[Echo] At this hour of the morning her room mate has only just crashed for the night and is snoozing away the daylight hours. His No Moon roommate, however, has decided to seize upon these daylit hours for a change and use them to profit by securing herself pride of place in their new digs: room 8.

So by the time it strikes eight thirty AM, the Sentinels newest recruit has moved her boxing bag, posters of Mohammed Ali and her collected piles of clothing and other paraphernalia including a pilot's helmet and a chainsaw, into another room. She sat now, poster rehung, chainsaw set on pride of place on window ledge, laptop open on her bed, tapping away with the strains of Aerosmith blaring.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Amazingly, the third occupant of the room -- the other newest-recruit -- sleeps soundly, the noise of Echo's move-in notwithstanding. Daniel's own move-in was simple enough. He walked in and set his backpack down beside one of the beds. That was it. He left after that -- to find food, to familiarize himself with the city. To visit the caern.

Now the Forseti is sound asleep on his bed. He sleeps in all his clothes. And his shoes. There's a single blanket on the bed ... and he lies atop it.

When 8:30 strikes, though, Daniel's eye open like clockwork. He looks at the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment -- the first ceiling over his head for longer than he can remember -- and then he sits up quietly. Echo's presence gives him pause. After a while he calls quietly, as though experimentally:

"Good morning."

[Jeff Pyeon] At this hour of the morning, Jeff's long since been up - though, given how he's spent his weekend (starting Wednesday after work) he should probably still be in bed, maybe contemplating a first cup of coffee. Or maybe still hours from waking. Still, he's cheerful enough, for all that his impeccably stylish clothes are a little mussed (somehow it looks artful, arranged, rather than as if he spent anywhere between four and six hours on the road to get back here.

He hasn't been 'home' - because the new apartment doesn't get the quotes taken off until he's lived there . . . well, a while, given how much he tends to travel for work. It's good to be good at what he does, but it means he could be anywhere at any given time - since he left Thanksgiving dinner here, and now it's back here that he comes before there.

It's intriguing, this place, as are its denizens; as said before, his face time with Garou has been minimal. They're terrifying, in a way, even just in conceptualization, but are a bit of himself that he doesn't know that much about, and so, to that end, he intends to see what contacts he can make, and what he can pick up in the process.

Which isn't to say the money transfer's ended. He's good with that - and while some may not see it as help, an extra couple grand a month in various coffers is nothing to sneeze at.

He walks up the steps to blaring Aerosmith and hums along tunelessly. He's quiet-ish, doesn't want to wake anyone still sleeping (though, with the music up, it's possible everyone else is), nor does he want to sneak up on anyone. Bad things happen when you sneak up on Garou, and even other kin - he'd learned that even with his next to no exposure. Regardless, music pulls him along as he checks the place out.

[Echo] She must look quite a sight to Daniel.

Her hair shorn short so that it barely reaches her neck, the dark mass all tousled about her head in a boyish manner. Her computer drawn atop her lap as she taps away at it, her body naked but for the boy shorts and tank top she wears, both in navy blue, one knee drawn up, the other flat.

The poster on the Ragabash's wall is a capture of a boxing match mid fight, Mohammad Ali about to deliver a devastating blow to his opponent, a silver slashed autograph in one corner of the poster dedicating it to Echo, herself. There's a new addition to the room, as well. A boxing bag has been hung since Daniel went to bed, it hangs from a chain at the end of the Glass Walker's bed.

She doesn't glance at Daniel as he greets her, but rather taps a few keys on her computer and notes casually: "Oh hey, sorry if I woke you. I was hanging stuff."

[Daniel Ingenssen] Slowly, rather methodically, Daniel rubs one eye with the heel of his hand, then the other. He sits hunched in his bed, shoulders a little stooped. If Echo's seen others of his tribe, seen their boldness and pride that borders on arrogance, very little of that would ring familiar in Daniel. There's a quiet, intrinsic humbleness in him -- and more than that, a certain learned wariness in the way his eyes dart to her when she speaks.

She doesn't see any of this, though. Her back is turned; she's tapping on her keyboard. He shakes his head all the same.

"You didn't wake me." There's a very faint accent in his words, hard to place because it comes from more than one language. He doesn't come from around here. "I always wake around now."

