Soap Opera Sunday

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:16 Pacific Time on Sun Sep 1 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 71
degrees Fahrenheit (21 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the east at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.17 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 63 percent. The dewpoint is 58
degrees Fahrenheit (14 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (37% full).

Whispering Pines - Rhiannon's Apt.(#4119RJ)

Rhiannon appears to follow the tenet of 'order in chaos', as the apartment
is a complete and total mess, save for a few small corners of sanity. The
doorway opens to the living room, which is large and bright, with a
balcony and sliding glass doors on the left and a dining nook at the far
left corner. To the right of the living room is a short hall that allows
access to the bedrooms and bathrooms, and the kitchen is located across
the living room and to the right, with a bar allowing a view from the
dining nook into the kitchen. The apartment is still sparsely furished,
with only the basics covered: a low coffee table is covered with magazines
and papers, mostly catalogues from the looks of it, ranging from Coldwater
Creek to an NRA publication or two. Blankets and pillows litter the wide,
plaid couch, and the entertainment center has a mess of VHS tapes and DVDs
in front of it rather than stacked neatly in the available shelving.
Although the TV and VCR appear to be garden variety, the stereo system and
DVD player are anything but. Several different company logos are apparent
between the large speaker system and accompanying components, the main
speakers being almost 4' tall and flanking the entertainment system.
Reiterating a love of all things audio is the pair of CD cabinets on the
opposite wall, both holding a huge selection of CDs. Unlike the movies on
the floor, not a single CD is out of place, and a closer look reveals they
are all alphabetized--several hundred, if the height and width of the
cases are any indication. The apartment walls are barren except for a few
family and friend photos.

There's a crisp, businesslike knock at the door.

Rhiannon is wandering around the apartment, cleaning things in a
distracted manner. The knock is what she has been awaiting, and the kin
immediately abandons her Windex and paper towels for the door, which she
opens after confirming who it is.

Quentin hasn't come out of the extra room since last night, though he's
not asleep-- just laying back on the floor right now, one knee bent and
arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling in silent
thought.

A blue moon has arisen, and Salem's actually sporting a bit of color today
in the form of a red and black flannel shirt which hangs open over the
usual plain black t-shirt. He takes off his sunglasses as Rhiannon opens
the door, tucking them into a breast pocket. "How is he?" he asks,
quietly.

Rhiannon allows herself a moment to blink at the unnatural presense of
color in Salem's clothing. She then answers his question as if nothing
were out of the ordinary. "As good as you can expect." She steps back to
let him in, since this is not a discussion for the hallway.

Salem nods, stepping inside, his eye going toward the direction of the
bedroom. Once Rhiannon's closed the door, he looks over at her, his
expression closed, somber. "Is he awake?"

The voices are heard, of course, though perhaps the words aren't made out.
Nevertheless, Quentin rolls up to his feet in a single smooth movement,
raking one hand back through his hair and taking a deep breath before
heading to the door leading into the main room. He pauses there a moment,
listening.

"Doubtful, but it's possible." Rhiannon can't quite keep all the
bitterness from her voice as she says, "Unlike some people I don't have
every room wired so I can spy on everyone who's here."

Salem lifts an eyebrow. "Jeremy has his apartment wired?" A moment later
he answers himself, with a thin, rueful grimace. "Of course he does. Roger
probably set it up." He glances again toward the door. "What did he tell
you, exactly?"

Quentin leans his shoulder against the doorframe, both arms folding over
his chest as he listens to the others talk. The subtle creak of weight
against wood is barely audible, but might be heard by those listening for
it.

There's the slightest beat before Rhiannon answers with a question of her
own, gesturing to the couch. "Want anything to drink, before we get into
this? Water?"

Salem pauses a moment, then nods. "A glass of water would be good, thank
you." He glances over toward the couch. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go for it." Rhiannon vanishes into the kitchen for a moment, and returns
with a water for Salem and a Thomas Kemper rootbeer for herself, still in
the cold bottle. Once she's given Salem his water, she starts in. "Quentin
showed up looking like hell last night. He and Lyra were at Jeremy's, and
from the sound of it Jeremy made some remarks that revealed he had the
whole place covered with cameras." Rhiannon pauses and adds with emphasis,
"The *whole* place."

Salem makes room for himself on the blanket- and pillow-strewn couch,
accepting the glass of water with a nod of thanks. He takes a sip as he
listens, then grimaces. Again, his voice sounds rueful. "Roger's doing, I
have no doubt. I'm surprised Jeremy uses it, but..." He shakes his head.
"I admit that I don't understand Jeremy. Or, for that matter, did I really
understand Roger."

Rhiannon sighs, and continues. "Lyra and Jeremy had some words in Chinese,
because the camera-business made her angry. She then said she'd simply
leave. The shit hit the fan and Jeremy stormed out, then Lyra left crying.
Quentin thought it'd be better to leave since Jeremy's apparently just as
bad with him, as without." The kin rubs her temples, and takes a drink
from the rootbeer. "It sounds like things between them are worse than they
were before. Jeremy is circling the drain, emotionally."

Salem absorbs this with a pensive frown, studying the water in his glass.
"Hrmnh." He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head slightly, apparantly
at something of a loss. "And Lyra?"

