It is currently 17:10 Pacific Time on Mon Feb 17 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 42 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southeast at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.03 and falling, and the relative humidity is 92 percent. The dewpoint is 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (92% full).

With the rain outside and the cold, Mel's shivering when she unlocks the door and barges in. "Geezus Christ," she mutters to herself, clutching to a satchel.

Red Mill Apartments #603

This smallish, two-bedroom apartment is somewhat sparcely furnished, but has a comfortable, homey look to it. A greenish-gray couch holds court in the main room, accompanied by a low, sturdy-looking coffee table. A squat black entertainment center is set up on the other side of the room, in perfect view of the couch; on it sits a rather large television and within the small cabinet area underneath is a VCR. There's bookcase set up along one wall, its shelves holding a stereo, a clock, various CDs and video tapes, but very few actual books -- most are nonfiction paperbacks, history books. The carpet's a neutral shade of tan and covers whatever floor doesn't belong to the kitchen or the bathroom; the walls and ceiling are a shade lighter and on them are a few Van Gogh prints; _Starry Night_ hangs over the couch in a position of prominence.

The kitchen's small and narrow, but it's clean and holds the basic conveniences of modern life, including (but not limited to) a microwave, a toaster oven, and little blue and white dish towels. A short length of hallway past the kitchen entrance leads to the bathroom and a pair of bedrooms.

Though the apartment is kept fairly clean, cockroaches are a constant presence and go about unmolested by traps, sprays, or other poisons. In fact, a small plate of fresh canned cat food sits in a corner at the far end of the kitchen, apparantly just for the benefit of these insects.

The stairs and halls of the apartment building were almost as cold as outside; no one's ever accused the landlord of being generous with heating. But the apartment itself is warm, the comfortable temperature almost as welcoming as the smell of something cooking in the kitchen area. Beef and green peppers, touch of onion and garlic. Mozart's playing on the stereo and Salem, dressed in t-shirt and sweatpants, both black, is at the counter cutting potatos into cubes.

He pauses, glancing up as the redhead enters. "Still raining?" His voice is mild, almost bland.

"Yeah. Why aren't you out in it, again?" Mel sighs, looking up and brushing water off her hair. "Shower," she states flatly, and moves to dump her things in her bedroom.

"My day off, remember?" Actually, Jack's had the past couple of days off; he seems to be able to work in a long weekend about once a month. "Soup should be ready in, mm, half an hour or so."

Pausing in the doorway of her room, Mel gains a pleasantly surprised little smile, not quite restrained. "Oh." She grins, and moves to the bathroom with a much lighter step.

Salem gives the girl a thin half-smile and returns to chopping potatoes. The other bulk ingredients -- carrots and celery, are already cut up and gathered neatly into bowls, waiting for their time to get dumped into the pot.

The shower continues for quite a while - he can almost see the steam coming under the door. When she emerges, it's in a towel, with a towel around her head. "/God/ that's good," the girl murmurs, grinning with flushed cheeks from the heat. "Love that about rain." She slinks over to investigate the soup. "What's on?"

Salem regards his damp, barely-dressed roommate out of the corner of his good eye as he adds things to the pot -- water (lots of it), beef base, pulped tomatoes, parsley and bay, salt and pepper... soup things. It smells heavenly. "Vegetable soup, with a bit of ground beef." He stirs carefully. "I went shopping while you were out."

Mel's grin widens even more, and she shakes her head a little. "Good," she notes with a very real satisfaction, turning and heading back to the bathroom. Where, presumably, clothes and female things happen.

One hopes so, anyway, because towels have a tendency to be dangerously unstable. He continues to stir the pot, making sure everything's well mixed, then turns the heat up and steps back to let it come to a boil. _The Magic Flute_ continues to play in the background. People singing opera in German.

When Mel emerges again, she still has the towel around her head, but also a considerably safer pair of jeans and a plain blue tee that even manages to cover her midriff. Frump-wear, though it still manages to look anything but. "Hey. What's this? Radio or CD?" She wanders over to the stereo-system, and fingers through the numerous CD cases there.

