"Who are /you lot/ to decide whether or not you're gonna respect my wishes?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently 09:01 Pacific Time on Fri Jun 20 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.87 and rising, and the relative humidity is 77 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (61% full).

The Rialto -- Auditorium

The roar of the crowd. The smell of greasepaint. "Now is the winter of our discontent..." An old, darkly nostalgic quality hangs heavy in the air of this empty old theater. Once black-painted windows no longer refuse the light of sun and moon, now broken and open to the city sky.

Largely gutted now, this once gilded and opulent theater spreads like an old grand dame holding desperately to a past now gone and largely forgotten. The plush seats which once held nearly a thousand people are, for the most part, long gone. Time's indifferent hand has dulled the once ornate proscenium arch and faded the velvet red of the main curtain, leaving the wide stage in dark shadows before the gaping and toothless mouth of the music pit.

At the right side of the stage, from the auditorium floor, a door leads toward the back of the theater. To the left of the stage, an old exit sign still glows above a reinforced door. In the back of the auditorium, archways lead back to the lobby and the boarded up front doors.

Salem enters the abandoned theatre through the side door, removing his sunglasses as he steps from morning sunshine into gloom.

The Rialto is empty, smelling a little musty from recent rains. Lyra's already there, sitting on the far side of the stage with her sneakers dangling over the edge of it. She has not dressed up for the occasion. When the door opens she looks up, giving Salem a direct glance and the tiniest of smiles. "You do get points for being on time."

Salem didn't dress any special, either; he's wearing the usual utilitarian black. He grunts slightly, tucking the sunglasses into the breastpocket of his shirt as he stalks over toward the stage. "We're a punctual tribe."

Luke comes in not long after Salem, a nod of greeting offered to both of them. Like the other two, he's dressed in his usual attire.

The Gnawer halfmoon pulls her legs up, sitting crosslegged on the lip of the stage and nodding to Luke in return. "No companions?"

Salem stops near the stage and the Gnawer sitting on it, his gaze wandering the interior of the theater for a few moments. He shakes his head at Lyra's question. "I haven't spoken to Mel about this, no."

Luke shakes his head. "Just me, though I've let as many of my tribe as I can know what was happening. I've also told them that she's under Salem's care, and not to try and contact her."

Lyra glances up at the ceiling to the old theater, then back at the two men standing there. "Well, small and intimate never hurt anyone." She can't help but quirk one corner of her mouth in a rueful grin. "And here I was getting fussy for nothing. Shall we start?"

Salem turns his eye back to the younger Philodox and, for a brief moment, quirks the slightest half-smile. Then he nods, quite somber, and folds his arms across his chest.

Luke says "Ready."

The Gnawer's smile fades away as she looks towards Salem with a steady hazel gaze, hands settling on her knees. "Salem, halfmoon, Child of Glass. Runs-at-Dawn, elder of the Fianna and Fostern has grief with you over the matter of a Kin. Do you understand his reasons?"

From afar, Lyra has Truth of Gaia on.

The Rialto side-stage door creaks open again, alerting them; a slim young woman with strikingly red hair and narrowed green eyes slips into the building. There's a wary, watchful appearance to the woman, reserved and sharp, as she makes her way a few steps into the theatre.

Salem arches an eyebrow at Lyra's creative reworking of his tribe's name. He's about to answer when the door opens; his head turns sharply toward the sound, mouth thinning as he spots the redhead. It's difficult to tell whether he's irritated that the kinswoman followed him or pleased that she's here to hear this.

Luke turns to check the source of the noise, gaze resting on the woman who's just entered. He keeps quiet for the moment, either letting one of the others speak to her first, or her say something to them.

It's Lyra who speaks first, never really one without words anyway. "Hello Miss Mel," she greets with a cheerful smile. "I had thought you would not be here, but it's pleasant to see you all the same. Salem, you already know. This is man is Mister Luke. He's a cousin of yours."

Tilting her chin up, Mel frowns a little, looking first at Salem for explanation, and taking in Lyra's familiar face... then Luke's. A touch of apprehension, at that. "Oh? Well. I guess Jack's got some news for you, then." Her lips twist wryly, as she looks between the three Garou. At a distance, still, though she's slowly moving forward with a certain element of grace.

"He already knows," Salem says blandly. "Not through my doing." He glances from Mel to Luke, then to Lyra. "And yes," he says to the girl, answering her earlier question. "I do know his reasons."