Rhiannon shakes her head. "I haven't heard from or about her since talking
to Quentin." She takes a deep breath. "I think it's clear, we can't keep
Quentin with Jeremy anymore. Not until we get things sorted out with him.
Jeremy I mean. Quentin can stay here for a little while, or maybe in the
Caern or the Farmhouse. I know I was the biggest advocate of Jeremy not
being alone, but this isn't helping. It's time to try something else."

The door's pushed open finally, and Quentin slips back out into the main
room, reaching back to close the door quietly but audibly behind him.
"Salem-rhya," he greets quietly, offering over a faint smile towards the
kinfolk as well, "Rhi. Hey."

"I agree." The Philodox rests his glass on one knee. He's about to say
something more when the cub presents himself. He turns a solemn, cool gaze
on the young Galliard; there's no condemnation there, but not much of
anything else, either. "Quentin. Have a seat." He looks over at Rhiannon,
then. "I'd prefer to have our cubs situated within the city, but I
wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

Rhiannon gives Quentin a wave of hello with her rootbeer, and takes
another drink. She dismisses the inconvenience issue with a wave of her
hand. "It's not a problem. Jacob and Francisco haven't been around much,
and until they do start coming back it won't much matter. It was time cito
got out there on his own anyways, which would give us somewhere else to
stow people."

It's with the air of a child approaching parents planning their divorce
that Quentin walks along towards the pair, looking for a rare moment just
as young as his fifteen years make him-- uncertain and guilty, he eases
himself down onto the couch's far edge without a word.

Salem nods to Rhiannon. "Thank you." His tone is sincere. "I'd offer my
own place, but with Cat, it's small enough." Then he turns his attention
to Quentin, studying the teenager for a moment.

"Get any sleep?" Rhiannon asks Quentin, as a more gentle way of easing him
into the conversation.

Quentin avoids direct eye contact with the Philodox for the moment,
glancing over towards Rhiannon and offering a faint smile back over to
her. "Some. Didn't sleep too much."

"How are you feeling?" asks Salem, his eye still on the cub. One long
finger taps silently against the side of the glass.

"I feel like shit," Quentin replies with a boneless shrug, flickering a
tenative glance over towards Salem as though uncertain whether he was
going to be slapped around or something. Briefly he bites his lower lip,
then adds, "..I'm sorry."

Rhiannon grimaces, remembering she wanted to mention something about what
Jeremy's been saying to Quentin. She lets it go for the moment, however,
and is content to listen and watch the two Garou.

Salem doesn't look like he's going to be slapping anyone around anytime
soon. In fact, he lifts a brow slightly at the apology. "What are you
sorry for?" Something in his voice indicates that this isn't a rhetorical
question.

Quentin grimaces briefly, gaze falling back down to his lap. "Well.. I
mean.. half the time all I ever did was piss Jeremy off or make him upset.
I should've been nicer to him or something. He's been through a lot. I
just.. couldn't do it."

Salem exhales a mild sigh, then takes a sip of water. "You've been through
plenty yourself," the halfmoon points out. "You're a cub, and fifteen.
Jeremy's past twenty and, according to his own claims, for what they're
worth in this case, an adult."

Quentin shrugs one shoulder, still not looking up from clasped hands as he
says quietly, "He's right, though. It's his house. I was abusing his
hospitality, really.."

Rhiannon makes a sound of incredulity, but doesn't enter the conversation.

Salem's eyes narrow, the blind one squinting almost shut. "How? From what
I've seen when visiting, your behavior has been perfectly fine. The only
cub I've seen who's more introverted and quiet than yourself is _Cat_." He
pauses a beat. "Don't forget that Jeremy _wanted_ you to stay, so unless
you ate all his food, wiped his computers, pissed in his bed, and started
demanding he wait on you hand and foot..." One corner of his mouth twists
upwards in a wry, humorless kind of way; he takes another sip of water.

Rhiannon only nods in silent agreement with Salem.

At that, Quentin can't help a faint twitch of his lips closer to a smile.
"I don't know," he murmurs, shaking his head, "Shouldn't have teased him
so much.. I dunno. And I'm not introverted."

"Oh, trust me," Rhiannon says, thinking of Jacob. "You are." After a
moment's thought, she adds, "Quentin, I've been where Jeremy is now. I
know what it's like to lose someone you're close to, and I know how he
feels. It doesn't excuse his attitude towards you, or anyone else."

Salem tilts his chin up a bit. He adds, mildly, "Friends tease each other.
Gaia knows that Rina's had plenty of... amusing moments at my expense."
Again, there's that wry twist in his mouth. Then he continues with a more
somber expression. "And some friends are better friends when they live
apart. There's that to think of as well."

Quentin lets a sigh spill from him, glancing back up a bit tenatively
before asking, "So.. you don't think this is my fault?"

"Something like that," Rhiannon murmurs in a dry tone.

"Absolutely not," Salem adds.

"Oh." Quentin actually seems a bit surprised as he straightens, looking
between the two quietly for a moment.

Rhiannon gives Salem a rueful look, then heads back into the kitchen with
her empty rootbeer bottle, rinsing it and adding it to the recycle tub.
"Want anything to drink, Quentin?"

Salem takes another drink of water while the cub decides whether he wants
to quench his own thirst or not.

