"Drop your eyes or kick my ass, Signe."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:00 Pacific Time on Fri Jan 9 2004.

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (83% full).

Dominion Estate


Jean and Signe are making their way slowly up from the basement, Cutter far
      ahead, and probably out the door by now. She shrugs again, smile still in 
      place. "Watching the action rather than participating in it?"

Signe looks insulted and practically glares at the young Shadow Lord. "Like
      reading poetry is action?" she says, shaking her head.

Jean grins. "No, it's not," she agrees equably. "But neither do I claim to be a
      Garou of action. You're a Get of Fenris ahroun, I can't imagine you 
      wanting to sit back and watch."

The front door opens, emitting a rather frozen-looking Jack Salem, who'd
      probably missed Cutter by mere minutes. He pauses just inside, door 
      closed, to kick dirty snow off his boots, then clomps over to the front 
      hall closet, tugging his scarf loose as he goes.

Signe turns to get in Jean's way, stopping her with a finger to the chest.
      "Hey," she says in a sharp, arresting tone. The fatness of the moon no 
      doubt adds to the ease with which she takes offense. "I mix it up with 
      the best of them. I was just saying I prefer movies to reading fucking 
      Edgar Allen Poe."

Jean nods, manner turning instantly submissive in posture, in subtle rather
      than overt ways. "Of course," she agrees, not the slightest hint of 
      sarcasm in it. But the motion towards the front hall gets her attention, 
      and her gaze slides around the ahroun to spy the philodox behind, and she 
      adds, "Mr. Salem is home," for Signe's benefit.

Salem is indeed, and he cocks his head to regard his two potential packmates
      with one good brown eye. He offers up a brief, thin twitch of a smile, 
      then continues shedding outer winterwear -- coat, gloves, hat, scarf, 
      putting it all neatly away in the closet. Wooden hanger for the coat, 
      which is fresh back from being drycleaned of Konstantin's ooze-ick.

Signe drops her hand, satisfied apparently with the way the theurge submits.
      she shrugs her shoulders and turns to see Salem. "Hey Jack," she says, 
      nodding towards him. Though still tense, she seems to have calmed down 
      some.

"Hello, Mr. Salem," Jean adds more formally, partially obscured behind Signe's
      bulk.

"Good evening, Signe. Jean." Salem's back is to them as he closes the closet
      door; though his delivery is a little strained, it seems he's ended his 
      willful and nearly absolute silence. Rage bubbles under the surface, but 
      he's got a grim, tight leash on it. Looking over to them, he meets 
      Signe's eyes especially and asks, "Any news?"

Signe's no good at hiding how she feels, and her grimace and wince whenever
      Salem opens his mouth is quite visible. Though she doesn't say it out 
      loud, her expression reflects her wish that Salem return to post it 
      notes. she answers quickly enough, though. "There's a bricked up room in 
      the basement. Apparently what we're looking for is behind it."

Jean, having not seen Salem since his punishment, winces visibly at the first
      sound of his voice. But her expression smoothes quickly, as she adds on 
      to Signe's words. "In the Umbra, it is walled in by webs, with pattern 
      spiders tending it."

Salem's jaw tightens, but he seems unsurprised by their reactions and remains,
      if not calm, controlled. "So, we get together a group and open it up," he 
      says, the high, grating Jackal voice as businesslike as he can make it. 
      "Soon, before the moon wanes."

Signe winces again, and even seems to get a little agitated. "Soon would be
      good," she answers, glancing at Jean while adding, "I need a little 
      'action'."

Jean grins, but it's a gesture given to Signe, fading as she looks back to the
      Glass Walker. "Sure, Mr. Salem. We might have done it tonight, but Cutter 
      didn't think it would be a good idea, just the three of us, and no one 
      here to back us up in case of trouble. Although Signe was willing, if 
      it'd come to it."

Signe takes that as a compliment, at least. Her back straightens and she nods
      in Salem's direction to back up what Jean's said.

Salem nods. "We need to start considering patron spirits for the pack, and
      territory. Purpose." He looks from Signe to Jean and then back to the Get 
      Fostern. "If we _are_ going to be a pack. And no, Signe, I'm not going to 
      write any more little notes. Can you deal with this for another month, or 
      is it going to be a _problem_?" Though the Philodox's cursed voice is 
      none too impressive, even comical, there's nothing humorous about the 
      look in his face, or the direct way he's staring at the other Fostern.

That voice grates on Signe something fierce, but she manages to keep herself
      calm. She nods. "I'm fine," she says. "I can handle it. It'll be fine. 
      'Promise.'" She crosses her heart.

One can only imagine how much it grates on Salem as well, but he seems to have
      decided to grit his teeth and bear it. He nods once, curtly, and then 
      turns and looks at Jean.

"What kind of spirit were you thinking of, Mr. Salem?" Jean asks, giving no
      sign anymore that the voice is bothering her in the slightest. "And 
      territory?"

"Territory, I haven't decided yet," Salem says. His voice cracks somewhere in
      the middle of that and he grimaces, jaw tightening as he bites down on a 
      rising spasm of anger. "The spirit, well. Has to be comfortable with an 
      urban pack, obviously. But not Cockroach."

Signe counters, "Wait. *You* decide?" She looks at the Walker elder for a
      moment, as if sizing him up.

