Time: About half-past five PM, Wednesday, 7 Sept 2005 Moon: Waxing crescent 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. There is a loud knocking on the door from outside. Three looming booms. Grey, still in his semi-formal work clothes, curses underbreath and heads back through the common area toward the front door. The Glass Walker is shadow-eyed and irritable-looking. Upon opening of the door, Brom levels his eyes at the other Half Moon. "May I come in and speak with you?" Standing tall about six foot five, Brom has the body of a brick wall. He obviously works out on an obsessive basis. His arms are thick and his chest broad, giving off the look of perhaps a well in shape football player. He has a pair of intense blue eyes that always seem to border on anger, and a well developed scowl. Brom has long hair to about his shoulders, a dirty dark blonde that is typically tied up into a tight pony tail, pulled back from his head. He has a jagged looking scar along his neck that dips down into his shirt, and a few more along his arms that appear to have been made by claw marks. He tends to dress very plainly, a pair of beat up blue jeans with slashes and holes in them, a tight fitted black muscle shirt and a beat up looking leather jacket. Shit kicker boots adorn his feet and a large belt buckle with the picture of an axe on it. Grey actually has to look up a bit at the huge Get, and he meets the other's stare for a second or two before nodding and stepping back to let him in. "Of course." His voice is bland. "Have a seat." Brom steps inside and shrugs his shoulders back a bit. "I have a few simple questions to ask you, and then I will be on my way. I will be using our gift of truth telling. Will you have a problem with that?" Grey drops tiredly onto one of the recliners in the living room. "No objections," he grunts in regards to the other's use of Truth of Gaia. "Ask away." Brom remains standing as he shifts his weight. "What was your involvement during the night where Tamara cut Basil's tongue out?" Outside there comes, at first faint, but quickly growing in volume, the sound of an engine in it's death throws. Spluttering, coughing, growling, and finally a single backfire, are all followed by unmistakable silence, apart from the soft grinding of tires rolling to a halt in the driveway. There's only a brief, total quiet, and then a car door opens and slams quite hard. Grey tugs his necktie loose and pulls it off. "She told me she was going to talk to the cub and invited me to come along. Check on his progress, something like that." His voice is flat. He glances up at the sounds from outside, then continues. "She found out he hadn't been following her instructions and lost her temper when he kept arguing minor points, making excuses, et cetera. We smacked him around a bit, and then she asked me to hold him down. Little fuck struggled like a bitch. She pulled his tongue out and cut it off with her claws. I saw that much. Next thing I know, she's shoving it into his mouth and making him swallow it." His nose wrinkles. "It was done before I'd realized what she'd intended. Then, calm as water, she asks me if I want to go to the farmhouse for a beer. I declined." Brom nods his head slowly as he lets that bit of information process into his head. "Alright." He says, then glances over to the front door, a bit 'too' quickly. Paranoid perhaps? Whoever's outside seems to feel that one slam is not enough, as the door is reopened and slammed twice more before footsteps can be heard on the porch. Elanora pushes open the door with one shoulder, already tugging her sunglasses off with the other hand. "--Fucking cheapass Chevies." Grey's gaze turns toward the new arrival, who he greets with a neutral-sounding, "Evening," before turning back to Brom. "Anything else?" The large viking seems a bit twitchy now that the other has arrived. Eyes furrowing slightly, he gives her a slow nod, then looks back towards Grey. "I know who wrote the image on the wall, and I plan on talking to the culprit in the morning. At this time, all I can ask of you is to be patient for me to finish my round of questionings. The only other question I have is that I ask why you joined in with Tamara in punishing the cub, when he wasn't your charge or responsibility." Elanora waggles her fingers in the general direction of the other two, and returns, "Evening." She swaps her sunglasses for a pair of prescription lenses in her shirt pocket, and disappears momentarily into the kitchen. A rattle of the fridge door later, she re-emerges with a bottle of fantastically cheap beer, likely one she purchased herself, and makes straight for the nearest unoccupied chair. Manners? What manners? Grey's eyebrows lift, but he doesn't