"Is Garou society always this biblical?"
Jan. 11th, 2008 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretIn which there is much ado about Shadow Lords, Shadow Lord punishments, and dead Shadow Lords. Then Salem receives a call, and Mouse is introduced to someone in order to return a favor long overdue.
Ishmael grunts. "You're telling me. They can all go fuck themselves. 'Cept Mouse. She's been pretty good." The teen levels a lopsided grin at Riley, but it's forced. "Trading chips that bite back maybe. I'll remember all this."
"Yeah," Riley mumbles, "I'm not going to be a dickhead to cubs unless they deserve it, and if those cliaths try to push me around after I've proven myself a garou? Well, they'd better be ready to defend themself in a challenge." He folds his arms.
Mouse pushes open the door slowly, and with plenty of warning. She brings with her a veritable miasma of cigarette smoke (and she's still smoking), and she doesn't look much better for her self inflicted time-out. Calmer, yes. But still exhausted and strained.
Ishmael nods at Riley in agreement. "You fuckin' bet your life," he says. And then Mouse walks in. And then she gets a nod, too. "Yo, again," he offers. "Want some Morphine? Think Basil might have some around somewhere."
Riley glances towards Mouse, arms still folded, "...Izzy clued me in."
Mouse shakes her head, and though it's not possible she could mistake that for a serious offer, she nevertheless seems to take it as soon. "...Doesn't do much for me. Metis." She /is/ moving rather stiffly. "What'd you need, Riley?" She moves past both of them without stopping, picks out a spot of floor, puts out her cigarette, and then promptly lays down on her back, grimacing.
Ishmael is leaning against the wall, arms folded and rested against hist chest. "Worth a try," he mumbles, glancing away.
"What'd I... oh!" Riley rubs the back of his head, thinking furiously as the time before his silence become awkward quickly begins to evaporate. "Uh," He mutters, "I was just wondering, if... y'know..." More head rubbing. A little ruffling of his hair, some scratching at the back of his head. "Yeah, just..." Lightbulb! "If you were hungry!" He states, too loudly, nodding his head. "Beeee... cause, I uh... heh, I was thinking of maybe... uh, picking something up..."
Mouse continues grimacing. She sure doesn't /look/ comfortable, lying like that. Riley gets a look, one eyebrow raised. It's bemused, if anything. "Sure," she says. "I'm hungry. How 'bout a sandwich?"
"Me too," Ishmael takes the bait, considering. "Something with Roast Beef."
Riley's features fall slightly - he wasn't expecting his bluff to be called. Eyes twitching a few times, he slinks towards the door, "Yeah, uh... back in a bit, then."
Mouse gives a faint, quiet laugh. "You don't have to, Riley. I don't much feel like actually eating anymore than you feel like actually getting food."
"But... lunch," Ishmael frowns, patting his stomach.
Peering back over his shoulder towards Mouse, Riley blinks a few times, and turns away from the door, leaning up aginst the wall and crossing his arms and legs, head bowing slightly, "What are you gonna do?"
"Food in the fridge," Mouse replies to Ishmael. Riley's question gets a long pause, and then a quiet, truthful, "I don't know. You should be ready to pack in case we have to move again."
"Why would we have to move again?" Ismael wonders, indeed heading towards the fridge. Growing teen and such. There's an insinuation he's catching from the statement, but he'd rather make sure.
The statement makes Riley look distinctly uncomfortable, and he mumbles, "Yeah. I never really unpacked, just been living out of the duffel, so..." His shoulders sag.
"Because Vera and the rest of the Sept know about this safehouse," Mouse replies, sounding dubious. Her hands clasp over her stomach, and she remains prone. "And I'm not giving any of my fucking tribe to any fucking Shadow Lords."
That statement has Riley doing a double-take, and his voice lowers significantly, "Mouse-rhya, what are you talking about?"
"You think Salem will agree with that?" Ishmael wonders. "That he won't go deal with Vera himself?"
Mouse shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm just making backup plans. Backup plans I don't want to use unless I have to. And I highly doubt that Vera intends a direct challenge. That's not how Shadow Lords work. She isn't going to give him any kind of fair chance."
Riley lowers his head down into his hand, frowning, "How did they think this was a fair judgment to make? I mean, I'm glad that they didn't decide to kill Kavi-rhya, or something equally stupid, but... this feels less like a decision and more like them shoving their collective noses right up the Alpha's backside."
"So used to kowtowing..." Ishmael mumbles from the kitchen, gathering food. Hungry, this one. From all the anxiety, probably.
"It's not /fair/," Mouse grumbles. "And it sure as hell isn't impartial. They said it themselves: the Alpha wants a punishment. So they're giving her a punishment, and trying to twist it all around to make it seem like they're not just doing what the alpha, who is /not/ a fucking half moon, wants."
"I don't understand," Riley admits with a rough shake of his head, "She's making so many selfish decisions - she doesn't even seem like she's looking out for the entire Sept, but her tribe first and foremost... why is someone like that our leader?"
"She's highest rank, yeah?" Ishmael shrugs, gnawing on a sandwich of his creation. "And someone's yet to challenge her. So I think, anyways."
Mouse states, flatly, "Because no one has challenged her." She's sacked out on the floor, on her back, looking extremely uncomfortable and, for that matter, exhausted. She's not wearing her sunglasses, which means her eyes are quite visible. As for her apartment, there is literally /no/ furniture. Just three pillows on the floor, a laptop in the corner, and a fridge.
And some roaches, here and there, along the baseboards.
There's a quiet knock at the door, along with Salee's voice behind the door. "Mouse? May we come in?"
Riley offers a snort, shaking his head - at the knock, he moves towards the door again, glancing to Mouse before making a move.
Mouse gives Riley a nod.
Riley moves to the door, and opens it quietly - Salee's offered a 'look', but nothing more.
Salee steps into the apartment with her brows hiked up toward her dark hairline. "Wow. I never thought I'd see a place /less/ furnished than mine." She artfully dodges stepping on a roach and quickly turns to the blonde behind her. "Mind the roaches. Think of it like how Egypt reveres cats. That's how we are about roaches. I'll... Maybe Mouse can explain it?" That's a hopeful look to the Elder if ever there was one. "Mouse, this is Gail. Gail, this is Mouse. She's the Elder of the Glass Walkers." She gestures to the other cub and introduces him as well. "That's Riley. Another tribemate."
Ishmael waves to the approaching pair with a fabricated joviality. "Yo, Salee. Gail." He attempts a grin, but the miasma of solemnity is thick in the room.
Abigail's attention is focused solely on the floor as she follows Salee's footsteps, edging her way around the clickity-click of scampering roach legs. "Uh, hi," she mumbles without looking up, though the familiar sound of Ishmael's voice causes her to tilt her head in his general direction. She reaches up to brush a few greasy curls of tangled blonde hair away from her face to get a better look at him before her eyes dart to Mouse and then, finally, Riley. "Nice t'meet you."
Mouse doesn't bother to attempt cheerfulness, though she does sit up with some visible effort and peer curiously toward the unfamiliar person. "Hey," she says. "So uh. Who is Gail?" This question seems directed at Salee, mostly.
Riley turns his focus from Salee to the shorter young woman nearby to her. He gives her enough of a glance to be polite, and then gives a small bow of his head as he murmurs, "Hey." His voice sounds slightly strained. Glancing in Mouse's direction, and then back to Salee, he nods, "Yeah... no offense to Abby, er Gail, or whatever. Who is she?"
"Ish didn't tell you?" Salee shoots a look to the boy. Not a harsh one, but more curious. "I found Gail in the alley. She had her First. Lost cub and all of that."
Ishmael shakes his head. "With all the shit goin' on, I didn't want dump more shit on her. I was hopin' it would all end sooner than later. Sorry about that." He's got a sandwich. A minute later he doesn't. Yum.
Abigail lets her gaze roam around the apartment, her jaw clenching every now and then as she seems to silently make note of something unseen. "Salee said I should see you," she says after a short pause, then swallows, "t'talk about where I should go."
Mouse suddenly seems to become a lot more alert. She focuses on Abigail, and then her attention shifts again to Salee. And her first question likely sounds very, very strange. "...Does anyone outside our tribe know about her?"
Ishmael says "Don't remember talkin' to anyone else about her. Or seein' anyone else." Ishmael shakes his head, but he offers Mouse a dubious glare as if to say 'are you fucking serious?'
