It is currently 18:05 Pacific Time on Tue Aug 13 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 91 degrees
Fahrenheit (32 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
northeast at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.00 and falling,
and the relative humidity is 33 percent. The dewpoint is 59 degrees
Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (35% full).

Yellow River Medicine Shop- Upstairs Apartment

The apartment has several rooms, the living room, Lyra's bedroom in the
attic, Meiran's bedroom, the Laundry room/Bathroom, and the Kitchenette.
The living room is one long rectangle, and shows signs of an Asian
influence to say the least. The only item of furniture -not- made of
bamboo, it seems, is the vinyl, bamboo-green sofa placed up against the
wall.

	The floor is tile, colored like white sand, with several
snow-white scratches gored into it. There's an umbrella stand right next
to the stairway, a Zenith television across from the sofa, and a small
CCTV screen above it, set into the wall. Several bamboo-slat paintings are
hung on the walls...women playing musical instruments, tigers prowling in
the forest. In the back of the living room is a small, rectangular dining
table. The wall there is covered in family photos and certificates for
things Lyra did in her younger days, although some of the certificates
have been shot full of holes.

	 To the right of the table, the wall is cut out, with a
restaurant-like counter into the kitchenette. Convienient for passing
plates of food between rooms. To the left of the door is the
laundry/bathroom, and an exit to the fire escape. To the right is a small
hallway, leading to the kitchenette, a full sized bathroom, and Meiran's
bedroom. There are retractable stairs in the ceiling of the hallway,
leading to a small attic room with a large window looking out behind the
shop.

There's a knock on the fire escape entrance. Short, curt, businesslike.
Quentin knows it well. Rap-rap.

"I know I do," Quentin says, turning his head back to the Gnawer cub and
offering a quick and grateful smile, "It's just a bit of a.. paradigm
shift. I've always been alone, you know? Not even any frie--" The knock
breaks him off in mid-sentence, and he sits up in surprise at the sound.
"It's Salem."

Lyra sits up too as the knocking jars the quiet of the apartment, and
gives Quentin a curious glance. "How can you tell?" she says softly,
getting off the couch and walking to the laundry room in bare feet. "Oh,
what I'd give to get a camera installed out there too, so I could see who
was out there..." Loudly, she says, "Closed, come back next week!"

"It's Salem, Lyra," comes the familiar voice, back through the door. It's
deadpan and humorless.

Quentin's eyes roll a bit as he calls back with a bit of a laugh, "I told
you!"

Blinking in surprise, the Gnawer cub opens the door. She smiles shyly at
the Walker cliath, and her eyes seem a little worried. "Salem-rhya?"

It seems that the Walker Philodox has decided to take a lesson from Kaz
tonight, because there's a white box in his hand bearing the logo of a
local donut shop. "No lectures tonight," he assures Lyra. His eye slips
past her to Quentin, and he arches a brow slightly, perhaps surprised to
find the cub here.

The lift of one hand to Quentin's brow and away is a loose salute to greet
Salem, a slight curl of his lips greeting him. "Salem-rhya," he says
simply, "I decided to go for a walk, got restless.. decided to stop by and
say hello, talk and stuff. Hope you don't mind me being here.."

Lyra's expression doesn't change...not immediately. There's a flicker in
her face, and then her smile widens slightly, grateful and delighted. She
closes the door behind Salem, takes the box of donuts from him and quickly
hurries into the kitchen. You can hear her rooting in the pantry. "You
missed the party last night, rhya, it seemed like everyone was here," she
chatters brightly. "But Aiyana and I made something for you."

"Not at all, Quentin," Salem tells the Walker cub as he enters. He's
without his jacket today, the weather being too hot, and hooks his
sunglasses into the breast pocket of his plain gray t-shirt. He closes the
door behind him, turning a quizzical, almost frowning, glance toward the
kitchen. "Oh?"

A bit of tension eases at that, and Quentin's smile eases to a more
relaxed warmth as he settles in to where he's half-curled on the couch.
"Jeremy was showing me how to make pipe bombs earlier," he says with a
chuckle, one hand brushing through the air, "I figured I could use some
air after that."

Salem cants a look over toward Quentin. "Ah. Roger's video must have
inspired him." His voice is completely even; though he's calm tonight, he
isn't emoting much.