Quentin looks over to Rhiannon and allows himself a faint smile, asking,
"I suppose if I asked for that Jack Daniels, Salem-rhya would hit me."

"You wound me," Salem says, completely straight-faced.

"Sure he does," Rhiannon drawls at Salem. "Anything unleaded you want?
Water, rootbeer, soda..."

"I guess some root beer'll do," Quentin allows with a slight shrug.

Salem takes another sip, then looks sidelong at Quentin. "Are you fine
with staying here, then?"

Rhiannon returns from the kitchen with water for herself and a Thomas
Kemper for Quentin. She hands the cub his drink and takes a seat on the
floor with a huff. "And if so, what of yours is at Jeremy's and needs
retrieving?"

Quentin reaches over to take the root beer with a brief, grateful smile
before glancing back towards Salem. "Yeah.. if I'm not in the way or
anything. And.. there's the computer Jer gave me, but, that's not really
mine. Everything else's in my duffle. I don't own too much."

Salem nods. "Good." He rests his glass on the arm of the couch, keeping a
hand on it to prevent falling and spillage. "What have you been up to,
besides..." He trails off at the end there, unable to quickly come up with
an appropriate term for recent events at Chez Jeremy.

There is a light rapping upon the door from outside.

Rhiannon glances at the knock and frowns, then rises to her feet in a
fluid motion and sweeps over to the door. She checks on the arrival, and
bites her lower lip. "It's Jeremy," she tells Salem and Quentin, as if
asking permission to let him in.

"I've been trying to learn more about how packs and septs are set up,"
Quentin supplies in slightly subdued tones, tipping his head towards
Rhiannon, "She's been teaching me how to shoot a gun.." At the news about
who's at the door he pauses and glances at the door with a slight frown..
offering no comment, just taking a sip of his drink.

"Shunning him will hardly make him better," Salem notes, dryly, after
giving Quentin a nod of approval at the description of his activities.

So informed, Rhiannon opens the door. "Hey," she greets Jeremy. "What's
up?"

Shifting a bit on his feet, Jeremy idly glances down at his watch, then
quickly jerks his chin upwards as the door opens to reveal Rhiannon.
"Hey." He says, tucking back a few stray strands of hair away from his
face. "Nothing. Just um... hanging out. Just got home from work, long,
long, long day." He stresses a bit, letting out a sigh. "Just wondering if
by chance you heard from Quentin, an if he's ok?"

The cub remains silent, though he sinks back a bit further on the couch..
sliding one leg up to press knee to chest as he listens from where he is.

Salem stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles
as he leans back, taking on the posture of casual relaxation. He glances
briefly at Quentin, then turns his attention toward the door.

"Want to come in and find out?" Rhiannon asks cryptically, standing aside
to allow Jeremy into the apartment.

Jeremy rubs the back of his neck slightly. "Oh. He's there.. so then he's
alright." He lets out a soft breath, shifting his weight. "Nah. Um.. its
alright. I'm tired. I just wanted to make sure he was OK, and stuff..
thats all." Sighing, he turns and starts back down the hall.

Quentin grimaces ever so slightly as he hears the kinfolk moving to
depart, looking back down and taking a sip of his root beer.

Salem's lips thin into a faint grimace, but he says nothing, letting
Rhiannon handle the kingoth at the door.

Rhiannon makes a face, and calls after Jeremy, "I take it this means you
don't want to talk about anything."

"No.. its alright. I'm just going to go home... good night." Letting out a
quick breath, Jeremy turns the corner, almost too quickly.

"See?" A simple, unhappy one-word question from the cub as he glances
sidelong back to Salem.

The muscles in Salem's jaw tighten, almost imperceptively. He puts down
his glass and pushes to his feet, stepping toward the door. "Jeremy?"

Rhiannon stands in the doorway, considering her options, and glances at
Salem as he joins her. "Well, that didn't go as planned," she mutters.

A few moments pass, and Jeremy's head pops back around the corner of the
hallway, staring across at the room to Salem.

Salem crooks a finger, beckoning Jeremy into the apartment.

Jeremy sighs and trudges back down the hallway and into the apartment,
dipping his head a bit down.

Quentin grimaces slightly, but remains silent, just watching and
listening.

"Well at least he's still listening to you," Rhiannon offers. She joins
Quentin back in the living room, expecting Salem to shut the door once
Jeremy's inside.

Salem exchanges a wry glance with Rhiannon, then closes the door and joins
the others. "Jeremy, sit down, please, and tell us what happened." He
adds, "And please stop looking so much like a whipped dog. You're not in
trouble, and I'm not your father."

Frowning, Jeremy rubs absently at his shoulder, cloaked in a long trench
coat. He scuffs his foot against the ground, sighing. "Its not a big
deal." He murmurs. "I had a bad day, thats all."

"Hey." A brief, quiet greeting from Quentin as Jeremy walks in, raising
his chin just a bit in a nod back towards the kin. That's all he says,
just taking a sip of root beer again.

"The number of bad days you have is increasing dramatically," Rhiannon
notes with a touch of grim amusement. She sips from her water, and watches
Quentin closely.

Salem folds his arms across his chest, nodding his agreement with
Rhiannon. "Talk to us, Jeremy." A beat. "Please."