Salem's gaze rachets back to Signe and stays there. He folds his arms across
      his chest and stares back at her. Some things don't _need_ words.

Jean, no one's fool and sensing what is going on, stays quiet and still, being
      very careful not to meet -either- Fosterns gaze.

Signe closes the distance between herself and the other fostern, standing
      almost up against him. She meets his gaze fully. "So, you think you're 
      alpha of this little pack, hmm? I think you're going to need to prove 
      that."

Jean gets a strange look on her face. Kind of the momentary 'I am so stupid'
      look, before she asks, "Mr. Salem, do you recognize the quote 'For the 
      love of God, Montresor'?"

Salem's lips part, showing a bit of teeth in an expression that's almost, but
      not entirely, unlike a smile. Without breaking his gaze from Signe's, he 
      holds a hand up in a 'one moment' gesture at Jean and says to the Get, 
      "Either you or me. We may as well settle it now."

Signe agrees, but she doesn't react other than narrowing her already angry eyes.

Jean, brazenly, but with no small amount of determination, overrides the
      silencing finger. "If you answer the question, it may help to settle it. 
      Sir."

Salem frowns; Jean is distracting him, but he doesn't look away from Signe.
      "It's Poe," he snaps, the Jackal-voice sounding peevish. "'The Cask of 
      Amontillado'."

Signe snaps, too, right after Salem. she's careful not to let her eyes stray
      though. "Fuck Poe. I'm sick of hearing about him tonight, Shadow Lord." 
      she takes another half step closer to Salem. At this range, she actually 
      bumps into the Walker.

Jean can't help but smile, so it's probably a good thing Signe can't see her.
      She keeps it out of her voice, though. "Signe-rhya," she says, with 
      utmost respect, "you are very good at what you do. But Cutter and I, 
      we're not so good with that. We're in the city, where enemies surround us 
      and it takes all our wits to keep our skin. We, I," she amends, "need an 
      alpha who can think, and can guide us amidst the land mines. We need 
      someone who has read Poe. Wouldn't you trust someone like that, who will 
      not only give you something to fight, but make -sure- you'll win, with 
      your pack by your side?"

Salem tenses as the Get gets _far_ too deep into his personal space, but he
      keeps himself still and his eyes steady. "Drop your eyes or kick my ass, 
      Signe," he adds, once Jean is done with her speech. "Your choice."

Signe's not dropping her eyes. And Jean, yes, only seems to make things worse.
      Salem solidifies the inevitable when he speaks. Whether it was what he 
      said or the jackal's voice that said, sparks Signe into action. Now the 
      Walker gets a look at Signe's teeth, just before the first blurry hand 
      comes up to swing at his head.

Salem ducks the blow, avoiding it by a hair-width, and then the brawl is on. To
      the detriment of the polished wood floor, both participants are soon in 
      Crinos, and claws and teeth fly faster than the human eye can follow. The 
      frantic action pauses momentarily as the Get and Walker, locked together, 
      struggle for a superior hold, and then, after another flurry of blows, 
      Salem gets under Signe's guard and clamps his teeth around her throat.

Even with the Walker at her throat, the Get has to fight to get herself to
      submit. It's clear in the way her muscles tremble with the desire to keep 
      fighting, to keep resisting. It's a testament to willpower and, perhaps, 
      intelligence that she finally relents and relaxes some. She lifts her 
      muzzle a little more, giving Salem better access to it.

Salem grips Signe's throat in his jaws for a heartbeat or two longer, then
      releases her and steps back. He's bleeding in several places, but so's 
      the Get. The front hall's going to need some definite cleaning.

Jean, outside of having pushed herself up near a wall to stay out of harm's
      way, is still there, watching, her arms now crossed over her chest and a 
      stony expression on her face.

Signe remains on the floor breathing hard for a moment. She doesn't bother
      checking her wounds, concentrating instead on her new alpha. Her eyes 
      don't meet his, exactly, but they do examine him. She gets to her feet 
      and comments. ~So. You were talking about territory? And spirits?~

Salem crouches down onto all fours and then shrinks into wolf form. He agrees,
      yes, territory, but repeats that he hasn't decided about that yet, and 
      that suggestions are welcome.

Jean considers before she replies. "Some place nice," she suggests. "And a
      totem spirit who looks for wisdom, or cunning. A thinking totem."

Scar sits down carefully, his body language too controlled to be purely lupine;
      a lupus would find it alien. Cunning, perhaps... but not dishonorable.

Signe's gaze turns to Jean. she has yet to shift back yet, and after that
      fight, her glowing yellow eyes remain charged with fury. Even if it's not 
      exactly directed at the Shadow Lord, that fury can be hard to look at. 
      ~Cunning. Wisdom. But not war,~ she growls out. ~I get the feeling 
      there's still trust issues between us, Shadow Lord. But in this I agree. 
      You wouldn't last in a war pack.~ Turning then to Salem, she adds, ~I say 
      wisdom. Is there such a thing asn honorable spirit of cunning?~

Jean shakes her head, expression rueful. "No, Signe-rhya, I wouldn't, you're
      right," she says quietly, but that's it, as Signe's attention has gone to 
      Salem for advice on spirits.

Scar huffs. One benefitial side effect of his current form is that wolf speech,
      being mostly silent, minimizes the irritation of the Jackal. Magpie, he 
      tells the Get. Raccoon. Even -- he adds with a snort -- Coyote is more 
      _unwise_ than _dishonorable_. Not that I'd suggest him.

