Dark Times

[hazlogs]

Date: 10/27/02

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 50
degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the south at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.09 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 80 percent. The dewpoint is 44
degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (57% full).

Whispering Pines - Jeremy's Apt

A short, businesslike knock sounds on Jeremy's door. A look at the cameras
will reveal a particularly dour-looking Jack Salem, his hair hanging loose
and a bandage across the left side of his face, and what appears to be a
cigarette smoldering in one hand.

Ebony dosen't open the door, being as he's on the phone. He does gesture
for Rhi to answer it though, "Christ. Well, I hope he's okay, at any rate.
Got a number I can call when we find him?" The Kin seems remarkably calm,
or perhaps it's just a front.

Rhiannon glares at Ebony, but does go to answer the door. Recognizing
Salem, she opens it. "Hey. You looking for Jeremy too?" she says without
preamble.

Ebony scrabbles for a pad and pen, jotting it down hastily. "Okay. Call me
if you see him, ok? I'll likely be here 'til he turns up."

Small, dark lenses reflect the US Marshal back at her. "I told him to go
over to your place," the Walker rasps as he steps inside. The cigarette --
a plain white tube, filterless -- gets brought up to his lips and inhaled
upon with a practiced gesture. Along with the bandage, the halfmoon's
walking stiffly, with a limp.

Rhiannon blinks. "Well, he never showed up there. Or maybe he got tired of
waiting, I didn't come home until pretty late last night." She waves Salem
into the apartment, glancing up and down the hall for anyone nosey enough
to be watching them.

Ebony shrugs, then realises Renee can't see him. Mrm. "Anytime, Ren. Just
keep yer eyes peeled, yeah? Speak to you soon."

Salem grimaces, the cigarette dangling from his mouth as he heads for one
of the couches. He throws a sharp glance Ebony's way, then looks back at
Rhiannon. "Who's he talking to?"

"Bye." Is the last thing Renee says, before the line goes dead on her end.

Ebony sets the reciever back down on the cradle, then stretches his arms
out over his head. "Christ," he mutters, mostly to himself, before tossing
Salem a casual salute of sorts.

"Renee," Rhiannon answers. She repeats her earlier question to Ebony, once
he's hung up the phone. "What did she want?"

Ebony shrugs loosely. "Not sure. Think she wanted to speak to Jer, though
she never said as much." The fact that she caused the...world
war...dosen't seem to have quite sunk in yet. After all, matching up a
grubby street rat with a towering inferno of fury isn't easy.

Salem's upper lip curls. He sinks down onto the couch with a grunt. "The
little bitch. Wanted to apologize, I suppose." His voice curdles with
disgust around the cigarette. Mostly to Rhiannon, he says, "Jeremy called
me up last night nearly incoherent with terror. Said Renee had 'freaked
out' at him."

Rhiannon looks back at the gashes in the wall, then Ebony, and finally
Salem. "She what?" Her voice is low and decidedly unpleasent, but once
she's taken stock of Salem's injuries, she sighs and some of her anger
bleeds away. "What exactly happened?" A look over at Ebony, as if his
phone conversation might reveal some clues.

The halfmoon's obscured eyes turn back to Ebony. "Yes," he says, his voice
flat. "What did she say?"

Ebony rubs a hand over his face before heading to the kitchen to get a
can. "Said she had trouble controlling her temper. Tried to shove Jer out
of the way, an' he locked himself in his room. Wanted to know if he was
here."

"Sure she did," Rhiannon growls, chasing the denial with something ugly in
Spanish.

Salem's expression is dark. Darker even than it normally is. "I don't want
that little cur sniffing around here anymore. She's a fucking timebomb and
doesn't know how to control herself. I am, frankly, fucking tired of
giving her second chances."

Ebony exhales slowly. "So. If Jer's not here, and he's not at Rhi's, where
else would he have gone? Presumably somewhere there's other kin, so he
dosen't have to explain why he's hiding?"

