It is currently 11:50 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 7 2004.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 53 degrees
Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
south at 17 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.40 and rising, and
the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 50 degrees
Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)
Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (93% full).
[The Caern]
At the center, For those down wind of the pit, the Caern smells strongly of
blood. The Ahroun sits cross legged in Homid, right in front of a hole
about two fists in diameter. Around him and the hole are a series of
glyphs traced into the dirt, those for Wisdom, Vision, Calm and Tribe...
his head is bowed, eyes closed as he holds his arm out over the short
pit, blood dripping from a self inflicted cut into the hole. From the
smell of it, he's been doing this for some time... from the looks of him,
he's been doing it far too long.
Salem wrinkles his nose at the smell of blood, then deepens his frown as he
sees what Joshua is doing. Long strides carry him quickly to the center
and his voice snaps out at the young Ahroun. "What the hell are you
doing?"
At the center, Anthony comes stalking down around the steam vents towards the
caern center, fists stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets and gaze fixed on
the ground. He doesn't look particularly happy, forehead creased and jaw
set in a sharp frown, or rested, dark circles under his eyes and hair
disheveled.
Joshua doesn't register Salem's existence for what seems like a small eternity,
head finally jerking back as he realized that the Philodox was even
there. "... Afternoon, Salem-Rhya..." He mutters tiredly, quickly
obscuring two of the scratched out glyphs. He looks up to the Ex-Elder,
not quite aware that Tony was here as well.
Salem stands in front of the blood-bottomed hole Joshua's made in the ground of
the caern and glowers down at him. "Answer my question. What the hell are
you up to?" He gestures at the spilled blood, the glyphs.
Anthony approaches the other side of Josh's bloodletting paraphenelia, putting
his hands on his hips and prodding one of the scratchings with a toe
curiously.
"Doing what Alicia-Rhya showed me how to do?" Josh offers weakly, looking up
only to Salem's chest. "It's a way of praying... where you bleed into the
earth." The Ahroun seems drained and confused, jerking a little more when
Tony's existence finally registers on his radar.
"I know what it is," the Philodox says with a scowl. "It's a common enough
minor ritual. Even though you seem to be trying to kill yourself with it.
And I _hope_ that you've gotten the permission of the Master of the Rite
to perform it within the caern." His brows lower, lip curling until it
displays teeth in a way that's more lupine than human.
Anthony takes a step back from the glyphs, putting his hands back in his
pockets. "How long have you been here doing this?" Anthony asks, not
looking up from the hole.
"Christ, I knew I forgot something. Damnit..." Josh pulls himself to his feet,
looking just a tad bit wobbly. "I'll go talk to Trevor-Rhya. I forgot to
ask him this time. Fuck." No comment from the Ahroun, though, about him
perhaps over doing it. Or how long he had been, for tha matter.
Salem glances sidelong at Anthony, then turns to Joshua with a head-shake of
disgust. "Our rituals aren't to be done _lightly_, Joshua. There's power
in our words and actions... you're invoking the spirits, after all.
_Look_ at yourself." His scowl deepens. "You're ready to fall over from
blood loss. If the caern were attacked right now, you'd be _useless_. And
what do you think would have happened to the spirit of the place if you'd
killed yourself? Hm?"
Anthony nods in agreement, not adding any remarks of his own to Salem's.
Joshua's jaw clenches shut, closing his eyes as Salem speaks, head tilted down.
A light nod is all the indication he gives that he's actually listening.
"I know, Salem-Rhya. And I wasn't doing it just because I was bored and
wanted something to do. I was trying to do just that..."
Salem's eyes narrow. "You were trying to kill yourself?"
Joshua nose wrinkles, curling the edge of his lip back. "To invoke some
Spirits, or the mother." He growls back weakly.
Anthony's forehead unwrinkles, then creases further. "Then what were you going
to do? Pass out in front of them?"
The Philodox mutters a short, curt word in Serbian. "Do you actually _know_ the
rite, Joshua, or is Alicia still in the middle of teaching it to you?"
"I didn't even know it -was- A rite. She showed it to Emma and I as a way to
Pray about a month ago. No one said anything about a Rite" He growls back
tersely.