Signe decides now would be a good time to shift. she decides on the near man.
      Still a healing form, but less bulky and rage-inducing. When she reaches 
      glabro, her scowl intensives. "Coyote?" She says the word as if it were a 
      bitter pill she just swallowed.

Jean does speak up, at that. "Coyote is wise. But he is considered dishonorable
      among many of the Garou," she corrects in soft tone. "But there are some 
      few," she says, walking slowly over to the two Fostern, "who might 
      mistakenly feel that -all- totems of cunning are dishonorable. It's not 
      so."

Signe now looks directly at the theurge. "Which ones?" she asks. The moon makes
      her tone sharp and biting, but there's an edge of honest curiosity to it 
      as well.

Scar snaps his jaws on empty air and notes, sourly, that many think that Garou
      who choose to live in the city are dishonorable, too.

Jean smiles at Scar, nodding submissive agreement. "As he has said. Magpie,
      Raccoon, and also Goat, among those considered to be more of cunning 
      rather than wisdom."

Scar blinks, ears cocking forward as he looks sharply at Jean. Goat?

Signe allows that sour pill to mull around her mouth again, and she shakes her
      head. "Goat? Somehow that...doesn't sound all that dignified."

Jean smiles warmly at Signe. "If you want dignified, those would be the totems
      of respect. Goat is a survivor, a stubborn, clever survivor. Tenacious."

Signe's expression lightens--somewhat mollified. Tenacious doesn't sound bad,
      after all, but the Get returns to the idea of a 'goat' and can't shake 
      unpleasant associations. It translates into her shaking her head. "Tell 
      the truth, I don't know what spirit would have this motley crew. What 
      would accept me probably won't accept you," she says, nodding toward the 
      theurge. "And vice versa, all around."

Scar pushes to his feet, ignoring the pain of his wounds. This is true. We
      should have the others' input as well. For now...

Salem shifts up into Glabro and looks significantly at the mess. "For now, this
      place needs cleaning up." He turns an eye onto Jean. "Can you heal, or 
      no?"

From the direction of the tower, muffled but still audible, comes the sound of
      first one, then two Crinos screams of challenge.

Jean looks stung, and turns that look onto Signe. "You would probably be
      surprised, Signe-rhya," she says, allowing some anger to show. It 
      continues to show, albeit lessened, as she shakes her head to Salem. "No, 
      Jack-rhya, although Cutt--" she cuts off at the sound of the screaming, 
      looking upwards in a flash, but then back to Salem.

Salem scowls at the sound, then takes off for the tower at doubletime.

Cockroach Mansion -- Tower

Unlike the rest of the mansion, the interior of the four-story-tall tower has a
      rough and almost medieval feel to it. It's all concrete and stone and 
      exposed lightbulbs. There's one room per floor, plus a basement 
      underneath; a winding iron staircase leads from one level to the next.

The highest floor of the tower provides the best view of the grounds and
      surrounding neighborhood; there are several windows with dark brown 
      curtains and a couple of chairs to sit in. A black trunk acts as a 
      makeshift coffee table and footrest, and there's even carpeting. 
      Interestingly enough, all the windows are set with heavy black iron bars. 
      On one wall hangs a whiteboard and some dry-erase markers and matching 
      eraser.

The rest of the rooms are used mostly for storage and have a chilly, shadowy,
      dusty feel. In the irregularly-shaped basement reigns the boiler.

There are cockroaches everywhere, on every floor of the tower.

~Now he's learning,~ Cat-turned-Arrows notes with genuine praise- dark it may
      be -as he charges swiftly, his scream splitting as he moves. One hand's 
      claws are outstretched, reaching for a limb to grab, the other is balled 
      tightly and aimed at Joshua's stomach.

Joshua starts right for Cat at the same time, the Cub keeping up his ear
      spitting yell. Balling his one hand, he rears the arm back over his 
      shoulder, reaching out with the other's for the opposite arm that the Cat 
      was reaching for him with.

Salem crashes first into the tower room. The Walker Elder's in Glabro and it
      looks like he's already been brawling, but he moves as though the 
      numerous vicious-looking Get-inflicted bites and clawmarks don't exist. 
      The Jackal-voice -- lowered for Glabro form but still too high-pitched 
      for the body it comes from -- yowls out commandingly. "STAND DOWN _NOW_, 
      GODDAMN YOU~"

Signe is alos in glabro. She's like Salem's bookend--with
      Walker-inflicted-wounds that she's ignoring. Unlike Salem, however, she 
      looks as though she wouldn't mind if they continued. She sizes up the 
      fighters and seems about ready to help pull one off the other if need be, 
      no matter how much she enjoys a fight.

He doesn't listen, or he's unwilling to stop because he's fairly certain Joshua
      won't listen, or maybe Arrows just wants to play. Cat twists himself so 
      that his fist goes ungrabbed by the ahroun, but it costs him the punch. 
      His weight being throwing forward, the Crinos'd theurge opts for just 
      shoulder-slamming into Joshua's chest.

Joshua tries to shave off to the side to avoid the blow, but takes it full
      force. The snarl is cut off but a sudden lack of air from the blow to 
      chest. But as with Anthony, it left his other arm free to come down, 
      elbow cracking down on Cat's head with the Cub's full weight.

