It is currently 22:03 Pacific Time on Sun May 22 2005. Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.24 and rising, and the relative humidity is 71 percent. The dewpoint is 42 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.) Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (97% 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 right, 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.The living room holds a comfortable couch and a pair of easy chairs, a maple coffee table matched by side tables beside both of the chair. A large plasma television holds pride of place along the far wall, flanked by maple glass-front cabinets that hold assorted media equipment. The 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 table is in the Mission style, all clean straight lines, and currently seats six, though there's evidence of another leaf to make it larger. 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. While she's still technically in homid, Jeren's prowling of the living room is far more reminiscent of an agitated predator than a worried human. She's pacing from one wall to the next, pausing only to pull her cell phone from her pocket and attempt to dial a number--something that, for one reason or another, is obviously not working, as she shoves it forcefully back into her pocket within a minute. The Ragabash isn't the only one with cellphone issues. Grey comes in with his trenchcoat over one arm, smelling of cigarette smoke and speaking into his cell. "...I realize this, but I /can't/." His tone is both irritable and apologetic. "I'm sorry." Jeren looks as though she only manages to avoid literally pouncing on Grey by sheer force of will. She breaks her pacing of the living room to follow after him, dogging his heels for as long as the conversation continues, or he keeps moving. Grey darts a sharp look and a frown at Jeren, his eyes narrowed. "Next week," he says, answering the unheard voice at the other end of his cell. Then he grunts, clicks off, and turns to give the full force of his stare onto the Ragabash. "/What/." Meep. Jeren hunches her shoulders and takes a great big step backward as Grey turns on her, but her intensity doesn't lessen in the slightest. And since she's been waiting this long to give it, she naturally garbles the message. "Jeremy. Jacinta. I mean, Jacinta was here this morning about Jeremy. Ripped up. And I can't get a hold of Natalie because my damned cell phone service chose today to have routing issues." Grey's frown deepens. "Jeremy's been hurt?" Jeren takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. "I don't know. Jacinta told me--wanted me to tell Natalie, rather, that she's found our Tribe's weakness. She says there was a bane tainting Jeremy. She drove it off this morning--and she was ripped up, I meant. Jeremy's been taken to the farmhouse for Cleansing, and to stay for a few days unless Natalie has a place she'd rather send him. Jacinta says that the Shadow-side of his apartment needs to be scoured before he can go back there." At 'bane' and 'tainting', Grey's whole body goes rigid, but he makes it all the way through Jeren's explanation before whirling to slam his fist into the nearest wall with a curt, strangled snarl. Jeren exhales sharply. "Well, I'm glad to see we feel the same way." Even so, she carefully puts another step between her and Grey. It is, after all, full moon. Grey's right hand opens and closes; that wall-strike looked... painful. "...I suppose that explains his behavior." Though his voice is fairly even, the Philodox still thrums with repressed fury. Hesitation. Jeren's wary of heightened Rage, but as usual, her mouth has its own way of things. "I mentioned this. When I brought Jeremy up with Natalie, and we all ended up talking about it. I mentioned someone should...sniff him. And then we all got caught up in our own dramas." Grey looks hard at Jeren, all the force of rage and breeding boring down on his tribemate. Two or three seconds that probably feel like hours pass before he grunts and turns away. He spits out a curse in Serbian and stalks off to hang up his coat. Bumpity-bumpity-bump. There are rapid footsteps on the stairs; a moment later, Cy appears en route to the kitchen. The girl looks sweaty, red-faced, irritable, and she's toting an empty glass. Which is good, really, because Jeren is on the verge of quailing under that look, Tribe omega or not, Charach or not. She affects a slightly hunkered posture, shoulders hunched forward, and actually shuts up. "How the fuck did she find out and we didn't?" Grey demands, after hanging up his coat. Though the question's obviously directed at Jeren, he avoids confronting the Ragabash again or even coming near her as he paces the downstairs hallway. Cy gets, unfortunately, a sharp