4/9/2005

07:43 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (5% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.24 and steady, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 19:20 Pacific Time on Sat Apr 9 2005.

Pool Hall(#3490RJ)
Pool tables, with one foosball table and an air hockey table hiding among them, dominate the space of the hall, hardly yielding any space for the motley crew of players chalking their sticks and eying the brandy bottle at the bar lining one wall. The dust and scratches on all surfaces save the green velvet lining the pool tables indicate this hall as skimping on maintenance and cheap on cleaners. Its lack of flashy videogames and surplus of toothless kibitzers underscores its appeal to the older crowd. No natural sunlight is permitted into the hall, its lighting provided by bulbs swinging from the ceiling.
A recent 'renovation' to the hall has caused many splinters and embedded bullet holes, adding much to the aged atmosphere. Ruddish stains, dark and ominous even under the lights, refuse to be washed out of the floor. A dart board brightens up the walls with its red-and-black scheme, and a moosehead looks down on the proceedings.
Mounted from the ceiling, a television blares its glaring brightness and noises.
A set of double doors, one locked, the other unlocked at the whims of the hall manager, lead out to the street. Unobstructive doors behind the bar undoubtedly lead to storerooms.
Contents:
Brom
Rillie
Erika
Obvious exits:
Outside  

Erika is sitting back in a smokey corner of the pool hall, huffing on a smoke. She exhales through her nose like a large bull-cow in cold weather. The moon is low, although that doesn't make Erika any less imposing to the peopel around the hall which frequently see the young girl hanging around the place, picking arguements and often in the company of a big fellow who often comes in here occasionally.

Making his way into the poolhall is Brom, one arm looped around the shoulders of a smaller girl. His hair is tied back into a tight pony tail for a change instead of sprawled out, and in the other hand is carried a six pack of beer. He talks to her quietly, heading for the pool tables where one of them sits lonely, with a simple sign on it: Brom's Table, do NOT touch.

Kenneth appears at the entrance of the pool hall, around 10 minutes or so after the entrance of the Forsetti and the kin. Gazing about for a good few seconds, it isn't long before the Shadow Lord finds his packmate and his company. Wary all the same of his projected minor-aged youth image, Kenneth walks in at a certain deliberate and slow pace, letting that intangibly cold, hostile aura around him take care of any lookers.

Erika continues taking drags of her cigarette as Brom wallks in, her eyes narrowing. She puts out what is left of the end, a bit of caution appearing on her face as she sees the Get walk in with a few girls seemingly attached to him. As always, Erika is the loner, although one wouldn't tell by the quite youthful attractiveness, hard-to-get appearance of the Philodox.

[look Erika]
 A trace of ancestry seems to run through this woman's youthful and attractive features. With flaxen-blonde hair that tumbles down to her shoulders and high cheekbones that rest below a set of ice chiseled blue irises, she seems to be emblematic to her bloodline. Erika "Kansas" Christensen stands about five and a half feet tall and is estimated to be somewhere around the age of fifteen to eighteen years old. Her appearance is slightly muscular and lean figured. Her earlobes each display a double piercings and her right ear sporting a third near the top of her earlobe.
  This teenager wears average clothing associated with her age. Her upper torso consists of a fitted black t-shirt with a skull across the shirt. Her lower torso consists of a pair of jeans that cling to her form with a belt with some chains attached. On her feet is a pair of tennis-shoes.

Placing a soft kiss on Rillie's head, Brom removes the sign off the pool table and starts to set up a rack, placing the six pack onto a small table off to the side. Shifting his shoulders, he glances about and notices Kenneth first, waving him over with his hand.

Rillie drags over a stool so she can perch herself on it, watching Brom as he goes about setting up the table. His wave to Kenneth doesn't go unnoticed, though the girl can't place if she's ever seen him before.

Kenneth swings his direction towards Brom and Rillie once he has been spotted. Silent as a cloud, the Shadow Lord reaches the other end of the pool table and nods to both packmate and kin. His eyes focus briefly on Rillie, he too attempting to place recognition from somewhere. It is a short while before the puzzle piece clicks into place and he states, "The races uptown... Art student."