Lyra hums to herself as she removes the careful package and gives it a
once over. Red-checkered napkin covered the small wicker basket. Pity they
weren't as fresh as yesterday, but...they'd still be good, wouldn't they?
Shoot, the ribbon fell off. The asian Gnawer roots through the contents of
the shelf and finds the ribbon, and tapes the jaunty red bow to the
basket. There. One more glance at the creation, and then a satisfied
smile. -Perfect-. Unaware of the topic of discussion, the halfmoon cub
returns to the living room with a small basket cradled in her arms like an
infant. "Aiyana and I made cookies for you, rhya," she says triumphantly.
"I hope you like chocolate chip."

Quentin nods once more with a slight tip of his head, his smile fading but
not vanishing entirely. "Yeah. He actually seems.. a lot better than he's
been in awhile. I think it gave him some, uh, closure, you know?" The
arrival of the cookies brings a chuckle from him, and he shakes his head,
"She wouldn't let anyone else eat them, so she really did make 'em for
you."

Salem nods to Quentin at the mention of closure, then turns an eye toward
Lyra and her basket. "Ah. You and Aiyana?" He's bemused, but he does know
how to receive a gift gracefully. "That's... very thoughtful of you. Thank
you."

Lyra brushes her skirt and resumes her seat on the far corner of the couch
with a smug smile- but not -too- smug. "You're welcome," she chirps back,
bobby-pin laden head held high. She winks at Quentin conspiratorially
again, then relaxes into the squishy vinyl surface. "Oh, Mr. Salem please
make yourself at home, have a seat, or the like." She fishes for the
remote control, which is under the couch arm, and turns off the TV, which
had been muted anyway.

Salem sets the basket of cookies on the counter for retrieval later, then
steps over toward the couch. "Thank you," he says to Lyra again, and as he
takes a seat, he asks her, dryly, "It was your idea, wasn't it?"

Quentin shifts a bit over on the couch, closer to where Lyra's sitting so
that there's more room for Salem to make himself comfortable as he wishes.
The wink is caught with a chuckle, and then he leans back and drops silent
so the two can talk.

Lyra blinks, taken off-guard by the suggestion. She tries to glare, tries
to frown, and each time ends up looking like she's wrestling with her
face. The result is a sheepish grin. "Baking them was...but Aiyana decided
to put both white and dark chocolate," the Gnawer adds.

Salem leans back against the couch, one arm extended along the back. His
eye's still on the Gnawer cub, watching her across the Quentin-occupied
space. "Mm-hm. Did you... tell her what I'd said to you the other night,
then?"

Quentin's head tips to one side, then the other, as he watches the
conversation bounce over him like some bizarre verbal tennis match. His
own expression carefully schooled to calm, a brow raised.

The halfmoon cub reaches up with one hand to prod at a loose bobby pin,
looking rather uncomfortable. "Not in great detail," she murmurs softly.
She sighs, hand coming down to rest with its pair. "When she came by, I
wanted to make sure she was all right," Lyra says, giving Salem a pointed
glance. "She was gone for close to a week, rhya, nobody knew where. I told
her you'd filled me in on your ultimatum, yes, but I didn't give her
specifics. And she's super keen on the idea of proving herself for the
right to be with Jeremy. She'll do it." There's a note of extreme pride
and sureness as she talks.

Salem grunts. "Hmnh." His expression isn't especially encouraging, but he
doesn't add anything more on the subject. He turns to Quentin. "Any
questions about the meeting last night?"

"Got a few hours to answer all of them?" The quick response joined with
rather rueful grin as Quentin's green eyes return to the scarred face of
the cliath, "I've got a lot, actually.. although.. I suppose the roach
thing would probably be a start."

At that, Salem almost smiles. Almost. "I have the time," he tells the boy,
then shifts his weight, legs stretching out in front of him, crossed at
the ankles. "This is something I should have gone over before, however.
You remember the goose at the caern?"

Oh, bloody bother, he figured it out. Lyra suddenly becomes very
interested with her dress, picking at the seams with her fingers. It
occurs to her she should probably pay attention...she might learn
something. The Gnawer cub pulls her legs up and hugs them to herself,
watching Quentin and Salem discuss Walkery stuff.

"The spirit, yeah," Quentin says with a nod, supplying with a slight
flicker of his fingertips through the air, "I've been told all the tribes
have their own particular patron spirit.."

