*middle finger*

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:29 Pacific Time on Tue Dec 16 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (46% full).

Weather: 40 degrees F, feels like 34. Fair.

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.

Since news of the Judgement had reached Cat via Rina, he understood why the elder had locked himself in the office without so much as a "hello". But, he told himself as he gathered the courage to knock on the door, punishment or not he needed to see Salem. Face scrunching in determination, he raps his knuckles on the door.

The music coming out through the closed door is different from the elder's usual Mozart, Chopin, Bach, or other classical composer. No, this is modern, hard, not loud but snarly. It has _bass_.

It cuts off within moments after the cub's knock. Heavy footsteps approach the door, and it opens, revealing a heavy-eyed Jack Salem in white t-shirt and black jeans, his lower face dark with stubble. His laptop -- a fairly recent purchase, some time in the past couple of months -- is open on the desk, its screen not visible from the doorway.

The boy stares. Not that he hasn't seen the elder since his return- Salem has probably turned over his shoulder more than once to see blond curls fly back into a doorway or duck behind a corner. But he hadn't gotten up close. Cat swallows. "Hi," he says lamely.

Salem looks like a skinhead after a bender, and his expression is dark and thundery... sullen. He stares down at the boy for a moment, then nods sharply and walks over to take his place behind the desk. The chair squeaks a bit as the tall Walker settles into it.

Cat blinks, making several faces to himself as the Philodox starts to go back to his work. Can't let him get away now... "I want to go on my Rite," he blurts out, before the last squeak of the chair is through.

Salem picks up a pen and uses it to point at one of the chairs in front of the big desk. In front of him is a legal pad. On this he writes, "I know. Talk to me about it," and then turns it around so the boy can see.

The cub nods, shuffling to the appointed chair and sitting in it, pulling his knees up tightly. He doesn't say anything for a moment. "I want-" He pauses, staring at the paper, then at the gaunt man's face. "I want to go into the Umbra and go to the Glasswalker lands."

Salem frowns, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Squinting. He taps the pad with his pen a couple of times, then writes, "And do what? For what purpose?"

Cat almost reaches out to pick up the pen, but catches himself in time. "I want to find Mister Smith," he says softly. "If he's haunting Miz Rina, maybe I can get him to stop. Or maybe I can get a message from him to give to her...one that'll make her feel better. And then..." He licks his lips, looking hopeful. "She'd be happy, wouldn't she?"

Salem regards Cat with more of that flat, intent stare, unsmiling. Again, he writes on the pad. "I have to think about it."

The boy looks surprised that his proposal wasn't meant with a more positive reaction...but the determination returns undaunted. "Whether're not it's my Rite I'm going to do it anyway," he says firmly. Then, a little more politely, he adds "Someday."


Dominion Estate

The Dominion estate spreads out over a small hill, giving the mansion built at the peak a view of the surrounding suburban countryside. The grassy lawn is dotted with statuary and encircled by hedges grown up to hide the stone wall which surrounds the estate. A gravel driveway snakes elliptically up from the front gate northward to the house, east from there to the garage, then back towards the front gate. Preparations for some sort of garden have been made on the western slope of the hill.

The house itself is old and appears to have had had work done it over the years. The original, main part of the house is made of gray stone and reaches four stories high with the tower. The east and west wings appear newer and are made of brick and wood. The previous decay and disrepair can still be seen, but there also seems to have been some effort put into fixing the place up.

After a buzzing, Yi is here. Waiting. Determined, yet fearful of the actions her body is making despite her mind's awful protest. Make that her survival instinct's protest.

The camera over the gate swivels to focus on her, staring with empty lens and angry red light. The gate doesn't open. The front door of the mansion, at the end of the long driveway, however, _does_ open, emitting an all-too-familiar figure in long black coat, apparently thrown on in haste. The tails of the garment fly behind him as he stalks at speed down toward the gate, and as he gets close she can see the livid, barely-controlled anger in his scarred face, the whitening of scars and the way his teeth are bared in an open grimace.

