17 May 2003, somewhere between 10 and midnight.

The apartment at Red Mill.

She /does/ have a bed... but the number of times he's come home to find her draped over the couch in all sorts of interesting positions, one might suspect she's started to get nostalgic. Midnight, and whatever underground station she's been watching has turned into a dull test pattern and a soft white-noise buzz. Not having put too much thought into sleeping on the couch, there's just a cushion under her head, and her arms either wrapped around her exposed midriff or behind her head. Mel could probably do with a blanket, though... those tiny pants and tank top aren't the most warming of clothing.

Salem pockets his keys, the door closed and locked behind him, and regards the sleeping redhead for a moment with tired eyes. His boots are heavy on the floor as he crosses past her toward his bedroom and then returns, sans coat. He turns the television off, then bends down and grasps the girl's shoulder lightly, shaking her gently awake. "Mel. Wake up."

Mel's expression forms into a slow frown, and her eyes flicker a little before opening drowsily. She looks up at him blankly for a moment, before a slow smile comes. "Mm? Oh... Hey."

Salem's return smile is tense as he straightens up. "Sorry to wake you, but... something's come up that you need to know about."

The woman's face falls quickly and smoothly, warmth turning to apprehension. "What?" A hand passes over her face, rubbing away sleep in one motion.

Salem rubs the side of his neck. "Tonight, I had a meeting with one of the vampires. I believe they're organizing, or trying to, but this particular one doesn't want any part of it. He's willing to give us information to help us hunt down the others, and he's willing to abide by certain... rules... that I've laid out to him." The tall Walker wrinkles his nose, expression turning to distaste. He shakes his head. "Unfortunately, thanks to a bit of carelessness on the part of my tribemate... understandable carelessness, but still carelessness... he knows where I live."

Closing her eyes and lifting her hands to rub at her face again, tiredly, Mel shakes her head slowly. There's a muffled grumble noise, and she rumbles, "Ahh this is not happening..." in a mild tone of almost disgust.

Salem folds his arms across his chest, looking down at her in that tired, intense way of his, like his eyes are about to burn themselves to cinders. "It is." Note of apology in his voice. "You'll be fine tonight. I don't plan to sleep. But I suggest that, in the morning, you might want to pack a bag and find somewhere else to stay for a while. It'd be safer."

Serious green eyes regard the Walker as she folds her hands behind her head and stretches - arching her back a little and rolling shoulders. "Unless he already knows I live here." Her lips twist ruefully. "Whatever you advise, Jack."

Salem sighs. "He might, but there's no reason to make things easy for him." He reaches up and back, tugging free the elastic that keeps his hair tied back. "I can get you in touch with other, mm, family who can help you with whatever you need." He tucks the elastic into one pocket of his BDUs and looks at her, a little regretful. "This place just isn't secure enough."

Mel slowly closes her eyes again, and sighs softly before opening them. She's regarding him keenly, lowering one eyebrow. "For how long?"

Salem shakes his head slowly. "Minimum, a few weeks. Perhaps longer." He exhales a heavy breath. "I doubt I'll be here, in this apartment, for long, either, considering the circumstances." One side of his mouth quirks upward in a wry, tense half-smile. "Can't afford to get _too_ settled in."

Frowning and looking off to one side, the redhead just lies there quietly. Thinking.

Salem lets her consider the situation in peace and paces restlessly toward the kitchen, to the cabinet where the half-empty bottle of vodka is kept. As she thinks, he pours himself a shot and downs it in a single swallow.

Running hands through her hair, the redhead murmurs carefully, "Where're we gonna go?"

Salem shrugs. "There are plenty of other apartments available in this city." He purses his lips. "Also, some of us are going to be purchasing some property to convert into a safehouse." He pours another shot, then caps the bottle. His expression turns vaguely wistful for a moment. "Like the last one. Only, one hopes, _this_ one won't get blown up."

She lies there in thought, a while longer. Staring at the ceiling, not exactly the happiest of campers, but not overly expressive either.

Salem doesn't drink from the second shot right away, just turns the glass around in his hand. "I'm not trying to get rid of you," he says at last, looking over at her again and far too old for the body he inhabits. "But I don't want you to get hurt, either."

