A Long, Honest Answer

[hazlogs]

It is currently 20:38 Pacific Time on Sun Oct 28 2001.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (79% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 41
degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The
barometric pressure reading is 30.13 and steady, and the relative humidity
is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

Harbor Park -- Fountain

Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six
trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into
concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.

The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and
about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix
of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel
slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around
the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in
bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle
is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped
in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek
symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its
feet.

Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any
residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of
the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of
St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several
feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.

Kaz, an extra layer on underneath her jacket, is wandering around,
muttering disgustedly, and picking up trash. There is a mammoth trash bag
sitting on one of the benches.

Salem has his coat buttoned up against the cold, with the collar turned
up. Hands stuffed in pockets, he stalks through the park at a brisk pace.
He's either a rather masochistic stroller or he's keeping an eye out for
someone -- and it seems as though Kaz serves as someone to keep an eye out
for, since as soon as he spots the Bone Gnawer, he starts angling over
toward her.

Kaz picks up several more pieces of random trash and stuffs them into the
bag. "And /stay/ there," she mutters, before she notices Salem. Her
expression doesn't change much, but all of her attention focuses on him.
"Hey," she calls.

"Evening." Salem's greeting is casual, his voice even and calm despite the
moon-fueld undercurrent of rage. He gives the trash a wry look. "Never
seems to want to stay in, does it?"

Kaz says, "Yeah, just there to torture me." She shoves her hands in her
pockets and shrugs. "Luckily, this's just a hobby, or it'd drive me
batshit."

The Glass Walker spots a crumpled cigarette pack that's escaped Kaz's eye
and bends down to pick it up. "Not surprising." Despite the casual air,
there's clearly something on Salem's mind.

Kaz, for her part, appears to have stopped her activity completely.
Perching on the back of the bench, she studies him. "'Sup?"

Salem fingers the empty pack, regarding the Gnawer for a moment before
answering. Dropping the casual tone, he says, "You were with Edge. A
couple of years ago." His gaze is piercing, his expression difficult to
read.

With anyone else, Kaz would go on (and on) about the coincidences going on
today. Why, Adam just mentioned Edge! To Salem, Kaz just nods, slightly.
"Yeah."

Coincidence? Perhaps, perhaps not. "Hmn. I hadn't realized." Salem moves
to dump the cigarette pack into Kaz's garbage bag.

After a moment, Kaz gets a Coke out of her coat pocket. "Why?"

Salem brushes off his gloved hands, tugs at one coat sleeve, then lets his
hands slip back into his pockets. "I asked for a judgement about the
incident at the Rialto back when I... left." His voice is all business,
his expression generally neutral, though there's a tightness that may
easily be attributed to the cold, or to fighting his rage.

[Kaz]

        Beautiful, this woman isn't. Most people wouldn't even call her
interesting, although there is a spark of something, deep down in there.
Even so, most people would call her homely, if they bothered to call her
anything at all. She's about 5'6" tall, and burly. Not fat -- It's the
kind of burly that's all muscle, just not well defined muscle.

         Her hair is brown, distinctly curly, and in her eyes. Constantly.
The part that's not in her eyes is about shoulder length. Her eyes are
distinctly odd, although it's hard to tell, given how often she hides
behind her hair. They're yellow, and look almost cat-like. The rest of her
face isn't offensive, just boring. The nose is a bit big -- maybe it's
been broken, or maybe she was just born that way. Her chin is broad, as
are her cheekbones. Classic features for a man that don't at all work on
her. There's a wry, cynical smile often playing about her lips that does
nothing to add to her mostly non-existent charm. Makeup, it's clear, is of
very little use to this person.

         "Battered" would describe her choice of clothing quite well. Grey
trenchcoat, tired blue jeans, an oxford shirt hanging open, with a t-shirt
underneath. Her sneakers are black, and she often has a black hat jammed
over her head.

Kaz leans forward slightly, elbows on her knees. She doesn't bother trying
to feign surprise. Her words are slightly restrained, terse. "Yeah. I got
talked to. But what... Why would /you/ wanna bring it up with me?"

Salem arches a brow, mild surprise flitting briefly across his face.
"Already?"

Kaz can't quite shrug in this position, but she moves a shoulder. "This
mornin'."

"Hrmn." Salem's eye moves away, shifting to study the river. "I'd hoped to
mention it to you before Adam did, but I suppose it makes no difference."
He glances back at her, and adds, in a dryer tone, "I'll refrain from
asking what he said, or what you said in response."

Kaz regards him for a moment, and then, deliberately, looks away and
slowly stretches out her shoulders. It's a slow, almost langorous process,
and then she slides down into a real seat. She tilts her head to look at
him; her voice isn't any warmer, but the wariness has faded, just like
that. "Why /not/ ask?"

