Morning, but not so early as to be prohibitive to activity. People move about the city, the cables cars trundle along with their bells calling out their little tunes, and cars shuffle and honk along the streets. Indeed, there's been a bit of a bustle out in the hallways of the House, as though someone had been scurrying about on some errands, though they haven't intruded on the visiting metis. However, upon the opening of his door, a note would be found stuffed between the knob and the jamb on the outside, scrawled in an downright childish hand. 'NEW MAN COME TALK SHARE' followed by a tangle of lines that are the closest to a claw-speach glyph as a ballpoint pen can manage, looking to be a name of some sort. The paper is ragged, well-smudged, and looks to actually have been chewed a little at the upper edge before being left for Zeke to find.

Zeke studied the note for a while, looking exceptionally curious at the oddness about it. Finally, he tugs hat down and sleeves into place and heads out of the small room he was given as a guest. The note in his left hand is held by the three digits that remain and he steps out and looks around. "Morning, Mog? Bird?"

The hallway remains quiet for the moment, but then there's a scrabbling from the stairwell, resolving itself into... well, it's probably male. A gangly tangle of limbs, all wrapped in a horribly oversized trenchcoat, with dirty blonde hair trailing out from under a hat that probably used to be a fedora in a past life. A bulging duffel bag is slug over one shoulder, and the man, boy really, comes pattering up to Zeke with a grin that smudges the border between infectious and manic. "Hellohello. Not know new man's name. Note? Come?" The newcomer flaps his hands, then seems to remember some form of manners. "This one Calls-the-Stars-to-Dance, is Gnawer, is speaker to spirits, collecter of ideas. Share?"

Zeke looks to the hyper young man and nods his head, "Yes, I'm the new man. Ezekiel Hess. Half moon and Black Fury. What ideas do you want to share?"

The Theurge blinks several times and cocks his head, posture cocking to the side before he wanders back and forth in front of Zeke, studying him. "Fury? Sinborn, then. See, see. Ezekiel," and he enuciates the name carefully, mouth lingering over every syllable. "Is good name. Come, come, have breakfast, talk." Stars grins again and gestures back towards the stairwell, "All ideas. Where from, where going, why. Why always good. Is not too early?"

Zeke blinks himself, hurrying to keep up with the conversation and the energy of the other. "Alright. Breakfast? Yes, and just Zeke." He makes a gesture with thumb and forefinger of shrinking the name down. Then he's following the bouncing Gnawer. "You mean where I am from?"

Urick bobs a nod that takes his shoulders and upper boddy with it, an almost birdlike mannerism, then turns to start for the stairs once Zeke indicates he's coming along, "Zeke. Easier say, lighter. Halfmoon heavy burden, light name sometimes help, suppose." Hands wave, long fingers fluttering, "And. Body, mind, heart, all have where, why."

Zeke stares again and then cracks into a grin. "My where is Hidden Walk, my why is because I needed a vacation. Needed to live life a little from a less strict point of view. That was the plan anyway."

Stars bobs again, returning Zeke's grin with another of his own, "See. Hidden Walk..." and the Theurge falls briefly silent, nibbling on a finger as he starts to pattern down the stairs towards the ground floor, "is cold-ways, yes? Still learning territories. Furies box Zeke? Boxes boring, cramp tail." It could almost be argued that he's half talking to himself, but the tone of his voice. "Zeke coffee? Not like, bitter, but some drink. Have bread-sweets, too."

Zeke squint as he listens, and then shakes his head numerous times, once for each question. "No, the Furies there and the Furies I was raised with do not cage me. Just, we think differently. And that makes for a lot of arguments. No coffee, thanks."

Stars flaps a hand again, mild impatience in the gesture, "Not all box for body." Having reached the ground floor, the Theurge skitters over to a cardboard box sitting in a corner, lifting it off the ground to reveal a paper bag hidden underneath, looking to have come from a deli or something, "Come, sit, eat. Talk best with full belly." Plopping right down on the floor in a clatter of coat, bag, and assorted dangling things tied to both, he grins up at the metis and tugs the paper bag open to reveal a few breakfast pastries, "Have friend down street, saves some for I in morning. Good friend."

