It is currently 15:36 Pacific Time on Fri Jul 8 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 59 degrees
      Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      east at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.90 and steady, and 
      the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 56 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (13% 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.

Though the call from Montana came in yesterday, it's not until mid-afternoon
      that Natalie's truck finally pulls into the drive of the Victorian, with 
      the Galliard herself manhandling a battered piece of luggage into the 
      Safehouse a few moments later. She's wetter than should be expected from 
      the short jaunt, but her suitcase is more or less dry. With a grunt she 
      drops it onto the floor, then shoves it further in while turning to kick 
      the door closed behind her.

In the dining room, Thomas Grey, still in his office-like work clothes --
      though with his necktie loosened and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows 
      -- lifts his head out of his hands. Steeling himself, the Philodox pushes 
      to his feet and heads toward the front part of the Walkerside. He looks 
      just as scruffy, overall, as he did when she left.

Nat gets the door closed and bends to get suitcase back in hand, managing a
      step and a half before noticing the subdued Philodox. "Oh, hey. Sight for 
      sore eyes. How's it going, Thomas? Anyone else around?" A pause, and she 
      clarifies. "Jeren, maybe? Kevin-the-newly-Rited?"

Grey tucks his hands into his pockets and grimaces. "Jeren's gone," he says
      curtly. "Kevin is god knows where. Still hasn't completed his task."

Natalie winces at that, but attempts a brave face. "Well, he's got two more
      days. And if Jeren's here, then -you- get to play Galliard for a bit. 
      Fill me in on what's going on. Did Jacinta go on her apartment-clearing 
      spree, do you know?"

Grey grunts. "Haven't heard a damn thing from Jacinta. Jeremy's in some kind of
      trouble over staying in Roger's old apartment. Misunderstanding about 
      money. Dakota had her babies. Twins. Galliards if they breed true." He 
      shifts his weight, folds his arms across his chest; she gets a good view 
      of his scars. "Both are moving out to a house in Kent Crossing. Oh, and 
      his cousin's in town. Apparantly. Haven't met him, though."

Natalie says "I got a text message," her free hand tapping the cell on her hip,
      "from /Alicia/, of all people. She gave him my number. We'll see if he 
      shows up over the weekend." She nods to the rest in reverse order, 
      adding, "I heard about the babies. Didn't have time to see them before I 
      left, but I'll have to see about getting them something. I'm a little 
      surprised about Jacinta, and cripes, it's always money, isn't it?"

Grey grunts again. "Speaking of, I have something for you from Jeren." He turns
      and starts back toward the dining room.

After a second, Nat drops the suitcase with a thump and pads after him.
      "Something from Jeren? What, it can't wait until she gets back?"

"That's the thing," says Grey flatly. "She's not /coming/ back. She /left/." He
      heads through the kitchen to the dining room table, where there's a 
      folded up bit of notebook paper and a creased personal check. "Left the 
      fetish behind, with some notes. She thinks we've got the most need for 
      it. Plus, this." He plucks up the check -- made out to Natalie Baker for 
      six thousand dollars -- and holds it out to her, his scarred face grim.

Natalie echoes from behind him, "She's wh...?" One hand reaches out for the
      check, though she hardly gives it a glance; after a quick look to the 
      notes, her eyes study his implacable face. "What do you mean, /gone/? 
      She's Beta; she can't just /leave/."

Grey scowls at the Galliard, then turns aside to stalk back into the kitchen.
      "She never stopped moping a moment you were gone. Either moping or 
      getting drunk. Or high."

"Dammit." The word slips out sourly; Nat paces after the Philodox again, her
      lips pursed to rival any schoolmarm's. "I swear the tribe's getting worse 
      than the Fangs again. Or maybe I ought to just brand 'RULE NUMBER TWO' on 
      everyone's butt, or something." She pauses, continuing to study the older 
      man. "Speaking of, how are you doing? You've been quiet, but I haven't 
      had to go charging in guns blazing like I did with Kevin and Jeren."

Jeremy pages: Text Message: There is a cousin named Dave standing outside my
      door, can see him on the monitor, do you know him? *ping*

Grey gives her an irritated look, then heads for the fridge. "I'm--" He's
      interrupted by his pocket chirping for attention. Or, rather, the 
      cellphone inside it. With a curse he takes it out and peers at the 
      screen. "...The hell?" He looks at Natalie, frowning. "Do you know a 
      'Dave'?"