Riley's quiet for the moment. From the looks of it, it seems like he's just biding his time on this one, waiting for it to play out. His gaze simply drifts about the room, content to observe. He hooks a thumb through one of his belt loops.
Salee closes her eyes tightly, trying to think. "Just Basil," she says after a moment, opening her eyes again. "Pretty sure it's just Basil. You didn't meet anybody else, did you Gail?"
"Just Basil," Abigail says, shaking her head. "That's, uh, not bad, is it?"
Mouse shakes her head. "No, it's good. Abigail, I'd like you to stay here for a while, until we can figure out where you fit." Her gaze shifts to include the rest of her tribe. "And I don't want anyone else not in tribe knowing about her presence, yet."
"What's going on, Mouse," Salee demands. "We've never been secretive about cubs before."
Ishmael says ""Shit," Ishmael seethes simply."
The glare that Ishmael gave Mouse did not go unnoticed by Abigail. Now, her mouth creases into a deep frown, and though it looks as though she might want to protest, she does not.
"We haven't had a Shadow Lord bitch demanding a blood price either," Mouse responds, and there, there's some of that prior heat, coming back to cover the exhaustion. "Vera wants two of our cubs, or Salem's head. Well, she's not /getting/ two of our cubs, or one of our cubs, /or/ Salem's head, and I'm not giving her some poor lost cub that just blew in off the street either."
Ishmael suddenly seems to regard Mouse much more favorably, and even smiles, albeit dryly. "Good to hear."
"She wants our cubs?" Salee's knees buckle and for a moment, she looks as though she might faint. She stays upright, however. "I see. You're right. We can't and we /won't/ be giving her any of the sort."
"Shadow Lords," Abigail mutters. "Spooky." She shoves her hands into her pockets and glances sidelong at Mouse. "What do they want with Sally's dad?"
"Salem killed one of theirs," Ishmael explains. "Granted, he was a fucking bastard who stuck his nose into places where it was needed. It was sort of an accident," he qualifies. "Sort of."
Ishmael pages to the room: *wasn't.
Salee levels a dangerous glare on Ishmael, "If I ever hear you speak that way about Felix again..."
Riley leans off of the wall, glancing to Salee, "Yeah. We get it. You're angry and pregnant. Rawr." His hands tuck into his pockets and he scowls, "Can we stay on topic?"
Mouse blinks, and looks toward Salee. There's almost, /almost/ amusement there at 'Sally's dad', but it can't quite seem to fight its way through her temper. "Felix being a bastard or a saint doesn't seem to matter to the half moons or Vera, so it doesn't really matter to me at the moment. What /does/ matter is we're in a shit load of trouble, because I am /not/ going to give her what she's asking for, and she has the fucking halfmoons halfway into her pocket. Riley, enough. Salee, ditto."
"Is Garou society always this biblical?" asks Abigail, morbid curiosity getting the better of her. "Eye for an eye--I get it. But kids? What does she want with your kids?"
Ishmael murmers a soft apology to Salee, quickly followed by a whisper to Riley along the lines of it still being true, though.
"Don't you talk to me like that!" Salee turns her fury onto Riley. "I may have respect for you, because you are still of my tribe, and more importantly, still of Gaia, but you will /not/ speak to me like that." She schools her features back to neutrality and returns her attention to Mouse. "Sorry. But if I keep letting you fight my battles, nobody's going to take me seriously."
Riley backs off a step, turning his head from Salee with a frown. His features relay that he's not impressed, but he doesn't force the issue, either. "Yeah, well. Let's just try to stick to what's important right now, and not finding more reasons to fight with eachother."
"Understood and agreed," Mouse says, her jaw working briefly. "But I'd prefer these battles to be fought at some point when I'm not discussing our tribe being decimated." To Abigail, she explains, "She wants to make them /her/ cubs. It gives her tribe more power, and should both of them make Cliath, it gives her two Cliaths to replace one lost Cliath, and she comes out ahead." Then her attention shifts briefly to Riley, and she makes a gesture with her hand. "Riley. Show her throat, and let's drop it right now."
"What can she do if you don't play along?" Ishmael wonders. "I mean, they wouldn't get violent, would they?"
Abigail's brow knits with obvious confusion, and her lips silently form the word "Cliath," committing it to memory.
Eyes squinting slightly at Mouse's request and then rolling back a little, Riley turns to face Salee, offering a brief grunt. He hesitates for a moment, eyeing the ground, and then leans his head back, closing his eyes. "Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."
"They'll never make Cliath," Salee says grimly. "The Shadow Lords would take a perverse pleasure in culling them before they ever have the chance. Mark my words." She eyes Riley for a moment, and almost looks as though she doesn't want to accept his apology, but she finally nods. "I don't like to pull rank, Riley. But I like being disrespected even less. I assure you, I've been bitchy since before I was pregnant. Don't you ever refer to my condition as a negative again."
"Yes they would," Mouse mutters to Ishmael. To Salee, she shakes her head. "There's no benefit in culling them just because they're pissed at us. Not to say they wouldn't, but I find that unlikely. Either way, it's a moot point, because I'm not giving Vera any fucking cubs."
"Not t'be disrespectful or anything," Abigail cuts in. "But wouldn't it be to your advantage, having two of your people on the inside? So what if they make Cliath? That's good, isn't it?" Nervously, she begins to worry her lower lip, rolling it between her teeth. "Planting people you can trust... in a tribe that you can't?"
It's as hollow an acceptance as it is an apology - but the formality holds, and Riley nudges his hands down into his pockets, holding his tongue from further commenting to Salee, though he does appear as though he would have choice words to say. Glancing towards Abigail, he hesitates, and then looks to Mouse, uncertain. "Ideally, we're not supposed to be having all this in-fighting and politics at all. Encouraging it isn't exactly beneficial, is it?"
"What are we going to do, then? She'll want /something/ in return. Or I'm afraid she'll just plot to kill Jack." Salee wobbles for a moment, going quite pale that the very idea. She looks over to Abigail and then looks to Mouse. "I wouldn't give them any cubs..." There's a 'but' in there somewhere.
From afar, to the room, Salee *at the very idea
Mouse's jaw starts to work again, clearly intending to reply to Abigail, but that unspoken 'but' catches her attention, and she focuses on Salee. "/But/?" she prompts.
Salem has arrived.
"But... If she wants her pound of flesh, she can have me. Cliath for Cliath." Salee looks Mouse in the eye when she stays this. She's absolutely serious.
Salem knocks a few times on the door.
That does manage to cause Riley's brows to lift. His focus turns to Mouse, watching her reaction. When the knock at the door breaks his concentration, he leans forward, and reaches for the doorknob, opening it a few cracks. Recognizing Salem, he opens the door wider, allowing him in.
"They didn't ask for you, Sally," Abigail points out, though her voice has taken on an almost fearful note. The very idea that she might lose the one person who's been kindest to her chills her to the very core. "And... don't you technically count for two?" Her eyes drop to Salee's midsection, and she is silent.
From afar, to the room, Ishmael is back now.
"I think Mouse's point is that we don't actually /owe/ them anything," Ishmael counters quickly, offering a helpless shrug. "I dunno, really--but when it comes to things like this? You do it once, it means you can do it again. We don't want to set precedent, yeah?"
"/Heeeelll/ no," Mouse replies, though she's regarding Salee with the faintest of frowns now. "I am not trading any Cliaths either. My tribe doesn't double as collector's cards." As Riley opens the door, and she spies Salem, she straightens out of that slouch she's been standing in. Welcome to Mouse Room, version 1.0. There's no furniture at all, just three pillows on the floor, a laptop in the corner, and a few roaches along the baseboards. "Jack. Hey. I had a visit from the halfmoons earlier." No prizes for guessing how it went, she's visibly fuming, in spite of her casual tone.
"I'm sure I can convince the Fianna to claim my baby," Salee says somewhat numbly. She freezes when she glances over her shoulder and catches sight of Salem. It's a good ten seconds before she's able to shake off the stupor and respond to Ishmael, "We don't owe them shit, I agree with that. But we can't ignore the fact that they'll take what they think they're owed."
Salem reeks of cigarette smoke, and has another lit cigarette hanging off his lip; he looks scruffy and sunken-eyed and tired and completely unsurprised that the news is bad. His brow furrows as he looks from one face to the next, taking what he's hearing and adding it together. "And... what? Eye for an eye?" His voice is hoarse.
