Anger

[hazlogs]

Harbor Park Fountain 

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (35% full). 

Salem is a lone figure, facing the slow-moving Columbia river, hands buried
deep into his coat pockets. 

Half-dancing, half-walking, Sally heads up from the meadow. Her expression 
bright with not only smile, but with eyes alight with amusement, Sally needs
only a quick glance around before she spots the tall figure and makes her 
way to him. 

Salem continues to stare out over the river, his face an unsmiling mask of
tension, haggard with bruised shadows under tired dark eyes. He doesn't 
turn around, but speaks as Sally comes within a few feet. "How's your friend?" 

Sally hmms? She does stop walking, but it seems an effort for her to hold
still; her smile seems impossible to restrain. "Who? Which one?" 

Salem turns toward the blonde woman, the unfriendly scowl sinking deeper 
into his saturnine face. "The skinny fruit with the intense interest."
The Garou's tone is sharp, echo of the growling Rage lurking behind his
eyes and twitching under his flesh. "The one you said was... like me." 

Okay, well maybe her smile isn't /impossible/ to restrain. As it slowly
ebbs away, Sally's hands both come up, palms to him in an intended settling
motion. "Hey, chill," she takes a glance up at the sky, but the moon's
nowhere to be seen yet. "Boo? I don't know, haven't seen him yet today.
...Why?" 

Salem's gaze sharpens, his body tight with restrained fury. "Did you tell
him anything?" The Ronin's voice is accusatory, tinged with paranoia. 

Understanding comes into Sally's eyes, and with it anger. "Not any more than
I had to," she replies, a purposefully ambiguous answer. 

Salem stiffens, face spasming into an angry grimace, ungloved hands tightening
into fists inside his coat pockets. Crescent moon or not, the Rage is still
there, still burning. "God _damn_ it, Sally!" The Garou looks as though he
would dearly like to hit something. 

Sally MacKay shrugs, though watching him with a sharpness that belies the 
casual gesture. "Boo's cool," she explains, "He promised not to tell anyone 
anything." Her arms fold across her chest in an unconsciously defensive 
motion. 

Salem closes his eyes, silent for a few deep breaths, forcibly regaining the 
outword facade of calm and reasonableness. He partially succeeds. "_You_ made 
me a promise, too." His voice is quiet now. 

"Yeah, and you haven't told me any of that hush-hush stuff yet, so how could 
I run around spreading it, even if I wanted to?" Sally's expression echoes 
his as he calms, then she goes him one further. Her smile returning, she adds 
in a tone touched wth false lightness, "I'm not an idiot." 

Salem takes in a deep breath and lets it out, hissing through his teeth as he 
gazes down at her, his expression bitter. "How much did you tell him?" 

Sally MacKay takes a good, long look at him then sighs and runs a hand through 
her hair, making it clear she thinks he's overreacting. "About you? That you 
just got here and that you don't have a tribe." She ohs, and her smile edges 
towards becoming a smirk before returning back to a smile. "And that you're 
mad a lot." 

"I see." The kinswoman's blithe attitude doesn't do a damned thing to placate 
Salem, but the Garou keeps control over the urge to destroy. For now. "And 
what did he say?" 

Sally MacKay allows her smile freer range. "Didn't learn much..." she draws 
her words out almost as if to heighten the expectation. "But I did get 
something that'll come in handy." She doesn't offer just what that thing is, 
though, instead she makes him ask. 

Salem says, "Oh?" His expression is still sour, hatred snarling under the 
otherwise calm expression. 

She mm hmms and turns away just a bit, still playing her little game. "Yep. 
A warning." Sally explains in a tone that leaves little doubt she's proud of 
herself, "You said they could run you off or come after you any time they 
like, right?" 

Salem's breathing grows heavy, his face twisting like that of a man with a 
pounding headache and burning eyes. Inside the pockets of his coat, his 
hands clench and unclench, open and close slowly. "Under the law, I have no 
rights," he says. "None at all." 

Sally MacKay nods, accepting his words as truth. She looks towards the river, 
letting him watch her smiling profile, "Yeah, well if they do decide to do 
that, Boo'll be letting me know." As might be expected, her smile grows. 

"You arrogant, naive little _bitch_!" Salem spits the words out. He takes a 
half-step toward her before he can stop himself. "You god-damned cunt, I 
trusted you to keep your fucking mouth _shut_! Did he ask how you _knew_ what 
I was? I broke the fucking law for the sake of your fucking need to know, and 
you can't even keep your damned mouth shut about it!" 

Sally's face snaps back towards him, the shock in her eyes would be no greater
had the Ronin actually struck her. The expression is soon smothered by a flair
of anger, and at her sides her hands ball into fists. Her first response is
her usual one, though this time it's flung with more indignation, "Fuck you!"
Then the anger in her eyes burns colder as she turns to face him straight-on.
"Big fuckin' surprise you're alone. I bet /that's/ why you don't have a tribe,
you probably treated 'em like shit and they kicked your ass out!" 

The words are hardly out of Sally's mouth when Salem's hand lashes out in an
open-handed slap at her face, quick as a cobra and with just as much lack of 
hesitation. 

The blonde's head snaps to one side with the direction of the blow. She gasps
and steps back, her jaw falling open in surprise. Staring at him with widened
eyes, her mouth remains open until she manages in a small, disbelieving
voice, "You hit me." 

Salem's breath puffs out, harsh and visible in the frigid air, panting as
though from a long run. He seems almost as much in shock as she is. He says
nothing, just stands there staring back at her, the small muscle near his left
eye twitching subtly. 

One of Sally's hands slowly lifts to touch her reddening cheek with careful
fingertips. "I was just trying to help," she says in a tone suddenly sullen,
the voice of a young girl protesting an overly harsh punishment. Her eyes
remain on his face, the anger gone out of them as quickly as it rose. 

Salem pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, shaking one out and putting it
in his mouth to light. His hands shake slightly. "I've already made my
arrangements with my... family here," he mutters, not quite looking at her.
"I don't need that kind of help." He pauses a moment, and then adds, "Thank
you." But the last two words sound hollow, falling into the snow like
lead-filled baloons. 

She watches him for a moment after his last words, her hand dropping back to
her side, her lips a tight line across her face. "Fine, then I won't try to
help again. Sorry," Sally's apology comes out just as flat as his thanks.
"I got somewhere I gotta be," she says as she turns away and starts walking
off towards the street. 

The throaty growl of a motorbike grows louder, through the magic of
Dopplerian physics, then dies across the street from the park. Its rider
dismount and strolls across the street toward the park gates. 

Salem looks up just as she turns to go, watching her in silence, the end of
his cigarette a small orange glow in the evening's dimness, his expression
hollow. 

Sally strides away from the Garou and towards the gate, moving without that
bounce her step usually holds. Her head lifts as she sees Cutter and she
alters her course just enough to intercept him. Once she's close enough,
he'd have a hard time missing the handprint on her cheek. She speaks a few
words quietly, meant for Cutter's ears alone, "Give me a lift?" 

Cutter glances around the park quickly. His duty having thus been dispensed,
he nods and moves aside to give the girl room. 

Salem turns away once Sally's gotten out of earshot, now facing the
slow-moving, glurky river. The end of the cigarette glows faintly, breath
wafting up and mingling with the grayish smoke. 

Sally MacKay steps past Cutter and out of the park. She glances up and down
the street to locate his bike, then heads for it without a backwards glance.