Bored Cub

[hazlogs]

It is currently 18:39 Pacific Time on Thu May 16 2002.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (32% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 68 degrees
Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
south at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.98 and falling, and
the relative humidity is 29 percent. The dewpoint is 35 degrees Fahrenheit
(1 degrees Celsius.)

Location: Walker-house, lobby.


Rheen wanders out of the rec-room, going slowly. She looks like she just
woke up or something. As the door swings shut behind her, she glances
around, apparently not in a hurry to go anywhere specific any time soon.

Salem is, by coincidence, coming down the stairs just as Rheen emerges from
the rec room, and he appears to be heading that way himself. He pauses,
though, at sight of Rheen. "Sleep well?" asks the Walker, neutrally.

Rheen blinks, not expecting company. "Uh? Oh, yeah, great." She shrugs,
flicking her braid back to its rightful place from where it somehow wound up
on her shoulder. "Is there anything else to do around here, do you know?
Besides sleep and watch TV, I mean." She's still a little bleary, but the
life's slowly coming back to her, mainly in the form of fidgeting.


While Rheen isn't ugly, she isn't really much of anything else, either. She
stands about five and a half feet tall, and would probably be taller if she
wasn't slouching. She is not particularly muscular, although she probably
wouldn't faint at the thought of a little exercise, and something about her
suggests she's the woodsy type. Her shaggy brown 'hair-colored' hair is
caught in a loose braid that reaches halfway down her back, although she is
constantly pushing stray strands behind her ear. It seems to have become a
nervous habit, as she does this every few minutes. Her heart-shaped face is
not particularly memorable, the only distinguishing features being a slight
sideways smirk on her thin lips that seems to be the default position for
her mouth, and an accompanying amused tilt of the eyebrows. Her brown eyes
are turned slightly downward, not seeming to focus on anything in
particular.

	Unconventional may be the best word to describe Rheen's idea of
fashion. Maybe she just dressed in the dark, but it's almost as if she can't
seem to decide how to present herself to the world, and is trying to wear
several different personalities at once.

	 Black form fitting cargo pants tucked into soft faire-type knee
boots and a ribbed red turtleneck adorn her lanky frame, and her trusty
penny whistle sticks out of one perpetually over-filled pocket.


Salem folds his arms across his chest and regards the cub critically for a
moment. "What did you have in mind?" His tone isn't particularly friendly,
though neither does he seem overtly hostile -- no moreso than any
rage-filled werewolf.

Rheen registers this change of posture; he doesn't look happy, but what else
is new. Still, she tries for the cautious route. "Like books and stuff? I
don't know. Aren't Glass Walkers supossed to have lotsa computers or
something?" Realizing that could sound more whiny than intended, she adds
"Sorry, it's just that I haven't had much to do lately, and everyone's been
out planning or whatever."

One corner of Salem's mouth quirks upwards. "Computers or firearms." He
glances toward the rec room. "Mmn. There used to be a Playstation or the
like in there. Courtesy of Jeremy, one of our kinfolk." His eye turns back
to Rheen. "As for books. Any particular subject matter?"

Rheen chews on the inside of one cheek for a moment before replying
"Mythology? Any fantasy or mystery?" There's a hopeful tone in her voice
that borders on pathetic. "Or I don't s'ppose there's anything here that's
about Garou? No, there wouldn't be, would there?"

Salem shakes his head. "No. Our history is entirely oral, for reasons of
secrecy. The only exception is, of course, the use of glyphs, but those are
rare these days."

Rheen nods. "Yeah, thought so. Hey, is there, like, anywhere I could just
run around? Sorry, I've got cabin fever or something." She points her chin
toward the rec-room behind her. "The TV's getting a little old."

Salem nods toward the basement. "There's a bit of open space down there. Not
a great deal, unfortunately, but our plans to install the indoor track were
rather curtailed by the caern falling." Was that a joke? It's difficult to
tell, but the scarred half-moon seems to have warmed a bit. He looks
thoughtful. "What tribe are you?"

Rheen says "Children of Gaia," comes the prompt response. At least that was
easy to answer without having to worry about saying the wrong thing. She
glances in the direction of the basement, then back at Salem."

Salem taps a finger against his chin. "I usually go out for a run in the
early mornings. _If_ you get permission from your elders, and _if_ you're
serious about wanting some exercise, you may join me."

Rheen grins. "Great! Er, thanks! I'll ask-- are you sure you don't mind? I
mean, I don't want to get-- don't worry, I can keep up and everything." The
words come out so fast it's suprising she doesn't trip over her own tounge.
She's really excited about this. Of course, at this rate, she'd probably be
excited if someone ordered a new flavor of pizza for lunch.

Salem's brows rise at the strength of the cub's reaction, but he's not
unpleased by it. "Excellent." He glances at his watch. "Come see me when you
have an answer from your elders. My apartment is upstairs."