To be honest? I think we're in trouble."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 08:10 Pacific Time on Wed Dec 3 2003.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (63% full).

The Dominion Estate

Megan is dropped off at the front gate in a car which then drives off, and she examines the frontage of the large manse. With a grin, she approaches the buzzer to announce her presence.

There's a camera over the gate, quite visible. The grounds, what can be seen through the gate, look to be in a state of hibernation for the winter, and there are only a couple of cars parked in the driveway.

Salem doesn't waste time with conversation once the Fianna's announced herself; it's another chilly Washington morning, after all. The gate simply opens for her, and he meets her at the front door to let her in.

Megan rubs her hands together briskly to warm them, then looks around the front foyer. "You guys are moving up in the world," she comments appreciatvely, but not particularly awed.

Cockroach Mansion -- Downstairs

The heavy, dark opulence to this mansion known as Dominion is perfectly exemplified by the room vistors first enter, this front hall. Dark-stained wood serves as paneling on the walls, gleams with high gloss in the hardwood floor, and supports a semi-circular balcony in carved pillars. The heavy double doors, made of oak, open into the hall from the south, opposite the huge, hourglass-shaped staircase composed of red and black gneiss which soars up to the balcony; both are fenced in with a wooden railing of simple spiraled posts. Several doorways can be made out on the second floor, nearly blending in discreetly with the back wall. The wall to the left of the front doors is composed entirely of windows which run from the forty-foot-tall domed dark wood ceiling to the floor; if drawn, the heavy velvet drapes of deep red would completely mask them from view, but when parted, as they often are, one has a marvelous view of the grounds outside.

A doorway to the right of the front doors leads to a parlor, and towards the back are the kitchens, the large dining room, and Salem's office.

"One of my tribemates had, still _has_, really, a good deal of extra money on her hands," Salem explains as he closes the door behind her. "She's not often involved in Sept affairs, however." He shrugs. "Can I get you anything?"

Megan shakes her head. "Too bad," she comments, then, "I wouldn't mind some tea, if it's not any trouble."

"Not at all." He leads her toward the back, to the (unsurprisingly spacious) kitchen. He waves toward the kitchen table -- cozier than the rather grand dining room. "Have a seat. Find the place all right?" In a way, he doesn't look civilized enough for the posh surroundings. People who live in four-story mansions tend not to sport the scarred skinhead look.

Megan smiles wryly. "Mom lives not far from here, and the Dominion Estate is kind of famous," she says, as she slips into a kitchen chair. This seems to incite something, as she suddenly grips the edges of the table so hard her knuckles turn white, her eyes squeeze shut, and her jaw clenches. Salem may or may not notice, depending on how intent he is on the tea making.

Salem notices -- he's paying more attention to his Fianna visitor than making tea. It's not nervousness; he's simply a bit guarded. Reserved. And now he pauses, turning off the sink faucet in the middle of filling the teakettle. "...Problem?"

Megan doesn't respond immediately, taking deep, somewhat noisy breaths, until whatever 'attack' passes. She swallows hard, and answers weakly, "Yes, but not one I can do anything about." She peels the fingers of one hand from the table edge, to wave weakly, while the fingers of the other hand simply loosen their grip. "Sorry. Go on."

Salem arches an eyebrow quizzically, but doesn't press the issue. "Mmm. Right." He returns to the task of making tea. "So. What did you wish to talk about?"

Megan seems to steady at every carefully measured breath, but he might still notice she looks a little grey under her perpetual tan. "The Sept. You were Alpha for many months, and for far longer than Luke has been if the word I heard from Charlie is any good. And, you're a Philodox. I want your opinion of how things are here, without the sugar-coating or self-aggrendizement."

Salem sets the kettle on the stove and, while it begins the slow journey toward boil, leans against the counter nearby, facing the table. He folds his arms across his chest. "To be honest? I think we're in trouble. Last year we were invaded by Spiral Dancers... you may have heard of that. Several powerful packs, plus fomori and spirit allies. Glissa was compromised and turned, fed them information, and almost got Andrea killed." His expression turns more grim. "She was destroyed, but not before she'd managed to murder her little boy. The daughter was adopted by a Strider kinswoman, who's since moved away." He rubs his chin. "If not for Ouroboros, Robert, and Nightfire's pack, there would _be_ no Sept for you to come back to. St. Claire would be another hellhole, like Seattle."

The Glass Walker grimaces. "And now they're gone, apart from Robert I suppose. We're underpowered. Hell, I took the alphaship before I'd even finished my challenge for Fostern, because _nobody_ wanted to do it. The only person who even challenged me only did it so that _someone_ would."

