DATE:  Tuesday, June 28, 1998
Place:  Glen Oak Park


---- Recall start ----

Glen Oak Lagoon's desc:
Midnight waters spread out across the bottom of a shallow bowl formed by 
   sculpted green grass hills, hemmed in by man-made walls of rough-cut stone 
   bricks, rippling softly in the summer from the effects of a towering water 
   spout mechanically jetting into the air and falling back to earth. Pond 
   scum and algae float in water so dark as to make one wonder if anything 
   could really live in there, but there almost always seems to be someone 
   fishing hopefully somewhere around its artificial banks during normal park 
   hours. A gravelled pathway encircles the lagoon wall, speckled by tufts of 
   unkempt weeds thrusting boldly through the attempt to smother them. Park 
   benches are placed at regular intervals around the irregularly shaped 
   lagoon. Behind them, a fence made of posts connected by a chain running 
   through them prevents easy access to the area except by three public paths.

Jeff's desc:
Jeff's appearance almost screams 'Rich Boy'. He stands a little above average 
   height, about 6'2. He has a full head of dark brown hair, well groomed and 
   looking much like one of the '$100 hair styles.' His features are gentle: 
   rounded chin, slim nose, and clean, dark complexion. His eyes seem to 
   mismatch his hair and complexion, they are a pale blue color. His build is 
   athletic, but not overly strong. All-in-all, grooming and looks combined, 
   he could stand out in a crowd, though perhaps only barely. 
 
 Currently, he is wearing a casual outfit, at least his version of a casual 
   outfit: Black dockers and a loose-fitting, blue, button-up, silk shirt. The 
   outfit is completed by a pair of comfortable loafers.

JJ Malone's desc:
All but the least perceptive would notice that there's something not *quite* 
   right with this person. J.J. is about 5'11" and around 140-150 pounds in a 
   wiry, boxy form which gives no hint of gender. He appears to be in his 
   early twenties, although it's hard to judge. His dark brown hair is cut 
   short and tapered, parted to one side and brushed down smoothly. His facial 
   features have a foreign cast under medium-dark, olive-toned skin, although 
   the predominant feature is the black-rimmed mirrored sunglasses worn no 
   matter the weather, time of day, or his location. He is dressed casually in 
   a white T-shirt, ripped jeans, black leather jacket, and low-topped combat 
   boots.

Brandon's desc:
Brandon stands a lanky six feet tall. His shoulders are thin and drooping, 
   which only accents his anemic, sunken countenance. The nose that protrudes 
   from beneath his eyes end in a rounded nub, hints of Germanic blood peeking 
   through to cast shadows on his face wherever he is hit by the light. His 
   shallow blue eyes are deeply set and almost are rimmed with black sleep 
   marks, and his hair matches the their color, a tawny dyed, some would say 
   ugly, black. The hair is cropped short around his head and lightly 
   jelled... the small locks frazzled and segregated. His chin has bits of 
   black stubble across it along with his upper lip, signs of his growth into 
   age. He currently wears a pair of brown works boots, skuffed slight at the 
   heels. Hung over his torso is a button-up black, almost priestly, shirt, 
   and covering his legs is a pair of clean khaki pants.

