It is currently 19:02 Pacific Time on Mon May 2 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 61 degrees
      Fahrenheit (16 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      west at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.09 and steady, and 
      the relative humidity is 62 percent. The dewpoint is 48 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (40% full).

[Safehouse: Common Area]

Grey's key rattles in the lock, heralding his return to the safehouse, from
      which he's been gone since morning. The Philodox still looks rather drawn 
      from the events of the weekend (not to mention the week before), but a 
      little more 'himself'.
The Ragabash appears to have taken it upon herself to at least clean up some of
      the mess she was responsible for making the other night. She's on her 
      knees against the wall across from the door leading to the Walker side of 
      the safehouse, scrubbing away at the crimson spot with some of Jeremy's 
      special cleaner (and who knows /where/ she got her hands on that). Her 
      upper body movements are just a little stiff, the only sign of the still 
      healing injury. As the door opens and Grey enters, she lifts her head.
Grey, his expression distracted, unzips his sweatshirt and pulls back the hood
      before he notices Jeren. He stares at her, flat and neutral, for several 
      seconds before jerking his head into a nod. "Evening."
Jeren's gaze is also neutral--but clearly scrutinizing. At least until she
      catches herself at it and drops her gaze back to the stain she's 
      scrubbing at. Her tone, oddly enough, has a note of reserved friendliness 
      to it--as if the events of the past weekend never happened at all. 
      "Evening. Bit late for your usual run, isn't it?"
Grey, if he /was/ running, either didn't run far or hasn't been recently; he
      doesn't look sweaty at all, though his black hair is looking 
      extra-tousled. He runs fingers back through it, getting it momentarily 
      out of his eyes, and then shrugs. "Felt cooped-up."
Jeren makes a noise in the back of her throat; something between a grunt and a
      'mmm'. "Hardly at all surprising." Scrub, scrub, scrub. After another 
      moment, she leans back onto her heels and eyes her work dubiously. 
      "Either I suck at cleaning carpets, or this isn't going to come out."
Grey steps over to take a closer look, quiet and light-footed, especially for a
      man his height. "Mm. Who got the stains in the computer room?" His tone 
      of voice is blandly conversational.
"Jeremy," Jeren says, with a very small amount of...something, in her voice.
      Hesitation, maybe. "He's been in there repainting the walls too."
Grey grunts. His hands slip into the pockets of his sweatjacket. "Better ask
      /his/ advice, then."
Jeren snorts and wads the rag she's been using to scrub the carpet with between
      both hands. "Hell no. I think I've done enough damage on that front to 
      last one lifetime. I'm keeping a reasonable, asshole-preventive distance."
Grey's eyebrows lift slightly, the right higher than the left, and gives her a
      curious look. Then he shrugs dismissively. "I see."
The Ragabash apparently doesn't miss the look, because she lifts her head and
      looks up at him again. Jeren answers the unspoken question, "--Isn't it 
      obvious? I'm a pushy, meddlesome idiot who can't keep her nose to her own 
      business for even a single week. I got too far into his."
"Foot-in-Mouth," says the Philodox mildly. Another shrug rolls his shoulders.
      "Jeremy's... delicate. Though very competent in what he does." His mouth 
      thins. "You didn't break him, I hope."
Jeren lifts a hand to her forehead, and slides her fingers into her hair. "God,
      I hope not. But that craziness after Signe left the other night--that 
      might have been me. He trusted me with some private stuff of his, and 
      I've been nothing but a meddlesome bitch about it. And /last night/, he 
      flipped. He seemed fine this morning, but--" Snort. "You men are ever so 
      good at pretending everything is perfectly okay when things have gone all 
      to shit."
Grey's eyes narrow slightly, muscles tightening in his jaw; he looks insulted,
      or at least offended for some reason. "Personally," he says, his voice 
