It is currently 23:02 Pacific Time on Sat Mar 8 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.97 and falling, and the relative humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (39% full).

Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts

A small quaint donut shop, tastefully done in blue and white. A glass case, showing a variety of fresh donuts stands at the back of the store. Standing behind the glass case, a small old woman, looking to be in her sixties, is busy with customers. A young girl, slightly taller than the old woman and looking to be around sixteen rushes back and forth through a swinging door, bringing out trays of donuts or coffee or other delicious smelling items.

A sturdy door to the south opens out onto the street. Small round metal tables have been set out near the window, '+help places' will assist you in seating.

Rina already sits at one of the back tables, dividing her attention between a mug of not chocolate and the door. She looks under the weather: dark circles, sloppy BDU's and t-shirt, her jacket hung over the back of the chair. Unlike her, to run about unarmed... but perhaps there are secrets hidden away, weapons less obtrusive than guns.

Salem pushes the door open and enters, shaking rain off his black umbrella with a faint grimace. He glances up, gaze skimming the donut shop as he folds the umbrella; he smiles faintly upon seeing Rina and heads over.

She sees him, and answers with a pallid smile of her own; somehow the wet hair plastered atop her head makes her looks worse, gives her gaunt features a sickly cast. "Hey," she offers hoarsely.

Salem's eyes narrow slightly. "You don't look well," he notes, blunt as ever, as he sits down across from her. He hooks the umbrella over the back of the chair next to him and then shrugs out of his coat.

Rina sniffles a little, and lifts a shoulder. "I'm not," she answers candidly. The dark eyes look across to him, then, too much weariness there to hide. "Not sleepin' so good."

"I'm sorry to hear it," he says, sincerely. He glances away for a moment to catch the eye of the waitress and motion her over. "Anything I can do?" he asks the kinswoman across from him.

Rina's mouth curves in an expression utterly without humor. Her eyes are lost, hopeless. "Not unless you can bring back the dead," she replies numbly.

Salem's mouth twists into a grimace. He looks away, back at the approaching waitress. "Coffee, black. Thank you."

The barest hint of contrition passes across Rina's face--but she does not waste much time on regret. Her gaze lowers, focusing on the melting of the canned whipped cream that tops her hot cocoa. She picks up a spoon to toy with it absently. "Sorry," she murmurs.

"It's all right," he answers automatically, as the waitress leaves. He studies her, arms resting on the table and hands folded together. "I don't know if you got the message or not, but we have new family in town."

Rina's hand comes up to rub distractedly at her forehead. "Yeah, I remember somethin' about that, vaguely."

Salem nods. "Met her, but haven't had a chance to chat yet."

Rina nods. "Thanks," she says with a touch of guilt.

"No problem." Salem's gaze continues to rest on her, his brow creased worriedly. "Anything new on your end?"

Rina shakes her head minutely. "Nah. Been laying low, mostly. Need to find Silvio." Laying low apparently consists of insufficient eating and sleeping.

Salem makes a little 'mm' noise. "We should have dinner again, the three of us." He quirks one side of his mouth upwards in a wry little half-smile. "I'll even cook."

Rina lifts dark eyes to look across to him, a faint and genuine smile softening her features. "I'd like that," she says softly. "And I bet Cat would, too." A hint of pain touches her smile, and she lowers her eyes in discomfort.

"We'll make it a date, then," Salem says. The coffee arrives and the waitress doesn't linger. When she's gone, he asks, quietly, "How's Cat doing?"

"OK, I guess," she answers. A ruefull look crosses her face. "Needs to get out more, learn to fight and stuff. He'd spend all day with his nose in a book if I let him."

Salem grimaces. "I know." He takes a sip of coffee. "I'll take him out, see what I can do. Teach him how to defend himself, anyway." The halfmoon doesn't sound all that optimistic.

Rina's smile tugs up at one corner. "Have fun," she offers, showing teeth in a brief, amused grin.

Salem snorts. "Hardly. I still remember the last time I tried. I finally managed to get the boy to throw a punch, and it wasn't a bad punch, but he immediately crumpled afterward and went into a fit of teary apology."