Erika remains quietly in the back, an attentive woman, as she notices the three. The young woman remains in the shadows, pulling out another cigarette from her hoodie pocket. She places it between her lips as she fumbles for her lighter, lighting and begining to puff again as if she were a steam-engine. A can of soda is places next to her elbow on the table. A dirt bike helmet is places in the seat next to Erika.

"This is Rillie, my wife." Brom says as he rumbles quietly in his throat, taking the plastic triange off the board and tosses it to the side. Picking up one of the sticks, he leans into it a bit, then lets his eyes slowly roam the floor once more, falling upon Erika as recognition finally takes place. He eyes her for a moment, before turning back to the other pair.

Rillie squints closer at Kenneth and tilts her chin, nodding. "Aaah, now I remember. It wasn't very long of a meeting, was it?" She says with a slight grin as her eyes shift back to the prepared table.

Erika flickers her eyes back to Brom, giving him a neutral gaze for a moment before she looks away. This one remains fairly quiet and unapproachable towards the others, although she looks relaxed, almost as if this loud, smoky pool hall was her meditation place.

Kenneth hasn't yet taken notice of Erika at all, rather looking from Brom and his moving about to Rillie. "Yes, it was cut short rather quickly," he agrees. The Shadow Lord flicks his glance back to the Get Philodox for a second before it returns to the kin. "I didn't think you would hook up with Dillen," he notes aloud in a plain and unprovoking manner. "Didn't know you were married though." Another glance to the Forsetti.

Brom snorts loudly at the mention of hooking up with Dillen, giving Kenneth a quick look, then bends over the table, starting to line up a shot once he moves the cue into place.

"Dillen and I were a brief thing." Rillie states evenly to Kenneth as she sits on her stool, arms crossed in her lap. "It ended when Brom came. Now I am engaged to him." By her voice, a lot of details has been let out.

Erika remains where she is, not coming near. She continues to smoke her cigarette and sips her soda quietly from her table in another corner of the hall from the others.

Kenneth nods slightly, then shifting his gaze to the setting up of the pool table. "Congrats," the Shadow Lord utters not without a nearly imperceptible tinge of sincerity behind its flatness. "When's the wedding?"

"In a few months, we are going back to the White Oak for it." Brom says as he flicks his wrist, sending a hard snap into the triangle of balls set up, sending the colors flying to all sides of the table. Wettening his lips, he lets out a huff as none of them sink, rounding a bit to find a good angle.

Rillie gives her hand a slight motion. "What he says. Probably during the summer, maybe around late July or August." She further details as she looks back to the pool table and the multicolored balls, both striped and solid.

Kenneth slips his hands off the table's edge as the balls suddenly go rolling around on the velvet. "I see," he replies in a polite, albeit cold manner. "Are Dillen and I expected to be there?" This he asks Brom, rather than the kin.

Erika finally puts out her cigarette, becoming a little frustrated. She moves out of her chair in such a way that it skreeches across the floor. She picks up her dirt bike helmet and walks towards the group, a large scowl on her face. She looks directly to Brom, saying, "What kind of brother are you, you ass?" she asks, her tone both, amused and annoyed, making it overly difficult to know which she is trying to express.

"If you want to come, its not required, though I would enjoy your company." Brom rumbles, then narrows his eyes at the other Half Moon. "Excuse me?" He asks, a slight edge coming to his voice as he glares at her.

Rillie swallows just slightly as she looks between the growing number of Garou. Kenneth's question goes unanswered, though she wasn't the one asked anyway. Shifting her eyes, she hops off her stool and heads over to the bar to get a drink.

"No hello or nothin'?" Erika asks, she ignores the glare. "When are the new folk going to start treatin' me like I am one of yer own anyway?" she asks. "Like I'm a fuckin' piece of china...." she mutters. She continues looking to Brom, "I need to fuckin' talk to you, bro, alright?" It doesn't help that Erika's mixture of midwestern-drawl and naturally loud voice seems to turn heads around.

Kenneth makes sure to keep his distance from Rillie, always putting the pool table between him and her. When Erika finally speaks up, the Shadow Lord glances over and observes her distantly. He does not yet greet her, nor does he make smalltalk with the Get's kin.

