History

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:12 Pacific Time on Tue Sep 17 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 68
degrees Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the north at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.97 and
rising, and the relative humidity is 46 percent. The dewpoint is 47 degrees
Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (72% full).

Harbor Park -- Fountain

Salem stands near the eastern end of the park, facing the river with his
hands buried in the pockets of his coat -- tall, dark, forbidding, posture
perfectly straight, body held almost perfectly still. The wind tugs at the
long black hair and the tails of the trenchcoat, and his expression is
blank, eye focused on something other than the here and now.

Scuro strolls quietly into the park, quietly absorbing the sights and
sounds. The tall, dark figure catches her eye, and for a moment, she
hesitates, then sighs and seemingly shrugs off any doubt. However, she makes
no real movement towards him, either, rather she investigates the sculpture
around the fountain itself, pausing to look more closely at both the Greek
symbols on the statue, and the marks of chalk at the pillar bases.

Salem doesn't react to the arrival, which is a decent enough indication that
he hasn't noticed her. A minute or so later, he reaches up to slip off the
sunglasses, and he rubs at his good eye with the heel of the same hand.
Wearily.

Scuro stands up straight, after having knelt down to examine one of the
chalk marks more closely. She takes a moment to regard the now-Walker,
quietly observing him. Then her attention slips back to the statue at the
fountain itself.

Salem takes his hand away from his face and, in consideration of the dying
sunlight, slips the dark glasses into an inside pocket of his coat. Then,
his contemplation apparantly done, he turns to go... and in doing so,
finally spots Scuro's pale form over by the fountain. He goes still, face
tightening into a mask.

Scuro's head turns slowly, and she notices that Salem has moved. An eyebrow
arches quietly, and yet, she simply nods once, elegantly, and returns her
gaze to the fountain. Nonetheless, there is a definite sense that she's not
fully discounting the Walker's presence.

Salem watches the Shadow Lord for a long moment, rigid. Finally, though, he
gathers about him a manner that, if not friendly, is polite enough not to be
actively hostile and starts heading her way. Long, brisk strides -- she's
seen that walk enough times before, at Black Wings.

Scuro turns back, then, and regards Salem calmly. She makes no motion to
speak first, however.

Salem stops once he's just within conversational distance, and the space he
keeps between them is reinforced by arms folded across his chest. His good
eye studies her, coldly. "Of all the fucking places in the world," he says,
voice flat. "Why _here_?"

Scuro tilts her head thoughtfully, and those cold eyes seem to do little
more than reflect Salem's own face. "What drew you to this place, if I may
ask?"

Salem frowns thinly, with a hint of irritation. But he answers her question.
"Originally? Mnh. Blind luck. Didn't know the area was... occupied."

Scuro nods softly. "I admit that I am just guessing. But you have stayed
because of acceptance, yes?"

Salem grunts. "There wouldn't have been a lot that I could have done if
they'd decided to chase me out." His face hardly changes; he's unwilling to
give away more than absolutely necessary.

Scuro shrugs faintly. "You know the Old World as well as I. You know the...
predjudices of the Old Guard, as it were." She pauses a moment, as if
reflecting inwards, then adds, "I have not heard of this place... chasing
people out, so to speak."

Another grunt, accompanied by a curt nod. "They don't, usually. Once a
charach, and another time a Veil-breaker who was under Ostracism at the time
of his crime. Otherwise..." He trails off, shoulders shifting into a faint
shrug. Then his gaze narrows on her. "What happened?" he asks. "After."

"Pride goeth before a fall," she answer succinctly. "And this time proved no
different. In her selfish pursuit of personal power,..." Scuro stops
herself, realizing her tone has become somewhat bitter. She clears her
throat, and continues, "In some misguided attempt to become more than she
was,.." she sighs, and stops again. Frowning, she finally just shakes her
head. "I cannot be impartial. In her ignorance of the world at large, and
her narrow-minded pursuit of Glory, she nearly brought the caern down on our
heads and completely ignored those who actually could have helped."

