Cubnapping Quentin

[hazlogs]

7/18/02

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 72
degrees Fahrenheit (22 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the west at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.04 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 61 percent. The dewpoint is 58
degrees Fahrenheit (14 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (59% full).

Location: By Athena Library

A canvas bag with a local bookstore's logo faded upon it slung over one
shoulder to hold the books that he's just checked out from the library,
Quentin's lean form emerges from the double doors of the library and out
into the slowly softening light of dusk.. though dusk lasts long, this
time of year. A deep breath of the fresher air, his head raising briefly
to gauge how much sunlight remains to the sky before he starts down the
marble steps one at a time with an unhurried step-- a cloud of pigeons
that had settled in upon the rail and steps taking to the air in a
rustling and flapping of wings like a great sheet of feathers that breaks
apart a moment later to alight upon the state of Athena. Substituting,
perhaps, for her owl.

[Quentin]
	Of lean and slender build and skin paled from night's touch,
this teenager's stature is far from impressive at a few inches shy of six
feet, and in this he could blend easily into any crowd of modern youth
without difficulty. A scattering of ebony hair spills forwards to shadow
his brow and tickle at the rim of his ears, though the nape of his neck is
bare of all save a dark shadow where a razor buzzed all away. The features
of his face are slightly sharp in their lines and angles, high cheekbones
and an almost pointed chin matched by the straight line of his nose, the
eyes that look out of that face a startlingly bright shade of green that
glints almost emerald in the right light.
	As for his clothes, he appears to have been shopping at the 'sullen
teenager' store, for he certainly looks the part. A light hooded
sweatshirt is worn open, its grey cotton spilling over his sides and back,
the hood bunching at the back of his neck and the metal zipper rattling
from time to time as he moves. Beneath it, the black t-shirt is about a
size too large, hanging easily from his slender frame, stating the
enigmatic message in white block letters 'ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US'
across his chest. A black pair of jeans cover his legs, the tough denim
fabric scraped to a paler white at his knees and a few spots near the
cuffs where they brush over the edge of hi-top sneakers. The only
ornamentation he wears, if it can even be called that, is a cheap digital
watch of mostly black and neon green plastic strapped to his right wrist.

[You paged Rina and John with 'Okay. Consider a short message left on your
voicemail then, John. "It's Salem. New cousin in town. _New_ new. Am going
to pick him up. Will call you later."'.]

The gothic computer hacking urban cracking nerd is hanging out on the
steps of the library, top of the line machine sitting across his lap,
glowing brightly with TFT LCD goodness. Jeremy glances up at the sound of
footsteps behind him, turning mid matched eyes, yellow and red, to the
arrival's direction. A click of a tongue stud against his teeth is heard,
pensive in nature. A brow raises slowly as the chilling breeze of the air
brushes over pale features, rippling his clothing a bit, dark, spooky and
out of place. The kind you don't bring home to mother.

A young woman sits on the steps, under the light of one of the lamps,
half-buried in a pile of books; she's been there for some time. Flipping
one of the volumes closed, she slides it into her knapsack and leans back
onto her elbows, looking up at the sky.

Salem stalks down the street, a tall dark figure dressed in loose dark
clothing, boots eating up the pavement. Despite the deepening twilight, he
wears sunglasses, which hides his eyes but not the twisted array of scars
along the left side of his face. He talking into a sleek little black
cellphone, only the last few words becoming audible as he approaches.
"...call you later." He cuts it off, clips it to his belt and, after a
quick look up and down the street, starts up the steps. His gaze lingers
on Jeremy for a few moments, then flicks toward Quentin. He studies the
boy in the cryptic t-shirt, almost critically.

After a brief glance slanted towards the goth on the laptop - well, it's
an interesting enough combination to garner a look, at least - Quentin
turns his attention back to the marble steps beneath his feet as he
continues down onto the sidewalk. As he hits the cement, he shifts to
adjust the canvas bag on his shoulder to keep a book's edge from poking
him in the shoulder-- and for the moment, doesn't notice that there's
someone watching him.

The pair of oddly colored eyes shift from the screen, slowly closing the
notebook. As Quentin steps past him to the last step, he slides the
computer into his bag, hefting the weight over his shoulder. He rises
slowly, brushing back his trench coat a bit, casting a subtle look and nod
towards Salem's direction. "Quentin Michaels." He says softly, chains
jingling about his hip and jeans, metal skulls clinking together in eerie
decoration. He takes the last few steps down and heads towards the target,
clearing his throat. "I'm Jeremy Winters, your new computer science tutor.
Mr. Anderson assigned me to help you out during this semester." Sliding a
hand into his pocket, he pulls out a dot matrix'd print out of a role
sheet, handing it out to him, in case he doesn't believe him. "Was
thinking we could get together and talk."

Salem doesn't return Jeremy's nod; in fact, his expression doesn't change
in the slightest as the kin glances his way. Instead, the tall Walker
steps over toward Summer, clearing his throat quietly. "Excuse me," he
murmurs. "Do you have the time?"

Summer looks over toward the voice--familiar as it is. Seeing the source,
she winces slightly, and turns her face away. The voice catches her
attention, and she glances up; a flicker of nervousness crosses her face
before she musters an easygoing smile. "Yeah..." A glance at the sports
watch on her wrist, and she offers, "Ten to eleven."

That book's being stubborn, it appears; Quentin reaches back over his
shoulder to try and shift it manually, although that doesn't work out
either. Just as he's unslinging the bag and bringing it around to move
things within, his name is spoken and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Gah!" Straightening sharply, he blinks over a few times at the be-chained
goth before squinting at him a bit in confusion. "..computer science
tutor? Christ, I didn't think I was doing /that/ bad.." The sheet is
taken, virtually snatched from Jeremy's hand as he looks at it with
furrowed brow.

