Digging a Hole, Part 2

[hazlogs]

It is currently 20:14 Pacific Time on Mon Nov 19 2001.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (28% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 50
degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the north at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.75 and
falling, and the relative humidity is 96 percent. The dewpoint is 49
degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius.)

Forest North of Kent Crossing

A large expanse of second-growth forest grows about you. Douglas Fir and
Western Hemlock are the dominant trees, with more deciduous species
present closer to the west. The woods are light, with sunlight or
moonlight trickling to the floor of the forest on the occasions when the
skies are clear. While some large houses and the sporadic older farmstead
dot the few small roads that wind their way through the wilderness, most
of it has returned to the natural state. The remnants of human
inhabitations past can be seen in the rectangular shaped meadows that were
once farms. A few abandoned buildings and the rusted remains of farm
machinery lay in some of these grassy areas.

To the west of this area, the Columbia River pushes through the land, with
the city of St. Claire on the opposite bank. Interstate 90 crosses the
Columbia to the north, following it north-south for a few miles on this
side, but generally maintaining its east-west path. To the east is Sunrise
Road; one of the more inhabited country roads in the area and to the south
is the sleepy town of Kent Crossing.

It has been several days time in digging, the den now coming to shape. The
tunnel leads up at first, then down again into a den area that is quite
large, room enough and some for a hispo, maybe two, to sleep in. Some work
still needs done to finish the den and to move the spent earth. This is
the progress so far made that Wildfire now leads the Walker to.

Salem follows, his manner solemn and somewhat withdrawn. Moody. He wonders
aloud how close they are to the end of the task, asking merely for
information, not out of a desire to avoid or be rid of the work.

Wildfire shrugs in a decidedly lupine manner. Tonight, unless I decide to
add a bath. Just need to move earth.

Salem makes a wolfish noise of acknowledgement and gives himself a shake.
Fine. Let us finish this, then.

Wildfire indicates several mounds of earth both outside and in the hole.
It is for you, Dark-One, to gather the soil and spread out through these
woods. I will be pushinf the rest of the loose out of the hole. The Get
then gets down to business.

Salem's ears flick backwards for a moment before he dips his muzzle in
agreement. He gives the area a careful look around, adding scent and
hearing to his survey, and then, satisfied that they are without
witnesses, reverts to human form. The Glass Walker is dressed in sweats
and sneakers, his long hair tied back; he pulls off the sweatshirt for use
with carrying the dirt, and though the black t-shirt underneath is little
comfort against the chill weather, he makes no complaint.

Wildfire can be heard grumbling to himself from deep down in the den, soon
followed by the sounds of scraping claws on rock.

Salem meanwhile trudges back and forth, making several trips as he carries
and scatters one load of dirt after another.

Wildfire can be seen popping his head out of the tunnel just long enough
to shuffle more dirt out, his form having shifted to crinos while doing
so. This process take the better part of two hours.

Salem returns after spreading out the last load of displaced soil, pulling
the hooded sweatshirt back on with a grimace. Though he's never made
comment one about getting dirty, it's clearly far from his favorite state
of being.

Wildfire steps back out of the tunnel, having returned to lupus, and takes
a few minutes to survey their handiwork.

Salem, once he's replaced the sweatshirt, returns to wolf form himself. He
pads forward, then pauses a short distance away from the Get, watching him
expectantly.

Wildfire eventually settles into a seated position, finding things
acceptable, though he does grumble about having to camouflage the hole. He
sits there for a minute in front of the Glass Walker, peering at him,
before he breaks the silence. Do you know why I chose this?

Salem's ears swivel forward, focusing on the Get; he remains standing.
After a moment, he answers. You lost your home. This creates another for
you.

Wildfire narrows his eyes a bit. And to show _you_ that this is all I now
have. I have enough reason to instead have had you dig your own grave, but
I wanted to show you, Glass Walker, what it is to be truly displaced. The
Get gets to his feet. You screwed my life. Now I want you to see my home
and know it well, for you are no longer welcome here.

The black-furred Garou's hackles rise, anger -- not fear, not an inch of
it -- stiffening his posture and spitting out of his good eye. Several
replies, most likely quite undiplomatic, are visibly choked back. When he
finally answers, he's polite enough, showing proper deference to rank, but
cold. ~Then I will leave, Wildfire-rhya, and hope that you get some
enjoyment for your new home, though it is no true replacement for what you
have lost. And now, if you are done with me...~ He makes a movement to go.

Wildfire's hackles do not raise but his expression indeed does turn
stoney. Two months, Walker. Two months. Then come see me again. He turns
away from the other without another word.

Salem's eyes narrow. Then he dips his muzzle sharply and pads off.

[Salem heads back to the city and arrives eventually at the safe house.]

Walker Safe House - Lobby

        This small tenement building is a work that any interior decorator
would be proud of. The building is somehow filled with light and space,
despite the fact that the room is far from large. Mirrored surfaces and
lush green potted plants are much in evidence - jarring only slightly with
the video cameras that perch unobtrusively in various locations. A small
sign on the wall lists the number of apartments upstairs as eight, though
there are no names next to the apartment numbers. A very thick door leads
downstairs, with no visible method of being opened - except a keypad next
to it. A monitor is perched above the entrance, showing images from the
hidden camera that watches the outside of the building.

        The lobby branches off into what appears to be a small recreation
room; for use only by residents and their guests.

Salem enters amidst the usual rattle of mechanical locks, the sound a bit
more sharp and abrupt than usual. Uncharacteristically dirty and
ill-groomed, the ex-Ahroun closes the door behind him, his expression
angry and his body language stiff.

