The Cold Calculus of War

[renferret]

 
Mouse and Salem have a chat. Kavi hovers. Rina feels her cooking is underappreciated.
.

 

From: Mouse Subject: You've got Mail 

To: Nicodemus, Val

 

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At some point early, early in the morning, each of you get an email from Mouse containing a 50$ gift certificate to Medina's Coffee. In addition, Nick gets a 50$ gift certificate to ThinkGeek, whilst Val gets one for a local jewelry store. There's no explanation given in either the email itself or the cards.

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Tenement Building - Roof(#1899RJ)

 

A low stone lip surrounds the edge of the building's flat roof, about three feet high. Though the stone is stained and filthy, scattered with pigeon droppings and the occasional bit of litter, it does provide an excellent view of the surrounding neighborhood. 

 

 Perhaps unexpectedly, there's a small garden that stretches along one side of the building, shielded from the street by height and the rooftop's stone lip. In stark contrast to the neighborhood itself, it appears well-tended.

 

A narrow structure near the center has a door which leads back down into the building's stairwell.

Contents:

Salem

 

Obvious exits:

Stairwell

 

Kavi has arrived.

 

A gloomy, rainy afternoon has settled over St. Claire, which perhaps suits Jack Salem just fine. The scarred halfmoon sits on the low wall around the edge of the roof, long legs dangling over the alleyway five stories below, and is making serious headway into a bottle of vodka. Not the really /good/ stuff, alas, but it'll do. At some point during the night he's discarded his 'homeless Vietnam vet' attire for old black t-shirt and jeans that look rather baggy on his spare frame. He's also shaved off his beard and buzzed his hair so close one can see his scalp (not to mention all the scars that his previously shaggy appearance obfuscated).

 

These days, stairs are not Mouse's friend. Long before she's seen, she can be heard struggling up them, and the process seems painstakingly slow. Nevertheless, she reaches the top, and out of breath as she seems, she still maintains a certain aura of purpose as she pushes open the door and shuffles out onto the roof itself. Her attention goes immediately to Salem, and a moment later, so do her footsteps.

 

"Don't worry," Salem says without looking around. There's already a bit of a slur in his voice, and a hint of the slavic accent that always seems to come around when he's drunk or stoned. "M'not planning to jump."

 

"Mick fell from here once," Mouse replies as she eases up to the low wall. She gives the other Walker a respectful amount of space as she rests her arms on top of it, but she can still be considered near. "It wouldn't kill you." She waits only a moment before continuing, "What's this I hear from Kavi, that you're stepping down from Master of the Challenge?"

 

Salem lets the bottle hang loosely in his hands, between his knees, dangling. "M'stepping down from Master of the Challenge. /Have/ stepped down from Master of the Challenge. S'done."

 

"Nope," Mouse says in response. "As it happens, you aren't, and you haven't. You should probably tell Kavi that he misheard."

 

Salem's jaw tightens. "Don't... don't be /Natalie/ at me," he growls. "You can't make the world into what you want just by /saying/ it."

 

Mouse shrugs. "I don't have a damned clue who that is. But you're right. Wouldn't that be nice? I'd give us both more vacations, for starters." She fishes her cigarette pack--almost entirely gone--out of her pocket, and lights up. "So okay, tell me why you did it, then."

 

Salem takes a pull off the vodka bottle before answering. "Because I can't look m'self in the mirror anymore. Because there are too many... /too many/... dead Garou on my hands. Dead and broken." He glances sidelong at Mouse at this last, but his eye doesn't stay on her long before turning back down to the wet pavement below. "Because the only thing I'm good at... /really/ good at... is killing, despite decades banging m'head against a wall wanting it to be otherwise."

 

Mouse meets that glance firmly, but says nothing else to the implication. Instead she takes a few more moments to smoke in silence. "You are really good at killing," she agrees at last. "And I hope you'll excuse a certain level of fatalism on my part, because it tends to come with the Theurge territory, but that's exactly how and what you were /made/ for. You are a terrifyingly accomplished, brutal son-of-a-bitch in a fight, with a furnace's worth of Rage that is only ever matched by your own self control. But you--/chose/--to make more of yourself, Jack Salem. You chose to be more than a warrior, a killer, a brutal son-of-a-bitch. You think that means nothing now?"

