Walk and Talk

[hazlogs]

It is currently 22:43 Pacific Time on Thu Jan 30 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 12 mph, with gusts up to 23 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.92 and rising, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (12% full).

Regan Avenue West, Downtown

For two or three blocks, between Thirteenth and Fifteenth Streets, red-brick apartment buildings alternate with the occasional small, struggling side garden or a small business. A pizza parlor decorates the corner of one intersection, and a relatively prosperous deli takes up space at another. Along one street, a fire station interrupts the other buildings, small but obviously in good condition from frequent need. Graffiti shows on sidewalks and on a few of the buildings, but is not prevalent. The road has been paved sometime within the last few years, to judge by the lack of potholes.

Rina knows she has company, and eventually tires of that feeling of being watched--so in the end, she turns and crosses her arms and waits. There's a slight clenching of her jaw, as the tall man approaches her. The one who talked to her at the Temple, that lean fellow with the white-blond hair. "If y'not here to kill me," she begins, "then what--"

The blond man speeds his steps, and reaches out to lay fingers on her lips... not silencing her with force, but with a gesture. He is tall enough to loom over her.

The blond's not Rina's only stalker, but the second one's as dark as the first is light. Salem stays out of sight, his long black coat melding with the shadows. He narrows his eyes and draws quietly nearer, his boots quiet on the graffiti-marked sidewalk.

The man's voice is a shade too quiet to hear. He stands close to her--too close, at least to Salem's way of thinking--and tips her chin up.

She tosses her head and jerks away from the touch, stepping back from the man. "Not interested," she says flatly. "And if they din't send you, y'know you could get into serious trouble, just /talkin'/ here. So drop it."

You paged Rina with 'Where are they, exactly, relative to the street and buildings?'.

Rina pages: Probably stopped on the sidewalk. North side of Regan, not near a corner, near the entry of one of the apartment buildings?

Salem, lips thinned into an unamused line, moves closer to the pair, his gait turning deceptively casual as he approaches. The Garou is behind the blond; Rina will see him before the stranger.

The man answers with a slow nod, all his attention focused on Rina.

With a taut non-smile, Rina looks away from him. If she catches sight of the approaching Garou, she gives no sign; after a moment her dark eyes return to the blonde. Salem might recognize that rebellious tilt of her chin, the defiance in her posture. "Glad we have an understanding. You wanna do some business, don't you /ever/ come near me in that place. I don't wanna be seen anywhere near ya."

"You don't know what you're missing, Angel," the man says quietly.

"Not very much, I'd imagine," Salem says from behind the other man. His voice is calm, and his hands are hidden in the pockets of the long leather coat.

The man merely turns his head--as if Salem isn't even worth looking at. "Where's your leash?" he asks. Then, to Rina, he adds, "Never far, is he."

Rina's jaw tightens. "I don't think you wanna be here if I say 'kill'," she says tersely. "This conversation is /over/." She moves to step past him, and he catches her by the upper arm, hard enough to press into the thick leather jacket and bring anger to the young woman's already tense expression.

Salem face hard, moves with the quickness of an attentive bodyguard -- which is what he is, really. Swiftly, he starts to move between them, his hand falling on the other man's arm, the one that's attached to the kinswoman. "Back off," he says, in the kind of voice that expects obedience. "Now."

Pale, icy eyes glance to Salem, assessing the threat perhaps, and then return to Rina's face. The man releases her arm, with a deliberate slowness of movement. "I know exactly how many friends you have right now, /cara/ angelina," he says softly. His smile is gently suggestive. "So does Evgeni. You think about that."

Salem releases the man and steps over to Rina's side, his mouth a thin line of contempt.

With a faint smile, the tall man turns and walks away, southward.

Rina watches him go, tension in every line of her posture.

Salem's gaze follows him. He waits until the blond's well out of earshot before muttering a curt inquiry to Rina. "One of them?"

Rina watches after the tall man, her eyes narrowed. "Yeah." The tension colors her voice. "Think we can get to him."

"Sounded like he thinks he can get to _you_," Salem says, glancing sidelong down at her.

Rina swallows, and turns her face away. Her expression is nearly blank. "Yeah."

Salem eyes her with a concerned frown for a moment, then exhales a sharp breath as though trying to let go some tension.

Rina looks to him, expelling her own anger with an effort, mustering a smile that is hardly more than a flash of teeth. "What're you doin' here? Slumming?"

