"And people wonder why kin turn hunter, or worse."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 23:11 Pacific Time on Sun Jul 13 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 63 degrees Fahrenheit (17 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.17 and rising, and the relative humidity is 72 percent. The dewpoint is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (98% full).

Studio

The studio is airy, elegantly modern and full of light: a large, high-ceilinged square room with almost an entire wall of windows. It still smells of paint, though there is no evidence of current painting. Rolled canvases lean in one of the corners, and a few finished pieces adorn the walls. A six-foot length of pipe hangs a painting behind the couch, creating a slightly more personal space that evidently serves as a bedroom; the piece is a dark, strange cityscape, an oddly skewed view of the world beyond the glass seen through otherworldly eyes. The edge of a futon can be seen beyond it; the walls around the bed bear swirling patterns of colors, calming shades of undersea blue and green. These patterns gradually soften as they grow out into the rest of the room, where walls are visible; angles replace curves, until the mural becomes a mix of ocean and circuitry. The sofa is quirky and curving, a work of modern art upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish rug in vibrant tribal colors occupies much of the hardwood floor; the coffee table, a sculpture of recycled blue and green circuit-board and shiny aluminum, rests on it in front of the couch.

Opposite the windows, a compact kitchen is marked off by a crisp stainless steel counter. The west wall nearby has doors to a closet and to a small, sparsely-appointed bathroom. The east wall holds bookshelves of pale wood, supporting a small stereo, collections of pictures and found objects, and a good number of books; the corner between shelving and the wall of windows holds a plain wooden desk with a slim notebook computer and phone atop it, and an elegant mesh rolling chair.

It's late when Salem mounts the stairs to the studio, and the Glass Walker knocks quietly on her door, unwilling to wake the neighbors... or the people within, if they're asleep.

It doesn't sound like Rina has any such issues; the stereo is audible inside, and he has to knock louder to be heard over the thrash of Ministry. She opens the door, dressed in the barely-decent sort of thing she wears out clubbing--and a flush comes to her cheeks. She is still looking slightly less than well.

Salem blinks a bit, then manages a faint, wry smile. "Evening."

Rina looks decidedly awkward, and guilty. "Uh, hi, c'mon in..."

Salem cocks his head, favoring his good eye as he looks at her. He hesitates, glancing past her into the studio itself. "This isn't a bad time, is it?"

Rina shakes her head quickly. "No. I mean I-- was goin' to leave soon, but it doesn't matter when..." She swallows, and opens the door to lean against the edge of it.

Salem's smile fades somewhat, his expression turning a concerned shade of dubious as he steps inside. "You weren't planning to look for your knifey friend, were you?"

Rina's gaze slides away. "I doubt he'd be there, on a Sunday. And I won't..." She swallows. "I'll be careful." She closes the door, and slides the bolt home. The door, incidentally, is new.

"Please do," he says, softening the curtness of it with a wry look at her. A hand reaches up, brushes back a stray lock of his long hair, then rubs at the back of his neck. "You still look a little pale."

Rina swallows, and paces across to turn down the stereo. "I'm goin' crazy," she says quietly. A glance over her shoulder, nervous, tinged with guilt. One hand comes up to rub at the back of her neck. "Coffee?" she murmurs, ducking her head.

Salem rolls his shoulders, his eye going toward the window, then back to her. "Decaf. But... we can go out for it. Andy's, perhaps?" He shrugs. "I'm a little restless too."

Rina turns to look at him, a nervous smile kindling in her eyes. "Moon gettin' to ya, huh?" She picks up her jacket from the floor and swings it on, slipping the Boker knife into an inside pocket. Grabbing her keys from the counter, she walks over toward the big canvas to turn off the stereo.

"Luna's bitch, as usual," Salem agrees, with his typical dry humor. He himself is coatless, though has a gray and black flannel shirt hanging open over a black tee -- good enough for a summer night, anyway.

The armor on, she walks out with him, locking the door and heading down the stairs. "Yeah. Glad all I get is PMS."

Salem half-smiles, one side of his mouth crooking upward as he follows her. "Wouldn't know to compare." He catches up with her as they reach the outside door and falls into step beside her.