"I don't grade your scores, I just help you get A's." Jeremy says
seriously as he stares into Quentin's face, dropping his chin a bit in a
nod. He motions with his head, urging him to follow as he talks. "From
what I hear, you are barely clinging to a C minus, and that if you botch
this next test, you actually will have to repeat the course. Which of
course would not be very good on your GPA, I assume."

[Summer]
	Summer's name suits her well: the young woman has a fresh girl-next-door
prettiness about her, a clarity of feature and a shine in her eyes. She
looks to be in her late teens. Her complexion is a little dusky, tanned
from long hours in the sun but not as dark as Latin skin. Long, wavy
dark-brown hair falls nearly to her waist when loose, although she often
braids it. Her eyes are an interesting shade of hazel, bright and
intelligent, green mixing with gold and brown in the irises. Well-defined
features, a strong jawline, and a longish nose fall a little short of
beautiful by most standards. She's neither tall nor short at about 5'6",
her build willowy but not quite thin, and she is clearly a person given to
activity and motion.
	Her long patchwork skirt (this one in shades of brown and green like her
eyes) has some wet stains around the bottom, from mud. With it she wears a
snug dark-olive cotton cardigan, done up in a cube pattern of different
stitches. The cut of it is boxy, and it just reaches her waist. Brown
hiking boots, liberally spattered with mud, come up past her ankles.

Salem gives Summer a thin-lipped, polite little smile and inclines his
head slightly. "Thank you." His tone is nothing but courteous. He pauses,
studying her face a moment more as though wondering if he'd seen her
somewhere before, and then shakes it off and moves a couple of steps away
up the stairs. There he leans against one of the side walls and looks
toward the doors. He does not, however, glance again toward Jeremy and
Quentin.

Confusion begins to fade to mild resentment in Quentin's expression as he
glances sullenly back to Jeremy, his hand falling back to his side and
half-crumpling the sheet there. The sack of books is once more slung over
his shoulder before he moves to follow the goth-dressed guy down the
street with a shake of his head. "Like I'm going to college anyway," he
says in sour tones, "So what, you're supposed to follow me around and show
me how to 'hack' code like a pro or something? I mean, what brought you
all the hell out to the library?" Not that it's hard to find out he spends
all his time here.

Summer glances toward him after he steps away, a flicker of a frown coming
to her usually amiable features. Then she begins packing up her books,
slowly.

"I may be a vampirish looking freak, but I also am a nerd. Thats why." A
quick smile falls upon Jeremy's face, then completely erased as he keeps
walking. "You'll get to College, trust me. We all do one day. But no, I'm
not going to teach you how to hack code, just learn to write and program
it. You have a Visual Basic C++ exam coming up, where you have to solve
three problems, write a program that tells time, and also do something
simple, such as design a pong game. Its really easy ya'know, if you just
follow the instructions in the book." He pauses. "But I'm not going to
follow you everywhere. I suppose we can set things up every Friday for
three hours after school? Would that be adequate enough for you?"

Summer keeps track of Jeremy as he and his new friend walk down the
street. She seems to be mulling something over, as she packs her bookbag
and stands. Slinging the rucksack to her shoulder, she treads light and
fast down the stairs, following after them.

Salem waits several moments, and then moves back down the steps and tails
after the pair. The trio, really, and rest assured that Summer gets a
narrow-eyed frown as the Walker notices her following Jeremy and Quentin.
He quickens his stride to catch up with her, then reaches out to tap the
young woman on the shoulder.

"..uh.. sure, yeah, that'd be okay I guess." Quentin casts another
slightly-suspicious look back towards the goth beside him, then shrugs one
shoulder and tries out the faintest of smiles. "Where you want to meet? I
don't, um, have a computer at home or anything so I can't really practice
there.." A hitch in his stride, as he shifts that sack again over his
shoulder before giving it up and letting it fall to swing carelessly by
one hand instead-- nearly, but not quite, hitting Jeremy's own leg with
it. "Er, sorry." A step away, to get a bit more space there.

"It's all right." Jeremy murmurs to the accident. "I have a couple of
laptops I can bring for you to work with. I have all the software on there
needed to get the task done." Further and further they go down the street,
leading him to the left a bit as the sidewalk cuts. "I was thinking we
could meet at Garcia's Pizza, or perhaps even my place. I can give you my
address. That or I can swing by yours." He shifts his gaze back to him,
dark hair sprawling about his eyes. He is pretty sure Salem is following,
as per plan, but Summer's prescence is to be unexpected.

A slight, considering nod to that as Quentin catches his lower lip between
his teeth, worrying against it for a moment and walking in silence as he
follows where the computer nerd leads without really paying much attention
to where they're going. He's thinking too much to worry about it. "The
pizza place works," he says, choosing it seems the most neutral of the
options available before looking over again with a blink of realization,
"A /couple/? Christ, how many computers do you have?"

Summer tenses, turning to look over her shoulder--about as if she's been
accosted by the axe murderer Salem might be. The color leaves her face.
"Um. Yes?"

"I believe you left your wallet on the steps," says Salem, pointing back
toward the library. He isn't smiling now, but neither is he frowning. His
tone of voice is almost pleasant, but holds no room for arguement.

Summer flashes her teeth in a nervous smile, backing away from him. "I
really doubt that," she says, "since I don't have one." Then she turns her
back on him to keep walking--noticeably faster now, in an attempt to catch
up with Jeremy as fast as possible.

"A lot." Is Jeremy's reply as he continues down and out of sight of the
buildings, turning his head to regard him. "I have five Macintosh's, three
Toshiba laptops, and about twelve towers that I put together myself out of
bits and pieces." A faint grin tugs on his face. "No wonder you aren't
doing so good in your class, you don't own a computer. If you want, I can
let you use one of mine for the semester, since I have a few low end ones
hanging about, collecting dust."'