"There has to be some way around all of this, some way to make her see sense. The half-moons are all running under her thumb. It won't do any good talking to them about it until someone talks to Vera." He folds his arms, "I'd almost say I'd do it, but you guys know me. I'd make an ass of myself and get myself culled."
Riley pages to the room: That being Riley.
Ishmael shakes his head, dubious. "She's alpha, though. She doesn't /have/ to see sense. Not to a certain extent, anyways. Though I may not be giving her enough credit."
"/No/," Mouse says toward Salee, in a tone that makes it clear she's not willing to take any arguments on the matter. "Oh we're all getting slammed," she replies to Salem. "Kaz, myself, and Ishmael for bringing guns to the Caern to defend it, Kavi for firing one of them, Kavi /again/ because Vera wants him punished for not giving her information he couldn't give her and which no longer exists and which was /useless/ anyway, and because Vera wants a punishment, the half-moons are giving her a punishment. As for this thing with you." She inhales, then hrmphs. "Oh, they're being /generous/. They're not getting the halfmoons involved at all, except for Vera sending one of hers to 'mediate' with me. Vera wants a /blood price/."
Salee reaches out and snatches the cigarette from Salem with a frown. "Listen to you. You sound terrible. I don't care if you've got Tobacco's Calm." For someone who claims to be the former elder's daughter, she can still act in an awfully maternal fashion. She holds the cigarette between her fingers, away from her body, and frowns at Mouse. "It's my fault this happened. It's only fitting..."
Salem blinks at Salee a little, but lets the presumptive cigarette-snatching go and focuses on Mouse. "A blood price." He looks vaguely ill.
Ishmael continues to look thoroughly uncomfortable, but otherwise says nothing.
"I said /no/," Mouse says to Salee, her jaw twitching faintly. "It is not your fault. You weren't even /there/. You don't get to martyr yourself or your kid out of survivor's guilt. Yeah," she returns her attention toward the philodox. "Which, I might add, she's not fucking getting. Get this. She wants two of our cubs. Two cubs, or she'll likely come and challenge you. Which sure as hell seemed to mean she was just gonna put out a hit. So, since she's not getting our God-damned cubs, and she's not killing you, and she's not getting any /other/ member of this tribe beyond what she's connived the fucking philodox into doing to Kavi, I'm looking for solutions that do /not/ involve any of those things."
Riley has fades back into silence - this has entered into the realm of politics, and having been chastised once, he doesn't seem eager to speak up again just yet.
"And if somebody else /dies/ when I could have given myself up to Vera, I will /never/ forgive myself!" Salee drops the cigarette and stomps it as an outlet for her anger.
"Sally..." Salem's voice is quiet and pained. "Don't. Please." He drags fingers back through thick grey hair and looks at Mouse. "What, /exactly/, did Vera say?"
Mouse's eyes hood. "It wasn't Vera, it was her tribemate. Viktoriya. Because apparently she can nail our tribe to the wall whenever she likes, but she can't be bothered to come by and tell me it herself. She said--" the metis's voice changes in tone slightly--imitation, clearly, but there's no hint of mockery to her tone, "Vera claims blood-price for the loss. Either Salem's life, or two of your cubs in return for the life of a cliath. Think about what you are willing to negotiate, compromise, or offer something else in return. If you are not interested in negotiating between tribes, she's likely to challenge and kill him herself." She grunts. "So either when I next speak with Viktoriya, I offer something /other/ than my tribemembers, or I tell her to tell the Alpha to go piss. /Or/, I go and find Vera."
Salee crosses her arms over her chest. "So what are you gonna do, Mouse?"
Salem grimaces and looks away, hands shoving deep into his pockets. He doesn't say anything for the moment, though his expression is grim and he looks vaguely sick to his stomach.
Mouse's mouth twists. She doesn't say anything in response to Salee for a moment, though as Salem looks away she glances toward him, studying him out of the corner of her eye. "Like I said," she says. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I stress /yet/. I do know what I'm /not/ going to do, and that's something. I'm not giving her cubs. I'm not giving her /you/, and I'm not letting you give her you. And I'm not giving her Jack. And if she wants to come and get him anyway, well, then she can deal with our tribe, because two can play at the shot in the back game. --Preferably, I work something out with Viktoriya. Or I challenge Vera's fucking ass, which would give me the satisfaction of knowing at least /someone/ did it."
Salee walks over and takes Salem's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Stop that. It's my job to look sick like that," she murmurs quietly to him.
Ishmael finally just sighs. "I don't think I have much to add," he shakes his head. "And this is just over my head and making me feel like a speck of shit. May I be excused?" He looks to Mouse.
Salem glances at Salee, not smiling, then looks dully at Mouse. "What do you want me to do?"
Mouse nods at Ishmael, before looking back toward Salem. "I need your help," she replies. "Same as always. 'Specially because I think I've done an outstanding job of pissing off your fellow auspice members today."
Ishmael murmurs a farewell to Riley and a brief thanks to Mouse before scooting towards the door and the less heavy ambiance of the hallway and elsewhere.
Salem winces minutely, partly at Mouse's words, partly at the ringing sound coming from his pocket. "Pardon," he mutters, and steps away to answer his cell. "Yes?"
Salee releases Salem's hand and steps away politely. "Would you really challenge Vera?" Green eye study Mouse intently. She waves absently to Ishmael on his way out.
Abigail takes the opportunity to silently duck out after Ishmael and retreat to the relative solitude of Salee's apartment. Politics--she doesn't pretend to understand.
Riley is playing the wallflower, here - he may feel unable to impact the conversation, but it doesn't mean he's not intensely interested in what's happening.
"Does the phrase 'blood price' sound optimistic to /you/?" says Salem into his cellphone, his voice flat. He walks further into Mouse's empty apartment, moving away from the others. His voice is quiet but just audible. He sighs. "Sorry. Karma continuing to bite me in the ass. What's up?"
Ishmael waves politely to Salee and Salem on his way out.
Mouse glances toward Salem with a frown, though she looks back to Salee after a moment. "Yeah. Which kind've scares the shit out of me all around, but I'm really rather tired of her chewing at us."
"What'll happen to us if you lose?" Salee holds her breath without realizing, waiting for the response.
Riley speaks up, "There is such a thing as honorable surrender, y'know." He pauses, and chews his lip, "Unless there's some sort of different rules for challenging the Alpha."
Salem blinks at something he hears on the phone, then says, "Not me personally, but I know someone who does." He glances over at Mouse and Salee and continues to speak into his cell. "If you're willing to meet her."
Mouse shakes her head. "It's a stupid idea, Salee, because I would lose, and then we'd all be in the crap. But it's fun to entertain when I'm feeling crazy."
Salee shoots a dirty look at Riley. "That would run under the assumption that I consider Vera honourable." Maybe it's hormones, or maybe she's just generally bitchy, but it seems like she's on edge everytime Riley has something to say. She seems to shrug it off, however, and turns to look at Salem with raised brows.
Riley grunts, leaning off of the wall, offering another insipid glance towards Salee, clearly misliking the taste of being shot down again, "Do you really think she'd do that? She'd lose the respect of the Sept in one fell swoop, and violate the litany in the process, and if the Philodoxes don't punish her for that, the spirits will." He folds his arms, "If only there were a way to trick her into challenging -you-, so you could pick terms that don't favor her."
Salem's voice drops to a murmur as he retreats further into the apartment.
Mouse shakes her head. "She's Adren, I'm Fostern, she's Alpha, I'm tribal elder. I don't really have any grounds for her to challenge me /on/." Again, she glances toward Salem, but it's brief.
Salem clicks off and walks back toward the others. "...Mouse. You remember the Jedi lightning that saved your asses that time?"
Riley's shoulders sag slightly, and he puffs a sigh, "Well, I wish -someone- would." Salem's words have him swivelling his head, as well as invoking an expression on his face that suggests he believes the other male has lost his marbles.
Salee rests a hand over her stomach and looks decidedly unwell all of a sudden. "I'm sorry..." She starts running for the door, "You know where to find me if you need me." She slams the door behind her and her footsteps pound off down the hallway toward the stairs.
Mouse grimaces as Salee takes off, before turning toward Salem. "Oh, that's something I doubt I'm ever going to forget, so yeah, I sure do."
