It is currently 18:30 Pacific Time on Mon May 9 2005. Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (8% full). Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.68 and rising, and the relative humidity is 94 percent. The dewpoint is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.) Jeren pages: Your cell phone rings. Caller ID shows Jeren's number. You paged Jeren with 'One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Fourth ri-- he picks up. "What." Muzzy voice, as though just awake.'. Jeren pages: Jeren's voice is apologetic. "Damn. I was hoping you were already up. Sorry, but we've got a new kid on the other side of the house. Dominic and Basil brought her here late last night and no one knows who her family are. Seems things got messy, and there was a casualty. Olga's checking the scene, but we might have a floater--Basil dumped the remains. I don't want to leave her alone with only a Kin to watch her." Long distance to Jeren: Grey's voice remains muzzy and dry. "Farmhouse. S'where the ones with no family go. Megan's orders." Jeren pages: Yeah, that's what Natalie told me. I just talked to her. She said make her comfortable for tonight, make sure she won't have a fit in the car." Jeren's moving now, the static is different. "I imagine we'll probably drop her off tomorrow, as soon as we're sure last night's mess is taken care of. Right now, one of us needs to go fishing, and I'm volunteering. You okay with coming over here? It'll be dark in about two hours, so we can probably bet on any washup not being discovered tonight." You paged Jeren with 'There's a few seconds of silence after this. "...Babysitter. Fine." He sounds supremely unenthusiastic. The connection goes dead.'. [...] 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 wooden 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. Jeren heh's into the phone. This time, when she flips it closed, she stuffs it back into her pocket. The Ragabash is in the kitchen, rummaging about in the cupboards. Dominic trails after Masao, having taken a minute or so to get his shoes on. He makes no comment about what was said upstairs after Jeren left to talk on the phone. The kin meanders his way towards the couch in the living room though, motioning for Masao to head on to the kitchen. Dominic stays behind, looking for possible stains of the pseudo-food fight from yesterday night. Masao pads across the floor in her bare feet and follows Jeren's voice towards the kitchen. She can't help but glance around, remembering bits of last nights incidents involving the vicinity. "Nicest place I've seen in the inside of in years. Damn." she murmurs, poking her head into the kitchen and letting out a low whistle. Jeren gestures Masao in with an idle wave of her hand. "Food's here. Dishes are here. Sink is obviously there. Do you cook?" Each sentence but the last is punctuated by a finger pointing in the direction of said materials. The last doesn't wait for an answer. "--Because I don't. The best you'll get from me is Top Ramen." She bends down, pulling open another cupboard and finding what she was apparently looking for--thick, heavy duty black trash bags. She takes the whole box and sets it on the counter. Dominic settles further into the living room couch after, ear half-cocked to listen to the kitchen tour. The interior door, the one with the keypad lock, opens to reveal Thomas Grey, looking tired and bleary despite (or even because of) a whole night and day asleep. Or mostly asleep. Still, despite the rumpled, muzzy appearance, there's a dark, predatory aura about the man, and to Garou eyes at least, something even less tangible, a look of nobility and high breeding. His eyes are bloodshot and shadowed, and he doesn't look like he even knows what the word 'smile' /means/. Thomas Grey is a man hard-used by the world. It shows mostly in his face, a hawkish visage that's extensively scarred down the left side, twisting keloid making a ruin of aristocratic features. If not for the scars, he'd probably be fairly handsome in a severe sort of way. The angles of his face are sharply defined, the nobility in them scoured nearly to the bone. His thick black hair hangs just past his ears, shaggy and unkempt, and he wears a few days' worth of black beard-growth. He looks older than his thirty-something years, and his deep-set eyes -- the right dark brown, the left blind white -- have the shadowed look of someone who does not sleep well. At six-foot-three, he stands taller than most men, and an inherent athleticism indicates that he could probably hold his own in a fight. There's also an aura of pent-up violence about him, a tightly-controlled rage within the lanky, muscled frame that could be lethal if unleashed. A light grey hooded sweatjacket is tossed loosely over a wrinkled white t-shirt. Faded blue jeans and bare feet complete the impression of someone who put on whatever was closest at hand when he got up. Masao follows Jeren's pointing with quick movements of her head. "I can, ah, make spaghetti, cereal, and peanut butter and jelly. I'll manage, and I know how to clean up after m'self. Thanks." she says, gratitude in her