glower as he passes her. The younger Philodox trades glare for glare as she heads through hall into the kitchen, shoving sweat-dark red hair out of her eyes. She gives both Garou as wide a berth as possible. Jeren's posture remains somewhat submissive, but her reply is still more snap than statement. "Because none of us bothered to look!" Grey bares his teeth at Cy, then whirls on Jeren. Again, she gets that glare, and again he pulls back, jerking away, closing his eyes. For several heartbeats, he concentrates on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. From the kitchen, there are sounds of the refrigerator door being opened and slammed shut abusively. Just another full moon at the Walker safehouse. It's enough. Even though he's turned away, Jeren takes two steps back and sinks onto the floor, one hand raking through her hair. "--Sorry. I know. Sorry. It's as much my fault as anyone else's. And we can't change /that/ now, so let's focus on what we're going to do to set it right." Grey opens his eyes and stares at a spot on the wall. "Should get it scouted before the moon wanes," he says, somewhat calmer, his voice low. He folds his arms across his chest. "Get what scouted?" Cy has reappeared at the threshold of the kitchen, shoving one skinny shoulder against the doorframe as she leans and drinks her fresh glass of orange juice. She frowns at the pair in the hallway. Jeren continues to rake her hair. "Right. A.S.A.P. Should we do it together? You, me, Natalie. Jacinta sounded as though she were planning on going herself." Grey ignores the cub. "...Jacinta's the one who has to be acting like a Fostern," he says, finally. His fingers tighten on his arm; he sucks in a breath through flared nostrils. "But one of us, at least, should go with her. City Umbra's too dangerous to hunt alone, even on full moon." "--I'll go," Jeren volunteers with a grunt. And that said, she falls silent, finally seeming to notice Cy's presence. Cy glares silent daggers at the older pair and chugs juice like someone else might suck back hard liquor. Grey nods once, then passes a hand over his face and heads back down the hall toward the kitchen. Jeren's lips pinch as soon as Grey is out of sight. For her part, she hefts herself to her feet and meanders back into the living room. Apparently to try her cell phone again, which one might expect gives her the same disappoint results, judging by the not-so-quiet swearing that streams from that direction. The cub flattens herself against the kitchen doorframe as Grey passes, stiffening with an audible growl at his proximity. She quickly drowns the noise in another gulp of juice. Grey stiffens at the sound of the cub's growl, stopping in his tracks and turning rigid with the effort to control his temper. Then, stiffly, he continues moving, heading for the fridge. Witness Jeren's superior powers of technical repair. Or rather, hear it, as she throws the cell phone across the room. "Damned piece of worthless shit!" Cy resumes her slouch against the doorframe, and watches Grey's back. She winces slightly at Jeren's outburst in the other room, then notes flatly to the Garou in the kitchen, "We should hit the forest again. Soon." Her voice is hoarse and clipped. Grey glances over at Cy, eyes narrowed, and then nods. "How're you holding up?" Apart from the squeak of couch springs, no more noises drift in from the living room. "Ready to chew my own arm off," the cub answers with a scowl, swiftly averting her eyes from the older Philodox. "Just woke up Kev, using the bag. He was pissed." She swirls the remainder of her juice around in the glass restlessly. Squeak, squeak. Couch springs again. A moment later Jeren appears in the kitchen doorway, looking both wary and tense. Grey grunts. A quick look into the interior of the fridge reveals nothing that interests the older Philodox, and he closes the door again. "Anyone ever go over the other Creeds with you?" Cy shakes her head tightly, eyes on the juice. "Not since I--blew up." She wrinkles her nose. Jeren fairly slinks from the doorway to the cupboard containing the glasses. She selects one with the delicacy of someone picking up a priceless antique, then tries to slip around to the sink. Grey folds his arms across his chest, acknowledging this with a grunt. He glowers briefly at Jeren, then prowls around her toward the hallway, jerking his head for Cy to follow. "Do you remember the Creed for Honor?" Glancing briefly at the Ragabash, Cy trails in Grey's wake, the glass dangling carelessly from one hand. "Uhm." She frowns in thought as she moves into the living room, hesitating. "I shall be loyal, I shall be just. Live by my word... and accept fair challenges?" "You forgot, 'I shall be respectful,'" says Grey. He glances back at her, unsmiling, then continues