Showing Sally the Wolf

[hazlogs]

[1/31/98] [Evening]

Currently on this highly windy and freezing winter  in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 25 degrees Fahrenheit (-3.9 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the west-northwest at 32.8 mph. The ground is snowy and it is snowing. 
  Skies are overcast with a definite chance of precipitation.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (28% full).

Harbor Park Fountain
The area where the fountain was, and presumably the new fountain will be, is 
  now totally enclosed by high plywood walls. There is a door in one of the 
  walls, firmly locked with a padlock. The walls enclose much of the flagstone 
  area, now, only leaving a little around the edges of the old courtyard. To 
  one side, some ground is being leveled for further improvements. Healthy 
  green hedges line one side of the courtyard, just behind some 
  graffiti-covered benches.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the 
  park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street. The park extends to 
  the south.

Moving up from the darkened meadow comes one blonde kinswoman. Sally glances 
  around and heads for the lit ruins of the fountain.

Salem stalks in from the street, a dark figure trudging restlessly through 
  falling and fallen snow.

Once she reaches the fountain Sally takes a look at the wood, then turns back 
  to the park without leaning back against it. She shakes out her hair, 
  sending a few extra bits of snow down around her feet.

Davy is sitting on one of the benches, his head tilted back to watch the snow 
  swirling above him in the chilling wind. There's snow caught in his beard, 
  but he's sitting still with only his arms folded across his chest as a 
  concession to the extreme cold. He is wearing his heavy school ski jacket, 
  though, as well as a matching knitted cap.

Salem makes his way toward the fountain, though he doesn't spot Sally until 
  he's qute near. Interested, he alters his course to approach her. "Have a 
  nice nap?"

Sally MacKay's face turns towards the voice, a smile started even before she 
  sees him. "Mmm, yeah, I did," she stretches as if she just got up. "I love 
  sleeping during the day. What'd you do?"

Davy's head swivels vertical at the sound of voices. He blinks twice, clearing 
  snow from his lashes, and yawns. He glances at Salem and Sally, but doesn't 
  yet stand.

"Took a walk." The Ronin stops once he's within conversing distance and pushes 
  his hands further into his pockets. "Bloody weather, though."

Sally lifts her face towards the sky, closing her eyes and letting the snow 
  flakes land on it. Without altering that position, she says, "I don't mind 
  it." She raises gloved hands, catching more of the dancing, twirling bits of 
  white coldness.

Salem leans against the boards and watches the blonde kinswoman, head slightly 
  tilted so that the lank black hair partially falls across his face. "Ah. I 
  forgot. Your favorite season, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sally answers, her voice as warm as the air around them is cold. "But 
  yours was... fall? Spring?" She doesn't sound too sure of her guesses.

Salem allows himself a quiet, brief chuckle, taking a bit of the edge off the 
  aura of controlled violence that lurks behind his eyes. "Spring."

Sally MacKay brings her head back level again, looking pleasantly surprised at 
  his laugh. "Hey, you should do that more often," she chides gently as she 
  steps past him, her arm hardly an inch away from brushing his as she heads 
  for the closest bench.

Salem inhales sharply, no small thing in weather this cold, and then gathers 
  his control and follows after her, holding his facade of calm about him the 
  way a man grips his cloak in a storm.

Davy's eyes follow the pair. Then, rather than disturb the lovebirds, he 
  pushes to his feet and heads to the warmth of the Rialto.

Sally MacKay hops up to stand on the bench's seat, then brushes the top of the 
  back off with a leather-clad hand before sitting, perched there.

Davy makes his way onto the street in the west.
Davy has left.

Salem brushes snow off the bench as well, but takes a more conventional seat, 
  giving Sally the advantage of height.

"We started out here, didn't we?" Sally asks rhetorically. "Maybe we should go 
  hit the donut place again?" she jokes.

Salem snorts, amusedly. "Keep eating donuts and you'll lose that, mm, girlish 
  figure of yours."

Sally MacKay's hand shoots out and lightly wacks his shoulder. "Fuck you," she 
  returns with a smile, and just as much amusement.

"Promises, promises," the Garou retorts, with a casual humor that's betrayed 
  by the intent glimmer in his eyes.

