"In a little over two weeks, Cat, it will have been a full year since you came to us."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 22:32 Pacific Time on Tue Jul 29 2003.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 84 degrees Fahrenheit (28 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.93 and steady, and the relative humidity is 39 percent. The dewpoint is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (7% 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.

Rina has been painting again. The Madonna and Child is finished, now, still on its easel; a bulletin board on the wall is littered with sketches, a prepped canvas set on another easel nearby. This is what she is working on now--still in its embryonic stages, though it looks like it will be some sort of pastoral from the sketches. Something along the lines of the pre-Raphaelites, tapping into poetry and myth: the poetic highwayman, reaching up to the inn window to take a favor from his love.

It is late, now, of course--but she is still laying in lines on the canvas despite that. Incense burns to fight the paint-smell, and there is quiet music on: Dead Can Dance.

Sleepiness wars with interest as Cat lies down on the couch, snuggled up with a book entitled, strangely, 'Amazon Warriors and Other Legends'. Sunshine and Santa Octopus reside cozily in his lap as he tries to read through fluttering eyelids. The boy's behavior has been improving a little bit in the last few weeks, although there are times he is moody and cannot be coaxed to even Latin lessons. Today was not such a day, thankfully; all sun and smiles for him at least.

Intruding into this cozy scene comes a brief knock at the door.

Rina finishes her stroke, and lifts the brush; it's late for someone to have gotten in without the buzzer, but then, Garou have gifts. "See who it is, Cat?" She wipes of the brush and swishes it through thinner before laying it down; then she heads to the kitchen to get a gun.

The boy makes an affirmative squeak, putting the book down with Sunshine as a bookmark. He trots to the door and opens it a crack, before swinging it out the whole way with a tiny smile and an airy call- "Miz RI-na! It's for -you-!"

Salem, outside the door in black t-shirt and BDUs, smirks faintly at the cub's announcement and shakes his head. "You _could_ just let me _in_, Cat," he murmurs under his breath, too quiet for the younger Walker to hear.

Rina lets the slide spring back to its unlocked position. "Cat," she says sternly, "you ask who it is \before\ you open the door." The gun is locked back into its case, the drawer closed; wiping both hands on her camos, she heads for the door, opening it further and giving Salem a wry smile. "I figured it was you," she says. "Want a capuccino? I could use a break..." She rotates her shoulders, rolling them until they make a faint popping sound.

"Saw who it was 'fore I opened it," Cat counters lightly, springing back onto the couch and knocking off Santa Octopus in the process. He grabs up his book and the dog and starts reading again, this time with his feet on the couch cushions.

"Sounds good," Salem says easily as he enters. He glances over at Cat, giving the boy a nod before he turns his attention to Rina and -- after a moment -- to the signs of her industriousness. Both eyebrows rise, and he looks back at her, pleased in a characteristically muted sort of way. "You've been painting."

Rina bolts the door, ducking her head self-consciously. "A little," she murmurs. Then she paces to the kitchen, washing her hands with soap. "You hungry? There's ice cream and stuff..."

Cat drops the book into his lap again, owlish blue eyes looking up at the two adults. He doesn't -say- anything, but what word could have possibly triggered the sudden interest..?

Salem shakes his head slightly at the offer of food, then claims a spot on the couch next to couch -- moving the cub's feet to make room. "And what, Cat, have _you_ been up to lately?" The halfmoon's tone is light though there is, as always, a hint of stone underneath.

Rina moves about in the kitchen, setting up the espresso machine and getting it started. Familiar, homey sounds. She does not look over her shoulder.

The boy is still oh-so-interested in something as his gaze lingers on Rina, before reluctantly looking at Salem. "Reading, Latin lessons, an' sickotherapy," he rattles off quickly, eyeing the book in his lap, his socked toes playing with the fallen Cthulhu. "Drawing and meditation sometimes too. What about you?"

"_Psycho_therapy," Salem says, correcting the cub's pronunciation. He gives Cat a bit of the hairy eyeball, that critical stare. "Guess what, Cat?"