Rina glances over to him sidelong, a faint smile on her lips. "You seem a hell of a lot better, though. Weirdly. Guess I oughta get self-destructive and letcha save me more often."

Salem cocks a glance at her, brow rising, then clears his throat and faces forward, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. "Don't need to on _my_ account. Really." He glances at her again and shrugs. "I had a chance to talk to Layne about our local red-skinned psycho. She's going to be judge of the situation."

Rina nods soberly. "Y'don't think there'll be any trouble, do ya? I mean, if it goes against you it could fuck up your bid. And there's no sense doin' that just 'cause of some fuckin' mulignan' chick." She walks easily, her hands in her pockets.

Salem's eyes narrow slightly, some of his good mood souring. "It's the principle of the thing, Rina. She has a right to live as she wishes, as long as it doesn't harm the Mother. Besides... I don't think it will go badly. Leonard made a grave error in kidnapping Jeremy, and his past behavior stands against him. Plus, as I've testified, he's been abusive to the woman and she's afraid of him."

Rina lets out a breath. "Yeah, clearly the asshole doesn't know how to behave. Worst thing about those fucking "pure" tribes. Treat their women and children like shit. Not that they're much worse than certain /other/ nationalities. Does he drink?"

Salem scratches his chin, thinking. "I heard he got into a fight with Reggie because the man'd brought beer to the farmhouse... Oh. Met another of their kin yesterday. Halona Bleeding Sun." He shakes his head. "Said that in _her_ experience, kin were pawns and sacrifices. Very bitter, that one." He glances up at the moon. "Not that my family were any better."

Rina lets out a breath. "Yeah, well. I left Chicago 'cause I didn't wanna be a goodfella's wife."

"And people wonder why kin turn hunter, or worse." Salem shakes his head. "Let's talk about something else. Before my mood _really_ goes south."

Rina steps closer to his side, a hand hooking through his arm. "Yeah, so. Hm. Cat seems to be gettin' better... more independent."

"Is he? Good to hear." Salem purses his lips, thoughtfully. "I should sit down and have a chat with the boy. It's been a while."

Rina nods. "Yeah... maybe you can come for dinner sometime. He'd love t'see you without bein' exiled from my presence, I imagine. Kid just /knows/ somehow, when I'm gonna be out lookin' for trouble." She slants a wry look over to the man. "You teach him that shit? Cause I noticed you're pretty good at it too..."

Salem utters a low, quiet chuckle and taps the side of his nose. "Deep secrets, deep magic." He's joking, obviously.

Rolling her eyes, Rina murmurs, "Maybe 's'just talent. Like the Stare. Or that thing where you sneak up and scare the crap outta people."

Salem glances sidelong down at her. "The Stare?"

Rina raises an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, you know, the Stare... like Clint Eastwood, or John Wayne. That thing that tough guys have. The flinty stare that makes people just back away."

Salem stops walking and turns to face her. The wry amiability drops like a flimsy facade and he simply _looks_ at her, his expression gone flat and animal and angry. The beast is all too close to the surface at this time of the month, and it isn't hard to see it now, growling restlessly behind his eyes and gnawing on its chains.

Rina swallows, and stands her ground with an obvious, deliberate effort of will. There is a slight catch in her breathing. "Yeah," she breathes. "You guys get that for free."

Salem blinks, straightening up and looking away, taking a deep breath. He forces it back, the too-easy anger, and shakes his head. "Nothing's for free, Rina," he says, starting to walk again. "It's... controllable now, but still." He shrugs curtly. "Luna's bitch, as I said."

"Yeah," she murmurs, looking away with a suppressed shiver as she starts walking beside him.

"Malone was right, though," he says quietly. "The needle didn't really help... it was a temporary solution at best, and not a very good one. At the time, though..."

Rina shakes her head minutely, and watches the ground in front of her. "I'm real sorry about ... about what happened," she murmurs.

Salem glances at her. "What, Friday night?" He shrugs. "As I said, it's forgiven. Just promise me you'll be more careful next time."

