It is currently 16:16 Pacific Time on Mon Apr 25 2005. Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.17 and steady, and the relative humidity is 86 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.) Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (88% full). Safehouse: Grey's Room It's a spacious bedroom, if not as big as the one across from it. The door at the end of the second floor hall opens into a small space about five feet deep which, to the left, opens out into a wider area. Windows along the longest wall and near the top of the other outside wall provide plenty of sunlight, and the room is bright for most of the day. The walls are a dusty pastel teal above a polished maple hardwood floor, and the furniture, though not new by any means, is in good shape. Though the room doesn't lack for tidiness, there's a certain absense of the little touches that would give it personality; either its inhabitant hasn't made it a home yet or simple doesn't care to personalize. A neatly-made double bed is set lengthwise against the longer of the two interior walls, its head near a small nightstand which holds a reading lamp and an alarm clock. The closet door, which is usually closed, is across from the foot of the bed, and a large, solid-looking dresser stands against the middle of the longest wall, on the other side of the bedroom. A small stereo sits on top of it. There's a somewhat venerable armchair in the corner made by the two exterior walls, and a low bookshelf (mostly empty) squats along the shorter of the exterior walls, underneath the windows. Natalie's entry follows the usual 'call-answer-respond' pattern of her earlier visits; as always, the Elder doesn't even touch the doorknob until Grey's verbally (or physically) invited her in. And, as usual, she keeps her hands behind her back while she's in his room, though her facade of calm neutrality is just that. Tension thrums in every taut tendon, every flex of muscle. "I think I'm calm enough to discuss her," she announces, placing her back to the wall with the windows. Grey has kept himself secluded for much of the day, using a CD of classical piano music (Chopin, mostly) and _The Moon is a Harsh Mistress_ to keep the beast soothed. The fact that he hasn't gotten much past the first chapter of Heinlein's novel is indicative, and his body language is as tense as Natalie's. He nods at her in reply and gestures toward the armchair, wordlessly inviting her to sit as he goes toward the stereo to turn the music down a notch, from 'quiet' to 'barely audible'. After a second Nat abandons her post at the wall to take the indicated seat. Perching, really, on about six inches of cushion with her feet tucked underneath her and knees spread so that she could be upright in a heartbeat. "--Tell me what you know." Grey settles himself crosslegged on the edge of the bed. "I woke up just after one, Saturday night." He doesn't bother to explain why. "I checked on the cubs on my way downstairs and discovered that Cy wasn't in bed. Nor was she in the rest of the house, this side or the common side. When I had, ah, calmed down," -- amazingly, nothing obvious had been broken -- "I performed Questing Stone and hunted her down." His lips thinned. "I was just too late. She'd already killed. Frenzy, I gather, judging from the way she looked when I found her." Natalie's eyes close as he finishes, her jaw tightening. She inhales sharply, hold it for a second, then nods at him, encouraging. Grey rests his arms on his knees, hands laced together. His voice is calm, even if it's a facade. "Fortunately, the area was somewhat secluded, and it's likely that any survivors won't remember what happened. I had her help me with the body disposal." His chin lifts slightly. "A little vomiting, but no hysterics and complete compliance. Once, she actually referred to us as 'us' rather than 'you'." Nat breathes again before she dares open her eyes; when she does, they're nearly unreadable. "That's something, anyway. So. What do you suggest we do with her?" Grey looks down at his hands for a moment, studying the short, clean nails. "I'm... not certain." He looks up, his eyes shadowed. "I do think that time in the box would do more harm than good. Of course, when I tried to get a suggestion from /her/, as a Philodox, she suggested culling." He snorts. Natalie makes a short sharp gesture at the idea of culling. "No. No. That's not... no. No culling. Give me something else." Grey squints at her, frowning rather incredulously, but doesn't give voice to whatever thought crossed his mind. "A little hard labor never hurt anyone. Bathroom duty, vacuuming, laundry, et cetera. I think, too, that it's time we got her running shoes, clothes that fit her, and she starts running in the morning." Natalie says "/That's/ a little more appropriate." She relaxes out of her ready-to-leap-up sit, her weight rocking back onto her butt, instead of forward. "You think she's learned her lesson? If she's just going to take off again..." "She found out that people who used to like her are afraid of her now," says Grey, his