Megan scowls during most of this recitation, but stays thoughtfully silent until the Glass Walker runs out of breath. At that point, she asks, "When's the last time anyone's seen Robert?"

Salem shakes his head. "I haven't been around the bawn much, but, honestly, I haven't seen him since I told him I was planning to take the alphaship. Theoretically, he's still the Warder." This last comment is given dryly.

"How long has that been?" Megan asks.

Salem thinks for a moment. "Wait. He was Wyrmfoe at the July moot, where I claimed the alphaship."

"So," Megan says, "four months." She pauses, then says, "With the usual suspects gone, who *is* left? You, Luke, Alicia, Signe..." she trails off.

Salem counts on his fingers. "Myself, Luke, Alicia, Renee -- the Gnawer I mentioned last night... Jarred's somewhat around, but... mm." The Walker's mouth thins out in a mild expression of distaste. "Seeker and Eamon, but they're rarely about. Signe's only just returned."

Megan's mouth quirks at the mention of Eamon. "Uncle Smiley's still here?" She seems to elicit true pleasure at this news, although it fades. "My opinion of Jarred isn't fit for polite company, and since the feeling is mutual, I don't mind mentioning it aloud. What auspice is Renee?"

"Galliard," Salem says, straightening up to go fetch a cup and the actual tea. "She took over from Kaz -- another Galliard."

Megan nods once. "I remember Kaz," she says, with a slight smile. "So, Eamon's the only ranking ragabash. Hmm." She turns thoughtful and silent, while Salem gets her tea.

"More or less, yes," Salem says in agreement. "There are a few decent no-moons at the Cliath level, but Eamon's the only one over that. Do you want anything, mm, special for your tea?"

"A little sugar," Megan asks politely. There's another pause before she speaks again. "How do you feel about Luke as Alpha?"

Snaik pages: For just a moment as you reach for the sugarpot, it looks as if it's filled with blood instead of granulated sweetness.

"Mm," Salem says, in a I'm-going-to-be-diplomatic sort of way. His back's mostly turned toward Megan as he reaches for the sugarpot, so she doesn't see his face -- though she _does_ notice a sudden stiffening in the Walker's back. The moment passes quickly enough, though for some reason he decides to bring her the cup (with teabag and spoon) and pour boiling water for her first, and leaves the sugar on the counter.

"He's been Fostern for quite a while," Salem says, focussing again on the conversation at hand. "And he has some solid ideas. But he's... mm. Young. Idealistic but... naive."

Megan's eyes narrow slightly. "Interesting. He only was Rited three years ago," she comments. The fingertips of her first two fingers tap on the table surface pensively, before she sighs heavily, and rakes a hand through her hair. "I find myself in a dilemma."

Salem cocks his head a bit, murmuring, "Was he?" Then he shakes his head and goes to get the sugarpot -- glancing into it rather suspiciously before he brings it over. "What sort of a dilemma?"

Snaik pages: It's sugar. :)

"I've been gone for about three years," Megan responds to the second question. "And I return the highest ranked Garou here, with the possible exception of Robert, if he's still actually here."

Salem sets down the sugarpot, then resumes his lean against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. "Robert has shown no interest in taking any position other than Warder, and I think he does _that_ out of habit." His lips thin. "...And you're not exactly a stranger to this area, either. You're not, mm, some random Fianna Adren from Boston."

Megan nods once, pausing, then responding verbally. "No. I'm not. Even when I was in Boston, it was always under the assumption it was a temporary thing. More permanently temporary than I might've liked, but..." She trails off. "Tell me, Philodox, what you think the Ways say in such a case?"

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Submission to those of higher station," he says after a moment's hesitation. Mismatched eyes -- one living, one dead -- study the Fianna carefully. "Am I to understand you seek the alphaship of the Hidden Walk?"

"Seek?" Megan asks, corners of her mouth quirking up in a barely there grin. "No. But I'm a Keeper of the Ways. I believe there's a certain order to the world, and that that order includes, yes, that particular tenent of the Litany, as well as its sister tenent. And I also believe that with the demonstration of renown for the rank comes a certain responsibility to *be* dominant."

Salem hrmphs. "I agree with you, as it happens. You're Adren. Moreover, even if you were still Fostern, your experience far exceeds Luke's, even if all that's considered is the time you were here." He shakes his head and adds, a touch ruefully, "I wish I'd known you were coming. It might have made things... easier."

Megan laughs, a touch bitterly. "I didn't know quite how bad things were until we got word from Charlie and the news Luke was claiming to be Alpha. I couldn't have returned any earlier than I did, anyway." She shakes her head, then sighs. "I want to try to talk to the pack alphas, and then I'm going to talk to Luke. But--I may need to call on you. Honor isn't high on the list of important for theurges, and it may take a philodox who has been here for a while to back me up."

