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Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (60% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.22 and falling, and the relative humidity is 36 percent. The dewpoint is 28 degrees Fahrenheit (-2 degrees Celsius.)

Dominion Estate

The Dominion estate spreads out over a small hill, giving the mansion built at the peak a view of the surrounding suburban countryside. The grassy lawn is dotted with statuary and encircled by hedges grown up to hide the stone wall which surrounds the estate. A gravel driveway snakes elliptically up from the front gate northward to the house, east from there to the garage, then back towards the front gate. Preparations for some sort of garden have been made on the western slope of the hill.

The house itself is old and appears to have had had work done it over the years. The original, main part of the house is made of gray stone and reaches four stories high with the tower. The east and west wings appear newer and are made of brick and wood. The previous decay and disrepair can still be seen, but there also seems to have been some effort put into fixing the place up.

(+views set)

Contents:

Salem

Obvious exits:

Mansion Front Gate

Shreds of light still cling to the sky, but brighter are the streetlights of Fifteenth Avenue and the security lights mounted on the wall that surrounds the stately Dominion Estate. A security camera and an intercom greets visitors outside the black metal gate, and through it can be seen the long, winding driveway and the mansion itself... and a tall figure sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a long black coat.

A pair of headlights sweep up to the gate and just past; a small dark pickup parks under the closest of the streetlights. The woman who gets out takes a moment to zip up her coat before shoving the door closed, then eyes the nearby buildings before focusing on the Dominion gate. She checks something pulled from one pocket before approaching, the intercom given a quick bzzt. Perhaps she doesn't notice the figure outside.

Salem gets up from his seat and strolls down the driveway toward the gate, taking his time, his manner full of the confidence of one who's comfortable in his kin and is on his home turf. The tails of his leather duster sweep around faded jeans and battered boots -- all three various shades of black. Natalie has plenty of time to notice him by the time he reaches the gate.

And notice him she does - but not until he's more than halfway there. The woman rocks backward, almost but not quite taking a step before recovering herself and slipping into a more balanced stance. Knees bent, chin jerked up and resettled, hands at her sides she merely waits, watching the man's approach. "Sorry I'm late. Forgot to add getting lost time."

Salem takes a moment to look her up and down, head cocked. Then he smiles tightly, brings out a small black device, and presses a button. As the gate swings slowly open, the tall, scarred man steps back, gesturing her in without a word.

Natalie steps out of the way of the gate, a hand brushing hair back from one ear. "You, um, must be Jack? Salem?" she wonders, stepping through once the gate's opened wide enough for her to enter. "I'm... Natalie Baker? Jeremy told you about me?"

Salem glances back and nods. He lets her catch up to him, and then speaks quietly, in a grating, nasal voice that's pitched too high for a man his size. "He did. Pardon my... affliction." He gestures in the direction of his throat. "It'll be over within the next day or two." By the time he's finished speaking, the gate has finished opening and is now beginning to swing slowly closed.

Natalie twitches away from the voice as if he'd just pulled nails down a chalkboard. "Uh... yeah." She uses the moment it takes to regather composure to instead study the house, giving the grounds only a fleeting look. "...Sorry. Um. So that's why Jeremy said voice mail or text, huh? Is he... here?" Another chin jerk, this time toward the house. "Nice place. 1890s?"

"I think so..." Salem starts toward the house again, trusting the newcomer will follow. "Jeremy's not here, actually. The kin generally don't choose to live here. But he knows you're stopping by, so he might be over later."

Newcomer does indeed follow, situating herself so she's just to the side and perhaps half a step behind the taller man. "You guys have done some work on it, huh? It'll be interesting to meet him, instead of just sending emails."

Salem smiles tightly. "Mostly basic maintenence, though Jeremy set up the in-house network. The former owner did most of the restoration that you can see, however." He shrugs, fishing for his keys as they reach the front door.

Natalie's quite clearly itching for a tour, but she's polite enough not to ask. Quite yet. "So, um... nice weather, huh? Lots warmer than it is back home. Minnesota, I mean." The true Curse of the Garou is thus revealed: small talk.

