"The girl's worried about you, you know."

[hazlogs]

6/27/2003

True to her promise, Sarah calls early, giving him an address.

"Excellent," the Glass Walker says briskly. "Come on over, and we'll go pick up your things."

Sarah shows up at the door some fifteen minutes later, having taken a cab. She looks almost like one of them now--the length of the braided hair hidden under a dark-grey hoodie that has seen better days, Docs rather than hikers at the hems of her boot-cut jeans. She still has that bleak expression, like a photograph of some long-ago Indian during the times of war, back in the nineteenth century; the dark eyes are slow to meet his gaze.

Salem has his hair tied back and wears black jeans and a dark red t-shirt. Dark glasses hide his eyes, especially the blind one. He gives her attire an approving nod and offers a small paper bag with a bagel inside. "I rented a U-Haul for the trip out," he says as he locks up his apartment.

Sarah takes the bag, and blinks at him. "Thank you. Do you need to drop off the van? I can drive..."

Salem gives the kinswoman a brief and rather wolfish smile. "Already taken care of." Pocketing his keys, he heads down the stairs to the street, his manner brisk and confident.

Sarah's brow furrows slightly. "Red Mill, then." She follows him to the truck, climbing up into the passenger seat. On the drive over, she eats the bagel in absentminded bites. "I'm probably being paranoid, huh."

With Luna at her lowest phase and still shrinking, it is, perhaps, the best time of the month for the former Ahroun to be behind the wheel of a large vehicle. Indeed, Salem seems rather cheerful. For him, anyway. "Doesn't hurt to be a bit careful."

"Mmm." A mouth-full noise of agreement, as she downs the bagel hungrily.

They arrive at the apartment building soon enough, and luck's with them in finding a decent parking spot. "There," Salem says as he puts the truck in park. He looks over at her. "Ready?"

Sarah nods, crumpling up the bag and bringing it with her. She pulls a ring of keys from her pocket, and opens the door to swing her legs down and hop out. There is tension in her strides, perhaps, but no hesitation as she heads into the complex and up the stairs.

Salem catches up with her easily and falls into step beside her. As they step inside the building, he takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into the breast pocket of his shirt. His gaze roves, keeping alert.

The door has been replaced, and the key she opens it with is new--picked up on the last trip over, with Yi. There is no police tape, and no drama waits inside--only sordid bloodstains on the carpet, and an assortment of boxes and furniture. "Heavy things first? We can both get the frame, together..."

Red Mill Apartments #215

This apartment consists of one room, maybe 900 square feet or so; a bathroom is tucked into one corner, with a small kitchen beside it. The only other feature is a louvered set of closet doors on the left wall, across from the small tiled kitchen alcove. The apartment is sparsely furnished, with a twin-sized futon made up as a bed by the windows, and a crate with a cloth thrown over it serving as nightstand. The only table is a well-beaten desk, usually strewn with books and papers; a dilapidated office chair that has seen better days sits nearby, and often holds a pile of laundry or books. Boxes of books are opened, but sit along the walls and in corners waiting to be unpacked.

Salem grimaces at sight of the bloodstains and nods as he looks over the kinswoman's sparce furnishings. "Biggest and heaviest first."

Sarah glances around. "Desk, then." She unloads it of its drawers, efficiently, and together the two of them manage to get it out the door and down the stairs. The bookshelf follows, and then the futon frame and futon... and after that it's just trip after trip, bumping up and down the stairs with the U-Haul handcart.

Salem has something of a knack for organization, and the U-Haul's space is used efficiently. Finally, there's nothing left in the apartment but a few odds and ends that may or may not go with the kinswoman to her new place.

She drops by the office to drop off the key--just putting it in an envelope and sliding under the door. The silent efficient mask remains, as they return to the truck--though the exertion has given her a faint glow, and a few spots of sweat mark her t-shirt.

Did we mention that the Walker's efficient? As Sarah climbs into the truck, he produces a small cooller with ice and bottled water. "Everything clear?"

Sarah closes her eyes for a moment, taking a bottle gratefully and pressing the icy plastic to her forehead. "Thank you," she murmurs, just leaning back in her seat for a moment.

Salem nods crisply and sets the truck into motion, and in not too much time they're outside city limits and moving at a good pace down the highway, only just a bit faster than the posted speed limit -- enough to keep up with the rest of the morning traffic but not so much as to attract a trooper's wrath. "Where are you from, originally?" he asks, apparantly out of idle curiosity.