Jeremy lets out a loud breath, shifting his gaze to Quentin, then back to
the two. He furrows his brows, thinking things over in his mind, then
says. "I work in retail. I deal with people all day. I came home stressed
out and well... I just snapped. I guess I just wasn't ready to deal with
more people."

Quentin, still avoiding direct eye contact, starts to say something-- and
then, clearing his throat, remains silent and just listens as the others
talk.

Salem tilts a sidelong glance at the cub, noting this, but doesn't
comment.

Rhiannon considers what Jeremy has said. "That's understandable, and it
probably means you shouldn't have Quentin staying with you. I don't think
that's all that's going on, though." She gives him a level stare. "It
sounds like you're still having problems with Roger being gone."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jeremy cuts a look over towards Quentin for
a moment, then back towards Rhia. He lets out a soft breath, defeatingly
sighing. "If you say so." It doesn't look like he's willing to put up much
of a fight at this point.

Quentin brushes one hand back through his hair, fingers raking through the
shadowed silk of his hair as he offers over in quiet tones towards the
gothy kinfolk, "I'm sorry."

Salem purses his lips. In truth, the former Ahroun seems somewhat out of
his depth here; his gaze continues to flick between Quentin and Jeremy,
eyeing the latter critically.

"No, Quentin, don't apoligize," Rhiannon says calmly. She addresses Jeremy
again. "So you don't want to tell us how you're feeling? Is it just me, or
are you not interested in anyone's help?" The questions aren't demands,
and she almost makes them sound academic.

Glancing between Quentin and Rhiannon, Jeremy seems greatly uncomfortable.
He bites his lip, clicks his tongue against his teeth, then blows out a
loud sigh. "I'm not some basketcase who needs a hug, alright? I'm just
going through typical young adult shit that involves growing up, working
full time, paying bills, an still trying to handle 16 units of College at
the same time. Its nothing to be worth worrying about."

At the calm scolding, Quentin drops silent with a grimace.. shaking his
head a bit and drawing back further against the couch, taking a sip of his
drink.

Rhiannon's demeanor grows icy. "Jeremy, in case it's not entirely clear,
I'm beyond the stage where I offer hugs." The words aren't sharp, but her
eyes are narrowed slightly. "There is also nothing normal about being
involved Kin, and on top of that going to college, work, and the hundred
other things you do. Don't try to play off your recent attitude by saying
it's 'just normal adult stuff'."

Shooting back a glare into her direction, Jeremy says. "Well, then how
'bout this for an excuse? Don't worry 'bout it, alright? I'm -fine-."

A brief flicker of something vaguely wry passes across Salem's saturnine
face, quickly there and just as quickly gone.

"An unbiased diagnosis, obviously." Still that even, cold voice.
Rhiannon's gaze is unwavering. "Fine is not storming out and ripping
computers from walls. It's not leaving cameras in every room of your
apartment, including the bathroom. It's not insisting you need someone
with you when at the same time you're apparently having trouble coping
with their presense."

"You know what Rhiannon? Do you see me banging on your door telling you
what to do or how to live your life?" Jeremy says, defiant, eyes storming
back into hers. "No, you don't. First of all, if you ever asked, you'd
know that Roger installed those camera's a long, long time ago, way before
I got there. Second, everyone is allowed to have a bad fucking day. Third,
my personal issues are my own. If Salem an John wanna yank Quentin out,
then I just have to deal with it. But as far as I can see, its none of
-your- buisness." He glares. "Good night. I got -work- to do." He turns
and starts back for the door, heavy boots thumping upon the ground.

A sharp bite against Quentin's lower lip encourages a trickle of red soon
swept away by the tip of his tongue, and he just shakes his head tiredly
at the kinfolk's words. "They didn't have anything to do with it, Jer," he
says quietly, "/I'm/ the one who left, remember? It's just making it
harder on you having me there, with all the busy-ness and shit. Like you
said, it's your house."

"Jeremy." Salem's voice has a sharp edge to it as he calls to the kinfolk.

"Stop calling me back here so I can continue to wreck hell upon my already
screwed up esteem, Salem!" Jeremy says, turning back, growing more mad by
the second. "Geezus H Fucking Christ. I just had to spend 11 hours at
work, dealing with two billion stupid people bitching about their stupid
computer problems, I didn't even get a break, I'm tired, frustrated, and
right now the only thing I want to see is my head hitting the pillow of my
bed! I don't know why you guys can't just let me be myself sometimes. You
always give me these cheery care bear pep talks about how I should stick
up for myself and get stronger an yadda bullshit yadda, and then on the
other hand, you all run my life as if I'm a fucking five year old, instead
of twenty, and tell me who to date, what to eat, how to act, who to talk
to." He turns, opening up the door, walking out, slamming it behind him.
There's a frustrated yell, and footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Rhiannon bristles dangerously, and for a moment there can be absolutely no
question as to her heritage. She takes a breath, though, and clears her
throat. "Well. Time for junior and I to have a little chat," she says in a
low, ominous manner.

Quentin actually flinches as the door is slammed shut, and he lets out a
heavy sigh.. sinking his head down into one hand, rubbing against his brow
and temple a bit. "Well," he mumbles, "At least he's not being so
passive-aggressive now."