Rina pages: The Madonna, incidentally, is recognizable as very much like Drew.
Rina pages: As she is now. Tired, worn.
Rina pages: And the child, of course, is a three-month-old baby with dark hair.

"Psycho psycho psycho," Cat rambles off under his breath, half-heartedly making note of the correct pronunciation- he will probably forget tomorrow. He looks up again when his name is added into the sentence, and inadvertently kicks the toy under the table and out of reach. "Mm?"

"Idunno," Rina says in the kitchen, "I'm kind of a sicko, by most standards." She gets herself a glass of water, and pours some for Cat, too, bringing it out to him.

The Sept Alpha flicks a wry glance toward the kitchen, then turns back to the blond cub on the couch with him. "In a little over two weeks, Cat, it will have been a full year since you came to us." Salem folds his arms across his chest and looks at him rather expectantly. While not angry, he isn't smiling.

After she straightens again, Rina gives Salem an approving nod.

He reaches out for the water with a sudden timidity he hasn't expressed in a long time, nervous blue eyes glancing from Rina tot Salem. "Is that...a bad thing?" Cat asks softly.

Salem shrugs his shoulders, the gesture easy, almost casual. "You tell _me_, Cat. Do you think you've accomplished a lot this past year?"

Rina drops into the armchair, watching Cat with glittering, dark eyes.

Cat keeps glancing between the two, looking awfully nervous; finally he just stares down into his water hoping the answer'd be -there- somewhere. "No? Um, yes?" he squeaks out, hands tightening around the glass. "I...learned to shift and things. I learned about spirits. I learned a -lot- about spirits," he adds. And it's true, lessons with Daisy, brief stints with Tobin, it all must've left -some- impact.

Salem nods, and that's encouraging. "Good. And fighting? Learned how to use your claws at all?" He glances at Rina, then back at the cub. "Or a gun?"

"Um..." That's...a tricky question. Fighting with claws? "Tobin-rhya made Cathy an' I practice Crinos," the cub offers hastily, as soon as he thinks of it. "And I kinda know how to shoot. I mean, um, I know -how-, I just don't, um, always hit the target..."

"Do you think you could kill something?" Salem asks, his gaze steady on the boy's face. He's wearing the I'll-know-if-you-lie expression.

Rina just listens quietly, watching Cat with a subtly supportive look in her eyes. She, at least, thinks he will have the right answers.

The boy looks from Kin to Cliath again, panic rising for a brief moment, and fading away again, just a little. "...No," he murmurs, staring back into the water glass and biting his lip. "C-Cathy or Tobin-rhya always won."

Salem nods slightly and sits back. "I suggest you start thinking about it," he says. His voice is still mild. "You may not think it, but you _do_ have strength within you, Cat. Now that Quentin's passed his Rite, it's time I started thinking about yours."

Rina offers Cat a swift smile. "I know you got it in you to be quite the Garou, Cat."

Cat looks up, rather bewildered...he looks from kin to cliath again, biting his lip still. "My Rite?" He pauses, considering the idea, excitement and fear and anxiousness arising at once. "But...she says I'm not ready," he says so softly it's almost a whisper- like he doesn't want someone to hear. "An' I try not...to make her mad."

Salem arches an eyebrow. "'She'?"

Anger flickers across Rina's face, and she sits back in her chair, taking a sip from her glass of water. In the kitchen, the espresso machine starts growling, seeming to echo her shift of mood. "Fuck her," Rina mutters.

The cub winces.

Salem continues to look quizzical.

Cat's more nervous -now- than before, when the long-lost threat of culling seemed to hang over him again. "She, w-well, I didn't really ah...ask, but." He hunches over, looking immensely sorry and piteous as he glances to Rina, hoping she'll explain it.

Rina purses her lips. "What do you mean, you didn't really ask? You just know she thinks y'not ready?"