Horrors. Salem smirks, eyeing her intently for a moment. "It's even warmer inside," he says in that grating whine. "You can introduce yourself properly... and, later, I'll show you the house." With that, he unlocks the door, opens it, and gestures her inside.

With a tug, you manage to open one of the oaken doors and pass through to the mansion itself.

Cockroach Mansion -- Downstairs

The heavy, dark opulence to this mansion known as Dominion is perfectly exemplified by the room vistors first enter, this front hall. Dark-stained wood serves as paneling on the walls, gleams with high gloss in the hardwood floor, and supports a semi-circular balcony in carved pillars. The heavy double doors, made of oak, open into the hall from the south, opposite the huge, hourglass-shaped staircase composed of red and black gneiss which soars up to the balcony; both are fenced in with a wooden railing of simple spiraled posts. Several doorways can be made out on the second floor, nearly blending in discreetly with the back wall. The wall to the left of the front doors is composed entirely of windows which run from the forty-foot-tall domed dark wood ceiling to the floor; if drawn, the heavy velvet drapes of deep red would completely mask them from view, but when parted, as they often are, one has a marvelous view of the grounds outside.

A doorway to the right of the front doors leads to a parlor, and towards the back are the kitchens, the large dining room, and Salem's office.

Obvious exits:

Tower Stairway Salem's Office Parlor Front Doors

Natalie doesn't go any farther than just inside the door - and out of Salem's way. Coat unzipped she looks around at the house with a practiced eye. Not until the door closes does she look back, head tipped to one side to display throat. "Holds-the-Line. Galliard, and cliath."

Salem shows her where the front hall closet is and offers her a wooden hanger. "Scar. Philodox and Fostern. And Elder." She gets a nod of approval at the throat-baring and turns away briefly to hang up his coat. "Parlor's through there," he says, with a nod toward a doorless arch. "Have a seat... and you can tell me about yourself."

Natalie wriggles out of her coat, gets it hung, and heads into the parlor, fingers trailing along the wall behind her.

Cockroach Mansion -- Parlor

This room is a palette of whitewash and wood tones, a cross between a library and an adult's recreation room. To the right of the door way, tall windows with a deep-set seat and heavy earth-brown velvet drapes show a view of the front lawn. The far and left hand walls are inset with wooden bookshelves just over man-height tall; the collection of books is varied, with both fiction and non-fiction. The floor is well-carpeted in a light tan color, and the furnishings -- an old but nice-looking couch plus several armchairs and small tables -- match the decor. One side of the room boasts a fairly impressive-looking entertainment center, complete with high-definition television.

An open doorway leads west out into the front hall.

Obvious exits:

Front Hall

Natalie's over at the bookshelves examining not the contents, but the shelves themselves. She turns at a sound with a wry smirk. "Sorry," she apologizes again. "I love old house. Professional hobby, y'might say. I love these built-ins. Really gives a house character, y'know?"

Salem settles into a large, comfortable-looking leather armchair that's placed with a good view of the room in general, and the entertainment center in particular. With elbows propped on the arms of the chair and fingers steepled, he regards her. One side of his mouth quirks upward in amusement. "I agree. Professional hobby?"

Natalie shrugs sheepishly, but doesn't move away from the shelves. "Yeah. I do contracting work. Or I would... anyway, I'm in construction. Old houses are just a, a preference. A lot of the modern stuff doesn't have any character. They're like..." Her right hand flips for a moment as she searches. "Cold lefse."

Salem's eyebrows rise, his eyes getting a certain glint when she mentions being in construction. "I agree. So, where are you from, Natalie?"

The woman's answer is immediate. "Minneapolis. Minnesooota." She must be deliberately exaggerating the accent; it's here and gone. "Rited just, um, over three years ago. No, four. Ninety-nine." Apologetic grimace as she explains, "Nines always throw me off."

Salem cocks his head. "And what brings you to St. Claire?"