press the Get as to the identity of the guilty party. His answer to the question is simple enough. "She asked me to." Elanora is, for the moment, ignored. Brom nods his head slightly. "Alright. Thank you for your time." He says rather stoicly as he turns and heads back for the door, hands shoving into his pockets. He pauses for a second, then asks. "Do you feel that I need to make a ruling when this is all said and done?" Elanora takes a clearly practiced swig from her bottle, seemingly content to be ignored for the time being. She crosses one leg over the other and slouches comfortably in the chair. Grey pushes to his feet, shirtcollar undone and necktie in hand, and follows Brom to the door. "It might be best for the health of the one involved." His voice is mild; the look in his good eye is anything but. "Especially if it's who I suspect it is." "As long as my decision is respected from all sides, then I will do so. Good night Thomas, Elanora." Brom says, including the Theurge in his farewells, then heads out the door and into the night, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thick cigar. "Night, err," Elanora grimaces faintly. "Getly guy whose name keeps escaping me. Mind the smoke, my car might just decide to blow up." There isn't any smoke, though said car does smell rather acrid. Grey watches Brom leave, then closes the door behind him and exhales a sharp breath. "Christ on a stick." He scowls and stalks away from the front entrance, absently winding the necktie around his left hand and muttering in Serbian. Elanora turns her attention from the departing Brom to Grey, and lifts both eyebrows. "Never deny I'm nosy, but I'm not even gonna ask. You want one?" She gestures to the bottle in her hand. Grey looks at the pale Theurge and her beer and then jerks his head into a nod. "Please." He drops back into the recliner in a disgruntled, footsore kind of way. Elanora stands up about as abruptly as Grey sits down, and once more disappears into the kitchen. She's gone just a little longer this time, and when she returns, it's with another beer (a different, not quite so cheap brand), and an empty glass. She offers both toward the Philodox. "Dunno if you're the sort who likes it straight from the bottle or not, so here." Grey manages a tight smile. "Straight, but thank you." He sets the glass down and cracks open the bottle, downing a healthy swallow. "Ah." Elanora swigs hers again, but it's not quite such a large mouthful this time. "Welcome." She squints toward the door for a moment, and scowls. "Eck. So yeah, I think that car's dead. I don't s'pose Nat'd have any use for scrap metal, would she?" Grey narrows his eyes at her, consideringly. "No idea. But my employer could certainly find a use for it. He deals in, ah, distressed automobiles. Among other things." "That so?" Elanora pauses, then shrugs. "Well, he can have it if he wants it. I doubt I'd get much more at the junkyard than it would cost to tow it there. Just as well. Gas prices were killing me." Grey grimaces. "They /are/ getting high, aren't they?" He takes another swallow of beer. "The bus system isn't bad, though." He huffs out a breath, leans forward to rub at his face, then rakes his hand back through his hair. Elanora nods. "I was just talking to someone who suggested it." She sips at her beer, looking a little thoughtful, and then shifts her gaze back to Grey. "So, I wasn't kidding when I mentioned I'm having troubles with names lately. You'd be Grey, right? I think we've passed each other in the house about twice." Grey rests his elbows on his knees and nods, taking another sip of beer. "Thomas Grey," he rasps. "Philodox and Cliath. I also had an affair with another Garou, if you hadn't heard already." He delivers this piece of news in a matter-of-fact, get-it-out-of-the-way manner. "Yeah, so I heard mentioned," Elanora replies. Judging by her lack of reaction, it's fairly obvious she's telling the truth on that point. "Elanora Soto, but I hate the whole name, Ela's just fine. Skip Tracer, Cliath Theurge, Glass Walker, yadda yadda, so on and so forth. Currently working on Chiminage here, if you can call it that." She grimaces. "Being that I haven't managed to so much as talk to the people I need to, in order to get started on it." Grey grunts. "Yes. Megan's rather difficult to get a hold of. Seeker's... a bit easier. But out in the woods, of course." Elanora drums her fingers on the side of her bottle. "Yeah. I haven't met either of them yet. 