Full stop. Quentin's canvas bag just swings there for a moment with the
built up momentum as the teenager just blinks after Jeremy for a full
three heartbeats.. and then moves to catch up with a few swift, long
strides. Shaking his head slowly at the very thought, "Twenty.. where the
hell do you put your /stuff/, man?" He seems very earnest about this
query, as though twenty computers would take up an entire house.

"I'll show ya." Jeremy says with a chuckle as he pauses next to a sleek
looking black and silver striped Neon RT with a dashing spoiler on the
back. He reaches into his pocket, takes out a pair of keys and presses the
alarm button. *Beeboop!* The locks come up and the head lights flash.
"Swing by my place, I'll give you a computer and a monitor, drive back to
your place, I'll hook it up an load up the software. I already got your
lesson plan in my bag, so, it shouldn't be that hard honestly." He smiles,
rounding the front of the car, shrugging. A goth driving a suped up sports
car?

Salem pauses a moment, muttering, "Shit," under his breath. Frustration
curdles his mask of neutrality. Then he jogs forward, teeth gritted. This
time, he doesn't reach out to touch Summer as he catches up with her
again, but he does hiss at her, "I'm quite serious. You left something on
the library steps."

"Jeremy!" Summer calls out, hurrying her steps, a thin veil of
friendliness laid over her fear. She flashes a smile. "I /thought/ that
was you... who's your friend?"

To the offer of a computer and software, there's a frown that crosses
Quentin's lips, a hint of suspicion or distrust perhaps as he looks
between that expensive looking car - to the goth - and then back again. A
raise of his unburdened hand, fingers scratching back along the side of
his neck as he asks bluntly and not a bit rudely, "So what are /you/
getting out of this, anyway?" Then once more he nearly jumps out of his
skin, dropping back a step from the curb and shooting a look over towards
Summer.

"I get an A in my Student Aide's class." Jeremy replies as he glances over
the roof of the car to Summer. He pauses for a moment, then dips his head.
"Hi Summer." He offers a quick, friendly smile to the /hot/ chick. "This
is Quentin, I'm going to be tutoring him in Computer Science this semester
for Mr Anderson. Beginning programming and C++." He says, resting his
elbows against the door.

Salem shakes his head, grumbling under his breath irritably; Summer's
presence has, in the Philodox's case anyway, made the situation quite
tense. His tension eases up only a little as Jeremy calls out to her and,
with a quick inhalation of breath that doesn't really calm him down, he
composes his face into something bland and continues to walk forward,
quite sedately and deliberately now.

"Cool," Summer says easily. "Nice to meetcha.... um, Jer?" She tugs him a
step away from his friend, to murmur something very quietly, and for a
moment her nervousness shows. She masks the fear in her eyes, looking
carefully away. "There's a spooky guy following us," she whispers.

Jeremy steps to the side and dips his head slightly, whispering back to
the female with a slight grin, curling his arms about her. Its a simple,
facade of affection.

[Jeremy's whisper to Summer: "I know there is. That is Salem, and we are
cub napping right now. Move your ass, please. So far its going smoothly. I
will call you tonight and explain everything..."]

Quentin's attention drifts from one of the two to the other and back
again, and he actually seems to relax a little bit.. though that slight
frown doesn't ease from his features at all. One slender arm folds over
the other across his chest, the bag dangling loosely over his hip as he
watches the two get all snuggly. A shift of one foot to the other, and
then he breaks out with, "..look, uh, I should be getting home 'fore dark.
I can meet you at the pizza place friday, or whatever..?"

Summer lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, no prob," she murmurs back. Then,
to Quentin, she offers, "Sorry about that. Gossip stuff." A quick
half-smile to Jeremy, and she offers, "Seeya."

Jeremy smiles a bit to Summer and nods, then glances over to Quentin.
"C'mon, I'll give you a ride home." He opens up the door and offers. So
far, he hasn't gave away any hint of suspicious nature, just your friendly
neighborhood vampire. "You definitly don't want to walk home in this
neighborhood anyways, and the busses quit riding about an hour ago."

Salem continues to approach, long legs eating up the pavement in
deliberate strides. He continues to eye Summer warily, though his tension
eases back a notch as Jeremy handles that particular bit of the
'situation'.

Turning to head back toward the library, Summer mouths something to the
tall man following. It looks like 'sorry,' actually. Then she musses her
hair in the back, and averts her gaze as she returns to the plaza. It's
not easy finding a cab this late.

Quentin's green eyes flicker between the two of them for a moment, pursing
his lips slightly before shrugging one shoulder, "What 'bout her? I mean,
she's all alone out here too.." As he looks back towards Summer curiously,
he happens to look past her to the fellow making his way down the block
closer to the group-- and he just steps closer to the car, agreeing more
quickly, "..but yeah, you're right. I'd appreciate a ride.."

Salem manages to flash the young woman a quick, thin smile, but says
nothing. His gaze lingers on her for several seconds, as if he's
attempting to memorize her face.

"She has a car also dude." Jeremy says, sliding in and reaching over to
unlock the door, opening it up. His eyes flirt their way up to the
rearview to snag a glimpse of Salem coming. Keys are slid into the
ignition, turning, then rumbles the engine to life in a smooth purr. The
neon blue lights of the ass kicking stereo come to life, followed by the
rousing bass of Skinny Puppy.

"..if you're sure, man. There's this scary-looking dude.. ah, she'll be
fine." Chivalry is indeed dead, though it occasionally makes a
half-hearted attempt to make a comeback. Quentin reaches over to open the
door on his side, swinging the canvas bag to drop into the floor of the
car before sliding into the passenger seat in a slightly hurried manner.
Settling in, he reaches up to snap the seat-belt on and close the door.

Jeremy reaches over and slams his hand on the locks, clicking them down,
locking the two in place. He offers you a slight grin, then trains his
eyes forward, simply dropping his features into a serious posture. The car
doesn't move though.

