News and a Cleansing

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:44 Pacific Time on Sun Dec 15 2002.

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 south at 20 mph, with gusts up to 31 mph. The barometric pressure
reading is 29.21 and falling, and the relative humidity is 71 percent. The
dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (75% full).

Setting: Behind the farmhouse, the barnyard.

Craig looks around, considerably more laid back than the other Gnawer.
"Maybe they're in the woods?" he suggests, nodding towards the expanse of
trees. "Or sleepin' or somethin'."

Renee growls softly to herself and scratches at her hair, under the woolen
cap she is wearing. "Mabye. Not that I can fuckin' go into the woods. Too
many fuckin' wolf noses."

Craig keeps himself from looking askance at her as she paces. "I
guess...Whatd'ya want t'do, then?" he asks, looking at the empty-seeming
farmhouse, then back to the woods. "Go inside? No wolves in there, 'n'
someone's bound t'wander through eventually."

A familiar and likely not very welcome figure comes out of the woods as
Renee curses wolf noses. It's Salem, tall and dark and bundled up in long
black coat and gloves. He's heading for the farmhouse and is looking dour
and ill-tempered.

Renee's nose wrinkles as she catches sight of Salem, body tensing up.
"Shit. Well, guess that beggers can't be choosers." She begins walking
toward the Philodox. "Yo. Salem. Got an update fer ya. Somethin' ya can
call yer people an' tell'em about. GOnna need their fuckin' help with this
part."

Salem's step slows a bit, then picks back up. He grimaces faintly and
jerks his head toward the house. "Inside, then. It's fucking cold out
here." The wind is tugging at his hair and coat-tails. He stalks past the
two Gnawers.

The Ragabash cub wanders along behind Renee, watching both Galliard and
Philodox with no small amount of apprehension. The boy puts his hands in
his pockets and keeps them there.

Renee bares her teeth for a second, as Salem stalks past. "No shit."
Still, she follows the Walker into the Farmhouse. 

[...]

Renee flops down at the table and looks over at her cub. "Hey Craig. Make
me some coffee, would ya? Fuckin' tired here. 'Bout all I can do ta stay
awake."

Salem eyes the Galliard, then says to Craig, curtly, "Make it two. Black."
Then he heads out to the hall closet to hang up his coat.

Craig jogs after, feeling a bit like he's being towed, then ambles into
the kitchen. "Want some food, too?" the cub asks, looking between the
scarred Glass Walker and Renee.

Renee nods. "Sure. Haven't managed ta eat since yesterday." Digging
through her pockets, the Galliard come sup with a handful of scrap paper
and lays the mess on the kitchen table. Piece by piece, she begins to sort
though the mess.

Craig starts putting together sandwiches and figuring out how to work the
coffee maker.

Salem returns and takes another chair at the table, stretching slightly;
he's likely just come off bawn patrol. "Yes, fine," he says shortly to
Craig, and then turns an eye onto Renee and her scraps of paper, his
expression dour. "Well?"

Catherine slips in through the back door, shrugging a coat off once she's
inside and out of the cold. She peers across at the elders and other cub,
offering a casual wave.

Slowly, the Galliard finds what she was looking for. One one piece of
paper is a lisence plate. A second holds the description of a Honday SUV
and the third holds a name and lisencing information. "Got this shit from
a SUV being drivin by five fuckin' formori. The had some chick gaged and
tied up. Draged her inta the warehouse. Near dawn. Couple of days ago.
Figure thats where the blood has been commin' from. There are atleast six
formor. Probably seven, but I ain't seen that one. Just heard some chick's
voice, from inside the warehouse. Set up like some sorta office in there."
The Gnawer takes a breath. "Thats 'bout all I know. Other then its
somesorta lab. Lotsa beakers an' shit in the dumpsters."

The coffee starts to really brew as Craig sets down a plate of quickly
made sandwiches between Renee and Salem. "Hey Cathy," he murmurs as he
returns to the kitchen, getting a few sandwiches ready for himself.

