"You have it in you to be a good Alpha, you know."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:57 Pacific Time on Mon Oct 13 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 56 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.21 and falling, and the relative humidity is 71 percent. The dewpoint is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (80% full).

Apartment

A small, simply-appointed apartment, quite clearly intended for only one tenant; two living in here would be a squeeze. It's divided up into three rooms; this, the main room, is apparently a combined lounge and kitchen, carpeted in a slightly threadbare green. A large portion of the carpeting has been cut away and removed, exposing the cracked and stained cement beneath. All but two of the walls are done in off-white paint, squares of cleaner colour showing through where previous occupants had hung pictures, now gone. The remaining two walls have been recently painted with some skill, one depicting a detailed forest-scene, while the other is that of a city; the buildings coated in white spider webs. Furniture-wise, the lounge contains a low coffee table, an empty bookshelf and small display unit that likely once held a TV, though the appliance has long since been removed. There is also a couch, or what used to be a couch. Half of the sagging three-seater has been torn away, exposing rusted springs and discolored foam to the elements. Next to the couch, a make-shift nest has been created out of a mattress and a small mountain of blankets. It almost looks like a giant doggie-bed.

On the right-hand wall is as much of a kitchen as the apartment can fit; a short breakfast bar separates it from the main lounge, and holds under it a half-sized fridge, a freezer section in the top of it. A two-ring hob has been set up for cooking with, next to the rather grotty and limescale-coated sink.

What can be seen of the other rooms from here is equally as simple; a bedroom, a bathroom with the usual sink and toilet, as well as a standing shower-stall. All in all, the place is liveable, though not ideal.

Salem climbs up to the apartment carrying a brown grocery bag in one arm. He knocks curtly with his free hand.

Its a little bit before the answer comes and a tired looking Renee answers the door. "Allo Salem." She greets, leaning against the doorframe. "S'been a bit."

Salem's mouth takes on a wry, dour twist; full-moon grumpiness settles around him like a damp cloud. "I know." He offers the double-bagged armful of non-perishable groceries -- canned goods, mostly, but there's a couple of good-quality teeth-cleaning dog-chew items on top, the kind made for _big_ dogs. "Happy bank holiday," he says, deadpan.

Renee smirks. "Hey, cool, thanks. Mind brinin'em in?" the Gnawer asks, as she siapears back into the apartment. "Hey sweatheart," she rumbles, while shifting into glabro and picking up a furry form the size of a german shepard. The little monstrosity squirms, sharp claws leaving thin tracks on Renee's arms, but the scratches heal quickly enough. One more white line amid a hundred others. "So, what do I owe the honor of yer presence, eh?"

Born in late April, Squeaks-Like-A-Rat is small for her age. The baby's fur is a rich brown colour and fluffy to the touch. Dark guard hairs are begining to poke though her coat, giving the pup's fur a patchy appearance. Squeaks' eyes have changed from a cloudy baby-blue, to a golden-brown. The pup's ears form two neat triangles, which swivel this way and that. Baby teeth are starting too appear and the little monstrosity gnaws on nearly everything that comes into reach. She squirms around with the aid of needle-sharp claws and is starting to become quite good at walking around on all fours. Squeaks' deformity is hard to miss; instead of a normal tail, a long rats tail extends behind the cub. Hairless and far too long, the tail impedes the young Garou's movements and draws heat away from her body.

Salem nods and follows Renee into the apartment, carrying the grocery bag along and closing the door behind him. He smiles, very faintly and just for a moment, at sight of the metis pup, then sets the bag on the breakfast counter. "She's growing fast," he remarks, leaving aside the question of why he's here for the moment.

"Kids do that," Renee notes in a somewhat distracted tone, as she moves about the small apartment. Picking up a ratty dog toy and putting it in the Mule's hands. The aparment smells of puppy urine and somewhat like a kennel. "Reguardless of what shape they're born in. Some new cubs up at the Famhouse these days, both Get. I've managed to knock them both silly in a few weeks. Yay me," she adds sarcasticly. "Both of'em need ta learn how ta submit."

"Must be homids," the Glass Walker replies dryly. He leans against the counter and folds his arms across his chest, his expression turning serious. "The reason I came to see you is that you're the best Galliard in the Sept, and I have some news that needs spreading."

Renee frowns, remaining slightly distracted as she focuses on keeping the Mule of pitching a fit. "Yea? Thanks, fer the complement." She actually sounds a little shocked. "What do ya need passed along?"

Salem watches mother and child, his eyes tracking their movements in a feline kind of way as he speaks. "First of all, there's a Shadow Lord in town named Cutter. Theurge, don't know if you've run into him yet. He's been in town before, and unless he's gone bad since he's been gone... he's worth knowing. He's urrah, and he's Fostern." He pauses a beat, then adds, "You'd probably like him a good deal better than Jarred."

Renee hmms. "Jarred spends his time tryin' ta flatter me, or be insultin, dependin' on his mood. Guy has issues." The Metis continues to bounce in her arms, while chewing on the mangled toy. "I'll keep an eye out fer him an' tell peeps that he is around."