"Probably." Rhiannon eyes one of the adjoining walls, and says, "I seem to
recall one of his teachers from the campus lives here. Maybe he went
there. Or Alicia and Tom's." She arches one of her brows at Salem. "Am I
right in guessing you already explained to Renee that she won't live to
regret it if she ever pulls this sort of stunt again?"

Salem's smile is without warmth and shows an edge of teeth. "Yes. I
explained it to her very carefully."

With a tone that speaks of both years of being patient with presumably
short-sighted people, (he's English, after all), and somewhat of
irritation dispite that, Ebony notes, "How about we concentrate on finding
Jeremy, and making sure he's ok, before getting down to the rest? I dunno
about you, but that seems to be, y'know, the /obvious/ priority here."

The Walker's smile vanishes as he turns a thin, tight frown over toward
Ebony. After a beat, he nods. "Of course." He takes a drag off the
cigarette and asks, "Have you tried his cell?"

"Good." Rhiannon's satisfaction is also cold, and she doesn't warm up at
all as she looks at Ebony. "Finding Jeremy is important, but making sure
Renee isn't going to continue terrorizing our Kin is just as important.
She's undisciplined, immature, and a brat--a violently powerful brat." To
Salem, she asks, "Is it just Kin she's off limits to, or do you want
Quentin to avoid her as well?" No need to mention Cat avoiding her,
really.

"If I had his number, I would've," Ebony responds quietly. "All I've been
able to do thusfar is sit here and wait for him to come back. I don't know
if he's got his keys, so I figured.....wait. I'd have called someone else,
but I don't have any of your numbers either, yet."

"As far as I'm concerned," Salem tells the woman, "she can stay the hell
away from all of us. But she's decided to be elder of her tribe, and none
of the other Gnawers seem to wish to contest that." He snorts in derision.
"Even Kaz doesn't know if she's going to be staying in town or not."

"Well we can start ammending that." Rhiannon adds another phone number
(with the name 'Jeremy' scribbled next to it) to the business card she
prepared earlier before the phone call, then hands Ebony the card. "I
should've given you that the other day, so I apologize. That has my cell
and my office number, and I put my apartment number and Jeremy's cellphone
number on the back." Salem's comment about Renee being Elder earns him
raised eyebrows. "Elder? Madre help the Gnawers."

Ebony heads back to the 'phone and begins dialling. Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring. *answermachinemessage* "Hey, Jer, it's Eb. Gimme a call
when you get this message...we're all kinda worried about you, dude. I'll
be at the apartment twenty-four seven, so just call, ok?" Then he puts the
reciever down and grunts quietly.

Rhiannon watches Ebony place the call and leave the voicemail message. She
runs a hand through her hair in a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.
"First Quentin, now this." She shakes her head.

"Quentin?" Ebony prompts, his tone reverting to cautious once more.

Rhiannon grimaces. "I had to take him out to the Farmhouse. It's on the
edge of the Caern's territory, called the Bawn." She takes a seat on the
couch, groaning as she sits. "A kid from his former highschool moved in
here, and apparently recognized him."

Ebony cocks his head to the side. "I take it this kid knows what Quentin
is? Or knows somethin', anyway?"

"No," Rhiannon says, shaking her head. "But Quentin was cubnapped in the
fairly traditional manner. We made it look like he ran away, but rumors
still abound at the school." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "If he
talks to the cops, we'll have them sniffing around here for fucking
months."

Ebony closes his eyes for just a moment. "Anything I can do?" he offers.
Probably not, but it dosen't hurt to ask.

Rhiannon sits up a little. "Actually, yes. Think you can help me keep an
eye on this kid? His name's Craig. Track athlete, I've seen him jogging
around here a bit. I just want to know if he keeps snooping around for
Quentin." She frowns, and adds, "He also seemed to know Lyra."

Ebony nods. " 'kay," he agrees. "I'll stick to the courts that have tracks
by 'em. Got a description?"

Salem listens to the two kinfolk converse in silence, smoking.

"Average height, maybe about as tall as me. Dark hair, tan, slim. Light
brown eyes." Rhiannon taps her chin, apparently thinking. "Quentin said he
was just wearing jeans and a tshirt. No scars or tattooes."

