"It's easy to forget how to be a person."

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.

Kevin is sitting with his feet up on the couch, watching the widescreen TV upon which a lot of little men are running around chasing a tiny dot of a ball. The World Cup. Every now and again he lets out a whoop or a groan, depending on who's done well.

Kaz doesn't, lately, come to the Safehouse at all often. But she clumps in the door, small bag in hand, and trails down to the Common Area, calling a friendly sort of "Yo!" as she goes.

Kevin looks as though he'd like to tell Kaz to ssh, so intent is he on the soccer, but he manages to peel his eyes off the screen for a moment. "Kaz," he greets her. "Don't suppose you've come to watch Holland play Ivory Coast?"

Kaz says, with a small grin, "Not so's you'd notice. Mostly, I came over to harass you, but I can siddown and shut up if you wanna watch people kickin' little balls." She plops the bag down on the table and flops into one of the recliners.

Kevin gives Holland a lingering regretful look but turns away from the TV. "I got something to hassle you about too," he says, "but you hassle first?"
Kaz shakes her head and sits forward slightly. "Nah-- Mine ain't much. What's with you?"

"How sussed are you," Kevin asks the Gnawer, "about the homeless and street-people in town?"

Slowly, Kaz says, "Used t'be more'n I am. But kinda am now. 'Sup with 'em?"

"One of them had a kind of fit in the park yesterday," Kevin explains. "Jumped into the fountain, started yelling. Couldn't understand most of what he said. Then he cracked his head, he'd have drowned himself if I hadn't dragged him out. He didn't smell drunk. I guess he's a bit cracked... maybe he got turned out onto the streets when the hospital blew up."

Kaz says, "Yeah, lotta them guys got fucked by that. An' it ain't like the system wants t'deal with th' long term schizophrenics." She sits back again. "What's he lookin' like, so I can maybe see what I can do for him?"

"Maybe it's being part of Vendetta instead of Requiem," Kevin explains parenthetically. "I can't truthfully say I'd have paid any heed to him before... but now... Uh, well. He was like tall, and thin, big beaky nose, long hair. And oh, yeah. That was the creepy thing. He had these scars on his hands. Like, satanic symbols."

Kaz says, "Sca-- Huh." She sits forward again, not urgently but more energized than before. "Did he have one've them jackets with elbow pads on?"

"I... dunno," Kevin replies. "He was tearing his clothes off like they were on fire. I think he had a jacket, yeah. You know the poor geezer?"

Kaz laughs, sitting back and whocking her head by accident. (Luckily, it's a padded recliner.) "He's one've us folks. I knew him in Portland. He ain't real stable, but he also ain't totally stupid. So if he's mutterin' stuff at you, he might actually have good shit to say, if you can translate from his brain to your brain. On the other hand, he might not."

"One of us?" Kevin blurts. "You mean, uh. Garou? Well, I'll say this, he was madder than a wet Silver Fang... He was saying something about things going down. Buses."

Kaz nods. "Yeah, Garou. He's a Gnawer, in case that ain't obvious." She laughs again and shakes her head. "I really gotta find him. I knew he was in town, but--" She shakes her head. "Well, anyway. His name's Giles. An' he's kinda freaked about them Dancer buses, or at least th' Chain said so. So I'd bet that's part of it."

"Dancer buses?" Kevin asks, his brow furrowing till two lines appear in the middle of his forehead.

"Yeah," Kaz says, darkly, rolling up out of the chair and starting to pace. "Th' bus system's got this shiny new logo, an' it's the damn Dancer glyph. We're, uh, kinda worried."

"How the hell did I not notice that?" Kevin says, looking annoyed. "I patrolled yesterday afternoon, right along our city turf from the marina to the park... that's where I ran into this crazy guy I told you about... and I didn't notice anything funny."

Kaz shrugs, as she flops back into a different chair. "Sometimes you don't notice shit that's right in front of your nose. Busses is just background noise, y'know?"

Kevin grunts, discontentedly. "Should still have spotted it. So what the hell is the logo of the Fallen Ones doing on a freaking bus?"

Kaz is up and pacing again. (It is, after all, her moon.) "Iiiii dunno. I sure the fuck wish I did. Are they connected to them guys that was throwing heads at us? Is it the design company, or the higher-ups at Country, or what? I got no goddamn clue. I hear Aaron's got some info, but I ain't had a chance to bug him yet."