Salem actually looks a little relieved at Salee's scuttling out. He eyeballs Riley briefly, then looks at Mouse. "Those pictures of No-Nose? Same man." The halfmoon holds up his cellphone. "And if you're up to healing, he could use a return favor."
Riley bristles slightly, "The same guy that nearly gutted Quiet?"
"Figured it might be." Mouse looks intrigued, which is a far sight better than the anger and gloom she's been sporting all day. "I'm up to it, yeah. Right now?" Riley gets a headshake. "No, the guy who gave us the info on the guy who nearly gutted her."
Salem's brow furrows, then clears as Mouse explains things. He nods to her. "Right now. Just us."
Riley sinks back against the wall, expression slightly exasperated.
Melodie pages to Riley, Ishmael, Mouse, and Salem: The phone rings! Brrring brring!
Mouse eyes her phone in annoyance, and then pulls it out. "Lead on," she says to Salem, before answering. "Yeah?"
Salem heads out with Mouse in tow, digging out his own cellphone and dialling a number from memory.
As the two of them head out of the apartment without another word, Riley can't keep the scowl from his features, and he mutters under his breath, "Yeah, Riley. You can come too, Riley. Follow us, Riley. We'd love to have you, Riley. Actually, Riley, and we're sorry about this, but you can't come, but don't forget, we like you, anyhow! Goodbye, Riley! For fuck's sake." He thumps his head back against the wall, snorting.
Melodie pages: A chipper voice is on the other end. "Hi! Is this Moushe-rhya? This is Melodie, you know, the short one?" She's talking a bit faster than even normal.
Mouse follows Salem briskly, talking into her phone as she goes. "Yeah it is, but this is a bad time. Can it wait?"
Melodie pages: Oh, sorry, sorry! I just wanted to, you know, make sure we're cool, you know? Like, I mean, our tribes, we're really really trying hard and it's so hard and I don't want anything bad to happen and I was feeling bad so I thought I'd call because I had your number.
Mouse hesitates a moment, and then when she speaks again, her voice is exasperated mostly, but there's also anger there. "Yeah, well, /no/, because Vera's got you all nailing Kavi for ridiculous shit, and I've already bawled Viktoriya and Lara out over this, and there are lots and lots of things I'm not happy about, but if you want the full chapter and verse I'm afraid it's gonna have to wait, I've gotta take care of something. Call me later."
Melodie pages: Okay, I'm sorry, Vera kinda shcares me, you know? An' so do you. I shouldn't have called, it was a bad idea, I'll let you go now bye! *click*
Harbor Park -- The Meadow(#194RJ)
One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about five feet tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two breaks each at the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end. Wooden posts are being erected at regular intervals all along the earthen wall, while tasteful iron gates and fences are being added at the entrances. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. From the street view or river view, the park is now isolated, as if it existed apart from the city. People in tall buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons for now, though. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed surrounds the fountain.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire.
Contents:
Salem
Nicodemus(#3416PJOc)
Obvious exits:
Bridge Street Fountain First Street River
Salem drives along slowly in the shit-brown Torino, a cigarette hanging off his lip, squinting as he scans for signs of Dalton's car.
Nicodemus is currently residing in a relatively unremarkable grey Toyota Prius (his usual vehicle) out in the parking lot adjacent to Harbor Park.
Mouse is riding shotgun. She hung up shortly before they even got into the car, and now she's just sitting, sunglasses on in spite of it being dark. She might be dozing, for all the company she gives poor Salem. Lost in thought much?
Salem isn't great company either, what with the depressed mood he's in tonight. He spots the Prius and parks -- not next to it, but a few spots down. Getting out, he pulls up the collar of the big leather coat he's wearing and walks over to the other car, bending down as he nears it and squinting in.
The driver's side window scrolls down as Salem approaches. "Hey," he says in greeting, soft and a little disfocused--likely a result of the pain medications mentioned earlier, or some other concoction. He seems a little out of it. Not entirely, certainly a little.
Mouse isn't far behind Salem, though she does hang back just a little bit, off behind his right shoulder, looking for all the world like a reject from the Matrix trilogy.
Salem peers in at the man in the driver's seat of the Prius. "I brought her," he says simply, and then straightens up to gesture Mouse over.
Nicodemus looks beyond Salem to Mouse, forcing his eyes to focus in on her and look her over. "Thanks," he says to Salem, voice touched with sincerity. He opens his car door and very carefully extricates himself from the vehicle, clearly favoring his right leg and clearly not testing the capabilities of his left leg. "Hi," he says to Mouse. "Salem seems to think you're golden. Can you help me?"
Mouse grins faintly. "Hey." She sweeps off the sunglasses now, studying Nicodemus for a moment as she speaks and approaches. "Well, I admit, I've never tried it on someone with your talents, but I'm sure willing to give it a shot. It your leg?"
Salem stands quietly by, smoking and keeping an eye on the area.
Nicodemus motions at the afflicted area, concealed under his clothes. "Leg. Side and back below the knee all the way to just above the ankle." He looks around the park as well, wary of observers. "I know someone else that had it used on them before and no one got warts afterwards. We need to go somewhere or...?" Clearly not his area of expertise.
Mouse shakes her head. "Nah, s'nothing really showy to it. Here." She drops to a crouch, and reaches slowly toward the afflicted leg. "Mind if I roll up the bottom of your pants just a sec? I need to touch you, and we both need to hold still."
Salem continues to stand guard.
Nicodemus leans slightly against his car, firmly stabilizing himself. "Okay. Go ahead. It's bandaged, though." He adds that last bit in the event that might be an issue. He seems ready to grit his teeth together, as if not expecting this to be pleasant.
Mouse rolls the pantleg up just an inch or so, enough to cup the palm of her hand very lightly around the visibly bandaged injury. Then she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, releasing the air very slowly. There's nothing fancy, no pyrotechnics or glowing lights, but she reaches deep and activates her gift.
Nicodemus does indeed grit his teeth as something--not sure what, but something--happens beneath the bandage. The teeth gritting metamorphoses into a brief shiver just prior to the conclusion of the theurge's activities. In hindsight, it's probably a good thing he's not seated in his car with Mouse kneeling outside an opened door and leaning into the vehicle.
Salem glances over as Mouse does her thing and watches keenly.
Mouse leaves her hand on the bandaged ankle for a few moments after the healing has finished, and then pulls away and straightens up. She looks faintly drained, but amiable. "How's it feel now?"
"Better. /Lots/ better," Nicodemus says as he tenatively applies weight back to his left leg--and it holds. He bends down to roll his pantleg up bit by bit, explosing a bandage that's secured at about the ankle and goes upwards from there. He pulls the tape off to remove the bandage--fortunately the leg hair has already been shaved off prior to the tape holding the bandage in place. His leg appears perfectly fine, though the bandage is nearly a foot and a half long with the interior collecting bits of charred flesh and minute traces of blood. Whatever had been under there earlier had been damn ugly and painful. "I am officially impressed. Thank you," he says to Mouse, but tangentially including Salem as well.
Salem smiles faintly at this, first time this evening. "Hell," he rasps. "Not like we don't owe you. And still owe you." He flicks ash onto the ground, then takes a drag off the cigarette.
Mouse grins slightly. "Nah, don't worry about it. Thank /you/. You saved our asses a while back, Jedi." She points to Salem. "And what he said. S'good to meet you."
Nicodemus is apparently of the doubting Thomas variety, and takes a moment to poke at his left calf before rolling his pant leg back down. "That saved me a good four to six months of healing and exciting skin graft surgeries." He tosses the bandage into the floorboard of his car as he straightens back up to look between you both. "And one hell of a scar." As Mouse mentions 'Jedi', he gives her a second looking over as he rubs briefly at the side of his forehead to clear his thoughts. He seems more focused now. "Ah, so you're the one that made the Star Wars reference I heard through Salem. "Detective Nicodemus Dalton," he says by way of introduction as he extends his hand. "Jedi Outcast."
Salem, relieved, lets Mouse introduce herself, and gives the parking lot another quick scan. He even glances upward, wary of certain snoopy birds.
"Mouse," replies the metis, as she reaches to take the hand and give it a single, firm shake. "Jack's family, obviously."
Nicodemus matches the firmness of the shake, and his hand radiates an elevated heat that clashes with the cold night air. "Yeah, I've known him for ages. Usually from some distance away. I, uh, prefer to work in the shadows--if he hasn't filled you in on that bit?"