The grimace returns for a special second showing. "Well, the flip answer's 'I-90'. But, um, you probably want more than that, huh?" She doesn't give the other time for more than a raised eyebrow before she hurries on, "Uh, yeah. Well, I - my pack. It, um... I needed to get out of Dodge, and west was better than east. I've heard about Seattle a little. Figure I'd find a spot close-ish and..." She's fidgeting to beat the band, clearly uncomfortable. "Yeah."

Salem did indeed raise an eyebrow, and now his eyes narrow. "Details, please." Nasal or no, the Elder's tone has the unmistakeable hint of command in it.

Natalie checks to see if folding her arms across her chest helps. The answer must be 'a little', 'cause they don't immediately drop. "Sorry. You, um, want the whole sordid tale, or just the painful overview?"

Salem snorts, but he almost looks sympathetic. "I'll settle for the latter."

Natalie takes in a deep breath, nods. "Right. Well basically I screwed up big time. My pack kinda... disintegrated around me, and my Mom died. Big huge fight with Pop. Um... lots of bar fights, and lots on the tab. I figured I wasn't going - if I stayed there nothing was going to change. Needed... needed a change of scenery."

Salem's eyes narrow, the corners of his mouth tugging into a pensive, considering frown. "Change of scenery I can understand. Can I assume that the drinking isn't going to be a problem?"

Natalie shifts uncomfortably under that narrowing, her arms hitching a little higher, a little tighter. "Don't think so. It's just... I'm no alcoholic, y'know? Just sometimes you need a little time off." Her chin jerks up again, slightly. "Well I got a lot of time off. If I didn't think the vacation was over I wouldn't be here. I'd still be back at the Half-Time buying pitchers."

Salem actually smiles a bit at this, albeit rather wryly. The halfmoon shifts his weight in the chair, legs stretching out, and nods. "Good. Now, as to what you can offer us... Have you given any thought to chiminage?"

Natalie says, "Frankly, I'm not sure if I'm gonna stay." Another deep breath fortifies her bravery enough to continue. "I mean, there's no point me sticking around if I can't pack. Can't find someone to pack with. I just... I've been lone wolf the last few months, and frankly? It sucked. Sucked dead rat through a straw. So I figured I'd stick around here a little bit, see if I like it and it likes me. If not..."

Salem gets that sharp, calculating glint in his eye again. "As it happens, I'm forming a pack with some other city Garou, and there's an opening for a Galliard." His eyes narrow slightly. "But whether you stay or not, or join my pack or another's, there's still the question of what you can offer, apart from being a warm body and a ready set of claws."

Natalie's eyebrows jump ceiling-ward. "Shouldn't I... isn't Chiminage something for the Sept Alpha? Um, sir? S'not that... well, that's how we did it in Minnesota, anyway." Not that she'd accuse her tribe's elder of attempting to shake her down. Of course not.

"It is," Salem confirms, "and it's something she'll ask about when I take you to meet her. But apart from chiminage, I _do_ want to know what kind of skills you have." He arches a brow. "You mentioned construction."

Natalie's mouth makes a little 'o' of understanding. Her arms unfold and hands carefully smoothe out all those pesky invisible wrinkles in her thighs. "Uh, yeah. Construction. All sorts - I can frame, do basic wiring and plumbing. Finish work too. Cabinets, that sort of thing. Pop was - is a contractor too. And, um, I know a couple of Rites and I'm pretty decent in a fight. Sensei kicked me out of classes before I changed, but I've got plenty of hands-on." Now she grins, if faintly. "And I can drive a stick shift."

Salem nods. "Could definitely use you around the house..." Dark eyebrows rise. "...Where you're welcome to stay while you're in town, if you like." His voice cracks in an unseemly way at the last word, prompting a grimace from the Philodox.

There's an answering wince from the Galliard that quickly disappears as Nat's eyes flick around the boundaries of the room as if judging for herself the depth of stain and varnish on exposed woodwork. After a moment she nods, head bobbing like a horse's. "Yeah. I mean, I'd like that. S'gotta be quieter than the Super-8, right?"

