Shakespearean

[hazlogs]

It is currently 15:11 Pacific Time on Sun Sep 15 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 65
degrees Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the east at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.95 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 65 percent. The dewpoint is 53
degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (58% full).


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.


Renee is trudging through the area, a cloth bag half-full of Domino pizza
fliers bumping against her hip as she walks.

Salem loiters, not far from the apartment building, eyes hidden behind
sunglasses and his expression impassive. He watches the street with a
rather territorial, possessive air. He has no trouble maintaining his
personal space; even the hookers have long since learned not to try to
make a buck off him.

Renee goes up the steps of an apartment complext and slips into the lobby,
reapearing a few minutes later with a slightly lighter load of fliers. The
next complex is the Red Mill apartments. The Gallaird comes to a stop
infront of the building and Salem.

Salem probably spotted the Gnawer long before she got to his building, but
he doesn't visibly turn his gaze toward her until she's right by the
steps. He gazes at her for a few seconds, then nods toward the door as if
giving her permission.

Renee steps past the Walker and empties the last of the fliers in his
building, shoving one into each and every mailbox. Making her wak back
inside, the Gnawer sits down on the front steps.

"Finished for the day?" Salem inquires coolly, arms folded across his
chest.

Renee looks up at the Walker, quirking what appears to be a grin. "Now
cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet Prince. And flights of angels sing
thee to thy rest." The girl's voice doesn't rumble, it sounds perfectly
normal. Well, mabye it rumbles a little.

One eyebrow lifts above the level of Salem's sunglasses. "'"Why does the
drum come hither?"'" he quotes back at her, continuing the scene after a
moment's pause. "'March within. Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors,
and others.'" His head tilts slightly; he looks steadily back at Renee.

Renee's quirky grin fade for a moment, while she considers her answer.
"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by
fearing to attempt."

That one takes the Walker a moment or two longer -- but then, nearly
everyone knows Hamlet. Behind the dark lenses, his eyes narrow in thought
as he searches his memory. "'Go to Lord Angelo, and let him learn to know,
when maidens sue, men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, all
their petitions are as freely theirs as they themselves would owe them.'"
Then he smiles thinly, triumphant.

Renee leans back, resting her elbows on the steps behind her. "There is
special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to
come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will
come. The readiness is all." Renee's grins widens, a little on the manic
side.

Hamlet again. Salem lifts his chin slightly and replies, coolly, "'Since
no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?'"

Renee hmms and lifts a hand to scratch at her face. "Imperious Caesar,
dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away." The
Gnawer's grin widens even more, definatly manic now. "Let Hercules himself
do what he may, The cat will mew, and /dog/ will have her day."

"Hamlet," Salem says. "Act five, scene one, but I believe that you've
skipped quite a bit in the middle of those two lines." No comment is
offered on the emphasis Renee gives on 'dog'. "Not bad."

Renee shrugs. "I'm spewing quotes, not pages."

Salem shifts his weight slightly, leaning against the building. "Fair
enough. Enjoying it, at least?"

Renee shrugs. "Never minded it much ta start with, but ya know, it was
kinda hard for me ta get at the stuff."

"Hmn." Salem glances down the street for a moment, attention briefly
captured by a minor altercation between a couple of teenage boys wearing
gang colors. Minor, because currently, they're just pushing a little and
trading vaguely good-natured insults; they're wearing the same colors. "A
shame Barlow decided to skip town," he says to Renee, turning back to her.
"From what I remember, he considered himself quite the scholar."

Renee stands and rolls her shoulders, working the kinks out of them. "Ya
have such a decent opinion of of some Gnawers, yet ya call'em scum in the
same breath." The girl shakes her head. "There is nothing either good or
bad, But thinking makes it so."

"Would you rather I didn't allow for any exceptions at all?" There's a
thin layer of frost in his otherwise pleasant tone. "Some Shadow Lords may
be trustworthy. Some Wendigo don't despise whites. And some Bone Gnawers
rise higher than the gutter that the rest of them wallow in."

Renee looks up at the Walker unflinchingly, a stange look in her eyes.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Salem, than are dreamt of in
your philosophy."

Salem's mouth twists, his expression turning unfriendly. "Yes, and I'm a
vicious, hateful murderer as well." He looks dismissively away from her,
glancing down the street again toward where the gangers are making their
way toward a bar. "And I'm sure you have better things to do with the rest
of your evening."

Renee grins, lips streached wide. "O villain, villain, smiling, damned
villain!"

Salem turns his eye back to the Gnawer, fixing her gaze with his for a
moment before quoting back at her. "'Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst
thou be a breeder of sinners?'" A thin, humorless smile touches his lips;
there's a hint of teeth shown, and a sardonic -- nay, sarcastic, even
ironic -- touch to his tone of voice. "'I am myself indifferent honest;
but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had
not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences
at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them
shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling
between heaven and earth? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us.
Go thy ways to a nunnery.'"

