Meeting the Glass Walkers

[hazlogs]

Currently on this breezy and cold winter dusk in the general St. Claire area, 
  it is 32 degrees Fahrenheit (0.0 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming from 
  the south at 8.15 mph. The ground is snowy and it is snowing. Skies are 
  overcast with a definite chance of precipitation.
It is currently 17:39 Pacific Time on Tue Feb 24 1998.
Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (11% full).

[ A phone conversation between JJ Malone
[ and Salem.  He got Malone's beeper number from Chugs 
[ and called from a payphone outside the abandoned Rialto Theatre.
[ JJ calls back after about five minutes.

Long distance to JJ Malone: Salem picks it up after the first ring. Male 
  voice, clipped tones, sounds educated. No easily decernable accent. "Hello?"
JJ Malone pages: Someone at this number paged me?
You paged JJ Malone with 'Yes, I did. Pete Barlow gave me this number.'.
From afar, JJ Malone's voice is gender neutral, and sounds a touch tight to 
  anyone noticing such things as he responds, "Who am I speaking to?"
You paged JJ Malone with 'My name is Jack Salem. Is there someplace we can 
  meet?'.
From afar, JJ Malone | There's a pause, then, "Dark Wine & Roses cafe, in an 
  hour. Have a pink rose sitting on the table."
Long distance to JJ Malone: Salem is silent for a moment, and then says, "Very 
  well." The phone clicks as he hangs up.

[Scene change]

Dark Wine and Roses - Cafe(#2116RJM)
This room is bright and airy. The walls are still a cheerful white, and the 
  floors, moldings, and beams are identical to the ones in the bookshop. An 
  oak-and-marble counter is set close to one wall, and a bar can be seen 
  behind it. A swinging door next to the bar leads into the kitchen, which can 
  be glimpsed when the door is opened. In addition to the lights hanging from 
  the ceiling, several fans are also visible. Large windows open onto the 
  patio outside. Tables and booths of various sizes are scattered around the 
  room. 
A glass door on the west wall leads out onto the patio, while the archway to 
  the east leads into the bookshop proper. The door to the kitchen is behind 
  the counter to the north.

From afar, JJ Malone timewarps and heads for DWR. As a note, JJ'd be trying 
  intentionally to be late. Would Salem be there on time?
You paged JJ Malone with 'Yeah, he'd be very punctual. Even early.'.

Salem sit in one of the corner booths, out of the way, and very much by 
  himself. In fact, there's nobody sitting at the tables or booths adjacent to 
  his own. There's a cup of coffee, almost entirely untouched, and a rather 
  limp-looking pink rose.

[JJ's desc]
All but the least perceptive would notice that there's something not *quite* 
  right with this person. J.J. is about 5'11" and around 140-150 pounds in a 
  wiry, boxy form which gives no hint of gender. He appears to be in his early 
  twenties, although it's hard to judge. His dark brown hair is cut short and 
  tapered, parted to one side and brushed down smoothly. His facial features 
  have a foreign cast under medium-dark, olive-toned skin, although the 
  predominant feature is the black-rimmed mirrored sunglasses worn no matter 
  the weather, time of day, or his location. The black suit he's wearing is 
  well made but not apparently expensive, teamed with a white shirt, black 
  tie, and black leather dress shoes.

[Salem's desc]
        Tall and dark, he stands a few inches over six feet, a striking and 
  rather dangerous-looking man in his mid-twenties. Black hair, not quite 
  shoulder length, frames hawkish features and a high forehead, the dark eyes 
  deep-set. It's a face tailor-made for brooding and cynicism, and he excels 
  at both moods. He's handsome, albeit in a devilish, saturnine kind of way, 
  but rarely does he seem truly relaxed, and often a sharp and tense hatred 
  seems to rage just beneath the surface of his flesh, a murderous anger held 
  in check by a tight and uncertain control. A black goatee lines his lips and 
  jaw, and a thick scar runs down the left side of his face, just missing the 
  eye. In short, he has the look of the very devil about him, a Lucifer fallen 
  from grace, bitter about his fate and prone to dark moods and unprovoked 
  violence.
        The tails of his duster nearly sweep the ground when he walks, and the 
  sturdy black leather of the garment shows signs of wear; it's clearly seen 
  better months. A pair of black sweatpants cover his legs and lower torso. A 
  rather faded blue workshirt hangs open over a white longsleeved t-shirt, and 
  his sneakers look battered.  <<+details>>

