It is currently 19:50 Pacific Time on Mon Jul 11 2005.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 65 degrees
      Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric 
      pressure reading is 30.05 and steady, and the relative humidity is 75 
      percent. The dewpoint is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (35% full).

Early evening finds Thomas Grey out in the back yard of the city safehouse,
      slouched in a lawn chair in the lengthy shadow of a tree. He's not doing 
      much of anything at the moment except smoking a cigarette and watching 
      something in the thick grass near his sneakered feet. A glass half-full 
      of some clear liquid and several ice cubes sits on the ground nearby.
He wears a wrinkled white dress shirt open over a dark red t-shirt. A brassy
      watch-chain runs from one belt-loop of his faded carpenter's jeans and 
      into a front pocket; on his feet are black Chuck Taylor hightop sneakers.

She knocks on the front door first, and prowls through the house... then
      eventually finds her way to the backyard. "Hey," she offers, after taking 
      in the sight of him.

Dark-brown eyes, touched with amber, look out from a pixie-sharp face. Rina's
      skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive from 
      generations of pure Italian ancestry. Her black-brown hair is left just 
      long enough in the front to fall almost into her eyes; the butch cut 
      tapers to an army-short buzz at the sides and back, hardly more than a 
      velvet fuzz covering the nape of her neck. Her chin is delicately-boned, 
      her mouth small, the line of her jaw well-defined. Her eyes have a 
      shadowy, bruised look, either from fatigue or the artful use of makeup; 
      save for that Gothic touch, she might have stepped from a pre-Raphaelite 
      painting. She can't be more than twenty-five or so, but in that youthful 
      face the eyes are cynical, brooding, world-weary. Athletic grace and a 
      certain streetwise confidence show in her movements, but there is often 
      an element of tension as well.
A black barbed-wire tattoo encircles her throat, and matching inked bracelets
      are visible on her wrists.  There is another marking visible at the nape 
      of her neck, not ink but a scarred-in symbol that looks as if it was 
      branded into her skin.  (page for details if taking a closer look) 
Faded jeans hang low on her hips, falling straight-legged over green Doc
      Martens. She wears a white ringer tee with red trim, not too tight but 
      not loose either; on the front it bears, in bright green print, a slice 
      of pizza breaking up the legend: "I'M ITALIAN -- DON'T FUCK WITH ME". 
      (See the t-shirt on moewampum.com!) 
A traditional biker jacket in black leather, at least two sizes too big, adds a
      layer of toughness to the petite woman's attire. Several patches of 
      electrical tape cover a few holes and rips in the leather: the front and 
      back of both shoulders, and a spot near her waist on the left. There are 
      more additions to the body armor: scraps of circuit board, metal spikes 
      and rivets, and a pair of mismatched vambraces that make her look like 
      some sort of Mad Max knight errant.
She wears two rings, both a silvery white gold. Her right hand bears a single
      diamond framed by two smaller ones, the decorative work on the ring 
      elegant and subtle, perhaps Art Deco. On the left she wears a simpler 
      band decorated with letters and scrollwork.

Grey looks up, nice and slow, his deep-set eyes half-lidded. "Evening." For a
      second, he almost smiles.

Rina tips her head. "Somebody dump sugar in your coffee this morning?"

The almost-smile vanishes into a puzzled frown and a furrowed brow. "Eh? No,
      why?" He reaches down, picks up his glass, and takes a sip.

"That was almost a smile," Rina murmurs, her own lips curving.

"Hm," says Grey, neutrally. He takes another swallow of his drink -- which
      might be ice water and might be something more potent. "I'll take your 
      word for it. How're things?"

"Aright. Came by to give you the new address." She comes closer, stepping up
      behind him to rub at his shoulders. "I moved."

His hair's still slightly damp from a recent shower, and coming close she gets
      a stronger whiff of cigarette smoke and alcohol; that's definitely not 
      water in his glass. "Really? When?" He turns his head to fix his good eye 
      on her.

"Finished off the last coupla days. I still got plenty to unpack, though." She
      looks away, and from somewhere a faint, lopsided half-smile steals onto 
      her face, hazy and sweet.

Grey makes a little 'hrmph' noise. "Should have asked, I would have helped." He
      takes an inhale of smoke. "So, where's the new place?"

"Not too far from the old one. Other side of the Montrose." She ducks her head,
      and starts massaging his shoulders gently.

"Mmn," says the mighty Garou, his gaze turning forward again. He stares into
      the middle distance, shifting slightly in the chair. His shoulders are 
      tight under her hands -- not completely rigid, but not especially loose. 
      "...Good. Can't wait to see the new place. Once you have it set up."

"Hey, if you wanna help, y'know..." She ducks her head, touching her nose to
      wet hair. "I wouldn't mind. Any time you wanna drop by."

Grey nods slightly, his lips easing away from the far too common frown. "That'd
      be good. I'll bring a housewarming gift. Hm." He picks up his glass 
      again, face turning slightly back toward her. "New cousin in town, by the 
      way. Literally, for Jeremy. A cousin. From Steel Angel."

Rina straightens abruptly. "Steel Angel? Did he say anything about how it's
      goin'? Like, how's Frankie, and everybody?" She steps around to his side, 
      flashing an excited smile.

Grey shakes his head. "Didn't say. Forgot to ask." He grimaces faintly.
      "Mostly, the news was about Jeremy. Apparently, someone higher up in the 
      Family's pissed off because Jeremy was living in Roger's apartment, off 
      of money for Roger's rent, for all that time."

Rina makes a 'pfft' noise. "Like Roger would mind. I mean, he was nuts, okay,
      but he wouldn't give a shit about a little rent for eremy."

"Roger /told/ Jeremy to live there in the DVD will," Grey agrees sourly. "But
      whoever was putting money into Roger's account -- his mother, I think -- 
      isn't being so charitable." He shakes his head slightly and takes a drag 
      off his cigarette. "Bit of a fucking mess. Or a misunderstanding." He 
      grunts.

"No shit." She drops to sit crosslegged beside him. "Does Jer need any help? I
      mean, are they gonna sue, or are they just bitchin?"

Grey drains off the last of his drink as she speaks, then sets the glass down
      to rub wearily at his face. "Jeremy seems to think they want a couple of 
      fingers. Or his head. Trent's sent a copy of Roger's DVD will in an 
      effect to convince them that Jeremy's /not/ a con-man out to cheat Family 
      members out of thousands of dollars."

Rina frowns. "Good. Lemme know if we need to do anything."

Grey nods slightly. He shifts his weight in the lawn chair, stretching in small
      ways. "Other than that and Jeren leaving, been pretty quiet." His mouth 
      twists into a grimace at mention of Jeren.

"This new guy... he stayin' here?" She tips her head. "I'd like to meet him
      sometime."

Grey drags the fingers of his free hand back through his hair and ends up
      scratching briefly at the back of his head. "Not here, no. Far as I know, 
      he's staying with Jeremy for the moment. Though Jeremy and his family are 
      in the middle of a move out to Kent Crossing, so who knows."

"Hm." She glances over to him, craning her neck. "You been okay?"

Grey shrugs, flicking ash onto the ground beside his chair. He looks away from
      her. "More or less."

She doesn't fall for it, but narrows her eyes at him. "Right."

Grey wrinkles his nose, pulling a face at her. "I'm /fine/," he grouches. "Or,
      well, not /fine/, but..." He trails off and shrugs. "I'm alive."

"You ever need company... you know where to find me." She flashes a smile.
      "Well, you don't but I'll stick my address on the fridge, aright?"

Grey's face relaxes out of the grumpy expression. "All right."