Salem snorts. "This neighborhood's better than the one I live in." His own smile shows no teeth at all. He glances in the direction the blond disappeared in. "We should move. Go somewhere else and talk, maybe."

Rina wets her lips, the smile gone as quickly as it came. "If you want, yeah." She ducks her head, rubbing at the back of her skull.

Salem looks back at her. "At the very least, let's not linger here, hmm?" He gives her another of those thin little smiles. "Maybe the park."

Rina nods, and comes to his side, falling into step with him. She swallows, wets her lips nervously. "Sure. Someplace we can hang."

Salem takes an unhurried gait as he heads eastward, toward Harbor Park. "You all right?" he asks after a few moments.

Rina nods minutely, shrugging her shoulders a little in the heavy jacket. She is carrying, tonight. "I'm good," she murmurs. A silence, awkward.

"I'm sorry about--"

"Forget it," he says, cutting in quickly. His jaw tightens subtly. "You were flying. It wasn't a problem."

Rina swallows. "It won't happen again," she answers, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry. I--I shoulda stayed away from you, or--"

Salem grimaces, shakes his head; his step quickens. "I said, forget it." Then, more gently, "It's past."

Rina wets her lips nervously, and gives a quick nod. "You're aright?" She glances to him sidelong, a wary, dark look.

Salem returns it with a faint smile, summoning it up from somewhere deep. "I'm fine. Really."

Fragile but relieved, her smile answers his own. The softness of it reaches her eyes, and then she glances down, nodding quickly. "Aright."

Salem is silent for a few more minutes, watching the street and the shadows between buildings. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and deadpan. "I'm thinking of disbanding Synthesis."

A quick, anxious look betrays her--but by the time she answers, her voice is steady, devoid of feeling. "It seems like you guys don't run together that much, anymore."

"No, we don't," Salem agrees flatly. There's a look of regret across the scarred features. "Leala doesn't have much to do with anything anymore, and Tatt... I haven't seen Tatt in weeks. Francisco's probably dead." He exhales a frustrated breath. "Yi wants to join, but what is there to join, really?"

"Tatt's crawled into the bottom of a bottle, I think," Rina murmurs. "Saw her at the Temple a while back." Worry creases her forehead. "And I wish I knew what happened to Frankie."

Salem grunts. "Don't we all." He shakes his head, hands in his pockets as he studies the sidewalk in front of them.

Rina swallows. "What happened to Leala? She just busy havin' a life or somethin'?"

Salem nods slightly. "Something like that." He glances at her, sidelong and guarded. "I'm sorry."

Rina shakes her head, eyes on the sidewalk. "You got /nothin'/ to be sorry for," she says fiercely.

Salem rubs the back of his neck, looking away. "I don't know about _that_," he says. "But... hm." He shoves his hands back into his pockets and shrugs. "It's a thought, anyway. Two do not a pack make. And this was supposed to be mostly _family_."

"We need soldiers," Rina mutters.

Salem grunts. "No shit. I've put the word out, with some of ours, elsewhere. Nobody wants to come to this place."

She walks closer at his side, now, not quite touching. "Not really suprising. Would you wanna go to Seattle?"

Salem stiffens; his lips thin. "We're not as bad as _that_. Not yet, anyway."

Rina watches the ground in front of her. "Not yet," she says quietly. "But if we don't find them, we will be. The Rangers are fewer and fewer. And we got nothin' but raw Cliaths and cubs, and you."

"Christ." Salem grimaces, mouth twisting. "I know, I know."

Wrapping both arms around herself, she shivers as they reach the city's edge, byt the river; the wind is stronger here. "I'm tryin'," she says quietly. "I want you to know that. I really am."

Salem looks over at her again, his gaze softening. "I know." One corner of his mouth quirks faintly upward. "I'm glad."

Her gaze is fixed ahead and down, intent on something beneath the sidewalk, a fierce focus in her eyes. Her expression remains taut. "I couldn't do it without you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he assures her.

Rina swallows, and gives a tiny nod. "Thanks," she whispers. Rather than stopping at the park--it is getting cold by the river, now--she turns north and west, heading vaguely in the direction of the Montrose.

Salem walks in silence at her side, hands buried in his coat pockets. He purses his lips in pensive thought.

"Still haven't taken the kids out shooting," Rina says quietly. "But it's on the top of my list. Soon as they can agree on a day."

"Take them one at a time, if they can't manage to be ready on the same day," Salem says. "Cat especially. Quentin's gotten a bit of basic training already."

Rina glances over to him. "I think he mentioned it, yeah..."

