20 Jan 2003

The call doesn't come until after dawn, when the sun's only just cleared the horizon.

Rina answers after the second ring, her voice touched with hoarseness. "Yo what."

"It's me." Salem's sounds tired, another night of sleep lost. She can hear the sounds of early-morning traffic in the background, and while the Garou doesn't sound elated or anything, his voice isn't heavier with any extra grief. "No casualties."

Rina swallows. "Good," she says very softly. Cat's voice is heard in the background, and she turns from the phone. "S'aright, hon, everything's fine. Everybody's okay. Go back to sleep for a while."

"I'm heading back now," Salem says. "I'll tell you more about it later, fair? Right now... well. I may actually sleep for once." Dry humor. More serious: "I apologize if you lost sleep. Wasn't able to call before now."

"No worries." She swallows. "Look, when you... whenever y'get up, just come on over, aright? Give a call."

"Right, good, good. ...Gah, fuck." Squeal of brakes in the background and a muttered curse in Serbian from the ex-Ronin. "I'll call you. Get some sleep, if you haven't already."

Rina lets out a breath. "Yeah," she murmurs. "Yeah. You sleep, too. Jack. Drive safe, caro." Then she hangs up.

Long distance to Rina: Salem nods, and fast-forwards to, hrrr, early afternoon, probably.

Studio

The studio is airy, elegantly modern and full of light: a large, high-ceilinged square room with almost an entire wall of windows. It still smells of paint, though there is no evidence of current painting. Rolled canvases lean in one of the corners, and a few finished pieces adorn the walls. A six-foot length of pipe hangs a painting behind the couch, creating a slightly more personal space that evidently serves as a bedroom; the piece is a dark, strange cityscape, an oddly skewed view of the world beyond the glass seen through otherworldly eyes. The edge of a futon can be seen beyond it; the walls around the bed bear swirling patterns of colors, calming shades of undersea blue and green. These patterns gradually soften as they grow out into the rest of the room, where walls are visible; angles replace curves, until the mural becomes a mix of ocean and curcuitry. The sofa is quirky and curving, a work of modern art upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish rug in vibrant tribal colors occupies much of the hardwood floor; the coffee table, a sculpture of recycled blue and green circuit-board and shiny aluminum, rests on it in front of the couch.

Opposite the windows, a compact kitchen is marked off by a crisp stainless steel counter. The west wall nearby has doors to a closet and to a small, sparsely-appointed bathroom. The east wall holds bookshelves of pale wood, supporting a small stereo, collections of pictures and found objects, and a good number of books; the corner between shelving and the wall of windows holds a plain wooden desk with a slim notebook computer and phone atop it, and an elegant mesh rolling chair.

Salem's familiar knock comes on her door in the early afternoon, the day after the Moot and Revel.

There is only one working easel up, and she is sketching, VNV Nation on the CD player mixing it up with Crystal Method. She answers the door in black fatigues and a grey tank, seconds after the knock, practically running to the door. There is a smudge of charcoal on her cheek, when she opens the door... but he hardly has a moment to notice it. The space of a breath, that is all--and then she throws her arms around him, her cheek pressed to his own, her breathing quick with relief.

Salem startles, taking a half-step backward; his face tightens reflexively -- bad to surprise snarly animals -- before he remembers himself and tightens down on his rage. All of this happens in the space of a second or two, and then he breathes again, carefully. "Hello to you too, Rina."

Rina draws back just enough to look at him, with those dark eyes. Her hands release him, to brush idly at his clothing, and then they return to frame his face; she leans close to kiss first one cheek, then the other, slightly less crisp and chaste than the Italian custom should be. Her gaze slides away from his, as she leads him inside. "C'mon. You had breakfast?"

Salem takes another deep breath, recovering the rest of his composure as he follows her inside. He sheds the leather coat, dropping it over the back of the couch. His eye, wandering the apartment, spots the canvas, and the sight of it draws a slight smile from him. "Breakfast? Ah... coffee, anyway." He rolls his shoulders; his hair's tied back, but still wet from recent shower.

