"Do you _really_ want to hear this?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently 14:09 Pacific Time on Sun Nov 30 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (44% full).

Cockroach Mansion -- Elder's Office

Salem's office is an extension of the same elegant display of wealth which characterizes the rest of the mansion. Most noticeable, from the doorway in the southern wall, is the large black-veined white marble fireplace taking up half of the northern part of the room, contrasting sharply with the ebony-paneled walls. A rug of forest green carpets the floor from wall to wall, while red velvet frames the wall of windows to the west.

The other decor is typical of the private office of a wealthy, old-world businessmen, from the ponderous mahogany desk along the eastern wall and the equally heavy chairs set before them, to the brass and glass chandelier dangling from the ceiling. A reproduction of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ hangs above the fireplace, and the bookshelves behind the desk are, so far, nearly empty.

A door at the far end of the office leads into an adjoining bedroom and bathroom. This door is usually kept closed.

Salem has taken advantage of the cold weather to utilize the fireplace in his office. With the fire going, he takes off the zippered sweatshirt, hangs it up next to his coat, then takes a seat behind the desk. And then, for a moment, just sits there, head lowered slightly, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose.

Mel's knocking is, it seems, only a formality; the door's already opening, even as she hits it with her knuckles. The redhead slips inside shortly after Jack, giving the office some investigation and smiling faintly.

The intercom announces Renee's arrival, as the Bone Gnawer's harsh voice yells across the device. "Its Renee. Let me in, for fucks sake!"

It's still probably something of a shock to see him like this, sans beard and (most of) his hair. He looks up sharply as the redhead comes in and is about to greet her when Renee's voice comes ranting over the intercom. His face tightens, but he doesn't look surprised. He looks wearily at the girl. "...I don't suppose you'd mind getting that?"

Green eyes are fixed on the 'com, Mel arching a thin eyebrow in amusement. "Gorgeous, isn't she," she notes wryly, before turning and sending the Walker a pitiful look. It's only a brief pause before she lifts and waves a hand in compliance, adding, "Yeah, fine. Get comfortable in your seat of inscrutable power, I'll go get her."

Salem snorts. As Mel goes to fetch the Bone Gnawer, he takes a moment to compose himself. Sleep was an elusive mistress last night, and it shows.

Letting Renee in is a simple, if time-consuming, task. The gate is buzzed, and when the Gnawer arrives at the front door, a Fianna kin with a brief smile is waiting for her, to lead in to the office. The taller young woman holds the door open, to Salem's office.

Salem is waiting for them, seated behind the massive desk with his hands folded together in front of him, his expression bland.

Renee's expression is stormy and veryvery unhappy, when she brushes past Mel and into the office. She doesn't even spare the kinswoman a glance or a hello, as she stops toward the Walker Elder. "Start talking, now," she snarls.

Mel blinks at the aggression in the Gnawer's tone, and looks hesitantly over to Salem, to follow his lead. A small gesture with fingers, pointing to her chest, then the hallway - her expression questioning.

Salem's upper lip wrinkles away from his teeth. Snarl right back at'cha. He makes a quick beckoning-type gesture at Mel -- apparantly, she gets to stay if she wants to -- and then focusses his attention on the Bone Gnawer. "Don't throat the fucking messenger, Renee," he says, glaring at her. "I found Ebony last night. Or, rather, I found his body."

Renee closes her eyes and she draws in a deep breath, fingers twitching almost spasmicly as she attempts to regain some control over her temper. She is trying, but not being all that sucessful. "Details Salem. I want fuckin' details."

Mel just swallows quietly and stands in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

Salem grimaces and leans back in the big chair, elbows resting on the arms and fingers steepled. "I got a call from him last night, after I'd left you and Dr. St. Jean. It was him, calling from a motel near Seattle. Couldn't get in touch with you, so I drove out there myself. I kept him talking on the cell, but something broke contact before I got there."

Renee nostrils flare, as her tone goes deathly cold. "What the fuck was he doing up there?"

Colour drains out of Mel's face. "Seattle," she murmurs dully.

Salem shakes his head slightly. "Don't know. He couldn't remember. He was... confused. And scared." His voice is flat, grim. "When I got there, I was... too late. He'd been turned inside out. Literally. Twisted into..." He stares at Renee with those deep-set, too-old eyes of his. "Do you _really_ want to hear this?"

Renee's fingers clench together to form a fist, as her jaw clenches. "Ebony was my friend, Salem. Hell, he was more then that, he was fuckin' Family. Of course I fuckin' wanna know."

"He was twisted into a spiral. A nice, tight little coil." Salem lets this gruesome detail hang in the air. His gaze stays firmly on Renee.

Mel's eyes drop, as she swallows again and departs swiftly and silently. The door swings gently shut behind her.

Renee hisses loudly, bones popping and resetting themselves and she shifts into glabro. THe Galliard is having a few control issues at the moment, but that is understandable. "Did you find any clues?" She grunts past pointed teeth.

Salem's eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring as the Gnawer shifts up. "No. The room was clean. Not even that much blood. No Wyrm-writing, but Black Spiral Dancers can't mold flesh like that." He exhales a weary breath, as if most of his own rage has been worked out already. "I disposed of the body. Didn't want anyone doing an autopsy."

"Leech," Renee hisses past her teeth, remembering what she found in that building last year. "Fuckin' leech. Probably played with his head too."