Salem nods. He spares Lyra a brief glance, for a second meeting her eyes,
knowingly. Then his attention's back on Quentin. "The patron of Those Who
Walk Among Glass is Cockroach. An ancient spirit, born before humanity's
rise, a spirit of survival and adaptation. Cockroach is the Wyld in the
city, familiar with the Weaver's ways, but unlike Spider, not a slave of
the Weaver."

Quentin purses his lips just a bit, clearly struggling with the 'but it's
a /cockroach/' reaction to that before nodding just a little in
acknowledgement. "Okay.. I suppose that makes sense. All over the city,
unnoticed, survives no matter what people do to it.."

Lyra nods her head emphatically, thinking of Auntie Mei's
kill-the-cockroach habits, and resolves to never, never, have her aunt
meet the Walker Ahroun.

"Precisely," says Salem, arms folding across his chest. "My own pack,
Synthesis, chose to align itself to Cockroach as well."

"So.." Quentin purses his lips, "Tribes have a patron spirit. And Caerns
do. And packs do too?"

Salem nods. "A pack isn't truly a pack until they've petitioned, and been
accepted by, a patron spirit. The spirit provides... a bond. It gives
taboos to follow, but also provides gifts and assistance to the pack."

Quentin frowns, then, one hand raising to rub against one temple as he
asks, "So.. where does the chain of command go, there? It seems to me you
could end up working for three different spirits.. which takes
precedence?"

Lyra tilts her head a bit. That was a good question.

Salem purses his lips slightly as he considers the question. "Generally,
there's little to no conflict between the three spirits. Only rarely, in
fact..." He rubs at his beard thoughtfully. "Still, there have been
situations. For example, Owl and Rat are at odds with each other, because
Owl requires that his children, those Garou who pack under him, to leave
out live, helpless offerings of rodens for him to feast on. This,
naturally, sits quite poorly with Rat, so a Bone Gnawer who chose to pack
under Owl may find himself looked upon poorly by rat spirits. He might
even face harassment from such spirits which, in an urban environment,
could become quite annoying." He pauses a moment. "Usually, one's tribal
totem is the most distant. It gives no special bonuses and requires no
specific service other than that the Garou act the role of his tribe, be
loyal to his tribe, and honor the representatives of the spirit."

Quentin listens attentively, nodding ever so slightly now and again.
"Given the Litany talking about how important the caerns are.. I'd assume
the caern spirit would be the most important, if it came down to
disagreements like that?"

Lyra wriggles her nose at the mention of Rat, but says nothing, just
listens. Quentin's doing a rather frighteningly good job of asking all the
questions she has.

"Hmnh," says Salem, considering that. "Yes. Serious disagreements are
rare. Usually, if a Garou or a Garou pack finds a caern spirit to be
contrary to that of pack or tribe, he'll leave to settle at another Sept."

"Oh.." Quentin seems to have had an epiphany there, as he sits up a bit
straighter, "..okay. Now all the arguing about the caern spirit makes more
sense, why everyone would be pushing for theirs or object to another.."

"Kent and I still haven't found somebody to tell us the story of Bear,"
Lyra adds softly. "I think I'll have to hunt down Andrea-rhya after all."

Salem's expression darkens, during dour, muscles tightening in his jaw.
"Yes. And, speaking frankly, I could live with Stag or Unicorn or Frog or
even Bear," -- and here he cuts a brief glance at Lyra -- "but Wendigo?
Wendigo is a Wyrmcomer-hating, urrah-hating, ice-hearted cannibal spirit.
As unsuitable as Griffin, or any of its ilk."

There's the sound of someone climbing up the fire escape, then the
footsteps stop, and outside stands Aiyana in all her Gnawer glory. Which
isn't much. She knocks to announce her presence. "Oh Lyyyyyyyyyyyra! You
home, sis?"

"Wyrmcomer?" Quentin's brow furrows slightly at the unfamiliar word,
"What's that mean..? And what would make Griffin unsuitable?" The sound of
feet on metal brings his head up, and he chuckles a bit, "Jeeze. Grand
central here lately.."

Lyra's eyes get so wide it's surprising something doesn't break. With a
choked out, "Excuse!" the Gnawer cubling gets up and walks quickly into
the laundry room, thankfully out of Salem and Quentin's sight. She pushes
the door open a crack, and hisses worriedly, "Ai-YA-na! -Salem-rhya's
here!" She pushes the door open a little more, rubbing at the back of her
neck. "I gave him the cookies..."