voice even. "And that she's very capable of murder." "Is she /safe/, though," Nat presses, studying his face as if the weight of her regard will bring clues springing out of his skin. "Think we have to worry about this happening again?" Grey shakes his head. His expression, as usual, though, is difficult to read. "I don't think so." Natalie's fingers drum against her knees while she thinks. Another moment and she nods. "Good. Then she's got, hmn, clean-up duty for the next... week? Two weeks? and we'll call it even. Unless you want to add something to that?" She trails off invitingly. "Two weeks," says Grey, "and I start getting her up when I do, in the morning. Even if she can't go jogging without proper shoes, she can at least get an early start on the day." Considering that the ex-Ahroun is often awake before six in the morning, Cy's in for a /very/ early start. "We can get her shoes in a week or so," Nat nods, eyebrows drawing down as he attention dives inward. "--Sooner, if Jon's willing to run an errand. And yes, get her up whenever you want. We might as well all be early birds together." And suddenly, there's a quiet rapping at the bedroom door. Grey looks up at the knock, then raises eyebrows questioningly at Natalie. Natalie glances up at him after a second, blank. "--What?" A quick look around proves that there's no one else suddenly materialized in the room, so she turns her attention back to the Philodox. Grey exhales a sharp breath, then gets up from his seat on the bed and stalks sock-footed to the door to answer Cy's soft knocking. He stares flatly down at the cub for a moment, then steps back and ushers her inside. Cy's in the doorway, looking down at her feet and rubbing at the back of her neck. She doesn't look too pleased to be there. She steps in at Grey's gesture, mumbling, "There's no more toilet p--" She trails off as she spots Natalie, and blanches visibly. Natalie's gaze follows the Philodox to the door; her burgeoning confusion disappears as he pulls open the door. "Then you'll have to replace it," she tells the girl, voice cool. "Ought to be plenty in the bathroom closet," Grey agrees, his voice as cool as Natalie's. He's between the cub and the door, somehow. The skinny girl was about to start backing towards the exit, but it's too late now. She shoots a look between the pair, panic taking over her haunted expression. "Uhm--sorry f'the interruption." She shoves both hands in her back pockets, eyes skittering around the room. "You're not interrupting," Nat denies, shifting her weight forward once more so that there's scarcely anything holding her into the armchair. "Thomas and I were just discussing what should be done with you. Tell me, Cy," and her voice is, at least, neutral despite the tension of the moon, "what happened?" Behind Cy, Grey clasps his hands behind his back and stands very tall and very still, a pillar of tightly controlled rage. Cy's sharp brows drop low over her eyes, which she keeps trained carefully on a spot near Grey's nicely-made bed. "I ran," she says hoarsely, narrow jaw clenching. "I freaked out. I killed two of my family. I got caught." Not a Galliard, is she. Natalie's used to that. "Why'd you run, Cy?" she asks quietly, going straight for the heart of things. Her eyes, at least, are fixed on the girl's stopsign-red hair. "Killer cows," is the girl's first dry answer. Then, with a tight, agitated roll of her shoulders: "I'm... itchy." Her eyes cut sidelong in Grey's direction, but she doesn't quite look at him. Grey's jaw clenches. "Brom stopped by to discuss the tainted farm near the Bawn," he offers, possibly to explain the 'killer cows' remark. "Killer cows," the Galliard echoes flatly. Cy's hair is freed from its study for a second while she glances back at Grey for an answer, but the rest of the cub's explanation draws her attention before he can reply. "Itchy I understand. Trying to run I don't." The thin muscles in Cy's own jaw are working visibly, now. She dares a look at Natalie's face, head still ducked low. "I'm climbing the /walls/, here." "Why didn't you talk to anyone?" the woman presses. "--Or Thomas. He's your teacher. You think we wouldn't understand? -We're- your family, Cy. We've all gone through this." She stands in one abrupt movement, cutting off any retort. "--Enough. I've got to go patrol. Thomas..." She looks at the elder Philodox, not without sympathy. "I'll be back in a few hours. Don't wait dinner for me." Grey moves away from the door to let Natalie depart; a hand, light, on Cy's back between the shoulderblades encourages the cub to move aside as well. He nods wordlessly to the Elder. Cy twitches at the physical contact with a slight curl of her lip and steps away, arms crossing over her chest. "Didn't think it was real," she mumbles--perhaps towards the departing woman, perhaps at the floor. "Know better now." Natalie moves past the others with a queen's expectation of personal space; pauses at the door to turn back. Sympathy laces her voice. "I'm sorry you had to learn that way. --Have a good dinner, you two." A nod, then, and