"I don't exactly call people up and invite 'em for coffee." Brom says with a snort as he watches the other for a moment. "An I ain't yer 'bro'." Rolling his tongue lightly against his lips to wetten them, he continues to stare at her. "So, talk, what's up?" He asks.

"This is private talk," Erika replies, looking around the pool hall. "Perhaps outside fer a moment?" She moves a strand of her long blond tress away from her face, pulling it behind her ear.

Kenneth looks as if he were still attempting to place a name on Erika, still watching her from around the pool table. Then in abrupt distraction, he moves to one of the cue racks to pick off a couple of sticks, and returns to the table. One stick is offered towards Rillie, at somehow as far a distance of arm's length as Kenneth can afford.

"Erika, you've met my pack mate, Kenneth, right?" Brom says in a low voice, glancing about for a moment, before letting out a breath. "The curse will keep everyone at bay. Just talk in code if you gotta." He says with a thick rumble in his throat, eyes glancing over to Rillie. "I'm not letting her out of my sight." He says, wettening his lips. "I believe you two already met and you'd understand why I don't want to leave my wife for a moment. She got jumped once already and I know the people in this bar."

Rillie comes back with a Coke in hand just in time to have the pool cue offered to her. It's taken with a murmured thanks, eyes flicking towards Brom and Erika as they speak, but looks away just as quickly and towards the table.

"I don't have a pack t' get into anythin' with anymore, so... anyway, I hear that you got somethin' planned?" the younger looking Forsetti asks, her brow drawing up as she swings her biking helmet under her arm.

Kenneth nods just once at Rillie when she takes the cue, turning his head briefly to the other two Get as he hears his name mentioned over the low murmur and music of the hall. He nods as well to Erika, then turning to the game laid out over the table. "You good at this game?" he asks Rillie.

"Yeah, bad animals fucking around on the bawn. I've bled three times now over those fucks. We found a farmhouse about fifteen miles away from the cub house. Got cows, dogs, cats, birds.. pigs.. all of 'em fucked up. Someone out there is creating these creatures and adopting 'em from the pounds in the city. I'm arranging a scouting and an assault pack." Brom says with a light rumble in his throat. "We're going to get real messy."

Rillie gives her shoulders a slight shrug as she sets her can on top of the stool. "Passable, as long as it's a good night. It's been a little while since I've played, but it'll come back. Like riding a bike." She says. "Go ahead and go first." She says, giving the way for the Garou.

"Well, I'd like to help with this assault pack, an' end this shit goin' on. It's not goin' to get any better unless there is a stop put to it, an' I don't got anything else to fuckin' do other than kill shit that don't belong near our property or doin' stuff ta these animals. Aye?" Erika answers as she looks towards Brom.

"Aye, I guess. Sure, whatever. I don't care, more claws the better." Brom says in a low voice as he continues to let his blue eyes scan the room, making sure no one is picking up on their conversation. "Where you going now pack wise? Ganna join Havoc?"

Kenneth keeps one ear on the conversation of the Get, but his eyes on the table. Calculating, the Shadow Lord starts up the game again with a crack of the cue ball against another. The other ball bounces off, but only hits close to the bank of the corner pocket. Kenneth glances back up to Rillie, and lets her have her turn.

Rillie approaches the table and scopes out the balls. Since no one has sunk any yet, either color is up for grabs. Hm. Bringing the cue up and into position, she aims the stick for one of the striped balls. The white ball hits it and sends the striped red ball spinning, but it lands short of the pocket and hovers on the end. With a huff, Rillie stands back up and moves away.

"It does matter," Erika says sturnly. Then, she simply nods. "Just tell me when you are ready, I have the battle scars of a warrior and have shown my strength in battle." she says lowly. "I will brin' my weapon and will meet you on the battlefield." Then she tilts her head and gives a lughtly laugh, "I don't think so." she replies in a low rumble. "I am not sure were I am destined yet, I suppose it will come eventually."

Brom grins slightly. "Only weapons you need is the ones that Gaia gave you." He clears his throat and rocks his shoulders. He turns his eyes to watch the game between Rillie and Kenneth, reaching out to swat the kin on the rear as she passes by, giving her a look, grinning.