Salem snorts. "Well, it is. And if you're going to do it, I suggest you learn
it properly. And then either do it _away_ from the caern or get the
permission of the Rite-Master. You _might_ also consider learning the
Rite of Contrition. It seems to be one you're going to need to perform
often."
"Just ... clean yourself up, I guess," Tony advises, sneaking a glance at Salem
before looking towards Josh.
Joshua lets out a short sight. "Well, before now, it's always worked just fine
for me." He grunts. As if finally noticing he still has the cut in his
arm, the Ahroun shifts up then back down to and from Glabro, the cut
quickly disappearing.
Salem grunts, watching the Ahroun shift and heal. Once Joshua's back to
fighting shape, he folds his arms across his chest. "Have you made a
decision about what we talked about the other night, in the park?"
Anthony lifts an eyebrow at Salem, then looks to Joshua, apparently trying to
piece together what the two were discussing.
Despite healing up, the Ahroun only seems to deflate further at the mention of
the Park. Joshua shakes his head sadly. "No, Scar-Rhya. You are right...
I don't think, live, or even look like the rest of you. But... as
Signe-Rhya pointed out, the alternative is becoming 'ronin'." And that
word is said with the same amount of disgust he usually reserves for
Ikthya.
Salem's lips thin. "It's the only way you'd be able to join a tribe that you're
actually suited for, Joshua."
Anthony frowns slightly, evidently figuring out what the conversation's about.
"It's not a decision to take lightly, though," Anthony says.
Joshua gives a sickly grimace, head tilting a little further. "But I wouldn't
have family. I... like you guys, even if you can be pains in the butt
sometimes." A brief grin appears at the attempted joke, but this is quick
to pass. He nods to Tony. "That's what I was doing... trying to get help
on the decision. But this time, it's not helping any."
"You have a strange way of showing it," Salem says flatly, not smiling at all.
If he feels any sympathy, it isn't visible. "For example, have you
attempted to contact Natalie to make amends?"
"Yeah, you should at least talk to Natalie," Anthony agrees, his eyebrows
relaxing. "Leaving a tribe is serious business; it's not something you do
just because you don't always get along with the rest of them..."
"For what? For not living up to her standards? For doing exactly as she told me
to do and leaving?" Josh starts to snort, before a quick grimace cuts him
off. "... No, I haven't. It's still a full moon. I'd probably slip up and
try to kill her. Or the other way around." He glances quickly at Anthony.
"It's not about that at all."
Salem glances upward, briefly, then purses his lips. "He prefers the forests to
the city," the halfmoon informs the ragabash. "_Prefers_ it."
"As I said. Differences in philosophy, Tony." Josh adds quietly.
"Well..." Anthony can't think of a suitable reply to that. Instead, he just
bites his lip and shrugs at Josh slightly.
Salem turns back to Joshua. "Perhaps you can reconcile yourself with Natalie
and with our philosophy." He doesn't sound as if he expects this to
happen. "If not... Joshua, either you'll choose _voluntarily_ to leave
the tribe, or you'll be _ejected_ from it." His smile is thin and not
particularly comforting or pleasant. "You'll be Ronin either way, until
another tribe accepts you."
Joshua grits his teeth, stooping down to start filling back in the hole with
the displaced earth. "Thank you, Scar-Rhya. To the point summary as
usual: screwed if I stay, and fucked if I leave."
"I guess that's a way of putting it," Anthony concedes, now scowling again.
"You should still at least talk to Natalie before you leave," he adds.
Salem simply grunts, his gaze shifting sidelong toward the arriving Uktena; he
gives Reggie a curt nod of greeting.
Joshua doesn't notice the arriving Uktena for the moment, finishing up his
clean up. The last Glyph is scoured off the dirt, before the Ahroun
stands back up. "I... don't want to go Ronin. Not if I can help it." He
mumbles, mostly to Anthony.
Squinting in the not bright day, Reggie flinches, then balks in his progress
into the caern, as he looks hesitantly at the ex-Lord. Counting the
others in the caern with a tapping of his finger in the air, he then
proceeds again, taking a unnecessarily long way around Salem towards the
pool lapping at the base of the waterfall.
Salem eyes Reggie from behind dark, reflective lenses, then turns back to
Joshua and Anthony. "Few Garou actually _want_ to go Ronin. But they do.
