Jeff Rogers: He slowly bleeds into existence in Michelle's lounge, in the same spot he always appears in. His backpack is conspicuous by its absence, but he still wears the huge, thick greatcoat.

Michelle Morgan: She's still on the couch, still watching CNN. That's the kinda night she was having. ((Per+Aware))

Michelle Morgan: 3,10,9,2,5,

Jeff Rogers: He's not looking too... clean. His chin bears the faintest trace of stubble, his hair is tangled and held in a ponytail with a tie-wrap, his posture a little stooped. He doesn't smell too attractive.

Michelle Morgan: She looks over at Jeff as he bleeds in, raising an eyebrow. "You know, I do have a door..." She looks very tired, but smiles just the same. "Hi."

Jeff Rogers: "I know you have a door," he says hoarsely.

Michelle Morgan: "Shit." She frowns, getting to her feet and muting the TV. "What the hell happened to you, Jeff? You look like hell."

Jeff Rogers: "I'm fine. I just need a shower and something to eat. I had to wait for the 'dox to filter off before I could come."

Michelle Morgan: She nods. "You know where the shower is. I'll see what we've got for leftovers. You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not in the mood for cooking up something new tonight. Rough night last night."

Jeff Rogers: He shakes his head. "No. But you people bent over and let the Treaty assfuck you, so the answer's no anyway, convenient as it may be for both of us. I can't get myself in on that."

Michelle Morgan: A blink, then she nods. She hadn't really expected it. "All right." She sighs. "Terry tells me you had a lot of weapons at the Fortress. Weapons in the Technocracy's hand, now."

Jeff Rogers: "Yeah. Nobody was interested in that, though. So I would imagine it's now too fucking late to go get them back. Oh, and if anyone else dares accuse me of selling you out to the Squarepushers, I'm fucking leaving this damn town."

Michelle Morgan: "I don't think..." She frowns. "Who said you sold us out?"

Jeff Rogers: "Coward-boy."

Michelle Morgan: She sighs. "I hardly think you sold us out, Jeff. Can you provide us with an idea of the kinds of weaponry that the Union got? Just to give us an idea of what we may be up against?"

Jeff Rogers: "To go geek for a moment, we had guns. Lots of guns." He sips at some juice. "Are there any Chantries here that haven't joined the Treaty?"

Michelle Morgan: "Madame Ling's hasn't. I think the Four Elements is a member, but I'm not sure...they're all Hermetic, anyway, so it's probably not your style. I can give you the contact information for the Deacons there. An Ecstatic and a Euthanatos."

Jeff Rogers: He nods curtly. "Sure."

Michelle Morgan: She gets up, grabbing a piece of paper from the kitchen and writing down the numbers Rachelle provided for herself and Marty. She walks back over to the table and hands it over.

Jeff Rogers: He takes it and tosses it onto his coat, then starts unfurling his hair from the towel. "You know what I really want?"

Michelle Morgan: "Shoot."

Jeff Rogers: "I want a fucking haircut." He tosses the towel onto the couch. "I'm sure all this looks way cool, but it's a fucking mess, and it's a pain in the arse."

Michelle Morgan: She grins a little. "Well, you're in luck. You're talking to a pseudo-semi rock star. I can probably get a hairdresser over here for a good haircut, if you want."

Jeff Rogers: "Yeah. No. You can't." He grunts and rises, heading for his clothes, starting to get dressed again.

Michelle Morgan: She frowns a little, the few lines in her face creasing. For once, she looks older then her 33 years of age. "Jeff...what do you want from me? What the hell am I supposed to do to get you to trust me, or should I just give up now?"

Jeff Rogers: He grabs her by the hand and leads her through to the bathroom, moving to the mirror and wiping the steam away from it with his hand. "You can't get me a hairdresser, Michelle."

Michelle Morgan: She looks at the mirror, and blinks. "Oh." Whoops. "Sorry. I'm all sorts of misreading today." She sighs. "I can cut your hair if you like...I'm no hair dresser, but I can probably at least make it even."

Jeff Rogers: He lets go of her hand. "No. It's not worth it." He hesitates, then huffs. "I trust you. Why do you think you're the only person I show my face to?"

