It is currently 19:51 Pacific Time on Fri Jan 27 2006.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 41 degrees
     Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
     east at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.95 and falling, and 
     the relative humidity is 87 percent. The dewpoint is 37 degrees Fahrenheit 
     (2 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning New Moon phase (10% full).

Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room

Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's
     kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist 
     height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators 
     occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The 
     kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the 
     double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a 
     twin-pane window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set 
     into an alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep 
     freezer as well as shelves of dry goods.

Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling,
     lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the 
     kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs 
     setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large 
     window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the 
     north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves 
     containing a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few 
     decorative nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room 
     from the kitchen.

An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the
     house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing 
     behind the house.

Obvious exits:

Hallway/Living Room  Back Door  

Grey sits at the kitchen table, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee, the
     other holding a pencil, which taps point-downward at the top page of a 
     blank notepad. He's got the brow-furrowed frown of someone deep in thought.

In the front rooms, Liam clatters energetically down the stairs and into the
     kitchen, heading for the fridge. He stops short when he sees Grey and says 
     a tentative, "Hello," attention resting (though only briefly) on the man's 
     visible scars.

	This is a 14-year-old boy. This is a 14-year-old boy in the middle of a growth
     spurt, which means he's a little thin, a little gangly, and a little 
     clumsy. Except, there's also a strange sort of grace to his movements, in 
     among the tripping and the falling on things. 

	 He's about five feet, eight inches tall, and he has the long torso and arms
     of a swimmer. His face is correspondingly long, with clear cheekbones, and 
     dark brown eyes. His brown hair, dark and shining, goes down to the middle 
     of his back, except when it's tied into a ponytail, which is frequently.

	 He wears the casual teenage uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. And beat-up
     sneakers.

Grey stops tapping the pad and looks up, the mismatched eyes narrowing faintly
     as he takes the boy in. He doesn't smile and doesn't look like he knows 
     how, but there's nothing overtly hostile (nor overtly friendly, mind you) 
     in his return greeting. "Good evening. And you are?"

Liam says, immediately, "Liam Foltz. I'm a Silver Fang, and I was born under
     the new moon. And I'm a cub, if that wasn't already obvious." That energy 
     has subdued itself slightly, but he's still somewhat fidgety.

"Thomas Grey," says the scarred man. "Philodox of the Glass Walkers." He nods
     toward the fridge. "Don't let me interrupt you."

Liam shakes his head. "You're not. I'm interrupting you, really. If it'd be
     easier for your train of thought if I headed out to the Barn, instead, I 
     can do that."

Grey shakes his head, sitting back and setting the pencil down. "My train
     hardly left the station, so it doesn't matter." It's hard to tell if he 
     means this humorously; its delivery is completely deadpan. He cocks his 
     head slightly, favoring his good eye as he studies the boy. "How long have 
     you been here?"

Liam looks up slightly. (That's where memory is kept.) "Three days? Four if you
     count being unconscious for a night." He smiles, quick and warm, and then 
     starts rummaging in the fridge. "What," he asks over his shoulder, "Were 
     you trying to think about?"

"Law, justice." Grey shrugs. "Philodox matters." He lifts his mug. "Be thankful
     that you're a Ragabash," he says, sipping.

Liam finds the bread he's looking for, and then the cheese. "Oh, I am. Scouting
     and all that. But I'm... getting the impression I'll need to know some 
     about law and justice myself, eventually." He shrugs. "Anyway, I'm just 
     curious, mostly because I have no idea what's going on around here."

Grey grunts. "You've been here less than a week. Some confusion is to be
     expected."

Liam sticks the sandwich makings on the counter and pokes around in the fridge
     for the mayonnaise. "Some? Try /buckets/. You people have this whole 
     language which sounds like English but isn't. I pick up one word and then 
     three more take its place. I like th' non-verbal parts better."

Grey arches an eyebrow. "Such as?" He tucks a lock of hair back behind his ear
     and then takes a sip of coffee. His eyes track the cub the way a cat 
     tracks a laser point.

Liam gestures with the spreading knife he's just found. "Wolf stuff. Running
     and understanding and smelling and hearing and playing and..." He trails 
     off. "Stuff. It's easier than absorbing all the head-stuff."

"Naturally," says the Glass Walker, "since our animal selves come from a more
     basic..." He frowns, pausing a second to search for the word. "Foundation. 
     True, there are some things that must be learned, like hunting, but much 
     of it's instinct."

Liam says, "Well, yeah, and talking. I mean, I can figure stuff out and I can
     get things across, but the subtleties? I don't have any. At all. I'm 
     lookin' forward to learning 'em, though. And I don't mind the head-stuff, 
     I just sometimes think I'll never get all the jargon. I mean, like, what's 
     a Glass Walker?"

Grey takes another sip of coffee. "A tribe, one of the thirteen. Mm. Twelve,
     now. We're one of the two primarily urban tribes."

