It is currently 15:55 Pacific Time on Tue May 3 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 61 degrees
      Fahrenheit (16 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric 
      pressure reading is 30.03 and falling, and the relative humidity is 59 
      percent. The dewpoint is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (34% 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.

"So what," Nat asks, nipping off the end of each word, "Are you going to do
      about him, as Elder?" She and the others are down in the dining room, 
      seated one-two-three along different sides of the table. Nat's the only 
      one with refreshments - a single glass of orange juice at one elbow and 
      the plate of leftover chicken (sans tinfoil) in front of her. The entire 
      house smells Lemony Fresh! and all but sparkles.
Jeren is looking particularly rumpled in comparison--tired, hair messed up. Her
      arms are folded across her chest, which gives anyone who looks a clear 
      view of her banged up, scraped and bruised knuckles. She does, however, 
      smell more lemony than anything else. She's watching Kevin from under 
      hooded lids, and contributing nothing further to this conversation at the 
      moment.
Kevin slams shut the mathematical textbook that's been sitting, unread, in
      front of him for the last ten minutes. "First, find him. Bring him home. 
      By which I mean here, rather than wherever the hell he lives with Dakota, 
      assuming he /does/ live with her, how should I know, he never talks about 
      her to me. Then, try to talk to him without freaking him the hell out any 
      more. Then, take appropriate action. Antidepressants, counselling... 
      imprisonment..." He swallows again. "Culling even if he's totally lost 
      all sense of the importance of the Veil, but dear Gaia I hope it can't be 
      that bad."
"Here isn't exactly safe," the Galliard points out, her hands coming up to rest
      on the edge of the table. "And unless we shift Thomas or Jeren out of 
      their rooms, the bunker is the only place to keep him." She cocks her 
      head, eyes still on the boy. "So you'd talk to him, get him some, hmn, 
      drugs, and then set him loose again once you think he's better?"
Grey, at last, comes home from a day at -- well, judging by his attire, the
      office, though it's hard to imagine him in such an environment. His 
      attention very much focussed inward, he stalks heavily down the hall and 
      into the kitchen, only noticing the trio in the dining room as he's 
      reaching for the fridge. He pauses, then, staring over at them with a 
      flat, unreadable expression.
The look Jeren lifts to Grey is, in contrast, intensely defined. She looks as
      though she's about to tell him she ran over his dog--if he had a dog, and 
      if he'd be devastated over having it killed, that is. The Ragabash, 
      however, remains silent.
Natalie studies Kevin a moment longer before grunting, a sound that is neither
      agreeing nor disagreeing. She looks over into the kitchen then, eyes 
      sliding past Jeren; she remember her half-eaten chicken enough to pick it 
      up, though not to resume gnawing on it. "Thomas. We've got a... problem. 
      With Jeremy. I want your input... no, I /need/ your advice."
Grey's jaw tightens. He abandons the fridge to prowl closer to the half-wall
      between himself and the dining room, loosening his tie as he does so. "On 
      what?" His voice is bland.
Kevin is happy enough to shut up. His eyes swivel round to Grey, and his
      eyebrows rise as he notes the philodox's more formal than usual dress.
Jeren purses her lips. Once again, her eyes close, and her face angles more
      toward the table than any of the other Garou.
Natalie cants a look toward Jeren, but lets the Ragabash stay silent while she
      demonstrates her auspice. "He's more unbalanced than usual. Apparently 
      after pulling guns on you the other day," she keeps her voice nice and 
      neutral over that little bit of information, "he's been whining to Jeren 
      about the Sanctified Dead Walkers again. Including... you. Sort of. He's 
      also threatened Jeren with a taser, pulled another taser on a group of 
      teenagers trying to beat him up, stuck a gun in Jeren's ribs, and then 
      started babbling about nine-foot hairy monsters. This is -after- he's 
      been complaining about how he's treated like scum of the earth."
Grey rests his hands on the half-wall and leans against it slightly. He looks
      tired. Then again, when doesn't he look tired, these days. "Ah. Jeremy."
Natalie's 'smile' is a thin, tight thing. "Exactly. So now we - I - need to
      decide what the... what to do with him. I'm collecting opinions."