Roger stands before the doorway, almost as if he was awaiting Salem's
arrival. A tray is suspended one one hand, two tea cups atop it. The light
scent of sweet rassberry, and stronger tangy lemon and ginger eminate from
the tea in the cups in a soothing but hunger inducing scent. "Welcome
home. Thirsty?" Roger asks, holding forth the tray to his tribesmate.

Salem pauses, quite clearly taken aback. "Mmn. Yes." He accepts one of the
tea cups, head tilted to regard the Galliard rather quizzically. "How long
have you been standing there?"

[Roger]

Roger is about 5'11" with dark brown hair and pale skin. His eyes are
reddish green in color. He isn't the most handsome or hideous man you ever
met, but instead boringly dull looking. The only standout feature about
him is his long upper-back length ponytail. But even that, can be easily
overlooked when in a room with other people who are anyway more
interesting. He wears khakis and a dark blue button down shirt, and a
black full length trench coat. Some with the perception for it might
notice a small lump that is always under his left armpit. He seems to shy
away from those around him, fighting the urge to run away. Occasionally he
will look about the room and then close his eyes as if a bad headache had
come over him.

Roger thinks on this a moment then responds quickly enough. "Since the tea
was done brewing and I relocated it to the front door. Now, as to how I
knew you would be here. I always know where you are, Salem. You were in
the woods... meeting someone, though it was difficult for me to determine
exactly who. So, due to recent events... I assumed you would be stressed
from said encounter with the tall stranger and would require preemptive
release from this stress before some of your old habits return in a way
you might regret. So I brewed you tea when I determined you were on the
way back to the house... I've been standing here since then. Again,
welcome home." he saids as he points questioningly to two small bowls with
tiny spoons in them, one containing what is obviously sugar, and the other
sweet-n-low.

Salem frowns, particularly when Roger mentions 'always' knowing where he
is, suspicion like an old, bad friend twitching across his face. Briefly.
Then he shakes his head, saying only -- and dryly, as though attempting to
make light of it -- "Ah. Silly me. I never noticed when you slipped on the
radio collar." He refuses the sweeteners with a murmured, "No, thank you,"
as he takes a sip of the tea.

Roger takes out his cellphone and gestures towards Salem with it before
putting it away again, setting aside the tray and taking the other cup for
himself. "Mmm... excelent blend of flavors. Now. There is a tracking
device in the Walker phonesystem with a closed circuit link directly to
the safehouse's intranet. I'll show you how to operate it if you wish.
Now, knowing you were out in the woods, standing still for a while, I
figured there was something up. Not spying on you, but just checking up on
your wellbeing I sent out one of my feline scouts after you to see what
was up. The message came back that you were conversing with a /large/
human. I figured either one of the Get of Fenris. Jamethon Black and Owen
Hollsinger are two of the largest people in the sept, aside from those who
may be walking around in Glabro. Then all my previously mentioned thought
processes occured, and I made the tea for ya. All out of love." he
mentions that last part with a smile that doubles as devilish and charming
all at once.

Salem looks rather dubious at Roger's explanation, but lets it pass.
"Owen's finished with me," he says flatly. "Kaz is, too. All that remains
is the Ostracism ritual, which awaits Adam's pleasure." Another sip of
tea, along with the Philodox's normal closed manner, masks feeling apart
from a general dourness.

Roger looks over Salem a moment and thinking before speaking, finally does
so in a careful manner. "You're soon to be a packmate Salem. A brother
beyond what we are in the St. Claire family. I don't want you to feel
unease when I do... what I do best. Thats take care of my own. If I found
you were being harmed. The cause would find a bullet between the eyes from
an unknown and undetectable source. You understand where I'm coming from?"

Salem exhales a long breath, the sound not _quite_ a sigh. "Yes, Roger, of
course. Forgive me. I fear my mood is very foul tonight." His mouth thins.
"Damned Get," he mutters, frowning down at his tea cup. "He keeps a grudge
like a bloody Wendigo."

Roger lets his brow furrow, "Owen then? Jamethon is a forgiving sort. He
hasn't tried to kill me yet at least. And sure, you'll be ostracized for
two months. Whatever. That doesn't matter. You've been a great Garou in
the past... and have the potential to be one again in the future. So fuck
Owen. Fuck Adam and that damned rite he is going to perform. Fuck it all
and remember then when the two months are over, you'll have a family to
come back to. And between us... you have a family to come back to before
then as well."

Salem looks up from the tea, his eyes narrowing, with the blind one
squinting almost closed. "Kinfolk, yes. Garou, no. Not during those two
months." He takes a sip. "The Ostracism is nothing," he says evenly.
"Merely... inconvenient."

Roger taps his tea cup against Salem in a saluting manner. "We overcome."
is all he says at this point, finishing off the rest of the tea and
sighing contentedly.

After heading into the safehouse, Jeremy shrugs his backpack and makes his
way towards the lobby, decked out in his newly aquired /gothic/ ansemble.
He looks tired, if not a hint frustrated and stressed out.

Salem's mouth twitches at the corners. Almost a smile. He swallows the
last of his tea and places the cup back on the tray. "Thank you," he says,
simply. His glance flicks toward the arriving kinfolk, then shifts back to
Roger. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower, and then perhaps
get some sleep."

Roger nods to Salem and looks over towards the kin. "Good night then
Salem. And good morning, Jer."

Salem nods, then vanishes upstairs. "Good night."