Convention at the Pool Hall

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:37 Pacific Time on Mon Oct 22 2001.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (37% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 54
degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the southwest at 13 mph, with gusts up to 24 mph. The barometric
pressure reading is 29.59 and rising, and the relative humidity is 86
percent. The dewpoint is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)

[Salem]

          Tall and dark, he stands a few inches over six feet, a striking
and rather dangerous-looking man in his late twenties. A mane of black
hair, well past shoulder-length, frames a hawkish face, the left side of
which is twisted by scars; apart from this disfigurement, he's quite
handsome -- albeit in a devilish, saturnine kind of way. His face is one
designed for brooding and cynicism, and the neatly-trimmed, short black
beard makes him look all the more satanic. His left eye is dead white,
lost within the tangled jungle of scar tissue that covers the left side of
his face; his good eye is dark brown, not quite black. In short, he has
the look of the very devil about him, or of a Christ figure gone bad.

          The tails of his duster nearly sweep the ground when he walks.
The black leather of the garment looks battered and shows signs of long
use; it's seen better days. His clothes underneath tend toward dark hues
as well -- black jeans, black t-shirt, and a pair of combat boots that
have been well worn in.

[Pool Hall]

Pool tables, with one foosball table and an air hockey table hiding among
them, dominate the space of the hall, hardly yielding any space for the
motley crew of players chalking their sticks and eying the brandy bottle
at the bar lining one wall. The dust and scratches on all surfaces save
the green velvet lining the pool tables indicate this hall as skimping on
maintenance and cheap on cleaners. Its lack of flashy videogames and
surplus of toothless kibitzers underscores its appeal to the older crowd.
No natural sunlight is permitted into the hall, its lighting provided by
bulbs swinging from the ceiling.

A recent 'renovation' to the hall has caused many splinters and embdeed
bullet holes, adding much to the aged atmosphere. Ruddish stains, dark and
ominous even under the lights, refuse to be washed out of the floor. A
dart board brightens up the walls with its red-and-black scheme, and a
moosehead looks down on the proceedings.

Mounted from the ceiling, a television blares its glaring brightness and
noises.

A set of double doors, one locked, the other unlocked at the whims of the
hall manager, lead out to the street. Unobstructive doors behind the bar
undoubtedly lead to storerooms.

[Laura]

Laura is small in size, probably no more than five foot six. She is
slender, with very little muscle mass. She's wearing a dark colored
t-shirt and ratty olive green combat pants. The thigh pockets have
something in them, though what it is isn't entirely obvious. Her skin is a
light brown color, contrasting nicely with her straight, dark hair. She
has a thin scar on her face, running across her left cheek from her nose
to her ear. When she moves, she favors her left leg, limping a little.

[Deanna]

     This slender and lithe girl's attitude and manner screams 'city
teenager'. Brown hair so dark it looks black in the right light is
stylishly cropped to fall to her shoulder blades and frame a fair,
pampered face with slightly rounded features. Her eyes are a dark
green-grey, and spark with an indomitable fire; she'd be cute if not for
the often-angry look in those eyes. Her soft alto voice has more than a
hint of a New York accent.

     Today she sports a powder blue babydoll tee over a pair of loose
black boot-cut Levi's. Her feet are covered in a pair of black ankle boots
with thick, clunky two-inch heels. Around her neck is a gold chain with a
intricately filigreed heart-shaped locket dangling from it. An oversized
hooded sweatshirt in navy blue with "GAP" emblazoned in red and white
across the front is thrown over to protect her from the season's chill.

Deanna's grin goes wider, and she nods. "Wouldn't object to a beer
myself," she answers casually. "You playin' by yerself?

Laura grins. "Wouldn't call it playing...I'm just kind of moving them
around the table." She waves to the bartender, adding another beer to the
order. "I'd be glad to have a partner who can actually sink the damn
things..."

Salem steps in, drops of rain clinging to his hair and beading on his
coat. He uses his fingers to comb the former away from his face, and
unbuttons the latter as he heads for the bar.

"'Can sure as hell try," Deanna replies with a grin, getting off the stool
she so recently claimed and walking over to the rack on the wall. She
studies the selection of cues for a moment, then selects one and walks
back over to the table with it. "Hope this one's straight," she muses to
herself as she studies the table. "I ain't the world's best," she admits,
"but I'll give it a go."

"You'll probably do better than I will," Laura says, handing the waitress
some cash and setting the two beers on the side of the table. "I haven't
even knocked any down yet." She gives the pool balls a threatening glare.
"But I will."

Deanna snorts as she chalks the end of her cue with quick, almost vengeful
motions, eyes roving over the table. "We'll see." She studies her setup,
then opts to attempt to put the 7-ball in one of the side pockets, biting
her lip as she lines up the shot.

Salem leans against the end of the bar, letting the bartender take his own
sweet time to get to him. There's a cold idleness to his manner as he
scans over the interior of the pool hall. Watching. His scarred face
reveals little else.

Laura spares a glance at the new guy at the bar, wondering for a second,
before returning her focus to the table. "Little to the left, I think,"
she comments, chalking her own cue. "Maybe. I dunno."

"Mebbe." *Clack* go the balls, and the 7 bounces off one edge of the hole
and goes spinning off to the far corner, the cue spinning merrily in place
in the middle of the table. "Yer right. That's cool." Deanna straightens
up and walks around the table to grab her beer. "Go for it."

"Sorry. Just don't pay attention to me." Laura paces around the table,
looking from one ball to the next, trying to pick her shot. "Way to go,
didn't leave me anything..." she grumbles good naturedly. Her eyes
suddenly snap to the orange 4-ball. "Ah ha..." She lines up a straight
shot behind it and snaps it off, stamping her foot in frustration as the
ball hangs up on the lip of the pocket.

Salem's gaze, which was settling on the two young women playing pool,
shifts back as the bartender -- looking vaguely nervous -- approaches.
Salem holds up a finger, forestalling whatever the man was going to say.
"Seltzer. With lemon. Anything else, I'll let you know." That said, he
turns his attention back to the pool players.