Rina glances over to him, and then looks down again. "You... know how it feels, don't you."

She can feel the increase in tension, the subtle tightening in his body. "Only so far as... needing to, ah... turn off, sometimes. Escape conscious thought."

Rina swallows. "Yeah," she lies easily. "That's what I meant. It... gets hard, is all. And sometimes I go over the line. I'm real sorry."

He's not using the Gift, but even so... Salem eyes her dubiously, as if scenting the falsehood; he knows her too well. "I know it's hard," he murmurs.

Rina looks to the lights of Andy's up ahead. In that slick tight PVC, she has been getting a look or two, the occasional catcall trailing after them, hurled by teens too headstrong even to be intimidated by Salem.

"It's aright," she murmurs. "I'm good."

"The need for, ah, pain..." Salem's voice is barely above a murmur. "No. That, I don't. Intellectually, I understand, but..." He shrugs. "It's not important." He ignores the catcalls; they're inevitable.

"I was talkin' about the loss," she murmurs, glancing over to him briefly before averting her eyes. "Actually."

"Oh. Erm." The hint of embarrassment in his expression is subtle. He nods. "Yes."

Rina nods minutely. "Was it-- during the troubles?" Her voice is soft, uncertain, but the dark eyes are sharp, looking over to him.

Salem doesn't look at her; his gaze is focussed on the donut shop in the distance. "Not the ones you mean, I don't think." He hesitates a second, then adds, "I was engaged, once."

Rina nods. "How long ago... was it?" Then, a bit quick and awkward, she adds, "You don't have to talk about it, really, if-- it hurts too much."

"It's a minor wound, relatively speaking," he says somberly. "Wasn't even a formal engagement... This was back before I was, ah, disowned by my family. Arranged thing, you know what I mean?" He shrugs minutely. "I rather liked her, though. Played the violin." He glances at her, mildly rueful. "But I don't even remember her name."

Rina swallows. "Oh. I didn't know you were cast out... I thought you decided to be Ronin, or something." She glances over to him, sidelong. Then they reach the lights of Andy's, and she pauses a moment outside, to see if he'll answer.

Salem glances at her again, then shakes his head. "No. Some do, I know. But not me." He raises an eyebrow. "I doubt I would have petitioned Malone if it'd been otherwise."

Rina nods minutely, and heads inside, her eyes lowered.

Rina walks into Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts, north of Bridge Street,, drawn by the scent of hot fresh donuts.
Rina has left.

Drawn by the scent of hot fresh donuts, you walk into Andy's Old Fasioned Donuts.

Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts

A small quaint donut shop, tastefully done in blue and white. A glass case, showing a variety of fresh donuts stands at the back of the store. Standing behind the glass case, a small old woman, looking to be in her sixties, is busy with customers. A young girl, slightly taller than the old woman and looking to be around sixteen rushes back and forth through a swinging door, bringing out trays of donuts or coffee or other delicious smelling items.

A sturdy door to the south opens out onto the street. Small round metal tables have been set out near the window, '+help places' will assist you in seating.

Salem follows the kinswoman inside, his gaze quickly scanning to an unoccupied and somewhat isolated table.

Rina heads for it, a place where they can both have a wall to their backs and watch the comings and goings. "Two coffees, two glazed?" she tells the waitress as she passes by. Then she is stripping off the jacket and sliding into the seat with a squeak of vinyle on vinyl.

"Decaf," the Walker tells the waitress. The full moon's enough; he doesn't need any other stimulants. He settles into the chair opposite Rina's, and his eye roams again, noting faces, positions, the late-night staff and the one or two noctural patrons besides themselves. Habit.

Rina rolls her eyes heavenward. At a table some six feet away, a pair of college students eye Salem nervously and ask for their check, then hurriedly go to the cashier.

"So," Rina says idly, leaning back and crossing her arms.

Salem's mouth thins at the fleeing students. Then he exhales a quiet breath and turns his attention back to the woman sitting across from him. Sitting forward, he rests his arms on the table, hands folded together. "So," he echoes. One eyebrow rises. "Anything else you wanted to ask me about my sordid past?"

