Advice

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:15 Pacific Time on Sat Sep 7 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 64
degrees Fahrenheit (17 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the southwest at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.00 and
falling, and the relative humidity is 60 percent. The dewpoint is 50
degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (4% full).

Red Mill Apartments #219

This one-bedroom apartment is small, sparcely furnished, and kept at a
level of cleanliness and order that borders on the obsessive. A
greenish-gray couch, obviously secondhand, holds court in the main room,
accompanied by a low coffee table and a nearly empty bookshelf. In the
kitchen nook, which is separated from the living room by a stomach-level
counter, everything is gleaming and put away. The bathroom's cramped, and
the bedroom's just big enough for a twin bed, an end table, and a dresser.

At odds with the strict cleanliness of the apartment is the obvious
presence of cockroaches; one or two can occasionally be seen scurrying
from Point A to Point B unmolested by traps, poisons, or sprays. Indeed, a
small plate with fresh canned cat food has been set in a corner near the
kitchen nook, apparantly just for the benefit of these insects.


Taking advantage of the quiet brought about by Cat's absense -- the cub's
off with Rina to get some fresh air -- Salem sits at the counter
separating kitchen from living room, applying his time to the mundane but
wholly necessary task of balancing his checkbook and working out the next
month's budget.

Still skatesless, but now wearing one of Yi's black sleeveless shirts
instead of the ratty pink sweater, Lyra walks around the halls of the Red
Mill Apartment complex. She knows Salem is in 219. She'd been there once
before. She also knows that going to Rhiannon would probably a better
idea, but this was closer. She just had to watch her mouth. In there lay
the hard part... Taking a deep breath, the Gnawer cub trots to Salem's
door, hand on the knob for a moment before she knocks on it twice.

Salem glances up rather sharply at the knock, a look at his watch
revealing that it's too soon for the return of cub and kin. He sets his
pen down and gets up, grimaces as he stretches a kink out of his bank,
then crosses on bare feet to the door. A peephole view of the Gnawer cub
turns frowning tension to bemusement as he undoes the locks and chain and
then opens the door. He presents to the younger Philodox a dressed-down
image in black sweatpants and matchingly dark t-shirt, long hair tied back
from his face.

"Evening, Lyra," says Salem, politely enough. "To what do I owe the
pleasure?"

Lyra rubs at the side of her face, tucking and re-tucking a strand of her
hair that has fallen from the braids back behind her ear. "I...I probably
should have called," the normally bright and bouncy girl says in subdued
tones. "But...I...it's so close by, you know, and..." An uncertain pause.
"Could I talk to you?"

Salem lifts a brow quizzically, then nods and steps aside to let her in.
"Of course." He gestures in the direction of the couch. "Have a seat. Can
I get you something to drink?" He's in perfect host mode; the dark moon
and the financial wrangling -- from which any distraction is a welcome one
-- perhaps contribute to this.

The dark-haired Gnawer nods gratefully about the drink offer, as she heads
to the couch and takes a seat. Lyra winces a bit, kicking off the sandals
(carefully, to avoid any floor-bound roaches) and pulling her legs up a
bit, socked feet dangling over the edge. It's good to get off her feet
after walking around for so long. "Thank you," she murmurs softly, picking
at the hem of her dress. "Water's okay, I'm not picky."

Salem resets the locks and chain before going to fetch a glass of ice
water, not to mention refill his own; the counter's a litter of opened
bills, checkbook, receipts and calculator, and he doesn't even look its
way. "Water it is, then," the Walker says mildly and, as he gets the
drink, he asks her, "What's on your mind?"

Lyra keeps picking at her hem, freeing strands from the already frayed
skirt. She takes a deep breath, and lets it all out in a sigh that blows
her hair away from her face. "So many things have been happening at once,"
the philocub says sadly. "Most of it, you'll probably think is petty or
too silly, but, I haven't been able to find Anneka." One string comes off
completely, and she brings it up to her face to examine it with
half-hearted interest. As an afterthought, she adds, "Jeremy apologized."

