It is currently 18:10 Pacific Time on Mon Jan 26 2004.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (32% full).
Porch
A lathe-turned wooden railing runs the length of the porch save where the steps
are, well-worn with use. To the right of the stairs, a wide swing is
suspended from the overhang which shelters this area; to the left, a
small table is the centerpiece for several chairs pulled around it, all
of which face out to the front yard and the fields and trees beyond. The
biting cold of winter is tempered somewhat by the sheltering of the roof,
but it is still enough to make the porch an inhospitable place to tarry
for long. Even the low shrubs seem to avoid it, their leafless woody
stems closed in tight upon themselves.
An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of
the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number
of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.
"It's time you met the Sept Alpha," Salem had said to the city's newest Walker
in the grating, high-pitched Jackal voice... and in a tone that'd brooked
no argument. Which is how and why, on this chilly winter evening, the
Philodox's battered Yugo pulls up to the farmhouse, rattling up the
gravel lane and parking within sight of the porch.
Megan is settled on the porch swing, a thermos leaning up next to her, a cup of
some steaming liquid cradled in her hands. Her coat is wrapped tightly
around her against the chill of the evening. Her head swivels to check
out the Yugo, but doesn't rise to her feet as yet.
The front door opens up and out steps Artemis, carrying her satchel of bow and
arrows across her shoudler, half lidding her eyes somewhat as she stares
out across the porch, her eyes a bit detached. She doesn't notice Megan
for the moment, until she lightly turns her head, eyes blinking, snapping
out of her trance.
Salem turns off the car engine and climbs out of the driver's seat, a tall
figure in black unfolding himself from the less-than-sizeable European
car. He peers toward the porch, then looks sidelong toward his passenger,
waiting for the Ragabash to get out.
Anthony climbs out of his seat as well, taking pains not to bump his head or
get his foot caught. He tugs at his jacket and smooths it down a little
before shutting the car door carefully.
Salem nods to the other Glass Walker, then gestures him over toward the porch.
When (and if) Tony heads up, Salem stalks along behind, as if herding the
Ragabash to his doom.
Megan looks over at Ashley, and given her arrival, only narrows her eyes a
little. "Hey, I don't think I know you."
Ashley tilts her head a bit and offers a flicker of a smile, one that is rare
upon her lips. "I am Artemis, Lures-The-Beast. Crescent huntress for the
Black Furies. I hail from the Golden Wyld Sept, by invitation of
Seeks-The-Balance, my friend and fellow sister."
Anthony nods back before starting a slow march towards the porch. He chews his
lip a bit nervously, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder at
Salem.
Megan blinks with surprise at Ashley, but then grins thinly. "I think she
mentioned you." She switches the cup to her left hand, offering out her
right. "Megan O'Brien, called Firewatcher or Keeps Her Patience, philodox
of the Fianna. I only just recently returned from Boston myself. Tecmessa
is a good friend of mine." She then notices the two Glass Walkers
approaching, and jerks her chin in recognition to Salem.
Salem nods back to Megan. "Evening," he says, greeting the Fianna with curt
politeness. His gaze flicks toward the stranger, eyeing her with a faint
frown, and then turns back to Megan. "Brought someone to meet you." Then
he looks, significantly, at Anthony.
Ashley reaches out and takes Megan's hand, giving a strong handshake, nodding
her head. "I know of you. They spoke your name a few times up North, and
Tecmessa said nothing but great things." She can't help the smile that
actually rises on her face. "I have been looking forward to meeting you.
There is much I wish to talk about." As Salem speaks, she pauses on the
next word, cringing, then whips her head around to stare at him. It only
takes her a moment to figure it out, and she polietly clears her throat,
not bringing the subject up. Instead, she looks over at Anthony upon his
introduction.
Anthony takes his cue from Salem, taking a moment to collect himself. "My name
is Anthony Bonavitacola," he starts, removing his cap, "and I'm, uh, a
new-moon Glass Walker from the Sept of the Green ..." He puts on a weak
smile and starts to extend his hat to Megan, before noticing the mistake
and quickly pocketing it.
