Getting Tatt Up to Speed

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:35 Pacific Time on Sun Oct 20 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 62
degrees Fahrenheit (16 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the northeast at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.10 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 80 percent. The dewpoint is 56
degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (96% full).

Location: Harbor Park

Salem prowls the park like a two-legged jaguar, his path close to the
banks of the river.

Another rare night-walker is at large in the park; Tatt's characteristic
lanky gait carries her from the streetside. Her gravelly voice is pitched
low as she holds a cell phone to her ear, free hand tucked into a jacket
pocket.

Salem catches sight of the Strider out of the corner of his eye. He pauses
a moment, watching her, and then turns to head in her direction. His hands
are buried in the pockets of his coat.

"...Right... Right." Tatt spots Salem's approach quickly, still
preoccupied by the tiny phone as she lifts one hand in a salute. "...
We'll just have to make a few more deliveries than usual, hey?" The
Strider murmurs something else fluidly in Spanish, pauses, and then says
"Adios" before flipping the phone shut.

Salem arches a brow as he comes up; his manner is grim and tight, though
there's a roughly pleasant note in his voice as he greets her. "Evening,
Tatt. Doing brisk business?"

A brief grin cracks the Strider's expression, and she rakes a hand through
the haphazard spikes of her hair. "Somethin' like that, amigo," she rasps
with a cryptic wink. Her tone sobers as she adds, "I heard about the
Neo-Night fiasco. Mucho craziness, hey?"

"It gets worse," says the Glass Walker, humorlessly. "Or more
interesting." His eyes narrow. "Do you know anything about a man named
Nicodemus Dalton? Cop by day, goth clubgoer by night?"

Tatt slips the phone into a pocket, tilts her head in thought. "Name
sounds vaguely familiar."

"Not tall. Thin. Bookish-looking. Wears glasses with thin frames." Salem
frowns pensively. "He's been in the area for a number of years at least
and used to attend the college."

The lanky Strider shrugs smoothly, moves to perch on the edge of the
nearest bench. "So. What about him?"

Salem paces around to the back of the bench and leans against it, tense
and restless under the fat moon. "Don't know if you'd heard," he says,
"but Alicia came over the other night saying she'd talked to him about the
pills. He told her he'd found out that the biological component of the
blood, which our little chemist kinfolk couldn't identify, was blood.
Which of course leads to thoughts of blood _suckers_." He pauses a moment,
fingers drumming on the back of the bench, silent just long enough for
Tatt to interject before he continues.

Tatt loops an arm over the back of the bench and glances up at her
packmate with nonchalant topaz eyes. "So the leeches are workin' the club
scene," she rasps dryly. "What else is new?"

Salem grimaces. "The leeches _may_ be working the club scene. You see, I
spoke to Nicodemus yesterday. Asked him for verification using the
Mother's Truth. And truth was _not_ something he shared with me. Every
damned answer pinged false."

That prompts a blink or two from the Galliard, and she re-focuses on
Salem. "Smell any taint on 'im?"

Salem grunts, straightening up, folding his arms across his chest. "Alicia
says no, but that doesn't mean a damned thing. And there's another
thing... didn't occur to me until much later that night."

Tatt tilts her head questioningly, her sharp features now set in grim
apprehension.

Salem purses his lips, glancing down toward the river and passing a sharp
eye over the near-empty park before he continues. "The first time I turned
on the gift, he had a... reaction. A damned spasm, actually. Knocked the
table and made me spill the damn coffee over my hand." His jaw tightens;
he gives his head a sharp shake. "Scared the hell out of him... an
accident that almost turned very bad, if you know what I mean." His gaze
on her is sharp, meaningful. "I'd call it coincidence, except that when
I'd regained my concentration and turned the gift back on, he twitched
_again_. Not as violently... but he reacted. Definitely reacted."

The Strider purses her lips, eyes turning distant. Her jaw tightens
subtly. "Where is he now?"

"Right this moment?" The Glass Walker shrugs. "I don't know. I imagine
that it wouldn't be difficult to find him, however, and I have both his
phone number and his e-mail address." He smiles thinly, without humor. "I
was sure to thank him very kindly for his information. Wasn't about to
call his bluff without knowing _why_ he was lying to me."

A low growl rolls from the Striders scarred throat, and she hunkers down
on the bench with a scowl. "Shouldn't fuck around with liars in this
particular arena, Jack. /Especially/ kin."

A figure can be seen climbing up on the berm, and walking along its top.
Every now and then, there is a pause, and crouch, with a bit of dirt
shoved aside, or something picked up and cast aside. From a distance, the
mass of long braids and old, oversized leather jacket might not be
recognizeable. The Gnawer doesn't notice yet the others chatting in the
meadow, yet.

Salem arches a brow. "Who said he was kin? As far as I was aware, he
wasn't anybody. Not anyone's _family_, in any case." He scans the park
again, gaze falling on the figure in the oversized jacket.

Tatt narrows those dark-gold eyes. "Y'mean you and 'Lish are getting a
/mundane/ involved in this shit? Luna on a fuckin' pole..." She shakes her
head, scuffs her boot restlessly against the pavement.

Salem turns back to the Strider. "_Alicia_ got him involved," the Walker
says sharply, the beast adding a feral touch to his reply. "I was checking
up to see if the information she'd gotten from him was worth making plans
on. Which it isn't. For all we know, he's not even a mundane. Once is a
coincidence. Twice puts my hackles up."

