Just Another Night at the Pool Hall

[hazlogs]

Salem steps in from the street.

Salem has arrived.

The pool hall is quiet, the post-dinner crowd a few hours away yet. Sally,
looking somewhat bored, stands behind the bar, drying glass mugs.

Salem wanders in, hands folded into his coat pockets and a distinctly smug
expression on his face.

The blonde looks towards the door as it opens and drops her towel once
Salem steps into view. "Howdy, stranger," she calls, lifting one of the
fresh glasses and heading for the taps.

Salem tips an invisible hat and heads for the bar with a brisk step.
"Afternoon, Mustang." He smirks. "Get enough sleep last night?"

Sally sets the mug down before Salem, but not before helping herself to a
sip. Her smile blooms as she answers, "I got some." Indicating him with a
pointing of her chin, "You look mighty happy, how much did /you/ get?"

Salem perches himself on a bar stool and gathers the mug close. He grins
archly at the blonde. "It isn't how much you get," he replies. "It's what
you do beforehand."

"Damn straight," Sally agrees, raising her hand as if saluting him with a
glass. Then she leans forward, crossing her arms on the bar's top. "So
what's her name?"

Salem chuckles, lifting the beer mug to his lips. "What was /his/?"

A blink, a pause, and an 'uh' later, Sally says, "Josef."

"You like them like that?" Salem asks, a glitter flickering across his
eyes. "Beefcake?"

"Sometimes," she answers vaguely, her eyes not leaving his and her hand
reaching out for his mug. "What was your friend's name?" she asks again.

Salem takes another sip, and then relinquishes the mug to Sally. "Gwyneth."

Sally takes her sip, then lingers with the mug as she asks, "Where'd you
meet her?"

"Charlie's." Salem's eyes seem to half-close, like those of a smug cat.

Sally MacKay smiles in anticipation of the story. "Yeah? When?"

Salem reaches for the beer. "Week or so ago, I think. I forget exactly."

The kinswoman takes another small sip, then hands it back. "Cool. You gonna
see her again?"

Salem's manner is the picture of nonchalance, one corner of his lip quirked
upward. "Probably."

"You should introduce us next time," Sally suggests, then nods at her own
idea.

Salem swallows some beer, eyebrows lifting at Sally. "Oh?"

Sally MacKay nods. "Yeah, that way I can check her out, make sure she's not
just after your money," her tone is serious, her expression not.

Salem makes a scornful, amused little sound. "Oh, yes. I'm so terribly
wealthy." He lifts his chin slightly, regarding her. "Perhaps /I/ should
check out this Josef fellow of yours..."

Sarah steps in from the street.

Sarah has arrived.

Sally is behind the bar, leaning across it as she chats with Salem. She
shrugs casually and chuckles, "Dude, I bet anything you find will be
/nothing/ compared to what you're keeping from your girlfriend." Her eyes
gleam with a shared secret.

Sarah pushes the door open, and looks inside. For a minute, she considers
leaving, but a smirk broadcasts her change of mind. She continues in,
removing her scarf.

Salem makes an amused chuckling noise. "Mmm. All men have secrets. Don't
you know that yet, Mustang?"

[Sarah]
Coarse blue-black hair spills heavily over her shoulders, to the small of
her back, uniform in color save a lock of pure silvered-grey that falls on
the right side of her part. Her eyes are slightly narrow, their color an
almost-black brown, eyelashes thick. Her features are broad, and full:
expressive eyebrows arch over an elegant nose, and full lips set in a
permanent near-pout, complimenting the smooth sun-browned tones of her
complexion.

The face might not match the body, however. 5'10", she carries a distinctly
athletic frame, like that of a middleweight bodybuilder. Still, she manages
to carry herself with relative grace. She wears a short sleeved turtleneck,
tucked neatly into a pair of faded jeans, beneath a worn canvas jacket, in
drab brown. A multi-colored scarf is tucked carelessly into the collar. The
jeans, in turn, tuck into new-looking hiking boots. She wears a simple
chain around her neck, golden, and a silver ring on her left index finger.

Sarah calls, "Beer good?"

Sally looks past Salem as the door opens, greeting Sarah with a 'hey' and a
hand raised in a simple wave. "Yeah, but theirs aren't half as interesting
as ours," she answers him quietly, then rises. "Beer's /always/ good. Tap
okay?"

Salem turns slightly on his barstool to regard the new arrival. The facade
of amiability slips as he looks Sarah over.

Sarah heads for the bar. "Yep." She spares Salem a short nod.

Salem nods back after a brief hesitation and brings his beer mug to his
lips.

