Giving Drew the Bad News

[hazlogs]

Date: 10/28/02

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (50% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 51
degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the northwest at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.11 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 43
degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Location: Rina's Apartment.

He wakes to the smell of coffee, and the sounds of quiet music--Loreena
McKennitt, calming and fantastical. Rina is puttering around the kitchen
in a pair of John-sized pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt. Something
smells familiar: the same sort of peppers-and-eggs dish she made at his
apartment, only this scent is decidedly richer.

Salem keeps his eyes closed for several long minutes, his breathing slow
and regular. Then, with a grunt, he pushes himself to a sitting position
and looks around at the apartment, the set of his jaw pensive.

It smells wonderful. 

Rina doesn't seem to have noticed the movement; she continues to work in
the kitchen, cleaning up the detritus of the past few days.

Salem swings his feet over, planting them on the floor, but doesn't yet
get up from the couch. He finds himself rubbing absently at the inside of
his arm, running his thumb over the place where the needle went in. He
stops that with a grimace, shakes his head, and stands.

The needlemark is long gone, of course. But the mind within the flesh
remembers it.

Rina glances over her shoulder--and then gets down a coffee mug from the
cabinet. Her voice is quiet, when she finally speaks... and she doesn't
look back to him again. "You okay?" The sound of the coffee pouring
follows.

"Fine," comes the rumbling voice. He prowls over toward the kitchen, his
jaw set. Subtle nuances of his expression indicate unease... if she were
looking. The tone of his voice is subdued. "What time is it?"

The cuttings on her arms are healing; the recent damage to her back is
mercifully hidden by the old t-shirt, though a few lines are visible
through the thin worn-cloth. Her back remains turned to him. "Ten or so.
Thought about waking you for dawn, in case y'do that thing... but you were
pretty much under, so I letcha sleep it off." She slides a cup aside, into
his sight. "Coffee?"

Salem folds his arms loosely across his chest and leans against the wall,
watching her broodingly. "I probably needed it," he allows. "And coffee
sounds good."

Rina picks up the cup and turns, offering it to him. Her eyes remain
averted, though, from the sight of him in Glabro. "I found Jer," she says
quietly.

Salem's face twists into a sharp grimace. "Oh, fuck this," he growls, and
shapeshifts; the hand that takes the cup from her is human-sized and
human-shaped, and the voice that speaks is Salem's normal low tenor.
"Better?"

She flinches at the outburst, her shoulders hunching. "You need to heal,"
she says quietly. "And rest. I told you, it's *fine*." Her jaw tightens
the slightest bit, at that last.

His mouth curves into a bitter, humorless smile, knife-thin, no teeth.
"Fine. Of course. So why can't you look at me?"

Rina lets out a breath, exasperated. "Christ," she mutters. "Okay, your
choice. Cope with me not looking, or heal. I /figured/ you'd pick the
/sensible/ one. My bad." She picks up her own cup of coffee and paces out
of the kitchen. "Peppers and eggs in the oven."

Salem shakes his head, the grimace returning, irritability settling in.
"Fine." He sounds a little exasperated himself.

"I'm goin' over to tell Drew today, if you wanna go." Her voice is quiet,
subdued. "After a shower and stuff. Eat something." She heads for the
shower, and after a while he hears the water running.

Salem watches her go, scowling, then shakes his head. He breaks his fast
in a dour mood, and after she's done in the shower does some washing up
himself, as much as possible. It shortly becomes clear that he intends to
accompany her to Drew's. His mood settles into a low, dour smoldering.

He /doesn't/ have to watch her cross the apartment in a towel; evidently
she's had enough forethought to put her clothes in the bathroom, to change
into. She checks the cartridge in the .45, and throws on the double
holsters. "You sure you can do this?" she asks quietly. "Without flippin'
out?"

Salem pulls his hair away from his face, tying it back, his jaw tight.
He's making an effort to pretend that the wounds, still healing, _don't_
hurt when he moves too quickly. "If I start feeling too... tetchy, I'll
step outside." He sits down on the couch to lace up his boots.

She doesn't look at him--too polite to see his weakness, or to subject him
to those ghost-empty dark eyes. "Good. If anything goes down, I have
silver and I'm not afraid t'use it." The heavy leather jacket goes on over
the holstered guns. "Hope the fucking cops don't give me any shit."

Salem pauses to look at her for a moment, at mention of silver. Then he
grunts in a noncommital way, finishes getting his boots on, and stands. He
tucks in the t-shirt and dons the dark red overshirt and long black
trenchoat. He hardly looks his best. But it'll do.

Rina ducks her head, and heads out. She takes him to Drew's on the Ducati,
driving with her usual disregard for life and limb.

[Drew's Apartment]

It's getting near lunchtime, when a knock comes at the door.

It takes her a while, but Drew answers the door with a big smile after
checking the peephole. The blonde kinswoman has her three-year-old
daughter tucked against one hip, and there's an elaborate leggo structure
forming on the carpet of the living room behind her. "Hey," she rasps,
pulling the door open. Little Diana stares solemnly at the pair, bare feet
swinging.