Salem, looking gruff and irritable, gives Ashley a bit of a glower, then
focusses on Anthony and Megan. He folds his arms across his chest.
Megan nods at Ashley, but then looks to Anthony for *his* introduction. She
repeats her name, auspice, and tribe, grinning at Anthony's misstep with
the cap, finally accepting his hand in her strong, calloused one when
it's corrected. "New York, eh? Boston," she provides. "What brings you
out here, Anthony Bonavitacola? Have a deed name you're better known as?"
she asks with a smile.
Ashley feels Salem's glower on her, and slightly turns her head towards him for
a moment, raising up a brow. Her arms cross over her chest, absently
tapping her elbow with her fingers. She stays silent, thoughtful, then
glances back to the conversation between the other two.
"My elders recommended I come here," Anthony replies, giving Megan's hand as
firm a shake as he can muster. "You can call me Tony. Or, uh,
Shakes-the-earth. That's my deed name." He clears his throat and uses his
free hand to unzip his jacket a little.
Salem reins in his temper and leans slightly against the porch railing, his
arms still folded. The Walker Elder doesn't seem inclined to add comment.
"Why?" Megan asks, then clarifies with a grin, "to both." She spreads her hands
out, "I'm a Fianna, I like the stories."
Ashley glances about the porch for a moment, then makes her to the railing,
leaning against it and training her eyes out into the distance, letting
them become unfocused.
This young woman appears to be in about her early twenties. Her frame is a bit
on the taller side, nearing the height of five foot nine. She is built
quite athletically, her upper arms muscled and well developed. She isn't
dominating by any means, and one would take a guess that she is swimmer
in training, or, perhaps into acrobatics. She could be described as wiry
at best. Her legs are long and fit the rest of her frame well, making her
appear quick and capable of delivering a solid kick.
Her hair is cut short, revealing a honey kissed blonde colour with a hint of
auburn woven through out. A pair of blueish green eyes appear out from
behind a few whisps of her dangling bangs that oversee her face. She has
an attractive look about her, but her brash mannerisms tend to turn away
the greedy eye that lingers too long.
She tends to dress quite boring in a pair of beat up blue jeans and a oversized
baggy sweatshirt. Over her feet is a pair of sturdy looking black boots
which appear to be steel toed. Most of the time she wears a black hooded
sweat shirt with pockets in the front, something to keep her warm during
the colder times.
Anthony shrugs reluctantly, looking down at the porch for a moment. "Well, to
answer the first one, they thought it'd be a good change of pace, and
it'd give me a better chance to practice my skills, or something like
that." He looks back up to Megan. "And for the second ... well, uh, it
kind of came about when, uh, I ran into a wall." He grins uncomfortably.
Megan arches an eyebrow with amusement. "*Really*," she more states than asks.
"Well, at least that's not the same reason as the last Garou I knew with
that deedname. What kind of skills are you intending to practice out
here? What are you good at?"
Anthony rubs his chin pensively. "I guess I'm supposed to be practicing my, uh,
what's the word, like, being good with my hands ... well, getting less
clumsy," he concludes. "I'm pretty good at doing stuff like figuring
stuff out and fixing stuff and all that ... all the helping-out kinda
stuff."
Ashley snorts slightly from her spot on the railing, yet, her eyes continue to
remain trained out into the open. She drums her fingers along the cold
wood beneath her. Thump Thump Thump.
"Manual dexterity?" Megan offers out, for the phrase Anthony may be searching
for, then sighs, with a wry smile. "It sounds to me like your elders may
have dumped your clumsy butt on us, and what galls me is that we're
desperate enough to need it." She grins at that, then slews her attention
to Salem. "You have his chiminage?"
"Haven't decided on it yet," the Walker Elder rasps, squeakily. He seems to
agree with Megan's assessment of his tribesmate from the Big Apple.
