"I have always held that the duty of a Galliard is to speak truth whenever a lie is not called for outright."

Fairbanks House: Living Room(#2456RJ)
This is a large, warm and friendly room. The western wall is covered by a large picture-window looking out on the front yard. The carpet is white and thick. The front door is in a small alcove, opening out northwestward. Near the door, wide wooden stairs covered in the center by blue-grey carpet lead upward. The living room itself stretches north from the front door. The kitchen can be seen through an archway, and a door nearby leads to the study. A desk, a table, chairs and a couch decorate the room, elegant and expensive: glass coffee tables with gold corners, plush easy chairs, lamps with soft patterns of rose and gold amidst the white.
The stairs lead up to the second floor, and the door to the northwest goes outside. The study door is to the south, and the kitchen is eastward.

For anyone looking out the picture window of the house at the moment, a slightly odd sight would greet their eyes. A figure is walking up the paved driveway. He's still a good bit of distance out yet, but even now a few details are readily visible. First off, he's (if it is a 'he' after all) wearing some sort of wide-brimmed hat, as well as a duster that does a good job of obscuring his figure. Secondly, the figure moves with awkward shufflings, occasionally turning literally in mid-stride to peer around. It might come off as an amusing mixture of nervousness and drunkeness to one who doesn't know better. To Garou eyes, though, it's probably easy to tell that this person is acting like a wolf entering unfamiliar territory.

Cedric sits in the biggest chair, feet on a footstool, staring languidly out of the window, lost in thought. But not lost enough that he doesn't notice and heed the figure slinking up towards the door. One eyebrow rises in a mild expression of surprise, and with a sigh his feet descent from the stool and he walks over to the door, timing it to open just as the approaching figure should be about to reach it.

Jonathan is certainly surprised by the door opening. His hand is curled into a loose fist, held out as if just about to knock. There's a quick, audible intake of breath, just short of a gasp. His eyes are visible beneath the brim of his hat, blue and surprised. "Oh! Hello, I, uh, I was just about to knock," he finishes lamely.

"I didn't think you were plannin' to punch my nose," the other man drawls in an accent as British as the visitor's, if not more so. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressin'?"

Jonathan tilts his head up at the sound of a familiar accent, briefly meeting the stranger's eyes. "Jonathan. Black." His accent is somewhat hampered by the lack of more than one word in a row, but it's notable enough. "Are you Cedric? I have an invitation to v-visit this house?"

Cedric beams at Jonathan. "Cedric Ambermere, yes. I've been dyin' to meet you! I heard there was another chap from the old country knockin' about here, but nobody seemed to know quite where I could find you... and then I got taken out of circulation for three weeks courtesy of a clueless little pea-brained theurge and a shedload of Weaver-spiders." The smile turns briefly into a frown. "But I'm still upright, Falcon be blessed. Come in, come in. Can I get you anythin'?"

Jonathan looks surprised by the sheer cheefulness of the greeting. Enough so that an upturn of his mouth is coaxed out of him. It looks uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes that haven't been broken in properly. "No, thank you, Cedric-rhya. I apologize for troubling you about my location. I..become lost easily, even when I remain on the Bawn." He takes the invitation to come in, looking around as he does. "A knife-moon took you out of action with Spinner-spirits? How?"

Cedric ushers Jonathan inside and closes the door. "Some winter ritual thing... don't ask me to explain that damn' theurge stuff. But he wanted me to be there, so I showed up... and both of us got swamped by the spiders, as did a Fury who came to try and save us. Thankfully the pack Wildfire yanked me out, and then Blackriver and I went back for Mathias and Ash. House is still choked with spiders in the umbra, though, so we need to get that cleaned out -- you up for a mop-up mission?"

Jonathan nods almost as soon as the words are out of the Galliard's mouth. "I'd be honored to help cleanse the house." He seems so intent on the spiritual side of things that the mention of Garou was largely ignored. "Do you know when the mission might be, Cedric-rhya?" He glances 'round again, as if taking stock.

"Soon as," Cedric just says. "Let's see, are you a theurge? You probably know better than I when a good time is to go umbral. My usual rule of thumb is 'not on the dark side of a half moon'..."

"It's a good rule, especially with a place that's not actually within the Bawn." There's certainty in his voice on this one subject, at least. "Of course, I should introduce myself. Forgive me. I am Lune-Calmer, Knife-moon of the First Tribe and Cliath of the same. A humble supplicant to the Moon Lodge and late of the Sept of the Riven Shell. Among humans, I'm Jonathan Black."

"Riven Shell!" Cedric plainly knows this name. "Down west-country way, isn't it? Never went there myself, but I think a few of its members have been to my old sept, the Lost and Found, while I was still livin' there. What brings you all the way to the colonies?"

Jonathan nods. "Yes, that would be the place. As for why I'm here, I was exiled," comes the plain statement. It seems to be without inflection, although Jonathan's normally indirect gaze is turned away for a moment as he speaks it. "I once had family in this Sept, and it seemed the only place I could go. Few Septs will accept a Metis such as myself if they have no ties already." His gaze returns to the air just a few inches to the left of Cedric's face.

