"Women do not have the monopoly on deceit."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:10 Pacific Time on Sun Apr 6 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (34% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.09 and steady, and the relative humidity is 60 percent. The dewpoint is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

Message: 7/7 in folder main Received: Sun Apr 6 18:08:08 2003
From: Rina
To: Salem
Subject: Phone message ...
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Early-ish Friday morning. Panicked for Rina apparently consist of a kind of unsteadiness, her voice very shaky and bit low, her breathing erratic. Though the latter might have something to do with the broken ribs.

"Jack. I don't know where--Cat--is, he's gone--" She isn't quite at the point of tears, but her breathing is there, like the wild random gulps of a dying man on the battlefield. "There's nothing-- I can't, I can't find anything. Find him. Please find him. Please just find him and -- and, and call me."

A labored swallow, and a last hoarse word. "Please." *click*

You paged the room with 'So, then, Sunday afternoon/evening, Salem drives Cat home from the farmhouse and walks him up to the studio?'.
From afar, Cat guesses it was a silent ride. :)
You paged Cat with 'Silent and, for Cat, probably very uncomfortable. Nobody does quiet and disapproving like Mr. Salem.'.
You paged Cat with 'And he walks up to the studio behind Cat, giving off sternness vibes. :> You want me to pose setup?'.
From afar, Cat sures. Let me get in the mood of scared.

Studio

The studio is airy, elegantly modern and full of light: a large, high-ceilinged square room with almost an entire wall of windows. It still smells of paint, though there is no evidence of current painting. Rolled canvases lean in one of the corners, and a few finished pieces adorn the walls. A six-foot length of pipe hangs a painting behind the couch, creating a slightly more personal space that evidently serves as a bedroom; the piece is a dark, strange cityscape, an oddly skewed view of the world beyond the glass seen through otherworldly eyes. The edge of a futon can be seen beyond it; the walls around the bed bear swirling patterns of colors, calming shades of undersea blue and green. These patterns gradually soften as they grow out into the rest of the room, where walls are visible; angles replace curves, until the mural becomes a mix of ocean and curcuitry. The sofa is quirky and curving, a work of modern art upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish rug in vibrant tribal colors occupies much of the hardwood floor; the coffee table, a sculpture of recycled blue and green circuit-board and shiny aluminum, rests on it in front of the couch.

Opposite the windows, a compact kitchen is marked off by a crisp stainless steel counter. The west wall nearby has doors to a closet and to a small, sparsely-appointed bathroom. The east wall holds bookshelves of pale wood, supporting a small stereo, collections of pictures and found objects, and a good number of books; the corner between shelving and the wall of windows holds a plain wooden desk with a slim notebook computer and phone atop it, and an elegant mesh rolling chair.

The car ride from the farmhouse to the studio is a quiet and, for the cub, a largely uncomfortable affair. Salem drives silently, his jaw tight, the corners of his mouth turned downward in a disapproving frown. He parks outside Rina's building and wordlessly escorts Cat upstairs.

Just as silently, although sullen and ashamed, Cat gets out the key to the apartment and opens the door. "Miss Rina?" he calls out softly, hopefully. "I, I'm sorry I'm home late, I'm sorry I left-"

Rina lies on the couch, half-tangled in a blanket. The apartment seems barely messier than when he left--almost exactly the same, in fact, save for one detail. Rather than hidden tastefully out of sight in a box, the needles and vials litter the coffee table, and a trashcan sits nearby to catch the inevitable waste.

The woman is pale, apparently asleep or unconscious.

Salem frowns at the lack of response from the kinswoman and pushes past Cat to check her pulse. "She's out," he says curtly, without looking around. "Close the door."

Rina pages: Morphine. Not an OD, but a significant amount of it.

He pushes the door closed, locking it closed. Cat sniffs, biting his lower lip and wiping his face with his sleeve as he stumbles over to her side, crouching at Salem's feet and watching the woman breathe. "I didn't mean to be away so long," he says softly, voice choked. But he's not going to cry, he's -not-. "When'll she wake up? Was she worried?"

Salem turns his head to fix the cub with a sharp, cold look. "You didn't tell her where you were going? Of _course_ she was worried." He straightens up.

"I was gonna come back after lessons, honest!" Cat cringes and looks away from Salem's glare. "I didn't know that she'd be there. She was p-provoking me! She called me names and wasn't even sorry Miz Rina was sick."