Jeren finally speaks again. "--I don't think he's actively out to create a Veil
      breach. I think he's dangerously close to not caring about whether he creates 
      one though. And I think he's more close to flipping on someone, and 
      getting himself, or them, or both killed."
Kevin's eyes swing back from Thomas Grey, bounce off Natalie's stony visage
      like a baseball from a bat, and come to rest on Jeren, where they remain, 
      the cub seeming to find what little hope exists for him in this situation 
      in the other ragabash's face.
Grey grunts. "Goes to show what rooming with a domineering and /insane/ Metis
      will do to one." He straightens up and rakes fingers back through his 
      unkempt hair. "Honestly, I have no fucking idea. Rina's at least finally 
      /accepted/ the idea of therapy. She's even moving out of that studio she 
      shared with John."
"Kevin thinks," Nat supplies, inclining her head toward the boy though her eyes
      remain on Grey, "we need to bring him in and try to talk to him. 
      Antidepressants, perhaps. Counselling." Her tone goes up at the end of 
      that, all but asking for Thomas' input. For now Jeren's slipped off her 
      radar.
Out in the main room, the basement door can be heard opening and closing. Cy
      appears in the doorway of the kitchen shortly -- wearing the 
      now-ubiquitous headphones -- with a small empty plate and the house's 
      'STFU' mug in hand. She avoids any eye-contact, pacing over to the coffee 
      maker.
"Kevin is not tribal elder for a /reason/," the owner of that name points out
      somewhat acerbically.
Jeren pipes yet again, more cautiously this time, "I think Kevin's right, at
      least about the first part. We need to find him, and we need to make sure 
      that while--whatever it is we use to try and help him is going on, he's 
      not able to cause damage. And that goes for himself too."
Grey glances over at the younger Philodox, his eyes hooded, then turns back to
      the trio in the dining room. "Who's going to do the counselling? 
      Prescribe the drugs?" He finger-combs his hair again, which generally 
      refuses to stay out of his eyes. "Bring him in, yes. Sit him down and 
      talk to him, yes. Hope he decides to meet us half-way... yes." The 
      scarred one is Mr. Pessimism.
The lucky woman who is Tribe Elder shoots Kevin a quelling look before turning
      back to Grey. "And...? Then what? Or would you handle it differently in 
      the first place?" "--Cy," she adds, raising her voice to (hopefully) 
      catch the newcomer's attention, "Come over here. We're having a... 
      discussion."
Kevin leans back dejectedly in his chair and chews on a fingernail quietly,
      making no overt acknowledgement of Cy.
Jeren says, "--Have him sniffed. Just in case. Counseling?" Her nose wrinkles
      at that, but she does ask, "/Are/ there any Kin in town that would 
      qualify? Ours or other tribes'?"
*Tsk-tsk-tsk* go the headphones. Someone's listening to angry music at full
      volume. Cy pours her coffee in punk-rock oblivion, bobbing her head a 
      little.
Grey glances over at Cy again, when Natalie calls on her, and a scowl darkens
      his face. Crossing quickly over toward the oblivious girl and snatches 
      the headphones off her. "/Cy/."
The girl actually goes 'eep' in her startlement, whirling to yank the
      headphones out of his hands by their cord with an angry glare. This isn't 
      the first time she's had her music yanked off her ears. "/What/." She 
      glowers up at her elder. The 'phones, having been disconnected from the 
      walkman in her pocket, are silent now.
"Come over here," Natalie repeats, her tone icily cool. While they're waiting
      she resumes her delayed lunch, eyes on Cy. "We're having an impromptu 
      moot about a Tribal, hmn, problem. I want your input, as Philodox."
Kevin seems relieved that Nat's attention is now on the half-moon cub. He lets
      his hand drop from his mouth and looks at Jeren again.
Grey lets her take the 'phones back, though the look in his eyes is dire. He
      jerks his head toward the dining room.
"Someone fill her in," Nat adds around a mouthful of chicken thigh. "--Briefly."
Jeren clears her throat, and then poses her previous question once again. "Do
      we have any Kin, ours or other tribe's, that would qualify as a 
      counselor?"
Cy glances over at the trio in the dining room as though noticing them for the
      first time. She looks like she has more she'd like to say to the older 
      Philodox, but she grabs her coffee mug and stalks through to the table. 
      Taking whichever seat is farthest away from the rest.
