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It is currently 17:01 Pacific Time on Sun Sep 22 2002. Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 75 degrees Fahrenheit (23 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.15 and falling, and the relative humidity is 34 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.) Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (94% full). Harbor Park -- Fountain Renee is sprawled out on one of the Park's benches, face covered by a copy of Macbeth. Enjoying the mild day and catching up on a little sleep. Renee stands at a height of 5'4 inches tall and is probably somewhere between sixteen and seventeen years old. The woman's hair doesn't quite reach her shoulders, is pitch black and dyed with striking blue highlights. Renee's eyes are a deep chocolate brown and framed by light olive skin. Hinting at some Italian, or possibly Asian ancestry, blended in with a primarily Caucasian background. When she speaks, the Gnawer's voice is rough and misused. The Galliard is currently wearing a pair of baggie jeans, with embedded chains that outline her hips and clank as she walks. Her feet are shod in heavy combat boots, with steel toes. The woman's upper body is covered by a tight black top that ends right where a bra would and has 'Kiss My Ass' written across it in bright pink lettering. Her exposed belly is highlighted by a navel piercing with a small wolf's head hanging from it. Renee is also wearing a little more jewelry in the form of a stud in her left ear and a 'Bajoran' earing in her right. The entire ensemble is toped off with a black denim jacket that has at least eight pockets. Salem prowls into the park, his steps brisk, heading toward the fountain. Part of the Sunday paper is folded under the Walker's left arm; as is typical for him when the sun's out, his eyes are hidden behind dark lenses. Even asleep, Renee is ner entirely unaware of world around her. Salem's presencedisturbes the Gnawer's sleep and she reaches for the book that covers her face. Lifting it just enough, to have a limited look around. It takes Salem a moment to recognize the girl, and when he does, an eyebrow rises. He heads toward her bench, greeting with a coolly polite, "Afternoon, Renee." Renee drops the book back onto her face for a second, before removing it in one smooth motion and sits up on the bench. "Afternoon, Salem." The gnawer yawns, one hand finding its way over to her right ear and fingering the earing. Salem eyes the title of the book, and a tight, unreadable expression passes briefly across his face. He turns his attention instead on the Gnawer herself, skimming a look over her hair and clothes. "Let me guess. Alicia?" Renee grimaces, continuing to finger her right earing. "Yea. She came over ta apologize for bein' an idiot, an' I ended up agreein' to let her take me shoppin' somewhere in there. Wasn't exactly expectin' all of this." "Hmn." The Walker studies the Gnawer's new look again. "Suits you, actually. Better than the previous, anyway." He leans against the bench, head slightly cocked to favor his good eye, perfectly composed. Renee continues to scowl. "I'm still thinkin' about it. Atleast I don't feel like yer average Jr. High student anymore." The Gnawer's hand leaves her right earing, dropping into her lap. Salem straightens up, steps around Renee's bench, and takes a seat, setting the newspaper down between them. "Well. You have plenty of time to... experiment." Scuro seems to have become something of a regular fixture in the park lately. Generally wandering through at twilight, at any rate. And yet again, she carries with her a couple of books, heading towards a bench of her own. Renee shrugs. "Yea, suppose so. Like I told ya before, I was becomin' too static anyway. Ain't right that I should be havin' so much trouble changin'. Everythin changes. Atleast, its supposed ta." As Scuro walks toward one of the benches, the Galliard follows her progress. "Ya see that lady over there," Renee says in a murmur, jerkering her head in the other woman's direction. "Jarred was havin' somethin' of a meeting with her awhile back." Salem glances up, looking in the direction Renee indicates. He relaxes almost immediately, clearly recognizing the pale woman, and sits back, nodding to the Bone Gnawer. "I'm not surprised," he replies to her in a low voice, dryly. "They're tribemates, after all." Renee scratches at her face, then shrugs. "Figured as much. Only caught somethin' about an arranged meetin', before I wandered off." Salem folds his arms across his chest and crosses his legs, propping one booted foot on top of his other leg. "Her name's Chiaroscuro," he informs Renee. "Halfmoon." A proper Philodox is nothing if not observant, and it appears that Scuro, at