Salem's eye goes rather sharply toward the door. His expression's stern,
not especially friendly, but he reigns back any open hostility. Then he
turns back and answers Quentin. "'Wyrmcomer' is the lovely little name
that the so-called 'Pure Tribes,' the Wendigo and the Uktena, call those
of us who descend from Garou who are not Native American. And Griffin is
the totem of the Red Talons. Do you remember what I told you about them?"

Salem's voice has a snippy little bite to it when he talks about the
Wendigo and that ugly little term they use.

Aiyana blinks and her eyes widen. "Uh...think I'm gonna come back later
then, sis." She turns, as if to fling herself off of the fire escape.
Anything to avoid Salem and his possible wrath. "Did he eat the cookies,
or sharpen 'em to razor fineness in order to fling at me when I come in?"
She looks around worriedly, ready to duck any cookies o' death.

Quentin's brow furrows deeper still, if possible, frowning as he looks
back towards the one-eyed Walker again. "Wyrmcomer, though? I mean.. the
Wyrm's the enemy, right? Why would they call us that..?" Another brief,
near-curt nod, "Yeah. You told me about them.. that makes sense."

"More history," says Salem. He holds up a finger, then calls over to the
Gnawer Philocub. "Who is it, Lyra?"

Lyra shakes her head in an Oh No You Don't way, and grabs Aiyana's wrist
gently. "Too late, I bet my -aunt- could hear you with that greeting," she
says ruefully. "Now if you -don't- come in, he'll think you're cowardly.
And you're an Ahroun!" To answer Salem, she calls back, "It's Aiyana,
Salem-rhya!" With an apologetic glance, she tugs her tribesmate in. "And
he won't hurt you. I won't let him, promise. At least, not with the
cookies."

Aiyana erks, having no choice but to follow Ly in. Although she does
ponder trying to chew her wrist off. She's seen animals do it on TV.
"A'ight. But if he comes flyin' at me in a frenzy, I'm hauling ass outta
here," she whispers.

Quentin raises a brow at the call, a bit surprised to hear the name
spoken-- and he looks to Salem swiftly, watching his expression with a
hint of concern.

"Bring her in!" Salem calls to Lyra. His voice is hard to read. It doesn't
_sound_ angry. Or violent. Or ready to maul certain Gnawer Ahrouns into
little Gnawer pieces.

Lyra halts Aiyana from going in immediately. She taps two forefingers on
the taller girl's forehead, and whispers ferverently "(Buddha watches over
the children)," before going into the living room. The halfmoon is trying
very hard to look calm and collected and happy, but being one of those
people who wear their hearts in flashing neon signs, it's obvious she's
nervous and worried as she takes a seat on the floor.

Aiyana looks like she wants to vanish away. oO(Oh. My. God. I'm so
dead.)Oo She gives Lyra one of those 'let me go' looks, chewing her lip
nervously. Glancing around the room before she actually enters, she
manages a quick wave to the others, trying to maintain a neutral, calm
attitude. "Um...hi. If I'm interruptin', I can go. No prob."

There's Jack Salem, once called 'el Diablo', though of the three cubs,
only Quentin's probably aware of that little fact. Former Shadow Lord.
Once Ronin. Ex-Ahroun. His good eye is dark and steady as its gaze follows
Aiyana's movement, and he does a frighteningly good job of looking
intimidating while just sitting there on Lyra's couch with his arms
folded. His voice is perfectly calm and even. And cool. "Not at all,
Aiyana. You're just in time for a history lesson."

A breath that Quentin didn't even know was holding escapes his lips in a
subtle sigh as the words from 'el Diablo' are.. while not warm and
welcoming.. are at least non-aggressive. A slight raise of his chin, a
quick smile to Aiyana before he explains, "Salem-rhya was just about to
explain why the Uktena and Wendigo don't like us much."

Lyra gestures Aiyana over to her, still looking apologetic. She gives the
Walker Ahroun a quick, 'be nice, because it's my house if for no other
reason' glance before settling in for what looks like will be a long, long
night. "Isn't it just because of the European invaders, how the humans
took the land away from the Native Americans?"

Aiyana avoids looking directly at Salem, moving to sit next to Ly for
comfort and moral support. "History lesson?" She starts to worry, hoping
that it's just a lesson about Garou stuff, and not...anything else. Q's
explanation of the mentioned lesson gets a half smile from the Ahroun, and
she nods. "Cool. Don't think I heard this one."