"CD," Salem says from the kitchen area. The empty CD case is at the top of the pile. The halfmoon leans against the breakfast counter, glancing every so often over at the pot. Satisfied for the moment that it's not about to boil over, he looks over at Mel. "You can change it if you want. Or turn it off."

"Nah, just wanted to see how good the cover-notes are." She stands casually, opening the thing up, hip at an angle, leg crossed behind the other, toe wiggling as it taps the ground. "Hm."

The CD doesn't actually have the whole opera on it, just highlights; most of the interior printing lists the names of the various singers and musicians, all unfamiliar.

From the counter, Salem watches her with a thoughtful, pensive expression.

Eyes still on the cover, Mel murmurs idly, "So. Gamble? Gift? Or familiar favourite?"

"I saw it performed once, several years ago." Salem takes a sip of ice water.

Her smile's saved for the CD case. "Oh? Where'at?" she asks curiously.

Salem takes another sip, then gets up to check on the soup again. "Belgrade." He stirs for a bit, slowly.

Mel's eyebrows arch a little. "Wow," she murmurs faintly, then looks up to consider the man.

Salem shrugs, his back to her. "My parents were from there, originally. We lived in that area for a few years when I was younger." She can't see his face and the tone of his voice is very bland.

"Close to yer folks?" the girl queries, dumping the empty CD case unceremoniously onto the stereo again, and moving to flump into an aesthetically pleasing pile on the couch.

"Not really." Salem sets the wooden spoon aside and returns to his seat at the breakfast counter, his gaze moving toward the girl. His expression is hard, but he eases back on it -- making an effort, at least, to be pleasant. "I haven't spoken to them in years.""

"Are they the ones who surgically implanted that rod up yer ass?" Mel enquires thoughtfully.

Salem's eyes narrow, mouth tightening. He has shown her that he has a sense of humor, albeit a dry one, but tonight it's quite absent. He takes a breath, reining in the flash of ill temper. "They were very strict. My father especially." He eyes her. "What about you? Talked to your mother recently?"

"Nope. She wouldn't hear me if I did. She's too busy talkin' with Elvis and the little green men. They locked her up." The tone's perfectly even. And the tone's not quite as well-humoured as her last question.

Salem blinks once. "Sorry to hear it," he says, and there's a note of apology in his voice.

The girl's voice is somehow strangely tight, when she mutters with a forced dryness, "Yeah. You'd a thought she'd be jumpin' for joy, after John blew away my Dad."

Salem shakes his head a bit, grimacing. "You can never tell, I guess." There's a pause. "Like something to drink?"

Silence. Mel stares at the ceiling a while, and then wrinkles her nose. "Nah," she decides.

"Something non-alcoholic, even?" Salem raises an eyebrow at her.

Pouting thoughtfully, Mel raises her eyebrows a bit. "Ohh... well, I dunno... sure. Water?"

Salem stands. "Water, juice, tea if you want something hot." Speaking of which, he stops at the soup pot again and, finding it bubbling, turns the heat down to low and adds the last few vegetables, carefully.

"I'm pretty aware of what we've got in the kitchen, Jack," she reminds the Walker with a hint of wry humour. "Water, please."

Salem grunts. "Right, right." He covers the soup pot and leaves it all to simmer. He dumps the bowls into the sink and fetches down a glass for Mel's water. "How was your day?"

"Boring. Nothing happened." She smiles faintly. "Took some photos. Had a moment of inner peace. And that was about it."

Salem crosses the room toward the couch and offers her the glass of water, with ice. His previous flash of temper is gone, or well-submerged anyway. "You had a moment of inner peace?"

"Yeah. You should try 'em sometime." The girl hops up, to take the glass, and eyes Salem with a mock-scolding expression. "Ice? In weather like this?" She shakes her head, crossing over to the kitchen counter to put the glass down and deal with unwrapping the towel around he head.

"Hrmph. It isn't cold in _here_." He remains standing, watching her with arms folded across his chest. His feet are bare on the clean tan carpet.

A large cockroach waves its feelers at the redhead from on top of the phone, on the counter.

Mel blows on the roach to annoy it or send it tumbling, as she begins drying her hair more. The girl seems to have gotten used to the oddity of having the little creatures around amazingly well. She shrugs at the Walker's excuse, though. "Goin' out tonight?"