Sally fetches her drink and heads around the bar as she calls a question,
"Want a table, too?"

Merria steps in from the street.

Merria has arrived.

Sarah's eyes shift back to Sally. "Sure. Don't wanna interrupt." Brief hint
of a smile.

Merria pushes the door in, skootches inside, and shuts the door behind her
with a bang, leaning against it as she stamps the snow off her feet and
surveys the interior.

Sally MacKay reaches under the counter for a beat-up clipboard. "Table for
a half-hour, hour, or evening?" she asks as she places the beer before
Sarah. The opening door catches her attention. "Hey there, you," she calls.

Salem looks up as the door opens again, and he lifts his mug to Merria in
vague salute.

Merria lights up. "Hey, Sally. Hey, Salem." She heads over to the bar and
scrambles up onto a stool near Salem, regarding Sarah and the other patrons
she doesn't know with undisguised curiosity.

Sarah watches Merria come from one direction, until she has to look over
the other shoulder to watch. Sally gets answered, eventually. "Hour. Might
be bored before then. Then you get a break."

Sally MacKay nods, checks, and jots down a few things, then points out the
cues and such, then gives Sarah her total. "And just yell if you need a
refill."

Salem eyes Merria over the rim of his glass.

Merria spins around on the barstool once, catches herself on the edge of
the counter, and grins up at Salem and his beer. "Got your own this time?"
she asks mischievously.

Sarah nods mutely, and goes about collecting the balls from the pocket
under the table, and racking them up.

Salem lifts his eyebrows archly at the Bone Gnawer. "Indeed." A quirk of
humor flickers across his face.

Merria grins. Then she turns her attention to the pool tables. "Do you know
how to play?"

Slipping the board back under the counter, Sally turns towards the small
Gnawer with a smile. "Soda? Coke?"

Merria slides her attention to Sally and shakes her head. "At those prices?
No way." She grins, though, taking away any possible bite of the words.

"Billiards?" Salem sets his beer down and shakes his head at Merria. "Do
you?"

The kinswoman laughs. "I told you, talk to Reggie. Be damned if he listens
to me." She glances between the two, "You guys want a table?"

Merria shakes her head to Salem. "Nope. Looks kinda cool though, doesn't
it?" She leans backward on the stool, hooking her feet around the pole that
supports it, in order to watch the games better.

A sharp crack from the back of the room indicates that Sarah's begun her
game. One thunk announces the sinking of a ball, and the Uktena begins her
prowl around the table.

Salem considers Merria thoughtfully. "Do you play chess?"

Merria shakes her head again. "Nope. Want to teach me?"

"I don't have a set," replies Salem.

Merria grins brightly. "I could find you one." Then, to Sally, she says,
"/Reggie/ said first one was on the house."

Salem's lips curve in a sardonic smile. "I'd bet you could," he murmurs.

Sally MacKay moves back down the bar and starts to put away the glasses
again. She looks back to Merria and huhs? "/Reggie/ said that? Reggie? Big
guy, into fur?" She smiles, "You sure?"

"Well," Merria says, "He said that, but then he gave me a beer." She
wrinkles her nose good humoredly.

"Oh, give her a bloody soda, Sally. You give everyone /else/ freebies."
Salem sounds to be equal parts bored, amused, and irritable.

A quieter crack precedes two more *thumps* into pockets on the table. Sarah
allows herself the tiniest upcurve of one side of her mouth, then swallows
it again, and searches for the next shot.

"Shhhhh," Merria says, nudging Salem lightly with her elbow. "I was
dickering."

"Do not," Sally teases Salem, feigning a childish tone. She inclines her
head to Merria, though. "Just don't mention it to Reggie, hear? He'd throw
a hissy fit."

Salem jerks slightly at Merria's elbowing. New moon or not, the unexpected
touch causes brief tension, quickly repressed. He smiles thinly at her.
"Oh. I see."

"Aw," Merria says. "I won't tell him anythin', anyhow. He doesn't play
fair." To Salem she says apologetically, "Sorry. Forgot."

Salem accepts the apology with a half-shrug. Good humor curdled a bit now,
the Ronin finishes off his beer and pushes the empty glass toward Sally.

Sally MacKay returns with the soda, but does not place it down just yet.
"We could still dicker if you like," she offers in her most helpful tone,
then sets it before the Gnawer anyway. "He doesn't play fair?"

Sarah pauses in her game to take two or three swallows of beer, and to
squint over the glass at the conversation at the bar. She sets the glass
down on the tables edge, and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

Using a single finger to push the glass back to the Ronin, Sally teases
him, "Nuh-uh. You're cut off, dude."

