"Morg, there's a space in a raccoon pack with a you-shaped hole in it."

Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.

Kevin looks very pink and clean today, and well-scrubbed, as though he's been in the shower a lot. Or had one very long shower, whichever. He's sitting in a ratty dressing gown and boxer shorts in the living room of the farm, sipping a Coke over ice on this hot day.

As a direct contrast to the Glass Walker, someone who clearly doesn't know how to keep cool comes half slinking, half staggering through the front door. Morgan's hair is damp and plastered to her sticky forehead, and what little is visible of her skin is nearly as red as that same hair. The reason for this, beyond the obvious heat, isn't hard to discern--she's wearing that same oversized winter coat she always does, and is still clutching it very tightly about herself.

Kevin looks up from his coke and magazine. "Morgan!" he exclaims. "Great googly moogly, girl, you look roasted. What are you trekking round in that coat for?... ahh, I think I see," he answers his own question. "But surely you can take it off inside the house?"

Morgan gives a tiny jump at Kevin's initial exclamation, but once she locates the source she gives a sort of tired, slightly uneasy, but nevertheless gratified almost-smile. "Not s'pposed to," she mumbles, easing her way into the living room and eyeing Kevin's coke with a weary sort of interest. "Might see."

"Upstairs then? Though it's even hotter up there," Kevin warns. "But it couldn't be as hot as being wrapped up in that. Here, let me get you a coke and some ice. You're as red as a beet." His attitude towards the metis, sometimes uneasy, seems nothing but kindness today."

"Is very hot," Morgan agrees, stating the blindingly obvious. She gives the stairs a glance, and then starts toward them at a shuffle, licking at one corner of her mouth. "Is no remember this hot."

"Doesn't get this hot where I come from," agrees Kevin. He throws the magazine aside, hops out of the chair, and quickly runs into the kitchen to grab a cold can, a glass, and ice.

Attic(#1437RA)
Low-ceilinged and dimly lit by a window set low in eastern wall just above the stairs, the attic is permeated with a strong, lingering scent of herbs and the sense of old power. The only furniture is a large bed on the western wall and a full-length mirror on the northern one. A large pile of second-hand sleeping bags, a stack of washed sheets, and a jumble of pillows occupies one corner, usable by the temporary inhabitants of the farmhouse. A single globed light bulb dangling from the peaked ceiling is the only source of light at night.
A steep stairway leads down from here, the door at the bottom opening on the eastern end of the hallway.

For all her shambling, Morgan wastes very little time once she's in the attic to rid herself of her coat. She peels it off and deposits it carefully in one corner, then flops on top of it, panting. Her extra pair of arms move rather stiffly away from her side.

Kevin mounts the stairs seconds later and joins Morgan in the attic. "Wow," he says. "Months since I've been up here. Used to live in this room, you know. Here." He passes Morgan a glass with ice in, and cracks a second can of Coke.

Morgan takes the glass gingerly, with both of her natural hands, and presses it against one sweaty cheek. "Yes? I stay here too. This corner." She pats the coat under her. "Was less hot."

"Always hotter up here under the eaves," Kevin points out, "but if this is the only place you feel happy out of your coat... Well," he says. "Dunno if you heard, but the Great Hunt was a roaring success this year. Not one death, except the Wyrm's creatures. Spread that one around to see some happy faces."

Morgan's eyebrows jump into her damp hairline. "I tell," she says firmly, and finally ventures to sip at the iced Coke. "You fight?"

"Me fight," Kevin agrees with a big grin. "Good fight too, apart from the smell." His nose wrinkles at the memory. "Dillen got a bit chewed up, but that Silver Fang knife-moon healed him. I only got bitten a tiny bit. You should've come and got your claws red, Morgan."

Morgan scratches the back of her neck, and shifts her weight from one side to the other. "Yes," she agrees. "Watch bawn though. Watch Grotto. Fight next time."

"Yeah, well." Kevin pauses for a moment, eyes Morgan, then continues. "If you'd like some people to fight alongside, Morg, there's a space in a raccoon pack with a you-shaped hole in it." He gives her a welcoming, if slightly less than confident, smile. "Basil, Kaz and I agreed that if you'd like to join Vendetta, we'd be glad to have you."

Morgan looks up sharply, though her answer is more delayed. She waits until she's moved the glass to the opposite cheek, one eye squinting. "Want." Her answer is firm, though she does flick an uncertain glance toward the Walker. "Yes."

"Attagirl!" whoops Kevin. "Course, Patches has to like you, but I should think he will... bring him some shiny stuff, silver foil or loose change, he likes that..."

Morgan brightens considerably. "...That what I do? Have shiny." She pulls a fold of her coat towards her with one lower hand, fumbling for the pocket. "No meet Raccoon before."

"Y'ever see a normal one? Little cute things, facial marks like they've got a mask, stripy tails? Scavengers? That's a raccoon," Kevin explains. "Patches is the spirit version, bigger and smarter, but the same playful critter at heart."

Morgan nods sagely. "In book," she explains. "Nat-ion-al Geegraphic. There. See pictures."

"Then you know the basics," Kevin says. He raises his glass in a toast to Morgan, or maybe to Patches, or even both, and sips. "I'll tell Kaz and Basil you're interested, and we'll arrange a meeting. I wonder," he muses, "if the Umbra is cooler than the Realm in this weather... Have to wait a week or two to find out, though, not going in at this moon."

"Is probably same," Morgan replies drearily, looking for a moment even hotter than she has previously. "Maybe I go sleep in Grotto pond."

Kevin gives an appreciative grunt at the thought. "You know what I'm gonna do?" he suggests. "Gonna go sit under the waterfall by the caern for a while. You could come too... packmate," he says, using the term perhaps a little prematurely. "Nobody there to see anything they shouldn't."

Morgan looks directly at Kevin for only a half moment, but it's considerably more than her usual behavior calls for. "...Okay," she says after only a moment's hesitation. "Is good there."

Kevin drains his Coke and clinks the remaining ice at the bottom of the glass. "Let's go do it," he grins. "And we can talk more about where we're claiming territory, and our aims, and all that jazz. That's a figure of speech," he explains before Morgan can query whether he plans to play swing music on the bawn. "D'you know, we claimed a bit of woodland outside Kent Crossing just so you can hang out there away from prying eyes?"