Just like clockwork, Salem jogs forward the last few steps, ignoring
Summer completely now. As Quentin gets belted in and settled down, the
Walker halfmoon reaches the car, opens the back door on the cub's side,
and gets in. Fast. Like magic, and before the cub can react, Salem's taken
the seat behind him. "Evening, Jeremy. ...Quentin."

"Uh." Quentin glances to Jeremy as he just stands there staring ahead,
"..the car doesn't work off telekinesis, you know--" Then that scarred-up
guy that had him so nervous slides right into the seat behind him. That
would be his cue to freak out. A jerk in his seat, as he twists back to
look at the guy with a deeply furrowed brow and startled look in his eyes.
Startled and, maybe, a little frightened. "What the hell! Who the hell are
you?" One hand absently claws over to unlock the door, even as he demands
that question of Salem.

The door unfortuantly, won't unlock. Its the kind that has parental
security built into it. Jeremy simply puts the car in gear and starts down
the street. "Evening Salem." He softly says, turning down the music a bit
by reaching over and pressing a button. "Relax, we aren't going to kill
you, hurt you, molest you, or even take your money. But tonight, the
choice is yours.. will you take the red pill, or, the blue one?" A slight
grin forming on his lips. "By the way, settle down, for I have about three
thousand volts of DC wired into the seat belt, and I can put out an
elephant with the charge if need be. Lets keep it cool." Could he be
bluffing? His voice is dead serious.

Salem takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into the breast pocket of
his t-shirt, showing Quentin one dark brown eye on the right and one dead,
blind, white eye on the left, surrounded by scars. The corners of his
mouth twitch upwards at Jeremy's speech, and he adds to this, in a
completely calm and reasonable voice, "Listen to him, Quentin. Please."

As the door doesn't unlock, Quentin's fingers tug a bit more frantically
at it.. until the words of both men begin to sink in, at which point he
just sits there in /utter/ confusion for a long moment. Staring, not at
the scarred man in the back seat, but at Jeremy. "..whafuck?" A glance
back to Salem, his brows drawn together as though for some strange reason
he were hoping the scary-looking guy might explain what the other man just
said -- in something closer to English.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for tricking you, even though I am more then happy
to teach you how to use a computer in time. But tonight, will be the first
night into your new life." The car roams down the dark streets, the lights
passing by quickly through the slightly tinted windows. "You have been
chosen by a higher power to do a little bit of good in this world, in a
strange and wonderful way. You have been chosen to be one of Gaia's mighty
warriors, the Garou." A tug of his lips form across his mouth. "Once we
get to my place, Salem can actually explain everything to you. But lets
just say that life dealt you a pretty good card. Lets see how you play
it."

Salem turns his gaze from Quentin to Jeremy, and for a moment there's a
looking of reassessment on his face. Then he's focussed back on Quentin,
all business. "Everything we say to you now will sound unreal. But there
is proof for everything." He's about to add something else when his
cellphone bleeps. The Walker frowns and unclips it. "Hello."


[Rina calls Salem on his cellphone.  Conversation goes as follows:
[
[	Salem's voice comes over the line after the first ring, curt and 
[businesslike. "Hello."
[	Rina's voice is quiet. Hey. Got your message. Everything okay?"
[	Salem answers, "Everything's under control." He pauses. "More or 
[less. We're headed for Roger's."
[	Rina swallows. "Okay. Should I drop by? I mean, if Jeremy's
[there, and things get-- out of hand..."
[	Salem assures, "He's not violent. It should be safe."
[	Rina lets out a breath. "Good. That kid Jacob had me worried.
[Um, look, is there anything you need?"
[	Salem pauses for a moment or two. "Tonight? ...No. Listen, will 
[you let John know about the kid, and were he is?"
[	Rina's voice is quiet. "Yeah, no prob. Seeya." Then she hangs
[up.
[


"Gaia's mighty warriors." Quentin's green eyes flicker between the two, a
hint of panic just barely restrained as he leans back against the locked
door as though it would bring a bit of safety. "..ah, shit. All those
Chick tracts about roleplaying games were right, weren't they?" Another
wary look between them, "Look, I, uh, wouldn't do well in a cult or
anything. I'm broke and I have no marketable skills. I can't even sell
flowers well."

"Quentin, trust me. What you are going to see will blow your mind, and you
are ganna love it. We aren't some funky cult or weird religion, even
though it will seem like it in a way. But there is no strings attached."
Jeremy shifts gears, pulling into a parking lot near an apartment complex.

Salem nods, speaking into the cellphone while keeping his eye on Quentin.
"Everything's under control," he says to the person on the other side of
the line. "More or less. We're headed for Roger's."

The engine dies in the parking lot, and Jeremy shifts himself about,
unbuckling his seatbelt. He gives Quentin a quick, guarded smile, then
opens up his own door, sliding out.

The rest of the car ride passed without much conversation, at least from
Quentin's quarter. As it was evident he wasn't getting out of the car
until they got to wherever they were going, he just settled in uneasily
and kept a wary eye on the two of them. As the car parks, he tenatively
tries the door handle to see if it's been unlocked-- watching Jeremy with
a suspicious frown.

Salem speaks a few more words into the cellphone, more quietly now. "He's
not violent. It should be safe."

Salem, once his cellphone conversation is over, is more or less silent for
the rest of the ride. He gets out as soon as Jeremy stops and moves over
toward Quentin's door. He doesn't open it, but the cub will have to go
through him to make any escape attempt.

Jeremy walks to the otherside of the car, slides his keys in and unlocks
it. Opening it up for Quentin, he ducks his head slowly, chains jingling
together. "Don't be scared, alright? I promise you won't be hurt, at all.
We haven't yet."