voice for being shown where things are. Her feet slap lightly across the floor to the fridge, tugging it open to peer into its depths with the look of one who has been given the keys to greatest treasure available. "Oh, wow, food..." "Even better," Jeren grunts. She closes the cupboard doors and stands up, giving the kitchen as a whole a squint-eyed looking over. The opening of the metal door alerts her, however, and she snatches up the box of garbage bags and heads into the main room. "Hey, Thomas." The greeting is pleasant, but pitched low, as if to be nicer on a possible hangover. [Jeren] This woman is not tall, standing at only 5'1, possibly 5'2 if you're feeling generous. She has a slender frame, but with an athletic build--she looks like a runner, or a gymnast perhaps, and when she moves, it's with smoothed and balanced motions. While the shape of her features are predominantly Caucasian, her skin and hair coloring suggests at a slightly more exotic genetic background--but it is very unclear just what that might be. She has dusky skin that can't quite pass for brown or tanned, rather somewhere inbetween. Her hair is a silky black, but cropped at about chin length and layered. It's one of those haircuts that keep themselves in line without too much maintenance, or at least that's the idea. Overall her looks are pleasant enough, somewhat plain, and this is helped by the fact that she doesn't seem to bother with makeup any more than she does with elaborate hairstyles. A thin tracery of scars, possibly from some animal or another, arches over and around her left eye and into the hairline, with one spidery branch stretching dangerously over the eyelid itself, though there is nothing to suggest the eye is damaged. Her clothing consists of a white, sleeveless top tucked into the waist of a pair of non-descript jeans that are just baggy enough to not restrict her movements, but not so much that they're likely to trip her up. Over this is pulled a collared, button-up black shirt, completely unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. Generally she also wears a pair of fingerless, black leather gloves, somewhat more reinforced on the backside of the hands rather than the palm, which would be the norm. The legs of her jeans are tucked into a pair of plain brown hiking boots with black laceups that look as though they've seen a lot of use. After approximately twenty-four hours in bed, Grey shouldn't be hungover; he appears more tired than anything else. Tired and dour. Jeren's pleasant greeting gets little more than a grunt before the mismatched eyes, half-veiled behind lank, unkempt black hair, turn onto the two strangers. [Masao] Short. Androgynous. These are the two best words to describe Masao at first glance. Barely standing 4'1" or 4'2", the kid's thin, pale body has little to suggest that it is decidedly male or female. The wan skin has a faint yellow cast, suggesting Asian blood and a decided lack of sun exposure. Starkly outlined high cheekbones and delicate features offset slanted eyes of a very dark hazel-green that glints brown in the light. Shadows darken the eyes, lending an air of the waiflike to the presented appearance. Slim limbs and extremities only lend to the street-urchin air. Masao's hair is a shockingly pale color, nearly white but not quite. It's cut in a ragged mass mostly that brushes the chin save for one long, inch-wide, braid that appears from underneath and is coiled like a necklace around Masao's neck. A pair of grossly overlarge sweats cover the kid's form, limbs swimming in the heathered grey folds. Her feet are bare. [Dominic] As far as looks go, Dominic isn't particularly handsome, nor is he ugly. But he has presence around him; a charisma that draws eyes to the young Hispanic male of 5'10" height and average weight and build. Sure he is in-between when it comes to muscle mass, but overall, Dominic still doesn't feel like someone easy to mess with either. He is young looking, on the early 20s side, but he has scars. Tangible, thin lines of old knife fights, blemishes on parts of his skin from beatings, and even a couple of bad flowers from bulletholes all lend proof to a life lived by surviving on hard asphalt streets. But even so, Dominic is friendly, confident, and has the nice voice of a guy who would be proud to be taken home to show Mother, even if he is a little rough around the edges. That intelligent gleam in his dark brown eyes, the easy short-length styling to his black hair, a proud smile and beginnings of a cleancut goatee all contribute in his favor. He does dress like a gangster though: a clean white tanktop overlays with an oversized white workshirt, dark denim jeans slung low on the waist, and black Lugz on his feet. He flies no colors, but a myriad of tattoos distinguish his arms and upper body, permanent accessories in addition to the titanium piercings on his face, silver colored chain looping around his neck and a thick glittering ring with a howling wolf's head engraved into the metal hung on the chain next to a pair of dogtags. (+details for more) Dominic has a good view of Grey coming in, and his eyes look upon him