Liam constructs his sandwich, and then frowns, and goes back to find lettuce.
     "Huh. Urban? Why'd you want to hang out _there_?"

Grey's expression turns a trifle cool at that, though his voice remains even.
     "Gaia is in the city, though She's sometimes harder to find and more 
     vulnerable to attack. Also, unlike the rest of the Garou Nation, the Glass 
     Walkers recognize the value of humanity's inventions and adapt them to our 
     own, and Gaia's, benefit."

Liam chops his sandwich in half, and then into quarters. "Huh," he says again.
     "I guess I kinda leap before I look. The adaptation thing's important, I 
     bet, sometimes. And... well, if we're here to help Gaia, then we gotta 
     help her everywhere, I guess."

"Precisely," says Grey, his eyes still cool and guarded. "Your tribe is among
     the most traditional, though, and they may not agree with what I've said. 
     The Silver Fangs, in my experience, prefer the old ways to the new."

Liam says "Huh," a third time, as he sits down at the table. "Given the way my
     grandfather talked, I'm... somehow not surprised. Me, I don't _dislike_ 
     tradition and honor... But you can't be _entombed_ in it." He shrugs. "But 
     I've been here three days, so what do I know?"

Grey scratches absently at his beard, along the jaw. "Mm. How much /have/ you
     been told? Not about all of the tribes, obviously."

Liam starts in on his sandwich. "Um," he says. "About the auspices, some,
     although I still don't know what a Galleerd-- I mean, Galliard-- is. And a 
     few of the tribes. And about Gaia and the Weaver and the Wyrm and all 
     that. And how the Garou came to be. Blackriver told me that one. Good 
     story." He stops to think. "And a lot of people have told me about how 
     everyone's my boss, right now."

Grey nods. "You're at the bottom of the social ladder right now. That will
     change, given time. The best advice is to keep your eyes and ears open, 
     pay attention, and ask questions."

Liam says, "Well, yeah, and get Rited. Eventually. I don' have any problem with
     it-- it's just how people are. I just don't know what'll land me in hot 
     water and what won't, yet."

Grey takes another sip of coffee. "Mm." He wraps both hands around the mug as
     he sets it down. "Disrespect. Insubordination. Whining. Attempts to run 
     away or escape. Have your teachers warned you about the moon's effect on 
     us?"

Liam says, vocal intonation firming slightly, looking suddenly slightly older
     than his years, "It strengthens Gaia's rage within us." There's a pause, 
     and his smile grows, banishing the sensation. "Full moon makes us kinda 
     pissy, according to Justin. As for whining..." He trails off. "One 
     person's whine is another one's explanation. Guess I'll have to go 
     conservative, huh?"

Grey cocks up an eyebrow at the first bit. "Mm. Just don't cop an attitude, and
     you'll be fine. But be aware of the moon. /You/ may not feel it as much, 
     being a Ragabash, but many Garou become... unreasonable, when the moon's 
     fat. Tempers rise and snap more easily."

Liam says, "Yeah, Basil said. He was... kinda emphatic about it, really."
     Liam's own train of thought wanders, and he asks abruptly, "Speaking of 
     jargon, what's a Bone Gnawer?"

Grey wrinkles his nose, mouth pulling into a grimace. "The Bone Gnawers are the
     other primarily urban tribe. But rather than adapt themselves to the city, 
     to civilization, they wallow in trash and filth, breeding with dogs and 
     the homeless. As a tribe, they're omegas, though of course there are some 
     individuals who rise above the rabble."

Liam pauses in his polishing off in his sandwich. "Huh," he says, yet again.
     "From the perspective of an outsider, why do you think they do that?" 
     Evidently, he's straining not to pass judgement.

Grey shrugs. "Mostly, it's all they can do. The Bone Gnawers collect the dregs
     of Garou society. The weak, the insane, the unskilled and hopeless. Those 
     who wait while others eat the kill, hoping to get scraps from the bones. 
     Hence the name, you see. Bone Gnawers. They have low standards, so Garou 
     who don't measure up to any other tribe end up with the Gnawers."

Liam finishes his sandwich, looking thoughtful as he chews. "They don't have
     people who're born into the tribe?"

"They do," Grey admits, "and those are the ones most likely to make something
     of themselves. But their upbringing is still lacking, usually. Here, for 
     example," he says with a wave that encompasses the room, the house, or 
     maybe the whole area, woods and all, "a Bone Gnawer cub has many different 
     tribes to associate with. They have the opportunity to learn higher 
     standards. If surrounded entirely by dregs, well." He shrugs. "They don't 
     learn, and worse, they learn that they don't /have/ to learn. And even 
     here, at this Sept, with plenty of opportunity, most Bone Gnawer cubs I've 
     met remain what they are. Dogs." There's a slight emphasis on the last 
     word, hard and brittle and laced with some other, iceberged meaning.

