"She's asking _permission_ now?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently 22:02 Pacific Time on Fri Mar 5 2004.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 40 degrees
      Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the 
      south at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.10 and rising, and 
      the relative humidity is 86 percent. The dewpoint is 36 degrees 
      Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (97% full).

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.

Salem, dressed in work clothes -- sweats, that is, black and gray -- comes out
      from the back office carrying a cardboard box and heads toward the tower.
The theurge is just on his way down, actually, with an empty box of Lucky
      Charms under his arm. "Oh- hi Salem-rhya," he greets shyly. Is...Cat 
      wearing new clothes?

[He's kinda gothy.]

Salem pauses, eyebrows rising as he takes in Cat's new look, apparantly with
      approval, though he doesn't smile. "Ah, hello, Cat." He hefts the box. 
      "Putting some things in storage so that Natalie can move in." He nods 
      toward the door to the office.
Cat nods solemnly, stepping out of the way so the ex-Elder can continue his way
      up the stairs. After a moment's hesitation, the theurge follows. "D'you 
      need help?" he offers, hugging the empty box to his chest.
Salem thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head. "This is pretty much
      the last. Why don't I meet you in the parlor, and you can tell me about 
      the Rite?"
Blue eyes light up, and Cat turns and practically runs down the rest of the
      stairs in his haste to throw out the box and be in the parlor.
Heading down the stairs is Jeremy, he peers at Cat as he dashes down, offering
      up a quick smile. "Hey guys." He calls down, circling around the banister 
      before hopping the last step.
The theurge gives Jeremy a quick smile of his own before disappearing into the
      kitchen. Open, crunch, plunk. Bye bye box.
Salem nods to Jeremy as he heads past and into the tower with the big cardboard
      box. He's gone for a bit as he adds it to the rest of the things that are 
      going into storage rather than be taken with him when he leaves town. 
      Most of what little he's collected in the years since the old safehouse 
      was destroyed.
"Salem, do you /have/ to go?" Jeremy asks with a quirky grin on his face as he
      heads over to him, glancing over to the boxes curiously. "Got anything 
      good you are tossing out?"
Cat's just in the kitchen, cleaning up- too far away to hear their conversation.
Salem gives Jeremy a rather dour look, then shrugs. "Nothing being thrown out.
      Just put into safe keeping." He shoulders open the door into the tower 
      and disappears inside.
Jeremy watches him go, then glances over to the kitchen, calling in. "Yo Cat!
      Whats going on man? How ya like the clothes?"
And suddenly there came a rapping, as of someone gently tapping, tapping on the
      mansion door! And if that doesn't work, Quentin pushes the doorbell. If 
      there is one.
Cat's in the kitchen, making himself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. Mint
      -and- raspberry, the only way he'll eat it. "People think the shirt is 
      weird," he tells the Kin honestly, with a rather frustrated expression on 
      his face. "What does it mean, anyway?"
"It means that Pidgeons should not eat chili, because they get really wet shits
      and they go crazy on your car roof." Jeremy says with a wide grin on his 
      face. "I think you look cool dude, don't change." He heads to the door 
      after peering up into the monitor, opening it up. "Quueeee.."
"...ntin." The galliard's hand reaches through the door as it's opened, to
      ruffle Jeremy's hair, before with an easy grin the blue-haired young man 
      steps inside, "You guys still hanging around this big ol' spooky place, 
      eh?"
The tower door slams shut as Salem emerges from that part of the mansion,
      brushing off his hands. If he's surprised to see Quentin, he doesn't show 
      it; in truth, the Philodox seems rather preoccupied. "Not that spooky 
      anymore. Except to the neighbors."
Cat's left blinking in shock in the kitchen with a peanuty-knife in his hand.
      Cautiously, he pokes his head around the corner and then quirks a 
      surprised grin. "Hi, Quentin," he calls out, then notices a glob of 
      peanut butter on the knife and sticks it his mouth quickly. "Mm mm mimyo."