Zeke narrows his look at the other. "They would like it if I thought exactly as they did, but I don't think I can. I'm not exactly like them." He drops down next to the other, the model of manners and politeness here. He looks to the pastry and nods, "Alright, just one. Thank you."

The bag is offered over to Zeke for him to take as he will, "Take. Can always find other if Zeke want all, no starve." The Theurge sobers slightly after this, though, or as much as he seems able, the grin fading to a more thoughtful expression, "Box for mind, then. Box heart? Hardest to escape, that. Hurt. Zeke think for self, yes, but speak for self? Think no speak no do. Halfmoon do, must do. Or Garou wander from pack."

Zeke tugs his hat down a little more as the fast talking Gnawer offers his advice. "Wait, no, I mean. It's not that simple. My ideas are not their ideas. So no, I can't always speak or do. It's complicated."

The Gnawer hmmms, again lifting a finger to nibble at the knuckle, eyes wandering as though tracking some invisible flitty thing. Then he snorts a breath through his nose and wiggles a little. Then blinks and looks vaguely sheepish before speaking, "All ideas different. Is ideas. Sinborn omega, done, yes. But still have voice. Only dead not listen to voice."

Zeke is struggling to understand the other, and the pinching of brows is a clear indication of that. "Only the dead don't hear the voice, hearing and listening are different things."

Stars nods energetically, beamiing at Zeke, "Yes, good. But half. Always hear, some part always listen. Voice may cry no, body cry no, heart... heart harder to convince." A wiggle of his lips followed by a huff, then the Gnawer fishes a bearclaw out of the bag and starts to gnaw, chattering between bites, "All stone make ripple in pond, even if sink out of sight."

Zeke scratches a hand over his hat and nods, "Yes maybe. But sometimes the stones get tired of sinking."

Stars giggles as though Zeke had said something truly amusing, then waves a hand at the Fury's hat, "Hide? Understand. But will show? Only ask once, promise." He bites into his breakfast again, looking at Zeke over the pastry with wide, guileless eyes, the irises that sort of hazel that seems to shift at times.

Zeke takes in a deep breath, "It's not so bad in this form. My other forms are the problem." The hat comes off and the sleeves coming up. His ears are large, overly large and elongated, and his arms are hairless and mispigmented.

The Theurge blinks several times again, tilting his head one way, then the others, eyes tracing over the metis as though reading words off a page. After a moment he swallows his current bite and sets the pastry to one side, leaning towards Zeke slightly, "Touch?"

Zeke looks at the Theurge slightly, and then, perhaps it's the near child-like personality, or perhaps he's just getting bolder with the request. But he nods, "Yes.

Teeth wink briefly in a grin, then Stars sobers again and reaches out, shaking the sleeves of his overlarge coat back nearly to his elbows before extending his hands towards the metis. Light touches begin to explore Zeke's ears, like a blind person might read shape, then drop to his forearms, tracing the lines of muscles and bones over the strange skin. "So. Is Zeke. Perhaps not Ezekiel yet, but is Zeke." Sitting back, the Theurge pulls his sleeves back into place and nods slowly, "Thanks to Zeke."

Zeke sits rather tensely as the other explores, then tugs his hat back on as soon as it's done. "What do you mean, not Ezekiel yet?"

Stars makes a soft noise in his throat and rolls a shoulder, brows furrowing in thought, then says "Ezekiel heavy name. Zeke see box, dislike box, but carry box with. Ezekiel too strong for box." Hands come together as though cupping something delicate between them, "Box can be useful, box can also smother. Must find /right/ box, otherwise smother, die. Zeke come here, bring box with. Ezekiel go back, perhaps." Then the Theurge bounces to his feet with a grin, "Was good talk, Zeke. See again, hope." A warbling sound croons through the young man's nose and pursed lips, then he scampers off, heading for the front door.