Erika licks her lips. "Then I prefer my claws and my axe," she replies. She frowns towards the male's display, then shifts her helmet. "Gotta get back to duties, pick up my da some groceries on the way back towards Kent Crossin'." she replies. "See ya, Brom and everybody."

Kenneth looks back to the table as Rillie takes her shot, and watches intently. When none of the balls are pocketed, the Shadow Lord movies in. "9, side pocket," he calls out, leaning in and striking the target. He sinks in the ball easily, but the shot is just that level. Soon Kenneth has put in 2 more balls before he misjudges, and with narrowed gaze, steps back from the table to look back at the pair of Get.

Rillie whirls around as her rear is struck and flicks out her pool cue to thwack against the Forsetti's knee. Smirking, she scoots away from him so she can take a shot at a ball in a slightly tricky position. This one she gets, however, and manages to sink another one afterwards before she misses her third attempt completly.

Brom continues to grin at Rillie, giving her a gentle growl in his throat, before looking back to Erika. "Alright, whine that you don't spend time with us an now take off to go shopping." He says jokingly. "See ya later then."

Erika shrugs her shoulders. "Hey, you gotta look after her kin and I gotta look after mine, no matter how much he hates me." she says, although by the time he can reply, Erika is already out the door, heading to her bike that she had driven out to the city.

Kenneth looks up from the table before taking his shot, and as Erika says her goodbye, watches her leave. The female Get goes out the door before he takes his shot, missing the pocket again by juuuust a touch. He huffs in disappointment, stepping back from the table again. A cautious look is sent around the hall, reading the surroundings.

Rillie watches Erika leaves and gives Brom a brief, curious look as she settles back at the table, positioning and sinking her next ball. "Sometimes I don't get her." She murmurs quietly.

"Yeah well.. I don't get her either." Brom says as he continues to watch the game between Lord and kin, plucking a beer off his six pack and tugging the tab up, releasing the crack and hiss. He drinks heavily, slumping down into a chair and kicking a foot up on the table in front of him, relaxing some.

Kenneth sets the butt of his pool cue down on the floor, watching the balls instead of the Get and his kin. As another of the clientele at the neighboring table rounds to set up his shot, the Shadow Lord notices and moves out of the way to avoid getting touched with the other guy's cue. "What do you mean?" he asks of the two, indicating he's been paying attention all along.

Rillie takes another crack at a ball and sinks it too, managing to get another down before she blunders and misses the next one entirely. Muttering under her breath slightly, she backs off and returns to her stool near Brom so she can collect her Coke and take a drink.

Brom reaches out and slides an arm around Rillie's waist as she comes near, giving her hip a pat as he glances up at her. "She just is.. I don't know. Its hard to explain." He says cooly as he takes another sip. "Hmf." He rumbles in his throat as he narrows his eyes a bit.

The door opens, letting in a brief bite of the cool April evening and the rather singular figure of Thomas Grey, unshaven and looking vaguely unkempt despite the fairly neat appearance of his clothing. Cigarette trailing smoke from his mouth, the Glass Walker makes a direct line for the bar, looking neither to the right nor the left, and takes the nearest empty stool.

Kenneth furrows his brow as things aren't explained, but brushes off the expression with a look back to the pool table's remaining layout. "Uh huh," he grunts as a reply. Call it paranoia, or an inward wariness of his surroundings- as Grey walks into the hall and beelines at the bar, the Shadow Lord follows the Walker with his gaze even as he makes his shot. The ball misses the pocket. Again.

[look Grey]
Thomas Grey is a man hard-used by the world. It shows mostly in his face, a hawkish visage that's extensively scarred down the left side, twisting keloid making a ruin of aristocratic features. If not for the scars, he'd probably be fairly handsome in a severe sort of way. The angles of his face are sharply defined, the nobility in them scoured nearly to the bone. His thick black hair hangs ear-length and shaggy around his face, and he wears a couple days' worth of black beard-growth. He looks older than his thirty-something years; his deep-set eyes -- the right dark brown, the left blind white -- are often shadowed as though from lack of sleep, and the set of his mouth is usually tight and grim.
At six-foot-three, he stands taller than most men, and an inherent athleticism indicates that he could probably hold his own in a fight. There's also an aura of pent-up violence about him, a tightly-controlled rage and bitterness within the lanky, muscled frame that could be lethal if unleashed.
He's wearing a dark green t-shirt tucked into a pair of olive-drab BDU trousers. A black and white plaid flannel shirt is worn open over the tee. On his feet are a pair of Matterhorn tanker boots, heavy black leather fastened with straps instead of laces. His light grey trenchcoat comes down to his knees and has a black lining and a small mended tear in the left sleeve.