into the living room. Jeren stubbornly avoids quite looking at Grey, though the tenseness of her movements ratchets up to new heights. And once the two others have slipped out, a bad tempered growl is just audible over the sound of running tap water. The skinny Philodox cub grunts noncomittally, taking up her usual post on the couch. "That too," she mutters, gulping more OJ. She keeps her eyes trained on the blank screen of the plasma television. "Do I gotta learn them in order?" Grey drops himself, somehow gracefully, into his usual armchair. "No, but you do have to learn them. So. The Creed of Wisdom. I shall be calm. I shall be prudent. I shall be temperate. I shall be merciful. I shall be just." Cy echoes him hoarsely, verbatim, almost visibly committing the words to what has proven to be a formidable memory. Crossing arms over her chest, she glances sidelong at her teacher. "..Do these have to be followed /all/ the time?" Grey slouches low in the chair, arms across his chest. "Depending on your auspice, how well you follow the Creeds determines how well other Garou see you. As a Philodox, you're expected to be honorable first of all, then wise." He grunts. "Not that some glory will hurt you, but you can't focus entirely on it. Otherwise... you've met Brom, yes? Giant musclebound oaf, looks like a professional wrestler?" Someone's listening from the kitchen. A sharp "Hah!" follows Grey's remarks, despite Jeren's bad mood. Cy shoots a distracted look toward the kitchen and frowns. "Uhm... yeah. Jeren told me 'bout him. And I saw him at the moot thing." She refocuses on the man with a blink. "What about him?" Grey wrinkles his nose, mouth twisting into a grimace. "He's all bluster and battle-lust. The perfect Get of Fenris, but he doesn't act like a Philodox. He acts like an Ahroun. Until he starts concentrating more on his honor and wisdom, he won't get anywhere in the Nation, no matter how many Wyrmthings he kills." "He acts like a fucking moron," Jeren supplies as she enters the room, bearing a glass filled to the brim with water. Both Cy and Grey are given a wide berth, and she settles against the opposite wall. Dark eyes scan Jeren briefly before settling back on the blank TV screen, and Cy pokes the tip of her tongue out thoughtfully. "Which Creeds do Ragabashes focus on?" Grey flicks an unsmiling glance at Jeren, then answers Cy. "Whichever ones they wish. It's part of their nature. Now. The Glory Creed is. I shall be valorous. I shall be dependable. I shall be generous. I shall protect the weak. I shall slay the Wyrm." Jeren tips the glass to her lips, drinking slowly and carefully. Again, the girl repeats his words, her tone low and level. Once she's done, she frowns deeper. "--What does being generous haveta do with killing shit?" Grey stares flatly at Cy. "Glory isn't about merely about killing. Any /dog/ can /kill/. It's about strength, heroism. A tyrant who steps on those beneath him and keeps everything for himself isn't glorious. One who provides for those beneath her /is/." He raises an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of the term 'nobless oblige'?" Jeren drains the glass to the last drop, offering no further comment. That done, she leans off of the wall and heads back into the kitchen. Clink, clink. A moment later she returns, this time with an opened beer bottle rather than a refilled water glass. The offer of a new vocabulary word draws Cy's focus like a moth to flame. She meets the other Philodox's gaze curiously and shakes her head once, leaning forward with elbows on knees. "It's French," the older Philodox explains. "Literally, it means, 'nobility obliges.' Those with wealth or power have a responsibility to society. Give to those less fortunate, that sort of thing." Jeren mumbles around the rim of the beer bottle, "Something Garou and humans alike all tend to 'forget' when it's convenient. 'Respect those beneath you'." Cy seems to file the information away as she nods. Her gaze switches over to Jeren, then drops to the coffee table. "..Okay, so that's Glory. I don't have to worry about that one since I'm a Philodox? Or's it just lower priority?" "Lower priority," says Grey. "Don't ignore it, but heed your Honor most of all. A Philodox who's considered dishonorable is... not considered to be much of a Philodox. Rather like an Ahroun who flees from battle. Or a Theurge who's a fool." Grey's voice remains completely neutral, saying this. His face is stony. Rigid. Jeren pauses in her drinking in order to observe Grey for just a moment. Then she starts it up again, her eyes mostly closing and her back once more resting against the wall. In keeping with her cub-nickname, Cy lets the silence sit thick and heavy for a breath, scowling into some middle distance. "...Is there any way to earn it