"Cut off?" Salem tilts his head slightly and eyes Sally. "You're cutting
/me/ off?"

Merria pulls the soda toward her and takes a long sip. She starts to
respond, then falls worriedly silent at this new development.

Smiling, her eyebrows raised a touch as if in surprise at his questioning
of her statement, Sally gives him a single firm nod. "Yep," she states, no
less teasingly than before.

Crack. *thump* And again. Crack-thump. Sarah tells the table, "Too easy,"
and sinks another ball, then replacs the cue back into it's wall holder,
collects her beer glass, and heads for a table.

"Oh, wow," Merria says softly. "There goes the neighborhood." She looks
back at the pool tables, waiting for the explosion.

The expression on Salem's face is unsmiling, with eyes slightly narrowed,
but his tone is light and bantering; the contrast makes it difficult to
tell how irritated he really is. "Mm. Perhaps I should take my business
elsewhere."

Perhaps Sally is aware of the moon's slightness, or more likely she's just
not thinking the consequences through. Tilting her head towards the door,
she invites him to try. "Think you could do better elsewhere, huh?" Moment
by moment, her expression is brightening; the kinswoman seems to enjoying
her game.

A young tough from one of the other games watches Sarah to his table, and
after a quiet conference with his friends, hands off his cue, and shadows
her to where she sits. If she notices, she makes no sign of it, choosing
instead to drain her glass. He stands a minute, maybe a minute and a half,
then offers, "You ain't all that."

Merria pushes her soda to one side and then the other, watching Sarah and
the tough, listening to Salem and Sally.

Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (3% full).

Salem leans over the bar to murmur something to the blonde kinswoman.

You sense Salem's tone is sardonic. "I've already done better elsewhere.
Tease."

Sarah, without looking up, says, "Maybe not. Not interested. Get another
beer?" That last directed at Sally.

Sally's face nears then passes Salem's as she leans across the bar. After
listening, she laughs and aims a bat at his shoulder. "Screw you," she says
in a light tone, then grabs his glass and gets him his refill. Sarah's
words catch her attention and she nods, "Coming right up." She fills two
mugs.

Merria grins at her soda and takes another sip.

Salem ducks the blow and leans back, smiling with the smug, feral
satisfaction of a cat.

Merria traces pictures in the condensation on her mug and directs a
sidelong grin at the ronin. "Chess, hunh?"

The tough is not so easily put off. "Don't matter if you're interested,
bitch. You in the wrong place to be pulling attitude, you get it?" His
voice lowers. "You wanna stay, you play. Me."

After filling them, Sally sets Salem's down before him hard enough to slosh
some of it over the rom. Sarah's in hand, she heads around the bar and out
into the hall. "Here you go," she gives it over once within range, gracing
the tough with a 'be good' look and a smile.

Salem glances a Merria. "I'm an impatient teacher," he tells her, his mood
lightening slightly. "Checkers?" He ignores the developing incident with
the dark woman and the pool-playing tough.

Merria's eyes slew back around to Sarah, before she even gets Salem's
response. "Gosh," she says, in a bright, far-carrying, cheerful voice. "Did
you hear that guy? He thinks /she's/ got attitude."

Sarah takes the beer with a murmur of thanks, and takes another two or
three good swallows, before she sets the glass down. "Don't play by your
rules," she tells the tough. "Be a good idea to drop it. Go finish your
game."

The tough, backed by the poorly muffled laughter of his comrades, ignores
Sally, and levels a finger at Merria in true 'You're next' street posture.
He grins, and looks over his shoulder at his crowd, when Sarah speaks,
though. "You hear that? She don't play by my rules. Damn. Everyone plays by
my rules, girl. Mine's the only rules."

With a muttered, "Fuck," Sally shakes her head and walks back around the
bar. At first she reaches behind herself, then frowns. She reaches for
something under the bar, then says quietly to Salem, "Willing to earn your
beers?"

Salem notes that Sally has filled his beer mug after all, and the smug look
takes firmer root on his face. He takes a sip, dark eyes only now turning
toward the tough. He looks the man up and down, expression scornful, and
then glances at Sally. "Mm? How?"

Eyes dancing with mischief, Merria slides down off her stool and ambles
over toward Sarah and the tough. "Sounds like whatchamacallit, delusions of
grandeur, wouldn't you say?" she calls back over her shoulder. "/Almost/
sounds like he wanted to start a fight or somethin', but heck, that
couldn't be right, now, could it?"

Sally eyes Merria as she eggs the punk on, then glances towards Salem.
"Don't let them bust up the place. Toss them outside, they can kill each
other there."