Ebony grunts faintly. "Got a photo, or anything? Lots of kids out there
like that." He dosen't hold his breath for a positive answer, though,
continuing on with, "What d'you want me to do if I do see 'im?"

Rhiannon's smile is faint. "No, no photos yet. But maybe that's what you
can do--see if you can get a picture. Just take random ones, and we'll run
them by Quentin until we figure out who it is." She shifts slightly. "If
you see him, just try and listen in on any conversations he's having.
Hell, engage him in one. You're Kin and new to the area, so there's little
chance he knows who you are."

Ebony nods a little. "Just as well I had my camera shipped over from
storage at home," he muses softly. "Okay. Let me know if Jer contacts you,
please?"

"I will, don't worry. At the least, you'll need help fixing the drywall."
Rhiannon turns to Salem suddenly, reminding herself of something. "I may
have more UL information for you."

Salem tilts his face up toward Rhiannon, one eyebrow rising questioningly.

"One of my informants called me. He's been out of town, and returned to
apparently find things...weird." Rhiannon shrugs that off. "Normally I
wouldn't think much of it, but one of his associates is a former tweaker
named Ray Scarpa. Despite being clean, Ray is acting out. Putting his fist
through walls kind of out."

Ebony exhales thoughtfully. "Okay....could one of you stay here while I go
out and restock? We're low on...like...everything, and I haven't had a
chance to go out and shop while waiting here for Jer."

Rhiannon nods to Ebony. "I'll stick around for a little while here."

Salem makes a dismissive, go-ahead gesture with the cigarette at Ebony,
his attention mostly focussed on Rhiannon. "Do we know he's using UL?"

Ebony jots down his cellphone number beside the telephone and heads out,
snatching up his keys on the way. *exit, stage left*

"This is where it gets interesting." Rhiannon starts ticking off items. "I
asked a few times if there were new drugs, but he kept saying not so far
as he knew. Ray is, in fact, hitting the weed less often, rather than
more. He just about attacked his girlfriend, and the informant even
suspects steroids because Ray is also a great deal stronger than he used
to be."

Salem glances around the apartment and, finding nothing handy into which
to flick cigarette ash, pushes to his feet and limps toward the kitchen.
"...Which could mean a corrupting agent, to make fomori, or could be the
vampiric blood theory, as we thought." He pauses, frowning, and turns
back. "Nicodemus Dalton. He's a memeber of the police force here. How well
do you know him?"

Rhiannon scratches her head. "Name's familiar, but I don't think I know
him any better than that. I haven't seen him around the courthouse, at any
rate." She raises an eyebrow. "Is he Kin or anything?"

Salem shakes his head, his mouth drawn tight. "No. In fact, as far as I
was aware, he wasn't anyone, really. Except..." He fiddles the cigarette
in his fingers, absently moving it from between fore and middle to middle
and ring, then thumb and fore. "I went to speak to him about some
information Alicia had gotten. It was from him that we learned about the
blood component. I activated Gaia's Truth to check the veracity of his
information and... he reacted." He looks directly at her, eyes narrowed
behind the dark lenses. "He reacted, as though he knew what I'd done. A
twitch. Happened twice more, once during that conversation, then again
during a completely separate conversation on Thursday evening."

Rhiannon's brows furrow. "That doesn't sound normal. I don't think I've
ever heard of a regular person reacting to the Gift." She hmms
thoughtfully. "I could ask Mama or my brother, see if they've ever run
across that before. How did he claim to find out about the blood?"

Salem taps ash into Jeremy's kitchen trashcan. "Police lab equipment, I
think. I can't be sure, because the gift..." His frown deepens. "At first
I thought he was merely lying, but it's not as simple as that. The gift
acts... erratically. With him, anyway." He takes another drag on the
cigarette, exhales smoke. "Alicia says he's clean of taint, but that means
nothing. Even if he really _is_ clean."