Sometimes for a visionquest. Sometimes because they simply don't care for
the Garou Nation at all." His voice is bland, his expression dour. "Once,
the Sept had a lupus Ronin come in who served faithfully for over a year.
Turned out he was a Silver Fang, and that year of thankless,
bottom-of-the-totem-pole service earned him his Fostern rank." He shrugs.
Anthony curiously watches Reggie weave his way around the caern, distracted by
the strangely-dressed man just enough to tear his attention from Salem's
storytelling for a few moments. "Yeah, sometimes it's necessary ... but,
rarely, I guess," he adds vaguely.
Joshua shrugs unhelpfully, finally noticing the existence of Reggie himself. He
nods minutely in greeting, but otherwise remains silent, having nothing
to say for the moment.
Reggie reaches the rippling pool, and shuffles until he can reach in for a
handful to drink without having his back towards the Walker debate team.
Salem takes out his pocketwatch and clicks it open, looking down his nose at it
for a moment. "Keep meditating on it," he says as he closes the timepiece
and pockets it. His obscured gaze fixes on Joshua. "_Without_ bleeding
yourself into the caern's earth."
"The choice you offer me is to leave voluntarily, or be expelled..." Josh
mutters to Salem quietly. He doesn't finish the sentence, instead turning
to shuffle his way off from the Caern. The Ahroun turns back at the edge,
looking incredibly, drastically, and just flat out totally -sad-, "Then
I'll leave. So there's no bad blood between us. 'cause I don't want there
to be."
Salem nods. "I don't know of Megan knows the Rite of the Lone Wolf, but she
should know someone who does. In the meantime, if you don't want to be
Ronin for long, I suggest you start petitioning the other tribe elders."
He turns away, excusing himself as he starts, briskly, out of the caern.
[...]
The Clearing Formerly Known As 'Bone Arches'
This clearing stands deep in the forest, hidden by tall trees, and feels
strangely ...empty. Though it's a perfectly normal clearing, there's the
haunting feeling that there should be something here, beyond the grasses
and small shrubs that stand sheltered from the wind by the surrounding
woods - but those are all that can be seen.
Winding through the underbrush, a number of trail-like impressions can be seen
in the dirt. The most prominent of these leads southwest.
Salem sits crosslegged in the middle of the clearing, leaning forward with his
elbows resting on his knees. The Glass Walker's head is bowed, his eyes
closed behind the dark glasses, and from his clasped hands hangs a
woman's diamond ring from a length of black thread. He appears to be deep
in contemplation or concentration, and the ring moves not at all.
A wolf (the whitest you've ever seen) pads into the area, catching sight of the
meditating Glasswalker and of the softly glittering diamond. He stops and
cocks his head, apparently confused as to what this man would be doing
here in such a somber part of the Bawn.
Salem doesn't notice the arrival. His scarred face is blank, all attention
drawn inward; his breath comes slow and deep, like a man relaxing into
sleep. The ring, the thread -- if the wolf has seen the ritual of the
Questing Stone performed, this looks very much like it. And still the
ring doesn't move.
Chance watches the ring intently for a moment or two, before hunkering down and
lying flat in the tall grass. His bright blue eyes are his most visible
part, the rest being somewhat obscured by the growth around him.
After several long minutes, the steady rhythm of the Glass Walker's breathing
is interrupted. Salem inhales a deep breath and, as he straightens up and
opens his eyes, lets it out in a frustrated sigh. Still not noticing
Chance, he gives the thread a jerk, tossing the leashed ring up and into
his palm, where he looks at it somberly for a moment.
Chance whimpers softly.. barely enough to be heard through the grass. ~You
cannot find her.~ It's more of an expression of sympathy than a statement
of fact.
Salem stiffens. His hand closes over the ring as his eyes snap toward the
Silver Fang. He stares flatly at Chance for a moment, iron shutters
slammed down over his eyes. A beat passes, and then he grunts. "Maybe.
The rite's been known to fail."
Chance is very sorry to have intruded on this moment, Salem-Rhya. Was just
passing and saw you sitting here on the way to the Elder Moot. ~May I
know who it is you are searching for?~
Salem's mouth thins out. He shakes his head and gets slowly to his feet. "A
friend," he answers, slipping the ring-and-thread into a coat pocket. He
looks down at the Fang, then shrugs. "Someone I made a promise to, years
ago."