Yi stands rooted, looking at the camera first with eyes warmed only with the feeling of blood rushing to her head. Why is she here? Why? The ragabash turns when the rustlings of the dark conform to a very fast-approaching halfmoon towards the gate. She turns, slowly, as if the world around her has disappeared. A tunnel of vision contains only the one she has come to meet. She waits as the train of Rage barrels down towards her.

Salem pulls up short just as he reaches the gate, just when it looks like he might launch himself at it bodily, climb over with the speed of his fury, and leap down upon her with claws and fangs. But... this isn't the Bawn, or the backalleys of St. Claire. With black iron bars between them, he seethes, glaring Klaives at her, glaring daggers of silver.

Hidden under the Cantonese heritage and careful masks of calm is the cunning danger of the wolf within, peeking out in Yi's manner of observing her surroundings in a discreetly alert manner. Though petite at about 5'4" with a slim, boyish figure, she hardly gives off the impression of a helpless, fragile woman. Her straight, long black hair streaks with highlights, adding just a bit of color to enhance her dark eyes and give her the classic Asian girl appearance that would blend her into the crowds. Her outward style of clothing is designed to match that feeling of subtlety with a charcoal black military peacoat covering a deep red crew tee and jeans fitting comfortably to her figure. Rugged black boots balance out the accessories with her silver-buckled leather belt and thin neck chain. One who pays attention to her might notice the thin scars upon neck, forehead and her limbs which make her look as if she had gone through some rough times before. (+detail Yi's Scars) Aside from that though, she moves with a fluid grace and speaks with a mixed, distinct accent of one whose native language clearly is not English but good enough to be considered fairly fluent.

Yi averts her eyes, closing them as if the glares actually do cause her the pain he intends. Her breath comes shallowly, raggedly. Lips wet as her mouth parts a touch in indication of her intention to speak and break the contest of silence, but nothing comes. Her eyes open, turn back, leveling their gaze upon the torso of the Walker elder. It's made clear by her simply being there that she came with purpose.

Salem's throat works, but he chokes back the growl that wants to come. His nostrils flare, sucking in the cold air of the evening. He continues glare at her, saying nothing, every ounce of his body language making it clear that she is very not welcome here. Not as far as _he's_ concerned, anyway.

Yi can feel every bit of unwelcome, but here her willpower that failed her before rises as she forces out her words. Grating, painful and uncharacteristic to the ear, the words wrench out of her throat. "I am sorry."

Salem continues to glower. Then he makes his reply -- a wordless but extremely eloquent upraised middle finger.

The whine of the Ducati is distinctive, as it approaches the estate. Rina parks across the street from the gates, and swings off the bike; by the time she crosses toward the gates, she notices Yi. The slightly worried, preoccupied expression gives way to something less identifiable, a city mask that betrays nothing.

Approaching the gates, Rina tucks her helmet under one arm, and looks at the both of them rather blandly.

Yi stands outside the gate of the Dominion, eyes fixed upon the chest of the Walker Elder on the other side of the gate, who not so calmly has just flipped her the bird in response to an apology. The ragabash still doesn't move. "It may not matter now," she begins, trying to keep the distorted mauling of her voice down to a minimum, "but I have to speak with you."

Salem drops the upraised finger and looks past Yi toward the approaching kinswoman. His face is livid, though his anger seems to be directed entirely at the Gnawer outside the gate of his home. Turning back to Yi, he spits at the ground between them, then steps back, clearly preparing to turn back toward the house.

"Maybe now is /not/ such a good time," Rina says flatly to the Gnawer. "Maybe you oughta give it about two months."

"I know an apology is not enough," Yi continues, the Voice of the Jackal sending a breaking crack through her voice midsentence. As Rina comes up behind her, she turns her head. Eyes meet, but at this point the futility hasn't registered yet. She turns back to the gates, a hand reaching out to grip the bars. "I owe the tribe," cracks the ragabash. "And I must know what I can do." Desperation clings to her voice and body.

Rina's voice is hard, as cold as the Gnawer has ever heard it. "You're gonna have to wait. And right now I need to talk to Jack, so I'd suggest you wait somewhere /else/. Capisce?"

