"You're going to damage your ears. Not to mention letting dangerous men sneak up on you."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 12:10 Pacific Time on Fri Jul 25 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 64 degrees Fahrenheit (17 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from variable directions at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.01 and falling, and the relative humidity is 69 percent. The dewpoint is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (23% full).

Bawn. Burial Mound.

Renee can probably be heard before she is seen, heavy boots crunching leaves and twigs underfoot.

It's sunny and noon-time and the temperature's not reached the 70-degree mark. Salem sits crosslegged near John Smith's marker, meditating... or at least he was until Renee's approach. Stirring from his thoughts, he looks up and waits for her to arrive, elbows on knees and fingers laced loosely together. His expression is blandly neutral.

Renee comes to a to a stop just to the Sept Elder's right and she respectfully tilts her head in a nod toward the marker, before properly facing Salem. "Thought that I might find you here," she rumbles softly. "Been talkin' ta Drew. Gettin' along okay."

Salem's eyebrows rise; his gaze focusses on her with sharp interest. "How's she doing?"

"Other then seemin' real tired, okay." Renee states. "Mostly, I'm gettin' the feelin' that she is hurin' inside. Scared fer her kids, too. Scared that Russ is gonna grow up like John an' end up dead. The guy is cute. Has John's eyes."

"So I heard." Salem leans forward slightly, resting his chin against steepled fingers, frowning. "That's probably why she doesn't want anyone doing Baptism on the boy. She doesn't want to find out he's Garou. Slim as the chance is. How's the little girl? Did you see her?"

Renee nods, a half-smile touching her lips. "Yea, Gave her some candies. She was too busy watchin' discovery, ta pay me much mind."

Salem remains solemn. "She seemed all right to you, then?"

Renee scratches at the back of her neck. "Yea. Fer the most part. She is helpin' me ta find a home fer Seth, the kid that Lyra picked up."

Salem makes a little 'mm' noise. "Well, she _is_ a social worker... Any leads?"

Renee shakes her head. "Actually, she did ask somethin' of me an' I did promise ta give it a shot." The Gnawer takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly, before jerking her chin toward the marker. "I know it ain't typical fer Kin ta be let onta the Bawn, but she'd like ta pay her respects. I'd be willin' ta take responsibilty fer her an' I think it would do a lot ta help her heal."

Salem's mouth twitches into a thin, wry smile. "The Alpha says yes. But you'll have to speak to the Warder, since the final decision is his."

Renee nods. "I know. Considerin' what ya told me about his reaction ta me bein' Caller, you might have more luck talkin' to him."

"True. I've been planning to speak to him about kin being allowed on the bawn anyway." Salem straightens up. "Had any word of Tatt?"

Renee shakes her head. "Not a peep. Sorry. I'll let ya know as soon as I hear somethin'."

Salem grunts. "I've checked with Questing Stone once or twice. As far as I can tell, she keeps moving. And with that damned Strider speed..." He grimaces faintly, then looks at Renee. "It's going to take a concerted effort to bring her in. Cut off escapes and enough power to knock her down and hold her. Then we can take her somewhere for a positive check for taint."

Renee nods. "Kay. You can count me in."

"I thought I might be able to," the Walker says with another of those thin smiles. Then he asks, "Does Raul know the Rite of Cleansing?"

Renee hrms. "I'd think so, but I'd have ta ask. Still, ya gotta think Salem, she cleaned up once an' went back. Whats ta stop that from happenin' again?"

Salem shakes his head. "Cleaned and _cleansed_ are two different things. It's not the drugs so much as what ends up _added_ to them." He grimaces. "In any case, if she does need to be culled... _if_ she does, I'd rather it be done with her soul clean of taint."

Renee nods. "I can deal with that."

Renee ohs. "An' Jarred has started pokin' his head out again." The Galliard smirks. "Already managed to piss him off, even if he diserved it. The guy started badmothin' Mama Rat an' callin' her stupid. Kinda told him that dishin' the Totem's of other Tribes wasn't that smart an idea, but he didn't catch the clue. Kept on yappin' an' bein' insultin'." Renee grins. "Did manage ta get him back. Should have heard him cursin' me."

Salem's eyebrows rise. "Jarred?" He frowns. "When was this? And where the hell has he _been_?"

Renee shrugs. "Couldn't tell ya that. 'Bout where he has been, anyway. I ran inta him yesterday. Damn, you should have seen him. The guy is fuckin' Fostern, so its not like I can smack him 'round fer insultin' Mama Rat. So, ya know, I was all polite an' said goodbye. Wandered aways a bit, ta where he couldn't see me. Then the bugs started ta gather. First, he just waved at'em, then more of'em came." THe Galliard chuckles. "Didn't take him long ta clue in. Man oh man, was he ever fuckin' pissed at me."