"This is the sort of thing that the city packs should be onto," Kevin opines. "Though I don't know how operative a force Havoc is right now, they've taken a bit of a pounding lately. It may rest on us. We should tell Basil."

Kaz nods. "If he ain't already noticed. I gotta bug Yi an' Masao, too. Them bein' the actual scouts an' shit."

Kevin rubs his head, glances at the screen to check the score, then looks back to Kaz. "Okay. Now, what were you coming here to bug me about, Earsy?"

Kaz mutters, "That's a new one on me," and then shrugs. "Gotta introduce Morgan t'Patches someetime. That's all."

Kevin nods, slowly. "I wish I could make my mind the hell up about Morgan," he mutters. "Whether it's a good idea or not."

Kaz tilts her head. "Other than her bein' kinda whacked some of the time, why would it be a bad idea?"

"There's two reasons," Kevin replies, slowly. "And you won't like either of them, so perhaps I ought to shut up."

Kaz shakes her head. "No, g'on. I ain't gonna jump on you. Honest."

"One; what will the sept make of a pack with two charach and two metis?" Kevin says. "And two, I hate to say this, especially to you, but she freaks me out in a way even other metis like you or Peter don't."

Kaz says, "Well, honestly, she kinda freaks me out sometimes, too. But a lot of that isn't her being a metis, per se, it's her being raised in a basement with no contact with anyone. She's got thinkin' issues an' shit like that-- if you don't have the right kinds of contact at the right times, you ain't gonna develop th' same way other people do. So... I dunno. I honestly don't think she's ever gonna be completely right. So in a lot of ways, yeah, she ain't gonna be able to fit in th' way anyone else would. But there's a lot of things to do t'help her, I think, too, even if some've 'em might better be left to a trained teaacher." She shrugs. "But what we got is us. Now-- I can see not wantin' to take on this kind of reclamation project, an' I don't at all blame you. As f'th' other thing--" She shrugs. "I've got the luxury of not givin' a shit about how they see us, because I'm a fuckin' Bone Gnawer metis an' I've always been lowest of the low. What matters, to me, is what we do, not how they see us. But that's just me."

"Yeah. Just you," Kevin repeats. "Not that I'm not glad you're you. But I don't want people to write us off without giving us a chance, and I just bet that some people will if we set one step wrong. And Morgan... well, she's even more likely than the rest of us to give them an excuse, if you follow me..."

Kaz grabs a Coke out of her pocket. "Yah. She ain't exactly your restrained kinda person." Kaz trails off, and looks at nothing in particular for a moment. Then she refocuses. "Y'know, I admit, I am kinda uncomfortable with some of what you're sayin', but it ain't because you're offendin' me or nothin'. Mostly, it's because, when I've made packs before, it's ain't been based on how other people saw us, but on how we saw each other. We were what mattered. And if you don't like her or are freaked out by her, that's a perfectly good reason not t'add her in. And it is a good reason. But if you define your pack by other people's opinions, you can't live. You can't do shit, because you'll always be checkin' yourself."

Kevin frowns quite savagely at those words. "Yeah? Well, you know what, Kaz? Ever since I found out I was one of those crazy wolf-men, I've been defining myself by other people's opinions. Natalie's. Brom's. Dillen's. And then, when for once I actually put that aside and did something I wanted for the first time since Christmas 2004, I end up having my balls chopped off in front of the sept for it. Is it any wonder I worry what people think?" His jaw juts out defiantly at the metis. "About me, and about my packmates? About Morgan?"

Kaz takes a breath, and then lets it out. "Yeah, well, there's a few things here. I got other stuff to say, but now that you've brought it up... You have this perfect situation with you and Baz, you're perfectly fine, no one's noticing-- and then you go and fuckin' tell the world at Moot? What the fuck?" The breath she took doesn't seem to help much, as she's incredulous and somewhat pained and showing all of it.

Kevin's temper doesn't improve any at that. "We had a plan!" he snaps. "We were gonna make a break and head east. It's not my fault if Basil got cold feet at the last moment!"

Kaz says, "Uh-huh. Why tell anyone about it, though? I mean-- Fuck." She stops abruptly and sighs. "I just-- I just wish, is all. Wish you coulda not hurt y'self doin' it. Y'know?"

