It is currently 11:31 Pacific Time on Thu Apr 28 2005. Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.93 and falling, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 49 degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius.) Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (69% full). [Grey, Glabro] He's a huge brute of a man, well over seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and exceedingly muscular but, judging from his appearance, barely human. His face is lean, bony, and feral, with a heavy shelf of brow and an out-thrust jaw; sharp fingernails, pointed ears, and overlong canine teeth add to the general impression of animalistic menace. The left side of his face is disfigured by a number of prominant scars, thick keloid tissue making a ruin of already thuggish features. Under heavy, hairy black eyebrows, his deep-set eyes -- the left blind white, the right wolfishly gold -- are often shadowed as though from lack of sleep. His thick black hair hangs just past his ears, shaggy and unkempt, and his lower face is a forest of black stubble, a few days' worth of beard-growth. He's dressed in an old pair of sweatpants that have faded to a dull, dark grey color and a red and black flannel shirt, loosely buttoned and untucked. His sneakers are black Chuck Taylors, canvas high-tops with the distinct star-in-circle logo on the ankles. 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. "Tu," Natalie begins, only to be interrupted by the cub. "--Excuse me." Her voice has gone decidedly cool again. "Kevin, why don't you go see if all the bloodstains in the carpet are gone now that they've dried? If they aren't, you can think about how you'll be ripping it up." The three of them are just on the other side of the wall from the foyer, with Natalie once more - still - in Glabro. Natalie's not the only one. The hulking, Neanderthalish form of Thomas Grey makes his way down the stairs. He pauses at the sound of Nat's voice, his brutish face unreadable, and then continues on into the common part of the house. Safehouse: Common Area The foyer of this house is set off from the living room with its octagonal bump-out by a four foot high halfwall. Stairs lead up from the foyer, turning and disappearing to the right, and a steel door with a keycard lock claims the wall opposite the living room. The rest of the main floor is taken up by a small bathroom across the hallway from a dining room which is separated from the kitchen at the back of the house by another half-wall. The decor is decidedly sparse - white walls, beige carpeting in the living and dining rooms and down the hall, unremarkable vinyl in the foyer and kitchen. A used couch and a pair of recliners are grouped around a coffee table in the living room, with a foursome of wooden chairs claiming the bump out for quieter conversation. The dining room boasts a white laminate table with four aluminum and vinyl-upholstered chairs - too new to be 'vintage', too old to be trendy. The appliances and cupboards in the kitchen are new - or at least refurbished to look like it - and a door leads out to the backyard from there. Up the stairs are a number of empty rooms where anyone affiliated with the Sept can crash and an office for private meetings. The Glass Walkers have their own area accessible via a locked door off the foyer. The main doors themselves lead back out to the front porch of the house. Grey closes the door to the Glass Walker side of the house, shutting it against the sound of his tribesmates talking. Alone, he rubs one massive, hairy Glabro hand over his face, then heads into the living room, his movements stiff, favoring one side. The shake and rattle of assorted lock mechanisms can be heard as someone makes their way into the house. Emma steps in with a slow exhaled breath, turning quickly to shut and lock the door behind her. A hand rests on her stomach as an audible growling sound can be heard, and she follows up with a loud enough, "Kevin? You here?" Only then does she turn full around to see who else is in the area. Her steps are halted and her posture stiffened as she looks to the man in the living room. Grey stares back, holding himself quite still, mismatched eyes flat underneath the heavy shelf of brow. The great extent of his injuries are hidden under the Philodox's loose clothing, though he does look rather paler than usual, pale and haggard. Plus, there are the marks around his neck where Crinos jaws had throttled the breath out of him only a few days