Sarah watches the barren outskirts of Saint Claire slide by. Grassy overgrown fields, occasional warehouses, and then the lumber-scarred forests. "Minnesota," she murmurs.

"Ah. I was born in Vermont, myself." Chattiness doesn't come naturally to the man, but he seems to be making an effort to set her at ease.

Sarah shakes her head minutely. "I wouldn't think you were from back east," she says quietly. "Except, maybe you're a little..."

Salem gives her a glance, one eyebrow cocked questioningly.

Sarah looks over to him, apologetic and self-conscious; then she turns her face away, looking out the window again. "Uptight."

Salem snorts, the sound more amused than annoyed. "I have my reasons," he says, easily enough, and then flicks the turn signal. "Almost there."

'There' is soon revealed as a Motel 6 just off the highway and an anonymous-looking dark blue van parked in the back.

Sarah drinks down her water by the time they get there. "I figured," she murmurs. A deep breath, as they park and get out--and then it's a shorter exercise in moving, transferring everything to the other vehicle. Luckily she doesn't have a whole lot.

As they're moving the last couple of boxes of Sarah's things from the U-Haul to the van, a woman near Salem's age in grubby jeans, tank, and open flannel shirt comes around the corner. Her hair's a curly mop of black underneath a Mets baseball cap, and a spattering of freckles bridges her long, straight nose. "Damn," she says with a light Southern lilt. "I'm late." She grins crookedly and wiggles fingers in a wave at Sarah.

Salem seems to know her; he snorts and tosses her the keys to the U-Haul. "No, just in time. You certain you don't mind?"

Sarah studies the woman with dark, impassive eyes. She doesn't interrupt--obviously the two are friends--but she does observe. Closely.

The stranger catches the keys easily. "Nah." She turns blue eyes on Sarah. "Don't worry, hon. Your boy comes sniffing, and this rig'll show being dropped off in Virginia." She grins, winks, and climbs into the cab of the U-Haul.

Salem turns to Sarah with a thin smile. "As I said... it never hurts to be careful. Shall we go?"

Sarah blinks in disbelief. "Thank you," she tells the stranger. Then she glances to Salem, and nods, climbing into the van and giving him the new address.

The curly-haired woman waves through the open window of the U-Haul and drives off. Salem, his expression solemn again, waits a few minutes before following. He heads in a different direction, and takes a different route back to St. Claire, navigating a slew of backroads that eventually brings them through Kent Crossing and down Bridge Street.

Sarah is quiet again, watching the woods and the land roll by. She closes her eyes after a time, not quite falling asleep, but dozing a bit during the long drive.

Salem remains quiet, himself, his mind on the road and whatever other business it needs to occupy itself with. Soon enough, Sarah feels the van slow and pull over to the curb.

Sarah takes a deep breath, and opens the door to slide out. Once again, she works with a tireless efficiency that almost matches the Walker's--though her strength, of course, is a notch or two below his own. She takes up the radio first, flipping on the heavy-alternative station to give them a soundtrack of the White Stripes and Linkin Park, the energetic music serving to fuel her efforts.

Against this soundtrack, the work goes quickly, and in not much time at all the boxes are in and stacked and the other furniture has been carried up and set where Sarah directs it to be placed.

In the end, she gets out glasses to pour them both some slightly-metallic water, handing him one with a faint, tired smile. "Thanks," she says quietly.

Salem brushes back a thin lock of hair that's escaped his ponytail, tucking it behind his ear as he accepts the drink with a grateful nod. "It was my pleasure." After taking a swallow, he looks at her, head cocked. "I haven't heard from Quentin yet. When I do... do you want him to know where you live now?"

Sarah averts her eyes, and nods quickly. "He doesn't think so," she says quietly. "Just-- don't tell him he has to do anything." Her chin lifts slightly, the proud line of that profile returning. "I don't want to be anyone's obligation. Anyone's duty." Dark, flinty eyes look back to him, then.

Salem smiles slightly and lifts his glass in a kind of toast, meeting her eyes evenly. "I admire an independent spirit. Very well."

Sarah echoes the gesture, mustering her small, fleeting smile. "Thank you. I... hope you can find him." The flicker of concern comes to her eyes, and she looks away to hide the pain that follows.

Salem finishes off the rest of the water and sets the glass down. "Don't worry." He turns to go. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

"I will." She shows him to the door, then, her expression somewhere between softness and confusion, the masks slipping away. "Luna's blessing," she says quietly, by way of farewell.