The sketch is a close-up portrait of Cat, with his nose buried in a book and wonder on his face.

Rina snorts, heading for the kitchen. "That's /not/ breakfast." There's something wrong about such a skinny cook--in that tank, it's clearly visible, and almost shocking. Not unexpected, maybe... but unpleasant. "I'll zap ya some peppers 'n'eggs," she murmurs, pulling a pan out of the fridge and a plate out of the cabinets.

Salem's smile fades somewhat as he moves toward the kitchen. "Only if you'll join me." His tone of voice won't accept any arguement.

Rina lifts a shoulder. "I already ate," she murmurs, popping the plate into the microwave and setting the timer. "You want espresso?" The place smells like coffee, a little, left over from an earlier batch most likely.

"When, and how much?" He steps close to her, touching her shoulder in order to turn her around to face him.

She doesn't turn. "An hour ago, and some. Enough. Don't--" She gives a tiny shake of her head, holding up a hand. "Don't start, Cat's bad enough."

Salem's hand drops away; though he relents, he's not satisfied. "I'm worried. That's all. You--" He stops himself, though, exhaling a sharp breath as he does so, and leans against the counter instead, hands in pockets.

"I know," she mutters. "I oughta see somebody, I guess--" The microwave beeps, then, and when she opens the door the smells of rich Italian cooking drift out. She hands him the plate with one hand and opens a drawer with the other. "Take it, it's hot..." The fork is dropped by the pile of spicy egg-scramble pie a moment later.

Salem's nostrils flare as he takes in the food's aroma. No one beats the Italians for cooking. He grunts, holding the plate carefully in one hand as he wields the fork with the other. "Mm," he says, after a mouthful. "You should." He looks up at her. "As a favor to me, at least?"

Rina leans one hip against the counter, and gives a little tip of her chin toward the table. "I'll call somebody," she says. "Sit." Then she fills the espresso machine with water and fine-ground coffee, adding to the melange of scents in the kitchen. "You want a glassa water, or somethin'? Or just a latte or whatever?"

Salem, obedient, takes a seat at the table. "Water's fine. You want to hear about last night?" He continues eating; his appetite's good, even if hers is not.

"Sure..." She fills a glass with water, and another with ice and apple cider, evidently for herself; she brings both to the table, and sits down across from him. "Whatever there is to tell."

Salem pauses to take a swallow of water. "We killed the bane that's been piggybacking and assisting the vampire, then spent most of the rest of the night tearing down the pattern webs of the building itself. That'll weaken the structure on _this_ side, help us when we go out to finish the job." He forks up another bite of eggs-and-extra. "One of the Get managed to get himself possessed briefly and attacked Owen." He grunts, putting the food in his mouth. "Lucky Owen didn't kill him."

Rina's jaw tightens a fraction. "There /is/ a leech, then," she mutters darkly. A swallow of apple cider, and she looks across to him with narrowed eyes. "Still have to go after the source, huh?"

Salem nods, speaking in between bites. "With Ouroboros and Reforged, it shouldn't be a problem." He looks rueful. "We thought they might have been armed with silver, but apparantly not. Good thing we're not weak to platinum." One corner of his mouth quirks upward, dryly amused.

Bemusement touches her expression. "/Platinum/?"

Rina gives a tiny shake of her head, and adds, "...the fuck?"

Salem confirms this with a faint smirk. "Platinum." Then he sobers. "Alicia's source suggests that they were trying for silver... but made a mistake." He shakes his head, just as bemused. "Got confirmation from an independent source. So." He toys with the eggs a bit. "With Andrea's pack and Nightfire's pack there, though, I suspect Synthesis and whoeever else chooses to join us will act as backup again, like tonight. Keep the healers alive so that _they_ can keep everyone else alive."

Rina touches the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. "I wanna know what the guy looks like, when you whack him. Make sure an'find out."

