Dandelion Wishes

[hazlogs]

It is currently 09:40 Pacific Time on Mon Sep 2 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 55
degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the southwest at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.05 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 96 percent. The dewpoint is 54
degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (32% full).

Harbor Park -- Fountain

Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six
trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into
concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.

The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and
about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix
of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel
slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around
the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in
bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle
is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped
in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek
symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its
feet.

Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any
residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of
the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of
St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several
feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.


Salem's six-foot-something frame is reclined upon one of the park benches
near the fountain, for the moment doing little more than sip coffee and
relax in the chilly sunlight of Labor Day morning.

The golden spill of mid-morning sunlight makes Harbor Park seem almost
welcoming, but it's still a little surprising to spot a mother and
daughter taking a stroll through the infamous landmark. Drew walks along
the path with hands deep in her jacket pockets, eyes on the red-headed
little girl who scampers ahead of her.

[Drew]
	There's something about her--it's hard to describe, but it
surfaces in the odd gesture, the charismatic flash of her eyes. The
woman's former girlishness has mellowed, and her age now settles somewhere
around 30. She stands at an unimpressive 5-foot-4, but her raw physicality
makes up for what she lacks in height: her figure, while still gentled by
curves, is graceful with the muscles of a dancer.

	Her hair's begun to grow out again, showing her natural
strawberry-blonde color. The short, tousled curls reach her cheekbones,
displaying the pale curve of her throat and the determined line of her
jaw. She's got a sweet face, easy as tea leaves to read--a bow of a mouth,
gray-green eyes, pointed chin, fair complexion with a faint spattering of
freckles across the nose. Delicate lines have begun to show around her
eyes, bearing testament to a past full of smiles as well as challenges.

	Clothing is no-nonsense: a comfortable light blue cashmere
sweater, and fitted, faded jeans slung low enough around her hips to show
the tracings of a tattoo along her lower abdomen. Her Converse sneakers
look like they've covered a lot of ground.

[Diana]
	A toddler of about 3 years, with stocky build and a headful of
crazy red curls. Her eyes are surprisingly dark and large, dominating her
solemn face. She's rarely seen without her mother, Drew Miller.

	The little girl can usually be found wearing a grass-stained
jumper of some kind. She's almost invariable grubby, despite her mother
attempts to keep the child clean. Diana doesn't carry around toys or
security items, unlike most children her age--she does, however, wear the
same pair of red galoshes. Every single day.

By circumstance, Salem's good side is toward the pair, and it's the quick,
energetic motion of the child that catches his eye. The Walker straightens
and sits up, turning to take in view of Drew and her daughter. He squints
for a moment, frowning faintly, and then recognizes Drew. His face smooths
out. He continues watching, but doesn't greet the kinswoman yet.

The little girl is playing some nonsensical game with herself that
involves hopping and running as she hums under her breath, stopping
occasionally to examine a dandelion or a discarded tin can. She's dressed
in grubby overalls and a pair of bright-red galoshes. Drew pushes a curl
behind her ear as the wind ruffles her hair, and glances up from watching
her daughter. She spots Salem quickly enough, and offers him a tiny smile
from afar.

Salem lifts his disposable cup of coffee in salute, then pushes to his
feet and makes his way toward them. Sunglasses obscure his eyes,
particularly the blind white orb on the left. His expression is pleasant
enough. "Long time, Ms. Miller," he says, once within greeting distance.

Drew breaks into a fuller smile, showing her signature dimple. "It
certainly has been," she agrees. "I hear you've been busy." The little
girl, distracted from her game, plants herself directly in front of the
Walker and peers up at him with enormous, inky-dark eyes. "Who are you,"
she asks bluntly.

"Extremely," Salem says in answer to Drew, his tone somewhat rueful. He
looks down, then, his path blocked by the formidable toddler, and arches a
brow. "A friend of your mother," he answers her. Then, perfectly serious
in expression and voice, he asks the child, "May I speak to her?"

"Diana," Drew rasps, "I'd like you to meet Jack Salem. He's a family
friend." The toddler plants her hands on her hips and eyes the Walker for
a long, solemn moment. "D'you know Unka John?"

Salem's mouth twitches into a brief, humorless smile. "All too well," he
answers Diana. "Yes, I know 'Uncle John'."

That seems to satisfy the toddler, for the time being. She nods firmly and
scampers past the dark Walker to go examine the fountain. Her mother, who
has been smiling through the entire exchange, sighs briefly. "Kids say the
darnedest things, hm?" Drew walks up alongside Salem, still keeping an eye
on Diana.

Salem turns his head to watch the little girl, the sardonic little smile
fading into a more pensive expression, almost wistful. "...Yes," he says.
"Yes, they do." He glances sidelong at Drew. "How old is she?"

"Three years old," she answers, running a hand through the short tangle of
curls that matches her daughter's. "She learned to talk early, though.
Smarter than I ever was at that age."

"Ah," says the Glass Walker. "Precocious." He sounds approving. He takes a
sip of coffee, then tilts his head. "Is she...?"

Drew shakes her head quickly. "Her father was. But not her." Her gaze
turns distant, and the kinswoman sounds vaguely relieved. When she focuses
again, it's on Salem's shaded eyes. "It's a hard life, I know."

It's possible that there's a flicker of disappointment in the Walker's
expression, but it's gone quickly... if it was ever even there. "I don't
imagine that it's entirely a cake-walk on the other side, either," he
answers, his gaze turning back toward the little girl in the red galoshes
and curly hair. "Prococious and formidable." That's a definite note of
approval there. Then he glances at Drew. "I hear you're having difficulty
with the cafe."

