"What do you need thirty dollars for?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently Fri Dec 12 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (74% full).

Weather: 33 degrees, humidity 96% and hazy.

Cockroach Mansion (the Dominion)

Having finally woken from from her whisky induced coma, Renee makes her way downstairs and into the kitchen. Where she slowly and carefully goes about making herself a pot of coffee.

Craig hears footsteps in the kitchen and slouches in from his other explorations. The boy looks dead tired-it's obvious he hasn't slept at all. His clothes are mussed, and his hair sticks up at odd angles. He blinks at Renee, then leans against the wall, watching her assemble coffee.

The front door opens, then slams shut. Fortunately, it's a big house and the kitchen's far enough away that the sound doesn't _quite_ go through Renee's skull. Salem stalks through the mansion, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up in the front closet.

Renee winces at the loud nose and sighs, as she watches the pot brew. Eyes glazed and unfocused.

Craig cranes his neck around when the front door slams, catching a glance of the Walker Elder as he returns to home sweet home. The boy runs a hand through his hair, though that does nothing for it, then edges further into the kitchen. "You okay?" he asks Renee in a scratchy, worried tone.

Craig is a lanky teenager, standing at average height. His body is sleek, rather than bulky. Shaggy brown hair verging on black tops his head, and he's quite tan. His eyes are hazel, though that really depends on the light. Most often, they look grey or brown. His features reveal hints of Native American heritage. His nose looks as though it's been broken and healed recently. The left side of his neck has a messy-looking scar about the size of a thumbprint, and countless scars resembling pockmarks mar his face, forearms and hands. The highest concentration of these is over his cheeks and hands. The teenager has an odd sort of charm about him, a combination of confidence and good-natured cheer.

His clothes are battered and torn. He's currently wearing a scrubby pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. A worn-out secondhand grey jacket keeps a tiny bit of the weather off, and a badly-abused pair of runners protect his feet. His backpack, if he's carrying it, is full of...something, though what that may be isn't quite apparent.

Renee looks up at the boy and slowly shakes her head, then goes back to watching the coffee brew.

Salem prowls into the kitchen, looking quite thuggish in t-shirt and black jeans and heavy boots, his head and face freshly shaved as of early this morning. He greets the two Bone Gnawers with a grunt, then goes into the fridge for a plate of leftover quiche (one of Mel's specialties).

Ask a stupid question. The boy nods, shuffling further over when Salem goes for the leftovers. "Yeah. Sorry." He stares at the floor for a second, then glances at the plate Salem pulls out.

The fridge is well-stocked. The pantry, too. Salem catches Craig's look. "Broccoli and cheese," he says flatly. "Do you want some?" His eye shifts briefly to Renee, then settles back on Craig.

Some of the coffee is finally ready and Renee pours herself a mug, then leans against the counter.

"Yeah," the boy says, adding a nod. "Need t'be warmed up?" Craig pushes off of his current piece of wall to make more room, in case Salem needs it. Another glance or two is tossed in Renee's direction, and the no-moon crosses his arms over his chest.

Salem lifts eyebrows. "...Yes." He peers at the boy for another moment, then shrugs curtly and prepares a couple plates of the stuff for microwaving. "I talked to Megan this morning."

Craig nods slowly. "And?" Suddenly a bit nervous, his eyes skip to the coffee maker. Not enough yet for him.

Renee sets aside her coffee mug and wets her lips, before easing off to the counter and walking over to Salem. "Could I borrow thirty dollars?" The woman asks quietly, voice having lost its typical harsh quality and her street accent is completly gone.

Salem leans against the counter near the microwave (which hums quietly now) and folds his arms across his chest; his reply to Craig is forestalled by Renee's question. "What do you need thirty dollars for?" he asks, warily.

Renee's question also draws a raised eyebrow from Craig. He ignores the coffee for a moment in favor of watching her.

Renee draws in a breath and slowly releases it, as she watches the floor. "Clothes."

Salem cocks his head to the side, studying her carefully for a moment. Considering the request, the loss of the guttertrash accent. Then he nods. "I'll give you fifty." He glances at Craig. "It's not good. But it could be a good deal worse."