Renee grins even wider, before laughing. "Very good, 'We are arrant
knaves, all.' But even a knave may know her trade, despite the filth of
her garb. Jus' as a man with only one eye, can seek ta find a balance in
all things." There is a brief pause, before the Galliard tacks on. "I am
very proud."

It's at a rather casual stroll that Quentin makes his way along down the
sidewalk, both hands tucked away into the pockets of his jacket. As usual,
he keeps himself from making eye contact with most of the scum that live
around here-- although most steer clear of him anyway, keeping their
distance from the strangely un-nerving teenager. He's approaching the Red
Mill Apartments, of course, as there's little else in this part of town
he'd be heading towards.

Salem is right outside the building, arms folded as he converses with
Renee. Though the vicious little fake smile fades, his manner only mimicks
amiability; it's clearly a facade of courtesy, no more. "Most of your kind
are," he replies. "It proves nothing. Still, you seem to be over your
breakdown for the moment."

That actually gets a reaction out of the Gnawer, as her manic smile fades.
Lips forming a line, expression becoming serious. "I am but mad
north-northwest: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw."

The pair is noticed from a distance, although one of them isn't
recognized; and Quentin makes his way over towards them at a brisker step,
raising his chin slightly but not calling out just yet. Maybe Salem's
actually macking on some chick, and he wouldn't want to mess that up.

Salem, making the moves on a fifteen year old girl? Perish the thought.
There's a definite 'space' between them, too, neither one friendly enough
to get closer than necessary for conversation. "Read anything _other_ than
Hamlet and one passage from _Measure for Measure_?"

Renee cross her arms. "Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear, and Measure for
Measure. Hamlet is the only on I've finished, so far."

"Hey," Quentin calls, ever so eloquent compared to those quoting
Shakespeare at one another as he approaches.. a slight smile curving his
lips, steps carrying himself closer. He still shows no sign of recognizing
Renee.

Salem nods to the girl, then looks up, his attention captured by the hail.
"Ah. Quentin." He shifts his weight, pushing off from the building and
standing erect, hands vanishing into his coat pockets. "Good evening."

Renee turns her attention to Q, a brief flash of guilt passing over her
features. Still, the look is very brief. Little more then a heartbeat in
length, before the Gnawer returns her attention to Salem.

Quentin's chin raises in a slight nod as he draws closer, allowing easily,
"Hey Salem.. who's your--" And then, recognition as he draws to a sharp
halt in his tracks, blinking as though he'd just seen the burning bush
before blurting out, "Renee?!"

The streetlamps are starting to turn on, one by one -- those that aren't
currently broken, anyway. Salem removes his sunglasses and tucks them into
his coat. His eyes go from Gnawer to cub and back again, his expression
calm, mildly expectant where the former is concerned; he says nothing.

Renee rolls her eyes heavenward. "Yea, yea, its me. Ya can stop gaping
like a fish, ya know."

"You're.. uh.. um. Sorry." A brief, sheepish smile offered over to the
Gnawer, followed by a second sharply surprised look before Quentin looks
back to Salem and asks, "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Not at all," says Salem, smoothly. "Renee was just showing me how well
she's absorbed _Hamlet_."

Renee shakes her head. "Naw, ya ain't interuptin' anything."

Quentin quirks an eyebrow, coming at last to a halt near the pair.
"Hamlet? Never figured you for the classical type, Renee.. then again, I
shouldn't assume, I guess." A brief grin curves his lips, as though
apologetic.

Salem tilts a look down toward Renee. "Wasn't there something you wanted
to say to Quentin?" he asks her, rather pointedly in fact.

Renee tilts her head to one side. "I already did, ya just didn't hear me."

Quentin flickers a slightly rueful look back to his elder, and raises one
hand to tap the side of his temple. "She did," he says more quietly then,
before offering a faint smile back to Renee, "And it's alright."

Salem considers that for a moment, then nods. "All right." He turns his
attention toward the cub. "And what can I do for you this evening,
Quentin?"

It's a reunion of connected Urrah, it seems. Across the street, scampering
out of the back of a bar, comes a small figure. From the way they're
dressed, they look homeless, the clothes ratty and old and stained. They
probably don't smell so fresh, either. Shouts and curses follow after the
figure, as the door to the bar closes with grumbles. Lyra slips into any
shadows and corners that she can, heading back to her apartment
dejectedly. She notices the group of people gathered on the other side
only in passing, not looking long enough to identify them.

Quentin lifts one hand to brush his fingertips back through his dark hair
as though to get it back into proper order, a fruitless and eternal war
that he battles, before admitting, "I was actually hoping to ask you some
questions about something.. it's not immediately important, though."

Salem arches a brow, then notes, "I'm not doing anything particularly
vital at the moment. Unless you'd rather wait for a more private setting."
He leans against the railing flanking the stairs up to the front door of
the apartment building.

What better day than a cold and cloudy one to jog. Nearing the end of her
five miles as she closes on the police precinct to the west, Rhiannon
slows to a walk, hands at her sides and breathing even. It's difficult to
miss Salem and Quentin gathering, and she begins to gravitate in their
direction. She doesn't cross the street just yet, though.

