Night Wanderings

[hazlogs]

It is currently 21:29 Pacific Time on Tue Jan 7 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 34
degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The
barometric pressure reading is 30.21 and rising, and the relative humidity
is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 34 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (32% full).

Setting: The Wharf District

A dim, flickering pool of illumination, pockmarked by the dark and decay,
spreads beneath a half-dead light at the corner of a wharfside warehouse.
She is leaning against a dumpster, her face in shadow, knees drawn up to
make a desk for the sketchpad--the dull-cream page touched by the last
wavering edge of the light. Just enough to work by, evidently. Her hand,
smudged with charcoal, moves swift and sure across the rough paper.

He's a shadow among shadows, skulking through the wharf district, well
bundled in coat and gloves, his hood pulled up. As intent as she is, she's
likely not to notice him until he's quite near; then the scrape of boot on
pavement betrays his presence, perhaps deliberately.

There's a jerk of reaction, her head turning slightly--not quite looking
over her shoulder at him, but catching details in her peripheral vision.
The hem of the coat, and the toe of a boot: enough to recognize him by.
Her hand stops mid-stroke, and then finishes the long curve... the line of
John's jaw taking shape under her hand, softened by the edge of a
fingertip. She ducks her head, turning her attention to her work, casting
that gaunt face into shadow once more.

Salem doesn't say anything, and as he moves closer he takes care to stay
out of her light. He watches her draw in silence, arms folded across his
chest. His dark gaze follows the movement of her hand as she summons up
the Ahroun's image.

"'Sup?" A telltale hoarseness roughens her voice.

"Patrol," he answers, quietly. "How's Cat?"

"He's good," she murmurs. "He--" Wetness splashes to the corner of the
page, and she wipes it away with an irritated movement of her hand,
leaving a faint smudge of wet charcoal at the edge of her sketch. When she
speaks, though, she sounds touched, the words coming out fragile with
emotion. "He's... really somethin', that kid."

Salem rubs at the side of his neck. "Yes. Yes, he is." He pushes his hands
into his coat pockets and casts a look around over the wharf, unsmiling.
"We've got a new one, too."

That earns the man a glance, and for the first time he sees her face:
thin, shadowed by lack of sleep, touched with the traces of crying. Her
expression, though, is intent and emotionless. "Yeah? What flavor?"

"Gibbous moon," Salem says quietly, still watching the shadows around
them. "Late bloomer, too. Eighteen years old." He grunts. "Quite a little
doubter, too, but it's being worked on."

Rina's brow furrows, and she looks out toward the water. "I'll help,
whatever I can do," she says. Silence, then, her hand still on the paper,
her face lifted to watch the dark river.

Owen is skirting on the edge of vision. It's been a frustrating night, to
say the least, and it has found the Get looking for a way to vent. It has
been almost an hour now and why he's found his way over to the wharf is
beyond even his reckoning.

This man you see before you could easily be lost in a crowd. His face is
rather plain outside of a scar that runs down his left eye, just barely
leaving his sight intact. His hair has been shaved completely, but the
beard and moustache he now sports are blonde. At least 6'4" and
thick-boned, his build is a heavily muscled 280 lbs, giving him a rather
wide stance. He walks stiffly as though constantly at attention. He wears
only simple, almost Spartan, clothing: A faded Judas Priest t-shirt,
jeans, boots, and a jacket that seems a couple sizes too big. Overall he
looks a little on the worn side, yet in his cold blue eyes and in his
stance there is a pride, an almost commanding presence of someone who is
quite sure of himself. At any time that he is not wearing the jacket, a
pair of iron vambraces in the form of serpents coiling around his upper
arms can be seen and, should he not be wearing a shirt, a pattern of scars
suspiciously looking like a bite from something very big can be seen
circling around his chest, abdomen, and back, as well as a patch of scars
on his lower abdomen.

"I'll take you to meet her sometime," Salem replies, with a nod. He spots
the big Get of Fenris, then, and the kinswoman can sense the subtle
alteration of his stance, a stiffening alertness of posture.