Smiling tiredly back at him, Mel considers the man for a while, with a neutral, unreadable expression. Though there's some warmth in it. "What would Rina do?" she murmurs eventually, tilting her head a little and arching an eyebrow. Curious about the reaction.

At mention of the widow's name, Salem's mouth twists. Not anger or disgust, but definitely rueful. He looks down at the shotglass. "She'd stay." His gaze moves back to Mel. "But she's reckless, suicidal, and very good with a gun."

With a bright, cheery, insincere smile, Mel murmurs, "Well, 'move out and move on' it is."

His shoulders tighten subtly, and the line of his jaw. Looking back down, he nods, then downs half the shot.

The girl lies back, staring at the ceiling again and folding her arms over her stomach. After a while, she adds, "Sorry."

Salem shakes his head. "It's all right," he says flatly. "It's a shit situation." He drains the glass, looks at the bottle, then very deliberately puts it back in the cabinet and starts washing out the glass.

Mel goes back to solemnly staring at nothing in particular - the TV's the target, this time - with her arms folded. "We'll get there..." she murmurs very vaguely, to herself.

Salem turns off the water, looks over at her, brow furrowed questioningly. "Mm?"

"Two steps forward, one step back. S'nothin'," Mel replies dismissively, wrinkling her nose and shrugging. "Life, the Universe, and Everything. Etcetera."

"Ah." He finishes rinsing the glass, then sets it upside-down in the drain and dries off his hands, the motions tired, mechanical, and tense all at once.

Pulling herself up, Mel swings her legs over to rest on the coffee table, and she looks over at Salem. "Hey... You alright? You need maybe a coffee or somethin', instead of the hard liquor?"

"A vacation in Tahiti," Salem answers sourly. He shakes his head. "I'm fine. Just tired. First dealing with that fucking leech, then with Renee's bullshit." He seems to realize that he's still drying his hands, though they're already dry, and drops the dishtowel on the counter. He paces back into the living room area restlessly. "Rina's going off the fucking deep end, and, to top it all off, most of the leadership of this fucking Sept has decided to pull up stakes and piss off to God knows where."

Narrowly avoiding rolling her eyes, Mel inches over to one side of the couch, and pats the other. "What's that about?"

Salem grimaces. "Which one?" Reaching the couch, he drops down onto it, sinking back against the cushions.

"The more unusual one. The last." Mel reaches behind her to produce her cushion, and places it on his lap. "There. Hold that a sec." She hops up, and moves to the kitchen. Presumably to prepare coffee.

Salem rests his arms over the cushion, his gaze following her across the apartment. "Oh. Mmf." He lets his head roll back and stares at the ceiling. "The leader of the Sept has a mother who's a mage. A wizard, you might say. Or witch, in this case, who apparantly fights the same war we do." His tone's only a little dubious. "Apparantly, this person's been missing a long time, but has since popped back into existence and contacted her daughter, our alpha. Needing help. And Andrea's decided that it's important enough to leave her duties over, higher calling or something, thinks it's likely something vital, and of course her entire pack decides to go with her. And, of course, her pack consists of a good chunk of our higher-ranked and more powerful Garou."

Busying herself in the kitchen, Mel mutters, "Coffee?" Thoughts on losing the more powerful Garou are kept to herself for the moment.

Salem grunts. "All right."

Two mugs, then, instead of one. The redhead fixes the coffee quite quickly - the water's boiled by the time the mugs are prepared. She wanders over, presenting his mug to him, held by the handle. Her own, she sips at, lightly. Not that she needs to be too careful - the way she has her coffee, it's more like sweetened, coffee-flavoured milk.

Salem lifts his head, accepting the cup of coffee with an automatic mutter of, "Thanks." He takes a careful swallow.

Mel seats herself next to him. "Pity I went shopping today. If I'd known money was going to be tight, for a while, I'd have held off on the supplies for a bit."

Salem grimaces. "Bad timing. It's always bad timing. Fuck." Gloomy, he stares across the room at the blank television. A cockroach clings to the dead screen, antennae waving.