"Gaia watch you," Salem replies, and then exits, leaving her with the task of unpacking boxes in the new place.


05:23 PM

You paged Quentin with 'Ring ring.'.

Quentin pages: It takes a moment, before there's an answer. The sounds of eating, background noise, and silverware clicking in the background. "...hey." He sounds tired.

Long distance to Quentin: Salem's voice is easily recognizable. "Quentin? It's Salem. Where are you?"

From afar, Quentin tries to sound more awake, "Hey. I'm at an IHOP.. what's up?"

Long distance to Quentin: Salem says, "I had a chat with Sarah last night... and helped her move this morning." The Elder sounds only mildly exasperated; overall, he seems to be in a good mood. "The girl's worried about you, you know."

From afar, Quentin is quiet for a moment - maybe he's taking a bite of breakfast, or just thinking of how to respond - before answering that, "Well.. she should be more worried about herself. I'm not the one with some guy bothering her." Mildly put, but he is in public.

Long distance to Quentin: Salem | "I think she'd like to see you," Salem replies. "In fact, I'm quite sure of it."

From afar, Quentin replies to that, "Given that she -wouldn't- tell me where she's staying, boss, that'd be kind of difficult."

Long distance to Quentin: Salem snorts. "Give the girl a break, Quentin. She's been assaulted and threatened by not only some stalker from class but by her own brother. She doesn't want to put anyone out, either, or be anyone's duty. She's got pride. But that doesn't mean she doesn't want to see you. _I_ can tell you where she lives. Don't ask me why she didn't tell you herself. You can do what you like with the information... I'd recommend you go there and bring a pizza or something, but--" The Elder's tone is dry. "...That's not an order."

From afar, Quentin sighs, "I haven't had the best night either, Salem. I slept on a fucking park bench last night 'cause Leo and Yi were over at 'Licia's and she was trying to do the whole mediator thing.."

You paged Quentin with 'Mediator thing?'.

From afar, Quentin snorts, "Yeah. Trying to work out why Leo and Sarah doesn't get along."

Long distance to Quentin: Salem grunts. "Yi. Hrmph. Well, anyway... do you want Sarah's address or not?"

From afar, Quentin seems reluctant, "Well. You sure she wouldn't /mind/?"

You paged Quentin with 'Quentin, do you think I'd even offer if I hadn't specifically asked her if it would be all right?'.

From afar, Quentin considers that for a moment. "Yes," he finally replies, "If you thought it'd be better if I did go over."

Long distance to Quentin: Salem snorts. "I don't betray confidences that easily," he says curtly.

From afar, Quentin chuckles faintly, "There's a difference between betraying a confidence and using loopholes. Anyway. Okay, okay, fine. what is it?"

Long distance to Quentin: Salem rattles off an address to an apartment on Regan Street. "No idea what her new phone number is, or even if she's set it up yet."

From afar, Quentin mms. "Don't think so. She was calling from a pay phone."

You paged Quentin with 'You can surprise her, then. Oh, and do me a favor?'.

From afar, Quentin hms? "What?"

You paged Quentin with 'If you see Yi, tell her I wish to speak to her.'.

From afar, Quentin hehs softly, "Will do. Last I knew she was passed out in Alicia's place, so she might see her sooner'n I do.. I'll let her know, though, if I see her."

Long distance to Quentin: Salem grunts. "Thanks. Be seeing you." He clicks off.


Rina pages: Hey, does Salem's place gots a name? And have you built anything or is it just one room?
You paged Rina with 'It's just the one room... didn't name the building or anything.'.
From afar, Rina nods. And decides Sarah took his advice and moved there.
Long distance to Rina: Salem okays and makes a note, then. Regan Street. Grandmotherly landlady named Emma Blum.
Rina pages: Landlady's white?
You paged Rina with 'White and Jewish.'.


Harbor Park -- Fountain

Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.

The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its feet.

Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.

Renee is seated on one of the park benches, a small flock on pigions infront of her. All the winged-rats are eagerly gobbling up the bread crumbs the Gnawer throws them

Salem comes into view, strolling along at a rather easy pace, hands in his pockets and looking remarkably casual in clean black sweatpants and a dark red t-shirt. The usual filterless cigarette hangs off his mouth.

Renee looks up as the Walker aproaches, frowning thoughtfully. "Yo."

Salem pauses and looks up, his eyes hidden behind dark lenses. His expression bland, he heads her way. "Afternoon."