Frowning slightly, Rina glances over to Salem--and then searches the
dimness beyond the light, until she catches sight of the Get. Her reaction
is odd: an indrawn breath, and an edge of wariness in her expression as
she watches. A swallow tightens the line of her throat. "Slumming?" she
calls out.

Owen shrugs as he approaches, finally noticing and recognizing the other
two. "I dunno," he mutters, hands gesturing a bit as they look for
something to do. He nods at Salem. "Territory? Sorry, been a while since
I've been out this way."

"Quite all right," the Philodox replies, with guarded courtesy. "What
brings you out all this way?" He folds his arms across his chest.

Rina only watches with her shadowed eyes, her gaze oddly intent. The
sketch lies dormant and half-finished in her lap.

Owen shrugs again, managing to stuff his hands into his jacket pockets.
"To tell you the truth, I've no idea." He then nods at Rina. "Been a
while."

Salem's gaze shifts from the Get to the kinswoman and back again, but his
expression doesn't change from its guarded neutrality.

Rina echoes the gesture carefully. "Yeah." She doesn't take her eyes from
the man, studying him. "You been livin' out east, yeah?"

Owen nods to that. "Aye. Salem here helped me dig a new home for myself."

"Ah. Yes. Little over a year ago." One corner of Salem's mouth twitches
upward in a wry sort of way. "How's it holding up?"

The Walker kin glances over her shoulder to Salem, a wry smile startled
onto her lips. "Not somethin' I thought was in your skill set, Jack," she
murmurs.

Salem glances down at Rina and arches an eyebrow. "One learns to be
flexible, when circumstances require it."

Rina's smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, a little--a secretive curve
that she tries to suppress. Then her attention returns to Owen, and she
tips her head at him. "How're the rangers treatin' you, out there?"

Owen smirks a little. "Holdin' up. Added a few rooms." One hand escapes
its prison and reaches up to scratch the Get's shaved head. "I _am_ one of
them rangers now, Rina. Packin' with lupes for the most part."

Rina's smile turns to a pained thing, almost a wince. "That's a damn
shame," she murmurs, glancing away.

Salem offers no comment. The Glass Walker looks away, his gaze focussing
for the moment on a shadowy movement in the distance.

Owen can't help but peer out after Salem's gaze, but soon returns a
questioning look back to Rina.

Ducking her head slightly, Rina closes up the sketchbook, and pockets the
stub of charcoal; then her attention returns to Owen. A faint smile comes
to her lips when she looks down at the sketch, and it lingers afterward,
bringing a softness to the gaunt face. "So. We shouldn't expect t'see you
around, anytime soon, I guess?"

The shadow turns out to be nothing -- a dog, nosing for food. Salem
watches it for a bit as it moves away, then turns his attention back to
the pair.

Owen snorts, almost a chuckle. "Ain't seen me in months and already
lookin' for me to move on, are ya?"

A low, wry chuckle comes the girl, the sound bereft of cheer. "Just
lettin' you know you're missed." The expression narrows her eyes a little,
but her expression still has a hint of softness, perhaps even affection.
"We need all the help we can get, y'know."

Salem utters a grunt that could very well be construed as agreement, but
he's not exactly overflowing with enthusiasm. "Plenty to be done out here,
yes."

Owen nods, his expression darkening a bit. "I know. Just got done taking a
peek at a certain warehouse."

Rina straightens visibly, interest sparking in her eyes. "Anything I
oughta know?"

Salem tilts his head, studying the Get. He hazards a guess. "UL?"

Owen nods to Salem. "We was on the other side. Spying." The word just
falls out of the Get's mouth, an unsavory morsel. "Why I sharpen my claws
sometimes for these missions I just don't know. Plenty to see. Spiders.
Giant leech spirit producing blood spores. And on this side we saw one
fomor. People in cages looking like they been through some kinda
chop-shop. It was feeding them in cages."

Rina pales slightly, and swallows. "Where is it?" she asks quietly.

Salem's upper lip curls away from his teeth. He mutters something
underbreath in Serbian.

Rina wets her lips slowly. her eyes remain intent, steady on the Get.