Salem leans over, his frown deepening, then pulls a small spiral-bound
notepad from his back pocket and starts noting the information down.
"Good. Nice work. Did you notice anything else? Any ideas of the best way
to assault the place, et cetera?" He glances up briefly to give Catherine
a nod, then continues copying, his manner turning brisk and cool,
businesslike.

Catherine smiles faintly, murmuring a respectful, "Salem-rhya," as she
heads over to the table, taking an unoccupied seat and leaning forward on
the tabletop.

Renee shakes her head. "No. There is a main loadin' door, but its locked
solid. Walls are cement an' thick, cause ya can't hear squat of whats
happenin' inside. The shits use a side door. Steel. Heavy." The Galliard
wrinkles her nose. "Been doin' this fer four nights now. Got all this on
the second one. Other night have been quiet." Renee rubs at her eyes,
which are bloodshot from lack of sleep. Nothin' happened yesterday night.
Other then a creepy feelin' of being watched, or somethin'. Almost felt
like somethin' passed right infront of my nose a few times, but couldn't
see or smell shit."

Craig starts gnawing on his sandwich as the coffee burbles behind him,
occasionally taking a drink from the fridge. "Want a drink, Cath?" he
asks, giving the fridge a prod with his toe. "While I'm up?"

Salem grunts. "Probably did. There are plenty of things that can go
invisible, or near as makes no difference." He finishes, then regards
Renee narrowly. "You weren't followed, were you?"

Renee glares right back at the Walker. "Do you think I'd be here, if I
thought that I'd been fuckin' followed?"

Salem's jaw tightens; he holds Renee's stare coldly. "Let's hope that you
weren't."

Renee shakes her head. "Thought..." The Gnawer frowns, falling silent for
a moment. "Thought I saw some short asian hick in a lab coat last night.
Only fer a second. Spent the next eight fuckin' hours makin' certain I
wasn't being followed." Renee grumbles. "Why do you think I'm so fuckin'
tired now?"

"Coffee's done," Craig announces to no one in particular, pouring out two
cups and carrying them to the table. He deposits each in front of one of
the elder Garou, then grabs the cream and sugar and adds them to the table
as well.

Catherine listens silently for a bit before rising from her seat, moving
away from the edgy conversation. "I'ma go out to the barn 'n do some
practice...wanna come, Craig?" she murmurs, offering the other cub an
escape as well.

"Thanks Craig," Renee offers, unsmiling. She reaches for the cream and
suger, adding a fair bit of each to her coffee.

Salem waits until Renee looks away before nodding slightly and taking the
other cup, along with one of the sandwiches Craig made. "Yes, thank you."
He takes a sip, eyeballing the information written on his notepad before
pocketing it.

Craig considers Catherine's offer, giving Renee a particularily long look
before draining his can of pop. "Y'welcome," he replies to the thanks as
he cleans up after himself. "Yeah, Cath, sounds good. Could use a bit more
talkin' practise." Despite his discomfort, he looks unsure about leaving.

Renee blows on her coffee and takes a sip, making a face. "Too fuckin
hot," she grumbles irritably. Setting the mug aside. "You got yer kin
thats a cop. Can use that ta figure out where those guys live. Might be
able ta find out more."

Catherine hehs quietly at Craig and slips out, heading hurriedly over to
the barn

Salem grunts. "Rhiannon, yes. She should be able to do some checking.
Jeremy as well."

Renee yawns and rubs at her eyes. "Was fuckin' weird. Was hangin' in the
area. Jus' watchin' shit in general. Musta started ta drop off, or
somthin'. Felt like I was been jabed by something sharp. Like when ya lay
down on glass, by mistake. Then I saw that chick. Creeped the fuckin' shit
outta me. Don't think I should go back. Don't think I'll get nothin' else.
Fuckin' tired."

Salem pauses, eyeballing the Gnawer again, frowning. "Felt like? Or were?"

Renee drags the coffee over, holding it in her hands. Warming them.
"Looked. Didn't see shit. Probably jus' me bein' paranoid an' tired."