Salem arranges Rina's tangled blanket into something a little more comfortable. The sternness in his reply is at odds with the gentle way he does this or the way he brushes her bangs away from her forehead. "Who? The little bitch from the other night?"

Cat nods shamefacedly, rubbing at his eyes again. "She...Quentin was there. You ask him. She kept calling me Lunch Money. That's not my name." He looks over his shoulder at the mess of needles, a pout tugging at his lips. "Why does she need that? Can't we just give her Tylenol, isn't it safer?"

Salem grimaces. "She knows what she's doing." He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over the back of the computer chair. "As for you..." He stares flatly at the boy. "On the one hand, I'm pleased to see you doing something other than running away from conflict. What I am _not_ pleased about, what I am distinctly _displeased_ about, is the way you lost control inside the farmhouse."

The boy looks at Rina again, then at his own hands and just sits there. "I...well, you, I mean. I don't. She wouldn't leave me alone! I hate her!" He cuts himself off, literally biting his tongue, and stares at his hands again. "Sorry sir."

Salem's stare is heavy on the bowed blond head. "Rage is a powerful thing," he says evenly, after a moment. "It's our greatest weapon, and our greatest curse. Do you remember what it felt like, when you lost control? Getting more and more angry, until you couldn't think?"

Cat nods emphatically, curls flying. "I think I wanted to kill her," he whispers. "I tried to, Quentin said. I hate her, but, I don't want to kill anybody."

"The beast in you wants one of two things," Salem says, arms folded. "To flee or to kill. It's mindless." He unfolds his arms and prowls forward, toward Cat, his voice turning intent. "You _must_ learn to control it. And, just as importantly, you have to learn to know when you're in a situation where you _can't_ control it. And to _leave_ that situation. Anything else threatens the Veil... and threatens the people around you." His gaze flicks toward the woman on the couch, significantly.

Cat looks up in time to watch Salem stalking towards him, and he shrinks back a bit. At the glance at Rina, he blinks and looks at her too, expecting her to have moved. "I wouldn't hurt Miz Rina!" he exclaims hotly. "Not even if there were a thousand Tabeys in the world. Not ever."

Salem grimaces. "You say that _now_, Cat, just as Aiyana swore she'd never hurt Jeremy. But the beast doesn't _care_ about who you love. It only knows how to kill, even when it's running away."

"I -wouldn't-!" he insists. "I never have an' I won't. You wouldn't hurt her. And I'm going to get better at protecting her, because I need her...and Aiyana's a -girl-," Cat adds bitterly. "They just lie and cheat anyway."

Salem snorts. "In case you hadn't noticed, Cat," he says sourly, "Rina's a girl, too."

The boy tosses his head and with an odd sense of indubitableness, announces "Rina's my mom. And that's different."

Salem, irritated, utters a curt growly noise and aims a cuff at the boy's head, not hard, but definitely strong enough for him to feel it. "You're fifteen years old. Grow up."

Cat sees the blow coming and flinches even before it hits him, but afterwards he just stares back sullenly up at the Philodox. "Stop it," he snaps back. "Stop telling me that. Stop watching everything I do. I'm not the problem. Fix her!" He throws out one arm and it hovers over the woman, as he gestures wildly. "You told me I'm s'posed to be a healer but I can't do it. I only let her get hurt and she doesn't smile anymore, she only cries. And then stupid Tabey went and messed up everything. I don't have time to worry about growing up..." He coughs, the cost of holding back tears. "She promised she wouldn't kill herself, but girls lie..."

Salem glances back at Rina, briefly, before returning his gaze to Cat. His eyes are cold, his voice pitched low, quiet and intent. He doesn't shout. He doesn't raise his voice. "Women do not have the monopoly on deceit. And she hasn't killed herself, has she?" He shakes his head. "You _do_ help her. Your presence here. If I even thought that you being here wasn't helping, if I thought it was harming her, I'd remove you immediately."

And just like that, he pulls his hand back into his lap and looks down, whatever anger had been in him gone. "I can't do both," he says sadly, the sound rather empty in its sudden softness. "But I have to, I guess." Pause. "I'm sorry about the table. And I'm sorry I was rude to the person that said Tabey was his cub. And I'm sorry I left her alone." He looks up, pleading in his voice and eyes. "I'll try harder. I really will. I want to m-make you proud." But quickly he glances to Rina, hopeful that she'll wake. Maybe he was speaking to her.