Mouse nods as she lets her hand drop to her side. "Yeah, I gathered as much. Makes plenny sense to me."
Salem grunts. "Especially these days."
Ishmael grunts. "You're telling me. They can all go fuck themselves. 'Cept Mouse. She's been pretty good." The teen levels a lopsided grin at Riley, but it's forced. "Trading chips that bite back maybe. I'll remember all this."
"Yeah," Riley mumbles, "I'm not going to be a dickhead to cubs unless they deserve it, and if those cliaths try to push me around after I've proven myself a garou? Well, they'd better be ready to defend themself in a challenge." He folds his arms.
Mouse pushes open the door slowly, and with plenty of warning. She brings with her a veritable miasma of cigarette smoke (and she's still smoking), and she doesn't look much better for her self inflicted time-out. Calmer, yes. But still exhausted and strained.
Ishmael nods at Riley in agreement. "You fuckin' bet your life," he says. And then Mouse walks in. And then she gets a nod, too. "Yo, again," he offers. "Want some Morphine? Think Basil might have some around somewhere."
Riley glances towards Mouse, arms still folded, "...Izzy clued me in."
Mouse shakes her head, and though it's not possible she could mistake that for a serious offer, she nevertheless seems to take it as soon. "...Doesn't do much for me. Metis." She /is/ moving rather stiffly. "What'd you need, Riley?" She moves past both of them without stopping, picks out a spot of floor, puts out her cigarette, and then promptly lays down on her back, grimacing.
Ishmael is leaning against the wall, arms folded and rested against hist chest. "Worth a try," he mumbles, glancing away.
"What'd I... oh!" Riley rubs the back of his head, thinking furiously as the time before his silence become awkward quickly begins to evaporate. "Uh," He mutters, "I was just wondering, if... y'know..." More head rubbing. A little ruffling of his hair, some scratching at the back of his head. "Yeah, just..." Lightbulb! "If you were hungry!" He states, too loudly, nodding his head. "Beeee... cause, I uh... heh, I was thinking of maybe... uh, picking something up..."
Mouse continues grimacing. She sure doesn't /look/ comfortable, lying like that. Riley gets a look, one eyebrow raised. It's bemused, if anything. "Sure," she says. "I'm hungry. How 'bout a sandwich?"
"Me too," Ishmael takes the bait, considering. "Something with Roast Beef."
Riley's features fall slightly - he wasn't expecting his bluff to be called. Eyes twitching a few times, he slinks towards the door, "Yeah, uh... back in a bit, then."
Mouse gives a faint, quiet laugh. "You don't have to, Riley. I don't much feel like actually eating anymore than you feel like actually getting food."
"But... lunch," Ishmael frowns, patting his stomach.
Peering back over his shoulder towards Mouse, Riley blinks a few times, and turns away from the door, leaning up aginst the wall and crossing his arms and legs, head bowing slightly, "What are you gonna do?"
"Food in the fridge," Mouse replies to Ishmael. Riley's question gets a long pause, and then a quiet, truthful, "I don't know. You should be ready to pack in case we have to move again."
"Why would we have to move again?" Ismael wonders, indeed heading towards the fridge. Growing teen and such. There's an insinuation he's catching from the statement, but he'd rather make sure.
The statement makes Riley look distinctly uncomfortable, and he mumbles, "Yeah. I never really unpacked, just been living out of the duffel, so..." His shoulders sag.
"Because Vera and the rest of the Sept know about this safehouse," Mouse replies, sounding dubious. Her hands clasp over her stomach, and she remains prone. "And I'm not giving any of my fucking tribe to any fucking Shadow Lords."
That statement has Riley doing a double-take, and his voice lowers significantly, "Mouse-rhya, what are you talking about?"
"You think Salem will agree with that?" Ishmael wonders. "That he won't go deal with Vera himself?"
Mouse shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm just making backup plans. Backup plans I don't want to use unless I have to. And I highly doubt that Vera intends a direct challenge. That's not how Shadow Lords work. She isn't going to give him any kind of fair chance."
Riley lowers his head down into his hand, frowning, "How did they think this was a fair judgment to make? I mean, I'm glad that they didn't decide to kill Kavi-rhya, or something equally stupid, but... this feels less like a decision and more like them shoving their collective noses right up the Alpha's backside."
"So used to kowtowing..." Ishmael mumbles from the kitchen, gathering food. Hungry, this one. From all the anxiety, probably.
"It's not /fair/," Mouse grumbles. "And it sure as hell isn't impartial. They said it themselves: the Alpha wants a punishment. So they're giving her a punishment, and trying to twist it all around to make it seem like they're not just doing what the alpha, who is /not/ a fucking half moon, wants."
"I don't understand," Riley admits with a rough shake of his head, "She's making so many selfish decisions - she doesn't even seem like she's looking out for the entire Sept, but her tribe first and foremost... why is someone like that our leader?"
"She's highest rank, yeah?" Ishmael shrugs, gnawing on a sandwich of his creation. "And someone's yet to challenge her. So I think, anyways."
Mouse states, flatly, "Because no one has challenged her." She's sacked out on the floor, on her back, looking extremely uncomfortable and, for that matter, exhausted. She's not wearing her sunglasses, which means her eyes are quite visible. As for her apartment, there is literally /no/ furniture. Just three pillows on the floor, a laptop in the corner, and a fridge.
And some roaches, here and there, along the baseboards.
There's a quiet knock at the door, along with Salee's voice behind the door. "Mouse? May we come in?"
Riley offers a snort, shaking his head - at the knock, he moves towards the door again, glancing to Mouse before making a move.
Mouse gives Riley a nod.
Riley moves to the door, and opens it quietly - Salee's offered a 'look', but nothing more.
Salee steps into the apartment with her brows hiked up toward her dark hairline. "Wow. I never thought I'd see a place /less/ furnished than mine." She artfully dodges stepping on a roach and quickly turns to the blonde behind her. "Mind the roaches. Think of it like how Egypt reveres cats. That's how we are about roaches. I'll... Maybe Mouse can explain it?" That's a hopeful look to the Elder if ever there was one. "Mouse, this is Gail. Gail, this is Mouse. She's the Elder of the Glass Walkers." She gestures to the other cub and introduces him as well. "That's Riley. Another tribemate."
Ishmael waves to the approaching pair with a fabricated joviality. "Yo, Salee. Gail." He attempts a grin, but the miasma of solemnity is thick in the room.
Abigail's attention is focused solely on the floor as she follows Salee's footsteps, edging her way around the clickity-click of scampering roach legs. "Uh, hi," she mumbles without looking up, though the familiar sound of Ishmael's voice causes her to tilt her head in his general direction. She reaches up to brush a few greasy curls of tangled blonde hair away from her face to get a better look at him before her eyes dart to Mouse and then, finally, Riley. "Nice t'meet you."
Mouse doesn't bother to attempt cheerfulness, though she does sit up with some visible effort and peer curiously toward the unfamiliar person. "Hey," she says. "So uh. Who is Gail?" This question seems directed at Salee, mostly.
Riley turns his focus from Salee to the shorter young woman nearby to her. He gives her enough of a glance to be polite, and then gives a small bow of his head as he murmurs, "Hey." His voice sounds slightly strained. Glancing in Mouse's direction, and then back to Salee, he nods, "Yeah... no offense to Abby, er Gail, or whatever. Who is she?"
"Ish didn't tell you?" Salee shoots a look to the boy. Not a harsh one, but more curious. "I found Gail in the alley. She had her First. Lost cub and all of that."
Ishmael shakes his head. "With all the shit goin' on, I didn't want dump more shit on her. I was hopin' it would all end sooner than later. Sorry about that." He's got a sandwich. A minute later he doesn't. Yum.
Abigail lets her gaze roam around the apartment, her jaw clenching every now and then as she seems to silently make note of something unseen. "Salee said I should see you," she says after a short pause, then swallows, "t'talk about where I should go."
Mouse suddenly seems to become a lot more alert. She focuses on Abigail, and then her attention shifts again to Salee. And her first question likely sounds very, very strange. "...Does anyone outside our tribe know about her?"
Ishmael says "Don't remember talkin' to anyone else about her. Or seein' anyone else." Ishmael shakes his head, but he offers Mouse a dubious glare as if to say 'are you fucking serious?'
Riley's quiet for the moment. From the looks of it, it seems like he's just biding his time on this one, waiting for it to play out. His gaze simply drifts about the room, content to observe. He hooks a thumb through one of his belt loops.
