Sally the Drug Dealer

[hazlogs]

[1/15/98]

Industrial Sector, Southwest Side
Several blocks encompassing the southern ends of 13th, 14th and 15th Streets 
  extend in an area poor and abandoned, with but a few businesses struggling 
  to survive. Along the northern edge of the district is a junk yard filled 
  with old washers, dryers, tires, and the myriad other elements of 
  human-created unrecycled waste. Smoke pours from a few factories, and the 
  more productive factories to the east combine with it to lay a thin film of 
  dark ash across much of the streets. Other factories, and warehouses between 
  them, lie abandoned or are home to the poor; at night, from some of those 
  with windows, the orange glow of oil drums used for heating and light shine 
  dully through the grime. Small shops serve the few factory workers who 
  remain in the area beyond the end of the working day, or during the lunch 
  hours grudgingly allowed. In the northeastern corner there is slightly more 
  activity in bars offering drinking and even some gambling in dark corners. 
  Along this stretch of street, the alleyways have stairways to second-floor 
  rooms, with the occasional alley entrance occupied evening and night by 
  painted women making blatant offers to the male passersby. Southwards, on 
  the southern side of Grym Broders Avenue, the train station falls into 
  disrepair similar to the rest of the area.
Obvious exits:
Filthy Alley  Abandoned Factory  Medina Coffees  East  North  

Salem lurks near the huge, half-open doors of the factory, smoking a 
  cigarette. He looks haggard and restless, his hair unkempt and his eyes 
  bloodshot and shadowed.

The door to the coffee shop opens and out strides Sally. She holds a cup and a 
  small bag both in the same hand, the other deep in her long coat's pocket 
  for warmth. Her sunny smile seeming much out of place here in this part of 
  town, as does her soft singing to herself. She glances around before heading 
  north up the street.

Salem's head lifts, ragged eyes picking out the ray of feminine sunshine in 
  this grimy, dour part of the city. He brings the cigarette to his lips, 
  inhales, and then drops the cancer stick upon the cracked pavement as he 
  moves to intercept Sally.

[Sally]
Sunny and bright, Sally's blonde locks frame her face before spilling over her 
  shoulders and cascading down her back. Her bright blue eyes sparkle with 
  unhidden mirth and her lips display a warm, confident smile. Tall and 
  slender, Sally moves with grace and sense of rhythm which turns each small 
  gesture or action into something more. 
 
 Her outfit is college student norm with a twist: Simple blue jeans and 
  tee-shirt under a full-length duster-style winter coat. Attached to her 
  jeans are a pair of handcuffs, one bracelet closed on the belt loop just 
  left of center, the other one at the loop by her left hip. There's enough 
  slack left between the two that a faint metallic sound accompanies her as 
  she moves. From one of the loops on her right side dangles a white rabbit's 
  foot charm. Around her neck is a silver necklace which vanishes into her 
  shirt, hiding anything that might be suspended from it.

"Took the hit that I was gonna give, and then I bumped again, and I bumped 
  again," the words to Sally's song become clearer as he nears. "How do I get 
  back there to the place..." the lyrics fade out there as she spots the dark 
  figure drawing near. She slows only slightly, keeping an eye on the man 
  until she recognizes him. She comes to a full stop then and smiles, "Hey."

Salem smiles back, thinly, lips compressed. Up close, he looks like hell, as 
  though he hasn't slept in two days. His clothes are rumpled, and the black 
  hair falls carelessly over one eye, the left. "Evening," he greets her, his 
  voice hoarse.

"Shit man," Sally looks him up and down, then informs him with another of her 
  bright smile, "You look like hell." Her left hand emerges from her pocket 
  long enough to fold back part of her cup's top, steam pours out into the 
  cold night air as soon as she does.