 

"I /tried/." Salem bares his teeth in a grimace of anger and grief. "I tried and it means /shit/!" He rolls off the wall and onto the roof in a quick -- if stumbling -- movement and limps unevenly across toward the other end, the half-empty bottle gripped in a strangle-hold by the neck, the clear liquid within sloshing violently. "I don't even remember! I don't ever remember! It was a scouting mission, a fucking /scouting mission/, and I stayed in the /back/, in the /rear/, I figured, let the kids up there get the goddamn glory, I just didn't want anything picking us off from behind and /fuck/!" He shoulder-collides with the stairwell entrance, turns, slams his back up against it, and slides down into a sit, covering his face with his maimed left hand.

 

Mouse is again quiet for several beats after Salem has sat, only turning to face him, so that her back is now against the low wall. "Masao said that everyone felt their Rage much more keenly. Owen told me last night that you were one of four, Jack. /Four/ Garou lost control. Yourself, Viv, Flint, /Ky/. A fucking Ragabash lost his shit. He said it was like an extreme version of Wolverine's boon, followed by a sudden attack, some sort of Battleground pocket realm."

 

Salem's voice cracks. "But I was first." He takes his hand away from his face and scrubs the wet from his eyes. "...And s'not like it's the first time. Or the second. And the fuck... the /fuck of it is..." He swallows, then takes another pull off the bottle. "D'you want to know what the real fuck of it is?"

 

"Yeah, Jack," Mouse says, quieter. "What's the real fuck of it?"

 

Salem takes another drink before answering. "The fuck of it is that a part of me still likes it." His shoulders sag. "Because... because I thought about it. /Have/ thought about it. Stolen Wolf. But I can't... I think it would kill me." He lets out a brief, humorless laugh and thoks his head back against the brick. "Pills, pot, heroin, nicotine, even this--" He shakes the vodka bottle as though strangling the life out of a disobedient cub. "I've done them, given them up, done them again... well, not the heroin." Another drink. "But the rest... there's nothing quite like being Luna's bitch."

 

Mouse shakes her head slightly. "Or a part of you knows that wouldn't be the right course of action. Let me be callous for a moment, Jack. Let me be cold. How /many/ minions of the Wyrm have you killed? How many things, how many Dancers, banes, fomori, how many /needed/ to die, and you destroyed them?"

 

Salem takes another swallow of vodka, not answering right away. "I... see your point. But it doesn't help." He drops his head and folds his arms across his chest, practically hugging the bottle to himself. "I need... I need some time."

 

There's a pressure at Salem's back from the attempt to open the door on which he leans from the other side.

 

Salem grunts, then scoots himself over so that he's not blocking the door.

 

"Of course it doesn't," Mouse says. "You're not a callous asshole. You don't really subscribe, not really, to the cold calculus of war. I mean," and here she hesitates, if only for a moment. "If you gave me numbers, I could come up with a ratio. How many innocent deaths to Wyrm creatures destroyed does it take for Jack Salem's existence to be justified. And then you would, rightly, tell me that's a fuckload of bullshit, sound mathematics or not, because people, decent people, don't go putting a cost on someone's life, because you're a /philodox/, and you aren't about balancing the books." She inhales, and lets her cigarette dangle from her fingers, rather than bring it to her lips again. "And if it were you instead of Flint, that's what I'd be telling him. That lives shouldn't be quantified down to numbers, at least wherever possible, except where having irrevocably lost one tribemember, I won't stand around and lose the other." A beat. "And I have /no/ goddamned idea what I'm saying anymore, at this point."

 

With Salem out of the way, the door nudges open while Mouse speaks, and Kavi slips through the small space he creates. He lifts a hand, but doesn't give voice to the greeting.

 

Salem rolls his head to the side to eyeball Kavi, then turns his attention back to Mouse. "Y'not going t'lose me," he says wearily. "I'll live. M'too stubborn t'die." Another drink, and the bottle's three-quarters empty now. "I just... I'm just... tired."

 

Mouse nods at Kavi, then looks back to Salem. "Yeah, you'll live. And you need time for sure. This isn't me showing up to tell you to act like nothing happened, because it happened, nothing changes that, it'd be downright insulting to Flint to pretend otherwise. This is just me saying..." she pauses. "This is me saying I need you. And more importantly, I want you. And I think it was, while understandable, entirely premature to resign from Master of the Challenge, because this /Sept/ needs you, whether they like it or not, and no one else has stepped up who's better at it." One eye narrows. "And I need and want you, /you/, most in the coming weeks. This Caern has to come back."

 

Kavi swallows, and though he looks from one to the other, there's no attempt to meet the gaze of either. His brow furrows a little toward the end of Mouse's statement, but he swallows again and nods, perhaps in agreement.