Lyra stops to get her breath- she'd tied the bandages way too tight. Just
the short run out of the 'drinking establishment' was costing her. She
tries to huddle in the corner of some stairs leading up to a lower-class
apartment complex, trash up to her ankles as she watches the jogger with
slitted eyes. Rhiannon's closer, and calling attention to herself by
running, and thus the Gnawer cub recognizes her. It only doubles her
effort to blend in with the surroundings; it wouldn't do to be caught
looking like this by the nice Walker kin.

"Well," Quentin admits with a shrug of one shoulder, "It's not 'talk about
on the street' stuff, really, and it'll probably take awhile. So.. at your
leisure, really."

Renee lifts up the cloth bag at her side and takes a peak, just to make
certain that nothing is left inside. "Ya know," the Gnawer starts, voice
partially muffled as she talks into the bag. "I did some thinkin' an' I
realized somethin'." The bad is droped back at Renee's side, empty.
"Refusin' ta change, is just as bad as tryin' ta be the same as everyone
else." The Gallaird shrugs, lips streaching in a manic grin. "If I ain't
willin' ta change now an again, I'm jus' as bad as a guy workin' nine and
spendin' his whole life wonderin' how he'll pay his bills." The Galliard
pulls at her tube-top. "This ain't for me, but its probably time for
somethin' of a change."

That manic grin remains in place, as Renee turns and starts to walk away.
"He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's
love, or a whore's oath!"

Salem flicks a glance toward the departing Bone Gnawer, lips thinning into
a grimace. He doesn't bother to respond to her speech -- not even to the
parting remark. He simply turns back to Quentin. "Mm. All right. I've been
wanting to sit you down for a chat sometime soon anyway. It's been a
while."

Lyra's movement is enough to draw the attention of someone paid to find
sneaky people. Rhiannon's walk slows to a stop, although she doesn't lean
over, or even face her. "Skulking in the shadows, lobita?" she asks
casually, giving Quentin and Salem a wave of hello as if nothing were
wrong. She notes Renee's departure as well.

A slight smirk touches Quentin's lips for a moment at the parting remark
of Renee, before he gives his head a slight shake and sighs, "I'll never
figure her out.." He catches sight of Rhiannon's wave, then, raising one
hand in return and calling out, "Heya!"

Salem nods absently in response to the kinfolk's wave, then straightens
up, his attention sharpening as he tries to get a glimpse of the person
Rhiannon's talking to.

Huffily Lyra pulls at the corner of her makeshift hood, bringing it
further over her head, and remains in her corner. "I do not -skulk-," she
replies in quiet, if rather ruffled tones. "I went to see some friends,
who live further down. It's better not to walk in the middle of the
street. I'm on my way home now." A pause, as her hands find her pockets
and curl around the doggie treats that lie inside. The cub looks to her
left, where a small alley between the apartment complex and the bar next
door is, and contemplates taking a backwards route to her apartment. "My
aunt is returned," she tells Rhiannon with a bright smile that seems so
out of place with her clothes.

"She is enh? And you're gonna go see her dressed--and smelling--like
that?" Rhiannon stretches her legs and arms a little, and deliberately
gives Lyra a longer look this time, allowing anyone watching to possibly
discern the cub's location.

Salem's curiosity is aroused. He leaves his post by Red Mill and jogs
across the street, dodging traffic with an ease that borders on the
arrogant, the tails of his trenchcoat flapping out behind him.

Lyra shuffles, looking sheepish. "Well, I haven't -seen- her yet," she
admits slowly. "Renee said Auntie Mei had gone out for some errands, and
when she didn't come back in the afternoon, I thought I'd say hi to the
puppies at the church...I haven't seen them in a while either..." Finally,
and more than a little defensive, "It's not safe to walk around there in
nice clothes."

As the girl talking with the kinfolk catches Quentin's attention, he
pushes off the curb and pauses as traffic passes by -- not quite so bold
as Salem, as he crosses over towards them, though his pause puts him
rather behind.

"Understood, lobita. I don't go out in silk and flats when I visit my CIs
either," Rhiannon responds. As Salem approaches, she tells him, "That was
jay walking," in that bored, casual way of hers. The Kin indicates Lyra's
hiding place with a tilt of her head.

"Arrest me, then," the Philodox replies, deadpan. He smooths back his hair
as he comes to a stop, then peers toward the indicated hiding place. His
eyebrows rise. "Lyra?"

The Gnawer cub shrinks a bit more into her corner with a rustle of
discarded newspaper, hazel gaze flickering from kin to cliath in a sort of
dread horror. One little excursion as a street rat, and she's spotted by
everyone she respects. "He-hello, Salem-rhya," she greets weakly.
Goodness, the only way this could get worse-

--and Quentin comes trotting along across the street after a bus has
passed, hopping up onto the curb and balancing there with a blink as he
catches sight of Lyra looking like that. Green eyes widen a bit as he
steps full onto the sidewalk, his tone concerned, "Lyra?"