Jean follows hard on the heels of the two Fostern, shifting up to glabro
      herself as she spies the situation, but keeps back, simply watching.

"Signe," Salem snaps, "get Joshua." Without looking to see if she obeys -- as
      if he's just assuming that she will -- he shifts up back into Crinos and 
      lunges into the fray to grab Cat and pull him bodily away from the other 
      cub.

A moment ago the two themselves were brawling. But that fight's done, and the
      outcome makes Signe's next move practically automatic. she obey's her new 
      alpha's command on the instant. blurring up with unbelievable speed, the 
      crinosed Get grabs the cub by the scruff of his neck, and with one 
      lightning strike tries to pullshim up, off, and slam him against the far 
      wall.

The blow brings Cat to a low crouch, claws ready to rend and the snarl vicious
      in his throat. But Salem drags him away before the stab pain from his 
      head wears off, and then the contest is over. ~-All- of this damned tribe 
      should be culled!~ he howls, struggling against Salem's bonds in a very 
      pathetic way. All the training in the world can be moot when your captor 
      is bigger, stronger, and just as wise as you.

Joshua visably deflates despite the fact that he's now pinned to the wall by
      the long arm of 'Miz Sig.' For once, he kept his head clear through out a 
      fight, and it paid off. If Salem didn't kill him, that is. The Cub's 
      breathing slows, each exhale ending with a growl as he doesn't resist the 
      hold.

Jean's dark eyes narrow curiously at Cat's pronouncement, her attention
      immediately focused on him as the more interesting of the two, for the 
      moment.

Signe gives Joshua a cursory examination. Satisfied he's content to stay
      exactly where she has him pinned to the wall, her attention moves to Cat, 
      as well. Gleaming yellow-amber eyes narrow.

Scar delivers a rather vicious cuff across Cat's muzzle. ~_Leave_, bitch,~ he
      snerls. He doesn't seem surprised by Cat's statement. ~_Leave_ him. 
      _Now_.~

Cat's lips curl over his teeth in a triumphant smile not befitting his visage,
      and almost for fun he struggles against Salem's grip. ~The whelp might be 
      a useful pair of claws, if not head, yet,~ he growls out gleefully. ~But 
      I meant what I said before.~ And slowly the struggles fade. The wild blue 
      eyes avert from Salem's, and the theurge starts to blur around the edges.

Joshua's brown eye glances over to Cat and Salem as well, trying to shift down
      to Homid all the while. Once again his efforts fail, leaving him as he 
      is, still not resisting hold. Still in Crinos.

Jean says and does nothing more, from her place still near the door and the
      stairs up to this tower room, other than to watch silently.

Scar cuffs Cat again, only a little more gently this time. ~Shift down.~ He
      turns a feral golden eye onto Joshua. ~_Both_ of you.~ To Jean and Signe, 
      he makes a curt explanation. ~Hostile past life.~

Signe turns a glare on Joshua, a penetrating look that suggests he obey Salem,
      or else.

Joshua's ear flick as he clenches his eyes shut tight. The cub tenses more than
      a little, trying the best he darn well can. Still in Crinos.

The blurring stops and Cat's standing there weakly, looking like he's being
      supported by Salem's hold. He's staring dumbly at one of the glyphs that 
      had come off the walls in the fight, silent and wide-eyed and trembling, 
      just the slightest.

Signe knows one way the cub will revert back to his birthform, and her clawed
      hand curls into a semi-ball. She gives him a few more moments to succeed 
      on his own if he can, however.

Jean nods to Scar's explanation, curiousity increasing if anything.

Scar resumes Glabro form, still bleeding freely from his brawl with Signe, the
      stuff soaking through his dark clothing. Tight-jawed and grim, he steers 
      Cat toward the couch, or what's left of it, and sits him down. "Explain," 
      he orders the cub Theurge, in that voice that isn't his.

Joshua opens his eyes, looking from Salem to Signe. The Cub lets out a mournful
      groan, nodding to Sig. He wants the Elder to cuff him over the head?

Eyes still affixed to the piece of paper, Cat makes a small sound that might've
      been a laugh, if only he could smile. "Sorry," he says softly.

Signe complies. It's over quickly and hopefully as painlessly as possible. The
      blow comes so fast, some might not see it, and the next minute Joshua's 
      on the floor, unconscious. Signe then blurs down to the near-man again. 
      There's an oddly satisfied look on her face.

Salem's right hand clenches into a fist, but he stifles the urge to strike Cat.
      "_Explain_," he says again, pointed teeth bared.

With Joshua down, and Cat subdued, Jean finally gathers it mete to shed the
      glabro near-man form, and reverts to her natural homid form. She takes a 
      step, then two, into the room, looking from Joshua and Signe to Salem and 
      Cat, heading more towards the latter pair.

"...It was supposed to be...about heart," Cat murmurs, drifting in and out of
      audible words. His eyes flicker to Joshua's slumped form and his own 
      right hand, resting on limply on his knee, twtiches. "..but he wouldn't 
      say the right answers. I couldn't just...he didn't say. Sh...she wanted 
      me to punish...but I couldn't, even if I wanted...then she- and he 
      -knew-." The boy's face crumbles into abject fear. "He knew who she was 
      andthenIcouldn'tkeepherback-"

Salem drops a heavy, hairy hand onto the top of Cat's head, silencing him. "Why
      were you teaching him?" the Walker Elder demands, his voice rising in a 
      way that'd be more humorous if his expression wasn't so murderous. 
      "You're a _cub_."

