Grouchy

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:38 Pacific Time on Wed May 29 2002.

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

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 61
degrees Fahrenheit (16 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the southwest at 13 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.05 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 72 percent. The dewpoint is 52
degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)

Walker Safe House - Rec Room

        Much like the rest of the building, mirrors are prominent in the
Recreation Room. There is a pool table set up in one half of the room,
along with a small fridge for storing drinks and a cabinet for snackables.
A small bar provides limited seating and more intoxicating drinks, if one
has the key that allows access to the refridgerated drinks cabinet under
the bar. The remainder of the room is dominated by a large home theater
system, with an incredibly expensive-looking couch in front of it. The
couch nearly screams out, 'Don't spill anything'. For those who might,
there are also two matching side-chairs, and a bean-bag on the floor - far
too close to the television to be good for anyone's eyes.


On the television screen, whispery-voiced British people are talking about
the big African cats that they've been following about for the last year
or so, excited at seeing a half-tailed leopard and her cub. It's mere
background noise; Salem's attention is on leather-bound notebook, in which
he writes, covering the lined page with cramped, spikey script.

The sounds of oddly familiar voices are what lure the cub, who had been
curled up in a corner of the Lobby. One ear flicks, then another- then she
gets to all four paws and prances over jauntily, poking her head around
the doorway to stare at the television. Oh, a nature show, and a rerun at
that. Green eyes blink, the head cants, and then Four-Leaves turns to look
at the man writing away. -That- was far more interesting.

Salem glances up as the focus of the program shifts from Half-Tail the
leopard and her cub to a bunch of lions attempting to deal with irrtable
buffalo. The buffalo have the upper hand, or hoof. The Glass Walker
notices Four-Leaves, then, and regards her steadily for a moment, saying
nothing.

Four-Leaves takes the look as an invitation to play, and the cinnamon wolf
bounds over to Salem with a sparkle in her eyes. Hello hello hello, she
yips cheerily, playbowing before the couch. What is that you've got there?
Can I see? Please?

Salem's reaction is not all that inviting; he thins his lips and snaps the
book shut with one hand -- not that the words were at all easy to make out
without close examination anyway. "One of Kaz's, aren't you?" His tone is
cool, with a irritable undertone that only a high-raged Garou near the
full moon can achieve.

There's a brief look of hurt in the cub's eyes as she freezes mid-bow for
a moment, halted in her exultation. Then she carries on as if she wasn't
really offended, slighted, or put off in the least, merely tones down on
the enthusiasm. Four-Leaves cants her head and lolls her tongue in a
lupine smile. I'm Four-Leaves, Philodox Cub. One of Mama Ears', yes.

Salem lifts a brow. "'Four-Leaves'?" The name sparks curiosity, despite
himself, though he's no friendlier. "Why did they name you that?"

Matt stands outside and punches numbers on the keypad at random, hoping
they make a buzzing noise or something to attract the attention of someone
inside.

Something like laughter burbles into a chuff from the cub. It sounds like
it has something to do with marijuana, doesn't it? she chuckles. My eyes.
Green. Clover. Bridge-Mender named me. To exaggerate her point,
Four-Leaves bats her eyelashes outrageously, as her ears flick towards the
door. Visitors! she carols, enthusiasm returning full blast, scurrying out
of the rec room. Come and see, come and greet please. I don't have hands.

Salem mutters something in Serbian as he gets up, giving the Gnawer cub a
dour look as he stalks toward the door. He looks like he might kick her if
she doesn't keep out of his way -- but if she doesn't, no kicks actually
come; there's some invisible line that Lyra hasn't yet crossed.

Salem studies the monitors for a moment, then opens the door a notch to
eyeball Matt. "Yes?"

Matt's hands are jammed in his pockets and he sways forward and back on
his feet, apparently bored waiting, but not ready to try the keypad again.
When the door opens, he smiles, white teeth striking against the blue
background. "Tryin' ta clap minces on Tens, mate o mine. Kaz. Seen 'er?"

At a little under six feet tall and wiry, Matt is trim the way a
cross-country runner would be. His hair is white-blonde and short, gelled
spiky. His eyes, the blue-grey of rainwater, stand out from his pale skin,
the most striking part of his countenance. His hands are firm and
workman-like, with scars on the knuckles from a few rows in his recent
past, a motif that is echoed, for different reasons on his back. Starting
at the nape of his neck, a maze of wire-thin scars trails onto his back,
cris-crossing it like a road map. For the most part, they're hidden by his
clothes.

        Matt is dressed comfortably for the weather in a t-shirt and his
ubiquitlous jacket, covered in embroidered patches from British punk bands
like the Sex Pistols and the Stigmasochists. His face is decorated with
what looks like dark blue make-up, a large triangle from his left temple
to right cheekbone to hairline is covered in the stuff, and a fianna glyph
is drawn on his left cheek.

Salem regards Matt critically, his attention drawn especially to the blue
face-paint, and then shakes his head curtly. "Not today, I haven't.
Checked the junkyard?"