From the front hall, Rina enters the mansion from the outside.

Salem smirks faintly. "Not to mention more private. Plus, you'll get a better chance to meet the Family." The halfmoon's voice is still nasal and grating, but he seems quite comfortable in his chair; there's a sense that Natalie has passed some unknown test.

Natalie lets her fingers touch the shelves again, a hint of possessiveness there. "Yeah. I get the feeling Jeremy was laughing at my for my hotmail account. So, um, what's the rest of us like? You're... not what I expected, not compared to Jeremy."

From the front hall, Rina comes in noisily, slinging a heavy duffle bag down by the parlor archway and tossing her helmet carelessly atop it. She peers in, windblown and smelling of cordite.

"Jeremy's our resident tech-head," Salem says. "The rest of us..." He trails off as Rina shows up and gives the new arrival a warm smile. "Just in time, Rina."

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

A black barbed-wire tattoo encircles her neck, and matching inked bracelets are visible on her wrists. There is another marking visible at the base of her neck, not ink but a scarred-in symbol that looks as if it was branded into her skin. (page for details if taking a closer look)

Loose, low-slung black jeans hang from her hips, descending over the tops of well-beaten black Doc Martens. She wears one of her paint-splattered Army t-shirts--a long-sleeved undershirt of grey knit, snug enough to hint at the defined muscles beneath.

A traditional biker jacket in black leather, at least two sizes too big, adds a layer of toughness to the petite woman's attire. Several patches of electrical tape and a small plate of discarded circuit board patch a few holes and rips in the leather: the front and back of both shoulders, and a spot near her waist on the left. There are more additions to the traditional biker body armor: scraps of circuit board, metal spikes and rivets, and a pair of mismatched vambraces that make her look like some sort of Mad Max knight errant.

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

Natalie looks over to the new arrival as well, sans warm smile. Instead she straightens, stiffens, hands dropping to her sides. "Natalie Baker," she offers tersely. "Galliard, cliath."

Pausing at the archway's edge, the dark-haired woman bends down to unlace her muddy boots, without taking her eyes from the newcomer. She heels them off--obviously she's been out somewhere clomping through fields--and steps in, stripping off black gloves. There's a delicate furrowing of her brow at the woman's reaction. "Rina," she says quietly, offering a hand. "You're a Walker, then?"

Natalie doesn't say, "Well duh," she just thinks it real hard, the words all but blazoned in red LED across her forehead. Her eyes flick to Salem, judging his reaction, then back to Rina. "Walker, yeah."

"Visiting from Minnesota," Salem adds, watching them.

Rina nods minutely, her manner utterly businesslike. "Kin, from the Chicago families," she says. "You gonna be stayin', or you just here on business, or what?"

Natalie relaxes at the identification, perhaps deciding the prey isn't worth it. "Both, maybe. I figure I'll stay a few months, see if I can find a pack. If I can't..." A shrug punctuates the end of the shrug. "I've been offered the hospitality of the house while I'm deciding."

"Easier for her to get to know the family that way," Salem says, still watching the pair. "Plus, perhaps she can help us get some of the neglected parts of the house back in order." He peers at Natalie. "Do you know anything about greenhouses, by the way?"

Rina nods minutely. "Y'certainly welcome here," she says, seconding the invitation. Her eyes remain guarded, a little bemused--as if she can't quite place the reason for the woman's reaction. "I run the city biz, so if you want in on anything that end, just ask and I'll find a place for ya. Salem can help you with the tribal shit." Then she looks over to Salem, blinking. "We have a greenhouse?"

"Greenhouse?" echoes Nat, half-heartbeat behind Rina. That earns the other woman a bemused half-grin. "Well, sorta, yeah. Just lots and lots of glazing. What about watering? That done by hand, or what?"

Salem smiles widely, looking rather like a Cheshire Cat. "Not yet. But I think we should have one."