A spasm of rage flashes through the Philodox's tall frame, a whipcrack of
primal, feral, snarling _anger_ that, for just a moment, wrinkles back his
upper lip and turns his good eye from brown to gold. His jaw clenches as
he bites down on the killing rage, suppressing it with vicious
ruthlessness. The battle of will keeps him silent.

Rhiannon watches Salem intently, but when it's mostly clear he's not going
to destroy the apartment or kill anyone just yet, she takes another drink
of her water. "At least I have some idea of what you've been dealing with,
Quentin, and I have to say I'm sorry for suggesting you stay with him. I
didn't want you to apologize, by the way, because in my opinion you have
no reason to apologize to him when he's being a punk."

A second flinch, this time at the sudden flare of rage that emanates from
the philodox; and, briefly, there's a flicker of real fear in Quentin's
gaze as he looks back towards Salem. He takes a deep and shaky breath
before exhaling it, murmuring, "He's not usually that bad."

Salem's hands clench and unclench. He continues to stare at the closed
door, seething, visibly working at regaining his earlier calm.

"No, he's not," Rhiannon agrees. "But I'm done giving him the benefit of
the doubt. He's been undeserving of it lately. Time for the tough love."

In the midst of whatever discussion is taking place at Rhiannon's, the
phone rings rather innocently.

Quentin just shakes his head, not saying anything.. although as the
phone's ring echoes suddenly, he nearly jumps out of his skin. A bit on
edge? A little. "Gah."

The phone is a surprise, and Rhiannon actually starts. She glares at it,
then with a reluctant sigh goes into the kitchen to answer.

Rhiannon picks up, and says, "This is Mac," in a vaguely official manner,
expecting a work call.

A muscle under Salem's blind eye twitches at the sound of the phone. Then
he takes a slow, careful, controlling breath and finally turns away from
the door. There's still an edge to his body language, but he seems to be
the ruler of his instincts once again.

There's a slightly disoriented pause on the other end. "Um, Miz Rhi?" is
the familiar-sounding voice. "Did I call too late? I'm awful sorry."
Background voices, unclear but there. "Oh, goodnight Adrian- oh, sorry,
um. It's Lyra?"

Rhiannon blinks, and turns so she's facing into the living room as she
speaks. "Lyra, where are you? It's not too late, we're just happy to hear
from you."

At the mention of Lyra's name over the phone, Quentin sits up sharply on
the couch's edge.. concern writ plain on his face as he looks over towards
Rhiannon, chewing on his lower lip.

Salem turns his attention toward Rhiannon as well, his face set into a
grim mask. He folds his arms across his chest again and listens to the
kin's half of the conversation, waiting.

Another pause, this one rather wary. "We?" repeats the halfmoon. She
sounds happy, healthy, and hale, if confused. "I'm at the farmhouse. Who's
we?"

Rhiannon says, carefully, "Quentin and Salem and I, specifically." She
pauses, and adds, "I know about the other night, Lyra."

There's a commotion going on in the background, and another muffled voice,
laughing. "Oh -stop- it, it's not him and he's -not- my boyfriend," a
rather huffy Lyra calls over her shoulder. Into the phone, still confused,
"Other night? With Yi? Oh." Realization, dawning. "Ohhhhhh."

Rhiannon continues as Lyra sounds like she understands what they're
talking about. "Salem and I've been talking to Quentin and Jeremy about
it."

Lyra makes a small noise in the back of her throat. "Now is a bad time for
what I called about," she says slowly, carefully. More muffled voice in
the background, and then a very clear 'ow'.

Rhiannon frowns, and sounds puzzled as she asks, "What did you call
about?"

Salem crosses the apartment and resumes his seat on the couch. He reclaims
his glass of water and sips it, his eye going toward Quentin.

A male voice grumbling. "Posh," Lyra grumbles back. "Um, nothing Miz Rhi,
I was hoping for a ride off the farm but you seem busy. I can spend the
night here again, it's not a problem." A pause. "Tell Kentin and
Salem-rhya I say hi, would you though?"

Quentin is just settled in on the couch, although he looks a bit nervous
as he watches Rhiannon talking on the phone.. concerned, perhaps. "Hey,"
he calls over to the kinfolk, at last unable to resist, "She okay?"

Rhiannon shifts her stance. "I can come and get you, Lyra, it's not a
problem. We can also try and clear up some of this stuff with Jeremy. And
I'll certainly tell them you said hi."

Lyra makes another uncertain sound. "I hate to be a bother, honestly Miz
Rhi. Are...are you sure? I. Um." Her voice drops softly. "Not if they'll
still be there..."

Rhiannon chuckles. "I'm sure these fine young men can handle an hour
without me, Lyra," she says, amused.

Salem's left eyebrow rises toward his hairline.

Lyra chuckles softly. "Oh...okay, um. If you're sure, Miss Rhi. I would
need to spend the night though, is that all right? I understand if it's
not," she adds quickly.

Rhiannon's confusion seems to have returned. "Is something wrong with your
apartment?"

Lyra chuckles again. "A little bit. Can't reach my room, I broke the
stairs." Enough of a white lie...

Rhiannon hmmmmphs. "Well, we can fix that, but I suppose Quentin won't
mind the company."

"All this over video surveillance?" Salem mutters, under his breath. He
eyes Quentin. "What did Jeremy say to her?"

