It is currently 15:07 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 26 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 (81% 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.

Mid-afternoon finds Thomas Grey in the computer room, looking thoughtfully,
      narrow-eyed at a webpage on which are many different rifle accessories 
      available for online purchase.
Kevin pokes a head through the door. "Thomas? Can I talk a moment?" The cub
      seems a little diffident about his request.
Grey looks up rather sharply, then pushes his chair back a few inches and turns
      it to face the cub. His arms fold across his chest. "Of course." Neither 
      his expression nor his tone of voice are especially encouraging; the 
      former is stony, the latter controlled and neutral.
Kevin enters the room, dragging his footsteps. "Yeah. Wanted to catch you by
      yourself, only with that new cub, you never are." He comes to a halt by 
      Grey and seems to compose his thoughts.
Grey's shoulders lift slightly and fall. "I /am/ her primary teacher." His
      mismatched eyes watch the Ragabash cub steadily, expectantly.
Kevin nods. "As Tu is mine. But Tu's... kind of hard to talk to. At least..."
      He pauses again, then pulls a face. "Thomas-rhya. I'd be grateful if we 
      could keep this between ourselves. For now at least."
Behind the too-long hair -- which has definitely, by now, developed the habit
      of falling into his eyes and pretty much covers his ears -- Grey raises 
      an eyebrow. "As long as it's nothing that will endanger the tribe or the 
      Sept, fine."
Kevin gives a neutral grunt. "You were a cub, right, Thomas? Same as all of us
      were. I don't know whether this will make sense to you, or whether you'll 
      remember what it was like. Only." A pause, a deep breath. "Thomas, I'm... 
      fucking terrified. I've been running on nothing but fear ever since I 
      first changed. And I'm not sure how much longer it'll last before I crash 
      and burn, and make some royal fuck-up. Am I a complete, snivelling 
      coward? Or is this normal for a cub?" These words come blurted out, 
      almost tumbling over one another as he forces them out over the barrier 
      of his reluctance to admit to such feelings.
It is, as usual, difficult to read the Philodox's face, but the hardness in it
      seems to recede a little. "Being afraid doesn't make you a coward. Anyone 
      can feel fear."
"/Feel/ fear, yeah," Kevin says, still sounding discontent, "but it's the way
      it's /running/ me that's got me worried. If I freeze up whenever some 
      crisis strikes, what good will I be to anyone? At best I'll be dead 
      weight. At worst, people might /die/." He folds his arms tightly, 
      wrapping his own fingers round the opposite arm on each side.
Grey rubs a hand absently along his dark-stubbled jaw. "/Have/ you frozen up in
      a crisis? I hear that you did reasonably well on something Tu assigned 
      you."
Kevin moves his head in a gesture of equivocation, his hands still clutching
      his arms firmly. "I got lucky. I came way close to freaking out in an 
      elevator, losing it entirely. I was on the point of shifting. That 
      would've been some veil breach, hah?"
Thump thump thump. Out in the main room, there's the sound of footsteps
      ascending the basement stairs. Moments later, the smaller of the 
      Walkercubs passes the computer room's doorway through the hall, lugging a 
      basket of laundry. The girl tosses a glance at the pair inside as she 
      goes by, but doesn't pause.
"Yes," Grey agrees. "But you didn't." Turning back to the computer, he closes
      down the browser and logs off before turning back. "You didn't break the 
      veil, didn't kill anyone, and didn't get arrested."
"This time," Kevin qualifies, his eyes swivelling to Cy as she goes past and
      his face setting into a frown. "Look, Thomas-rhya. I've heard people call 
      you all kinds of things -- not that I care a row of buttons what you may 
      or may not have done in the past -- but I've never heard anyone call you 
      a coward, and if they did I'd laugh in their face. How do you cope with 
      fear? Or do you just never feel it?"
Grey's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. He covers a sudden upsurge in tension
      with a deceptively casual slouch in the computer chair. "/Everyone/ -- 
      not counting fools and psychotics -- feels fear. You simply do what you 
      have to do despite it. Recognize that it's there, and then ignore it."
Kevin nods jerkily. "Like I say... please don't tell Natalie. She thinks a lot
      of me, Gaia alone knows why. I don't want her to know just what a wuss I 
      am."
The clatter of footsteps on the stairs announces Nat's arrival before the woman
      herself comes into the foyer and thence into the living room. She brushes 
      a lock of hair behind one ear as she glances into the computer room; a 
      doubletake and she stops, grabbing onto the doorframe. "--Somebody take 
      my name in vain?" she inquires lightly, having (apparently) not noticed 
      Cy's laundry-toting self.