The cockroach wriggles its feelers faster, then scuttles off the phone and up the wall. Salem watches it for a moment. "Don't think so. Probably turn in early tonight, in fact."

Mel looks over her shoulder at Salem for a while. And sips at her water. "How you doin?"

Salem rubs at his beard, then prowls back over toward the kitchen, hands in his pockets. "In what sense?"

"Pick one," the girl replies dourly.

Salem arches an eyebrow and takes a seat at the counter. "Mm. Not badly, on most fronts. Could be better, of course, but it's not as bad as it was."

Mel nods a few times. "Work?"

Salem grunts. "Steady." He takes a sip of water. "The economy's gone to shit, so people can't afford to keep up with their payments." His mouth takes on a cynical little twist.

Mel shoots a worried little look to one corner of the ceiling. "There's always a silver lining, huh?" she murmurs absently. "Hobbies?"

Salem tilts his head slightly, studying her with that one dark eye. "Why do you ask?"

The redhead rolls her eyes, then takes a patient breath before turning to look back to him properly. "Because I'm interested. OK?"

Salem's mouth twitches, thinning for a moment before he pushes the irritation -- or the outward evidence of it -- away. Carefully, he takes up his glass and sips from it. "Business keeps me busy enough, and I usually don't have the time for hobbies."

Mel lefts her left hand to rub absently at her temple as she shakes her head and sips some more at her drink. With forced cheerfulness she notes, "Well, we nearly got to hobbies! Good luck getting anywhere near 'future plans' or 'love life'. Jesus." She snorts with a rueful amusement and drinks more of the water.

Salem looks at her for a moment, then replies, dryly, "You know very well that I don't have a love life."

Mel snorts again, and grins crookedly. "Nah. It's just a fucked-up one."

Salem snorts and pushes to his feet. "So you say." He circles around her and prowls toward the soup pot again to check it.

"Y'not lookin' are y'." It's not really a question from the girl. She trails her finger through the puddle left from the glass's condensation. Idle patterns.

Salem lifts the pot lid and stirs the soup, carefully. "Not really, no," he answers, without looking at her.

Mel shrugs, licks her lips, then settles for just chewing on the lower one, absently. "You should get a hobbie," she notes matter-of-factly.

Salem mutters something under his breath in Serbian, then says, more than a little curtly, "I'll take up stamp collecting. Next week." He continues to stir the pot.

The girl grins at the sarcasm, watching his back with amusement. "Cute."

Salem sets the spoon down and replaces the lid. Turning, he gives the redhead a critical eye. "What about you?"

Mel hitches a shoulder, returning his gaze easily. "The job. The art. Y'should see the dark-room I've nearly taken over. B'gennin' to think I need my own, soon."

Salem leans against the counter near the stove and folds his arms across his chest. He nods slightly. "Where?"

Mel arches an eyebrow in query. "Hm? Where what?"

"Where are you thinking of setting up a darkroom?" the Walker clarifies.

Mel shrugs quickly, rolling her eyes a little. "Pft. There's the trick, innit. No idea."

Salem grunts. "If I think of anything, I'll let you know." He pushes away from the counter and prowls back to his stool.

"Sweetie," the girl comments, folding her arms over the counter and looking over at the soup. She sighs faintly, murmuring, "Mmm. When's that gonna be done?"

Salem snorts quietly at the 'sweetie'. "Give it another five, ten minutes."

Looking off into some insignificant patch of space, Mel nods a few times, pursing her lips, then hops lightly away from the counter to go flop back into the couch. She lies there, letting her hands rest in her lap.

Salem remains at the breakfast counter, sipping his water and keeping an eye on the pot. After a few minutes, he gets up again to stir the soup and, while he's testing it, the CD comes to an end.

Mel applauds at the end, clapping lightly as she stares at the ceiling.

Salem glances over, lifting an eyebrow at the girl. "Enjoyed that, did you?" He sets the wooden spoon down and reaches up to the cabinets over the sink to take down a pair of bowls.

Mel grins wryly, shaking her head. "Not particularly. But I'm sure they put a lot of effort into it, mm?"