Salem crosses from kitchen to couch and hands Lyra her glass of water. "He
did? Good." Then he joins her on the couch. He's watching her rather
carefully, his regard almost critical... but not quite.

The cub takes the water with a small grateful smile, bringing it to her
lips and drinking deeply. The string falls slowly to her lap, forgotten.
Then she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smile getting wiped
off as well, as she frowns. "He has some problems still, but that's for
him to speak about, not me." Another sip, this one small. Lyra looks up at
Salem with a hesitant gaze. "I...it's..." She closes her mouth, tries
again. "I Challenged Adrian, too."

Salem's mouth takes on a wry twist at mention of Jeremy; though he doesn't
say anything on the matter, he does nod once in agreement. The second bit
of news prompts a raised eyebrow. "Challenged him? For what?"

Lyra tilts her head a bit, in surprise. "For Alphaship, remember?" She
glances down into her glass, looking uneasier and...more frightened with
each passing moment. "And I had a fight with Quentin, and that's better
now, but...there just have been a lot of things, in only a few days." A
poor excuse, and she knows it, as she sips from her glass again.

Salem is, perhaps, not entirely used to being put in the role of
confidant. He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles,
underneath the coffee table. "Ah, of the pack. Right." Lyra must not be
the only one with a lot on the mind. He takes a sip of water and considers
her words, thoughtfully. "And you're feeling... overwhelmed?"

Lyra closes her eyes tightly, lips pulled down in a frown, or some other
sad expression. "A lot of things happened on my...week on the streets,"
she murmurs softly. Her hands wrap tightly against the glass. "And..." She
opens her eyes, looks down into the glass. Her hands are getting a little
cold now. "I Frenzied in my apartment, too, and it's a very big mess."

Salem studies the young halfmoon's face, his brow furrowed. He takes
another sip, then sits up to put the glass down on the coffee table.
"Objects can be repaired," he says as he sits back. His voice is very
careful, as though he's feeling his way along. "Unless... there wasn't
anyone in the apartment with you when you lost control, was there?"

Lyra looks up quickly, startled. "No, of course not!" she exclaims,
horrified by the thought. "No, no, nobody was there. I live alone now."
She moves her hands about the glass, trying to warm them up without
letting it go. Her hair is in her face again. "But...I was so upset that
we'd had the fight, and about the fight I lost, I think I snapped,
and...oh, Salem-rhya," she bites out desperately, staring into her glass.
"I don't think I can do this anymore. It's too much, and I'm about to lose
more."

Salem's mouth thins. After a moment, he says, "There's a saying. 'Nolite
te bastardes carborundorum.'" His voice is oddly gentle, even sympathetic,
but there's an undertone of unforgiving steel underneath, a
stubborn-as-granite bedrock. "It's bastardized Latin. Translated, it
means, 'Don't let the bastards grind you down.'" His posture straightens
as he turns to face her. "Things happen. _Shit_ happens. But you can't let
it stop you from doing your duty."

Lyra continues to look into her glass with a sorrowful expression. "I know
that. I do. But...I couldn't even beat back some guy on the street. He..."
She closes her eyes again, biting her lower lip and letting her hair
curtain a view of her face. "I know I should forget it, but I can't. I
know if I talked to pip I would probably feel better about it, but he
might overreact." She quirks a half-smile. "He's awfully protective,
sometimes."

Salem's eyes narrow slightly, his expression pensive as he absorbs this.
"You two have become rather close, haven't you?" His voice, his tone, is
completely neutral. No approval, perhaps, but no condemnation to be heard,
either. It is, in fact, almost impossible to tell what he thinks of this.

Lyra nods, the half smile becoming a little larger. "We're fond of each
other, mmhmm," the Gnawer cub agrees. "Whenever I have a problem, he
listens, and he never yells-" She pauses, then quickly lets the smile
fade, brushing back the pieces of hair the fall in front of her eyes. "If
it weren't for him, I really would lose it. I was supposed to learn self
control in New York, but I think I've become worse since I got back. I-"
She pauses again, this time catching herself as she's about to admit some
of the things she'd done.