Grey snorts. "When you start pissing on the floor, I may start thinking you a
      wuss." He looks past Kevin to give the Galliard a nod.
Kevin comes out of his hunched-over, tight-wound pose like a rabbit out of a
      thorn thicket as Natalie comes in, giving an almighty twitch and looking 
      as guilty as hell. "Just said you had a lot invested in me," he says, 
      slightly equivocally.
Natalie blinks at them both, returning Grey's nod with one of her own. "Oh. OK.
      Did you tell Grey about your little field trip with Tu?"
"I was kinda mentioning some of it," Kevin mumbles, still flushing pinkly. He
      looks at Grey in a 'please say something' kind of way.
"I heard he managed not to kill anyone, at least," says Grey, still in that
      faux-casual slouch. "Any idea when he's going to Rite?"
"Tu and I are thinking June," Nat tells the man, just as if Kevin weren't
      sitting right there. "Maybe late May - it'd be nice for it to be done by 
      the Moot, but I don't want to rush anything."
Kevin gives a wistful smile. "I /had/ hoped to see my sixteenth birthday..." he
      says in a mock-resigned tone.
Grey grunts, pushes hair out of his eyes, and gets to his feet in order to pace
      restlessly. "You'll do fine," he says curtly.
"You're not going to die," Nat snaps at him, pushing herself off the doorframe.
      "I'd rather you cut and run and flat out /failed/ than died."
Kevin's eyes rise to meet Nat's for just one dangerous moment. "And did you say
      that to Saul?" he asks, before he can bite the words back.
Grey stops dead, all of a sudden, and turns sharply on his heel to stare
      intently at Kevin. The Philodox has suddenly gone quite rigid with anger.
Thomas isn't the only one; Nat's gone stiff as well, her teeth bared and eyes
      boring into Kevin's. "What. Did you say."
Kevin looks very much as though he'd like to claim that he said nothing and
      that the cliaths imagined the words he spoke. However, he holds his head 
      up and repeats the fatal sentence. "I said, did you say that to Saul?"
There's a slight throat-clearing from behind Natalie. "Laundry delivery."
      Perhaps Cy is oblivious to the tension in the room beyond--or maybe she's 
      just ignoring it.
It's the throat-clearing that does it. Thomas Grey simply snaps. One second
      he's standing there. The next eyeblink, he's in Crinos with a roar of 
      complete and utter mindless fury and lunging at Kevin, computer equipment 
      be damned.
An eyeblink later and Natalie's in Crinos as well, all but flying across the
      room to intercept the black-furred monster. Her abruptly-massive shoulder 
      catches him in the ribs, knocking him away from Kevin less than a foot 
      from bloody connection and sending them both tumbling to the floor. She 
      manages to snarl out a, ~RUN!~ as she lays into the beast, claws ripping 
      and tearing at his face and neck.
Kevin's eyes widen and he makes a fearful, desperate scramble away from the
      enraged Grey, mouth open in sudden terror. He comes within an ace of 
      colliding with Natalie herself as she hurls herself at the one-eyed 
      crinos, and does actually run straight into Cy. "You heard!" he gasps, 
      giving the girl a violent shove towards the door. "Out!"
There's a reason that the former Ahroun was once dubbed 'el Diablo' by a local
      Bone Gnawer, and here it is. Grey screams his rage -- it's a wonder the 
      neighbors don't hear -- and immediately starts laying into the Galliard 
      with claws and teeth, pulling no punches, giving no mercy, and doing his 
      best to turn his Elder and friend into a pile of dead, shredded meat.
Cy's dropped the laundry basket in the hallway, and she backs away from the
      explosion in the room with eyes wide. Kevin's shove earns him a snarl but 
      she doesn't run--instead, she flattens herself against the wall outside 
      the computer room, out of sight of the two warring Garou.
Holds-the-Line endures the barely-visible flurry of kicks and bites from the
      bigger Crinos, her only goal to get her jaws around the monster's throat. 
      He tears open her shoulder in a spatter of blood, his back legs curling 
      up like a cat's to rip at her belly, back, and side. She responds in 
      kind, one forearm battering club-like at his muzzle and ears.
Kevin skids to a temporary halt outside the door and tries to grab hold of Cy,
      desperately seeking to yank her away from the grisly scene. "Come ON! 
      He's gone apeshit!" he yells to the girl as his hand seeks purchase on 
      her arm.