"When in doubt," Deanna admonishes with a laugh as she sets down the beer
and walks back around the table to study it again,"don't leave your
opponent a shot." She leans over the table, carefully eyeing the
relationship between the cue and the 4-ball. She aims the cue stick low on
the cue ball, and snorts in satisfaction as the 4 drops into the pocket
and the cue goes spinning back the way it came. "Beautiful. I hate those,
I always scratch. Now..." she goes looking for her next shot.

[John]

        This imposing individual manages to convey an air of latent
violence, (even when apparently relaxing), and he moves with the athletic
grace of a natural predator. This, combined with his appearance, scream
'Danger' to most normal people, and should inspire caution even in those
more hardy.

        His tall (6'4") and well-built frame is clothed almost entirely in
black. A light, weathered trenchcoat, comfortably-sized jeans and a
tight-fitting t-shirt covered by a long, heavy jacket. The only splashes
of colour come from signs of a chain around his neck, a silver belt-buckle
in the form of a wolf's-head, and the occasional buckle or button on his
boots, pants or jacket in silver-coloured steel. Finally, both hands are
gloved, though the glove on his left hand has been carefully tailored to
leave all but his little finger bare. This finger doesn't separate from
his fourth. Ever.

        The initial impression is usually enough to ward against a closer
inspection of his face, but those curious enough observe the face of a
young man made old by scars, besides a certain something about the eyes
and set of the jaw. The angles and tone of his face hint at northern
European descent. His face is framed up top by black, close-cropped hair,
and his eyes shine out from this visage in a brilliant, icy, blue. This
man could be considered highly attractive if it weren't for the numerous
scars on his face. A large, savage claw mark mars his right cheek, and a
deadly pale white line emerges from under his hair, reaching down towards
the right eyebrow. There's occasionally a break in the grimness as he
nervously touches a silver band on the fourth finger of his right hand.

Laura rolls her eyes heavenward. "Knew you were a shark. I just knew
it..." She cocks her hip against the table, watching for the next shot.
Maybe the seven? No...too long...

Deanna's hair goes flying as she shakes her head vigorously, glancing at
the bar and the freak near it with a momentary frown before turning her
attention back to the table. "Fuck no, Laura. I ain't no shark. Half the
time I end up scratching on those." After some looking, she spots another
good candidate, the 2. A straight shot. She lines it up and shoots; the 2
goes in straight as you please, but the cue ball follows it into the
pocket. "Damn. See what I mean. Too high on the cue."

Salem meets Deanna's gaze for the moment that she looks his way, the cold
expression on his face unchanging. His attention doesn't remain on the two
for much longer; he's keeping an eye on the rest of the pool hall denizens
as well. He seems to be looking for something, or waiting for someone,
perhaps.

Laura nods sagely. "At least you hit what you were aiming for," she
replies as she fishes the 2 out of the pocket. "I think the darn things
are running away from me." She lines up another shot, moving the balls
around the table and managing to drop the nine. "Uh oh...that means I have
to shoot again. This can only lead to suffering," she jokes as she looks
for a new shot. The 7 still looks appealing, and she lines it up.

As if on cue, John opens the wooden doors to the pool hall, and starts to
stalk inside, towards the bar. His expression is almost a mirror of his
Tribesmate's. Grim and unchanging. He scans the room as he moves towards
the bar, and gives Salem a slight, half-nod as he approaches.

Salem returns the other Walker's nod, greeting with a quiet, "Evening,
John," as the other comes within speaking distance. The bartender brings
his drink -- clear, carbonated, with a slice of lemon. Salem takes it,
pays, and squeezes lemon juice into it. "What's new tonight?"

Deanna picks up her beer and takes a long swallow. "Sweet, good job," she
calls before taking another sip and setting the glass down. She wipes a
water ring off the wood and, with another glance at the bar and this time
a headshake, turns back to see what Laura is doing.

Laura chews on her lip a bit, then takes the shot, clattering the balls
about again. "Dammit...just when you think you've got it..." she trails
off, still grumbling to herself as she glances over to the bar. She
recognizes John and gives him a slight nod, should he see her as well,
then returns her attention to the table.

John looks briefly at the familiar Fury, and then back to the bar. A short
grunt, asking for whiskey - extra ice - and then he's turning to face
Salem and leaning against the bar. "Nothing. All's quiet. This is a good
thing."

Deanna nods sagely. "Yup," she murmurs knowingly as she walks back over to
the table, cue stick in hand. "I always do better when I don't think too
hard." She lines up that elusive 7, and gives it the finger as it narrowly
misses the assigned pocket and goes flying across the table, a gesture
quickly dropped as it drops squarely into the pocket on the far side of
the table. "Dumb luck," she giggles.

"Mm." Salem takes a sip, his gaze straying back toward Deanna and Laura.
"Yes, it's quiet. Too quiet." He glances sidelong at John. "Which reminds
me. I haven't seen Jonathan lately."

Laura snorts. "Liar," she says, grinning. "Though those off the cuff shots
are sure impressive." She has another swallow of beer.

John gets a pained look, almost immediately, and wrinkles his nose, as he
looks back to the bartender, expectantly. He taps a few gloved fingers on
the edge of the bar, and sucks some air in through his teeth. "Hmm. No.
You wouldn't have." He frowns at the bartender, and finally receives his
drink, paying for it with a single note, and then sipping at it,
thoughtfully.

Salem's glance becomes a long, critical look. He studies John's face, good
eye narrowed slightly. "Something you want to tell me about later?" he
asks, voice dropping to a murmur.

"Who me?" Deanna leans on her stick, a lopsided grin ruining her efforts
at an innocent look. "Unh-uh. Couldn't do that again if I paid the balls
off." Her grin widens. "So, you seen Alicia lately?" she lines up her next
shot, the question offhand.