Quentin grimaces slightly back towards Salem, murmuring, "I don't know.
Something about the bathroom, then something about Aiyana.."

Salem's brow furrows. "Hmnh." He looks over toward the kin on the phone
again.

Lyra blinks, but that's not seeable from the other end of the phone. "Oh.
OH." Very softly, "Okay."

Rhiannon fetches her keys from the counter, a sound that can be heard even
over the phone. "I'll be there in twenty, give or take, okay?"

"Sure, Miz Rhi. I'll see you then. And thank you ever so." Click.

Rhiannon hangs up the phone, and eyes Salem and Quentin. "Lyra needs a
ride back into town, so I'm going to go get her. Can I trust you two to
not rip the place apart while I'm gone?"

Salem does that Vulcan-esque lifting thing with his eyebrow. "Of course."

"Is she okay?" Quentin chuckles nervously at the last, glancing sidelong
to Salem before adding, "I won't rip anything up."

"Good. Remember, you break it, you replace it." Rhiannon sounds like she's
joking, but there's definitely some sincerity to her words. "She sounds
fine, by the way." She fetches her jacket, and gives both Garou a wave
before heading out the door.

[Fast-forward...]

The tell-tale sound of deadbolts unlocking is heard, and with little
pre-amble Rhiannon shows Lyra into the apartment. "We're back, put your
clothes on," she announces.

Salem is on his feet when the pair return, pacing the length of the
apartment restlessly, as much as one can without disturbing the clutter.
He glances up, hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans as
he regards the Gnawer cub. His face is set into a mask of bland
neutrality.

Quentin has settled down on one knee beside one of the CD cabinets, the
doors opened and his head tipped to one side as he reads the titles. He
hasn't actually touched them, though, out of fear that he'd mess up the
alphabetical order and be killed for it. As the door opens, he looks up
towards it with a slight smirk, "Yeah, yeah. Clothes are all on."

Lyra looks much the same to Quentin, although her clothes are little more
frayed and one sleeve far more stained. She beams cheerfully enough,
fingers hooked behind her back. "Sorry to burst the party, Salem-rhya,
pip...but I was too tired to run back. Adrian kept me there after dark."

Rhiannon notes Quentin's interest in the CDs, and says, "Feel free to put
something in, by the way. Lyra, did you want anything? Water, soda..."

Quentin lifts one hand to close the cabinet, pushing himself to his feet
and straightening a bit with a relieved expression at the cheerful look on
the other cub's face. "Nah, I was just looking.." A smile, hesitant,
crawls across his lips as he adds, "I was worried.. glad you're okay."

One corner of Salem's mouth quirks faintly upwards; he inclines his head
in polite greeting to the young Gnawer but says nothing.

Lyra cants her head towards Rhiannon. "Oh...um, pop would be nice. Just a
Coca-Cola if you have any." She brushes her skirt out in nervous habit and
takes a seat on the couch, hands folded demurely in her lap. She doesn't
return Quentin's smile, but rather looks at him with sad disappointment.
"I heard from a little bird that you quit the pack."

There's rumaging in the kitchen, and Rhiannon finally comes back into the
living room with a glass of Coke for Lyra. She's shed her jacket, and
after giving the Gnawer cub her soda, sits on the floor with a yawn.
"Pack? The cub pack?"

This, apparantly, is news to Salem. He looks quizzically at the young
Galliard, head cocked.

Quentin actually grimaces at the look directed his way, his gaze dropping
as he's unable to match hers. "Yeah," he says quietly, making his way back
towards the couch and settling down to its edge, "It's a good idea and
all, yeah.. but Adrian's supposed to be the 'alpha', yet he doesn't know
who's in it, hasn't met most of them, and he freely admits that he's 'just
a figurehead' for you, Lyra. He just sees it like a gang or something, he
doesn't have the first clue what a real pack is supposed to be about."

The Gnawer cub accepts the soda with a mouthed 'thank you' to Rhiannon,
eyes still on Quentin. After he describes the situation, she sighs,
peering down into her dark drink. "I'm glad you approve of the idea," she
murmurs softly. Lyra's unusually...formal towards the Walker cub, today.
"But ideas aren't anything more than that unless you work for them. And
you should have -told- me about this earlier. I never thought I'd see you
just quit..." She shakes her head. "Fine, so Adrian's not living up to the
job. Then somebody who is capable of doing it should challenge." She
frowns at her drink, falling quiet as she thinks about what her last
sentence entails.

Rhiannon doesn't seem too surprised by Quentin's censure of Adrian,
however his reasons for quitting the pack are surprising, and somewhat
reassuring. She gives him an approving look, although Lyra's use of the
word challenge brings her brows together.

Salem's eyes narrow faintly, though just for a moment. Stepping to the
side, he leans against the couch, watching the two cubs with folded arms
and an unreadable expression.

"I've only seen you once since then," Quentin says with a slight shake of
his head, dropping down to the edge of the couch and spreading both hands
in a helpless gesture, "Besides. I've never even /met/ any of these people
'cept you and Adrian, 'cept two of them briefly when we were cleaning up
the caern. I've talked to the guy, I've argued with him.. I don't have a
whit of respect for him or his judgement at this point." At the last
suggestion, he sighs a bit, "Yeah, Jamethon-rhya already told us that we
should just solve our differences that way instead of arguing. I, however,
do not particularly feel like having Adrian rip out my spine and walk on
it."

