Just What Everyone Thinks

[hazlogs]

It is currently 21:59 Pacific Time on Sun Aug 11 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 75
degrees Fahrenheit (23 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the northeast at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.06 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 47 percent. The dewpoint is 54
degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (23% full).


Sunday night's fairly quiet at the pool hall; too many of the clientele
have somewhere to be Monday morning and have already pissed away their
paychecks over the weekend. Between this and other, more personal,
characteristics, Salem's pretty much got one end of the bar to himself,
and he simply watches the place with a half-empty bottle of nonalcoholic
beer at his elbow.

Rina comes in alone, leather jacket jingling a bit as she moves. It's rare
for her to be out on the streets, especially by herself... but there is no
sign of anyone with her. She glances over the bar, and a faint smile comes
to her face as she spots him.

Salem spots Rina upon entrance and lifts his bottle to her. Though he
isn't smiling, he seems pleased enough to see her. And the stools next to
him are invitingly empty.

"Hey," she offers, heading for him and shrugging out of her jacket,
letting it drop heavily into one hand. She climbs onto a stool and glances
to the bartender. "Jameson's down here," she calls over. "Double, straight
up? Thanks."

"Evening," he returns. Salem takes a swig from his bottle as she orders
her own drink, then asks, "How's things?"

Rina lifts a shoulder, and glances down. "Okay," she murmurs. "You?" The
bartender slides a drink onto the counter at her elbow, and she digs a few
dollars out of her pocket to slide across to him.

Salem's expression turns wry. "Apparantly," he says, deadpan, "I'm quite
the asshole."

Rina raises both eyebrows, and looks over to him in the midst of paying
for her drink. "Okay, that's got a story. Talk." She lifts her glass to
him in salute, and downs a few swallows.

"One of Kaz's, ah, kids asked me why I didn't want Aiyana to be intimate
or romantic with Jeremy." The former Ronin taps a finger absently against
the side of his bottle of Colstar. He pauses a beat for dramatic effect
and then adds, "So I told her."

Rina swallows, and her lips twist a little. "What, that ya didn't want our
boy genius to get the clap?"

Salem arches a brow, then shakes his head slightly. "No, I just didn't
want a Gnawer muddying our gene pool." His lips thin into a small,
distasteful little grimace. "Naturally, Lyra's next question was why the
objection based on tribe? She wanted to know why I didn't like her
family."

Rina snorts, and rolls her eyes.

Salem nods his agreement, wets his throat, and continues. "I told her what
my opinion was of her family. Of course, there are exceptions. Merria,
Kaz, even Lyra herself. The girl has quite a bit of potential, but..." He
shakes his head, a rueful flicker passing across his face. "She's too
sweet for her own good. Too naive. In any case, she started to cry.
_Cry_."

Rina's expression falls a bit, and she winces. "Ow."

Salem rubs at the back of his neck. "Mmh. Yes."

Rina lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. "Did you tell her it's only what
most people think? I mean, she can't have been taught real well, if that
was unexpected."

Salem turns his head to regard Rina with his one good eye. "I don't speak
for other people's opinions," he says, rather flatly. "I speak for my
own." He exhales a breath and looks away, grimacing faintly. "She wasn't
ready to hear it, though. As I said, she's naive. Young."

Rina purses her lips a little, and gives a small shake of her head. "Don't
think I know her." She glances to him, sidelong. "How young is young?"

"Fifteen, probably. Give or take a year." He tips a look over at her
again. "But a _young_ fifteen, if you understand what I mean."

Rina rolls her eyes heavenward. "Not for long, around here," she says with
a touch of bitterness. She tosses back the first half of the shot, then,
several swallows.

Salem arches a quizzical brow. "That sounds like a story, too," he notes.

Rina drinks down the rest of the alcohol, eyes closed. Then she glances
over to him with a narrowed gaze, black as night and focused as a damn
good rifle. "No," she says shortly. "Not one you or anyone else wants to
hear."

Salem is, perhaps, the last person in town to pry into another's sordid,
painful history, and he doesn't press. "Fine," he says mildly, not
sounding even the slightest bit offended. He adds, "Sorry."

Rina shakes her head minutely. "No sweat," she murmurs, lowering her eyes
and turning to order another drink. "Another double?"

Salem lifts his bottle of nonalcoholic beer, estimating the level of
liquid still left in it. Sidelong, he studies her, partly curious, mostly
concerned.

Rina looks over her shoulder, and catches him; the eye contact kindles a
small, wry half-smile, without any humor. "What," she drawls.

Salem shakes his head slightly. He holds his gaze for a moment more, then
turns away to take a drink. "Nothing."

A faint smile comes to her lips, after he looks away; she ducks her head,
and pays for the second round. "Had to get out, is all. Every once in a
while the paint fumes get kinda heavy."

Salem nods. "Fresh air. Good for the soul." His voice has a touch of
irony; any woods-bound Garou would have several words to say about the
un-freshness of the air in this part of town, and the atmosphere of the
pool hall in particular is smoky and thick.

Rina lifts a shoulder. "Nah. Dens of vice. Good for the soul." She offers
him a quick flash of a smile, the expression softening her face a little.

One corner of the halfmoon's mouth quirks upward; it's as good as a
chuckle from the generally stoic Philodox. "Those, too. Speaking of
which," he says, "Rhiannon mentioned she had some news about the trial. I
suggested she wait in the telling until she could fill you and John in as
well."