Luke smiles a bit wryly. "Found out several days ago, actually. Good to meet you, though. Like I told these two, the Fianna will keep our distance until you say otherwise."

Mel smiles thinly, looking a little tired. "Hi," she returns... before frowning in faint puzzlement. "Uh... stay away?"

Lyra wriggles her nose, although not even slightly irritated. "The Fianna are under the impression you have no desire to meet them," the girl adds matter-of-factly. "Which is partially the reason we're having this chat. Of course..." She hmms thoughtfully. "If you were to agree to meet a few of your cousins?"

Salem rubs his bearded chin, frowning slightly.

Luke nods. "From what I was told, you didn't want to meet with us. And as I understood it, the only thing you'd agreed to so far was that Renee could tell me about you. Which means we take things at whatever speed you want to." To Lyra's question, he shakes his head, "I hope she will, but whether she wants to meet us or not isn't the reason we're here right now."

Frowning with concern instead of confusion, now, Mel looks between the three Garou again, stepping closer quietly and folding her arms. "Sounds like Chinese Whispers, t'me. Why /are/ you here now, then?"

Salem glances sidelong at Lyra. "I can explain, but it's your show."

Lyra wriggles her nose again, this time in definite bemused irritation at Luke. "Neversomind the easiest solutions. Fine then." She pulls her legs up to her chin and glances over her knees at Mel. "There are rules that govern Garou society, called the Litany. Mister Luke believes Mister Salem broke some of those rules by not informing him directly of your presence." She pauses. "What are Chinese Whispers?"

Luke notes to Lyra, "If it were as easy as that, there wouldn't have been an issue in the first place." Nodding his agreement to Lyra's summary, he returns his attention to the woman, gauging her reaction to this bit of news.

Mel smiles tightly at Lyra, a fond look under some distraction. "S'a game the kids play. You sit in a circle and whisper a message to the next person along. Y'have'ta keep the message the same, but no-one ever manages it. It changes every time." She eyes Luke, again, and seems to look to Salem for clues. "Jack broke the Litany? He's told me about it... What'd he do?"

Salem folds his arms across his chest again and remains quiet, letting Lyra answer.

The Gnawer's smile fades a bit. "Respect for those above you, respect for those below you, respect for the territory of another. These are the laws that Mister Luke has charged Mister Salem with breaking." Lyra glances to Luke. "I haven't missed any?"

Salem's eyes narrow slightly. "It's _submission_ to those higher in station," the older Philodox corrects. "Nor did Luke mention the second law you recited."

"I brought up all three to demonstrate the importance that respect plays in the Litany," Luke states. "Family is one of the most important things there is to a Fianna. By keeping a secret like this one from us, it shows disrespect to our entire tribe."

Mel blinks in surprise, looking at Luke as if she'd just been slapped. "I beg your fucking pardon?" she mumbles in shock, staring at the boy - not quite sure what to make of the statement.

Lyra nods at Luke, before looking back to Salem with a curiously blank expression. "I am sorry my paraphrasing does not meet your standards, Walker," she says coolly. "Shall you judge yourself as well?"

Salem's mouth thins. "Respect and submission are two different things, _Gnawer_," he says, just as coolly. "Paraphrasing the law is a slippery road to travel down. _Respect_ for those beneath you in station, because all are of Gaia. _Submission_ to those greater in station. The point of this is that I chose to _respect_ Mel's desire not to be made known to the Fianna, or indeed most other Garou, as much as was humanly possible to do so."

"You have every right to choose not to meet us, and we would have and will respect that," Luke tells Mel. "But barring something extreme, like a threat to your safety, he had no business not telling us about you."

Kaz, a french fry stuck in her mouth like a pencil and a slightly apprehensive look on her face, pushes in via the back door, and blinks at the small group.

"And while the Fostern has asked I take into account three points of the Law, it is for that reason I have only found you guilty of one," Lyra replies, her words carefully chosen and spoken with preciseness, a sure sign she's keeping a fraying rein on her temper. "Kin are not territory or property. You followed her wishes. But you had no right to not inform the Fianna. You have acted in ways unbefitting of a Philodox, of a cliath, and of an Elder, concerning her."

Salem, in reply to that, shrugs, arms unfolding and hands vanishing into his pockets. "It was that or break my word."