Liam, last bite not done, stops in the middle of it to stare at Grey. "'s dog
     the same kind of insult to you as it was to my grandfather?"

Grey eyes the cub narrowly. "Possibly. It's an insult to any Garou. We are born
     of humans and /wolves/. Intelligent primates and wild predators."

Liam finishes the bite, and nods several times. "My grandfather never tol' me
     directly ab out the Garou, but he sure told me _enough_..." He trails off. 
     "Anyway. Miss him. Which helps nothing. So _anyway_. Since I've got you 
     here, could you tell me what a Fianna is?"

Grey rubs the side of his nose; there's still an air of tightness in his body
     language, an underlying sense of temper despite the new moon. "Yet another 
     tribe. Their homeland is Ireland, and they put a great deal of emphasis on 
     song and story. And drinking." He grunts. "But they were the primary 
     creators of our common language, which we call the Mother's Tongue."

Liam says, "Oh, the one we can talk in while in Crinos and stuff? I haven't got
     word one of that yet. But ok. That explains why Twist-rhya wanted a beer." 
     He stops to think. "So 13 tribes. Silver Fangs, Fianna, Bone Gnawers, 
     Glass Walkers... I'll have to ask Justin about the rest of them."

"Justin's your primary teacher?" Grey raises another eyebrow at this.

Liam says, "Well. At the moment, yes. Blackriver's doing a bunch, too, but the
     tribe stuff seems more like I'd need English to get the differences." He 
     matches Grey's eyebrow. "You sound kinda surprised?"

Grey grunts. "He's barely past cubhood himself. He passed his Rite only last
     month."

Liam says, loyalty itself, "That just means he remembers the head-stuff better,
     because he learned it more recently. And Blackriver can help me with the 
     stuff that needs experience. And, uh." He considers. "The people I haven't 
     met yet can do other stuff."

Grey grunts again and swallows the last of his coffee. "Clemency. Nikolai.
     Jervis, if he's still around, though I wouldn't consider him much of a 
     good example for your tribe." Pushing his chair back, he gets up and takes 
     the empty mug toward the sink.

Liam fiddles with a crumb on his plate. "Why not?"

"He's underhanded. Sneaky. Cunning, but honorless." Grey washes out the coffee
     mug and then sets it to dry.

Liam looks back up at the older man, crumb forgotten. "And people /know/ this
     about him?"

Liam sounds, for some reason, honestly shocked.

Grey turns around, drying his hands off on a dishtowel. "He's not exactly
     subtle about being an honorless bastard, so yes, people know." His voice 
     is dead-dry. "Ask Justin about him sometime. I believe there was some 
     incident between them."

Liam says, "Huh," one more time, finger still on the crumb. He's evidently
     cogitating on this. "If I ever meet him, I'll have to... Have a 
     conversation about it." He sounds half dubious, half disapproving. And 
     yeah. I'll talk to Justin. But also Jervis, presuming I ever meet him. 
     'Cause every story's got two sides. Well, more'n two sides, but you know 
     what I mean."

Grey hangs up the dishtowel and leans against the counter, arms folded across
     his chest. "I know what you mean," he says with a nod. "In any case, 
     Jervis aside, you should be in good hands."

Liam rises to his feet and carries his plate over to the sink, stepping around
     Grey in the process. "All've the Silver Fangs I've met've been good folks. 
     So... Hope so." He cogitates, while washing, and then asks, fairly out of 
     the blue, "So what's honor, then? If Jervis lacks it."

Grey shifts over to the side a little, making room for the cub. "'I shall be
     respectful. I shall be loyal. I shall be just. I shall live by my word. I 
     shall accept fair challenges.'" He's quoting, obviously.

Liam sticks the plate in the drying rack, and slides back to his chair.
     "Where're you getting _that_ definition?" He sounds more than slightly 
     dubious, but then, after a moment of fiddling with an apple left on the 
     table, admits, "It's a good start. I guess."

Grey's smile is slight and thin. "The creed of honor. Justin should know it,
     since I taught it to him. The creeds of honor, wisdom, and glory, combined 
     with the Litany, form the basis of Garou law and standards of behavior."

Liam twirls the apple. "Ok. And to live by that creed is to be honorable..." He
     trails off. After a short pause, he shakes his head. "Right, ok, so the 
     other creeds, and the Litany. Gotta poke Justin about _them_, I guess."

"Daunting, isn't it?" Grey pushes off the counter and prowls back toward the
     table to collect his notepad and pencil.

Liam says, "Yeah," although by his tone he's not necessarily thinking about the
     Litany and the creeds. He gives the apple one more twirl, and then rises 
     to his feet. "I should go find Blackriver. I think she wanted to tell me 
     some more stuff. But I'm glad to have met you. And thank you."

Grey inclines his head slightly. "You're welcome."