It is currently 22:28 Pacific Time on Wed Mar 19 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.88 and rising, and the relative humidity is 90 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (87% full).

Elson Avenue, Downtown

On the western edge of this stretch of road, Eleventh and Twelfth Streets, the neighborhoods are quiet, a quiet of fear more than calm, to judge by the occasional broken glass of a window and other signs of crime or violence. A street or two eastwards, movie theaters, restaurants, and more stores begin, and much further, stretching from Ninth most of the way to Fourth, are bars with rooms above them with stairways to the street, movie theaters of dubious repute, and women in red lace or fishnet strolling along the sidewalks, near the stairways. On occasion, a man is seen, too, flashily dressed with too much jewelry.

Red Mill Apartments

This six-story apartment building has seen better decades. It stands near the corner of Elson and Twelfth, all dull gray concrete, discolored with pollution and age. The lower level is covered with layers of graffiti, the upper levels with bird droppings. The windows are barred, and the fire escape clambering up one side like ivy looks rusted and untrustworthy.

A short flight of six or seven steps leads up to a heavy-looking set of double doors, next to which is a buzzer with a list of apartment numbers (no names). The words "Red Mill Apartments" is engraved above the doors.

Salem sits on the steps of Red Mill like a vulture hunkered in its favorite tree, smoke rising from a handrolled cigarette. He watches the street, deadpan and dour; since the Walker moved in, this is one of the safer sections of the neighborhood, and tonight things are quiet, with less nocturnal activity than is usual.

Rina weaves her way down the block, her head tipped back to watch the sky. The dark hair is long enough for the stiff wind to ruffle--and the wind is stiff enough to toy with the hem of the short black dress, flashing a patch of paler thigh above her stockings in its more flirtatious moments. In the big, heavy leather jacket she seems like she might well tip over; her attention is focused on the sky, wild eyes on the moon.

Salem's eyes widen slightly in the moment that he catches sight of her. When he stands a moment later, though, his features as as composed as ever; he's cool and calm as he descends the steps and heads toward her. "Evening, Rina."

Rina

Dark-brown eyes, touched with amber, look out from a pixie-sharp face. Rina's skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive from generations of pure Italian ancestry. Her black-brown hair is left just long enough in the front to fall almost into her eyes; the butch cut tapers to an army-short buzz at the sides and back, hardly more than a velvet fuzz covering the nape of her neck. Her chin is delicately-boned, her mouth small, the line of her jaw well-defined. Her eyes have a shadowy, bruised look, either from fatigue or the artful use of makeup; save for that Gothic touch, she might have stepped from a pre-Raphaelite painting. She can't be more than twenty-five or so, but in that youthful face the eyes are cynical, brooding, world-weary. Athletic grace and a certain streetwise confidence show in her movements, but there is often an element of tension as well.

A slim slip of black silk, trimmed in delicate lace, skims over her curves--falling just to mid-thigh, leaving a flash of skin visible above gartered black stockings.

She wears two rings, both a silvery white gold. Her right hand bears a single diamond framed by two smaller ones, the decorative work on the ring elegant and subtle, perhaps Art Deco. On the left she wears a simpler band decorated with letters and scrollwork.

Rina stops, and the dark eyes focus on him. She sways a little, a slow smile coming to her lips. "Jack! Fancy meetin' you here... oh yeah, you live here." A slightly embarassed little laugh. "'S'why I came. Can't go home, Cat's there..." The smile fades. "I don't wanna be any more like Dad than I already am."

Salem's mouth twitches in a wry sort of way. "I happen to like your father," he says. He takes a drag off his cigarette. "Been dancing, I presume?"

Rina shakes her head, brow furrowing slightly. "/His/ father. He said I was just like /his/ father..." For a moment she looks close to tears, but she shakes them off with an effort and summons a small smile. "I went dancin', yeah. Just... just a little." The smile becomes a baring of teeth. "Let 'em look for me."

Salem's face freezes slightly at her report of Cat's words; something dark flashes across his eyes. Then he shakes his head. "The boy has issues." He grunts, taking in another lungful of smoke. "I'm too restless for the Temple tonight. Didn't want to end up hurting someone." Touch of dry humor.