least, is 'proper' in this regard. The use of her name, not to mention that of the Shadow Lord Elder's, is enough to catch her attention so that she looks up and over at the other bench. Renee grunts, noticing as the other woman looks in their direction. Raising a hand, she waves at the Shadow Lord. "Hey, Chia right?" Salem looks up again, a moment after Renee does. His eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, but there's a hint of thin amusement around his mouth. Scuro arches an eyebrow, and moistens her lips as though trying to forget something distasteful. She makes an exasperated sighing sound, and returns the wave, then states simply, "Scuro, actually. If you do not mind." Renee shrugs, hand dropping back into her lap. "Scuro, sure. I'm Renee an' scar-face over here is Salem, if ya ain't met'em before. Ya must have pretty good good hearin', cause I didn't that that we we're talkin' that loud." "Scuro's always been an observant listener," Salem remarks, making his voice dry, almost lazy. Scuro taps her ear lightly, then smiles, "Actually, its just something off a trigger when I hear my name. Its not a word that comes up in everyday conversation, after all." She leans forward a bit on her bench, "But I have to say, I get quite paranoid in art classes." Salem's remark wipes the attempt at friendly humour from her face, and she eyes him curiously. Renee fingers one of her earings and shrugs, looking toward the Fountain for a moment. Salem's expression is unreadable but for that calm arrogance that's second nature to him. He doesn't seem actively hostile tonight, if one disregards the general air of full-moon irritability. Someone looking for mockery might see it there in his face, or might simply be imagining it. Scuro shakes her head slightly, "At any rate. I shouldn't want to bother you. If you wish I shall move to a further bench?" Renee leans back. "Naw, naw. Yer probably better company then Mr. Anal over here." The Gnawer grins, nastily. "Hey, ya remember a guy named Benny askin' ya if ya needed a roomate while ya were lookin' at apartment adds, about a wek ago?" Salem moves his shoulders in a careless shrug; his smile for the Shadow Lord is rather thin and tight after Renee's remark. Scuro can't help but glance at Salem when the Gnawer says 'Mr. Anal'. Amused, she looks back to the Gnawer and nods. "I do." Renee looks over at Salem, nasty grin still in place. "Well, ya are alot of the time." Back to the Shadow Lord. "Guy is Gaian Kin, good sort." Scuro nods quietly, then tilts her head inquisitively towards the Gnawer, "I do not believe that I've caught your name?" "My packmate's brother, in fact," Salem notes, apparantly deciding not to comment on the Gnawer's assessment of his character. Renee tilts her head to one side. "Naw? I figure' I'd told it to ya. Renee." Scuro nods as she takes note of the name. "So. While we are at a lull in our conversation..." she smiles faintly. "Would either of you happen to know anything about these chalk markings?" Salem tilts a look over toward the fountain, just for a moment. Then he shakes his head. "No idea." Renee leans forward, studying the ice queen. "So, I take it that ya ain't been here that long. Lookin' ta join in, or jus' passin' through?" Salem's attention returns to the Shadow Lord, one brow raised in interest. His head cocks slightly, studying her. Scuro blinks slightly, as if surprised by the question. "Well now," she begins, "That certainly seems to be a popular question, as of late." She pauses a moment, taking a deep breath, "And quite honestly, I do not know the answer. Had I been asked before even arriving, I would surely have said 'passin' through'?" "I assume," says Salem, planting both feet on the ground and sitting up, "that Jarred asked you much the same thing?" Scuro nods elegantly, just a slight inclination of her head while casting her gaze downwards, then back up to the Walker. "Indeed." Renee hehs. "Yea. Well, that much makes sense. 'Bout the first thing that anyone would want ta know." Salem's eyebrows rise. "And how did you find our local elder of shadows?" he asks the other Philodox. Scuro cocks her head to one side, regarding the Walker quietly, "You gave me his name. You expected me /not/ to find him? He is not as... unseen, perhaps, as one might think." There is some sort of jibe there, aimed at either Jarred or her own tribe, perhaps, but it is invariably subtle. "At any rate. We met. And quite interestingly, I seem to have upset him." She glances at Renee, now, curiously, "Is it something I say, that upsets people so?" Again with that humour that's not quite humour. "I didn't doubt you would find him," Salem retorts. "I simply was curious what you thought of him." Renee shakes her head. "Naw, not that I can tell." The