Rina blinks over at Salem. "Oh." Her brow furrows a little, and she blinks at him again. "We'll... have to talk about that, sure. I thought you wanted to keep the house pretty clean of anything, though..."

Salem cocks his head, looking at Rina with a touch of bemusement. "Some greenery will do the place good." Oh, no, he's not going all Urban Farmer on her, is he?

Natalie considers the window and the lawn beyond. "Well, I guess. Gotta get a permit, look into codes, all that sort of thing. You want me to look into kits, or what?" She slouches against the bookshelf, arms folded across her belly this time. "That the sort of city thing you were talking about, Rina?"

Rina's expression is suddenly wry. "Not so much," she murmurs. "But yeah, that'd be great if it's your kinda thing." She rubs at the back of her neck with one hand.

The Walker Elder looks quite pleased, his fingers steepling as plans come together. "Rina handles the more... underhanded business of the family," he explains to Natalie.

"Might have problems since I'm licensed out of state," Nat begins, another lightbulb going on at Salem's explanation. "...Oh. Yeah, um. Probably not, then." Rina gets another, more thorough going over, then her very own, "Sorry."

"No prob," Rina murmurs. She glances to Salem, then, and says, "Something I need to talk t'you about. Jarred. It can wait, though." The dark eyes return to Natalie. "Have you eaten, yet?"

Salem's smile fades a bit at the name, and one eyebrow lifts. But he merely nods -- something for them to discuss in private, obviously.

Natalie says, "Grabbed something at BK. I wouldn't say no to something else, but I'm not gonna frenzy on you, if that's what you're asking." The pair get yet another look and the shelving a quick pat before she offers, "I've gotta go get my stuff from the motel anyway. Is this it? I mean, is this all the Walkers here?"

Salem shakes his head. "There are a few others," he grates out. "Not many but... a good handful. You'll meet them in time." He glances at Rina. "In fact, it's about time we had another tribe moot, isn't it."

Rina nods minutely. "Yeah. I'll send somethin' out. She can take my room, if y'want."

Natalie waits vainly for the peals of laughter. "Uh... excuse me?" Perhaps she heard Rina wrong. Perhaps this is a strange Chicago tradition.

The look Salem gives Rina is significant. "Well, since the bed's already made up and you're not using it..." Natalie's comment garners her a look of her own. "Hm?"

The dark-haired kin looks over to her, and explains, "I don't stay here very often, see. And it's already got a bed and stuff."

"Most of the rooms don't have beds?" Natalie's clearly floundering, and as clearly frantically paddling. "Uh... all right, I guess. Long as I'm not putting you out, or anything."

Rina laughs a little, giving a quick shake of her head. "No," she answers, explaining after a moment. "I don't live here. So it's just another room. And yeah, some of the place isn't entirely furnished yet. It's kinda huge, and we just moved in last year, so."

Natalie says, "Mr. Salem said I'd get a tour later - can't wait. I love these old houses. I like renovating more than I like building new stuff. There's all sorts of stories these places could tell, y'know? If these walls could talk, and all."

Rina winces slightly, and shares a Significant Look with the scarred man. "Yeah. Well. They do. We have a slight haunting problem."

Natalie double-takes. "A what where?"

"Mmmhm." Rina rakes a hand through her hair, looking away as she musses it self-consciously. "It's... a bit annoying sometimes."

"Quieted down a lot, though, lately," Salem murmurs, rubbing at his chin. "Haven't heard a peep in weeks."

Natalie looks between the two as if expecting to find herself the butt of a joke. "Try that again," she all but demands. "This place is what?"

"Haunted," Rina says quietly. "As in ghosts. You know. Spectres, ectoplasm, the whole nine yards."

"Apparantly," Salem says, not joking at all, "this plot of land is a sanctuary for ghosts. A safe haven. To the point where the nasty things they have to deal with is better than anything _outside_ the land." He shrugs. "It's also, apparantly, a cyclic thing... but I'm still hoping that we can dig out the sourse so that we don't repeat history."