The boy pauses, and for the first time seems to realize the existence of the
      two strange women in the room. His voice falls even softer. "It...we saw 
      the ghosts, and I thought...I could help. I wanted to help. If...I 
      didn't..." He buries his face in his hands and whispers the last words 
      painfully.

Cat pages to Salem, Signe, and Jean: "If I didn't come back from my Rite I
      wanted to have done something good."

Salem's brows furrow like mutant caterpillers trying to fight. ~Moon calf,~ he
      mutters, barely mollified. Then, in English, "Go downstairs and wash your 
      face. Then get the cleaning supplies from the kitchen and start cleaning 
      up the front hall." He glowers. "There's a lot of blood, but I don't want 
      to see _any_ of it come morning. See what you can do about the scratches 
      as well."

It takes a moment for Cat to react, seeming to validate Salem's comment of
      "moon calf". Then he stands, touching the corner of his lip where it's 
      bleeding. "Yessir," he whispers, eyes on the ground and still somehow 
      distant, as he tries to step past Salem and to the door out of the 
      madhouse.

Joshua rumples in his face down place on the floor. And then something very
      uncomplimentary is uttered in another language followed by his next most 
      coherent thought, "Uuuugh."

Signe casts the semi-unconscious cub one more cursory glance and then walks
      away. Now that things have calmed down, the Get gets a look at her own 
      injuries. She peruses them without much real interest.

Jean isn't -quite- blocking the way out, but she does provide an obstacle. When
      Cat nears her, she gives him a warm, sympathetic smile. Throwing a wry 
      look to Salem, she turns back to the ambulatory cub to say softly, "I 
      know it's a bad time, but I think he's too upset for proper 
      introductions. My name's Jean. I'm a theurge. Want some help cleaning up 
      the hall?"

Salem glances over to Jean and Cat, then walks over toward the recovering
      Ahroun cub, his bootsteps as heavy as doom. He prods Joshua with a toe. 
      "Get up," he snerls.

Cat's getaway gait falters when Joshua makes noises, and then he's stopped
      completely by Jean. He looks up at the cliath with the start of fear in 
      his eyes and glances to Salem in hope of rescue. But the elder is already 
      concerned with other things. Turning back to Jean with his eyes on the 
      ground and hidden by his bangs, he replies as mechanically as an 
      answering machine. "My name is Cat. I'm sorry. Salem-rhya told me to do 
      it." And then he slips out, stumbling down the stairs in his haste to 
      reach the first floor.

Joshua groans, slowly pulling himself off the floor with a pained face. He
      cautiously reaches up, touching the top of his head, instantly regretting 
      it. He blinks slowly, looking up at Salem from his haunched stance. 
      "Mis'er Salem... Did i'work?" He manages, slurring his words from yet 
      another concussion. "'s 'e allrigh?"

Jean nods, although Cat may not see it depending on how quickly he makes his
      escape, seeming unphased by the refusal. She decides, then, to look back 
      to Joshua, although the curiousity and interest is lessened a degree.

"Nobody's _dead_, if that's what you mean," Salem grates, glowering down at
      Joshua. "I'm giving you something to work toward. Learn to shift _at 
      will_, and you can leave the tower. If you don't, you'll rot here. 
      Understood?"

Perhaps it's an auspice thing. where Jean seems less interested, Signe seems
      more. She studies Josh, her judgmental eyes moving up and down his form. 
      "I could help, maybe," she offers.

Joshua nods weakly. "I wuz gonna 'alk ta ya about 'at" He rambles, almost
      sounding intoxicated. He frowns, biting at his lip. "Wait, no I wasn'. I 
      was gonna talk ta ya 'bout sumthin' else. Well, that 'n soumthin else." 
      Clearly, the cub isn't taking the blow to head gracefully.

Salem looks over at Signe and nods. Then he nudges Joshua with his boot-toe
      again. "Talk."

Joshua rubs his temple, squinting his eyes shut. "It was about my friend... 'n
      how Miz Rina an' I talked to him som'more. But I can't think what it was 
      about. It's in my book, I just gotta 'ember where." He opens his eyes 
      again with an apologetic look. "Tomorrow?"

Salem's eyes narrow. He nods curtly. "Tomorrow." His voice cracks in the middle
      of the word.

Jean, sensing the end of the conversation, slips out of the room
      unobstrusively, heading back down the stairs.

Joshua nods, slowly shuffling off to his cot. Laying down on it, he stares up
      at the ceiling, talking to seemingly no one as he closed his eyes. 
      "'gnight, Max."

Signe gives Josh a 'no hard feelings' slap on the back that might be hard
      enough to rock the boy forward hard. She then follows the others out.

Salem wrinkles his nose, looking irritable. He's the last one out.

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.

Jean enters the room alone, for the moment at least, and looks around to find
      Cat. Once she does so, she heads in his direction, observing, from some 
      distance, his work. "Missed a spot," she offers.

Rina opens the door and steps in, helmet dangling from an arm, Dale looming
      tall behind her. She pauses a moment, eyeing the scratched-up floor with 
      raised eyebrows. "Fuck," she murmurs. "Musta been a fight..."