Salem almost smiles again, watching Squeaks; though the full moon and whatever's on his mind is clearly weighing heavily, there's a definite hint that the bastard may have a soft spot for kids. Who knew. He nods once. "Good. The other thing..." His mouth thins. "I have some... business that I need to attend to, and it's going to take me out of the city for a few weeks, at least. I'll be reachable by cell if it's a dire emergency, but otherwise..." Broad shoulders move in a curt shrug.

Renee perses her lips. "I see. Keepin' busy, eh? Who ya gonna put in charge while yer gone? Oh, Jenner was talkin' ta me recently. Told me 'bout some guy in the Glade, that was probably yer Cutter. Was talkin' ta Jean. Also told me he has been seein' a big black bird that ain't a spirit, hangin' 'round the Glade."

"Favor for an old friend," the Walker murmurs. He rubs the short beard running along his jawline thoughtfully. "As for the bird... either a warper that can shapeshift or a Corax, a raven shifter." He shakes his head, then raises an eyebrow. "I was half-thinking of putting _you_ in charge. But Luke will do if you don't want the responsibility."

Renee flinches. "I ain't suited ta the job, I don't think. Got enough secrets I'm holdin' close." The Metis voices a loud squeak-bark, a sound that no normal wolf would make.

Salem grunts. "Everyone's got secrets, Renee." He shrugs. "Fair enough, though... for what it's worth, I understand. So. Luke is in charge, then, unless someone else successfully steps up to the plate."

Renee wrinkles her nose. "Don't see too much of him," she notes, as she puts the Squeaker down in the pile of blankets. She heads over to the bags Salem provided and starts poking through them. Squeaks doesn't stay still for long at all, moving off on all fours. "Ya think he moves around enough ta pull it off?"

Canned veggies, canned skettio-type things, dog food, soup, boxed noodle dinners with cheese... there's a nice variety, and the chew-bones are better than plain rawhide; they're meant to _last_. And remove plaque, if you believe the label. Salem watches her rummage through the bag. "He'll be mostly rural," the Walker admits. "But there's really no one else. Robert clearly doesn't want it and I can hardly order around an Athro." He snorts. "Seeker and Eamon are never around, Alicia has skill but is flighty, and Jarred is even _less_ ideal." His gaze is intent, and he isn't smiling. "You have it in you to be a good Alpha, you know. But if you're not, I at least expect you'd be the voice of the city. You'll be the ranking urrah when I'm gone."

Renee selects a can of dog food and is unable to avoid slamming it down on the counter, the muscles in her shoulders twitching. "Thats right, dump more fuckin' responsibility on me," she complains, as she starts to open the canned food. Squeaks has made it right across the room while her mother's back is turned and stand up on two legs, using the wall for support. With a reach that far exceeds that of a normal child, the Mule goes after the phone on the wall. "Honestly, I don't think Luke knows enough about the shit that happens over here, even if I was ta blab at him. Damn fuckin' hell."

Salem's smile is bitterly without humor. "No, I don't think he _would_. He has a bad time understanding the kinfolk point of view, too. You're certainly _fierce_ enough for the job, and you have a tribe and pack that stand firmly behind you." He utters a short 'heh'. "If you can stand up to _me_, you can stand up to anyone in the Sept. I think your daughter wants to make a phone call, by the way."

"Fuckin' hell," Renee yells, dropping the can as she spins around and makes a grab for the kid. "You are /not/ gonna eat that phone. Eb jus' got me a new one."

Jean pages: *RING*

Salem smirks. Then _his_ phone rings, his cellphone to be precise. Expression going flat, he pulls out the small black device and clicks it on. "Salem here."

Jean pages: Mr. Salem, this is Jean Michalek. I'm sorry to bother you. Again. But, you're the only one I could call. I found Emma Merriweather's van out in an SCCU parking lot.

~NONONONONO!~ Squeaks wails, as her mother drags her away from the phone. The Metis fights back, throwing a crinos-sized tantrum. Renee shifts inti crinos, to properly pin the mule and ends up /sitting/ on the kid until the tantrum passes.

Salem moves to the other end of the apartment and speaks over the noise. His brows furrow. "Emma Merriweather?"

From afar, Jean speaks quietly into the phone, so with the background screaming, it may be difficult to hear her. "Yes. The latest serial killer. She's been at-large since killing a police officer in her apartment."

Salem puts a hand over his other ear, all the better to hear the person on the other end of the phone. He frowns. "Right, right... any sign of the woman herself?"

Jean pages: None. The doors are locked. I could break in, but since I'm still a guest here, I wanted to consult with someone before doing anything irrevocable.

Salem says, "One moment," into the phone and then covers it with a hand, looking over at the mother and child consideringly. "Renee, I have Jean on the other end. She's at SCCU. Found the killer's van parked there and she's looking for backup. Interested?"

Sees-True grunts and looks up from her daughter. ~Wouldn't. Was dealing with that fool cub today. He frenzied. Blew a lot of energy to be honest with ya. Fuckin' tired. I'd probably fall on my face.~

Salem nods curtly. "Understood. Good luck if I don't see you before I leave." He uncovers the phone and heads for the door, talking as he goes.

Long distance to Jean: Salem finally speaks into the cellphone again, and it's much quieter now. "Call the police, anonymously. Then contact one of my people, K. C., to get her to help with follow-up." He rattles off a phone number.

Jean pages: Okay. Thanks, Mr. Salem.

You paged Jean with 'No problem. Stay safe. '.