Computer equipment, tables, chairs, all go crashing to the floor with a smash
      of plastics and delicate electronics. Light-fur and dark-fur roll over 
      and over, the latter caring little for defense and feeling no pain as his 
      claws slice into the Galliard. He barely misses a strike to her throat 
      that would surely have ended Natalie's reign as Glass Walker Elder (with 
      finality) and ends up latching onto her forearm instead when she brings 
      it up to block. The next eyeblink, the pale-furred bitch gets her own 
      chance at Grey's throat and locks on -- not tearing it out, but cutting 
      off his air.
"Don't TOUCH me," the girl snarls back, showing teeth. She yanks her arm out of
      the boy's grip with a deadly look as the elders' battle rages on just on 
      the other side of the wall.
Kevin clenches his fists. "You wanna get killed, idiot?" Again he grabs at Cy
      and tries to yank her away from the spot where she seems rooted, towards 
      some theoretically safer zone.
"Do you--" Cy's retort is cut short as Kevin grabs her again, and she explodes
      up into dark-furred chaos with a shriek, swiping blindly at the boy.
Holds-the-Line continues bludgeoning the Philodox's head even as they go
      crashing into the computer desk, where they come to a sudden stop. Blood 
      goes flying everywhere, liberally decorating the carpet and shattered 
      electronics, dripping out of gashes on both their bodies in some sort of 
      grotesque montage. A pile of CDs comes crashing down onto them both, the 
      rain of plastic plastering her ears back against her skull but doesn't 
      stop her teeth from boring into his neck, or distract his own jaws from 
      crunching down on her arm.
Kevin spits out a one-word, nay, one-syllable expletive, and leaps backwards.
      With a snarl of effort, the cub becomes the fourth out of the four garou 
      to gain the warform. Either unknowing or uncaring whether the other cub 
      has shifted through choice or frenzy, he sweeps out his arm to point at 
      the front door. ~GET OUT!~ he commands.
The black-furred monster's jaws grind down on Holds-the-Line's forearm, teeth
      chewing through fur and muscle and down to the bone. Powerful muscles in 
      jaws and neck tighten, and a loud >SNAP< heralds the breaking of bone 
      and, for the Galliard, a sudden massive increase in pain. But this is the 
      last act of a beast which, like all higher flesh creatures, needs air to 
      breathe, and moments after he's broken her arm, the fact that his 
      breath's been entirely cut off finally takes effect. His good eye glazes 
      over, the fierce gold turning dull, then brown. A few seconds of 
      flagging, weakening struggle later, and he goes limp underneath her, fur 
      and mass melting away as Grey reverts to human form.
The female cub, fire in her eyes, lunges at the male one. The frenzy is there,
      the desire to rend and tear, the lust to rip her target to tiny, bloody 
      shreds. But Kevin, unlike Cy's hapless former friends, is Garou. As she 
      dives on him, he bares teeth and holds his ground. Smack go her claws 
      into the side of his face and his shoulder, ripping them open. But smack, 
      also, goes the male crinos's balled fist into the other cub's head, 
      scoring a solid blow with all his strength. Enough, perhaps, to break a 
      mere human's neck; enough, at least, to send Cy onto her ass, and enough 
      -- he fervently hopes -- to lay her flat.
Long-Climb's blow hits home, and Cy shrinks abruptly back into homid, dropping
      unconcious on the hallway floor.
Holds-the-Line doesn't roll off her foe (jewel cases snapping and cracking
      under her weight) until he's shriveling back to homid; she pushes herself 
      arthritically upright and turns toward the hootenany in the hallway. 
      ~STOP!~ she roars, limping (trailing blood behind her) toward the door, 
      then repeats a rougher, "STOP!" in English. She reaches the door just as 
      Kevin's hand rockets into the girlcub's head; they both drop back into 
      homid at the same time.
...leaving a rather-the-worse-for-wear Natalie sagged against the doorframe,
      looking daggers at Kevin but showing no other hostility.
Long-Climb's face and shoulder are bleeding pretty freely. His contorted
      expression stares down at the unconscious Cy, and it doesn't take a 
      Betazoid to see that part of him at least is having some pretty vicious 
      thoughts about what he could do to the other cub. Not under the Elder's 
      nose, though, oh no. He shakes his head as though to clear it, and then 
      rolls it to show throat -- a strange sight to a hypothetical onlooker, a 
      crinos submitting to a homid.
Grey, for his part, remains conscious amidst the wreckage of technology, blood
      soaking into his jeans and shirt.
