Kaz Returns

[hazlogs]

Date: 10/27/02

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 49
degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the west at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.11 and
rising, and the relative humidity is 83 percent. The dewpoint is 44
degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Harbor Park -- Fountain

The ex-Ronin is slouched on a bench near the river, his coat buttoned and
belted shut, hands in pockets. The long black hair hangs loose around his
face, only partially veiling the white bandage plastered to the left,
scarred, side of his face. Dark glasses hide his eyes, and it's hard to
say if he's awake or asleep.

Kaz isn't loud, not anymore. She doesn't have her flute with her, nor is
she humming, as she trails along down by the river, watching its flow,
almost lost in its own sounds.

Salem perhaps catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye, and
apparently he's not asleep after all, because he shifts his weight and
sits up, face tightening with a repressed wince. He mutters, "Shit."

Kaz remains where she is. There's something in her posture, a hesitation,
a tension, that indicates just how little she actually wants to be here,
in St. Claire. She's braced against it. But she's back, and right now, all
she's doing is watching. (And, apparently, not noticing Salem.)

Stiffly, the Walker pushes to his feet and limps over toward her. His jaw
muscles are clenched, his teeth gritted. The smell of cigarettes clings to
him, noticable as he gets closer.

This movement does get her attention, and she turns to look at him.
There's nothing so obvious as clenched teeth or a breath inward, but that
bracing becomes slightly stronger. All she says, though, as she studies
him, is a quiet "Hey."

Salem stops about a yard from the Gnawer Metis, his posture slouching and
head-lowered, less like the controlled, cordial Philodox he came back to
town as and more like the bitter, nihilistic Ahroun she first knew him as.
"Kaz." His voice is hoarse.

What she sees evidently alarms her, as she shakes her head faintly. Tone
laced with an angry, guity bitterness, she says, "Well, hell. It's bad
enough /I/ went to shit, it ain't the right time for /you/ to be doin' it,
too." Polite? What?

Salem's mouth twists into a grimace. He straightens his shoulders and
brings a hand up to push overlong hair out of his face. "I'll be fine," he
growls. "As much as it matters." He shakes his head sharply. "Not
important. Glad you got my message."

Kaz regards him. "Matters a lot, as it happens. And it's also important."
She doesn't, actually, seem very willing to let it go.

The grimace lingers, his whole expression sour. "I know. There's nobody
else. Francisco's missing. Leala doesn't have the experience. John's...
dead." The muscles in his jaws and neck do a tightening little spasm at
that. "The rest... cubs and kinfolk. And me."

"Yeah. I had the luxury of bein' able to light outta here, 'cause I
thought Elan could handle it." She grimaces slightly. "Remind me how
stupid an assumption /that/ is, next time, huh?" There's a pause, and
then, almost visibly nerving herself up, she adds, "He was fuckin' /good/.
Pain in the ass motherfucker, but a /good/ one. I'm sorry."

Salem lowers his head, looking away from her and toward the river. "A
smug, arrogant bastard," he says, with a certain touch of irony. "But...
yes. He was." He pauses a beat. "It wasn't your fault, though. It was a
good challenge." His voice is leaden.

Kaz immediately lowers her head and stuffs her hands in her pockets,
avoiding his gaze even if he's not looking at her. "Fuck," she mutters,
voice suddenly hoarse. "Fuckin' shit. Thank you for readin' my damn
/mind/, you asshole. It /was/, but /Christ/..." She trails off.

Salem twists his lips into a crooked, utterly humorless smile; the
funereal mood suits him all too well. "Shit happens," he says, turning his
gaze back to her. "Do you know if the rest of the pack is back yet?"

Kaz shrugs. "The fuck do I know?" She sounds sullen; she corrects herself
quickly, though. Job, yes. Must do job. "Yeah. Raeye reported t'Sepdet,
while I was there. I couldn't tell you what she said to save my life,
though." This admission appears to gall her. "Other than that they din'
get th' bodies, an' that her, Jarred an' Seeker all exercized the better
part of valor."

"Raeye." Salem lifts his head, staring pensively out at the river again.
"Raeye, Jarred, Seeker, John... Chaser. Chaser was the other, then." A
beat. "Shit. Drew."

Kaz says, grimly, "Yeah. I found out last night, an', well, I ain't gone
over there yet. But I gotta, sometime. Her and Rina got a right t'be at
them Gatherings."

"Yes," Salem says, just as grimly, if not moreso. "The entire family
should be there. Kin, too. Christ." He removes the sunglasses and rubs at
bloodshot, shadowed eyes. "Rina wants to be the one to tell Drew. She
asked me, that if it turned out to be Chaser, to let her be the one."

Kaz thinks about that. "...Ok," she eventually says. "Makes sense. Is
she..." The metis trails off. "Well, is she suicidal?"

Salem replaces the sunglasses and looks at her. "Who, Rina?" Like there's
anyone else.

Kaz says, "Yeah. Who /else/? I mean, it ain't like Rhiannon's gonna be all
broke up about this."

Salem snorts. His shoulders hunch into a shrug, lines of tension drawn
over his face. "Rina will survive. At least..." He exhales a sigh. "At
least she won't be trying to _actively_ destroy herself. But she's... you
know how she is."

Kaz nods. "Right. Yeah. If I stick around, I'll... keep an eye out f'her."

Salem tilts his head, cocking the good eye down at her. "What are the
chances of that?" he asks. His tone isn't accusatory; it sounds like an
honest question. "Of you sticking around?"

This is Kaz, and she's into honesty. "I dunno, Salem. It hurts. Every time
I look at somethin', it hurts. I'm a fuckin' mess still, an' it ain't like
San Fran don't still need help. But..." She trails off. "Elan ain't worth
shit, and Renee as an Elder ain't anyone I'd stake anything on, and..."
She shrugs, hands still stuffed into her pockets. "I'll see."

Salem's upper lip curls at mention of Renee, but he just nods a reply
without speaking of the rageful young Galliard. "Fair enough. Maybe you
can Rite Lyra at least, while you're here."

Kaz says, voice thick with amused bitterness, "If I knew the Rite, yeah. I
kept meanin' t'learn it an' didn't. /Renee's/ learnin' it now." She shakes
her head. "But sure as shit Lyra's ready. So's your kid."

"You mean Quentin?" Salem nods once. "Yes. He is. I plan to put him to the
test soon. Next month." Speaking of the future has a dull, wooden feel,
from him, like a machine chugging along on automatic.

Kaz says, "Good." There's a pause, and then she says, "Once you figure out
when y'all're doin' the Gatherin', call me. I'll spread it. Meanwhile,
since I'm here, I'm gonna go patrol."

Salem acknowledges this with a grunt and another nod. "If you get a
moment, I have another cub I want you to meet. Nothing pressing, though."

Kaz pauses. "Yeah? Whozzat?"

"His name's Cat. Theurge." A humorless smile twitches at the corners of
his mouth. "A bit timid. He's staying at my place, if you want to go
visiting. If he asks for a password, it's 'John Smith'." The sardonic,
bitter edge in his voice thickens.

Kaz blinks. "Ok. Me dealin' with someone timid. That oughta be fun." She
shrugs, gives the man something resembling a wry smile, and heads out.

"Indeed." The smile, thin as it is, vanishes as the Gnawer heads off, and
his expression turns flat. After a moment, he pulls the coat closer around
himself and limps back toward the bench to watch the river some more.