Salem stops and turns back. He stares hard at Yi, his mismatched eyes narrowed. Then, very deliberately, he slices his thumb across his throat. The meaning of the gesture is quite plain.

The power of desperation drains off, like blood running from an open wound as if the gesture Salem used really did slice her throat with it. Yi's hand falls away from the bars, the Gnawer stepping back. The meaning is quite clear. "I have failed. So it shall be," she whispers softly, turning away with shame and defeat branded in her every movement. Without even a goodbye to the kinswoman, Yi turns to go on her way once more, returning to the cold night from whence she came.

Salem scowls at Yi's back, looking not the least bit repentant for his callousness, then turns to Rina. His breath puffs out in white clouds; underneath the open coat he's wearing just a t-shirt, the black BDUs, his boots. No hat, no gloves.

Rina glances over her shoulder. "Gnawer," she says curtly. "I'll be in touch." Then she holds her card up to the box by the gate, causing it to open. "C'mon," she says quietly. "Let's go for a ride."

Yi continues to walk on as if she hadn't heard what Rina passed onto her. Soon, she simply disappears into the shadows, leaving the Walkers to their business.

Salem's nostrils flare. Then he nods curtly and stalks out of the gate, buttoning and belting his coat with quick, angry gestures; his hands are trembling slightly, with cold or rage or both.

Rina takes him to the park, without a word of explanation. Perhaps it's just for the sake of somewhere familiar and quiet and empty.


Harbor Park -- The Meadow

One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about five feet tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two breaks each at the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end. Wooden posts are being erected at regular intervals all along the earthen wall, while tasteful iron gates and fences are being added at the entrances. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. From the street view or river view, the park is now isolated, as if it existed apart from the city. People in tall buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons for now, though. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed surrounds the fountain.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire.

The distinctive purr of the Ducati's engine grows louder as the bike comes down the riverfront. Rina parks along the edge of the street, waiting for her tall passenger to dismount and then sliding off herself. Without a word, she walks over toward the park, taking off her helmet along the way and shaking out flattened hair.

The park tonight, like most nights, is mostly abandoned... save for a juggler who obviously isn't going to make any busking cash tonight... and some arrivals on a Ducati...

Salem follows Rina like a well-trained but possibly rabid Doberman, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his coat and staring more at the ground than their surroundings. Anger still seethes from him, pulsing like the onset of a hurricane.

The rhythmic slap of wood on flesh can be heard by the fountain if one were listening and heard over the sound of traffic and the sluggish river.

"You prolly don't wanna talk, huh," Rina says quietly. "So maybe we'll just hang out. Fresh air--relatively, I mean--oughta do you good." She glances over to him. "Take a few deep breaths. Inhale pink. Exhale blue." She hunches her shoulders into the oversized jacket a bit, and pushes gloved hands deeper into her pockets.

Salem snorts, a sharp exhale of breath through his nose. This, at least, is untouched by the Jackal, since it doesn't go over his cursed vocal chords.

Rina takes in a breath, and lets it out. "I got questions. But I'll ask 'em some other time. Or maybe in writing." She looks out toward the water, as they continue to walk--and then she hears the noise, and glances sharply toward it, pausing to listen and watch. It's an odd sound.

Salem stops when Rina does. Heel. Stay. He glances over toward where she's looking, but doesn't seem much interested.

Cutter isn't terribly obscured, standing under a park light and juggling indian clubs while he smokes. He doesn't appear to have noticed the pair, as he's watching the street.

About this time, it starts to rain. A very light drizzle carried at a slight angle by the wind, that doesn't seem to threaten growing stronger any time soon... yay city weather.

Salem wrinkles his nose, his scowl deepening as the first drops hit his scalp. He pulls up the collar of his coat and hunches his shoulders, the very picture of disgruntled.

Rina turns completely, as something on the street catches her eye; she watches the figure for a moment or two. And then the misting starts, and she mutters a curse, glowering at the sky. "So much for a nice walk."

Cutter catches all four of his clubs and tucks them into his coat pockets, tugging his hat further over his own face.

Salem glances up at the sky and then shrugs. He doesn't look at all surprised.