Julie looks like she's surfing, as arms lift wide, and one foot is tucked
behind the other as she skids down the loose dirt, running a pace or two
more once she hits the harder ground. Hands go into her pockets, and her
path veers in the general direction of the fountain a ways away, gaze
scanning over the area as she moves. A tilt of head, spying what looks
like two people, her gaze staying trained on them as she walks, braids
obscuring the gaunt features.

Julie is a thin, young woman. She wanders the streets of St. Claire,
living off of what others cast off. Her eyes are crystal blue, and her
long, blond hair, haphazardly strung in numerous braids, hangs limp and
dirty down her back and shoulders, and in her face.

Most times, she walks, head down, arms crossed over her chest, as habit
has her looking for little things on the ground. When she does stand
completely straight, she manages to reach a full 5'2" in height. Three
scars mar her complexion, starting at her nose, and lightly crossing a
cheek. Not deep, but they do show more when she smiles. Scuffed, old boots
now (orange hightops bit the dust long time ago), faded jeans, and
non-descript tee-shirts are her attire, covered by an old, oversized
leather jacket in the colder weather.

"..Then why the fuck did you let him /go/?" The dark-skinned Strider
grinds her teeth visibly, not looking at her packmate. "He could be in
/Brooklyn/ by now, fer all we know."

Salem's mouth twists, upper lip twitching, flashing tooth. He glowers at
her. "If he is, Questing Stone will find him," he says to her, leaning
forward, hands pressed against the back of the bench. His voice is low.
"But I doubt that he is. He's been in this city for _years_, Tatt. He was
here when I first walked these streets." His jaw tightens. "He might run,
but my instincts say that he won't. Not unless he's given reason to."
Fingers drum against the bench. "He's on the police force... I should ask
Rhiannon to keep an eye on him, if she can."

The Gnawer finally looks away, to continue would make her neck crane too
obviously far. Besides, they do not sound too happy, by the tones of
distance-muted words. Instead, she looks down, her pace slowing a bit, as
the constant search for the little things in life commences once again. On
occasion, Julie pauses, to crouch, and pick something up, lifting it up
into the moonlight to study it. Sometimes it is cast aside, other times,
it is tucked into her pocket.

Tatt nods tersely, gaze following the progress of the unfamiliar figure.
"You do that. And I'm gonna pull some strings in the clubs, go do some
sniffin' myself. Paris should be able to dig something up f'me."

Salem straightens again, nodding. Anger bleeds off him like the cigarette
smoke, tightly controlled but no less vicious for all that. "Good. As far
as I'm concerned, we're still near square one on this thing." Again, his
attention shifts toward Julie, and his eyes narrow as he watches her.

Apparently, something pretty nifty'd just been discovered, from the muted
exclamation of excitement, and first she is crouching to pull grass and
weeds away, then standing to dig with a heel a moment. No telling what it
is, but it is big enough to show as a blob in her hand. A bit of spit and
rubbing on a pantleg, before she is studying her new treasure intently.

Tatt nods slowly, arms crossed over her chest as she slumps lower on the
bench. "Rina gotten cleaned up?"

Salem makes a disgruntled, exasperated sighing sound and briefly casts his
gaze skyward, toward the moon. "Ask John. I don't even know where Rina
_is_, except that she's 'away' somewhere. John isn't tearing the city to
pieces, so I _assume_, foolishly perhaps, that she's more or less safe...
wherever she is." He regards his packmate, mouth twisted sourly. "Far be
it for either of them to actually tell me what, exactly, is going on, of
course."

Sepdet glides into the park from the shadows under the bridge, although
she certainly wasn't seen going there. She sticks close to the fence,
scanning carefully for familiar or unfamiliar bodies.

Julie glances up, at the moon and its light, then turns, so more of it
shines down in front of her. More dirt is scraped off her newfound item,
before she lightly tosses it up and catches it in her hand. The light
smack of it hitting flesh gives a fair amount of weight to the object,
very round, and smooth, as light does reflect off it. The hint of smile
does make its way through the slashed shadow veil of hair over her face.

Tatt glances up sidelong at her packmate, with an arched brow. "Maybe you
just don't know the right way to ask," she notes lowly.

Sepdet catches the flash out of the corner of her eye and turns. The
Strider makes no more than a faint odd noise; her exclamation of surprise
was cut short before it got past her teeth. Instead, she prowls towards
the woman, taking an oblique path that leaves her out of sight if Julie's
too intent on her discovery.

The Gnawer shoves the newfound object into her pocket...with a bit of
effort this time, it is bigger than her usual finds, but it makes it
inside anyway. A scratch of cheek, and she's back to aimless wandering,
still in that search mode, though she is keeping an eye on the two still
talking, staying a good distance away.

Salem snorts. "Feel free to try whatever method catches your fancy, then."
He glances back toward Julie, briefly, keeping an eye on where she is and
making sure she's keeping her distance. Then he turns back to Tatt. "I
need to be going. I've got more ground to cover tonight before I go to
bed."

The Strider throws up a sketched salute to Salem, with a nod. "Take it
easy, packie. Try to enjoy the night, or something." She adds a wry glance
to the fat moon overhead.

Sepdet seems faintly amused, but doesn't alert the Gnawer to her presence.
Instead she continues on towards the bench. She raises a hand mutely at
Salem as he makes motions to head out.

Salem follows her glance, then snorts, his expression sardonic. "Not
likely. But do likewise." He catches sight of Sepdet as he turns to go and
nods toward her in passing. Then he's heading out, toward the street.

Julie pauses a moment, spying another adding itself to the crowd, but she
continues on, meandering a bit toward the river's edge.