Huffing at the hair ruffling, Jeremy gives Quentin a shove past him before he
      closes the door. "By the way, Nala says that I /am/ the King." He grins 
      wryly, before heading into the main room. "The Ghosts kinda just gave up 
      I guess."
Quentin lifts two fingers of one hand to his brow, and away, in a salute
      towards the one-eyed man. "Hey, boss," he offers over with a quirked 
      smile, "See you finally decided to go for a new haircut... I like it. 
      Hey, Kit-Cat, how's it hanging?" At Jeremy's words, he just snorts. 
      "Wayyyy too much info, bro."
"I'm not the boss anymore," Salem says -- perhaps a bit shortly, but the moon
      _is_ full. His eye goes to Cat. "Parlor?"
The theurge makes a face around the knife, dropping it into the sink and
      picking up his sandwich. "-Kit-Cat-," he repeats incredulously. "That's 
      like calling me 'kitten', or something. It's a -girl's- name." He'd 
      lecture Quentin more, but he's being summoned. "Coming," Cat chirps 
      happily, trotting into the parlor with his sandwich on a plate.
"Cat isn't exactly macho either. Can we start calling you Bruce Willis
      instead?" Jeremy says with a grin as he heads into the parlor after him. 
      "You gotta Rite name yet?"
"Yeah, well," Quentin offers with a quirk of his lips at one corner, one brow
      quirking, "I heard. You'll still always be 'boss' to me, boss, whatever 
      your title is. I mean, I can't call you 'Jack' or anything..." As he 
      strolls along after Jeremy and Cat, he quirks a brow, "Rite name? No 
      way..."
Salem shakes his head, looking mildly rueful, and mutters something about
      sounding like Alicia. Joining Cat in the parlor -- and it's clear that 
      Quentin and Jeremy are invited too -- he drops into his usual armchair 
      with a grunt and looks at Cat. "Begin whenever you're ready."
Cat takes a seat on the floor, plate between his knees. But then he just looks
      at it like he wasn't quite sure why he wanted to eat it in the first 
      place. "You and Signe-rhya dropped us off at the edge of the grounds," he 
      begins slowly, fingers scratching idly where the scabs on his arm are 
      forming. "So we went up to the fence. Emma wanted t'see if we could see 
      anyone from where we were....we couldn't. I thought we should just set 
      the whole place on fire, but they didn't like that idea."
Jeremy settles in and listens to the story, flopping onto the floor.
Salem steeples his fingers, mismatched eyes, shadowed from lack of sleep,
      fixing on the Theurge as he tells his tale.
Quentin leans up against the wall, arms folding loosely across his chest as he
      falls silent as well; gaze fixing on the theurge, listening to his tale 
      with obvious interest.
The small boy is starting to look embarrassed from all the attention, but he
      continues talking. "We went over the wall, and then under the house, like 
      under the porch? There were these really big dogs." Cat's hands are 
      employed to show exactly how big these dogs were, and from the distance 
      between palms, they were big. "Maybe fomoridogs. Emma fought the first 
      one and I was trying to dodge the second when he bit me." His shrugs the 
      nearly-healed arm. "It had all this frothy foam from its mouth that 
      really burned. Th'n Josh came in, and he...tore him apart."
Salem nods slightly, his expression bland.
Cat describes, in often bloody detail, how Emma and Joshua fought off their
      enemies as he tried to keep the foam from burning him. By the time he'd 
      recovered from the bite they had killed the dogs, and were venturing into 
      the house. "I forget who said it...but they said they could see people," 
      he says slowly, eyes going to his uneaten sandwich. "I think Joshua ran 
      the door down. It was a woman and a man at the dining table. The lady 
      stood up and invited us to eat." Here the theurge's face twists in 
      disgust at the memory. "But she'd been -eating- the man, her husband I 
      think. Emma went for the lady and when Josh tried to hit the man, he just 
      exploded into bugs."
