"Few Garou actually _want_ to go Ronin."

[hazlogs]

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.