she's gone, closing Thomas' door quietly behind her. The room is very quiet for a moment when Natalie leaves; the barely-audible sounds of classical piano can just be heard coming from the small stereo. Grey rubs a hand over his eyes, then turns to Cy with arms folded. "We discussed your punishment, by the way." A long breath is visibly released as Natalie exits, but the slight girl doesn't relax by much. She keeps her eyes down, rubbing the ball of one foot over the carpet. Bracing for her verdict. "Two weeks on cleaning duty," Grey says passing sentence gravely. "That means bathrooms, floors, vacuuming, dusting, dishes that don't fit in the washer, laundry, et cetera. I expect things to be /spotless/. Also, from now on, you'll be getting up when I do. Once we get you some running shoes, you'll be running with us in the morning." Cy bristles perceptibly, hands releasing themslves from their tucked position. She opens her mouth to retort, nostrils flaring--but then she gets a good look at the man's scarred face. Snapping her mouth shut, she makes a frustrated sound and paces away from him, further into the room. "Do you have a problem with this, Cy?" asks the older Philodox, his gaze intent upon her, his voice heavy. She paces a few more tight circles before throwing herself into the armchair Natalie just occupied, slumping there with far less commanding presence. "Does it matter if I do?" She tosses the question back at him with an exhausted, hollow-eyed frown. Grey's good eye tracks her progress. "Well, the punishment will happen regardless. How you bear it makes a difference." Cy's expression darkens further. "If I hear one /word/ outta that k--" She thumps a fist on the armchair, cuts off, then amends, "Kevin blinks at me about this, I'll fuckin' kill him." She's not looking at him now. Her voice is chilly. Grey's express darkens, brows lowering, his eyes narrowing to slits. He utters a curt, gutteral sound, not quite a growl, then gives his head a sharp shake. "You want to fight him, go ahead. Do it in the basement. But if he beats you -- and likely he /will/, since he's had training that you haven't -- I expect you to show throat and suck it up with dignity." Cy shoots a look at his animalistic sound, her own temper flaring. "Th'fuck do I do that? I get pissed--" She snaps a finger in the air, "I'm gone. Blackout. I wake up and people are--" The girl pales, slouching back with with a nauseated swallow. "Things are shredded." "Obviously, you need to learn control." Grey arches an eyebrow, though it's hidden behind the overhang of black hair. "You /can/ learn to control it. If you're willing." From her place in the chair, she eyes him consideringly. Sullen rage burns behind her eyes. A full minute ticks by, underlined by the quiet strains of Chopin. Moment of truth. "If," says Grey again, staring down at her. His expression is challenging. The ratty-haired teenager sniffs once, runs her tongue over her teeth. She jerks her chin up in a nod, and the universal language of the streets. "Let's do it." Grey nods once, unfolds his arms, and crosses to the stereo, turning it off. "Basement," he says, heading out of the room. He doesn't look back, trusting her to follow. 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. Cy follows him down through the house without a word. She seems to be accustomed to trailing him, at this point. When her bare feet hit the squeaky stairs leading into the too-familiar basement, she pauses slightly--but keeps going. Grey flicks on the light and steps into the middle of the open area, going nowhere near the Box in the southwest corner. "Controlling your rage is a matter of will. Controlling your ability to shapeshift, however, is a matter of channeling the beast within you. How did you feel when you tried to join your friends and they rejected you?" "Pissed," she grunts, blinking to adjust her eyes to the lights. "--Embarassed." She stands a few feet across from the older Garou, looking wary. Grey nods. "Embarrassment, humiliation, startlement, anger, fear, extreme hunger, sexual excitement..." Grey's face doesn't flicker a bit at the last two words. "All these things, and more, can trigger a frenzy, can spark our rage." He folds his arms across his chest. "I want you to focus on your anger. Think about what happened Saturday night, or what Kevin might say to you when you next speak. Think about every insult that anyone's ever given you. The times you've been knocked down, kicked, spit upon. Focus on it, but don't let it take control of you. /You/ control /it/." Cy scratches briefly at her hair with a hand, like a dog with a flea-bite. Twitchy. "...And then what?" She squints at the tall man. "Let it flow through you. Visualize yourself bigger, stronger... /powerful/." His good eye gets a dangerous little gleam. "Claws and fur and fangs. Death incarnate." His last two words earn him a bit of an owlish blink. Letting out a short breath through her nostrils, the girl rolls her shoulders and closes her eyes, straightening her spine slightly. Her brow furrows, losing itself to some dark