Daniel gets up. Even his zip-up hoodie is still on, though at least now he and his change of clothes are clean. His other is in the washer, tumbling about. He stretches silently and subtly, flexing his muscles and relaxing them without actually raising his arms or extending his legs. He looks at her computer curiously.

"What is it you're doing?"

[Jeff Pyeon] He finds himself in a rather cozy room (the pool table draws special attention, and he feels the quality of its topper) as these things go, though he thinks it could probably use a little help - it's not bad per se, just . . . not what he'd consider great work. (Which could be read as not his, perhaps, but he'd never say so.) He can still hear music, coming from what he imagines must be one of the sleeping-rooms since there's no one in the common area, and so he wanders that way, down the hall and around the full circle surrounding the bathrooms.

[Daniel Ingenssen] (hm, jacqui fell off)

[Jeff Pyeon] (I'm patient. We can chill for a bit. =D )

[Daniel Ingenssen] The conversation with his packmate ends before long. Daniel isn't much of a converser, period. As Jeff is coming down the hall, the door to room 8 opens.

The man that steps out is rather unimpressive, so far as Garou went. Because he is Garou. That much is obvious. His rage is formidable, as strong as an Ahroun's, though he is not.

What he is, is rather lean. Narrow-shouldered, taut-cheeked, though with a certain deft grace of motion that's hard to overlook. He stands an inch or two under six feet in his worn old shoes. Everything about him is worn: his jeans, his hoodie, the shirt barely visible beneath it, his expression.

Everything but his eyes. Those are dark and keen, and look at Jeff curiously and carefully. Something about his regard brings to mind an animal.

"Hello," he says, after a pause.

[Daniel Ingenssen] (*just goes on w/o her*)

[Jeff Pyeon] There's blinking under that scrutiny; it's not something to which Jeff is accustomed. Or rather, he's used to being looked at, studied, assessed, and that part gives him no pause; he's doing the same, honestly, though there's an instinctive imperative to not quite meet the (monster) man's eyes.

Jeff is short - or, well, not quite short. But he's certainly not six feet tall, and is more likely somewhere around five foot eight or nine. And he is well dressed, if not quite as well pressed as he would be on a normal occasion; he looks like he just got out of his car after a long drive (and, in fact, he did).

"Hi," he says back, and then, after a moment of hesitation, he offers his hand. Not too keep; he'd very much like it back, when all is said and done. "I'm Jeff."

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel looks down at the proffered hand. After a moment he takes it. Something about his grip is off, as though he'd rarely, or perhaps never, shaken hands before.

"Hello," he says again. And then there's an awkward pause. "Who are you?"

[Daniel Ingenssen] -- as though the name meant little, in and of itself.

(*tacks on so it doesn't look like Dan is just deaf*)

[Jeff Pyeon] Again, there's blinking and hesitation as his hand comes back; both are then placed in his pockets, all casual relaxation that's anything but. "Jeff Pyeon . . . Oh. Glass Walker kin," he adds, as if he's had to do that as rarely as Daniel's shaken hands.

[Daniel Ingenssen] "Oh." Daniel frowns for a moment. "I haven't met very many Glass Walkers. But my new packmate is one.

"I'm Daniel. A Forseti." Another beat of pause. "A Half Moon of Fenris. And ... one of the Sentinels."

[Jeff Pyeon] Forseti gets a blank look, and half moon is only vaguely more comprehending - Jeff is quite obviously new to actually meeting and dealing with the True. "Is Sentinels the pack name, then?" It's all novelty.

And then, "Is Echo your packmate? She's the one I've talked to most."

[Daniel Ingenssen] A nod, silent. Daniel's eyes stay on Jeff, giving the kinsman his attention so completely that a human would be put off his ease. It's socially unacceptable to stare quite like that. In conversation, a human's eyes flicker about, touch here and there, return. Daniel's do not.

A moment later, another nod in response to the second question. "Are you her kin?"

[Jeff Pyeon] "No relation," he says with a shrug, though that's obvious - he's Asian, after all, and to look less like the Ragabash would be difficult. And yes, he is uneasy; his balance shifts from one foot to the other, and the hand in his right pocket fiddles with change or keys or something jingly.

"Other than that . . . I don't think so?"

[Daniel Ingenssen] The Forseti, other than his eyes, stands perfectly still. His head is cocked at a slight, curious angle. He blinks once, a camera-quick shuttering of his dark stare.