 

Salem turns the bottle around and around, slowly, in his hands, as Mouse speaks, looking at it rather than at her. He looks weary; he looks his age. He shakes his head a little, but doesn't otherwise answer.

 

Mouse is quiet for a while, a thin thread of smoke still trailing from her fingers. "But today's a Bad Day," she says eventually.

 

Kavi once again looks between the others, and he pulls the corner of his lip between his teeth. "I could... I could stop. And. And you could wait to decide?"

 

Salem closes his eyes. "No," he says, quietly, firmly. "My... my mind's made up. On that. For the caern... yes, fine." He opens his eyes, takes a drink. A long one, and then he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "But Master of the Challenge... no."

 

"I've got pizza downstairs," Mouse says. "And more alcohol. Owen dropped a flask off last night, but I figured you didn't want any of his German shit." She waits a moment before saying, "/Owen/ thinks he's going to challenge for Athro."

 

Kavi gives a solemn, if resolved nod to Salem, though his gaze remains on the philodox. It's Mouse's final statement that gets his attention and a sharp look in her direction. "He--?"

 

Salem considers the level of vodka left in the bottle, then tips it back, draining it. "Guh." He sets the empty bottle down with a firm 'thunk' and struggles back to his feet, using the edge of the roof exit for support. "Fffuck German... Nazi /shit/." He glances down at the empty vodka bottle. "Athro my /ass/."

 

Mouse leans off of the support wall and shuffles back over toward the other two. "Yeah, see, that was my thought. He told me to hurry up and finish because he was tired of waiting in line. I think he'll be waiting quite a while regardless."

 

Kavi takes a step back, giving Salem more room to maneuver, and rakes a hand back through his hair. "I don't--" he says with a confused shake of his head. "How?"

 

"Never happen," Salem says, on his feet now and definitely swaying. "He talks... never /does/."

 

Mouse eases her way past both tribemates to the stairs; something which isn't necessarily wise in hindsight, as she by far will take the longest. It's a struggle just to get down the first step, and she clings to the rail. "He'll challenge at least, you watch. 'Course, I think what he meant was he wants to challenge /Elliot/."

 

Kavi blinks again, and then has to stifle a swift movement toward Mouse. He turns that impulse into one that takes hold of the door, and waits for Salem to follow the elder before he takes up the rear.

 

Salem weaves his way into the stairwell, eyes Mouse below him, and mutters something in Serbian before grabbing onto the railing himself. He follows the Theurge down with all the slow care of a drunk driver.

 

Mouse seems to take ages to get to the bottom, but at least once she's there she seems a /little/ more steady. Further, she appears to have parked her chair right before heading up, as it's still sitting by the stairway door. The Theurge makes her way to it. "You think once the Caern is back, he'll declare victory?"

 

Kavi leaves enough space between the others and himself that he can see them clearly, but not so much that he wouldn't be able to move to intercept if necessary. Unseen, his brow furrows at the elder's question. "Owen?"

 

"N'ver happen," slurs the drunk old coot between them.

 

"Yes," Mouse answers, as she lowers herself into the chair--and allows a small but audible sigh of relief. "Due to his brilliant tactical planning and know-how, wherein he came up with the plan to sit around on his ass and do nothing but occasionally grouch about not being able to kill himself against wasps the size of humvees."

 

Kavi wraps a hand around the railing and leans in opposition to his grip. "We can... I can make sure people know what he hasn't done. And what others have."

 

Salem leans against the wall with his head back. He stares blearily at the ceiling, or rather, a cockroach trundling across it.

 

"Sounds good," Mouse grunts, as she settles herself. "Go ahead, Jack. I left it on the table. Might be a little cold now, but that's why microwaves were invented."

 

Kavi takes the edge of his lip between his teeth and nods. "I... I'll be back," he says, and then starts down the next flight. He stops after only a few steps and turns around to look at the elder. "I'm going to make it. The new plate for the memorial. For Flint. I'm going to make it."

 

Salem grimaces, then shoves off the wall and limps unsteadily toward the break room. "S'better cold," he mutters.

 

 

Tenement Building - Cockroach's Breakroom(#3365RJ)

 

Here, a large studio apartment has been converted into a mutual meeting space for the tribe, one with its own kitchen and bathroom. The walls are a simple, plain white, and the floor is covered in stain-resistant beige carpet. The windows look out onto the somewhat less than scenic view of downtown St. Claire, but more often than not, white blinds prevent anyone from peeking in, or out. 

