Junkyard Delivery

[hazlogs]

Date: 11/17/02. Sunday. Day.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partially cloudy. The temperature is 43
degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the north at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.21 and
rising, and the relative humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 43
degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (83% full).

MacGregor Junkyard - Main Yard

In all directions, you see neat rows of piled vehicle hulks, some of them
stripped down to the bare frame, others still mostly intact. THe piles
have been moved recently; pushed to the walls and stacked a little higher
to form a formidable wall of junk. Inside, aisles lead between the piles,
wide enough to drive a forklift down, some of them ending at the walls
around the yard, others ending at one or another pile. Pools of various
leaked fluids appear around drums that haven't held up to the years. Open
sheds are distributed around the yard, with loose parts smaller than full
engines neatly shelved in the sheds. This part of the yard is set off from
the entrance by the main building, where the office, garage/shop, and
owner's apartment are. A large doghouse occupies the space between the
office and garage doors.

The dog doesn't seem to be anywhere and the junkyard is completly silent,
almost as if there isn't another living being around. When Renee does get
back, she slips into the old office and pokes at the space heater. Flops
down on the worn matress, she pulls out a small baggie with five joints in
it. Handing one to Craig, she pulls out one for herself and lights up.

Salem enters the junkyard openly, quite unlike his last visit. The
Walker's coat is buttoned up against the cold, though the hood's down. He
walks briskly, hands in pockets, heading first for the office. It's not
long before he's knocking on the door.

Renee pages to the room: We're in the Garage. Renee's 'room' consists of
an unused office in the back, a matress, blankets, and a space heater. :>

Craig takes the lighter and gets his own going with a bit of difficulty.
At the knock, he glances at Renee. "Expectin' anyone?"

Renee scowls, rolled paper held loosely between two fingers. "No." She
pokes her head out of her room and heads out into the garage, toward the
sound of the knock. It doesn't take her long to find him, knocking on the
Garage's office door. Which is near the front entrance of the building.
"Hey, Salem, whatcha doin' here?" Since its only the Walker, Renee
continues smoking. Putting the joint in her mouth and inhaling deeply.

"Morning, Renee." Salem's all business, full-moon rage twitching under his
flesh but well-leashed. He unbottons the top of his coat and reaches
inside for the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes; the gloved hand
emerges with a sealed envelope, which he offers out to her. Her name's
written on it in a careful, precise hand. John's.

Craig gets up as well, though he only goes as far as the door that joins
the office to the garage. His joint is left lit as well, though he doesn't
keep smoking it. It dangles between his fingers as he watches the
exchange.

A slim young man, just past a growth spurt. He's average height, with
almost no solid muscle. His body is sleek, rather than bulky. Shaggy brown
hair verging on black tops his head, and he's quite tan. His eyes are
hazel, though that really depends on the light. Most often, they look grey
or brown. He has no obvious scars or tattoos. His everyday clothes consist
of t-shirts (usually bearing the logo of a NBA team), runners and jeans.

Renee leaves the joint in her mouth, as she takes the envelope. After a
brief inspection, she slips it into a jacket pocket. "Thanks. Don't know
why he'd leave me somethin', personally." The girl shrugs, her own Rage
muted by the cannabis.

Salem simply shrugs. "I'm sure I don't know." His chin lifts slightly as
he looks past her toward her guest; his expression doesn't change. Turning
back to Renee, he says, "If you need anything, you know how to reach me."
He makes as if to go.

Craig's eyes drop when Salem looks at him. He doesn't seem conscious of
the action, and quickly finds somewhere else to look. That's an
interesting rack of tools over there...

Renee nods. "Yea, I do." The Gnawer turns, to go back to her 'room'. She
stops a few steps away from Salem and turns back around to look at him for
a few seconds, before continuing on her way. "Hey, Craig. Sorry 'bout
that."

Salem fastens up the top of his coat and departs, without fuss or fanfare.

Just before he leaves...

Renee pages: Mindspeak. "Might want ta talk with Jarred, about being nice
ta kin of other Tribes. He ran inta Ebony. Basicly told Eb he was kin and
has to follow any orders, any Garou give him. Implied somethin' nasty
might happen, if Eb didn't."

Renee gets to see Salem's face to a little mental twitch when the Gift is
used, but otherwise he shows no reaction.