Dangerous Flirtations

[hazlogs]

It is currently 20:13 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 3 1998.
Currently on this gusty and cold winter evening in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6.7 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the south at 13.9 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are overcast with no 
  chance of precipitation.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (37% full).

[Dark Wine and Roses cafe]

Gwyneth walks in from the bookshop.
Gwyneth has arrived.

Salem is seated at a small table near the south window, a small plate at his 
  elbow, empty but for a few crumbs. He's nursing a cup of black coffee and 
  paging through yesterday's newspaper.

Gwyneth carries a book, thumb holding the place open, and eyes trained on the 
  words, rather than where she walks. Still, she manages, somehow, not to run 
  into any tables, or servers, but rather navigates to a booth, shucks her 
  backpack, and sits.

Salem glances up, sensing movement near the door, eyes flicking toward it, 
  first with casual disinterest, and then sharp attention. A smile flickers 
  across his lips, and he gets up, leaving the newspaper and coffee and 
  heading for the booth. "Pleasant coincidence."
You stand and leave The small table next to the south window.

Gwyneth startles, an honest jump, on the seat, as she looks up at the speaker. 
  It takes a moment, and then she smiles, warmly. "Very pleasant."

Salem favors her with a crooked grin. "Mind if I join you?"

Gwyneth sets the book aside, shaking her head. "No, no please. Join me." She 
  takes a long, slow inhalation, and reaches across the table, before he sits, 
  stretching. "I've been wondering after you."

Salem slides opposite the woman, dark eyes intent on her form, her face. 
  "Wondering?" His eyebrow lifts, Spocklike.

You go over to join Gwyneth.
You sit down at The booth closest to the archway.

Jayson walks in from the bookshop.
Jayson has arrived.

Gwyneth mmhmms, propping her elbow on the table, and her chin on her hand. "I 
  do that, you know? Wonder?"

Salem chuckles and leans back in his seat, arms folding casually across his 
  chest, his manner a paradox between nonchalance and thrumming tension. "Yes, 
  but about /me/?"

You sense Gwyneth notes that Gwyneth's pupils are perhaps a little too wide 
  for the light level in here, and she looks overall more relaxed than she 
  does, normally. Voice is softer, languid, all that good stuff. Gotta be a 
  good/bad CoXer sometimes, neh?

Jayson strolls into the Cafe from the bookstore, a newspaper tucked under his 
  arm. He shrugs off the long coat and hangs it neatly on a peg before 
  proceeding to the counter. As he sits, his gaze is drawn to and lingers on 
  Salem for a few moments, passing over Gwyneth as he returns to his own 
  business. The counter help has already started to make a cappachino as the 
  Glass Walker opens the paper to the financial pages.

Gwyneth's smile makes another slow appearance. "Why, Mr. Salem, wouldn't I 
  wonder about you? My life isn't so busy that I haven't time to be curious."

Salem hasn't noticed Jayson. No surprise. He unfolds his arms and leans 
  forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice drops to a low murmur. 
  "And what is it you wonder?"

Gwyneth answers, "Your past. Your future. Where your limits are. Why," and 
  here she lowers her voice as well, "why they all walk on eggshells around 
  you. What you dream about." Her face splits, with a wide grin. "I've had ... 
  a lot of time to think."

"Thank you, Robert," is the response when his drink has arrived. The young man 
  behind the counter mentions the presence of cherry pie, but Jayson declines, 
  staying focued on his paper. He pulls a pen and small notebook out of his 
  pocket and begins to make notes.

Salem half-closes his eyes, not quite narrowing them, and the sardonic smile 
  still curves his lips. "Mmm. Quite a lot."

Gwyneth pouts a little, playfully. "You don't mind, do you?"

Salem reaches out, his fingertips almost touching the line of her jaw, 
  brushing at the air mere molecules away. "If I do," he replies smoothly, 
  "you'll know it."

Gwyneth reaches up to catch at his hand, if possible. "You're afraid to touch? 
  Or to be touched. Or," she adds, a third possibility, "do you just like to 
  madden women, with unfulfilled promises." Her smile turns a little wicked.

Salem allows his hand to be captured, though the underlying tension shifts 
  upwards a notch. His skin is dry and warm. He smirks a little and answers, 
  "D."

Gwyneth draws his hand, in hers, back toward her side of the table, and lifts 
  her chin from the other, to help in turning it over, so that she can trace 
  the lines of his palm with a fingertip. "Which is?"

Salem's eye twitches subtly -- the left, near the scar that runs down his 
  face. He keeps his eyes on Gwyneth, not watching what she's doing to his 
  hand, and his voice is surprisingly steady. "Either 'all of the above,' or 
  'none of the above.'"

Gwyneth does not look up from her task of studying his palm, drawn in by 
  following the whorl of his palm print with a featherlight touch. "That 
  doesn't answer the question .... do you think this is the life line, or the 
  heart line," she asks, pointing out a line.