"You don't put too much faith in the training of your elders," Rhiannon
says, her voice dry.

Lyra's frown moves to Quentin's face as she looks up, hands around her
glass. "You've met more than two, pip, and we're not all that big anyway,"
she counters. "But quitting isn't the answer, unless you don't really
believe in what the pack stands for. In which case, you -should- quit. The
point to Gaia's Own was that it would be difficult. I didn't ask you to
join a glee club. I asked you to join something you had to work for." At
Rhiannon's comment, she quirks one corner of her mouth wryly. "Not all
challenges are physical, no. And...I'll challenge him." A pause, and then
her glance goes back to the soda. "Am I the only one who wants this to
work?" It's a plaintive question, perhaps rhetorical.

Salem remains silent, and still his face is difficult to read.

"Lyra, while I'd agree being in a pack is definitely about standing for
something, it's also about connecting with other Garou," Rhiannon says
after a moment's thought. "Being in a pack when you don't like the
packmembers is only a good idea in select cases."

"It's not," Quentin says with a sharp shake of his head, hands clasping
between his knees as he looks back over to Lyra, "Working. There's no
organization. No interest in organization. It's headed by someone who
claims that he's not in charge, that you are, and who openly admits he
sucks at the job yet won't surrender it. There's no connection between
most of the people you claim are involved.. you're the only person out of
those that I've met that I'd actually trust in a crisis situation. And
possibly Raven."

"There are packs whose members dislike each other," Salem remarks. "Some
that even have violent disagreements with each other. But trust is
important. Vital, even."

Lyra's face screws up like a roach had crawled up the side of her glass
and fallen in. That hasn't happened, but. "I never said all was fine and
dandy. I put too much faith in Adrian. He's still my friend," she adds,
glancing at Quentin with a hint of defensiveness. "But if this is going to
work, people need to -do- something. Quitting isn't doing anything." She
pauses, looks from Rhiannon, to Salem, then back to Quentin. "Is it truly
that unbearable for the two of you to be in a room together? He told me
some of the things you said, pip, and they weren't all very nice."

Rhiannon grimaces. "Like I said, select cases. I just don't think it's a
good idea, on a regular basis. But, my opnion's neither here nor there,
really." There's no bitterness in the statement, just simple fact.

Quentin raises one shoulder in a shrug, and replies in brutal honestly, "I
think that Adrian is overly defensive of his sexuality to the point that
he needs to threaten people who don't sit there and let him talk about
having them lick the sweat from his body. I think he's still in some
fairy-land where he thinks this Garou thing is just a big game and packs
are just gangs. I think that he's about as mature as a six-year-old. I
told him all of that, and I meant it." A tip of his head back to Salem,
and he re-affirms, "I do not trust Adrian. He's your friend, cute stuff,
but he's not mine. Not everyone can be friends."

Salem blinks once at the bit about licking sweat, and then his face
hardens into a tight grimace. He looks like he might say something, but
doesn't.

Finally, the halfmoon cub takes a sip of her drink. "Not everyone can be
friends, no. Can everyone be decent to each other? That was /the whole
point of this pack./ Working things out, learning to communicate, even if
we dislike others." She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This
issue had been bothering her a great deal, apparently. Or something else.
Hazel eyes narrow on Quentin. "So, because you had a run-in with Adrian,
you're going to give up on Gaia's Own?"

A sigh spills from Quentin's lips, as he raises one hand to rub at the
side of his temple.. his eyes closing as he just takes a deep breath and
breathes it out again. A lot of stress in the last few days. "If you want
to get people together and work together and learn to communicate," he
says quietly, "Sure. I'm up for that. I'm not going to be in a pack with
someone like Adrian, though. Not even to 'practice'. It's serious
business, and he doesn't treat it like it."

Lyra's suspicious glance becomes a bright, warm, relieved smile. One hand
pats Quentin's knee, reassuringly. "Thank you, pip," she says softly.
"I'll talk with Adrian too, don't feel like I'm picking on you. I -have-
to talk to him, to challenge." She frowns again, obviously not pleased
with that scenario, as she leans back into the couch with her hands around
her glass. "He'll take it as a personal attack."

"Then he needs to learn to be a little less defensive," Rhiannon informs
Lyra, "And it'll do him some good. If you win, of course. From what I
remember of him, he's a fairly strong cub." It's a rather oblique
reference to the night of the Caern's reclamation.

Salem reaches up, pushing a lock of hair back behind his ear. "And as the
one challenged, he'll be able to set the terms. Remember that."

"Yes, he will," Quentin says with a slow shake of his head, leaning back
on the couch and folding both arms behind his head, "And that is exactly
what I'm talking about, with him, Lyra. He just.. doesn't get it." A
slight grimace as Salem says that, and he nods over, "That's what I meant,
earlier. The guy does two hundred push ups a day, runs miles, and was
complaining to Jamethon-rhya that his routine was getting 'easy' and
'boring'. I'm realistic enough to know what he'd do to me if I tried to
fight him."

