"At least she had a 'fetch. It's in the Striders' hands now."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:22 Pacific Time on Wed Apr 2 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 13 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.61 and steady, and the relative humidity is 86 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (7% full).

Red Mill Apartments #603

This smallish, two-bedroom apartment is somewhat sparcely furnished, but has a comfortable, homey look to it. A greenish-gray couch holds court in the main room, accompanied by a low, sturdy-looking coffee table. A squat black entertainment center is set up on the other side of the room, in perfect view of the couch; on it sits a rather large television and within the small cabinet area underneath is a VCR. There's bookcase set up along one wall, its shelves holding a stereo, a clock, various CDs and video tapes, but very few actual books -- most are nonfiction paperbacks, history books. The carpet's a neutral shade of tan and covers whatever floor doesn't belong to the kitchen or the bathroom; the walls and ceiling are a shade lighter and on them are a few Van Gogh prints; _Starry Night_ hangs over the couch in a position of prominence.

The kitchen's small and narrow, but it's clean and holds the basic conveniences of modern life, including (but not limited to) a microwave, a toaster oven, and little blue and white dish towels. A short length of hallway past the kitchen entrance leads to the bathroom and a pair of bedrooms.

Though the apartment is kept fairly clean, cockroaches are a constant presence and go about unmolested by traps, sprays, or other poisons. In fact, a small plate of fresh canned cat food sits in a corner at the far end of the kitchen, apparantly just for the benefit of these insects.

Elisabeth knocks at the apartment door, then waits for an answer. Some paper tucked under her left arm.

Salem answers it after a moment or two, dressed in the usual black on black. Something's cooking in a large pot on the stove, and Mozart is playing on the stereo. The TV's on but muted, CNN newsheads mumbling silently along with pictures of the Iraq war and endlessly crawling headlines.

The Walker lifts an eyebrow slightly, then nods the Get kinswoman in. "Evening."

Elisabeth steps inside and takes a moment too look around, before turning to face the Glass Walker Elder. "Evening." A cockroaach scuttles out from under the couch and into the kitchen, where it helps itself to some catfood.

Salem closes the door behind her and sets the chain. "Have a seat," he offers blandly. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Elisabeth shakes her head. "No, thats quite alright," the kinswoman replies. Removing the papers from under her arm, she offers them to the Walker. "As far as I can tell, we've been fortunate. Our two cubs have been turned into bears by the local media. The Tabloid papers are having a hayday with it. Even managed to get a picture off of someone, but its been heavily airbrushed."

"I saw." Salem's voice is flat as he takes the paper and skims the article. He moves back toward the kitchen area. "Police will be watching the park more heavily, too."

Elisabeth nods, slipping her hands into her pockets. "Unfortuantally, that can't be helped. Atleast we don't have someone out there with a video of what happened. With all those balconies looking over the park, there was a good chance of that happening. Could still have happened. We'll have to watch for something like that showing up on the internet, or something."

Salem drops the paper on the counter, next to what appears to be a glass of ice water. "Talk to Jeremy. Ebony's roommate. He's the computer junkie." His mouth twists sourly. "At least she had a 'fetch. It's in the Striders' hands now."

Elisabeth hmms. "Already talked with Jeremy. Wen't to Ebony's apartment, since he deals with the media." The woman shrugs. "How is Rina? I didn't get a particularly good idea of how badly she is injured, before I too your cub back to Rina's place."

Salem exhales a breath, then turns his attention to the pot on the stove, lifting the lid to stir the contents with a wooden spoon. Smells like soup. Smells damned good, actually. "She'll live," he says, deadpan.

Elisabeth grunts softly. "I gathered that much." The woman shakes her head. "Anyway. I just wanted to check in withyou, incase you'd heard something that I'd missed."

Salem sets the spoon down and replaces the lid. "No. We'll have to be extra careful around the park area for a while, but that's common sense." He lowers the heat a notch.

Elisabeth lightly shakes her head and makes her way toward the front door. "If thats it, I'll be on my way. Good evening."

Salem turns around. "Heard anything from Jamethon?"

Elisabeth pauses, one hand on the door knob. "I got a call, about two weeks ago."

Salem tilts his head slightly, regarding the woman with an intent eye. "And?" He adds, "One of my packmates is with him, and a potential packmate. So I'm... interested in their progress."

Elisabeth shrugs. "All alive. No real progress yet. Thats all he said."

Salem nods faintly. "If you hear anything more, let me know? I would, mm. Appreciate it."

Elisabeth nods. "Okay, I'll let you know. Good night."

"Good night," Salem says.

Elisabeth lets herself out, closing the door behind her.