Salem's smile is particularly thin, perhaps because he's remembering his own up-close-and-personal experiences with that Gift. "I imagine he was. And, unlike Cockroach, Grandfather Thunder doesn't care much for the scent of honey. Did he have anything useful to say at all?"

Renee shakes her head. "Not really. Jus' made some small talk with him. Oh, I managed ta get Liver-Boy. Ya see that in the paper?"

"I did indeed," the Alpha says, mismatched eyes intent on her. He isn't smiling now, though there's approval in his voice. "Nicely done."

Renee grins widely, clearly reacting well to the praise. "Thanks. After nearly two months, I was startin' ta wonder if I'd ever managed ta track down the bugger."

"Any idea whether or not he really was related to Sarah's attacker?" he asks.

Renee shakes her head. "He wasn't. I cleared that up by talkin' with her nearly a month ago. The guy who attacked her, punched her face with his right hand. Liver-Boy was a lefty."

Salem grunts. "So, he's still at large, whoever he is. No sign of him since she moved, though. Hopefully, my presence in the building will detract him from trying again."

Renee nods and partialy turns, as she prepares to leave. "I'm gonna get goin' have ta get home."

Salem nods. "Thank you for the update. Give my regards to your pack."

Renee lifts a hand in farewell. "I will. We'll be addin' Alicia an' Yi soon enough. Mother watch.""

Salem arches an eyebrow, though if he's surprised at this, he doesn't show it. "Gaia with you," he replies evenly.

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It is currently 20:33 Pacific Time on Fri Jul 25 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (21% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 74 degrees Fahrenheit (23 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.94 and steady, and the relative humidity is 48 percent. The dewpoint is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)

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's key rattles in the lock, a familiar herald to the Glass Walker's arrival. His thoughts are only partially on the here and now; much of his mind is going over business -- Sept business, city business, ex-packmates-possibly-tainted-from-bad-drugs business, that kind of thing.

The redhead - always easy on the eyes, at least - is wiggling around the kitchen with a discman tucked into her baggy cargos, and doesn't seem to be paying terribly much attention to the chicken thighs she's showering sauces on. Dinner's a roast, tonight, apparently.

Salem sniffs the air appreciatively and, as he closes the door and pockets his keys, he surveys the domestic scene with an expression that's half wry amusement and half, well, something else. He steps up quietly behind the girl, a smirky little glint in his eyes as he reaches to pluck off her headphones.

Rocking her hips and shoulders slightly, Mel murmurs, in a fake yell to the music, "...Mother fuckorrr..." The tinny thrashing can be heard quite well as he approaches.

Nimbly, the headphones are snatched from the girl's head, the too-loud music becoming more audible to the room as they almost vanish from Mel's hearing. "Boo," Salem deadpans.

She bumps into him, leaping back, with her arms rising. The girl's eyes wide as she turns rapidly to the sound of, "FU--JESUS fuck! What th-- Christ! /Jack/!"

Salem, looking nigh-insufferable, offers her back the headphones. "You're going to damage your ears. Not to mention letting dangerous men sneak up on you." He smirks, very faintly. "What's wrong with using the stereo?"

"Neighbours. Noise." She mock-scowls, wryly, taking back the headphones and then giving him a light gut-punch. "Gimp."

"Ow," says the Glass Walker, meaning it not at all. His gaze shifts past her, toward the stove. "Mm. When's dinner?"

"Forty-five minutes or so, depending." Mel folds the heaphones up, and jams them in a pocket - the cord dangles like some kind of hazard, as she rests her weight on one hip, hand on the other. Considering him. "Do you want your vegetables stir-fry with rice, or roasted?"

He considers that for perhaps a full second. "Roasted." A hand comes up, fingers raking absently back through the shorter hair. "Mm. Time for a shower then, before dinner." Turning away, he asks, off-handedly, "How was your day?"

"Not exciting, but satisfying," Mel replies, over her shoulder, turning to return her attentions to finishing the chicken, ready for oven-roasting. She takes a tiny bit of sauce on her finger, licking it and then licking her lips.

"Likewise," comes the answer, before he disappears into his bedroom.

"Time for a shower, then," she mutters, goodnaturedly to herself, rolling her eyes. "God forbid he just /do/ the vegies... 'You covering that? Good.' Yeesh. Almost as bad as... gah. Can't even withold sex as punishment 'cos he's got no friggin'..." The mutters trail off as she hooks the oven open with her foot, and pushes the tray in. Mel reviews the state of the packed chicken pieces with a faint, thoughtful, "Hm."

