"He's not gonna stick around. Nothin' left."

[hazlogs]

It is currently Mon Jun 23 2003, morning.

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (42% full).

McDonald's

A small McDonald's which is devoid of any sort of garish trappings. Instead, it seems to focus on fast, friendly service with a smile and good food. Above the counter to the north, you can see the glowing yellow billboard which details the food and prices. Behind the cashiers, a few people can be seen scurrying about near the grill, making drinks or tossing finished burgers down a small metal chute toward the cashiers. Along the side wall, children's high chairs can be seen, each with the grinning face of Ronald McDonald. A wall poster asks you to donate money to the Ronald McDonald House. Opposite the cashier counter are both Smoking and Non-Smoking sections for in-house dining. Fake plastic plants hang from the ceiling and below the skylight in the center of the room is a square wooden basin that rises 3 feet into the air. In the basin are live potted plants, including a rather stumpy tree.

A glass door on the western side of the fast food joint leads back out onto the street.

She's a familiar sight, but... somewhat different. Seen leaning in a booth, incongruously early through a McDonald's window. A blissed-out smile on her face, tangles and dark black-dyed streaks in her hair, and dark eyeliner and faintly purple eyeshadow. Leather, PVC, bared arms and shoulders, arm-jewellery, spiked bracers.

Salem, passing by on his way home -- the redhead wasn't the only one out all night, though Salem's activities were a good deal less recreational -- spots Mel. He pauses, eyebrows rising in surprise, and then heads into the McDonalds. A summer trenchcoat hangs open on his tall frame; his hair's unbound and sunglasses shade his eyes from the morning sun. Otherwise, he looks the same as ever, Satan's Bastard Brother in utilitarian black.

There's a young man opposite her, in torn-up motorcycle leathers, blue spiked hair and ample piercings along the edge of one ear. He bobs from side to side, gesturing meaninglessly with his hands in explanation of the speech Salem can't hear. Mel simply remains there, leaning back in the booth and smiling that fond smile. She gives a slow wink, and reaches over to ruffle the boy's hair. He bats her hand away, and she chuckles with the devil's own smile.

Salem tilts his head at the sight. His mouth twitches, but his expression remains unreadable. Crossing over toward the registers he moves past Mel's view, but after that first glance doesn't look her way. It's morning and the fast food offerings are especially greasy, but he obtains a couple of egg mcmuffins anyway, along with a cup of coffee. The woman behind the counter looks distinctly nervous; no surprise there.

Over at their booth, he can hear the redhead instructing her friend to, "G'wan. Git. You need sleep." His reply, in a midwestern drawl, "You stay in touch, n'kay?" A moment's silence and on the edge of hearing, a kissing noise. The punk drifts past Salem, clinking from chains with a spring in his step. Mel leans back grinning fondly, and it's only as the punk passes Jack that she blinks with faint surprise; still smiling, but with a different edge.

Salem glances at the departing boy, a subtle cock of the head, then turns his attention back to the counter as his food arrives, the mcmuffins in a to-go bag. Didn't he say it was for here? The Walker isn't annoyed and he thanks the woman behind the counter politely, but she doesn't lose that twitchy, rabbity look. This, too, is no surprise. He turns away and, seeing Mel alone in the booth, heads her way.

She's already rising, murmuring, "Hey..." fondly and smiling in a rather blissed-out way, still. Seeing him approach, though, she slides slinkly back into the seat and pats the space next to her. "C'mon in, cowboy."

"Long night?" he asks dryly, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. He sets the bag down and takes the spot in the booth next to her.

Mel rubs reddened eyes with one hand and slips the other arm around his waist, settling in tiredly next to him. And resting against his side. "Mmhmm," she agrees muzzily, nodding. "Need sleep."

Salem takes a careful sip of the scaldingly hot coffee. Eyeing her sidelong, he raises a brow. "I'll walk you home. Heading there myself." With a crinkle of paper the bag is opened and the first mcmuffin is unwrapped. "Hungry?"

Mel's eyes are on the oppposite booth-seat, as she rests her head against his arm. A faint creek of leather, and the familiar scent of cigarette smoke. A hint of alcohol.

Salem answers himself. "I suppose not." But he takes the other breakfast sandwich from the bag and sets it, unwrapped, on the table as he starts in on the first. Another sidelong glance at the girl, and an amused little smirk.

"Should'a got y' t'meet Teddy. Came in t'catch up. S'back in St. Claire - just visitin'." She grins, with sharp, bright white teeth. "He'da been shit-scared'a you. Probably f'the best."

Salem chuckles briefly. "Probably. Glad you had fun. Oh." He wipes his mouth, takes a sip of coffee. "Do you remember a Native American woman who lived at Red Mill? Eighteenish, somewhat aloof?"

"No. Why?" Her head moves on the trencoat, turning up to blink up at him innocently.

"Her apartment got broken into." Salem grimaces. "Twice. Possibly someone from one of her classes." He shakes his head. "She's family, by the way. Like you rather than me. Has a bit of a crush on Quentin, too." After another sip of coffee, he continues. "I know Ms. Blum's got some openings where we live now, so I suggested she go ask there. Doesn't feel safe at her old place."