Anthony bites his lip at the appraisal, looking back down at the porch and not
bothering to contest it.
"Mainly," Salem continues, driving relentlessly through the Jackal voice, "he
seems to have difficulty in telling me what he can _offer_ us."
Mismatched eyes bore into the younger Walker now.
Megan nods to Salem, then looks back at Anthony and his downcast expression.
Her own expression turns to a welcoming smile. "Chin up, Tony. We're sort
of short on good ragabash right now, so, luckily, you have a golden
opportunity to prove you're any good at it. And, apparently, show us what
you have to offer the Sept. If you're good at figuring stuff out, I'm
going to task you with that."
"Okay, I guess that's good," Anthony says, looking up again, a little less
flustered now. "What do you need, uh, figured out?" he asks.
Megan quirks an eyebrow, but then grins while saying, "What you have to offer,
o' course. Or, showing us what a great ragabash you are, one of the two."
Anthony sighs, smiling embarrassedly. "I'm trying, but it's hard to know what
I'm good at without doing it first," he says, shifting his weight.
Salem's mouth thins. He casts a brief glance heavenwards.
"How the hell did you become a fucking Cliath then?" Artemis blurts out as she
snaps back to reality, then clears her throat, looking a bit embarrassed.
".. Um.. I mean.. you musta did something right, I'd assume?"
Megan takes a sip of what smells like her coffee, simply eyeing Anthony
non-challengingly at Ashley's question. She seems interested in the
answer.
"By working my ass off," Anthony retorts, his smile gone and replaced by a
thin-lipped glower. "I had to fight some elder. While standing on a
balance beam. And reciting the Litany. I had to practice for a whole
summer before I could even just stand on the thing, much less knock the
other guy off ..."
Salem's right eyebrow reaches for his buzzcut hairline.
"So, you're stubborn, if nothing else," Megan comments, still looking amused,
but there's a new smidge of respect in her tone and her expression as
well. "You said you're good at thinking, and figuring stuff out. You
apparently already *know* that. So...go with it. There's a ton of stuff
in the city needing figured out, according to Jack here. Neh?" she asks
the other philodox.
Salem answers the Fianna with a curt nod.
Ashley shifts about to face the trio, arms crossing once more over her chest.
She looks Anthony over for a moment, then tilts her head to the side.
Anthony nods slowly and scratches his head contemplatively, frown fading as he
thinks.
Salem's eyes narrow, his expression turning pensive for a moment. Then his face
smooths out into a neutral mask.
Megan nods at Anthony again as he thinks, adding, "And, I'm asking that any
information you find out make its way back out to me somehow. I'm living
in Kent Crossing now, and Salem knows how to get hold of me. Or, you can
talk to him, Alicia, Jarred, or one of the other Galliards to get news to
me."
Ashley takes note of the new names, filing them away in the back of her head.
She closes her eyes momentarily, leaning back against the railing once
more.
"Okay, I'll remember that." Anthony puts his cap back on, then smooths his
jacket down again, glancing back at Salem for a moment.
Salem smiles faintly at Anthony, though somehow it seems a trifle unpleasant.
Almost threatening.
"Good," Megan says, then looking between the two, she asks, "Anything else?"
The Fury trains her eyes on the two GlassWalker's, curiously tilting her head,
watching.
Salem rubs his chin, then shakes his head a bit. "Just bringing the new one
by," he tells Megan. He pushes off the railing, straightening up. "Going
to see how my cub is doing, as well."
"Joshua, right?" Megan asks Salem, from her seat on the porch swing, shaking
her head dubiously at him. "I don't envy you that task. I met him last
week, I think. He's not right," she taps her temple with two fingers, "in
the head."
Signe's bike motors down the lane, engine cutting out as the Get eases off.
"Hey," she calls up, footsteps heavy on the porch steps. "Who's not right
in the head?" she asks.
Salem's mouth thins at Megan's remark. He shakes his head slightly, then cuts a
glance over toward the arriving Get.
