Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Harbor Park -- Fountain
Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.
The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its feet.
Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.
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. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.
Obvious exits:
Harbor Park Meadow
Nieve
Short and slender, Nieve would appear to be a latina woman in her early thirties. A little paler than most of her cafe-au-lait contemporaries, the structure of her face and her accent both bear out the Mexican blood in her veins. Long black dreadlocks hung with metal charms frame a heart-shaped face, dark and almond-shaped eyes made bolder by the application of thick eyeliner and mascara, the former drawing out to points at her temples. She has a small nose and mouth, both pierced, matched by rows of small rings marching up the outside of each ear. Bodily she is quite petite, though this is hidden in part by loose or bulky clothing, and she seems the sort of girl to always be moving, doing something, fidgeting.
She's wearing fairly generic clothes; rough black jeans held up by a steel-studded belt, a two-size-too-big 'Slashed Rabbit' rock band t-shirt over her torso. Over this is a battered leather jacket, again a size too large and with sleeves that cover her hands. Her feet are shod in beat-up Converse sneakers, the left with a bright pink lace, the right with a day-glow yellow one.
Kaz
Beautiful, this woman isn't. Most people wouldn't even call her interesting, although there is a spark of something, deep down in there. Even so, most people would call her homely, if they bothered to call her anything at all. In her mid to late 30s, she's about 5'6" tall, and burly. Not fat; it's the kind of burly that's all muscle, just not well defined muscle.
Her hair is brown (with some encroaching white hairs she's not bothering to pluck), and quite short. All around. It might be a DA, were it less badly done. Her eyes are distinctly odd, although it's hard to tell, given how often she's not quite looking at anyone. They're yellow, and look almost cat-like. The rest of her face isn't offensive, just boring. The nose is a bit big -- maybe it's been broken, or maybe she was just born that way. Her chin is broad, as are her cheekbones. Classic features for a man that don't at all work on her. There's a wry, half-cynical smile sometimes playing about her lips that does very little to add to her general appearance. Makeup, it's clear, is of very little use to this person.
"Battered" would describe her choice of clothing quite well. Voluminous light trench coat, new jeans, and a polo shirt. Her sneakers are black, and a bit battered.
Carrying:
Coke
Izzy
No more than 13 or 14 years old, maybe five and a half feet tall and all skinny-wiry in that decidedly not-filled-out-yet way. Wavy coffee-coloured hair's been somewhat haphazardly cut, or perhaps allowed to grow out; it's barely above the collar in the back, and in the front a floppy fringe half-hides dark, solid eyebrows and constantly threatens to fall into a pair of wide hazel eyes. The kid's tawny complected, with a smattering of noticable freckles across the cheeks and the strong, straight nose, and seems thus far to be mostly winning the battle against teenage acne. A wide, somewhat full-lipped mouth contains clean but slightly crooked teeth, untamed by braces. One might also notice a certain alert balance to the stance -- not aggressive, but more like a coiled spring of potential energy restrained just beneath a placid surface.
Today's clothing seems to have been dictated mainly by comfort and the weather: old but presentable jeans, well-loved black high-top converse, and a open blue plaid flannel over a loose grey t-shirt that features a crash between the TARDIS and the DeLorean. The degree of cold means an ankle-length tan wool coat has been added to the outfit, and the whole thing is topped off with a multi-coloured striped knit scarf of truly remarkable length. An old brown leather satchel hanging off one shoulder completes the ensemble.
It's about 10am, and still damn cold -- cold enough to make the park lonely, but not entirely deserted. One bench by the fountain holds a leather satchel and a large tan wool greatcoat; about 10 feet away, into the grass and leaving plenty of room, a skinny kid is practicing some kind of martial art. Gloves and a ridiculously long, but currently well-wrapped multicoloured scarf are deployed against the weather, and the activity probably helps as well, but the cold is probably biting nonetheless.
The park attracts more than just frost and ice this morning, it seems. Cigarette in one hand trailing smoke and 'Tourist Guide to St Claire' pamphlet hanging open from the other, Nieve is a-meandering through from the main street, looking about with a vaguely bored curiosity. The Henge-esque sculpture draws her attention first, but then movement - and thus Izzy - makes a close second, dark eyes turning with vague interest to watch the morning's display of Tai Chi, or whatever it looks like.
There's a burly someone over almost under the bridge. It -- she -- thunks one of the supports, and then amble-limps a bit further toward the river. (She's got an old ski-mask hat on, that's had most of the bottom part cut off, so it goes down past her ears but no further. Also, gloves.)