'Course, I can't find the Guardians either, but that's probably not surprising, since I can't go on the Bawn." Grey shakes his head, scowling. "Fucking catch-22, isn't it? You can't go on the bawn to talk to the Warder or the Guardians, but the Warder and Guardians are confined to the bawn. Farmhouse is open, though, isn't it?" He absently twirls his half-empty bottle of beer. Elanora hehs. "'Zactly. But yeah, farmhouse's open. That's where I've ended up most days I go out looking. One of the Fangs, whatshisname, Andy, said he'd point Seeker towards me if he runs into him, and that's better than nothing." Grey nods faintly, his gaze focussed pensively on the label of his bottle. "Good luck." He sits up and raises the beer in a toast. "Here's to bureaucracy," he says, with heavy irony. Elanora grins, and lifts her own beer. "Bureaucracy. Because not even Gaia's defenders can avoid it." She pauses, and then adds, "Or maybe we invented it. Who knows?" She tips the beer to her lips and takes a very large swallow, before lowering it. "So yeah, that's my month in a nutshell. How 'bout you?" Grey's mouth twists into a grimace. "You don't want to know." He chugs back most of the rest of his beer, then pushes to his feet and starts stalking back toward the kitchen. "Sure," Elanora says, tone easy. She slouches further into the seat, pops her cap off just long enough to give her head a rub, and pulls it back on. "Oh, hey," the Theurge abruptly calls over her shoulder. "May as well ask, y'know anything about some Fang named Jervis?" Grey pauses and turns back, one eyebrow raised. "Jervis?" He frowns minutely. "Ragabash. Bit of a smart-ass and full of himself, but then, he's a Silver Fang. Why?" Elanora grunts. "Figured that out. He came by the other night, had an interesting offer for me. So I'm trying to sound him out, seeing I only met him then. Andy's obviously not fond of him at all, but didn't say why." Grey squints a bit, head cocking to focus his good eye on the Theurge. "Is he still trying to form that Fox pack?" Elanora drums her fingers against her beer bottle again. "...You could say that," she says, somewhat slowly. "I thought it was damn funny he'd ask me when he hadn't met me before, but apparently there are some sort've rumors going around about me already. Which's extra funny, seeing as I haven't done anything at all to earn them. Well, unless you count nearly getting myself flattened on the Umbral highway trying to reach Kevin when that Gaian Theurge was already there, but I'd really like to hope I'm not getting one for sheer stupidity so fast." "He's been trying to get this pack together for months," Grey says dryly. "At least since I got back, which was before the summer. I'm not surprised that he's started asking any Garou that might be suitable." He inclines his head slightly. "No insult meant to your abilities." Elanora's mouth quirks. "None taken. 'Sides, I'd be the first to tell you I'm not exactly in the running for world's greatest Theurge. S'arright, that about confirms what I thought. Still." She shrugs. "It's been a freaking long time since I was in a pack. Can't admit the offer's not tempting, crazy abruptness aside." Grey grunts. "I know what you mean. But I've gotten used to running alone." He shrugs. "Plus, something about Jervis irritates the hell out of me. He made the same offer to me, you see. To join his potential pack." Elanora waves her hand back and forth. "Smug self assuredness? I was picking up that vibe the other night. But like you said, he's a Fang, that's practically a given." Her eyebrows lift. "What'd he say to you about it? About what he wanted to do with it?" Grey's mouth thins. "He talked, mostly, about getting things done that needed doing and to hell with traditions or morality. Following Fox, as I said. Sly, cunning, and dishonorable as hell. I turned him down and he got irritable at me." "Yeah, that was about the same pitch he gave me," Elanora murmurs, though her expression has turned thoughtful, and she's examining her empty beer bottle, rather than Grey. "Told him I'd think about it. That obviously, I wanted to know about him and his motives before I signed on the dotted line. I'm not so desperate I'd pack with a complete stranger." "Good for you." Grey lifts the beer bottle to her again, finishes it off, then carries the empty back to the recyling bin in the kitchen. Long distance to the room: Grey gonna have to close up soon and collapse into bed. Elanora remains seated and silent, listening to the sounds from the kitchen. Only after she's heard the clink of glass on glass does she call again, "Well hey, nice meeting you and everything. Thanks for letting me natter at you for a bit." The Theurge, however, makes no move to actually get up out of her seat, in spite of this apparent goodbye. Grey, coming back through and heading for the door into the Walker side of the house, makes a vague waving sort of gesture. "Not a problem. Good luck getting your chiminage sorted out. Be seeing you."