Salem's expression remains quizzical, but his nod toward the Gnawer cub is
as pleasant as it usually is when he's dealing with her. "Evening, Lyra."

Rhiannon arches her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware you were into that sort of
thing," she says lightly to Salem. "But that much aside. Lyra's been over
to, unpleasent areas, let's say. So she's dressed for it." Her tone is
very matter-of-fact, implying this is a logical move.

Lyra blinks as Quentin pops into view- "Pip!" she exclaims, fingers
tugging at her hood self-consciously. Then she throws her hands to the
heavens, giving up. "If there's anybody else you're keeping in your
pockets, I'm game for photographs," she grumbles tersely, cheeks flushing.
She's thoroughly embarrassed, that much is clear.

Rhiannon looks into her sweats pockets thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact,
I've got Francisco stashed in here somewhere..." she murmurs, making a
good show of searching for him.

Quentin's expression softens at the explaination from Rhiannon, and
briefly he looks a bit embarassed about the show of obvious concern.
Tucking both hands away in his pockets, he observes a bit playfully,
"Kinda look cute like that. Very Dickensesque."

Salem shifts a sidelong glance at Quentin, then turns his gaze back to
Lyra. He nods, hands folding into his coat pockets. "Very Oliver, yes. Or
rather, Doolittle. We should get you some violets."

A rather pained glance at Quentin. "The whole point is to -not- look
cute-" Then Salem references to 'My Fair Lady'. The half-Asian Gnawer
wriggles her nose at the Walker philodox, deciding she'll just have to
make the best of it as she carefully smoothes down the front of her coat
as if it was a party dress. "Violets. Bother, you, I'm Jenny Wren if
anything a'tall."

Rhiannon smiles a faint, wicked sort of smile at the teasing, but doesn't
add anything herself. Instead, she asks, "Hungry for some dinner, lobita?
We can order pizza, or pick up something."

Salem's lips curve into a thin little smile at the younger Philodox,
somewhat amused at her embarrassment. He's kind enough not to continue the
pokes of humor at her expense, however, and the smile fades as he glances
down the street. Keeping an eye on the area.

"Sorry?" A bit of a grin touches Quentin's lips, shoulders rolling in a
rather casual shrug before he flickers a glance over towards Salem with a
brow's raise, perhaps seeing if he's planning on joining the other two for
pizza.

"Oh. Pizza?" It's not Lyra's favorite food, but she's terribly hungry.
She'd been to excited and nervous to eat the whole day through, and it's
catching up to her... "No, I shouldn't, I have to head home," the cub
tells Rhiannon apologetically. She clasps her hands and looks to the
cliath and cub with pure, unadulterated happiness on her face. "Renee said
my aunt's come back. She was out doing errands earlier, but she might be
home now, and I'm heading there."

Rhiannon nods. "Fair enough. Although it doesn't have to be pizza. Thai,
sushi, burgers..." Her voice suggests the possibilities are endless. She
glances at Salem and Quentin and adds, "You're both invited, of course. As
long as my underwear aren't involved."

Salem turns his eye back to Lyra, one brow on the rise. "Oh? Good news."
Then he glances at Rhiannon, a bit sharply, and then looks away again,
clearing his throat.

Quentin's lips twitch just a bit at the comment about underwear,
scrupulously not looking back towards Salem. Rather, he chooses to respond
to Lyra with a brighter tone, "Your aunt came home?"

From the look of abashed confusion on Lyra's face, the Gnawer cub is not
in the know. Luckily Quentin's question gives her no oppurtunity to ask.
She smiles and nods to the Walker cub. "That's what Renee said. The
apartment's been cleaned up, and there's more food in the kitchen...she
-seems- to be home. I haven't actually seen her yet." A grin, as the cub
digs her hands into her pockets again. "I'm so glad she's come back!"

Rhiannon's grin is a little wider as she looks at both Quentin and Salem,
but whatever she's talking about falls by the wayside for the moment.
"That is good news. Will she be reopening the shop soon?"

"Hmnh." Salem makes another show of checking out the local area, then
turns his attention back to the conversation.

"Does she, uh.. know about stuff?" A rather questioning look on Quentin's
face, as he's never really delved deeply into the question of Lyra's
absent aunt-- both eyebrows raising upwards as he looks back towards the
Gnawer cub.

Lyra stretches one shoulder upward, wincing as the bandages cut into her
again. Breathe faster, shallower, she reminds herself. "I don't know- I
haven't seen her," she says again. "I hope she will. Cerwin said he'd like
to work there, maybe-" She pauses, biting her lower lip as Quentin calls
up a worry she hadn't considered in her elation. "I, um, golly I don't
know. Renee talked to her. I assume she would have told her...things."

"It's something that should be done, if Renee hasn't already." Rhiannon
considers the situation. "It can be tricky, talking to new family about
that sort of thing."

Quentin gives it another moment's consideration, before rolling one
shoulder in a casual shrug. "Well.. it's her family's business, really,
I'm sure Renee and Yi and Kaz and them will take care of it, right?"