Mel frowns. "He better not be interested. Poor little Lyra..." She shakes her head dismissively, shrugging and sighing softly. "Yeah, bring her round. Someone to chat to or something, while you're off pissing off the locals." Her next sigh is a lot heavier, and she rubs his arm, murmuring wearily, "Oh Jack..."

Salem mutters, "Lyra'd be better off with someone she could be seen in public with..." Then he eyes her, Spocking an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Gettin' tired of it all. Miss the good old days." She looks back up to him. "Renee dropped by. Said you kicked some Gnawer kin dog and insulted 'em. One problem... same bitch was pregnant with Raul's pups." She sighs. "Gnawers don't want you closer'n one block near the Church 'less it's life or death. You're not allowed on their territory 'cause'a what'y did."

Salem grimaces, his face tightening. "Fucking cur comes at me, and I'm supposed to what? Stand there and get bitten? Jumped on? Is it so damned hard for them to say hello, idiots, do not fuck with the big tall one with the scars? Fucking Christ." His mood taking a severe downturn, he finishes off the mcmuffin, adding something about 'fucking doghumpers' under his breath.

Mel mumbles into his arm, "Sorry."

Salem grunts. "Not your fault." He unwraps the second sandwich, his body tight with anger.

She pats his arm, and slides her other hand over his chest. "Hey. Jack...?"

Salem pauses, holding himself still, eyeing her with his mouth full. He swallows. "Yes?"

Looking up at him with red-rimmed green eyes, the young woman takes a deep breath and sighs. A few whisps of hair have pulled free from the hairband. They nearly obscure one eye. "It's been a long night. Take me home?"

His expression softens. He nods, wraps the remainder of the sandwich and places it back in the bag. "All right." Getting up, he offers her his arm.

Mel nods a few times as well, letting her head droop as she takes the offered arm and rubs at her eyes with the heel of her free hand. A huge, cat-like yawn follows. "I just didn't wanna walk home alone is all," she mumbles in excuse.

She's not the steadiest on her feet... the usual natural grace and self-awareness must be muddled by either tiredness or whatever kind of chemicals her body's had running through it in the last few hours.

"No problem at all," the Walker says smoothly. With coffee and bag in one hand and his free arm around the girl's shoulders, he steers her toward the door and out into the street's morning chill. It's started drizzling, the promise of a less-than-cheery day, weather-wise.

She relies on the support, forced - after a few near-stumbles - to keep her eyes on the pavement. The sweat on her grey tank's dried, but the amount of midriff showing (despite the leather jacket), is taut and almost goosepimpled for some reason. She hunches in the jacket, and under his arm. And she waits a long time before murmuring quietly, "What were y' planning on doing today?"

Salem grunts. "Business, mostly. Family. It won't be until later, though." He walks slowly, mindful of the redhead's exhaustion. His own body's too well used to functioning on no sleep, and being stone cold sober helps a great deal.

"Cool. Long's you're getting out and about a bit," she mumbles. Mel sighs a bit, and notes conversationally, "Teddy left St. Claire back ages ago. Back when his twin brother got his head mailed t'the big guy. S'been ages."

"The rule about no bringing people over still stands," Salem notes, his tone mild.

Mel blinks, looking non-plussed. "Huh?" She looks up at him, eyes innocent and perplexed.

Salem shakes his head. "Nevermind." He gives her a faint smile. "Glad you had fun."

Mel blinks again, and the her expression turns wry. She slaps him on the chest lightly. "Idiot," she snorts, looking back down. "Wouldn't say fun so much... we were just catching up. Filling in the blanks. Missing folks. You know."

The faint smile remains, but there's a tightness in his eyes, behind the dark glasses. "I know, I know," he says, his voice amiable. "I remember coming back after an absense. Finding out what'd changed, what hadn't..."

"He's not gonna stick around. Nothin' left." She smiles sadly, moving in tighter. "And I think he grew up. Got a real life."

"Ah." For a time after that, he doesn't say anything more, just walks with her through the waking city.

She's silent, too, too tired and hunched to do anything but move on auto-pilot, helped along. Lost in thoughts.

They reach the apartment soon enough, Salem disengaging his arm from her in order to unlock the door. "You working tonight?" he asks.

The redhead shakes her head minutely, against his side, and then pulls herself away to push the door open for him and stagger in. Her expression's dull, now. Private and quietly reserved, thoughts turned inward.

Salem doesn't bother with the light; he closes and locks the door behind them, jaws tightening as he stifles a yawn. "Go get some sleep," he advises her, rather unnecessarily.

She stares at him for a little while, wrists crossed and dangling in front of her, as she hunches in her jacket. Expression dull and unreadable... it only shows more thought working away. And a hint of sadness, maybe wistfulness.

Salem's brow furrows as he looks back at her, puzzled and a touch wary. "What."

The faintest hint of a resigned smile tugs at one edge of her lips and she shrugs. "I dunno..." she murmurs, shaking her head, and turning to weave her way to her room. "Thanks f'walking me."

Salem rubs at his mouth, then grunts and heads for the kitchenette, to finish breakfast before retiring to his own bed. "You're welcome. Sleep well."

That brings a dark, drily amused, "Pfeheh..." from the woman as she opens the door and begins disrobing, showing off the arm-jewellery and skin again before closing the door.