Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (52% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 59 degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 16 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.97 and rising, and the relative humidity is 59 percent. The dewpoint is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)

Around Noon.

Forgotten Church

The old church is dark, dimly lit by outside light coming in through scum-encrusted windows during the day, and tomblike during the night. There is a coatroom in the back of the nave, with separate doors leading off to mens' and womens' restrooms, and two staircases, one going up to the balcony and bell-tower, and the other leading down to the basement. The double doors leading out to the street are at the back of the coatroom.

The hard wooden pews in the sanctuary are, for the most part, still intact. There are even Bibles and hymnals left in the shelves along the back of each row, although many of them look rather chewed on. The altar on a dais at the front of the church is empty, and the lectern that once stood next to it has been knocked over. Rotting red cloth hangs at the very front of the church; there might once have been a design on it, but it has long since faded or been eaten away.

Sarah pages to Salem, Renee, and Yi: Yi may be slow. Scene is; it's around noon, Yi and Sarah have been gone for an hour or a bit more, and they are just coming back--maybe Renee can be here? Quentin is asleep downstairs; Sarah left a note and some Yi-brought food on the counter for him.

Yi subdues a growl from her throat, but gazes at the kin in contemplation. "I'll see what I can get out of it, and talk to Quentin too if I can. In the meantime, we should return to the church before anyone gets worried." The Gnawer shifts to lupus to sniff around, making ample mental notes of the scents that might remain and of the blood in the carpet, and soon returns to homid form to accompany Sarah back.

Sarah spends that time gathering up a few things, camping supplies and a book or two. She seems distant, as they walk back.

Yi pushes open the door to the church, allowing the kinswoman through first before checking to see whether they were followed. Satisfied that their tracks were safe, the ragabash closes the doors and pats a nearby guarddog. "So you don't have any idea why this man came and attacked you, other than that he wants you for some reason."

Renee is in the back of the church, when the pair return. Checking up on the dogs and feeding them a varity of disguarded food, pulled from Gaia only knows how many dumpsters and garbage cans. The Galliard straightens up at the sound of the door opening and offers up a grin, when she reconizes the other Gnawer. "Hey."

Sarah's expression is that distant Wendigo mask, when she comes in; she looks to Renee, and gives a small nod.

Yi waves to Renee as well, with a short nod before flopping down on a pew. She's puzzled to say the least, still looking at Sarah with a concerned glance. "Whatever he wants though, if he comes here he will find trouble."

Renee scratches a few heads, then flops down onto the pew next to Yi. "You helpin' our friend out with her little proble?" The galliard asks, voice harsh.

Sarah picks up her copy of the classifieds, and takes the highlighter from a pocket. "I showed her the apartment," she murmurs, eyes on the newspaper.

The Wendigo pauses long enough to swing several bags from her shoulder--one of them something long and thin, perhaps camping equipment. There's also a sleeping bag, pillows rounding out the cloth sack.

Yi nods slowly. "Maybe, if I had a name, or a nickname, or even a description... I could find him. But it might run further than that, if he is Russian mob." The newmoon exhales a sigh, suddenly tired.

The church's doors creak open and Salem steps through, provoking a grand row of barking from the pack of mongrels. As the Walker closes the door behind him one bold mutt, a curly-haired bitch is bold enough, or angry enough, to come within snapping distance, and the Garou, with a growl, aims an off-handed kick at the dog to ward it off.

"What he wanted--" Sarah's voice is quiet, touched with strain--but her features remain Wendigo-impassive as she circles something in the classifieds with yellow highlighter. "What he wanted was fairly obvious." She says it almost flatly, the words are so emotionless.

Renee tilts her head to one side, as she studies the woman's camping equipment. "Plannin' ta stay fer a bit..." Thats when Salem makes his entrance and things happen blindingly fast. The Walker aims a kick at one of the dogs and Renee jumps out of her seat, bluring into crinos. Two lightning fast steps and she is inbetween Salem and the dog, growling and claws flexing. ~Don't fuck with my kin!~ She snaps.

Salem is in the war form himself in the blink of an eye, snarling right back. ~Then keep a fucking leash on them!~

Yi is up and on the verge of a pounce as well, though Renee gets there first with the Rage blurred movement. Her hesitation there, is promptly rewarded with a splitsecond view of the result. "Hey!" she calls out to both of them, shushing at a few of the still barking dogs. "Any trouble and we'll have people outside wondering what's going on."

Sarah tenses at the sounds, going absolutely rigid for a moment with the bright-yellow marker still in her hand. Her back is arrow-straight, as she slowly looks over her shoulder. There is definitely less copper to her native-dark skin, now.

Sees-True continues to growl. ~This is Gnawer territory. Respect it! That bitch you just aimed a kick at is carrying Raul's pups. Don't fuck with our kin and don't fuck with our kids!~

Salem towers over Sees-True, claws flexing, his eyes boring down on hers. His muzzle curls into an expression of disgust. ~I _won't_ fuck with them if they don't fuck with _me_. Understood? You like your damn dogs so much, keep the fucking things heeled.~ He snaps his jaws for emphasis and adds, bitingly, ~_Wolves_ have more _sense_.~

Yi hisses, daring a look back to Sarah. The dilemma... pack alpha, tribe elder. The ragabash narrows her eyes at the two crinos elders, before hopping off the pew and moving back towards Sarah. "I think it better we move away from here," she suggests to the Wendigo kin. "Things could get ugly."