Megan smiles sweetly at Signe. Only the most perceptive may notice the
saccarhine quality to it. "Signe, how I've missed you so. I was talking
to Salem about his cub, Joshua. I've heard you've been teaching him, too."
Ashley glances over towards the Get, raising up a brow some, then peers past
her to the motorcycle. She twitches slightly, before relaxing a bit once
more on the post she is leaning into.
Signe grumbles. "I love you, too, Megan," she says with all the unaffected
humour she can scrape together. "Oh. Him," the Get, realizing the subject
is Josh. "Now that you mention it, I had a little chat with another
ahroun that asked me to ask you something, Salem."
Salem cocks his head slightly, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.
Anthony folds his arms to stave off the cold a little, following the
conversation quietly
Megan looks curious at Signe's change of subject to, reverting to quiet to sip
at her rapidly cooling coffee. So, she freshens the cup in her left hand
with more from the thermos next to her on the swing.
Signe answers Salem's inquiring look by leaning against the horizontal lathed
rail of the porch and folding her arms across her chest. "Yeah. A
Wendigo. Honestly, I forget her name. But she's new. And polite. And
sometimes I have no fucking clue what she's saying. But she seems ok. She
asked if you would 'mind' her teaching four-legged furry ahroun things to
Josh." Signe shrugs her shoulders. "I said I'd pass it on."
Salem's mouth thins, muscles tightening in his jaw. That he's not pleased with
this idea is fairly obvious, but he responds with little more than a nod.
Ashley tilts her head a bit as she watches the interaction between Signe and
Salem, then heads over to the bench, settling down next to Megan,
shifting her gaze to her. She lets her eyes roll upwards slowly some,
softly saying. "I'm staying at the Fury house for the moment, with Helen
and Tecmessa."
Megan, hearing Signe's description, suggests, "Jacinta?" at the two city Garou,
but then looks over to Ashley, nodding. "Good. You've offered chiminage?"
Signe makes note of Salem's reaction, but doesn't say anything more about it.
The Fury's comment causes the Get to throw a cursory glance her way, one
that quickly looks Ashley up and down before moving on. Snapping her
fingers, she points at Megan. "Jacinta. That was it, yeah. Pierces the
Ice, or something like that, too."
Salem nods, the set of his jaw still tight. "Where's she staying?" he asks
tersely.
Ashley rolls her shoulders a bit to Megan. "I've only been in town for less
than a week, but, I have talked to the others about offering help in
teaching some rituals." She says softly. "I have good spirit relations
and experience in being a Guardian. Perhaps, I could serve on the Bawn or
Caern, as well as teach the cubs that are focused within the farm
territory. I am good at helping others learn discipline."
Signe doesn't know the answer to Salem's question, so she shrugs her shoulders,
re-folding her arms casually across her chest. "I suspect she'll be
around the bawn, or up at the bluff where the rest of the naked savages
used to hang out."
Salem mutters, "Lovely," sounding a little like a grumpy chihuahua. He takes
out a brass pocketwatch and glances at it, then puts it away and looks
over at Anthony. "You in any hurry to get back?"
Megan smiles wryly, throwing Signe a glance, then looking back to Ashley.
"Seems like teaching and Guardian duty is becoming a common Chiminage.
What kinds of rituals do you know?"
"No, not really," Anthony replies, turning to Salem. "Why?"
"I can summon the spirits, and I can bind them to my will. I can cleanse taint
that has been touched by the Wyrm, and dedicate clothing. I know a few
minor ones.. some I picked up from a few Garou." Artemis says softly.
"U-Haul trucking... Flametending.. Greeting the moon."
Signe is unusually silent, simply relaxing against the rail and listening to
the two separate conversations going on right now, attention moving back
and forth between them.
"Make friends," the Walker Elder tells Anthony. "Influence people." Salem
inclines his head toward Megan, tips Signe a nod as well, then starts
down the porch steps and toward the woods.
