"Frankly speaking, and between you and me? This is a formality."

[hazlogs]

Susan sends a spirit of stag to come deliver the following message to you.

Sorry, Salem. Gotta go and gotta go now. Didn't sound like you had any great conflicts that you needed to judge, so I'm giving you one. Go stand up in front of your panel and judge my alpha. Andrea is leaving the caern, stepping down from her position as Alpha to this sept, and going off into the Deep Umbra to see if she can possibly lend aid to her Mother, an extremely powerful World-Bender. Is she doing the right thing? Won't matter for us, really as by the time you've gotten this, we've already left.


It is currently 22:49 Pacific Time on Thu Jun 5 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (41% full).

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 circuitry. 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.

It's late, past ten in the evening and creeping on toward eleven when a soft rapping makes itself heard at the door.

It takes her a little time to answer the door. When she does, she is scruffy and pale, her hair mussed. Behind her the apartment is lit, the lamp on by the couch, the coffee table scattered with sketches.

She rubs at the back of her head, in that way of hers, her head bowed. "Um," she says hoarsely. "Hey."

Salem stands there looking reassuringly normal -- well, not _normal_ but at least 'same as always'. Black jeans. Black t-shirt. No coat -- it's been warm. Black boots. Long black hair tied back. The usual scars and short beard. He smiles crookedly, thumbs hooked into his front pockets. "Evening. Hope I didn't wake you."

Rina chews on her lower lip, looking up at him. She gives a small shake of her head, managing a faint ghost of a smile... not really a smile, though. "I was up," she says vaguely. "Haven't really been sleeping, since..." She looks like it's true.

Salem exhales a breath and says, with a certain wry and mild admonishment, "The family only has room for _one_ insomniac. You're stepping on my territory." He smirks faintly. "Mind if I come in?"

Rina blinks, trying to clear the hazy from a very hazy brain. "Oh." She steps belatedly out of the way, gesturing him in. "Yeah. Uh. You want espresso, or coffee?"

"Normal coffee's fine," he says, entering. His eye falls on the scattered drawings, curious.

John. And Jenny, and Angelo, and Cat... but mostly, and always, John. Frowning and leaning over the table as he writes; caught in the middle of a rare laugh; sleeping in the bed by the windows. Stacks and stacks of sketches, ripped out of books and notepads and scattered about, as if a hurricane of memories hit the place.

Salem's expression grows somber, that pensive way that suits his features so well. He picks up one of the sketches of John and studies it, head slightly tilted. "Hmm."

Rina paces toward the kitchen, to put on the coffee and get it ready. "You aright?" she asks, over a shoulder. "You look good..."

Salem puts the drawing back down with the others. "Been sleeping better lately. Who knows how long." He takes a seat on the couch and absently looks through some of the other pages. "Plus, how often is it that a cliath gets to stand in judgement over an Adren?"

Rina turns, and comes out to the edge of the kitchen, peering over at him. "Do what?"

Salem is studying a sketch of Angelo, looking thoughtful. "Part of my challenge. I have to make a judgement and present my reasonings before a panel of four. If they agree with me, I pass." He looks up at her. "Ouroboros is officially gone. But before they left, Susan sent me a message and asked me to judge her alpha. Andrea."

Rina raises both eyebrows, impressed. "Whoa. That's, ah..."

Salem's mouth quirks into a slanted little half-grin. "Interesting, isn't it." More somber, he lays the paper down and leans back, stretching his legs out underneath the coffee table and getting comfortable on the couch. "Of course, she and her pack are gone, so whatever judgement I make won't even effect her until and unless she chooses to come back. But still."

"Wow." Rina shakes her head minutely. "That's... hard core."

Salem nods. "That it is. That indeed it is." He folds his arms across his chest and lets his gaze wander ceilingwards, thoughtful.

The coffee machine starts making noise; Rina glances over her shoulder to the sound, and then slips out to lean against the outside of the counter. "Was-- look, was Quentin aright?" Her voice is hoarse, hesitant.

Salem shifts his weight and looks back over at her. The crooked smile appears again briefly as he nods. "He's fine. Did a good job... took the leech's head clean off. I had Alicia give him a hands-on lessons in body disposal while I took you home."

Rina swallows. "Yeah. I was, um. Thinking." She looks toward the door, frowning slightly.

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Rina ducks her head. "Who's he gotta tell his story to? He /oughta/ be rited just for what he did, back there." A touch of wry, bitter humor comes to her voice. "Me with my experience, and I get bailed out by a cub."