The cub scurries under Salem and sniffs around the open edge of the door,
her tail swinging excitedly, hitting Salem's leg. Four-Leaves cants her
head so one green eye peers out at Matt. Speaks-in-Circles, hello!

"Oh, ah. 'aven't been there yet." He smirks, and looks right and left
before leaning down. Under his breath he adds ~Greetings, Four-Leaves.
Good to get your scent.~

Salem puts a firm leash on his lunar irritability and asks, politely,
"Like to come in? For all I know, Kaz may stop in. She often does."

Matt shrugs. "Oi'll wait a tic, then, certain. Little rabbiting may pass
the bird away, eh?"

Four-Leaves scrambles out of Salem's way, off to one side so that there is
plenty of room for Matt to come in and so that she's not as visible when
the door enters. You remembered this time! she says, pleased. She turns in
a circle for a moment, then pads off calmly to the rec room. Let's all
watch TV.

Salem makes a non-commital 'hmh' noise and closes the door behind the
Fianna. "Yes," he says dryly in reply to Lyra's enthusiasm. "Let's."
Moving back into the rec room, he asks Matt, "Drink?"

Matt follows, glancing around. He may have been here once before, but in
some emergency or another. Everything seems new to him. "Aye, a stella's
go down cheery, os gwelech yn dda."

Four-Leaves chuffs good-naturedly and sidles up to Salem as he enters.
Mama Gaia's moon is on your shoulders, she says as if diagnosing a
disease. It helped Road-Rage to play a game. Play a game? Let's try hide
and seek, hm? Close your eyes, and- count to twenty! Abruptly, there's a
red streak as the cub tears of out the rec room again.

A leather-clad woman in a jacket and pants shows up at the door. She
pressed the buzzer as she looks up into the camera. Aubrey steps towards
the door as she presses her nose against the glass for a moment and gives
a light rat-tat at the door also.

Salem glances down at Four-Leaves but -- party-pooping bastard that he is
-- doesn't even acknowledge her invitation to play. As the buzzer sounds,
the Walker gets that little irritated mouth-twitch, then points Matt
toward the drinks cabinet. "Help yourself," he says, heading back for the
door. He mutters something about a 'fucking highway'.

In the Rec Room, Matt makes every effort to become comfortable. He finds a
beer from the fridge and sits on the sofa, pulling the top off expertly.

Aubrey smiles as Salem lets her in. "Hey, how's going?" she asks.
"Everything alright this way? Any news?" Shrugging off her jacket, she
places it near the door.

"Nothing that I've heard recently," Salem replies, closing the door and,
once again, heading back into the lobby. He gives the monitors another
glance before doing so, as though expecting the buzzer to activate again
at any moment.

Aubrey nods her head as she looks towards Salem. "Glad everything is
quiet," she murmurs. "Some new updates have been brought in from the
spirits about the fountain in Harbor Park, however." Her eyes hunt around
the place as she strides towards the Rec Room. "Hey Matt," she says in a
bit of surprise, "Didn't expect to see you here."

Salem arches a brow at news of, well, news. "Oh? And what's that,
exactly?"

Matt salutes his tribemate with a tilt of the beer bottle. "Didn' expect
ta be 'ere. Fill us bof in, eh?"

Aubrey smiles to Matt, giving him a bob of her head in response. "Sounds
like that the BSDs had some type of spirit lurking in the umbra. I'm not
exactly sure on the details. Tobin is the one that had spoken to the
merlin spirit. Eamon was there too, he could probably fill you in better
than I could. Of course, he was the one asking the questions."

Salem drops into the chair he had occupied before, picking up the remote
and hitting the 'mute' button. Now the whispery British people ethuse
about the big African felines in utter silence. "Lurking in the umbra
where? The park?"

Matt takes a draght of beer and rests it in his hand on the arm of the
chair. "There were a cast iron of 'em in th' park t'ovver night, as Oi
reckon it. Doan't fink they were tainted though. Sorta last line o'
defense, loike."

"The cearn," Aubrey replies to Salem, "Supposibly." She takes the a seat
at the couch, seeming on sticking around the place for awhile. "No... I
think this one is different, although, I am not at all sure myself."

Salem's eyes narrow thoughtfully, the blind one squinting nearly closed.
"Hmnh," he says, not sounding like he likes the sound of this.

Matt nods. "Not surprised, honestly. Still not good news though. Did /you/
get anyfing out o' th' encounter in the park? Tobin gets ta play
translator an makes some spirit friends, all 'arry Big Buttons an good fer
'im. What about you an Cameron?"

Aubrey recollects her thoughts for a moment. "Andrea is notified, she'd
know about this strange spirit that the merlin was speaking about.
Apparently Eamon was trying to find out more about the caren's condition
more than anything." She then looks across to Matt. "The first night when
we had discovered the spirits at the fountain, I went into the Umbra with
the others. A cockroach granted me Resist Toxin, but no Spirit Speach was
taught. Only Tobin was given that gift. Shame, really. With both of us
knowing it, we could have accomplished more last night."

Salem grunts, then abruptly pushes to his feet. "Excuse me, will you?" He
vanishes out into the lobby and upstairs.