"I think the Shadow Lords are divided."

[hazlogs]

10 Feb 2004, after the Moot.

Studio
The studio is airy, elegantly modern and full of light: a large, high-ceilinged
      square room with almost an entire wall of windows. It constantly smells 
      of paint. Rolled canvases lean in one of the corners, and a few finished 
      pieces adorn the walls. A six-foot length of pipe hangs a painting behind 
      the couch, creating a slightly more personal space that evidently serves 
      as a bedroom; the piece is a dark, strange cityscape, an oddly skewed 
      view of the world beyond the glass seen through otherworldly eyes. The 
      edge of a futon can be seen beyond it; the walls around the bed bear 
      swirling patterns of colors, calming shades of undersea blue and green. 
      These patterns gradually soften as they grow out into the rest of the 
      room, where walls are visible; angles replace curves, until the mural 
      becomes a mix of ocean and circuitry. The sofa is quirky and curving, a 
      work of modern art upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish rug in vibrant 
      tribal colors occupies much of the hardwood floor; the coffee table, a 
      sculpture of recycled blue and green circuit-board and shiny aluminum, 
      rests on it in front of the couch. 
Opposite the windows, a compact kitchen is marked off by a crisp stainless
      steel counter. The west wall nearby has doors to a closet and to a small, 
      sparsely-appointed bathroom. The east wall holds bookshelves of pale 
      wood, supporting a small stereo, collections of pictures and found 
      objects, and a good number of books; the corner between shelving and the 
      wall of windows holds a plain wooden desk with a slim notebook computer 
      and phone atop it, and an elegant mesh rolling chair.
The wall behind the couch is dominated by a huge canvas, the framing large
      enough that the painting is cantilevered forward at the top--so that it 
      overhangs the room slightly and draws one in even more. The painting 
      depicts a futuristic city, all spires and crystalline forms, almost like 
      something out of one of the Matrix films or a cyberpunk novel. The city 
      of light and metal and glass grows on a planed surface, webbed with light 
      and spiderwebs and strange lines like circuitry--paths, almost, all of 
      them converging on the city and drawing the eye to its gleaming 
      complexity. Metallic paints, flake and mica accentuate the surfaces; in 
      places the oils and gesso have been mixed with silver, or powdered glass. 
      The easel once again stands near the light-filtering canvas divider that 
      splits off the bedroom; it is in a good spot to catch both natural sun, 
      and the track lighting mounted on the ceiling.