"Erratic gift, *and* he seemed to sense it was being used?" Rhiannon's
eyes narrow. "Clean of taint, so probably not a vampire, and definitely
not a fomor. I wonder what that leaves." She shakes her head. "I suppose
he could have used the crime lab, but that'd take some pretty serious
connections on his part. Even I wasn't willing to go that route."

"I've seen him during the day, too," Salem remarks. He considers the
cigarette thoughtfully, leaning one elbow against the kitchen counter as
he does so. "Wizard, perhaps? Or something else." He inhales another
lungful. "If you can find anything more about him, good. If nothing
else... you might want to keep an eye out for him."

Rhiannon nods. "I will. I'll see about asking around, but I have to be
careful. I don't want him catching word I'm asking after him. Last thing I
need is his scrutiny, especially with that odd business with the Gift."

"Hmn. True." Salem crushes out the last of the cigarette on an unwashed
plate and drops the butt into the trash before limping back to the main
room. "...Ah. Found out who the other death was. Chaser, the Get. Drew's
partner." He drops himself onto the couch with a pained grimace.

Rhiannon grunts. "She was Fostern, wasn't she?" The Kin hangs her head for
a moment. "And Rina wanted to tell her, too."

"Rina knows Drew." The Walker suddenly sounds tired. "It would probably be
better for her to hear it from a friend than someone she's only spoken to
a few times."

Rhiannon rubs the back of her neck. "I guess so. Goddess what a mess." She
sits up, stretching a little. "I should probably get going. Maybe Jeremy
will show up at my place."

Salem grunts. "Go ahead. I'll housesit." In truth, now that he's on the
couch, he seems loathe to get back to his feet. "And if you see Renee,
don't hesitate to put a bullet in her, if necessary." His voice is cold.
"Her tribe will be the better for it, in my opinion."

Rhiannon smiles a cruel and predatory smile that can only have come from
her mother's side of the family. "One? Lobo, she'll be lucky if I stop at
a single clip." She stands, and heads for the door. "Let me know if you
hear from Jeremy."

Salem sits up, all the better to shrug out of his coat and make himself
comfortable. His right arm is covered in massive, ugly bite-marks that are
only just starting to heal. "Will do."

With a final mock-salute, Rhiannon exits the apartment, and shuts the door
behind her.

[...]

Ebony pages to Salem and Rhiannon: The phone in the apartment rings! Gasp!

Long distance to Ebony: Salem picks up the phone after a few rings. "Yes?"

Ebony pages: Rhi? No, obviously not. Salem?

You paged Ebony with 'Salem, yes. What is it?'.

Ebony pages: Found that kid, Rhi was on about. Craig. Turns out he's
livin' in the Pines now. Wanted to look Quentin up fer studyin' together.
Didn't say anythin' about Quentin' goin' missin'.

You paged Ebony with 'Hmn. ...What did you tell him?'.

From afar, Ebony grins. You can't see it, but it's audiable. "That he'd
make a great basketball player if he stopped worryin' about basketball
jocks. Didn't tell him nothin' important. Just conversation.

Long distance to Ebony: Salem grunts. "Good. Rhiannon went home. I'll stay
here until you return, or until Jeremy does."

Ebony pages: I'll be back in about...an hour, maybe less. I'da been
quicker, but, the kid...so thanks, Salem, for mannin' the phones, 'n see
you later.

You paged Ebony with 'No problem. Be seeing you. *click*'.

[Ebony eventually returns, and Salem heads out.  Still no word from Jeremy
at this point.]

[Later...]

Salem comes from Jeremy's apartment at Whispering Pines directly to the
building where Rina lives. He limps up to the studio, movements stiff with
injuries hidden under his clothing, the left side of his face bandaged,
his long hair hanging loose.

When the knock comes at the door, there is something dark and ambient
playing on the other side. Her voice calls out from within. "Yeah?"

Salem leans a hand against the doorframe. "It's Jack," he says, simply.

She opens it a moment later--and then blinks, her face falling into taut
concern. Gesturing him in, she closes the door behind him. "What
happened?"