Mel gives the other Fianna a cursory look up and down before telling him, "Fuck off... what business was it of yours? Who are /you lot/ to decide whether or not you're gonna respect my wishes? That's the whole /point/ behind not tellin' y'. I'm not y'property, I don't /wanna/ have a family, so unless I do somethin' to ya', I'm /none of your business/. If y'so fuckin' concerned about respecting my wishes then why the fuck is it such a fucking huge crime to not know about me? If y'/really/ were gonna respect m'wishes, you wouldn't /need/ to know!" Her brow's furrowed with annoyance and she looks between Lyra and Salem, queryingly.

Luke glances over to toward the door at the sound of it opening, but his attention stays only a moment on Kaz. "Salem. Could you explain to her why kin are so important to _any_ tribe of Garou?"

Kaz wanders slightly closer and leans on the stage, remaining quite silent and munching her french fry.

Lyra makes a face at Mel. "You swear an awful lot." But that's all she says, glancing over to Kaz with a faint smile, giving the Walker a chance to answer the Kin.

Salem glances at Kaz as well, then -- being very deliberately calm -- nods to Luke. He turns to Mel. "We did go over this, actually. Remember?" The Glass Walker's body language remains very still, very controlled.

Kaz mutters, "Oughta be used t'th' /swearin'/, at least," and finishes the fry.

The Kin interrupts Salem and ignores Lyra, frowning at Luke, "NO - Y'not fucking listening; I don't /wanna/ be important. To /any/ Tribe. I'm /not/. /Yours/. I'm me. Mine. No family. Mum's in a fucking institute, and if John hadn't killed Dad, I fucking would've m'self... if I could've. Jack told me I was kin, so people wouldn't freak out and kill me. And I made it quite clear I don't want any part of /any/ of it. You leave him out've it, alright?"

The Gnawer halfmoon sighs, before taking a small breath and hopping down to the floor, a little less imposing now that she's shorter than everyone- Mel included. She looks up at the Kinswoman. "Miss Mel, we are what we are and to ignore our roles in life would be only adding to the decay of the world. Most of us born to the wolf don't want it at first, but we have to take it." Lyra frowns, eyes darkening with pent annoyance. "And now that you -know- what we are, you have no choice but to help in -some- way, be it emotional support or informer. Salem has broken rules far older than you and temper tantrum or not, they will be followed! -Sit down and be quiet!-" She takes a deep breath and in a slightly calmer voice, adds, "If you please."

Kaz raises both eyebrows at something, but certainly doesn't kibbitz.

Luke starts to reply, but falls silent when the Philodox speaks. He certainly doesn't seem to disagree with a word that the Gnawer said, and she might just take it better than if it had come from him.

Salem, likewise, keeps silent, his expression unreadable. He folds his arms across his chest again and waits.

Mel looks, at first, taken aback at Lyra's authoritive voice. Blinking a few times, it doesn't take the redhead too long to shoot back a fiery scowl, and growl, "This is bullshit. I still don't see what the fuck this has got to do with /him/." A glance in Luke's direction. "He's got no right, just because my Mum and Dad had relatives from the same country as his... Squabbling over me makes me fucking property again, which is what I wanted to avoid in the /first/ place."

Salem glances sidelong at Lyra. "May I add something of relevance?" he asks, politely bland.

Lyra looks pained as she returns Salem's glance. "Will it make her be quiet?"

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Mel has her own mind. But this _is_ relevant to the case."

Mel glares.

Luke looks to Salem, curious, ignoring the kinswoman now.

"Back to the courtroom again? Aiyah." Lyra turns around and hops back onto the stage- who knows why, maybe to get away from Evil Glaring Redheadlady -and faces the Walker again. "If you please."

Kaz wanders over toward Mel and offers her some french fries. They're still hot.

Salem inhales a breath and lets it out. "I found out that Mel was kin by digging into her family history, her mother's especially." He gives the redhead a brief, apologetic glance, then turns back to Lyra, all bland neutrality again. "Her mother's from Boston which is, as you may or may not know, something of a home away from home for Fianna... as well as for Glass Walkers. Needless to say, questions came back as I was making my inquiries... the upshot of this being that the Boston Fianna... that is, Mel's _blood_ relations, not simply her tribe... know that she exists, and what happened to their cousin, her mother. They hadn't known, you see, where the woman had gone when she left the east coast." He shrugs faintly. "This was quite a long time before I told Mel what she was, and what I was, and so forth."