Renee scoots over on the bench, so she isn't hogging the whole thing and Salem can sit if he wants too. Pulling out another handful of crumbs, she throws them at the birds. "Lyra gave me yer box."

Salem takes a perch on one arm of the bench. "Oh?" he says. He takes a drag off the cigarette. "Good." His tone and face are neutral.

"That was good of you," the Gnawer Elder rumbles. "Pocketed a piece of raw-hide fer Squeaks."

The Walker's broad shoulders move in a careless shrug. "How's she doing?"

Renee throws another handfull of bread crumbs out at the birds. "Doin' okay. Movin' 'round more. Gettin' a bit more tempermental." Pausing the Galliard pushes up the sleeve on her sweater, exposing her left arm. Which is covered in a series of small, angry scratches. "Kid has one hell of a set of claws," She mumbles, recoving the arm.

One corner of Salem's mouth quirks upward, amused. "Born in the form of war. So, not an early changer, hm?"

Renee shrugs. "Hasn't show any sign of changin' yet. Then again, she ain't walkin' on her own. So, you know, might be kinda early yet."

"By all accounts, every one's different," Salem says, studying the end of his cigarette. "I've heard of some doing it almost from birth. Others not until they're thirteen... around the time a homid would."

Renee scratches at her cheek. "Yea, never know what they're gonna do." She shrugs and sighs, emptying out the last of her crumbs. "I need ta chew on Q, if I can manage ta find him."

Salem arches an eyebrow and glances sidelong at her. "Oh?"

Renee shrugs. "Well, no-one ever bothered ta tell me that she was hidin' from Little-Bear, her Tribal Elder. If I'm lettin' someone stay on my turf, its nice ta know 'bout that kinda shit."

Salem's mouth thins. "If I'd known they were planning to hide at the church, I would have told you myself. I assumed that Quentin had said... or had told Lyra, at least." He shrugs. "I hear that he gave you an earful. Leonard, that is."

Renee's nose wrinkles up. "Yea, I did. Figure I'll be hearin' more 'bout it, at the next moot." She shakes her head. "As fer Q an' Lyra, hopefully they'll manage ta make-up. Lyra is feelin' all guilty an' Q has a bug up his butt."

Salem snorts. "Quentin usually does. So, why does _Lyra_ feel guilty?"

Renee coughs, covering it up with her hand. "Well, she kinda walked in as Leonard was leavin'. Q was tryin' ta reasure Sarah with his arms 'round her an' talkin' soft. Didn't look so good, for those comin' in."

Renee scratches at the back of her neck. "From what Lyra tells me, she snapped at him pretty good, after I left an' now Q is all bent outta shape."

Salem wrinkles his nose and mutters a short phrase in Serbian. "Had a feeling that would happen." He takes a drag off the cigarette. "They'd both be better off with someone they could date in public, you know," he remarks, evenly.

"Yea, I know,' Renee rumbles softly. "Think its startin' ta get ta Lyra, ta tell you the truth."

"You know anyone she could be, mm, introduced to?" He glances sidelong at the Gnawer again, one eyebrow rising.

Renee sighs. "Probably made it worse, by stickin' my nose inta the situtaion. S'kinda hard ta miss the fact that Sarah like Q. Which ain't a good thing really, all things considered. Best ta squish that, before any idea start creepin' into her head." The Galliard shakes her head. "We're kinda low on Family, right now. 'Round here, atleast."

Renee says "An' I'm not about ta hook her up with some human guy. Got burned by that, once already."

Salem's eyes narrow, his mouth thinning. "Why do you not think Sarah and Quentin getting together a good idea? Which isn't to say they _will_... Sarah has pride, and Quentin's apt to get pissy when he thinks he's unwanted."

Renee watches Salem sideways. "The girl is /Wendigo/, for fucks sake. They're almost as bad 'bout breedin' as the Fangs. Her Tribe would pitch a fit. Sicne they put so much effort inta keepin' their blood Pure, bein' the Pure Ones."

"And I used to be a Shadow Lord," Salem replies, his chin lifting slightly. "Are _you_ going to sit Sarah down and insist she lie down with some Wendigo she doesn't know, just because he's tribe? I'm not." He inhales smoke, lets it out in a thin stream of gray. "I'm surprised to hear a _Bone Gnawer_, of all people, acting as some kind of advocate for purity of racial lines."