The front hallway looks as though a couple of frothing beasts had a vicious
      brawl in it. There's liberal amounts of blood, and the hardwood floor is 
      marked by huge scratches as massively clawed feet fought to gain purchase.

And in the midst of it all is Cat, hands and knees on the bloody floor as he
      tries to clean it with a roll of paper towels, a sponge, and a bucket of 
      pinky, soapy water.

He glances up at Jean uncomfortably, and quickly goes to scrub at the indicated
      location.

Dale attempts to be as unassuming as possible, notwithstanding his six-plus
      feet of height and broad build. "Maybe this isn't a good time for me to 
      be visiting," he offers, very quietly, from where he stands in the 
      doorway behind Rina.

As if on cue, Signe's bulky near-man form emerges. Clearly, she was one of the
      combatants, because she's still sporting some of the wounds of the 
      battle, and her blood as well as someone else's stains some of her 
      clothing. She's either ignoring the wounds, though, or they just don't 
      bother her much. Her attention immediately turns to Rina and the guy 
      she's with, surprise in her eyes.

Jean looks up at the sound of the doors opening as well, taking in the two
      strangers in a glance. She freezes, thawing only at the sound of Signe's 
      heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. She looks that direction, backing 
      a step away from the throughway.

Not long after Signe comes Salem, also in Glabro and looking just about as beat
      up. And, like her, he shows no sign of feeling the wounds he's currently 
      sporting. He pauses, eyes narrowing, as his ill-matched eyes take in Rina 
      with the newcomer, and then stalks commandingly forward.

Rina rubs at the back of her neck, awkwardly. "It's... not all that unusual,"
      she murmurs. Her eyes, though, are fixed on Jean, narrowed slightly. "Hi. 
      You are?"

Cat tries to make himself as small as possible while using paper towels to soak
      up blood.

Dale gives Rina a dubious look at that, and notwithstanding Salem's approach,
      takes one step inside and shuts the door behind him, lest all of downtown 
      St. Claire catch a glimpse of the gore.

Not _too_ likely, considering that the mansion is surrounded by generous
      grounds and a high wall. But the caution's appreciated, and it's damned 
      cold out anyway.

Jean, rather than answering Rina, looks at Salem as he arrives on the scene.
      The Garou, at least, may pick-up the subtle body language of submitting 
      to his authoratitave entrance, and keeping her own mouth shut.

Salem stops in front of Rina and Dale and folds his arms across his chest. He
      glances over the other man briefly, then turns a dour golden eye onto 
      Rina and stares flatly at her.

Signe's surprise gives way to a wry grin. She doesn't interrupt, but the Get
      seems less on edge than any one else in the room, probably.

Rina's attention likewise shifts to Salem; her expression is guarded, now, a
      neutral mask. "Jack," she says, by way of greeting. "Introduce y' new 
      friend?" She gives a little jerk of her chin toward Jean.

"Introduce yours," comes the retort, in the high-pitched grating whine of the
      Jackal. Salem's glare turns from Rina back to Dale and bores into the 
      other man. "Or have him introduce himself."

Rina pages: How DARE she go out with some-- some JOCK, in THOSE PANTS.
Long distance to Rina: Salem shakes his head. He's decided to wall away the
      parts of him that care about that. Call it Resist Pain for the soul. 
      Notice that he's talking -- talking about the same amount as he'd 
      normally talk. But he's cold. Very very cold/ragey.
From afar, Rina cries. A lot. So he's always gonna be like this now? She'll die!
You paged Rina with 'Not always, no. But he needs a coping method, a way to
      deal with the angst and pain. Since he's not allowed to be weak.'.

Dale flicks a brief glance toward Signe, first, but he's certainly not going to
      allow himself to be scowled out of the room by somebody with *that* 
      voice. And so he takes one step forward -- out from Rina's shadow, as it 
      were -- and offers, tersely, "Dale Jenson. Burns-the-Wyrm, Modi of the 
      Fenrir."

Rina's eyes stay on Salem, dark and almost frowning. Her expression is just as
      shadowed, revealing little.

Salem's upper lip lifts slightly, baring a flash of pointed teeth. His
      mismatched gaze bores down on the newcomer. "Jack Salem," he grates. 
      "Called Scar. Fostern Philodox, and Elder of the Glass Walkers."

Signe takes a not too subtle position just behind and to the right of Salem.
      She lifts a chin at the other Get--at once a gesture of approval and a 
      silent 'hi'. If Salem looks in her direction, she just gives him a nod 
      that suggests she knows the newcomer.

Cat gets to his feet shakily, bloodstains around his knees and elbows. He
      shuffles into the kitchen without a word, leaving the bucket and paper 
      towel roll behind.

Jean gives Cat a glance of curiousity, trying to see how he's reacting to all
      this, but then passes by him, coming up to Signe's right, a full pace 
      behind her as well. She nods first to Dale, a shallower one to Rina, and 
      provides her introduction. "Jean Michalek, Shadow Lord theurge."

"Quite a mess you've got, here," Dale remarks, conversationally -- and if he's
      dropping his eyes away from the squeaky one, it's clearly more out of 
      deference Signe than Salem himself. "Maybe a job for 
      those, what do you call 'em, Dow scrubbing bubbles."