Drew nods once, briefly, and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "Money
issues," she admits. "Although I have a feeling that's about to change."
Her expression darkens minutely. Meanwhile, Diana has clambered onto the
lip of the fountain and is running circles around it.

Salem arches a brow at the remark. "Oh?"

Drew nods again, eyes still on her daughter as she plays. "I have a
husband back east," she murmurs. Diana has stopped running and is now
peering down into the water, apparently trying to count the pennies at the
bottom.

Salem cocks his head, his expression still curious, though there's a
certain reserve to his manner as well; curious or not, he's reluctant to
pry. "Not Diana's father, I take it?"

Drew lets out a thin breath and admits, "I'm not really sure. I'll let him
think it's his, though." She licks her lips, tilts her head to one side as
she eyes Salem. "Ever heard of the Balthazar & Terrell firm?"

Salem's brow furrows. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then shakes his
head.

"Big law firm," the kinswoman explains. "Old, old money." She glances
down, squints at the concrete between her sneakers for a moment. "You're
lookin' at Mrs. Nicholas Balthazar." Her tone is undeniably ironic, and
her smile is humorless.

At this, both of Salem's eyebrows go aloft, reaching for his hairline.
"Aah." One corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Congratulations."

Drew sniffs dryly, runs a hand through her hair. It's a nervous gesture.
"I want him dead," she rasps, as though it's the most casual of comments.
Chilling, especially coming from the sweet-faced kinswoman. She smiles and
lifts a hand as Diana pauses to look back and wave.

Salem pauses. Head tilted, he looks at Drew, studying her face closely for
a moment. Then he says again, "Ah." There's a beat as he looks back over
toward Diana and takes a sip of coffee. "I see." There's not a trace of
condemnation in his voice.

Drew brings her gray-green eyes back to his sunglasses; any lingering
trace of murder is gone. "How about you, Salem. Ever been married?"

Salem purses his lips at the question; he keeps his gaze on Drew's
daughter. "There was... talk of it, once, but that was years ago.
Different life." He swirls the heavy-duty disposable cup, gently sloshing
the lot liquid inside without letting it spill over.

The kinswoman watches him for a while, and then nods. "I'm sure you have a
few of those," she murmurs.

Salem tilts a sidelong look at her, arching a brow. "Potential weddings,
or different lives?"

"Maybe both," Drew teases, with a genuine smile. "But mostly diferent
lives. I guess that's the nature of being what you are."

Salem's return smile, thin as it is, is cynical and brittle. "No. Most of
us live just one, at least once the initial kidnapping and initiation.
You'd be surprised how uncomplicated it can be."

Drew chuckles lowly at his reply. "You're as bad as Tatt," she murmurs
with amusement. She watches as Diana tries to catch the stream of fountain
water in her cupped hands, giggling like only a thre-year-old can.

"Hmnh," Salem replies, noncommittal. He shakes his head and takes a sip of
his coffee. "Should I take that as a compliment, or an insult?" His visual
attention's back on the gleeful toddler.

"I try to make a point of not insulting guys like you, Salem," the tiny
kinswoman rasps. Just then, Diana comes scampering back with a fat, fuzzy
dandelion in each hand. "Look, momma," she exclaims, thrusting a dandelion
upon Drew and the Walker. Diana stands back and looks at them expectantly.
"Y'gotta make a wish, now."

Salem murmurs, "Oh, yes, of course." As though he shouldn't be surprised
that five-foot-four kinfolk wouldn't want to insult a six-foot-three
Garou. There's a definite touch of irony in the reply, however. Then
Diana's upon them with her fuzzy flowerweed offerings, and in the face of
such childish insistance, he's putty. Dignified, saturnine putty, but
putty nonetheless. He accepts the dandelion and considers it in a bemused
way. "A wish, hm?"

Diana nods, bright red curls bouncing. "Gotta blow it out and make a wish.
A really, really /big/ wish!" Drew glances from toddler to Garou and
smiles wryly, then blows at her dandelion. The seeds disperse, floating
away in the late-morning sunshine.

"A really, really big wish. I see." Salem regards the wildflower gravely
for a moment, then blows, sending the white fluff off to seed the next
generation. It actually takes two such puffs, along with a rotation of the
stem, to denude the dandelion of its entire payload.

Diana looks satisfied, and goes to perch on the adjacent bench. Galoshes
swinging, she regards the pair. "What did you wish for?"

Salem lofts a brow at the child. "Won't that cause the wish not to come
true?" he asks her, sounding perfectly serious. "Or is that just for
birthday candles?"

The little girl rolls her eyes to the sky, considering. "You're right,"
she decides. "You should keep it a secret." Drew smiles and sits next to
her daughter, ruffling the toddler's curls. "Did you make a wish?"

Diana nods, watching her feet as she swings them. "I wished for a daddy
again."

A faint, wistful smile crosses the Walker's lips during the moment that
Drew's attention is on her daughter and not him. After a moment, he takes
a seat next to them; it's better than standing and continuing to tower.

Drew looks stricken for a split second after her daughter's reply. She
reaches out to lift the girl into her lap. "Some families have daddies in
them and some don't, Di. You know that." The little girl sighs gustily and
rests her head on Drew's shoulder, disappointed. Aside to Salem, Drew
explains lowly, "Kids tease her at playschool."

Salem nods, his face composed again, an amiable but neutral mask. "Ah," he
says, sounding sympathetic. He considers the cup of coffee he has in one
hand -- that mostly empty -- and the nude dandelion in the other. He tucks
the latter into the breast pocket of his t-shirt and takes a sip from the
former.

Drew turns back to kiss the top of Diana's hair, murmuring, "You know
Chase and I love you very much. Two mommies are just as good as a mommy
and daddy, right?" The toddler sighs again, but nods in agreement.