Salem stands hulkingly behind the Walker kinswoman, hands buried in the
pockets of his coat. The Philodox has looked better; he's stubbly around
the usually neatly-trimmed beard and his hair's pulled back in a rough
ponytail. The coat smells faintly of cigarettes, too. His expression is
grim.

Rina looks... subtly different. Bruised, and pale, and like she hasn't
slept in a couple of days. Her expression is unreadable, an emotionless
blank. "Hey. Ah, c'n we... come in?" A tiny flicker of nervousness
surfaces, in the swallow that tightens her throat.

Drew blinks once or twice as she takes in the details of the pair, and her
expression falls into shadow. "Um... yeah, make yourselves at home." She
steps away from the door to accomodate them, a furrow showing between her
brows. Setting her daughter on the floor, she lets Diana scamper back to
her Lego project. There's a purple dinosaur singing on the television,
too.

Rina comes in, and the faintest flicker of a smile comes to her lips at
the sight of the little girl. It doesn't reach her eyes, and when she
looks back to Drew, she swallows again. She takes a seat on the couch, and
touchs the cushion beside her. "Come sit with me, a minute?"

Salem follows Rina in. He doesn't remove the dark glasses, and there's a
certain stiffness in his movements that indicate hidden injury, not to
mention a tension that's not entirely due to it being his auspice moon. He
keeps his distance from the toddler and avoids looking at the television.

The blonde kin's gray-green eyes shift slowly from Rina to Salem, and back
again. It's subtle but visible as the color drains from her delicate
features, and she takes half a step backwards. "Hey... Dee?" Drew's voice
is small as she beckons to her daughter, who looks up expectantly.
"Honey... can you go play in your room with the horses for a little bit?
Mommy needs to talk about grown-up stuff."

Diana hops up, red curls flouncing as she looks curiously at the guests
again. "..okay," she says amiably, grabbing a pair of toy cars as she goes
scampering down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

Rina sits tense on the edge of the couch, and holds out a hand to the
woman. "C'mere," she whispers.

Salem paces a circle around the lego structure like a careful giant, then
crosses over to stand next to the couch.

Drew's narrow shoulders flinch visibly, and she wraps both arms around
herself. Her gaze is wary, slightly wild-eyed as she shakes her head once.
"..Tell me," she demands hoarsely. It looks as though she's holding her
breath.

Rina's hand drops, and she leans forward, both elbows on her knees.
"Chaser didn't come back," she says quietly, her head bowed. The blank
eyes stare at the floor. "I'm sorry." Taking a breath, she lifts her head.

Salem takes his hands out of his pockets and folds his arms across his
chest, watching Drew from behind shadow-dark lenses.

Rina's dark eyes are bleak, empty. The soul that sparked once behind them
is nowhere to be seen.

Drew blinks once, with the look of some animal caught in onrushing
headlights. Uncomprehending, she stares wordlessly at Rina. Something
about her seems to shrink and curl in on itself, although she never moves.

Salem shifts his weight restlessly and looks away for a moment, his
shoulders tightening.

Rina takes a careful breath, and bows her head. This is harder, this part.
"Gianni--" Her voice breaks on the sound of his name, a telltale slip
before she can manage to speak the evil. She swallows, thickly this time,
and gives a quick shake of her head.

"John didn't come back either." Salem's delivery is flat, his voice void
of emotion.

Rina looks up, her eyes empty and bleak.

Something shifts coldly behind Drew's eyes, as she looks towards the
Garou. The fine line of her jaw hardens, her voice low and almost
accusatory. "I don't believe you."

Salem stiffens, turning to look back at the blonde, the muscles in his jaw
tightening. "I wouldn't lie about this."

Rina's voice is hoarse, unsteady. "Drew--" There is no place in her for
tears, none left behind those dead eyes. Her posture is slightly slumped.

Drew's hand reaches protectively over her stomach, unconciously, and she
shivers. "..Tell me it's not true, Rina," she begs the darker kinswoman. A
strange edge creeps into her voice as she searches Rina's features with
her eyes.

There is nothing in the Walker Kin's face to give it the lie. She looks
empty, shattered, as if she hasn't slept for days; there is no emotional
life in that sculpted mask. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Salem gives his head a slight shake, the darkness in his face taking an
even more dour turn. "I'll be outside," he tells Rina, and then turns to
go.

Rina doesn't look away from Drew. From somewhere she finds the strength to
stand up, and she takes a hesitant step toward the woman to offer an arm.

Drew pulls in a shaky breath, but it's not enough to keep her knees from
near-buckling. Unsteady, she lowers herself to the carpet and kneels
there, staring blankly into some middle distance. One hand still on her
stomach, she begins to shudder. "..No," the kinswoman whispers. "No, no,
no..." Quietly, levelly, like some backwards mantra.

Salem exits, leaving the two widows to deal with their grief. And to brood
over his own, over a cigarette.