in a gauging manner. Chin tilting up a touch, what sign of nervousness there might be coming from Dominic at the appearance of the scarred man is evidenced by a tightening of posture, and the curl and uncurling of his fingers. "'Sup?" he greets anyway. A wary glance is shot back towards the kitchen. Masao, bent over and head first in the fridge, doesn't quite notice much beyond the scent of food that fills her nose. Unable to decide on what she wants, though, she stands up and closes the fridge before turning to look for either Dominic or Jeren. First thing she sees is the strange man, and even from the distance between them, her gaze goes up and up and up. Her tongue decides to betray her, but all that comes out of her face is a tiny little "Eeep?" If she could disappear into her too-large clothing, she would, like a turtle. The newcomer's gaze is flat, perhaps critical, perhaps scornful, perhaps just apathetic. Certainly, it shows not a hint of friendliness. It turns back to Jeren. "Go, if you're going," says Grey, and slouches toward the living room area like a lazy, bad-tempered cat. Jeren gives hurried introductions as she passes by Grey, heading for the door he's just come through. "Thomas, this is Masao, newest cub as of last night, and that's Dominic, Glass Walker Kin up from California, arrived a few days ago. Masao, Dominic, this is Thomas Grey, Philodox of the tribe." By this time she's punched in the code and passed through the door. She must sprint, because she's back through in less than a minute and a half, pulling on a thin jacket and holding both the box of garbage bags and her car keys in one hand. "I'll be back." Dominic at his intro via Jeren, stands up from the couch and slowly approaches the Walker philo. "Dominic Garcia, kin from the Sept of the Steel Angel." A hand comes out, invitation for a short, business like handshake. Masao swallows hard and bobs her head at the introduction, not entirely sure what to say or do in this situation. Grey's height alone has her skittish, though she tries to hide it as best she can. Turning to where it was mentioned dishes are, she frowns up at the cabinet and sighs. "Sucks being short. Stepstool, stepstool, stepstool..." she mutters, looking around the kitchen for something like that. Resourcefulness kicks in, though, and the cub heads for the dining room to borrow a chair for the purpose of reaching the cabinets. Grey ignores Dominic's proffered hand or simply doesn't notice it. Dropping onto the edge of the couch, the scarred man leans his elbows on his knees and rubs a hand over his face. "Mmh," he replies, noncommitally. Jeren is through one door and out the other, with only a called, "You have my number," over one shoulder. Moments later, the sounds of an engine being started up, followed by a slight squeak of tires over the slick surface of the driveway, announce that the Ragabash is off. Dominic finds his hand ignored, and looks to his hand as if to confirm it were still there instead of being invisible. With a slight shrug and a shake of his head, the kin casts one last glance at Grey, and then heads after Masao towards the kitchen. "You need any help, chiquita? Cooking tips?" Hauling her chair find into the kitchen, Masao gets it in front of the cabinet and is up on it by the time Dominic gets to the kitchen. "Ah-ha! Success is mine. Dishes, here I come." she says in soft-voiced triumph, opening the cabinet to pick out a plate. "Nah, I think I'm cool, just needed a plate!" Bending over, she sets the dish on the counter before closing the cabinet and coming down off the chair with a light hop to the floor. "I could use a bit of help putting this thing back, though, it's kinda heavy. Think I'm gonna make a sandwich or somethin, easy like." Opening up the door and heading inside is Jeremy, trench coat a flailing about his thin person as he strides in, listening to his iPod, bouncing his head, humming along to himself. While Dominic goes to help Masao putter about in the kitchen, Grey remains perched at the edge of the living room couch, leaning his head on one hand and looking, in general, rumpled and tired and generally out-of-sorts. He glances up at the sound of the front door, frowning, then grunts at sight of Jeremy and rubs his eyes again. [Jeremy] Here stands a young man nearing the age of twenty-one, thin, pale, and not much to look at. When once he was a shy, mild mannered and ignored computer nerd who couldn't weigh much more then a hundred when wet, now stands the exact same person, yet, gothlike. The glasses on his face reveal the pair of blue eyes he bares. His black hair still sprawls out over his face, but no longer dipped in blonde about his bangs, just a solid darkness. His clothing has changed dramatically as well, having abandoned the button down shirts and slacks, replacing it with baggy dark jeans, a solid black shirt that simply reads: "Chicks dig scrawny pale guys" A long, ankle length trenchcoat billows about his thin frame, nearly cloaking him like a cape. Upon his feet is a pair of heavy steel toed boots, those which travel halfway up his calf. Chains adorn his jeans, three hanging off his