Rina purses her lips slightly. "Mmm. Cool. Maybe tomorrow night?"

Salem nods once. "Exactly what I was thinking."

Rina offers a faint smile. "I'll be there."

"Good," Salem says, though it seems as though he expected no less. He
takes another drink, along with another sidelong glance at her.

She sips down the second double, slow. She's content with the quiet, at
least... and his forbidding presence, along with her reputation, has kept
anyone from bothering her. Salem lets the companionable silence stretch
out for several minutes, about as relaxed as he ever gets when in public.
Eventually, he opens up another conversational subject, keeping his voice
pitched low to prevent eavesdroppers. "Did John tell you about the debate,
woods-side, the other night?"

Rina frowns a little, and shakes her head; she glances over to him,
sidelong. "About...?"

Salem takes another drink. "New spirit patron. Since the old one is AWOL
or some such thing."

Rina raises her eyebrows. "Kinda got chased off by the motherfucking
enemy, I expect."

"Most likely," he says, with a nod.

Rina peers over at him, narrowing her eyes a little. "So... did they fight
it out? Decide anything?"

Salem grimaces, setting the bottle down and tapping his fingers against
the bar. "Not really. There were too many who wanted to invite Wendigo,
however. _Wendigo_. A xenophobic, ice-hearted _cannibal_ spirit."

Rina frowns. "Huh. I didn't have the impression that the red tribes were
all that strong, out there..."

"Hmh," Salem says, dourly. "They're not. But one of the little bastards
decided to make promises to get one of the things to fight for us, and
then one of the _Fangs_ decided to speak up in agreement." He shakes his
head, bemused and irritated by the whole thing. "By the end, enough spoke
out against the idea that the call won't go out for Wendigo specifically,
but there was no consensus on who to actually make the call to." He
pauses, taking another drink, then adds, more calm and less rant-y, "Not
that it matters a great deal. There's no telling who will answer, when a
call like that is made."

Rina snorts. "Fucking tree-huggers," she mutters. "All they ever do is
talk'n'argue. They wouldn't have their precious land back, without you
guys. Without Synthesis."

Salem's mouth twitches into a faint half-smile. "We were one part of it,"
he says. "One part."

Rina narrows her eyes. "Important part."

Salem turns his head and meets her gaze. "No less important than any other
part," he agrees. "But no more."

Pursing her lips at him, she seems doubtful of that. "You don't think
enough of y'self," she says quietly. "They couldn't have done it without
you, so."

"Rina," he says, lightly chiding, his voice and expression wry, "I'm quite
capable of inflating my own ego without help."

Rina smiles mutely, and shakes her head.

"...Not that I really disagree with you," Salem adds, downing the last of
his drink. "Francisco spoke very well at the meeting, as did John and
Alicia... who may not be of the Walk, but who at least has her heart in
our corner." One side of his mouth quirks upward again, briefly. "Whoever
or whatever is chosen, the Walk will continue. Even if our patron would
rather devour our hearts." He snorts.

Rina wrinkles her nose. "Speaking of which," she lowers her voice a
little, "we still have another war waiting."

Salem rubs at his mouth. "The Russians. Yes, I know."

Rina glances down, swirling the remaining whiskey. "Yeah. Hard to forget
about it when y'can't go out without that tickle between the
shoulderblades, you know? It's like I can feel the big red 'n'white
circle. Might as well paint it on the back of my jacket.

"We'll paint it on the back of mine instead," Salem says, quite dry and
deadpan. "It will distract them."

Rina nearly chokes on her drink, managing just barely to swallow the
mouthful down without mishap. "Jesus fuck," she mutters. "Don't /do/ that,
man!"

Salem arches a brow. "Do what?" It's difficult to look innocent when you
could pass for Lucifer without trying hard. Salem almost manages it.

Rina laughs ruefully, shaking her head a little; then, quite suddenly, she
leans over and puts a hand on his cheek, kissing him with a loud smack. He
barely jerks his face away in time, so that the intended kiss lands on his
jaw rather than his mouth.

Salem, looking rather disconcerted at this unexpected move, clears his
throat and picks up his bottle. Which is empty. "Erm."

Rina rolls her eyes heavenward. "Christ," she mutters, knocking back her
drink and pounding the shotglass down. She gives him a look, then, eyes
narrowed. "You scare easy, for a tough guy."

Salem recovers his composure, setting the bottle back down and turning a
dour expression her way. "I scare easy? What _was_ that for?"

Rina smiles faintly. "For being fucking hilarious!"

Salem's irritation clears away; he shakes his head slightly, dryly amused.
"Ah. You're welcome, then."

Rina hitches a shoulder, and slides down from her seat. "Din't mean to
bother you," she says uncomfortably. "Always seems like I gotta fuck
somethin' up."

"You didn't," Salem says, attempting to reassure the kinswoman. "You
simply... startled me."

Rina looks over her shoulder to him with a faint, dark-eyed smile.
"Sorry," she says.

Salem returns the smile, just as faint and just as dark-eyed -- even if
only one of those eyes is dark. "An apology isn't necessary. Would you
like an escort home?"

Rina shakes her head, without looking at him. "Nah," she answers. "I'll
get a cab." Slinging the leather jacket onto her shoulders, she turns to
walk out. "Seeya tomorrow."

Salem nods, his expression rueful. "Be seeing you," he says quietly.