It is currently 20:46 Pacific Time on Mon Nov 12 2001.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (20% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 50
degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in
from the east at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.71 and
steady, and the relative humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 50
degrees Fahrenheit (10 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.

Wildfire leads the cliath from the bawn and through the woods, leading to
an area within somewhat easy distance of both the bawn and the city, a
place under reclamation by the forest just north of Kent Crossing. It
takes him some time, weaving through trees, to get to a hill that he has
decided will work well. Several trees top it, a type with strong roots.
This is the place, he announces.

Salem follows the Get wordlessly, though not in silence; though he moves
comfortably enough in wolf form, he is very much a city Garou when it
comes to moving noiselessly through the wild. Pointed ears twist forward
at Wildfire's announcement, and he regards the spot with one gleaming,
golden eye. Do you have a preference on what form I use to dig?

[Wildfire]

A rather large, solid grey wolf with broad shoulders, corded muscles, and
strong jaws. A scar runs across his left eye, though the eye itself is
intact. Another pattern of scars suspiciously looking like a bite from
something very big can be seen circling around his chest, abdomen, and
back as well as a patch of scars on his lower abdomen. Classic lines mark
this creature as does a certain bearing in his posture.

[Salem]

          Black fur covers this adult male wolf from muzzle to tail, the
dark pelt unbroken but for a vague, irregularly-shaped medium gray patch
on his chest. Like all his species, he is long-limbed and athletically
built, powerful and relentless in his motions, a true predator. Rarely is
the animal truly relaxed, and often a murderous hatred seems to rage just
under the surface of his ebony pelt, the promise of violence held in check
only by a near-iron control. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility,
and it's clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins.

          One feral golden eye glints with a more than animal
intelligence, but the other is a blind white that's all but lost within
the twisted jungle of scar tissue that covers the left side of his face.
There's a secondary scarred area on his right shoulder that looks like it
might once have been some kind of glyph, but it's been long since
obscured. With claws.

Wildfire turns an ear to the Walker. No, just remember where you are. We
are not far from the town, so keep awares. He steps around to a few spot
until deciding on a particular spot. It will be here, he says, then
actually starts to dig himself.

Salem acknowledges this with a tilt of his muzzle. As the Get walks
around, he sniffs the air and listens, alert and rather thoughtful. Then,
the specific place chosen, he pads near Wildfire and, after a moment's
uncertain hesitation -- he can't be experienced at digging wolf dens,
surely -- joins in.

Wildfire seems to have some idea of what he's doing. Every once in a
while, as the hole begins to take shape, he'll instruct the Walker to
adjust where he is digging. So far, it seems the place will be at least
big enough for a bear.

The Glass Walker, to his credit, takes instruction well and doesn't slack.
Far from it -- set to the task, Salem focusses intently on the task at
hand -- or paw -- and digs with a will.

Wildfire continues with his digging, not in the least bit afraid to get
himself dirty to get the job done. He works almost tirelessly, although it
is still young in the evening and the hole so far is still far too shallow
for his wants. Eventually, he speaks up. Wolverine tuaght me this art.

Salem pauses briefly in his digging when Wildfire speaks, tilting his head
to cock a golden eye at the Get. Wolverine is wise in the way of dens,
yes, he agrees, with no hint of facetiousness.

Wildfire works away at a stubborn rock that eventually gives way. He had
me digging for him as an excercise. He was teaching me his hardiness.

Salem focusses his energy on clawing away at the dirt, his ears tilting
backwards pensively. Mention of Wolverine sparks recognition in the
black-furred Garou's body language, bittersweet. A stern taskmaster,
Wolverine, I imagine.

Wildfire stops his digging. He is a friend even now. My old totem still
walks these woods.

Salem continues, attacking the task in an intense, single-minded kind of
way. He has no immediate reply to the Get's remark.

Wildfire eyes the Walker for a few moments. Watch that root. It will
support the wall. He then falls back into digging in silence.

Salem utters a hurf of acknowledgement, then stifles a yelp as his claws
strike a rock rather abruptly. The Walker pauses, snorting at the rock
irritably -- with a touch of that irritation directed at himself -- and
then sets to digging it out.

Wildfire is silent for quite some time, the place really beginning to take
shape after a time. Eventually he asks a question without pausing in his
excavation. Why are you now a Glass Walker?

Salem works the rock loose and paws it clear of the forming den with
sharp, savage kicks. Then he sets back to work, answering with some wary
reserve. It is a long story.

Fine. That is the Get's only reply as he sets back into work. He no longer
seems inclined to do any talking.

Some measure of relief leaks through the Walker's body language as he
focusses again on digging.

Eventually the hole turns into a tunnel that leads a good ten feet in.
Silence reigns except where direction in the digging had to be made. After
a time, the get stops and settles back upon his haunches.

Salem continues until the Get tells him otherwise, though he is beginning
to show signs of tiring, though more from the unfamiliar nature of the
exersize than the exertion itself.

Wildfire lets the Walker dig for only another minute further. Stop. That
will be enough for tonight. Den will start tomorrow. He remains sitting
there, just happening to be blocking the way out.

Salem stops, giving himself a bit of a shake before he turns around in the
tunnel to head out. Of course, there's Wildfire, Obstacle of Fenris. The
Glass Walker goes motionless, one ear quirking in a questioning manner.

Wildfire sits there, seemingly larger, more impressive than before, the
purity in his blood standing out on the surface that much more. This is
all that I have now, Dark-One. I did not run away. Instead I lost my home,
my ~motorcycle,~ and eventually my pack. Like I said before, I respect
that you came back to face-up. Do you have any idea why I chose this for
you?

Salem sits down, his body language careful, now. Controlled, dignified,
his regard of Wildfire calculating. The purity of his own breeding is
undeniable, but there's nothing in his manner that suggests challenge to
the Get's greater station. No, he answers, simply, with a definite hint
that he'd welcome enlightenment.

Wildfire grumbles a little, obviously not pleased with the answer. Get the
hell out of here. I will ask you again when we are done.

Salem bristles despite himself, then lays his ears back and dips his head
low. Standing, the Walker pads out of the tunnel, his manner tense.

[Salem heads back to the city.]

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.

It is currently 23:03 Pacific Time on Mon Nov 12 2001.

Salem lets himself in. He's... not looking himself at the moment. He
actually looks _disheveled_. Dirt clings to his hair, his clothes,
particularly his hands. Rumpled and disheveled and definitely rather out
of sorts tonight.

Jeremy grins slightly at Leala as he starts to tap away at his laptop,
popping up a few screens, then soon IP and protocol logins. As the door
opens and closes, he double takes over in Salem's direction, blinking
once.

Leala looks up from her reclining position in one of the lobby chairs to
see the newcomer enter the room. Not recognizing his face, she just bites
her lip and smiles uncertainly.

Salem catches Jeremy's look and gives the Kin a look that all but screams,
'Don't ask'. And he might have made a beeline for the stairs if not for
the presence of someone he doesn't recognize. Pocketing his ID and keys,
the one-eyed man frowns, peering critically at Leala. Then he jerks a
glance back to Jeremy. "Is she family?"

[Leala]

        A small smile plays mischievously across the dainty face of the
young woman you see before you. Her gold-brown eyes sparkle a little,
displaying a mild amusement. Her thick dark blond hair set in a simple
chignon, with wispy waves falling around her face. Her facial features are
petite and defined, but not angular, with fine brows curving over her
bright eyes. She is short of stature, standing no taller than 5'2", and
her frame is quite delicate and slender, almost aristocratic, with long
limbs, and hint of grace in the way her arms gesticulate as she talks. It
is not hard to imagine that many would find her charming, with her
cheerful demeanor and brilliant smile.

        Today, Lee is wearing a tailored white cotton button down shirt,
which looks newly pressed. The stiff cuffs and collar are turned over a
finely sewn black leather jacket, which is also tailored to her form. The
cropped bottom of the jacket flares slightly at her waist, where it ends
abruptly. Her jacket matches the black leather boots peaking out from
underneath her pressed bootcut jeans, and the thick black belt at her
waist. A violet silk scar hangs loosely around her neck. She carries a
slim aluminum briefcase, and a black leather camera bag.

Jeremy nods his head. "Yes, this is Leala, a new moon who has come to join
our Sept. She has already met everyone else, Salem. Um... Are you ok? You
look like shit."

Leala, quite interested to hear why Salem looks like shit, holds her
tongue for now. A formal introduction can wait.

"I'm fine," Salem replies, rather curtly. He turns back to Leala. "Jack
Salem. Philodox. And my apologies for the poor first impression. I've
had... a rather trying day." His voice reflects an effort to regain the
smooth courtesy that Jeremy's experienced before, but his success is only
partial.

Leala stands. "Pleasure to meet you. I am Leala Marx, or Lee, also known
as Paints-With-Light, New Moon Cliath, and new to this area." She attempts
a friendly smile, trying not to appear like she's mocking his situation.
"It would appear so. Would you like a donut?" She gestures to the
rummaged-through bag sitting on the table in front of her.

Salem looks at the bag of donuts, then glances at his grimy hands. "Mm.
No, thank you. Will you two excuse me for a moment?" A glance includes
Jeremy.

Jeremy nods his head slowly at that, running a hand back through his hair.

Leala also nods, and says, "We'll save you a donut." She winks then.

Salem manages a rather thin smile, then vanishes upstairs, presumably to
get cleaned up.

Jeremy watches him go and then glances to her, offering a shrug.

"Is he always like that? The Walkers here are pretty vague and elusive."
With that, she adds a shrug of her own, adding, "At least I've met some
cool Garou from other tribes."

"Salem is.. an enigma to me honestly." Jeremy murmurs. "I don't have much
of him down in my records yet -- so... I guess I need to find some people
with some dirt. He used to be in this Sept awhile ago, pissed off his old
pack and took off. He's back and a lot of people aren't happy with it --
but honestly, I think he's cool."

Leala gives Jeremy a sly look. "Records? Do tell!"

Jeremy smirks and adjusts his glasses a bit. "Not everything I type in
here is my homework." He says, making a reference to her earlier comment.

Leala nods. "Alec St. Jean did mention something to the effect that you
had quite a bit of data. I didn't realize it extended to /dirt/." The last
word is emphasized.

"Well, I don't bother to write down who is sleeping with who." Jeremy
murmurs a bit. "Only important stuff, like... accomplishments, travels,
stories if I can remember them. You know.. stats. Kinda like in a football
game."

Leala bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. "That's good to
know. I wouldn't want to be in a competetion and not know about it," she
teases.

Jeremy smirks. "What do you mean?"

"Well, /stats/ implies a ranking of some sort... and a ranking implies a
competition." Leala blinks. "Of course, I could be completely off my
rocker with that assumption."

"Well, Its not like I rate you guys from 1 to 10 or anything." Jeremy says
with a light grin as he tilts his head to one side. "Anyways, I suppose
you can say its just a hobby of sorts."

"What a relief!" she teases.

Jeremy grins and shifts his glasses off his nose and cleans them with the
bottom of his shirt for a moment. "Well, I don't know much 'bout you yet
except for an odd facsination of tiny micro camera's and you seem to at
least have a good sized wallet for buying that kinda hardware." His head
motions over towards her laptop.

Taking a more serious tone, she shifts around in her chair. "Yeah. I guess
I'm not so forthcoming with the info either. My... wallet... seems to
cause me no end of trouble when it comes to others, so I tend to not bring
it up. It was one of the reasons I left New York."

"Money always causes trouble in some form or another." Jeremy says. "Its
why I only have one credit card and I only use it in case of emergenices.
Besides, Roger has no problem spending money on me for all the help I give
him -- and at least I put my gadgets to use for the mother."

Leala sighs. "Yup. You either have too little or too much. Gotta love
that. If you ever need anything that Roger can't provide, let me know."
She gestures to the boy's laptop and grins. "You obviously put it to good
use."

Jeremy smiles and runs a finger along the thin screen. "Yes well.. this
Titanium PowerBook was the best and I think I'm pretty much set now for
/life/." Grinning, he shrugs a bit.