wallet, and two more simply embedded into the fabric, jingling and clanking as he walks. To finish off his ungodly apparel, there is a leather collar bound around his neck, with a small metal skull dangling from the end of a steel hoop. Dominic helps out around the kitchen as requested, figuring it's the least he could do. As the front door opens, the kin pokes his head around the entrance to the kitchen and peers at whoever has come in. Seeing the other Walker kin, Dominic watches him briefly before slipping back into the kitchen. "Hey Sao, you gonna make me one too?" His voice returns to a more teasing casual. Masao giggles and returns to the fridge, hunting down meat, cheese, and other bits, "Sure, if'n ya want one of my concoctions. I'm no deli or nothin', and I haven't been in a kitchen this stocked in a while. Grab a plate." Setting her finds down on the counter, she remembers some of where Jeren pointed and finds herself a blunt knife and craning her head in the direction of the door. "Who's that?" "Hey Dominic!" Jeremy calls, a bit too loudly over the music blasting into his ears, turning the volume down quickly. He waves a hand, metal bracelets dancing about his wrists. The dog collar around his throat bobs and sways as he walks, metal jingling an jangling about his person. Grey grimaces, giving his head an irritated shake as Jeremy goes by all a-jingle. He gets to his feet and prowls across the living room toward the windows. "Yea?" Dominic answers, grabbing a plate for himself and other appropriate condiments to go with sandwich making. His answering call is not too loud, but perhaps enough to poke at Grey's little bubble of quiet. The jingle-jangle and the loud voices conspire to distract Masao from her sandwich making, but she manages to slap together a sandwich for herself before doing the same with Dominic's choices. They aren't the neatest sandwiches in the world, but they at least manage to stay together. Making a musing sound to herself, she looks up at Dom and asks in a much softer voice, "Can you get me another plate. I...I'm gonna make one for mister Grey, too...just in case." Tucking the iPod into his jacket, Jeremy makes his way into the kitchen, glancing over to Grey distractedly for a moment, then glances over to Dominic. He blinks slowly for a few moments, then asks, dumbly. ".. Huh?" Grey, apparantly oblivious to what's going on in the kitchen, twitches back a curtain, catching more of his own reflection than a view of the darkness outside. He turns away, letting the curtain fall back, and rakes long fingers back through his hair. This gets it away from his eyes for a moment, but does nothing to neaten it. "What do you mean 'huh'?" Dominic asks, doing as Masao requests and taking down a third plate. "Oh, this is Masao. She's new. Just changed up last night." The kin then points to the other. "That's more kin, Jeremy, goth, video games freak an' major major computer nerd. Amongst other things." Dominic glances up at Jeremy, a smirk playing over his features. Masao wriggles her fingers to Jeremy in a wave, smiling a little shyly and putting together a third sandwich that's a fair sight neater than the other two. Carefully cutting it in half, she leaves the plate where it is and takes a moment to pad over and wash her hands. To Jeremy, she gestures to the foodstuffs, "Make yourself a sandwich if you want, I'll be back in a sec or three to clean up the rest." That done, she retrieves the plate for Grey and, with a set of her shoulders and a deep breath, pads out of the kitchen in search of the other Garou. The Goth kin looks confused for a moment, a boyish expression filling his blue eyes. Jeremy watches Dominic, then glances over to Masao, then offers up a quick smile. "Ah. Hi." He says, then shifts his eyes to Dominic, a grin wryly forming over his lips. "Dude, I bought a new laptop last night. I max'd it out, its awesome." Grey is easily found in the living room, standing with his back to the windows and his arms folded. His gaze is directed upward, toward the ceiling, and if Masao follows his look, she'll see a large brown cockroach crawling slowly toward the light fixture. The man's expression is distant and solemn. "Yeah? Hook me up some time man," Dominic remarks. "But where're you gettin' the cash for it?" Checking the time on a watch that he draws out of his pocket, Dominic swears aloud. "Shit, I'm gonna be late for the gig," he realizes, and grabs the sandwich off the plate. "Thanks Sao. I gotta run." Shoving the sandwich into his mouth, Dominic takes off from the kitchen and takes the stairs up to the guest room almost three at a time it seems, with more shuffling around up above before he runs back down with guitar bag in hand. "Don't do nothin' I wouldn't do!" he calls back to the girl in the kitchen, and jerks the front door open before shutting it behind. Masao pads towards the living room and the larger man, trying to scrub the trepidation from her features and steel her resolve. She isn't being quiet about her walking, though the sound of her bare feet isn't really that loud. She spares a wave for Dom as he heads out, but doesn't call back lest she lose her courage. She pauses at the edge of the living room and takes another deep breath before speaking. "Mister Grey? I...