One corner of her mouth turns upward, and her smile is just a bit raw. She takes a step closer despite the smoke, and catches her lower lip between her teeth. "Really. You... wouldn't wanna /hurt/ anyone."

Salem tilts his head, giving her a wary eyeball. One brow Spocks upward. "No, I wouldn't. You said yourself that they don't allow blood in the club. Health reasons."

Rina wets her lips, and there is a flicker of old hunger behind her eyes. She searches his gaze. The rise and fall of her chest speeds the slightest bit. "And what about.... somewhere else?" Her voice is a shade softer, suited to the small distance between them.

Salem hesitates, the cigarette halfway to his lips. Then he shakes his head. "You're flying again," he says, with only the mildest hint of rebuke.

Rina shakes her head, her eyes suddenly gone serious. "Not this time," she whispers.

Again, he hesitates, as if not quite sure how to respond. "Ah. My apologies, then, for assuming." He toys with the cigarette, passing it along the fingers of his right hand while the left remains buried in his coat pocket.

Reaching out, she plucks the cigarette from his hand and drops it to the concrete, extinguishing it with a heel.

Her slight smile remains, and the dark eyes stay locked with his. "Shouldn't smoke," she murmurs.

The insolent move, coupled with the direct stare, stirs Salem's inner beast; his gaze turns dark, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Are you my mother now?" he asks curtly.

Licking her lips again, she takes another step forward, nearly touching him. "Not when y'look at me like that," she whispers.

And the mighty ex-Ahroun takes a step back, giving way. He shakes his head as if irritated and reaches into his coat for his cigarette case. "Don't do that."

Rina presses her lips together, hard--and the fire in her eyes is abruptly doused into silent, stifled pain. She swallows, and then turns her face away; her jaws works for a moment, but she cannot quite speak.

Salem wordlessly takes out another of the handrolled smokes and lights it with quick, sharp, efficient gestures. He's silent while doing this, shoulders and face tight, uncomfortable.

She looks to him again, a painful, narrow-eyed look. Still unable to speak--and not quite capable of holding herself in check--she does the only thing she can. She turns and starts walking away, before the tears can spill.

Salem spits out a curse in Serbian and starts after her. "Rina--!"

She walks at exactly the same pace, both hands clenched at her sides, her attention focused dead ahead. A few tears roll down her cheeks, unheeded.

Salem calls her name again -- a few people are looking their way now -- and follows for a few more steps, and then stops, frustrated and angry, conflicted.

Rina's steps falter, a moment's conflict making her stop. She stands still, her head bowed.

"I'm sorry," he says. His voice is harsh, harder than it should be, than it would otherwise be.

Rina shakes her head quickly. "You don't have any reason--" Her voice is ragged. "Nobody has to apologize for turnin' down a /whore/--" she says fiercely, and starts walking again.

"You're not a whore, dammit!" Too loud, but the frustration level's rising. The cigarette's clenched between his teeth.

"Too good for me," she whispers. "Just like him." She moves with careful steps, now, her sight blurred by tears.

Salem swears again and breaks into a jog, catching up with her. "Rina, stop." He reaches for her shoulder.

He catches her by the shoulder and turns her about, and the woman whirls to face him--her face reddened, streaked with tears. She looks up into his face, eyes wild, her lips pressed together to keep the sobs inside.

"Listen," says Salem, and his voice is intent, controlled, his rage tightly leashed (though straining at its bonds). "You are not a whore, and your _sex_ is not the only thing you have that's worthwhile. It's not even the best part." He takes a deep breath and straightens up. "You don't want me. And not tonight. I could _kill_ you tonight."

Rina bares her teeth, the expression far too edgy and ragged to be called a smile. "Don't you think I know?" she whispers.

Salem frowns, brows lowering. Somewhere, he's lost his cigarette. "I've been there," he says darkly. "I don't want to be there again. You... have _no_ idea what it's like."

Tears well, and glisten on her lashes again; she averts her eyes, pleading for an answer from the dark. "I'm sorry," she whispers, hopeless. "I'm sorry I'm not--good enough--"

Salem sighs heavily. "Stop." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then opens them. "You're more than good enough."

Rina swallows, and looks away into nothing. That numb, dull stare is in her eyes again. "Not for him. Or Cat. Or -- or anyone." Pain twists across her face.