~This is their den. They are defending it. They are Gnawer kin.~ Sees-True snarls. Next time, I'll kick at one of /your/ kin when they annoy me, fuckwad.~ With that, the Gnawer elder tears her eyes away from the ex-Shadow Lord. ~Get out. You're not welcome here, if you will not respect our Kin.~

Sarah folds the ads crisply, rising and turning to look up the aisle toward the two towering figures. Their proximity to the front doors effectively discourages an exit, but she crosses halfway up the aisle toward them anyway. There is no judgment or even acerbity in the Kin's tone when she speaks; instead her voice is soft, her face still bearing that emotionless mask. "If you are going to fight," she says, "let me leave first, maybe." Wendigo's blood throws true offspring, still, it would seem; her posture is straight, her demeanor uncowed despite a pulse that hammers fast, her chin tilted up slightly to address the nine-foot monstrosities occupying the space before her.

~Dogfucker,~ the Glass Walker elder says, hurling the insult at Renee's back. Without waiting to see her reaction, he turns to fix his eye on Yi and Sarah.

Yi's already narrowed eyes turn cold, as she adds carefully, "That's enough, Salem." She follows up behind Sarah, keeping close in case Gnawer or Walker elder turn the argument into a fight.

Sees-True snorts, as she shrinks back into her brith form and hunts down the curly haired bitch. Carefully checking the dog over. "Shithead," she spits back. "Atleast we're breeding. Fuckin' lot more then you do."

~You're one to talk about breeding, Sees-True,~ Salem retorts. He shifts down slowly and turns back to his packmate and the Wendigo kinswoman. "Came to check on you and Quentin," he says curtly. "I see that you're fine. I assume he is, too. Good day."

With that, he turns to go.

The Kin's dark eyes come to rest on Salem; her chin is still tipped up, forced a little higher. "Blue is downstairs," Sarah says quietly. "He's sleeping. If you want to talk at all, I'll come outside." Somehow she manages to sound calm.

Renee's back stiffens and she growls, growing into Glabro and staying in that form. The dog infront of her whines and slinks off, tail firmly clamped between her legs. ~One day, you will go too far, Salem.~

Yi straightens up, her gaze still hard and angry. "Alicia is at the caern, healing from patrol." Just in case Tesla hadn't happened by. She does move closer towards the front door, whether to follow Salem or to check the dog with Renee.

"I heard," Salem tells Yi, ignoring Renee entirely. He merely shakes his head at Sarah. "Not necessary. You know where to reach me."

---

Wharf Street, Industrial Sector

An untidy sprawl of warehouses and the occasional factory, particularly the power plant, spreads westwards, through several blocks around and west of the wharves. The wharves themselves are decrepit, rotting from the river inwards, though the landward ends are still maintained sporadically. Ash and dirt and smoke cover everything in a dark film that dulls color and darkens whiteness. Rainbows of small oil spills are nothing unusual in the warren of streets and alleyways; nor is the presence of rust along metal eaves. In the alleyways, huge trash bins are accompanied by oil drums, tires, and the waste of decades of industrial carelessness. The smell of smoke from the power plant overlays all; between smell and residue, all combines to lend an air of desperation to the empty collapsing warehouses and one of depression to those warehouses yet standing and in use.

Salem has a cigarette in his mouth, freshly lit and trailing smoke. The Walker moves at a quick pace, stiff-legged and angry, hands shoved into his pockets.

Sarah's steps are almost inaudible, even at a run. She carries a messenger bag, jouncing against one hip, the zipper making a metallic sound. No words, as she closes the distance.

She's fairly close to him when Salem stops and turns, mismatched eyes narrowing, the corners of his mouth drawing downwards into a frown. Some of the ice in his manner melts when he sees who's following him, but he's too tense to be properly welcoming, or amiable. He stares at her blandly.

Her mouth is a straight line, her features a mask; the only sign of any nervousness is that telltale lift of her chin, a sign of pride gathered to strengthen her backbone. "I'll leave," she says evenly, "if you wish, so that your cub won't have to stay there. Or you can order him to go elsewhere."

Sarah

The one unquestionable truth about the young woman is her Native American ancestry. Copper-brown skin, straight black hair, and black eyes, along with the set of her features, tell any observer that much. She doesn't have the round-faced look of the northwest and far northern tribes, but rather the straight-line nose and slightly elongated features of the mid-continent. She is not particularly tall, at about five feet and four inches; her build is lean and fit, neither muscled nor skinny. Attractive by almost any standards, she has peculiar eyes: almost black in any light, and occasionally touched with a reddish-brown when the sun hits them from a certain angle. Those eyes have an intensity about them, as if she sees into things--and when interest sparks in them, they seem to drag the rest of her features into animation. The rest of the time, her face seems inclined toward a watchful, inscrutable expression, masking her mood and thoughts.