"Most likely, yes," says the Walker quietly.

Renee gruts and turns sharply, as she prepares to leave. "I'm going hunting," she states, flatly.

"Shift down before you leave," is all Salem has to say to her in farewell. Voice flat.

"I'm not an idiot," Renee snaps back, before slamming the office door closed behind her.

Left alone, Salem rubs at his eyes and mutters under his breath in Serbian. ("Well, _that_ was fun.")

After a few minutes, he pushes to his feet and goes off in search of Mel. Presuming she's still somewhere in the house.

Cockroach Mansion -- Parlor

This room is a palette of whitewash and wood tones, a cross between a library and an adult's recreation room. To the right of the door way, tall windows with a deep-set seat and heavy earth-brown velvet drapes show a view of the front lawn. The far and left hand walls are inset with wooden bookshelves just over man-height tall; the collection of books is varied, with both fiction and non-fiction. The floor is well-carpeted in a light tan color, and the furnishings -- an old but nice-looking couch plus several armchairs and small tables -- match the decor. One side of the room boasts a fairly impressive-looking entertainment center, complete with high-definition television.

An open doorway leads west out into the front hall.

The Fianna kin is curled up on the couch, staring dully at the TV and flicking between the channels, absently. She's watching a cooking show for a few seconds, when he comes in, but grimaces at the sight of sizzling, stewing meat chunks, and switches it quickly. A stock market report seems to set her at ease.

Salem pauses in the doorway for a few moments, then paces over toward the fetal kingirl. He rests his hands on the back of the couch and looks down at her. "You all right?" he asks, quietly.

Mel narrows eyes, shooting Salem a dark look. She grumbles, "Bitch. Why didn't you ask /me/ if I was sure /I/ wanted to 'hear this'?" So. Not /too/ bad.

Salem sighs. "Granted. I apologize." He straightens up and comes around to take a seat at one end of the couch, his expression rueful and tired. "I was too busy waiting for Renee to explode all over my office."

"Duh," she agrees quietly, staring dead-eyed at the screen. Finger hovering over the remote, ready to change the channel at the slightest provocation.

Salem regards her for a few moments, then changes the subject. "You haven't said anything about my, mm, new look." His tone is dry. "You're just about the only person who hasn't."

"Wait for it. It'll be all the sweeter when I do." Her eyes slide sideways. She's obviously restraining herself, even now.

Salem simply arches an eyebrow at her and stares at her, arms folded. Waiting.

Mel arches a thin eyebrow in mimicry of his. A faint hint of amusement enters her expression, vaguely surprised. "What, you're gonna wait til I comment?"

Yes, mock the Jack. It's good for the soul. Everybody's doing it. And it's better than lingering on the mental image of the good-natured Walker-kin turned into a fleshy slinky. Salem affects a casual shrug. "Perhaps."

She snorts lightly and looks back to the screen. "Y'know that's the first time I've seen you anything close to caring what other people think of how you look." Her expression's a little lighter. Thoughtful.

Salem shrugs again. "Well, everyone else has had a go, more or less. Ranging from 'gee, Salem, you look like shit' to Rina asking if I'd taken a vacation in Auschwitz."

Mel laughs, at that. "Nice." She looks over, straightening, and tilting her head consideringly. "So. You want the expert opinion?"

Salem answers with a simple nod, mismatched eyes watching the redhead, curiosity a mask over weariness.

Mel tips her head up, rising slowly and wandering over with her hands behind her back. Investigating him from different angles, as she starts to walk slowly around him. "Clothes are okay. It's a pity about that beautiful hair, but at least you don't have huge ears. And the beard? Hm. Well." She moves to the front, close, head up to investigate his jawline.

There's centuries of quality Garou breeding in those aquiline features; he might not be as good-looking as Smith was (especially not on the left side), but there's quality there. If not for the scars...

He holds still, letting her examine him, one eyebrow lifted quizzically.

"Of course, any girl'll tell you a beard has some practical benefits, besides being ornamental, but..." She lifts a finger to tip his chin up, letting it trail from one edge of the jaw to the middle. "You'll find anyone who has to get close to one, prefers shaven." Pixie-sharp green eyes consider his, mischevious. "Not quite as dangerous as before. Lost some of that 'dark horse' power, almost going to 'grumpy', instead." One edge of her mouth quirks upwards. "Slightly sexier, though, clothed."

That brings the other eyebrow up. "You approve, then." He actually sounds a trifle surprised by this, really. Bemused.

The finger's still under his chin, though now it turns around and moves to coax his head down. "No... you look younger and sexier. I didn't say I /approve/." She reaches up to plant a small kiss on his lips, and pats him on the cheek a few times. "Now leave me alone." She starts to move back over to the couch, smile fading away back to neutrality.

Salem pulls back; her lips don't touch his for more than a microsecond. He shakes his head, watching her. "That made no sense," he notes wryly. But no more than that. She wants space. He'll give her space. Mission Distract Mel a success? ...Possibly. Partially. He turns to go. "I'll be in my office."

Her reply is a simple 'mmhmm' of acknowledgement. Channel-change: Stocks go to soldiers being killed in Iraq, and then to a gym-equipment infomercial in a heartbeat. She curls a little, legs folded up and arm over the side of the couch - fist supporting her cheek.

Salem stops in the entrance, glancing back at her, his expression pensive and thoughtful. Then he shakes his head again and heads into the back of the house to sequester himself in his quarters.