Renee's Condition

[hazlogs]

Date: Dec 7, 2002, Saturday. Right after previous log.

Barnyard

The lane wends its way back and around the farmhouse to here, where it widens into a broad, grassy sward contained only by the woods which encircle it on three sides. Buildings break up the purity of the landscape: an open-sided structure which serves as a garage and the big barn, empty of livestock, to the east. A good-sized vegetable and herb garden furrows the land south of the barn, while a pyramid-like pile of rocks, of similar consistency to the gravel of the lane, rests a few yards south of the garage.

North of the buildings, the fields have long been fallow, hastening a conversion from farmland to natural prairie. A sliding glass door allows admittance to the farmhouse, the interior obscured by Levolor(tm) blinds in a wood-grain pattern. The lane leads out around the house to the southwest. The discerning can just barely pick out the beginnings of a faint path into the woods towards the southeast.

Renee has made her way over to the barn and is poking her head though the wooden doors, squinting into the darkness.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is foggy. The temperature is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.26 and steady, and the relative humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.)

Salem is still in his shirtsleeves, his face tight against the cold. He spots her after a moment's look around the barnyard and calls her name. "Renee."

Renee huhs, pulling her head out of the barn an looking in the Walker's direction. "Yea? Need somethin'?"

Salem gives her one of those thin, tight little smiles as he approaches, utterly humorless. "Wanted to talk to you," he says evenly. He nods toward the barn. "In private."

Renee's lips press together in a tight frown, eyes puzzled. With a shrug, she moves into the barn.

Renee opens one of the doors to the barn, and disappears into its cavernous depths.

Big Red Barn

The barn is built in the old style, a vast three level structure that is greater in height than a mere three stories, actually closer to five. Great wooden posts support the weight of the upper levels and roof, sunk into the hard-packed dirt floor of the first level like a sparse forest of regularly spaced, naked trees. The stalls and flagstones which once were here have been torn out to leave a rather open area where even crinos Garou may roam freely without fear of running into anything but the supports or the walls or the ladder at the back which allows access to the other two levels.

The first two levels are relatively open to each other, the second being only little wider than a catwalk going around all the walls but the front one, which has massive, twenty foot tall doors set into it. The third level is a true second floor except for a place cut out that allowed hay to be tossed down to the ground floor when the farm was actually worked. Now, it is a hayloft where Garou can sleep outside of the house.

Renee reaches the back of the barn and leans against the ladder that leads into the loft, arms crossed. "So, whatcha want ta talk with me about?"

Salem slides the door closed behind him and flicks on one of the interior lights; the bulb is harsh, its light stark. He pauses a moment to listen and then, satisfied that there's no one lurking in the hay, turns to her, arms folded across his chest. "Who's the father?" His expression is neutral, unreadable.

Renee blinks, expression falling into one of complete shock. "Excuse me?"

Salem repeats the question like he has all the patience in the world. "Who is the father? Or was this a case of immaculate conception?"

Renee scowls, drawing her familiar irritability around her like a protective cloak. "I don't know what you're talking about," she states, completly deadpan.

Catherine pokes her head in, around the door. Then, seeing people, pulls it back out.

Salem's lips thin, but as he stands there -- between her and the door, in fact -- he seems perfectly calm. "Don't lie--" He pauses as Catherine pokes in, then pokes out. He frowns, the continues, staring at Renee. "Don't lie to me. I can tell. You're pregnant, and you know that you are."

Renee growls, lips pulling back from her teeth in a snarl. "So? What if I am? Who I've slept with, is none of your god damn fuckin' buisness!"

Salem's eyes narrow, his face hardening. He unfolds his arms and fixes his gaze on her, radiating authority in an almost palpable fashion. "Calm down. And cover your damned teeth." His voice is chilly. "I can only assume by your defensive attitude that the father is Craig. Am I right?"

Renee continues to growl for a few tense seconds, before looking away. Snarl fading. Still, she doesn't answer. Arms crossed and almost sulky in her defiance. What little she can offer up, at the very least.

"Is Craig the father?" Salem's voice is quiet. Too quiet, she might think; the Gnawer's had no reason to expect sympathy from him.

Renee refuses to answer, or even look up. She doesn't move, or make a sound.

