"Are you saying that you broke Leonard's arm, he frenzied, and you _survived_?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently 09:03 Pacific Time on Sat Jul 12 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (88% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 58 degrees Fahrenheit (14 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.03 and steady, and the relative humidity is 97 percent. The dewpoint is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room

All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.

The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.

An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.

It's midmorning and the farmhouse is deserted. Nobody wants to be around anyone else during a full moon, especially not cubs who may have control problems. So it is that Sunny has the lounge to herself, and is using the tablespace to weave on. Yes, weaving. Girly stuff.

The front door opens to admit the imposing presence of the local Glass Walker alpha, currently looking casual in black sweats and sneakers and with dark circles under his eyes. Seeing Sunny, he pauses to study the unfamiliar face a moment before offering a blandly polite, "Morning."

At first glance, Sunny might not appear particularly out-of-the-ordinary. This is, after all, a multicultural society. She stands a willowy 5'9" tall, well-built without being too muscular, more of the wiry and half-conceiled strength about her. Athletic, her body is trim and supple, the woman moving with a sensual, almost feline grace that speaks of long hours in practice, or a lifetime's training. Her skin is a deep bronzed hue, partly by birth and partly from an active, outdoor lifestyle, offset perfectly by long and silken black hair. Her facial features - high cheekbones and a soft jaw, nose a little more prominant than it might otherwise be - suggest a native Indian heritage. This is only enhanced by the keen, almost preditory watchfulness in her eyes, those being so dark that it's hard to tell where pupil ends and irises begin.

She is wearing what looks to be a tunic and pants made from doeskin, both parts of her outfit close-fitting to save getting in the way. Her pants - more like breeches, really - have been dyed a rich forest green and embroidered up along the seams with alternating red and white threads, criss-crossing to form a kind of lace-up patern. Her shirt, cinched at the waist by a wide and utilitarian leather belt, is a softer beige in hue, with mottled patches of green and blue decorating the arms, shoulders and chest. On her feet are her normal moccasin shoes, and her long, soft black hair is plaited into a million tiny braids, each one tied off, and then all bound together in a simple tail at the nape of her neck by a strip of leather.

"Morning," the kinswoman agrees, glancing up to the entrant. Meeting his eyes briefly, she inquires in a somewhat forthright manner, "Who are you?" Might as well know early-on if he's going to flip out on her or not, though he looks a bit old to be a cub.

"Could ask you the same." His tone is light, though he doesn't smile; he's got the kind of face that looks like it doesn't see a lot of smiles. "Jack Salem, Philodox and Elder of the Glass Walkers."

"Pele smiles," Sunny replies, though likewise she dosen't. "Just the person I need to see." Given her garb, it woulden't be hard to imagine her living in a teepee, so it's probably no surprise when she adds, "Halona Bleeding Sun, Wendigo kin."

Salem arches an eyebrow briefly at the 'need to see', then inclines his head politely and settles himself, with a facade of calm that's helped somewhat by a certain physical weariness, into an armchair. "Pleasure. So, what can I do for you, madam?"

"You can tell me where Sarah is," Sunny replies, quite openly. "It's time this came to an end." Sitting back, she ties off her weaving with a tidy knot, flexing her fingers to work out a cramp before lacing them over her stomach.

"No," the Glass Walker replies, firmly. He rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and laces his fingers together, mismatched eyes watching her work.

Shaking her head slightly, Sunny responds, "This isn't about the Glass Walkers. Other tribes shoulden't even be involved. Sarah is Wendigo, and by that nature she should come to us. I'll be open with you - I don't know why she's running. But to say she'll leave the city to escape her Elder, when she would not leave to escape some idiot's attack....I seek to understand more. But I can't do that without talking to her."

"She did leave the city when her apartment was attacked," Salem says, his voice still bland. "She came here, to the farmhouse, and was driven off from it by the Elder she fears. Sarah's issue with Little Bear predates her problems with the break-and-enter." He purses his lips, studying the kinswoman. "I will tell you how to reach her, though, if you vow not to give that information to Little Bear unless Sarah herself requests it."

"If you think you can trust me, then by all means," Sunny replies, some amount of dry humor in her tone. "I have my own issues with Buffalo, albeit not quite the same as hers."

Salem smiles thinly, the expression not touching his eyes. "Trust isn't something I give out freely. But I will settle for your word of honor... because, certain present-day exceptions aside, your tribe _is_ known to be an honorable one."