Salem dips his head slightly. "Will do. _Then_, we can get work started on... other projects." He's actually in a good mood. Brisk, businesslike, and -- dare one say it -- optimistic.

Rina nods. "Yeah. We oughta... sit down, you and me, and talk about that. About... direction. Where we want to go. Plan of attack. We need good intel and I can't get it, maybe we can send Q in or somethin'. Get him tight with these boys."

Salem nods. "Be useful experience for him. And Quentin has a good head on his shoulders." He pauses a moment. "By the way. Yi. The Gnawer. Do you know her at all?"

Rina nods, looking across to him. "I'd trust her with my life," she says quietly. "I don't know how she feels about... certain business enterprises, but she can be trusted with everything else, I'd say."

Salem grunts. "We don't have to involve her in that. She's petitioned to join Synthesis, though. Alicia vouches for her, and I know John thought fairly highly of her, too." He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "She doesn't seem... typical... of her kind, and she performed well tonight."

Rina nods minutely. "She's good," the Kin says simply.

"Mm." Salem finishes off the last of his food and washes it down. "We could certainly do worse. I'll have another talk with her, then take her to meet Tesla."

Rina nods, and swallows a few more sips of apple cider. "That gonna tide you over until dinner?" she asks. "I figure we can eat a little late, if Cat isn't starvin'."

"No problem." He takes another swallow of water. "What time? And should I bring anything?"

Rina shakes her head. "Nah. Um, Idunno, probably food around 7-ish. You can come with me to get Cat, or if you wanna go home, maybe come back around 5 or 6. Whatever you wanna do, it's cool." She lifts a shoulder, offering him a half-smile. "Kid's all worked up to see you, though. He wasn't even sure he /wanted/ to go to the library today, but I dragged him over there anyway."

Salem curves one side of his mouth upward in a wry half-smile. "Didn't even take a scratch." He pushes his chair back a bit, stretching.

She echoes that smile--her own, though, is a slow and unaccustomed thing. "Keep it that way," she murmurs, narrowing her eyes in mock-warning.

"Yes, mother," he returns, with a tone of faux-meekness. For once, the humor makes it all the way to his eyes, the good one anyway, which glints roguishly.

"Oh, very fuckin' funny," she says dryly. "No Ducati ride for /you/."

Salem makes an indignant-sounding 'hrmph' noise. "Not even _one_?"

The smile tugs slowly at her, that scowly expression worn away by tenderness. Then a wicked spark comes to her eyes. "If you're a good boy," she says, "and eat your fuckin' veggies."

He gives her an actual grin, at that remark; it's a rakish expression, showing just a hint of teeth. The scarring on his left side ruins some of the effect, though, making it more sinister than he probably intended. "I always a good boy. I even cleaned my plate."

Rina's expression turns wry, that little twist of her mouth that still holds a true smile within it. She half-rises, and reaches across the table to give him a condescending couple of pats on the head--and then musses his wet hair.

Salem reaches up, quickly, unthinkingly, fingers closing around her wrist just as she starts to rumple the carefully brushed, tied-back black hair. His eyes meet hers, the piratical half-grin fading in the beat of time that follows. Then his grip loosens.

Rina freezes, shocked eyes on his own as a shiver of tension courses through her. Her free hand is flat on the table. She swallows, and wets her lips, and says nothing as a slow flush of color rises in her cheeks.

Salem carefully guides her hand back to the table and then -- looking somewhat tense and disconcerted himself -- pushes his chair back and stands. "I'll, erm. Take this to the sink."

Salem indicates his plate and fork.

Rina lowers her eyes to the table, and takes a careful breath. "Yeah," she murmurs, "you can--just leave it." There's a mild current of contrition in her tone. She straightens after a moment, and drinks down the rest of her apple juice.

Salem nods stiffly and takes the two items over toward the sink, leaving his glass of water behind. He sets them down carefully, runs the water a bit, and then returns. "So," he says, awkwardly. "Does, er, Cat spend a lot of time at the library?"

