"Juice, anyone?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently Sat Jun 14 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (97% full).

It's a bit past eight-thirty on this Saturday morning in mid-June and Salem, as is typical for him, is already up and about in sweatpants and t-shirt, wet hair combed back. CNN burbles in the background as the Walker cooks breakfast -- scrambled eggs, ham, toast, et cetera.

The apartment's finished being decorated by Mel's expert eye, and has a warm, cozy look. The thrift-store furniture's been chosen for its quality and comfort, and the new place actually looks an improvement over the old. There are a few less cockroaches, but still no traps or use of sprays.

Interrupting the Walker's typical morning routine, there comes a knock at his door.

Salem glances up with a frown. He eyes the clock, then grunts and turns down the heat on the stove before going to the door. He checks through the peephole before opening it.

Renee is standing there, dress in new, if ratty clothes.

Salem regards the Gnawer with a cool, bland expression before stepping aside to let her in. "Morning. Have a seat."

Arms crossed, Renee complies, stepping inside. Her face is still a little pale and a red line is just visible under her sweater. It seems the the Gnawer is still in the process of healing. "Morning," she rumbles in reply, watching Salem warily though the corner of one eye.

Salem closes the door behind her and turns the latch. He seems to be more or less healed up -- as far as she can see, anyway -- with maybe a bit of stiffness in the hand she mangled with her Bone-Gnawery jaws. "I assume you're here for business?" he says curtly, moving past her and back to the kitchen. The smells are quite heavenly, if one hasn't eaten.

Renee has actually eaten, if you count two stale cookies and left over KD as food. The Gnawer swallows, mostly to avoid drooling like a dog. "Something like that," she mumbles, shifting from one foot to the other. She is agitated for some reason and the moon doesn't seem to be responsible this time.

Salem gives her another of his narrow, frowning looks, his manner cold and unfriendly. "Spit it out, then," he snaps, turning over the slices of ham. There's coffee, too, freshly brewed.

Renee's jaw works and she looks away, wetting her dry lips. She is taking far long then the Walker would probably like, but she does finally speak. Words starting out quite, then gaining volume as she gains confidence. "I cam." The Galliard's arms tighten around her chest. "I cam to apologize fer beain' an ass an' lettin' my pride get the better of me."

Salem blinks, then turns sharply to stare at her for a moment, eyebrows raised. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't _that_. It's a moment before he answers with a nod, his expression guarded. "Apology accepted."

Renee keeps her head turned to one side, still not horribly comfortable with the situation. "But could you, umm. Try tonin' down the holier then thou arrogance? Just a bit. S'a little hard ta swallow sometimes."

Salem gives her another of those one-brow-lifted looks. He seems to consider this for a moment, then grunts. "I'll keep that in mind," he says, attention diverting back to the eggs and ham.

Renee continues to stand there, looking off to one side and visibly resisting the urge to squirm. There isn't anything else to say, so she falls silent.

"Eaten yet?" the Walker asks gruffly, after a short, uncomfortable silence.

Renee shrugs, still not looking directly at the Walker. "Little bit."

"Pull up a stool, then." He indicates the breakfast counter with a gesture. "Coffee?"

Renee's brown eyes flick between the Walker and the stool warily, before walking up to the breakfast table and sitting down. "Sure. Thanks," she rumbles, quietly.

Salem pours the Gnawer a cup and sets it down in front of her, then gets a plate, fork, and knife for her -- there's three places set now, instead of just two. The toaster makes a little >ding< as it ejects four nicely-browned slices, and with quick, efficient movements the Walker transfers these onto a plate and that plate onto the counter, next to the butter and salt and pepper. Four more slices go into the toaster before he turns back to the ham and eggs, which are almost done, apparantly.

The extra four slices are for the apparition that emerges from one of the bedroom doors, apparently as if on cue. The thin, leggy redhead's hair is wild and untamed, like the banshees of her people's myth; though no banshees ever wore tiny lavender pyjama shorts and baggy white t-shirts with 'TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED' on the front. Padding like a sleepy automaton towards the kitchen, Mel finds a mug, kettle, and coffee before showing any signs of even attempting to greet anyone.

"Morning," Salem says to Mel, cutting his gaze sidelong at her with the faintest of smirks.

Renee remains silent, tugging the mug of closer and sipping from it.

Melanie's mug is a simple white affair with two identical panels of glossy blue colour, broken by large, stylized lips in vibrant red. Her first response is a muffled, "Wrmf," and it's only when coffee is steaming from the mug and a sip has been taking before the redhead translates - staring dully at Renee and lifting a hand in a wave - "Mrnin'."