Salem pulls a bit of a face, but doesn't seem surprised. Then he smiles thinly and finishes setting the 'table'. "Years of training."

Mel watches the man keenly as she hops up to wander over for food. "Did /you/ like it?"

Salem looks curiously at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Why do you think I'd listen to it if I didn't?" He serves her first, filling her bowl with beef vegetable soup.

Mel just stares at Salem for a while, blinking once... then poking her tongue out at him. Her expression one of complete innocence. "Ease up. Just curious. Some folks do, y'know." She turns her attention to the bowl, eyeing it with relish and a quirky smile.

Salem makes a little 'hrmph' noise, grumpy as a bear woken too early from hibernation, and gets dinner for himself. The soup is everything soup should be. Mainly hot.

The girl just eats her soup, rather than prying. ...For now, anyway. She sends thoughtful little glances in Jack's direction.

Salem eats in silence, apparantly ignoring the little peeks she's giving him. It's definitely one of Those Nights, the kind where the saturnine man's sense of humor has taken a trip down to Disneyland.

"So what happened?" Mel enquires, after a while. Her eyes on her soup as she industrially demolishes her share.

Salem glances up. "Hm?"

Shrugging again, Mel waves her spoon slightly in the air - a vague gesture. "Today? Or whatever? Something bad?"

Salem shakes his head. "Nothing special. Why do you ask?"

"Just look like y'got somethin' to get off yer chest. Wonderin' if somethin' pissed y'off or whatever." She smiles ruefully. "It's yer day off. Y'should've been having fun."

"Wasn't in the mood," Salem replies with a grunt.

Green eyes fix on the man, brightly, though it's hard to say what's going on in the mind behind them. She quietly eats her soup.

"Going out tonight?" Salem asks, after a few moments of silence.

"Maybe. Y'wanna?" Mel replies, neutrally.

Salem blinks at her, looking mildly surprised at being asked. "Hm." He seems to be considering it, his gaze looking past her. "Where are you thinking of going?"

Mel eyewidens slightly in her next shrug. "Uh... how about you take me out someplace you think'd be fun? Y'inta jazz? I know a few clubs..." She looks uncertain. "Uh. Then again, I heard you been to a rave or two..."

Salem prods at his soup, spoon chasing a bit of potato. "Just the one, actually." He frowns, his gaze turning inward, then shakes his head. "No, I probably shouldn't." Then, curtly, he adds, "Sorry."

Blinking, Mel watches him blankly for a while before looking back to her soup and finishing it off. "Oh, well, y'shouldn't do anything that makes y'uncomfortable on your day off," she murmurs. She looks up again, eyeing him with a vaguely confused concern.

Salem's mouth thins slightly as he looks back at her. Then he grimaces, shakes his head, and concentrates on his soup.

"Well..." Mel rests her spoon in her bowl with a faint 'clink', and stares at it a while. Then she rises. "If you, y'know... get bored, or anything." Nodding, she slips into the kitchen, taking her bowl with her. It's deposited in the sink, moments later, as she washes it out.

"Fine," he mutters, finishing off his soup. He pushes to his feet and gets a second helping from the pot; he's made enough to allow for several days of leftovers.

Mel sucks on a tooth absently, as she puts things away and pads quietly for her room. "I'll probably stay in, then. Anythin' you wanted to watch on TV, or listen to?"

Salem shakes his head as he sits back down at the breakfast counter. "Your pick, tonight." He seems preoccupied, hardly even looking at her.

Mel emerges again to lean in her doorway, just watching Salem. "Nah. Was thinking I might just... I dunno. Go to bed early or something."

Salem looks up, mismatched eyes fixing on the girl with a frown. "Something wrong?"

Mel watches him a while longer, then shakes her head, wrinkling her nose dismissively. "Nah. Nah, nothing. I'll see y' in the morning. Y'be up early again?"

"Probably," Salem answers, his gaze still steady on her.

"Well... Yeah." Mel just nods a few more times, and turns to retreat into her room."

Salem shakes his head slightly once she's gone, muttering under his breath. He finishes dinner and cleans up, putting the pot of soup in the fridge and starting in on the dishes.