Chance stands, shaking bits of leaves off of his lustrous coat. ~I hope that
you find your friend.~ He looks around, then up at the sky before
tail-wagging once at the Glasswalker in a gesture of support before
turning away. ~I will leave you to your thoughts.~
Salem gives the thinnest, faintest of smiles and inclines his head slightly to
the Fang. "Thank you," he says, politely.
Chance barks once before his white form disappears into a thicket of trees some
ways off.
Salem watches him go, then glances skyward himself, frowning, and moves off in
a different direction.
[...]
Cyrano pages: Yay! Ring! Ring!
Long distance to Cyrano: Salem answers it. "Salem."
Cyrano pages: Yo. This is Cutter. My boy wants some face time, he's got some
serious news. And since he's not sure how you'll take it, he wants
neutral ground.
You paged Cyrano with '(guarded) ...All right. Where and when?'.
Cyrano pages: If now is good, then now. I was thinking the Youth Center in
SouthTown. I've got a key.
You paged Cyrano with 'Now is just fine. On my way.'.
[...]
Apparently, Cutter's "key" to the disused blue green building is a window whose
latch is shattered. The building is dusty and quiet and cold.
Salem arrives on foot, having parked his boxy little Yugo a block away. He eyes
the unlatched window with a wry expression and casually uses it to let
himself in.
Konstantin arrives about 5 minutes late. He also slips through the window,
having glanced around the lot carefully before slipping inside. As his
feet fall to the floor of the building, he starts to look around the
place, noting a pair of footprints in the dust. He follows them. "Jack
Salem?" he calls out.
"Here." Despite the darkness and shadows, Salem has on the dark glasses, and in
the shadows the Shadow Lord can catch a flicker of light from behind
them, like a brief flash of television static. His tone is neutral.
Konstantin approaches the tall man. He pulls out a couple bottle from his coat.
"Yoohoo?" he offers, genially. There a ghost of a smile playing on the
ragabash's lips. "I don't have any music to soothe you. I thought maybe a
delicious, refreshing chocolate drink might help."
Salem arches an eyebrow, then smiles thinly. "Thoughtful of you." He accepts
the YooHoo, breaking the seal and twisting it open. "Cutter said you had
some news. I promise to do my best not to eat your head if it makes me
irritable." That almost sounds like a joke.
"I'm relieved to hear that. Not only because I don't want to get put between a
couple slices of bread with some mayo -- and also..." He trails off,
pulling open his coat and pulling at his preppy shirt. "I'm a little
gamey. Yeah, yeah. Sad, but true." The ragabash nods a little, as he
cracks open his drink. "So, look, I got nothing against you personally,
okay? I have nothing against your tribe either. Not that they'd believe
me. But I think you might. I respect you, even if I don't always overtly
show it. You understand how that game's played in my tribe."
Salem grunts and takes a swig of the drink. "Yes. I know. And considering your
auspice..." He shrugs. "Public face, private face."
"So here's the deal," Konstantin says, downing a swig of the processed
chocolate drink. "I'm supposed to assassinate you for the Russian mob. If
I kill you, I'm in with the top brass. Show of loyalty, yadda yadda. Then
Cutter told me you were leaving town... so I decided I need to put all
the cards on the table. That's the first card. I have a couple more to
turn over."
Salem's eyebrows rise. He makes a low 'mm' noise and drinks again, watching the
Shadow Lord steadily.
"There's another faction inside the mob which might be making a move -- a coup
d'etat, as it were. I have a contact there who /also/ wants me to kill
you. You're deeply unpopular -- for reasons I can't divine. Any ideas?"
Salem wrinkles his nose, mouth twisting into a grimace. "I imagine that it's
because they consider me the biggest threat. Though before that incident
with Mr. Invisible in the park, I'd never had a _personal_ experience
with them."
Konstantin nods slowly. "Yeah, well, guess what? Mr. Invisible has some kind of
psychic friends network between you and him. When you're dead he'll
allegedly know. Presents me with a problem, namely that I don't really
want to kill you. But, seeing as you're leaving? Yes? Is that right?