Megan actually snickers when Ashley mentions 'U-Haul', covering her mouth with
her free hand. "I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that that
particular ritual made its way out of this area, but it sure amuses the
hell out of me that it did. We invented that, here, I guess, the night we
cleared the Hive out at Hanford. Rite of Cleansing though, hmm?" she
asks, eyeing the Black Fury speculatively and still with amusement. "Rite
of Accord, usually one the Philodox learn. Has Helen or Tecmessa actually
*given* you terms for your chiminage, or is this just ideas you had right
now? Do you have anything else to offer?"
Signe lifts a hand to wave toward Salem, though she currently remains seated on
the rail.
[...]
Burial Mounds
This wide clearing in the midst of short, dark pines is rough with wild grass
and bare stone. The air is a bit cooler up here in the foothills than
below, and the majestic peaks of the nearby mountains rear up over the
eastern treetops. There is a vine-covered boulder standing under the edge
of the somber evergreens to the east. The air here is prenaturally still
and the grass waves not at all for there is no breeze that blows through
the pines. It is silent, no call of bird thrown from the treetops to
dance gaily in the open spaces. Occasionally chill fingers run up your
spine.
A faint path leading downhill to the west is the only exit from the clearing.
Cutter cocks his head. "So would an offering of tobacco be seen as
condescending or as honoring tradition?" he asks, slipping a hand into
his pocket. "I had friends who told me both."
Jacinta tips her head to the side, humor touching her lips in a gentle smile.
"The only tobacco offerings in my village was the cigarettes that all the
elders smoked while they was telling us how bad it was and how, if we
smoked, we would all die horrible deaths." As the formality drops from
her speech, more of an accent appears in her voice, and she speaks
slightly further back in her throat.
Cutter lets the whatever it is drop, and nods. "So condescending or not, still
inappropriate. And they were right. I *am* going to die a horrible
death." He shrugs disinterestedly.
A large black wolf with heavy facial scarring slips into the clearing. Held in
his jaws is a black cord, from which hangs a smooth quartz stone. Once
arriving, he pauses, ears pricked forward, and glances first at Cutter
and then Jacinta; the latter gets his full attention.
Jacinta's open mouth closes, response swallowed whole, as she turns to regard
the scarred wolf. She dips her head and waits to be addressed.
Cutter lets his attention drift toward the new arrival, hands slipping back
into his coat pockets. "Evening. Welcome to the graveyard. I'll be your
comic relief for Act Five."
Scar drops the corded stone between his forepaws and sits down. Cutter's remark
gets a vaguely amused huff, and then he focusses on Jacinta again and
asks her if she is the one called Pierces the Ice.
What bits of his wolf speech isn't silent has a high-pitched, almost yippy
quality that'd be more comical if the beast they were coming from didn't
look so irritable and humorless.
Jacinta's shoulder twitches upward as the wolf asks his question, but her face
remains impassive and the shoulder drops as quickly as it rose. Eyes
lowered, she responds in a more formal tone. "I am. Jacinta Aketachunak,
warrior of the Wendigo. Called Pierces Ice."
Cutter stays quiet and in the background.
The black wolf huffs again, then introduces himself as Scar, halfmoon and Elder
of the Glass Walkers. I understand that you wish to teach my cub.
Jacinta kneels before the wolf, head bowed, caloused fingers resting on her
knees. "You cub, Wrestles-The-Wolf, asked if I would teach him of the
ways of the full moon. I explained that I was willing, should his elder
allow it. Skadi's Defiant Storm, who the cub said was his teacher,
suggested that it might be good for one familiar with the ways of the
wolf-brothers to help with his instruction."
Scar's posture is stiff with displeasure and distrust, though the Wendigo's
submissive courtesy eases that somewhat. He considers her for a long
moment, then asks, bluntly, what she wishes in return.
Cutter shifts down to four leg form as the conversation allows him to fade
slowly into the background, and slips into the forest.