Salem rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Mm. He has to tell the story at moot, or at least in front of an audience." Broad shoulders shift in a brief shrug as he leans back again. "Bad luck," he says, in reply to her second remark. "Happens to the best of us."

Rina lets out a breath. "I think we oughta push it," she says quietly. "Make it happen soon. He deserves to be Cliath aready."

Salem grunts. "I agree. I'm surprised it's taken this long, but..." His shrug is eloquent -- shit happens. "I'll prod him, see if he's willing to get up at the next moot."

Rina nods. "I don't wanna put stress on the boy, but... sometimes with stressful shit like this... people get avoidant."

Salem grunts again. "I had a talk with him... I think he's making this harder than it is." He shakes his head. "Frankly speaking, and between you and me? This is a formality. It's a _necessary_ one, though... but he'd have to screw the storytelling up _really_ badly for me to fail him." He exhales a breath. "But, of course, he thinks the opposite, and I can't very well tell him otherwise."

Rina lifts one shoulder, and studies the floor. "Yeah," she says dryly. "I know." One hand rumples her hair again. "I just... want him to get it over with." Then she heads into the kitchen, as the coffee machine's noise grows quieter.

Salem nods. "So do I." He's quiet a moment as she does things in the kitchen, and his eye falls again on the sketches. "Speaking of cubs..." He's looking at a drawing of their favorite blond-headed little Theurge.

Rina pours a cup for each of them, rich black coffee. She comes out with one in either hand, and pauses when she sees him looking at the sketch. Her expression shifts, and for a moment she falters a little; then she offers the cup out to Salem. "Yeah?"

Salem sits up, taking the cup from her. "I'm torn." He takes a sip, leans back. "I don't know how to... push him. Or, well, I _do_, but not in a way that won't make him break down into little sobby pieces."

Rina drops slowly to a crouch, then sits on the floor, across from him. The dark eyes are sober, worried. "Yeah. I-- gotta figure out a way. To need him, somehow, to be strong. Independent."

"He has a problem with women, too," the Philodox notes. He sips. "Apart from you, of course."

Rina takes a careful sip. "Yeah. He flipped when he came in the other night 'n'Charlie was here. Thought he was gonna start a fight with her or somethin'."

Salem arches an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Rina lets out a small sigh. "I pulled him off the ceiling and got him to chill out, and we all had a very quiet uncomfortable dinner." She frowns. "Really is like a cat, some ways. Get his fur all standin' up."

Salem makes a little 'mm' noise and turns the cup around in his hands. "He's going to turn into quite the little misogynist if this keeps up." His nose wrinkles. "Hmph. But I'm no therapist."

Rina lets out a breath, and stares down into her coffee. "Yeah. I dunno what the fuck to do."

Salem tips his head slightly, his good eye fixing on her. "That shrink-card I gave you. Did you ever give her a call?"

Rina swallows. And looks down at her coffee. "Sort of?" she says timidly.

Salem's brow furrows. "'Sort of'?" he echoes.

Rina hitches an awkward shoulder. "I left a message?" she says meekly.

Salem looks at her, then says, "Ah." Pause. "All right." His expression's a mix of bemused and concerned.

Rina swallows. "Sorry," she adds, without looking at him. "I... don't know why, but it's really hard...

Salem sighs. "Try?" His gaze is steady on her. "For me? Call it a favor."

Rina nods minutely, her eyes lowered. "I am," she murmurs. "I'm here. I'm still breathing and everything..."

"Good," he says mildly and takes a sip of coffee. There's a short pause before he repeats it. "Good."

Rina chews on her lower lip, and glances to him. "I'll try harder," she says. "I'll get an appointment. Next week maybe."

She gets a smile for that, faint though it is. "Fair enough."

Rina glances to him, her expression wistful. "I like it when you smile," she murmurs. "One of those rare gifts, y'know?"

One eyebrow lifts. "Thank you. I think." He hesitates, then focusses his attention on his coffee, taking another swallow.

Rina smiles faintly. "Yeah." She offers him an answer, then, a faint smile of her own. A silence, and then she says, "Thanks... for Cat, and everything."

Salem looks up, his gaze seeking her face again, searching. "You're welcome." His voice is quiet.

Rina nods minutely, dark eyes meeting his single one. "Is there... anything you need? Over at the apartment, I mean... or whatever. Is--" A momentary flicker crosses her face. "Is Mel aright?"

Salem shakes his head. "She's fine. She's playing interior decorator." He snorts, mildly amused at this.

Rina raises both eyebrows, looking at him, questioning.