Salem remains silent for a moment, waiting for her to continue. When she
doesn't right away, he clears his throat. "Mmnh. Have you considered that
you're being a bit to hard on yourself?"

From the surprised blinking, apparently the Gnawer cub hadn't even thought
of it. "N...no?" is the questioning reply.

Salem nods once, as though he expected as much. "How long since your
cubnapping, Lyra?"

Lyra shifts the glass around in her hands sheepishly. "February...seven
months, rhya."

"Seven months," Salem repeats. He sits back against the couch cushions,
arms folding across his chest. His eyes -- the good one, anyway -- watch
her face carefully. "Your heart's in the right place, and I can't fault
your ambition. But you're not going to save the world before your Rite of
Passage. Absolute perfection is not required." There's a touch of that
characteristic dry humor in that last statement.

Lyra takes another sip of the glass, leaning the rim under her nose as she
thinks about that. It does seem to comfort her a little, but she doesn't
exactly heave a sigh of great relief. "That's just the thing," she
murmurs. She sets the cup on her knee, still holding it, and looks up at
Salem anxiously. "I might get Rited soon. If I do, I can't be in Gaia's
Own, and if Gaia's Own doesn't do something really terrific, nobody will
continue it and it will just be marked down as some horrid idea I came up
with." She frowns and rests her chin in her other hand, elbow on her knee.
"I don't even think I make a very good Gnawer yet, but Mama Kaz isn't back
yet to ask."

Salem's mouth twitches a bit, but he says only, "Kaz would be the one to
ask about that, yes." Diplomatically. Then his shoulders move in a shrug
against the back of the couch. "As for Gaia's Own..." His mouth thins into
a brief grimace. "The truth is, those who have decided that it's a bad
idea may not be swayed no matter _what_ you do."

Lyra's fingers tap against her lips. She was a nail-biter, and broke the
habit back in 5th year, but if things keep going topsu turvy she just may
pick it up again. "Maybe," she says softly, disappointed. "But if I don't
try, they'll be justified in that assessment, and then I won't have
anything to be indignant about." Quirk of a grin. "And -that'd- be the
day, wouldn't it rhya?"

Salem makes a brief, amused noise. "Hehn. Yes. It would. So." He sits up,
picking his glass up from the coffee table. He takes a sip from it, then
sets it back down. "Cubs don't form true packs, this is true. And even
more true is that Cliaths don't pack with cubs. However, you could still
be involved with Gaia's Own. As... a mentor, perhaps. A teacher. You'd be
alpha, of course, without question."

"I was class secretary and representative to the school board sophmore
year," Lyra murmurs, tilting the glass back and forth in her hand. "But I
don't think I have what it takes to be alpha. That's why I wanted Adrian
and Aiyana to be the leaders...but maybe they're not doing anything
because I pressured them into it." She pauses, considering that idea as
she bites her lip lightly. Then her gaze swings up to Salem. "Do -you-
think that Gaia's Own is a good idea?" There's a hint of pleading. Just a
little.

"A practice pack for cubs? I've certainly heard worse ideas." Salem claims
his glass again, and this time keeps it in hand after taking a sip from
it. "It's not _traditional_, of course, but I don't see anything
inherently wrong with the idea, as long as it's understood that the pack
is an educational tool. Its membership would change quite a lot, unless
all the members of the pack were Rited together." He takes another sip of
water. "Then, of course, the practice pack for cubs can become a pack in
truth, of adult Garou. Many cubs who Rite together end up packing
together."

Lyra smiles as Salem states his opinion...and it ends up not being a
negative one, to her great relief. "We might Rite together, maybe, Aiyana
and pip and I. I don't think Jervis would. He's a bit stand-offy. Or maybe
he just thinks I'm an airheaded git, could be that too." She rubs at the
side of her face, tucking loose hair back. The braids are very messy.
"Adrian's Challenge was to go learn about being an alpha by talking to all
the pack alphas. I only know of Mr. Smith, though." A slight frown forms
on Lyra's face. "I'm not sure I want to talk to him. I saw he break poor
Mr. Carter's nose. He could've hurt Aristotle, too."