Owen jerks a thumb in a general direction. "I think we've got a place for
our next revel."

Salem shifts a glance down at Rina, his eyes narrowing, then looks back at
the Get. "Which side of the Gauntlet?" he asks Owen, all business.

Rina lifts her chin slightly, and flips the sketchbook open to an empty
page; she digs a stub of pencil from a pocket. "Address?"

"Rina..." Salem's tone contains a hint of warning.

She doesn't take her eyes from Owen; her expression is taut and serious,
her eyes narrowed. "I'd like to know, is all."

Owen shakes his head at Rina. "I bet you do. And I know for one that you
don't wanna know. It's just that fucked up." He turns to Salem. "Both
sides."

Salem's mouth thins into a slight frown at the kinswoman. "Renee came back
from scouting that place Wyrmtainted. Not to mention ghouled. She didn't
even get to see the thing that infected her, either." He gives Owen a nod,
his expression still grim.

Rina's jaw tightens, her expression darkening. "Hello. Trying to run a
city tribe and keep the kids outta trouble... I could maybe tell 'em to
avoid the place, until we hit it?" Dryness does not quite conceal the edge
in her voice. "And I'd like to do the same. I kick it out in the city a
lot, yaknow."

Salem considers Rina a moment, then grunts. "Point taken."

Owen sighs. "Werehouse district. Salem, I'm sure you know the address,
down to the nine-digit zipcode."

Rina glances over her shoulder to the Walker, questioning. "Do we have
it?" she murmurs.

Salem frowns. "Right. If it's the same one Renee was checking..." He
glances down at Rina and nods. "We have it."

There is a touch of anger in the woman's movements, as she flips the
sketchbook closed. Her eyes, intense and sharp, return to Owen. "If your
pack's on it, keep us posted on what's up. We got some people who want to
pitch in on that, if y'don't mind."

Owen holds up both hands. "Hey hey hey. Not my pack. We were just backing
up Andrea and her pack as muscle. I think it's becoming a sept problem
now."

Rina smiles thinly. "Beauty," she says succinctly, apparently pleased to
hear it.

"Hence making it a focus of the revel." Salem exhales a faint sigh, his
breath visible in the cold night air. "Who's leading the attack on the
realm?"

Owen again returns to scratching his head. "We just got back from
scouting. Moot is two weeks away. Suffice to say it ain't decided yet."

Salem grunts. "Fair enough." He unfolds his arms and tugs absently on one
glove, adjusting its fit. "Anything else we should know?"

Rina watches again, a thoughtful tilt to her head.

Owen shakes his head. "I hate scouting and backing off clean, but I think
you know that."

Salem says, dryly, "Yes." His hands vanish into his coat pockets, and he
glances down at Rina for a second. "I should be moving on. Plenty of
ground to cover tonight."

Rina looks over her shoulder again, to the looming Walker; she gives him a
small nod. "Night, Jack. Watch your back."

Owen nods after Salem. "I should get going myself. Nothing left to do
tonight but pick a fight somewhere."

Salem smiles thinly at the Get. "Charlie's should still be open. Or just
getting closed. Slab'll be ejecting the drunks." He shares a look with
Rina and nods. "You too."

Rina's lips curve the slightest bit, in a wry not-quite-smile; her eyes
glance down. "Careful where, Owen," she murmurs. Then she tucks the
sketchbook under her jacket and rolls stiffly to her feet. "Hold up, Jack,
I'll walk with you."

Salem hesitates, then nods again and stays put for a second.

Owen nods to them both, mentioning, "Tossing people used to be my job
there. Careful, now." He gaves a loose salute to the two before heading
his own way.

Salem watches the Get move off, exhaling another faint sigh once Owen's
out of hearing and out of sight. Then he glances over at Rina.

With a little roll of her shoulders to work out the stiffness, Rina
settles the leather jacket around her. Glancing over to the Get, she
watches him a moment before looking to Salem. Her eyes narrow, and a
noticeable shift comes to her expression. "So," she says grimly. "Tell me
what we know." Both arms cross on her chest, holding the sketchpad under
the protection of her jacket.