"Oh, well, thanks," Quentin says in a mock-cheery voice, his expression
and a subtlety to the words giving them an undertone of bitter sarcasm as
he clambers out of the car, "That 'yet' makes me feel much better." He
glances from Jeremy to Salem, the two for the moment having him hedged in
a bit, and instinctively leans back further against the door frame..
muttering in less sarcastic tones, "Could you give me a little room,
though? I'm not going to run or anything, okay?" A sullen glare to Salem,
almost defiant of his presence there-- though it fades not long after he
looks in the man's direction, and he looks away swiftly again to Jeremy.

Jeremy takes a few steps back away from the door, dipping his head in a
nod. He knows that if he bolts, Salem will easily break his legs or
something. No need to worry.

Salem, unsmiling, takes a single step back, giving Quentin more than
enough room in which to get out. And, yes, he looks more than able to
break some legs, if it becomes necessary.

Quentin casts a second wary look between them, before taking a deep breath
and stepping away from the car and between them.. walking out a few steps,
waving both hands about as if to say 'see? I'm not running'. "..well, are
we going to stand here all day, or are we going somewhere?" If he's stuck,
he might as well try to sound brave about it. Maybe they won't notice the
tension in him or the fear in his eyes.

Salem glances toward Jeremy, then gestures. "Lead on, please. I'll bring
up the rear."

Jeremy nods his head and turns, heading over to one of the two buildings,
sliding a key in and unlocking it. This place is a in a nice neighborhood
also. Definitly not ghettofied or trashy. He slips in and leads them up a
flight of stairs, then down a long hallway to where his room is apartment
is at. "Home, sweet, home." He murmurs quietly.

Quentin drops along into step after Jeremy, though he keeps glancing back
as though he expected Salem to have a gun at his back.. it keeps him
walking swiftly enough, at least. So much so that he walks -right- into
the goth hacker when he stops near the door. A stumble, and he backs away
quickly with both hands up, "Uh, uh, sorry."

The fact that Salem is cracking his knuckles is, most likely, not
comforting to the 'newbie'.

Aiyana is stretched out on the couch, as usual, clad in a pair of cutoff
jean shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top, flipping through various TV
channels. As voices near the apartment she sits up and looks towards the
door. Company? She wasn't expecting anyone.

From out in the parking lot, there's the unmistakable sound of someone
pulling in at speeds not intended for parking a car. After a moment or two
stomping footsteps are heard, but these fade as the driver of the vehicle
heads towards the other building.

Jeremy unlocks the door and glances to Quentin, then smiles, pushing it
open. He steps through into techno-world. Computers are strewn about,
wires and cables everywhere. Its like a security heaven. Monitors are on
the wall, showing roof top displays and some out in the hallway and about
the building. Paranoid some? "Hey Aiyana." The goth murmurs as he makes
his way inside, shuffling on his boots.

No.. no it doesn't. That knuckle-cracking does serve the purpose of
keeping Quentin moving forwards, though, as he plunges through the doorway
and straight into the technological wizardry of the apartment. It's there
that he pauses, blinking around at all the computers and wires with a
wide-eyed and likely comical look before shooting a suspicious glance
towards Jeremy. "..you don't have Laurence Fishburn waiting in the back
room, do you?" A little tense humor, there, as he tries and fails to
smile.

Salem stalks in after Quentin. His glance goes sharply to the Bone Gnawer,
his jaw tightening, clearly displeased to find her here. But, apparantly,
he considers her presence less important than the business regarding
Quentin, to whom he turns once the three of them are inside and the door
is shut behind them. "Alas, Mr. Fishburn wasn't available tonight.
Quentin, I'll be blunt. You're a werewolf."

Aiyana smiles and waves to Jer as he enters. "Hey. Wassup? Thought I
heard--" She pauses and blinks, glancing towards Quentin. "Hi," she says,
curiosity evident in her tone of voice as she studies the newcomer.
"Friend of yours?" The question is directed towards Jeremy, but the
addition of another voice causes her to duck down behind the couch. "Oh,
just -great-," she mutters softly.

"Cub napping." Jeremy says to Aiyana as he settles on the couch next to
her, giving her a faint grin. He lets Salem talk to the cub, knowing that
his part of the mission is over. Quite pleased he is. This went better
then dealing with Ditzy.

Quentin's gaze slants to Aiyana, who he'd just become aware of, and he
starts to say something-- breaking off as Salem addresses him, turning a
bit and backing up a half-pace to keep some distance between him and the
other man. The words sink in with a blink, another blink, and then a
nervous laugh. "A werewolf. Right. Hell, I've never even /seen/ a wolf,
man.. look, uh, my mom'll be wondering where I am, you know? I should.." A
slight edge sideways, as though he were meaning to try and get around
Salem and to the door. Fat chance.

Salem easily blocks Quentin's path to escape. In fact, in a all-too-easy
twist of form and body, the halfmoon expands upwards, clothes vanishing
into black fur, body rising up to a full nine feet -- a full nine feet of
honest to god _werewolf_, and as good as Salem-the-human blocks doors,
Salem-the-Crinos does it far, far better.

Aiyana ohs. "Wow. Wish mine went this easy," she replies with a low
chuckle. "But..what's with bringin' Salem here?" The whole kidnappig thing
seems to not bother her in the least. Then, another question enters her
mind, and she gives Jeremy a squinted look. "Talked to Alicia today. She
says hi..." Her gaze trails to Salem, now in crinos, and just the sight of
it causes her to shudder. She scoots closer to Jer, as if for comfort.

"Oh yah? How is she?" Jeremy asks casually as he glances over at the
towering form of Salem as he leaps high. "I was hanging out with her kin,
Tom the other night during kick boxing practice."