The kinswoman's reaction to Kaz is one of silent confusion as she blinks and frowns at the strange woman. Disarmed and irritable with the effect of this many Garou in such close proximity, the girl takes a pinched fingerful of fries and lets them hover in front of her mouth, as if she were preparing to eat. They're a prop as she eyes Salem with concern.

Lyra blinks, and looks to Luke to see his reaction.

Salem adds, "Her family knows she exists, where she lives, and how to get in touch with her if necessary." He turns to Luke and regards the younger-yet-elder Garou blandly.

Kaz mutters, "I'm Kaz," and then something slightly lower, as she nods at Salem, and then hops back up on the stage.

Luke considers that for a short time. "That's something, anyway. Makes the situation better than I'd thought it was, though I still believe we -- the Fianna of Hidden Walk -- should have been notified."

Salem arches an eyebrow and asks, simply, "Why?"

Mel mutters darkly, "Y'know, people were tellin' me nothin' but that the Fianna were good folks an' I should give 'em a chance, but geezus... why you gotta be such a raging asshole about this?"

The Gnawer philodox shakes her head slowly. "So the Boston Fianna know. They might have easily assumed that the St. Claire Fianna knew already. It doesn't change that you could have done them the courtesy of letting them know you had found a Kin of theirs, perhaps before you told Mel and she made you promise her. You had ample time." Lyra eyes Mel again, almost exasperated. "If you found out suddenly that you had a son, and that everyone else in your apartment building knew he was your son and knew where he was long before you did, you'd be a little upset, wouldn't you?"

Salem's broad shoulders lift and fall again in another shrug. He waits.

Luke nods to Lyra. "Thank you."

Mel returns Lyra's exasperated look, frustrated. "Missing the frigging point again," she mumbles. "Make the son long-lost adopted, happy with his life, and not wanting to know his father, and you'll get closer."

Lyra actually smiles- but it's kind of sad. "Doesn't make the mother feel any better though, does it?"

Mel snaps back tersely, "Doesn't make it any more endearing if they /sue/, either. F'fuck's sake."

"And sometimes children don't know what's best for them." With that smiled parting shot, Lyra looks back between Salem and Luke. "The Fianna say three rules have been broken, and I only see case for one. -Submission- to those higher in station. By your own admission, Salem, you said you knew she was Fianna long before you ever told her. There was your chance to notify her family. In my eyes you have broken that law. Do you understand?"

The cranky redhead mutters under her breath, as she stares with disbelieving disgust at Lyra. She shakes her head as she breathes, "Oh fuck you all..."

Salem's eye flicks toward Mel at the 'children' remark and he sighs quietly as the redhead continues to fume. Then he turns back to Lyra, all business, and simply nods.

Luke has to fight to keep silent, though it's clear that he'd just as soon be snapping some retorts back to her. But it wouldn't help, so he grits his teeth and holds it in. Looking to Lyra to continue, doing his best to ignore Mel.

Lyra either didn't hear it or pretends she didn't. "Now...here's the fun part." She smiles again. "Two part sentence, Walker. The first part: you have to teach Mel why the family a tribe can be is so important. Show her what it means to be Kin. You're the only one she trusts and so that task falls to you. After you think she has learned it, and I'll leave that exact date to your judgement, then have her make a decision about ever meeting the rest of her tribe. And the second part? Treat Luke-rhya out to lunch." She hops down, grinning cheerfully. "Are we done?"

Kaz snorts, with a faint grin.

Salem arches an eyebrow, then grunts. "Judgement accepted." He looks over at Luke inquiringly.

Even as angry as he was starting to get, Luke can't quite help a chuckle at that second part. "I would ask that, to the best of his ability, he show her what it means to be _Fianna_ kin, specifically, along with that. So that, just maybe, she'll see why I take all of this so seriously." A faint grin offered to Salem, "I'll be hungry, when we have that lunch, too."

Mel is forced to pause (mid-indignantly derisive wind-up) to frown at Lyra and Luke, then shake her head slightly in sullen disapproval. Her folded arms tighten a little. "You people and your precious godamn pride..." she mutters, lips twisting ruefully. They're all chummy, now. Unbelievable. Shaking her head in incomprehension, the newly-discovered kin turns on one heel and stalks to the side exit door, hunched over with her arms folded defensively.