Cypher's down for the count on the hallway floor. One side of the scrawny
      girl's face is swelling rapidly, most likely from a broken jaw.
"Shift," Nat hisses at him, clapping her unbroken arm over a freely-bleeding
      gash on her opposite shoulder. "Get the hell away from the windows. Now."
Long-Climb stumbles towards the computer room, that being 'away from the
      windows' in all truth, and peers into it, eyeing Grey's unconscious and 
      now once more human-seeming body. Having thus reassured himself, he 
      shifts, and returns to homid himself; a panting, trembling homid with 
      half his face ripped open, the gougemarks far too close to his eye for 
      comfort.
Natalie reaches up and gives Kevin's face a resounding slap, leaving trails of
      blood smeared across his cheek in counterpoint to the fresh gouges on the 
      other side of his face. "Don't you /dare/... when I give you an order, 
      you /do/ it." More daggers stared at him, then she turns her back on him 
      to limp back through the wreakage toward Grey. "Get Cy upstairs. I don't 
      want to see -either- of you."
Kevin starts to say something in protest. He even gets the start of one
      syllable out -- it begins with 'B' -- before he thinks better of it, and 
      turns instead to the out-cold girlcub. Unscientifically he wraps his 
      hands round her unresisting body and, having tried and failed to hoist 
      her over his shoulder, he just clamps her to him by means of his arms 
      wrapped round her waist, and shuffles as fast as he can under her weight 
      to the stairs, and slowly, painfully, up them towards the bunkroom.
The /older/ member of the Frenzying Philodox Club breathes shallowly,
      pale-faced and bleeding freely and still quite unconscious. Apart from 
      one line of computer desks along the other side of the room, the lab is 
      quite thoroughly trashed.
Natalie kneels beside Thomas, a copy of Civ 3 crunching under her uncaring
      weight. She slaps his cheek too, though far more carefully than she 
      applied to Kevin. "Wake up. Wake up, you bastard. Rise and shine."
Grey grunts, a low, throaty noise, and grimaces. His face, especially around
      the mouth (and /in/ the mouth), is painted with blood. Natalie's blood. 
      Rolling slightly away from the slaps, broken table and towers underneath 
      him, he coughs.
Natalie doesn't look much better - and with all her clothes missing, every
      little gash and gouge and toothmark's visible, not to mention the nasty 
      rent of her left forearm with the bones dangling out. There's a pile of 
      sad-looking black tatters over near the door, but other than that? 
      Mother-naked. "Wake /up/," she says again, voice gone thin, and gives his 
      jaw another set of slaps.
Grey, the bastard, was wearing Dedicated clothing, though the blood's going to
      be a bitch to get out, especially from the light blue shirt. He utters a 
      word in Serbian in a thick voice, opens his eyes, and props himself up on 
      one elbow. Half-veiled behind blood-wet black hair, one brown eye surveys 
      the wreckage of the room, and then the wreckage of his Elder. It widens; 
      shock and dismay flitter across the pale, gaunt face. "Oh. /Hell/."
"Shift," she orders him in a tense little voice. "No use in -both- of us
      bleeding to death." Cradling her useless arm to her chest, she awkwardly 
      pushes to her feet and stands there for a second, swaying. "Cubs are 
      upstairs. Cy flipped too. Kevin managed to... ow." All of a sudden she 
      goes pale, and her oozing wounds start oozing with greater enthusiasm. 
      "I'm going... bathroom."
Grey is stricken, but he's always been good at making his body work when his
      mind's screaming uselessly in anger or shock or grief. He doesn't shift, 
      but he does manage to climb unsteadily to his feet. Besides the blood 
      soaking liberally into his clothes, his neck shows bright red marks from 
      where Natalie's teeth pressed in. He winces at the pain of using abused 
      flesh, then takes a deep breath, focusses himself, and the look of pain 
      drops away. "Let me help you."
Natalie nods vaguely and turns, aiming more or less for the doorway. "Yeah.
      Dammit, want, want morphine." The trip to the hallway doesn't take long, 
      even taking it slowly; she doesn't even look toward the living room where 
      Cy and Kevin had their little dust-up or down at the ruins of her clothes 
      but steps across the hall to the bathroom door.
In a little while, Grey's likely going to collapse, but right now, he moves
      almost normally, putting an arm around Natalie and offering her his 
      strength to lean on as he helps her to the downstairs bathroom. 
      Fortunately, it's not far from the computer room. "Do we /have/ morphine?"