All hands brace for impact, the sanity train is coming to a very sudden
halt here. Quentin's drops back a full step as Salem moves to block his
path, his mouth opening as though to say something else-- but nothing
comes out. The fact that there's now a nine foot tall black-furred
one-eyed killing machine standing in his way may, just, have something to
do with the sudden absence of his tongue. Another step backwards, slow,
controlled.. and then another.. until he finds himself with his back
against the wall. "..a.. a.. were.. were.. uh.." He's trying to talk, at
least, stammering in growing terror and casting frantic glances towards
the too-casual people over across the room and making 'look!' gestures
towards Salem.

Salem remains in that form for several long seconds, letting the cub get a
good look. Then, quicker than it appeared, the beast is gone, and the
'normal' Salem is back again, looking completely unruffled. His clothes
aren't even torn. "Werewolf. Or, more properly, Garou."

Aiyana squints a little more. "She's good..." she murmurs, looking back at
the show going on. A simple nod is directed towards Quentin, along with a
faint smile. "Yeah. Cool trick, huh?" Back to Jer. "So, have a nice talk
with Tom?" She doesn't sound angry, at least.

Jeremy chuckles slightly and nods his head. "Yah, I needed big brother
advice." He looks back over to Quentin and nods his head. "Told ya. And
the best part is, you are a good guy."

Quentin's expression is more than a little frantic as he looks between the
three, although as the other two don't even seem vaguely tense about it
that near-panic eases into something a little easier for his poor brain to
understand. Suspicion. "That.. wasn't real," he says cautiously, gesturing
towards Salem, then the computers as though it was the tech-equipment that
pulled off the trick, "Your clothes are all there. You couldn't have done
that. You guys are fucking with me."

Salem arches a brow. "I just violated the laws of physics, and you're
worried about my _clothes_?" His tone is quite sardonic. "Do you want me
to show you again? Better, I could help you to do it yourself. Currently,
you're blocked. You haven't shifted yet, haven't changed. The first time
is always the most difficult."

Aiyana grins. "Big brother advice, huh? Should I ask about what, or leave
that for later?" Quentin gets another look as she spins around on the
couch, resting her arms on the back of it. "Should I show 'em too?" she
asks aloud. "I woudn't mind helpin'..."

A rapid knock comes at the door. Shave and a haircut, even, tapped out in
confident rhythm.

Jeremy lifts his gaze up to the monitors above, then moves to the door.
"Trust me, I'm not George Lucas, I don't make shitty werewolf films with
cheesy over used special effects. That was for real."

Quentin, momentarily forgetting that he's up against the wall, attempts to
back up further and fails. "There's no such thing," he repeats, as though
the words themselves could make it true, "As werewolves. Scientifically
impossible." Look, look.. anywhere but at Salem. Damn. No windows, either.

Salem tenses slightly at the knocking of the door at his back, and glances
at Jeremy. "Would you get that, please?" Then he moves forward toward
Quentin. He'll take the cub's arm and lead him further from the door and
deeper into the room if possible, or simply herd him along with the force
of sheer unspoken menace. "Why don't you take a look at Jeremy's friend
Aiyana? She's one as well." He gives the Gnawer the barest of bare
glances, and nods curtly.

Aiyana resists the urge to gasp in surprise. Salem, being non-threatening
to her? It's gotta be a miracle. Anyhow, she stands up and nods politely
to the Walker, before shifting into her own crinos form. There's a
difference this time, though: her clothes do rip and fall to the floor in
tatters, since they weren't her dedicated ones. She then crouches down and
grins towards Quentin, waving a clawed hand towards the kid.

Rina stands outside, helmet tucked under her arm and gloves still on. When
Jeremy open the door, she offers a smile. "Everything okay?"

Jeremy grabs Rina by the arm and tugs herself, hipping the door shut
quickly. "Fine. Fine." He says.

"Look at--" Quentin keeps getting cut off in mid-sentence. Considering
that he rarely actually has anyone to talk to, this is a rather unique
situation for him.. though not half as unique as the cute girl who just
turned into another giant monster. A bit further along the wall, he edges,
licking his suddenly-dry lips and swallowing, "..uh."

Salem keeps his attention focussed on Quentin, not even turning around to
greet Rina. His arms are folded across his chest again. "This will be a
great deal easier for you to accept once you've shifted for the first
time. The shifting is, I assure you, quite painless."

Dancing-Fighter blinks as Rina enters. ~She kin?~ the crinos questions,
slightly panicked by the sudden arrival. Her ears fold back a little, the
piercings in them jingling against one another. She takes a breath to calm
herself down, then looks back to Quentin, just watching him with her amber
eyes.

"Fine meaning the boy's scared shitless, I see," Rina murmurs. She paces
in and drops her motorcycle helmet on the couch, then strips off her
gloves--all the while watching the boy in question, a hint of sympathy or
worry in her eyes. "Hi. Before you get scareda /me/, I'm not gonna turn
into anything on you. Neither is Jeremy, here. You okay?"

Quentin's eyebrows draw together as he looks at Salem rather incredulously
for a moment, as though he'd just said the world was flat and the nations
of the world marbles about to fall off. "Quite painless?" A blink, a
glance to Rina, to the amber-eyed werewolf, to Jeremy, then back to Salem
as he protests frantically, "You're nuts! Look.. I'm not a werewolf, okay?
Maybe /you/ are, sure, okay, I can accept that, really.. but.."

Glancing over to Rina, the goth boy shrugs his shoulders a tad. "Oh, he's
alright. In fact, this was actually quite easy."

A smile tugs at the corner of Rina's lips. "Love the shirt," she says
quietly. She glances to Jeremy, then, one eyebrow lifting. "It's /never/
easy," she murmurs, returning her attention to the cub.

Salem actually almost smiles at this. Almost. He nods. "You're halfway
there." He extends his left hand toward the new cub. "Humor me a moment,
then, and give me your hand."