The blonde continues their banter, "In your dreams, Rover." Feigning a 
  stuck-up air, Sally sticks her nose up and turns her face away; shaking 
  shoulders betray her nearly escaping laugh.

Salem snorts. "You don't even know what you're missing, woman."

Bit by bit, the laughter comes into her voice, "Fleas? Walkies? Chew toys all 
  over the place?" She peeks back at him, checking for reaction.

Salem snorts again. Perhaps it's the moon's thinness that allows his humor to 
  slip past the rage. Perhaps it's just that it's _Sally_. "You've been 
  associating with the Gnawers for too long."

"Yeah?" curiosity wars with the the humor in Sally's eyes. "Why do you say 
  that?"

Salem leans back in the bench, affecting an air of superior arrogance that's 
  not entirely feigned. "They've given you the _utterly_ wrong idea about us. 
  I can assure you that _I_ do not require... 'walkies.'"

Sally MacKay lets the play subside. "Well, Elan wasn't too hot on the idea of 
  leashes, either, really. But he does look like a dog." She looks over at the 
  Ronin, her expression growing even more serious.

Salem smirks. "Of course he does. But _I_ am very much a wolf, thank you."

Sally MacKay continues to look side-long at him. "Lemme see?" she asks, though 
  not sounding one hundred precent sure about it herself.

Salem tilts his head, looking up at her with a considering expression. "If you 
  like," he says, after a moment. "But not out here, of course."

Sally MacKay nods and stands up from her seat, no bouncing this time. "Where?"

Salem rises as well, brushing snow from his coat. "Your place?"

Sally MacKay nods, "Okay, cool." She starts for the park's exit, then picks up 
  where their joking left off, "But you gotta promise not to shead."

Salem follows gamely, though the tension within him has risen a notch. Still, 
  he manages to keep his tone smooth. "On my honor."

Sally MacKay leads them out of the park and west till they hit Fifteenth 
  Street. The video store quickly comes within sight, and she proceeds him up 
  the steps and stops, hunting through her pockets for the keys.

Sally's Apartment(#3982RFJ)
Though not actually located on campus, the decor of this small apartment 
  screams 'dorm room'. At one side of the room stands a futon with its back 
  down, a few random items of clothing resting upon it. Across the room is 
  what's either a small entertainment center or a funky dresser, the contents 
  of one of the half-opened drawers suggesting the latter, although there is a 
  television on top of it. An alcove to a kitchenette occupies the third wall, 
  and the door to what is probably the bathroom shares the wall with the door 
  leading back outside. 
 
 While not exactly messy, the place does have plenty of personality. Album 
  covers and tee-shirts from concerts are tacked in seeming haphazard fashion 
  to the walls, and a row of different colored glass bottles from beer and 
  harder drinks are lined up across the sill of the room's single window, 
  sending an aray of colored patches of light onto the walls when the sun is 
  at the right angle. A rug of a rather deep shade of purple covers most of 
  the visible floor, adding its own skew to the image the apartment presents.

Salem keeps his hands in his pockets, his expression a mixture of wary tension 
  and bemusement.

Sally MacKay pulls out handful after handful of just random pocket stuff. "I 
  know I put them somewhere..."

Salem watches her with head tilted. amusement sparking in the dark eyes.

Sally MacKay finally just thrusts everything back in and reaches out to try 
  the door. The knob turns. "Oh, cool." She steps in and holds it for him, 
  smiling proudly as he gets his first look at her first apartment.

Salem lifts his eyebrows. "You left it unlocked? Surely that's unwise." He 
  enters the apartment, casting his glance about with intent curiosity.

"Yeah, yeah," Sally says in that 'I've heard it ten thousand times' sorta way. 
  "I don't usually forget." She closes the door and now locks it. "What do you 
  think?"

"Interesting," is Salem's assessment. His eyes rove over the concert posters, 
  though he doesn't recognize most of the bands pictured.

Sally MacKay moves around, flicking on lights and pushing a pile of clothing 
  under her futon with a foot. As she reaches the kitchen she asks, "Want a 
  drink, or coffee, or something?"

Salem unbelts the heavy leather duster and opens it as the blood begins to 
  return to his extremities. "Coffee, certainly. Black."