John shakes his head, still sipping at his drink. When he puts it down -
still not looking at the other Walker - he reaches into his jacket and
pulls out a folded-up piece of paper. It's crinkled a bit; it's been
unfolded and refolded quite a few times, apparently, and scrunched up into
a ball at least once. He puts it on a dry patch of the bar, and slides it
towards Salem, now looking at him, steadily.

John pages: The note's from Jon. It basically states that he's going to
have to work harder than he thought he would, and that he had no idea of
the damage he'd done until he saw it with his own eyes. He /has/ to fix it
up, and has to start now. So, he's taken his plants and headed off to the
KC woods umbra. | I don't have an exact copy of the text, but that'll be
the gist of it. Or something similar.

The frown returns. "Yeah, coupla days ago. Not a good scene..." Laura
looks out of the pool hall, nose twitching a little. "Why? Looking for
her?" She's tensed up now, and moving carefully.

Salem arches a brow in a manner that would make a Vulcan proud. Setting
down his glass, he picks up the paper and unfolds it. His mouth thins as
he reads; after a moment, he refolds the paper, muttering, "Idiot." The
insult isn't directed at John.

Deanna shrugs absently, her own face starting to reflect that frown. She
pauses the shot, looking up at you. "Just curious," she answers carefully.
"Sorry if I brought up a bad subject." Back to the shot; there's nothing
there, so she bounces the balls across thre table and breaks up a cluster,
sending balls flying.

John inclines his head in agreement, looking back to his whiskey and
taking another small mouthful. Letting the amber liquid take its time in
sliding down his throat, he closes his eyes and nods a few times. He licks
his lips and adds, "Don't have to worry about what to do with him anymore,
I think. I haven't told the others, yet."

The theurge slowly relaxes. "Not really. I was kind of wondering if
anyone'd seen her since...the other day. Yi might know if she's around."
She takes another drink, eyeing the table again. "Y'know, you could at
least leave me with the faint hope that I have a shot..."

Salem offers the folded paper back to John. "I see." His voice is dead
calm, his face a living wall. He picks up his glass and takes another sip.
"The family should have a meeting. Sometime soon, perhaps."

Deanna shrugs another shoulder. "Been busy with school an' shit. Got a
project due in a couple of weeks." She reaches for her own beer, her grin
now rakish. "Make it up?" she suggests sweetly.

Laura grumbles, then lines up the cue ball, closes her eyes, and hopes.
She manages to miss every ball on the table. "That didn't sound good," she
comments without opening her eyes.

Deanna takes another swig of her beer and swallows it before she can spray
it in a laugh. "I thought it took talent, myself." She sets the beer down
with a clunk and goes to inspect the table again. "But then you got no
room t'talk, girl. You didn't leave me nothing either." She aims for the
13, a long shot and very angled but still possible. She misses it, though,
bounces it maybe three inches. "Not hard enough."

John takes the piece of paper and slips it back into his jacket. "Need to
fill people in on a few things, actually. Tribe-wise. Voice-mail probably
won't cut it for most things. Yeah. Gonna have to get everyone in one
place, soon." He goes back to sipping quietly at his drink. Grim and
unimpressed by the reminder.

Laura chuckles. "I may be able to make it up, then?" She opens her eyes
and glances over the table again. "Crazy...y'know, I'd swear you were
getting me drunk just to throw off my game." She lines up the next shot
and fires it off, clattering the thirteen into the pocket. "Wow. That
was...unexpected."
Laura's watch trills. "Oh...time to get going to the Center. My shift."
She smiles apologetically to Deanna. "It was cool hanging out, though.
Catch you around, eh?"

Deanna grins faintly as she watches Laura go, shaking her head, then
starts packing up the balls. "Hell with it," she mutters.

Salem nods, content to let the subject drop. He's quiet for several
minutes, nursing his drink and letting his eye wander. He and John make
for a grim pair, and the rest of the hall's patrons give the two Glass
Walkers a wide berth.

Deanna is no exception to that as she packs up the pool table and tosses
the chalk on top, occasionally shooting odd glances towards the end of the
bar. She leaves the balls long enough to her and Laura's cue sticks back
and finish off her beer before setting down the bottle with a sigh and
taking the balls back up to the counter.

The Elder Walker straightens up a little, sending a short glare to the
other patrons of the bar, as if to scatter them away a little further and
make sure no attention is paid to their conversation. "Got any thoughts on
what happened the other night at the hospital?"

"Hm." Salem takes another sip, his attention flickering toward Deanna
again before returning to John. "A few. None of them particularly
optimistic."

Grinning at the cashier, Deanna turns the balls in, and after a brief
conversation with the cashier too quiet to hear in the noisy bar, hands
over some cash and turns to head out.

John watches Deanna start to leave, and then looks to Salem,
questioningly.

Salem shakes his head slightly. "Don't know her."

Nodding in acknowledgement, John looks back to his drink. "So.
Nonoptimistic thoughts? I'm used to them. Haven't had any optimistic ones
since the revel."

Deanna seems to pay it no mind, opening the door to head out. Deanna steps
outside to the street.

Salem takes another drink, grimacing. "The hospital was a blight when I
first came here," he says, after a moment. "And then, there was talk about
how it'd been a blight for too long, and needed to be fixed. There have
been plenty of attempts, I've gathered, and no successes. It may be too
far gone to save, but scourging it from the face of the earth isn't
acceptable. The cure would probably be as bad as the disease."

John raises an eyebrow, and tilts his head. "You do know I intend to see
it burn, in the end, don't you?"

Salem's mouth compresses into a thin, tight line. "Are you sure that's
wise? Even if it is, we'd need some method of keeping the area...
contained. Make sure that _nothing_ manages to scurry clear and set up
breeding somewhere else."

John takes a deep breath and nods a few times. "I'm ten steps ahead of
you." he grunts, putting a finger down to trail it through a small puddle
of water-- condensation on the bar. "When we're done, we'll have it
removed, in the realm. It's a blight not only upon Gaia's soil, but in the
memories of thousands. I /will/ see it burn. But. We have to cleanse it,
first. Or we'll have a repeat of the power plant incident. Banes spilled
out everywhere, all over the city. The cleansing is what's going to take
us years. And several very careful steps and goals." He raises on eyebrow
idly, as he trails a gloved finger through the water. "And even then, I
don't know if it'll work."