Jeren descends the stairs slowly. While she isn't actively trying to be quiet,
      the fact that she's moving so cautiously makes her arrival near silent 
      anyways. It's the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs that stumps her. 
      The Ragabash blinks stupidly at it a few times, then lifts her wrist and 
      checks her watch.

Natalie's head goes up like a hound scenting the wind. "Sure. Guy who fired me
      off his crew just before I left for vacation. No idea why he'd be calling 
      you, though." She crosses to him, hand raised for Grey's phone, clearly 
      expecting that he'll just hand it over. In the hubbub, Jeren's 
      near-silent arrival entirely passes her by.

Grey indeed hands the phone over, where the small screen displays a text
      message from Jeremy: There is a cousin named Dave standing outside my 
      door, can see him on the monitor, do you know him?

Jeren continues to look at the suitcases for a good thirty seconds or so more,
      before she finally jerks her head up and to the side at the sound of 
      voices from the dining room. There's clear hesitation before she moves in 
      that direction, but hey, no one's actually in a position to see it. And 
      she just /might/ have made it back there without alerting the other two 
      Cliath, except suddenly /her/ cellphone chirps too.

".../Cousin/ named Dave," Nat echoes, head shaking. "Nope. He ought to come
      over here, though, instead of harassing Jeremy. Jer doesn't need any of 
      that." Handing the phone back to Grey, she turns for the hall and stops, 
      eyes narrowing at Jeren. "I hear you're going to talk to me," she tells 
      the Ragabash coolly. "I /trust/, *Beta*, that it can wait until after 
      I've unpacked and gotten a shower." "--Check out this Dave," she adds, 
      imperiously ordering the air as she strides straight for the hallway, 
      "and deal with him. I'll be back down later."

Grey mutters a brief word in Serbian and turns a glower onto Jeren. "Well?"

The muscles along the left side of Jeren's face bunch into a half grimace as
      Natalie passes, but she offers no protests and no complaints to the 
      instructions. One hand reaches back to flip her cell phone forward and 
      open, while she looks toward Grey. "...Well what?" A brief glance down at 
      the screen, and she adds, "--Looks like Jeremy just sent me something 
      about 'Dave' too."

"Good. You can handle it then," snaps Grey to Jeren, then pushes past her and
      disappears into the downstairs bathroom.

Natalie keeps going, back into the living room and thence up to the bedrooms,
      taking her suitcase with her.

Jeren gives Grey's back a sudden, irritated look, which is also quite brief,
      before she punches two buttons on the phone and holds it up to her ear.


[Much later...]


Whispering Pines
This apartment gives a look of high expense, not in the building itself, but
      it's contents. The walls and ceiling are painted pure black, and the 
      carpet matches the darkness, save for some off color fuzz, being that 
      it's a pretty new carpet. Across from the door in the living area is a 
      large black entertainment center consisting of a not suprisingly black 
      42" TV, a large fully digital stereo system with CD and tape players, 
      AM/FM stereo, a setting for the TV, and a useless setting called 'phono'. 
      There are various gaming systems tucked into the entertainment center as 
      well, baring names like Dreamcast, Playstation and Playstation 2, various 
      systems with the word 'Nintendo' upon them... 3D0, NeoGeo, and finally 
      something called a 'colecovision'. This system is complemented nicely by 
      a high quality Bose surround sound speaker system. Two black leather 
      couches are on the left and right of the living area, angled at the 
      entertainment center. A large chest rests on the ground between the 
      couches and the entertainment center, working as a foot rest. The only 
      sources of light are the LEDs on the stereo, the TV, and a small 
      blacklight bulb in the fan in the center of the apartment. A door to the 
      right of the apartment leads to Roger's bedroom(+view) and the small 
      kitchen is visable on the right side of the apartment, almost a part of 
      the living room. The kitchen is lit up by a hallogen lamp, resting next 
      to the front door, pointed towards it.

Trent smiles broadly as Jeremy shows the bottle who's boss. "You're my boy,
      Jer," he says, proud of the mighty swig. The galliard wraps his thumb 
      tightly around the bottlecap, squeezing the neck hard as he jerks his 
      thumb back against the cap. It doesn't go flying off, but he manages to 
      crack the seal, at least. He takes a seat as well, spinning one of the 
      chairs around.