Salem grimaces tiredly and limps inside, making a direct path toward her
couch. The sunglasses come off, revealing eyes that are dark underneath
with poor sleep. He tucks them inside his coat and then shrugs it off
along with the red overshirt. His right arm bares massive, ugly-looking
bite marks that are only just starting to heal. "Fucking Bone Gnawer cunt
decided to mess with Jeremy. Had to teach the little bitch a lesson."

Rina's eyes narrow. "The one he was screwin' around with?" she asks. He
finds himself divested of the coat and shirt; she takes them and lays them
across a chair, watching him all the while with silent concern.

Salem lowers himself carefully onto the couch, leaning back and stretching
his legs out. "No, Renee." His voice hardens with disgust. "Rabid little
anti-human piece of shit."

Rina purses her lips slightly, anger in the line of her mouth. "You want
it wrapped or anything?"

Salem glances down at the marks Renee left on his arm, lips thinned, and
then nods. "If you've got the supplies." He shifts upward to the near-man,
too, a form better suited for healing.

Rina averts her eyes, swiftly; her face turns away as well, to spare him
the sudden tension in her expression. "Yeah." She heads for the kitchen,
dropping out of sight to pull something from a lower cabinet. "Could at
least get some peroxide and stuff on 'em... help it all heal a little
faster. You can hide out here f'r a day or two, however long you need."

Salem readjusts his weight on the couch. "Thanks," he rumbles. It's the
same voice, only a deep baritone now. "She wasn't a completely piss-poor
fighter. I'll give her that. But no real skill."

She comes out of the kitchen with a bowl of water, and a bucket of first
aid supplies hanging from one elbow; over her shoulder there's a
once-white handtowel, stained but washed. Her eyes remain lowered, as she
comes over to kneel next to him on the couch. "It'll hurt," she says
quietly. "And if you bite me, I'll kneecap you."

One corner of Salem's mouth threatens to twitch upwards, but the
expression dies at its birth when he takes note of her body language.
"...Something wrong? If it bothers you, I can shift back."

Rina shakes her head, tightlipped for a moment as she begins laying out
the supplies. "I'll deal." She still doesn't look at him.

Salem purses his lips, his expression rather dubious. "If you're sure,"
comes the rumbling voice.

Rina dips the towel in the water, and fixes her gaze on his wounded
shoulder, firmly. "I trust you," she says.

Salem nods. He watches her quietly, then, one darkly gold eye following
her movements.

She cleans the wounds carefully: just water at first with the rough towel,
then bitter-smelling hydrogen peroxide, the disinfectant foaming up
wherever his skin has been broken by Gnawer teeth and claws. The peroxide
stings, but her ministrations are otherwise remarkably gentle. She never
looks to his face.

Salem bares his teeth, muscles tightening in the lantern-like jaws. He
holds himself quite still, however. Tense, but still. No biting.

"It's not that bad," she murmurs. "And it'll heal faster, cleaned up."
Neosporin is smeared onto the wounds, gingerly, and then she begins
wrapping gauze around his shoulder. A few sterile pads are taped in other
places, and in a span of minutes the injuries have been covered.

Salem makes a few grumbly noises that would probably be more comical, in
other circumstances. When she's finished, he examines her work. "Thanks."
His gaze moves to her face, then. "I spoke to Kaz today. The challenge
pack returned."

Rina lifts her head swiftly, to look at him; shock clears everything but a
tenuous hope from her expression. She doesn't speak, letting that trace of
breathless waiting speak for her.

Salem grimaces and looks away, shifting his shoulders against the couch
cushions and folding his arms across his chest. "The _survivors_ did. He's
still dead." The rumbling voice is thick with regret and weariness.
"Chaser was the other casualty."

Rina ducks her head, wincing, tension flickering across her features. It
takes her a moment to speak, and when she does, her voice is choked,
quiet. "I'll hafta tell Drew." Dread.

Salem looks back at her, pensive. "Would you like me to come with you?"

Rina shakes her head minutely. "I'll be fine," she says quietly. "I
think-- I mean, it might be better if it's just me."