"I _feel_ like hell." The Garou shrugs, though, his eyes tracking the curling 
  wafts of steam and then flicking to her face. The intensity behind them 
  still quivers on the knife's edge of control. "_You_, however, look too 
  healthy to be in _this_ shithole part of the city." Sardonic humor.

Sally raises the cup to her lips and takes a quick sip of the hot coffee, the 
  paper bag crinkling as it's carried along for the ride. "Damned straight," 
  she agrees, then tilts her head to the north, "I'm just passing through. 
  Come on," she starts walking, seeming to fully expect him to follow along. 
  "Too friggin' cold out here."

Oddly enough - or perhaps not so oddly - Salem falls into step with the young 
  woman, ungloved hands slipping into the pockets of the battered leather 
  duster. "'Colder than a witch's tit,' is the phrase, I believe," he says 
  with a hoarse touch of European-aristocrat humor.

The kinswoman casts a side-long look at him, a hint of a smirk on her lips. 
  She continues a few more steps before asking, "So, like, you hungry or 
  what?" She takes another sip of her coffee, the steam leaving a trail that 
  dissipates before she takes her next step.

Salem shrugs again as he strides along, affecting an air of casual 
  disinterest. "Oh, I could eat, I suppose. You?"

Sally MacKay nods as she leads them north, "Yeah, dinner would be cool. Pizza? 
  Chinese? McDonalds?" She offers that last choice after a pause, and with 
  less enthusiasm than the others.

Salem wrinkles his nose slightly, grimacing. "Pizza," he says decisively. 
  "I've already had too much rat in my diet."

Sally MacKay laughs, a bright, merry sound which seems to help hold the 
  evening's growing shadows at bay. "Ew. Garcia's, then." She takes another, 
  more evaluating look at him, "Up for a walk, or wanna catch a bus?"

"I've been locked away in a tiny space for the past two days," Salem says. The 
  attempt at a light tone falls flat, and the words come out with a sharp, 
  tense edge that remains echoed in his body language. "I'd rather walk. 
  Before my legs forget how."

Tucking the small paper bag into one pocket, Sally shifts her cup to the other 
  hand. She gestures the way as she guides them into a turn, hardly watching 
  for cars as they cross the street; her eyes have once again returned to him, 
  instead. "Locked in a tight space, huh?" she has much better luck with the 
  humor than he did, almost enough so as to keep it sounding like a real 
  request for information.

Salem's own gaze is never still, dark eyes scanning the street with the sharp, 
  habitual wariness of a soldier too used to combat. He makes an affirmative 
  'mm-hmm' noise in reply to Sally's query.

Sally chuckles at his lack of answer, walking along beside him as unaware of 
  their surroundings as he is watchful. "So who locked you in there?" she 
  prompts in a light tone, clearly enjoying the fishing part of the 
  conversation as much as anything.

Salem glances at her sidelong. One corner of his lips curves upwards, 
  sardonically. "Circumstance."

Sally MacKay tisks and repeats in a disbelieving tone, "Circumstances."

Salem does the 'mmm-hmm' noise again, still smirking crookedly.

Sally MacKay makes a low sound in her throat that might be taken for one of 
  annoyance if she wasn't grinning. She tries again, "What /kind/ of 
  circumstances?"

Salem doesn't answer for a moment, pausing to glare at a couple of 
  dangerous-looking teenage boys wearing gang colors. One he and Sally are past 
  them, he answers her, "Religious ritual. To keep from killing anybody." He 
  tilts his head, lifting an eyebrow at her in a mild attempt at humor.

Sally MacKay shakes her head, sending a lock of her blonde hair across her 
  forehead and towards her eye. "Yeah, right," her steps carry her closer to 
  him, the start of what might be a friendly shoulder bump if he was anyone 
  else. As it were, she moves back to the distance she started from before she 
  even makes it half-way, almost as if pushed or buffered back.

Salem's mouth tightens in a spasm of anger, the expression passing across his 
  face and then away, leaving its traces like emotional footprints. 
  "Seriously," he says, after a pause. "I gave that meditation crap another 
  try."

