgot, to be honest. Just plain forgot. I figured Ha... the kin would tell her, but he didn't, but that's not an excuse. I screwed up. And admitted it to her too, when she called me on it." Grey looks up, eyebrows lowered, brow furrowed. "Do you remember what was said?" "Exactly?" she asks, then shakes her head. "No. Not exactly. Pretty d... pretty close, though. Or at least, what I -remember- as close after all this time." She crosses the room to lean on the wall between kitchen and dining room, temper temporarily soothed - or at least repressed. Grey folds his arms across his chest again, looking broody as he watches her. "What happened after you admitted that you'd made a mistake?" Natalie grimaces again, nose wrinkling, and drops her head so she can scratch at her scalp without lifting her elbows from the wall. "Uh... crap. I don't remember. I -think- she told me to stay away from him, and to... cripes. Yeah, I think that was when she told me I had to trot out to the woods to check with her every time he sneezed in my direction, or I wanted to call him to ask him a question." Thump-thump-thump-thump. Whoever's coming down the stairs is doing it heavily, and angrily. Grey grunts. He looks down at his plate, then closes the newspaper and stands up, taking both plate and glass into the kitchen to the dishwasher. "I know that you're both straightforward, honorable Garou, so this sounds like a communication problem more than anything." The dishes already in the washer rattle slightly as he adds to the load and closes the door. Whatever else he might have said is lost at the sound of Angry Thumper; he looks sharply up and in the direction of the stairs. Natalie turns to follow him as he moves past her, ends up with her hands braced behind her on the wall. "That's why I wouldn't mind a translator. --What?" She looks blankly at him, then follows his eyes to the empty hall and back. "Did you hear the doorbell, or something?" Grey remains slightly tense, though for the moment he's got a rein on his temper. "Good afternoon, Cy." His voice is perfectly even, almost pleasant. Natalie doesn't notice the cub's arrival until she's actually in the kitchen. Her own greeting's a reasonable, "Cy," accompanied by a nod, but her attention's quickly back on Thomas. "Yeah. So I told her I couldn't run out to the -bawn- every time I needed a favor from him, but I said I understood why she was mad. I tried every way I could think of to find some way to compromise, but she kept getting wiggier and wiggier. Finally told me that I couldn't even say his -name-. I told her I would. And then she insulted me /again/. I told her to keep her tongue civil, we both went at it, and she throated me. So now she gets to insult me any time she feels like, yay her." No words from the skinny cub. Just a glare towards the pair and grunt as she pulls open the fridge rather forcibly and goes rummaging. Grey's mouth pulls into a tight grimace, though whether it's at Natalie's words or Cy's attitude -- or both -- is hard to say. It's Natalie he continues speaking to, though. "And after the mutual Contrition?" Natalie shrugs again, leaving her hands tucked behind her. "I don't know. I'm willing to give it another shot. That's the point, isn't it? Put this, -this- in the past, move on from there." Cy emerges from the fridge with the fixings for a roast beef sandwich, which she lays out on the counter. Half an ear is trained on the adults' conversation, but she seems primarily interested in glaring at the mayonnaise as she goes to work. Grey nods. Hands slipping into his jeans pockets, he prowls the length of the kitchen, toward the half-wall between it and the dining room. "Got any idea what you're going to have her do for her Challenge?" Natalie says "Not... really." Her hands slip out from behind her as Grey approaches, but she keeps a firm handle on her temper. "Something a Fostern Ahroun could do. Should do. I'm thinking of telling her to figure out something the Walkers need, bring it to me, then do it. Plus I have no idea what her city-fighting skills are like. She can't exactly haul out a Bowie knife, you know?" Grey veers off and around the half-wall, giving the more alpha Garou a decent berth. He's restless, obviously, moving because he isn't keen at the moment on standing still. "How would she figure out what we need?" Natalie shrugs again, her eyes drifting to Cy's irritable sandwich making in lieu