Gnawer runs a hand through her blue-streaked hair. "As fer Jarred," Renee scowls, troubled by something. "He is diffrent." "He is, and he isn't," the Shadow Lord says, quietly. "Smoke and mirrors, after all. Show people what you want them to see." She sighs, and shakes her head. "Not terribly different from most people, I suspect. However," she looks more specifically to Salem now, "He gave me one month to decide to stay, or he will banish me." She says this last perfectly serious, perfectly deadpan. And yet, there is something... just /something/ about the way she says it that indicates her amusement with the situation. Its just not anything definite. Renee snorts. "Always was arrogant, if ya ask me." Standing, the Gnawer streatches before picking up a copy of Macbeth off the bench. "I should get goin'." Behind the dark lenses, Salem blinks. "Just one month?" Looking somewhat bemused, he glances sidelong at Renee, then looks back at Scuro. "You _must_ have upset him. Though fortunately not so much that we'd be immediately deprived of your company." That dry-as-deserts reply made, he nods toward the Bone Gnawer. "Be seeing you." Renee tucks the copy of Macbeth under one arm and walks out of the park. "Nice to have met you, Renee," the pale Shadow Lord says, waving slightly as the Gnawer leaves. Renee steps out of the glade and into the surrounding meadow. Scuro stands up, gathering her own books, and pauses a moment, watching the Gnawer leave, before pointing towards the bench that Salem is on, asking without asking, if he minds her sitting there. Salem gestures at the empty half of the bench. "Be my guest." Scuro nods in thanks, and sits down, settling the books beside her. "Actually," she continues from the previous conversation, "I believe he was a bit put out by my lack of decorum. Oh, how did he put it," she makes a show of thinking about this, then quotes, "To show up unannounced, bearing no chiminage, and having the gall to laugh at my words does not make for an auspicious beginning to your relationship with the tribe." "Yes," says Salem, drawing the word out a bit. He shifts his weight; despite the calm demeanor, he's not truly relaxed. The moon, of course. "Quite a stickler for protocol, is our Mr. Aerhardt." He says this perfectly deadpan, though his eyes are slightly narrowed behind the sunglasses. Scuro nods quietly. She seems quite certain of at least one thing: That Salem will be honest and upfront with her. "He is not like the Lords of home, though...." There is a slight questioning tone in the end of the statement. Salem allows himself a derisive snort. "No. I'd venture to say that he would not have lasted a month there. And he certainly would not have gotten the rank he has." Scuro nods softly. "Thank you." She smiles a little, eyeing the now-Walker sidelong. "Amusing, is it not? That the one thing I should find constant would be you." A faint shrug, and she adds, "But I thank you for your honesty." Salem lofts an eyebrow at the word 'constant', but inclines his head anyway, taking it for a compliment. "You're welcome." Scuro exhales slowly, and leans back on the bench. "It would seem that there are many things I shall have to relearn, here. Things are... quite different." She lowers her voice, "Are there /really/ some of all tribes, here?" Salem nods. "Fascinating, isn't it?" He shifts his weight against the bench again, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. "There's even a Stargazer who decided not to join the rest of his tribe. And a Talon somewhere out in the woods." Like her, he keeps his voice lowered. Scuro whistles low, and nods. "Fascinating indeed. So would you say it is a place of misfits or of extreme individuals?" Salem considers the question. "It does tend to _attract_ misfits, to be sure. And..." He rubs at his bearded chin for a moment, thoughtfully, and then shrugs. "It's a unique place. Every tribe, and somehow... _somehow_... the Sept manages not to tear itself apart." "Evlevel butne," the white-haired woman speaks in a strange dialect. "It is a saying amongst my father's people.... 