Rina leans against the wall, and avoids looking at him; her dark eyes rest on the floor for a time. "Ah. Yeah. He likes it a lot, havin' all those books around."

Salem picks up his glass and sips water, lingering over by the table. "Ah, good. We should, you know, get some... identification for him. Separate from his old one."

Rina nods. "Got a couple grand lyin' around?" she asks with a tinge of irony.

Salem grimaces. "No, unfortunately."

Rina smiles faintly. "Me neither. Least not right now. I asked Dad to float me some, but he said it'll take a couple weeks." She gives him a careful, veiled glance.

Salem looks up from studying his water to meet her gaze. His right eyebrow lifts quizzically. "Ah?"

"I'm sorry," she says simply. The dark eyes meet his only for a moment.

Salem studies her for a moment, guardedly, and then shakes his head and puts his glass back down on the table. "We've both been doing that a lot, haven't we?"

A small nod, and then Rina offers him the barest ghost of a smile. "Happens a lot on the full moon, I've noticed," she says quietly.

Salem folds his arms across his chest and returns the smile with a wan version of his own. "No blood, though. I suppose that's good."

Rina swallows, and gives a tiny nod. "Yeah." She rattles the ice in her drink, and turns to put the nearly-empty glass on the counter. Her face is turned away, when she speaks. "I thought we were... okay, with-- your um. Boundary issues. I mean... y' been there to hold me and so I thought--it was aright."

Salem unfolds his arms and rubs at the side of his neck. "It is, really, generally. Er." He pauses, looking rather awkward, and shakes his head. "Maybe I didn't get as much sleep as I thought I did." Even _he_ doesn't look entirely satisfied with that explanation, though.

Rina pages: Did it seem instinctive? Angry?

You paged Rina with 'The wrist-grab?'.

You paged Rina with 'Instinctive maybe but not angry. Hrm. Kinda like when you're petting a cat and suddenly it'll grab your arm in its forelegs, then break off and be totally fine.'.

Rina wets her lips nervously, and glances over to him. "You aright? If y'tired, you can sleep here while I go get Cat... have a nap."

Salem shakes his head again. "No... just need a bit of fresh air, perhaps. Take a walk before dinner, run a few errands. That, ah, kind of thing."

Rina watches him, dark eyes following each shift of expression. "Sure," she murmurs.

Salem pushes back a rogue few strands of hair; looks like her hair-mussing had some effect, at least. "Dinner at seven-ish, you said?" Underneath the guarded mask -- and he is wearing it now, like a reactive instinct to whatever happened a moment ago -- he's still recovering his composure; he seems... uncertain, somehow.

Rina nods minutely. "You don't have to leave," she says, fast enough that it must be a sudden impulse. Then, a bit reluctantly, she adds, "You don't hafta come either, if y'don't want to."

"I _want_ to come," he assures her. He manages a faint smile. "Really. I haven't gotten as much quality time with Cat as I've been meaning to. And... it'd be good. Dinner, that is."

That makes her smile, at least a little. "Damn right," she says, crossing her arms firmly.

"Let me go get some air, and you'll have a much better Philodox at your table." Salem raises his eyebrows, his voice wry. "I'll even pick up something if you need it."

Rina lets out a breath, distracted, her smile softening a touch. "I'm good," she murmurs.

Salem's gaze lingers on her for a moment, and then he nods and steps toward the couch to retrieve his coat. "I'll be back," he tells her. "Promise. And we'll go pick up Cat, and such. All right?"

Rina walks him to the door. "Y'want I should wait for you? He's expectin' me at four-thirty..." She glances to her watch.

Salem buttons up his coat as he walks. "I'll be back long before then." He stops at the door, gloves in hand, looking down at her.

Rina nods minutely, looking up at him. "'K. Watch y'back, paisan'."

"Always," he says, with a ghost of that rakish grin he gave her earlier. He slips out.