Salem continues looking at her, fingers drumming lightly against the side
of his coffee mug. "So, no actual wounds?" He adds, "And just because
you're paranoid doesn't mean there wasn't something there."

Renee scowls down at her mug. "Come ta give info and get cross examined,"
she grumbles. She lifts her mug, taking a sip. "Looked. Saw little blood
on my arm, but nothin' else. Coulda come from anythin'." Renee glowers at
the Walkers, just waiting for his response.

Salem wrinkles his nose, his gaze steady and cool. "Renee, you're a damned
obstinate little bitch sometimes. I suppose that you haven't taken the
precaution of being checked."

Renee smiles at Salem, which is more of a bareing of teeth. "An' yer an'
egotistical asshole. With his head shoved so far up his ass, that you can
probably see last nights dinner." She takes another sip from her coffee.
"Love you too," the Galliard adds, dripping sarcasm.

Salem's eyes narrow. "I'll take that as a no. Typical. Fucking typical."

"Fuck off Salem," Renee growls. "I've been workin' my fuckin' tail off on
this. I'm tired, hungry, an' all I want ta fuckin' do is sleep. I haven't
even had the fuckin' time ta sleep, for Gaia's sake."

"Suit yourself," the Glass Walker replies, chilly. "Eat your sandwich,
then." With that, he turns his attention to his own meal, apparantly
dismissing the matter.

"Nothin' wrong with me," Renee mumbles to herself, almost defencivly.
"What is it with people thinkin' there is something wrong with me. "
Picking up her sandwitch, the Gnawer works on making it disapear.

The screen door slides open and in walks Laura. The Groundskeeper is
covered with a slight spatter of rain, and her quiver clatters on her hip.
She gives those at the table a quick nod, then arrows towards the coffee,
pouring herself a cup and adding a small amount of whatever's in her flask
today.

Salem looks up as Laura enters. He wipes crumbs off his mouth, his
sandwich finished, and takes a sip of coffee. "Laura, good evening." The
chill manner dissolves into an aloof kind of amiability.

Renee finishes her sandwitch and drains off the last of her coffee. "I'm
gonna crash in the barn. Be there is ya need me."

Laura takes an appreciative sniff of her coffee, then nods again.
"Evening," the Theurge replies, tipping the cup to her lips and raising an
eyebrow at Renee. "Anything new to report?"

"Wait a moment, Renee, will you?" Salem's tone holds a definite hint of
command. Then, to Laura, he says, "You're a Theurge, yes? Are you able to
sense Wyrmtaint?"

Renee glowers irritably and stands. "Not goona repeat myself. Too fuckin;
tired fer that." She jabs a finger in Salem's direction. "Ask him." The
Walker's statment causes Renee's jaw to drop and she snarls openly at him.
"Not this again, you fucker. Second time this month, you've fuckin'
sugested that. Gettin' fuckin' sick of it!" With every word, Renee gets
more and more upset. Last sentence, nearly spit out.

Laura raises an eyebrow. "I am. And I'm able to get rid of it." She takes
another drink of her coffee, then inclines her head to Renee, her
expression questioning and even mildly insulted by the Bone Gnawer's
ouburst. "Hm." She sets the mug down, then crosses her arms over her chest
and starts towards the younger woman.

Renee crosses her arms and just glowers at Laura, standing her ground.

Salem pushes to his feet as well, his chair scraping back audibly. "I
really don't give a damn what you're sick of, Renee," he snaps. "We've
lost this caern once to the Wyrm. My tribe lost its safehouse, not to
mention its Galliard, because nobody checked Glissa for taint.
Agatha-ikthya walked _right into the caern_ and almost got the pathstone.
So, you _will_ get over youself and you _will_ stand there and allow Laura
to check you for taint." He glares at her.

"You know, Salem," Renee snaps. "Someone should castrate you one of these
days. Might make ya more pleasent ta be around."