Rillie slips away from Brom with a quick grin as her turn comes up and approaches the table. She pauses, cue in hand as she gives the setup a close look, trying to determine her best chance for a shot. She lines up and strikes one ball at another, pinging it across the table and solidly into a pocket. Just like riding a bike.

Brom watches Rillie move off, or more accurately, stares at her ass. Grinning to himself, he crushes the empty can in his hand and tosses it to the ground, then glances up as he feels the hair on the back of his neck. Tilting his head over towards the bar, he notices Thomas and rises up to his feet, heading over. "Hey, Mister Grey." He says in a gruff voice.

Grey has shrugged out of his coat by this time and gotten a beer from the bartender, who seems to recognize him even if he's not especially pleased to see him. He glances over at the sound of his name and regards the big Get of Fenris with a distinctly neutral expression. "Brom," he says, returning the greeting.

Kenneth slips his gaze off of the Walker back to the game he is rather quickly losing, and straightens his posture a touch. "Nice shot," he says to Rillie as Brom heads off, sweeping up the chalk into his hand.

"Hey, I got five of a six pack left over at the table. I want to talk to you about a few things that I don't want other ears to hear if you got the time to spare." Brom says as he stops before the Walker, his chin lifted proudly as he lets out a slow breath.

"Thanks." The kinfolk, Rillie, says in return to the Lord. Her next shot she misses however, half distracted as Brom walks away and tasks to the scarred man at the bar.
Grey's expression remains guarded and difficult to read. His answer is a blandly agreeable, "I've got some time." He gets back to his feet, taking his beer and his coat. "Lead on."

Kenneth siezes the opportunity to catch up at least, forcing himself to turn away from the Garou at the bar and put the velvet in his mind. In none too great show of some practiced skill, Kenneth puts one more ball down into the far corner pocket of the table and misses the second to last ball for his colors.

Heading back to the table, Brom doesn't hang out too close to the pool table as he yanks another beer off the pack, popping the table and leaning into the wall. He waits for Grey to approach, then says. "Not sure if you heard yet, but we found out where the taint is coming from that has been infecting animals and creeping into the bawn."

Grey drops his coat over the back of a nearby chair and stands near Brom. Kenneth and Rillie get only the briefest glance before he turns his attention back to the Get. His eyebrows rise slightly. "Actually, I hadn't heard."

On her next round, Rillie manages to soundly land her final ball in the pocket. Her attentions the turn on the ominous black ball. "Eight ball, side pocket." She declare with a clack of her cue on the left pocket. Hunkering down and squaring her shoulders, the kinfolk lines up the pool stick and takes a good solid minute to line it up. Then, as straight as a bullet from a gun, she fires off the white ball and it collides with the black. The eight smacks into the back wall, off the corner, and sinks deep into the indicated pocket. She lied. She's better than she said.

Brom shifts his shoulders a bit and lets out a heavy breath. "Got to start from the beginning. Three times I was involved in attacks upon the Sept, two in the bawn, one in the city where Cole, Auggie and I rescued a Fianna kin. Animals have been tainted and they leak poison from their mouths. I have been doing research and found a lot of the pounds have been cleaned pretty much clear of pets down town, which is typically over flowing. I got some help and found out that there is an estate about fifteen miles from the farmhouse in Kent's Crossing, full of tainted animals and a green house that is blacked out so that no one can see in." He furrows his brows. "It holds cows that can jump like rabbits and birds that attack on sight. Not a lot of cover, too much open ground. I've assembled an assault party and I've worked out a scouting party so that by the next Half Moon, we can have this taken care of." He squints his eyes some. "Something you may be interested in?"