Jacinta raises her eyes only slightly, still not attempting to meet those of
the Glass Walker. "In return?" Her voice holds genuine surprise. "I offer
my teaching because he asked it. Because he is my cousin wolf-changer,
and because it will strengthen the Sept. I do not ask anything in return,
except that the knowledge I share be used to protect Grandmother, and
this place."
Scar's left ear quirks sideways. He seems a trifle bemused. He snaps his jaws
together on empty air, then stands up and shakes himself. Interesting.
You may teach him. For now.
Speak of the devil and he will appear. The Walker cub slinked back to the site
cautiously, looking battered after his confrontation. Most notably, his
shoulder seemed to be missing a piece, causing him to limp as he peers
into the clearing.
Jacinta smiles, pleased. Dropping her hands to the rocky ground before her, she
stretches forward almost in the begging, play posture of the wolf. "Thank
you, Scar-rhya." Rising back to her previous position she asks, "Is there
anything specif you would have me teach, or not teach, to him?"
Scar turns a sharp golden eye onto the arriving cub, then looks back at the
Wendigo. He needs more to learn to fight on two legs than four, though
there's no problem with him learning the latter. But. (And here he stands
taller and takes an aggressive step forward.) If I speak to him and start
hearing any ~evil Wyrmcomer~ or ~Weaverthing kill~ nonsense from him, I
will be very upset.
Wrestles-Wolf seems to shrink under the gaze of the elder, the Black wolf not
an easily missed figure. He limps in, greeting the elder with both his
head and tail ducked.
Jacinta nods, and does not take lightly the words of the Fostern, but a smile
creeps across her otherwise serious features. "I understand, Scar-rhya.
There is one favor I would ask. I have not been here for very long, and
Firewatcher has asked me to serve as Guardian as part of my chiminage. Do
you, perhaps, know where I might borrow a computer for a day or two? If I
don't check my email, I'm afraid my ISP might dump it all."
Scar is visibly taken aback by the request. He blinks a bit, then huffs.
Nowhere near the bawn. Not the farmhouse. It doesn't even have a ~phone~.
But. I'll see what I can do for you.
Wrestles-Wolf cants his head, peering at the Wendigo curiously. But like a good
little cubbie, he's not going to say anything as he makes his way in,
sitting down between the pair on his haunches.
Jacinta bows her head again with respect. "Thank you, Scar-rhya. I will do my
best to teach your cub what I may. I thank you for your time."
Scar acknowledges this with another chuff. He glances over at Joshua, then
jerks his muzzle from cub to Wendigo. She will teach you, too, now. Don't
let me down.
That said, he picks up the questing stone in his jaws again and heads out.
[...]
It's late, close to midnight possibly, when Salem swings by the studio. At her
door, he hesitates a bit, and then knocks.
She's still awake--he would have seen the dim, flickering light from the
street. Candles, perhaps aided by a lamp or two. She takes a long time,
though, to answer the door. When she does, her eyes are a little vague,
her hair rumpled.
Salem's brow furrows, his expression turning toward concern. "You--" His voice
cracks slightly, still cursed by the Jackal. _Still_. He grimaces and
lowers it. "You all right?"
Rina looks away. "No," she says hoarsely, wrapping both arms around herself. He
can practically smell the blood on her, unless it's mere paranoid
imagining. She turns, ducking her head and pacing into the apartment,
wandering aimlessly. There's one lonely candle on the coffee table, and a
single lamp lit at the end of the sofa.
Salem's nostrils flare. His frown deepening, he steps into the apartment and
closes the door behind him. A pensive gaze skims over the area, noting
the candle, the one lit lamp. He tugs loose his scarf and starts undoing
the fastenings of his coat. "What's wrong?"
"Everything," she says hoarsely, fetching up against the kitchen bar and
staying there, like trash washed up on a beach.
Salem exhales a silent, sighing breath and finishes shedding winter armor.
Tossing the coat over the back of the couch, he comes up behind her and
lays a hand lightly on her back. "Talk?"
Her shoulder twitches slightly under his touch, and she hangs her head. "I know
he-- wanted me to live," she says in a hoarse, thready voice. "I know.
