Time/Date : It is currently 20:00 Pacific Time on Thu Jan 12 2006.

Place :Safehouse

Moon Phase :Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (91% full).

Weather :Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 14 mph, with gusts up to 24 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.72 and falling, and the relative humidity is 88 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)

Safehouse: Common Area(#2947RAJ)

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.


Standing a little over five foot tall and slimly built, KL makes a not particularly imposing first impression. In her late teens, she has an air of irritation, and of nervy energy, combined with hostility and restrained aggression.
Her mousy-brown hair is pulled back into a plait that hangs down to the small of her back, and is fastened at the bottom and the top by dark brown leather bands. She would be quite attractive - she has a very cute, upturned nose, and expressive hazelnut eyes - were it not for the anger in her gaze and the sullen set of her mouth. She stares at people - particularly people she doesnt know - with a cold fury, as if waiting for an opportunity to attack them.
KL has pale skin, and on her right shoulder-blade is a two-inch-square tattoo of a winged horse. There isn't much in the way of excess flesh on her, her cheekbones are clearly visible and her bare arms have a tight musculature that speaks of regular and plentiful exercise.
She's rarely still for very long, and while she still remembers to slouch around from time to time, she's less inclined to do it these days, and her natural grace, balance and co-ordination is clearly evident in her movements.
She's currently wearing a pair of blue jeans that are slightly too large for her - it appears only a black leather belt is preventing them from descending southwards at pace. On her top half is a maroon t-shirt which has a picture of a small rabbit with its hands over its ears and the legend "Not Listening" beneath. Over that is a black leather jacket, unfastened and hanging loosely around her torso. On her feet are an old and battered pair of combat boots, that have seen many better days.


Kevin Lockwood has now been in town for the better part of a year, and blends in pretty well with those who would outwardly seem to be his peers - he's taller than many of them, leaner than most, and perhaps a little more mature-looking than the average. His hair remains very dark brown, cropped quite short, and intermittently spiked with gel. As ever his face contains a long chin, large nose, heavy eyebrows and brown eyes. There's definite stubble on his chin and top lip these days, though it's unlikely that he has to shave every day.
As regards clothing, his usual style is a track-suit and running shoes, which sit well on his thin, athletic frame and obviously aren't just for show. Sometimes the track-suit top hangs open to reveal a green T shirt with Super Mario on the front of it, holding a Fire Flower, with the words: POWER UP! on it in big white blocky letters.
He's about five foot ten, much of it his long legs, as ever; sometimes, particularly when sitting down, he doesn't seem to know what to do with those legs, crossing them, tucking them under himself, swinging them sideways over the arm of a sofa, or a dozen other uncomfortable-seeming positions.

Kevin is sitting on his bed in the semi-redecorated chaos of his room on the private side of the Glass Walker house. He's wrapped in a tartan blanket, and shivering as though cold, though the house's heating is working fine.

It's been quite a while since KL has been to the safehouse, and she's learnt much in that time. Most pertinently, apparently, is "how to use the doorbell", for it is that that rings tonight to herald her presence. She hasn't quite managed "patiently waiting", because it must be at most fifteen seconds before she hammers on the door with her fist.

It takes Kevin a good deal longer than fifteen seconds to hobble out of his room, limp down the stairs, and get through to the front door. Even this mild effort seems to be rather a strain for him, because by the time he opens it to KL, his forehead is drenched in sweat and he's looking like he's just run one of his sprints.

The reward for his effort is an incredulous swearword. "Fucking hell," KL greets, "you look dreadful! What's happened? Not the bane in the machine again?" She steps inside and pushes the door closed behind her with a foot, peering worriedly at Kevin. "Or are you contagious?"

Kevin shakes his head, beckons KL inside, and slumps down on the couch in the common area. "Rats," he says succinctly, presumably meaning this as an explanation rather than an ejaculation.

"Rats?" KL asks, taking a seat across from him. "You got bitten by rats and now you've got the plague?" She doesn't seem to be taking this _entirely_ seriously. "So, what actually happened?"

"Don't ever be homeless in this city," exhorts Kevin. "If you don't get murdered by some crazy spirit that thinks it's doing you a favour to get you reincarnated, you're likely to get eaten by giant mutated rats."

KL nods. "I'm trying to...well, disengage from the city. I'm not a -" There's a pause as she visibly tries out various different phrases, before settling on "-city Garou." A shrug. "I don't get on well with people, anyway. How long have you been sick?"

"Since the rat bit me," Kevin replies, deadpan. "There was a bunch of them, in this old abandoned warehouse down at the end of South Fourteenth. Your elder, the Fianna elder, and me took them on and killed all we can find... but the place will need a cleansing before whatever spawned those monsters, turns out any more. They were the size of cats." He indicates the size with his parted hands like an angler, then wipes sweat from his brow.

"Wow. Big rats. Seen a theurge?" KL enquires, concernedly. "And can I get you anything? Food? Coffee? Video or whatever it is you Glasswalkers rot your brains with these days?"