"How not good is it?" Craig asks hesitantly, still watching Renee. His fingers twitch on his arms, but he remains still.

"Thankyou," Renee murmurs, then retreats back toward her coffee.

The microwave beeps. Salem takes out the plate of warmed quiche and hands it to Craig. "Silverware's in the drawer to the left of the sink." He puts in the second plate and starts the microwave again. "Those of us who aren't in trouble for actually _breaking_ the Litany... and going through hoops to deceive others about it..." He eyes Renee briefly. "...are in trouble for knowing about the Litany breaking and kept silent. This especially includes Lyra and myself, since we're both Philodox, but none of RAT are excempt." He takes a deep breath. "The good news is that Megan agrees that a metis' life is not to be wasted." He looks at Renee again, solemnly. "I don't think that Squeaks is in danger."

Craig gets a fork and digs in, munching on large mouthfuls of quiche. He doesn't speak, and doesn't look away from the plate, just nods for Salem to continue.

Renee winces and cringes at the Walkers words, when he speaks of others aside from herself getting in trouble. Still, at the mention of Squeaks, relief flickers across the Galliard's face.

Salem rubs his face. Almost wearily, he says, "Renee, what possessed you to keep the pup? And to parade her in front of the whole Sept at Moot?"

Craig's chewing slows as he listens for Renee's answer. His gaze rises to flick between the other two, first Salem, then Renee.

Renee winces. "Kaz couldn't keep her."

Salem wrinkles his nose. "Kaz isn't the only Bone Gnawer in the country. Hell, _I_ could have found a place for her somewhere. Not necessarily with the Walkers."

"She is my daughter..." Renee all but whispers, as she stares into her mug.

Craig's teeth grind, and his fork rattles very briefly against the plate before he sets both down.

Salem stares at her, then at Craig. The microwave beeps again, and the Walker shakes his head and gets his plate out, and a fork, and takes it to the kitchen table. "I still would have advised against displaying her at Moot," he grunts, tucking in.

Renee sighs. "I'm not that good... Not that good at dealing with woodsy garou. I'm stupid."

Craig takes a few breaths, then picks up the plate again. His hand is steady as he resumes shovelling food into his mouth. The coffee gets a short look, but the boy doesn't pour any after all.

Salem grunts again. "My error. I overestimated you." His voice is flat and he doesn't look at her.

"Once I met a man, as I was walking down the road," Renee starts to sing to herself, quietly and with her eyes focused on the mug in front of her. "Such a handsome face he had, all smiling and bright. Such a beautiful smile, it was love at first sight." The young woman's voice lifts, as she keeps the tone and pitch. She isn't as good as Alicia, but it seems that she can sing. "So I followed his path and we walked side by side. Another set of feet began to follow the path beside us, leaving behind small prints next to my side." Renee's eyes are completely unfocused, as she continues to sing to herself.

Salem pauses in his eating to peer at the young Galliard, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"'Nee," Craig murmurs around his mouthful of food. The plate is set aside again, and he glances between Salem and the Galliard, swallowing. After a few moments of indecision, he puts out a hand to touch Renee's shoulder, wincing as he does. "Renee...C'mon...stay here," he pleads quietly.

Renee continues to sing, oblivious to the boy's hand "So small and alike my own, but different this their own way. Soon, those prints would lead to a price I would have to pay. So the toll-man cam down the road, demanding what was owed. To me he held out his hand, then to the man at my side. Finally, he held out his hand toward the roads edge, where the shadows of my friends. For everyone there was a price to pay, even though the bill was my own."

Salem grunts and digs his fork into his food, eating while the Galliard sings.

Craig steps in front of her, crouching to try to catch her eye. The hand that isn't on her shoulder touches her face. "Renee...please. C'mon. Come back," he murmurs.

A strange, vaguely unsettled look of recognition passes briefly across Salem's face. He shakes his head, dismissing it.

"So the toll-man looked at me and continued to demand his price. Everything I had managed and everything I had gained. So the payment was given, but the tax man stayed. So all would know what a great price I had paid. For the small set of footprints that are following at my side. Like mine, but so unlike my own." Renee finally falls silent and eyes close, as tears drip into her coffee.