Salee closes her eyes tightly, trying to think. "Just Basil," she says after a moment, opening her eyes again. "Pretty sure it's just Basil. You didn't meet anybody else, did you Gail?"
"Just Basil," Abigail says, shaking her head. "That's, uh, not bad, is it?"
Mouse shakes her head. "No, it's good. Abigail, I'd like you to stay here for a while, until we can figure out where you fit." Her gaze shifts to include the rest of her tribe. "And I don't want anyone else not in tribe knowing about her presence, yet."
"What's going on, Mouse," Salee demands. "We've never been secretive about cubs before."
Ishmael says ""Shit," Ishmael seethes simply."
The glare that Ishmael gave Mouse did not go unnoticed by Abigail. Now, her mouth creases into a deep frown, and though it looks as though she might want to protest, she does not.
"We haven't had a Shadow Lord bitch demanding a blood price either," Mouse responds, and there, there's some of that prior heat, coming back to cover the exhaustion. "Vera wants two of our cubs, or Salem's head. Well, she's not /getting/ two of our cubs, or one of our cubs, /or/ Salem's head, and I'm not giving her some poor lost cub that just blew in off the street either."
Ishmael suddenly seems to regard Mouse much more favorably, and even smiles, albeit dryly. "Good to hear."
"She wants our cubs?" Salee's knees buckle and for a moment, she looks as though she might faint. She stays upright, however. "I see. You're right. We can't and we /won't/ be giving her any of the sort."
"Shadow Lords," Abigail mutters. "Spooky." She shoves her hands into her pockets and glances sidelong at Mouse. "What do they want with Sally's dad?"
"Salem killed one of theirs," Ishmael explains. "Granted, he was a fucking bastard who stuck his nose into places where it was needed. It was sort of an accident," he qualifies. "Sort of."
Ishmael pages to the room: *wasn't.
Salee levels a dangerous glare on Ishmael, "If I ever hear you speak that way about Felix again..."
Riley leans off of the wall, glancing to Salee, "Yeah. We get it. You're angry and pregnant. Rawr." His hands tuck into his pockets and he scowls, "Can we stay on topic?"
Mouse blinks, and looks toward Salee. There's almost, /almost/ amusement there at 'Sally's dad', but it can't quite seem to fight its way through her temper. "Felix being a bastard or a saint doesn't seem to matter to the half moons or Vera, so it doesn't really matter to me at the moment. What /does/ matter is we're in a shit load of trouble, because I am /not/ going to give her what she's asking for, and she has the fucking halfmoons halfway into her pocket. Riley, enough. Salee, ditto."
"Is Garou society always this biblical?" asks Abigail, morbid curiosity getting the better of her. "Eye for an eye--I get it. But kids? What does she want with your kids?"
Ishmael murmers a soft apology to Salee, quickly followed by a whisper to Riley along the lines of it still being true, though.
"Don't you talk to me like that!" Salee turns her fury onto Riley. "I may have respect for you, because you are still of my tribe, and more importantly, still of Gaia, but you will /not/ speak to me like that." She schools her features back to neutrality and returns her attention to Mouse. "Sorry. But if I keep letting you fight my battles, nobody's going to take me seriously."
Riley backs off a step, turning his head from Salee with a frown. His features relay that he's not impressed, but he doesn't force the issue, either. "Yeah, well. Let's just try to stick to what's important right now, and not finding more reasons to fight with eachother."
"Understood and agreed," Mouse says, her jaw working briefly. "But I'd prefer these battles to be fought at some point when I'm not discussing our tribe being decimated." To Abigail, she explains, "She wants to make them /her/ cubs. It gives her tribe more power, and should both of them make Cliath, it gives her two Cliaths to replace one lost Cliath, and she comes out ahead." Then her attention shifts briefly to Riley, and she makes a gesture with her hand. "Riley. Show her throat, and let's drop it right now."
"What can she do if you don't play along?" Ishmael wonders. "I mean, they wouldn't get violent, would they?"
Abigail's brow knits with obvious confusion, and her lips silently form the word "Cliath," committing it to memory.
Eyes squinting slightly at Mouse's request and then rolling back a little, Riley turns to face Salee, offering a brief grunt. He hesitates for a moment, eyeing the ground, and then leans his head back, closing his eyes. "Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."
"They'll never make Cliath," Salee says grimly. "The Shadow Lords would take a perverse pleasure in culling them before they ever have the chance. Mark my words." She eyes Riley for a moment, and almost looks as though she doesn't want to accept his apology, but she finally nods. "I don't like to pull rank, Riley. But I like being disrespected even less. I assure you, I've been bitchy since before I was pregnant. Don't you ever refer to my condition as a negative again."
"Yes they would," Mouse mutters to Ishmael. To Salee, she shakes her head. "There's no benefit in culling them just because they're pissed at us. Not to say they wouldn't, but I find that unlikely. Either way, it's a moot point, because I'm not giving Vera any fucking cubs."
"Not t'be disrespectful or anything," Abigail cuts in. "But wouldn't it be to your advantage, having two of your people on the inside? So what if they make Cliath? That's good, isn't it?" Nervously, she begins to worry her lower lip, rolling it between her teeth. "Planting people you can trust... in a tribe that you can't?"
It's as hollow an acceptance as it is an apology - but the formality holds, and Riley nudges his hands down into his pockets, holding his tongue from further commenting to Salee, though he does appear as though he would have choice words to say. Glancing towards Abigail, he hesitates, and then looks to Mouse, uncertain. "Ideally, we're not supposed to be having all this in-fighting and politics at all. Encouraging it isn't exactly beneficial, is it?"
"What are we going to do, then? She'll want /something/ in return. Or I'm afraid she'll just plot to kill Jack." Salee wobbles for a moment, going quite pale that the very idea. She looks over to Abigail and then looks to Mouse. "I wouldn't give them any cubs..." There's a 'but' in there somewhere.
From afar, to the room, Salee *at the very idea
Mouse's jaw starts to work again, clearly intending to reply to Abigail, but that unspoken 'but' catches her attention, and she focuses on Salee. "/But/?" she prompts.
Salem has arrived.
"But... If she wants her pound of flesh, she can have me. Cliath for Cliath." Salee looks Mouse in the eye when she stays this. She's absolutely serious.
Salem knocks a few times on the door.
That does manage to cause Riley's brows to lift. His focus turns to Mouse, watching her reaction. When the knock at the door breaks his concentration, he leans forward, and reaches for the doorknob, opening it a few cracks. Recognizing Salem, he opens the door wider, allowing him in.
"They didn't ask for you, Sally," Abigail points out, though her voice has taken on an almost fearful note. The very idea that she might lose the one person who's been kindest to her chills her to the very core. "And... don't you technically count for two?" Her eyes drop to Salee's midsection, and she is silent.
From afar, to the room, Ishmael is back now.
"I think Mouse's point is that we don't actually /owe/ them anything," Ishmael counters quickly, offering a helpless shrug. "I dunno, really--but when it comes to things like this? You do it once, it means you can do it again. We don't want to set precedent, yeah?"
"/Heeeelll/ no," Mouse replies, though she's regarding Salee with the faintest of frowns now. "I am not trading any Cliaths either. My tribe doesn't double as collector's cards." As Riley opens the door, and she spies Salem, she straightens out of that slouch she's been standing in. Welcome to Mouse Room, version 1.0. There's no furniture at all, just three pillows on the floor, a laptop in the corner, and a few roaches along the baseboards. "Jack. Hey. I had a visit from the halfmoons earlier." No prizes for guessing how it went, she's visibly fuming, in spite of her casual tone.
"I'm sure I can convince the Fianna to claim my baby," Salee says somewhat numbly. She freezes when she glances over her shoulder and catches sight of Salem. It's a good ten seconds before she's able to shake off the stupor and respond to Ishmael, "We don't owe them shit, I agree with that. But we can't ignore the fact that they'll take what they think they're owed."
Salem reeks of cigarette smoke, and has another lit cigarette hanging off his lip; he looks scruffy and sunken-eyed and tired and completely unsurprised that the news is bad. His brow furrows as he looks from one face to the next, taking what he's hearing and adding it together. "And... what? Eye for an eye?" His voice is hoarse.