ago. Only a second or two passes before the man gives her a curt nod as if in greeting and moves his eyes away from hers. Emma seems frozen for a moment, then shakes her head quickly to clear her thoughts. She steps in more fully and slips her coat off, "Everyone still mending?" Her tone is neutral, as if guarded against any particular emotion trying to sneak out. Grey folds his arms across his massive chest and studies a spot on the wall past Emma's left ear. "Natalie's healing up still, yes." His voice in this form is a growly baritone. [Emma] 5'2" of youthful energy packed up into a body all too willing to use it. Emma would be described as pretty if she were cleaned up and dressed the role, but all too often the scrapping tomboy paints herself with bruises instead of blush. Somewhere in her mid-teens, her features are strong but decidedly feminine. High cheekbones and full lips work well to compliment her almost button nose and deepset eyes, while dark, ash blonde hair frames her face. While not straight, it is not curly either, and untied it reaches down past her shoulders. Her eyes are a cool blue, reminiscent of a bright summer day - but like the weather they seem to hold an amount of unpredictability. There is a hardness to her gaze, and while her smiles can be warm and sincere, they are well guarded. Her posture is an odd mix of insecurity and confidence -or at least what might be confused as confidence. She seems surefooted and comfortable with herself, but exudes a certain edginess to those she might see as a source of ridicule. Emma gives a faint nod, "She told me what happened." There is a faint sound of her tongue clicking against her cheek. "How is Kevin doing?" The latter asked with a genuinely concerned tone. Grey grunts. "Whole." His gaze flicks briefly down to the young Get, cold and guarded. "I haven't spoken to him since the incident." Emma gives a nod, "Well that's good." Her lips part in preparation of my words, but nothing comes from them. After a minute, she glances away herself. When she looks back, her words are softer, "So he provoked you, or, you just lost it on him?" Grey's face gives a bit of a twitch, muscles tightening visibly in his jaw, eyes narrowing. "Frankly," he says, his voice rough and curt, "I don't remember." What the young Ahroun says next is lowered into an even quieter hush, "Do you do that a lot? I mean, do you feel it coming or?" Emma shrugs, the tone of the question more curious than accusatory. Accusatory or no, it's clear that the halfmoon doesn't welcome the inquiry. "It doesn't happen as much as it used to, no. Why do you ask?" Emma purses her lips slightly, eyes falling to the floor. "It happens to me, more than I want it to." A shoulder lifts up, "If it doesn't happen as much as it used to, what did you do to get better at keeping it under control?" Grey's nostrils flare. He shrugs sharply, winces as the motion pulls at abused muscle, and crosses the floor to take a seat on the couch. His face is sketched into a tight grimace. "...Years ago, when I was Ronin, I picked up some Wyrmtaint unawares. It fed my rage, made it greater. After I'd been Cleansed, it lessened." A Galliard he isn't. Emma ohs flatly, the answer obviously not one that she deems a help to her cause. "Right." She glances to him again and then looks toward the kitchen. "That doesn't much help me then, I guess." Grey grunts. "Strength of will is your best weapon. Your /only/ weapon, unless you want to resort to chemicals. That, and rank." Emma shakes her head, "No chemicals. I do fine, most of the time." She shrugs, "None of us can do perfectly all the time." She clears her throat then, a hand lifting back to scratch behind her neck. "Anyway, was looking for Kevin. You know if he is around?" "He's probably in the other half of the house," Grey rumbles, pushing slowly to his feet. "Wait here, and I'll see if he's available." Emma nods, "Thanks." The Get remains standing as the other leaves, leaning back against the armrest of a chair. Grey dips his head stiffly, then heads through the interior door. [GW Side] "Fomori," Jeren says. "Poachers. The occasional gang or tainted animal. And," she makes a motion with her fingers, "Spirals." The word is practically spit, making her feelings on that particular group quite clear. "And you were a child of Weasel," she muses. Nat's settled into her usual chair, leaning back against the upholster with her eyes closed. Jeren's claimed the couch as her territory, while the cubs are nowhere to be