Grey follows Cy, looking more like some kind of criminal than ever with his tie
      at half-mast and his expression thundery. He leans against the wall 
      rather than sit, and folds his arms across his chest.
Kevin finally looks at Cy, glumly. He raises the hand whose fingernail he was
      recently chewing in a mute sign of greeting.
Natalie watches Cy all the way around the table, her teeth tearing at the
      cooked flesh. When no one pipes up her expression darkens further; she 
      shoots a dire look at the two Ragabash that promises later pain. 
      "/Fine/." Back to Cy, and she nudges the plate of chicken in Grey's 
      direction, though her eyes don't leave the sullen cub. "Jeremy is a kin. 
      I don't know if you've met him. He's always been unstable, but recently 
      he's gotten even more so. He's threatened Jeren with a taser and a gun, 
      pulled another taser on a group of teenagers in the park, and then 
      started babbling about nine-foot hairy monsters while in the open. It's 
      Jeren's opinion that he's not actively trying to create a Veil breach, 
      but that he -is- suicidal and doesn't particularly care if he creates 
      one. --What is your advice, Philodox?"
Grey eyes the chicken, then pushes off from his lean and takes a seat at the
      table, drawn-in by the offer of food the way any hungry animal would. He 
      takes a leg and starts on it as Natalie talks.
Unanswered, Jeren doesn't try for a third asking of the question. Especially
      with Natalie's dire glare of doom involved. She falls silent again, 
      looking down at the shiny tabletop.
Kevin chips in belatedly. "And he's out there somewhere now. Not sure where."
The punk-haired girl takes a sip of coffee and purses her lips, glancing in
      Grey's direction before turning back to the question at hand. She stays 
      thoughtfully silent after Kevin's input, for a breath. "Why's he 
      suicidal, d'you think?" The question's not aimed at anyone in particular.
Nat snorts and gnaws, rodent-like, at the remnants of flesh remaining on the
      ex-bird's femur. "Does it matter?" She answers her own question. "--No. 
      Not for this. Just take it as given. I want your opinion."
Grey, still eating his own portion of dead bird, says nothing, but his gaze is
      rather intent on Cy.
Jeren pushes her chair back and stands up. Apparently, all the chicken-eating
      has got to her, because she too enters the kitchen--but only to once 
      again fill up a glass with tap water and drop two icecubes into it.
Kevin rubs his forehead once more and exhales wearily. "Damn gothboy. He's
      given me a headache."
Cy's brows lower over dark eyes. "It does matter," she notes lowly. "Get to
      th'root and you can pull the whole fuckin' weed up. But--nevermind. I say 
      take his guns, or anything that could make a big mess. Twenty-four hour 
      watch, maybe. Regular check-ins, at least. I know he's got a cell phone." 
      She pauses for a breath, as though giving a solicited opinion is somewhat 
      painful.
"So you'd advocate a mental health check up as well," Nat says with a faint
      frown. "--Hmn." Keeping the chicken bones in her fingers makes pushing 
      her chair back trickier, but not impossible; her left hand takes up her 
      forgotten glass of orange juice as she stands. "I'm going to go shower 
      now that I'm not going to fall over dead from hunger. --And to answer 
      your question, Jeren: no. At least, not that I know of. I'd rather not 
      delay his... fate while we scrabble around begging all the other tribes 
      for help, though."
Around his chicken leg, Grey mutters, sourly, "So much for the vaunted healing
      powers of the Children of Gaia."
"Quite apart from the fact that it doesn't reflect well on us if it /does/ all
      turn out that he's just having a fit of goth angst, and we've put the 
      rest of the sept on red alert for nothing," Kevin contributes. "Damn it 
      all. I'm going to go down to the cellar and think about it on four legs, 
      clear my mind some... hopefully."
Jeren grunts into her water glass. Grey is given a brief glance at his remark,
      and then she sets the glass down onto the counter. "Short of giving him 
      back what he views as the 'good old days', dead pack members and all, I'm 
      not sure what will help."
Kevin pushes his chair back and stretches as he stands up. "If I think of
      anything more I'll letcha all know," he promises as he slowly paces out 
      of the room and heads for the cellar door.
"You could always just kill him," Cy remarks flatly, hiding her expression
      behind her a gulp of cofee.