      rather chillier than it was a moment ago, "I find whining over things is, 
      at best, rather useless."
Thanks to well-oiled hinges, the door leading from the tribal half to the
      common area of the house opens with barely a sound. Cy's raggedy red head 
      of hair pokes in as she scans the room and clears her throat, pointedly.
"Of course you do," Jeren says, leaning both elbows on her knees. "You don't
      seem to say anything at all. Jeremy says plenty, and then denies 
      everything he's just been venting about as being a problem. Treads was--" 
      She stops, glancing curiously over her shoulder as Cy makes her presence 
      known.
Grey's nostrils flare at 'anything at all', his stance shifting to something
      tighter and much more prickly. Cy's noise distracts him, though, and at 
      the sight of the cub, the invisible hackles lower a few notches. He nods 
      to her, then gestures her in. "Cy, have you been taught the Creeds yet?"
Jeren observes Grey for a moment, and then sighs. "Cy," she says in a
      surrendering tone. "Could you find a sharp kitchen knife? I need to cut 
      out my tongue before Thomas' mock deed-name really /does/ become 
      official."
The cub doesn't step across the threshold until she's bidden--and even then,
      it's with a little hesitancy. She looks briefly over the faded ghost of 
      Jeren's bloodstain on the carpet, then jerks her head up sharply at the 
      Ragabash's question. Dark eyes widen slightly. "Should I--?" Hooking a 
      thumb at the door behind her, Cy glances between the two adults.
Grey snorts. "No." He gives Jeren an irritated look, then heads into the common
      living room area, gesturing the cub to follow. "The Creeds," he repeats. 
      "And perhaps, afterward, I'll give you the code to the door there," -- he 
      nods to the portal between the common area and the tribal area of the 
      house -- "and fuller house-roaming priviledges."
"I already have the door code," the cub answers quickly. "Can I have a
      cigarette instead?"
Jeren rubs her face. As if following through with her own request, she picks up
      the bloody rag and walks toward the kitchen. There's the sound of the 
      fridge being opened.
Grey frowns, peering at her, then grunts and settles onto one end of the couch.
      "I'll think about it."
The girl's bouncing on the balls of her feet a little bit, looking restless.
      She glances at Jeren's departing figure briefly before hopping onto the 
      couch opposite Grey. She settles there cross-legged, baggy jeans pooling 
      around her. "Where y'been?"
After a few moments of doing nothing more productive than shuffling the
      contents of the refrigerator around, Jeren closes the door and begins 
      rummaging in the cupboards. Apparently not finding anything she's looking 
      for /there/ either, she finally grabs a cup from the shelf and begins to 
      fill it from the tap.
Grey stretches his legs -- his whole body, really, though the motion's subtle
      and restrained. "Here and there. Now, the Creeds." He half-turns to 
      partially face her, one arm on that of the couch, the other stretched 
      along the back. "You already know the Litany, the core of our laws. The 
      Creeds are the other half of our people's moral code. It's divided into 
      three parts -- Honor, Wisdom, and Glory -- and it's by how well you live 
      up to these standards that determines how the Garou Nation views you. 
      Your renown. Gain it and eventually you'll be able to challenge up to 
      another rank and gain abilities, Gifts, you couldn't before. Screw up 
      and..." He shrugs. "You can lose as much as you can gain. Though you're 
      only a cub once."
Cy narrows her eyes in thought and sniffs dryly, one knee jiggling with pent-up
      energy. "'S'it like a point system?"
Jeren drains the glass of water completely. She fills it up once more, drinks
      half of that in two gulps, and then dumps the remainder in the sink and 
      rinses her cup. Seconds later she pads past the two in the living room 
      and disappears down into this side of the basement. There are no roars or 
      growls to signal what she's doing down there--just the occasional 'thunk' 
      of something heavy hitting the walls or the floor in a rather sporadic, 
      random pattern.