As she reached the distance she started from, Sally raised the hand closest to 
  him to push her hair back, the action blocking her view of him and causing 
  her to miss the changing of his expression. "Did it work?" she asks, her 
  voice as warm ans casual as before.

Salem shrugs, regaining his previous mood, which - while not warm and 
  easy-going by any stretch of the imagination - isn't overtly hostile. "Not 
  really."

A light at another corner brings Sally to a stop. She looks to him as they 
  wait, her voice lowering just a notch, "So you going to try the other way, 
  then?"

Salem looks into her face, his eyes shadowed, and then gazes at the stoplight. 
  "Yes," he says, quietly. "More expensive but... it works. You know?" He 
  looks at her again, solemnly.

Sally MacKay returns his look, not so much meeting his eyes as studying his 
  face. She glances up at the light herself before speaking. "Yeah I know," 
  the play is gone from her voice now. "You do any asking around yet?"

Salem turns his attention back to the street; his voice remains pitched low, 
  for her ears. "A little. It's... difficult, sometimes, for me. Perhaps you 
  could help." He looks at her again, and this time gives her a 
  genuine-looking little smile.

Long distance to Sally MacKay: Salem kicks in Persuasion to give himself a 
  little boost.

Sally MacKay steps off the curb as the light changes, looking to him as she 
  goes. Either his tone, his expression, or both return the smile to her own 
  face. "Yeah," she agrees, "I could keep my ears open." Now she waggles a 
  finger playfully at him, "But I'm not promising anything." Another few 
  steps, then. "What're you into, exactly?"

Salem dips his head in a slight imitation of a bow as he follows her. "Junk, 
  mostly. I dabble with the related substances, but only when I have to."

Sally MacKay's eyebrows raise slightly as they walk together. She looks at 
  him, but doesn't question his selection, instead nodding. She's 
  uncharacteristically quiet for a moment.

Salem lifts an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?" he asks, softly, watching her. He 
  tilts his head slightly, hair falling partially over his eyes.

Chin raising slightly, Sally tilts her head to throw a suddenly confident grin 
  his way. "Nah, but..." she lets that trail off meaningfully and looks 
  elsewhere, hiding the glint of humor in her eyes.

Salem's body tightens up, the muscles in his jaw clenching. He takes control 
  of his temper, though, forcing it down. He even manages another small, if 
  tense, smile. "...It'll cost me, hm?"

Another laugh from her, a sound more playful than anything else. "You guessed 
  it." Sally hmms as she walk along, her head tilted back so she can look up 
  at the patch of sky visible. "I wonder what I should ask for..." she teases 
  gently.

"'What do you want?'" Salem intones, like a vaguely sinister character on a 
  science-fiction television show (no, not Star Trek). He chuckles shortly, 
  eyes gleaming a bit as he watches her, a touch of dry humor in his rasping 
  voice. "Dangerous question, Mustang Sally.'

Sally MacKay edges just a inch or two closer to the tall Garou at his tone, or 
  was she just altering her step to avoid stepping on something on the 
  sidewalk? Smiling still, seeming almost oblivious to the effects of his 
  Rage, she watches him. "I think..." she considers, "...I'll just let you owe 
  me a favor. How about that?" She faces forward again, hiding the change in 
  her smile.

"An unnamed favor, to be cashed in at a later and probably inconvenient - for 
  me, of course - date?" Salem grins toothily at his companion. "How gleefully 
  dangerous. I accept."

She ha's softly, grinning and making another abortive attempt at a shoulder 
  nudge. "Deal." Sally looks to him, only to inform him with no great 
  seriousness, "You're okay. You might just do."

Salem takes the remark with apparent equanimity, lips crooked into a 
  half-smirk. He dips his head again like the mockery of a good servant and 
  says nothing.

[Then they go eat pizza. Yum.]