The tough, Rico, according to the comments coming from the crowd now,
gladly turns his attention on Merria, rather than Sarah, bellying right up
to her. "Don't put your nappy-assed nose in where it don't belong, snip.
You liable to get hurt."

Sarah looks Merria over, from bottom to top, and back again, then reaches
for her beer glass, without comment.

Salem's smile widens a bit, but there's nothing friendly about the
expression. He rises smoothly to his feet and paces over toward the scene
of growing tension, moving with a prowling self-confidence. Under his skin,
the rage wakes up a little, baring its teeth, alert. He angles his approach
to come up behind the tough, but doesn't take any pains to be stealthy.

Sally MacKay nods as Salem moves to join the others, one of her hands
remaining hidden under the bar. She watches the growing situation closely.

Merria gazes up at the young punk, eyes appallingly round and dark. She
says, in a little voice, "You wouldn't hurt /me/....would you?" She does
not appear to notice Salem at all, but she does - quite accidentally, of
course, move just a little to one side so that, if Rico keeps his attention
on her, he will have his back entirely to Salem. She stays just two inches
beyond arm's reach.

Rico's friends turn out to be not such good friends, as they stay over by
their pool table, snickering. Maybe too strung out to do anything else.
Rico himself grins a grin that misses three teeth on the right side of his
upper jaw. "I got no problems with beatin' your bony ass, girl. After my
business's through." He looks back to Sarah, and continues to present his
back to Salem. "Get up," he orders.

Sarah, who's likewise seen Salem, now looks up at Rico, but doesn't move.

Salem, very calmly, very casually, taps Rico on the shoulder. And, just as
casually, invokes a gift of his auspice to make the arrogant bastard fall
down. The feral smile never leaves his face, nor the dangerous glint in his
dark eyes.

Sally glances down at whatever it is she has under the bar, then both of
her hands reappear as empty as they were before. Folding her arms across
the bar, she relaxes and falls into the role of casual observer as Salem
moves into place.

Merria gives Salem a sunny grin. "Want me to take his feet?"

Rico's knees, predictably, go out from beneath him, and he stumbles into
Sarah's shoulder, then onto the floor. He splutters, picks out Salem's
face, and immediately begins the process of climbing back to his feet. "Oh,
all right, asshole. *Now* I'm pissed. Gonna break every goddamn bone in
your body," he threatens. His crew burst into loud, raucous laughter, now.

And Sarah just watches.

Sally leans further across the bar as the guy seems to fall on his own,
then she shakes her head continues watching.

"Woops!" Merria says brightly, accidentally stepping firmly on Rico's hand.
"So clumsy."

Salem spreads his hands, almost invitingly. That smile of his never
falters; in fact, it seems to take deeper root onto his face, and his eyes
have become hard, even bloodthirsty. Like the protagonist of _A Clockwork
Orange_. "Outside," he says, fixing his eyes on Rico's face.

Merria looks up at Salem's face, sighs, and retreats.

Rico howls, and tugs twice on the hand beneath Merria's foot before he gets
it free, leaving the skin on his knuckles somewhere between the floor and
the bottom of her shoe. Clutching the hand to his chest, he completes the
climb to his feet. "*Fuck* you," he spits, in the Ronin's face.

Salem's hand moves too fast for the human eye to follow. One moment, it's
resting almost at his side. The next, it's a fist arrowing straight for
Rico's face.

Merria goes over to hold the door open, like a butler.

All laughter stops, and one of the crew gets out an, "Oh, shit," before
they go completely silent. Rico has no time to react. Rather, his head
snaps backward, he stands a moment longer, then topples back to the floor.

Sarah drains her beer glass, sets it on the table, and tugs her foot out
from under Rico's arm.

"Outside, outside," Sally urges, but her voice is likely too soft to even
carry to the other side of the counter; Sally sppears torn between trying
to keep the place in one piece during her shift, and her excitement over
the fight.

Merria sings softly, tunelessly, "Yes we've got trouble with a capital T
and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pool."

Salem flexes his hand idly as he studies the downed Rico for movement. The
smile has evaporated, but the rage continues to growl behind his face and
tauten his nerves.

No worries, Sally. The other three, that make up Rico's crew, edge their
narrow selves around the pool tables, past Salem, and break for and through
the door, passing Merria without comment.

Merria bows politely to the exiting thugs. "Come back any time, Messieurs.
Our door is always open..." To Salem she says, "Very efficient. You okay?"
She cannot possibly be wondering if he is injured, under the circumstances.

The downed Rico does not move, for a moment. Consciousness seeps back in in
the next, however, and one hand flits toward his nose, spilling blood as it
is, before he even attempts to sit up.

