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.

Contents:
Salem

Obvious exits:
Tower Stairway Elder's Office Front Doors

The former tribe elder has been scarce as of late, as if to wean the Walkers away from his presence, and when he is around, he's more distant and aloof than usual.

Now, still hours before noon, Salem enters through the front door, having been gone the entire night, and after shedding his coat and sunglasses he clomps his way wearily toward the kitchen.

In Salem's - Natalie's - office, Richard Burton is singing about the wonderful climate of Camelot. The music grows louder as Nat pulls the door open, singing, "...and exits March the second on the dot!" She too swings into the hallway for the kitchen, not looking where she is going and certainly not noticing the arrival of a certain moody Philodox.

Salem is examining the contents of the coffee pot dubiously when she enters the kitchen, deciding whether or not the staleness of the brew is dire enough to warrent the effort and time needed to make a new cup. Glancing up, he eyeballs the Galliard. "Feeling chipper, I see."

"Nothing like a little dramatic musical to make a girl wanna sing," Natalie agrees, crossing to the fridge and hanging within. "Luckily the soundtrack doesn't break my heart the way the stage production does. You want some OJ?" She straightens, carton of the high pulp stuff in hand. "...Haven't seen you around lately."

Salem grunts. "Been making arrangements for tomorrow night. And, yes, some juice'd be fine." Option C, then -- avoid the coffee altogether, at least for the moment. "You get Megan's message about Joshua?"

Natalie says, "I did, yes," with a flat intonation that speaks volumes about her feelings on the matter. Luckily the business of finding two glasses and pouring out the juice is tricky enough - or can be made to be so - that she can avoid further elaboration. For now.

Salem pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and drops himself into it. "Don't know what she's thinking," he grumbles, "interfering with tribe..." He leans his elbows on the table and rubs his eyes. "Suppose she means well, though. Probably thinks its better for the Sept at large."

"Ah yes." The Galliard returns the juice to the fridge and carries the glasses over, sliding herself into the chair across from Salem. "Best for the sept to piss off an entire tribe. Here you go. I was talking to Leala and Tony yesterday - all of us, plus anyone else who wants to come," an oblique request? "are going to go face her down on Monday. Damn, but I wish I were Fostern right now. A bunch of cliath are gonna have to walk on eggshells, and I just... don't."

Salem hesitates before answering, taking the glass and drinking from it to forestall his reply. "I hope to be gone by Monday," he says flatly. "I should have already been days gone."

Natalie studies the table, her juice, anything. Just not him. "...Yeah. I, I figured. I'm not gonna make you stick around." Her own glass turns around and around, the juice within sloshing. "...I... look, I know you hate personal questions, a'right? But I, um. Have a reason for asking. That's not just puerile curiosity." Her eyes flick up, then back down to the safety of the exsanginated orange.

Salem regards her with a raised eyebrow, then takes another sip of juice. "Ask."

Natalie doesn't, not immediately. Back in the office, a disembodied soprano Nimue is singing her lure for a befuddled Merlin. "Gonna sound stupid," Nat mutters, barely audible, but after a bracing sigh she looks up, straight at him. "Whenever I see you, you usually look like crap. Like you haven't slept for a week straight. Right. So. ...D'you have bad dreams?"

"I think you know the answer to that," Salem says after a moment, his face rigid and his voice cool. "Why do you ask?"

"Because." A typically adolescent answer, out of place on her non-adolescent self. "...Here, wait a sec." She spins off her chair and down the hall, ducking into the office. There the music is cut off, followed by a few moments of relative silence.

Salem mutters something under his breath in Serbian about 'nosy gibbous-moons' and drinks his juice while he waits for her to come back.

When the nosy Galliard returns, she's not alone. She carries a small roll pillow in cupped hands, rather like a ringbearer. Except, as she reenters the kitchen, there's nothing on it. Just the pillow. "This... here. I want you to have it." The sweet musty smell of lavender - and chamomile? - scent the air as she places the pillow on the table between them. She opens her mouth as if to continue, but claps her teeth shut before anything manages to escape.

Salem cocks his head at the pillow and then looks at her, frowning bemusedly. "...Thank you?" he says, sounding polite and more than a little bemused.

"It's a fetish," she explains, tipping her chin toward the pillow. "With a cat spirit. You sleep with that within arm's reach - I usually put it under my pillow - and voila, no more bad dreams. I, uh, figured you could use it." At least this time she doesn't add that he looks like crap.

Salem blinks. He looks down at the pillow with renewed interest, then picks it up and turns it over in his hands, silent as he studies it -- speechless, maybe -- and handling it with careful respect, as if it were something very fragile and delicate.