Maybe there's another way..."
Salem becomes quite still. "'Psychic friends network'? He'll _know_ when I'm
dead? _How_?"
Konstantin clears his throat. "Wish I knew... because then maybe I figure out
some way to fuck it up."
"Jesus fuck," Salem murmurs. "Jesus fucking _Christ_." He takes another swallow
of the chocolate drink. He looks a bit shaken suddenly, but after another
swig regains most of his composure. "What's your idea."
"Well, here's the final card..." The ragabash glances around himself again --
can't be too paranoid after all. "Mr. Invisible wants me to kill you. And
the top brass want Mr. Invisible AND you dead. So you help me kill Mr.
Invisible and then I take "proof" of your death and his death to show to
the mob brass. Gets me in with the top guys -- and that's when we can
really start to dismantle the whole goddamn nest of them." He pauses.
"And if that doesn't work for some reason, then, shit I'm as good as dead
anyway, so thanks for trying."
Salem tips the bottle back, draining the last of the YooHoo with a grimace. "He
won't be easy to kill," he says to the Shadow Lord. "Bullets don't seem
to do a damned thing to him. Claws might, but for that we'll need
privacy."
"I know. And he'll turn invisible." The ragabash drinks for a moment. "That's
why I'm going to invite him to watch me kill you. But it'll really be a
carefully planned ambush in a warehouse you and I prepare in advance.
And, we're going to stack the deck. You should call in your entire pipe
hitting crew of Glass Walkers to help us kill off Invisible -- if you
think they're trustworthy. Obviously, if Invisible knows its a set up
then /I'm/ certainly dead. He'll probably find someone else to take you
out, except I doubt the next assassin will be as forthright about his
plans."
"They're trustworthy." Salem smiles faintly, his eyes still hidden behind dark
lenses. "And they have excellent toys."
"I know. You guys are fucking loaded at that goddamn fortress you hid--hang out
in." He smiles thinly. "So that's my plan. Are you in? If you want to
think it over, that's fine, but honestly, man, I've been stalling on this
for a long time now... and if you bring someone into the loop who rats me
out, well, I'm dead. So I want to at least point out how much I'm
personally putting on the line here."
Salem nods. "I'm aware." He purses his lips, thinking for a moment, and then
nods. "I'm in. Let's get this done as soon as possible, too."
Konstantin returns the older man's nod. "How long do you need to get your crew
organized?"
"Few days, maybe less," Salem says. His manner's gone deliberately neutral
again, with a facade of calm.
"Well, calling my cell phone is risky. I know you have some superb computer
talent, so if you can arrange to make it 'clean' then, by all means
contact me that way. Otherwise, let's use our old dead drops. Remember?"
Salem smiles faintly. "I remember."
Konstantin lifts the remainder of his YooHoo. "Cheers," he says. "Let's meet in
two days. I know a warehouse we can use."
"Two days," the Glass Walker agrees, raising his empty bottle in salute. "Do
you want to leave first, or shall I?"
Konstantin finishes his drink and tosses the bottle over his shoulder. "See
you," he says, turning and heading toward the broken window.
Salem waits, lingering, for a long time before departing.
[...]
You paged Rina with '*Ring ring*'.
Rina picks up after a couple of rings. "Yo."
"It's Jack." Salem's voice is dead neutral, flat. "You remember that warehouse
where I almost killed you? When John shot me?"
Rina swallows. "Jack. You okay?"
"Fine as can be," he says blandly. "Do you remember that warehouse?"
"Yeah. I do."
"Meet me there, all right?" *click*
Ten minutes later, she shows up at the location, parking the Ducati in an alley
a block away and striding alone down the dark sidewalk.
It's just as she remembers it, albeit with lots more graffiti. She can see the
Yugo parked outside the alleyway where the side door's located. It's
open, that door, and there's darkness beyond.
Rina swallows, a hand slipping inside her jacket as she comes in.
Inside the warehouse, it's all darkness, darkness and shadow, and her steps
echo on the bare concrete floor. There's litter scattered about and signs
of past habitation, but no one now except the tall figure in the
ankle-length coat, standing in the center of the big space. He turns as
she enters, and there's a flash of light at his eyes, like a brief
flicker of television static.