Kenneth looks back from gazing towards Brom and Grey as Rillie calls her shot. With the sinking of the eight-ball, the Shadow Lord draws his lips into a tight line and dips his head once to the kin. "Good game," he says with more than usual mustered sportsmanship. Walking around the table to put it between himself and the other pair of Garou, he then has his eyes on Grey once more, staring in a neutral manner.

Grey listens carefully, alternating a swallow of beer with a long inhaltion from his cigarette. Someone with a keen sense of observation, watching him, will likely notice something interesting; the Glass Walker never quite meets the Get of Fenris' eyes. He also shows no sign of great excitement or interest in news of the raid, though that's probably less surprising, considering that the man seems unwilling to reveal much about himself at all. "Possibly."

Rillie nods her head back to the Shadow Lord. "You too. Another time, when things are quieter?" She offers as she returns to her stool and reclaims the last of her Coke, finishing off the can. She half listens to the Garou buisness, but doesn't give it a great deal of mind.

Continuing to stare at the Walker, Brom crosses his arms over his chest as he lets out a slow breath. "I ain't about to get killed by some fucking cow, and I don't think anyone else does either. You good with a sniper rifle? We're ganna have a lot of shit to take in regard, such as fucking birds dive bombing us. I'm sure there is going to be pit bulls and doberman's like we've already faced last time. We want to try and crack open that green house. There is also a barn off to the side that holds pigs and probably horses. We're hoping to use a few rituals and gifts to make the job easier, but if there's cows, probably is ganna be bulls also. Even a Crinos will have a hard time trying to take those fuckers down."

Kenneth breaks his gaze off of Grey, paying heed to Rillie's invitation. He nods once slowly. "Yeah." The halfmoon leaves his cue atop the sparse table, and takes a step back away from the table, "Gonna go grab somethin' t'eat," he says a little louder, sidestepping a few paces before turning for the front door.

Grey grunts and takes another drag off the old cancer stick. "My depth perception's not what it used to be, but I know my way around a rifle." No comment on the cast of _Charlotte's Web_ gone mad.

Brom nods his head. "That's cool. If you know of anyone else that can handle one, that'd be good. Unless of course you'd rather just use your claws and you won't see me bitch about that." He says, his voice continuing to stay low so that the rowdy music nearly drowns him out. "I just refuse to get killed by a cow." A faint grin. "By the way, I claimed Alpha over Requiem." He says as he shifts his gaze off to Ken for a moment, then back to the Walker.

Grey blinks once, follows Brom's gaze over toward Kenneth, then turns back to the Get. "Congratulations." There's nothing sarcastic in this. "The pack's rebuilding, then."

Brom nods his head slightly. "It is, and its going to be a good fucking pack too. I'm going to make sure its one of glory. I am enjoying myself already." He says with a slight grin tugging at his lips. "What about you? Who's luring you in their direction? Or is everyone turning their nose up at your scars cuz' you bumped fuzzies with another?"

The kinfolk's cheek gives a slight twitch at Brom's version of tact and slides off her stool to head back to the bar and get herself another Coke.

A steel shutter slams down over Grey's eyes, the blandly neutral expression turning positively rigid. His voice, however, remains even. "At the moment, I'm keeping my options open."

Broom nods his head slightly. "Gotcha. Well, if you are looking for glory and want a pack, feel free to come find us. I'm going to put us on the fucking map and I don't care about the past, I care about the here and -now-." He says with a grunt.

"I'll keep that in mind," Grey says, politely enough, though it doesn't sound all that encouraging. He takes another drag, then turns his face away to exhale, looking over across the bar. "When's the raid?"

"Trying for when the moon gets a bit bigger again, half moon at the least. I want the scouting party I'm putting together to see what they can find. I also want to peek at the Umbra to see if there is a bigger mess we may over look." Brom says with a snort. "Hell, it could be nothing more than bad plumbing for all I know, but I'm not going to go in there half cocked."

Rillie pays for her second can of Coke and returns towards the pool table, her stool, and the two talking Garou nearby. Reclaiming her seat, she cracks open her can and takes a quiet drink.