Despite all of his trying, a tear or two slip down Craig's cheeks as well. "Fuck..." he murmurs, wiping some of the tears Renee is shedding away with his hand. "Fuck..." The boy bows his head, still absently stroking the Galliard's cheek.

Wordlessly, Salem gets up and takes his plate out of the kitchen, leaving the two Bone Gnawers alone.

Renee draws in a deep breath and her entire body shudders, as she releases it. Its a careful motion, as she lightly brushes her lips against the boy's cheek. Red rimmed eyes focus on Salem, as he makes his way out of the room. "Salem... Could I have that money, please? I'd like to get those clothes."

Salem nods curtly and vanishes into the back, toward his office. He returns after a moment or three, without his plate but with a couple of twenties and a ten in hand, folded over. He hands the cash over to Renee with a flat expression. "You going with her?" This is asked at Craig, with a certain inflection that indicates that the boy's answer had better be 'yes'.

The hand resting on her shoulder tightens, and the boy murmurs, "Love you." He raises his head, but doesn't say anything more, just carefully wipes away the tears with his hand. He looks far older than his seventeen years. "Yeah," he replies firmly to the Glass Walker's question.

Renee takes the money and pockets it. "Thankyou," she murmurs. Unlike Craig, she looks younger then before. Her proper sixteen years, instead of the nineteen she can normally pass as. She looks young, tired, and afraid. She seems puzzled for a moment, as if having forgotten what she was going to do. Memory returns and she leads Craig out of the room and house.

Salem walks them out, his expression pensive, then returns to the kitchen to finish his meal -- though he doesn't much have the appetite for it anymore.

Craig follows his elder quietly, not bothering with a jacket, barely remembering shoes.

---

The local WalMart provided everything that Renee wanted. Cheep jeans that actually fit, a long sleeved shirts, and undergarments. The extra monet that Salem gave her allows the Galliard get a few extra... normally pure luxuries the Renee's eyes. Desposable razors, deoderant, and a toothbrush. With the bag in her arms, she returns to the Walker home.

Craig leads the way in, holding the door for the Galliard and closing it, rather than slamming it. He didn't pick anything up for himself, just watched as she shopped, drove away other customers, that sort of thing.

The television's on in the parlor, light and sound from the big wide screen. Hearing the door, Salem gets up from the bolt-action rifle he's in the middle of disassembling and stands in the parlor doorway, watching them with a bland expression.

"I'm going to used the bathroom," Renee murmurs and makes her way toward the part of the house. Bag clutched firmly in her arms. The bathroom door closes and the shower starts to run and it will be roughly twenty minutes until the Galliard reapears.

Craig nods to the bag when the Glass Walker emerges, then watches Renee go upstairs. When she's safely away, he exhales slowly. "What happens t'her?" he asks, very quietly, staring at the stairway.

Salem arches an eyebrow, his eyes following her. Then he looks at Craig and shrugs. "Much of that's up to her. Life can and often will shit on you. How you react is, well... up to you." He retreats back into the parlor, to the old WWII Soviet rifle that he's got laid out in pieces on an old towel.

Craig's expression twitches to a snarl for a moment. "Nice answer," he snaps, taking a few steps over to lean against the doorframe leading into the parlor. "S'when's our interviews?" he adds, giving himself a moment to get the temper back under control.

Salem glances sharply at the younger Garou, his lean, scarred face tight. He shows a flash of teeth, then turns away and, gracefully, settles down crosslegged in front of the disassembled rifle. "Whenever Megan stops by," he says flatly, taking up a rag and the little bottle of gun oil.

Craig crosses his arms again and nods. "Great," he growls, eyes turning back to the hall. "Fuckin' great." The ragabash stares off into middle distance, listening for the shower and pondering to himself.

*BUZZ* goes the front gate buzzer.

Salem glances up at the sound, his eyes narrowed, then pushes to his feet, wiping his hands on the rag. He checks the monitors, then looks sidelong at Craig. "She's here," he tells the young Ragabash, and then activates the gate. As it slides back to allow the Fianna entrance, the Walker opens the front door of the house, ignoring the night chill.