"She was a fomor too, really strong. Emma couldn't knock her down. I...tried to
      break her skull." Cat winces slightly, hurrying on, "Then she spit up all 
      these worms, these little wriggly things that bit all over. Emma ripped 
      her up too, from throat to belly the same way she did the dogs. It was 
      awful," he adds in hushed tones. "The man's insides were all on the 
      plates and there were bugs everywhere and it smelled really, really bad."
"Fomori are fond of projectile vomiting, I've found," Salem comments dryly.
There's an argument, then, with Emma and Josh trying to decide which area to go
      to first- the basement or the second floor? They decide to go upstairs. 
      "It seemed scary because there just wasn't anything there," Cat murmurs. 
      His words have definitely slowed, become tense. "And then they opened a 
      room...and he was there." A pause, a hard swallow. "M-my dad. Not -in- 
      the room, but on the stairs. He said he was coming to get me."
Salem raises an eyebrow.
Quentin lifts one brow himself, lips pursing in a frown. He doesn't say
      anything, though, not yet.
"Joshua and Emma were seeing things too, but I didn't know it then," Cat says,
      subdued, with his eyes cast down at his hands. "We were confused. Then 
      I...-saw- him. And I ran." He closes his eyes tightly against the rebuke 
      he's sure is coming. "I got so scared and Emma kept telling me nothing 
      was there, but he really was," the boy explains hastily. "I ran 
      downstairs because it was the only place to go. And then he disappeared. 
      He just wasn't there anymore."
No rebuke. The former elder simply listens, nodding where appropriate.
Cat smiles -very- faintly. "Arrows was screaming at me. She was hopping mad
      that I'd let him frighten me away. She told me to go back upstairs and 
      help Emma and Josh- I could still hear them fighting. So I went back 
      upstairs...I think that's when I understood that we were all seeing 
      different things. Joshua was talking about that wolf in his head, and 
      Emma kept talking about a little girl. So I tried to get their attention. 
      Then D...Dad came back." The smile disappears. "He said he'd hit me, beat 
      me to death. But I didn't run, and he couldn't touch me. I could tell him 
      everything I ever wanted to say and he couldn't touch me...because he 
      wasn't real."
Salem actually smiles a bit, the expression touched with pride.
It's quickly explained, then, how Joshua and Emma began to understand that they
      didn't need to fight what they saw, and each began to ignore whatever 
      images their eyes were telling them were there. The theurge's voice grows 
      stronger again. "Then it just stopped. Everything disappeared. All that 
      was left was this little boy under the bed." Cat's face is tilted upwards 
      again, now that Matthew Harper's part of the story is finished; but his 
      eyes aren't quite focused on Salem. "Emma'd raked him pretty badly, but 
      he was still alive. He couldn't talk. Joshua wanted to kill him, but I 
      thought he might be innocent, 'cause I remember hearing about that lady 
      Glissa and how she ate -her- kids but they weren't fomor."
Quentin's brow knits a bit, leaning forward in a bit over arms folded across
      his chest to listen... expression rather serious.
Cat's expression is stony, remembering. "He was going to take him from me- I
      was holding him. But when we went to fight those gang members, he tried 
      to kill the man I was fighting. I...didn't really forgive him for that." 
      He clears his throat, with an uncertain glance at Salem. "I told him if 
      he came closer I'd...kill him in his sleep. I didn't really mean it!" he 
      adds quickly. "I...just didn't want him to kill the kid."
Salem nods. "Joshua has a tendency to leap before looking. He even acknowledged
      it when he told me his version of the Rite. But a Theurge has to think 
      clearly."
There was a long fight, then. Should they explore the Umbra? No mirrors in the
      house. Was the little boy ikthya? Josh wanted to kill him immediately, 
      Emma reluctantly agreed to wait until they had some proof, both warning 
      that at the first sign, the boy would die. "So we went back downstairs. 
      I'd been hearing a voice, when I was downstairs. Just a little one. 
      Someone was calling for help. I thought it was part of the, um, 
      hallucinations from upstairs, so I didn't say anything. But when we went 
      back downstairs I heard it again. From the basement, so that's where we 
      went."