"There has to be some way around all of this, some way to make her see sense. The half-moons are all running under her thumb. It won't do any good talking to them about it until someone talks to Vera." He folds his arms, "I'd almost say I'd do it, but you guys know me. I'd make an ass of myself and get myself culled."
Riley pages to the room: That being Riley.
Ishmael shakes his head, dubious. "She's alpha, though. She doesn't /have/ to see sense. Not to a certain extent, anyways. Though I may not be giving her enough credit."
"/No/," Mouse says toward Salee, in a tone that makes it clear she's not willing to take any arguments on the matter. "Oh we're all getting slammed," she replies to Salem. "Kaz, myself, and Ishmael for bringing guns to the Caern to defend it, Kavi for firing one of them, Kavi /again/ because Vera wants him punished for not giving her information he couldn't give her and which no longer exists and which was /useless/ anyway, and because Vera wants a punishment, the half-moons are giving her a punishment. As for this thing with you." She inhales, then hrmphs. "Oh, they're being /generous/. They're not getting the halfmoons involved at all, except for Vera sending one of hers to 'mediate' with me. Vera wants a /blood price/."
Salee reaches out and snatches the cigarette from Salem with a frown. "Listen to you. You sound terrible. I don't care if you've got Tobacco's Calm." For someone who claims to be the former elder's daughter, she can still act in an awfully maternal fashion. She holds the cigarette between her fingers, away from her body, and frowns at Mouse. "It's my fault this happened. It's only fitting..."
Salem blinks at Salee a little, but lets the presumptive cigarette-snatching go and focuses on Mouse. "A blood price." He looks vaguely ill.
Ishmael continues to look thoroughly uncomfortable, but otherwise says nothing.
"I said /no/," Mouse says to Salee, her jaw twitching faintly. "It is not your fault. You weren't even /there/. You don't get to martyr yourself or your kid out of survivor's guilt. Yeah," she returns her attention toward the philodox. "Which, I might add, she's not fucking getting. Get this. She wants two of our cubs. Two cubs, or she'll likely come and challenge you. Which sure as hell seemed to mean she was just gonna put out a hit. So, since she's not getting our God-damned cubs, and she's not killing you, and she's not getting any /other/ member of this tribe beyond what she's connived the fucking philodox into doing to Kavi, I'm looking for solutions that do /not/ involve any of those things."
Riley has fades back into silence - this has entered into the realm of politics, and having been chastised once, he doesn't seem eager to speak up again just yet.
"And if somebody else /dies/ when I could have given myself up to Vera, I will /never/ forgive myself!" Salee drops the cigarette and stomps it as an outlet for her anger.
"Sally..." Salem's voice is quiet and pained. "Don't. Please." He drags fingers back through thick grey hair and looks at Mouse. "What, /exactly/, did Vera say?"
Mouse's eyes hood. "It wasn't Vera, it was her tribemate. Viktoriya. Because apparently she can nail our tribe to the wall whenever she likes, but she can't be bothered to come by and tell me it herself. She said--" the metis's voice changes in tone slightly--imitation, clearly, but there's no hint of mockery to her tone, "Vera claims blood-price for the loss. Either Salem's life, or two of your cubs in return for the life of a cliath. Think about what you are willing to negotiate, compromise, or offer something else in return. If you are not interested in negotiating between tribes, she's likely to challenge and kill him herself." She grunts. "So either when I next speak with Viktoriya, I offer something /other/ than my tribemembers, or I tell her to tell the Alpha to go piss. /Or/, I go and find Vera."
Salee crosses her arms over her chest. "So what are you gonna do, Mouse?"
Salem grimaces and looks away, hands shoving deep into his pockets. He doesn't say anything for the moment, though his expression is grim and he looks vaguely sick to his stomach.
Mouse's mouth twists. She doesn't say anything in response to Salee for a moment, though as Salem looks away she glances toward him, studying him out of the corner of her eye. "Like I said," she says. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I stress /yet/. I do know what I'm /not/ going to do, and that's something. I'm not giving her cubs. I'm not giving her /you/, and I'm not letting you give her you. And I'm not giving her Jack. And if she wants to come and get him anyway, well, then she can deal with our tribe, because two can play at the shot in the back game. --Preferably, I work something out with Viktoriya. Or I challenge Vera's fucking ass, which would give me the satisfaction of knowing at least /someone/ did it."
Salee walks over and takes Salem's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Stop that. It's my job to look sick like that," she murmurs quietly to him.
Ishmael finally just sighs. "I don't think I have much to add," he shakes his head. "And this is just over my head and making me feel like a speck of shit. May I be excused?" He looks to Mouse.
Salem glances at Salee, not smiling, then looks dully at Mouse. "What do you want me to do?"
Mouse nods at Ishmael, before looking back toward Salem. "I need your help," she replies. "Same as always. 'Specially because I think I've done an outstanding job of pissing off your fellow auspice members today."
Ishmael murmurs a farewell to Riley and a brief thanks to Mouse before scooting towards the door and the less heavy ambiance of the hallway and elsewhere.
Salem winces minutely, partly at Mouse's words, partly at the ringing sound coming from his pocket. "Pardon," he mutters, and steps away to answer his cell. "Yes?"
Salee releases Salem's hand and steps away politely. "Would you really challenge Vera?" Green eye study Mouse intently. She waves absently to Ishmael on his way out.
Abigail takes the opportunity to silently duck out after Ishmael and retreat to the relative solitude of Salee's apartment. Politics--she doesn't pretend to understand.
Riley is playing the wallflower, here - he may feel unable to impact the conversation, but it doesn't mean he's not intensely interested in what's happening.
"Does the phrase 'blood price' sound optimistic to /you/?" says Salem into his cellphone, his voice flat. He walks further into Mouse's empty apartment, moving away from the others. His voice is quiet but just audible. He sighs. "Sorry. Karma continuing to bite me in the ass. What's up?"
Ishmael waves politely to Salee and Salem on his way out.
Mouse glances toward Salem with a frown, though she looks back to Salee after a moment. "Yeah. Which kind've scares the shit out of me all around, but I'm really rather tired of her chewing at us."
"What'll happen to us if you lose?" Salee holds her breath without realizing, waiting for the response.
Riley speaks up, "There is such a thing as honorable surrender, y'know." He pauses, and chews his lip, "Unless there's some sort of different rules for challenging the Alpha."
Salem blinks at something he hears on the phone, then says, "Not me personally, but I know someone who does." He glances over at Mouse and Salee and continues to speak into his cell. "If you're willing to meet her."
Mouse shakes her head. "It's a stupid idea, Salee, because I would lose, and then we'd all be in the crap. But it's fun to entertain when I'm feeling crazy."
Salee shoots a dirty look at Riley. "That would run under the assumption that I consider Vera honourable." Maybe it's hormones, or maybe she's just generally bitchy, but it seems like she's on edge everytime Riley has something to say. She seems to shrug it off, however, and turns to look at Salem with raised brows.
Riley grunts, leaning off of the wall, offering another insipid glance towards Salee, clearly misliking the taste of being shot down again, "Do you really think she'd do that? She'd lose the respect of the Sept in one fell swoop, and violate the litany in the process, and if the Philodoxes don't punish her for that, the spirits will." He folds his arms, "If only there were a way to trick her into challenging -you-, so you could pick terms that don't favor her."
Salem's voice drops to a murmur as he retreats further into the apartment.
Mouse shakes her head. "She's Adren, I'm Fostern, she's Alpha, I'm tribal elder. I don't really have any grounds for her to challenge me /on/." Again, she glances toward Salem, but it's brief.
Salem clicks off and walks back toward the others. "...Mouse. You remember the Jedi lightning that saved your asses that time?"
Riley's shoulders sag slightly, and he puffs a sigh, "Well, I wish -someone- would." Salem's words have him swivelling his head, as well as invoking an expression on his face that suggests he believes the other male has lost his marbles.
Salee rests a hand over her stomach and looks decidedly unwell all of a sudden. "I'm sorry..." She starts running for the door, "You know where to find me if you need me." She slams the door behind her and her footsteps pound off down the hallway toward the stairs.
Mouse grimaces as Salee takes off, before turning toward Salem. "Oh, that's something I doubt I'm ever going to forget, so yeah, I sure do."
Salem actually looks a little relieved at Salee's scuttling out. He eyeballs Riley briefly, then looks at Mouse. "Those pictures of No-Nose? Same man." The halfmoon holds up his cellphone. "And if you're up to healing, he could use a return favor."