The hazel-eyed cub smiles faintly as her deepest worry makes itself felt.
"I'm sure she's Kin," she says softly. "If she managed to talk to Renee
and not run away screaming bloody murder, she can't be normal. She's Kin,
and when Mama Kaz comes back, everything will be fine. Or I could tell Yi.
Maybe Yi would be better to talk to Auntie." Lyra looks around, then at
herself, frowning. "I think I'll go to Yi's first, and tell her...and I
have some clothes there. Maybe I shouldn't see Auntie Mei dressed
like...this."

"She probably is...family," Rhiannon assures Lyra. "And if no one tells
her soon enough, we can ask someone to specifically do it. Renee, for
example." A corner of her mouth twitches in an almost smile.

Rina stalks westward, her head down and her eyes scanning the streets for
trouble.

"That might be a good idea," agrees Quentin with a slight tip of his head
back towards the other cub, one hand brushing through the air as he points
out, "Even if she is family.. I'm sure she'd figure the worst if she saw
you like that, cute stuff. You should get changed, clean up.. maybe take
Yi with you."

Salem, busy in keeping an eye on the street -- and in not looking at
Rhiannon -- spots Rina first. He tenses slightly, and with a murmur of,
"Hell," breaks off from the group to head her way.

Rina doesn't take long to notice them; a smile comes t her lips, and her
stride becomes a bit more casual as she approaches.

Salem's abrupt departure turns Rhiannon's attention to the street, and she
grimaces once she sees Rina. "So much for staying low," she mutters.

Lyra winces at Rhiannon's suggestion. "No offense to 'Nee...oh, well,
plenty of offense to 'Nee...but she's not subtle. At least, at my
introduction to the family, she nearly frightened me out of my wits
by...changing. I'm sure she'd try the same on Auntie." She tilts her head
to Quentin, then nods, digging in the other pocket and finally holding up
a small brass-colored key. "I hope Yi's home," she murmurs.

Quentin catches sight of the other kinfolk, as Salem heads along over to
intercept.. and he raises one hand in a silent greeting to her, before
stepping across the sidewalk and closer to Lyra. "Sure you're not hungry,
babe?"

Rina's smile widens a touch, and she glances past the dour man to lift a
hand to the others, a brief wave. Then that hand is extended to Salem.
"Yo."

Salem's path intersects with Rina's fairly quickly, long legs and a brisk
stride bringing him alongside her with fair alacrity. His eyes are
narrowed slightly -- concerned. "Evening. How are you feeling?"

Rhiannon watches Salem and Rina for a moment, then turns back to Lyra. "If
she's not, lobita, don't be a stranger. You know where I am, and I have a
guest bathroom you can use. And we're ordering some sort of dinner,
because I could eat a fucking house right now."

Rina ducks her head slightly. "Aright, I guess," she answers. "Still
hurts, bu it's healin' good."

Salem walks with Rina back to the others, heeling along at her side like a
guard dog, a tall bipedal Doberman. "Been getting some rest, I hope."

Playfully, Lyra bites on the key. "I am, but- pip, I want to see her. It's
been half a year! More!" She slips the key back into her pocket before she
accidentally swallows it, and reaches to muss Quentin's hair with her
fingertips, then pulls away before doing so with a laugh and smile towards
Rhiannon. "You don't want me eating dinner with you, I'm a positive tramp,
look at me."

Rina lifts both shoulders in a faint shrug. "Demerol an' vicodin," she
says quietly. "Just as good." She glances up, flashing a smile at Lyra's
antics.

"That's what the bathroom's for, lobita." Rhiannon's smile fades as Salem
and Rina approach, her expression smoothing into that even, unreadable
look when she gets when displeased. "Sure it's safe to be out and about?"
she asks the other Kin baldly.

A brief 'ack' escapes Quentin's lips as the other cub ruffles his hair,
before he ducks away with a grin back towards her.. and then raises his
head towards the approaching kinfolk and her guardian, offering in
good-natured tones, "Hey Rina.." A pause, as he notices the mood and
words, "Something wrong?"

Salem looks less than satisfied with Rina's answer, but woe betide the
soul who accuses the saturnine Walker of being fretful. "Hmnn."

Rina shakes her head minutely, giving Rhiannon a taut little smile. "I'm
fine," shesays quietly. "And no," she adds, looking over to Rhiannon.
"John'd probably kill me, but Id'no where he'sat tonight."

Lyra looks like she's torn between the offer to eat and wash, or go
straight to seeing her aunt. Maybe it's just rationalizing, but wouldn't
it be better to see her as best as presentable? "N..maybe I could stay and
eat," she says slowly. Then she peeks around the stairs at Salem and the
woman he's talking to.

The return of a smile softens Rhiannon's feautres considerably. "No one's
forcing you lobita, but the door's open." Addressing Rina, she adds, "That
goes for you too. There'll be food at my place. Pizza, or take out, we
haven't decided."