Natalie's content to let the silence linger. For one, it means she gets to drink her juice. For another, she can watch the Philodox's reaction with muted glee.

"Erm," says the aforementioned Philodox, managing to look grateful, embarrassed, and slightly annoyed all at the same time. He clears his throat, recovering his composure, and looks up at her again to say, "Thank you." This time it's sincere, rather than puzzled.

"You're welcome. Very welcome. There's just one catch, though." Of course there would be, wouldn't there? Fetishes usually aren't just handed over because he likes her eyes or she thinks he's nifty. She doesn't let him hang in suspense long, holding the glass before her face as if it were a shield. "You've got to get it back to me."

Salem does that single-raised eyebrow thing again, like Mr. Spock, and slowly the thin lips twist into a wry little smile. "Word of honor."

Nat's grin spreads past the walls of the glass and dances in her eyes. "Sweet." Which is all she can say, apparently, before her jaw locks into that grin. One might almost suspect that she was pleased by the answer.

Salem carefully sets the pillow down on the table and, taking up his glass again, sips. "How, er... how is Wolverine treating you?" he asks after a few seconds, changing the subject.

Natalie and Salem are back in the kitchen, sitting across from each other at the table. "He's, um... I'm not sure, actually." Her dippy grin fades to a bemused good humor. "The, um... his quest. We had to kill a Litany breaker and a double handful of girl scouts. Only, see..." She grimaces as if remembering a nasty taste. "I would've done it anyway. Even questing for... for Cockroach. So I don't really feel like I was tested, you know?"

Salem looks like he hasn't slept all night, or possibly much of the past several nights, and indeed hasn't shaved. There's a small, scented pillow on the table near him as he drinks his juice. "Mm," he says, nose wrinkling at the description of the totem quest. "Probably he wanted to see if you'd be merciless. Usually he shows you something to get your blood to boil, too. Scene of the Wyrm and such." Another sip, and he adds, "I used to pack under him, years ago."

There comes a rapping, as of someone gently... ah, hell with gently, Quentin's knuckles rap hard upon the door before he pushes it open a bit, calling into the foyer, "'Lo?"

Natalie studies the floor. "Oh yes. I..." she looks back up, eyebrows lifting. "You did? I..." Quentin's call serves as Nat's third subject change in less than a minute, and Salem can almost see her train of thought leaping several tracks and a small dog as she twists around toward the foyer. "Uh... Hello? We're back here."

Something thuds hard upstairs, then Jeremy's voice can be heard. "Holy shit! Aw... fuckme."

Salem leans back in his chair and stretches slightly, grimacing at the stiffness in his back and shoulders.

Quentin shoulders the door open at the call from within, pushing himself into the room and raking his fingers back through blue hair as he heads kitchen-wards, pausing in its doorway. "Hey," he calls, quirking a wry smile, "Didn't want to just barge in or anything."

"You're family." Nat waves him to a chair. "You can't barge in. Want some..." She eyes the other two, puzzled, before standing to call back down the hall, "Jeremy? You all right?"

"Yah, just knocked over my tower and it unplugged me. I was in the middle of downloading something big." Jeremy calls down, then tromps his way towards the main floor, circling the stairs as he lets out a breath. "Oh well, I'll pick up on it later." He pauses as he spies Quentin, then says simply. "No, it was not Porn, and no, it had nothing to do with Nala."

Salem gives Quentin a faint smile that's tired but no less welcoming for all that -- even as scarce as he's been lately, the return of the Bluehair has pleased the scarred bastard -- then squints at Jeremy. "Nala? From that cartoon?"

Natalie decides that discretion is the better part of not finding out and sits down again. "Coffee's old," she mentions off-handedly, "But there's some orange juice left."

Quentin lets out an amused snort of breath, stepping over to drag the offered chair out and sprawl into it. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he quotes, a chuckle woven through his words, "How's everyone doing?"

"...Yes... Nala, from the Lion King, please don't ask Salem." Jeremy says, looking a bit embarrassed as he gives Q a quick look, then grins. "Dakota has nothing against Nala, actually... she went out an bought... ears, cuz' of you." He clears his throat and heads for the kitchen. "I'm fine." He says, quickly.

A loud series of crashes and metallic clangs rumbles forth from the basement, followed by the sound of running water and a lovely stream of expletives.

Salem looks from Jeremy to Quentin and back again, brow furrowing. He shakes his head, then drains off the last of his juice. "So, what--" The explosion of noise cuts him off.