Laura's gaze shoots sideways when Agatha is mentioned, and her eyes
narrow. "A cub has already come into this house tainted," she murmurs,
coming to a halt a few steps short of Renee and focusing on her. She makes
no further comment as she brings her senses to bear on the Galliard,
watching for signs of the Destroyer.

Salem stiffens, but his temper remains well-leashed; his glare remains
steady on the young Bone Gnawer, glowering. He doesn't respond to the
barb, but simply waits for Laura's report.

Renee continues to stand there, arms crossed and glowering.

Laura takes two very deliberate steps back, tension readable in every
movement. Her hand slips to the knife on her belt. By some force of will
she doesn't draw it. "It's in her," she enunciates, slowly and clearly.

The front door pulls open slightly, no doorbell ringing or noisy clomping
up the stairs, and Daisy pokes her head inside. "Hello?"

Renee blinks, then growls. Still, she doesn't move, or make any attempt to
bolt.

Salem says, quite clearly, "Shit." The voice in the front of the house
distracts him; his eyebrows lift as he turns that way. "Daisy?"

"Don't..." Laura begins, momentarily distracted by the noise from the
front. When it's clear Salem recognizes the new arrival, she returns her
glare to Renee. "Don't give me a reason, ikthya. How did this happen?" The
knife is slipped from it's sheath, plainly visible to the Gnawer.

Shivering vigorously in her summer attire, Daisy opens the door and steps
inside--keeping the door open in the event she needs to make a break for
it. "Who th..." 'Iktha' cuts off her query and she tenses up,
concentrating, form growing towards glabro.

Renee's eyes focus on the knife, growl growing in volume. "Yer both full
of shit," she rumbles. "How that fuck should I know?"

"She was scouting out a warehouse involved with the Neo-Night issue,"
Salem explains to Laura, without taking his gaze from Renee. His voice is
flat. "She thinks she saw something, and said she felt something jab into
her arm. Isn't that correct?" The question's rhetorical. "She probably
picked it up there."

The knife remains out, Laura's grip on it tight. "Then you can probably
still be Cleansed," she says, unable to keep a growl out of her words.
"Sit down somewhere while I find the salt," she orders Renee, waiting to
see if the Galliard will obey the command.

Warily, Daisy picks up a chair by the back, wielding it like a weapon, and
steps cautiously towards the kitchen with chattering teeth, leaving the
door wide open.

Daisy's a decently handsome-looking, average-sized young girl in her early
to mid teens, perhaps fourteenish or so and barely into puberty by a
couple years at most. Deep brown eyes hold a sparkle of inner life and
joy. Her hair is a matching brown intermingled with sandy tones. She
clearly enjoys simply living life to its fullest--but in a quiet fashion
rather than boisterously ostentatious. Her attire consists of a summery
blue ensemble of shorts and a tie-died shirt. It looks a little frazzled,
as if she may have worn it for two or three days without a change--or
maybe even a shower. Come to think of it, she's a little unkept looking.

Renee's fingers dig into her arms and it seems as if she will disobey the
order for a breath or two. Then, with a grunt, she walks over to the
kitchen table and sits down in one of the chairs. "Fuckin' crock," she
mutters.

Salem shifts a brief, sidelong glance at Daisy -- if not for the gravity
and tension of the situation, he might show more pleasure at seeing her --
and then turns his gaze sharply back to Renee. He nods slightly as she
sits down, his face grim and unsmiling. "Stubborn little bitch," he
mutters, keeping a careful eye on her.

Daisy stays in the doorway, in glabro, still gripping the chair like she
might bludgeon someone with it a la TNT Monday Night Nitro. She nods to
Salem, deciding that he's on her side and she's on his, and makes sure the
two other female Garou don't try anything funny. "Who ikthya?" she asks
sidelongly of the other Walker present, hoping to narrow down her
bludgeoning possibilities.

Laura puts her knife away long enough to rummage through the kitchen.
Eventually she turns up a container of salt. She tastes it, then slips it
into her pocket and turns to Renee and the others. "Other participants are
welcome. There's more room in the barn for this, though." She's marginally
calmer-no longer snapping, anyway, though she continually rolls out her
shoulders.