Salem's eyes remain narrowed. Interesting, that there's no triumph in his
expression, no gloating, no... anything. "And Anya?"

"She breathes," the woman answers quietly, "Or, she did, when I left. The
caern stands, I still believe. I do not believe, however, that she holds
near the reins of power that she once did."

"Mmnh." The Glass Walker purses his lips, pensive as he skims a glance over
the quiet park. Silence drags out, unless she chooses to break it.

Scuro nods quietly, eyes unfocused, and far away. "For what it is worth. I
am sorry."

Salem turns his eye back to the ghost-pale Shadow Lord, studying her face
narrowly. "You had nothing to do with it," he says at last, voice flat. "You
were still a cub."

Scuro shrugs faintly. "Then I am sorry that I was still a cub and could
nothing. Truth... was not served."

A large blue SUV pulls up alongside the street and stops behind the cover of
a tree, and the sound of the door opening a shutting is heard. Eventually a
pedestrian comes walking along the grass, her pace casual and unhurried. She
does seem to be looking for someone, however, as her eyes cast about the
park occasionally.

Salem makes a noncommital sound. "It's history." The movement of a new
arrival in the park draws his attention away from Scuro again; his eyes
narrow as he follows the searching figure visually.

Scuro nods faintly, but does not interrupt the Walker's current focus of
attention. In fact, she, too, turns to look at the new arrival.

Rhiannon alters her course as she can all but feel the two figures looking
at her, and as she gets close enough, she's relieved to at least recognize
one face. Her expression shifts to one of curiosity as she recognizes the
woman from the other night, and she gives Salem a mock-salute in greeting.

Salem appears to be quite a bit calmer than he was then. At least, he
appears to be in control of his temper. Recognizing the kin as she nears, he
inclines his head in greeting. "Evening, Rhiannon. Looking for someone?"

Scuro simply stays put for the moment, shifting her gaze between the woman
and the Walker.

Rhiannon gives the odd woman another glance, before turning to Salem. "Yes,
a teenager. She's the new 'talent' in town." There's a special meaning for
talent, with the way she's pronounced it.

Salem arches an eyebrow. "'Talent'?" he echoes, quizzically. He frowns.
"Something I should be aware of?"

"Drugs," Rhiannon specifies. A moment's hesitation, then she adds, "And
might be something else, too. The CI I spoke to said he'd seen her around
here, and she made his skin crawl."

At the edge of the park, a short man wearing leather pants and a jean jacket
stops as he is walking by. Every once and a while, openly watching the
people gathered near the fountain.

Scuro arches an eyebrow quietly, "You are trying to track someone with
specific habits?" The question seems odd enough, but the tone is sincere.

Salem makes a pensive 'hmnh' type of noise and rubs at his bearded chin
thoughtfully. He's about to say something when Scuro poses her question; his
hand drops away back to his side as he glances at her, then back at
Rhiannon.

Rhiannon looks at the woman, and shakes her head. "I just like to know who's
doing what with regards to recreational substances, in this city. Normally I
wouldn't check it out myself, but that sort of a description, and this
place..." She gestures, indicating the park as a whole. "She's not likely to
be just...anyone."

The man in the slight distance from the fountain takes out a cigarette,
sparking it up and taking a few puffs. He is either watching the group
intending to be seen, or he is incompetent at being subtle... it is hard to
say.

Scuro holds up a hand slightly, palm forward. "My apologies. But I do have
some... skill... at investigations."

Salem glances away from the conversation to glance over the park with an air
of habitual caution, and naturally his gaze falls on the watcher. Unsubtle,
he stares at the man, trying to pick out specific features in the evening
light.

Rhiannon shrugs. "I'll catch her eventually. I always do." A sly smile, and
she looks across the park at the figure beneath the streetlamp. As he's not
female, she doesn't bother to examine him any further. "If you see a teenage
girl making some interesting trades around here, tell her Mac wants to talk
to her."

(You notice something odd about him, not quite placing what it is. His
clothing is very much like the fashions street gangs wear, down to the
popular brandname hightop shoes. It's his hair that seems to stand out. Very
short, neat, and spiky.)