Lyra just grins, but when Mel starts stalking away she ducks into the space the girl left behind and starts trotting after her, slipping inbetween her and the door. She's still smiling and saying something to the Kin, speaking too low for others to hear.

"Let me know when you want it, then," Salem replies to Luke, in answer to the lunch issue. His gaze then goes to the out-stomping redhead, and he stifles a quiet sigh.

Kaz is about to hop off the stage when Lyra beats her to it. With a smile and a shake of the head, she just looks around the Rialto, instead, eyes going slightly tighter.

Luke moves toward Salem, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He gestures off to a corner, a little farther away from any ears that might overhear, though the kinswoman stalking away lessens the need for that somewhat.

Salem Spocks an eyebrow, then nods and moves off a distance from the others, hands slipping into the pockets of his BDUs.

Mel rolls her head a little, sighing and shaking her head as the Littlest Gnawer talks to her. Loud enough to be heard, Mel mutters, "Look not now, alright? I'm aware'a that, and I still have my reasons. I've had plenty'a time to think about it." She moves to pass Lyra, to push the exit door open.

Kaz does hop off the stage now. "Hey, kid, you got a sec?"

Smile fading a bit, Lyra steps away so Mel has plenty of room to leave. "See you later then," she adds halfheartedly, glancing over at Kaz in confusion over who she's speaking to.

Kaz seems to be directing herself toward Mel.

The kinfolk doesn't assume it's her. She sends a look Lyra's way, expecting the Judge to react, but it's only brief - she steps through the door after.

Luke lowers his voice so that the others are unlikely to hear. Keeping the matter private. "You've made yourself personally responsible for her safety. I was going to offer, anyway, but the fact that she was here when you didn't expect it makes me think it's even more important. If you need any help with that, I'm here. I'm a Theurge, so I just might be able to help without her ever seeing it."

Kaz mutters, "Clearly, I gotta be more specific," and heads after Mel, though she notes, "Hey, good stuff," to Lyra as she goes.

Lyra's smile brightens at that and she lets Kaz chase after Mel, looking around to see the other two off by themselves, talking. Since they don't see to have claws up, she clambers back on stage and waits patiently.

Salem considers the Fianna for a moment before nodding curtly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Luke says, at more normal volume, "Good enough." Just the one thing he felt needed to be handled privately, so he seems inclined to head back over toward Lyra again.

Salem nods again, then takes out his pocketwatch and glances at it. "Will there be anything else?" he says, looking toward the two.

"I have just one personal matter to ask of you, but if you're busy it's not worth keeping you from an appointment," Lyra says with a smile, in a much better mood now that the whole thing was over and done with.

Salem moves back toward the stage, sidestepping an old stain on the floor. "I've got some time," he says, putting the pocketwatch away.

The Gnawer gives Luke a sheepish sort of glance. "It's rather between us, rhya...I hope you're not offended."

"Personal matter does tend to imply that, yeah," the Fianna replies, already having started for the door. "No offense taken. Later, you two."

"Cockroach watch your steps, Luke," Salem says, in blandly amiable farewell.

"Ciao," Lyra calls after the departing Fostern.

Salem then turns his gaze back to Lyra, eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity.

Lyra smiles faintly at the Walker. "Luke-rhya told me how he found out about Mel, and so naturally I asked Renee. She said you'd threatened to tell the Sept about Squeaks if she didn't tell you what you wanted to know."

Salem's mouth thins, all amiability vanishing. "No. Renee berated me for not telling anyone about Mel being kin, back when Mel'd made it clear she didn't want anyone to know. I pointed out that she, of all people, ought to value my ability to keep my mouth shut. As it turns out, she _didn't_ give me the information I asked her no less than three times in that conversation... and I have continued to keep quiet about her daughter."

"Because," the Walker adds, with emphasis, "I keep my word."

The Gnawer halfmoon smiles, looking tired but pleased all the same. "I know, and that makes me happy. She's just learning how to walk, you know. You should visit her sometime. She's beautiful." Lyra's heels bounce against the stage. "I hope you don't go making more tribal elders angry. I don't think I've slept since Luke came to see me."

Salem snorts. "I'll be glad to come see her if Renee wishes me to. This is the first time I've even heard the pup's name. When I asked, she wouldn't tell me." He pauses and adds, "And you did fine. There was a reason I told Luke to come to you."