Craig straightens up and gets out of the way, moving back along the hall so he's not the first thing the Adren will see. His attention, for obvious reasons, fixes on the front door.

Renee finally comes out of the bathroom, wearing her new clothes. Her hair has been tied back in a simple braid. The remnants of her dye-job have been snipped away, removing a good three inchs from her hair. She is clean, presentable, and could pass for anyone on the street... If it wan't for the light scars on her face and her painfully thin frame.

Megan

This woman is rather attractive in an Amazonian kind of way. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, with thick auburn hair falling in heavy waves down her back and around her shoulders. Frequent use has sculpted her 5'10" height into a body of strong muscle-definition, long of limb and long of torso, softened only by the definite feminine curves of full breasts and hips, and the inward dip of her waist. Her features display character: fresh, tanned skin stretched cleanly over the sharp edge of jaw, rounding at her chin, across a wide brow and gently sloping cheekbones. Finely arched eyebrows curve over expressive black-green emerald eyes, often found narrowed with keen interest or dreamy in inward contemplation.

She is wearing blue jeans, calf-high black boots, and a black t-shirt which says "Don't piss me off. I'm running out of places to hide the bodies." When outside, she wears a long black trenchcoat. Check '+detail Megan's info' for other things noticable.

Megan walks in, tails of her black trenchcoat lifting around her like wings on the current of warmer air rushing through the door, like the wings of a raven heralding warriors doom in the old Irish stories. She gives Salem a curt nod, cool, business-like, and says, "Is she here?"

Salem nods tersely as he lets the Adren Philodox in. He meets Renee and Craig's eyes and gestures them toward the parlor, then goes in himself, turns off the television, and resumes his cross-legged seat on the floor.

His motions, as he cleans the old firearm, are precise and practiced.

Renee makes her way down the steps from upstairs and freezes like a deer caught in the headlight, as she catches sight of Megan.

Craig steps out of his temporary concealment, giving the elder Garou a short once-over. He's about to proceed into the parlor when he hears Renee's footsteps on the stairs. When they freeze, so does he, glancing in the Galliard's direction.

Renee's frozen stance does not last long, as the Galliard quickly drops her eyes and hunches her shoulders. trying to make herself look as small as possible, while every breath screams submission.

Craig exhales the breath he didn't know he was holding. His fingers twitch again on his arms as he waits for her to descend the stairs.

Megan, too, collects both Bone Gnawers with a look, and then follows Salem into the parlor. She is not completely at ease in this place, but she finds a seat, the same one as last week, sheds her coat, and waits. The only betrayal of her tension is the way her fingertips tap at the end of the arms of the chair.

Eyes remaining downcast, Renee follows Megan into the room and crouches down infront of her.

Megan looks mildly surprised at Renee's posture, but says quietly, "So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"There is nothing to say," Renee murmurs, voice soft. Her getto accent is gone, as is the normal harshness of her tone. Rather large changes, in a very short period of time.

Megan looks even more surprised at the dramatic change in accent than the appearance and the posture, and eyes Renee somewhat suspiciously. "Say it anyway," Megan prompts.

"What would you like me to tell you?" Renee asks quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. "There isn't anything I could say in my favour."

"And there's probably very little you could say that would do anymore damage," Megan retorts evently. "So...just talk."

Salem methodically oils and then wipes down each part of the old Soviet rifle, looking up only once or twice. His face is carefully neutral.

Renee flinches at Megan's words, drawing in further to herself. This supmissive woman is a far cry from the proud and loud Gnawer from a few days ago. "I don't know what to say... They needed me. They needed me to look after them and I tried, but I've let them down."

Megan throws Salem a glance, then sighs, looking back to Renee. "Who? The Bone Gnawers?"

The bald Glass Walker lifts an eyebrow slightly; he's paused in his activity.

"Yes," Renee replies. "They were scattered. Nothing was getting done, so I started doing it and I started pulling them together. They're my Family, they needed me to remind them of that." The young woman's voice cracks. "I managed to do so much, get so much done. Now its gone. All gone." The Galliard's voice wavers, then falls silent.