seen. "So you're more of a, hmn. You're more used to being the point of the spear instead of doing the recon well in advance, yes?" Grey closes the door behind him, pauses a moment to gather himself, then starts making his way toward the sound of voices. Jeren nods. "Pretty much. At least, that's where most of my efforts in the past few years have gone. Before I packed up, I was more into the advance recon bit." Natalie decides, "I'll have you talk to Tu. But." Her eyes flick open again, lazily studying the Ragabash across the room - though this time they glance over to the sound of the door. "Thomas." Back to Jeren. "Let's talk Chiminage." Natalie pages: There's an untouched computer desk along one wall, but no other furniture, and there are signs of blood spilled - a /lot/ of blood on the walls, carpet, and even the ceiling. Most of them on the walls have been cleaned up, but to an experienced eye, they're still obvious. The carpet's pretty much a loss. All the broken furniture and computer bits are gone. What's salvagable of the computers is downstairs in the basement for now. Grey looks about as well as he did last night when he met Jeren, i.e., not that much at all, though better than Natalie, truth be told. He dips his head to the Galliatrd and rumbles, "Is Kevin available? Emma's up front and wants to see him." Jeren nods. "Right." She glances up at Natalie's 'Thomas', merely to confirm Grey's presence, and then slips her hand under the collar of her shirt. "Obviously I'm not sure what it is that you'd need. But I did bring something." Natalie holds up a 'just a minute' hand to Jeren, answers Grey. "He's upstairs with Cy. What does Emma want with him? Today isn't her training day." Clearly, she's less than willing to let the boy talk to this 'Emma'. Grey shakes his head slightly, his eyes somewhere between the floor and the wall past the two women. "She just said that she was looking for him. Do you want me to send her off?" Jeren falls silent, fingers still just beneath the collar of her shirt, listening with interest. Natalie sighs again. "--Hell. Yes. /I/ don't know. Would you see what she wants, please?" A rueful smile to be split between them both and she adds to Jeren, "No rest for the wicked. What were you saying about Chiminage?" Grey ducks his head again, dismissed, and slips back out to the front. [Common Side] The door opens again, but instead of Kevin, it's the Philodox again, looking about as hale and friendly as he did when he left. Emma looks up as the Walker returns into the living room, but doesn't say anything. Grey leans a hand against the half-wall that partially boundaries the living room area. "He's rather busy at the moment. Did you want him for any reason in particular?" Beyond general tension and weariness, his tone and expression are neutral. Emma lifts a shoulder again, "Wanted to talk to him about things. Natalie said he thinks he'll die on his Rite, or not cut it or something. Wanted to find out why he thinks that." Grey's eyes narrow. "/All/ cubs think they're going to die on their Rite of Passage," he rumbles. "Or nearly all. Kevin's hardly unusual." Emma nods, "Yah I know. I was there last spring, so I figured I could talk to him about it. Hearing it from you two is like hearing the lecture about eating your vegetables." Her lips tighten as she looks up at the man, "I at least had good reason to think I'd cut it." Grey's nostrils flare at the last statement, a sudden spike of anger causing his jaw to clench as he bites down on it. It takes him a moment or two to find his voice again, and it's stiff with an enforced facade of calm. "...Perhaps you can speak to him the next time he's scheduled for a lesson with you. Excuse me." His head jerks in a slight nod, deliberately dropping his eyes from the girl, and then turns back toward the interior door. Emma would huff, except she seems to have realized the possibility of her reply being understood. She gives a faint nod and straightens up, "Gotta run anyway." She steps towards the door, glancing once over her shoulder before slipping back out. Grey doesn't bother to watch her go, nor see her to the door. [GW Side] The door to the other side of the house closes rather loudly. A seething Philodox stalks -- he'd be stomping if he was wearing shoes -- past the living room, heading for the basement stairs. Jeren looks curious, but doesn't ask. She'll push the 'button' later. "Mm, you said the bedrooms are up there, right? May as well make a single trip of it and grab