"Hey," Quentin says with a sidelong glance to Lyra, "You want to look your
best when you see her again, right?" That said, he looks back to Rina with
a touch more concerned an expression, gaze flickering between the others,
but he doesn't say anything.

Salem remains silent, his mood having taken an abrupt downturn, his body
language somewhat more tense as he stands near Rina's shoulder. He offers
Lyra a thin twitch of a smile that's probably meant to be encouraging and
then returns to skimming his gaze over the street, paying special
attention to rooftops.

Reaching them, Rina offers Quentin a quick smile, and then grins to
Rhiannon. "I'm all over 'za with gorgeous women, anytime." She offers that
to Lyra, as well.

It is probably fortunate that such a group has gathered in the street this
evening. At least, for one woman, it would seem. Normally, the
white-haired woman would stick out like a sore thumb, anywhere save a
dance club or perhaps Hot Topic, but with the twitchiness caused by the
gaggle in front of the apartments, people seem more apt to avoid the area
entirely, thereby paying Scuro little to no attention.

	 It is unclear, after a cursory glance, if this woman is an actual
albino, or if she is simply doing something rather unusual with the 'Goth'
look. Certainly, her appearance catches one's attention; like some queen
of ice and winter, silvery-white hair crowns her head, light skin that
almost seems to have blueish undertones, and a calm, serene gaze of the
palest icy azure. This last is the hint that she is not a true albino, at
least.

	 She stands about 5'4", with a thin, willowy build. Nonetheless,
there is an aura of strength about her, despite her fragile, porcelin
appearance. Her age could be anywhere from the late teens to late
twenties, although the way with which she carries herself would point
towards the latter. There is no sign of teenage awkwardness, rather, she
seems extremely calm, cool, and collected, at all times.

	 Her hair is cut in one of the latest trendy styles, a
shoulder-length razor-cut bob, faint streaks of blue throughout the white.
Her facial structure; thin nose, high cheekbones, and slanted eyes, betray
some sort of Asiatic heritage. Her accent seems to wander between Eastern
European and Franco-Italian... it is difficult to pinpoint it exactly. She
is dressed impeccably, and, oddly enough, all in shades of blue or white;
a lightweight leather duster, a rich shade of midnight blue, covers a
sleeveless dark blue top which skims the waistband of white dress-slacks,
a silvery necklace holds a light blue star-sapphire in a pendant around
her neck, and several silvery rings adorn her long, thin, musician's
fingers.

Lyra's not exactly looking gorgeous, dressed in old, tattered street
clothes and standing atop a pile of old newspapers and a soda can. She
smiles faintly at all the Walkers, still acutely embarrassed about her
appearance. "Okay then, dinner and wash sound splendid." The cub dips her
head in shy greeting to Rina, whom she's sure she never met. "Hullo. I'm
Lyra."

Rina holds out a paint-stained hand to the Gnawer. "Rina. Nice t'meetcha."

Salem's eye focusses on the ice queen, she who's all in shades of white
and blue. His gaze follows her for a moment, a frown tugging at his mouth.

Rhiannon sees the woman across the street, and her demeanor shifts
subtley. She makes no attempt to hide her scrutiny of the pedestrian, in
the manner of most law enforcement officials. The hair is the first thing
that catches Rhiannon's eye, and she murmurs casually, "Look what the rave
dragged in..."

Rina follows their distracted attention. Her eyes light, and the smile
quirks a little, softer. "Mmm. Speaking of beautiful..."

Something not unlike a smile of satisfaction ghosts across the pale
woman's lips... the the ghost solidifies into definite amusement even as
Salem frowns. Opposites in more than just color, perhaps? She makes no
movement towards the group, however, hands resting casually in the pockets
of the long leather coat, seeming content to simply stay still and
observe.

Lyra accepts Rina's hand briefly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," she
grins back, before tilting her head at Rhiannon with a questioning glance.
Rave? Dragged in?

Salem glances at Rina, distracted by the remark. He actually blinks once,
then shakes his head slightly and looks away. Not at the kin, and not at
the pale stranger who sticks out too much to be an assassin, surely.

Rhiannon is largely satisfied the woman isn't anything more dangerous than
an overdressed passer-by, and she looks back to the rest of the group. "I
should get going, before I eat my clothing in desparation. Anyone who
wants a ride can join me, or just show up at some point. I can't promise I
won't have eaten it all, though."

Salem glances back at Rhiannon, then nods and fishes a cellphone out of an
inside pocket of his coat. "Let me call Cat down, and we'll join you."

Rina watches the pale-haired woman with a faint half-smile, a
contemplative look in her eyes. Utterly distracted, apparently.

Perhaps intending to be heard, but perhaps not, the wintery woman speaks a
single phrase,.. only, its not in English. As she utters the words, her
attention no longer seems fully fixed upon any one member of the group. In
fact, it could almost be taken as just some random, nearly
under-ones-breath, casual remark.

(Translation: "A man fails seven times, and rises eight times." It's a
Mongolian proverb, not that he'd know that part.)