Megan's voice turns hard, although she doesn't raise the decibel-level any. "They *still* need you."

Renee shakes her head, eyes remaining downcast. "I worked so hard, to earn their respect. To get them to listen to me. I finally had a voice, strong enough to help them. People started to listen. They won't not any more, not with this. I'm useless to them, nothing but an embaressment."

Salem's mouth twitches. His gaze goes back to the rifle. Oil. Wipe. Each piece of the bolt assembly. It's an old firearm, but in perfect condition... and no wonder, if the care he's giving it now is any indication.

"Yes," Megan agrees, not sugar-coating it. "You are. You lied, either outright, misdirection, or omission, to both Layne acting in the capacity of Judge, and to me, and then compounded that by acting as if Leonard was out of line, and you were the victim. You said he was questioning your *honor*--when it seems to me that you don't really understand that concept." She pauses, then her tone softens. "However, that said. I see real potential in you. And I've known a lot of Bone Gnawers--I counted Mac and Hazmat as friends, and I've known and worked with a lot of them, both here and in Boston while I was there. And the one thing I've learned about your tribe, that I think you're forgetting, is that you're survivors. You guys don't quit, just because you get kicked. So don't you dare quit now. If you really think you have honor--then prove it. My first elder, Brian Heartsfire, told me that honor is doing the right thing, no matter what the cost. You take your punishment, whatever it is, and you bear it. And you move on. And you remember, and learn from it, and make yourself into a better Garou for it."

Renee flinches again and her voice wavers, when she speaks. "I will not avoid my punishment." Finally, the young woman looks up eyes pleading. They focus on Megan for a second, then drop back down. "I will take whatever you have planned for the others, if you'll let me."

Salem, listening to this, nods at Megan's words without looking up from his work. Every part of the firearm is oiled and cleaned now, and he starts putting it all back together with skilled, efficient hands. Renee's offer makes him pause, and he looks up at her sharply, frowning.

Megan shakes her head, expression turning to a frown. "No. Punishment isn't just meted out because someone is bad, and there must be a reaction, but to definitively remind someone that what they did is wrong. You insult them by your offer," she says, softly. "Because you're saying that they didn't choose to do what they did. And in Alicia's case, at least, she did it out of love and loyalty for you. Do not *dare* belittle that, or take that away from her."

"I'm sorry," Renee's voice cracks into a sob. "I know why they did it. They did it for me. Its my fault. I just... They're my Family, I want them safe. I want to protect them. I don't mean too..." The Gallird's form shudders, as she cries silently for a few seconds. "I don't mean to insult them."

Salem looks at the Gnawer, and his hard face softens a bit, almost imperceptibly. His mouth twists into a grimace of sympathy, and he glances sidelong at the Fianna.

Megan's hand begins to move, as if she might reach out to the Bone Gnawer, but then settles back into place. Her jaw works before she responds. "I know you don't. You're thinking with your heart, not your head. But whatever punishment they get, they will get it for *their* actions, not yours." She finally allows herself a sigh, and sinks back into the chair. "I'm glad you won't avoid punishment. But, neither do I like this...fatalistic attitude. Do you want to know what?" she asks, leaning forward again. "I really thought there was a lot of good in you. When I can think about it, separate from my anger, I realize that all of this is due to a small, minor mistake, that only became a huge issue because you, none of you, were upfront and honest about it. I know, I wasn't here when it happened, but I know how I would've acted had all this come out at the beginning, and not after all this bullshit. One bad decision, compounded and multiplied to what it is today. We all occasionally make bad decisions, though. Even me," she says, wry smile wan.

Salem grunts and finishes assembling the rifle. Swiftly he pulls back the bolt, testing its smoothness -- like silk, perfection -- and then, with the barrel pointing well away from either Garou, pulls the trigger with a >click< to clear it.

"I was afraid," Renee admits. "I didn't want Craig hurt... There was no-one in the city, doing what needed to be done. I was afraid for him and for what would happen, if I was unable to continue watching the city."