Scuro inclines her head in a simple nod. "Indeed."

Now the man drops the cigarette, mutters something unintelligable from this
distance and rubs it out with his shoes like beneath a boot. This
accomplished he turns and begins to walk away.

Salem continues to stare at the smoker while the women talk. He's very good
at making his expression unfriendly. Excels at it, even. Silently, he
watches the man depart -- watching, in fact, until he's out of view
altogether.

Scuro makes a comment that actually resembles a joking tone, as she looks
across at the smoker as well, "And you wonder why I came here. It appears a
virtual mecca for oddities, thus far."

Salem flicks a glance back at Scuro, and it's possible that the tightness of
his face eases somewhat. "It is, at that," he replies evenly. "By the way.
What are you calling yourself these days?"

"You can say that again," Rhiannon says with a snort, in response to the
woman's observation.

Scuro seems almost amused by saying her next word... to a Walker.
"Chiaroscuro. Or just Scuro."

Salem arches a brow. "Really. Interesting." His eye skims over her pale skin
and blue-touched white hair, questioningly perhaps, but rather than inquire
after it he offers up his own current nom de guerre, just in case she didn't
catch it the other night. "Jack Salem. And this," he adds, with a nod toward
the marshal, "is Rhiannon."

Scuro nods quietly towards Salem, then a slightly more formal nod, almost a
bow, towards Rhiannon.

Approaching now, comes a much... /much/ taller man, directly towards the
group. Upon spotting Salem and Rhia he offers something of a slight grin, or
grimace, it is hard to tell, and approaches closer.

Rhiannon returns the bow with a nod, and a slight smile. The newcomer's
approach negates the smile, however, and she narrows her eyes.

Salem follows Rhiannon's gaze with his own, and while he's not especially
pleased to see the Get of Fenris, it's clearly someone he's been keeping an
eye out for. "Jamethon," he says in greeting, once the massive Theurge is
within earshot. "Missing someone?"

Jamethon steps nearer to the group and catching Rhia's look only stands to
his full height of around six and a half feet. "Greetings. And there is
nothing I seek that I once had, and now do not. I hear you have... met one
of my cubs Salem. I hope he acted on his best behavior." With this he
regards Scuro, with a faint light of interest in his eyes. "And this one, is
new... yes?"

"He's miserable, confused, and expects his elder to tear out his throat,"
says the Glass Walker, perfectly deadpan. "But he was nothing but polite. He
was at Lyra's last I saw him."

"You mean Adrian?" Rhiannon asks with a raised eyebrow. "I wouldn't think
he's the sort to go pissing off his Elders."

Scuro watches the conversation with interest. A student of behavior, it
seems? To the questioning tone at the end of the tall man's statement, she
merely responds, "Scuro."

Jamethon simply nods to this, showing no reaction betraying emotion to their
words. "Did you know Adrian is gay?" Then when Scuro offers her name he
smiles a bit brighter, "What a pleasingly different name." He offers his
hand forward to the woman, "Jamethon Black."

Salem shows no surprise; he either knows all about Adrian's sexuality, or is
just good at hiding ignorance. With a look toward Rhiannon, he explains,
"Apparantly, Owen had a... less than favorable reaction, when he found out."

Rhiannon rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but doesn't offer any
commentary on the situation.

Scuro arches an eyebrow at the conversation, but merely shakes the Get's
offered hand, elegantly. "Black, hmm? My father's last name is Belikov. It
means 'White'."

Jamethon nods to the translation, seeming to already know the dialect, and
his hand shake despite his size isn't brutish but rather friendly. "White...
this name would suit you as well." He regards her face for a moment longer,
releasing her hand and comments almost lost in thought, "You almost look...
touched."

Salem shares a look with Rhiannon, and at James' comment on Scuro's
appearance turns an eye back to the Shadow Lord. There's that hint of
curiosity again.