Rina grimaces. "Yeah. Anger's pretty verboten. Gotta get through it. Once he learns to access that fury, though..." She gives Salem a wry look. "Stay outta his way. 'Cause I'm betting he has a lot of it packed away."

Salem looks dubious. "You think so? I'd pay to see that."

Rina gives him a flat look. "Think about it. The kid's /dad/ beat him, for fuck's sake. He's got anger issues."

"Then it needs venting," Salem replies, sipping his coffee. "You've spent more time with him lately than I have, though... has he shown any signs of repressed anger? I didn't see any when he was living with me, and the boy simply isn't that good of an actor."

Rina shakes her head. "It's not about acting. He doesn't know it. Not a clue. Might not ever be /able/ to get to it, for all I know." She lifts a shoulder. "It's buried. But I'll bet you my best 45, it's there, deep down. Buried, because it's /so/ not okay t'feel rage at a parent who provided for you. Buried way the hell down."

Salem makes a thoughtful little 'hrm' noise and drums his fingers against the side of his cup, frowning. "What do you think would be the best way to bring it out?" His mouth twists wryly. "My usual method's a little... physical."

Rina lifts a shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe therapy. Maybe for someone else to talk about his dad or somethin'. I mean, sayin' it was wrong will only make the kid jump up and defend, so maybe some kind of example situation would let him see. And if he points and says 'that's wrong'... you can catch him out that way. Make him feel the anger on someone else's behalf, before he can own up to his own... Idunno. I'm no shrink." She gives him a helpless look.

Salem snorts. "Neither am I. Hm. I'll think on it." He takes another careful sip.

Rina belatedly lifts her cup to down a few swallows. Her eyes close with the simple pleasure of it--drinking something hot and good, when her hair is wet and it's cold outside.

The silence stretches out, mostly the companionable type. After some moments, Salem exhales a breath and remarks, "I'll be glad when it's spring."

Rina looks across to him, over the rim of her cup. She nods, a feverish brightness in her eyes. "Me too.

Salem regards her, his eyes serious. "You should get some rest."

Rina's smile is tight, her eyes touched with something that doesn't quite belong in this world. "You know the drill. Sleep means dreams." With a wince that stretches tighter, she ducks her head and looks down into her half-empty cup. Her voice is quieter now. "And dreaming about him means I gotta wake up sometime, see, and I don't know how many more times I can face that."

Salem exhales a long breath through his nose, not quite a sigh. He doesn't say anything; he simply nods once and takes another swallow of coffee.

Rina wets her lips. "Sorry," she says hoarsely. "I din't mean to bring you down, too." She picks up her cup and drains it, several swallows. "If anything--" her eyes remain lowered. "If anything happens, you'll hafta take care of Cat. It messes him up, me bein' like this. The-- the dreams scare him sometimes."

Salem looks up, his gaze turning sharp, and his face is a blank mask as he stares at her. Finally, he nods. "You don't have to worry about Cat."

She looks across to him, the candid, raw look in her eyes a window into despair. Her expression remains numb, the pain a distant thing, a well-known enemy held at bay--or perhaps a well-known friend who will soon return. "I'm trying," she says hoarsely. "I swear I'm tryin' the best I can. But I don't know if I can do this forever."

Salem nods again, studying the black depths of his disposable coffee cup. After a beat, he asks, quietly, "Do you need a ride home?"

Rina nods, lowering her eyes and digging in a pocket. "Sure," she says quietly. "Thanks."

Salem finishes his coffee and pushes his chair back. "My pleasure." His voice is calm, very even. "My car's just outside."

Rina slides a five-dollar bill onto the table, and gets up. She doesn't look at him; her expression remains somehow distant, as if she watches the night fall from somewhere far away. "Better than walkin' home in the rain."

Salem drops off a couple of dollars for his coffee and ushers her out, opening the umbrella as they step into the rain. He holds it over her head, pure gentleman to the last, and assures that she stays as dry as possible for the trip to the car and then, a short drive later, from the car to her building.