my stuff from the guest room first--" Oh, hello Grey. She was in the process of standing, but she remains just where she is as he passes. Natalie turns her head far enough to watch Grey pass, then offers sidelong, "...I'd wait for a little bit. Emma touches your stuff, and I'll thrash her myself." Hurriedly - wincingly - she pushes herself to the front of her chair, calling, "Thomas? Everything all right?" "/Fine/," Grey snarls, though his obvious anger -- which for the moment supercedes pain -- gives the lie to this. Down the steps he goes, not even bothering to make sure the basement door closes properly behind him. Barely a few moments later, a gutteral roar of fury comes from down there. Jeren winces. If anyone were paying attention to her, they might notice she's started that bizarre muscle flexing ritual again--on both arms, this time. "Yes, I think I will wait, in case the current definition of 'fine' range to this 'Emma' too." Natalie winces at the roar, but the perceptive might note that it's more regretful than pained. "--Yeah. Think that's wise. Emma's my packmate, like I said. Get Ahroun. Been a Cliath for just over a year, but she still has stupid moments. She teaches Kevin one day a week in exchange for living here. But," her gaze flicks toward the ceiling as she levers herself out of her chair, "I'm wondering how smart that was. I think her Getness is leaking." The angry Crinos noises continue downstairs until just before Natalie finishes talking. It trails off into growls and then silence. "Ah," Jeren says. "Get. What's she been teaching him then? Brawling? Endurance?" The questions aren't meant to be a snide at the Get, but the way they're worded might nevertheless come out that way. She tips her head toward the basement door, watching it. Natalie nods vaguely toward Jeren as she slides the fang fetish into her front pocket. "D, all of the above. Boy's got a past life in his head that's a Get, plus I figure it's good for him to learn how to get along with other tribes. But he's gotten more, hmn. More Ahrounish, more Getlike, and just plain more stupid and irresponsible since she's started teaching him consistently. He doesn't need that. /We/ don't need that." Everything remains quiet on the cellar front. Jeren makes an 'mmm' sound. "Tu's teaching him? Do you know what sort of things he's focusing on?" "Tu's his main teacher, yes." She heads down the hall, stopping at the head of the basement stairs, then glances down the steps into the darkness. "Hmn." Turning back to Jeren she adds, "He's got him learning scouting, recon, that sort of thing. You'll want to talk to him for the specifics." Jeren stands and trails after Natalie at a distance. "Well, I was wondering if he was touching on any fighting tactics himself. I'll keep an eye out for him and ask. The Get are fine teachers for that, I imagine, but...Ragabash that fight like Ahroun have a good chance of ending up as pavement smears." Natalie says "Exactly," sending an approving glance to the Ragabash in question. "Or like me, for that matter. I wanted him on a gun, but I don't know if Tu's had the chance for basic safety." Another look into the dark basement and she reaches over to flick on the lights down there, then close the door leaving Grey to his solitude. "How are you with guns?" Jeren doesn't smile, but her overall expression does brighten a little. "Ah, well. To put it this way, I like guns. Hand guns at least...I haven't had too much experience with rifles or more heavy artillery. I usually carry, but I'm not old enough yet for a concealed licence." Natalie blinks surprise at that, then shrinks down to homid. Her bandages buckle and warp under this abuse, but the tape is strong enough to keep them attached, though they're far to loose to be of any possible use now. "How old -are- you?" she asks, flat out and blunt, giving Jeren a serious once-over. "Eighteen?" "Twenty," Jeren replies. "So...in a few months." Not old enough yet to legally drink even. Hah. "Twenty," Nat repeats apologetically. "All right. Well, once you -are- legal, we'll see what we can do. Guess it's time for house rules. No shifting in the lower level, where people can see." Like she just did, though with the distance from the windows, not to mention the lacy curtains, she's probably safe. "Upstairs and in the basement's fine. There's a rumpus room downstairs - a concrete bunker for when you lose it." Which probably explains where Grey is just now. "Do you know the Gift that allows you to twiddle simple