Rina's breathing is shallow, audible in the pronounced quiet of the empty
space. "Jack," she says cautiously. "What's up?"
"Didn't want to speak at the Dominion. Or your place." Salem's voice the same
flat tone she heard on the phone. Hands in pockets, he doesn't move to
approach her. "Don't even know if _this_ is secure. Shit."
Rina steps closer, her movements betraying an underlying wariness. "So we'll
talk quiet," she murmurs, watching him with those guarded dark eyes.
Salem passes a hand over his face. It's hard to read his expression, as dark as
it is in here. "Cutter called me. Said Konstantin wanted to chat
privately, someplace neutral."
Rina wets her lips, and tries to conceal a low dread. "And?"
"There are two factions within the Russians." Salem speaks barely above a
murmur. "One is the invisible man who attacked us in the park. The other
are the main bosses. Both want me dead, and want Konstantin to kill me in
order to prove his loyalty." Before she can reply, he goes on, speaking
almost in a monotone. "Konstantin wants my help in setting up an ambush
for the Invisible Man. He brings him in to watch me die, then we --
myself and whoever else within the tribe we can trust for this -- unload
on him. The main bosses want the Invisible Man dead, too. So. Konstantin
brings proof -- false, in my case -- of both deaths to the main bosses
and gets a strong 'in', which then helps him help the Sept in taking the
bastards down."
She swallows, watching him intently. Her expression remains taut, guarded, as
if she can sense the effect of the moon.
"Konstantin also said that the Invisible Man claims to have some kind of...
link... with me. That he'll know when I'm dead."
Alarmed, she draws back slightly. "He must be the one who knows you..."
Salem looks at her dully. He's not as rage-tense as he should be, with the moon
this high and fat. "Hmm?"
"Well, if he seriously has that kind of mojo, it would make sense--he's the one
who outed you." Her voice is terse, distracted, and her eyes slide away.
"What-- what d'you want to do? I mean, Kostya is a Shadow Lord. We'd
hafta set it up so he didn't have the chance to ractually kill you,
without getting caught anyway..."
"That's why we include the family," he says in that same near-monotone. "Ones
who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut. Because if it leaks, we're
all fucked, Konstantin included." He takes a breath, lets it out.
"Meanwhile... Rina. If it's... true that this... person has some kind of,
how did he put it? 'Psychic friends network' with me... what do you think
the odds are that _I'm_ the source of the leak?"
Rina swallows, lowering her eyes. "I doubt it. That kind of thing isn't... it
doesn't happen all that much. From what little I know. And after he's
dead, it doesn't matter, does it?" Her expression clears, becoming an
optimistic smile as she looks up to him.
"True." He sighs. "I'm just... being paranoid. Even if there is some kind of...
of mental bug, it's not particularly effective."
"You're really not okay," she murmurs, "are you."
Salem doesn't answer that; he looks away, sweeping his gaze across the darkness
of the warehouse's interior again.
With a sigh, she steps forward to hug him, despite any refusal and despite the
moon.
No resistance. His hands remain in his coat pockets, and her arms slip easily
under his and around his torso. His breathing is slow and deep,
deliberate and steady.
"We'll manage. I'll be there, okay? Everyone will stand by you. And we can
disappear you easy enough, since you're going anyway..." She steps back,
looks up worriedly into his face.
The shadows are full and deep, though in what little light there is she can
glimpse despair. "Yes, I know."
The dark eyes flash, and she reaches up to frame his face with both hands.
"You'll find her," she whispers fiercely. "It will work. It has to."
Salem flinches, hands closing into fists within his coat pockets. He closes his
eyes, jaw clenching, and he swallows before he trusts himself to speak.
"Hope so."
One hand lingers on his cheek. "I gotta run," she whispers. "You'll be okay,
hon. I'll see you... maybe tomorrow?"
Salem nods slightly. "Tomorrow," he rasps. "Got to talk to Jeremy. And the
others. Two days, I talk to Konstantin again."
Rina nods minutely. "Aright," she murmurs. A touch to his hand, and she turns
and walks out swiftly.
Salem's shoulders sag as she departs. Slowly, he sits down on the floor,
crosslegged, and puts his head in his hands.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hazlogs