Grey gives Natalie a nod as she heads off, though Kevin hardly gets even a
      glance, thanks to Cy's comment. He looks at her, measuringly, and then 
      grunts. "Last resort. /Very/ last resort."
Natalie steps to the side to let Kevin rush past her and down the stairs, then
      disappears down the hall, still carrying her juice glass. A few seconds 
      later the tell-tale sign of feet on steps creaks back to the kitchen.
Jeren watches Natalie go. She lifts a hand yet again to her face, and pinches
      the bridge of her nose. "We could give him part of what he wants. I'm 
      sure there's something useful he could be doing with those talents he was 
      bragging about. Trouble being that any 'assignment' is just going to make 
      him feel more like a tool."
The skinny cub doesn't look at Grey. Instead, she releases an audible breath as
      Natalie departs, and slumps lower in her chair. Thoughtful, dark-circled 
      eyes narrow at Jeren from across the table, and curiosity wins out: "So 
      what's upsetting him so much?"
Grey strips the last major chunk of dark meat off the bone, chews and swallows.
      "His problem is that he keeps expecting us to be /human/. For all his 
      claims about being clued in since he was seven fucking years old, for all 
      his time living with fucking /Roger/ for god's sake, he doesn't know a 
      damned /thing/ about how we are. He /wants/ to feel needed, and yes, he 
      does have some damned useful skills. But it's like dealing with a poodle. 
      Pet him wrong once and he goes yapping off and pisses on your bed."
Jeren grunts. "Maybe he knows too much. Hell, look how much it fucks us up, and
      we can at least feel like we're doing something about it. My 
      understanding is that Jeremy's done almost nothing since Marcus whoever 
      was Elder. Of course, all my information came from him."
Cy turns her attention towards the elder Philodox with reluctance. As
      unfamiliar names begin to surface in the conversation, she falls into 
      nonplussed listening mode and nurses her 'STFU' mug, eyes trained on the 
      tabletop.
"He wants the cake without the calories," Grey says, irritably, in between
      savaging every scrap of something edible off the chicken bone. "He wants 
      to be part of the family without accepting the shit that goes along with 
      it. If it were up to me, I'd tell him to suck it up and start acting like 
      a man, for god's sake."
Jeren says quietly, "I already told him that, in different words. That's when
      he threatened me with the damned taser."
Cy looks up from her coffee, re-focusing on Jeren. "What are 'the good old
      days'?"
Grey lets the Ragabash answer while he strips the bone down to its essentials
      and cracks into it for the marrow.
Jeren glances sidelong at Grey, but when he remains silent she purses her lips.
      "Some time ago Jeremy was apparently involved with a pack called 
      Synthesis. The members are all gone now."
"As Natalie puts it, the 'Sanctified Dead Walkers'." Grey sucks on a tooth,
      considers the splintered ruin of the chicken bone, then puts it down and 
      takes another piece of the 'kill'. "You want to have your ears filled, 
      ask Alicia sometime." The older Philodox's dour mood is well in evidence. 
      "They shitted gold and pissed wine and Gaia Herself cried when they 
      passed on."
The cub listens, then lifts and drops her shoulders dismissively. "So now he
      figures he's gotta go kamikaze and follow them?" She twitches and 
      scratches her collarbone, and suddenly a smallish brown cockroach emerges 
      from beneath the sleeve of her t-shirt, travelling the length of her arm 
      to the tabletop.
Jeren murmurs, "More like he feels he was the one left behind." She lifts her
      water glass to her lips and sips carefully.
Grey glances at the cockroach, and the sight of the insect seems to calm him
      slightly, or at least ease his incredibly dark mood. Tearing off a strip 
      of chicken flesh, he sets it down on the table. "As if he's the only 
      damned person in the world who's lost someone." He snorts.
On that note, there comes a soft *click* from the security door between the
      Glass Walker area and the main part of the safehouse, as it is opened and 
      Jon slips through the doorway. He pauses there to look around, ears 
      straining to catch any sounds before proceeding further.
Cy cups a short-fingered hand gently against the table, watching the insect
      clamber onto her palm. "I seen people go suicidal before," she notes 
      quietly, eyes still on the roach. Her expression is shadowed. "It's not 
      gonna go away until he figures he's got something t'live for."
