Renee's New Clothes, Chatting with Scuro

[hazlogs]

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.