A loud thunking sound muffled by the newly falling rain is heard barely by those present, seeming to come from the opposing side of the fountain from where Cutter stands. Looking over there, one doesn't notice a thing in that direction.

Rina looks toward it as well--and then calls out, as recognition dawns. "Cutter?" Without waiting for an answer, she starts heading for the lanky young man.

Salem looks at Rina as the woman speaks. It takes him a moment to follow her to Cutter, but follow he does, albeit rather reluctantly.

Cutter does not believe his quick glance, and moves around to the far side of the fountain. "Hey, gorgeous," he says distractedly as he darts over to investigate.

Frowning, Rina speeds her steps, her expression turning guarded. Her jacket is still zipped up from the ride, sheltering her from the rain.

Salem's face twists into a grimace. He breaks into a brief jog in order to catch up with Rina.

She comes close enough to touch his arm, and rises on tiptoe to kiss his cheek--close enough, too, for her words to remain private. "Salem got Jackaled, so don't make him talk," she tells Cutter quietly. Then she forces a wry smile, to chase away the grimace. "So other than him bein' one huge ball of suffocating rage, everything's just fine."

Cutter grins, and quickly tries to suppress it. His arm instinctively goes around Rina's waist. "So this'd be a good time to let him know that he should tell me if he doesn't want me to be alpha of the pack?"

The weather lies yet again, picking up slightly. Where as before the rain almost seemed to disolve a moment after it touched you, now it collects like a condensation. As Cutter stands before Rina, suddenly he lurches forward with a grunt. Taking Rina down under him, the two tumbling to the ground like Cutter was hit from behind. A strike of lightning flashes across the starless sky and illuminates just barely an odd visage of a humanoid shape, darting through the park away from group. The image, which is now gone, seemed to be much like a glass, so thin and clear that it was only noticable by the condensation on its surface illuminated by the lightening.

Cutter crouches protectively over Rina, one hand clutching the back of his head. "The *fuck*!" he snarls, eyes squeezed shut.

"What--" Rina completes his thought, belatedly, as she goes down in a heap and then scrambles to regain her feet, looking in the direction of the odd hallucination and, incidentally, the pissed-off Salem. Her eyes are fierce, narrowed, as she tries to make out that half-glimpsed shape. "It hit you?"

Maybe he caught sight of the kiss. Maybe not. (And maybe he's ignoring it.) What Salem _definitely_ sees is Cutter getting knocked down on top of Rina, and then... something. He pauses, frowning and momentarily confused, then grimaces and takes off after the half-seen shape.

Cutter looks back over his shoulder dazedly. "What it? Somebody sucker punched me, with a roll of quarters."

Salem is running after the 'thing' when he spots it again, but unfortunatly it is right in front of him when he does so... running /at/ the Walker elder. The two collide heavily and Jack Salem loses this contest of strength and mass it seems, as he goes flying back to where he ran from, laid out on the ground, head looking right and left sharply, back and forth. Another flash of lightning now and the form is straddling Salem, fists flailing at his face over and over.

Jamethon pages: 4 non agg damage, and the thing is /freezing/ atop you, so cold it feels like it takes the heat from your body. The punches feel like blows from a crowbar perhaps.

Rina breaks into a run, unzipping her jacket on the way and pulling the larger of today's hand cannons. She skids to a halt at a decent firing range, somewhere less than twenty yards, and takes aim at a point somewhere above Salem's prone body. "Stay DOWN, Jack!" she yells, and then fires at the barely-visible silhouette.

Cutter pushes to his feet, drawing his own pistol and moving clumsily toward the fracas. "Pin the fucker," he calls, "I want to kick /him/ in the head."

Salem manages to register Rina's shout, or perhaps he's just stunned for a moment by the surprise and ferocity of the attack. No, not stunned, because the former Ahroun _is_ fighting back, and it's a fucking wonder he hasn't gone into shredder-mode.

Just as Salem goes to throw a punch, Rina's bullet rings loud in the night, some things just beat the heavy rain in decibles. The man is flung off of Salem, leaving the Walker's quite bloody and broken face visible... a good deal of blood splattered on the ground next to it, being quickly washed out by the downpour. Another flash of lightning, a long lasting blaze in the sky... and no one can see the man anywhere near where he should have fallen.