Scuro shrugs faintly, "Perhaps the fates had a hand in the choice of my
birth name, yes." Her eyes seem to frost over, just slightly, "Some would
say that of me, I am sure."

Rhiannon also shows some interest in Jamethon's description of Scuro, but it
fades as she gives the park a final cursory inspection. "Well, seeing as my
query is nowhere to be found, I'll be shoving off to make sure the kids
haven't torn up my place." She pulls out her car keys as a preliminary move
back to the SUV.

Salem inclines his head toward the kinswoman. "Let us know if you find out
anything more, mnh, concrete?"

Jamethon seems to still be lost in thought at the tone of Scuro's flesh, but
shakes it off soon enough to give Rhia a nod of a farewell. Looking to Scuro
once more he adds, "Welcome to Saint Clare then Scuro. Dieses ist heiliger
Boden, in dem Ruhmentdeckungen halten. Tod sucht die, die gefunden werden,
um Ruhm zu halten." This last part is said with a faintly amused smile.

Scuro arches an eyebrow at the Get, and replies, "Also, holding too tightly
to glory can bring Death to more than oneself."

"Sure thing." Rhiannon grimaces. "Hopefully I won't have to find out the
hard way." She gives a wave to the three Garou, then turns and wanders back
across the Park with the same casual ease.

Jamethon widens his eyes to Scuro, a quick glance to Rhia as she heads away
before looking back to the Lord. "You are most correct, and wisened beyond
your years I am sure."

Salem watches Rhiannon's departure, then turns his attention toward the park
at large, listening to the Get and Lord with half an ear.

A slight smile curves the lips of the pale Shadow Lord, "The more one sees,
the more one realizes that there is to be seen. It it no feat of wisdom to
see this. Unfortunately, most people choose to be blind. Nudnii sohoroos
tsezhnii sohor hetsuu. The blindness of the heart is more dangerous than the
blindness of the eye."

Jamethon seems positivily captivated by an attitude so close to his own for
once, despite knowing nothing about the one whom he speaks to. "The clearer
things become, the deeper those who do not think delve until they find that
all that was clear was the surface... and now you are drowning in the
darkness beneath." He quips back, then with slight chuckle that betrays his
german side goes on, "But nevermind rhetoric and assumptions, I'm sure it
bores poor Salem here."

Scuro, on the other hand, seems positively surprised to see this attitude
displayed by, well, a person she is assuming to be Get, although she has no
real confirmation. She shrugs demurely, and dips her head in a nod.

Salem snorts, glancing back over to them. Desert dry and perfectly
straight-faced, he says, "Don't halt on my account. I should be moving on
anyway. I've lingered here long enough already."

Jamethon nods to Salem quickly at this and simply asks, "Before you go, I
must ask before I assume. Scuro here is...?" He leaves the rest of the
question open to the obvious interpretation of what he is asking.

Scuro casts a glance at Salem, curious as to what, exactly, he would say of
her, before undertaking any statement of her own.

Salem tilts his chin up, meeting the gaze of the taller Garou. One eyebrow
lifts. "Shadow Lord." His eye flicks briefly toward the pale woman, then
back up at the Get. "And I wouldn't presume her unable to introduce herself
further." With perfect courtesy -- completely civilized over that current of
controlled rage, and completely unlike the near-frothing demeanor he
displayed the other night, when Scuro first made herself known -- he dips
his head. "If you both will excuse me?"

Scuro allows herself the briefest of smiles, and nods to the Walker.
"Indeed. Good night."

Jamethon looks back to Scuro with a curious, yet less jovial, expresion on
his face upon hearing she is a Shadow Lord. "Bumsen Mich." He quickly shakes
this off and continues, "Er, I wouldn't have guessed. In that case, let me
introduce myself properly. I am Jamethon Ethan Black or Fights-For-Hope.
Theurge of the Get of Fenris. Master of Xinyi Hunyuan Taijiquan. Once child
of Wolverine and Weasel, seeking to pack under Uktena with the honored
Ouroboros."

Salem, his farewells made, departs the park, heading back for the street.