Jeren flicks another brief glance toward Trent before she answers Jeremy's
      question in a quiet, if somewhat terse voice. "We've been over that 
      question before." She remains standing, even as the other two sit down.

"..Oh.. yeah." Jeremy says softly, wincing at the head rush he gets, biting on
      his bottom lip some. ".. I'm never listening to you again, Trent." He 
      admits as he lifts up a hand to rub at his brow. "Want I order some pizza 
      and turn Adult swim on? I think cartoon network is doing Sea Lab 
      marathons." He murmurs.

Someone knocks on the door, a couple of authoritive-sounding raps.

Jeremy pages to the room: Oh, yeah. The place is all boxed up save a couch, the
      TV and X-Box. There are boxes everywhere with magic marker lables on 'em.

"Sure you will, I'm a charming guy." Before Jeremy can finish his sentence, Trent
      has his cellphone open and hits the speed dial for Pizza Hut. "...Hello, 
      you sexy robot," he says. "...Yeah, you know what I want." He then 
      proceeds to make lewd suggestions to the automated voice recording.

Jeren waves toward Jeremy as the knock comes. "Go ahead, I'll get it." Trent
      is...given an even stranger look than usual as the Ragabash passes to 
      answer the door.

Peeking out into the living, Jeremy catches sight of the hallway monitor, then
      glances over to Trent. A slight grin touches his lips as he watches him 
      talk dirty to the Pizza Bot, then relaxes some into his chair, propping 
      his chin up in the palm of his hand.

Trent blinks once to Jeren, and responds, "What? -She- came onto -me-." He
      folds the phone closed again and slips it into his pocket, flashing first 
      two and then five fingers in front of Jeremy's eyes, signalling the 
      delivery time. Leaning in towards Jeremy, he mutters, "Like your friend, 
      but for a ragabash she isn't exactly the life of the party."

Outside Jeremy's door, Grey finishes off his cigarette and waits with a dour
      expression, his hands in his pockets and hair hanging down over his dead 
      eye.

It's probably /not/ Jeren that Grey's expecting to open the door, but there you
      are. She's still a little damp from the light rain, and the thin line 
      that's representing her mouth today hints at some sort of underlying 
      tension. This, of course, doesn't exactly change for the better when she 
      sees who it is, but Grey gets to see what Jeren looks like when she's 
      caught between two vastly different reactions. It's like her face tries 
      to do several different things at once. "...Thomas," she says finally as 
      she steps aside for him.

Shooting a quick look over to Trent, Jeremy gives him a withering glare, then
      slides out of his seat. ".. Long story, don't ask, and we aren't known 
      for our parties." Making his way into the living room, the kin lifts a 
      hand over to Thomas, fingers twitching a bit in a slight wave.

Grey's jaw tightens as, for a moment, he locks eyes with Jeren. But he breaks
      the gaze before she does, looking and moving past her to give Jeremy a 
      curt nod, to study the stranger, Trent, with what appears to be an 
      unforgiving, critical eye.

Somewhere between nerd and schoolyard bully lies Trent. He looks to be in his
      early twenties, and in pretty good shape. Trent isn't the body-builder 
      type, but he looks like he could deliver a painful enough punch. His hair 
      is long and tied back in a pony tail that falls past his shoulders, with 
      bangs that fall down to his cheeks on either side of his face, typically 
      dyed some odd color. His eyes are usually hidden behind black sunglasses, 
      but when they do make an appearance, they too tend to be colored 
      something a bit livelier than nature intended.
Trent doesn't get along with people easily, usually remaining silent unless
      spoken to.Black is a theme in Trent's wardrobe. He can usually be found 
      in a pair of baggy jeans, a t-shirt with some band or sarcastic phrase on 
      it, combat boots, a leather jacket adorned with chains and shiny buckles 
      and such, and even a spiked collar and choke chain around his neck. Now 
      and then he carries around an electric guitar on his back in a gig-bag. 
      Trent also commonly carries an iBook, PDA, digital camera, and iPod - 
      though not always on his person.
Trent's hair is currently jet black with neon red bangs. Trent's eyes are
      currently a vivid shade of purple.
Carrying:
guitar

Trent eyes Grey right back, even smiling a little. "Word," he says by way of
      greeting, holding up his bottle of rum in salute. He's reminded of the 
      first time he met an elder as a cub; the elder was pissed about Trent's 
      appearance, particularly his collar... and the fact that he said 'word'. 
      So naturally it tickles his fancy to continue such behaviour, especially 
      since he can get away with it now.