He pays the rent, doesn't he? The man works hard. It's almost like something out of Ozzie and Harriet, if Ozzie was a murderous monster and Harriet a street-bred sexpot. Actually, giving the situation some thought, he's more Bruce Wayne -- the bitter version, the dark knight... but what does that make Mel?

Some analogies are best left unexamined.

In any case, he's humming slightly to himself as he goes from bedroom to bathroom; the door closes behind him and, not long after, the sound of running water is heard beyond.

The kinswoman turns a little to watch the door, listening to the noises there and thinking. A few moments of contemplation pass and she shakes her head slightly, returning to work. Kitchen counter is topped with cutting boards and bags for the vegetable scraps, and she starts pulling out potatoes and pumpkin, slicing and dicing already.

He's not the type to sing in the shower, good mood or no, which may be a good thing -- or may not; she's never _heard_ him sing, after all. The shower runs for about twenty of those forty-five minutes until dinner and then shuts off.

When he finally opens the door, she's got one long leg crossed over the other as she perches on the end of the kitchen counter, watching the door. Quiet. Not much left to do with the dinner - the oven trays are cooling on the stove, oil in them having stopped bubbling, and only portions waiting to be served.

Salem comes out with combed wet hair and black sweats and t-shirt. And, seeing her there, he cocks an eyebrow quizzically. "Yes?"

"What do you /do/ in there?" Mel murmurs vaguely, leaning back on the heels of her hands.

The lifted eyebrow is joined by its mate. "Now _there's_ a personal question," he answers, voice desert-dry.

"I've cooked a /roast/ in the time you were in the shower." She looks sideways to the stove, briefly. "Our hot water bill is going to be enormous." Her chin lifts slightly. "It's all there. Beans and carrots in the saucepan. Help yourself."

Salem glances over at the clock, looks mildly surprised, and then shrugs. "Lost track of time, I suppose." Barefoot, he pads past her into the kitchen and toward the stove... then pauses, eyeballing her as she sits there on the counter. "Is something wrong?"

It's Mel's turn to arch an eyebrow, hers in faint amusement. "No? What?"

Salem stuides her face for another moment, then shrugs again. "Just wondered. You seemed rather... preoccupied." He gets down plates and silverware -- two sets -- and hands one off to her before going to help himself to dinner.

Mel grins mischeivously for a moment before wrinkling her nose, dismissing the notion. "Nah." She slips off the counter, rolling her shoulders before considering the crockery. Waiting for him to finsh and choose a place to eat.

She says 'nah' and he accepts 'nah', replying with a mild-sounding, "Fair enough." He helps himself to a good-sized portion of chicken and vegetables and sets it down in his usual place at the breakfast counter. Then it's to the fridge for a glass of ice water to wash it down with.

Mel takes her time in getting her own and settling down opposite to eat. She just starts straight into it, not waiting for him, now.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks, glancing back at her.

"Water? I was just gonna get somethin' later." The woman picks at the food whilst still standing, instead of choosing to sit - her place, leaning against the counter and using only the fork.

Salem makes a little 'mm' noise. Two glasses of water, then. He sets them down and takes his seat, tucking in with dignified enthusiasm. He's quiet for a while, then asks, curious, "Going out tonight?"

Mel replies, distracted by the food, "Probably." She looks up, blinking once. "Why y'ask?"

Salem lifts eyebrows. "Just curious." He smiles thinly. "Making conversation."

The woman looks down, smiling and halting a short laugh. "Sorry. Thought you were thinking about doing something instead. Nevermind."

Salem shakes his head. "No... I'm planning a very dull and boring night in, actually." He sticks a forkful of chicken in his mouth and chews, watching her.

Mel ohs, casually, nodding a few times as she eats. "I was gonna hook up with a girlfriend and go dancing. ...You probably wouldn't enjoy that."

Salem's mouth twists into a wry little half-smile. "Not that kind of dancing, no."

She lifts her eyes to watch him with a hint of amused surprise. "You dance 'proper', then?"

Salem takes in another bite of dinner. "Mm-hm." After chewing and swallowing, he elaborates. "I know how, at least, though I haven't had the occasion to in quite a while."

"Still haven't found any 'high society' events to turn up to, either." Vague disappointment, with no real feeling in it. She's smiling faintly.

"Don't worry about it," he advises with a somewhat secretive air. Cat and canary anyone?

"If I was worried about it, I'd have nagged you half to death by now," she grunts, grinning as she stuffs some chicken into her mouth. Gracious, indeed.

Salem snorts. "That," he says, dryly "would be a good way to a party at the video arcade. And no pony, either."