Sunny scrubs a hand back through her multi-braided hair. "Then you have it," she responds. "May Wendigo Himself strike me down if I give the information regarding Sarah's whereabouts to Leonard."

Salem nods, shifting his weight slightly and sitting up. "She's in Los Angeles," he says. "Under the hospitality of the Sept of the Steel Angel."

Sunny whistles softly. "We knew she was south, but....not /that/ far south," she murmurs. "No wonder they coulden't get Questing Stone to be more specific. Do you have an address I can write to?"

"I can give you a number to call," Salem says. "Not Sarah's, but of a representative of the Walkers there. Do you have a piece of paper handy?"

Sunny shakes her head. "No. I have a good memory, however," she responds. "I should be okay to remember it."

Salem shrugs faintly. "Very well." He gives her a number, area code and all.

Sunny nods, repeating it back to the Walker before adding, "You're not quite the behmoth I was warned about." Distinct humour there. "How is your Kin, by the by? I visited him a few days ago and he didn't seem too happy. Tried levelling a shotgun at my face."

Salem lifts an eyebrow. "Jeremy?" His mouth thins; he shrugs again. "He'll survive. He's had quite a history of abuse, from what I've gathered, but he'll be all right in time." His head cocks, the good eye more directed at her. "Though it will be a long time, I think, before he trusts another Wendigo. He _did_ consider Leonard a friend, you know."

Sunny shrugs delicately. "He seemed to think I was there to take him back to wherever it was Leo held him. Myself, I don't see the point. Kin are pawns, nothing more, in my experience. Expendable and generally more trouble than they're worth." Yes, her tone indicates she's including herself in that. "Still, there's anything I can do to ease his paranoia, do let me know."

Salem grimaces, then shakes his head. "That, I'm sorry to hear. It is rather different among the urrah." He settles back in the chair. "I'll pass the word along to Jeremy, though."

Sunny smiles ever-so faintly at the term used, though dosen't outright comment on it. "I don't think I could handle being treated differently. At least I know where I stand with Leo." That smile grows now, distinctly feline and amused at some memory or another. "Though I somehow doubt city-Garou would put up with me any better than he does."

Salem lifts an eyebrow quizzically. "Oh?" He unfolds his hands and gets up from the chair in a smooth, predatory motion; the control in the gesture belies the full-moon tension underneath. Heading for the kitchen, he asks, "Can I get you anything, by the way?"

Sunny shakes her head slightly. "Thankyou, but no. How would you respond, Glass Walker, to a kinswoman breaking your arm during a full moon?" she inquires, her tone innocent-sounding.

Salem pauses in the doorway betwen living room and kitchen to look back at her, head cocked, his expression intent and calculating. "If we were both unlucky, I'd frenzy. If not..." His voice turns dry. "I'd question the kinswoman's wisdom."

"The reasons for doing it are mostly irrelevant now," Sunny replies, shrugging loosely. "The point is, I'm still alive. Could you say the same if you lost control?"

Salem answers with a very honest, and quick, shake of his head, his scarred face set in a neutral mask. "No. Though it's been a long time since I lost control."

Sunny inclines her head slightly. "I'd offer to break your arm now, to test the theory, but regardless of how I might behave I do revere life. Still, it more-or-less makes my point. I wasn't unscathed, but I'm still here."

Salem looks at her curiously. "I'm not sure what point you meant to make. Are you saying that you broke Leonard's arm, he frenzied, and you _survived_?"

"Yes," Sunny replies. "He threw me across the room by the grip he had on my arm, and got away to calm down, while I acted as if I were dead. Perhaps a bit of both contributed, but that's the way it was."

Salem grunts. "That doesn't sound like a frenzy. You probably just made him angry." He vanishes into the kitchen, from which come the sounds of a cabinet, then the fridge being opened.

Sunny shrugs loosely. "I know what I saw," she replies dryly. "He acted a lot like my brother used to, while he was a cub."

Salem returns with a glass of orange juice, with ice, and leans in the doorway to sip it. "Your brother's Garou?"

"Was Garou," Sunny replies, arms crossing over her chest. "He's dead now, thank Gaia."

The Glass Walker arches an eyebrow, considering the kinswoman's manner. "Traitor or accident?"

Sunny smiles, though it's not mirthful. More bitter than anything. "Traitor. Tried to abandon his pack when they were overrun by Fomori."