Not English, no, though anyone with an ear for languages might recognize
it as similar to what Salem's been known to mutter on occasion... and it's
clear that he not only catches the remark, but understands it. The
cellphone's in hand, halted in the act of dialling as the Walker turns a
sharp eye back toward the pale stranger again, his expression narrow.

The dark-haired Gnawer slips her hands in her pockets again, eager to be
on their way towards a full tummy (and in her case, cleanliness). Lyra
does take a glance at the woman everyone seems to be staring at, but looks
over at Quentin then with a shrug and 'who knows?' expression.

Satisfied by this reaction apparently, the white-haired woman pauses a
moment. She removes her hands from her pockets, and looks at them,
absently. Without looking up, she adds, in an accent that's difficult to
fully pin down. "But what if it was not truly failure in the first place?"

"Problem?" Rhiannon asks Salem in a low voice, her gaze returning to the
odd woman. She seems decidedly unfriendly, her eyes narrow and her posture
tense.

Salem's look is a hard one, his expression suddenly tight, his body held
very still, very... controlled. Tense. His nostrils flare slightly, like a
wolf that's caught an unknown -- and therefore possibly dangerous --
scent. He answers Rhiannon with a curt, quiet, "Possibly," not taking his
gaze from the pale woman. He shows no sign of recognition, just suspicion
tinged with paranoia. He calls back to her in the same language she first
spoke in, a sharp comment and an even sharper inquiry.

(Translation: "Interesting to meet another countryman so far from home. Do
I know you?")

Quentin returns that look of Lyra's in kind, both hands spreading and
shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug before he steps in closer to
the other cub.. leaning over to murmur quietly to her, "You have any idea
who that chick is?"

No longer content to observe, Rina is spurred into motion; she crosses the
street toward the woman, the crooked mile still tugging at her lips. "I
hope you're not cussin' each other out," she says as she steps up the
curb. "Sure what it sounds like."

Oddly enough, this reaction from Salem, and even those around him, seems
to... relax... the woman. Again, that quiet, knowing smile, and she
responds in kind. Her voice, like her demeanor, remains exceedingly calm.

(Translation: "Once, you did. As I knew you. I was but a cub, and was not
as you see me now.")

"Haven't the slightest," Lyra whispers back to Quentin, shivering a bit as
the air of the evening gets chillier. "I hope she decides whether or not
she wants to come to supper before we start catching a cold."

As the Italian woman starts over, Salem bites out a swearword -- in
Serbian, yes -- and starts after her, one hand going for her shoulder to
halt her progress. "Rina, dammit--." Stress -- and rage -- radiates off
him in waves, his next question at the stranger is almost a snarl,
demanding an answer, a truthful one.

(Translation: "Who the hell are you?")

Rhiannon bites her lip on a curse as Rina trots off across the street. She
makes no move to follow the other Kin, though, and stays put, muttering
darkly in Spanish. Lyra's comment to Quentin draws her attention. "Okay,
either way, I'm gonna get these two out of here. Bueno?" She looks over at
Salem for confirmation.

The pale woman's posture straightens slightly, and her expression becomes
one of all seriousness. She actually answers him, however, in English. It
comes off sounding like some sort of bizarre spy code. "Walks About
Silently Gazing at the Silver Storm's Fury."

The hand on Rina's shoulder stops her with a jolt of violence, and for a
moment the flash of tension between Salem and the Kin is visible. Then
Rina's attention snaps to the stranger, as one dark brow lifts eloquently.
"Ah," she says. "Then maybe you oughta /not/ bait him, if you know who he
is."

Salem doesn't even register Rhiannon's voice, much less her words. And the
grip he has on Rina's shoulder tightens, almost painfully -- and, most
likely, unintentionally. At the stranger's answer, his eyes narrow, the
dead one turing to a thin sliver of white... and then there's a flash of
hatred across his face. It's gone in a moment, replaced by an expression
that's pure ice, suspicion turing to blatant distrust. "Ah. _Family_." He
releases Rina's shoulder and adds, with emphasis, "_Old_ family."

Scuro shrugs faintly. "I mean not to bait him. I merely wished him to know
that where once, all followed one without question, now, all have broken
apart. Because of the one, and her lies."

Rina's mouth tightens in a wince, but she says nothing.

Rhiannon mmmmmms, catching the emphasis on the word 'old'. She listens to
the other woman's bizarre words, and grunts. "She talks like one, at any
rate."

Confused gaze slipping from Walker to white-haired stranger, Lyra whispers
to Quentin apolgetically, "I won't tease you in Mandarin again. Promise."

At the apology, Quentin almost smiles.. although, given the pervading
mood, he doesn't quite. A shift of his weight to one leg, hands tucking
into the pockets of his jacket as he watches the conversation with
slightly narrowed eyes.

Salem's gaze never leaves Scuro's face, and the tension in him doesn't let
up a single hair. An Ahroun's rage is snarling and snapping under his
flesh, straining uselessly at its leash but no less violent for all that.
"You followed me all the way from Serbia for _that_? To tell me... what?
That Anya's been deposed?"