Kevin shakes his head. "Couldn't eat at the moment. Whatever I've got, even shifting doesn't burn out the system. It's kind of like the flu, only... you know. Maybe I need Cleansing too. More fool me for squashing the little sods in my hands, in Crinos." He mimes how he did so, opening and closing his (homid) fists.

"Seems effective. I think it's better than the ratstomping dance." KL says, with a grin, which quickly fades. "So, let me get this straight, you've been bitten by giant mutant rats, are now sick, and haven't been checked for being wyrmtainted?"

"This was two days ago," Kevin explains. "I came home, flopped out... one of them bit my foot, so I was kind of sore by the time I got in... next morning, I wake up in a fever. None of the tribe has the Gift, far as I know, and I'm not up to travelling far... though I need to go to the Caern soon, to recharge the ol' fang." He touches the small tooth round his neck, which is a pale unpleasant green, like corroded copper.

KL sniffs, and her jaw sets firmly. "You're not going anywhere near the fucking caern until you've been checked out," she says, definitely. "Fang or no fang." She frowns. "Right. Theurges. Need one."

"If I do," Kevin adds tiredly, "so do Helen and Cole. They were clawing at those rats as much as me. I don't know if they've come down with this fever too." A note of alarm has entered his voice. "KL... do you think this is real bad?"

"I don't know. Rat bites and their after effects are not a specialist subject of mine." KL says, with a wave of her hand. "But I know enough not to let you go near the Caern until someone says it's OK." She ponders for a bit. "Olga? I could go and try to find Olga?"

Kevin nods. "I trust Olga. Good excuse to see her again... not caught up with her in weeks... months..." Kevin wipes his brow again. "KL," he says, frankly, "I feel... dreadful."

"You look like death warmed up," KL says. "And not very much warmed up at that." She purses her lips together and screws up her nose. "Yeah, I'll go and find Olga as soon as I can. Can you contact Jeremy? I mean, with the phone or whatever?"

"I could," Kevin says exhaustedly, "but it'd do no good. He's in Las Vegas or California or somewhere, waiting for the business with Peter Abraxas to blow over."

"But he could call his wife?" KL asks. "Or do you have her phone number as well? I don't know where they live, and aimlessly kicking around the farmhouse doesn't seem a particularly effective way of doing it."

"This fever must have affected my brain," Kevin groans. "Of course... 'Kota. I'll send Jer an SMS, ask him to get her to come round maybe... Though given how hard it is to reliably find any garou in this sept, perhaps you ought to see if the Gnawer theurges are at home, too. They've got at least one other one on top of Olga."

"Yeah, but cast two stones so that we double the chances of hitting a bird." KL gets rather lost in her own metaphor, and has to shake her head to clear the last traces of it. "But yeah, I'll go down to the Odeon and see who I can bully into doing something."

Kevin wraps his blanket back around himself as he huddles up on the couch. "That's good of you, KL," he says gratefully. "So... why are you disengaging from the city? I know you don't exactly love it, but I thought you packed here?"

"Pack's splitting up. Emma's leaving town, Signe's gone, Natalie's gone. That just leaves me and Gunnar, and that's not a pack. We don't get on well enough to try and found one ourselves, either." KL says, looking morose. "So I'm packless for the moment."

"Emma's leaving?" Kevin gasps in dismay. "She can't! Where's she going? Why? She never told me!

KL shrugs and makes little quote signs with her fingers. "She 'needs to go somewhere else to sort her head out'. Though she's being indecisive about it, as always. I think she feels that the rest of her tribe don't respect her."

"So are you going to start a new pack out in the woods?" Kevin asks, once he's digested that chunk of unpalatable news. "Or just going to get your own head sorted out for a bit? What are the other Furies doing? I hear there were some new ones in town."

"Yeah, there's a new fostern I haven't even met yet, a new cub and Leslie, who hasn't decided on a pack." KL says, sniffing. "I haven't decided yet. I thought I could be a guardian, but that would mean hanging around with the guardian pack, and they're not fond of wyrmcomers. So, fury ahroun for hire, have claws, will travel."

"It takes a certain kind of person to be a guardian," Kevin says, "and I for one couldn't do it even if I'd joined another tribe than this one, like I nearly did the Get. Speaking of Get and packmates," Kevin muses, "Gunnar's a theurge too. Does he know how to cleanse? And if so, is he in your turf at the moment?"

"Physically or mentally?" KL asks. "I have no idea. I could drop by the brownstone, but he's been hanging around the bawn a lot recently. I'll have a look. If the worst thing that happens is you get three theurges rather than one, it'll still be better than none."

KL goes to fetch Gunnar

An hour after KL has departed, leaving the shivering Kevin huddled on the couch, she returns, with Gunnar at her side. "He looked fucking awful when I left." she says, as the two former packmates approach the safehouse door. With typical violence, she bangs repeatedly on it. If Kevin is anywhere short of actually dead, he'll hear it.

