"Letting it go. And Luke drops his challenge."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 10:00 Pacific Time on Wed Dec 31 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (53% full).

Weather: 30ish F, cloudy.

Scene: The Dominion Estate

Megan is about to buzz the outer gate when she notices Salem puttering around
      on the grounds. Since he's right there, outside, and unable to answer the 
      doorbell, she eschews her usual politeness to punch the code in to open 
      up the gate for herself. Slipping between the gate and the wall, she 
      walks unhurriedly towards the Glass Walker with her hands in the pockets 
      of her overcoat.

There's not much that can be done for the place in the middle of winter (and
      snow on the way some time tonight), so the Walker's 'puttering' boils 
      down to pacing around and making plans for spring.

He catches the movement at the gate from the corner of his eye and glances up
      with a frown. As he recognizes the figure walking toward him, he 
      stiffens, then slowly walks over to meet her.

Megan's smile is slight, edged by the waxing moon, but her nod of greeting is
      pleasent enough. "Jack. How are you doing?"

Salem inhales a sharp breath of cold air, his nostrils flaring. He glances back
      at the house, then gives the Fianna an unsmiling shrug.

Megan quirks an eyebrow. "It's been a few weeks, and I haven't heard from
      anyone in the city since I got wind that you had some sort of encounter 
      with Renee. Am I going to have to pull teeth to get any kind of 
      information from here?" she asks with a smile, but there is a tinge of 
      the moon-induced tension to it.

Salem regards the Fianna silently for a moment, and if anything, he's even more
      on edge than she is. His gloved hands push deeper into the pockets of his 
      coat. For a moment it seems as though he isn't going to answer; his 
      reluctance to speak is palpable.

Megan's hands, on the other hand, are removed from her pockets, so that she may
      cross her arms over her chest. Guessing at his refusal to speak, she 
      says, "You're not going to be able to go the entire time without 
      speaking. That's the whole point of that punishment. And as one of the 
      few Fosterns here, I'm not going to let you go two months without talking 
      to me. So."

Salem grimaces, his expression edging perilously close to the line between
      simply reluctant to downright sullen. Then he looks away, staring off 
      toward the line of hedges that hide the estate's wall from view. "So," he 
      says quietly, and inside his pockets, his hands close into fists. "It's a 
      long story, but--" His voice cracks there, willfully, and he pauses a 
      moment to grit his teeth before continuing. "It's been settled."

Megan nods once. "I can get the longer story elsewhere, but, settled, how?"

Salem's throat works. The wind picks up a bit, blowing frigidly across the
      estate, but though he stiffens against it he makes no move toward the 
      house. "Letting it go," he grates. "And Luke drops his challenge."

Megan nods. "Which, he did. Although, I don't entirely approve of dropping the
      fact that she came in, without Challenge, and tried to kill you. I don't 
      care how fucking depressed she is. She's an adult Garou. Fuck, she was 
      trying to become Master of Challenge. All she keeps doing is reinforcing 
      the fact that she apparently *wasn't* ready to be Fostern."

Salem shakes his head a bit, scowling fully now. He still hasn't looked back at
      the Fianna. "Avoiding tribal war," comes the curt, whining answer. "Don't 
      forgive her. Told her so." He shrugs.

"I don't suppose," Megan mutters darkly, "that telling her to fucking grow up
      will work, eh?"

Salem shrugs again. "You're welcome to try," he mutters, half underbreath.

Megan's expression twists, and she makes a dismissing gesture with her hand. "I
      was joking. She'd probably just curl up into a little miserable ball of 
      'oh woe is me'." She sighs in exasperation, then eyes the Glass Walker 
      again. "What's so sad about this is that I had a ton of things I'd wanted 
      to discuss with you before all this shit hit the fan in the first place, 
      and now I'm not sure how much of it I want to discuss now. Except, one. 
      Someone mentioned that you have claimed that the city is under Glass 
      Walker protection. Yet, you have no pack. Are you planning on rectifying 
      this discrepency at some point in the near future?"

Salem turns his head, eyeballing her sidelong, his good eye narrowed. He grunts
      (which comes out more like a squeak) and his reply, like all the others, 
      is terse and to the point. "In the works. Signe, Cutter, others maybe."

Megan nods curtly. "Good. I don't mind having the city tribes and the city
      packs keeping an eye on the city, but I *do* want there to be city packs. 
      And, I would like to be kept in the loop on things. Things out of the 
      ordinary, things you're investigating, things you're planning on doing. 
      New cubs. On a regular basis," she adds. "Not just every couple of weeks 
      when I have to trot in here and pull it out from down your throat 
      somewhere. I'm trying to pull together a pack of my own, out of Kent 
      Crossing, to hopefully bridge between the city and the woods, and keep 
      information flowing. But I'm going to need the buy in of the elders and 
      the pack alphas."

Salem shifts his weight, listening with a tight-jawed expression that would be
      quite bland if it weren't for the humiliated anger, ill-repressed, 
      lurking underneath the surface. "Fine," he grates. His nostrils flare. 
      "Talk to Rina, or Jeremy. Or Signe." He's struggling to force some 
      control into the Jackal-voice, but it's resistant, prone to cracking at 
      random moments. "Russian mob, possible Veil leak."

Megan first looks annoyed at the list of people to talk to, but her eyes narrow
      instantly at the words 'Veil leak'. "And you're looking into this?"