"He should talk to my father," Jeren says, before she empties the glass. "They
      could commiserate about being the poor, abused Kinfolk that everyone's 
      out to screw over." She pauses, head tilting at the sound of the door 
      being opened.
"Because a wife, children on the way, a good job, a comfortable life, and
      family getting ulcers over him isn't enough." Grey's bitterness, 
      cockroach or not, is in full swing.
"Whose the poor, abused Kinfolk?" Jon's voice can be heard, as he makes his way
      towards the dining room, before actually coming into view with a slight 
      smile and a raking glance across the three Garou. Recognition only 
      registers for two of them; Jeren gets a longer look and a flash of a 
      smile.

[Jon]
This man does not immediately strike the eye as anyone notable of appearance,
      but observation of him over a short period of time conveys the sense of 
      that rarity of rarities, a sincere salesman--the kind of man who you can 
      identify right off the bat was born to shmooze, but even knowing that, 
      there's the sense that he's genuine about his interest and personable 
      approach.
He seems somewhere in his mid-twenties and stands at just about 6' tall,
      average build and comfortably fit, someone who works out regularly but 
      doesn't spend his life in the gym. He parts his medium brown hair on the 
      left side, brushed to the right in a gentle sweep that only stays put 
      occasionally, stray strands often falling to curve boyishly over his wide 
      forehead, the overall cut short and business-like. His eyes are an 
      unusual shade of brown most closely approximating the color of good 
      Scotch whisky, or could be called dark amber, a few shades darker than 
      skin tanned lightly from outdoor activities such as golf.
His clothing varies but is nearly always appropriate for the situation, suits
      and ties during business hours, khakis and casual shirts in the off 
      hours, with the occasional need for jeans usually paired with polos. He 
      nearly always wears a couple of elegant gold rings on his long, slender 
      fingers.

In return, Jeren studies Jon carefully. Apparently unable to determine just by
      scrutinizing him, she grunts and asks, "...Jon, or Tu?"
The bright-haired girl holding the cockroach blinks once at the new arrival and
      stiffens, fixing him with a sharp gaze.
Grey shutters the worst of his bilious mood at the man's appearance and puts
      down his half-eaten cut of breast in order to wipe his mouth with a 
      napkin. The bit of meat left for the cockroach is currently being 
      investigated by that same small brown insect. "Jon Stark, meet Jeren 
      Harper." He makes the introduction smoothly enough, though there's still 
      thunder lurking behind his newly stoic expression.
Jon offers a hand out to the shorter, black-haired woman, along with a
      friendly, warm smile. "Nice to meet you, Jeren. Garou or Kinfolk?" he 
      asks towards first her, then a turn of his head to check with Thomas. Cy 
      is not forgotten, but not addressed for this brief moment.
Cy relaxes minutely and sips her coffee, wariness replaced by a new kind of
      curiosity as she watches the unfamiliar man.
Jeren gives Jon's hand a firm, if someone muscle-tensed shake. "Garou. Very
      recently arrived from the Denver area." Her knuckles are quite bruised, 
      and recently scabbed over.
Grey nods, then glances toward the empty chair that Natalie vacated not too
      long ago. "We were just discussing what to do about Jeremy," he tells the 
      kin as he picks his chicken back up. "He's been acting rather erratic 
      lately."
"Vancouver," Jon says in response to Jeren, before dropping her hand, and
      looking to Grey. "Has he?"
Grey, in answer, looks over at Jeren. "Tell him."
Listening surreptitiously, the red-haired girl studies the contents of the mug
      in her hands.
"Violently so," Jeren says. "Last night he flipped on a drunk teen who was
      poking fun at him, and who grabbed at his coat when he tried to walk 
      away. He pulled the kid half into the fountain, stuck a taser to his 
      neck, and threatened to buzz him while he was still in the water. Pulled 
      a gun on me later when I pulled him him off. And was ranting about 
      'nine-foot tall monsters' in the middle of Harbor Park--fortunately when 
      it was too late at night for anyone to have heard him. Before that, he 
      threatened me with the same taser, and pulled two guns on Thomas."
"Granted," adds the scarred Philodox, "this was after witnessing some tension
      between myself, Cy, Jeren, and Signe in the common area. I think he was 
      expecting an attack through to the Walker side." He snorts. "He's still 
      lucky I didn't lose it." Expression dark, he tears white meat off bone.