Salem turns back again and this time meets the Gnawer's gaze squarely, his
stare holding the kind of intensity that tends to make mere mortals
distinctly nervous. Not that Kaz is any mere mortal, of course. After a
moment's study, he inclines his chin slightly. "All right. What _was_
said?"

Kaz quirks a small, tight smile at this intensity. "He asked what happened
to Edge after that raid. I tol' him. An' he asked what I think oughta be
done with you. I din' tell him that, though." She seems almost content to
leave it at that, but after popping open her Coke and taking a long swig,
she goes on, "Edge, we kinna hadda go underground, see. Signe started
wearin' cardigans an' shit, I cut m'hair, dyed it, started wearin'
contacts, that kinda stuff. 'Cause we couldn't use th' Rialto an' we were
all under p'tential surveillance. An' as for what I think he oughta do
with you..." She trails off. Looking at the can, she says, with quiet
intensity, "That /ain't my business/. I'm a Galliard. I tell tales. I
don't make fuckin' judgements, and even when I do, I am /way/ the fuck too
close to this to make anything even /resembling/ a balanced judgement. So
I tol' him I couldn't tell him what oughta be done with you."

"I see." Salem's voice is quiet. _Very_ quiet. He studies the river some
more, lips thinned. "Does it make any difference to know that it wasn't
intentional?"

In a question that smacks almost of ritual by now, Kaz asks, "You want the
long answer or the short one?"

The corner of Salem's mouth quirks upward, though any humor in his
expression is heavily sardonic. "Generally speaking, I'm more apt to
prefer the long answer to the short."

Kaz says, "Right. An' honesty. I go for honesty." She puts the Coke down,
carefully. "I /know/ it was accidental. I ain't never met anyone who
frenzies on purpose, not even Get. I don' actually blame you f'that part.
It's the part /afterwards/ that, to adopt a colloquialism, burned my butt.
Yes, I'm a Bone Gnawer. We protect ourselves, we hide in the shadows a
lot, we attack in groups, alla that shit that makes us th' toast of th'
other tribes. But I'm a Bone Gnawer who /accepts/ the consequences of my
actions, who tries to support pack, tribe, and Sept even when I /fuck up/.
And you just... left." For once in her life she pauses, to see if she
actually wants to use a word, but then she goes on, "/Ran/. Sure,
whoop-de-fuckin' do, Bowen comes back with your claws. That still ain't
you livin' /up/ to what you did an' dealin' with it. And then of course
the next time I see you you're fightin' other Garou more'n you're fightin'
the Wyrm, or anyway, that's what it /felt/ like." She's looking directly
at him, by now. "So no. It don't make much of a difference. What makes a
difference is the shit you've done /since/ comin' back, though. If /that/
helps."

Ouch. Salem's half-smirk fades quickly once Kaz starts talking; his face
turns stony. Even his eyes -- the good one, anyway -- seems to take on a
dead-cold, flinty aspect. Still, he doesn't look away, doesn't flinch,
doesn't blink. And when she's done, he nods, once. "I see."

Kaz says, almost apologetically, "You asked. I answered." More
assessingly, she adds, "Couldn't have put it to you that way, at this time
of the month, 3 years ago. Part of what I mean by what you've done since
you came back."

Salem's shoulders lift, then fall. "Hnm. This time of the month, three
years ago, I wouldn't have asked."

Kaz shrugs. "Whatever," she says dismissively. "Did you get my larger
point, though, or should I chisel it on your forehead?"

"I... got it," says Salem, that dry tone creeping back into his voice.

There's actual humor in Kaz's tone when she says, "Good. It's kinda hard
to keep th' blade sharp. Anyways. You got any more need f'me t'speak truth
at you, or can we go back to th' polite pleasantries?"

Salem actually makes a sound that almost approximates a chuckle. "We can
return to less weighty conversation, if you like." His eye skims the park,
scanning it for other night-time visitors. "There's been a girl hanging
about here recently. Twelve or so, rooting through the trash."

"It ain't that I'm eager to, necessarily, it's just I don' seem to have
anythin' resemblin' a gift f'subtlety." She shrugs, and drops it; his
conversational salley has garnered her attention, and quickly. "Around
/here/? Huh." Kaz sounds wary. "Not a lot of people'd be willin'a stick
around here." Unnecessary observations, part 3.

Salem nods curtly. "My thoughts exactly. I've seen her before full night,
which rules out _one_ unpleasant possibility, at least." He purses his
lips. "In any case, you might want to keep an eye out for her. Brown hair,
brown eyes, about so tall." He holds a hand out, about five feet from the
ground. "Bit careless where the trash falls."

Kaz says, with attention clearly focused, "Check." After a moment, she
glances up at the moon. "So I'd love to stay and chat about litterbugs,
but I should patrol. See you... Around, I guess."

Salem nods again. "Be seeing you," he says quietly.

Kaz lopes out of the park at a fast jog.