Renee scowls. "Fuck off," she rumbles, a certain amount of irritation in her voice. "I jus' don't think it would be worth the trouble, of pissin' off the whole Tribe."

Salem bares his teeth in a brief, wolfish grin, roguish and savage, more flat defiance than any real humor. "Oh no? I do. Not to piss off her tribe. But to protect her freedom. It's the fucking twenty-first century, after all."

Renee shrugs. "Suit yerself."

The grin fades into a thin little smile that's more characteristic of the dour, cynical Glass Walker. "Nevermind. It'll be on my head if it comes." He takes another drag off the handrolled cigarette.


Later, still at the park fountain.

Salem's tall form is arranged on a bench near the fountain, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, the light at the end of his cigarette glowing in the dim light. He's dressed much as he was earlier.

The cyclist comes zipping northward, from the south side, shooting along the edge of the park with the nubby rattle of a mountain bike on cement. She has the hooded sweatshirt on, the hood up. She catches sight of him, and skids to a halt abruptly at the park's edge. There's something ambivalent about the way she swings off the bike, on the opposite side from him--but after a moment she walks the bike resolutely into the park. It is, after all, dark.

The rattle of the bike catches Salem's attention, and he stirs from his thoughts and sits up, looking her way. His expression remains guarded as she nears; in the darkness, he doesn't recognize her right away.

Something clues her in, and she reaches up to push back the hood on the way over. While she leans the bike against a park bench, the dark eyes don't leave him. Her expression is sober, tired, touched with feeling at the edges where the mask begins to crumble.

Once he realizes who she is, he relaxes the neutral mask a bit. "Evening. I spoke to Quentin. Let him know where you were."

Relief flows visibly, the mask faltering. "Thank you," is all she says.

Salem inclines his head. "I did tell him that you'd like to see him. I did not, however, put him under any obligations." His lips quirk in a wry expression, not quite a smile. "Whatever he does, comes from him."

Sarah presses her lips together, and glances away. "Was he okay? I mean, did you--talk to him at all?" For the stone-faced Wendigo, the worry is transparent.

Salem takes a drag off the cigarette, turning his head away from her as he exhales. "He was tired. He was chased out of his living space by Alicia and her... company. Leonard and Yi." The Walker's face tightens, his jaw clenching subtly. "He'll be better once he gets some decent sleep."

Sarah lets out a quiet breath. "There--" She swallows. "--wasn't any trouble?"

Salem's shoulders lift and fall. "None that I know of."

Sarah nods minutely. "Good." She looks over to him again, then, and gives him a quick, faint half-smile. "Thank you, very much, for helping. With moving, I mean."

"As I said," the Walker says mildly, "it was my pleasure." He has the look of a satisfied cat, aloof but genial. "How'd the unpacking go?"

Sarah nods minutely. "Fine. I don't have a phone yet, but I'll let you know when I do." She looks to him, lifting her chin a little. "In case you need anything looked for at the school, or vessels for talens, or anything like that." A weak, odd little attempt at a smile. "I remember when I first came here... making arrows, when everyone was asked to stay at the... safehouse?"

Salem considers that. "You mean the one that was attacked last summer?"

Sarah nods minutely. "I stayed there for a while. After the... fort fell to the enemy."

Salem sits back on the bench and studies her face for a moment, carefully. "I thought you looked familiar when you moved into Red Mill, but I couldn't place it..." He shrugs, looking wry. "We'll have another one, eventually. And, yes, I likely _will_ ask you for a favor some time or another." He takes a drag off the cigarette. "For now, though, concentrate on getting yourself resettled... and hopefully we can deal with your, mm, Slavic fanboy very soon, and very _finally_."

Her chin lifts a fraction, and she says, quietly, "Let me know if I can help, with anything."

"Absolutely," Salem says. He sets the cigarette in his mouth and shifts his weight forward, standing up in one smooth motion.

Sarah nods. "Thanks," she murmurs.

Salem dips his head to her in a slight bow, the gentlemanly gesture at odds with the scarred face and too-casual clothes. "You're welcome."

Sarah tips her head toward the city. "Walking back? Or did you drive?"

"Walked." He shrugs easily. "It's a warm night."

"Mind company?" she asks, quietly.

Salem crushes the cigarette out on the back of the bench and flicks the butt into a nearby trash can. "Not at all," he says, with amiable courtesy. "Would be my pleasure."

Sarah smiles faintly. "Thanks," she says, turning to walk the bike out of the park.