"What the hell?" Nat leaps from her chair - again - making all the way to the kitchen door before basement plus metallic clangs equals... "Tony?" she yells questioningly. "That you? What the hell's going on down there?"

Quentin jerks a thumb towards Jeremy, observing dryly, "He's been tormenting me lately with unnecessary details of his sex life, don't mind him..." At the clattering crashes from the basement, he pauses, craning his neck over and shouting out, "You'd better not be wiring the mansion with explosives down there!"

"I have not been torturing you with any details! You and my wife are just... big mouths who talk amongst each other." Jeremy huffs, coming back out with a coke, lifting up a brow at the noises. "...I guess the plumbing isn't going so well?"

"I got it, don't worry," Tony shouts from the basement; the sound of rushing water slows, then stops.

Salem remains seated, one hand resting on the table, not far from the little scented pillow that Natalie gave him. "Ah, young love," he murmurs absently -- with a touch of tired, wry amusement.

Natalie remains at the doorway, clearly torn. Go back and sit, or save the basement from flooding. Ah, decisions, decisions. "...Maybe I'll just go back, and..." She trails off, thus leaving her options open.

Quentin just chuckles, shaking his head a bit. "...so, I guess the answer to that is 'not so hot', huh?"

Salem shakes his head and gets to his feet, picking up the pillow as he does so. "I'm going to try to catch up on a few hours," he says, glancing at Natalie. "Wake me if we need to start building an ark, hm?"

Jeremy hands Q a coke and huffs, leaning against him slightly as he takes a sip. "Salem, real quick, did Natalie mention the club yet?" He asks.

Anthony trudges up the basement stairs slowly, peeling off his soaked sweatshirt when he gets to the top and crumpling it up into a loose ball. "Wrong pipe," he explains to whoever cares to listen, running a hand through his hair. "Fixed it, though."

Salem arches an eyebrow at Jeremy. "Club?"

"The 'We're really ticked at Megan for putting her Sept nose where it doesn't belong' club?" Nat guesses, wincing at Tony. "... Yeah, I did. He won't be around, but I'm sure he'll think nice thoughts."

Quentin tips his head in absent thanks to Jeremy as he accepts the soda, raising the can up in salute to Tony... and then slanting a look over towards Nat, quirking a brow. "Megan? What'd she do?"

"Well, been unraveling the phone tap um.. in the basement that I got? Seems that Boris is going to meet the good Doctor here in Claire's before he takes off. He calls it the 'place'." Jeremy murmurs softly. "Kinda lost him while trying to track him, but its in a club district. I'm thinking he has himself a lil place set up to have meetings. One of those behind the wall illegal gambling things, ya'know, from the mobster movies?" He suggests. "I'm ganna end up changing myself about and inflitrating it with Dakota. She said she is down with it. Could use someone else." He nudges Quentin. "May take Aiyana too."

Salem gives Tony a nod, then blinks at Jeremy. "Aiyana's back?"

Natalie blinks at Jeremy. "OK, wrong club. I hadn't heard about that. Details, I mean."

"Oh? Well, if you need some help-- if nothing else, they don't know what I look like, or who I am, so I could probably help out with infiltration," Quentin says with an agreeable bob of his head, taking a sip of soda before nodding over Salem-wards, "Yeah, I ran into her the other day. She was on walkabout, came back."

Jeremy nods his head. "Aiyana is back, and gossiping with my wife as we speak." He says with a roll of his eyes. "The two hit it off like sisters. Anyways, yes, she's home, and I'm thinking... well... Yana an Q-bert here has been gone for a long time... who better than to slip in with me?"

Anthony drops the sweatshirt in the kitchen sink, for lack of a better place to put it, then heads to the fridge to grab something to drink.

Salem shakes his head with an expression of mild bemusement. "Sounds like a plan." Then he excuses himself to go get sleep that, judging by appearances, is direly needed. Taking the little pillow with him.

"There's juice," Nat calls after Tony, returning to her seat after a moment's internal debate. "'Nigt, Salem. ...Fill me in, Jer? What did you and Leala decide?"

"Well, I'm going to take Dakota, Q here, and possibly Aiyana and we're ganna find this club that Boris hangs out at. I"m going to re dye my hair again, add contacts, lose the glasses and dress up like some.. other dude." Jeremy says, flashing a grin. "Ganna ask Lee if we can hook us up with some surveillance. I don't want to go in there blindly of course." He says with a grin. "If we can stop the doctor here, then.. more power to us. I'm just afraid if we get into a fight situation, we're ganna be out gunned."

"Then bring more guns," Tony advises, taking Natalie's juice recommendation and pulling the orange juice from the fridge.