But it's so *fucking* hard, Jack. So fucking hard."
"I know," he murmurs. "I know." He squeezes her shoulder lightly and moves to
lean against the bar next to her. Head cocked, he tries to look into her
face.
"I need him," she says hoarsely. "I c-can't-- live--" Her arms buckle, and she
collapses onto her elbows, shaking hands raking back into her hair.
They've come a long way from the old days, when he could barely keep from
twitching when she'd get familiar. Now he doesn't hesitate to put an arm
around her, for support and comfort. "Shh. You can."
Her shoulders jerk with a sob. She keeps trying to speak, despite her utter
inability to do so. Traces of blood are visible on a wrist, under her
sleeve--the familiar sign of recent cutting.
Salem doesn't speak, either... thinking, perhaps, that the shrill, grating
punishment-voice is no comfort. Instead he just holds her, protective and
worried; after a moment or two he attempts to herd her back over toward
the couch.
She is pliant, weak enough that he soon has her ensconced in the corner of the
couch. The blatant evidence of her work is there--on top of the
sketchbook, several razorblades, slightly carbon-marked from being passed
through the flame. The cardboard cover on the heavy artist's pad is
stained, now, with blood from one of the used blades.
When she sits down, Rina stares dully into the candle's flame, tears rolling
down her cheeks--silent, now.
Salem stares rather dully at the evidence of her bloodwork, then looks away and
into her face. Gently, he reaches up and wipes at the tears drawing lines
down her skin. "What can I do?" he asks softly.
"I d--" She doesn't have enough voice to speak. "I don't know." A swallow
tightens her throat, and she ducks her head. "I'm scared," she whispers.
"I'm scared."
Salem's hand falls away from her face. "Don't be. I'm here." His other hand,
the one attached to the arm that's curled protectively around her
shoulders, finds its way to her hair, stroking it.
Rina curls up into the crook of his shoulder. "Can-- can you stay?" she asks in
that familiar small voice. Vulnerable. "Or maybe Cat or somebody can come
and-- and just stay with me, I-- I'm, I don't feel okay--"
"I'm here," he tells her, faithful as always. "Not going anywhere, all right?"
"Don't let me," she whispers, huddled against him like a child seeking warmth.
"I don't wanna hurt anybody. You and Cat and Charlie and my little
Angel... I don' mean to hurt anybody, I never did, I swear--"
Salem murmurs something that sounds like "I know, I know," his arm tightening
around her. The scent of his aftershave is familiar, comforting.
"I'm sorry," she says faintly. "I'm sorry." She's quiet for a while, after
that, just leaning on him and letting the tears subside. It's a familiar
process, the slow drying-out that leaves her spent and exhausted.
Salem ruffles her hair absently, once its over, fingers toying with the short,
dark strands.
"I d'no sometimes," she whispers. "If it's right, to let myself be alive. To--
love anyone-- when it hurts him so much. To even feel... anything..." She
shivers, tensing for a moment in the curve of his arm.
Salem mutters, "If it were me, I'd want you to be happy. To... _live_." He
grimaces faintly, ruefully, then exhales another sigh.
"He *does*, only--" The defensive sound of her voice betrays more than the
words. "Only he doesn't-- want me with anyone else, is all. And I-- I
don't know if I can... stop, now that the frostbite is going. I d-don't
wanna be cold anymore."
"Then don't be." The wry twist in Salem's mouth indicates that he knows it
isn't that simple. "Been winter long enough. Time for spring. Past time."
Rina swallows. "It's always cold," she whispers. "Even when the sun is shining.
Where he is it's cold."
Salem only sighs quietly at that, having no answer. His arm tightens briefly
around her in a kind of hug, but he says nothing.
She nuzzles her cheek against hie shoulder for a moment, and then gets
up--going off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. A short time later,
the room is dark, and she is safely tucked in, with a dark lupine
sentinel curled on the bed beside her.
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