Kevin is quicker to open the door this time, having remained on the couch with the blanket round him. He's displaying all the typical signs of fever, shivering with cold while also in a sweat.

In typical fashion, Gunnar moves with an unhurried, though certainly purposeful, sort of gait; pausing just for a moment upon the door's threshold with no particuliar appearance of urgency or, even, caring about what KL is talking about. As Kevin swings it open, however, the Godi pushes to the forefront most brusquely, one hand reaching to the kid's head - slowly enough to hopefully not be constrewed as a strike. Should Kev not pull away, that hand rests on his forehead for a moment, thumb pulling up first one eyelid, then the other, as the Fenrir's own gaze locks down to either one. A moment or two after that examination - which might bear more in common with a horse breeder checking out a new purchase than a doctor - he speaks. "I will need yarrow, rosemary and lemon balm. Fresh. I will also need sinew from a young stag." He says this as if tacking on 'orange juice' to a grocery list. "No need to be fresh."

KL looks at the theurge for a moment with utter blankness. Her mouth opens and shuts slowly. "Yarrow, rosemary, lemon balm, and the sinew of a stag. Of course, I'll just pop out and get them. I'm sure Patel's Fucking Corner Store has all of them in, because what household would get caught short of them!" Oddly, she makes no motion to leave.

Kevin's eyes seem a little more bloodshot, perhaps, than one would like to see. He passively lets Gunnar poke at him. "This household," he says to KL. "Now if only a gig of memory sticks would do instead." A weary smile from the ragabash.

The Godi's voice lowers an octave - a rippling growl resonating beneath the normal ground-glass pleasantness of his speech as his gaze cuts sidelong to KL. "The other option is a sharp blade." Nostrils pinching, fractionally, that attention turns to rest more heavily on the woman. "Take your pick."

This causes KL to give some long thought. "Who would you be stabbing with it?" she asks, eventually, before shaking her head. "OK, yarrow, lemon balm, rosemary and deer sinew it is. See you in a week." She turns to go, dragging her feet slowly along.

Kevin makes a slightly weak-voiced but determined prospect. "There are blades here," he points out. "And I am in a Fenris pack. I'm not scared of knives." He squares his shoulders resolutely.

"The corruption must be removed, and if not removed then eliminated entirely - I cannot be certain if this is Jormungandr's doing, or simply an illness. Treating the disease first seemed the... "He almost grimaces at the statement "'kinder' of the two choices - without that option, we will take the more direct route. Speak with Cries No More. He should have knowledge of such things that I need." Gunnar's attention, somewhere in that relative tirade, returns to Kevin.

"So, do I go on the shopping trip, do I go and find Touch Deer, or do I stay here and hit Kevin repeatedly over the head to prevent him from doing anything stupid?" KL demands, looking fiercely at Gunnar. "Or do I stab the both of you and be done with the matter?"

Kevin closes his eyes wearily. "Why did this have to happen at full moon?" he mutters.

The snarl resonates into a more directed growl, as all attention seems to tear away from Kevin. Head rolling fractionally to one side, then the other, with a cracking of vertebrae Gunnar, slowly, turns to level his attention on KL once again - or, more properly, the area around the Fury, his eyes seeming locked on some point behind her head. "You." He begins, the words almost seeming to be forced out "Will obtain what is needed; I have even given you the means to do so. Or you will watch him die. In either case you will stay out of my way."

"You give me a fucking stupid fucking shopping list of fucking random crap at a time when most of the fucking shops are going to be closed, and expect me to fucking well run off and get it for you? I'll go and find fucking Touch Deer and ask him for your fucking crap, but it'll take a little while, as I'll have to fucking well walk." KL says, in a speech that starts of as a growl and finishes rather more high-pitched than she might, on reflection, have liked.

Kevin gives a very creditable snort for an unwell person. "Watch me die? I'm so tempted to invite you to come and have a go if you think you're hard enough," he says angrily, "but you are a guest in this house and all." He wipes sweat from his brow. "KL, Gunnar, you're meant to be packmates... for now at least... keep cool, huh?"

"Then why are you still here." Gunnar replies with a snort. "Did you think I would simply come here, tell him to be well and it will be so? I do not keep such things that I need in the city..." Whatever was further is broken off as Kevin speaks. The Godi spins sharply on one foot - a motion that his usual, juggernaught-like pace would never indicate he was capable of. The motion is one of anger, however, not of Rage - at least, not yet. A more visceral growl does begin to coil in his chest, however, eyes growing deeper grey as his lips pull back from his teeth. It does stop there, however, that stare boring into the younger man's face. Likewise, he neither strikes nor grabs at Kevin; rather, he snaps one forearm out at an angle to, appearantly, drive it lengthwise across the Glasswalker's throat - following through to pin him against the wall nearby.

"I would have thought..." KL begins. "Oh, I can't fucking well be bothered. See you later." She spins on her heel and opens the door and sets off down the path, muttering "yarrow, lemon balm, rosemary, sinew of a young fucking deer."

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