Salem's nose wrinkles, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "My sympathies to your family. Having a coward in the bloodline can be... unpleasant."

"You have no idea," Sunny responds, her tone dark. "My parents, fortunately, have escaped his shame."

"And you haven't?" Salem takes a sip of juice, his gaze intent on her.

Sunny shakes her head, though her expression says she'd rather drop the subject. "Like I said, Kin are sacrifices." She curls her legs under herself, one arm in her lap, the other stretched out along the arm of her chair.

Salem's eyes narrow, and after a moment he shakes his head. "Hell." He takes another sip from his glass, saying nothing for a bit.

Sunny shrugs loosely, unwilling to break the silence straight away. Picking up the threads of her weaving, she continues her work; looks like it's going to be some kind of flat wicker tray when she's done, with the warp and weft dyed blue and green respectively.

Salem watches her work, quietly, as he drinks. It's possible that he wants to ask, to inquire further, but unlike most Garou -- and most people -- he knows when to keep silent. Eventually, glass empty but for ice cubes, he stands up and glances over at the clock. "I ought to be going. Planned to take a turn around the bawn."

"Walk with Gaia," Sunny bids, the response automatic. She dosen't look up from her weaving, however.

"And you," Salem replies. His expression is thoughtful as he leaves out the back door.

--------------------------------

It is currently 14:57 Pacific Time on Sat Jul 12 2003.

Center of the Caern

This area of the clearing is about 30 meters wide and is a mixture of dark soil and clay throughout. The ground is mostly mud, but patches of grass, halted by winter's cold, are beginning to peek through the ground and take root. Near the center of the clearing, a small cairn has been built with white stone and quartz--what was left of the beautiful boulder that was once there. None of the stones is bigger than a softball.

Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.

Salem sits crosslegged on a relatively unmuddy patch of ground near the cairn in the center of the caern, apparantly deep in thought.

Layne might generally be surprised to find the city Garou here, but this afternoon's an exception. Spotting Salem near the cairn, the Fianna lengthens her stride, heading directly for him. "Evening," she offers, tone smooth, low. Her fingers knit together at the small of her back.

There's still a darkly brooding look to those shadowed, hazel-blue eyes, but it isn't without the occasional flash of pearly whites in a grin that any pixie would envy. Those who know her true nature (woof, aroo) might find Layne's remarkably catlike and mercurial moods amusing. In passing, she exudes something like indifference. She seems wary, untrusting, as if beneath the usual devil-may-care attitude, a part of her has hardened on the inside, hidden away. This tends to make her appear a bit older than all of her twenty-one years.

No mistaking her Northern European descent: pronounced, elegant features, long limbs... Her would-be blonde, mid-back length hair has been saturated thoroughly with bright, fire-engine red and raven black, providing a jarring contrast to her pale eyes. She's got a good tan...not the kind one tries for, but a coloring that speaks of long hours out-of-doors under the sun. A broad, spiderweb scar stands out against the bare bicep of her left arm, whitish-pink against deep chestnut.

She's wearing a black sleeveless tee, the bottom of which falls just short of the wide, leather belt sitting low on her hips, revealing a belly-ring and, behind, part of a tattoo: a Celtic knot in a circlet of ivy. The low-rise jeans she wears are old and fraying around the hems, but prove reliable. On her feet, she seems to favor a pair of thick-soled, black leather biker boots. As far as jewelry goes, Layne is fond of her piercings: little hoops line either ear, another ring in her right eyebrow, one more pierced through the middle of her lower lip. Around both wrists are black, spiked leather cuffs.

Salem stirs slightly and looks up, mismatched gaze fixing on the other Philodox. "Evening," he replies, just as smoothly.

Layne seats herself several feet away, cross-legged, palms dropping back to support her from behind. She levels her gaze with the Walker, cocks her head a fraction. "I've spoken with Leonard. He's told me as much as he possibly can, I think. Now I'm here for your side of it." Her voice and expression remain calm.

Salem leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "From the beginning, then?"

"Please," the Fianna answers with a nod.

