It is currently 17:48 Pacific Time on Thu Jun 30 2005.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 75
      degrees Fahrenheit (23 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
      from the southwest at 14 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.02 
      and steady, and the relative humidity is 53 percent. The dewpoint is 57 
      degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (40% full).

Safehouse: Porch

The front porch of this sprawling, multi-floored house is the decorated
      centerpiece despite being offset within the footprint, a two-story 
      layer-cake structure replete with several support pillars and decorative 
      eaves in contrast to the clean planes and angles of the rest of the 
      building, the windows of a third story piled on top of that. To the 
      porch's right is the jutting spire of a three+ story, castle-like 
      octagonal tower, complete with tall pointed roof; to the porch's left, 
      the roof decreases gradually in height to an end that is at most a 
      story-and-a-half. Windows abound: down the face of the tower, in every 
      level of the porch, to the two-story unit immediately next to the porch 
      and even a few at ground level far to the end.

Access to the porch is reached from seven steps up from a walkway which runs
      most of the front length of the house, between the porch and the driveway 
      to the house's left. Trees and bushes landscape the front lawn, and a 
      tall hedge blocks most of the eyes of curious onlookers on the main 
      street.

There are two discernible entrances to the structure, the most obvious being
      the twin doors on the front porch, the less obvious being a single door 
      off a much smaller stoop just off the driveway. The footpath running 
      alongside the driveway and the driveway itself lead to breaks in the 
      hedge allowing an exit to the street.

Contents:

Jeren

Grey has pulled an old wooden chair out onto the porch and, currently, sits in
      the shadow of the house, half-slouched with a cigarette in one hand and a 
      brooding, abstracted expression on his face. Near his feet, ice cubes 
      melt in an otherwise empty glass.

Jeren's SUV is in the driveway, and has been all day--and hell, pretty much the
      last couple of days. So she's either been in the house, or she's been 
      walking everywhere, but she's been pretty much completely absent from any 
      and all instances where she might run into other Walkers--likely Mister 
      Grey most of all. So it's a little tiny bit odd when she steps out the 
      door, nose crinkling somewhat at the smell of cigarette smoke, and turns 
      immediately to face the source of it. "I need to talk to you," she says 
      lowly.

Grey looks over at her, the line of his jaw tightening up somewhat and his
      expression guarded and cool. He shifts his weight, sitting up slightly. 
      "Yes?"

At least she doesn't hem and haw about getting to the point. "I'm leaving,"
      Jeren says. "I'm going back to Denver." She only waits a very brief 
      moment to let him digest that, before digging something out of her back 
      pocket. A notebook and a few loose papers. "I have some things for you to 
      give Natalie."

Grey frowns, his mismatched eyes narrowing. "Not even sticking around until she
      gets back?"

"I was planning on it," Jeren says carefully. "...initially. I...well she's
      already going to know why." She messes with the loose papers for a 
      moment, before plucking two out. "Here's my notes on the tribes and packs 
      and which of them have members that can sniff Wyrm taint. In case Megan 
      wants to see it. She wanted me to find someone out of tribe to use that 
      fetish, even if I felt our tribe could use it best, and really, the 
      Guardian pack is the only one that came up as any competition--and 
      they've already got a fetish that does the same thing."

Grey sticks the cigarette between his lips and, his face bland, extends a hand
      for the papers. "...You're leaving the fetish behind?" There's a minor 
      note of surprise in his voice; the cigarette in his mouth bobs in time 
      with his words.

Jeren passes Grey the papers with a slight nod, and no actual explanation for
      that decision. The top paper is full of what, at first glance, would look 
      like complete gibberish. Things like HV0 and GF2, a mishmash of numbers 
      and letters. The bottom page is only slightly more legible-- It has 
      things like 'Bums 1, Olga?' 'Ridge 0, 1 toy' and 'Ireland 2'.

Grey looks it over, one eyebrow twitching upwards. His gaze flicks back up at
      her, and in a dry tone of voice, asks, "Will Natalie know how to... 
      decipher this?"

"I think so." Jeren points toward the bottom page. "It's explanatory enough,
      once you know what it is. The numbers are how many have that gift. 'Toy' 
      refers to the fetish the Guardian pack has. And then I used a bunch of 
      stupid substitutes for tribe names on this page, and initials there on 
      the first one. Basically, just about every tribe I could reach does have 
      the gift. Most of the packs do--Ridgeline doesn't, and Requiem is trying 
      to coax a Theurge who does. If I were to make an argument for who besides 
      us could use the fetish the most, it'd be the guardians, but they already 
      /have/ one. So it's us. My final decision on that. And, well..." She digs 
      something else out of her pocket now, that looks really suspiciously like 
      a check.

Grey listens attentively enough, though his manner remains distant. He studies
      the notebook paper again as Jeren explains the chicken-scratching and 
      nods slightly. Then his gaze flicks back up, going to the check-looking 
      thing in her hand and then to her face.

Jeren hands this over without comment as well. It is indeed a check. It is, in
      fact, a check written out to Natalie for the sum total of six thousand 
      dollars.

Grey's left eyebrow joins the right in arching upward. Then his scarred face
      goes smooth again. Carefully, neatly, and methodically, he folds the 
      check into the notebook paper and tucks the 'package' into the breast 
      pocket of his shirt. "That should mollify her somewhat, I suspect."

Jeren exhales sharply. "I hope." There just might be a tinge of humor in her
      remark, but it's so faint and so obscured by her otherwise drippy 
      demeanor that it's just not really possible to tell for sure. The 
      Ragabash leans back for a moment, stuffs her hands in her pockets--and 
      then turns, back toward the front door she just exited from.

"When are you leaving?" Grey asks, before she reaches the door.

Jeren stops in her tracks and appears to take a moment to roll her answer
      around before actually replying. "--Soon. In a few days. Or...well, I 
      want to make sure the damned car isn't going to break down on me again 
      halfway there."

Grey takes a quick drag off his cigarette and removes it from his mouth. After
      an exhale of smoke -- not in Jeren's direction, thankfully -- he says, in 
      that same bland tone of voice, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

That earns Grey a brief, unguarded look of surprise. "...Thanks," Jeren says
      after a moment, after schooling her expression back towards its usual. 
      One, two, three... "Look. I'm...sorry. I really am. You know, for the 
      other day. And the day before that. And...hell. Every time I manage to 
      piss you off. Apart from my idiotic bitchfest last week, it hasn't been 
      intentional." She pauses, then adds, "And I do appreciate your not taking 
      me up on my offer to rip my head off."

Grey grunts something noncommittal, then shrugs. "I'd rather not add
      'kinslayer' to the list of things people are apt to spit at me."

"Yeah, well." Jeren clears her throat, and falls silent for a moment. "Given
      the circumstances..." Then, "That question you asked me. You want to know 
      the answer?"

Grey frowns minutely. "...Which question was that, precisely?"

Jeren clears her throat again. "...The one involving exactly what's crawled up
      my posterior and why I haven't got over it yet."

Grey grimaces and shifts his weight in the chair, propping one foot on the
      opposite knee. He takes another drag off his cigarette and shrugs. "None 
      of my business."

Jeren shrugs lightly. "That's not what I asked."

Grey's mouth thins as he looks back at her. "I said," he asserts, with slight
      emphasis, "that it's none of my business."

Jeren tenses for a moment, her shoulders lifting--and then she relaxes. Relaxes
      more, in fact, than she's appeared since stepping out. "Thanks," she 
      murmurs again, sounding sincere. Then it's back toward the door again, as 
      she makes her second start on an exit.

Grey lets her go this time, though he watches her like a cat. The thin frown
      never leaves his face.