The corner of Salem's mouth quirks into a humorless half-smile, all
cynicism. "Heh. What would life be without a few hopeless causes?" He wets
his throat again and adds, in a more serious tone, "Corruption is
self-renewing. We can cleanse, but it will have to be enough to overcome
the rate of increasing decay. Obviously. And of course, anyone performing
the ritual will need backup." He frowns. "The whole Sept would need to be
involved. Everyone who knows the ritual, everyone else to protect the
ritualists or to stay behind and make sure the enemy doesn't choose that
night to walk into the caern."

John nods a few times. "War. We do what we can to stave off the rate of
increase, at least, and use what we have in reserve to build up defensive
points. We regenerate faster than them, hopefully. Hopefully. We recruit
allies. Spirits. Guardians. They proved, the other night, that they're
watching us, and know who we are. Laying traps and not confined solely to
the hospital. I /knew/ this. I brought it up at the Elder moot a week ago.
I just didn't expect it to start happening so soon." he mutters.

Salem grunts. "One never does. Speaking of which, has the doctor been
moved?"

"Hopefully. I'd really prefer to move kin within the wards of the bawn and
the Caern. But apparently Fog forbids it." The Elder Walker scowls
faintly, and takes another mouthful of whiskey. Swallowing it quickly, he
adds, "I'm going to ask about that, too, sometime. I want to know /why/.
And if the reason isn't good enough, I'm going to ask Fog to reconsider."

Salem shifts his weight, a small muscle twitching in his cheek. He studies
the seltzer-soaked lemon slice, fingers tight around the glass. When he
looks up again, an iron curtain has slammed down over his face; the look
in his good eye is dead cold. "They always go after the kin first. Yes.
Fog should reconsider. Secrecy is all well and good, but these people are
family, too." He snorts. "The ferals will probably protest the loudest."

That brings a sudden, vicious snarl. "The /ferals/ can bring their
families out to live in the blights that they refuse to fight in because
of the /smell/." Unlike Salem, cold fire flashes in John's eyes. "Fuckers
who complain can kiss my ass. And they will like it, or I will kick
theirs. This insular thought and fractionalism is going to be the death of
our people." His voice is low and hissed; tight with fury, but low to
avoid attracting notice.

Salem glances sidelong at his tribesmate; John's ire wakes up his own
inner monster, which growls and snaps and is, ultimately, kept throttled
back on a tight leash. If it were any tighter, the grip he has on his
glass would probably shatter it. The ex-Ahroun's voice is perfectly calm,
however. "You'll hear no argument from me. Not about that. And, naturally,
I'll be glad to help you knock a few heads together." A wry look flits
briefly across his face. "Or reason them to death, which would probably be
more appropriate. Hmnf." He carefully loosens his grip, then lifts the
glass and drinks.

Upper lip twitching, John tries to calm himself with another sip of his
whiskey, and simply snaps, "You will be taken up on that. Half-moon or
full, I assume you can still fight."

Salem grimaces. "I can. Unless it's against the enemy, I'd rather avoid
it. A Philodox only leads with his fists if he's a Fenrir."

The drink does its job, to some extent. Or maybe it's Salem's words.
Either way, the Ahroun gives the Philodox a sideways glance. It could
strike Salem, at this point, that John's features have a very strong
Northern European bent to them. Still, he concedes the point, grudgingly.
"A fight needn't be fatal, and fists are sometimes the only things people
will listen to." he grunts, taking another sip.

"Hmn." Salem takes another sip, his motions careful and deliberate now. If
he recognizes the significance of John's apparant ancestry, he makes no
sign of it. "One hopes it won't be necessary at all. The warder and the
alpha are both Gaians. If fucking _Gaians_ turn their backs on kin, I'll
eat my damn coat."

John nods grudgingly to that, too. "The one thing I /am/ worried about, is
having the bastards sit back and consider a request, because it might be
difficult or take a while. This is... unforgivably inefficient." He scowls
at his drink. "I need some Rank." he grunts, tersely.

Salem glances at John again, studying his face for a few moments. Then he
smiles thinly and studies his drink. "I know the feeling. Are you thinking
of challenging up any time soon?"

John nods. "Soon as I challenge Daisy for Eldership, I'll find some Get,
maybe." He doesn't seem comfortable with the idea, though. "Could grab a
couple others, though. There's plenty of Ahrouns to choose from."

Salem looks thoughtful, swirling around the last of his carbonated water;
the soggy lemon flops back and forth, squishily. "Plenty of Get to choose
from, yes. I vaguely remember some Strider named Looker or Seeker or
something similar. Also an Ahroun. If smacking heads with a Get doesn't
suit your fancy, you might try looking the Strider up."

John smiles slightly. "Ahh, but there's the thing. Seeker and I get on
just fine. The Get and I don't. Which makes me inclined to think I should
challenge them. It's about proving oneself, isn't it." He eyes hsi
now-empty glass, and gives the bartender a faint gesture to have it
refilled. "Pity the Fury, Zoe, hasn't been around longer. Challenging her
would probably be satisfying."

Salem arches a brow. "Is it your experience that people you get along with
give out easy challenges?" His tone is light, almost wry. "Well, there are
still plenty of Get." He tips the glass back, finishing off the last of
the carbonated water.

John wrinkles his nose, quietening as the bartender gets around to
refilling his drink. As the man wanders off, John grunts, "Is an easy
challenge desirable? I've challenged for rank several times." He sips at
his drink again. "Never had one accepted."

Salem gets the 'tender to refresh his own drink, lemon and all, before
answering. "Depends on one's philosophy. I perfer the middle ground,
myself. Too easy in insulting, too difficult a frustration." He purses his
lips thoughtfully. "Mine was... terribly straightforward."

John gives the Tribesmate a sideways glance. Waiting.