Dillen pushes open the door and steps inside. He looks about and then heads for a table, pulling a cue from the wall and settling a stack of quarters into the table. The balls come rolling out and he begins to rack them up.

Grey nods. "Wise. And if there /is/ something there, taking it out will be vital."

Brom nods his head and shifts his shoulders a bit, then motions with his head towards Rillie. "My mate, Rillie of the Get."

Kenneth is minutes away before he is on the return bearing a burrito in hand with a bite taken out of it. Just a passing glance is given to the rest of the clientele, and in that glance the Shadow Lord spots his other packmate. The halfmoon stops, mouth chewing busily.

Rillie dips her head to Grey in a polite nod. "Evenin'." She says and takes another long drink from her Coke. "If I can help, just tell me, tho' not sure what I can do."
Grey turns mismatched eyes toward the artistic-looking young woman and nods back, offering up an aloofly polite, "Pleasure to meet you."

Dillen lines up the shot and just as he is about to let lose with the cue, hears a couple of familiar voices. He raises a brow for a bit and then goes back to the table, letting lose with the cue and causing the balls to run about the table, sinking two.

Brom glances over to Ken an Dillen again, then calls over. "Hey Dillen!" He says, his voice barking a bit, before looking back to the Walker. "That was pretty much it."

Kenneth, despite his packmate status, seems content to move off to a fringe wall and consume his burrito there. His eyes remain on the group however, watching. Waiting.

Grey looks briefly at Dillen when Brom calls his name, then turns back with a nod. "I'll speak with my kin to see about scaring up some ranged weapons, for the birds if nothing else. You know the number to the safehouse?"

Dillen looks up and tracks the voice. "S'up?" He says, eyes moving over his pack and then resting on Rillie for a bit. He nods his head to anybody who makes contact with him. Then the cue flies again and he knocks another ball in the pocket.

"I don't." Brom admits as he furrows his brows. "I know where its at though. I've been there at least three times. I would have to use Rillie's phone."

Grey grunts. "You know how to reach me, then." Turning away, he picks up his coat again, clearly considering the conversation over.

Rillie listens to all the Garou talk amongst themselves, giving a quite wave to Dillen as he approaches, before going back to the conversation which seems to have ended abruptly. Hm.

As Grey gets up to depart, Kenneth finishes downing another bite. The Shadow Lord wipes off his lips with a napkin, watching the Walker with more intent now.

Dillen watches Grey depart as well. He rests against the table, the cue in front of him. "How's things?" He says to the others.

Grey, presuming that Brom doesn't stop him, takes his beer, his cigarette, his coat, and his less-than-chummy self back to the bar to finish the first two and possibly several of their siblings.

Kenneth breaks off at the wall, not quite finishing the burrito in his hand but instead replacing the foil outerwrapping on it. The Shadow Lord makes his way back towards Grey's direction, but the expression on his face is definitely not one that implies the halfmoon is going there to make small talk.

Rillie remains quietly drinking her pop and looking at the lot still in the pool hall. She lets out a brief sigh and stares down into the caern. "It's getting late, should probably be heading home."

Grey has just gotten himself reseated and resettled when he notices Kenneth approaching. His guard's still up, and it doesn't relax one whit. He gives Kenneth a sidelong glance and then looks away, studying the collection of bottles behind the bar while he waits for the Shadow Lord.

Dillen clicks his tongue against his teeth. He shrugs and shakes his head, turning and going back to his game.

Kenneth drops the hand holding the burrito down atop the bar, sliding into the seat beside the Walker philodox. "Hey," he utters quietly in a pseudo-form of greeting - it's not exactly a greeting, so much as an announcement of his presence within the halfmoon's personal bubble boundary. "Need t'ask you something."

Grey inhales a lungful of cigarette smoke and lets it out slowly. He watches it twist and curl and eventually dissipate. "What do you need?"

Kenneth seems content to let the Walker's question swim in the air between them for a long minute, before he looks off. "Is Nat still pissed off at me?" The question is neutral, but inquiring. The Shadow Lord doesn't meet Grey's eyes.

Grey raises his eyebrows and looks over at Kenneth. "I have no idea. She's never mentioned you to me."