On the walk back, Salem sketches out the information that's been gathered
on NeoNight, as far as he knows it, anyway. The picture's grim enough;
vampires getting cozy with Eater-of-Soul-type banes, drugs that turn
humans into fomori, a girl who murders her family and collects the blood.
Ugly. He tells her about Renee's mishap with the warehouse in detail, how
the Gnawer thought she saw someone in a lab coat but wasn't certain and
how she later denied it, and then showed up at the farmhousse Wyrmtainted
and apparantly ghouled.

Cat wakes up, not with a start, but with a simple opening of his eyes. He
closes them again. But that quick glimpse of the darkened apartment was
enough to send the boy away from any sleep. He sighs softly, pulling his
blanket up to his chin and just listening. Awfully quiet, without the
crickets.

Rina's expression grows darker and darker, her face drawing tight with
distaste. Slowly, they leave behind the dangers of the south side for the
slightly less scum-infested streets of midtown. She digests his
information in silence, when he stops speaking; finally, after long
moments, she says, "Aright. I forgive you." The dark eyes slant over to
Salem, then.

Salem meets her eyes for a moment -- he's walking so that she's on his
good side, as usual -- then looks away. "Mn. Yes, well." He clears his
throat. "Well."

The boy sits up, looking up at the ceiling very far away. For a moment,
like the devil on his shoulder whispering to him, he thinks about finding
a mirror. Then Cat frowns at himself, wondering why he'd thought that. No,
couldn't go to the Umbra. Ever-fresh were the images of an angry Salem,
pinning him against the wall. He lies back down.

Rina ducks her head, then, watching the pavement before her. "We gotta
trust each other. You trust me not to be an idiot, and I'll trust you with
my life... but you /have/ to be able to tell me stuff." She swallows. "I
know I-- haven't been worth it, for a while," she murmurs. "Since-- since
then." Lifting her head, she pins fierce eyes on the street in front of
them. Her voice turns hard, determined. "But I'll do better. I have to."

Salem nods, likewise watching the street, his hands in his pockets. His
voice is quiet, the repentence in it sincere. "You're not a child. I
shouldn't treat you like one. I apologize."

Swallowing again, Rina looks over to him, her expression softer as she
takes in the familiar, craggy lines of his face. "I'm the one who owes
you, Jack... for gettin' me out. And keepin' me alive." She bows her head
again, a flicker of discomfort crossing her features. "It's aright. We'll
both do better." Out of nowhere, a hand slides around his arm, and down,
questing for his.

Salem's eyebrows lift, and he glances down, then at her face, warily. Her
fingers find his buried in the pocket of the big black coat and clothed in
lined black leather. He hesitates, his steps pausing a beat, and then
pushes both hands deeper into his pockets. She'll have to settle for his
arm instead as he turns his gaze again to the darkened street.

The silence is beginning to draw on Cat's nerves, and he shifts position
on the couch. It's lucky he's small, he fits rather easily on it. He
murmur-mumbles the Lord's Prayer, over and over, hoping to lull himself
back to sleep. A golden ear peeks out from under the blanket, where he has
his arm draped about Sunshine.

She slides her hand along his wrist, and then withdraws the touch
completely--giving in, for once, rather than attacking those boundaries of
his. There's nothing in her face to betray feeling, as she wraps both arms
around herself again. They walk in silence for a time, into the Montrose.

A car alarm goes off, somewhere blocks away.

"I'm sorry," Salem says again, without meeting her eyes.

She doesn't look at him, but her head lifts to focus her attention on the
streets around them. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," she says
quickly, tension touching her voice. "You never do." Another silence, as
they cross a street to approach the building. out of habit, she glances up
to the third-floor windows of the apartment.

Salem starts to say something, and then stops, grimacing ruefully. He
shakes his head and follows her glance upward. "Think he's awake?"

Cat sighs, curling up in a ball. After a moment's thought the blankets are
pulled over his head, rising up and down quickly as his shifting to lupus.
Soon a fluffy, furry head noses it's way out; the toy is trapped firmly
between his paws and muzzle, and he peers out into the darkness of the
room mournfully.