"Shit," Rina snarls, breathing hard with the rush of adrenaline. She keeps a tight two-handed grip on the gun, and looks around wild-eyed for her target.

Salem, spitting blood (and a tooth or two), rolls quickly to his feet. He makes an aborted lunge for where the Invisible Man should be, then scans the park. He breathes heavily through his mouth, head lowered and thrust forward, balanced on the balls of his feet. He doesn't seem to feel the pain -- or, if he does feel it, he's ignoring it.

Cutter stuffs his pistol back into his coat pocket as he shifts burly. "Salem? You okay?" he asks, not actually looking at the man but instead at the area around them. With one hand he takes off his hat and tosses it toward the fountain.

Cutter contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Cutter shifts into Glabro form.

The creature appears to be gone, at least for right now he doesn't make another strike. Some time passes... the rain gets heavier still...

Cutter says "You guys actually got a look at it. Was it the prick in the trench coat? If he shows again, get some mud on him or something."

Salem shakes his head and straightens up, glancing sidelong at Cutter, then over at Rina. Slowly, he shifts up to Glabro to let his battered face heal, using a hand to straighten the broken nose -- and it's definitely not the first time he's done _that_.

Rina swallows. "I don't /know/," she says angrily, still sweeping her dark eyes over the park. "Fuck."

Cutter glances at Rina, then at Salem. "Hey, Punk!" he shouts into the rain, "Is that the best you got? A tap on the head and a pop in the nose? And a lame ass wardrobe attempt at improving your self-confidence?"

Cutter blinks.

Cutter mutters "That's it."

Salem's gaze cuts sidelong toward the Shadow Lord, heavy brows furrowing.

Suddenly Rina is lifted off the ground, gun flying from her hand, and thrown through the air at great speed towards the fountain. Crumpling around it like a rag blown in the wind hitting a barber pole, she then splashes down into the water, spasming from pain and coughing up blood into the water. The figure is barely seen as and outline where Rina stood by the other two. He runs and leaps away from the group once more... a distance impossible to be made by a human, reminiscent of a lupus using Leap of the Kangeroo... except half way through the jump he suddenly is totally visible again, not just outlined, but a figure in a flowing black trenchcoat, black hat, gloves, and boots. Once he lands he begins to run away down Bridge Street, and bumping into things oddly as he runs, he none the less is making impressive speed, even when having to pick himself up off the ground after a trip here and there.

Rina's scream cuts through the gentler sound of the rain--and then it cuts short with a sickening crack as she hits one of the concrete menhirs of the fountain's sculpture. She curls up in the shallow water, cradling her left hand to her chest, coughing violently.

Salem's face twists into a spasm of rage, and the Glass Walker almost loses it right then and there. Almost. He all but leaps forward, charging at full speed and then some, burning with rage as he chases after the assailant, heavy boots pounding the wet ground.

Cutter moves nearly as quickly, but he turns to the fountain; he leaps into the water, coat flapping dramatically. "Move slow!" he warns, "Or don't move. Careful." His first concern is to make certain she doesn't end up drowning.

The sight of fleeing prey is a siren call to lupine instincts. He could almost catch the bastard, almost... Salem's pace slows, then halts in the shadow of an ally, his form melting back down to homid. Common sense wins out -- there are too many potential witnesses and he's too close to losing it. And that's not the only thing, either. Teeth gritted, he jogs quicktime back to the park fountain.

Blood stains the water, as she coughs up more of it. With the Shadow Lord's help, she manages to push herself to a half-sitting position--leaning mostly on him, her left hand an ugly thing resting on a thigh. Her face is twisted with pain, her eyes tightly closed; low moaning barely makes its way past her gritted teeth.

Carefully, deliberately, Cutter lifts the girl in his arms and cradles her to his chest. "It's okay, hon. It's gonna... be fine," he murmurs, stepping slowly toward the edge of the fountain. Rain and fountain spray pours off the two like doves flying across the screen in a John Wu film.