The cub nods, looking on the verge of tears. "Y'don't...really need to ask or tell her anything," he whispers. "She just kinda knows. She's not...-around-, all the time, but when she is, she knows. Stuff."

Salem's puzzled expression clears as the shoe drops. He frowns. "Is this about that past life?"

"It's okay, caro," Rina says quietly. "Let's just talk about it some, aright?"

Cat can't look any more miserable without crying. And that might not be far off. "Can we just have ice cream?" he blurts out.

With Luna hiding, Salem's patience is as good as it's likely to get, though his mood's curdled a bit. He says nothing, though there's a hint of disapproval in the small frown.

Rina gives a tiny shake of her head, her brow furrowing slightly. She is almost as relentless as the doctor, though there is worry and sympathy in her eyes. "Hon," she says softly, "why're you so upset? Nobody's gonna hurt you. It's Jack, and me."

He blinks back tears, looking from one face to another and finding no help in either- at least, not what he needs. He flings himself off the couch and to the floor by the coffee table, digging frantically for...his sketchpad and pencils? Cat rips out a piece and starts scribbling on it madly, but in such a way that neither can see.

Salem looks over at Rina, both eyebrows raised now, irritated _and_ confused.

The paper is thrust at Salem, crumpled over and folded, desperate blue eyes -staring- at him, willing him to understand what Cat cannot bring himself to say.

Rina looks back to Salem with a worried, alarmed frown.

Salem looks at the paper. His frown deepens as he shows the paper to Rina. In big, red, scrawled letters, the cub has written, "SHE MIGHT TELL." Once the kinswoman has seen this message, the Alpha turns his gaze back to the boy -- no. Not a boy. He's in his mid-teens, whatever his emotional state. "Cat," the Philodox says sternly. "An ancestor spirit is _not_ a boogieman. Neither is it your elder and alpha. _I_ am."

Rina's brow furrows, and she gives a tiny shake of her head. "Cat," she says guardedly. "I don't get it. You gotta talk to us."

The cub makes a sort of yelp, reaching out for the paper again when Salem shows it to Rina- but it's too late, she's reading it, and he withdraws his hand to squeeze at the glass more tightly. "I n-know you're the elder, an' Sept alpha," he says unhappily. "But she doesn't -like- me and it's just better not to make her mad, that's all. She says I'm stupid and disgusting 'cause I'm a boy, and...lots of things like that, and I just- I -can't- or she might-" The little theurge stops abruptly, eyes flicking to Rina before returning to Salem, desperate. "She might -tell-," he whispers.

Rina shakes her head minutely, worry in her dark eyes. She leans forward and sets the glass on the coffee table, then comes around to sit on the other side of Cat.

"Yes?" Salem snorts. "Tell _what_? She's dead and you're alive, and just as you say... she hates you because you're male." He's glowering, more than just a little. "You were bullied by your father. Are you going to let yourself be bullied by a ghost as well?"

Cat nearly jerks away when Rina sits close to him, setting the glass on the table as well with barely trembling hands. "She m-might...D-Dad didn't know these things, you...you know?" He gestures wildly with his hands, as if that might make it clearer. "She might...-tell-. Oh she can't if she did everything would be ruined-!"

Rina captures one of his hands. "Cat," she says quietly. "You trust us, right? We're not gonna hurt you. C'mon. Tell us. Or if I go, will you tell Jack?"

Salem continues to frown, arms folded and eyebrows lowered, his good mood definitely gone south.

Cat stiffens- just goes still, staring at the captured hand. If Salem had ever watched Tobin in a trance, he might recognize this for what it is. Then the cub starts breathing again, calmly, all nervousness and anxiety washed away. He leans his head down slowly to kiss the back of Rina's hand- and before anyone can guess his intention, looks up at the kin and kisses -her-.

Salem's eyes widen, very slightly. Then he snorts and says, dourly, "This must be her."