"Cool." From within the little kitchenette water runs, then some rattling 
  before Sally appears again. She passes by the stereo and turns it on low, 
  then faces him. The kinswoman watches him half expectantly, and half in the 
  way one would look at someone who was about to dish out a punishment.

While the kinswoman was in the kitchen, Salem has shed the heavy leather coat 
  and seated himself on the futon; when she comes out, he's removing his 
  shoes. "Shifting," he explains, "is hell on one's wardrobe."

Sally MacKay ohs. One side of her mouth quirks up in amusement. "I could, 
  like, turn around, if you want?"

Salem pauses to glance up and give her a dry, sardonic little smirk. "No. As 
  much as you might enjoy it, m'lady, I'm not going to take _that_ much off."

"Drat," Sally jokes and remains where she is, just watching. She shifts her 
  weight a little as she waits, a hint of unease covered by a veneer of humor.

Salem, despite his words, does remove quite a lot, everything but for his 
  pants, in fact, giving the blonde a glance at the physique underneath - not 
  steroid-bulky, but leanly athletic all the same, the muscles defined. There 
  seems to be an odd... mark, or something, on his chest, but he manages not 
  to give her a chance for a good look before he rises and shifts upwards, 
  slowly, forcibly _not_ using his Rage. Upward, crouching as he reaches 
  Crinos, then lowering to all fours, through the dire-wolf Hispo and down 
  again, reaching the wolf form after several seconds.

Openly curious, even evaluating, Sally's eyes move over him as he pulls his 
  shirt off. Then she crosses her arms and takes a breath in, that 
  waiting-for-something-unpleasant looking becoming much more visible in her 
  expression. She does not (cannot, perhaps) stop herself from stepping back 
  as he reaches the warform, and her lips press together as he seems to fill 
  her small apartment. Once he starts shifting down, she relaxes. A little. 
  Almost enough to take another breath in. She studies the now-wolf.

Salem gives himself a good shake and, after some thought, folds his haunches 
  and sits down. He muses that it's been a while since he's worn this form, 
  and then his eyes go upwards, to Sally, ears cocked forward.

Sally MacKay's eyes remain fixed on the Ronin and she holds her position, arms 
  folded almost defensively before her. A moment or two after he sits, she 
  drops them, then holds out a hand towards him as one night for a dog to 
  sniff; she does not step towards him, though. Quietly, even though there's 
  no one else to hear her, "You can still understand me, right?"

Salem's left ear tilts back, then forwards. He extends his neck and deigns to 
  sniff at the proffered hand, and then nods in answer to her question; the 
  up-and-down head motion looks odd on a wolf, but it's recognizably a 'yes'.

"Eh, cool." What Sally can almost totally hide to outward appearences is 
  readily visible to a lupine nose: the kinswoman is nervous. After letting 
  him sniff, she steps back before taking a sideways stride towards the 
  kitchen. "I think the coffee's ready."

Salem watches her retreat into the kitchen. By the time she's back, he's 
  reverted to human form and has pulled on the dark green t-shirt. The Ronin 
  sits crosslegged on the futon, elbows resting on his knees and fingers laced 
  together.

With a mug in each hand, Sally returns. After an approving nod at finding him 
  in his birthform, she hands him a mug and folds one leg under her to sit on 
  as she takes the other end of the futon. "So does it hurt when you change?"

Salem wraps his hands around the mug and brings it to his face, inhaling the 
  warm wroma of fresh coffee. "No, not at all, actually. Though it's damned 
  odd when it first happens."

Sally MacKay lets her very light coffee rest on her thigh. "I bet," then she 
  blinks at him, or more exactly, at his lap. "Hey, how come your pants didn't 
  rip?" Puzzlement lining her forehead, she looks back up to his face.

Salem sips his coffee. "Magic." To forestall a protest, he explains, "I really 
  don't know how to describe it better. My pants and the coat both shift forms 
  when I do. The rest would be destroyed."

It doesn't seem a protest was too likely, even before he starts to explain 
  further, Sally nods acceptingly. "You're right, though. You didn't look much 
  like a dog at all," almost before she's done speaking the mug is back to her 
  lips, covering any change of expression there. Her tone is serious, though.

Salem favors her with an approving smile. "Thank you."