Salem's smile is very faint. "It won't be the first time that I've gotten into a disagreement with your former pupil. He and I don't, mm... see eye-to-eye on some things." The Glass Walker shrugs, his smile fading. "When the time comes, I'll support your claim." He lifts an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want the job, though?"

Megan's smile is equally thin. "It's not about 'want', Salem, it's about duty. It's about honor. I never really imagined myself being Alpha of a Sept, not when Brian and Andrea had been here for forever. But I can say I learned leadership gaining the rank of Fostern and following some of the best this Sept has had. I knew Horus. I learned from Arjun Fletcher. I was packed with Brian O'Flanner for nearly three years. Three years--longer than Luke's been an adult Garou. If I didn't claim Alpha'ship, I'm sure I could find half a dozen Ways I'd be violating."

Salem reaches up, scratching absently under his chin, to the side where it's most difficult to shave. "Mm," he says thoughtfully. "Well, your claim is a just one. And the Sept would benefit."

Megan rubs her face with a hand, the other wrapped around the tea cup to draw warmth from the ceramic. "I hope so. But I also know I will need help. Y'know," she adds, "this would be a lot simpler if there weren't so many damn young homids here. No offense, but things are easier where the traditions are stronger or there are more lupus around to remind us what we're supposed to be about."

Salem lifts an eyebrow. "No offense taken. I know exactly what you mean." He frowns. "Renee, the Gnawer elder, cares mostly about the city, as I do. She's got a temper, but she knows how to show throat. It's a good idea to throw her a bone or two. It makes her tractable."

Snaik pages: Heyhey, speaking of bones....behind Megan, since I believe you're facing her, the walls begin to grow bones and drip with blood. Again, as with the sugarpot, it's fleeting. Blink and you miss it kinda thing.

"Yeah," Megan says, "Bone Gnawers." She smirks, although she doesn't say why, as it fades before she goes on. "It's never been easy, marrying city to woods. I don't expect it to be any easier nowadays. What *is* the relationship, right now?"

Salem blinks, his gaze shifting to something past Megan; he straightens up quickly, his brow furrowed, and -- not answering immediately -- walks around behind the Fianna to peer at the wall behind her. Then he shakes his head and moves back to his previous place. "It could be worse," he says, looking mildly distracted and irritable. "Most of our people stop by the bawn, the farmhouse at least, and keep touch. On the other hand, there are several Garou, Luke's pack included, who don't seem to understand thing one about the city."

Megan watches Salem's odd behavior, turning her head to track his progress, and raising an eyebrow curiously at it. She is eyeing him thoughtfully while he speaks. "Again, not surprising. Has Luke ever packed in the city, or spent a lot of time here, that you're aware of?"

"He never has," says the Glass Walker with certainty. "Neither has he ever shown any interest here until recently, with this leech-gang situation." He wrinkles his nose.

"That's odd," Megan observes. "What got him interested?"

Salem resumes his lean against the counter. "I don't know," he answers, sounding a bit brittle. "Perhaps he's being a proper gung-ho alpha, involved in everything. But ask Alicia what happened when she took Jamethon and Leonard on a city scouting mission." He snorts.

Megan's nose wrinkles as she scowls. "I can already imagine," she says darkly. "I already know how Leonard is about the city. Has Jamethon improved any in the last few years?"

"He's a Theurge and a Get," says Salem frankly. "And therefore rather mad. For his last challenge, he ended up cutting off a testicle, daily, to appease a spirit whose help he needed." And that just says everything, doesn't it? The Walker shrugs. "To give him credit, he's got passion for the caern, and I don't imagine that he's entirely unskilled."

Snaik pages: Next time you blink...you open your eyes to a strange sight indeed. The woman across from you is less 'Megan' and more 'a woman with a very strong glow of life about her, and a myriad of colours in the air near her head. The Mansion seems to be in a state of decay, mold on every wall, rotting and warping on the wooden surfaces, etc. Then when you blink again, it's gone. :)
Snaik pages: In the image, Megan has a dark line running down from stem to stern, solid black while the rest is glowing gently.

Megan looks absolutely disgusted with this little tidbit of news, the scowl deepening. "Fucking *idiot*," she pronounces angrily. Then snorts. "Sounds like he hasn't changed much, then."

Salem stiffens, his face tightening, but the reaction is more controlled this time. "Yes, well." His eyes are narrowed, though not at the Fianna sitting at the table. "Signe's return is a recent one. Perhaps she'll stay and take the eldership from Jamethon." His mind's less on the conversation.

(log ends here)