 

 Amenities are what might be expected--a well stocked refrigerator and cupboards, a microwave, a coffee maker, a toaster. There's a wooden table that seats four, five or six if people scrunch, and enough chairs to service it. There's also an old couch and armchair along the walls, angled to face a large, plasma screen television. Most of the entertainment goodies are here. An old NES system, an original Sega system, and an XBOX 360, each with assorted games. There's also a DVD/VCR combo player, and nearby a box of movies, most of them Ed Wood and Roger Corman specials. Ah, classics. 

 

 Along one wall is a row of tables and chairs, on which sit five desktop computers as well as the Walker's network server, a printer, and a scanner. (+view for more details)

 

Contents:

Salem

Memorial

Information Board: Skindiggers Cult

 

Obvious exits:

Out

 

Out in the hall, Kavi enters from the stairs.

 

Out in the hall, Kavi goes into the breakroom.

 

Kavi enters from the hallway.

 

Kavi has arrived.

 

"Okay," Mouse says to Kavi, more quietly than she's been speaking. Her hand moves to the chair controls, and she rolls in after Salem. As promised, several pizzas have been set out on the table. The booze, of varying kinds, is in the fridge, but she's managed a decent selection.

 

Kavi nods and turns. There's a brief hesitation, and then he moves swiftly down the steps.

 

Kavi has left.

 

Salem goes to the fridge first to grab a bottle of whatever is closest to the front. Good old Jim Beam. He takes it to the table and slouches bonelessly into a chair. 'Thunk' goes the bottle next to what's left of a pepperoni pizza, from which he grabs a slice. "D'you know," he says. "I knew this girl once... was a long time ago, back when I was still Ronin. But here, in St. Claire." He takes a bite, chews, swallows. "Reality-worker. Like... y'know." He gestures vaguely.

 

"I think Nick might've mentioned," Mouse says, as she wheels around to take up a spot within reach of the table. "Every now and then, he talks about other mages that used to be in town."

 

Salem nods. "Da." The accent's definitely gotten thick with his increased inebriation. "Been a few. Chloe, Dana... this one, though... Gwyneth. Gwyneth..." He stares at the ceiling, thinking. "...Fuck me, what was her last name?"

 

Mouse selects her own slice of pizza, leaning only as much as she has to, to get it. "I'm guessing it wasn't Paltrow."

 

"Nnnnno." Salem thinks for a while longer, then shrugs and shoves himself a bit more upright to eat. "Not important. Anyway. She liked... she liked to dance with danger. Like Rina. And me, the frenzies... they were /worse/ then. Much... much worse."

 

Mouse doesn't interject this time. She's clearly paying attention, and she excuses her silence by taking a bite of the semi-cold pizza.

 

Salem keeps talking in between bites. "She had this... this trick, where she could turn it off. The rage. Like... like a faucet. But she didn't like to do it. So she didn't, other than to... demonstrate." He pauses, staring vaguely into space like he's lost track of his train of thought, then coughs, sets down the pizza crust, and grabs the bottle of Jim Bean. "Back then, my method of containment was heroin," he says as he works off the top. "Was the only way I could get through full moons without..." He grimaces. "...You have no idea. Everything... /anything/... could set me off, back then. Full moon, everything'd be too bright, too loud, too... everything." He grimaces, baring his teeth, squinting. "Had to medicate it. Had a... a system."

 

Mouse shakes her head slightly. "Yeah, I can't imagine having that much rage. 'Course, I can't imagine having it turned /off/. They can do that?"

 

Salem blinks. "She could. Dalton... I don't think so. We've... we've worked, together, on self-defense. Did something... threw me into the air, didn't touch me. Looked hard on him, though." He's gotten the top off the whiskey and wets his throat liberally. "...Ah. So... Gwyneth. She likes danger. So she comes over and visits while I'm... between doses."

 

"He helped me last night," Mouse muses. "It wasn't that I felt a little stronger, just that I had more effect when I struck out. Heavier. More well balanced than I've felt since..." She doesn't finish that thought. "Anyway, /damn/. 'Likes danger' seems to be something of an understatement."

 

Salem takes another drink, then sets about finishing off the slice of pizza. "S'a good man, Dalton. Smart. Gwyneth... I still... to this /day/... dunno how she survived. Something... dunno." His gaze is going unfocussed again -- not that it's been particularly sharp at all this evening. "Next time she saw me--" He smacks his maimed left hand against the table. BAM! "Shut down cold. She'd left her bag at my place, y'see, and wanted it back. But." He smiles humorlessly. "Too much danger." He polishes off the last of the crust. "Never saw her again."