'Union is the source of success.'" She shrugs faintly, "Something that I believe each tribe tries to do, and somehow fails. Perhaps the answer is to cease being so very xenophobic and balace each other out." She chuckles, "But then, balance. Leave it to me to speak of balance, yes?" "Mm. Yes." Salem's eyes narrow faintly. "I didn't tell you, did I?" Scuro tilts her head towards the Walker. "Tell me what?" Salem pauses a heartbeat before answering. "I renounced my auspice last year." He studies her face carefully, his expression unreadable. Scuro blinks, then a slow smile spreads across her face. "Fascinating! Shall I guess to what you have changed? Or you would prefer just to say?" Salem cocks his head, his gaze still held steadily on her. "Hm. Well, you _do_ have a one in four chance..." He sits up. "Go ahead." Scuro rubs her hands together lightly, gazing intently at the now Walker. "Unless you've taken leave of your senses, I can rule out the total lack of moon. As to a shaman, there's only a slight chance. A talesinger... perhaps." She narrows her gaze for a moment, then exhales. "It would simply have to be half, or singer. I would, honestly, have to observe you more to determine which specifically. Although, the only reason I would go with singer would be the closeness to your former." "Too close," admits the Walker, with a slightly rueful hint to his voice. "No, I follow the half-moon's path now." Scuro's blue eyes gleam. "Ironic... but perhaps not, yes?" She shrugs faintly, "I have to say, while I do believe there are reasons for us to be born how and where we are, I think there are some things that have to change. Who is to say who or what I would be, had I not been near your sept at my Changing." Salem grunts. His hands come up to his head, fingers raking back through the long black hair, gathering it, however briefly, away from his scarred face. "Do you regret it?" "Yes and no," comes the Shadow Lord's measured reply. "No, because of the experiences that I have learned from, and yes, because of the experiences that I have lost." Salem accepts the answer with a slight nod. "Difficult to have both, alas," he says dryly. Scuro nods. "Of course. Still, when ones own elders are questioning who and what you are, then they are supposed to know, it give one cause to wonder." She chuckles lightly, and shrugs. Salem's gaze seems to linger on the Shadow Lord rather overlong after that. Studying her face, her hair, her eyes. "I did wonder," he says slowly. "But I'm the last person to pry into someone else's sordid past." He inserts the mildest touch of self-deprecation there, almost unnoticable. Scuro chuckles softly. "I, myself, have no idea. Based on pure genealogy, I'd suspect some latent throwback to Stargazer due to the Communists wiping out all the monks in Mongolia well before my birth. My mother, however, was Swiss. Make of that what you will. I certainly am not certain of it." She shrugs, "And mind you, /you/ know the Old World. I was distrusted before my, ah, rather extreme purification,.." she pauses and touches her hair, lightly, "... but to return and /look/ like a Fang, well, you can imagine that both tribes had no idea what to do with me, other than to shoo me away." "Very extreme," Salem says, and the way he says it certainly hints at curiosity... but he's not going to ask. No. Like the man said, he's not one to pry. "Well. If you _do_ decide to stay, you're apt to find acceptance here easier than at most places. And it's far from dull." Touch of humor at the last. Scuro laughs faintly, "That, at least, I have gathered already." She shrugs a little, watching the Walker. Grinning, she adds, "And as to that, I was, quite literally, in the wrong place, at the wrong time." One corner of his mouth quirks upward. "A familiar tale." He shifts his weight again on the bench and then, noticing the faded light perhaps, glances at his watch. Scuro, too, has noticed the fading light of day, and stands. "Well, yes. But being trapped in the midst of the demons of an old stalag while the bloody Fangs decide to strike a deal with something only slightly more predictable than Chaos itself, but, literally, as pure as the driven snow.... and then the two meet." She smiles faintly, "As I said. Wrong place. Wrong time." Salem's eyebrows go reaching for his hairline at this. "Indeed." He pushes to his feet as well, picking the newspaper up from the bench. "Anyway. Has Jarred said anything about introducing you to the caern proper yet?" Scuro shakes her head. "No. I have to wonder if he would rather me not 'decide to stay' first." "Hmm." Salem removes his sunglasses and tucks them into an inner pocket of his coat. His expression's thoughtful. "A shame." He gives her a slight, rueful shrug and smiles thinly. Scuro arches an eyebrow at this, "Oh?" Salem shakes his head. "Never mind." He gives his watch another look, then says, "If you need me, I live over on Elson, at Red Mill. Though I usually stop by the park here as well." Scuro looks softly surprised at this, and nods. "My thanks. When I locate some sort of permanent residence, I shall be happy to inform you. Other than that, I will try to keep wandering through here at twilight, in case anyone should ever want to find me." Salem inclines his head slightly. "Good. Until then... be seeing you." He turns to go. Scuro nods in farewell, also. "Good evening. Walk well." Salem returns the nod, then heads across the park, moving toward the street.