Cat rubs at the side of his face. "I was holding the boy, and Josh was going
      first and Emma was behind me. I kept trying to get him to talk." He 
      smiles faintly, but there's no good humor behind the smile. "But he just 
      looked back at me. He was afraid of them, but not me. I think it's 'cause 
      he knew I thought he was..." The boy shakes his head a little. "Josh 
      opened the door and it smelled like a garden. But not a flower garden, 
      more like...the woods, where there's lots of dirt, right after it rains. 
      And the voice was so much stronger, and it was absolutely dark."
Salem sits up and leans forward, elbows on his knees and his eyes intent.
"Emma turned on the light," Cat says softly. "We were halfway down the stairs.
      There was a huge...thing...in the corner, took up all the basement. It 
      was all dirt and big worms and squiggly tentacle things. It was eating 
      everything it could. Josh and Emma thought it was ikthya immediately, but 
      we didn't know what to do, because it was so -big-. And it was what was 
      talking in my head." He pauses, recollecting. "Help me. He was asking me 
      to help him. It was...part of the Wyld. The part that eats up dead things 
      so flowers can grow, stuff like that. I tried to tell Emma and Josh, but 
      it was hard because the little boy..."
Cat swallows, continuing slowly, "He was trying to get away from me. He
      was...going to eat the Wyld spirit. So I killed him," the boy ends 
      abruptly, trying to make his expression stony and impassive, but he is a 
      poor actor. "The Wyld spirit was really...happy. It had been trying to 
      fight back the taint of the house, but it couldn't leave the basement. 
      Josh gave the body to the Wyld spirit and...it ate him. He told us that 
      the place used to be a pure place, and that it was up to us to make it 
      that way again." Finally, blue eyes meet the black-and-milky ones. "When 
      we went through the rest of the house, there wasn't anything else. 
      And...you know the rest."
Salem nods and sits back, his expression thoughtful. "You should see about
      getting someone with the Rite of Cleansing to finish the place up 
      properly. Maybe get that person to teach you the rite." His head cocks 
      slightly, favoring his good eye. "The boy was tainted, wasn't he. Josh 
      mentioned that at the end, it started trying to play mind games with you 
      three again."
Cat looks back down at his uneaten (and unlikely to be eaten) sandwich. For a
      long time, he doesn't say anything. "Arrows was screaming the whole 
      time," he whispers. "'Remember how -I- died. Remember how -I- let myself 
      be fooled.' I had to break his neck to stop his screaming." There's a 
      half-glance to the side where Jeremy and Quentin are, before he looks 
      back at his plate. "I couldn't stop from thinking about how I used to 
      hide under the bed too," he murmurs. "It was always the first place Dad 
      looked."
Quentin shakes his head ever so slightly, admitting quietly from where he
      leans, "It's just as well, honestly... if he hadn't been tainted, you 
      would've had to make a decision as to how to protect the Veil. At least 
      this way, the decision was easier." Pushing away from the wall, he makes 
      his way slowly over towards the theurge, dropping down to sit on the 
      floor beside him and nudge his shoulder with a hand, "You did good."
Jeremy continues to listen quietly as he draws a knee to his chest, leaning
      upon it, learning.
Salem stretches his legs out and crosses them at the ankles. "You faced your
      fears and saw through them. You were thoughtful. And you helped your 
      rite-packmates, both Ahrouns, understand a mystery that they wouldn't 
      have been able to solve on their own... and by so doing, you protected 
      one of Gaia's servants. _Very_ well done, I'd say."
Cat looks up, first at Quentin and then Salem, with growing surprise and a
      touch of shy pride. "Thanks," he mumbles, and even though the word is 
      quiet he's absolutely glowing from the praise. "Josh and Emma helped a 
      lot too, honest. Someday they'll be almost as good fighters as you." 
      This, in reference to the Philodox. There's a flicker in the boy's face. 
      "Oh, um...and Arrows wants to know if she can come out."