It being a moot-night and all, Salem's knock comes quite late, hours after
      midnight in fact. Under the open leather coat, he's wearing a dark red 
      shirt, black jeans, and the usual black boots.
Rina answers after a few seconds, looking like the end of a long night of
      dissipation. She clearly hasn't been back for long--still in her clubbing 
      boots and light makeup, her eyeliner smudged from an evening out.
A quick smile, edged with worry, comes to her lips. "Hey... how, how did it go?"
Salem gives her a faint smile. "I got to hold Jarred's throat in my hand and
      watch him submit to me in front of the whole Sept." His Jackaled voice is 
      more cracked and hoarse than usual, but his mood seems fairly good apart 
      from the fat moon.
Rina raises both eyebrows. "All /riiight/," she approves. A hand waves him
      inside, and after he comes in, she shuts the door. "Coffee? I just put 
      some on, for me..."
Salem shrugs out of his coat and drapes himself onto the couch with the ease of
      long familiarity. "Coffee, tea... something soothing. Had to do a lot of 
      talking tonight." He grimaces.
Rina nods, watching him. "I can tell." She crosses toward the kitchen, without
      taking her eyes from his movements--pausing, even, to keep him in sight. 
      "The story... it went okay?"
Salem stretches his legs out with a grunt, grimacing. "Think so. Got some...
      interesting reactions. Hard to say whether it was from what I was saying, 
      though, or how I was saying it."
"Mm." She heads into the kitchen, then, and there is a brief cranky noise as
      she steams the milk. She comes out again, after a little bit of quiet, 
      with two frothy mugs in her hands, lattes with sugar and caramel stirred 
      in. "Maybe both. Was the problem child there?"
Salem echoes, "Maybe both," in an agreeing mutter, reaching out for one of the
      mugs as she gets near. "Yes, he was. Scraped up from beating on some Wyrm 
      crap with two of the Gaian cubs. Signe did a Rite of Wounding on all 
      three of them. With my approval. Honor and glory and all that. Public 
      esteem. Et cetera."
Rina nods curtly, cradling her own drink carefully as she sits down. "Good."
      Her eyes are veiled, hooded, as she takes a careful sip.
Salem sips from his, carefully, then uses the back of a hand to wipe foam from
      his upper lip. Mad dog. "Robert's definitely gone. Going to be a group 
      challenge for the Warder role. Bunch of introductions as usual... 
      including some old-as-sin Uktena who, apparantly, came in just to dump 
      off some metis Wendigo cub."
She actually smiles, then, glancing over to him. "Keen. Did he have an Injun
      accent?"
He arches an eyebrow at her. "Who, the Uktena or the cub?" He smiles a bit,
      crookedly. "Both were female."
"Cool..." She sips at her latte, licking foam from her mouth. "Mmm. Anything
      else good?"
"Challenges." His voice cracks on the word; he grimaces and takes in some more
      sweet, creamy latte. And he's _not_ distracted by the sight of Rina 
      licking her lips. No, really. "Jamethon's trying again, this time to 
      Cutter. And Leonard's challenged Jarred." He snorts.
She snorts derisively. "There's two assholes that deserve each other."
"Jarred wants him to go chat with Grandfather Thunder and learn the _real_
      story behind why everyone despises the Shadow Lords. Then tell it." 
      Salem's eyes narrow. "Personally, I think if Leonard goes through with 
      it, he's a damned hypocrite... more than he is. You know. 'Rant snarl 
      snarl evil Wyrmcomers but oh here I am packing with _Fianna_ and _Silver 
      Fangs_ and _Get of Fenris_.'" He rolls his eyes.
Rina lifts her shoulder and lets it fall. "He's a stupid fuck. Big tough Injun.
      Not real bright." An evil chuckle punctuates the words. "Too bad Jarred's 
      almost as dumb. A /real/ Shadow Lord could have a /field/ day."
Salem makes a thoughtful, neutral-sounding 'mm' noise and takes another sip,
      his half-lidded eyes making him seem rather feline. "I think the Shadow 
      Lords are divided. Feeling I got at the moot, watching Cutter and 
      Konstantin and Jarred and that new one, Asteryx."
"'Course they are," Rina murmurs, leaning back slightly and smiling. her eyes
      remain veiled, lowered. "My elf-boy is no fool. Might not be quite as 
      underhanded as most of 'em... but he's sharp enough."
Salem arches an eyebrow at her over his mug. "_Your_ elf-boy, hm?" He's
      difficult to read, though he doesn't sound (or look) jealous...
Dark eyes slant over to him, guardedly. "Not like /that/," she amends quietly.
      "Not anymore." Lowering her eyes, she swallows, a flicker of apprehension 
      crossing her face. "I don't think."
Salem reaches out to scruffle her hair, lips quirking in a half-smile that's
      both wry and fond. "All the boys of St. Claire are yours. If they know 
      what's good for them."
Rina ducks her head away from the gesture. The mirth is good, replaced by a
      deathly pallor and a slightly haunted look.
Salem's smile fades. He glances up, toward the painted cityscape, and his eyes
      narrow for a moment. Then he sighs. "Sorry."
Rina swallows, ducking her head. "Something--" Her voice is thick, hoarse.
      "Cutter-- something bad happened. It didn't work." Long, painful 
      silences. "I'm sorry," she says suddenly, giving her head a little shake. 
      "You're all in a good mood. I didn't mean to fuck it up."
Salem rolls his shoulders in a shrug against the couch cushions and takes
      another sip of sweet hot foamy goodness. "F'get it," he murmurs, and then 
      gives her one of those lazy-rogue smiles of his, his good eye dark and 
      glittering. "In a couple of days, I get this damned voice thing lifted."
Rina musters a faint half-smile, looking over to him. "That soon? Seriously?"
"Twelfth," he confirms, teeth flashing in a brief grin. "Maybe thirteenth, at
      the latest."
The smile widens a little. "Good."
Salem tips his mug back, taking a deep swallow of the latte now that it's
      coolled a bit, then wipes his mouth with the back of a hand. "Very. Been 
      a fucked two months, though." He looks at her, turning more solemn. "I 
      was an ass at the beginning of it, too, wasn't I?"
Rina looks away swiftly, her smile evaporating like so much steam. "I don't
      remember," she says quietly.
Salem just... looks at her, one eyebrow raised.
Rina takes a drink, and swallows, her eyes remaining lowered. "It doesn't
      matter. People have problems when they're under stress. I haven't always 
      been all that good to you, either. So."
Salem makes a low 'mm' noise. "But we put up with each other." There's still a
      note of humor in his voice; he's not insensitive to her mood -- far from 
      it -- but she need not fear dragging him down. Not tonight. "And whatever 
      happens, you're more than worth it."
Rina glances over to him, giving him a quiet sidelong smile. "You too. I'm--"
      She swallows again. "I'm really proud of you."
He's not the blushing type, though he does give her the pleased, purring-cat
      smile. "And like--" His voice cracks, but even that, right now, doesn't 
      seem to be able to bring him down. He clears his throat. "And likewise."
"Thanks," she says quietly, lowering her eyes and sipping at her coffee.