It looks like... well, if it's Tai Chi, it's faster than one usually sees people practising, and with rather more kicks. And it would probably be more fluid if the scarf didn't need retucking every few minutes to ensure the practioner doesn't accidentally self-strangulate. Still, Izzy is clearly determined to do what can be done, without a partner or a proper place to work on things. One leg sweep turns in the direction of the newcomers, and the movement pauses, the kid straightening to take a look at the new arrivals.
"'sup," Nieve greets the martial artist with a cheerful tip-salute from her cigarette-holding hand, before taking a short puff. "Don't mind me, just sightseein'," she adds, finding herself a bench to plop down on, waggling the tourist pamphlet to back up her claim.
She's a bit far away to tell if she's frowning or not, but Kaz's head goes up a bit at Nieve's voice. "Huh," she mutters, and starts ambling that way. The sight of Izzy gets a grin out of her, and now she's waving to both of them.
"'sup!" Izzy replies cheerfully enough, and grins back at the sight of Kaz, returning the wave as well. "I didn't think there'd be people hanging out around here in this." A gesture, apparently to the cold since there's at least no precipitation, and the kid drops down to do a few pushups. Movement fights shivers!
"Yo." Kaz gets a cheerful greeting from Nieve, though also a squint. It's hard to recognise somebody in a balaklava though, so it's just 'yo' for now. "Eh, it's a nice park," she then tells Izzy, one shoulder rolling in a halfhearted shrug. "An' it's got Sights to See, an' that's what tourists do, right?" She jerks a thumb at herself. Tourist, clearly.
And Kaz isn't making it any easier by, not, say, taking it off. Because it's /cold/ out. "I ain't much of a fan of freezing-ass freezing," she admits, as she ends up near Nieve's bench. "But I'm doin' m'daily walkin', see." To Nieve, she explains, "Kaz. Ain't seen you in a coon's age. How you been? The pushup champion's Izzy, by the way. Izzy, Nieve, Nieve, Izzy."
Izzy looks a bit embarrassed by that, replying while standing back up, "Definitely not a champion, I should be able to do like twice as many as I can right now. But, um. Pleased to meet you, Miss Nieve." And speaking of freezing-ass freezing, apparently it's time to reclaim the big coat from the bench and wrap up in it, then undo the scarf to rewrap it less snugly and more 4th-Doctorishly.
"Yo, Kate!" Nieve recognises Kaz's voice when she speaks more than she does her half-covered face - and then quickly corrects herself since she's not great with names. "I mean, Kaz. I knew that. Hola." There's a cheerful grin for the Metis, along with one fist extended for bumping. Then to Izzy, Nieve offers a friendly chinjerknodthing. "Iz. Nice t'meetcha." Back to Kaz she asides, "Been pretty good, all told. Got bored of shit over eastways though, so figured I'd come roamin' a bit, like y'do."
"What do I know, I ain't done a pushup in goin' on ten years. Thus and therefore, you are the champion of Harbor Park, at this current moment. See." Kaz fistbumps like a pro. Or, at least, someone used to it as a greeting. "Well, yeah, like /I/ do anyways. You got Mouse's number? She's the chick you wanna be talkin' to, if you're stickin' around awhile."
"I dunno, how do we know Miss Nieve might not be able to do a hundred without breathing hard?" Izzy asks, giving the woman in question a jokingly suspicious look. "...but I guess if no one else is competing, I can graciously accept the title. For now." The kid gets comfy on the bench, reclaiming the satchel and opening it up to hunt out a granola bar, which gets wordlessly offered to the others as well.
"I can do pushups. Maybe ten before I give out," Nieve offers dubiously, clearly no competition for the coveted title. "No thanks. Ain't much likin' hippy food," she adds to Izzy, grinning briefly. Then over to Kaz she nods a bit. "Yeah, spoken to a couple people already. S'all good. Figured I'd come lookin' around the city if I'm stayin' for a bit, get to know the place an' people an' all."
"Nah, thanks, I had a big ol' pancake breakfast down at St. Stephen's. They do it up nice once a month, f'folks like me," Kaz tells Izzy. Then she nods at Nieve. "Cool. I'll be seein' you around, then." She looks around, and waves vaguely in the direction the river goes. "Anyway, I should keep at it. Catch you guys around?" She gives them mock-salutes and starts limp-wandering off.