"Speak for yourself," Sally calls jokingly to Merria, this time loud enough
to carry. She adds a nod of thanks and a smile, if the Gnawer happens to
look her way.

"I'm fine," says Salem quietly. He steps over toward Rico's head and
crouches down. "I'm giving you an opportunity to walk out on your own two
feet." His tone is mild, in contrast to the snarling, primal,
violence-hungry tension in his body. "This is your /last/ opportunity."

Merria grins back at Sally, clearly having the time of her life, and then
looks back at Salem and Rico.

Rico studies the blood on his hand, then looks beyond it, at Salem. "You
broke my nose, you son of a bitch. Fuck you and your last opportunity. Tell
it to the cops." Once more, he attempts to get up.

"Oh, gosh," Merria says. "Mr. Rico," she calls. "Mr. Rico, the door is over
here. Nice, pretty door. Why break more than your nose, Mr. Rico...?"

Salem shrugs and straightens up. "I gave you fair warning," he tells Rico.
"Now leave. You can skulk outside and ambush me later tonight, if it will
satisfy you. But there'll be no fighting in /here/."

Now Sally circles the bar to join the others. "You really should listen to
him," She advises brightly as she walks, "Who do you think they'd believe?
You, or this place's manager," she cocks a thumb at herself, "and a room
full of folks who'd back her up?"

Rico stands, finally, and looks over at Merria, back to Salem, then at
Sally, and back at Salem. He moves, then, toward the door, though he turns
to walk backward, one hand clapped to his nose, the other pointed at Salem.
"You a dead man. And you," he adds, shifting the finger to Sarah. "You
deader than him." He nearly bumps into Merria, then turns, and leaves.

Salem simply smiles arrogantly at the departing Rico, his hand still
flexing idly.

Merria holds the door for Rico with style. "Our motto," she says as he
goes, "Is service with a smile."

Sally MacKay grins as Rico leaves, reaching up to pat Salem's arm. Her hand
hovers in the air a moment, and drops before actually making contact,
seemingly without Sally noticing. She steps towards Sarah, "You okay? Need
another drink?" Beer, Sally's cure-all.

Merria closes the door and dusts her hand off, returning to Sarah, Salem,
and Sally with a pleased bounce in her step.

Sarah now takes time to size up Salem in silence. When she's satisfied
herself, she rises, picks up the beer glass, and hands it over to Sally
with a nod. "Thanks. Whatever they want, too. Got food?"

"Another round?" Sally confirms with a smile, then shakes her head.
"Peanuts, mostly. I'll see what I can dig up. She returns to the bar and
starts pulling the drinks.

Salem glances at Sarah, returning her appraising glance, and then at Sally.
His eye soon falls on Merria, and he gives the small Ragabash a faint
smile. "You," he says, "have style."

Merria beams. "You're pretty spiffy yourself," she says. She wipes her
right hand off on the seat of her pants and thrusts it out towards Sarah.
"Merria Parker."

Sarah doesn't seem to mind the fact that Merria's hand is dirty, despite
the wiping. She takes it in hers, and shakes it, firmly. "Sarah Montoya."

Merria grins and leans a little closer. "You didn't mind us buttin' in like
that, did you? You looked like you could probably handle it, but it was
more fun this way."

Salem's attention turns back to Sarah, and he offers his own hand a beat
after Merria. "Jack Salem."

Two mugs of beer and a glass of coke, along with a bowl of only slightly
stale salty snacks get placed on a water-stained tray, then are carried to
the group by the blonde kinswoman. "Here you go," she smiles as she holds
it for folks to take their drinks. Salem gets an extra thankful smile, then
she offers her name to Sarah, "Sally, or Mustang, either's cool."

Sarah takes Salem's hand, as well, pumping it once, and nodding at the man,
before she answers Merria. "Not my place, taking away someone else's fun,
yeah?" Sarah collects her beer from the tray, and gives Sally a short nod
of acknowledgment.

Salem smiles briefly at Sarah and then turns toward the pool hall's
'manager', looking as though he's suddenly gotten an idea. "Mustang."

Balancing the tray on one hand, she takes off his mug and hands it to him
without taking her usual share of it. "What?" she asks, noting his
expression.

"Yeah, well," Merria says, one eye on Salem and Sally. "We kinda took
yours, but hey. All's well that's much ado."

Salem takes his beer and steps toward Sally. Once the incident is over, the
Ronin seems almost calm. "That twit might return. If he doesn't, there are
plenty of other twits in the city." One eyebrow lifts. "Has your employer
ever considered the need for a bouncer?"