Natalie's laugh is a barely audible breath. "No." She leans into him, letting
      him be the one to push open the door and escort her onto the cool tiles. 
      She takes a careful seat on the closed toiled and nods toward the 
      wall-safe. "Just, just pot and some E. Don't think anyone'd recommend 
      those." All her attention dives inward again as she winces, then gives 
      vent to another unvarnished, "Ow."
Grey winces, too, and leans against the bathroom sink, head lowered. "...What
      /do/ we have?" he asks hoarsely.
"Aspirin," she answers. "Aleve. Um... Tylenol." She starts to shake her head,
      but stops it with a hiss. An aborted reach with her left arm to ease the 
      ruin of her right shoulder brings another hiss. "Just... stop the damn 
      bleeding. First."
"No bandages?" Grey asks. "Gauze?"
"--Bandages." It takes her a second to elbow her way past the nerves screaming
      for her attention, but she does it. "Yeah. In the, the cabinet." She 
      doesn't nod toward the sink, but does glance its way. Grey will just have 
      to read her mind. "Gimme a towel. S'down there too." Her lone good hand 
      remains clamped over her lower belly. "Think you tried t', to spay me."
Grey avoids meeting her eyes, but there's no time, at the moment, to indulge in
      the miasma of crippling shame that's lurking at the back of his head. 
      Wordlessly, he gets out a thick, fluffy towel and hands it to the 
      Galliard, then brings out the box of first aid supplies and sets about 
      bandaging her up. He's actually rather practiced at stopping blood and 
      binding wounds.
Natalie's first action is to place that towel over her 'spay incision', thus
      adding to the list of things the blood will never come out of. After that 
      she stays docile, letting him work on her with little protest - physical, 
      anyway. She says, "Ow," and "Damn," a lot, and as he works on her broken 
      arm she sniffles quite a bit and whimpers once. Nor does she try to hide 
      her tears, but she doesn't call attention to them either.
Grey says not a word and makes no complaint. Not until near the end, as he's
      splinting her arm, and then it's just a pause as though needing to catch 
      his thoughts. He's gone quite pale, and his hands are shaking slightly as 
      he ties the last bandage.
"Damn I miss morphine," Nat offers again near the end, using the unbloody
      corners of the towel to carefully dab at her tears. "I..." Some thought 
      strikes her and she looks over at him, taking in his varied and sundry 
      wounds. "Oh hell. I only have one free hand. I suppose you can't shift 
      either?"
Grey shakes his head slightly, still not meeting her eyes. Or looking at her
      face. "...Be fine," he murmurs, and sinks down to sit on the edge of the 
      tub.
"Like hell you will be." Natalie hoists herself to her feet, looking like the
      second understudy for The Mummy's Bride. The bathroom - as well as the 
      computer room - looks like Sweeney Todd's basement; there's definite 
      smears of blood on the hardwood floor of the hallway as well. "I'll go, 
      go get... one of the cubs. We'll get you fixed up." She can't nod 
      peremptorily toward the bloody toilet, so Grey gets to sit where he's 
      fallen. Lucky Grey.
Grey doesn't look all that keen on standing up just yet anyway. Resist Pain
      doesn't do much for faintness from blood loss. Or the shame, guilt, and 
      shock from nearly killing your Elder in the kind of mindless rage that 
      you Renounced your auspice over. So he just nods and stares at the 
      blood-soaked bath mat.
Natalie merely grunts at him, then abandons the gore for the living room and, a
      bit later, the stairs. Her halting steps stop a little over halfway up, 
      she speaks so someone, her voice low and inaudible, then turns and 
      retraces her steps. "You know how to apply bandages?" she asks Cy, 
      verbally pushing the girl into the bathroom ahead of her.
Cy is herded into the batrhoom without much protest, and a curt nod. One side
      of the girl's face is rather swollen, fromw here she got clocked by 
      Kevin. Her eyes widen slightly at the state of the bathroom--and the 
      older Philodox--and she frowns hesitantly.
Grey is covered in blood. It's in his hair, coats his hands and arms, paints
      his pale, scarred face, soaks his shirt and jeans and drips out of his 
      sleeves and out of the cuffs of his jeans. He's still sitting on the edge 
      of the tub when the two return, his head down, tangled hair in his eyes, 
      crimson hands pressed against the cold porcelain.
"Rest of the bandages are under the sink," Nat directs from her spot just
      outside in the hallway. She leans, carefully, against the doorframe where 
      she can watch both the Philodox. "Get out the gauze, press it against his 
      wounds and, and wrap it with the bandages."