JJ Malone is a study of monochrome, a simple suit of black with white shirt 
  his attire, a black overcoat mantling it. A cigarette burns, clenched in one 
  corner of his mouth suavely, trailing blue-white smoke behind him like a 
  pennant as he approaches the counter. The serving person seems only slightly 
  less nervous around this oddity than the man sitting by himself, but serves 
  up a coffee, light with extra sugar, with alacrity. The man gives a shallow, 
  congenial smile made feral by a bare thinning of his lips, then moves to 
  seat himself at the loner's table as if he belongs there. "Good evening, Mr. 
  Salem," he says in a voice pitched low to discourage eavesdropping.
Salem sits up, slender fingers entwining themselves on the table before him. 
  Dark eyes flick over Malone, and for a moment a flicker of uncertainty 
  passes over his features. It's gone quickly, and his manner turns brisk, 
  businesslike over the slumbering rage. "Good evening. You're... JJ Malone?"
JJ Malone's brow flickers with a frown, there and gone, as he gives a barely 
  perceptible nod centered primarily on his chin. "What can I do for you, Mr. 
  Salem?" he asks with noticable bluntness.
Salem tilts his head slightly. "I know Barlow's mentioned me to you, and I 
  know he has a tendency to talk." A quirk of dry humor ghosts over the 
  goatee'd lips and is gone. "In any case... for certain reasons I won't go 
  into yet, I am... unaffiliated. I wish to change that."
JJ Malone's head tilts a fraction in question at the word choice, but seems to 
  keep up without missing a beat. "And I fit in, how?"
The shabby clothing seems out of place on Salem all of a sudden; his manner 
  and speech would fit better in a suit, though as a businessman, he'd indeed 
  be the cut-throat (or rip-out-throat-and-disembowel) variety. "He said you 
  were the head of those I'm interesting in affiliating myself with."
Interest touches JJ's expression barely as he looks on, and he studies the man 
  for a few moments. After those seconds pass, he leans forward, resting 
  forearms against the edge of the table. "I might be," he says 
  non-committally. "Why should we, though?"
Again that quirk of dry humor flickering across Salem's features. "'I can run 
  and fight and spoil a story telling it,'" he quotes, and then moves his 
  shoulders in a slight shrug. "I know the value of loyalty and hidden power. 
  I have detailed knowledge of certain photo-phobic elements that I've heard 
  have been making trouble in the city. I can pull my weight." His chin lifts 
  slightly, with a flash of nobly-born arrogance. "And more."
JJ Malone brings steepled hands up before his chin, fingertips tapping against 
  thinly pursed lips. "Anyone of our ilk worth its salt should be able to do 
  that. Why our family?"
Salem frowns slightly. "I've... come to like the city. It's grown on me. Apart 
  from Barlow's people, yours is best adapted. I have, though, a personal, mm, 
  antipathy for rolling around in trash and sewage, which makes joining 
  Barlow's people... an unattractive option. Though," he adds, "not as 
  unattractive as some."
JJ Malone's brows come together, as if behind the mirrored lenses of his 
  sunglasses, his eyes have narrowed thoughtfully. After a short amount of 
  time, he leans back a fraction and shows his hands palm-up while saying, 
  "You realize I can't give you an answer this evening, yes?"
Salem smiles, the coiled tension relaxing a hair. "I realize this. In fact, I 
  expected that it would be necessary to prove myself to you in some way."
Jayson walks in from the bookshop.
Jayson has arrived.
JJ Malone sits at a table surrounded by a good deal of 'white space', coffee 
  cups before both men and a limp, pink rose lying on the table like a 
  boundary. Low-pitched, in response to something Salem has said, the metis 
  smiles faintly, sardonically, and says, "Your expectation would be correct. 
  And...as much as I hate to ask it, I'm also going to require you explain why 
  you're unaffiliated in the first place. Security, you know."
Salem's smile evaporates, but it seems he'd expected this. With the smoothly 
  controlled motion of a hunting jaguar, he lifts his coffee and sips. 
  "Naturally." His dark eyes are cool. "When we can speak at length someplace 
  more private, I'll give you all the details you require." A small muscle 
  near his left eye twitches subtly.
Jayson steps in from the bookstore proper, white flecks of snow already 
  melting into dark spots on his overcoat. His eyes move across the patrons of 
  the cafe before settling on JJ and company. He takes his coat off with a 
  flourish and hangs it on the coatrack, then makes his way slowly to the 
  counter. He greets JJ and sits, ordering a cappachino when a server nears.