Merria gives Salem a sudden, gaping grin, then mouths the word 'twit'
silently, and looks altogether delighted.

Sarah nods at Merria. "Happens," she says, and falls silent again.

"Yeah," Sally answers in a wry grumble, "he's got me. C'mon," she beckons
for him to follow her back to the bar.

Salem grins slightly and follows the blonde, beer in hand.

Merria takes her new soda and takes a long sip of it. "You come here
often?"

Sarah's lips twist. "No." She swallows a few mouthfuls of beer.

Merria grins. "Gonna?"

Sally MacKay leads the Ronin behind the bar and to the spot she watched
most of the fight from. She reaches and shows him something without raising
it high enough for the others to see it. She speaks quietly to him, her
brows raised in slight amusement.

Salem sets his beer mug on the bar and tilts his head toward Sally,
listening.

"Depends," is Sarah's answer.

Merria takes another sip of coke. "What on?"

Salem senses "Sally MacKay shows you a gun. Her tone wry, "This is supposed
to make me the bouncer. Like I should just go around shooting people?""

Sarah's regard of Merria sharpens a little, then eases off again. "Things."

You sense Salem chuckles softly. "I see what you mean." He pauses. "Of
course... it'd only be part time. The moon, you know. But I could use a bit
of income."

Merria dimples. "Sorry." She looks entirely unrepentant. "You're pretty
good, hunh?" she asks, tipping her head toward the pool table.

Salem murmurs a few words to Sally and then gives her his most charming
smile.

Sarah glances toward the tables, and one shoulder lifts, then falls.
"Practice."

Sally MacKay nods to Salem's quiet reply, then answers in a more normal
tone. "It's cool with me, but we gotta check with Reggie. You gonna be
around tomorrow?"

Merria wanders over to the table, fishes a ball out of one of the pockets,
and tosses it experimentally in one hand. "S'heavy. What do the different
colors mean?"

Salem leans against the bar. "I think I can arrange to be."

Sarah watches Merria, but doesn't follow. "Nothing. Stripes and solids,
that's what you care about. White ball's a shooter. Black eight ball
finishes the game. Like marbles." She sits.

Merria nods, taking this in. "So you can't hita colored ball with a stick?"
she asks, inelegantly. "Just with the white one?"

Now Sally does finally help herself to a drink from Salem's mug. "Good,
Reggie should be around so we can ask." She tilts her head towards Merria
and Sarah's spot, "We can play that up a bit. And hey," she pretends to
study him, "you think you could act tough, though? Maybe growl a little?
None of your usual wimpy-ness, okay?"

Salem, for answer, leans close to Sally and lays a hand on her shoulder,
squeezing -- not enough to hurt, but enough to show, maybe, that he could.
He grins crookedly at her, letting the rage wake up and snarl a bit, and
then leans over and hisses in her ear, "Like this?"

Sarah nods. "Just the white one."

Even though she knows this is just a demonstration, Sally's rarely failing
mask of smiling confidence slips. Her lean away is halted by his hand, so
instead she has to settle on just turning her face further from his. Her
lips part and her smile takes on a more nervous cast. "Yeah, just like
that," she gives her shoulder a tug, "Perfect."

Merria considers the half-played game. "Be a heck of a lot easier if you
could just throw them," she says, and puts the ball back where she found
it. "Sometime, if you come here again, will you show me how you hold the
stick and everythin'?"

Salem lets the kinswoman go, satisfied that he made his point, and as
further courtesy, he walks around the bar and takes a seat at the proper
side of it. Expression smug, he lifts his glass to his lips and drinks.

Sarah nods once more. "Sometime."

Merria grins brightly. "Cool." She turns and ambles back toward the bar
again, taking her coke with her.

Sally's mask, if not her true emotions, quickly returns to it's pre-display
norm, aided by Salem's move to place the bar between them. Merria provides
another good distraction and the kinswoman offers her a bright smile. "You
like beating up on guys bigger than you?"

"Of course she does," Salem deadpans. "You should see us when we're alone."

"Be pretty hard to find many guys smaller'n me," Merria points out
cheerfully. She scrambles back uponto her barstool, but instead of sitting
down, she kneels on it, leans across the counter, and peers under the edge.
"Whatcha got under there?" she asks, voice low enough not to carry more
than a yard or two.. "A shotgun?"

Sarah remains at her table, watching the trio appraisingly.

Sally laughs and nods to Salem. "I bet. And what does that what's-her-name
think about you being beaten on by other women?" she asks with a smirk.
After glancing towards Merria, Sally shakes her head and reaches to draw
the gun out. Her voice quieter than the Gnawer's, "Not quiet." She shows it
off without raising it above the bar's top.