She wears practical blue jeans, well-battered hiking boots, and a brown tank top, with a frayed blue workshirt thrown over it for the cool summer evenings.

Salem studies the Pure One for a moment, then takes the cigarette from his mouth. "It can't be comfortable for you, living there."

"That doesn't matter," she says quietly. "It's the Scab, or leave school. And I won't let him do that." Her eyes should be hard flint, but a touch of something changes in them. "I have something to give you."

Salem grunts. "There are other places in the city to live..." He trails off, cocking an eyebrow at her inquisitively.

Sarah nods, and ducks her head. "And I'm looking," she says quietly, opening up the bag and taking out a spiral notebook.

Salem grunts again and takes a drag off the cigarette. "And, like I said, I can help you. There's probably an opening where I'm living now." He cocks his head, eyeing the notebook.

Sarah opens it to a page scrawled with Cyrillic characters, and tears the sheet out to give it to him. She doesn't speak, just offers the page and looks to him, expressionless.

Salem sets the cigarette back between his lips before taking the page. He skims it briefly before shaking his head. "I don't know Russian, but I can probably locate someone who can. Mmn. Probably there's someone at the school." He looks at her. "Was this what was written on your walls?"

Sarah nods minutely. The dark eyes are steady, but a shrewd observer might note that they are not quite as hard as usual.

Salem gestures with the paper. "Mind if I keep this?"

"That's what it's for." Her voice is calm, quiet. "What about your c-- Quentin?"

Salem folds the paper up and slips it into a pocket of his BDUs. "What about him?" he asks, head cocked. He takes the cigarette and exhales smoke.

"He doesn't need to stay with me," she says quietly. "Especially if you don't want him staying... there." Definitely a softness in her eyes, before she turns them away, chin still held at that proud angle. "He has his Rite to worry about."

Salem snorts. "Whether or not he's Rited doesn't depend on whether he stays at the church or not." The Walker inhales another lungful of smoke. "I trust Quentin's judgement. You, also, could use some protection. Besides..." He arches an eyebrow at her. "You like his company, don't you?"

She doesn't look at him, but a telltale flicker of tension comes to the line of her jaw. "That's irrelevant," she says quietly. "And I meant that he has more important things to worry about than stray outcast kin." Somewhere in the midst of it, her dark eyes return to him.

Salem exhales a sharp breath and shakes his head, tapping ash off the end of the handrolled cancer stick. "We're all outcasts and strays, really. 'Urrah' is a badge of pride, but it still means 'tainted ones'." He looks at her, his expression grave. "If I thought that Quentin was wasting his time, I'd tell him so. I don't." He adds, not unkindly, "Do yourself a favor and take what's offered freely. As far as I'm concerned, we're _all_ family here. We disagree with each other... in some cases a fuck of a _lot_... but we still watch out for each other."

Her throat tightens in a visible swallow, and the mask falters--softening the barest fraction, into a slightly bleak expression. "I noticed," she answers quietly.

Salem exhales another breath of smoke; as before, he turns his head slightly so that it doesn't go right in her face. "For what it's worth, I have great respect for your tribe. It deserves better than Leonard at its head."

Sarah swallows again, conflict passing briefly through her expression. There can't possibly be an honorable reply to that, and so she averts her face slightly, looking away. "Where do you live? If there might be something, there, I will look."

Salem names the building and its address; it's somewhat closer to the college than Red Mill, but not within walking distance and still in a 'cheap' area of St. Claire. "Landlady's name is Emma Blum. Very grandmotherly... on the outside, at least."

The dark eyes return to his, and Sarah gives a small nod. "Thank you. I'll ask."

Salem smiles faintly. "Don't give her my name. I don't think she quite trusts me. But I think she has a soft spot for young women. Like I said. Grandmotherly."

Sarah nods minutely. "Are there... problems with any of Renee's tribe," she asks quietly, "or is it just between you and her?"

Salem grunts. "Mostly between me and her. Not that I've ever really gotten along with the Gnawers in general. There are a few exceptions, that's all."

Sarah nods. "I have not had any trouble," she says quietly. "And Quentin seems to get along with them very well."

Salem's smile is thin and humorless. "Quentin and I are very different people. Fortunately." He takes a drag off the cigarette.

With that arrow-straight posture, she lifts her chin a fraction to look up at him. "You have much to be proud of, in him," she says quietly.

Salem inclines his head slightly. "Thank you. I think so, too."

Another swallow, and the Wendigo averts her eyes. "Let me know what it says," she says quietly, "if you find out. Thank you." There might be a hint of unsteadiness in her voice. That glimmer that catches the light, in her eyes, might not be just a trick of the sun. There may be a reason for the turning away, the quick steps that take her back in the direction of the church.

"Welcome," the Walker replies. In the time of their conversation, his anger has coolled and subsided. He watches her go, taking another drag off his cigarette.