Mel sniffs, grinning wryly. "You know I'd do worse than that. Also..." She waves her fork in the air idly. "If I /really/ wanted to nag, I'd be leaving newspaper clippings of promising events, around the place. And similar."

"I suppose that I should be thankful, then," he responds, in like tone. He looks up from his place. "By the way, speaking of, mm, so-called high society, there's still a matter of me teaching you..." His tone turns, if possible, even more dry. "...What it means to be Fianna kinfolk. Or convincing Luke that I've done such."

There's a visible roll of the eyes and her shoulders slump slightly as the woman manages to prevent herself from groaning. But it's a near thing. "That again. And even if I /do/ know what it means to be a Fianna kinfolk, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, unless I go about demonstrating that I want to, I obviously didn't understand, right? Is there going to be a point, if they catch you out on that, Jack?"

Salem shrugs. "I told Luke I would make my best faith effort, and that, to be frank, I don't _know_ what it means to be Fianna. I've never been a part of that tribe, nor had any particularly close relationships with them. Now, as _kinfolk_, kin of any tribe, I think you're doing just fine. I'm not sure what Luke wants... maybe an interest in meeting faeries and dancing around a glen in woad." He shrugs again.

The kinswoman lowers her head, eyes flashing as she growls lowly, "Knowing all about that Amero-Irish wannabe Celtic warrior shit that makes redheaded yanks who've never set foot outside a city go misty-eyed at movies like Braveheart, even though /that/ was about the /Scottish/. The closest blood-type to the good old Earth-mother pagowiccan rituals and shit. Meant to be spiritual, and fiery, and loose, throwing my life away for the sacred bonds of family, if need be. Yeah, well, fuck that shit."

Salem's eyebrows rise. He lets her rant as, calmly, he chews and eats another forkful of chicken and roasted vegetables -- both very nicely-cooked -- and at the end of it all nods. He toys with another piece of chicken, thinking. "Would you be completely adverse to meeting someone _other_ than Luke?"

Mel sends the Walker a dour look, easily matching his own worst, and sucks on a tooth. A few moments and she allows reluctantly, "Yeah. Sure. If it'll get people off your back."

Salem inhales a breath, then lets it out. He nods. "Good." He's about to take a bite, then pauses and adds, "Thank you."

"I hate the idea of them thinking they're justified. That's all," Mel grunts, returning to eating her food.

"There is that," Salem murmurs. He's quiet for a bit after that, eating his dinner and looking pensive.

"They're holding your name to ransom. I... don't approve." A moment later, she pauses in her forking of food to her face, and stares at the chicken bones on her plate. "Actually. I should make /them/ tell me what it means to be Fianna. So it's /them/ who fail, and not you."

Salem smiles crookedly. "I certainly don't think they can argue with the fact that _they_ would be better at teaching you about the Fianna than _I_ would. Hm." A thought occurs to him. "You should meet Charlie. She's from Chicago, and about as city-based as any of us. I think she even goes dancing."

"Whoever. I'd actually prefer it be Luke. So he can't blame his 'own people', either." Mel straightens and sighs faintly. "Didja like the honey sauce?"

Salem cocks his head. "I wondered what that was..." He glances down at his plate, which is mostly clean of food, then spears some more vegetables on his fork and looks back at her. "Delicious."

Mel inclines her head, nodding once at something. "Good. I know I'm not a master-chef, but I like to at least think... it can be nice-tasting every now and then."

"I prefer your cooking over mine, any evening," he replies, finishing off the last and washing it down with a swallow of water. He gets up, then, gathering his plate and silverware. "I'll take care of cleanup." There, see? He didn't make the vegetables, but he'll wash the dishes and put away the leftovers. Modern man.

"Mm. That's very 'evolved' of you," the woman notes, pleased and smiling. "Maybe now I can have a half-hour shower..."

"Of course," he replies, with a mock-dismissive gesture. "Freshen up before you go out and torment the male population of St. Claire."

"And the female. It's a big city." Mel sends a wink Jack's way, before rising with an impish grin and heading for the bathroom.

Salem snorts. "You and Rina both. Incorrigable." He sets to cleanup with a brisk efficiency.

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Addendum. Presuming, of course, that Mel does indeed go out... when she comes back, the apartment'll be empty. No Salem, though he leaves a note on the counter:

"Mel -- Family business, will not be back before morning. Don't wait up. -- S. (P.S. How do you feel about the theatre?)"

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Whether by voicemail, phone message, whatever... Salem leaves word (to Luke) that he's persuaded Mel to meet up with one of her local family and is willing to hear more detail about what it means to be Fianna. "She says that she'd prefer you, even," the Walker states in his usual deadpan manner. "I hope this will alleviate some of your concerns."

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