[Jayson's desc]
Apparently in his early to mid 20s, the man before you is dressed in a manner 
  that suggests that he is, at the very least, fairly well off financially. 
  His 5 foot 10 frame is a little on the thin side and, while not overly 
  muscular, the muscles he does have are toned and well defined. Long, 
  reddish-orange hair rests neatly upon his head, though it is evident that 
  only the careful application of gel keeps the hair from running wild. The 
  hair, combined with a pale skintone and other facial features, strongly 
  suggest an Irish heritage. When he speaks, his words come very fast and are 
  shaped by a strong Bostonian accent. He is wearing an expensive-looking 
  black fleece shirt, with a white, mock, turtleneck underneath. GAP bluejeans 
  and black Doc Martins complete the outfit. Over everthing else, a long khaki 
  coat is worn to ward off the cold. On the left lapel of the coat hangs two 
  buttons (+detail for more).

JJ Malone turns his head as Jayson passes and nods greeting in return, a 
  gesture of his hand inviting the theurge to join them at his will. Back to 
  Salem, he says still quietly, "Of course. I wouldn't ask you to do so here. 
  In the meantime, however," he goes on, "you could start thinking about what 
  you can do to prove yourself. It needs to be something that would convince 
  us of your sincerity and that you deserve to be one of .us.," he stresses 
  lightly.
Salem takes another sip of black coffee and sets the cup down. "I see."
Jayson thanks the server when his drink arrives and sips it once before 
  turning his attention to JJ and the person he is with. The Theurge doesn't 
  appear ready to join the conversation as much as be a witness to it.
JJ Malone's brows go up for a moment in elegant motion, then to Jayson says, 
  "May I introduce you to Jack Salem. He's requesting to join the family."
Salem's attention shifts toward Jayson, and he looks the other man over 
  carefully before dipping his head in a polite nod.
Jayson considers Jack silently for a few moments, then nods. "He lose his club 
  status somewhere else, or is he a free agent?"
JJ Malone seems willing to let Salem answer for himself.
"Unwilling free agent," answers the Ronin, calm over the slumbering violence.
Jayson nods, once, then takes another sip of his drink. "I'm sure you'll pass 
  the boards with flying colors."
"Well," J.J. breaks in with a hint of abruptness. "I hate to meet and run, but 
  I have other matters I still need to attend to this evening. Did you have 
  anything further you wanted to discuss, Mr. Salem?"
Salem lifts an eyebrow at Jayson's vote of confience and accepts it with a 
  murmured, "Thank you." Attention turning once more to Malone. "Nothing 
  further tonight, no."
JJ Malone nods crisply. "Do you have a number where I can reach you?"
Salem's smile turns wry. "I'm staying at the Rialto."
Jayson cringes slightly at Salem's answer, though he doesn't say anything in 
  response.
JJ Malone's expression is touched with a glimmer of surpressed anger. "Word of 
  advice, then. The place isn't secure for anyone except maybe Pete and his 
  brood, and that only if he's lucky. You *will* need to find new arrangements 
  before you could be fully admitted," he says while pushing to his feet.
Malone's anger sparks Salem's, but the Ronin quelches his rage mercilessly. 
  His only answer is a nod and a crisp, "Understood."
JJ Malone leans over to stub out his cigarette, then asks Jayson, "Busy?"
Jayson pulls out his wallet and lays a 5 dollar bill on the counter to cover 
  his bill, then slips 3 hundred-dollar bills out and slides it across to Salem. "Should get 
  you a chep room somewhere for the month. At least until you manage something 
  on your own." He puts his wallet back into his pocket, then adds. "Plan 
  carefully and you might be able to afford some new sneakers." He shakes his 
  head at JJ, indicating he is at the Alpha's disposal.
Anger blooms again as Jayson lays the money out, and once more Salem grips it 
  and shoves it down, with a bit more visible effort. His smile is tight, and 
  something snarls behind his eyes as he pockets the cash. "Thank you."
JJ Malone's gaze lingers on Salem a moment, before nodding to Jayson. With a 
  polite nod, he says, "Good evening, Mr. Salem," by way of farewell, taking 
  up his overcoat, then heads for the door out of the cafe.
Jayson follows dutifly after JJ, snagging his coat and offering Salem a quick 
  smile before ducking out.
Salem rises, somewhat belatedly, and stands as the two Glass Walkers depart. 
  That muscle near his eye twitches again.
Jayson walks through the archway into the bookshop.
Jayson has left.
JJ Malone walks through the archway into the bookshop.
JJ Malone has left.