Renee just glowers at the new arrival. "Oh, put that fuckin' thing down.
I'm not goin' anywhere. And I'm /NOT/ /ikthya/, for Gaia's sake."

Salem indicates the glowering Bone Gnawer sitting in the chair with a
gesture. "Her." He gives the lupus another brief glance, eyeing her
attire. "Hm." Then, to Renee, he notes, "You're tainted. That makes you
'ikthya' until and if you're Cleansed. And Laura's correct. The barn is
better for this kind of thing." He moves toward Renee's chair. "Go on.
March."

Daisy slowly lowers the chair as the scene becomes clearer, then the
theurge contradicts Salem. "Tainted. Not ikthya. Ikthya you kill. Can't
cleanse ever. Great insult. Even to tainted."

Renee snarls at the Philodox. "Jerk," she growls, before standing. Back
stiff and arms cross over her chest, she looks over at Daisy. "Well,
fuckin' finally. Someone who has a fuckin' clue."

Laura frowns, then shakes her head. "We'll find out if she's 'really
ikthya' soon enough. Come on," she snarls, anger building again, then
starts towards the door.

Salem gives the other Walker another narrowed look. "Semantics. Nevermind.
Did you ever learn the Rite of Cleansing?" He makes a 'go on, move'
gesture at Renee.

Renee flips up her middle finger, before turning heel and stomping out of
the kitchen.

Daisy follows the tainted Garou out, but not completely casually--she
might still make a break for it or try to attack. (At least in Daisy's
mind.) "No."

[Scene shifts to the barn.]

The door is shoved open, and a rather irritated Groundskeeper stomps
inside. She's just drawing her knife and a container of salt from her
pockets when Owen speaks, and she's forced to acknowledge that there are
others present.

Catherine pages to the room: Hunter, Takes-Chances and Cathy are at the
back of the barn, fur covered in hay. Owen's not long entered, and the
cubs are looking towards him, with assorted 'respectful' and 'guilty'
postures.

"You need to learn," Salem tells Daisy, as the group heads for the barn.
He eyes her clothing again, and adds, "And, after this, you need to tell
me why you're dressed for July." He speaks to the other Walker with
authority, like there can be no question between them which is the top
dog.

Daisy catches Salem's look and straightens up slightly in challenge as the
underling Walker tests her position. "After, we talk." More pressing
matters seem to demand her immediate attention.

Takes-Chances, just about to introduce himself, stops as people begin to
enter the barn. He ambles back to the other cubs in the haystack.

Salem's eyes narrow at Daisy. "Yes," he says flatly. "We do." Then he
turns his attention to the situation at hand.

Catherine steps over to join Hunter and the returning Takes-Chances,
seeking 'safety in numbers', so to speak. Bad? she wonders, of the
arriving Garou.

Owen eyes the Groundskeeper for a moment. "Bad? Perhaps. Sit and be quiet.
Perhaps you cubs might learn something tonight."

The sinister-gray wolf gives a shake of her fur, letting loose hay fly in
different directions away from her. She gives a short chuff over to the
Salem-rhya, remembering the elder Glass Walker. She gives an odd flicker
of her ears, wondering what might be so 'bad', just before she scratches
behind her ear with her hindpaw.

Laura starts laying out her ritual components-sage smudges, a box of
matches, the salt, and her flask, then eyes the area she will need to use,
murmuring to herself. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, a little louder than
the rest of her words, then returns to sizing up the barn.

Daisy guards the exit with Salem, though it looks doubtful that the
tainted Gnawer is going to make a break for it at this point. She asides
to Salem, "House in city is little hill of rocks. What happen?"

Salem folds his arms across his chest. "Black Spiral Dancers is what
happened. This past summer." He frowns faintly. "Speaking of which, the
last I heard was that you were down in San Francisco, helping them. What
happened?"

Daisy sounds like a broken record. "Black Spiral Dancers."

Hunter gives a soft chuff towards Takes-Chances. What are we watching? Her
ears flicker a few times before they lie back against her skull.