Riley bristles slightly, "The same guy that nearly gutted Quiet?"
"Figured it might be." Mouse looks intrigued, which is a far sight better than the anger and gloom she's been sporting all day. "I'm up to it, yeah. Right now?" Riley gets a headshake. "No, the guy who gave us the info on the guy who nearly gutted her."
Salem's brow furrows, then clears as Mouse explains things. He nods to her. "Right now. Just us."
Riley sinks back against the wall, expression slightly exasperated.
Melodie pages to Riley, Ishmael, Mouse, and Salem: The phone rings! Brrring brring!
Mouse eyes her phone in annoyance, and then pulls it out. "Lead on," she says to Salem, before answering. "Yeah?"
Salem heads out with Mouse in tow, digging out his own cellphone and dialling a number from memory.
As the two of them head out of the apartment without another word, Riley can't keep the scowl from his features, and he mutters under his breath, "Yeah, Riley. You can come too, Riley. Follow us, Riley. We'd love to have you, Riley. Actually, Riley, and we're sorry about this, but you can't come, but don't forget, we like you, anyhow! Goodbye, Riley! For fuck's sake." He thumps his head back against the wall, snorting.
Melodie pages: A chipper voice is on the other end. "Hi! Is this Moushe-rhya? This is Melodie, you know, the short one?" She's talking a bit faster than even normal.
Mouse follows Salem briskly, talking into her phone as she goes. "Yeah it is, but this is a bad time. Can it wait?"
Melodie pages: Oh, sorry, sorry! I just wanted to, you know, make sure we're cool, you know? Like, I mean, our tribes, we're really really trying hard and it's so hard and I don't want anything bad to happen and I was feeling bad so I thought I'd call because I had your number.
Mouse hesitates a moment, and then when she speaks again, her voice is exasperated mostly, but there's also anger there. "Yeah, well, /no/, because Vera's got you all nailing Kavi for ridiculous shit, and I've already bawled Viktoriya and Lara out over this, and there are lots and lots of things I'm not happy about, but if you want the full chapter and verse I'm afraid it's gonna have to wait, I've gotta take care of something. Call me later."
Melodie pages: Okay, I'm sorry, Vera kinda shcares me, you know? An' so do you. I shouldn't have called, it was a bad idea, I'll let you go now bye! *click*
Harbor Park -- The Meadow(#194RJ)
One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about five feet tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two breaks each at the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end. Wooden posts are being erected at regular intervals all along the earthen wall, while tasteful iron gates and fences are being added at the entrances. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. From the street view or river view, the park is now isolated, as if it existed apart from the city. People in tall buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons for now, though. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed surrounds the fountain.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire.
Contents:
Salem
Nicodemus(#3416PJOc)
Obvious exits:
Bridge Street Fountain First Street River
Salem drives along slowly in the shit-brown Torino, a cigarette hanging off his lip, squinting as he scans for signs of Dalton's car.
Nicodemus is currently residing in a relatively unremarkable grey Toyota Prius (his usual vehicle) out in the parking lot adjacent to Harbor Park.
Mouse is riding shotgun. She hung up shortly before they even got into the car, and now she's just sitting, sunglasses on in spite of it being dark. She might be dozing, for all the company she gives poor Salem. Lost in thought much?
Salem isn't great company either, what with the depressed mood he's in tonight. He spots the Prius and parks -- not next to it, but a few spots down. Getting out, he pulls up the collar of the big leather coat he's wearing and walks over to the other car, bending down as he nears it and squinting in.
The driver's side window scrolls down as Salem approaches. "Hey," he says in greeting, soft and a little disfocused--likely a result of the pain medications mentioned earlier, or some other concoction. He seems a little out of it. Not entirely, certainly a little.
Mouse isn't far behind Salem, though she does hang back just a little bit, off behind his right shoulder, looking for all the world like a reject from the Matrix trilogy.
Salem peers in at the man in the driver's seat of the Prius. "I brought her," he says simply, and then straightens up to gesture Mouse over.
Nicodemus looks beyond Salem to Mouse, forcing his eyes to focus in on her and look her over. "Thanks," he says to Salem, voice touched with sincerity. He opens his car door and very carefully extricates himself from the vehicle, clearly favoring his right leg and clearly not testing the capabilities of his left leg. "Hi," he says to Mouse. "Salem seems to think you're golden. Can you help me?"
Mouse grins faintly. "Hey." She sweeps off the sunglasses now, studying Nicodemus for a moment as she speaks and approaches. "Well, I admit, I've never tried it on someone with your talents, but I'm sure willing to give it a shot. It your leg?"
Salem stands quietly by, smoking and keeping an eye on the area.
Nicodemus motions at the afflicted area, concealed under his clothes. "Leg. Side and back below the knee all the way to just above the ankle." He looks around the park as well, wary of observers. "I know someone else that had it used on them before and no one got warts afterwards. We need to go somewhere or...?" Clearly not his area of expertise.
Mouse shakes her head. "Nah, s'nothing really showy to it. Here." She drops to a crouch, and reaches slowly toward the afflicted leg. "Mind if I roll up the bottom of your pants just a sec? I need to touch you, and we both need to hold still."
Salem continues to stand guard.
Nicodemus leans slightly against his car, firmly stabilizing himself. "Okay. Go ahead. It's bandaged, though." He adds that last bit in the event that might be an issue. He seems ready to grit his teeth together, as if not expecting this to be pleasant.
Mouse rolls the pantleg up just an inch or so, enough to cup the palm of her hand very lightly around the visibly bandaged injury. Then she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, releasing the air very slowly. There's nothing fancy, no pyrotechnics or glowing lights, but she reaches deep and activates her gift.
Nicodemus does indeed grit his teeth as something--not sure what, but something--happens beneath the bandage. The teeth gritting metamorphoses into a brief shiver just prior to the conclusion of the theurge's activities. In hindsight, it's probably a good thing he's not seated in his car with Mouse kneeling outside an opened door and leaning into the vehicle.
Salem glances over as Mouse does her thing and watches keenly.
Mouse leaves her hand on the bandaged ankle for a few moments after the healing has finished, and then pulls away and straightens up. She looks faintly drained, but amiable. "How's it feel now?"
"Better. /Lots/ better," Nicodemus says as he tenatively applies weight back to his left leg--and it holds. He bends down to roll his pantleg up bit by bit, explosing a bandage that's secured at about the ankle and goes upwards from there. He pulls the tape off to remove the bandage--fortunately the leg hair has already been shaved off prior to the tape holding the bandage in place. His leg appears perfectly fine, though the bandage is nearly a foot and a half long with the interior collecting bits of charred flesh and minute traces of blood. Whatever had been under there earlier had been damn ugly and painful. "I am officially impressed. Thank you," he says to Mouse, but tangentially including Salem as well.
Salem smiles faintly at this, first time this evening. "Hell," he rasps. "Not like we don't owe you. And still owe you." He flicks ash onto the ground, then takes a drag off the cigarette.
Mouse grins slightly. "Nah, don't worry about it. Thank /you/. You saved our asses a while back, Jedi." She points to Salem. "And what he said. S'good to meet you."
Nicodemus is apparently of the doubting Thomas variety, and takes a moment to poke at his left calf before rolling his pant leg back down. "That saved me a good four to six months of healing and exciting skin graft surgeries." He tosses the bandage into the floorboard of his car as he straightens back up to look between you both. "And one hell of a scar." As Mouse mentions 'Jedi', he gives her a second looking over as he rubs briefly at the side of his forehead to clear his thoughts. He seems more focused now. "Ah, so you're the one that made the Star Wars reference I heard through Salem. "Detective Nicodemus Dalton," he says by way of introduction as he extends his hand. "Jedi Outcast."
Salem, relieved, lets Mouse introduce herself, and gives the parking lot another quick scan. He even glances upward, wary of certain snoopy birds.
"Mouse," replies the metis, as she reaches to take the hand and give it a single, firm shake. "Jack's family, obviously."
Nicodemus matches the firmness of the shake, and his hand radiates an elevated heat that clashes with the cold night air. "Yeah, I've known him for ages. Usually from some distance away. I, uh, prefer to work in the shadows--if he hasn't filled you in on that bit?"
Mouse nods as she lets her hand drop to her side. "Yeah, I gathered as much. Makes plenny sense to me."
Salem grunts. "Especially these days."