Jon scowls. "That's still no excuse, Thomas," he says darkly. "He sounds like
      he's trying to get himself killed. What the hell?" he asks, sounding 
      bewildered.
"Granted," Jeren says in agreement. "And that it was a little more than just
      'tension'. And that," she says toward Jon, "Is the working theory. He 
      talked about blowing his brains out shortly before the taser came into 
      play with me."
Grey concentrates on his carbless, carnivorous dinner for a moment, letting the
      others talk. He gives Cy a brief glance; he hasn't forgotten her.
Jon looks from Jeren to Grey, with a glance spared for the cub as if trying to
      decide something, but then looks back to the two cliaths. "Being around 
      Garou isn't easy, but one incident shouldn't be making him suicidal. 
      Especially like that. That sounds more like a cry for help than a true 
      death wish."
Jeren shakes her head. "It wasn't that. That was a contribution, not the
      cause." The Ragabash lowers her head and leans back against the counter. 
      "Like all my idiotic pushing these past few days."
Grey sets down his chicken and wipes his mouth. Either the kinfolk has an
      actual calming influence, or he's making more an effort not to be a 
      bastard -- a courtesy he apparantly doesn't extend to full-shifting 
      members of the family. "Further back, Jeren. Roger dying. Ebony dying." 
      He grimaces. "Mostly, anyway. A series of relationships with Garou who 
      either used him, cheated on him, or threw him against a wall. John dying. 
      A damned Wendigo kidnapping him and dropping him down a hole."
"Jeez," Jon comments at Grey's litany of abuses. "Poor guy. I had no idea."
Jeren grimaces. "I didn't mean I was the cause. I meant I was contributing.
      And...he mentioned John and Roger dying. He was in tears over that 
      photo." This last sentence is murmured to the floor, as she shifts her 
      weight.
Grey sets down what remains of his chicken and excuses himself. The cockroach
      is crawling over the sliver of dark meat he set down on the table, its 
      antennae waving happily.
The silent cub blinks a few times at the conversation, then slouches forward to
      lower her chin onto folded arms on the tabletop. She watches the 
      cockroach from afar.
Jon again gives a glance to Cy, but then asks Jeren softly, "What photo?"
Jeren turns sharply as Grey leaves, swearing under her breath. As if to justify
      this sudden movement, she tips her glass under the tap and begins to 
      refill it. "I swear, if the next bane, or the next fomori I run into 
      manages to render me incapable of speech, I'll get down on my knees and 
      thank it." She shakes her head to Jon's question. "Just a photo. I think 
      I've blurted out enough of Jeremy's personal issues for one day."
Jon's expression turns mild. "Oh, I don't know," he says lightly, then giving
      the ragabash a grin. "You three seemed perfectly okay discussing it 
      before I came in." His eyebrows arch. "Why would it suddenly be not okay 
      to discuss in front of the one who is most likely to understand what it's 
      like for him?"
Jeren plants her elbows on the counter and digs her fingers into the hair at
      the nape of her neck. "I wasn't talking about the photo before you came 
      in. He has a photograph of all the old Synthesis members. It was in a 
      frame on his desk."
"Synthesis...was that a pack?" Jon asks experimentally.
Jeren confirms this with a small nod.
Jon rubs at his mouth with his hand, then drops it back to his side. "I think
      I'll have to see if I can go have a talk with him. Sarah's better at this 
      stuff than I am, though." With a slight startle, he explains, "Sarah 
      helped raise me, she's not local. If she *was*, I'd be asking *her* to do 
      it."
Jeren turns back around, fixing Jon with a curious look. "Sarah? And...at this
      point, I think being able to talk to someone who /isn't/ Garou might be 
      the best thing for him."
"He needs counselling." The skinny, silent girl at the dining room table
      finally interjects, though her voice is low. She looks somewhat abashed, 
      and ducks her head into another sip of coffee.
Jon gets an uncomfortable look about him. "Well," he says a trifle lamely,
      "I'll try. But I'm no counselor." He shoots Cy a small grin, as he 
      recovers from the awkward moment. "Are you?"
"Better than I am," Jeren mumbles. The stairs are given a brief look.
Cy blinks once at the man, rather owlishly. "Do I /look/ like a shrink to you?"