Salem continues to smirk, one corner of his mouth quirking upward, as he transfers the scrambled eggs to a sizeable bowl and the sliced ham onto its own plate. "Juice, anyone?" He's disturbingly chipper -- for him, anyway -- considering the moon-phase and the early hour.

Renee wriggles her fingers, in response to the wave. Most of her attention remaining on Salem, slightly suspicious and wary. "Umm. Sure."

Dropping her mug back to the counter for a moment, Mel looks sideways and pushes the heel of one free hand to her face, rubbing at her eyes. "Hey honey," she mumbles. "Breakfast f'three t'day? Anythin' need helpin'?" She suppresses a yawn and leans against the counter, sniffing.

"I've got it," Salem replies. He sets down eggs and ham, with appropriate serving silverware for each, fetches the orange juice (glasses are already set out) and sits down after making sure the stove burners have been turned off. It's all quite domestic.

Mel smiles sleepily, and asides drily to Renee, "He's well trained, isn't he? Such a sweetie." Straightening a little and lifting both hands to rub her face, Mel soon moves to smoothing her hair out a little, and running fingers through the explosion of red tangles to work some out. "Been a while since I seen you, Renee. How'y' doin'?"

Salem snorts at Mel's comment and helps himself to breakfast foods.

Renee blinks at the kinswoman's coment, then focuses on her mug of coffee. "Doin' okay, all things told. Keepin' busy, tryin' ta get stuff done. Tryin' ta get people ta notice, that I'm tryin' ta get stuff done." The Gnawer lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Usual stuff."

"Gettin' recognized can be a bitch, yeah. Dunno what it takes in your circles." Mel doesn't quite seem up to /eating/ breakfast just yet, though she starts pulling a plate aside for herself and sampling from the breakfast delights. Appetite will come soon, and then the kin shall feed. And she takes a sip of her coffee.

"Moot, usually," Salem answers, after a good-sized slug of coffee. "Or simple word of mouth." He eyeballs Renee. "People get to know things, eventually."

Renee looks down at her plate, focusing on her food. She does reach for it with her fingers, before remembering that manners are a good thing and using the fork provided. "One person can only blab so much, unfortunatally."

Much of the byplay is lost entirely on the sleepy kin. Mel sip at her coffee some more, nodding a few times. "What sorta stuff y'been doin'?" Idle curiosity, as green eyes fix on the Gnawer, thoughtfully.

Salem grunts acknowledgement to Renee's comment, then is silent for eating purposes.

Renee sighs. "Pullin' on some people I know, talkin' to others. Tryin' ta learn some stuff so I ain't so dependant on'em. Need ta find someone, before she can set up shop again."

Salem arches an eyebrow at the Gnawer. "What are you trying to learn?" he asks, curious.

Renee scratches at the back of her neck. "Questin' Stone, from Alicia."

The Walker grunts, slicing into his ham. "I just finished learning that one from Luke. Might want to check with him, of Alicia's not available."

"Personal development's grand, and all, but I dunno if it'd get you the recognition y'wantin'," Mel murmurs casually. "People only generally tend to take an intrest when people do stuff for 'em. Or that's obvious f'someone else." A pause for her to finish filling her plate and arranging the items there in perfect array for her to tackle with the utmost efficiency. "Questing stone?"

"Werewolf magic," Salem explains, simply. "Helps you find someone if you know their name and such."

Renee shakes her head. "Naw, I'm gettin' there. Just need a bit more time, ta get some of the finer points outta her." THe Galliard's expression sours, as she stabs a piece of ham. "I want the bitch that Ghouled me. You have no fucking idea of the crap we found in that place."

Salem wrinkles his nose. "I heard." He seems about to ask something else, then glances at Mel and reconsiders in favor of another swallow of coffee.

Mel just sips at her coffee, eyeing both Garou warily. "No need t'be silent on account'a me. I get nervous when people go silent like that," she mumbles.

Renee chews on her ham and swallows, before continuing the conversation. "I have her journal an' name. Everythin' she was doin' down. S'nough ta give anyone nightmares."

Salem mutters something in Serbian about damned vampires. "Not surprised." Unsurprisingly perhaps, he changes the subject. "How's that pack formation coming along?" Anything's better than mad scientist bloodsuckers and unwilling human subjects.

Renee focuses on her food for a minute and washes it down with some coffee. "Doin' okay. Lyra an' Raul seem ta have ironed things out."

"Who are you going to get to do the Totem rite?" the Walker asks.