Salem's eyes flick downwards. His eyebrows lift slightly. "I've no idea."

Jayson finishes up his drink, drops a couple of bills on the counter, and 
  says, "See you tomorrow, Robert." He then packs up and heads back into the 
  main bookstore.
Jayson walks through the archway into the bookshop.
Jayson has left.

Gwyneth glances up now, smiling. "Take a guess, then." She points out the line 
  again, then shifts her finger to another, this one shorter than the other. 
  "Which do you want to have more of? Life, or heart?"

"Life," Salem answers, without hesitation.

Gwyneth's head bobs. "Then this one," she points out the longer of the two, 
  "is your life line." Amused, she tilts her head a bit. "I'm afraid that this 
  means that your love life is destined to be a rocky one. A challenge, at the 
  very least."

Salem grins toothily. "Good."

Gwyneth looks up, startled. "Good?" She lets the question hang a moment, then 
  shakes her head, smiling once more. "I suppose I should have expected that. 
  You're not the two-and-a-half child, three bedroom house type, are you?"

Salem shakes his head, his curved smirk expanding into a slight grin, exposing 
  a few teeth. "...And I don't like white picket fences, either."

Gwyneth says, as if reciting, "Each slat in a white picket fence is a year, or 
  a day, or a memory that dies untasted, and untested, by the people who live 
  behind the fence. Perfection stifles, fails to inspire, and perhaps even 
  corrupts."
Gwyneth adds, releasing his hand, "I knew there was something about you that 
  was appealing. Beside the obvious, I mean."

Salem's expression flickers slightly, curious at the quote. Then his smile 
  returns, thin and dangerous as he withdraws his hand and passes it over the 
  short dark bristles of his goatee. "Thank you."

Gwyneth laughs, quietly. "Have I flattered you?"

Salem grins, dark eyes glinting. "I take what I can get."

Gwyneth says "What about what you want?"

"That, too," Salem answers, eyes intent on her face.

Gwyneth leans forward, onto her elbows on the table. "And what is that? 
  Exactly?"

Salem chuckles. "Dangerous question."

Gwyneth smiles a slow smile. "You don't scare me, Mr. Salem. Try me."

"I'd be terribly disappointed if I /did/ scare you," Salem murmurs, with a 
  feral cast over his thin smile.

Gwyneth straightens up, and settles into her seat again, smugly. "Would you? 
  I'd think it might be nice to have someone to play mouse to your cat, once 
  in awhile. Lord knows -I- like a taste of power, now and again."

Salem remains forward, elbows on the table. "The city is full of mice," he 
  says, with a touch of scorn. "Mice and sheep. It's much more... mm, 
  invigorating... when there's danger in the hunt."

Gwyneth suggests, "When it's against the rules?"

Salem makes an affirmative 'mmm-hmm' kind of noise.

Gwyneth laughs again. "If I'd only had you in Seattle. You're exactly the type 
  I wanted. Not afraid to break the rules." She props her chin up again, 
  abruptly. "How do you feel about the stage?"

Salem blinks, his train of thought briefly derailed by the change of subject. 
  "You mean theatre?"

Gwyneth echoes his 'mmm-hmm' from before.

Salem smiles, twining his fingers together on the table. "I've been known to 
  enjoy theatre from time to time. Why?"

Gwyneth tsks, shaking her head. "Not watching, silly. Performing. On the other 
  side of the magic box."

Salem's eyebrows lift. "Well," he says, slowly. "I do know my Shakespeare. 
  Though I haven't been on stage since..." He thinks for a moment. "_Pirates 
  of Penzance_." He chuckles briefly. "I was thirteen."

Gwyneth's eyes light with amusement. "Thirteen, and already a pirate. You 
  started early," she comments, then takes a breath. "It's settled. When I 
  leave, I'll just have to take you with me."

Salem laughs at this. "You've already decided, mm?"

Gwyneth's eyebrows slide smoothly upward. "Do you object, sir? I'm not one 
  who's mind is easily changed."

Salem's amusement subsides to a chuckle. "Do you plan to tame me, that you're 
  so sure I'll follow you out of St. Claire? Do you /want/ a dog in your bed?"

Gwyneth shakes her head, instantly. "I don't want you tamed."

"I didn't think so." Confident, Salem takes a pack of cigarettes from the 
  inside of his coat and taps one out. "A frustrating endevour anyway."

Gwyneth says "Taming you? I don't think I'd be frustrated, at all."
Gwyneth adds, once more amused, "I don't think I'd succeed, but I don't think 
  I'd be frustrated."

Salem lights the cigarette and lets a touch of a leer bleed through onto his 
  expression. "Nor I, I suspect. But, still. It'd be rather messy."

(Log ends here.)