The girl looks embarrassed at the praise. "Well, it was hard to sit through him being mean about you. I know you don't mean harm and Miss Mel's clearly a force to reckon with, ne?" Lyra rolls her eyes. "I said I'd make her cookies and I will. Do you think she'll be mad for very long?"

Salem rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. Especially not if you bring cookies." He smirks faintly.

Lyra beams. "Oh good, then I'll run right home and make some then." She slides down from the stage, gives Salem a queer little salute that doesn't belong to any army in the world, and starts heading towards the exit. "I'll walk with you till it's my road home."

"Fair enough," the Walker says casually and falls into step with her.


Evening 20 June 2003 Friday

Salem and Mel's Apartment

The small, two-bedroom apartment 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.

Salem comes home close to five o'clock in the evening, his arrival announced by the usual rattle of keys in the lock. No coat -- it's been a bit too warm for his taste to even wear the light trench -- but the dark glasses are there as always.

Mel's standing in the kitchen, hands flat on the kitchen counter as she watches the door.

Salem looks up as he comes through the door, meeting her eyes from behind the dark lenses, his expression unreadable. A moment later, he nods slightly and turns away to close the door and turn the latch. "You all right?"

Mel sucks on a tooth and locks gaze with him for a moment before giving a curt nod and looking to one side. "Yeah."

Salem pockets his keys. "I should have known you'd follow me," he says, taking off the sunglasses and tucking them into the breastpocket of his t-shirt. The look he gives her is mildly rueful.

"Y'had a bug up y'ass for ages. Y'looked like shit," she explains, not looking so hot herself. Bags under her eyes are visible, as she tilts her head. Though it could be gothy make-up.

Salem wrinkles his nose, then grunts. "Fianna can be very prickly about their honor. You think Luke was bad, you should have seen their _last_ elder." He crosses over toward the fridge and pulls it open.

"What the fuck's honourable about that kind of standover tactic and demanding restitution for not being kept informed? That's pride. The two may be related, but only loosely. Only an idiot mistakes pride for honour." Mel looks distinctly sour, watching the Walker as he moves about the kitchen. Her hands still flat on the counter.

Salem cocks his head slightly, then nods, one side of his mouth quirking upwards, without much humor. "_He_ saw it as honor. But, you're right." He shrugs and gets out a bottle of water. He takes a swig of this. "He's happy now, though, and no real change." The Walker shakes his head slightly.

She mutters something along the lines of, "Fuckin' prick," shaking her head in a mirror gesture of his, and then moves to get herself some coffee. Instant.

"Like I said, you should have met the previous one." Salem takes another swig of water and heads for the couch. "What'd Kaz say?"

Mel wrinkles her nose dismissively, shrugging as she washes out a coffee mug and starts drying it. "N'much. Just wanted t'introduce herself, say 'all garou ain't that bad' and say she was on your side. N'shit. And f'me not to go hard on Lyra."

"You shouldn't," the Walker says as he settles onto the couch. "She did well. Her 'punishment' was barely a slap on the wrist, and Luke's satisfied." His mouth thins. "Makes me wonder how big a deal this really was to him, and if it _wasn't_, why he felt the need to dance. He was pissy enough when he came over in the first place. Hmph."

"Property," Mel spits acidly, calmly setting out sugar and coffee in her mug. "Rejection."

Salem grunts. "If he _really_ thought of you as property, he wouldn't have settled for the judgement Lyra gave." Salem settles back on the couch, watching her gravely. "The girl's analogy was fairly apt... apart from the bit about children not knowing what's best for them, of course." He shakes his head. "It's over, in any case. When you're ready to get to know them, they'll be there. Keep in mind," the Walker gestures with the water bottle, adding emphasis to this bit, "the Fianna in Boston were simply glad to know your mother still lived and that you were all right. They would, of course, like to meet you some time, but..." He shrugs.

Mel sighs and shakes her head some more. "I was fuckin' ready until that asshole decided to go actin' self-righteous," she grunts. Boiled water is poured into her mug, and she sips at it, moving towards the couch. Looking at him sitting there for a moment, she pauses and chooses instead to perch on the coffee table, crossing one leg over the other.

"Don't judge all members of a tribe by one member," Salem says mildly. "Not even if that member's its alpha. You've met Aubrey, yes? And Cameron's a decent sort, if a bit full of himself." He stretches his legs out in front of him.