Salem nods to Lyra. "That's part of it. You see, when the first colonists
came, many of our people came with them, but the Spiral Dancers came as
well, to take advantage and increase the suffering of those colonists.
There was also tension between the European Garou and the Native American
Garou, the former of whom wanted use of the new land's caerns, and the
latter who were resentful of the intrusion. While those two groups were at
odds, the Spirals were able to have free reign over the colony at Roanoke.
Their actions allowed one of the heads of the Wyrm, a beast called
Eater-of-Souls, to manifest in the Realm. On Gaia Herself." He pauses
there to let that sink in -- a third of the _Wyrm_, on _earth_, in the
_real world_. His eye travels over the faces of the three cubs before he
continues. "Only the sacrifice of the Croatan tribe drove Eater-of-Souls
away. And ever since then, the Wendigo and Uktena have taken to referring
to non-Native humans as 'Wyrmbringers' and the Garou as 'Wyrmcomers'.
Because the former brought the Wyrm to their 'pure land' and the latter,
in their eyes, came _with_ the Wyrm."

Quentin's eyes widen ever so slightly at the words of this 'Eater of
Souls' being brought into the world.. positively enthralled and horrified
at once at the tale, leaning in a bit against one knee to listen. After
the cliath finishes his tale, he frowns slightly and protests, "That's
hardly fair of them.. I mean, it wasn't our fault. Hell, if we hadn't come
along on the boats there wouldn't have been anything to counter-balance
the Spiral Dancers at /all/, they should be glad we did.."

Aiyana sits there, listening to Salem's tale all while trying not to freak
out and hide in another room. "Isn't that bein' a little uh, judgemental?"
she asks. "I mean, wasn't there any Wyrm stuff here before everyone came
over? I kinda doubt everythin' was squeaky-clean." She looks over to Q and
nods. "But hey, I'm sure the ones who came over weren't all perfect
either. Everyone's got their faults."

Salem's expression gives hint that he agrees with the two cubs, both of
them urrah, city-dwellers, like himself. "The Wendigo have never been
known for their... rationality. The death of the Croatan only made them
more bitter. It's... a shame, really. According to all reports, Middle
Brother, as the Croatan Garou were called, were the most open-minded and
welcoming of the three New World tribes."

Quentin nods just a little, frowning still to himself at the seeming
unfairness of this judgement. "What about the other tribe.. the Uktena?
How do they feel about all of this?"

Aiyana mmms softly. "That's sad. They got the shaft, all 'cause they
wanted to be neighborly. Man."

"The Uktena..." Salem hesitates a moment, considering his answer. "Some
are as hateful as the Wendigo. Others don't care. Unlike the Wendigo, the
Uktena have become more open in their membership and have taken other
ethnic groups under their wing. But." He pauses a moment. "But,
traditionally, the Uktena are secretive, and some say that some of their
members know more about the Wyrm than is safe."

"How can that be, though..?" Quentin tips his head to one side, curiously
asking, "I mean, if there wasn't much Wyrm here before it arrived from
Europe.. how could they know so much more?"

Aiyana listens quietly, stretching herself out on the floor and folding
her arms in front of her, to use them as a pillow.

Salem gives Quentin a thin, humorless little smile. "That," he says, "is a
very good question. Interesting paradox, isn't it?"

Quentin lets a frown trace full over his lips then, and he leans back
against the couch again to consider the matter. "No wonder we're in such a
bad position," he finally sighs out, flickering a look back to Salem's
face, "We spend more time fighting each other over petty shit and hiding
little secrets and holding old grudges than anything else, don't we?"

Aiyana blinks at Q, then shakes her head, smiling a little at his
question. Something about it amuses the cub. "Yeah. How come we don't all
just team up, kick Wyrm ass, and call it a day?"

Salem tilts his head. He eyes Quentin for a moment, his face unreadable,
and then leans back against the couch. "We do," he tells Aiyana calmly.
"Here, at least. Even when we're not chasing Spiral Dancers away from our
caern, our Sept is... more co-operative than others. Every living, Gaian
tribe is represented here. Even the one that abandoned the Garou Nation."

"Yeah, you mentioned them.. the Stargazers.." That look aimed in his
direction seems to have quieted Quentin a bit, though he hasn't withdrawn
entirely.. his lips pursed in a deep frown as he considers what he's
learned, a slight shadow behind green eyes.