Salem grunts, turning to watch the Theurge set up for the rite. "The
safehouse was destroyed. Roger died in the attack. The caern has, as you
can surmise, been reclaimed." He speaks quietly, not whispering, but
clearly directing his remarks at Daisy alone.

Don't know, the Gnawer cub replies. Takes-Chances looks at Salem, but the
Glass Walker seems a little busy at the moment.

Daisy asides to Salem, "Not good with house. Good with caern. Not good
with Roger. At least he was metis." She hugs herself for warmth, shirking
the lupus form. "Get cold fast."

Salem looks dubious at Daisy's last remark, then shakes his head slightly.
"You've missed a lot. But we'll talk afterward."

Laura turns to Renee, beckoning her over to the ritual area she's cleared.
She digs into her pocket with her free hand, and produces a vial of
yellowish-clear liquid. "This should help you through the rite," she
explains flatly, offering the vial to the Gnawer.

Owen finds a spot in the hay to sit it, keeping to himself for the moment.

Hunter looks up to Owen-rhya, looking a bit puzzled as the scene unfolds.
The young lupus goes weary of trying to form words in wolf-tongue and she
shifts into her birth-form and plops herself down next to the Get of
Fenris Ahroun. She leans over and murmurs, "What are they doing, -rhya?"
she asks curiously.

Whatever this is, it doesn't look good. Takes-Chances shifts back to Homid
and sits back in the hay, watching the Fury Theurge with a good deal of
mistrust.

Owen sucks on a tooth for a second. "If I'm not mistaken, either that one
there is tainted and needs cleansing, or Salem's about to get laid. My
money's on the former."

Kansas looks confused at the word 'cleansing'. "You mean that she needs a
bath?" the Get of Fenris cub asks quietly, although Renee could probably
used both of them. Not that the Get of Fenris is going to say anything, of
course.

Renee takes the vial and eyes it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Drink it, then sit down," comes the reply as Laura sets about opening the
container of salt. "It will keep you from assaulting the cubs." She pours
some of the salt into her hand, then looks to Renee expectantly.

Owen frowns. "Thought that was my job."

Renee blinks, then glowers at Laura. "I'm not gonna fuckin' assult anyone,
for Gaia's sake." Still grumbling to herself, the Galliard sniffs at the
bottle contents, before downing them.

Renee makes a face, then pockets the vial. She sits down on the barn's
floor, arms crossed and glaring at everyone in general.

Kansas catches the assaulting cubs comment and gives a huff. Then she
looks to Owen, "So, who are you?" she asks. Renee's little outburst goes
completely ignored.

Salem folds his arms across his chest, watching from his place near the
barn doors.

Laura raises an eyebrow to Owen before encircling Renee with salt. She
picks up the smudges and the matches next. She lights both, then begins to
pace in a circle around the Gnawer. The smoke from the sage is drawn into
the circle of salt, swirling around the subject of the Rite. As Laura
passes her flask, she stoops and retrieves it, pouring some of the
contents over her fingers and flicking the liquid at the girl in the
circle. The smoke and the salt both begin to darken as the Wyrm taint that
can be pulled from Renee is drawn out.

Owen leans a little towrds the cub, speaking in a hushed tone so as not to
disturb the rite. "Owen Hollsinger. Wildfire. Fostern Modi and Jarl of the
Get of Fenris here. Formerly a child of Wolverine, Fenris, Weasel, and now
under the graces of Black Unicorn. Rited in the Sept of the Sentinel and
full member of the Sept of the Hidden Walk, once the Wheel Renewed.
Grandson of Ule Gathering-Storm Hollsinger, Skald and warrior of the
blitzkreig then later hero of the retaking of Dresden, himself a great
grandchild of Otto Dragon-Thane Von-Heisling, Modi during the rise of
Prussia."

As the Rite progesses, Renee's face twists up and she starts to look sick.
Skin developing a decidely green cast. The salt darkens, going from brown
to black. Part way though the Rite, Renee lurches onto her feet and
wobbles a little before regaining her balance. Clutching at her gut and
bending over, she vomits violently.