 

"He is," Mouse agrees. And then, with a tiny bit of exasperation, "That's probably why he has so many women crushing on him." She takes another bite of pizza. "So what happened? With you, I mean. How'd you come down enough to get off the heroin?"

 

Salem considers the bottle of Jim Bean for a moment, then opts for another slice of the pepperoni instead. "JJ Malone. Walker elder at the time. And I was petitioning to join, so..." He shrugs. "Came by and caught me. Bastard shot me in the hip. Silver. ...And he said, basically, that I was either going to stop, or he would gun me down like a dog." He looks pained. "...Fuck if I din' tell Flint that. Fuck."

 

A frown flickers across Mouse's features. "You did, or you didn't?"

 

"I did," the old (and now well-sauced) halfmoon says, slouching. He picks a piece of pepperoni off his pizza slice and eats it.

 

"That's not what happened," Mouse says. She takes another bite herself, chews, swallows. "I once shifted, picked him up, and tossed him across the room when he demonstrated he was so addicted to Rose's blood that he couldn't follow my orders to stay put even when I was standing right there."

 

Salem grunts. "Blood bond's a bitch. I should know." He lapses into a moody silence after that, mechanically eating.

 

Mouse only lets the silence go on for a little while. "...You know how I was saying, about decent people and numbers?"

 

Salem grunts an affirmative while chewing.

 

"The funny thing is," Mouse says slowly, neither in a hurry to get the words out, nor deliberately stalling, "numbers. I didn't have to learn those. Math's just something I /do/. No learning involved, beyond looking up formulas and equations. Now if you asked me, if you asked 'Mouse, how many Wyrm creatures have you killed', and gave me, say, two minutes, I'd probably have the answer for you. I'd have it broken down. Direct kills, kills I was a part of, but didn't get the death blow on, kills I contributed directly to, but not physically, kills I was a part of contributing to. 'Mouse, how /many/ Dancers have you killed since you hit Fostern?' I know the answer. It just pops into my brain. It feels like cheating, almost. Math, I've /always/ understood. People? People I had to learn. I had to go and figure out why putting a value on a life was a shitty thing to do. It still shows up, you know. Like glancing at a word, and even without thinking about it, you've read it? Like that. Sometimes I fall back on it, because numbers are a lot simpler than people are."

 

"Books, too," says the halfmoon. "Took me a long time to... /get/ people. I look at people like Kaz, and... fuck. She's a natural. Anyone, anytime, anywhere...." He waves a hand about. "People love her. And they should, of course, they /should/... but I dunno how she does it."

 

Mouse shakes her head. "Me either," she says, with feeling. "It'd exhaust me trying to manage half of that. And yeah. /Books/. Did I ever tell you why my real name is Matilda?"

 

Salem shakes his head as he finishes off the second slice of pizza.

 

"My grandparents," Mouse starts. "...There was a book I liked. Matilda, the Roald Dahl book? About some tiny, skinny little girl who outthinks and outsmarts everyone bigger, stronger, and with power over her?" She pauses to take a bite. "...You can probably see why a young metis would find that attractive."

 

Salem not-quite smiles as he nods. "Never... I never read that one." Though his voice is slurring badly already, he reaches for the whiskey bottle and takes a long pull. Straight on toward oblivion. "My favorite was always _Watership Down_. You know, the... the one with the rabbits."

 

"All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand enemies," Mouse says in response. "And when they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you; digger, listener, runner, Prince with the swift warning. Be cunning, and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed."

 

Out in the hall, Kavi enters from the stairs.

 

Out in the hall, Rina enters from the stairs.

 

Out in the hall, Rina goes into the breakroom.

 

Rina enters from the hallway.

 

Rina has arrived.

 

Out in the hall, Kavi goes into the breakroom.

 

Kavi enters from the hallway.

 

Kavi has arrived.

 

Salem is slouched at the table with Mouse and the remains of several pizzas... and also with an open (and partially consumed) bottle of Jim Bean. He looks to be quite drunk but, judging by the way he's taking a pull on the whiskey, not drunk /enough/ in his opinion. Mouse's quote from _Watership Down_ draws a slow nod. "Hoi, hoi, u embleer hrair," he says, the 'Lapine' quote slurred with drink and the slavic accent that comes with it. "M'saion ule' hraka vair."