Salem's tone of voice is completely and utterly calm and reasonable.

Dancing-Fighter's tail thumps against the floor a couple times as she
rises, heading towards the bedroom for a moment. After a bit of scuffling
and whatnot she emerges from the room in homid, dressed in a pair of
ripped jeans and another tank top. "Wasn't that a bundle of fun."

Jeremy shrugs his shoulders to Rina. "Trust me, -this- is easy. I should
know, I've dealth with over fourty nappings in my life. This is one of the
smoother ones. So far he hasn't shifted and tore up my apartment. He's not
screaming for his life. Hell, he hasn't even pissed his pants yet. This is
like the miracle of all cub nappings."

"Why?" It's a sharp, almost accusatory tone as Quentin glares back towards
Salem with a hint of hostility born of both confusion and fear now,
"..what're you going to do, look for a pentagram or something?" At least
he knows a few of the legends. Too bad all of them are completely wrong.
"See? Nothing." He waves his hand palm-open towards the scarred man,
without approaching him in the slightest. He'd probably crawl right -into-
the wall if he could.

Rina rolls her eyes heavenward, briefly, and tips her head. She stays
where she is, by the couch--just watching the boy with that dark,
concerned gaze. "It's all right," she offers, quietly. "He might look like
an axe murderer, but really, he's an okay guy."

Salem keeps his hand extended. His tone sharpens, taking on a much more
definite note of command. "The signs are not something you can _see_,
Quentin. Now give me your hand, please. Don't make me ask again."

"Take his hand dude, please." Jeremy says, glancing over to Quentin.

Aiyana heads back to the couch and sits down to watch the fun. "Hey. My
cub napping went decent enough," she comments. "Well, aside from bein'
kicked in the face..."

Quentin very nearly jumps at that commanding tone, hesitating only for a
moment before Jeremy's reinforcement adds to the authority of it.. and
slowly he reaches out his left hand to offer to Salem, fingers splaying
against the air loosely in a way that reveals the slight tremble to them.
He chews on his lower lip, watching the scarred face with a wary look on
his own as he reminds him, "You, uh, said you weren't going to hurt me,
right..?"

Rina gives Aiyana a slightly irritated look, before returning her
attention to the matter at hand. She wraps both arms around herself,
watching Salem and the cub intently.

Salem actually closes his hand firmly around Quentin's wrist. He makes a
few moments' show of studying the youth's hand, using his other hand, the
right, to trace lines on the palm, to examine each finger from thumb to
pinky. Apart from the unrelenting wrist-grip, he's quite gentle, but he
doesn't answer the cub's question until he's gotten to the pinky finger,
the littlest finger. Then, looking in Quentin's eyes, the Philodox --
ex-Ahroun, ex-Shadow Lord -- states blandly, "Pain is transitory."

And then there's the wince-worthy sound of Quentin's little finger being
ruthlessly _snapped_.

Aiyana blinks at Rina and shakes her head. As she goes to roll over the
cracking sound catches her attention and she gasps, eyes widening in
shock. "...the -hell-?"

Rina does, in fact, wince. Her jaw tightens at the sound, and she tenses
visibly.

There's a moment of absolute dead silence after the sickening snap of bone
and tearing muscle within Quentin's smallest finger as he stares at it in
noncomprehending horror.. and then, with realization, the pain sweeps up
his arm and sets his nervous system on fire. And now, he screams-- a
strangled, agonized sound that tears loose of his throat as he tries to
wrench his hand desperately from Salem's grip. "What the fuck?! You broke
my hand! Lemme go you psychotic fuck!"

Salem is not only strong, but he's getting stronger, bulking up into
Glabro form and refusing to let go of the screaming cub. He shows no
pleasure in the act, and his voice -- a deep baritone now -- remains
completely businesslike as he reaches for the ring finger. "You can break
from my grasp, if you wanted to." He pauses a beat, then says, completely
deadpan, "If you can't, I'll have to kill you. I'm sorry."

Aiyana crouches down, giving Salem a quick glare before doing so.
Shuddering she curls up on the couch and sighs, looking towards the
television, trying to block out what's happening nearby.

Rina's gaze slants to Aiyana, evenly; she regards the girl for a moment,
and then looks back to Salem and the boy. That trace of worry is still in
her eyes, but she says nothing, and she is nearly expressionless, the
delicate features set in a taut neutral mask.

Quentin's eyes widen in a growing horror at the words.. no, not at the
words spoken by Salem. At the tone of them. Calm and uncaring even as he
reaches for a second finger on that hand to ruin. His tongue is numbed to
paralysis as he just stares, the apple of his throat rising and falling,
before feeling the brush of the other man's fingers against his-- and then
he lapses back into panic, his other hand lunging out to try and pry the
strong fingers from his wrist as he alternately pleads with Salem swears
like no fifteen year old has a right to, "Lemme go dammit I won't tell
anyone anything just leave my hand alone god fucking damn it /hurts/!"

Salem grips the ring finger and bends it back, slowly, all the while
staring at Quentin's face. "If you want me to let go, you'll have to
_make_ me let go." And now he bares long canines, upper lip and nose
wrinkling like a canine's. "_Make_ me."

Aiyana grabs a pillow and covers her head with it, muttering softly to
herself in Spanish.

Rina cuts a glare at Aiyana, again. "Get it together," she says softly,
"or get out. Aright? This is Walker business."

Jeremy furrows his brows slightly, then glances over to Rina. He raises a
brow up at her display.

The pillow is thrown to the floor as Aiyana sits up, eyes narrowed as she
growls towards Rina. "You can kiss my ass," she replies. "I ain't leavin'
just 'cause it's supposed to be Walker's night only." A sudden flash of
anger shimmers across her amber eyes, making them darken slightly in
color.