Renee shrugs. "Sepdet, if I can find her. If not, I'm gonna try an' have a friend put in a good word with Mama Rat fer us. It ain't perfect, but ya do what ya can."

Salem nods, mouth twisting into a rueful expression. "Mmf. True. These days especially."

Renee falls silent, as she works on wolfing down the breakfast provided. "Heard that Kaz has been seen," she mumbles, between mouthfulls.

Mel just watches in faintly confused (but definitely curious) silence. She sips intermittently at her coffee.

Salem nods. "She's got responsibility for a group of your people down in California," he says between bites of ham and eggs. "So won't be staying, just visiting. Met her around the farmhouse." He grunts. "Thank god, too. Between her and Alicia, Quentin might actually be able to complete his Rite of Passage."

Mel's eyes are cast down briefly, and to the side, at the mention of the Rite of Passage.

Renee grunts softly at that, mopping up the grease on her plate with a piece of toast. "Mel," she asks quietly. "Have ya put any thought inta lettin' people know yer kin? If only ta save trouble down the road. Luke is a good guy. He'd leave ya be, if thats what you wanted."

Salem turns a dark eye over toward the redhead, waiting on her answer.

Mel sucks on a tooth and wrinkles her nose dismissively as she continues to sip at her coffee. One arm rests on the bench, lazily, for a while... then lifts to find a piece of toast. "Yeah, well... Sure. If you wanna go tell 'em, I don't mind. If they wanna find me, they can. If they don't, that's fine, too." Green eyes look up. "But I'm not promisin' anyone anythin'. I'm no-one's long-lost little neice."

Renee works the coffee mug between her hands, looking down at it. "No, but people tend ta get touchy 'bout family. S'all."

Salem grunts. "'Touchy' is not a word I'd use to describe Luke. Echen, now... Echen was touchy." The Walker smirks faintly, just for a moment. And nevermind that he's not one to talk about being touchy.

Mel arches an eyebrow curiously. "Y'haven't talked 'bout that one yet," she notes idly. "Gotta add it to my 'list'." The last, a final grunt, with a faintly rueful smirk. She lifts a fork and toys with her food.

Renee finishes off her coffee and juice, then begins gathering up her dirty dishes.

Salem lingers over the remains of his breakfast. "List?"

Mel nods once, picking at her toast. "Echen. Rat totems. Kaz. Fianna people." She sighs, leaning back and just idly watching Renee. "And God knows whatever else I've been missing out on for the last twenty years."

Renee picks up her dirty dishes and slides from her seat, as she transfers them to the sink.

Salem simply nods. "You'd like Kaz, I think," he remarks after a moment or two.

"How'd she get on with Him?" the girl murmurs as a rapid-fire response, lifting her fork again and pulling at eggs and bacon, thoughtfully.

"I should get goin'," Renee mumbles. "Suspect someone else is gettin' cranky an' hungry by now."

"Well," comes the immediate reply. "Better than I did, really." Salem finishes off the last of his eggs and downs a healthy swallow of coffee. Wiping his mouth, he nods to Renee. "Walk safe."

Mel frowns a little, looking up to Renee, and back to Salem - a little uncertain. "Uh... yeah. Walk Safe'n that..."

Renee nods and lets herself out, closing the apartment door behind her.

Salem drains his coffee and gets up. "I'll take care of dishes," he says, gathering up his plate and taking it over to the sink.

"Yeah, well. I'm not done yet." The kin's eyes are on Renee, even as she lets herself out. The absence of one rage-filled engine of Destruction seems to cause the girl to sigh softly and slump a little, staring into her coffee. "Poor thing," she murmurs.

Salem glances over at the redhead. Even without Mel's things, there's plenty of dishes to get started with, not to mention the pans. "Hmm?" One eyebrow's raised.

Mel turns her eyes to the door, staring at something unseen. Like a cat. Her coffee in the red-lips mug steams in front of her as she holds it - poised to take a sip, but not just yet. "Tell me about the First Changes, again? What happens exactly? What would she have gone through?"

Salem turns down the water a bit to make it easier to talk. He considers, thinking back. "There's... a build-up of anger. Rage, frustration, restlessness, for weeks beforehand. Sometimes more than a month. Eventually, it simply explodes out." He scrubs at a pan, loose hair falling forward over his shoulders only to be pushed impatiently back. "I don't know if her tribe was able to get her before then or not. Mine was... they knew what I was as soon as I was born. But most get... lost, and nobody knows until they Change." He grimaces. "Which can be fairly traumatic if the cub has friends or family nearby when it happens."