of turning to follow Grey once more. "That's why it's a -Challenge-. She wants to be Fostern. That's a Fostern-thing to do. Then run it past me, like I said, to make sure I agree, and then go do it." The red-haired cub chops tomatoes at the cutting board like she was hacking the limbs off her single mortal nemesis. Loudly. Grey grunts and nods. He pauses a moment by the windows, then starts back, moving like a caged tiger. He stops at the half-wall, maybe an arm's length from Natalie if that, and joins the Galliard in staring at the cub. "I want to get the attic redone," Nat says apropos of nothing, still watching Cy. "I mean, I -really- want to get it done. So I can get another bag up there and some mats and we can have a /real/ place to work out some yayas." Grey breaks his look at Cy and glances sidelong at Natalie. "Oh?" Natalie hooks her thumbs into the beltloops of her jeans, fingers sliding into her pockets, and nods. At Cy, of course. "Yeah. That was in the original plans for the remodel, but when Scratch took off I had to do a quick reschedule." The cub's perceptive enough to feel the weight of their regard. With a growl and a swift stabbing motion, she buries the end of her chopping-knife into the wood of the butcher's block with a solid *THUNK*, and then half-turns to shoot them a glare. Grey looks sharply over at Cy at the 'thunk' and straightens up, returning the cub's glare with a vicious, angry one of his own. Natalie peels her lips off her teeth, hands sliding out of their casual resting spots to hang, waiting, at her sides. She challenges the girl with a tight, "Yeah?" "Stop. Staring. At me." The girl's voice is very low, with a hint of tremor, and her breath hisses audibly through her nose. Both hands are knotted into involuntary fists. Her eyes are wide, trained on Natalie. No averting them, this time. Grey's jaw clenches. With some effort, the older Philodox keeps his peace. "Drop your eyes," Nat retorts, leaning forward ever so slightly. Cy's gaze doesn't waver, flashing darkly. Her entire skinny frame is quivering, now. "Why?" "You're challenging her dominance, Cy," says Grey, keeping his voice even. "I don't recommend it." Grey's voice is enough to break the girl's focus--she cuts a look over in his direction, considering his words, before dropping her eyes to the floor with a sharp grimace. The cub stays rooted in place, glaring a hole through kitchen floor, breathing aubibly. She doesn't look at Natalie again. Natalie snorts out a breath once the girl drops the stare, a nice nasal - lupine - chuff. "I'm... going to go upstairs." She straightens and cuts in front of Grey, dropping him a nod, then saunters with faux-casualness for the hallway. Grey turns his head to watch Natalie go, then turns a flat look back onto Cy. "You'll learn, don't worry. And, speaking of learning, it's time I took you through the Litany." Cy doesn't move or look up until the woman has fully exited the kitchen--and even then, her gaze flashes with anger. After a long moment of staring at the man, she breaks away and turns to finish slamming her sandwich together with sharp, violent motions. Grey grits his teeth and takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. His voice flat and mildly chill, he says, "I'll give you a moment to finish putting your sandwich together." The cub's tense, but not so much that she doesn't remember to put the mayo back. Slamming the refrigerator door, the cub mutters under her breath, "..Such a fuckin' /bitch/." The comment doesn't seem to be aimed towards Grey. Grey snorts. "She's a wolf, and the moon's past half and waxing." He folds his arms across his chest. A small fist goes slamming into the refrigerator door, ineffectually. "I don't /care/ about the fucking /moon/." The scrawny girl adds a barefoot kick to the lower half of the fridge of good measure, and curses under her breath. The older Philodox grimaces, biting down on his own temper. "You should. We're all Her bitch." There's a definite sardonic note in his reply. Cy quiets herself enough to lean tensely against the fridge, setting her forehead against the door. Bracing both hands on it, she thumps her head lightly against the white plastic surface a few times, forcing herself to breathe deeply. Grey nods once, says, "I'll be in the living room when you're ready. Feel free to bring the sandwich." and heads down the hall, leaving the girl to regain her center. She