It is currently 10:16 Pacific Time on Sun Jun 19 2005.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 55 degrees
      Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric 
      pressure reading is 30.03 and steady, and the relative humidity is 93 
      percent. The dewpoint is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (83% 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.

Mid-morning finds Thomas Grey at the dining room table, perusing the Sunday
      paper with a glass of orange juice and an air of brooding idleness.

Kevin rather diffidently strolls into the dining room too, pouring himself a
      glass of milk with a distinct air of doing so as a pretext for being 
      there. "How's it going, Thomas?" he asks cautiously.

Kevin Lockwood, in the three months since his arrival in St Clair, has changed
      a little from the neat, nerdy teen he came here as. His hair is still so 
      dark a brown it's nearly black, but it's grown out from its close crop 
      into quite a bush, giving him a slightly wild air. Below it his long 
      face, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes, of course, remain. His 
      prominent chin and Adam's apple are definitely starting to sprout beard 
      hairs - still not many, but they're there right enough, and he'll likely 
      have to start shaving soon. Below his neck his body remains slim and fit, 
      though possibly a little less athletic in appearance than it was three 
      months ago. He's grown another inch or more of late and is now a good 
      five foot nine - and as that extra inch went on his legs, he looks even 
      more gangling now due to the relative length of his lower limbs to his 
      body. That's growth spurts for you. Clothing-wise, he remains clad in the 
      blue sweatshirt, grey running pants, and worn trainers.

Grey shrugs, not looking up from the newspaper. "As usual," he says flatly.
      "You?"

Kevin is not discouraged by this terse answer. "Yeah, doing well," he says.
      "Wanted to ask you for... kind of a favour I'd guess you could call it."

Grey looks up, his eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. "What kind of a favor?" he
      asks, a note of danger creeping into his voice.

"I'm not sure I'll actually need it," Kevin stresses, "but I thought I'd float
      the idea past you as early as I could, in case I do. You own a car, 
      right? It's possible in the next week or two I may need to transport 
      something heavy..."

"How heavy?" asks the Philodox, his tone still guarded and vaguely suspicious.

Kevin shrugs. "Depends. But it'd definitely be too heavy to carry in my arms,
      apart from crinos, which is out for veil reasons. And not too heavy to 
      fit in a car's trunk."

Grey grunts. "Shouldn't be a problem, then." He cocks his head slightly, fixing
      his good eye on the cub. "Why me? Jeren has that damned SUV of hers, 
      after all."

"I'm gonna ask her too." Kevin takes a mouthful of his milk, swallows. "Trying
      to bear in mind Tu's warning that I don't plan ahead enough. So I'm 
      asking you both to make sure that one or other of you has wheels 
      available when I need them."

"Fair enough." Grey turns away, picking up his glass of juice and taking a
      swallow. "Things proceeding according to plan, then?"

Kevin nods. "I guess so. Bit hard to tell, since it's a one-off thing rather
      than an ongoing one. I've got a plan, more than one in fact..."

Grey looks up, eyebrows rising slightly. "Oh? Do tell."

Kevin hesitates a moment. "Long as it's not gonna be seen as leaning on the
      rest of the tribe too much for help...?"

Grey purses his lips. "Did Natalie say you /couldn't/ ask the tribe for help?"

"I'm allowed to ask for help and suggestions," Kevin clarifies. "In tribe or
      out. But not more."

Grey nods. He closes the newspaper and shifts his weight, sitting back in the
      chair and giving Kevin his full, if not especially amiable, attention. 
      "So, what did you have in mind?"

Kevin eyes Thomas Grey. "Natalie told you the terms of the challenge, I guess?"

"Get power back to the bunker," says Grey. "Or so I'd heard."

"Well, then," Kevin says in affirmative tones. "The two main options as I see
      them are to get power back on via the mains, or to get a generator and 
      power it via that. You'll probably guess that to get a generator there 
      would need help with transport, and that's why I was asking you about 
      your car. I kind of like that idea better. It'd give us self-sufficiency 
      as opposed to having to pay power bills."

Grey's face is difficult to read; it's hard to tell whether he approves or
      disapproves of the cub's ideas. "We never /did/ pay power bills," he 
      notes. "Or at least... John Smith was dead for years before the power cut 
      off, and I'm fairly certain that /he/ wasn't paying any bills. The man 
      had no official identity."

Kevin raises one eyebrow. "So the bunker is in nobody's name, legally? That's
      odd. I kind of expected it to be some dead person's property. Hence my 
      thought of the generator... what's the point of getting the power turned 
      on in my name, or yours, and then the bill-payer dying and setting us 
      back to where we were?"