Salem nods and sits up, calm masking an inward tension, Luna's fullness keeping the beast close to the surface. "I came back to the farmhouse after giving Kansas some instruction on Philodox matters and heard what sounded like a minor altercation in the barnyard. I arrived just in time to see Leonard strike my cub, Quentin, across the face and Sarah, looking rather stressed, returning to the scene with a rifle. I asked Leonard if there was any problem. He informed me that Quentin had been disrespectful, which I doubted. Meantime, Quentin had retreated back to the farmhouse and Sarah attempted to follow. Leonard stopped her forcfully. She was crying, clearly disraught. Eventually, he took the rifle from her and forced her into the barn for a private conversation. I waited outside, near the house. When they emerged, Leonard went directly into the woods and Sarah, still upset, went toward the house." He takes a breath before continuing.

Layne listens without comment, nearly motionless, eyes fastened on Salem as he recalls these events.

"I knew her by sight," the Walker continues. "We lived in the same apartment building, though I'd moved out since then. But I'd never had an opportunity to speak to her. I introduced myself and asked her what was wrong, at which point I found out about the breaking-and-entering that had driven her away from the city. Sarah indicated, too, that she had to leave the bawn, where she'd gone for refuge, but was unwilling to leave school. She has a scholarship at the local college, you know." He rubs his mouth. "Quentin joined us, and from him I later learned that Leonard had been upset with Sarah because she wanted to avoid him... and the reason she wanted to avoid him is because he'd threatened to murder Sepdet if the kinswoman ever spoke to her again." He grimaces briefly. "At the time, however, I merely gave her my number so that she could contact me, if she wished."

Salem, restless, pushes to his feet and paces somewhat as he recounts events, hands clasped behind his back. "To make a long story short, we helped her. The city tribes, that is. The Bone Gnawers put Sarah up at the church until she could obtain a new apartment. My people, with the Gnawers, worked on finding out more about her attacker, who showed a few signs of possibly being, mmm, not entirely mundane. I also helped her directly with her move, taking pains that her stalker wouldn't easily locate her new address... Which is, again, in the same building I live in now." He looks over at the Fianna and shrugs. "Safer for her, that way, I thought."

Layne's gaze falls away for a brief moment as she considers something, head bobbing slowly.

The Walker pauses. "I've skipped a bit. Because while Sarah was staying with the Gnawers, Yi spoke with Leonard and took him to see her. I wasn't there... but Renee was, and Quentin. By Quentin's report, he was quite rude to Renee, showing her no respect on her territory..." He looks over at Layne and shrugs a bit ruefully. "Something which I, myself, have been guilty of, in the heat of temper." This is added with complete candor. "And for which I've made some amends, as well respected Renee's wish that I not visit the church in future." He paces again. "What became clear is that Sarah wanted nothing to do with Leonard and felt nothing but antipathy for him, and that Leonard, in my opinion, cared little for her wishes, only that she was Wendigo kin, and therefore 'his'." Frowning, he continues to pace. "I found him, not long afterward, lurking about outside our building on Regan Street, right on my doorstep almost, hunting for Sarah's attacker without so much as speaking to me about it. When I told him to get off my territory, he at first refused and then decided to obey, but to 'collect his kin', his words, before doing so. I told him no, and we came to blows. I won."

He looks at Layne again. "At that point, I told Leonard that he was no longer welcome in the city. As I am Elder of the Glass Walkers, that is, traditionally, my right, along with Renee's as Elder of the Bone Gnawers. Renee has not gainsayed my decision in this. At that point, I considered the matter closed, until and unless Leonard decided to go over my head to a higher-ranked Garou, or a Philodox, or until he chose to approach me to make amends. Unfortunately, I was mistaken."

Layne's lips pinch together for a moment, and she mentally dog-ears something the Walker's said.

Salem thinks for a bit. "The incident with Leonard was Tuesday night, first of the month. The next evening, Alicia informed me that she'd seen Jeremy's car at the farmhouse, abandoned and cold. Since Jeremy is not one for camping out, I gathered a few others to search for him using the Questing Stone. Myself, Alicia, Kaz, Renee, and Aiyana. We found Leonard's scent near Jeremy's, at the origin point, but Leonard's scent and the stone's direction diverged. Eventually, we found Jeremy near-hysterical, down a fifteen-foot hole in the middle of the mountains, past the Bawn's edge to the east, and in his underwear. He was bruised and battered, though the damage was mostly... emotional." He grimaces. "I found out from Jeremy later that he'd given Leonard a ride home, thinking of the Wendigo as a friend, and once they reached the farmhouse, Leonard struck him. Actually... Jeremy said that Leonard first attempted to knock him out in homid, and when that didn't work, Leonard shifted to Crinos and simply beat him face-down into the dirt." Salem's controlling his anger well, but it's certainly there. "I suspect that the entire kidnapping incident was a combination of revenge on Leonard's part and a way of getting myself and other urrah out of the city for an extended period so he could look for Sarah unimpeded. Unfortunately for him, Quentin has, with my blessing, taken Sarah out of the city, where she intends to remain until Leonard is taken care of." He stops pacing and turns to face Layne, arms folded across his chest. "And there it is."