Salem arches an eyebrow. "She's asking _permission_ now?"
Quentin quirks a brow, "Arrows?"
"She's been really nice lately," the theurge offers.
Salem rubs his stubbled but otherwise unbearded chin. "Mm. Interesting. All
      right."
Cat glances uncertainly at Quentin, but before the head motion is finished his
      eyes are focused back on Salem with an intensity in them the boy does not 
      naturally possess. "He -nearly- got himself killed through fear and 
      indecision," comes the harsh, cold critique. But there's a visible pause, 
      even in the boy's face. "But he lived. I told him if he lived, he would 
      emerge different, and so he has."
Salem's eyes narrow slightly. Coolly, he says, "Different how,
      Arrows-of-Artemis?"
Quentin's brow lifts a bit higher, his expression a bit startled as he looks
      between Salem and Cat with a furrowed brow.
Arrow/Cat's eyes narrows as well. "You knew him too. When he doubted everything
      about himself, because others told him to. And then couldn't believe them 
      when they told him -good- things." He smiles, fiercely. "But in that 
      house, he stood there and confronted that bastard that spawned him, not 
      only as a hallucination but as an angry man of loss. He stood up to an 
      Ahroun who has injured him before. He has trust in himself now, and he 
      can see into the hearts of others. He is no longer deserving of my scorn. 
      I intervened once, and only once, on his Rite- and for that I believe my 
      debt is paid."
Salem nods. However strange this conversation seems to Quentin, it appears as
      though the halfmoon knows exactly what's going on. "I knew he would 
      succeed," he says quietly. His glance shifts briefly to Quentin, 
      including the blue-headed Galliard in that look of sudden, fierce pride, 
      then moves back to Arrows/Cat. "Then consider it paid."
Arrows' smile widens, filled with relief. "You will need to take the boy to the
      Umbra, and the Black Fury Elder here must call up Omesciea, the spirit 
      that once was my totem. It is to her you must say my debt is paid, and it 
      is she that will reverse this curse."
Salem rubs his chin and nods. "Omesciea. Very well. You have my word."
"A curse?" Quentin quirks a brow upwards, though he manages not to ask anything
      else just now. Needless to say, the galliard will be interrogating people 
      for details later. Oh yes.
Cat's smile is the same one the boy has always wore, yet somehow different. It
      is the one and only time anyone has ever seen Arrows smile -happily- 
      through the Theurge's face. And then it's gone. He chews on his lower lip 
      thoughtfully and looks from Galliard to Ahroun. "I'm a real cliath now, 
      an' I can go to parties and everything?" he asks, with a small grin.
Salem returns it faintly. "You can go to parties and even get drunk if you
      want." His expression turns vaguely rueful. "I'm... not good at 
      deed-names, to be honest. Too many of them sound... pretentious. I rather 
      _like_ 'Cat'."
Quentin lets the corner of his lips twitch upwards, "You.. not good with
      deed-names? The devil you say..." A tip of his head, then, lets him slant 
      a look past cerulean bangs to regard Cat thoughtfully. "Mrm. Feeds The 
      Wyld? Weird name for a 'Walker, though."
"Technically, a Kami is of Gaia, not the Wyld," says Salem. "Two different
      things."
Cat smiles, a tad sleepily. "I'm just me," he chuckles. "Just 'Cat'."
Quentin chuckles softly, pushing himself up to his feet. "Cat, Salem, Madonna,
      Cher... all you damn people with no proper names." He grins broadly, 
      "Works for me."
Salem snorts and gets to his feet. "_Jack_ Salem, thank you very much. Now, if
      you don't mind, I have a few more things to shift upstairs. Good night, 
      you two."
"Night, boss," Quentin offers with a wry smile, "Maybe we can hook up soon for
      you to give me the straight story on what the fuck is going on around 
      here... since I've gotten sixteen disconnected stories." A casual salute, 
      before he moves to slip out of the parlor.
"We'll do lunch," promises the halfmoon, smiling thinly.