"You wanna come too, Tony?" Jeremy asks bluntly.

"When the shooting starts," Quentin observes with a look to Jeremy, "I don't expect you to be above knee-height anymore if you're in the same room, capishe? We wolves can take a bullet. You break more easily."

"When are you guys going in?" Nat asks as she retakes her seat. "Clubs aren't my thing, but I'm willing to play backup if it's all right with my alpha."

"I don't know, thats the thing. I'm trying to figure out when Boris is going to take off. I'm tapping that phone like nuts and trying to get whatever I can. He speaks in Russian a lot so, decoding the languages is ass for me." Jeremy admits.

Jeremy glances to Tony and then to Quentin, grinning slightly. "Cool. Got two home boys with me, and don't worry Q, I won't get killed."

Natalie says, "Wish I could help, but my Russian is limited to a really cheesy accent. Still - you want my help, just let me know. I don't have any mad gun skillz, but I hit good with fist. Ug."

Quentin nudges Jeremy with his elbow. "Good," he says flatly, "No dying."

"Yeah, it's a little early to be leaving widows," Tony adds, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

Jeremy grins faintly and nods to everyone around. "Well, using all of us together will only make this go easier. We need to be the elite, corporate wolves that we are." He explains.

Nat chimes in soberly, "You're not allowed to leave widows until you've been married three and a half months."

Anthony makes a face at 'corporate'. "Does this mean I'll have to wear a suit?"

Jeremy grins faintly. "We could be the wolves in black, ya'know?" He asks with a raise of the brow.

Natalie asks, "Who's running this one, Jer? You, or Leala?"

"It was my idea, but Leala approved it. Its all we really got to go on right now, since this may be our only shot to take a poke at the Doctor." Jeremy says softly. "I may go for the kill if I can. I'm ganna bring Roger's special with me."

"'Roger's special'?" Tony asks.

Quentin slants a look towards Jeremy, one brow crooking upwards. "...don't you think that's a bit of overkill, bro?"

Natalie keeps quiet, not knowing what 'Roger's special' might be. Orange juice is safer.

Jeremy shakes his head. "Its not overkill, not for what we are up against." He turns and heads for the stairs. "Be right back, I'll bring it down."

"Sounds flammable," Tony concludes, taking a seat at the kitchen table and starting on his glass of orange juice.

"He likes his boomsticks," Nat comments to the other two Garou while Jeremy's away. "Which reminds me - Quentin, you know how to handle a gun? I've got to learn, and Jer's been too busy to ask."

Quentin quirks a faint smile at that, one brow quirking upwards. "...do I know how to handle a gun? You might say that. I can take you down to the range sometime."

Heading downstairs now with a suitcase, Jeremy offers up a broad smile to the group. "Quentin and I learned how to shoot at the same time. John was a good teacher."

Nat glances back at the goth, then at Quentin again. "I know which end to point at the cub to get 'em to change, and that's about it. You wanna consider that your Chiminage? ...Assuming you need it. You ever join that sept down in California?"

"Not to mention Rina's weekly lessons. And... Rhi's. I'm a lot better with a gun than I am with my claws, to be honest..." Quentin's head bobs in a slight, rueful nod, "Yeah, technically I'm a member of Steel Angel right now."

Jeremy settles the case down on a table and clicks it open. Unfolding it, he reveals a beautiful sniper rifle that is currently dismantled and strapped into place.

Natalie ahs, continuing to watch the other Galliard. "Then that's your Chiminage. Teach me to shoot. Speaking gun-geek goes along with that, right?" She glances at Jeremy's case, but offers no 'oooooh'.

"Kinda big," Anthony muses, putting down his now-empty glass and looking over the sniper rifle casually.

Jeremy shrugs his shoulders. "Its a damn good gun." He explains, taking it out of the case, piece by piece, screwing the parts on in a fluid, expert manner. "This baby has killed a few Spiral dancers."

Natalie says, "I think I'm gonna go see if I can hunt down Signe," rising to carry her glass and Salem's to the sink. "Might see about talking to nutball while I'm at it. If he joins us to argue with Megan..."

Jeremy nods hsi head as he begins to pack the gun back up. "Well, alright." He says. "I guess I'm going to head home myself. Dak called and said she had something to show me."

"Wouldn't that be funny," Tony notes, standing up as well. "Anyway, I should go clean up downstairs," he adds, putting his glass on the counter and retrieving his sweatshirt from the sink.

Natalie, perhaps oddly, doesn't offer Tony assistance, just slips outside into the back.

[End of log]