Salem grunts. "I never told you that your life would be easy, Cat." He moves away from the cub and perches on the arm of the couch, near Rina's head. "Frenzy is something that you want to avoid," he says, looking down at the unconscious woman. "Also, it's time you learned how to handle yourself in a fight."

Cat nods, shifting a bit on the floor and trying very hard not to look at the morphine gear. He's settling in for a lecture, but now that it's (mostly) certain he's not going to be beaten (again), he's almost looking forward to it. He stifles a yawn and nods again. "Tobin-rhya taught me, a little."

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Did he? Hm. Good. We'll see how much you've learned." He eyes the boy critically. "For now, though, get some sleep."

The boy nods, then curls up right where he is and shifts to lupus. What, you thought he'd leave her side? After tonight, never.


Long after Cat's fallen asleep, curled up in lupus on the floor nearby, Salem remains awake, perched on the arm of the couch, watching over Rina and occasionally stroking her hair. Alone -- the only one conscious, anyway -- his face takes on a pensive, abstracted expression, lost in thought.

Her skin feels slightly cool, clammy--a familiar thing, from his past, the sweat of someone feeling certain side effects. Her breathing is slow, but not perilously so. It's some time later, when her breathing changes--it becomes more labored, and the next time he glances at her there is something different--a tightness about her mouth, the beginnings of pain etched into her drawn face. She'll come out of it, soon.

Salem glances over at Cat, noting that the cub remains asleep. Satisfied with that, he watches Rina emerge from the embrace of Mother Morphine, his fingers gentle in her short hair.

The slow breathing becomes less easy, and the wince gradually deepens, over a time. A flickering behind her eyelids, a visible twitching wince, and she slits her eyes open.

Rina pages: Did anyone turn any lights on, or is it still real dark?

You paged Rina with 'Probably still dark.'.

"I brought him home." Salem's voice is quiet in the dark apartment. He shifts from his perch on the couch arm, standing.

"Don't go," she says, a hazy murmur. "He's... okay...?"

Salem hesitates, then sits down again. "He's fine. He frenzied on that cub, at the farmhouse. Nobody was hurt, though, except the kitchen table there." The words come quiet and even, with a touch of wryness near the end. "It's been taken care of."

Rina winces again, tensing slightly as she attempts to move. Bad idea. Sense prevails after a second or two, and she sinks into the pillow. "Oh," she groans. "Great. Dunno how I manage to fuck things up if I'm not even /there/... fuck."

Salem snorts. "Cat's inability to control his rage is hardly your fault. It's mine, if anything. I didn't think he had it in him." The Walker shakes his head slightly. "It's fine. No lasting harm done. Can I get you anything?"

"Water?" she murmurs. "Got... kinda..." A faint, sad, tripping attempt at a smile. "Not enough water. Hurts so much, gettin' up..."

"You should consider aspirin or something, next time," Salem suggests blandly as he stands up again. He retreats into the kitchen; she can hear the sounds of a glass being fetched, and water running.

"Bitch," she mumbles vaguely. "I tried. I tried to drop the dose. I'm running out anyway." Her worlds are barely there, clinging by a thread.

Salem returns and goes down on one knee near her, offering the glass of cold water. "Good." He hesitates a beat, then adds, "It's no better than the shit _I_ used to take. Same family, same monkey."

"I know," she mumbles. "'S'just clean." With a wince, she shifts up on the pillows a little, enough to reach an angle where one might be able to drink without getting water everywhere. Her arms, at least, are unhurt... she's able to reach for the glass, and bring it to her lips. Her eyes, half-lidded, fall on the coffee table, and she swallows quickly. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, setting the glass down by the couch and trying to sit up again, with the shaky assistance of one arm/.

Salem helps. "Forget it," he says, moving the pillows in order to help her stay propped up.

By the time she actually sits up--going so far as to get her feet on the floor no matter the cost, gritting her teeth all the way--she is rigid and nearly in tears. She doesn't try to get to the water... why did she put it on the floor, anyway?... just gestures to it and glances to him, the need to even ask making her unsettled and fragile. "Can you...?"

Salem is nodding almost before the words are out of her mouth, and he has the glass for her, just so. Solicitous as always. "Ought to get a healer for you."