"Don't remember meeting Aubrey." Mel sips from the mug and sighs, before looking at Salem. "You're right, of course. But I want him to know I want nothin' to do with him. I don't mind talkin' t'other folks, but if it makes him look bad because of the way he handled shit, I don't want nothin' to do with any of 'em."

Salem lifts the plastic water bottle as though offering a toast, or a salute. "That is your choice, and will remain so." He smirks faintly. "We urrah, the city types, are more interesting anyway."

Mel snorts faintly, smiling wryly. "Yeah, well." She lifts her mug to the toast, and shakes her head a little after she sips. A moment later she adds, "Thanks f'not commenting on the petulance. I'll be sane in a couple days."

Salem notes, dryly, "I'm not one to say _anything_ about someone else being irritable."

Mel chuckles darkly. "Heh. True enough." She eyes him critically over the edge of her mug, folding one arm over her waist. "You've been pretty good lately, though."

Salem grunts and swallows some water. "Things have been going pretty well lately."

"That's good." Mel kicks one foot - suspended in the air - idly, as she regards him.

Salem takes another sip and endures the study for a bit before arching an eyebrow at her and saying, amiably enough, "What."

Mel wrinkles her nose and shrugs. There's a hint of a smile at one corner of her lips. A hint of mischief in those pixie-like green eyes.

"Maybe I should give you to Luke after all," the Walker deadpans. "You're far too dangerous."

Mel doesn't lose her smile as she hides it behind her mug, sipping again. Sincerely, she murmurs, "You'd regret it."

Salem chuckles briefly, a curt little 'heh' noise. "I think he'd regret it more."

"Different type of person," she replies lightly, looking around the apartment.

"Different type of regret?" He smirks faintly at her.

"Obviously." Mel reaches over to one side to set the coffee mug down as she stretches her shoulders out, rolling them and arching her back before getting up. "I got work in a few hours."

"Night shift, hmm? Too bad." Salem takes another swallow of water. "Have you eaten?"

"Nope. But there's some stuff for you in the fridge." The redhead messes about in the kitchen, washing her mug and lounging around, leaning on the counter. Considering the Walker. "If it hadn't been Lyra and I hadn't kicked up a stink, what would they've made you do?"

Salem shrugs. "I don't know. It would depend on who _did_ act as judge, if not Lyra. Of course... by telling Luke to get a judge that wasn't Walker or Fianna, I did limit his choice to either Lyra or another Bone Gnawer... and since Anneka hasn't been around in quite a while..." He smirks faintly, just for a moment. "Rite of Contrition, perhaps... which is, basically, a very formalized and ritualized way for one Garou to apologize to another, or to a spirit."

She mutters something under her breath, a sound of mild disbelief and disparagement. But also resigned. Lacking anything better to do at the moment, the redhead makes her way back to the coffee table and perches on it again, taking up a similar position to before. Except both hands are out and back, either side, letting her lean back a little as she watches the Walker.

Salem drains the bottle of water as Mel fusses around. "We're fairly old-fashioned, as a race," he remarks, sitting up to set the empty down on the coffee table. "Hidebound."

Very close to where she's sitting. She looks down at him, as he leans over. "Hidebound?"

"Inflexible," Salem explains. "Conservative."

"Ah." Mel tilts her head a little, studying him curiously. "What's the etymology of that, d'you know?"

Salem grins very slightly, showing a hint of teeth. "It also refers to a domestic animal having a very dry, unpliant skin or hide, one that sticks close against the flesh underneath."

Mel grins with amusement. "That's cool," she notes absently.

Salem smiles thinly. "I had a vigorous education."

Mel's smile fades into something a touch more neutral. "Yeah?"

Salem nods, then gets up, stretching. "Private school, then tutoring." Taking the empty bottle, he crosses over toward the kitchen trash and drops it in. A small cockroach sits on the rim, waving its antennae. "Speaking of which, are you planning to try out the college this fall?"

The woman looks slightly uncomfortable, wrinkling her nose and shrugging. "Gonna be a bit older than all the freshmen," she murmurs. "And probably not as bright."

Salem turns and lofts an eyebrow at her. "Not _that_ much older. And you overestimate the quality of public school education." He snorts. "You're a bright girl. Besides, I hear they have quite a respectable art department. You could develop, no pun intended, and refine that gift for photography."