Renee wets her lips. "I had only been Cliath for a handful of months and I was afraid."

Megan glances sharply over at the sound of the bolt engaging, but then relaxes as it registers what it was she heard. She gives Salem a sour look, before turning back to Renee. "Cliath, but considered old enough to know what end of the skunk to stay away from." She sighs again, and again, sinks into the back of her chair, this time throwing Salem a tired smile. "I came over here all full of righteous fury, and she's managed to manipulate me into feeling sorry for her and wanting to help." She chuckles quietly. "I'm going soft in my old age."

Most high-Rage Garou have their little rituals; this seems to be Salem's. He starts putting the rifle away in the long, hard case nearby. He responds to Megan's last remark with a snort. "Senility does that to a person," he deadpans.

Renee sighs. "Yes, I know. I thought he was human. That it would last three months, at best. It just didn't work out that way. THen I was terrified he would be hurt. Its not an excuse." The Galliard stays on the floor, where her form slowly blurs into lupus. Curling into a ball, she rests her tail across her face.

Megan double-takes at Salem's comment, apparently uncertain, at first, if he's serious or joking, then decides by some quality in his expression he must be joking. She looks back at Renee, well, at the dog form Renee has assumed, and sighs. "Once you are punished, what will you do."

Sees-True flicks a single ear backwards, indicating that she doesn't know.

Salem folds up the gun-cleaning materials and then leans back against the sofa, arms folded across his chest.

"I would suggest," Megan suggests quietly, "that you consider it. Because I want to know. You can go under the assumption, at this point, that you won't be paying for it with your life." Not even a flicker of a smile at that. She then opens her mouth as if she might continue, but then closes it again, leaving it at that.

Sees-True's ears lay back and then twitch farward again, as she wriggles her face even further under her tail. I'll know, when its over.

"And I," Megan says, "would like to know shortly after that. I will be very wroth with you, if, for example, you decided to leave the area."

"So would I," Salem murmurs. First thing he's said in ages.

Sees-True sighs heavily, whole chest rising and falling.

Megan frowns, and shakes her head. "Are you staying here with Salem, then?"

~I have to go back, to watch the Squeaker. She is my sin, my responsibility,~ comes the rumbles words, from under Sees-True's tail.

Salem's mouth thins. Something about that phrasing strikes the Walker as distasteful.

The same thing seems to occur to Megan. "No, your sin was covering it up. The metis is just the proof that you did. And still a living, breathing, Garou child, which is better than some of us can do."

Sees-True's tail flicks away from her face, as she lifts her head to look over at Megan. Her ears lay back briefly, then she rests her head across her paws. ~The rats came. Hundreds of Mama Rat's kids. Big ones, little one, fat and skinny. Some were real, others were spirits. One of her changing children came to help me bring her into this world, a Seerer and a healer. She kept me alive and seemed to think that the Squeaker would have an important task set before her.~

Megan's eyes narrow at part of that recitation, then relax once more. "See?" she asks, a touch of a smile on her face. "So, no moping about it now."

Salem arches an eyebrow. He utters a quiet little 'hmm', his eyes narrowed.

Sees-True's ears splay in the equivalant of a lupine shrug, as her head disapears back under her tail.

Megan shakes her head again, and pushes to her feet. "I think," Megan says, "I have perhaps stayed long enough. I'll be in touch with both of you, very soon. Although, oh, one more question," she looks at Renee. "Alicia seemed to indicate that all of your pack knew about this. The only one she didn't explicitly mention knowing was Lyra. Did she know?"

Sees-True almost looks like she wants to hide under her tail, instead of doom another of her family to punishment. Yes.

Salem rubs a hand over his face, then climbs to his feet with a stretch and a grimace.

Megan nods firm acknowledgement to Sees-True's confirmation. "Thank you. Salem," Megan says, "Renee," she adds the Bone Gnawer with a glance, "good night."

Sees-True's tail flicks as she attempts a wag. Goodbye.

"Let me see you out," Salem murmurs, politely.

Megan nods curtly to Salem, and follows him to the door to be shown out. *click*