JJ Malone is about where he told Jeff he'd be: seated on one of the park 
   benches near the park's lagoon, right arm draped across the back of it, 
   right boot resting on left knee, a burning cigarette resting in the V of 
   the first two fingers of his left hand sending up lazy plumes of smoke. His 
   head is tipped back so that he is looking up at the sky when the other two 
   catch sight of him.
Jeff walks in, cub in tow. He's already lit up a cigarette and is puffing on 
   it as he makes his way to the Ahroun. "Malone," he says, coming up beside 
   the bench, "This is the cub." He looks to Brandon a moment, "Introduce 
   yourself."
Brandon moves at his cousin's side, hair freshly gelled. He moves with a 
   fairly practiced grace, but a slight stoop is recognizable to the 
   perceptive gaze. He steps forward as he's motioned, and stands a forty-five 
   degree angle from the elder Walker. "Brandon Connor," he says. "From 
   Seattle." His eyes stay on Malone.
JJ Malone's head comes up long before the two are within striking range, 
   appearing to track their approach from behind the mirror-shaded sunglasses 
   he's wearing despite the darkness of the evening. His gaze rakes over the 
   younger of the two as Jeff presents him, expression turning more critical 
   at the cub's own introduction. "Malone. J.J. Malone," he introduces as 
   well, offering his hand. "Glass Walker. Ahroun. Fostern. Metis." All four 
   signifiers are said with equal tone. "When meeting someone you know to be 
   Garou, it's proper to identify yourself more fully," he adds bluntly.
"It appears I overlooked telling him that." He looks over at Brandon, "Or he 
   wasn't listening when I did." Jeff shrugs lightly, blowing out another 
   cloud of smoke.
Brandon doesn't turn his gaze away from Malone's. He, as appropriate, extends 
   his hand back to the Fostern and replies, "Glass Walker Philodox." He 
   pauses for a moment after shaking hands. "Cub," he finishes. "And I'll 
   remember that next time." His eyes press up Malone's body and to his face, 
   considering something.
JJ Malone gives Jeff a sidelong look, then retracts his hand, giving a brief 
   jerk of a nod to Brandon's final statement. "Good. So, how much of what I 
   just said made sense?" he asks, a sly, sardonic smile creeping into life.
Jeff crosses his arms, taking a moment to look over at Brandon. A light grin 
   forms and he takes a step away, letting JJ interrogate the cub.
Brandon brings out his own smile, a wry, intelligent smirk at seeing Malone's 
   reaction. "You're a full moon of my tribe, a rank higher than Cliath, a 
   warrior, and..." he pauses as before, squint lines coming to the sides of 
   his eyes. "But you don't look at all French." The Metis comment through him 
   off, it seems.
Jeff turns slowly and looks back. He frowns at Brandon's comment, but he says 
   nothing. He just takes another drag from the cigarette and flicks the ashs 
   off the end.
"French?" J.J. echoes, confused himself, then snorts. "Metis. Haven't gone 
   over the breeds, then. Both my parents were Garou," he says, leaning back 
   deeper in his seat, manner suddenly glaringly cocksure. "Which means I'm 
   the one who is fucked. He know the rules yet?" he suddenly asks Jeff, 
   glancing at the cliath philodox.
"We did," he states, "go over the breeds. I was getting to the Litany tonight 
   actually. He knows parts of it, but he's about to get a crash course." The 
   older Philodox pauses, then ammends in a slightly scolding tone, "And I'm 
   going -back- over everything again."
Brandon turns his smirk into a tight, controlled, almost wary medium. He 
   finally brings his gaze away from Malone and looks to Jeff. He turns his 
   eyes back onto Malone. "The rules?" he repeats. Once again he looks to 
   Jeff, raising both his hands up in half-defense. "Hey, this doesn't happen 
   every week, Jeff. Ease up." He finally turns back to the Fostern, "Sorry if 
   I've screwed up. I'll here the rules."
JJ Malone snorts darkly as he watches Brandon's reactions, then shrugs 
   diffidently over to Jeff. "You know your job," is all he says to the elder 
   halfmoon, but then leans forward to look at Brandon. "I don't know if 
   Jeff's told you this already, but I'm going to repeat it even if he has. 
   Unfortunately, I'm the Don here. What that means is that in the grand game 
   of the Family, I'm the top of the food chain. I don't want to hear your 
   excuses or your whining. No matter how hard you think your life is right 
   now, it's not *shit* compared to what some of us go through. So, you listen 
   to Jeff, or whoever else he gets to teach you what the hell you need to 
   know to cut it in this business. He tells you once, and don't you even 
   *think* of forgetting it. Because no matter what a bastard you think he is, 
   he's going to be a cream puff compared to the shit I'd put you through. And 
   it's me you're going to eventually have to prove you're worth allowing to 
   live. Capise, kid?"
Brandon lowers his hands at a fair pace throughout the entire bit of 
   monologue. He doesn't turn away from the Metis, and he nods a single time 
   after it comes to an end. "I don't generally give excuses, and I don't 
   normally whine," he says, peering back. "I do my best, and this is going to 
   be no different." He motions to Jeff with a hand. "And I don't think this 
   is shite; I don't he's a bastard." He lowers the hand, his momentum fading 
   with the suddenness of it. "And I'm going to prove I'm worth letting live, 
   or," he cracks a meak smile, "... die trying, obviously."
Jeff drops the cigarette and crushs it out with the toe of his shoe. "I am a 
   bastard at times. You're better off remembering that." He gets a slim, 
   somewhat dark smile, then looks back to JJ, features returning to normal.
JJ Malone smirks darkly, adding for Brandon's benefit, "And I'm sure you'll 
   find that out sometime before this is all done." He straightens up and 
   leans back in his seat, quiet for several moments, before breaking the 