Grey brushes his hair out of his eyes. "Well, /rank/ is concrete enough. Renown
      in general, though, can be rather... nebulous." He glances over toward 
      Jeren, in passing, then turns back to Cy. "For example, I can tell you 
      that I'm Cliath. First rank after cub -- there are six ranks total, if 
      you count cubhood. However, I couldn't tell you that I have X amount of 
      Glory or Y points of Wisdom." His mouth thins. "I /could/ say that I have 
      less Honor renown than, say, someone like Megan, our Sept Alpha. Far 
      less, in fact."
The skinny girl frowns, echoing his gesture unconciously in a move that leaves
      her dye-wrecked hair standing straight up. "I keep hearing about this 
      Megan chick," she murmurs, with a hint of exasperation. Her jiggling knee 
      falls still abruptly as she switches her attention towards the basement 
      door, and the thunking sounds beyond. "--She's not gonna last very long 
      here, is she."
Thump, thump, thumpthumpthump. On top of being erratic, the noises are also
      definitely being made on different parts of the wall and floor each time.
Grey looks that way, but only briefly. "She'll adjust. As for Megan-rhya,
      you'll be meeting her later this week, actually." He looks rather archly 
      at the cub. "Our auspice is meeting on Thursday night, and you're coming 
      with me."
_That_ gets her undivided attention. "--Say what now?" Cy blinks at the older
      Garou owlishly.
Below, the thumps become faster, lighter. Harder to hear, but definitely
      present.
"Thursday evening," says Grey patiently, "there will be a meeting, a moot, of
      Philodox. I'm going, and I'm taking you with me."
Cy blinks once more. There goes that jiggling knee again. "Jeren was telling me
      about moots," she tilts her head in the direction of the basement. 
      "Something about... cracking of the sky?" A hand lifts to her mouth as 
      she gnaws absently on a hangnail, watching him.
Grey nods. "That's for Sept-wide Moots, though. You'll be going to the next one
      of those, too. The Philodox moot will be smaller, not quite so 
      ritualized." His eyes narrow faintly. "Naturally, I expect you to be on 
      your best behavior during it. None of what you tried to pull with Signe."
While maintaining their current speed, the thumps once again become louder and
      harder, now concentrating mostly on a single corner of the common area's 
      basement. Faster, faster, faster--and then they abruptly stop altogether, 
      as does any other noise from below.
The girl's hand drops from her mouth as her gaze drops to the couch cushions.
      "A'right," she answers lowly, after a measured breath. Her eyes flash 
      with a hint of familiar steel as she looks back up, and the cub adds, "As 
      long as nobody talks shit." There's a subtle line of defiance in the lift 
      of her chin.
Grey sits up and leans toward the girl, his gaze turning sharp, boring into
      her. "/Especially/ if people talk shit. /Question/ the laws if you wish 
      -- you're a cub, you're expected to be /learning/, but you /will/ keep a 
      civil tongue in your head. Is that clear?"
"Does 'submit to those of higher station' mean 'act like a pussy and take it up
      the ass'?" The cub's in rare form tonight, her tongue quicker than she's 
      ever shown before. She folds both arms across her chest, meeting his eyes 
      grimly.
Grey stiffens visibly, nostrils flaring. "Cy," he says, and he's got that
      warning note in his voice, "I am not asking you to act like a lapdog. I 
      am /telling/ you to be /polite/." His eyes narrow. "And I warn you, that 
      if you /do/ challenge one of your elders and they take offense, I will 
      not stop them from -- /rightfully/ -- showing you in no uncertain terms 
      /why/ they are your elders."
Finally, Jeren can be heard ascending the stairs again. She appears in the
      doorway and pauses, squinting. The Ragabash is very sweat, and panting, 
      but she otherwise doesn't appear at all worse for wear for whatever it 
      was she was doing down there. She is, however, rubbing her knuckles.
"I'm not /talking/ about /me/," the cub cuts right back. She leaves the rest
      unsaid, glowering fiercely at the scarred man. She doesn't pay any 
      attention to the new-moon's reentry.