Aiyana ohs, "Yeah. I was kinda wonderin' how come the others here aren't
at each other's throats. I mean, I'm not complainin'. I think it's pretty
sweet the way everyone's workin' together." She yawns and shakes her head.
"Too bad the rest of the world can't do the same." The cub looks like
she's getting a bit tired. Aww.

"The Stargazers, yes." To Aiyana, Salem merely shrugs. "It works. There's
bickering, yes. And disagreements. But it works." Still, his expression's
rather dark, and somehow, his words aren't as optimistic as they should
be.

A moment's silence follows that, before Quentin inserts with a hint of
forced warmth, "So, ah.. in any case, to the original subject. You said
the various spirits liked some, didn't like others, demanded things.. what
about Cockroach?"

Aiyana curls herself up on the floor, her eyes closing as she makes
herself comfy. She's still listening to the conversation, but it won't be
long before she's passed out asleep.

Salem glances at the dozing Gnawer, then focusses all his attention on
Quentin. "Cockroach only asks that his kin be spared."

Quentin's nose wrinkles slightly. Mm. "So no bug spray, no roach traps,
eh? Well, I suppose that's easy enough.."

"If you want to make Cockroach feel particularly honored," says Salem,
"put out food for his children as well."

Quentin scratches a bit at his chin, musing, "What do cockroaches like to
eat?"

Salem tilts his head slightly. "Personally, I feed them wet cat food, but
they'll eat almost anything."

"Mm. Are there any around Jeremy's place?" Quentin still looks a bit
dubious about the whole idea, but open enough to deal with it as well as
he has most other weirdness thus far.

"I don't..." Salem pauses, rethinking. His eye moves away, resting on the
basket of cookies on the counter. "I imagine so," he says at last, calmly.
"Jeremy's place was Roger's place, and Roger had... a strong connection to
Cockroach."

"I'll ask Jer." A pause, then, before Quentin ventures carefully, "I
mentioned to Lyra how I would've liked to meet him.. she suggested that
since I'm, you know, supposed to be a galliard and all maybe I could talk
to people who knew him and found out what he was like, all the stuff he
did when he was alive.."

"He would have been pleased to know you," Salem says. A hand comes up and
rubs at his beard; his voice remains calm, perfectly even. "Start with
Jeremy. Jeremy knew Roger best."

"That's what I was thinking," Quentin agrees with a slight nod, "They
seemed pretty close.."

Salem makes a noise of agreement. "They were. I... didn't know him as well
as I might have."

Quentin purses his lips a bit. "Yeah, I.. gathered that, from the video."
A brief clearing of his throat, "Anyway.. ah.. after Jeremy, anyone you
can suggest? I guess John knew him, but, he has more important things to
do than talk to me.."

Salem scratches at his bearded chin, then folds his arms across his chest
and looks at the cub. "Don't hesitate to speak to John. He's often busy,
yes, but he'll speak to you. You can ask Kaz about Roger, too, when she's
back in town."

"Mm. Yeah, he mentioned Kaz, didn't he?" Quentin nods just a bit, then
again, "I'll ask her, then.. thanks. And John, if I happen to be around
when he's not super-busy or anything."

"He'll be less occupied once his rank challenge is complete," says the
halfmoon. His watch beeps in the middle of this statement, and he glances
at it, frowning slightly at the time before shutting the alarm off. "Mnf.
I have to go."

"Alright.." A quick, genuine smile flashed over as Quentin says quietly,
"Thanks for your time, Salem-rhya.. I'm sure that you've been listening to
questions like this for years from different cubs and stuff. I appreciate
it.."

Salem gets to his feet. He doesn't really smile when he looks back at
Quentin, but that's hardly a surprise. "You're quite welcome, Quentin. Do
you need a ride home?"

Quentin pushes himself to his feet easily, allowing ruefully, "Yeah, if
it's not out of your way.. like I said, I walked here."

"It's not a problem." Salem gets the basket of cookies, pausing to pick up
the ribbon when it falls off again. "Come on." He leads out to the street,
handing the basket over to the cub as he fishes for his car keys. The
battered, dull orange Yugo is nothing, _nothing_ like Jeremy's flash
sports car, but the inside's clean and it runs. Reluctantly, perhaps, but
it runs nonetheless. And, unsurprisingly, Salem's an extremely careful
driver.