follows him out eventually, after a few minutes of sounds of movement from the kitchen. Hopefully she didn't leave the knife stabbed into the butcher's block. The girl carries her sandwich in a paper towel, with a glass of ice water in the other hand. Grey has settled into the armchair that he usually claims, fingers laced together. The almost formal posture and stern demeanor is at odds with the ragged shagginess of his hair, with the rough two-three-day beard, with the jeans and t-shirt and flannel and sneakers. "I've already told you the rules of the house. Now, I'm going to tell you the core laws of our society. Pay attention, because you'll be expected to know this backwards and forwards." Cy lets out a breath. "Philodox," she grunts. "Right." As she circles his armchair, she deposits the glass of water on the table by his elbow without a word, and then drops into what's quickly becoming her usual spot on the couch. Grey gives the glass of water a blink, then turns back to the cub with a nod and a look of what might be approval. "The Litany is made up of thirteen laws. Tomorrow, we'll work on you learning them in Mother's Tongue," -- by which she'd know he means that growly language he started teaching her while she was imprisoned in The Box -- "but for now, we'll stick with English. Feel free to interrupt and ask questions." He clears his throat. "First law. Garou shall not mate with Garou." Tucking her legs underneath her in a crossed position on the couch, the skinny girl takes an enormous bite of sandwich and chews, much as she chews over his words. Watching him. Grey grimaces. "We're not a true race. For whatever reason, and you'll hear a dozen different theories as to why, when two of us have a child together, the product is sterile and deformed in some way. Not to mention born in Crinos form and likely to kill its mother during birth. So, to make viable children, we mate with human or wolf kinfolk, and create Homid or Lupus Garou, respectively, or more human and wolf kinfolk. Nine times out of ten, it's more kinfolk rather than another Garou." He leans back, steepling his fingers, his gaze fixes on the candy-red-topped cub. "You'll also hear that this law is to keep us /connected/ to our kinfolk, to make sure we don't neglect them, and to make sure that we /do/ produce a viable next generation of warriors and family. But keep in mind that no matter /how/ good you are with your kinfolk or how many children you produce, the penalty for breaking the first law of the Litany is harsh. Look." The older Philodox leans forward and shrugs out of the loose flannel shirt, letting it drop against the chair behind him. In short-sleeved white t-shirt, he rests his arms on his knees, forearms up to show the ash-darkened, deliberately clawed glyphs. Her chewing slows as the older Philodox displays his scars, and she peers over at the with a faintly furrowed brow. After swallowing her food, she notes, "Looks like they hurt." Cy's gaze lingers on his revelation for a moment, then flicks cautiously upwards. "Whadda they mean?" Cy pages: What kind of expression, when he showed the glyphs? You paged Cy with 'Stern, but otherwise all-business.'. Grey grunts at the comment about them hurting -- and, yes, scars that carved and burned deep probably hurt like hell when they went in -- and then gives his right arm a jerk. "This one means 'Charach', the word for a Garou that's broken the first law." Then the left arm. "This means 'Dishonor'. We don't have a written language as such, but we do have a series of glyphs to communicate basic concepts." Cy had the sandwich half-way lifted to her mouth for another bite, but now she frowns and lowers it. She looks bluntly curious, now. "What else did they do to you?" Grey sits back, defaced arms resting along those with the chair. She has plenty of opportunity to keep looking at the Garou Nation's verion of the scarlet letter. "Demoted me a rank. Outside of our tribe, I'm a pariah." His mouth thins and twists, bitterness leaking into his expression. "Just this side of nothing. Scum of the earth. Omega. Et cetera." The words are clipped and curt. "Everything I've accomplished or will accomplished is tainted by what I've done, and the scars make sure that anyone in the Nation will /know/ what I've done." He shrugs tightly and takes up the glass of water. "And /that/ is /lenient/. Most Garou, including the Sept Alpha, would have executed