"_We_," Salem puts a strong emphasis on the word, "are."

Megan ponders this answer for a moment, then nods sharply. "Good. Let me know
      how it's going. Or," she says, with a moue of exapseration and another 
      hand gesture, "have Signe tell me, I don't care." She eyes Salem darkly, 
      seeming to come to a decision. "I have a short story I want to tell you."

Salem eyes her, the scowl still edged deeply into his scarred, narrow features.

"A long time ago," the Fianna begins, "right after I had passed my Rite of
      Passage and was deemed a cliath, I was involved with a Veil Breach with 
      my packmate. A pretty big one. As soon as we found out the slip was 
      actually a Breach, we turned ourselves in for judgement." She pauses. 
      "This is part of the reason why I take particular interest in possible 
      Veil leaks. But that's not entirely why I'm bringing this up. My 
      punishment from Anubis, who you may have heard of, as he was an Adren at 
      the time, was very near a suicide mission. That packmate, a Get of 
      Fenris, had vanished, and had turned to the Wyrm. I was told I had to 
      hunt her down and challenge her to single combat. If I survived it, then 
      my punishment was complete. If I failed it," she shrugs one shoulder, 
      "well, I guess I'd be punished, too."

Salem's eyebrows rise. He listens silently.

"By the fact that I stand here before you," the philodox continues, a note of
      bitterness creeping into her tone, "suggests that I probably defeated 
      her, and that's correct. But, it was a very near thing. If not for Brian, 
      I *would* probably have died that night. I carry a battle scar," a hand 
      goes to her stomach unconsciously, almost as a pregnant woman might do. 
      "You sit there in your stiff-necked pride, humiliated because of your 
      Jackal voice, your punishment. But after a couple of months, that will be 
      lifted, and it'll be as if it never happened. My punishment is going to 
      be with me for the rest of my *life*. You have it easy," she says, the 
      bitterness full-fledged now. "So don't you *dare* give attitude about it. 
      You're showing all the grace of a water buffalo accepting it. I know it's 
      tough. I know it's hard. But, dammit, I *need* you. I need to be able to 
      trust you, and I need to be able to depend on you. This Sept is weak. So 
      fucking weak. Once the Satire Rite is done on Renee, there'll only be 
      seven Fostern here. *Seven*. Two of them Shadow Lords, who I can never 
      really trust. Luke is being even less graceful about withdrawing his 
      challenge, but telling him he's wrong is as good as talking to a wall, 
      and it's just about as useful to trust Signe with an ounce of wisdom. 
      You, Alicia, Seeker, and Eamon," she ticks off on her fingers. "That's 
      it. And I can't do this alone."

Salem listens, thin-lipped and tight-jawed and stiff-backed, his breath puffing
      in the cold air like the exhalations of a dragon. He's leashed in some of 
      his temper by the time she's done and for a moment regards her flatly. 
      "You still have my support," he says in the Jackal's voice. "And what I 
      say I'll do, I'll do." His eyes narrow. "However. Your battlescar was 
      _not_ your punishment. More a side-effect. I doubt Anubus intended it."

Megan shrugs her right shoulder again. "No, he probably didn't. But that isn't
      my point. When this jackal voice has more of a permanent side effect than 
      damaging your pride or renown, though, *then* I'll understand more, 
      though." She rakes a hand through her hair, and sighs, demeanor 
      softening. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

Salem shrugs a bit and folds his arms across his chest, looking _somewhat_
      mollified, at least. "Forget it," he says curtly. "I know. You're under 
      stress."

Megan smirks wryly. "No more than any of the rest of us." She twitches her nose
      fitfully. "One more thing, though. In addition to being kept up to date 
      on stuff here...I'd like the opportunity to meet any newcomers coming in. 
      I know Brian set up the practice of tribes taking care of their own 
      newcomers, which I think is fine, but as Alpha, I would like to meet and 
      get a chance to talk to anyone coming in and wanting to join the Sept, to 
      get a feel for their abilities. I'm planning on trying to talk to all the 
      tribal elders about this, you're just the first I've seen since Luke 
      rescinded his challenge."

Salem nods. "Where should they contact you?" Though his rage is under better
      control, it's rather clear that every word he's forced to speak grates on 
      his nerves as much as it does his listener's ears. More, probably.

Megan pauses to consider thoughtfully. "If they're allowed to go to the Bawn,
      check for me at the farmhouse, or a note left there with contact 
      information will reach me. Or, you contact me. I'm hoping to have a 
      permanent phone number again shortly."

"Understood," says the Walker briskly. "Anything else?"

Megan pauses to consider. Shaking her head, she says, "Nothing that can't keep
      until a smaller moon. Unless you have anything more for mee."

Salem glances briefly back toward the house, then looks at her and shakes his
      head. "Nothing that's pressing."

Megan eyes Salem shrewdly, then nods when it becomes clear he's not going to
      add anything further. "Very well. I guess there is one last thing. I want 
      to have an informal moot for the philodox when the moon starts waning. 
      I'll let you know for sure when it is, but please pass word on to any 
      philodox you know of here in the city, in case I don't catch them. 
      But--I'll leave you to your gardening. Good afternoon, Jack."

Salem inclines his head -- not quite a bow, but a gesture of respect. She has
      _that_ from him, at least.

Megan nods her head in return, accepting the gesture and returning it in small
      measure, then heads out of the estate.