Jeren closes the door and follows after Grey, though at a respectable
      distance--as respectable as you can get in an apartment, in any case. 
      Rather than refold her arms across her chest, she stuffs her hands into 
      her jean pockets.

".. Thomas, this is my cousin from Steel Angel.. Trent." Jeremy says after a
      moment, feeling a bit tense among the new surge of rage in the room which 
      Grey always tends to carry with him, despite the small moon. He motions 
      with his hands slightly, then shrugs as he drops back into the couch.

Grey, at least a decade older than Trent, could very well be an elder, and all
      that pure breed lends an authoritive air to the man despite the fact that 
      he looks, for the moment, like a particularly disreputable private dick. 
      His eye shifts away from Trent when Jeremy speaks; he gives the kin a nod 
      before turning back to the stranger and offering an introduction that's 
      pretty curt, but not overtly hostile. "Thomas Grey, Philodox."

Trent just happens to be an asshole half of the time. He pulls it in for the
      moment, remembering that among other things, he is currently representing 
      Steel Angel, not to mention the tribe. Standing, he nods at Grey's 
      introduction before returning his own in the same format. "Trent 
      Anderson, Galliard." He ponders whether or not to extend his hand, and 
      then decides he might as well. He might feel like being an ass and 
      throwing social courtesy to the wind, but they -are- all on the same side 
      here, and all part of the 'Family'.

Jeren is playing silent observer. Apart from a mouth twitch or two, her
      expression is decidedly neutral, and she's watching both Trent and Grey 
      with equal attention.

"Oh.. so... Hey Thomas. Those are the kids." Jeremy says, motioning to the crib
      near by with the two sleeping infants in it, surrounded by roach plushes 
      and unicorn stuffed dolls. ".. The one in blue is Roger, the one in red 
      is Daniel. They aren't identical, but they look enough alike."

Grey grips Trent's proffered hand briefly, just long enough for courtesy, and
      firmly -- though not so firm as to go to the 'threatening to crush 
      knuckles' stage. The Winter babes get only the briefest glance; he grunts 
      an acknowledgement to Jeremy's words, then looks around the mess of boxes 
      for a place to sit. "Any further developments on that... 
      misunderstanding?"

Spotlight the Galliard. Trent doesn't exactly relish being the star of this
      show, though. His PDA appears and he starts to tap as he speaks. "I 
      overnighted a copy of the DVD to one of my boys in Steel Angel," he 
      replies, tapping his mailbox icon. "Aaaaaaaand... still no reply so far," 
      he shrugs. Quick show. "I got nuthin. ...Considering the nature of the 
      misunderstanding and the way it was passed on to me though..." all he can 
      do is shrug again. "I wasn't exactly in the center of that loop when it 
      landed."

Jeren is obviously right out of said loop, in this case. Her eyebrows draw
      together, and she sends a quick, questioning look towards Grey, before 
      saying, "...Okay, I've missed something."

When the pair starts talking about the 'misunderstanding', Jeremy tenses once
      more and sits up quickly off the couch, motioning for Thomas to take his 
      seat. Glancing guiltily at Jeren for a moment, he heads back into the 
      kitchen. The Cap'n is calling once more.

Grey hesitates, then takes the seat Jeremy's vacated, shrugging out of his coat
      as he does so. He eyes Jeren for a second. "Basically," he tells the 
      Ragabash flatly, "some people in the tribe elsewhere think Jeremy's a bit 
      of a con-man."

Trent shrugs and fills that in a bit. "And... kind of... possibly... um... want
      him to have fewer fingers. Or heads." Yeah. Shrugging to Jeren, he 
      flashes a wry grin, "Remember how I said anyone not trying to kill a 
      friend of mine is a friend of mine and we laughed about there being a hit 
      on Jeremy? ..." Oh yeah. Laughs galore. He shrugs again, "Some truths are 
      told in jest." That's a raggy-line, isn't it? It sounds like one.

Jeren's lips purse. Her eyes flick only momentarily toward Jeremy's departing
      back, before returning to the two sitting in the living room. She leans 
      her arms on the back of the couch and pinches the bridge of her nose for 
      a moment. "Lovely," is her only comment.