Salem regards the rows of bottles and beers behind the bar. "Combat.
Myself and the Ahroun I'd challenged. No rules. Talens, gifts... anything
I could bring to my advantage was acceptable." A crooked smile tugs at his
lips, briefly, at the memory, and then is gone. His expression sobers,
even sours a bit. "...Christ."

John keeps looking, his expression unchanging. "And?"

"I just realized," says Salem. "That was nine fucking years ago."

John winces, giving Salem another look over. "I Rited close to nine years
ago." he grunts.

Salem grimaces. "Lovely."

The temporary Glass Walker Elder throws his drink back, finishing it off with 
  a few solid swallows. He jerks his head towards the bartender, signalling 
  his need for a second refill. While the man hurries over and starts filling, 
  John lowers an eyebrow at Salem. "How old're you, Jack?"

Salem answers without any apparant need to pause and count. "Twenty-eight."

John nods a few times. "S'old for a Garou." he notes, quietly, eyeing his 
  drink.

Salem shoots the other Walker a rather dour look. "Thank you for noticing, Mr. 
  Smith," he replies, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Mainly, though, it's old 
  for a cliath, of which fact I'm quite aware."

John hitches a shoulder. "I'm 25. Near enough to make little difference." He 
  simply continues to look at his glass.

Salem glances at John again for a moment, then looks away, passing a hand 
  across his face and, with obvious effort, shaking off the prickly attitude. 
  After getting the bartender to refresh his drink, he takes a deep swallow. 
  "I plan to challenge again. Some time next year, perhaps, when it's not 
  quite so easy to revert to being a full moon." 'Prickly' may have been 
  banished, but it's older brother 'brooding' seems a little more difficult to 
  dislodge.

John raises an eyebrow at something he finds in those words, but simply stays 
  silent; finally lifting his own glass, he takes a sip.

Salem, his eyes on his glass instead of on his tribesmate, adds, "Most of the 
  time it hasn't seemed... very important. Rank, that is."

John nods a few times. "True. I've only started thinking about it again in the 
  last couple months, since coming here. I didn't need it back at Grey Sky."

Salem gives John a sidelong look. "What happened there?"

John swallows, and puts his glass down, carefully. "Never found out." he says, 
  quietly. "I was too late to help. Already on the run. Lots of betrayal 
  beforehand." He seems particularly casual. Cold. "Came back. Everyone was 
  dead or tainted. So. Cleaned up as much as I could." He shrugs dismissively. 
  "S'why I look the way I do." he adds, simply.

Salem nods, then falls back to studying his drink again. Curiosity leaks 
  through the cracks in the mask, but he either can't ask or -- as is more 
  likely -- won't. Blandly, he says, "Interesting."

John picks his drink back up and takes a small sip. "Only here because... 
  well. Ran out of hiding places." He adds, sourly, "And until recently, there 
  weren't any leeches."

Salem grunts. "They'll be taken care of," he says, in a tone of grim 
  confidence. "St. Claire has never been... fertile ground for vampires. Even 
  the Sabbat didn't do any _real_ damage."

John nods a few times. "S'why I came. Heard it was a no-go zone. Figured they 
  wouldn't follow me here."

Salem eyeballs John, and curiosity gets the better of polite discretion. 
  "They've been chasing you?"

John just keeps nodding and eyeing his drink. "Long story. Suffice to say. 
  Some Elders were dirty, and I gave 'em too much trouble. So I took the fall 
  for one, involuntarily. Pissed off the city's Prince. Had to run."

Salem grimaces in sympathy, looking away. He takes another sip. "So, you were 
  right. The details are different, but shit still smells the same, mm?"

Rina breezes in, hanging her coat by the door and heading to one of the tables 
  in the back corner, where a grey-haired man malingers sipping at a drink. 
  "Sorry," she murmurs, as she leans in to kiss him on both cheeks. "Painting. 
  You still got time for a little game?"

John lets one eyebrow do an almost amused little jump, as he continues to 
  stare at his whiskey. "Wasn't an original plan. They did the same thing to 
  my partner." he notes, wryly. "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean 
  everyone isn't out to get you."

Salem snorts. "I was raised a Shadow Lord," he remarks, his expression 
  sardonic. "You don't think I know this? Heh." Again, Salem's 'laugh' is a 
  short, curt, and cynical thing.

The elderly gent rises smoothly to his feet-- greying hair and wrinkles belies 
  an easy grace. "Always, mia cara." Silvio murmurs, as the pair move towards 
  one of the tables. "Though it will have to be a short game. Oh, and..." He 
  gestures towards the bar, and the two black-clad Walkers there. "I should be 
  worried? Business or personal?"

John inclines his head in agreement, raising his glass slightly - almost in a 
  toast - then taking a good mouthful.

Rina's dark eyes follow his glance, and widen slightly. "Oh." She looks over 
  to him. "I don't know, but he'll kill me if I don't say hi. Rack 'em up?" A 
  graceful little pretty-please smile--the look of a child wanting to get her 
  way--and then she turns to head for the bar and the two men there.

Salem smiles crookedly in response, briefly raising his own glass in a return 
  salute. Then he lapses into silence, timed just right with Rina's arrival; 
  he actually doesn't notice the kinswoman until she's almost on top of them.

Silvio simply rolls his eyes, helpless against the smile already forming in 
  response to hers. He sets about working his magic with the pool table, balls 
  and cues, watching Rina with half an eye.

John turns, and straightens up, as Rina arrives. He takes another quick sip 
  from his glass, and moves towards her. "Hey."

Salem glances up rather sharply, but the coldness of his expression fades 
  significantly as he recognizes Rina. He lifts his glass to her in greeting. 
  "Evening, Rina."

Rina slides an arm around John's waist, as one of his curves over her 
  shoulders. The girl rises on tiptoe to kiss him hello, a light touch of lips 
  to lips. Then she looks over to Salem and offers him a faint smile. "Gonna 
  shoot some pool," she tells John. "You guys gonna be around that long?"