"Let me be the judge of that," Salem says curtly. He touches her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. "Do you trust me?"

Despair looks up at him. She presses her lips together, hard, and manages a shaky nod.

"Then trust my judgement." He stares into her eyes, solemn. "You're good enough. In fact," he adds, managing a thin half-smile, "when you're not cutting yourself open like this, you're marvelous."

Tears spill down her cheeks, one by one. "Then why--" Her voice is shattered, a thin fraying thread. "Why did he have to--"

The smile evaporates. "You mean Drew?"

Rina shakes her head minutely, looking upward as if helpless to define anything. "E--everything, why couldn't we have more /time/, it was /right/ and then he left and-- and--"

Salem exhales a quiet breath. His thumb wipes away one tear-trail, gently. "I don't know." His tone is weary, his eyes grim. "Life... doesn't work out the way it should, sometimes." He pushes his hands into his coat pockets.

The dark-shimmering gaze drops a fraction, and then Rina closes her eyes tightly. She gives a small, taut nod. "I know," she whispers. "I know." The tears still fall, slipping slowly down down her cheeks.

"Let me walk you home," he says quietly, after a moment.

Rina ducks her head sharply, and draws the back of a hand across her eyes. She gives a small, quick nod. "Yeah," she answers hoarsely. "Yeah, aright."

Salem solemnly offers her his arm. Big bastard bundle of repressed rage, but ever the gentleman.

She threads her arm through his, unsteadily. Her eyes flicker open, dark and downcast. "Don't deserve you, either," she whispers. "I never did. Him, or you."

They start walking. "Oh please," he says dryly, tilting a look down at her. "You do me an injustice. I have extremely high standards."

Rina sniffles quietly, and swallows. Through the tears there is a faint flicker of life--nothing that could truly be called a smile. "You must. Never seen you look twice at /anybody/."

Salem's shoulders move in a minor shrug. "Yes, well. I'm a perfectionist, I suppose. Sue me."

She walks alongside him, a little unsteady still, her head bowed against the chilly wind.

"It'll be spring, soon," Salem says after a while. "Followed by summer." He pauses a beat, thoughtfully. "I don't care much for summer, but spring is welcome."

Rina swallows. "Fuckin' cold." She takes a few careful breaths. "Yeah. Warm would be good."

"You been doing any painting lately?" Salem asks, glancing at her.

A small shake of her head answers. She looks ahead and down, dimly.

Salem makes a little 'mm' noise. "A shame," he says. Then he falls silent again.

Rina lifts one shoulder, and lets it fall. "Why? D'you..." She wets her lips nervously. "You want anything? I mean, if--"

Salem shakes his head slightly. "I just hate seeing a gift go to waste." There's no recrimination in his voice, is tone is neutral.

Rina presses her lips together. "Yeah, well, the gift doesn't make as much bank as the E."

Salem arches an eyebrow. "No, I suppose not. But I didn't think you painted for money anyway."

Rina lifts a shoulder, and lets it fall. "Yeah," she murmurs, with the discomfort of one whose self-deception has been exposed.

Salem nods and falls silent again, and the remainder of the walk back is quiet. Between them, anyway. He pauses as they reach the front of her building and looks at her. "I'll be around if you need me. Try to get some sleep, all right?"

Rina nods, swallowing. With an effort, she turns to him, looks up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Salem squints at her, then shrugs. "It's all right, forget it." He manages a small smile, just for her. "Tell Cat I said hello."

The smile summons a faint echo, even through the tracks of tears. She nods quickly, and gives one of his hands a brief squeeze. No longer crying, at least--and there is something of life in that smile, a glimmer of hope. "I will," she whispers. "Thanks. 'Night, Jack."

"Good night, Rina," he says, stepping back. "Mother watch you."

Rina swallows. "And you." She turns away, then, to let herself in with a quick pass of the key to the electronic lock; once inside, she walks fast, and does not look back.

Cari pages: So fragile. So pretty. SUCH A FUCKING NUTJOB.

You paged Cari with 'But she's OUR glass unicorn. :)'.

Salem takes another step back, looking up toward her window, watching it for long moments. Eventually, whether it lights or doesn't light -- he knows how she sometimes keeps the place dark -- he moves off to watchdog her block.