With a grimace, Lyra gulps down some more of the Coke. "Thank you for the
bloody pep talk," she informs the Walker tribe without -too- much sourness
in her voice. "Mind you, if it came to a fight he'd be hard-pressed
against me. He sees me as fragile. If he did manage to catch me, then he'd
have to hurt me, and I don't know if he's going to able to do that." The
philocub leans a bit against Quentin, sighing. "This means I'm going to
have to start exercising again. Posh."

"Well, lobita, if you want some help working out, you can run with me in
the morning," Rhiannon suggests slyly. "Five miles."

Salem grunts. "Even in a fight, you still have your wits. Something tells
me you have a larger helping of that than Adrian." At Rhiannon's offer to
the philocub, he glances sidelong at her, and then looks back at Lyra and
Quentin.

Quentin's head tips in a bit, a hand raising to brush against Lyra's
shoulder in a brief but affectionate gesture before falling away again.
"To be honest," he says quietly, "There's a good chance he'll concede to
you, Lyra. He admitted openly, in front of me, and Aubrey-rhya, and
Jamethon-rhya, that you were really the alpha of Gaia's Own anyway." A
glance over to Rhiannon, and he observes dryly, "Since I'm staying here
now, you might as well kick me out of bed and drag me with you too.. I'm
going to need someone to do that if I'm ever going to get some real
exercise done."

The look Rhiannon gets is aptly described as a gawk. "Five miles?" Lyra
squeaks. "I wasn't on track for the mile. I was the hundred meter dash.
But...I mean..." There's a pause, as she listens to Quentin's opinion with
a small, worried look. "I don't know. Jamethon-rhya would jump at the
chance for Adrian to prove himself. Golly, five miles..." Salem's comment
earns him a pleased little grin. "Thank you, rhya, for the vote of
confidence." She nudges Quentin a bit. "-Somebody- here believes I could
win a fight."

Rhiannon grins. "Bright and early, 5am," she warns both cubs. As if the
mention of the early hour is its own sleep-aid, Rhinnon yawns. "Speaking
of which. I should get to bed. I don't have the luxury of celebrating
Labor Day."

Salem mutters something not _quite_ under his breath about having to chase
a certain cub over ninety percent of the bawn, in a tone that's a kind of
dour, dry good humor. Then he nods to Rhiannon. "Understood."

Quentin's lips quirk in a slight smile, a hand lifting to ruffle through
the threads of Lyra's hair. "I didn't say you couldn't, babe. I said /I/
couldn't. There's a big difference there." A pause, and he adds dryly,
"Well, maybe if I got to use a gun. And he started way over there.." A
slight grin, apparently in a better mood than before as he looks up to
Rhi, "G'night."

Lyra allows her hair to be ruffled with a good-natured sort of smirk,
returning the favor, of course. Salem gets a laughing, knowing glance,
which is bestowed on Quentin and Rhiannon as well. "Goodnight, Miz Rhi,"
the Gnawer cub adds with a slight wave. "I'll sleep out here on four feet,
is that okay?"

Rhiannon levers herself to her feet slowly, and indicates the couch. "This
makes into a bed, and there's a sleeper-sofa in the other room too. Both
about the same, so you and Quentin can fight over them." She yawns again,
and waves a goodnight. "Just lock the door after Salem leaves." The kin
ambles off to her bedroom, and shortly thereafter the door closes.

Salem gathers his hair back away from his face, smoothing it back. It
won't stay, of course, not for long. Once Rhiannon's gone, he turns his
attention to the two cubs. "As a word of advice... don't take Jeremy too
personally. He has... issues." He glances at Lyra and adds, with grave
courtesy, "And I apologize if he hurt your feelings."

Quentin lets out a faint 'hmf' as his hair is ruffled, raising one hand to
try and tame it again. Of course, he did do it first. He remains quiet as
Salem speaks then, a more serious look crossing his face.

Lyra bites her lower lip at the mention of Jeremy, but as Salem
apologizes, nods solemnly. "I'm fine now, rhya," she murmurs softly,
glance going to her almost-empty glass. Yeah, -she's- fine, but the
apartment. Well. Another time. "But...thank you."

Salem inclines his head. "I'll be going, then." He adds, with a dry touch
of humor, "Don't stay up too late." Then he heads for the door.

The ghost of a smile back to the cliath, as Quentin offers quietly, "Let
me know when you want to train me and Cat like you said, rhya, and I'll be
over. Have a good night."

A thought occurs to Lyra, and her head flies upwards, eyes bright. "Oh,
Salem-rhya," she calls out, a grin on her face. "Did you like the
cookies?"

Salem pauses on the way out to look back at Quentin, his expression
rueful. "I will. It may, mnh, be a while." He eyes Lyra a moment, then
nods. "Yes. Unfortunately, Cat ate most of them."

Quentin nods understandingly, admitting, "I'll probably have my hands full
with exercising and learning to shoot anyway, when Rhi has time.. the rest
of the time I'll probably be wishing I was dead, so.."

Lyra's grin just gets wider, and she waves that detail aside with one
hand. "I'll make more then, if he likes them," she promises the cliath.
"Goodnight, Salem-rhya." She eyes Quentin, ruffling his hair again. "Why
would you be wishing you were dead?"

"Good night," says the Philodox, and then departs, closing the door behind
him.