"...folks who like pancakes?" Izzy suggests, and shrugs at the refusal of the granola bar -- though Nieve does get a, "It's got chocolate chips!" Because surely hippies don't eat chocolate chips, right? Or something. Kaz gets a mock-salute in return, and a cheerful enough, "Hope so!" And then Nieve is scrutinized again. "So... where are you touristing from? If you don't mind me asking."
"Laters, Kaz," Nieve nods to the Gnawer, along with a finger-wiggle-wave in her direction. "Me? Been all over the place. Most recently, St. Louis," she continues to Izzy, idly pushing a few dreadlocks back out of her face. "Prob'ly puttin' down roots for a couple months though, travellin' is expensive an' my thumb is sore from hitchin' rides."
"I'm, uh..." Izzy hesitates, then reaches into the satchel again, this time coming up with what seems to be a flyer, and offering it over to Nieve. It's just a photocopied thing, slightly foxed on the edges from being in the bag but not particularly crumpled, and has a photo of a woman in her 30s on it, asking those who've seen her to call a number. Nieve may have seen others on poles and walls around the city in the last couple days, possibly. "D'you think maybe you've seen her, anywhere?"
"Mmn. No. Someone you lost?" Nieve wonders, taking the photocopy and eyeing it. "Don't look familiar t'me I'm afraid." It gets handed back after a closer scrutiny.
Izzy nods, and accepts the paper back, trying not to look too disappointed. "Yeah. ...my mom. She travels a lot too, she's a travel writer. Seems like a whole lot of travellers go through this place. But so far none of them've seen her."
The dreadhead sounds vaguely sympathetic. "I'm sure she's fine, just lost her phone or somethin'," she offers. "If y'want, I can email a bunch of friends in other states t'keep an eye out?" she offers then. "Can't hurt, right?"
The kid brightens a little at that. "Definitely can't. Um, I don't have the file separate to give you, but you could scan this one back in, or-- or when I go to the library again, I could email it to you? Whichever you want." The paper is, of course, re-offered along with that. "Her name's Jennifer Sparks. And the last postcard I got was from here, in October... I don't think it's just her phone, though. Or she'd mail, or get someone to lend her their phone. So something's... I dunno. There's gotta be a reason though."
"Maybe she had to go undercover for a story," Nieve offers, digging out an old shopping receipt and stub of a pencil, jotting down her email address for Izzy and offering it over. "Scan an' email it to me," she agrees. Her address is dreadpiratenieveAThotmail.com.
Headtilt. That is apparently an angle that had not yet been considered. "Maybe..." The receipt gets pocketed -- then unpocketed and ripped into two, so the empty portion can be used for the other half of the email trade. "...Pirate? And yeah, I'll go email you the picture and some other stuff, today. Thanks." Izzy pauses a moment. "You know, people here are actually a lot more helpful about this. 's nice."
"Yep. Yo ho ho, an' all," Nieve agrees, offering very little explanation. "No worries. An' yeah, people know it's shitty to lose track of someone you're worried about. Guess most've us have been there," she adds, pocketing Izzy's email address.
"And a bottle of rum? Or are you prolly going to kill me in the morning?" Izzy asks, a little bit cheeky, before adding, "...well, not me, I guess, unless you're planning to recruit me. Which would be tricky 'cause it doesn't look like you brought a ship. So, okay. ...yeah." The granola bar finally gets opened, but not eaten, as another question occurs. "Did you find them? Whoever you were worried about? Were they okay?"
"Yeah. My stepbrother, he was okay. Took us a while t'forgive him for vanishin' off without a trace, but he wasn't hurt," Nieve replies thoughtfully, recalling the arguments with an old packmate. "I'm sure your mom is fine."
Izzy sighs, sounding like a rather relieved specimen of the breed. "I'm glad. That he showed up, and was okay and everything. How come he'd disappeared? Did he say?"
"Decided he had t'go off an' 'find himsef'," Nieve replies, faintly irritated at the memory. "Whatever th' fuck that means." Apparently, she's not one to self-censor around kids. Big surprise. "Still, he was ok." She yawns, rubbing a hand over her eyes and considering the time - almost noon! "I should head off an' get some shuteye, got an 'pointment at six," she decides.
"Without even saying anything first? Man." Izzy stretches, and closes the satchel back up, hefting it onto a shoulder. "Thanks again. I'll go send you that email, and if you hear anything... well, thanks. And sleep well. See you 'round?"
"Sure thing," Nieve agrees wth a more cheerful smile. "Catch y'later, