7/21/02

It is currently 14:37 Pacific Time on Sun Jul 21 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 76 degrees
Fahrenheit (24 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
northeast at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.06 and falling,
and the relative humidity is 49 percent. The dewpoint is 56 degrees
Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (78% full).

Location: Salem's apartment.


There's a 'shave and a haircut' type of knock on the door. Rather abrupt,
really.

Salem opens the door a moment or two later, looking more casual than usual
in sweatpants and t-shirt; the muted sound of _The Magic Flute_ can be
heard in the background. He seems mildly surprised at the unexpected
visit, but amiable enough -- as amiable as the moon allows, in any case.
"Kaz. Come in."

"Yeah, thanks," the metis says, attempting casualness and mostly
succeeding. "Have a bagel. Heck. Have a few." She wanders in, ignores the
roaches completely, and turns to look at him. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

Salem shuts the door behind her. The music's coming from a portable stereo
on the bookshelf; spread out on a towel on the floor in front of the couch
is a bolt-action rifle, dissambled and, apparantly, in the middle of a
cleaning. He accepts a bagel, saying, "Of course. Can I get you something
to drink?"

Kaz stops to admire the rifle, or perhaps its disassembly; she nods.
"Coke'd be great. So anyway." She turns to look at him as he moves, slight
tension bleeding into her posture. "Ok. I don' really give a shit if you
kinda look at us like we're bugs an' all that, I'm used to it. An' I don'
really give a shit if you disapprove of a couplea kids havin' a little
fun, although me, I think Aiyana's just got good crash space. An' y'know,
I sure don' object to your goin' an' tellin' her to keep her hands to
herself, although I'll never quite get the obsession some folks have with
breeding." Her voice is sharp, now. "What I /do/ give a shit about is your
/threatening/ her /life/ over it. /That/ ain't kosher, I /ain't/ gonna put
up with it, and I'm wonderin' where you got the impression it /was/ ok."

Salem stops with his hand on the refrigerator door, turning around within
a few words of the spiel, and once it's obvious what brought the Gnawer to
his door, his face goes cold. By the time Kaz has gotten to the end of it,
the crux of the matter, all that relaxed amiability is gone. His jaw
clenches. "Is that what she said? That I threatened to kill her?"

Guess Kaz gets no Coke. Now that she's actually said what she came to say,
she's much more relaxed. "Yeah. She said she din' want no more trouble
with you, an' basically said not to talk to you, but this is kinda more
a... a boundry thing, you know?" After a moment, she adds, given his
posture, and his wording, "Presuming that's what you, um, actually said."

"I didn't." And it seems that Kaz will get her Coke after all, since the
Walker resumes the process of pouring her a glass of said beverage. With
ice, even. "I made it very clear to her that while I had no problem with
her friendship with Jeremy, I found the idea of her being sexually active
with him objectionable. I told her that she would be in trouble with me if
she engaged in such activity with him, but I did _not_ threaten to kill
her." Moving back across the floor, he offers the glass to her. "As it
was, she was quite snide, but I chose to ignore that."

Kaz takes the glass. She takes a long drink from it, then bares her teeth
faintly -- at the floor, mind you -- at the carbonation. Then she looks up
at him, with a faint smile. "Shit, man, now I got a mad on and nowhere to
put it." It is, perhaps, a form of apology. "I'll see what I can do about
gettin' her a lil' less, uh, mouthy."

Salem shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively as he pads back to the
rifle. "Not necessary. She hasn't decided to be snippy at me since." He
seats himself crosslegged on the floor and leans back against the couch,
looking up at Kaz and clearly in no hurry to return to the task; he's not
trying to shoo her out the door. "I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised
that she presumed the worst from what I said, but I'm not in the habit of
killing cubs. Even Bone Gnawer cubs."

Kaz says, "Mmm. She does, tell me. She needa learn who she can be all
snarky at an' who she can't be. 's a survival mechanism." She nods at
Salem, accepting that. After taking another drink, she goes on, "I didn't
figure you were, but... Like I said, settin' boundries is good. I mean, I
woulda let all kindsa people kill Rotem, eventually, but before it reached
that point, he's /ours/ to deal with. On the other hand, in an official
sense, if we got a cub as fucks with you too much... You can whomp on 'em
all you want."

Salem nods, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, particularly at mention of
Rotem. "Thank you. And, in return, I'll try to keep said 'whomping' to a
bare minimum." There's a note of dry humor there, though he doesn't smile.
"And speaking of cubs, what was your impression of Quentin?"

Kaz murmurs, smile faint, "Thank you, I'm sure they'll appreciate it." At
his question, she shrugs. "Bitter. Which, you know, is why I tend not to
go that kind of route with cubs. Kinda sours 'em. Anyways, he's a good
guy. Picks shit up quickly. Can't really measure him yet. I think," she
says, jaw clenching slightly, "Us talkin' about packmates is the thing
that's most gotten him, so far. But I don't think he feels like he's
/Garou/ yet."

Salem exhales a breath, looking mildly rueful. "No, I suspect not." He
picks up the barrel of the rifle and resumes oiling it methodically,
carefully. The action, clearly done countless times before, seems to have
a calming effect. "Jacob is the same. Quick to pick up information, and in
fact a highly attentive listener, but the... instincts are weak." He
shakes his head slightly, frowning. "It is, unfortunately, a rather common
failing."

Kaz says, "I dunno. Jake dunno much, still, but he's more... well, he
talks about 'we', as opposed to 'you'. So he's... at least embracin' th'
/concept/ of being Garou." Kaz leans against a wall, still nursing the
drink.

Salem nods. "True. He's learning." He wipes the oil off the barrel,
careful not to miss a centimeter. "Quentin will, too, eventually, the more
that he sees what's happened to him as real and not just words."

Kaz nods. "Oh, definitely. An' like I say, he's willin' to listen, at
least." After a moment, she asks, "You got any use for a couple 9mm
pistols? I bet not, but..."

Salem looks up, considering. "I'm sure I could find a use for them. Why?"

Kaz shrugs. "'Cause, I got a few from them Dancers. I'm keepin' like 6 or
so of 'em, but that still leaves me with 4, and y'know, I could sell 'em
on th' street, but honestly, I'd rather they get put t'/good/ use,
y'know?"

"Makes perfect sense." Finished with the barrel, the Glass Walker starts
cleaning the various pieces of the bolt mechanism. "In that case, I'd be
glad to take two off your hands. Hmn. Which reminds me to take the cubs to
the firing range one of these days."

Kaz says, "Yeah, I'm still showin' Yi how to shoot right. There's some
silver rounds, too. Want a few, or's it too much of a pain in the ass?"

Salem grimaces, shaking his head. "My connection to the spirit world is
poor enough at best. I'd rather not make it worse."

Kaz grins faintly. "Figured. Me, I just stash 'em in a cache til I need
'em. Ain't had nothin' stolen yet."

One corner of Salem's mouth twitches upward as he works the oil into a
stubborn bolt crevice. He glances at her sidelong. "How large of a stash
have you collected?"

Kaz says, vaguely, "A bunch." Then she adds, "Honest, I kind of forget. I
know /where/ they are... But if you pressed me to count, I wouldn't know.
Which is in part deliberate, since then someone who took me wouldn't go
lookin' for more, if they only got the one place outta me."

Salem nods. "Wise." Wipe on, wipe off, and Salem takes just as much care
to remove oil from narrow, tricksy metal places as he did in applying it.
"Any word on the street indicating the presence of our disreputable
ex-cousins, by the way?"

Kaz grunts. "No. And it's pissin' me off. If there was any around, it
oughta be obvious, if y're payin' attention."

Salem grimaces, not altogether pleased himself. "Probably waiting for us
to pull our pants down again."

Kaz blinks at his phrasing, but nods, finishing her drink. "Yeah. Well."
Her voice is firm. "We ain't gonna. So."

Salem nods. "So." He finishes cleaning the last piece, examines his work
critically for a moment, and then starts reassembling the rifle with
well-practiced motions.

Kaz puts the drink back in the kitchen, and says, "Yeah. Anyways. I should
git, I think. Catch you around."

Salem pauses long enough to get to his feet and escort her to the door. He
nods. "Be seeing you, Kaz."

Kaz grins. "Bet on it." Then she's gone.