"You've had a theurge in, right?" tests the Galliard, still expecting to break through the ice of reality into the freezing water of completely lunatic. "What sort of... nasty things are there for ghosts? I mean, really, come on."

Rina lifts a shoulder, and looks over to Salem, letting him explain the crazy stuff.

Salem wrinkles his nose, his frown deepening at Natalie. "They don't exist in the Umbra. We've been there. Few spirits feeding on the ghosts' pain, or were, but nothing unusual Basically, we can't go where they go." He shrugs. "Some of them are vile. Others fairly benign. And, as I said, they haven't acted up in weeks."

Natalie's only further comment is a, "Huh," that suggests she's reserving final judgement. "Well, you said it was cyclical. So maybe they've moved on."

"Or maybe they've gotten used to us," Rina says lightly, one shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. "Who knows. So not my department."

"We're a little strapped for Theurges," Salem notes to Natalie, candidly. "Basically, one cub who'll be Rited in less than a month."

"Couple friends from other tribes, who come around quite a bit," Rina adds. "So."

Natalie straightens interestedly. "He already have his Rite planned for him? 'Cause if not, maybe figuring out these ghost things would do."

Salem shakes his head. "His Rite's planned." The halfmoon smiles humorlessly.

Natalie shrugs, water off a duck's back. "Yeah, well, I figured. It'd probably be a sign of the Apocalypse if you let some stranger waltz in and dictate terms for your cub's Rite of Passage." Her grin flickers, impish. "Can't blame me for asking, though."

"Reminds me," Rina says quietly. "Josh seems to be doin' better. Apparently Jarred--" there follows an epithet in italian, "--tried to fuck with him, and the kid managed to dodge it."

Salem grimaces. "Why the hell do you think I challenged him?" He frowns. "Wait. When did Jarred mess with Josh?"

Natalie keeps quiet, thanks. Eavesdropping is a delicate sport.

Rina tips her head slightly. "She said it was something you didn't know about. Apparently he handed our boy a gun and some other presents, and offered to teach him to shoot. Wouldn't take the stuff back when the kid refused it... and just walked away.

The Kin's dark eyes are slightly narrowed. "I'd be so happy if this gun turns out to be registered to him... but probably not."

Salem sucks on a tooth and frowns. "Mmh. Where's the gun now?" He glances sidelong at Natalie and explains, "Jarred's the local Shadow Lord Elder. Currently."

"Currently," the Galliard repeats with a touch of emphasis. "There a... palace coup in the works? Everyone knows but him, or something?"

"In a case in the hall. I haven't looked yet t'see if it's got a serial."

"I have a feeling they're divided," Salem explains to Natalie, and then nods to Rina.

Rina murmurs, "Sorry." She gives Salem a dark look. "I figure I'll let you handle it. But I want him near our kids about as much as you do."

Natalie suggests, "Confusion to our enemies?" Then, "Uh, 'scuse me if I'm speaking out of turn, or anything, but why -is- a Shadow Lord training our - your cubs?"

Salem's mouth thins. "He isn't. Joshua is out on the Bawn getting some... intensive last-minute training before he Rites. He has teachers out there, and Jarred is very much not one of them."

Natalie says, "Well, it sounds like he's got enough moxie to keep this Jarred off his back. S'unusual in a Theurge, but good for him."

"So tell him that," Rina says curtly. "Please. Since I can't tell him without gettin' myself killed."

Salem scowls. "I will, no--" His voice cracks again and he grimaces. "No worries." He rubs his throat. "Tomorrow."

Natalie clears hers sympathetically. "Yeah, well... if you two'll excuse me, I better get back to the Super-8. That way I've got a chance of getting back here before you turn in. Thanks for letting me use your room, Rina. Good meeting you both."

Salem nods, then gets up to walk Natalie out to the door (and to open the gate for her). "Likewise."

"Yeah. Hope you decide to stay." Rina follows them halfway, leaning casually against the arch.

Natalie nods and slips into her coat before heading out into the deep darkness.

[End of log]