me." He takes a drink of water, avoiding the cub's eyes for the moment. The red-haired cub looks up from her persual of the glyphs and simply _gawks_ at him for a moment, mouth hanging slightly ajar. "..For having /sex/ with someone?" Grey's eyes narrow. "For having sex with another Garou, yes, I, a Philodox, upholder of the Law, a Fostern in rank, a Garou with some of the highest breeding known to our race, with the blood of heroes in his veins, was very lucky /not/ to have been put to death." Cy frowns and shakes her head, flapping a hand in vague dismissal of rank and heroic blood. "But /why/? Alla that, just for having /sex/ with someone?" The teenaged cub is fixated, now: sandwich forgotten, she leans forward with elbows propped on knees. Grey takes another sip of water, looking like he has quite a bad taste in his mouth now. "Not just 'someone.' /With another Garou/, despite the fact that I /knew/ that our laws forbid it." The skinny cub blinks once or twice, collapsing backwards into a slump on the couch as she crosses both arms over her chest. She remains silent for quite some time, the gears in her head almost whirring audibly. Her expression darkens as something clicks into place. "That's... like hating /gay/ people." By the tone of her voice, it sounds like the girl finds this analogous to slaughtering innocent kittens. Grey inhales a deep breath and lets it out. "Yes... and no. /Our/ god -- goddess, really -- /has/ cursed those born of two Garou. Some of them can't function. Most of the ones who can are handicapped, and they suffer for their parents' sin. They can't ever have children of their own. They're a danger to the Veil -- to the secrecy of our existence -- until they have their first shapeshift between the ages of seven and nine years old. When they die, they revert to their birth form, and /that/ is /also/ a danger to the Veil." He grimaces. "I've known many Metis, some of whom I feel honored to have been able to call friend or elder or..." He pauses, then takes a sip of water. "But I've never met a Metis who would have chosen the life they've had to live." "Yeah, but there's /condoms/," the girl answers immediately, straightening her posture with that distasteful frown. "There's no reason to hack someone up or kill them for having /sex/. N'matter /who/ it's with." She slumps back again, looking down at her knees. "That's /fucked up/," she says decisively. "Condoms are not," Grey points out, his voice gone flat and bland, "one hundred per cent effective. No artificial method of birth control is." Cy lets out a breath, shaking her head once more and frowning fiercely. "It's /still/ fucked up," she mutters. As an afterthought, she adds, "I'm gonna get sterilized. Fuck having babies." Grey snorts. "Your body will regenerate the damage, so don't bother." He takes another sip, then sets the glass aside. "In any case, whether or not you agree with this law, /don't break it/." He leans back again. "But if you find yourself in the position to judge two Garou who /have/ broken this law... well." He laces his fingers together. "/I/, at least would not condemn you for tempering the law with mercy. The two do have to be balanced." The girl refocuses on her teacher with a long, considering look. "You're still allowed to judge people, after breaking the law?" Grey snorts. "Theoretically, yes. In practice, I doubt that I would be asked. Not if there was any other Philodox available. Last resort at best." "And you're allowed to teach me," she adds lowly. It's not exactly a question, but she's cautious with the words. Grey's eyes go hooded, the blind one's lid sinking lower than the other until there's barely more than a sliver of white showing. "Mnh. Natalie's willing to leave the past where it is. If there was another Philodox within our tribe, though, he -- or she -- would likely be your main teacher, not me." Cy watches him from her place on the couch, sitting very still. Her gaze drops to his arms, briefly. "People who been fucked by the system are the ones who know it the best," she notes lowly, and frowns. It sounds like she's quoting someone. Grey lifts an eyebrow, the right, curiosity flickering across the stern, scarred face. "And that's from...?" "A friend," she answers, some kind of wall slamming down behind her eyes. Suddenly terse. She moves to pick up her raost beef sandwich again, without looking at him. "Are all the laws this messed up?" Grey