"Its not my fault." Murmurs Jermey from the other room, followed by the sound
      of the freezer being shut, and a shot glass clinking against the tile 
      once, then twice.

Grey looks over toward Jeremy with a slight frown. "Of course not." He leans
      forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Trent shrugs and smacks his PDA, "Of course, accoring to Ziggy there's only a
      seventy-two point three percent probability that they actually want him 
      dead." Slipping it back into his pocket, he peeks around the corner at 
      his cousin, just in case he collapses. Checking his watch, he announces, 
      "Pizza should arrive soon." As he heads back towards the door and hovers 
      there, he shrugs, "And... I mean, if we can get that DVD out to the right 
      people... probably he won't be shot very much at all."

Jeren's mouth twists again. Once more, she glances kitchen-ward, and then back
      down at the couch. It's only after a moment or so has passed from Trent's 
      remarks that she says, carefully, "...So exactly what happened to cause 
      this?"

Grumbling, Jeremy makes a comment from the kitchen that sounds like a drowsy,
      "Dammit, why aren't I leaping yet?" Thump. He slumps his head across his 
      arms after settling into the chair, spinning the shot glass about in his 
      fingers.

Grey gives Trent a bemused squint, then shrugs and settles back against the
      couch, letting the Galliard do his job and be the bearer of bad news.

Trent throws his arms out in a shrug, shaking his head. It's his least favorite
      answer in -any- circumstance, let alone one where the lives of family 
      members hang in the balance. "I don't have a lot to go on with this one, 
      and /he/ looks more the Columbo type than me," he gestures towards Grey. 
      "I was on my way out of 'The City', when one of my more obscure but 
      connected contacts reaches out and touches me. Apparently there's 
      -rumors- in one of the uber-exclusive GW channels even I don't have 
      access to, about my boy ripping off some garou for about fifty k for the 
      past few years. I'm hearing this fourth-hand. Supposedly there's talk 
      about someone wanting to bring the pain and put a hurt on. If rumor is to 
      be believed, I might be risking my own street cred or worse just by being 
      around him." He gives a fist-jerking motion to this as he rolls his eyes, 
      to show just how much he cares about that. "So... I mean, we should be 
      careful about this... keep it to the trustworthy and all until this is 
      all sorted out and whatnot...."

Jeren looks sharply toward the kitchen for the third time at Jeremy's comment,
      and something tightens quite a bit in her expression. She's still looking 
      that way when she responds to Trent, and her voice is noticeably stiff. 
      "Well yes, obviously. Does Natalie know about this yet?"

".. No... Natalie doesn't know.. at least not from me.. not exactly something I
      want to talk about ya'know." Jeremy murmurs from the kitchen. ".. I did 
      tell Thomas though. Its about the apartment... Roger's mom was paying 
      rent on here for years, even after he died."

Grey folds his arms across his chest. "I mentioned something about it to
      Natalie," he says. "No details, but she /is/ Elder and she /should/ be 
      kept informed."

Trent shrugs, "I've been in town maybe half a week... I haven't even met more
      than a handful of people so far. She's on my to-do list though." He 
      frowns as he quickly finds a double-entendre there and waves his hand in 
      a circle as though to back up. "I mean... like... meeting her, not 
      like... to /do/... like...." He's only getting himself further in trouble 
      here. Fortunately, the doorbell rings and he quickly cuts himself off, 
      announcing, "Pizza. I got it."

"Amen," Jeren says tersely, in response to Grey. As for Trent, the Ragabash
      continues to eye him with ever raising eyebrows, until he excuses himself 
      to get the door. She murmurs, though not /too/ quietly, "I think he's got 
      a worse runaway tongue than I do."

".. Well, she did afterall just get home today or something.. haven't had a
      chance to talk to her, or... whatever." Jeremy says in slight, defeated 
      defense as he clicks the small shot glass on the table, making it dance, 
      rolling it back and forth in his fingers. "So.. what did she say?"

Grey glances sidelong at Jeren, then looks over at Jeremy, answering him with a
      dry, "Not much. She was mainly focussed on the news about Jeren's 
      imminent departure."