      Her cheeks are slightly red--she doesn't look like she enjoys the 
      attention. The girl hunches lower in her chair, flustered.
Jon shoots Jeren a brief, wry smile for her mumble, but then looks back at the
      red-haired girl. "Do I? It was worth a shot. Natalie says you're a 
      Philodox. They tend to be good at things like that."
Unfortunately, the smile is not returned. Jeren is too busy rubbing at her
      temples, it would seem. Her recently refilled water glass is sitting on 
      the counter nearby, completely forgotten.
Heavy boots trod back down the stairs, signalling Grey's return. He's lost the
      tie, and the top button's undone.
The girl shrugs, then blinks again, interest sharpening on the kin. "What else
      she say about me?" Upon Grey's reentry, she drops her gaze to the 
      tabletop.
Jon glances over to Grey, recognizing his re-emergence, but then says to Cy, "I
      think you'll have to ask her. I've probably said too much as it is."
Jeren's gaze returns to the stairs as Grey comes down once again, before
      quickly returning to the much safer view of the kitchen counter. "I can't 
      imagine Natalie's been telling you anything about her that isn't common 
      knowledge, Jon."
Grey circles back around to his seat to find that the cockroach that Cy brought
      to the table has decided to investigate his plate -- or, rather, the food 
      still on it. "Dark meat not good enough for you?" he grumbles at it, his 
      irritation only half-hearted.
Glaring rather coldly at the Ragabash's comment, Cy snaps her mouth shut. She
      goes back to examining her coffee with a sullen expression.
"And it's not my place," Jon responds to Jeren simply, giving Grey a meaningful
      look. "But, if there's anything you'd like me to help out with, Thomas, 
      please let me know."
The look that crosses Jeren's face at Jon's remark to her is, to put it mildly,
      unpleasant. "I swear, if I hear that phrase /one more/ fucking time..."
Grey plucks the roach off his plate with gentle, practiced fingers and lets it
      crawl over his hand. He looks up at the sound of his name. "It /would/--" 
      He gives Jeren a sharp look, then turns back to the kin. "...be good if 
      you could talk to him. Kinfolk to kinfolk. Also..." He grimaces, a 
      flicker of embarrassment passing across his face. "I'd like to apologize 
      to you for the disturbances this past week. I don't know how soundproof 
      the walls are, but..."
Jon tenses at Jeren's tone, left hand moving to rest on his diaphragm before
      relaxing and dropping back to his side. His attention is therefore 
      divided when he looks to Grey. "They're not bad, but I'm likely to have 
      it improved when the remodeling on my side starts up next month. I'll try 
      to talk to Jeremy," he adds, mouth twisting a little with a return of the 
      previous discomfort he showed when speaking to Jeren and Cy about it.
Jeren lowers her head again, and pinches the bridge of her nose. After a moment
      of visible squirming, she mutters, "...Sorry, sorry."
"If it's not a bother," Grey amends, once again showing a restrained courtesy
      almost unseen in recent days.
Jon's grin to Grey is part grimace, but Jeren gets a brief glance to gauge her
      mood before he responds verbally. "It's not a bother. I was just telling 
      Jeren and Cy, though, that I don't know how good I'll be at it. I know 
      someone who *would* be, but she's not local."
Grey turns his hand around, his attention once again on the cockroach. "I'd
      wager you'd be better at it than I would. I simply get irritated around 
      him." Carefully, so as not to dislodge the bug, he gets up and takes his 
      plate in his free hand.
Jeren's mood is clearly stormy, but she's keeping an anchor on her tongue
      again, it seems. She does nothing more than continue to pinch the bridge 
      of her nose, and peer at the clean counter.
Jon grins at Grey, then casting one last glance to Jeren and Cy, says, "Well, I
      just wanted to check in and say hi, now that the moon's finally crescent 
      again. I'm going to head out to grab some dinner, now. Talk to you all 
      soon?"
Grey answers Jon with a nod as he heads into the kitchen. The roach gets
      deposited gently on the floor near the fridge, and his plate into the 
      dishwasher. A scrub of his hands at the sink later and he's headed out, 
      presumably toward the staircase.
Jeren lifts one hand to Jon without looking up. "Yeah, see you later." She
      glances once more toward Grey as he departs, and then settles her 
      attention on the one person who doesn't seem about to leave--Cy.