Salem watches impassively, by every evidence callous to the Gnawer's
suffering.

Craig is as taut as a wire, arms dug deeply into the hay behind him.

Kansas thins her lips tightly as she listens to Owen before softly nodding
her head. It takes a few minutes for the cub to understand the full length
of Owen's title. She curls up her legs under her as she replies to Owen
with how much she knows of her own title. "Erika Christensen but called,
simply, Kansas. Hunter-Killer. Half-moon of the Get of Fenris." The Get of
Fenris looks up and over towards Renee, giving a bit of a disgusted look
on her childish face.

Laura reacts quickly to Renee's illness, scooping up the salt as she walks
past it, measuring a handful, and throwing it over the vomit. Her
chanting, previously whisper-quiet, grows in volume, speed and intensity,
as does the pace at which she moves around the other Garou. She shuffles
her feet a few times, sprinkling the Gnawer with a bit more of the alcohol
in her flask, building the Rite to its climax.

Renee grows more and more miserable as the Rite continues. Wrapping her
arms around her body and shaking, gaze drawn inward.

Owen gives Kansas a more measured look as he finally matches a name with a
face before turning his attention back to the Rite. "Salem, this happen to
all your dates?"

Salem gives the Get of Fenris Fostern a disgusted look, nose wrinkling.
"Hardly," he replies, coldly. "But I'll let the little whelp tell you
herself, afterward. If she survives."

Kansas remains quiet as Owen turns his attention to those having to do
with the Rite. The cub simply places her hands in her lap and watches.

Laura's shuffling and shouting reach an abrupt crescendo. The Fury freezes
for a moment, then turns to the circle of smoke and salt. With a gentle
pushing motion she urges the smoke lower and lower, until it is seemingly
absorbed by the salt surrounding Renee. The flask is opened again, and
Laura exhales into the open bottle before drizzling some of the contents
over the blackened salt. "Done," she murmurs.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Renee sinks back down onto the barn's
floor as the Rite ends. Still shaking and face coated with sweat, she
curls into a tight ball.

Salem turns a dour eye onto the Fury. "Did it work?"

Laura peers at the tarry substance produced by the mixing of the alcohol
and the salt, then tries her Gift once more. After a moment of changing
her angle of sight and scent, she nods. "It did. The Taint is gone." She
picks up her knife and begins to scrape the salt residue off of the floor.

Owen gets to his feet, peering down at Renee for a moment. "Well, she's
gone fetal. Unless you want me to kick it out of her, would you mind
explaining instead, Salem?"

Renee slowly starts to uncurl, rolling onto her back and just laying
there. Breathing shallow and eyes closed.

"Excellent," Salem says to Laura. He turns to Owen again, sparing Renee
not a glance. "She was investigating a warehouse that's connected to the
production of a rather nasty, tainted drug. She got a little too close to
things. But, as long as she's fine now..." He turns to Daisy. "We need to
talk. You've missed a few things."

Owen asks to anyone in general. "Has the warehouse been fixed, then?"

Laura gathers the thick substance in her hand, pouring a bit more from the
flask over it, then stands. "I'll go and get rid of this," she murmurs,
with a nod of acknowledgement to Salem. The Fury rises and takes her
leave, concentrating more on the gunk she carries than on things like
doors.

Daisy moves over closer to Salem, like a co-conspirator almost. "Inside
where warm?"

Salem glances back at Owen. "Not yet. As I said, she was simply
investigating. Scouting it out." Then he nods to Daisy and steps out.
"Farmhouse, upstairs."

[Scene shift to the second floor of the farmhouse.]

Farmhouse: Upstairs

Hardwood floors creak beneath your feet as you step into the hallway. A
single lamp hanging just above the stairway sheds enough light to prevent
serious accidents but allows shadows to shroud the majority of the ceiling
and the several doorframes on both sides of the hall at night. During the
day, however, sunlight streaming in from the windows at both ends bathes
the hall in golden light.