Salem is nothing if not sensitive to subtle slights, especially after the
      evening he's had. A moment before Rina speaks, his fist pistons out, 
      straight as an arrow and hard as a cannonball, right at Dale's face.

Rina glances to Jean, and gives her a quick nod. "Ri--" Then she is reacting to
      the sudden punch thrown beside her, turning to it and beginning to back 
      away.

Signe doesn't look all that disappointed that another brawl has just broken
      out. she steps back, though, letting Salem and Dale handle it on their 
      own. Cat, in the kitchen, gets a brief glance--something akin to pity, 
      maybe.

Cat's standing in the doorway to the kitchen with dishwasher soap in his hands.
      Palmolive. He blinks at the scene in front of him- the turns around and 
      just walks back into the kitchen, out of sight.

If Dale's not quick enough to duck Salem's punch, he's a veteran of enough
      donnybrooks to turn his head such that the force connects along his jaw 
      rather than square in his nose. And it probably says something about 
      Dale's ability to absorb physical punishment that he's only momentarily 
      stunned by even a blow delivered with such fearsome energy. "Nice," he 
      comments, mildly, as he rubs at his jaw -- though there's a tremor in his 
      voice, a suggestion that his control has begun to waver. "You've got a 
      pretty good right, there, Mister Salem."

Jean, at the punch, or the note in Dale's voice, or maybe Cat's departure,
      decides this is good as anytime to slip away. With a brief glance for 
      Rina and another at Signe's back, she turns, heading towards the kitchen. 
      Although she doesn't know exactly where she's going, so it takes 
      listening for the sound of the cub and some peeking into doors along the 
      way.

"It can be followed," the Walker Elder grates, "by a just as excellent left.
      _Dale_. Is there a reason that you're here, other than that Rina decided 
      to bring you?"

"Pretty much that," Rina says softly. "We were gonna have some cannolis. But I
      kinda lost my appetite, f'some reason." The last is delivered Sahara-dry, 
      from several steps away.

Signe stays well out of the way, coming around in an arc to stand next to Rina.
      She gets a brighter, somewhat toothy smile for a greeting as the Get 
      looks from her to Dale and back again. "Rina," she greets, quietly.

The intimation of a followup blow tugs Dale's lips into a vague curve, for all
      that redness -- a foretaste of bruising -- mars his expression where 
      Salem's blow connected. "I'm sure," he allows, his tone still mild but 
      still marked by that tremor, for Salem's first words; but then Rina 
      speaks up, and he simply nods, and shrugs, to concur. "I'm happy to take 
      off," he does volunteer; and what comes next is not said with irony, but 
      rather a rarified, and perhaps a bit archaic, understanding of Fenrir 
      territorial etiquette, "if the master of the hall isn't in a mood to 
      extend his hospitality to a guest."

Cat's huddled in the corner of the kitchen, head bowed over his knees and his
      arms wrapped tightly around his legs, hugging them to his body. He's 
      utterly quiet, but rocking back and forth slightly, as water from the 
      sink above him starts to drip over the edge of the counter, overflowing.

Rina presses her lips together hard for a moment. "Same here," she says in a
      flinty voice.

Jean is drawn to the sound of the water, and, taking in the scene, turns the
      tap off, first, before crouching down in front of the cub, peering at 
      him. "Cat?" is all she says.

Salem's nostrils flare. His gaze shifts away from Dale toward Rina, and the
      deep-set, feral eyes narrow under the heavy shelf of brow. Then he turns 
      back to the Get. "The master of the house," he grates, the Jackal-tones 
      sounding peevish and snerly, "is indeed not. Signe, have you met this-- 
      one yet?"

Signe is still grinning, for some reason, and her demeanor remains the most
      comfortable in the room. "Yeah," she says casually. "We've met, and I 
      think he can be trusted. He's got a Get's personality, though, doesn't 
      he?" she says, chuckling a little. IT's meant to be an icebreaker, a 
      little levity that may or may not fall flat.

Salem doesn't respond to the levity. Sense of humor? What sense of humor?

Dale keeps that thin smile on his lips, and turns it toward Signe. "My teachers
      back in Minnesota would get a kick out of hearing you say that."

Salem turns away, leaving the two Get of Fenris alone with the kinswoman. His
      massive frame steps through the hall toward the kitchen, adroitly 
      avoiding the remaining puddles of blood as he goes in search of Cat.

Signe's answer to Dale is absent of her earlier levity. "We're not in Minnesota
      right now, though. You might wanna think twice about pissing Scar off any 
      more than he already is. He's already kicked my ass once tonight." She 
      glances from Dale to Salem and then turns her back to head for the 
      kitchen for a moment. "You got any beer in this place?"

Salem glances back at Signe and nods. He precedes her into the kitchen.

"Check the fridge," Rina says quietly. "I think so." She glances over to Dale,
      then, her expression set in that neutral tell-nothing mask. "If you want 
      I c'n just give you a ride home. Or to wherever."

Cat's huddled in the corner of the kitchen as the sink slowly overflows with
      bubbly water. Jean's crouched in front of him, trying to coax him out 
      into the hall. "..it'll be okay," she tells him softly, with a voice that 
      just makes you want to agree. He looks up at her, blinking back tears, 
      and looking decidedly unhappy. "You're a-" he starts, but Salem enters 
      the kitchen, and he cuts off his words to look up blankly at the grouchy 
      Philodox.