Salem returns from upstairs, hair wet but looking remarkably cleaner apart
from the face that some dirt still persists under his fingernails. His
long leather coat is draped over one arm, and a pair of sunglasses are
hooked into the collar of his t-shirt. His manner's improved, too; he's
calm, composed, with that air of self-assurance that teeters on the border
of arrogance.

Leala laughs. "Oh come now... we both know that will be obsolete in a
week!" Her voice is teasing, not prodding. She turns to Salem as he
descends the stairs. "Well, aren't we looking much improved!"

Jeremy smirks at the Newmoon and glances over towards the bigger guy now.

Salem eyeballs Leala for a moment before letting the corners of his mouth
twitch slightly upwards. Dryly, he replies, "I'm pleased to know the
difference is noticeable."

"Well, not all of us can be blessed with such a keen sense of fashion,"
she says cheerily. She's obviously teasing the large Walker, but her
comment is a genuine compliment.

Salem's thin smile turns distinctly wry, and if anything, his reply is
even more dry, if such is possible. "What, this old thing?" Subtle touches
of mild self-mockery there.

Leala gives Salem a thoughtful look. "So, are you headed out?" She
gestures towards his coat.

Salem follows her glance, then nods. "On my way, yes." Though he's clearly
in no hurry. "I have a few errands to run that I was obliged to put off."

Leala nods. "So, Jeremy says that you, ah, ran off on your pack. That's
/kind of/ the situation I'm in right now. What made you come back to St.
Claire? If I'm too nosey, feel free to tell me to shut the hell up!"

Jeremy mentally slaps himself as he shoots a look towarsd Leala.

Salem arches a brow, giving Jeremy a rather long, calculating look. "Hmn.
Not quite." He directs his attention back to Leala, enlightening her with
the air of someone who's answered this and similar questions many, many
times before. Just a hint of patient long-suffering. "I haven't been in a
pack in several years now. I left after losing control on _another_ pack's
territory. And I returned because I consider St. Claire my home."
Something about the last prompts a thoughtful flicker to pass briefly
across the Philodox's scarred features; the expression's gone in a
heartbeat.

Leala looks back to Jeremy, as if to say "What!?" and turns back to Salem.
"Well, I don't know much about your situation, so I won't pass any kind of
judgment on you or anything. I was just curious." She looks at his scarred
face, thoughtfully, like she wants to prod him with more questions, but
refrains.

Jeremy seems to sink into a puddle of jello, murmuring. ".. I didn't
exactly say.. run off on his pack..."

"Sorry... you said he pissed off his old pack and then took off. I should
have worded it more precisely." She smiles at Salem. "He also said you
were cool, so don't get mad at him, eh."

Salem smiles thinly. "That's the short version of the tale. And nevermind,
Jeremy. Everyone makes mistakes." He removes the coat from his arm and
shrugs into the heavy leather garment, taking a few moments to adjust it
so it sits just right on his shoulders. He certainly doesn't look angry.

Seriously doubting that she will ever be taken into Jeremy's confidence
again, Leala mouths the word "Sorry" in his direction, and shrugs.

Jeremy looks a bit more then uncomfortable, despite Salem's calm exterior.

Salem fishes out a pair of black gloves and starts putting them on.
"Jeremy, forget it. Please." His tone's serious. "I've had bigger untruths
said about me, and intentionally."

Leala furrows her brow and frowns. "Untruths? You did upset your pack,
right? That was the truth. It was my fault if any untruth was states, as I
did not remember correctly what was said."

Salem pauses, closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them and
explains. "I was a Shadow Lord, once. That was the last time I was in a
pack. They're all long dead, and were long before I ever even heard of St.
Claire. I have not been part of a pack since then, though I may be in the
near future." He finishes tugging on the other glove; throughout his
answer, his voice remained even, perfectly deadpan, face giving no hint of
emotion, any emotion, but coolly polite calm.

Leala says, "Ah, ok. Well, then it certainly wasn't intentional." She goes
silent, putting her chin in her palm.

Salem nods once. "Welcome, in any case, Leala," he says after a moment. "I
do hope you'll be staying."

"As do I!" She smiles. "Take care, then."

Salem gives the Ragabash another of those thin little smiles, then heads
out.