[2/19/98, later]

Green Room -- The Rialto(#3680RAJ)
        Once a home to the backstage antics and off-stage life of actors from 
  the grand Shakespearians to the slapsticks of vaudeville to the props 
  mistresses, this broad room parallels in size the stage above it. Old and 
  gaudy couches, chez-lounges, and rockers sit in haphazard groups about an 
  old but functional pot-bellied stove whose smokepipe leads off into the 
  bricking of the back wall.
        Pairs of dressing rooms lead off at each side. To one side, stairs 
  lead up into the theater itself. Off to one side, a wide door leads into the 
  darkened alcoves of the props and costume closets. Opposite those closets, a 
  bricked up archway leads nowhere.

Salem frowns at the knock. With a grumble, the Ronin stalks upstairs.
Salem pushes open the alley door. His expression is dark, unsmiling, and 
  tense, eyes sharp.

Merria lights up like a mercury vapor light. "You /are/ here!" she exclaims 
  happily.

Salem smiles thinly, the tension and anger in his body hardly lessening. "Yes, 
  I am." He holds open the door. "Coming in?"

Merria nods, and slides through the door. "When'd you get back?"
Merria comes in through the reinforced door over which an old exit sign still 
  glows.
Merria has arrived.

Salem holds the door open to let Merria in and then lets it slam shut. "Just 
  today," the Ronin says tersely. "Morgan decided that I was a good boy." 
  Cynicism laces his voice, sardonic mode in full force.

Pete Barlow is just coming up from downstairs, shutting the stage door behind 
  him.

A flicker of emotion crosses Merria's good humor. "Um," she says, and gives 
  Salem a small smile. "Yeah. Um." She bites her lip, then grins a little 
  without letting it go. "Didja get the stuff I brought for you?"

Salem glances over toward Pete and then looks back at Merria. "Yes," he says 
  simply, "I did."

Merria wriggles a little. "Um. Well, good. Didja eat the chocolate, like I 
  said to?"

Pete Barlow looks over at the sound of voices, peering that direction for a 
  moment before he starts across toward the pair. "Morgan let you loose, eh 
  Jack?"

Merria glances sideways at Pete and ducks her head in greeting.

Salem pushes his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Yes, I ate the 
  chocolate," he says, with strained patience. To Pete, he nods. "Morgan did. 
  Morgan also said you know how I can reach the Walker elder.'

Merria grins up at Salem, and ceases the interrogation.

Pete Barlow gives Merria a welcoming nod, his hand going into his coat and 
  fishing out some red twizzler licorice which he offers to the pair. "J.J. 
  Malone? What you want with him?"

Merria takes a twizzler with pleasure, biting off a piece and chewing as she 
  listens.

Salem hesitates a moment before taking the proffered candy; he twirls it 
  between his fingers. "To see if they'll take another Ahroun."

Merria's eyes go round as quarter, and she swallows in a hurry. She bites her 
  lip again to keep from saying anything, but she is radiating pleasure like a 
  light-bulb, and seems hard-pressed to keep still.

Pete Barlow looks over at Merria with a glance as if she holds the answer to 
  the puzzle he finds before him. "If they'll take another ahroun? What in the 
  fuck do you mean?"

Salem's eyes narrow, but he keeps the acidic remarks under tight rein and 
  answers simply. "I need a tribe. The Glass Walkers are a logical first 
  choice."

Pete Barlow hmms and smiles, broadly, as pleased as punch it seems. He puts a 
  strand of licorice in his mouth. "Now that's some good news, Jack. I'm all 
  behind that."

Salem's stance relaxes minutely. "Good. Then you'll help me arrange a meeting?"

Merria takes another bite of licorice, watching.

Pete Barlow gives a nod as he fumbles around in a pocket and then another. 
  Finally, he pulls out a wadded paper, looks at it and then hands it over to 
  Salem. "That's his cell number. Give him a call and tell him I told you the 
  number. He knows who you are. I'll talk to him more when I see him next."

Salem takes the paper, giving the number on it a glance before he slips it 
  into an inside pocket of his coat. "Thanks."

Merria takes a third and final bite of licorice, then stops, looking at her 
  hand. She sighs, and wipes it on the seat of her jeans.

Pete Barlow can't seem to mask the grin on his face at this revelation from 
  Jack, but he turns to look at Merria. "How you gettin' by, sister?"

Merria grins brightly. "Real good. I been meanin' to come an' talk to you, 
  actually, but I keep gettin' distracted. S'alot goin' on, you know? Also, 
  sometimes when I come by you're not here."

Salem moves away a few steps and drops into one of the theatre chairs. He 
  finally eats the twizzler, but absent-mindedly.

"I do got a job to do, you know," chuckles Pete. "So what do you need to talk 
  about?"

Merria wriggles and grin. "Aw, you know. 'Bout stayin'. Can I? There somethin' 
  I should do for chiminage or somethin'?"

Pete Barlow blinks a couple times, adding another twizzler to his mouth, two 
  strands now hanging like limp cigarettes. "You didn't already do that? 
  Thought you did... Well, in that case. What is your moon?"

"'m raggie," the young woman says, as though it should be obvious. "An' I 
  didn't do anythin' official or anythin'."

Merria nods. "I c'n run messages, too," she offers. "Done it before. But what 
  were you gonna say?"

"Shit, I need a gibbie... or somebody to run messages," frowns Barlow as he 
  hears the answer. "I'll tell you what, I got tapped to be WyrmFoe for the 
  next Shin-Dig. Report to my packmate Davy in the next day or two and tell 
  him you been asked by Pete to help him out with any recon stuff that needs 
  doing."

Merria lights up. "Okay. I scouted with him once before. He's good."

Salem props his feet up on the chair in front of him, listening silently.

"Oh yeah, he's real good. Weasel don't accept those who ain't," says Barlow 
  with a nod, growing serious. "And you, Jack," says Barlow with a glance 
  toward the ronin. "I'ld like to tap your strengths too on this one."

Salem glances up, dark eyes frowning. "Mf. I'm not surprised, but are Ronin 
  /allowed/ on a Revel? I'm hardly a Sept member."

Merria looks pleased again, and trots over to climb over the back of and into 
  the seat next to Salem, listening. Once in the seat, she curls up sideways 
  so that she can face Salem and Pete, rather like a squirrel in a hollow tree 
  trunk. "Do you wanna be? Maybe it could be your chiminage. You know. If you 
  wanted."

[Lost my connection. Bwah.]