With a fiver for the delivery boy and another fiver for "Laura the Robot"
      (which the delivery boy pockets after a "yeah, sure") thrown in on top of 
      the twenty bucks for two extra larges, Trent tosses away thirty bucks on 
      every bachelor's favorite grease-fest, which he quietly deposits on the 
      counter-top. "You're leaving? So soon?" he inquires to Jeren, poking 
      about the cupboards for a glass.

"Sunday night," Jeren replies, idly tapping one finger against the couch
      cushion. And then, "--I think she's jet lagged and generally distracted. 
      Bring it up again tomorrow when her mind's managed to catch up with the 
      rest of her. Oh. Jeremy, she did tell me to tell you congratulations on 
      the kids. She'll stop by in the next few days."

Staring off into space for a few moments, Jeremy tips the shot glass over with
      his finger, watching it roll off the table and clunk to the floor below. 
      His words slur out a bit. Seems like Captain Morgan is finally sinking 
      in. ".. yay... go me.. I got kids.. " He sighs. "... sad part is, Dakota 
      will prolly out live me cuz' of this. Ganna get fucking shot cuz' of some 
      crazy Metis. Thanks for leaving me everything." He drawls in a murmur, 
      not really talking to them, as more opposed to just talking. "... leaving 
      me with a fucked up head."

Grey has avoided looking over toward the (fortunately still sleeping) babies,
      and continues to not even glance that way. Jeremy's slurred, sad 
      monologue prompts a tight grimace from the Philodox, who's none too 
      cheery as is.

Trent leans down into Jeremy's field of vision. "That was me, actually -
      leaving you with the fucked up head. But just think of the dreams you'll 
      have now." Mr. Brightside. He pats Jeremy's head and drops a couple 
      grease-soaked paper plates in front of him, with pizza on them no less. 
      "Eat up, bro - it'll ease your stomach." Well, not really... it'll 
      probably speed up the digestion process by way of purging though, as well 
      as lowing his BAC a percentage. Maybe.

This time, Jeren doesn't look towards the kitchen itself. She snaps a glare at
      the couch cushions instead, while her fingers tighten, and a sharp hiss 
      escapes her teeth. Moments later it's passed, but she's pulling back from 
      the couch and turning toward the door. "Good night, Jeremy. Trent. 
      Thomas. Goodbye too, if I don't see you before Sunday."

The sight of pizza suddenly rushing under his face causes Jeremy to sit back
      swiftly, eyes blinking rapidly, then gives his head a shake. Boy, does he 
      feel woozy. Skinny kid, too much rum. Turning his head, he calls over. 
      "... but.. but we got... pizza here..." He says in a worried tone, 
      glancing to the pepperoni, then to Jeren.

Grey doesn't try to stop Jeren. Neither does he hurry her departure. "Christ,
      Jeremy. How much have you /had/?"

Trent looks up at the departing ragabash and shrugs. "Um... well alright, if
      you're sure you won't have any more." He goes to accompany the ragabash, 
      mostly to make sure that the door is secured properly. "Nice meeting 
      you," he offers, and "good journey." Returning to the kitchen, he peers 
      at the bottle Jeremy was working on and gages the progress of the level 
      of liquid down the label of the bottle. "Uh... from... the top of the 
      parrot to... the bottom of the island," he answers, and tries to 
      visualize that in terms of shot-glasses. "...Eleven?"

Jeren stops with one hand on the doorknob, and her body partially angled toward
      the rest of the room. Whether it's Trent or Jeremy's remarks, or 
      something else entirely that's causing her to hesitate, she at least 
      doesn't immediately storm out as she apparently intended. Of course, she 
      doesn't return Trent's well wishes either.

".. Dunno.. lots." Jeremy admits as he slumps his head back down across his
      arms, taking in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, almost shuddering 
      as he murmurs. He stares at his hands for a bit, then calls out to Grey. 
      ".. Salem.. I love you."

Grey's nose wrinkles. "Too much, obviously." He looks over at Trent. "Get him
      some water to go with that pizza." He alters his tone of voice, making 
      this more a suggestion than a command.

Trent nods and follows the suggestion without a word. The glass is set down
      next to Jeremy's hand just as quietly, and Trent sits with his own plate 
      full of grease, munching away. "Water -is- all the rage these days, bro. 
      Very posh," he nods to Jeremy.

Jeren's fingers tighten momentarily on the doorknob. And then she releases it,
      turning around and following the others into the kitchen. By the time she 
      reaches Trent's side, she's gone and stuffed her hands into the pockets 
      of her jeans again, and most of the traces of her near temper tantrum are 
      gone.