"Jack." Rina's voice is soft, careful. She reaches up, her hand covering
his where it grips her shoulder. "Take it easy, aright?"

Salem breaks his stare at that, glancing down to find his hand at Rina's
shoulder again. He grimaces and lets go, folding his arms across his chest
as he turns his eyes back to the Shadow Lord.

Now this actually causes the pale woman to blink, then to smile slightly,
"Do not flatter yourself so. If I have followed you, I have taken the road
to the moon and back to do so. Do you think this," she indicates her hair
and complexion, "... happened by choice? By old age? I have no home. I
have had none." Her gaze turns, well, icy, and her jaw clenches as she
adds, "I follow stories, if you so need to know. I follow knowledge. I
seek truth, and I would think that truth would be served best if it were
shared with those who deserve it. Truth was kept from you, and I could do
nothing. I still cannot. Except to tell you it now."

The Gnawer cub has no idea what's going on, but she can easily tell it
doesn't involve her. Slowly and quietly, Lyra turns to Rhiannon and places
a hand on the marshal's elbow, going on tiptoe to whisper something up at
the Kin.

Rina slips a hand under the jacket and rubs at her shoulder, wincing.
"Why'n'cha cross on over to our side?" she calls out. "We can have a nice
lil' sitdown, maybe. At Salem's plae, or somewhere else. Private."

Salem's nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath, forcing calm on
himself, tightening the chains on the lunar berserker. "I _know_ the
truth. I _lived_ the truth." He almost snarls the last, but refrains from
that with a vicious application of will. He takes another breath, then
shakes his head at Rina's suggestion. "No. There's nothing more to say on
this. And certainly not at _my_ place." The rage might be controlled, but
the bile's still there.

Rhiannon blinks, and looks down at Lyra, surprised. "Not just for that,
lobita. But, we should probably get going." She glances at Salem.
"Especially since Salem doesn't like our new aquiantance too much."

Rina spreads her hands, palm-out. She closes her eyes, and takes a careful
breath. "Easy, Jack," she murmurs, soft and unsteady. "Take it *easy*,
aright?

Scuro inclines her head, simply, and elegantly. "Indeed. Agt aldval barzh
boldog, am aldval barzh boldoggui." The last, spoken completely different
from any other language she's spoken thus far.

Salem takes in another calming -- theoretically -- breath. Taking it easy
is, however, easier said than done. "Jarred Aerhardt's the man you want to
seek out," he tells Scuro. "He's the contact point for your type." Slight,
but definite emphasis on the 'your'. "I'm sure he'll be glad to introduce
you to the others."

Ah. Quentin's expression becomes slightly less confused at the mention of
Jarred, and he nods just a bit to himself.. stepping along over closer
towards Rhiannon and Lyra, though he keeps an eye on the other three in
case it suddenly explodes into violence.

Rina's jaw tightens visibly, tension crossing her expression at the
mention of the name.

At this, the woman's eyebrow lifts in a disbelieving arch. "I doubt
'glad'."

"Not my problem," says the Shadow Lord turned Glass Walker coldly.

Rhiannon pulls out her keys, but muffles them to avoid adding any undue
tension. "The blue bus for my place--and dinner--is departing," she tells
those closest to her.

Scuro smirks faintly. "I did not say that it was. Buonanotte. Walk well."
With that, she turns and makes her way to leave.

Rina lets out a breath, and turns to look over her shoulder at Salem. Her
eyes are shadowy, worried. "Walk me home?"

Lyra nods quietly, looking to Quentin and holding her hand out to him, a
good friend offering to another. Or seeking comfort in the confusion. "I
can't wait for you to meet Auntie," she tells him in a soft, but excited
murmur.

Salem watches the Shadow Lord go. He's breathing steadily. In, out.
Inhale, exhale. Finally, he looks back over toward Rhiannon. "Go without
me." He's almost painfully formal; it's a facade over the seething
tension. "I'm afraid I'd be poor company tonight." But he does nod at
Rina's request. Of course.

Rina glances over her shoulder, looking for Rhiannon and the others. "I'll
hafta raincheck the 'za," she says quietly.

Quentin tips his head up towards Rina, offering with a slightly forced
smile, "See you 'round, Rina.." The hand extended in his direction is
taken, as he reaches out and laces his fingers with hers in a firm
squeeze-- her excited words bringing a touch more genuine a smile, before
he nods back to Rhi, "C'mon, let's go."

"Your loss," Rhiannon replies to Salem and Rina with a grin. "Yeah, let's
get a move on. I'm gonna start chewing on my truck's interior if I don't
get to eat something soon." She turns towards the general direction of the
police precinct, where her truck awaits.

Salem isn't quite able to return Rhiannon's grin, not even with one of his
thin little smiles. He just nods. He and Rina head off in the opposite
direction, the Walker not just a Doberman, but an unhappily surprised and
pissed-off Doberman.