John wets his lips, and looks towards the tables for a moment. Frowning 
  slightly in surprise. "Uncle Sil." He looks back to Rina and Salem. 
  "Doubles?" A small shrug as he pulls her a little closer, and offers her 
  some of his drink. "I got time."

Salem nods, taking a sip from his glass. He doesn't look in any particular 
  hurry to get anywhere. The Philodox's eyes follow John's, though, to briefly 
  study 'Uncle Sil'.

Rina's eyes light, and she practically beams. "Awesome!" She slides her arm 
  down to take John's hand, and then she leads him toward her table.

The doors of the pool hall open up to reveal two girls, begging for a night 
  out on the town, wondering where the party is at. Alicia strides ahead of 
  Laura confidently as always, this being one of her local haunts with her 
  pack Alpha, already familiar with most of the regulars by now. "So anyways, 
  Queen of the pool tables, ya ganna' shark any dudes ta'night?"

Laura rolls her eyes. "I'll be lucky if I hit a single ball," she retorts, 
  nodding to the bartender. He starts to draw a beer, recalling the nice tip 
  she handed him earlier. "Besides, if anyone's queen of the tables, it's 
  you." She elbows her friend lightly in the ribs.

Salem's brows arch slightly; then he gets up to follow Rina and John. On the 
  way, he spots Alicia and gives her a nod.

[Silvio]
A tall, elegant, Italian gentleman. 
  Aging gracefully, he's probably older than he looks - his strong sicilian 
  features and the sparkle in his eyes hint at an appearance that must have 
  once (and still probably could) made women swoon at his attention... despite 
  the slightly oversized nose. His hair is still black, and hardly thinning at 
  all, and his manner of dress is most dapper. He carries himself with 
  dignity, and a benevolent, polite air at all times. There's always that 
  sparkle in the eyes, though... a keen intelligence lies behind that 
  benevolence.

Grimness doesn't flow through to exuberance very well, but John appears 
  helpless, when the kin woman starts dragging him away from the bar. He 
  shoots Salem a brief, almost lost look, and then comes along quietly.

Salem lifts both eyebrows at John in response and gives him a shrug and a 
  rueful little smirk.

The display gives the waiting Italian gentleman a brilliant, toothy grin, as 
  he chalks up his stick. "Greetings." he says, as the small party of Walkers 
  approach. He looks Salem up and down, and the smile hardly falters at all. 
  "I don't believe I've had the pleasure?" He extends a hand.

"Yah, yer' right, but don't tell th'world eh'? I gotta make my money /some/ 
  how." Alicia nudges the Fury a bit and wiggles her fingers towards the 
  bartender, offering him a blown kiss in retort. "Anyways, Tom finally calmed 
  down and we had a lil talk. I guess ah'm ganna be spending less time with 
  him.. something 'bout him going to Seattle for school."

Rina watches them sidelong, as she goes to find a stick on the wall and chalk 
  the tip.

The Walker Philodox accepts the old gent's handshake, the undercurrent of rage 
  well-controlled over a layer of easy courtesy. "Jack Salem."

Laura cocks her head. "Hrm. That okay for you?" She nabs a cue and starts to 
  chalk it up. She raises an eyebrow to the Gaian. "He mentioned something 
  like that the other day. When we were talking."

"No, its not ok with me, but I'm not ganna run his life." Drifting her eyes 
  across the room, Alicia catches Salem's nod and offers one of her own, 
  broadly smiling. Soon after she spies Rina and John doing their own thing. 
  Seems to be the place to be at.

Silvio's smile /does/ falter a little as he actually touches one of the 
  monstrous men in coats, but he simply inclines his head and moves over to 
  safer ground, near Rina. John gets a broad smile that hides a wary look. 
  "John."

"Silvio." John replies, nodding in greeting as he sets his drink down on one 
  of the edges of the pool table and waits for Rina to hand him a cue. His 
  eyes stray to the garou girls newly arrived.

"Sorry," Laura sighs. "That kind of sucks. I'll be here, though," she offers, 
  starting to rack up the balls. She glances over to John and nods another 
  hello. "Y'know, to do stuff with. And stuff."

Rina glances over her shoulder, and offers a stick to the Walker; then she 
  steps over to the table and lines herself up for the break, pausing just a 
  moment to glance around the table. "Well, I'm closer to a lady than any 'a' 
  you."

Salem, pleasantries done, shifts his drink back to his right hand and takes a 
  sip; the neutral 'mask' slips back over his features and settles there.

The Walker Kin sends the billiard balls scattering--and doesn't sink any. 
  "Sorry, Uncle Sil," she mutters, scowling. "I suck."

"Of course, stuff is cool." Alicia murmurs slightly as she draws a stick up 
  for herself, hands running over the length of wood slowly. Almost as if 
  attuning herself to it. Be one with the wood. "He said he'll.. be home on 
  weekends and stuff, but I'm like 'whatever', ya'know? I wonder if he's doing 
  this cuz' of th' Jarred thing."

Silvio looks at the Walker holding a cue, and then to Salem, before letting 
  his gaze settle on Rina. "My team, then." he notes, smiling genuinely again.

John moves up to take his own shot, as he looks over the others. Like Salem, 
  small-talk doesn't appear to be big on his agenda. He makes the shot, sinks 
  some balls, and offers his cue to Salem, without ceremony.

Laura frowns. "Probably. Bloody jackass. Er...Jarred, I mean," she says as she 
  lines up the cue ball and takes a shot, scattering the colored balls all 
  over the table. "Hoped you could work it out, though," she murmurs, lightly 
  brushing Alicia's shoulder with her fingers.

Salem sets down his drink and shrugs out of the heavy leather longcoat before 
  taking the cue. He studies the table critically before making a shot, and 
  sends another ball into the stygian depths of the corner pocket.

"Yah well.. I dunno eh'? Maybe we need the time apart. Perhaps its good for 
  us." Alicia lines up the cue ball and banks a shot without so much of 
  aiming, sinking a striped ball into the corner pocket. Heading back around, 
  she eyes the table thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe I should concentrate 
  more on my job ya'know what I mean? I got shit to get done, speaking of 
  which -- you and I got a lil bit of one on one to do later if you are free."