   silence himself. "Work him hard, Jeff. If he's as good as he thinks he is, 
   let's fucking running him to the breaking point and put him through his 
   Rite. Think you can do it in a month?"
"A month?" Jeff says, looking to Brandon. "That -is- a challenge. But, 
   perhaps. I'll drill him harder than he's been drilled, that's for sure." He 
   looks back at the elder Walker, "But, I think it can be done."
Brandon returns Jeff's smile with a small, still wary, one of his own. He 
   listens to both of the Garou's words before he steps back and looks between 
   him. "Has this ever been done," he says, eyes flicking over both of the 
   other Walkers, "... in a month?"
JJ Malone's mouth twitches mirthlessly. "All the time. If you can't make it in 
   a month, I'm not sure you'd be worth keeping anyway. Make sure he meets the 
   rest," he says towards Jeff. "And get Nigel or Jayson to give him the 
   skinny on the flipside. You know how to use guns?" he asks, again of 
   Brandon.
Brandon furrows his brows some, a hint of unsurity at the answer he's given 
   coming through. Jeff's reaction to the challenge wasn't something he 
   missed, but he shrugs it off as something he would rather not press. 
   "Jeff's going to take me out and show me how," he replies. "To answer your 
   question: no."
Jeff nods his agreement. "And he's going to become a damned good shot too. 
   Even if I have to spend the greater part of my fortune buying bullets for 
   him to practice with." He again smiles, mood softening a little. "And, in 
   truth, I don't believe the one month deadline will be any trouble."
JJ Malone seems to glance briefly at Jeff, but then nods, and looks over at 
   the cliath more fully now. "I should know about Jack this week. I think 
   he'd be ideal to teach the kid hand-to-hand in the forms. Even if he never 
   shifts again, he should at least be comfortable in them."
Brandon seems unsure of opening his own mouth, but it doesn't stop him from 
   eventually doing it. "Never shift again?" he says, question hung in his 
   voice.
"A good teacher," Jeff states, glancing to Brandon a moment, "Even if it is a 
   painful series of lessons." The older Philodox crosses his arms again. "It 
   seems I now have a more urgent reason to learn the Rite of Passage. Now 
   I'll have to press my efforts to get in touch with Brittany."
JJ Malone shakes his head at Brandon's question. "Explain it to him later, 
   Jeff," he says, then once again to the older halfmoon, "Then you haven't 
   yet?" Dying cigarette dangling from his mouth, he rummages in his pocket 
   for the pack and pulls out a fresh one, using the former to light the 
   latter while Jeff answers.
Brandon shakes his head in regards to Malone's questions. A minor fervor comes 
   into his voice as he replies: "No, I've made the change... a few times 
   now." He looks back between the other Walkers once again. "I like it."
"Been trying," Jeff replies, "not hard enough, though. Left a message for her, 
   but she hasn't gotten back to me yet." He shrugs his shoulders, "Maybe 
   she's just been busy." He givse Brandon a light glance, telling him quite 
   simply, "The newness of it wears off."
"Maybe," the ahroun agrees conditionally. "Keep on her. She's the one whose 
   made the offer, she's damn well going to pay up." He suddenly grimaces and 
   flinches as if struck. "Not that I'd expect a Silver Fang judge not to," he 
   mutters.
Brandon raises his right hand up and scratches the side of his neck some. He 
   lets the hand drop and peers toward the Ahroun; he nods slowly. "Talk to me 
   in a few months," he says. "I may still enjoy it." He trails into a quiet 
   silence, his words folded by the "adult" talk that seems to be going on 
   between the two others.
Jeff glances to Brandon after his comment, but turns back to JJ. "Another 
   thing. Went to check up on our Kin tonight. There was some Gnawer there." 
   He pauses a moment, as if indicating his distaste at the thought. "She 
   looked like hell, said she got attacked by one of the gangs. Had only a 
   little information about it. She'll probably be in touch."
JJ Malone's expression becomes a hard-edged mask of controlled anger. "Which 
   Gnawer?"
"I believe," Jeff answers, "He said his name was Angelo. Some Ragabash as 
   well." He idly strums his fingers on his arms. "Know him?"
Brandon holds silence during the exchange.
JJ Malone's brow furrows. "No. Find out which gang, and why. Don't let her off 
   the hook. Find out her connection to this Angelo, too, if you can. Let me 
   know what you find out."
"I was planning on it," Jeff assures JJ. "I'll see what I can do. She 
   mentioned a few names, but I think she was still feeling the affect of the 
   fight." He looks off a few moments, "I'll do some careful asking around and 
   rooting, then get back to you."
JJ Malone shakes his head once. "Get back to me, *then* ask around." Leaving 
   it at that, he glances over to where Brandon's gone quiet. "Welcome to the 
   Family," he suddenly says with a sardonic smirk, then pushes to his feet. 
   "I think they're closing the park soon, so we should probably be going."
Brandon pushes back from the bench and returns to Jeff's side. He nods to 
   Malone's remark, his own smile long faded by the obscurity of everything 
   he's recently been through. "Yeah... thanks," is all he manages in reply. 
   "Good to meet you," he adds quickly after, pouncing upon the politeness.
Jeff nods slowly. "Yes." He turns, walking off and saying over his shoulder, 
   "Good night, Malone. I'll be in touch." He lights up another cigarette as 
   he leaves in the direction he came.
Brandon follows after Jeff, walking backwards for a few moments before he 
   turns. He scuttles to his cousin's side and even then glances over his 
   shoulder multiple times.
JJ Malone just smiles, something not entirely reassuring, at Brandon's 
   departing platitude, watching the two cousins leave before heading out 
   himself the opposite direction.

---- Recall end ----