Salem nods. "Rhiannon showed him a few things. As did the family in L.A." He rubs at his chin. "I could use a bit of brushup myself, before I get too rusty."

Rina breaks into an unexpected smile, looking over to him with a light in her eyes. "Cool," she says, "I bet Cat would love it if you could come with us. Or just you'n me can go, sometime..."

He glances at her, then quirks a faint smile. "Either works. You have a particular place in mind?"

Rina shakes her head. "Nah. Fatty's is where I always go, but I got no preference for a range. There's another one outside the city, I heard, that has a rifle range too..."

Salem nods. "I've been to it, once or twice. Good people."

Rina lifts a shoulder and lets it fall, managing a thin half-smile. "I don'mind goin' there, then. Might be nice not t'have old Fatty checkin' out my ass every time I walk by."

Salem clears his throat. "Yes, well." He pauses a beat. "It's a common failing."

She laughs, ducking her head. "You know how to put me in my place," she murmurs.

An eyebrow arches up at that, and he almost smiles again, albeit crookedly. "Hardly your fault. The alternative is to gain fifty or so pounds and wear baggy clothing." He's joking, obviously, though his humor's dry enough to be British.

"Maybe I'll try it," she murmurs, slanting a look over to him. "Would you still love me if I was a fat Italian cook?"

That thin little half-smile lingers. "Would you hurt me if I said no?" He glances at her. "You'd still be Rina," he adds, less joking and more seriously.

Rina laughs a little, without sound. "Is that a yes or a no? I promise not t'hurt you..." Another sidelong glance, almost sly. "Unless you ask me to."

Salem utters a soft 'heh'. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He hasn't answered the question.

Rina rolls her eyes. "Are you scared if you say 'yes' I'll get fat, or what?"

"No," he retorts. "I'm just trying to piss you off." He gives her a bit of a grin, showing teeth.

The smile she gives him is worth it. Worth everything and then some, with that spark in her eyes. When it glimmers away, though, she is still looking at him for a long, unsettling moment, her strides slowing just a little.

He basks in it, smug in self-satisfaction, though his falters a little at the look she gives him when she slows. He lofts an eyebrow at her again. "What?"

Rina shakes her head slightly, a wistful curve tugging at one corner of her mouth. She lowers her eyes, watching the sidewalk slide past her feet with each step. "Nothin'." A swallow, a silence.

Salem eyes her for another moment or two, then lets it lie. He walks beside her, quiet.

"Every time I feel like someone's watchin' me," she says softly, "I think it's him." She looks at the street ahead, without really seeing. "Last night I almost expected to turn around and see him walkin' toward me, and when it was that /asshole/ I -- I wanted to *scream*."

Salem's mouth thins. He nods once. "I know. His ghost is... it lingers." He hesitates a bit, then repeats, "It lingers."

Rina presses her lips together for a long moment. A siren disturbs the relative weeknight quiet of the city. "You'll take me there someday," she whispers. "There are things I need to say to him."

Salem frowns, eyebrows drawing together. "The homeland, you mean?"

Rina nods minutely, her jaw tensing.

"If it's even remotely possible," Salem promises, "I will."

Rina swallows. "Thanks," she says quietly.

Salem nods. "There are a few things I wouldn't mind saying to him as well," the Philodox admits.

Rina looks over to him, her brow furrowing slightly. "Yeah?"

Salem simply says, "Yes," and doesn't elaborate. He doesn't look at her, either; his eye is drawn toward a suspicious-looking knot of gangers loitering on the sidewalk across the street, about half a block up.

Rina follows that look, narrowing her eyes a little to gauge the threat. She stays close to his side.

A couple of the gangers straighten up as the two Walkers get nearer, but one of them, a youth with a shaved head and no less than ten holes punched into his right ear, at least, seems to recognize Salem, and he gestures at the others, speaking a few urgent words that are too quiet for the Garou and the kinswoman to hear. The shaved one looks nervous and his friends seem dubious, but it looks like they may let the pair pass unmolested. It's still tense.

Rina's expression tightens, but she keeps the same pace as they walk by the group. Her eyes are focused dead ahead, on the street. "You gonna be around this weekend?" she asks casually.

Salem shares a look with the shaved ganger, who drops his eyes quickly. When he and Rina are well past the group, he nods. "I should be. Why?"

"Just wonderin', maybe we can get together..." She glances over to him, measuring. "Frienda yours?"

"More like an acquaintence," Salem says. "We had... a little chat, once, about certain things. Nothing important."