machines?" Jeren nods to each rule, and then again when she asks about gifts. "Yeah, I do." She gives the basement door another look, and then starts her muscle twitching again. The stairs up from the basement creak. The light clicks off underneath the door a moment before it opens, revealing a very haggard -- and homid-form -- Philodox. Without a word or a glance at the other two, he limps toward the bathroom, hand pressed to his left side, which is oozing blood through the battered flannel shirt. Natalie says "Good," as the door pushes open; she moves out of the its way and perforce Grey's as well, but other than a nod toward the man, pays him and his bleeding no more mind. "I'll have to show it to you later. It's lockable from the outside, but not in. Eventually I want to convert the attic to a gym, but until then, there's just a heavy bag in the cubs' room." Grey disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a click. Natalie pages to the room: Welcome to the nice happy (dysfunctional) family, Jeren! Yay! Jeren watches Grey quietly, with a neutral expression, until he disappears into the bathroom. "Oh. That's a handy thing then." She trails off, apparently not sure what else to say. This garou sucks at small talk. Kevin comes clattering down from upstairs, crossing the main room with the barest of bare smiles towards Jeren and Natalie, heading for the basement. "Be up again later," he advises the duo. "We had one like it back in Minnesota. The bunker's where we put the, hmn, the unclued cubs before they wake up and smell the cordite." Natalie's eyebrows go up at Kevin's sudden appearance, but she doesn't try to stop him. "--Any thing else? If not, I think I'm going to try and get in another nap. It's not morphine, but it's better than being conscious." Kevin pays no more heed to the adult garou, opens the basement door, and plunges in and down the steps, closing it behind him. Jeren pauses to both note Kevin and consider the question, then shakes her head. "Nothing comes to mind just now. Go right ahead. If I need anything I can always ask--" she gestures toward the basement. /Not/ the bathroom. She apparently knows better. Natalie nods, her oversized bandages crinkling faintly. "I'll be down again later, if it can wait. Thomas' room is at the end of the hall, and mine's on the end on the right. Yours will be right across the hall from me, under the attic stairs to nowhere." She offers out her hand for the Ragabash. "Welcome to St. Claire, Jeren." Jeren takes the hand carefully--mainly because her own fingers are still tensed, still flexing. "Thanks, Natalie." Natalie makes no mention of the tension. "Nat," she corrects. "Natalie if you're asking for something, Natalie-rhya if you've screwed up. Remind me later to give you the contact info for the rest of the family, or get it from Thomas if you'd like." Grey remains in the bathroom. Re-wrapping bandages takes time. "Right," Jeren says. "Nat." Handshake done, she slips her hands into her jean pockets. "I'm going to go ahead and drag in my stuff. If there's any sign of a raging Get, I'll hug the walls." Very, very slight almost-smile. Natalie nods and heads - limping even more than she did in Glabro - for the foyer. At the half-wall she stops, turning. "Oh. The code for the door." She rattles off a string of ten numbers, phone-number style, then looks expectantly at the Ragabash. "Got it? If not, just bang on the door and someone will let you in." Jeren confirms, "Got it." Or more likely, she's reciting the numbers in her head until she can get to a pencil, or commit them to memory. She lifts her hand in a small, two fingered wave, and starts toward the other side of the house. "I'll see you for supper," the Elder says, ducking up the stairs about the same time the Ragabash hits the foyer. If Jeren were to look up, she'd see Nat taking the stairs slowly, pausing after every third or fourth. She doesn't look back, though, and soon enough the creak of steps is the only sign of her presence. The bathroom door opens again as Jeren's heading for the door and Natalie's heading upstairs, and Grey walks out stiffly, buttoning up the now-bloodstained flannel shirt; the marks around his neck seem more vivid, though perhaps that's just in contrast to his general pallor. Jeren is gone for several minutes, long enough to slip through the security door and pack up whatever items she left out the night before. Soon enough, the sound of someone punching in the key (slowly and hesitantly), announces