train of thought... and then broadens, protrudes, sprouting hair and then dark fur as the scrawny cub's figure swells all the way up into fearsome war-form. [Cy, Crinos] Eight feet of rippling muscle and dark brown fur laced with black, the beast is some impossible cross of humanoid and bipedal wolf or bear. Wiry ropes of muscle course beneath its pelt, full of raw energy. Its height and bulk is magnified by the matted ruff of fur that bristles around its nightmarish head like a mane; curving fangs and talons are wickedly exposed and gleaming. Only the observant would notice a missing incisor in the animal's slathering maw, or the gaping holes of scar tissue that line its upright, black-tufted ears. Rarely holding still, the creature twitches with a stormcloud aura of violence and hunger. Grey looks up at the suddenly-formed tower of fur and muscle, keenly watching the cub's demeanor for signs of frenzy. Though his expression is mostly impassive, that feral gleam in his eye remains, and his posture is tensed. The girl-turned-beast chuffs out a breath, dark amber eyes snapping open as she falls into a four-footed crouch. A low, rattling rumble emanates from somewhere in her chest, tufted ears flipping back as she gazes down at the man--now much smaller than her--with a mix of puzzlement and irritation. The black-tipped tail is held high and bristling. Grey meets the beast's gaze directly, fearlessly. "Good," he says, approvingly. "You'll find that you can speak the Mother's Tongue easily in that form. And that your rage is closer to the surface. Crinos is a form for battle. For killing." The Crinos'd cub sniffs once, twice, nostrils flaring mightily as she takes in his scent. Curved talons flex audibly against the concrete floor. Opening her jaws, she doesn't offer any hard-learned words in the Garou language, but instead unleashes a snarling shriek in his face--testing the limits of her new lungs. Grey bares his teeth in a reflexive snarl at the sound, and abruptly his own form boils upward, matching her form and then dropping to all fours. Hands become paws as he takes Hispo, a dire wolf with almost as much mass as the war-form. His ears and tail are high, and the thick fur around his neck bristles with rage and dominance. [Grey, Hispo] This is more monster than true wolf, a dire beast from the prehistoric past; he's the size of a pony. Standing fully four feet at the shoulder, the beast is furred in a thick pelt of black, the darkness marred by an irregular gray patch on his chest. The powerful but rough-hewn body stands tall on long legs and massive paws, the latter of which are armed with lethal-looking black claws. His one good eye, the right, is the typical lupine gold; the other is dead white, almost lost within a twisted jungle of scars that cover the left side of his face. 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 forelegs -- the glyph for Charach on the right, the one for Dishonor on the left -- are not so obscured. To Garou eyes, there is a clear nobility about this dire wolf form; the Shadow Lord blood running through his veins is strong. Cypher's ears snap forward at the shift, and she bares teeth in a near-grin as screams in his face again--this time at eye-level, her breath stinking hotly of barely restrained excitement and Rage. Grey snarls right back at her, a deep-throated, heavy sound, thick with menace. A long pink tongue whips out to lick at his bared fangs; his bone-cracking muzzle is a mass of wrinkles. The tautly-wired cub takes his answer as a ready invitation, and launches herself forward as though spring-loaded--claws and jaws first. Though not terribly coordinated in her new skin, she offers much in the way of bloodthirsty enthusiasm. The ensuing brawl lasts for quite a while, primarily because Grey allows it, directing the cub's desire for violence into an impromptu fighting lesson. He shifts up to Crinos early on, pulls his punches, uses his claws sparingly and his teeth not at all. Some of Cy's own blows connect, though if she thinks about it later, she may suspect that they were blows he /let/ connect. Back and forth across the basement, the two Philodox go at it. It ends when Cy, in her enthusiasm and inexperience, loses control of her rage entirely when her teacher cuffs her hard across the muzzle. The next thing she knows, she's back in homid, flat on her back on the basement floor, with Grey, in glabro, crouched nearby like a wolfish caveman. Her body aches, and she's bleeding in several places, but none of it's life-threatening. Grey's bleeding, too, but the look on his brutish face seems rather pleased. The cub squints up at him, breathing harshly. She lets her head fall back, baring her teeth in a dazed, power-drunk grin with a gap in it, despite her pain. "Aright," she coughs. "/Rock/." Long distance to Cypher: Grey nods. He'd tell her about healing faster if in a non-breed form (she can be in glabro up in the cub bunkroom or any form in the basement) and etc. He was careful to only do a couple of levels of damage, so she should be all healed up in a couple of days.