Salem replies to Sally without missing a beat. He arches his eyebrows. "How
do you know it wasn't all her idea?"

Merria says, "Oh, cool," and then, "Can I come over an' look around? I've
never been behind a bar before." And without waiting for permission, she
seats herself on the countertop, swings her legs around, and drops neatly
off onto Sally's side or the barrier.

Sally purrs her mmm at Salem. "Yes, remember to introduce us, she sounds
like my-" but the rest of that is lost as Merria joins her. "Uh, cool..."
she okays the visit belatedly.

Merria flashes a sidelong grin at Sally, and begins prowling around behind
the counter, opening drawers, reading labels, poking and prying and
generally doing a spot of quick self-education.

Salem doesn't bother to reply to Sally on /that/; he merely watches
Merria's actions with dry amusement.

"Make yourself at home," Sally tells her with a chuckle, then goes about
just staying out of her way.

Sarah, having drained the third glass of beer, rises, and paces over to the
bar, setting the glass down with a solid thump.

Merria certainly does not seem to need any encouragement. She checks out
the opened bottles, the unopened bottles, the ice-maker, the mixers. She
fiddles with the corkscrews and unobtrusively pockets a small paper
umbrella. When she's finished with the bar, she opens the door to the back
rooms and heads through.

Sally gives a little wave towards Merria's back as the Gnawer vanishes,
then moves down the bar and picks up Sarah's glass as she heads for the
taps. Lickedly-split, the glass is filled and returned with a smile.

Sarah asks, "What happened to the big guy? Runs the place, maybe."

Salem nurses his beer, head tilted slightly to listen and observe the
others.

"Reggie," Sally offers the information freely. "Him and his brother Brad
own the place. He'll probably be in later, or maybe tomorrow."

Sounds of boxes being carefully shifted emenate from the back room. A
muttered, "Oh, cool," follows.

Sarah nods. She invites herself to a seat on a stool.

Sally MacKay glances towards the back room, looking more interested about
Merria's find than worried as to what the curious girl is getting into.

Merria returns, finally, smudged, dusty, and - for the moment - satisfied.
She circles around the edge of the bar and climbs back up onto her stool.
"Thanks," she say to Sally.

"No problem," Sally tells her, then she looks to Salem, more serious,
almost sad looking now. Stepping forward, she leans against the bar and
drops her voice as she asks him, "Did I ever show you my knife?"

Salem eyes Merria and seems about to say something when Sally interrupts.
He turns his head to regard her. "Knife?"

Merria's eyes wander away to give Sally the illusion of privacy, while she
listens closely.

Sarah looks Merria over again, though a portion of her attention rests on
Sally, too. "Find anything?"

"Sure," Merria says promptly. "All sortsa dust."

Sarah smirks. "Find anything worth anything," she tries.

Merria grins. "Would be if I were runnin' a bar."

Salem studies Sally over the rim of his glass. "Mustang, do you actually
know how to /use/ a knife?"

Sarah hehs, and reaches out to turn the refilled beer glass, a quarter
turn, and withdraw her hand.

>From her position against the bar, Sally has to tilt her head to look up at
him. "No? I never did?" She gives her head a shake, her smile nowhere in
sight. "I lost it." Her fingers move against the bar's surface, tracing
groves and nicks.

Salem studies Sally over the rim of his glass. "Mustang, do you actually
know how to /use/ a knife?"

Merria watches Sarah, though she's giving the woman only half her
attention, taking her energy level down to something approaching normal.
"Do you really like that stuff?" she asks, indicating the beer.

"Sure thing," Sally tells him with all confidence. Then her voice drops
again, "Had to use it a few times, but now it's," she waves a hand towards
the door, "off in the fuckin' woods somewhere."

Sarah glances at Merria sidelong. The near corner of her mouth twitches
upward. "Pasturized horse piss? No. Cheap, though."

Merria grins. "Same price as the coke, isn't it?"

Salem loks dubious of Sally's knife-fighting skills, but lets it go. "The
woods?" He smirks. "You, Mustang? In the /woods/?"

Sarah answers, "Caffeine's no good."

"S'wrong with caffeine?" Merria wonders.

Sarah lifts the beer glass. "It'll kill you," she says, before drinking.

Sally MacKay scoffs in agreement. "Yeah. It wasn't my idea." Her eyes raise
to his and her voice drops to a near-whisper, "It was silver. Cost me a
fortune, too." Her sadness lingers, her hand tapping restlessly against the
wooden bar's top.

Salem's expression tightens. "You're better off without it, then, Mustang,"
he says, voice going soft.