From afar, to the room, Jean has, actually, turned the water off, but the sink
      is probably pretty darn full.
From afar, to the room, Cat acks. My bad. >_<

Dale studies Signe for a moment and then shifts his gaze after Salem.
      Incredulity floods his expression at what the elder Fenrir says, but he 
      keeps his tongue, and simply shrugs. And then... then he slides his gaze 
      over to Rina. "Nah, it's okay," he answers her, quietly. "I can walk or 
      get a cab or something. Thanks for tonight, okay? It was fun. Maybe we 
      can do it again, sometime."

Jean withdraws the hand proffered out to Cat smoothly, as if it was the most
      natural gesture in the world, and as inconsequential, rising to her feet 
      to look over at the two Fostern with a nod.

Rina laughs, a touch of dark-shaded humor in the sound. "Yeah." She runs a hand
      back into her hair, and by the time it runs through the tangles she is 
      able to look up at him like a human being again. A taut little attempt at 
      a smile follows. "Sorry about-- this." Her gaze flickers to the slightly 
      red mark, where his jaw is beginning to swell a little. "And the lack of 
      hospitality. Y'sure I can't give you a ride home."

Salem looks a questioning frown at Jean, then narrows his eyes at Cat. "Is
      something the _matter_?" He speaks deliberately, his temper still on a 
      very narrow leash.

Rina's gaze flicks toward the archway to the kitchen, her eyes narrowing.

"No," Jean answers easily, before Cat can. "No, Jack-rhya."

Dale waves a careless hand, a gesture intended to encompass the room, the
      tableau. "This is a pretty tame Friday night, where I'm from," he quips. 
      "Don't be sorry; not your fault." Then, "I'm sure about the ride, but 
      maybe you can see me out?"

Signe leaves the cub to Salem and Jean, moving past them to the fridge. she
      opens it, gets the beer she was looking for, and then heads back out to 
      where Dale and Rina are. If she's intruding on their private conversation 
      it doesn't seem to bother the fostern Get any. she offers another darkly 
      amused smile and looks through to the parlor for somewhere to sit for a 
      bit and relax.

"N-no, no," the cub repeats stupidly, scrambling to his feet and turning to the
      sink, grabbing up the now-clean sponge and Palmolive. Cat's floor-bound 
      glance reveals a few bloody footprints in the kitchen, most of them his 
      own. "I'm s-still cleaning, Salem-rhya."

Rina looks back to him abruptly, mustering a quick shadow of a smile. It isn't
      much, and it doesn't bring anything to her numb eyes. "Yeah. Sorry." She 
      leads the way out, helmet still dangling from one hand.

Salem wrinkles his nose. "Good. I meant what I said. I want it spotless by
      morning." It's hard to make that grating whine sound authorative, but 
      Salem's doing a good job at the moment of pretending to ignore the fact 
      that he's been handicapped. He turns and walks out, noting to Jean and 
      Signe (individually, if necessary), "I'll be in my office, cleaning up."

Salem adds, to Signe, "Don't get blood on the furniture."

Jean nods once at Salem as he turns to leave. "Yes, sir." Then when he does,
      she gives Cat a smile. "Where are the rags?"

"G'night, Signe," Dale mentions, over his shoulder, and follows Rina out.

Rina makes her way to the front doors of the mansion, passing through the
      double doors and out to the rest of the estate.

Cat pauses, although he doesn't look up. He moves away from the sink and to the
      other side of the kitchen, then starts shuffling to the Front Hall 
      slowly. "Under the sink," he murmurs.

Signe looks down as if she'd forgotten what a mess she was. Muttering small
      curses under her lips, she remains standing for the moment. Nodding to 
      Dale, she says, "Night. I'll give ya a call, later."

Jean digs under the sink for the promised rags, surreptiously doing whatever
      needs done to let the sink drain of its overflow of water, then follows 
      Cat out to the front hall. "If this wasn't a wood floor, I'd recommend 
      bleach for this," she says, assessing the damage. "Although rubbing 
      alcohol might help, too."

Cat looks stricken, as he gets back down on hands and knees and scrubs the
      floor, sloppy water and flakes of dried blood stickying the sponge. "I 
      don't know where that is," he admits nervously.

"Ah, well," Jean says with resignation, getting down to help scrub the blood
      off the floor. She works for a minute or so, before asking, "So, how long 
      have you known?"

Cat's concentric circles sway a little, and already nervous by the present of a
      stranger, and a woman at that, he fails to connect any dots. "N...Known 
      what?"

"That you were Garou," Jean clarifies over the sound of the sponge scrubbing at
      the floor. She is not looking up from her work, putting her back into the 
      effort seriously.

He looks down at the trails and swirls of soap, and squeezes the sponge. "A
      year and a half," Cat says finally. "I think."

Jean straightens up with surprise. "And still a cub?"

Cat doesn't quite stop, although he steals a brief glance at Jean. "Uh-huh," he
      affirms, and clearly, doesn't seem nearly as bothered by it as she does.

Jean looks perplexed by it now, rather than bothered. She returns to the work,
      although not so diligently. "Mr. Salem must be pretty patient," she 
      observes, musingly.

Cat continues to swab at the floor, making decent headway on stains...the
      scratches, not so much. He doesn't say anything in response, probably 
      feeling the statement true enough not to warrant one.