Kevin subsides back into his seat. "I was guilt-tripping myself out," he says. "Hell, Kaz, you're talking like we were just any old two guys, not two garou breaking the litany."

Kaz says, slowly, "I guess I ain't familiar with that level of self-sabotage. I'm... Well, I'm sorry you had that much guilt piled on you. I keep forgettin' what it's like for people that don't grow up in Gnawer Septs."

"I was being cast as the golden boy," Kevin grumbles, "and that's so not me. I've got this... destructive streak. Why I went down so well with Brom, and in Requiem. Jump straight into any fight. Wait till you see me at the weekend with that river bane, splashing away like a kid in a paddling pool."

Kaz pops her Coke open. "Yeah." She takes a sip. "Well." She shrugs. "OK. I can buy that. But the thing there is, I don' want you dyin' on me, kid. I've had enough people die on me in the past few years, an' you can talk all you want about golden boys and pressure and stuff, but you'll excuse me if I root for you not to screw yourself up?"

Kevin nods slowly. "I don't want to die," he says, "not when I think about it. Just sometimes I... do crazy stuff, okay? I'm working on trying not to..."

Kaz quirks a smile. "Yeah. Well. Good." She regards him for a long moment, silent, and then she breaks the contact and takes another swig. "So anyway, about that other stuff-- yeah, people do and are Pay Attention To You. Put pressure on you, thrust their opinions at you. It's a reality, and one I guess it ain't realistic of me to ignore. Do you want to let it define what the pack's gonna be, though?"

Kevin thinks about that one for a long moment. "Probably not," is his answer. "But if not, then what will our focus be?"

Kaz shrugs. "Us. Helpin' each other be different people. Family." She puts the Coke down. "At the larger level, Healin'. Kickin' ass in the service of healin'. That kinda stuff. All the stuff you folks was talkin' about b'fore. It ain't none of it gone away."

"Oh, yeah," Kevin says, as though he'd forgotten that he himself had told people that that was Vendetta's focus. "OK, how do we go about it, oh fostern?"

Kaz quirks another smile. "Keep doin' what we've been doin'. Work on our territory, together. Get to know each other, our fightin' styles, our styles when we can't cope, emotionally. Jam t'gether, get drunk t'gether, what all ever. Live."

"Jam?" Kevin asks, perking up a little. "You do music? I play keyboards some. That guy Tommy Gun was meant to be starting a band and I was interested, but I heard he went back to New York instead..."

"Me? Music? Nahhh." Kaz snorts. "Yeah, I play shit. I mean, f'one thing, I sing, but also flute, saxophone, whatever. I'm woodwind gal, atcher service. I busk a lot, up at the Rat'n Raven, actually."

Kevin whistles. "Don't think Basil plays a thing... but I know Bug has a kazoo. We can be a band as well as a pack. Jugband. Ragtime. Come on and hear," he sings, "come on and hear, it's Vendetta's wolf pack band." The tune is "Alexander's Ragtime Band" of course.

Kaz sings, with a credible harmony, "It's the best pack in the land," grinning as she does so.

"And when you hear those garou howlin' Dixie..." Kevin laughs, and breaks down. "Well, hell. You know, Kaz, I like you. I can relax round you. Can't always do that. Couldn't ever do that in Requiem, really. Too much pressure to be fighty-bitey."

Kaz looks a little sad to stop singing, but it's brief. "Yah, well, me. I'm all for bitin' things, just not all the time. I'm a person, too, an' I do my work better if I can be a person, some of the time, an' not just some automaton of a killin' machine, y'know?"

"It's easy to forget how to be a person," Kevin says wistfully, and looks at his fingernails as an excuse not to look at Kaz.

Kaz's smile is almost fond. "Yeah. Well. I ain't gonna let you forget, an' I bet Baz ain't, neither. So resign y'self t'havin' an actual life, hey?"

"Basil," Kevin remarks, "is like my conscience these days. He's Jiminy Cricket to my Pinocchio... and if that simile breaks your brain, imagine how it makes me feel."

"I can see that, actually..." Kaz trails off. They continue the discussion, touching on various issues, and then Kaz, unable to resist, breaks back out in more ragtime. Kevin joins in, and the conversation fades naturally to a close.