Tears of pain glisten crystalline at the corners of Quentin's eyes as his
ring finger is bent slowly towards the back of his hand despite his
increasingly frantic attempts at getting free of Salem's grip. "Let me go,
god damn you," he hisses out again, this time with a near-hysteric edge to
his tone as he glares up at the man demanding that he -make- him stop
hurting him with fear, pain.. and anger. A growing spark that catches as
easily as a wildfire in summer in a sudden eruption that blazes
golden-green in his narrowed eyes, every muscle in his body tensing as he
nearly snarls out a second time, "Let.. me..." He never gets to 'go'. All
that pressure, all that tension and frustration of the last fifteen years
of his life explodes all at once in a snarled roar of pain and fury-- and
sadly, that t-shirt that a few people admired this evening is soon no more
than tatters, as flesh gives way to a rolling tide of muscle and fur, the
hand being butched in Salem's grasp bursting into a viciously taloned paw
as he jerks his arm back spasmically from his tormentor.

Well, he can't claim it was Lucas's Special Effects this time.

Rina doesn't back down in the slightest; a flicker of subdued fury shows
in her eyes for a moment, behind the mask. Whatever she was about to say
is lost, though, her attention snapping to the Crinos.

Jeremy grumbles and barely flinches as Quinten explodes into his Crinos
form. "Rina, Aiyana, please.. Walker buisness or not, yer' at my house.
Just calm down and let Salem do his job and keep all personal shit to the
side, alright? I'm twitchy enough as it is."

Salem, expecting this, goes into a flurry of motion, rage speeding his
actions to a supernatural quickness. He releases Quentin's arm, yes -- and
then flashes up into Crinos himself, a massive fist lashing out to catch
the frenzying cub across the muzzle. Twice, if possible, backhand and
forehand.

Rina doesn't say a word; her attention is fixed on the conflict, now.

Aiyana takes in a deep breath, her gaze switching back to the two crinos
nearby. Eyes still partially narrowed, still full of rage barely
contained, the Gnawer nudges Jeremy gently before rising and heading
towards the bedroom.

Quentin rears back with a vicious snarl, his eyes glaring in pain and
sheer unthinking rage at Salem as he reaches back his unbroken hand with
all five claws splayed.. following that instinctive urge that tells him to
kill, maim, rend, eviscerate the thing at the end of the narrow red tunnel
that his world's become. Then his head is snapped to one side, and then to
the other, with a pair of sharp -cracks- that echos as loudly as his
shattering little finger did earlier-- for a moment he stands there still,
before like a marionette with his strings cut he drops like a stone to the
floor with a heavy thud.

Watching Aiyana go and retreat into the bedroom, Jeremy lets out a breath
and then glances towards the scene. "Yup, definitly one of the easier
ones. Didn't even make too much noise. I doubt I'll even get a call from
the landlord." He lets out a breath and sighs, heading over to gaze down
at the prone form of Quentin. "He's actually a really nice kid. I feel
like shit for lying to him."

The once-Ahroun isn't even breathing hard. He watches the cub drop with a
huff of satisfaction and then shrinks back down to human form. He smooths
back his hair with a rather catlike fussiness. "_I_ didn't lie. The
shifting _isn't_ painful. And pain _is_ transitory." Briefly, his lips
stretch into a distinctly wolfish, feral grin, an expression that's
terribly uncommon on the Walker's scarred, saturnine, and usually bland
face. A heartbeat later, the grin has vanished.

Rina glances to Salem, the mask fading long enough to echo his smile with
a faint curve of lips. "He'll be fine," she murmurs, returning her dark
eyes to the boy. "You gonna take him, Jack? I don't know that we oughta
leave him here..."

It doesn't take long for Quentin, now that the blissful peace of
unconsciousness has flowed over him to mask the pain, to melt along back
into his birthform.. just like he was before. Well, except for the broken
finger. And the fact that he's completely naked right now. Thank god for
small favors, he's not conscious to notice that last bit.

Salem massages his knuckles, staring down at the unconscious cub. "Hm. I
don't think he'll be much of a problem at this point, and now that I've
played 'bad cop', it wouldn't hurt to let someone else be the good for a
while." He glances at Jeremy. "Would his presence be an imposition? He
_is_ a Glass Walker, after all, and you have far more, ah, distractions at
your place than I have at mine."

Rina's brow furrows slightly, and she gives Salem a questioning look.

Jeremy nods his head. "I am fully capable of taking care of him. I just
hope he can find trust in me again." He bites his lip a bit, then shrugs.
"If he attacks, I have enough.. um... firepower to take him down and
immobilized if need be without killing him."

Rina glances over to Jeremy, her eyes serious. "If that's really a
concern," she says quietly, "send him to Johnny. Don't risk y'self.
Aright?"

Jeremy nods his head to Rina. "I think I'll be cool. I doubt he'll be
waking up anytime soon." He frowns slightly, then leans down to nudge
Quentin slightly in the shoulder. "I'll be on the phone with the tribe if
anything goes crazy in a second. I have direct connect."

Salem simply nods, then glances at his watch. "I have to run an errand. If
I'm not back later tonight, I'll stop by tomorrow."

Rina nods. "Yeah, I gotta ditch too. I'll tell John what's up." She looks
over to Salem, and then heads for the door.

Salem gives Rina a small, brief, but nonetheless warm, smile, and then
turns to Jeremy. "Thank you for your assistance tonight," he says to the
kin, quite sincerely.

Jeremy nods his head to Salem, a hint of pride touching his lips. "It went
smooth, easy. Just like I said." He faintly grins. "I'm glad my experience
came in handy for a change. Good night Salem."

Aiyana peers past the bedroom doorframe and looks around to see what's
going on now.

Salem inclines his head slightly to the kin. "Good night, Jeremy." Then,
with a glance toward Quentin -- and no acknowledgement at all of Aiyana --
he goes out to join Rina in the hall and escort her home.