A room converted into a small, private infirmary is through one of the
doors to the west, while the door to the east on the farthest end leads to
a stairway up to the attic. The stairs down lead to the main floor of the
house.

Salem pauses, then enters one of the unoccupied rooms, trusting the other
Glass Walker to follow. "It's been a long time, Daisy," he remarks,
turning to regard her again. He studies her almost critically. "What
brings you back?"

"Only...." She holds out a hand and very deliberately counts fingers on
one hand, then the other, adding them up. "Nine weeks. Back to help fight
after Spirals attack other caern."

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Nine weeks? You left San Francisco in October?"

Daisy wrinkles her brow, thinking her way through the months in the year
and their names. It's not October. "June?" She's not entirely sure of that
answer by her tone.

Salem arches an eyebrow, then shakes his head and sits down at the edge of
a neatly-made bed. "June was six months ago, Daisy. It's nearly
Christmas." His voice is flat.

Daisy sits down on the bed beside you. "Make sense why cold." The immense
missing gap in time apparently means far less to her than it would someone
raised in a culture that quantified it more readily and willingly.

"Indeed." Salem studies the lupus narrowly. "Francisco is missing," he
tells her, "and John is dead." He manages to say the latter without
hesitation, without even a flinch. His manner is grim, but then he's
always been prone to being grim. "I am Elder of the tribe here." His gaze
is direct and matter-of-fact.

Daisy, un-lupuslike, leans forwards and rests her head in her hands, eyes
covered. She stays like this for nearly a minute before speaking again.
"What left of tribe?"

Salem rubs at his mouth and grimaces. "Precious little. Quentin's a cub,
Galliard, nearly ready for his Rite of Passage. I've sent him down to Los
Angeles for his final training. Cat's also a cub, Theurge, who... mm. May
be a while before he's ready. He has potential, though, and as long as
you're here, you can teach him about the city's spirits." He shakes his
head. "Leala's... around and about. Of kinfolk, Lianne is still wary of
the federal eye and is concentrating on her law office. Jeremy's living at
Roger's old place, with another kinfolk named Ebony. Rina's still about,
and Rhiannon as well, and Jessica." He pauses a moment, thinking, then
shakes his head again and stands up, pacing the room restlessly. "Precious
little, as I said."

Daisy rubs at her forehead. "No more shore-cut in umbra. Gone too long.
Lose too much. You," she addresses Salem, "acting as elder when gone.
Hoped John would. But." She grimaces. "You elder. I teach cubs. Rite them
fast." She blinks as she recalls she can't just decide these things
anymore. "If you yes."

Salem's lips thin. "John _was_ elder. He died while on a Rank challenge,
under Dancer claws. I was Beta." He nods sharply. "Teach them, yes.
Quentin'll be Rited as soon as he comes back from L.A., presuming that
I've finished learning the rite by then. Cat's the one I want you to
concentrate on." He exhales an audible breath, pacing over toward the
window, hands buried in his pockets. "He's here until the end of the
month, as am I. I'm on Guardian duty until the end of the year. You'll
have to find your own accomodations in the city... Rhiannon and Jeremy are
both living at the Whispering Pines." He pauses, eyeing the lupus
dubiously. "Do you know where that is?"

Daisy shakes her head negatively. "Will sleep here tonight. Tired." She
pauses and takes a stab at making a joke. "You move from summer to....
Christmas.... You tired be also." The delivery is a bit lacking, but there
it is.

Salem lifts an eyebrow, then snorts, sounding only vaguely amused. "I
see." He pauses, the hardness in his face relenting. "I'll let you get
some sleep, then. It's good to have you in town."

Daisy sprawls out, exhausted, on the bed--whoever's bed it is. Probably a
cub that just got bumped into the barn. "Good to be home. Tell stories
tomorrow?"

Salem nods. "Tomorrow." He glances down at his watch, shakes his head
slightly, and heads for the door back out to the hallway. "Sleep well," he
says over his shoulder, just before leaving.