back? Honor, I mean." Grey rubs his left forearm through the soft grey material of his sweatshirt, perhaps unconsciously. "Just by action. It isn't... easy, though." He grunts. "Reputation's a bitch." Jeren takes a particularly large swallow, only just managing to get it down. The look that crosses her face is best described as rather bulge-eyed distaste. Grey catches Jeren's expression this time and lowers his head slightly, shooting her a narrow, frowning, sidelong look from behind an overhang of black hair. Some unspoken thought causes Cy's expression to twist sourly, and she lifts a hand to chew on a thumbnail that's already bitten to the quick. "What if people just don't like you?" She doesn't notice Jeren's beer-drinking; she's too lost in her own musings. Grey's gaze shifts back to Cy. He shrugs. "Act well and your deeds will speak for themselves. I've known many high-ranked Garou who were not especially well-liked." As wide as her eyes are, Jeren's concentration is mostly on the beer, not the two Philodox, so she misses the look Grey shoots her. She tries again this time, with a swallow that isn't /quite/ so large. "Hnn." Cy glances at the older Philodox thoughtfully, still chewing on that nail. "So what's the point, with climbing in rank? 'S'it just so you can boss more people around?" Her question offered, she goes back to gnawing. Grey grunts. "No, though some see it that way. But with greater rank comes more power from the spirits, in the form of Gifts. Bigger guns to bring to bear against Gaia's enemies. Also, with rank comes greater control over your rage. Frenzy simply becomes less likely, starting around Adren rank. The same rank as the Sept Alpha, by the way." Jeren seems to be trying to drain the beer bottle as fast as possible, by this point. She continues the overlarge swallows, adding nothing further to the conversation. Footsteps sound down the stairs and a very crumpled-looking Kevin appears, still fighting to pull his sweatshirt over his head. "Cy? D'ja know what the bloody /time/ is...?" He tails off when he sees his fellow cub has company. And then a knock sounds at the door into the bargain. Grey sits up sharply at the knock, glances at the others -- especially Jeren with her beer -- and then gets up to go see who's making like Poe's Raven at their chamber door. Jeren's gaze ever-so-blearily follows Grey as he moves to answer the door. This is her first beer of the night? Alcohol tolerance is obviously not one of her strengths. [...] Grey answers the door, looking as surly and dour as one might expect on a full moon, though less tired than when the Wendigo saw him last. Jacinta stands, patient as she ever does as she waits to be recognized. Tonight, however, where her left ear should be, is a roughly taped bandage, stained a deep pink with blood and sweat. "Waqaa Thomas," she says as the door opens. "May I enter?" Grey's intent, half-blind gaze takes her in. Then he dips his head in a nod and steps aside to allow her entrance. "Natalie's not around," he says, his manner deferent over the aura of controlled rage. "Jeren is, though." He pauses a beat. "She told me about Jeremy." 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. Jacinta follows Grey into the house, head dipping in appologetic recognition. "Ii. We have completed his Rite of Cleansing. It appears to have been successful." Grey nods. "Good." He gestures toward the living room. "Have a seat, please," he offers, then goes to the interior door and knocks briskly. Jacinta does, after a glance toward the door on which Grey knocks, take a seat in the living room at the end of the couch. She sits back, now, not stiffly at the edge as on her previous visits with Grey. Kevin, the lanky British cub who almost became a Get of Fenris, answers Grey's knock. "Tell Jeren that Jacinta's here," the Wendigo hears him say. Jacinta's fingers reach up to stick the tape back to the side of her face, where sweat has made it lose its adhesive quality. She watches Grey, much calmer than one would expect for the size of the moon. Whatever's happened in the minute or so of Grey's absence, it's been enough for Jeren's sulking to ratchet right up to a lurking cloud of simmering anger and frustration. She fairly stalks through the doorway, mouth set into a thin line. Grey steps back from the door as Kevin is replaced by Jeren, and her surly mood seems to gnaw at his own. His mouth twists into a grimace, but he represses the sudden surge of temper. Jacinta rises as Jeren enters, giving the woman a nod of greeting. "Waqaa." She doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands for a moment, finally hooking her thumbs into her pockets. "The kin has been cleansed. To all appearances, the rite was successful." Jeren nods tightly to Jacinta. Her head is somewhat