Mel arches an eyebrow. "Gonna be twenty, come August," she notes, idly. Then narrows her eyes at the pun. Attempting to hide some dark amusement. "You should actually tell jokes sometime."

Salem snorts, dismissing the idea that she's too old to be a proper college freshman. Then he shakes his head. "Why?"

"Deadpan. White-faced clown. You're the perfect straightman." Mel sighs idly, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling.

Salem leans against the breakfast counter, looking at her. "It's a gift," he says blandly.

"See?" She doesn't take her eyes from the ceiling.

Salem smirks and shakes his head slightly. "When in August, by the way?"

"I should make you steal my ID to find out," she murmurs wryly, looking over at him with dark amusement.

Salem arches his eyebrows. "I have other ways."

Her comment's almost a laugh, eyebrows rising in surprise. "Oh really?"

Salem straightens up, arms folded across his chest. "Really. Of course, I might uncover a few _other_ bits of information while doing so... something embarrassing, perhaps."

Mel pokes her tongue for a moment. "Yeah right. I haven't got anything more embarrassing up my sleeve than a few asshole boyfriends and the odd drunken mistake. S'the thirteenth, though."

"So you say," Salem replies dryly, one side of his mouth quirked upwards. "Thirteenth of August, got it."

"Can't remember whether it was a Friday or not. Who knows?" Mel leans forward, crossing her arms and resting them on her knee as she just watches him quietly.

"Does it really matter?" He shrugs. "When's your next night off?"

"After a couple decades of 'Haha, Friday 13 the world got Mel' y'think I'd actually know whether it was or not." She tilts her head a little, chewing her lower lip in thought. "Tomorrow. Why?"

Salem notes, "It's not difficult to look up, if you're really interested. Anyway. Interested in a movie? I hear that Hulk is actually decent. Done by the man who did that Crouching Tiger thing."

"Crouching Tiger kicked ass. The Hulk... enh. Hey. Be worth a laugh, huh?" She smiles slightly, apparently pleased at the idea. "Whatcha gonna do for my birthday, Jack honey?"

Salem's smile would be worthy of a cat. "That would be telling."

"Bastard," she returns fondly, grinning. She inclines her head. "Reminds me. Gotta keep an eye out on the Social pages'a the paper."

Salem cocks his head. "Oh? Why's that?"

"Cause there's this dress I saw whilst window-shopping some top-floor snooty arcade that'd make me look like some kind of goddess or fairy-tale princess, and you still haven't had a chance to get all dolled up with the presents I gave you, yet, either." Mel tilts her head the other way, arching an eyebrow in curious, thoughtful regard.

"Really?" Salem's tone is solemnly innocent. "I was thinking something more like a Chuck E. Cheese's."

The redhead's eyes widen briefly as she straightens like a cat about to enter a hissing contest. And then she just settles for narrowing her eyes at him, glaring daggers.

Salem widens his eyes a bit, head cocked to favor the good one. "No?"

"You're gonna buy me /lobster/!" she notes, eyes widening again at his audacity.

"I don't that's available as a pizza topping..." Salem, only partially hiding his amusement now, trails off and starts toward the back of the apartment. "Maybe anchovies?"

Mel shoots him a dry look. "You're not funny. You need to be doing /real/ jokes. Geez. Give him an idea..."

Salem pauses at the entrance to his bedroom and looks back at her thoughtfully. Then, straight-faced, he asks, "How many Garou does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

Mel grunts, "I should be hurling something very heavy at you. You could heal it after all."

Salem smirks. "You're right, I could. Makes stand-up a bit less dangerous, I suppose." Then he vanishes into his bedroom, the door closing behind him.

Looking after him and struggling to search for an appropriate curse-word to call him, the redhead eventually yells after him, "Dork!"

The bedroom door remains closed. On the other side of it, unseen, the Walker grins to himself and mutters underbreath, "Checkmate. I win." And it doesn't really matter that she'll probably make him regret it later.

Her idignant cry of, "Oh, you're /kidding/!" is clearly audible. "You closed the door! You wimp!"

And it stays closed, too. The bastard.

"Pussy!" A few moments later, waiting for response, then a self-righteously forced, "Hmph! I'm getting ready for work. Don't use the bathroom unless you want me barging in there and having a shower in front of y'." Her own door closes.