*cough*...I made you a sandwich, didn't know if you were hungry or anythin'." she says softly, voice offering polite inquisitiveness along with the plated sandwich. Grinning to Dominic, Jeremy goes to answer, but finds the other guy sliding off. Chin tilting, he lets out a huff, then starts to dig through the fridge, pulling out a half drank Rock Star he left about a week ago, starting to sip at it. Grey blinks once and looks down at the pale-haired little figure, his brow furrowing. The deep-set gaze settles heavily on her for a moment. Then he nods once and accepts the plate from her. "Appreciate it," is the curt thanks Masao gets, and without further preamble, he picks it up and takes a bite out of it. Thankfully, he's no longer staring at her. Above the even, monotonous sounds of rainfall, the low hum of a vehicle can be heard as it pulls up, slowly and carefully, into the driveway. There's a brief flash of headlights, and then the light vanishes, along with the noise. However curt, the thanks still brings a tiny smile to the Masao's face. "Anytime." she responds before she turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen to clean up after herself. Once within the relative confines of the kitchen, she leans against the counter by her sandwich and whews. "Mark one point in the good deed category." Chuckling to herself, she starts putting sandwich things away, glancing over to the other Kin. "Hey, sorry I wasn't more talkative just now. Nice to meet you, Jeremy." The kin has been staring off into space for a few moments, gripping the cold can in his hand, eyes gazing at a spot in the ceiling. After a moment, Masao's voice sinks in and he glances over to her, offering up a quick grin, then another sip of his drink. "Hi." He repeats himself, as if he forgot he did the first time. "I'm Jeremy, nice to meet you also. So, you are the new cub, huh? A Walker?" Grey looks over sharply at the flash of headlights from the window, then turns an expectant gaze toward the door. He finishes chewing the bite of sandwich in his mouth, swallows it, but doesn't take another right away. Masao packs and bundles things back into the fridge, putting things exactly back where she found them. The dirty knife is placed in the sink for later washing. Jeremy's question gets a shrug. "Really, I don't know. Only two I know about right now are Gnawers and Walkers. Just happened so fast, it's all still a lot to take in, y'know?" she answers, collecting her sandwich and nibbling it thoughtfully. It takes a few minutes. Maybe Jeren's having some quiet time to herself in the car. But then comes the rattle of a key in the locks, and the Ragabash enters--in all her sopping glory. She's soaked from head to toe, and there are streaks of blood near her ears, one on her nose, and under her nails. She stops right inside in order to pull off her shoes and socks, as she's already making a puddle and she has no desire to track mud all across the carpet. Jeren also smells really, really bad, even to the human nose. Like rot and dirty dishwater. Something unpleasant and wary and otherwise unreadable passes across Grey's face at the sight -- or maybe the smell -- of Jeren. "Everything under control?" he asks her, after a moment's pause. The rattling of keys gets Masao's attention, and she pokes her head out of the kitchen to see what's up. The sight, and smell, of Jeren makes her wrinkle her nose a bit. "River. Little else smells like that. Ugh." she shudders, retreating back into the kitchen to bolt down her sandwich and finish cleaning up. "Yeah," Jeren replies. While her movements and her posture don't show it, there's something in her voice, and possibly her expression, that hints at exhaustion--most likely of the mental variety. "Found him. At least, I think it was a guy. Took care of it." A glance goes to Masao, and she says, oh so tactfully, "A man who's had his face torn off, his bones crushed to powder, and has spent the last twenty four hours bloating in the river smells like that too." Grey grunts. His good eye travels to Masao as he takes another bite from the sandwich, completely unperturbed by the Ragabash's description. After chewing and swallowing, he looks back at Jeren. "Going back to bed," he tells her flatly, and then turns to head for the interior door, taking his sandwich and plate with him. "Oh, just wonderfully tasty, thank you! I'll have to remember that if I ever get struck by anorexia!" Masao calls over running water as she washes off the dishes she used. Thankful for having something to concentrate on, the cub tries to keep her gorge down and mutters to herself as she scrubs. Jeren might, were circumstances different, smirk a little at having grossed out Masao. However, all she does is twitch her lips, then wave to Grey in passing. "Night, Thomas. Thanks for watching her." She picks up her shoes and socks, and treads gingerly into the living room, heading upstairs. Grey disappears off into the Glass Walker side of the house without acknowledging Jeren's thanks.