Cy pages: Okay, didn't word that right. Fiercely, with a healthy dash of
      frustration. Cubbish disappointment, maybe.

The older Philodox goes quite still -- apart from a restrained twitch of his
      right hand, fingers not-quite closing into a fist. "...Enough," he says 
      after a breath. His voice is flat, and his face has turned to stone. "The 
      Creed of Honor. 'I shall be respectful. I shall be loyal. I shall be 
      just. I shall live by my word. I shall accept fair challenges.' Repeat it 
      back."
Jeren makes her way wordlessly into the living room, and settles into a chair
      not far from the two Philodox, sitting cross-legged and bracing her arms 
      against the inner sides of the armrests. Apart from this visible sign of 
      lingering tension, she appears to be curiously, if tiredly, listening.

Jeremy pages: Cell phone. Brriiing.

Cy tears her gaze away from him, jutting out her lower jaw in an angry
      underbite as she wrinkles one nostril in bitter distaste. "I shall be 
      respectful," she spits, full of sullen venom. "I shall be loyal. I shall 
      be just. I shall live by my word." Her eyes rest on Jeren now, though she 
      seems to be glaring at something unseen. "I shall accept fair challenges. 
      I shall /roll over/ and take SHIT from some ugly-ass pregnant BITCH in my 
      own HOUSE." She's on her feet all of a sudden; the normally flat-voiced 
      girl is practially yelling in the elder Philodox's face by the end of her 
      recital.
Grey snarls, surging to his feet with frightening swiftness, one fist cocking
      back -- and then his pocket rings, snapping him back to sanity. Still, 
      there's an ugly gleam in his eyes as he jabs a finger toward the interior 
      door. "Inside. Upstairs. Jeren? Go with her. Finish the Creeds." Turning 
      away sharply, he yanks out his cellphone and answers it with a snappish, 
      "/What/."

Jeremy pages: There is a long pause, then a soft sigh. ".. I have a kinfolk
      from the Steel Angel with me. He's come to Claire's to stay."

Jeren is out of the chair and halfway straightened by the time Grey says her
      name. Her previous panting has taken on a clearly stressed edge. The cub 
      isn't really given much of a choice to comply--the Ragabash hurries 
      forward and herds, pushes, or pulls her toward the Walker's door.

You paged Jeremy with 'A few seconds tick by. Slightly more calmly, he asks,
      "Has he been sniffed out?"'.

The cub barely has time to flinch before she's being herded along, pale as a
      sheet and both hands knotted into fists. She doesn't look back at Grey 
      again.

From afar, Jeremy ums slightly. ".. I dunno, I haven't gave him any addresses
      or anything. He's been staying with me and Dakota. He knows Francisco 
      and.. stuff.. He's pretty cool.. normal.. I guess."

Grey, meanwhile, takes a few seconds before speaking into the phone again,
      reaching for some facade of calm. His back's to the two female Garou, and 
      he ignores them completely now.

Long distance to Jeremy: Grey says, "Have someone check him for taint, just to
      be safe." Pause. "And, really, you ought to be calling /Natalie/ about 
      this, not me. /She's/ the Elder."

Jeren settles one hand firmly on Cy's shoulder as she reaches up to punch in
      the code to the Walker side of the house, swearing sharply under her 
      breath as she mis-keys it the first time. Once the door is opened, she 
      ushers Cy through, and steps through herself--though not without a 
      hesitant look back toward the other Philodox.

Jeremy pages: There is a loud /sigh/. "Thomas, there is a good reason why I
      call you and not her."
Long distance to Jeremy: Grey stifles a disgruntled sound. "I'm not in charge.
      I can/not/ make decisions. I can/not/ authorize his access to the 
      safehouse."
From afar, Jeremy sighs again. "But you at least answser the damn phone when I
      call."
Long distance to Jeremy: Grey says, "That's what voicemail is for." He inhales
      a breath, lets it out. More calmly: "Get him checked. I'll tell Natalie 
      about him. Is your number sufficient for contacting him, or does he have 
      his own?"
Jeremy pages: The kin's voice quavers for a moment, then quickly sucks in his
      breath. His voice tumbles out lightly. ".. I can give you his number."
Long distance to Jeremy: Grey says, "One moment." There's a pause, presumably
      while he grabs a pen and paper or some such thing. "All right. Give me 
      his number... and his name." Beat. "Please."
From afar, Jeremy softly says. "His name is Dominic Garcia, his phone number
      is, (insert digits)."
Long distance to Jeremy: Grey repeats the number as he writes it down. "...Got
      it. Thank you, Jeremy. I'll pass this along to Natalie."
Jeremy pages: Yeah.. sure.. " There is a pause, then another sigh. "Sorry for
      bugging you." *click*