Grey shrugs. "Knowing Smith, I wouldn't be shocked if he bribed or leaned on
      someone in the power company. He knew how to use people." The halfmoon's 
      tone is neutral. He picks up his glass of juice and sips from it again.

"I'm gonna head off to city hall after the weekend," Kevin adds, "go check up
      on the deeds and so forth, just in case anything interesting pops out at 
      me. But I still like the generator idea better. Which brings me to the 
      other question I wanted to ask you. I've been getting to know the city. 
      But the area around it's a blank to me, pretty much. Where do the nasty 
      rich bastards from this city go to make their weekend retreats? Second 
      home kinda thing?"

Grey squints at the cub a bit. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Kevin explains, "propane generators cost money, and I don't have
      any, and I don't have any easy means of making any either, since I'm not 
      legally a resident of the US and I don't think I dare rely on Scratch's 
      fake ID. And it struck me that it'd be a kinda ragabash way of solving 
      that problem to drop in on some breadhead executive manager's weekend pad 
      out in the woods somewhere and steal his generator."

"I see." Grey frowns slightly, thinking. "The area east and around Kent
      Crossing is woodland, but whether or not anyone owns a second home out 
      there..." He grunts. "Checked the real estate listings?"

Kevin's eyebrows rise. From his expression, this suggestion hasn't occurred to
      him. "Damn, I missed that one," he says. "I'll check some out. Course, 
      there's one option that would be easier still if it panned out. I heard 
      that there was this farm somewhere out in the country that we took to 
      pieces a few weeks back, full of fomorised animals. Now if /that/ place 
      had a generator, and it's still there..."

Grey's mouth thins. "Suppose it's worth a shot. Better bring someone to check
      for taint, though."

"Jeren was on the raid -- she might know. Failing that I know where Brom
      lives." Kevin's eyes flicker away from Grey's for a moment as he mentions 
      the philodox.

Grey shows hardly a flicker of reaction at mention of Brom. He just nods and
      looks over toward the dining room windows, sipping his juice with that 
      same withdrawn, brooding expression. "Sounds like you're progressing 
      well, then."

"Glad you think so," says Kevin neutrally. There's a moment's pause as the two
      garou each focus on their drinks, as though both are by mutual consent 
      avoiding some given topic hovering unspoken in the air between them. 
      "I've got a few weeks yet," Kevin adds, for the sake of breaking silence, 
      "but I don't see any point in prolonging the test if I can get it settled 
      first."

Grey opens the paper to somewhere in the middle of the main news section. "Got
      any plans for afterward?"

"Had an offer of packing," Kevin says, in too-casual tones. "Gonna think about
      it more once I'm through the test..."

Grey glances up, squinting at the cub. "Wise. Packs aren't forever, but unless
      they're for a specific mission, they tend to last a good long time."

Kevin gives Thomas Grey another of his suspicious looks. "You're not gonna make
      like the rest, then," he replies, "and warn me off from going anywhere 
      near Brom and his thralling, Fenrissy, macho bunch of followers?"

A line appears between Grey's eyebrows. "...Actually," he says after a moment,
      coolly, "I wasn't aware that you had your eyes on Requiem."

Kevin gives a rather sardonic grunt. "You seem to be out of the gossip loop,
      Thomas," he comments. "Brom put it to me that Requiem needed a good 
      ragabash and I was an obvious candidate as a city garou. Natalie and 
      Jeren both nearly had a fit when they heard I was considering the offer 
      seriously."

Grey's upper lip twitches at the first bit of Kevin's reply, not quite showing
      teeth. "Who you pack with is your own affair," he answers stiffly.

"And not the tribal elder's?" Kevin frowns with those words. "Anyway, like I
      say, I'm not making a final decision till afterwards. Who knows... I may 
      electrocute myself wiring the damn place back up."

Grey grimaces. "Once you're a Cliath, you're a fucking /adult/. Natalie and
      Jeren may not like who you pack with, but unless you're planning on 
      turning your back on the tribe--" He breaks off to finish his glass of 
      juice, and then stands abruptly.

"Hell /no/," Kevin snaps. "I'm not going /there/ again." His hand closes round
      his glass, knuckles whitening with pressure.

"Then you're fine." Grey stalks past the cub, going to rinse out and put his
      glass into the dishwasher.

Kevin doesn't say anything in response to that vote of confidence from the
      philodox, sitting instead, staring at his own nearly-empty glass.

"I'll be upstairs if you have need of me," Grey says as he closes the
      dishwasher and heads for the stairs.

Kevin responds to that with a monosyllabic "'kay," and the smallest of
      acknowledging nods.