Cedric's brow furrows just a little at the mention of exile, and then a lot more at the mention of Jonathan being a metis. "I see," he says brusquely." Just as Jonathan looks to one side of him, he looks to one side of Jonathon. "He's a sept member, then?" he asks the space to the side of him.

Jonathan doesn't seem overly disturbed by the change of manner of his host, even if there's a downward twist of the right side of his mouth. "She was Kin to our blood," he responds. He doesn't sound particularly broken up by the past tense. "One Kasia Decik."

Cedric keeps staring at the space for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Not a name that means anythin' to me, I'm afraid. Well, look here -- plainly bein' a metis you can't expect people to welcome you to their bosoms with glad cries, but you're First Tribe and Osric doesn't recoil from you in horror, so I guess you're not a dead loss. What have you to offer the tribe, or the sept? What're your strengths and weaknesses?"

Jonathan shrugs his shoulders, letting them slump at the end of the gesture. "I know rituals," he offers, in a tone that's increasingly losing inflection or any real sort of emotion. "Quite a few, and I'm willing to teach them. That is, in fact, my chiminage. I also bring the use of Shriek to the Sept and my Tribe. It is a whistle for commanding and censuring spirits."

Cedric turns his head to look at the metis full-on again. "You interest me strangely," he muses. "Think that could be useful against the aforementioned spiders?"

Jonathan raises his gaze a hair as he nods. "I believe it could. It is not fool-proof, especially against the superior spirits. But against small web-spinners, it should suffice. Who is this...Osric, Cedric-rhya?"

Cedric smiles. "You could try blowin' your little whistle and seein' if he jumps to attention," he suggests. "But Osric isn't any measly little spider spirit. He's an avatar of Falcon Himself, sent to guide me and help me. It was he who called for help when I was webbed up over at Clemency House." He extends one arm, pauses with the air of someone awaiting something, then brings it back towards his body and peers at his wrist. "That's why I came here. Falcon told me to, via Osric."

Jonathan watches the motions intently, as if trying to discern what his host is apparently seeing as well. "I would never," he begins. "Use it upon an avatar of our great Falcon. It is a weapon of pain." He's quiet a moment, considering. "If you would pass on my greetings and respect to Osric, I would be appreciative."

"No," Cedric says a little harshly, "I don't suppose He would manifest himself to a mule. Too bad, old fellow. But rest assured He hears you."

And that looks like it hurts more than anything else Cedric has said in the meeting. If anything can be said to look like it actually hurts him. "I am glad," Jonathan responds after he gathers his thoughts. "Cedric-rhya, if I might ask you a question?"

Cedric waves his other arm airily. "Make with the question, Jonathan."

Jonathan clears his throat. "Do you have any desire to learn the rituals of our tribe? That is, I mean, if you do not know those that I know already?" He glances off to the left once more. "Part of my chiminage is to teach a ritual of the Silver Fangs to a member of our tribe."

"My dear man," Cedric says affably, "that would be right on the mark. Lay out your stall. What have you to offer? I'm damnably low on rituals. Trottin' round the world like I've been doing the last few years doesn't leave much time to sit around learnin' the things."

Jonathan raises one brow beneath the rim of his hat and nods. "Excellent. For the rituals held dear to our tribe, I know the Litany of the Ancestors, the Revelation of the Shadow and the ritual of the Honorable Oath." He pauses for a beat. "The first two are of lesser importance to our tribe, and are somewhat personal in nature for each Silver Fang. But the Oath is universal. It is how we show ourselves to be creatures of our word."

"I have always held," Cedric drawls, though with a solemn face which ill fits his casual speech pattern, "that the duty of a Galliard is to speak truth whenever a lie is not called for outright."
Jonathan nods in return, and when he speaks, his voice has the first hints of excitement. "Then you wish to learn the Honorable Oath?"

"Do you think you can teach me?" Cedric asks. "With or without bein' assisted by the spirits?"
"I know I can." There, then is the surety in Jonathan's voice. He leans forward slightly. "I would only await your convenience to begin the lessons."

"Given that we can't go and mop up the spiders at Clemency House now Luna is less than half," Cedric points out, "I'm free for the next two weeks or so."

There's a flicker of a smile on Jonathan's face before he schools his expression to neutral. "I should gather my materials if I am to teach. Would meeting you here tomorrow morning suit you, Cedric-rhya?"

"Absolutely," Cedric agrees. "And I'll make sure the goods are in the kitchen for a damn' good breakfast besides."

Jonathan nods again, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster. "That would be greatly appreciated. The hunting is somewhat sparse of late. With your permission, I'll take my leave now, and begin preparations."

Cedric pauses for a second or two, as though gathering his courage to perform an unpleasant duty, then claps Jonathan on the back with moderate firmness. "I just want to say, as well," he goes on, "that this house is open to you should you ever need a place to stay."

Jonathan appears surprised by the clap to the back, tilting a little bit with the pressure. "Thank you once again, Cedric-rhya. I will keep that in mind if the elements become too foul at some point. I shall see you in the morning, then." He takes an awkward step toward the door, glancing back once. Then the door's opened, and he moves down the stairs without any further preamble.