her return. She's carrying a well stuffed duffel bag over one shoulder, and in the opposite hand, a squarish bag large enough to hold a laptop plus needed accessories. Almost as though playing tag-team with the injured Galliard, a bright-red-haired girl appears at the top of the stairs. Halfway down, she pauses and blinks at the unfamiliar face. Young features snap into a suspicious frown. Grey has, by the time Jeren's returned, is perched on the edge of a chair in the living room, a glass of what appears to be orange juice between his just-washed hands. He glances up and says, rather hoarsely, "Settling down all right?" He hasn't noticed Cy's arrival quite yet. Jeren offers Grey a nod. "Yeah. I've got a few boxes in the back of my vehicle, but I figure they can wait." She rolls her shoulders under the duffel's strap. "Give me a sec." The woman starts toward the stairs, not noticing Cy until she's at the base of them, looking up. The cub is given a very thin, half-smile. "Hey." "Who are you." The bright-haired girl doesn't budge from her place on the stairs, re-adjusting the balance of a large roll of paper under one arm. She eyes the woman and her luggage with obvious suspicion. Grey grimaces, then levers himself to his feet, appearing at the doorway into the living room a few moments later. "New family in town," he says to the girl with the stoplight hair. "Be polite and introduce yourself." "Jeren," the woman replies. She inclines her head as Grey elaborates her position as 'new family', then gives Cy a careful looking over. "I'm going to hazard a guess that you're the other cub?" The girl throws an unreadable look in Grey's direction, then down at Jeren. "Cy," is all she offers, by way of rather chilly introduction. Grey leans a hand against the doorframe, wearily. "Full introduction, please, Cy. Name, tribe, auspice..." He takes a swallow from the orange stuff in his glass. Jeren leans her laptop bag against the wall, and adjusts the duffel strap. She's quiet, apparently waiting for Cy to comply with Grey's request before saying anything more. Kevin comes up from the basement again, as though in search of something or someone, but when he sees the conglomeration of garou in the hallway, he comes to a halt in the doorway at the top of the cellar stairs. The girl's scowl deepens, but she sucks in a breath through her nostrils and begins: "Cy, Glass Walker, Philodox." After a pause and a sidelong glance towards the injured man, she adds begrudgingly, "Cub." Grey nods slightly and takes another swallow of his orange juice (at least, that's what it looks like). He notices Kevin, then, and stares flatly at the boy for a moment. Kevin meets Grey's look with a glum drop of his own gaze. "Was just coming up to see where th'other cub got to," he says, in the tones of a cat who has just been caught with his head in the cream and his tongue in the very act of lapping. The woman offers in return, "Jeren Harper, Cliath, Ragabash...and Glass Walker, obviously. Nat mentioned you were pretty new. Beginning of this month?" She pauses as Kevin's voice catches her attention. "I guess so." Cy's answer to the new arrival is reluctant, but she relaxes slightly and moves aside, clearing one-half of the stairs. She eyes Jeren's gear with some interest. Grey shifts his eyes from Kevin to Jeren. "Have you met Kevin already, then?" Kevin gives a silent nod, still lurking at a healthy distance from Grey. Jeren echoes Kevin's nod. "Yeah, we met earlier." Her eyes, however, are still on Cy. There's a quirk to her lips that's there and gone. "It sucks, doesn't it?" This is apparently not a question she expects to be answered, because she picks up her laptop bag and makes her way swiftly up the stairs. Cy just... _stares_ in the woman's wake for a moment, before shaking her head and taking the rest of the stairs in a few jumps. "I made a.. thing," she announces, pacing over to the wounded Philodox with her roll of paper. Grey looks back over at Kevin like there's something he very much wants to say or ask, but either he decides it's better to keep silent or Cy's approach simply distracts him. "A thing?" he echos, peering down at her. Kevin slides out of the cellar doorway and leans on the wall by the still-open door. Footsteps upstairs, the sound of both bags being set down in the room across from Natalie's, and then Jeren reappears at the top of the stairs. She starts down them, but chooses to settle about halfway down so as not to overly crowd the hallway. The smaller cub flops onto the ground, unrolling the paper to reveal a large-format calendar done in marker, with each phase of the moon illustrated. And large red 'X's to mark every day larger than a half-moon, red stars for the waxing gibbous phase. "I figure we post it somewhere we can all see," she mutters, eyeing her work critically. "For the--whatevers. Kinfolk, too." You paged the room with 'How big is it?'