Rina tugs her hand away, and then turns her face sharply from the kiss. Then she is glaring at not-Cat, her eyes narrowed. "Leave him alone," she says quietly. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Not-Cat shrugs lazily, leaning back against the couch with a very relaxed and pleased smirk on his face. "Wonder what I am doing?" he says sweetly, eyes on Rina. Very...intent. "This little scrap of a child isn't worth Gaia's effort, but it's interesting to see what lengths he'd go to to protect his secrets."

Rina's jaw tightens. She stands, abruptly, taking a few steps away to put the table between herself and the ghost-Fury. Crossing her arms, she regards that... individual with pain and anger in her eyes.

"Why don't you introduce yourself?" Salem's voice has taken on that ice-cold note, chilly and formal and authoritive.

"Arrow-of-Artemis, 'Mister Salem'," Not-Cat replies, mocking the cub's own voice. He leans forward, elbows on the coffee table and chin in his hands, exactly the way the little theurge would sit. He's staring at Rina again. "Did you guess it? Oh, I wouldn't be breaking my promise if you guessed it." Then he sneers, ruining the facade; that sort of face Cat could never produce. "Pathetic. He's -crying-."

Rina's fists clench at her sides. "Jack," she says quietly, "make her talk or so help me..."

Salem abruptly pushes to his feet and expands into Crinos, his body boiling upward into the war form in a kind of controlled slow-explosion. Over nine feet tall, he towers in the studio apartment, and in this form like no other, the former Shadow Lord's breeding is evident. There are Silver Fangs with less noble blood than this, and it only adds to the low, quiet rumble of authority in his voice, that note that demands a show of throat. ~Arrow-of-Artemis, you are not only dead, you're as bad as the pathetic bastard, the _man_, that fathered this cub. Go back to where you came from, or by Gaia, I'll make certain that you're exorcised _completely_.~ White fangs flash in emphasis. ~The boy is Glass Walker, and he is _mine_. _I_ say what he is worth.~

Rina crosses her arms, and merely backs up the words of the Crinos with a dark-eyed glare.

The cub hisses, drawing back on the floor as the philodox shifts up to Crinos. "A master of lies," he spits out. "So be it, -have- your worthless cub. I've seen into his heart and I -know- what he is worth despite what you might say." And at a last grasp for revenge, vicious blue eyes turn on the kin. "Are you really so dim-witted as to not understand? I did the rat a favor, getting him his kiss."

And then Cat crumples, sobbing, burying his head in his hands as he immediately starts to wail as though he'd been crying for some time. "You -p-promised- you wouldn't tell!"

Scar reverts back to human form with a disgusted look on his face, though it's not directed at the cub. "Goddamned Furies," he growls. He eyes the cub, arms folded. "Was _that_ all?" It doesn't sound like the 'big secret' is such a horrible thing after all, at least not to Jack.

Cat hiccups, trying to stop the flow of tears and not look at Rina, curling up into as small a ball as possible. "B...but...sh-she said I was s-sick and disgusting and that Miz Rina'd hate me anmakeme leave," he mumbles tearfully into his sleeves.

One corner of Salem's mouth twitches upward as he glances at Rina, then back at Cat. "You're hardly the first person to want to kiss Rina Vencenzo." His voice is wry. "I doubt you'll be the last." He shakes his head. "God, Cat, you're _sixteen_, for Christ's sake. I'd be worried if you _didn't_ have certain, mm, feelings."

Rina's expression is strange--blank, and wistful. She finally manages to speak, her voice quiet and pained. "And, well, she's wrong," the Kin says. "I'm sorry she hurt you like that."

Salem shakes his head again with an underbreath murmur in Serbian. "I'll take a raincheck on the capuccino, I think," he says to Rina. "Let you and Cat have a private talk, hm?"

The cub is still hiding his head somewhere under his arms and from the sounds of it, he's crying again, although not as wildly as before.

Rina lets out a slow breath, and swallows. She gives Salem a quick hug, though, before he leaves--and when the dark eyes meet his, they hold worry. "Don't be a stranger," she says. "And let me know if Sepdet comes around... I need to see her."

Salem simply nods, then heads out.