"Breaking the rules at such a tender age."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:52 Pacific Time on Fri Jan 23 2004.
Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (11% full).

Cockroach Mansion -- Parlor

This room is a palette of whitewash and wood tones, a cross between a library
      and an adult's recreation room. To the right of the door way, tall 
      windows with a deep-set seat and heavy earth-brown velvet drapes show a 
      view of the front lawn. The far and left hand walls are inset with wooden 
      bookshelves just over man-height tall; the collection of books is varied, 
      with both fiction and non-fiction. The floor is well-carpeted in a light 
      tan color, and the furnishings -- an old but nice-looking couch plus 
      several armchairs and small tables -- match the decor. One side of the 
      room boasts a fairly impressive-looking entertainment center, complete 
      with high-definition television.
An open doorway leads west out into the front hall.

Rina lies curled up on the couch, the laptop on the floor beside her. She
      twitches uneasily in the grip of a dream, murmuring without words; the 
      sounds were faintly audible from the office.

It must be that which lures the Philodox from his rooms, where he's cloistered
      himself for most of the day. It's been a poor couple of days -- or rather 
      nights -- for Jack, and it shows in the sleepless circles under his eyes. 
      T-shirt and sweats are the order of the day, but at least he's shaved, 
      and one advantage of the ultra-buzzcut look of his hair is that it 
      doesn't rumple.

Padding soundlessly out into the hall, he follows the noises into the parlor,
      pauses to see Rina curled up and dreaming, and then slips over to touch 
      her lightly on the cheek.

Rina wakes immediately, gasping in a breath. Her eyes flicker open, wild for a
      moment until they find him in the dimness. She swallows thickly, and 
      after a moment managfes to focus on him. "Huh?" she asks, blearily.

Salem cocks his head and offers up a very faint, wry-looking smile. "Didn't
      hear you come in," he says in a muttered squeak, then rubs the side of 
      his neck.

"What time'z'it?" she asks, hazy and confused. Slowly, she sits up , swinging
      her legs over the edge of the couch, tipping her head back to look up at 
      him. It's dark, enough so that he can hardly make out her face, pale 
      against the darkness of furniture and walls.

"Around seven-thirty." He squints a bit at her, then takes a seat on the couch
      next to her. His face is in shadow as well, but she can likely imagine 
      the concern etched into it as he looks at her.

Rina rubs her face with both hands, the heels pressed into her eyes. "I feel
      awful," she says hoarsely. "I hate fuckin' sleepin' during the day..."

His hand falls gently on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Come to the kitchen.
      We'll get something to eat."

Rina sets her forehead in her palm and rubs it for a few seconds. "Shuah," she
      answers, hoarse and quiet. "Yeah." With an effort, she gets up, staying 
      close enough to fall under the circle of his arm.

Salem, his arm around her companionably, leads her out of the parlor and into
      the mansion's large, warm kitchen. He flicks on the light as they enter, 
      bathing the room in a cheery glow.

"Coffee," Rina mumbles, heading for the machine and the proper cabinet
      practically on autopilot. One hand scrubs at her hair, rumpling it 
      absently into its typical disarray.

It's new moon, and the Walker's rage is at its lowest ebb; it's the closest to
      human he ever comes. Still, there's a certain concerned intensity in the 
      way he watches her for a moment, brow creased. Then he heads for the 
      fridge to get out some leftovers for heating.

Rina puts on the coffee, her head bowed; as it starts brewing, she rubs at the
      backof her neck with one hand.

Salem whistles briefly, a short phrase from _Madame Butterfly_, as he puts
      together a couple of plates; thanks to Rina's culinary talents, the 
      residents of the Dominion have been eating well, himself included, though 
      he still looks rather spare and lean.

"Maybe that's why I fell asleep," Rina mumbles. "Forgot to eat, today." She
      glances over her shoulder, toward him, and musters a wistful smile. 
      "'S'why it's good to cook around here," she says softly. "Make me 
      remember."

Salem inserts plate one into the microwave and hits buttons. The joys of
      Weavertech. He glances over to her and smiles back, crookedly. "Anything 
      in particular?"

"Makes me remember to eat," she murmurs. "Among other things." She blifts a
      shoulder, leans weakly on the counter. "Dad teachin' me to make his 
      lasagne."

Salem arches an eyebrow. "Your father?"

Rina nods minutely. "Yeah, Great cook, my dad." She turns, giving him a
      fleeting little smile. "He's cool... shifty, but he's a great guy."

Ducking her head, she adds, "He hates my life, I think. Choices. Wanted to keep
      me out of it... this thing. The life." She glances out toward the hall, 
      with a wistful half-smile that is somehow broken. "Couldn't do it though. 
      I started learning when I was ... what, thirteen maybe?"

Salem smirks. "Earlier than I did, then."

The microwave utters a long 'beeeeep'. Out comes plate number one -- which is
      Rina's, apparantly -- and in goes plate number two, with more button 
      pressing.

Rina flashes him a more genuine grin, then. "Best way to get a teenager to do
      somethin' is to tell 'em they can't. About five minutes into high school, 
      I fell in with this crew of guido wannabes."

Salem leans against the counter near the microwave, arms folded across his
      chest and looking intrigued.

She lifts a shoulder, ducking her head as she turns to open the silverware
      drawer and get out forks for them both. "About three weeks later, I knew 
      how to pick the lock on the math teacher's office," she tells him, 
      picking up her plate and taking it to the table. "I always sucked at 
      math. I figured, why waste time when a computer can do it all anyway?"

Salem murmurs, "Breaking the rules at such a tender age." He 'tsks' with
      mock-disapproval.

"Feminist pioneer, that's me," she murmurs. "Just goes to show ya. Can't fight
      heredity." She leans her backside against the table, watching him.

Salem's smile curdles a little as he wrinkles his nose. "You think?" The
      microwave beeps again, and he gets his plate out and takes it over toward 
      the kitchen table.

Rina drops into her chair, and lifts one shoulder again. "Dunno. But I'm not
      any more of a citizen than my dad, or his dad before him, so..." She 
      gives him a quick smile again, and digs in.