"I meant, are you her mate?"

[Jeff Pyeon] "Oh. No," he says, mildly amused. "I met her, like, a week ago, and moved here from Detroit about a week before that."

Give or take - he's been back and forth often enough that he's lost count, already, what with hockey tickets and tying up loose ends. "I don't have a mate."

[Daniel Ingenssen] ...which makes Daniel frown, somewhere between baffled and surprised. "But... how old are you?"

[Jeff Pyeon] There's a brief furrow of his brow; it seems an odd question, really, but maybe it's normal for the True? Goodness only knows. "Twenty-seven. Does that matter?"

[Daniel Ingenssen] Jeff doesn't know where Daniel comes from, of course, nor what sort of Sept it was, nor what kind of Garou inhabited it, nor how long back their traditions stretch. And Daniel, apparently, has little or no working knowledge of how the goddamn real world works.

He stares for another beat. Then the lean Forseti raises a hand to his stubbled cheek, rubbing for a moment, reaching around to knead the back of his neck in incredulity.

"Your tribe doesn't care? Have you at least sired children?"

[Jeff Pyeon] That gets a blink of surprise, whether about the tribe caring or the siring of children is unclear - it's probably both, honestly. And he's Glass Walker, of course; they're the closest of all the tribes to human, at least in most cases.

"Um. No? On both counts, so far as I know. No one's said anything in the case of the former, and . . ." Saying that he's careful in the case of the latter draws him up short - he has a feeling that might be a Bad Thing. So it's wrapped up in a shrug that indicates it just hasn't happened yet. "I will. It just hasn't happened yet."

[Daniel Ingenssen] At least there's this: there's no sense that Daniel is haranguing Jeff to make him uncomfortable. Or to make him feel bad. Or to deliberately belittle his worth, or fertility, or ability to find a mate, or -- any of that.

The Forseti, simply and astoundingly, seems to be utterly incapable of imagining a kin such as Jeff, 27 years old and without a single child, or cub, to his name.

"That is so strange," he says. This doesn't sound like an insult, either. "I know humans are like that, but ... " he trails off, thinks for a moment. "Am I being terribly rude?"

[Jeff Pyeon] "Some would think so," Jeff says with a sudden, quick grin; whether he does or not goes unsaid, and unbroadcast in posture or expression. There's the discomfort that goes along with being unaccustomed to the presence of Garou, but it's not so bad as it would be for the average human . . . because he's not. "I figure you're just not from around here, and it's better to get to know things right off the bat. As much as you can, anyway."

There's a pause, and then, a little puzzled, "But I am, right? Human, I mean. I never changed, and neither did either of my parents - last one who did in my family was a great grandpa on my dad's side, and further back than that on my mom's."

[Daniel Ingenssen] "Do you?" Daniel presses instantly, his eyes fast on the kinsman's face.

And, "No." There's no question in that. He shakes his head once for emphasis. "You're kin. That's different. You're half-blooded. If I cut a human and cut you, you would heal much faster. You withstand my rage. You can look upon a Garou in his true form without madness.

"You're much more than human."

[Jeff Pyeon] ".....oh." It's the last answered first, and that will likely require more thought on the matter; it had never come before, this thought, as there'd been no real need of it. He had noticed, of course, that he was sick far less than his friends were, even the ones who didn't get sick often, but when he'd broken his leg and the cast had come off a good week or two earlier than any one else he'd known with a similar fracture, he'd laughed and shrugged it off as good genes or similar.

He hadn't known how right he was.

But then there's the question of politeness, and Jeff's thoughtful for a minute. "I don't think you are for you. I mean, I don't know you well or anything, obviously, but you don't seem like a guy who's been around a lot of people that make things like everyday manners an issue. So . . . no, I guess not."

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel's eyes pierce Jeff for another moment. Then the Forseti nods. "Okay." And he shifts his balance, straightening a little. "Thanks."

With that, Daniel moves past Jeff, heading down the hall for the bathroom.

(i'm losing all coherence here! *LOL*)

[Jeff Pyeon] "You're welcome. Hey, if you wouldn't mind, tell Echo I stopped in?"

And Daniel's heading for the bathroom, so Jeff finishes his circuit of the hallway and heads out, off to do whatever it is he does with his days.