Michelle Morgan: She sighs. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just feel like...well, I feel like shit, really. But besides that, I feel like I want to help, but I can't. And that frustrates me. Tonight, I equated it with lack of trust. I'm sorry."

Jeff Rogers: "That's fine. At least you didn't declare me a sellout and set your wolf on me."

Michelle Morgan: "Wolf. What wolf?"

Jeff Rogers: "Big white wolf with an all too clear understanding of the English language."

Michelle Morgan: "Venus." She sighs. "Venus attacked you?"

Jeff Rogers: He snaps his fingers. "That's what Joey called her yeah."

Michelle Morgan: She nods. "I think Joey considers her 'his' wolf, but she's obviously far smarter then a wolf. I don't know how that is yet."

Jeff Rogers: "She's clearly not a wolf." He shrugs.

Michelle Morgan: "I think she's unable to change her shape, though. Unless she got stuck that way somehow..." She shrugs back.

Jeff Rogers: "I couldn't give a flying fuck. She bit my ass and would've done more if I hadn't got away."

Michelle Morgan: "I'll talk to her, then. And Joey. What she did is bullshit."

Jeff Rogers: "Look. As far as I'm concerned I did the best I could to get every Tradition mage out of that cafe before the Techno's crapped on the place from a great height. I don't think guns, teeth and accusations from my own fucking side in this war are an appropriate response." He finally steps out of the bathroom, stalking back toward his coat. "Except we don't have any way of making a formal complaint, do we? We'd rather bow down to someone else's treaty, but leave ourselves wide open to attack. The Technocracy are using this fucking Treaty, can't you see it? They're free to do what they want to us, when they want to do it."

Michelle Morgan: "And we're free to do the same back to them, Jeff. The problem is we're all to damn busy pointing shotguns and wolves and so on at each other. I'm sick to death of these assholes in this city turning every problem we encounter into an excuse to snipe at each other down Tradition and philosophical lines. I've seen us unite one time...only once...to deal with a threat. And that was because I took absolute control and directed everyone. Unfortunately, I don't always have the answers...I got lucky on that one."

Jeff Rogers: "Absolute control, eh?" He nods, shrugging the coat on. "Yeah." He pockets the paper. "Good luck with that."

Michelle Morgan: "Absolute control of the situation. Not the people." She sighs. "And believe me, I don't want to do that. I'm no more important then anyone else here, and my ideas are no more valid. But I don't know what else to do. If we don't, then we deadlock and snipe at each other while all this shit advances onward."

Jeff Rogers: "I could have been a worthwhile ally, Michelle. I could have been someone you people could use. Fuck, you may even have gotten me convinced this Treaty was a good idea, in spite of everything I know to the contrary. But I can't live like you people do. You've got a nice little clique, and nobody gets in on it unless they take it up the arse. You need to evaluate the way you people see this world."

Michelle Morgan: "What do you think I was just talking about?" She raises her hands helpless. "I'm trying to put a stop to all this sniping and internal fighting. And I mean all of us. Within the Chantry cliques and without."

Jeff Rogers: "Then look at the Treaty, Shelly, 'cause it's keeping you split down the middle." He reaches into his pockets.

Michelle Morgan: "Drop out of the treaty, in the middle of, from what I understand, is some kind of undead war? Let Arlett and I, and any new members Haven gets, become targets there? Not to mention that I have no control over what 4E does. I can't tell them to drop out." She sighs. "I'm trying. I'm just at my wit's fucking end."

Jeff Rogers: "I said look at it, not drop out." He huffs. "Fuck, you people are stupid."

Michelle Morgan: She sets her jaw, but nods. "All right. I'll look at it. Sorry, with your opinions against, I assumed again. I need to stop doing that."

Jeff Rogers: "My opinions are one thing. Objectivity is another." He starts fading away.

Michelle Morgan: "All right. I'll see you later, Jeff."

Jeff Rogers: He nods. "You too."

Jeff Rogers: Then he's gone.

Michelle Morgan: A sigh, and she gets to cleaning up the dishes, before going back to TV.