hazlogs: Glass Walker Glyph (Glass Walker)
[personal profile] hazlogs

It is currently 11:43 Pacific Time on Tue Sep 10 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 56 degrees
Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric
pressure reading is 30.08 and steady, and the relative humidity is 97
percent. The dewpoint is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Elson Avenue, Downtown

On the western edge of this stretch of road, Eleventh and Twelfth Streets,
the neighborhoods are quiet, a quiet of fear more than calm, to judge by the
occasional broken glass of a window and other signs of crime or violence. A
street or two eastwards, movie theaters, restaurants, and more stores begin,
and much further, stretching from Ninth most of the way to Fourth, are bars
with rooms above them with stairways to the street, movie theaters of
dubious repute, and women in red lace or fishnet strolling along the
sidewalks, near the stairways. On occasion, a man is seen, too, flashily
dressed with too much jewelry.

It's cool outside, with winter fast aproaching. Renee is seated on the
sidewalk, next to the Red Mill apartment entrance. Hands held protectively
under her armpits, the girl stares gloomily at the front entrance.

Salem emerges from the apartment building at a brisk walk, sunglasses
obscuring his eyes and the tails of his coat billowing out behind him.

"Hey!" Renee's rough voice carries easily in the still air as she stands up.
"I wanna talk with ya."

Renee stands at a height of 5'3 inches and has a little more growing to do,
until she reaches her full height. Just over fifteen years old, Renee is
starting to look a little more like a woman and less like a scrawny little
girl. Hips and chest just starting to develop. Her medium-length brown hair
is tied back in a loose braid, which she tugs on occasionally. Renee's eyes
are a deep chocolate brown, framed by olive skin that is coated in enough
grime to make its true color impossible to determine. The Galliard's frame
is thin and her ribs are just visible under the clothing she wears. Renee's
clothes consist of a pair of baggy jeans that are a couple of sizes too big
and a forest greet t-shirt. The girl is grubby and filthy. A certain odour
follows the girl everywhere, as if she hasn't bathed in a couple of weeks,
is not months.

Salem glances up, then pauses, still only a few feet away from the base of
the building's front steps. His hands slip into the pockets of his coat as
he waits for the Gnawer to approach, expression cool.

Renee crosses her arms to protect her finger from the cool air and stays
where she is. "I was wonderin', what exactly have ya got against me?"

Salem's face remains perfectly calm and perfectly still. "Nothing," he says
blandly. "Considering what you are."

Renee rolls her eyes heavenward. "So, considerin' what I am means what? That
you think that I know shit?" The girl's voice rises a notch and you can
almost hear her teeth grinding together. "That I ain't got the right ta
teach people what I've been taught, so things ain't forgotten?"

Behind the dark lenses, Salem's eyes narrow. A flicker of suspicion crosses
his face and then vanishes, leaving his expression as blandly neutral as
before. "You have the right," he says coldly, "in regards to your _own_
people. As for mine, I have _every_ right to forbid my students from
associating from those who I feel would be detrimental to their
development." He pauses a beat, then adds, "In other words, Quentin is
off-limits. As is anyone _else_ in his... class."

"And who is gonna teach him, ya stuck-up piece of shit?" Renee foams.
"Dammit. I like the kid, an' he shouldn't haveta loose out just cause you
decided to be a royal ass. You'd think I was tryin' ta turn him inta one of
my /class/." Sarcasm nearly drips off that last word. "What the fuck is
wrong with me, if Scar-Face-Number-One lets Kaz at'em? An', if Kaz had the
more time ta teach I wouldn't be bitchin' right now."

Salem's face grows a good deal more rigid, but his voice remains calm. "Mr.
Smith is not the only one who lets Kaz teach Quentin and the others. She
does so with _my_ full approval as well. _Kaz_, I would trust not only with
their education, but with my _life_. _You_, however, I wouldn't trust with a
pair of quarters." If anything, his tone gets icier now, more viciously
biting. "And in regards to who's going to teach him, you arrogant, diseased
little bitch, there are _plenty_ tale-keepers in town. Synthesis, in fact,
has two. So you may disregard whatever notion you might have that your
services are indispensable or that your teaching is worth anything."

Renee grins nastily. "So, you're sayin' that as a tale-keeper I'm useless?
Is that it?"

"I'm saying," says the Glass Walker, "that you're not suitable as a teacher
for the Walk's students. Period."

Renee takes a deep breath, trying to calm her boiling blood. "I'm gonna call
you on that," she states coldly. "Ya might not think so, but I've got pride.
I challenge ya. If ya don't accept, I'll be tellin' everyone that you're two
chicken ta accept a challenge from someone in my /class/."

Salem grimaces, his nose wrinkling in distaste. Then his face smooths out;
he takes a few steps toward her, one hand coming up to remove the
sunglasses. Ill-matched eyes, one nearly black, one bleached white, stare
directly into the Gnawer's own. "Very well," he says. "I accept. Show me
that you're something more than a cur. For one month, starting now and
lasting until the tenth of October, you will act like a decent member of
society. You will clean yourself up, get a job, and live somewhere with a
roof over your head and running water and electricity. With a roommate, if
you wish. You will keep your language free of profanity and show nothing but
_complete_ courtesy to those you interact with. And, since you want to be
considered such a good talesinger, read some Shakespeare. Three comedies,
three tragedies, three historicals. Memorize a passage from each."

Renee's jaw drops and her eyes bug out. The grubby Gnawer is actually struck
speachless for nearly a minute. Her jaw snaps closed with a click. "I can do
most of that," she growls, not in the least bit happy. "But where am I
supposed ta find a job? I'm fifteen, and I'm still up there with the
pictures of missin' kids an' runaways at the police station."

Salem gives her the thinnest of smiles, without humor and without warmth.
"Rat's people are supposed to be resourceful. I'm certain that you can find
a way. Perhaps you can ask Drew Miller. She's a cousin of yours, after all."

Renee just growls, fingers spasaming before curling into fists. The Gnawer
turns her face away from Salem's one-eyed gaze, body shuddering with barely
contained Rage. "Alright."

"Excellent," says the Glass Walker, coolly. "You may begin now. I look
forward to seeing how well you... progress."

Renee takes a deep breath. "Gimme until nightfall? I got some stuff I'll
have ta deal with first."

Salem considers a moment, then nods. "Nightfall, then. Anything else?"

Renee shakes her head, completly silent.

Salem glances at his watch. "Good. I'll be seeing you then." He places the
sunglasses back over his eyes and turns to go.

Renee looks up at watches the half-moon leave, one corner of her mouth
twitching upward. She doesn't have to start behaving until sundown. The
Galliard's gaze turns hard, more focused as she consintrates on the Walker's
back. Salem's skin takes on a sticky, almost honey-like texture and bugs
begin to swarm around him in a small cloud. Feeling better, Renee takes off
before the half-moon has the time to put two and two together.

Good thing, too, because it doesn't take Salem long to realize what's
happened; it's possible that he's been the target of that particular Gift
before. He stops short and turns sharply, but by then the Gnawer's well
away. He stares after her, the set of his jaw and the twist of his mouth
betraying his irritation. Then he heads back toward the apartment building;
whatever errands he was going out to do are abandoned.

He'll be the roaches' best friend for a while, anyway.

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