. Cy pages to the room: Big enough to cover half a door. Grey, leaning in the doorway, looks down at Cy's work and actually manages a very faint, very tired, very brief smile. "You've taken the lesson of the past week to heart, then. Good." As though all the angst and blood and anger and pain were for /her/ benefit. Why Garou Are Luna's Bitches. It'd make an exciting after-school special. He lifts his glass, drinks and swallows. "Where do you want to put it?" "Ya finished it, then," Kevin comments, quietly, but like Grey, approvingly. Jeren peers at the poster. She is, however, playing the quiet game again. That is until Kevin speaks and reminds her of something she wanted to ask. "Oi, ah...Kevin? I had a question for Tu, but you might be able to answer it." Cy opens her mouth to answer Grey, but then shuts it as she notices the new arrival again. She falls silent, watching. Grey's brow furrows. He glances over at Kevin, then Jeren, then turns back to Cy and clears his throat. Kevin looks at the other new-mooner with an inscrutable expression. "And I might not... but if you don't ask it, you'll never know." "I was just wondering," And Jeren's next words are chosen carefully, "Natali--Nat, said that he's been teaching you, but that someone else-tribe has been teaching you about fighting and endurance. I was curious whether Tu's touched on that at all from a Ragabash perspective." The female cub glances up at Grey with a wordless shrug, rolling up the homemade calendar. She eyes the Ragabash's interaction surreptitiously. "Maybe on the basement door," Grey murmurs, then shrugs and also looks toward the two Ragabashes. Something about 'teaching', 'Kevin' and 'else-tribe' has his attention. Kevin thinks about that one for several seconds. "Not outright. But he's been impressing on me the necessity to think before acting. Even if instinct tells me to go running in with my claws out, sometimes instinct's not the best guide. Yes? That's kind of a ragabashly thing? To approach something from a different angle than the one that's obvious..." Kevin tails off, seeming rather unsure of his ground, and quite plainly trying to look anywhere but at Thomas Grey. Jeren rests her elbows on her knees. "Well, thinking before acting is a great thing for any garou to learn, but yes, it's especially useful to us. Mm." She trails off yet again, apparently having had her question satisfied. There's a definite air of wanting to say more, but she's holding back. Cy looks up at Grey thoughtfully from her sprawl on the floor, and shrugs again. She frowns towards Jeren once more before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen, calendar in tow. Grey looks thoughtfully after the Philodox cub, then straightens up from his lean and follows her. Kevin finds himself alone with Jeren. He detaches himself from the wall and takes a few, more relaxed, steps towards her. "More useful still, of course," he says in a studied, casual drawl, "if you actually remember it and act on it when it crops up for real, instead of just reverting to the wolf-brain and going bitey-bitey before thinking." Jeren eases her back against the step behind her, and lifts an eyebrow. "Of course, and that takes practice and self discipline. Versely, sometimes you'll find your wolf-brain saves your ass too." Grey pauses at the threshold of the kitchen, looking in at the younger halfmoon with thoughtful eyes. He mutters something to her, low enough for the two in the hallway to not catch it, then returns and takes his battered and pallid self up the stairs. Like Natalie, he takes 'em slow. Just not quite /as/ slow. Cy senses "Grey says, "I'll be upstairs if you want to talk. Good job on the calendar."" Kevin nods affirmatively, as though conceding Jeren's point. "And ain't it a bitch figuring which times are which?" he says, still in that rather soft drawl that somehow sounds just a little unnatural to the British boy. Jeren scoots aside for Grey as he starts up the stairs before replying to Kevin. "It sure it. Especially when you rarely have time to try and figure it out until after. If there is an 'after'."