low, her shoulders hunched forward. "Good," is the stiff reply. And then, as if it's an afterthought, she adds, "How is he?" Grey hangs back, not far from the door, arms folded across his chest and head slightly lowered. Jacinta considers for a beat before she answers. "He is... confused. His mate is taking him to Kent Crossing. She hopes to have him stay with Rafe during the large moon, until we can make certain his home is safe for him again." Her gaze shifts over to Grey, thoughtful, and then back to Jeren. Jeren nods again, this time without speaking. Her eyes flick to the side, and her mouth becomes, if possible, even thinner. "Any idea how long he'd been tainted?" asks the Philodox, rather flatly. Slowly, Jacinta turns her whole body to face the former Fostern. "I do not know. For some time. Its tendrils ran deep, and its nest was well lived." She gives a small shake of her head. "The first time I spoke with him, I did not suspect. Today.... It was obvious something was not right. Looking back, I can see what I did not, then." "Jacinta," Jeren murmurs, her voice sounding somewhat thick, "--Are we going to do anything tonight? Or is there anything you need me to do? Because otherwise...I...need. I need to go." Her body is already angling toward the metal door. Grey's jaw tightens. He nods curtly, avoiding the Wendigo's eyes. He mutters a word in Serbian, grimacing as he glances over toward Jeren. Jacinta's hand slides up to the damp bandage and she shakes her head in response to Jeren's question. "No. I need to speak with Natalie. If she approves, I will make war on what remains in his home." She turns a meaningful glance to each of the others. "With as much aide as I can muster." Jeren's eyes hood. "Tell me when." That said, she turns fully toward the door and reaches out a hand to enter in the code to unlock it. Grey grunts. "Likewise." He watches Jeren until she reaches the door, then turns back to the Wendigo, his expression dour. "How bad is it, there?" Jacinta lets her arms cross loosely over her chest, her face is covered over with her mask, impassive and lacking expression. "I did not stay long. The creature which had him was small enough, but it had been there a long time. The Weaver's children are the greater danger, there. Her webs fill the space." Her gaze travels to the electronic keypad and for an instant her mask slips, concern and the dulled edge of anger spent creeps into her expression. "I know your Tribe makes use of her ways, but this is beyond that. This is.... I cannot tell you whether the thing which had him caused him to be so infested, or if his infestation allowed entry by the creature. But together they fed upon each other and both grew stronger, and your kin was the victim." Grey bites down, gritting his teeth as she speaks. The desire to rage is obvious. The guilt, the shame... much less, almost unnoticeable. He answers with a grunt, shoulders lifting, then falling. "Question for a Theurge." His gaze flicks to her, then away. "Thank you for your help." Though muttered and tight, the words seem more or less sincere. "Natalie will know about this." Jacinta nods. "Tell her I will return, tomorrow." She starts toward the door, but the small trickle of blood along her neck from where her ear would be gets her attention and she pauses in her step. Turning back to Grey she asks, "May I use your bandages, again?" "Of course," says the Glass Walker. He even goes to fetch them, along with the rest of the first aid kit. He retires to the Walker side not long after that, though not before making sure the Wendigo has what she needs, and not before thanking her again for her help and wishing her a good night. All very polite, if distant, and with that constant undercurrent of rage. 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 right, 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.The living room holds a comfortable couch and a pair of easy chairs, a maple coffee table matched by side tables beside both of the chair. A large plasma television holds pride of place along the far wall, flanked by maple glass-front cabinets that hold assorted media equipment. The 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 table is in the Mission style, all clean straight lines, and currently seats six, though there's evidence of another leaf to make it larger. 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. Kevin waits till Jeren is safely out of earshot before commenting snidely "Well, I guess /someone/'s opinion of Jacinta is obvious..." He gives a short derisive laugh. "Got you onto Creeds already, have they? Quite the honour student." Grey heads, more or less, directly upstairs, not pausing to speak to the others. The sound of a closing door hints that the man has retreated into his bedroom.