Blinking his eyes and staring at the rippled, warped reflection of his in the
      water, Jeremy says. ".. I don' give ah' -fuck- what.. people say 'bout 
      you..." He says in a lazy tone, reaching out to touch the cold glass 
      surface. "... Yer' still mah' hero.. an ya' saved me from... from that.. 
      fucking indian.. Leotard.. what was his name.. he stuffed me in tha' hole 
      naked... an.... an was all.. fuck you roaches..." He tap, taps the water 
      some more, nudging it forward. "An I was all... fuck you.. stupid.. 
      casino whining... bitch.. an yah' was all... swoop in an save me shit.... 
      member?!" He calls out. ".. An when da' Russians came in an was all.. 
      fucking shooting us an shit... an I was all... The Don wants a fucking 
      sub machine gun an ya was all.. fucking.. blam, blam.. dude.." He lifts 
      his head up, his eyes sunken in. ".. Dude... we were like bros."

Grey shakes his head slightly at the drunken rambling and, pushing to his feet,
      joins the others in the kitchen. "History," he says shortly, and goes to 
      examine the pizza.

Trent's grin looks fit to burst as Jeremy goes off. Until the last bit, when
      the grin fades. He may as well have been a million miles away when all 
      that came down. Bonus guilt. "Drink the water, bro," Trent says as he 
      clears his throat, tapping the table near the glass. It's history that 
      Trent would still love to hear in detail, even if it's bittersweet for 
      the fact that he missed it. The Galliard in him craves it like a skinny 
      deformed hobbit, especially since he's family. The fact that he wasn't 
      there for it makes it seem like even more of a duty for him to know it. 
      Who else would even bother recording the adventures of a kin? With a 
      sigh, he shrugs, "maybe if we're lucky we can keep him from -becoming- 
      history any time soon." Trent attacks his pizza with a vengeance.

"Jeremy," Jeren says quietly. "Just stop talking. You're going to feel like an
      idiot when the booze wears off." Personal experience talking? Nooo.

There is a sharp laugh from Jeremy, soon as Jeren's words leave her mouth.
      "Don't have ta' be drunk ta' feel like an idiot 'round you guys!" He 
      says, wheezing out a chuckle. "I think I've mastered the art of being a 
      fucking idiot years ago!" He blinks his eyes slightly, then wraps his 
      trembling fingers around the water, drawing it to him. ".. Ganna miss ya 
      when they give me the cement shoes. I may hate you guys most of the time 
      but I love you... cuz we're roaches.. and shit." He bites his bottom lip 
      some, then scrunches his face some as if he was going to start crying. 
      ".. ya'know.. we're blood."

Grey, having helped himself to a slice of pizza, shakes his head slightly.
      "Think I'll head out. Spare him some embarrassment." This remark is 
      directed at Trent.

From Trent's expression, Jeremy's last rant stings a little. Still, he has no
      response to it but to shrug and raise his bottle in toast, tossing some 
      back. Setting the bottle down, he nods to Gray's comment and rises, 
      accompanying him towards the door. In a low voice, he says in aside to 
      him, "If any of that's at all true, I'm in your debt. Jeremy's family in 
      more ways than one, and he kept -me- from falling apart for a couple 
      years. All bullshit posturing aside, I'm glad to have you in on this." 
      Nodding to Jeren, he adds, "You too. Honestly. Even if you wind up 
      leaving soon... I meant what I said when you came in."

Jeren hunches her shoulders. A beat, and she turns after Grey, mumbling, "Me
      too. The last time he started dropping names like this around me, it 
      didn't end well. Goodnight, Trent. Thomas. Jeremy. For real this time."

The kinfolk stares at his glass of water for a moment, before letting out a
      slow, heavy sigh. Turning his head, he watches Grey and Jeren head off, 
      then drops his shoulders down. ".. G'night." He murmurs, squinting his 
      eyes shut. Shit, he's tired.

Grey eyes Trent sidelong, his expression guarded, and nods once. "Good night,
      Jeremy," he calls over to the kin. And then to Trent, a blandly polite, 
      "Pleasure to meet you. Welcome to St. Claire." Jeren gets a nod, too, 
      though it's a cool thing at best. And then he's gone.