Rina winces, and glances to 'Uncle Silvio' sadly. "I think we're toast," she 
  murmurs.

The aging drug dealer nods a few times, waiting for the trenchcoat team to 
  finish clearing the table. He hmmms thoughtfully. "We still have a chance... 
  but the odds would be pretty poor at this rate." He brightens considerably. 
  "Anyone care to put some money on the table?"

John just shakes his head a little, smiling faintly.

As she paces around the table, watching Alicia choose her shot, Laura nods. 
  "Yeah, I'm free." The waitress shows up with the beer, and Laura tosses a 
  couple of bills onto her tray. "Thanks," she says, taking a good, long drink.

Salem gives Silvio a taste of the old arched eyebrow. "No, thank you." A touch 
  of humor leaks into his voice.

Lining up another shot, Alicia sinks two more balls in a row, then misses one 
  on purpose so the Fury can get a chance. "Cool, we can work on that one 
  thingy then, maybe trade ya in return."

Rina rolls her eyes heavenward.

[Connection bump.  Brief interruption.]

"No clue, I don't keep up with the roaches /star/ student." Alicia says,
sarcasm dripping off her tongue as she bumps her friend back, turning to
the table once more.

Laura purses her lips briefly. "Hrm. Not that I expected you to know..."
She glances at John quickly. "Just figured that you spend more time out
and about than I do."

"Well, if yer' curious, go ovah'dere an axe'em." Alicia murmurs slightly
behind a chewing bottom lip, firing off a hard shot, sending the eightball
straight into the far off pocket.

Rina leans over the table once more, lining up a difficult shot; she
glances toward the two men as they walk away, curious. Then she looks to
Salem with a raised eyebrow. "Did you hear anything?"

Laura rolls her eyes as the shot goes in. "And yet again, I get my ass
handed to me by the great Alicia." She pokes her friend with her cue.
"I'll get a handle on 'em tomorrow. Looks like he's busy now."

"Hm?" Salem frowns minutely at John's back, then shakes his head and turns
back to Rina. "Nothing of note, no." He picks up his glass and takes
another sip.

Rina takes a careful breath, and returns her attention to her shot. Slow
and careful... and unsuccessful. "Damn it," she mutters.

Alicia smiles and slips herself up on the pool table and calls over. "Yo
John! Come over here for a moment." She, on the other hand; has no trouble
in pulling attention over towards herself. "Laura here wants ta' ask ya
something."

Salem picks up the cue he and John were sharing. "A little more to the
left, and you would have had it," he says, then snaps his gaze over toward
Alicia.

Rina's head turns, as well.

Laura would try to look inconspicuous if Alicia hadn't made quite such a
scene. Instead, she just bops her overdramatic companion in the knee with
her cue and waits to see if there'll be a response.

John, returning, frowns at Alicia. And then at Rina. And back at Alicia
again. He doesn't bother coming over, though. Just lifts a gloved hand and
makes a beckoning gesture, as he approaches Rina and leans over to murmur
something in her ear. Silvio remains absent.

Salem, with careful, deliberately casual motions, chalks up the tip of the
cue stick and sinks another ball. All the while, he keeps an eagle eye on
the proceedings.

Laura shrugs, and makes her way over to John and Rina, casual like. She
doesn't check to see if Alicia follows. She waits until he's done with
Rina, then digs her hands into her pockets. "John-yuf," she murmurs,
careful to keep the mortal patrons of the bar from hearing the honorific.
"I tried to find Jonathan on the night of the new moon, to carry out his
punishment, but he wasn't around." She lets the statement hang, watching
the Glass Walker expectantly.

Alicia follows the Fury over, shoving her hands down deep into her
pockets. She peers over at the table the GW's are occupying for a moment
and slips the balls a wry grin.

And, at mention of Jonathan's name, Salem becomes even more alert; the
Philodox rests the butt of the stick on the floor, his good eye fixed on
Laura.

Rina gives an alarmed glance to both John and Silvio, and takes a couple
of steps back from the pool table as conversation interrupts the game.

John eyes Alicia and Laura, warily, and looks to Salem for a moment. He's
obviously undecided about something for a few moments. When Silvio glances
over to them, John shakes his head at the man, and he remains where he is.
"Jonathan doesn't need punishment any more." he grunts, and reaches into a
jacket pocket, rummaging around in there.

Laura's shoulders slump, and her eyes dip for a moment. "Oh." She waits
patiently for whatever John's about to bring out of his pocket, keeping
her hand lodged in her own.

Salem's grim expression is one that his face knows well. He shifts his
gaze away and solemnly studies the billiard balls again. He picks up his
glass and sips from it, an automatic gesture.

Alicia glances over for just a moment, then shrugs, obviously uninterested
in the little fire-bug. She wanders around the GW's pool table, staring at
the balls for a long moment, then heads back to her own. "I'm ganna rack
the balls up again Laura."

John pulls out a folded up piece of paper. It's obviously been unfolded
and refolded numerous times. And possibly scrunched up into a ball once or
twice. Silently, the Elder Walker hands Laura the slip of paper. "Keep it
quiet." he rumbles, gruffly.

Salem gives the paper John hands over only the briefest of glances;
judging by his face, he already knows what's on it.

Rina watches, a guarded look in her eyes. "Gianni?" she prompts, warily.

Laura nods. "Wouldn't want to intrude on your affairs," she murmurs,
skimming over the battered sheet. She reads it over three times, then
refolds it very precisely. "Thank you, John." She pauses, thinking as she
hands it back. "This does not change my opinion of you or yours." Neutral
to the last, she nods curtly to John, then walks back to her table. "Where
were we?"

"You were gett'n yer'ass handed ta'ya in pool." Alicia says after taking
the plastic triangle off the rack of balls, placing it beneath the table.

Forcing a chuckle, Laura picks her cue up again. "Right, I almost forgot.
Why did you have to remind me?" She motions for another beer, digging in
her pocket to be sure she has the money.