Salem frowns slightly, head tilting slightly as though he's trying to
remember something. "Mr. Carter...?" Then he brushes it off. "Kaz is alpha
of Trouble, and Andrea of Ouroboros, and Sepdet of Salmon's Leap. I'm not
certain who the alpha is of that Unicorn pack that Owen is in, but I
believe it's Nightfire. And Dena, if she comes back, can tell you about
the Guardian pack she was forming."

The Gnawer cub's face lights up as she listens carefully to the names.
"Oh, golly...since when was Mama Kaz a pack alpha? Maybe she told me and I
forgot." Lyra smiles as she takes another draught from her glass, emptying
it. "Thank you for the names, rhya," she tells the Walker with a smile,
far brighter than any she'd displayed so far. "I know who all those people
are, I think, and I can find them if I know their names. The other part of
the Challenge is that I have to tell the Sept what I learned at the next
moot. When is that going to be?"

Salem takes another sip of water. "Probably sometime near the full moon.
Which should be..." He thinks a moment. "...Near the twentieth, I think.
Give or take a few days."

Lyra bites her lip at that. "That's not very far away...I should find some
alphas tomorrow and get started." She glances around the room, glance
lingering on one wall-bound roach before going to Salem as she tilts her
head quizzically. "Say, pip said you had a new cub and he's staying with
you. D'you think he'd like to...oh, wait, he said he was a bit shy," the
halfmoon suddenly remembers. "Maybe it -wouldn't- be a good idea for him
to join."

Salem's lips thin; he swirls the water around in his glass before
answering. "Cat has a long way to go. Besides, I imagine that Gaia's Own
already has enough members. Too large a pack grows unwieldy."

Lyra nods, understanding the sense in that. "Mmhmm, Kent said he'd been
abused, and that. Poor butterfly." She smiles again, getting up and
trotting to the kitchen to put her empty glass in the sink. "I can make
him some brownies if you'd think he'd like it, or maybe even some Chinese?
-Everyone- loves Chinese." She giggles, the glass clinking as it rolls a
bit in the sink. "Of course, the restaurant here makes it better than I
do, I'm only good with confections. As is, as does."

One corner of the Walker's mouth quirks upwards; he remains seated. "He
did enjoy the cookies you made, I admit."

The philocub reappears, then hands tucked behind back as she crosses over
to the couch (stepping over one roach) and slipping her feet back into her
sandals. "Then brownies are in order. Duncan Hines frosting, too, just to
make him feel special." She brushes her hair back, grinning. Now that she
has a clear-cut good deed to do, she's in much better spirits. "Thank you
for talking with me, Salem-rhya." The grin fades to a heart-felt smile.
"Maybe I don't have to save the world -before- I Rite, but I want to save
it."

Salem pushes to his feet. "A worthy goal, Miracle-Worker," he says calmly,
the wry half-smile vanishing into his usual cool, neutral demeanor. "Just
remember not to burn yourself out."

Lyra dips her chin shyly at the name, raising one finger to her lips in
the 'that's a secret' gesture. "Not my name yet, and I'll remember," she
murmurs conspirtorially, grinning as she walks to the door and starts
undoing the lock and chains to let herself out. "Oh, has pip gotten a name
yet?" she asks over her shoulder.

"Why don't you ask _him_?" Salem replies smoothly. "If nothing else, I
imagine he'll gain one from his Rite."

Lyra grins. "I could just give him one, too," she replies with exaggerated
thoughtfulness in her tone, opening the door and flashing Salem a sunny
smile. "Goodbye, rhya!" she calls out quickly, before he can retort. The
she closes the door behind her, dancing down the hallway like the
care-free sprite she often wished she was.