As he lifts her, she cries out sharply--and then is lefting gasping in shallow breaths. "The /gun/," she rasps out, with some difficulty. More coughing. Her face is pale, touched with flecks of dark-red blood around the lips. "Take the gun--"

Well down the road the sounds of screaching tires on wet pavement and several people yelling "Freeze" into the night are heard, followed by a very distinct and single voice: "What the fuck?"

Salem is only somewhat winded from the frothing sprint; the Walker is still twitching from cold and adrenaline. He heads toward the pair at the fountain, his throat working as he sees her. He's about to speak when the sounds of police nearby make his warning, fortunately, unnecessary. The Walker meets Cutter's eyes briefly, then scans the ground quickly, trying to find Rina's spent shell casing before the cops show up.

Cutter nods. "Grab the gun. And my hat. Let's get the fuck outta here. She needs a doctor." Smoothly, he steps onto the edge of the fountain and slides handlessly out.

Jamethon pages: Congratulations, one of two. You find, oddly enough the bullet itself... but not the spent casing. Picking it up you find that the damage to the bullet (its like it was shot at a steel wall) is probably greater than that done to the man it was fired at.

Jamethon pages: Its probably best that isn't left for the police to ponder over anyways. :)

Salem stoops quickly to pluck something out of the wet grass, frowning at it. He shakes his head a bit as he straightens up, then nods to Cutter. Gun and hat are fetched -- yes, he can follow orders, good dog -- and he's clearly just as eager to go.

Closing her eyes tightly, Rina grates out, "In the holster-- in my jacket--take it-- jesus it's heavy--"

Cutter ducks his chin toward his chest. "If you can grab that one too, Salem? I've got my car--the bike's not gonna help us here--by the gates." He starts up the path, chewing over options in his head. "Do you have the Touch? Know anyone who does? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

Salem just shakes his head at the question, his eye going to the woman in Cutter's arms. A bleak expression passes across his face, and then he frowns a bit at the Shadow Lord Theurge. Exhaling a sharp breath, he brings out his cellphone and dials a number from memory. Listens. Nothing. He clicks off, grimacing.

Another spate of coughing, and Rina rasps out, "ER. Not gonna die from a cracked-- rib--" She has to stop, to breathe; her eyes remain tightly closed. "Just don't leave me."

Cutter shakes his head, water flying. "No way I'm leaving. I know how you feel about hospitals." He grins crookedly. "And I promise you, tomorrow I'm gonna find somebody to teach me how to fix people."

Salem turns off the cellphone and drops it back into his coat pocket. He snorts softly at Cutter's remark.

Tears slide back into her hair, lost in the rain. "Jack," she pleads. "The gun, take the gun, it hurts so fucking much--"

Salem tenses, then wordlessly (of course) reaches into the woman's jacket to relieve her of the burden of the hand cannon. He slips the weapon into his own quite roomy coat.


They leave the ER precipitously, AMA and pursued by a shout from one of the more zealous nurses. Dosed with Codeine-laced Tylenol, left arm in a sling and ribs taped, Rina is just barely mobile on her own, hazy with the effects of the drug.

Cutter drives, rather slowly, across town to the Walker hideout, and they arrive well into the middle section of the night. Rina is carefully extracted from the car and escorted inside.

An even-grimmer-than-usual Salem directs the little party into the parlor and to a very comfortable-looking couch. He still hasn't made a single verbal utterance, though a good deal of the seething rage has leeched out of him during their time in the hospital and the drive to the Dominion.

"Jack--" Rina's voice is hoarse and ragged, a match to her pallor. She screamed, when they set the breaks in her hand. The human hand is a delicate and important instrument... and hurts like hell when it is injured.

She gives a vague shake of her head, and draws in an hissing breath as she sits down on the couch, collapsing back into it weakly. "No. Cutter. Call around. Renee, at least, and probably a few others. Jack can give you the list. People gotta be warned about this."

Cutter says "Jesus fuck."

Cutter says "I'm already composing the news release in my head. Trying to make sure I get it all right. Plus I want to find somebody with the Touch to have a look at you."

And thus the night passes... sleeplessly.