"She seemed pretty pissed off when I talked to your guys' ... test applicant," Kenneth mentions quietly. "Haven't heard back from her since."

Grey grunts and turns away, studying his cigarette. "She doesn't like your branch of the family," he tells the young Shadow Lord, quite bluntly.

Kenneth nods at this, turning his head to watch the pool games. "No one really does," he replies evenly. "But I just got a gut feelin' that I'd better get my shit together and at least get this outta the way, else it'll come back to haunt me." He glances back to the Walker. "Not like I got much good to my credit either."

Grey grunts again. "You're young. I wouldn't worry about it." He takes a swallow of his drink. "If you're worried about Natalie, go and talk to her. She's not that difficult to find."

Kenneth shrugs a shoulder, trying to come off as impassive. "Yeah, well I figured you're best t'find out where I could find her then. And with her goin' on her own 'test' right now, don't know if I should bother." His black eyes settle upon part of the other halfmoon's shirt edge. "Brom might know where the house is, but not like I'm gonna go ask 'im."

Grey looks over at Kenneth again, frowning in bemusement. "You're packing with him, aren't you?"

Kenneth nods slowly. "Yeah, but knowing him, he might end up blowin' this thing outta the water. I don't need that, and Nat don't need it either." The Shadow Lord looks over again, fleetingly. "After all, expecting a Get to use tact with his words is like expecting an ox not to get pissed if you wave a red flag around in front of its face."

"Mnh," Grey says, noncommitally. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth, he pulls a felt-tip pen out from somewhere in the folds of his discarded coat and scribbles a street address on a cocktail napkin. "Here," he says, pushing it over toward Kenneth. "Now you don't have to ask." He caps the pen and puts it away.

Rina bursts in like a leather-armored cowboy, shaking out her helmet-head and running fingers through her hair. She looks over the tables with a dangerous little glint in her eyes, ignoring the bar at first.

Kenneth nods minutely once more, taking the napkin and folding it neatly into a small square before slipping it deep into his pocket. The 'thanks' uttered is nearly unheard over the clack of pool balls and general murmur of people's conversations. Rina's entrance, though, draws the Shadow Lord's eyes away before he can say more, the youth not being the only one who looks towards the door at the woman's entry.

Not the only one, indeed. A few--the rougher types--scowl and look away, muttering nasty comments about queers in general and this one in particular.

Rina trades waves with a table of college students shooting eight-ball.

Grey looks over as well, and at the sight of the kinswoman, his expression lightens considerably without showing any sign of an actual smile. Excusing himself with a muttered word, the Glass Walker gets up and heads over to join Rina.

Kenneth doesn't get up from his spot at the bar, instead turning back to the half-eaten, foil-wrapped burrito in his hand. Though the Shadow Lord doesn't look back, he appears aware of the connection between the two.

She turns to head for the bar, and is confronted with the sight of a looming Glasswalker judge. With a blink, she looks up at him and offers a rather floaty smile. "Hey." Her brow furrows slightly. "You look like shit."

"Nice shirt," Grey says in response. and there's the smile finally, thin and wan and barely there, but somehow conjured by the one on Rina's face. He stands close enough to make it obvious to anyone watching that they're more than just passing acquaintences. "Been dancing?"

Tipping her head, her smile mellow, she answers, "Little bit. The place was dead for a Saturday, though. Not late enough yet." Her eyes are dilated-black, just a little too bright for this time of night.

Grey takes a drag off the cancer stick and turns his head away for the exhale. Of course, the smoke's so thick in the place that even if he wasn't indulging in this dirty habit, their clothes would likely come away stinking of it. "Ah. Planning to go back, then?" He turns back to look down at her, hands slipping into his pockets. "Or deciding to take things slowly tonight?"

"Air's a little thick in here," she says pointedly, wrinkling her nose. "I'll prolly go back over, later. After a coupla drinks. Unless you don't want company?"

Kenneth slides off his barstool, burrito in tow as the youthful (and somewhat out of place looking) Shadow Lord makes his way out of the Pool hall. As he passes the Walker and kin, the halfmoon tips both of them a nod of courtesy before exiting out into the night's air.