 

Mouse's mouth corners twitch upward; she's seated in her power chair, rather than one of the table's set. "I liked that one," she agrees. "Quite a bit."

 

Rina comes into the break room, her expression calm but shadowed with worry. She halts for a moment on seeing them, and then continues over to the kitchen with her canvas bag of groceries.

 

Kavi is only a few steps behind the kin, though he goes only so far as the counter before he halts, positioning himself so he can see them all.

 

"Must've read that'un a million times," Salem says, nodding to Mouse. His gaze shifts toward Rina and Kavi, then moves away. He shifts his weight in the chair, taking a slightly different slouching angle, and stretches out his bad leg, flexing the trick knee.

 

"Pizza," Mouse says to them, gesturing toward the picked over boxes.

 

"Yeah, I see," Rina says quietly. "What, my fuckin' lasagna's not good enough f'you people?" It's a soft attempt at lightness, rueful humor. She puts a few things away.

 

Kavi turns his face in an attempt to hide the flinch, even at the humor. Swallowing, he returns, and leans against the wall. "Emma came to take her tribe's cubs," he says, his voice flat.

 

Salem rubs his right hand over buzzed white hair, the left still gripping the neck of the bottle of Jim Beam. "Ngh. They get... get what they were... what they were here for?"

 

"It's not /pizza/," Mouse emphasizes, just before finishing off her crust. "I'm from New York, what do you want?"

 

Rina paces across the room slowly, and plucks the booze from Jack's hand to take a swig.

 

Kavi shakes his head in answer to Jack's question. "I... I don't know why they came. I just know-- Sue asked Emma to take them. So we can..." He lets the thought trail off and crosses to the memorial wall.

 

As rapidly as Salem's sliding toward a state of alcoholic bonelessness, Rina taking the bottle from him is probably for the best; she saves it from a potential future wherein it smashes to the floor and wastes all that good whiskey. Even so, he kind of blinks muzzily at her.

 

"You're drunk enough," Rina points out. Then she downs another swallow.

 

"Nnnnno sssuch thing," Salem retorts.

 

Mouse reaches for another slice of pizza. "I don't know, /I/ think Rina just doesn't want to bother getting her own bottle." Her tone is vaguely teasing. It doesn't quite match the rest of her, which is looking a bit ragged. Tired, yes, but that's expected. The Walker elder actually looks as though she's lost some weight, which for her is saying something.

 

Kavi traces the several of the plaques before he turns back to the others, a furrow to his brow. He searches for Rina, first, studies her, and then moves on to Mouse and then Jack. There are thoughts there, and he licks his lips as though preparing to speak, but the words fail to follow.

 

Rina returns to the kitchen, and sets down the bottle on the counter.

 

Salem rolls his head along the back of his chair -- he's slouched that low by now, yes -- to follow Rina's progress with his eyes. He grunts, gathers himself, and struggles to get to his feet. "I," he says slowly, "am prrrobably going to... pass out. Very... very soon."

 

"Couch," Mouse offers. "Armchair. Your old place downstairs, if you take the elevator."

 

"I'll walk you down," Rina says quietly. "If you wanna go to your place."

 

Rina says "And promise not to boot."

 

Kavi steps away from the wall, suddenly more alert than a moment before. Rina's offer halts him, but he remains ready, watching.

 

Salem is on his feet. He sways. "I will... endeavor... not to." He takes a limping, staggering step toward the door. Then another.

 

Mouse falls to nibbling at her second piece of pizza. Her eyes hood, only half tracking Salem's progress toward the door.

 

Rina paces across the room. swiftly enough to catch him. She puts a hand under his elbow, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath.

 

Kavi watches Rina move, looking as though he might follow. Though, when it comes to it, he turns back to Mouse, instead. "Emma said-- She said she'd take up Master of the Challenge, if Jack was going to step down."

 

Salem's voice trails back to the breakroom as he heads down the hallway with Rina. "Jer'miah was a bullfrog... wassa good friend'a mine..."

 

"Definitely better than Owen," is Mouse's immediate assessment, though there's no real warmth to her words.

 

Kavi nods to Mouse, and then moves to follow after Rina and Jack. He pauses in the doorway, turning back again to the elder. "If. If there's anything you want to see? When I make it? If you want it to be... specific?"

 

Mouse shakes her head. "No, you've got the more artistic bent, Kavi. You'd know how to do it best."

 

Kavi swallows, but nods again, and this time continues on until he reaches the stairs.

 

Mouse remains where she is, silently eating pizza.