Rina's smile tugs upward at one corner, wry and dangerous. "Not that I'd talk about in here."

Salem lifts his chin slightly and looks arch. "True. And just as I planned."

Rina laughs a little, softly. She drums both hands on the table. "You're a piece of work," she murmurs.

When she laughs, he smiles faintly, the full moon giving the expression a darker edge. "It runs in the family."

Rina sticks out her tongue at him. The waitress comes to drop off their food and drinks, silently.

After dumping some sugar in her coffee, Rina stirs it and studies the dark surface. "Cat misses you, I think."

Salem keeps his black and pure, sipping gingerly. His mouth thins at her comment, and he looks faintly guilty. "I know. Things have been... busy."

"You wanna come for dinner, sometime this week? Invite Mel if you want..." She watches him closely, her dark eyes shadowed.

Salem's eyebrows lift. "I doubt that would be what _you_ want, though. Or Cat."

"He needs to learn to deal with women," Rina says pointedly.

"Mm. True." He takes another sip of coffee as well, expression thoughtful. "Maybe you should invite Charlie as well."

Rina flashes a smile. "I'll try," she says easily. "Might be short notice... how's ummmm... Thursday?"

Salem nods. "Thursday's good." He smiles faintly. "Maybe we'll even be able to make it a celebratory dinner."

Rina grins. "I'd like that."

"Yes..." Salem drags the word out, fingertips tapping silently against the side of his cup. He picks up his donut, bites into it, chews, swallows.

"Cool." She sets down her coffee and nibbles on one of the doughnuts. "Mmm. Sugar."

He smiles crookedly and washes down his mouthful of donut with some coffee. "Indeed." He wipes his mouth with the napkin and remarks, "It's a shame you can't be there Tuesday night. It should be... quite interesting."

Rina tips her head slightly. "Somethin' I been meanin' to talk to you about. If you make it to the top of the ladder, I want people like me havin' some access. Maybe supervised, if it hasta be--I know what happened with that one chick who turned, last year--but somethin'."

Salem nods. "I agree with you. Unfortunately, that sort of thing is up to the one who's stuck to the place to protect it. In this case, Robert." His mouth thins. "I'll talk to him about it, of course, but I doubt that he'll budge, and top man or no, Robert outranks me by quite a lot. Even if I _do_ manage to get that promotion."

Rina nods, lowering her eyes. "Yeah..." She wrinkles her nose, and has a drink of coffee. "Still. It'll be good for us, if it works out."

"Damned shame Dena skipped out on us," Salem murmurs. "She allowed... that. But." He shrugs, giving the kinswoman a rueful look.

Rina lets out a breath. "Yeah, well," she murmurs. "Gotta love the Furies." She drinks down some more of her coffee, watching him over the rim.

Salem just shakes his head a bit in reply, smiling in a faint, crooked kind of way as he takes another bite from his donut.

"You've been aright?" she asks, softly.

Salem toys with his coffee cup, turning it around slowly and gazing into its black depths. He considers the question. "More or less," he answers, after a few seconds. He glances up and regards her from under lowered brows; he still has a trace of that crooked half-smile on his lips. "Ask me Tuesday night, and I'll tell you better. I'll come over afterwards, all right?"

Rina flashes a sudden grin. "Yeah."

"It'll be late," he warns, as if she doesn't know that already; between Moot and Revel, he's probably never contacted her before 3am, after one of these things. And then there was that time he was up until past dawn...

Rina shakes her head minutely, her smile lighting her eyes. "You know I don't care."

Salem gives Rina a bit of the old pirate's grin, flashing teeth like a rogue wolf. The waitress, starting toward the table to see if the dark couple wants a refill, hesitates and retreats back to the counter, looking vaguely spooked.

"I'll bore you with all the details, then," he says. "Send you right to sleep."

Rina's grin echoes his own. "Yeah. I'm sure it'll be a yawnfest."

"_Completely_," Salem agrees, sitting back and making his expression serious. Only the glint in his eye gives him away.

Rina catches her lower lip between her teeth, and smiles at him--and almost, he might think it was a year ago.