Salem nods slowly, looking away, studying his hands, thick black hair and
dark, pointed nails. "What a mess," he mutters, after a moment. "What a
fucking mess."

Rina slowly picks up her first aid supplies, gathering everything and
taking it to the kitchen.

He sits there moodily, his face all but blank. Thinking, perhaps.

"What... what'd she do, that you hadta throw down?" She busies herself
cleaning up in the kitchen, putting things away. The detritus of destroyed
canvases has been cleaned up, and the apartment itself looks subtly
different: emptier, somehow.

Salem stirs. "Terrified him. He called me after I left here yesterday,
blubbering. Said he wasn't hurt, but that she was going ballistic." He
grimaces, shifting his weight like he's thinking about getting up from the
couch. Thinking, but not doing. "I went over there today, and the place is
a mess. No idea where Jeremy is now... I'd told him to go over to
Rhiannon's, but she hasn't seen him. Got the new kin, Ebony, housesitting
to wait for his call."

The deeply-pitched, rumbling voice delivers the information in a
near-monotone.

Rina's brow furrows, and she turns to look at him, anger in her eyes. "We
don't even know where he /is/?" Then she is spurred into motion, coming to
the couch and pulling a slim laptop out from under the coffee table,
booting it up with the jab of a fingertip.

Salem stiffens at her tone, brows lowering as he turns to look at her,
brutish and half-feral. "No, we don't," he grumbles, irritably. "Not yet.
He's not answering his fucking phone."

She doesn't look at him, but drops to sit on the couch, leaning forward to
type a few things on the laptop. "I'll send some mail... see if he's been
anywhere lately. Let him know we'll keep him safe." Her mouth tightens.
"From her, and anyone else doesn't respect him."

Salem settles back, though he remains restless and tense, his jaws
clenched. "I've already told Rhiannon what happened. And told Renee in no
uncertain terms that if I ever caught her laying a finger on any of the
family again..." He scowls. "If she's lucky, I'll just tear her vicious
little throat out. And Rhiannon, I know, packs plenty of ammunition."

"So do I," Rina says grimly. The keyboard rattles briefly, and then she
shuts down the computer. Standing up, she paces restlessly across the
room. "We gotta get that clear. Nobody fucks with us. We got a war to
fight." A few breaths, and she looks back over her shoulder, not quite
focusing on him. "You oughta get some sleep."

It's an apt observation. He got perhaps a few hours of exhausted sleep
sitting up on her couch yesterday morning, and it's a likely assumption
that he hasn't closed his eyes since then. "I should," he agrees, rubbing
at his right temple. "I don't suppose you have anything."

She ducks her head, silent a moment. "Lie down," she murmurs. "Should be a
pillow around there somewhere." Then she disappears into the bathroom.

Salem finds the pillow and, after unlacing and removing his boots,
stretches out as best he can on the couch.

He hears her steps crossing toward him--and then her hand, light, touches
his shoulder. She drops to a crouch at his side, pulls something tight
around his bicep. "It's nothin' dangerous," she promises, eyes on her work
as she taps the inside of his elbow.

Salem had closed his eyes, but they snap open immediately, his body going
rigid. He lifts his head up, staring at her, eyes wide.

Rina's jaw tightens a little, and she takes a careful breath--steeling
herself against the closeness of the Glabro. "Easy," she whispers. "Just
hold still." A sharp prick at the inside of his elbow, and then the odd
sensation as she empties the syringe...

There is hardly any delay; the floating serenity of the opiate sings into
his system, and the darkness rises like an ocean wave.

A low sound escapes him. A moan, perhaps, or a whimper. He shudders as his
eyes close again, sinking into that darkness. And he's out.

The young woman leans back, wrapping both arms around herself and
shuddering. Then she rises, taking vial and syringe and tossing both in
the kitchen trash. Something makes her stop, and for long moments she
stands staring down at the discarded needle.

The tears slide down her cheeks, slow and inexorable. Soundless, save for
the occasional soft pat as they fall.