"Yeah well." She takes a sip, another, forces a third with a less-than-happy look about it. Her eyes lower. "There isn't one. So it's this or fucking scream. And I think Cat has limits for that, not to mention /my/ tolerance for pain isn't worth shit."

Salem makes a little 'mrm' noise, cocking his head to eye the litter on the table. Then he shakes his head slightly. "What are you going to do when it runs out?" he asks blandly.

Rina stares vaguely at the gear, eyes unfocused. "Oh, jab me with your needle a hundred times," she murmurs, "And a hundred times I will bless you, Saint Morphine..." The vague, weary eyes shift to look over at him. "Not a /fucking/ clue," she says, pained and terse. Then a strange, taut unhappy not-smile. "Promise I won't send either of you out to score, though," she offers dryly.

"Thank Gaia for small favors," Salem retorts, dryly. His bland expression softens into something solemn and concerned. "Poor Cat is convinced that all girls lie. He's set to grow up into quite the little misogynist."

Rina swallows. "Yeah," she mutters, a less physical pain crossing her face. "You'd think he'd hate men."

Salem nods. "You'd think." The Philodox, seated crosslegged on the floor, leans back against the coffee table, his gaze turning to fall broodingly on the sleeping cub again.

Rina presses her lips together. "Jack," she whispers softly. She drinks down the the rest of the water, and touches his shoulder carefully.

Salem looks up, head cocked, fixing her with that one dark eye.

Her dark eyes don't look at him, but ahead and down; her jaw is set, tight with the effort of resisting the pain. "Will you stay?" she half-whispers.

Salem nods faintly. "Whatever you need," he says quietly. "I'll have to leave in the morning, though, for work."

Rina nods minutely, blinking several times. "I need you," she says hoarsely, her voice thready and final. "And him. And God I need to see my Bug, but I can't be like this... I've been so fucked up, Jack." She begins stroking his hair, almost unconsciously grooming him.

Salem doesn't argue this admission; he just nods again, mouth twisting into a humorless little half-smile. "I'll try to get you a healer. Someone with the gift." His lips thin. "I hate to think of you laid up like this, for weeks."

Rina swallows. "Yeah." Her hand is unsteady at first, but slowly, gradually, the caress grows more certain. "Well. You're not the one who gets the cracked ribs and shit."

A wry look flickers across the Walker's face and vanishes. "I'm not the one who has to deal with them for more than a few minutes, anyway. Or a few days." He shifts around, repositioning himself closer to the couch so that she doesn't have to reach. "Shame I didn't choose to renounce to Theurge," he says, with a mild note of humor. "Not that I'd be a very good at it."

She doesn't really laugh; by now she knows better. A dry sound comes from her, though, something like a chuckle. "Yeah. Nice bedside manner, doc." She breathes carefully, and glances in the unfortunate direction of the bathroom. "Can you help me up? I can walk okay... it's just the transitions that suck, y'know?"

True to her word, she makes it to the bathroom fairly steadily, able to make use of it in privacy. She even washes up a bit--at least, he hears the shower running before the smaller sound of the sink as she brushes her teeth. She comes out in different clothes, her hair damp and combed but not shower-wet, her face looking as if she feels much more human. So pale, though, and thin. "I think I could maybe sleep in the bed, tonight... and you can have the catch if y'want?"

Salem is waiting outside the bathroom for her when she emerges. He nods, then straightens up from his lean against the wall. "Couch is fine." It's nothing new for him, anyway. He helps her over toward the bed, whether she needs it or no.

She does. Perhaps that's the most telling sign of weakness--that she could ask for help, and accept it without even attempting independence. She lets him help her to sit on the edge of the bed, and lets him ease her back against stacked pillows--and it's odd, holding her like that when she is conscious, and not in tears in his arms. Caretaking. All she says, in the end, is a weary, "Thanks... night."

Rina's eyes drift closed; her hand stays on his arm for a moment longer, claiming the reassurance of touch before sliding tiredly away.

"Good night," Salem murmurs. He lingers by her bedside, watching her, until he's quite sure that she's fallen asleep. Even after that, he remains awake for several hours, occasionally pacing noiselessly around the darkened studio in a kind of restless patrol -- he knows its geography almost as well as he knows that of the apartment at Red Mill. Several times, he comes back to the bed to watch her sleep... in any case, it's a long, long time before he retires to the couch, enough to catch a few hours before dawn.