"Gosh." Merria looks at her quarter-full glass and then at Sarah,
wide-eyed. "Reely?"

Sally MacKay shakes her head in quick, firm disagreement, then stops
abruptly. "But it didn't work." She looks past him, checking the door even
though it's closed. Now in a true whisper, "I thought it was supposed to,
like, ... work."

Salem gives the blonde kinswoman a slightly curious look. "Work how?"

Sally MacKay holds up her left hand, considering its palm and fingers. In a
voice that's quiet not just to prevent her words from being overheard, she
speaks while looking at the smooth skin of her hand, "I thought Elan said
it'd hurt really bad, or some shit like that? He was afraid of it."

Sarah smirks again. "Figure of speech."

Salem runs a finger along the rim of his glass, watching Sally without
amusement. Then he smiles, and leans forward to whisper something to Sally.

Salem whispers "Tell you a secret. It doesn't hurt us in human form."

Distracted for a moment, Merria says, "What?" and then focusses on Sarah.
"Oh, Yeah." She grins apologetically. "Sorry. Wool-gatherin'. Anyhow.
Doesn't seem likely coke'll kill you faster'n that stuff."

Sarah's shoulders lift and fall. "Folk handle things different. What'll
kill me might not kill you, yeah?"

Sally MacKay leans in to listen, then nods, not surprised by his words.
"Yeah, but he wasn't." Then quieter than a whisper, "He /wasn't/."

Merria says emphatically, "/That's/ for sure."

Salem leans back a bit. "Did you actually hit him?" His voice remains low
as he speaks to Sally.

Sally MacKay hesitates for a long moment, watching her fingers move along
the bar. She shrugs and doesn't exactly answer, "He just grabbed it." She
looks up to him, her expression tightening as she repeats, "It didn't
work."

Salem sighs a bit. "Mustang, have you ever heard the phrase, 'A little
knowledge is a dangerous thing'?"

"Yeah," Sally answers cautiously.

Sarah twists the beer glass a couple more degrees, then lifts it, and
drains half of it, before setting it aside with a grimace. "Fifth wheel,"
she mutters, at the yellow liquid, and tugs her scarf out of her pocket.

"Fifth wheel?" Merria repeats.

Salem leans forward a bit, his eyes intent on Sally's face. "Forget about
this idiotic idea with the silver knife. In fact, I'd suggest you forget
/any/ idea of going head-to-head with... one like me." His voice remains
quiet, for Sally's ears only, though Merria probably catches some of it.
"You'll just get yourself killed."

Sarah nods, draping the scarf around her neck, then nods toward the other
two. She stands, and reaches into a pocket.

The kinswoman shakes her head, then does a quick change and nods it, then
gives up on answering that way altogether. Her eyes move from the bar to
the floor off to Salem's left, then to a wall. "/I/ wasn't going after
/him/." Then she spits a word, not directing it at Salem, "Bastard."

"Yes, some of them are," Salem agrees, taking a sip from his glass. "Worse
than me, even."

Sarah clears her throat. "Don't mean to interrupt. Oughta get going. Owe
you?

Sally stands up quickly, her forehead furrowed in undirected anger. After
amoment's thought, she gives Sarah her total and lifts an empty glass as
she waits.

Merria sits back, eying Salem thoughtfully. Then she waves to Sarah. "Y'all
come back, y'hear?"

Sarah pays, and tosses on $5 worth of tip. She nods at Merria, and does up
her coat. "Sorry for the trouble." She heads for the door.

Sally MacKay thanks her, then waves off the apology. "Don't worry about it.
Money in one hand, glass in the other, the blonde moves away from the group
and takes care of the bills (pocketing the tip), then fills her glass with
beer before heading back to Salem.

Sarah steps outside to the street.

Sarah has left.

Merria looks from Sally to Salem and back again, but keeps her questions
for later.

Salem finishes his beer and rises. "If you want, Sally, I'll speak to you
about it later. In exchange for you putting a word in for me to Reggie,
mm?" He smiles, but the expression is tight, a bit forced.

Sally MacKay drinks on the job from her own glass, a surprisingly rare
sight. Also uncommon, she seems mostly talked-out. Nodding and shrugging at
the same time, she thanks him. "Deal."

Salem rises. After giving Merria a nod, the Ronin heads back out into the
streets.

Merria finishes her coke and slides down off her stool. She shoots a sleepy
grin at Sally as she makes her way out. "Put in a good word with Reggie for
me, too, okay?"

That draws a little chuckle from Sally. "You got it."

Merria sketches a salute and heads out.

Merria steps outside to the street.

Merria has left.