The girl looks nauseated at Grey for a brief moment, but she bites back the
      expression quickly. With an irritated glance over her shoulder, she 
      mutters, "I know what'm doing." She eases herself further into the 
      bathroom cautiously, as though she was approaching--well, a wounded wolf.
"Good," is all Nat says, then concentrates on keeping the wall from falling
      down.
Grey lifts his head slightly, fixing the cub with one sunken brown eye. With
      some reserve of energy, he sits up and, mutely, peels off the 
      blood-soaked shirt. In addition to the glyphs scarred into his forearms, 
      he's got a handprint embedded in his chest. Crinos-sized, with seven 
      fingers, like an imprint in clay. It's currently split in twain by a set 
      of deep, fresh claw-wounds -- which aren't alone in striping his torso -- 
      but it's still somewhat visible beyond the torn flesh and split blood.
Cy gulps visibly and averts her eyes from the wounds, old and new alike. She
      busies herself with pulling out supplies from beneath the bathroom sink: 
      gauze dressing, bandages, industrial-sized bottle of hydrogen peroxide. 
      The small cub also takes a moment to wash her hands, before turning 
      around to eye the man with a frown. "This is gonna sting," she mumbles, 
      gesturing with the bottle of HP. The girl looks grim.
"Pain's not an issue," Grey rasps. "Auspice gift. You'll learn it eventually."
"Handy," Nat murmurs tiredly, her eyes limping between student and teacher. She
      does linger longer on Grey's impressive collection of battle scars, but 
      has no comment for them.
Cy looks at the wounded man dubiously, and then shakes her head. "Okay," she
      mutters under her breath, stepping forward and uncapping the bottle. She 
      doesn't worry about spillage--his clothes and the bathroom floor are a 
      wreck already--and pours the antiseptic liberally over his torso, 
      wrinkling her nose at the vicious fizzing hiss that arises.
Grey sits still, staring dully at a bloody handprint on the sink like an animal
      too stupid to know how to flinch. He lets Cy do what she needs to do 
      without a murmur of protest.
"...Think I'm gonna have to replace all the carpet in there," the Elder offers
      after a second - to distract Cy, distract Grey, or just distract herself. 
      "And Jeremy's going to cry when I tell him what happened. At least no one 
      got seriously... fatally hurt."
The girl wasn't lying--whatever her background, she /does/ know what she's
      doing. Losing herself in the task, Cy sponges off excess blood, applies 
      dressing and bandages with nimble hands. She only hesitates when the 
      wrapping calls for some awkward maneuvers; after all, he's a half-naked 
      shredded man and she's a sixteen-year-old. She glances aside at Natalie's 
      words, and frowns. "What happened?" The cub focuses on adjusting the 
      gauze over his largest claw-wound.
Grey remains quiet and compliant.
Leaving Natalie - as usual - to play fill in the blanks. "Thomas and Kevin were
      talking. I said something about Kevin's Rite of Passage, and Kevin said 
      something stupid. Thomas," she glances toward the silent Philodox, then 
      resumes her weary recitation, delivering it to the far wall, "Lost it. 
      Berserk frenzy. Rather than have him kill Kevin, I attacked -him-. 
      Blindside. Told you both to run. Gaia only knows what happened then. 
      After I got Thomas subdued," which sounds far more bloodless than the 
      state of the computer room suggests, "I came out to the hall just in time 
      to see Kevin in crinos slugging you. Also in Crinos. I told him to take 
      you upstairs. He did, and I got Thomas woken up. The rest you can 
      probably guess."
Cy nods once, straightening as she finishes her ministrations over the older
      Philodox. "Kevin's passed out upstairs. Looks like shit." She frowns and 
      leans back against the bathroom sink, arms crossing over her chest. "So's 
      this what family does? Tear the shit outta each other every full moon?" 
      Her words are more puzzled than accusatory, as she eyes the bloody Grey.
Grey's throat works somewhere in the middle of Natalie's retelling. Then he
      coughs, and disturbs Cy's work somewhat as he leans over and spits a wad 
      of blood, phlegm, and meat into the tub.
Natalie's lips barely shiver off her teeth at the gobbet of flesh in the tub.
      "I think that's my arm," she offers, her tone too faint for the emotion 
      to be properly classified. "--And no, Cy. Today was just... an accident. 
      We'll be," the fingers of her less-mangled arm flick toward Grey, "fine. 
      In less than a week."
"Right," Grey mutters. He spits into the tub again, just as bloodily, if less
      meatily. "Fine."