Salem lets the silence drag out for a few more moments, then shakes his head. "You know, Renee, I can't help you if you won't answer." One eyebrow, the right, arches up toward his hairline; he cocks his head, fixing her with the one good eye, favoring it over the blind one.

Renee snorts. "Yea right. Like you'd want at help a rabid, worthless, tempermental /cur/ like me." The Galliard snaps, still not looking up. "I'm dealing," she adds in a softer tone.

Salem's mouth thins. "Despite our differences, I've no desire to see you ruined. Does he know?"

Renee grunts, finally looking up. Still not quite meeting the Walker's eyes. "Yes. An' I have no intention of lettin' this ruin me, or hurt him."

"One more question," says the Philodox evenly. "Did this happen before or after you learned that Craig was Garou?"

Renee sighs, breath hissing out past her teeth. "I was goin' out with him before he changed."

Salem nods once. "Bad luck, then. It happens." His shoulders lift and fall in a slight shrug, and a hand comes up to tuck back a stray lock of hair. "I assume that you've already made plans. If you find yourself in need of some quiet assistance..." He shrugs again, his eyes still steady on her face. "Such as a midwife who can keep her mouth shut and handle a Crinos birth. For example."

Renee blinks, looking up at the Walker. Confusion is readable on her face, but other emotions are there as well. Less clear. "Don't plan ta have it go that far."

Salem's eyes narrow. "You're planning to abort?" Suddenly, his tone is less friendly, twenty degrees colder, more like what she's used to.

Renee tilts her chin upward. Some of that eariler defiance settling into place. "I told ya. I won't let this ruin me an' I ain't gonna let it hurt him."

"I see." Salem wasn't being especially gushing with warmth and friendliness, even when he'd made his offer of help. In comparison with his manner now, the Walker might as well have been giving her balloons and hugs. "And nevermind a child who is, let's face it, a potential warrior? Not to mention a _life_?" He grimaces. "I can help you keep this quiet, Renee. I _know_ people. I can even arrange an adoption and fosterage somewhere."

Renee shifts uncomfortably, from one foot to another. "Yea? Where? With whom? Which Tribe? Yer assumin' the kid is gonna survive long after bein' born. Or that it won't kill me comin' out."

"Walker, of course," Salem says smoothly. "And I said I could arrange a midwife for you." He shrugs a shoulder. "And if it dies, then it dies. Gaia's will." He stares hard at her. "Not yours."

Renee growls softly in response, pressing her back against the ladder. The Gnawer feels somewhat cornered and is shows in her posture.

Salem takes a step toward her. Just one step. "I want your oath, Renee. Your oath that you will not abort your child or seek to harm or kill it. Give me that oath, and you'll have my silence, plus whatever help I can offer you. Refuse, and I tell what I know to every Sept member I come across. Make the oath and then break it, and I'll spread the news _and_ decry you as both oathbreaker and charach, without honor."

Renee snarls, all but crawling up the ladder backwards. Her eyes are wide, wild, and frankly, terrified. "You wouldn't..." She looks at the Walkers face, then drops her eyes. "You would," she murmurs.

"I would," Salem confirms. He folds his arms across his chest, standing with all the grim ruthlessness of a judge. "Your oath now, please. And remember that you're speaking to a Truthcatcher."

Renee sinks down onto her bottom, arms drawing her knees up to her chest. "Yer not giving me any choice," she rumbles, not looking up. "You have my Oath. I will do nothing to purposefully harm the baby." Now, the Gnawer looks up, expression unreadable. "Basterd," she growls. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Salem adjusts the cuff of his left shirtsleeve in a completely cold, nonchalant way. "Nothing personal, Renee," he says flatly. "And I'm not doing anything but keeping you on the honorable path. Mistake or no, you have a responsibility to the life inside you. _Especially_ since it will be a Garou life."

Renee rests her forhead on her knees. "Easy for you to say," she mumbles. "Yer not the one carryin' the kid. Or riskin' jus' 'bout everythin', if people found out. Would take me out an' do lotsa damage ta Craig. Kid doesn't diserve that."

Salem pushes his hands into his pockets; there's no visible sympathy in his face. "We'll have to make sure it isn't found out, then. Or that, if by some mishap it is, that the damage is minimized. As I've said, I've no desire to see you ruined. _Or_ dead." He turns toward the door.

Renee's fingers twitch, but she remains silent. After the Walker has left, she lurtches onto her feet and walks out of the barn.