snorts. "Most of them are common sense, if you see things from a lupine perspective. Are you ready for the next one?" Cy takes a big bite and nods as she chews, though her gaze occasionally flicks back down to his fore-arms. "Go." "Combat the Wyrm whereever it dwells and whenever it breeds," says Grey. "That doesn't mean we have to be stupid and go after every little thing. But fighting the Wyrm is our purpose, and it's not to be neglected." She tilts her head, gaze flicking up towards the ceiling. Another nod, and another bite of sandwich. "Next one." Grey relaxes slightly against the back cushions. "Respect the territory of another. Usually, this means turf. Pack territory, that sort of thing. But it also means not stepping on another's toes. For example. A Garou asked me to mediate between herself and another Garou. I agreed, until I learned that another Philodox had already been asked some time ago. In accordance with this law, and basic courtesy, really, I contacted the other Philodox to see if she was still working on the issue. She was, and so I withdrew." Cy chomps as he speaks, her gaze trained of some middle distance as she sponges up the information. "Smart move," she congratulates him rather boldly, around a mouthful of sandwich. "What'd happen if you didn't ask her?" Grey's smile is tight and thin and doesn't reach his eyes or contain the slighest bit of warmth or humor. "She'd step on me. In a manner of speaking. And it would hurt." The girl releases a thin, audible stream of air and scowls. Without commenting on his answer, she beckons with the fingers of her free hand. "Next." Grey goes through the other laws, giving a brief explanation for each one before prompted to go to the next. Most of them do make sense. Accept an honorable surrender. (Grey explains about showing throat.) Submission to those of higher station and the first of the kill to the greatest in station. (There's that lupine perspective again.) You shall not eat the flesh of humans. Respect for those beneath you. Do not suffer your people to tend to your sickness in death. (Grey emphasizes the last two words.) The leader may be challenged during peacetime. The leader may not be challenged during wartime. ("Or," says Grey, "since we're always at war, not during an actual battle.") Finally, the last law, which according to her teacher holds even stricter penalties for breaking than the first. You shall take no action that causes a caern to be violated. The red-haired cub is quiet and intent through it all, only throwing out the occasional question. By the time the older Philodox has reached the last law, she's finished her sandwich and is folding the paper towel into a small, precise square. Glancing up at him, she asks, "What's a caern?" Grey takes a drink of water, wetting his throat. "A holy place, where the barrier between the Realm and the Umbra is thin. Thinner. Like tribes and packs, caerns have spirit patrons, too. Ours is Chimera, the Lady of Mirrors. Dream-wisdom." Cy nods slowly, with that dubious look that she always gets on her face whenever he mentions 'spirits'. Leaning back with a sigh, she laces the fingers of her hands over her stomach and props both feet on the coffee table. "So d'you want me to recite them back to you, or...?" She looks at him expectant, dark eyes sharp despite the shadows around them. Grey's eyebrows lift. "Do you think you can?" The scrawny girl doesn't answer him, but simply looks away and closes her eyes. A deep breath is drawn into her lungs. "Garou shall not mate with Garou," she begins, with a distasteful twist of the lips. She continues, rattling off the entire list in a level tone. There are a few pauses, and two instances of switching the order of the laws, but she covers them all. "..Take no action that causes a caern to be violated," she says in conclusion, and opens her eyes again with a cough. Grey is obviously impressed, and no wonder, since most cubs need a few recitations before they can recite it all. "Excellent, Cy." He offers her the glass of water. "I'll tell Natalie to let you sleep in tomorrow." Cy's expression--which was almost pleased, at his compliment--darkens at the mention of the Galliard's name. "You can tell her t'quit being so /bossy/," she retorts. Grey doesn't exactly smile, but he does have a little gleam in his eye that says that is /definitely/ approval. The cub earned herself a few brownie points tonight. "Deal."