The Fianna halfmoon's expression darkens several shades near to the end of Salem's recounting, but she's quick to free herself of the urge to offer input. She's here to listen, absorb--that's all. After clearing her throat, she titls her chin up toward the Walker, and wonders, "What more can you tell me about Sarah's attacker? Leonard mentioned a couple of things... One, a "Russian guy" and, two, that he figured you were using the kin as bait."

Salem's eyes narrow. "_Bait_?" The very idea seems anathema to him; his disgust isn't feigned. "I suggested she move into my building for her own safety. No other reason." He shakes his head. "As for her attacker... we have a few leads. He speaks Russian, he's quite large, though no one has seen his face. He can take a good deal of abuse and keep running, and he's incredibly strong. It's possible he's a classmate of Sarah's. There's another theory which states he's connected with the murders in the news... which were not done by a wild animal, or anything with claws. Claw-wounds were faked. And the livers of the victims were removed." He exhales a sharp breath. "Investigation's still ongoing."

Layne's brows flicker slightly, and she nods once. "So I hear. I'd like a chance to question Sarah, but if she's outta town..." the Philodox shrugs, "I can work with what I've got." Rising to her feet, she eyes the Glass Walker. "If anything else comes to mind, please let me know--soon." A faint smile tries to soften the gravity of the moment, and the tension of the moon.

Salem nods, watching her. "Are you planning to give your judgement at the Moot?"

Layne pushes hands into her pockets. "That is the plan. You'll be leading the Cracking, won't you?"

"I am," Salem says. He purses his lips slightly, then says, carefully, "One more thing. I have great... concerns... about Leonard's behavior, and the kind of attitude it indicates. His threats against Sepdet, his treatment of his kin, his disregard for my own kin, not to mention his disregard for both Renee's territory and my own..." He exhales a breath sharply. "The Wendigo are an honorable tribe, but right now I'd rather have a Shadow Lord holding a knife behind me than Little Bear. And I'm not very keen on the trustworthiness of the typical Shadow Lord."

Layne seems curious. She looks as if she might reseat herself, but doesn't, simply shifting weight from one leg to the other. "...what /sort/ of concerns? Have you had dealings with Leonard before now?" The Fianna's eyes widen marginally as she's reminded of something, but waits first for Salem's response.
Salem shakes his head. "Only briefly... I met him when the caern was still invaded and he was still part of Salmon's Leap, with Sepdet. Glass Walker and Wendigo... we never had much occasion to speak with each other." He eyes the Fianna. "My concerns... bluntly speaking? I fear for my kin, and my cubs. And I am not alone. He values his pride more than Sepdet's life, more than the well-being of a young man who's done no wrong to him. I think he's a menace, and a detriment to this Sept."

Layne simply nods without voicing her opinion one way or another. Which she finds grows steadily more difficult. "Will be taken into consideration," she says, after almost struggling for something 'appropriate' to come back with. It sounds far too formal coming from her, somehow. "Something else that I've been curious about...and Leonard has mentioned this, as if it's relevent to this 'case'... I know you've been protecting a leech, somewhere, for some reason. What for, exactly?"

"Information," the Walker replies, and then shrugs. "He's agreed to help us learn more about his own kind, and is even willing to betray the other vampires in the area. He's also sworn to not kill, ghoul, or make more of his kind... with the understanding that his unlife is at an end if she breaks his word."

"Information," Layne repeats. She seemed to guess as much. "And I'm sure you're aware what could happen if information were to leak in the other direction, and are taking every precaution to ensure that doesn't happen." More of a statement, but the question is there.

"Of course." Salem's mouth twitches, though he doesn't quite manage to smile. "I'm not a fool."

Layne manages to smile where he does not. She seems satisfied with the answer, at least. "I can't think of anything else..." A brow raises, and she watches the Walker quietly.

"Nor I," Salem says. He inclines his head to her. "I'll see you at Moot, then, if not before." With that, he turns to go.