Sally MacKay's eyebrows raise a little. "But wouldn't it be easier if you did? 
  The guys do it all the time, they just change and can get food anywhere..."

Salem wrinkles his nose. "It's a matter of pride, Sally. A wolf is a creature 
  of the wilds. Free, proud, intelligent. A dog is... a dog." He grimaces and 
  sips his coffee. "And, personally, I'd rather starve than lower myself to 
  wagging my tail, drooling, and _begging_ for a handout."

Sally MacKay snuggles back against the futon's cushioned back. "Yeah, they do 
  that a lot." She counts off on the fingers of her free hand, "One grabbed my 
  breakfast and ran, then Jimmy (but I didn't know it was him them), he came 
  and got me to give him my pizza one day, And Elan helped himself to my 
  McDonalds..." She's smiling, though, not looking too upset at all about the 
  losses.

Salem shakes his head a bit. "You see? Shameless."

Sally MacKay nods her agreement. "So what kind are you?"

Salem considers this, the mug near his lips. "Kind?"

"Yeah, let me add you to my list," again Sally starts counting out, "Fianna, 
  Gnawers, Star-somethings, Sisters..." She looks at him expectantly, then 
  ohs, "Or are you one of them?"

"I'm... a Ronin." Salem's face darkens as he sips his coffee. "Tribeless, 
  nameless. Outcast. I used to be a Shadow Lord, and I still have the look, 
  but officially, I am nothing at all."

"Ronin," Sally repeats softly, her eyes on his face. Mumbling apologetically, 
  "I forgot you didn't have one." She sips her coffee before continuing 
  louder, "But you're not nothing." She leans over to nudge his upper arm with 
  her hand lightly, just making some contact.

Salem shrugs a shoulder at the apology, and then goes still as she touches 
  him. The muscles of his arm tense visibly, electric, and he looks at her 
  over the top of his coffee mug, dark eyes quietly intent. "Not nothing, 
  perhaps," he murmurs. "But damned close."

Sally MacKay sits up from her lean, as casual as the Ronin isn't. She shrugs 
  at his words, not arguing, but not looking like she believes him in the 
  least, either. She finishes off her coffee and looks at the empty mug before 
  back to him. "Thanks for showing me," her voice is just a hair softer than 
  usual.

Salem murmurs, "You're welcome." He continues to regard her with dark, hooded 
  eyes.

Sally MacKay's side rests lightly against the futon's back as she faces him. 
  She returns the look curiously, almost searchingly. Quieter still, almost a 
  whisper, "I can still see it, you know."

Salem tilts his head slightly, eyebrows lifting. "'It'?"

Sally meets his eyes suddenly, her chin lifting and her expression making it 
  seem a bold gesture. "The wolf."

Salem grins, showing his teeth, the glint in his eyes adding a touch a feral 
  wildness. "Thank you."

Even though, just moments before, she looked down into her empty mug, Sally 
  raises it to her lips; as it's tilted back, the cup breaks the directness of 
  the eye contact. "Welcome," she answers once it's on its return trip back 
  down to her leg.

Salem takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax, or at least pretend to. 
  He cradles the mug between his hands and gazes into the dark, warm depths of 
  the liquid.

Sally MacKay spins up and out of her seat, carrying her mug back to the 
  kitchen; it's a short trip and she's hardly gone a second or two before 
  she's back and headed his way again.

Salem takes another swallow of coffee; he still has a few mouthfuls left. 
  Frustration tightens his features, and he continues to consider the depths 
  of his mug.

Sally holds out her hand to him. "C'mon. It's Saturday night, I don't want to 
  sit around here all night," already her expression is changing, heightening 
  with the expected fun that comes with clubbing and bar-hopping.

Salem gulps down the last of his coffee and takes her hand, pulling himself up 
  off the couch and letting himself be dragged into the kinswoman's nonstop 
  whirlwind of fun.

Sally MacKay's hand closes onto his as the two meet, then she leads him out 
  and into the awaiting city. Much drinking follows, as does dancing with him, 
  or without if he chooses to sit out.

[Actually, Salem nixes on the dancing, but there's still a lot of
drinking, especially on Sally's part, and when Sally gets tipsy, she gets
flirty.  They separate at the end of the evening.]