"I hope not," she murmurs. "I think he slept through me leavin', I tried
t'be quiet." She takes a thick card from her pocket, and holds it to the
black box by the door until the lock clicks open. "You wanna come look in
on him?"

Salem shifts his weight. "If you don't mind," he answers, rather
deferentially.

Rina shakes her head, without looking over to him. "It's early yet. C'mon
in." She leads him into the building, but pauses at the foot of the
stairs; turning to him, she studies his face for a long moment.

Salem looks back at her, brow furrowed slightly, his expression somber and
guarded. "...What?"

With a tiny, awkward smile, Rina shakes her head. "Just... thanks. It...
it's really good, havin' the kid around." There is something wistful in
her eyes as she turns away and resolutely walks upstairs.

Salem nods once, murmuring, "Good," as he follows her up to the apartment.

With a quiet metallic sound, softer than the turn of a key, Rina slides
her card into the lock on the door. She opens it very carefully, allowing
a thin, jagged sliver of light into the dark apartment beyond.

Cat lifts his head up, ears perked forward and eyes peering in the
darkness that's sliced through with light. So his mind -hadn't- been
playing tricks, Miss Rina really did go out! He's got mixed feelings about
this, happy she's back and unhappy she left, wanting to go greet her and
wanting to stay warm and cozy. Filled with indecision, he barks. Just
once, and it's a tiny sound as most barks go. Hello!

Rina's shadow falls into the apartment as she comes in--with a larger
shadow looming behind her. She heads for the sound, cautiously. "Sorry to
wake you," she whispers, taking a moment to let her eyes adjust.

He sits up properly, ears askance and blankets mostly on the floor.
Sunshine is kept safely between his paws. Did you need something, where
did you go? Cat sniffs, whiskers twitching, before he paws at his nose.
Izzat Salem-rhya with you?

Rina drops to a crouch just in front of the couch, reaching out to pet the
wolf, fingers sliding into the animal's ruff. "Hey... hope you haven't
been up long. I just needed some air." The other arm holds a sketchbook
under her jacket; she lets it drop into her hand, and sets it aside on the
coffee table.

"Hello, Cat. Settled in all right?" Salem, after closing the door behind
him, lingers near it, looming. He pushes back the hood of his coat.

Cat leans happily into the scritching, a rumbly sort of purr coming from
his throat. Not long, not long. Is it morningtime soon? He cants his head
when Salem enters, a slightly disoriented but pleased smile spreading on
the lupine muzzle. This is almost like my dreams, he chuffs happily.

Imagine the color white so soft it's like the world blurs around the
edges. This lanky wolf's fur is soft and long, like a Golden Retriever's
coat, only a creamy sort of white. In fact, he resembles a Retriever in
many ways. His muzzle and face are snow-white with a black nose (save for
the dried blood on his muzzle), and past his eyes the color darkens
slightly to a light, almost golden cream for the rest of his body to the
very tip of his tail. His paws are cream-colored with yellow-brown claws,
which are rather dull, as claws go. His teeth are white and sharp, fangs
gently curving weapons- he could bite much better then scratch. His
underbelly is snow-white, however, and on his chest, crooked and just
slightly off-center, is a snow-white heart in the cream-colored fur. This
wolfpup's not very big, perhaps it's his youth. He weighs somewhere from
65-75 pounds, mostly fur and bones. As cute and cuddly as his appearance
is at first, his behavior is that of something frightened.

"Your dreams?" Salem eyes the canine-shaped cub dubiously. Then he shakes
his head slightly. "Cat, you're being rude. Rina doesn't know
wolf-speech."

"It's early yet," Rina murmurs. "You oughta sleep." She keeps petting him,
gently running her fingers through lupine fur. "I'm glad y'happy, but it's
not even one yet."

The girl gives Salem a questioning look, over her shoulder. "Why, what'd
he say?"

Blinking, Cat pingpongs his glance between the two of them, while
considering his options. If he stayed in lupus, there was a good chance
he'd get more petting, which was good. But he didn't want to be rude, and
he was already quite awake anyway. And they were talking to each other,
nicely! That was good. The cub pulls away from Rina's touch a bit,
blurring through the forms till he's homid again, with Sunshine resting
serenely in his hands.