Rina gives the woman a measuring look, watching her.

John returns the nod to the Fury, with a lowered eyebrow, and then slips
the note back into his pocket. "Jonathan." is all he says to Rina, by way
of explanation. And then looks to Salem with a shrug, before gesturing
Silvio back over and eyeing the table, critically. "Love mixing pleasure
with business." he mutters.

Salem offers the stick to John, his face still stonily neutral, his eye
cold. He grunts agreement with the ahroun's sentiment.

Alicia chuckles and shrugs her shoulders a bit, heading to take the first
shot. "Because, if I don't -- then you may start thinking yer'actually
good at it." Snap, her wrist flicks forward and she jumps the balls about
the table, not sinking a single one.

"It's your go, Gianni," Rina murmurs, subdued.

John takes the cue and nods, striking the cueball and failing to sink
anything. Nor particularly looking like he cares. "Left my drink at the
bar." he mutters, as Silvio approaches, passing the Italian without a
word.

Silvio arches an eyebrow, looking after John, and then back to Rina.
"Problems?"

Laura nods. "Ah, of course. How good of you to remind me..." The waitress
approaches again, and Laura accepts her beer, pulling out the last of her
cash. She takes a sip, then lines up her shot, actually sinking one. She
misses by a mile on the second shot, though.

A flicker of confusion crosses Rina's face, and she give Silvio a worried
look. One shoulder lifts a fraction. "I don't know."

"Family problems," explains Salem, somewhat vaguely. He glances toward
Silvio, giving the older man a mildly apologetic look.

Silvio raises both eyebrows in curiosity, and peers at Rina. "If you need
to be alone, Cara... Or. I can stay...?" He looks meaningfully at the
departing John - now ordering a refill. His fourth - and then back at the
girl. There's a very brave protectiveness in the old man's eyes.

Rina shakes her head quickly, and her eyes widen. "No, please, it's your
shot..."

Silvio nods, smiles winningly, and gently takes a cue as he begins lining
up his shot.

Salem looks toward the bar with a slight frown, watching the Walker ahroun
with narrowed eye.

John returns with drink in hand, and already working his way through it,
taking another mouthful. He just watches the old man, and grimaces as the
Italian repeatedly sinks balls until there's only the 8-ball left. Which
is missed. John looks to Salem, noting "Nice run."

Rina beams, and puts an arm around the old man; she kisses him lightly on
the cheek. "You rock."

Silvio merely gives Rina a wink, prevented from partaking of his preferred
bow.

Salem sets his glass down and takes the cuestick. "Indeed," he answers
blandly, and turns to study the nearly-cleared green felt. The
eight-ball's in a difficult position in regards to the cueball, and Salem
takes a moment to consider his options.

Laura drains her beer. "Wanna get going? I should let Ags know about the
new stuff at the Center." She prepares to sweep the balls off of the
table.

John simply folds his arms and gives Silvio a faint smile, dipping his
head a little, in acknowledgement.

Alicia nods her head and leans against her cue stick. "Yah, that'd be a
good idea. I should get home and well... I dunno.. maybe prowl the streets
or something. I'll call ya tomorrow?"

"Would it be cheating if I goosed you now, Jack?" Rina asks lightly.

John grimaces.

Laura sweeps the balls off of the table. "Sure. I'll be home most of the
day. I've got tomorrow off." She replaces her cue on the wall.

Alicia moves the stick up against hers, then brushes off her hands to get
rid of the chalk. "Aiiiight, we'll hook up an get working on that thingy
we got planned together. Be safe."

Salem blinks, giving Rina an incredulous look. If she _had_ goosed him, he
probably wouldn't have been more startled. Not by much, anyway. He glances
at John's face, then turns back to Rina. "That... would not be against the
_rules_ precisely... but not particularly kosher."

Rina laughs, grinning like a mischievous teenager--and looking like one,
in that moment. "Go ahead," she says gaily, waving a hand. "Win y'game."

Laura grins. "Walk safely, sister," she replies, leading the way to the
door. She waves goodbye to the Glass Walker contingent as she waits for
Alicia to move past her, then follows her friend out into the evening.

Rina lifts a hand in a wave to the unfamiliar woman.

John gives a brief nod to the two girls as they make to depart. His eyes
follow Laura, in particular. All the way to the door.

Alicia waves to the roaches on her way out as she pulls her jacket back
over her shoulders. Following after the Fury, she lets the door closed
behind them, then parts ways.

Salem gives Rina a longer look, his expresion almost... wary. Then he
turns back to the game; the stick snaps out, and the eight-ball vanishes
down the pocket. Along with the cueball. Salem straightens up, grimacing.

Rina wrinkles her nose. "I should've goosed ya. I hate winnin' like that."
She reaches across the table, though, to offer Salem a hand. "Good game,
though.

John winces again, and eyes Rina, warningly, stepping over towards her.

Silvio merely leans on his stick and grins at Salem. He gives him a
respectful nod, and watches Rina, warmly.

Salem's shoulders lift and fall in a dismissive shrug. "Good game," he
agrees, shaking Rina's hand. No comment on the whole goosing comment. He
drains the rest of his glass and glances at his watch. "And on that note,
I should be going."

"Thanks f'stickin' around, and playin'," Rina says, her smile turning
genuine. Then she glances to John. "You gonna scram too? Got stuff to talk
about with Jack, or are you gonna walk home with me?"

Silvio gives Salem a polite wave, and smiles at him some more. "Pleasure
to meet you, Mr. Salem." he says, smoothly, though his eye does stray
warily towards the couple.

John gives Salem a strange look. "I'll see you back at the house, maybe,
Jack." He looks down at Rina. "Walking with you." he states, firmly.
There's a little warmth in his expression, though, as he gets closer and
slips one hand around her waist.

Salem inclines his head slightly to Silvio. "Likewise." He glances toward
Rina and John, then nods again and collects his coat. "Good night," he
says, and heads for the door, shrugging into the leather garment as he
leaves.