Mel reaches over to give his arm a brief squeeze, and then moves to hold her mug with both hands. "Wish I had something reassuring to say," she murmurs, after a while. "...You're doing the best you can, right? And we're not all going to die tomorrow, are we?"

Salem glances sidelong at her, then grunts. "No, we're not going to die tomorrow, far as I know." His gaze falls to the coffee; he takes a swallow, then continues to stare at his reflection in the black liquid.

Mel stares sideways, slightly, at his mug, as she sits next to him and drinks from hers. Mostly holding it for a little of the warmth it provides. "When's the last time you got some good, long, relaxing sleep, Jack?"

"Hm." Salem's brow furrows slightly, mouth tightening. The fact that he has to think about it is not a good sign.

Her eyes move to his face, while he thinks.

"Couple of weeks ago?" He doesn't sound entirely certain. "Maybe. Moon was thinner." He shrugs a shoulder.

Mel nods a few times, looking back to his coffee. "No work tomorrow..." She chews absently on her lower lip, thinking away quietly to herself.

Salem grunts. "Sunday, yes." He cocks his head, regarding her curiously.

She meets his gaze, the green eyes thoughtful and slightly curious in themselves. As if weighing up options.

Salem lets the silence stretch its legs for a bit, his gaze steady on hers. One eyebrow lifts slightly, but if he has any idea what's going on in her head, he gives no indication of it.

Mel only keeps her eyes locked for a little while longer before looking away and folding one leg over the other. She sinks into the couch a little, sliding down some and sipping at her coffee. A finger brushes a rogue lock of hair behind an ear.

Salem shifts his weight against the couch cushions and takes another sip of coffee. "You should go get some sleep," he says quietly.

Mel mmms, in faint agreement, starting to smile with amusement. "I was doing alright, I thought." She reaches over and pats his leg a few times, finishing off her coffee in the other hand - tipping the mug back. She wipes her mouth with the back of the hand holding the mug, and gives his leg a squeeze before she rises. "/You/ should get some sleep. Or at least relax. Read a book or something. I dunno."

Salem gives her one of those wry little half-smiles, one side of his mouth slanting upwards. "I'll try. No promises."

Watching him quite seriously, the woman lists, "You think too much. You over-analyze. You feel responsible for things beyond your control, and the solutions to everything affecting you or anyone you're close to. You're a part-time perfectionist, and you dwell on your failures more than your successes." She sighs a little, smiling wearily at him. "/Try/... to /not/ think. At all. John told me about this meditation stuff he used to do... It always seemed weird, coming from a badass like him, but he said it worked, and was very practical for keeping him sane and sometimes relaxed. Maybe you should try it sometime, hm? Just visualizing or daydreaming."

The half-smile vanishes as she speaks, his mouth tightening in something like displeasure. He shifts his weight restlessly and sits forward, elbows resting on his knees with the coffee cup held in both hands. "Hmm."

Turning and heading for the kitchen, Mel gives her mug a cursory rinse, informing the man, "Excercise for the mind, he called it. Best part is there's no right or wrong way to go about doing it, really, so you're never checking yourself with, 'Is it working? Am I doing this right?' shit like most middle-aged mid-life crisis housewives seeking fulfilment, meaning, and new-age crystal-hippie-organic remedies for ennui. Y'just daydream. About something nice. Even if it's impossible." Wiping her hands with the discarded tea-towel, then putting it carefully through the gap in the handle on the oven-door, Mel looks over at Jack distractedly. "Might go do that now, in fact."

Salem nods slightly, his gaze falling to a point between the coffee mug in his hands and the sleeping television against the wall. His face has that pensive, abstracted look that she's seen many times before.

Padding her way over towards the couch again, Mel laces her fingers together behind her back, stretching her arms and shoulders out. She tilts her head, regarding the man. "I got a little sleep earlier. I can stay up if y'like."

Salem shakes his head and stands, handing her the half-full cup of coffee. "It's all right. I need a little time alone anyway. But thank you." He turns away, moving toward his bedroom.

Mel folds her arms, watching him for a while before turning and heading to her own room. "Night, hon," she murmurs distractedly, running both hands through her hair and letting the motion flow down through to rubbing her face again, tiredly. "See y' in the morning."

"Good night, Mel," he says, and then vanishes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him.