Salem steps toward them, slowly, unbuttoning his coat in response to the
warmth of the apartment. "He said that this was like his dreams," explains
the older Garou. A dark eye looks over the boy critically.

Rina lowers her eyes, brow furrowing slightly. She isn't petting him
anymore, in any case. There is something in her eyes, when she turns her
attention to Cat again. "You okay? I just--had to go out... I tried not to
wake you."

"I'm fine," Cat assures them, a bit puzzled to the fuss. "You didn't wake
me, I just woke up...it's very quiet." He tilts his head at Rina,
concerned again. "Did you need milk? I helped Salem-rhya with groceries
before. If you need me to get stuff for you, I can."

With a faint laugh, Rina shakes her head and glances down. "I'm good," she
murmurs, a wry smile coming to her lips. "Just needed a walk."

"And I met her while on patrol, and walked her back." Salem leans against
the back of the couch, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "By the
way, Catherine sends her regards."

Cat blinks, smiling with something like relief in his eyes. "Oh,
um...that's good. I thought she was mad at me." Glancing sheepishly at
Salem, he adds. "She's okay, after all. Better than the other girls."

Shaking her head ruefully, Rina murmurs, "Late bloomer."

Salem flicks a glance over toward Rina. "Mm." He turns back to Cat, arms
folding across his chest. "She told me to tell you to keep practicing.
Practicing what?"

"Running and walking in different forms," Cat says after a moment. "I
think that's what she means." He scratches the back of his neck, then
moves Sunshine to his lap. "We were sort of playing tag, and I sort of ran
into a wall."

Salem's right eyebrow reaches for his hairline. "You sort of ran into a
wall?" the halfmoon echoes, sounding dubious.

Rina's smile widens a little. "Happens," she murmurs. With an effort, she
gets to her feet, looking down at the boy. "/You/ need sleep. And so do I,
and so does Jack. It's way past bedtime."

Cat frowns slightly at Salem. "I was in Hispo," he murmurs, a touch
defensively. "And there was hay all over the floor, and I didn't make the
turn fast enough." He picks the plushie up, holds his other hand out...the
toy starts charging for it head on, then tries to turn at the last minute
and fails, crashing into his hand. At Rina's words though, he stops and
looks up at her pleadingly. "Aw, do we have to?"

"Yes, mom, do we have to?" Salem's delivery is utterly, completely,
totally deadpan. He doesn't even crack a smile.

Rina rumples Cat's hair. "This isn't a fucking sleepover," she grumbles
with mock-annoyance. When she looks over her shoulder to Salem, though,
her smile softens a touch. "*You* oughta get some rest for once," she says
gently.

There's a second where Cat's face is unreadable, as he watches Salem and
Rina...then a small, secret smile comes to his face, and without fuss he
reaches for his blanket, resettling himself for sleep on the couch. He
can't help but retain that slightly pleased expression.

Salem rubs at the side of his face, near the bearded jaw, the stone
expression eroding into something more human, more rueful. "I'll try."

A wiseguy's smirk comes to Rina's face, and she reaches up to give him a
condescending touch on the cheek. "Good boy," she teases. The joke only
goes so far, though; her eyes are soft, serious.

Cat's watching them through faintly slitted eyes, Sunshine and blanket
pulled up to his chin. If anybody were to glance at him, though, the eyes
would be quite closed and he'd be quite asleep.

"Woof," Salem replies, dryly. He meets Rina's eyes soberly for a moment,
then glances down at the boy. "Hm." Then he shakes his head a bit and
starts toward the door. "Call my cell if you need anything, all right?"

"Yeah," Rina answers. "Night, Jack." She wraps both arms around herself,
and watches him go.

"Good night, Rina." He pauses at the door to look back. "Night, Cat." Then
he slips out, closing the door behind him.

After a moment, Rina turns and leans over, to kiss Cat on the forehead.
Then she paces over to her bed, and takes off her boots. In a few minutes
she is asleep.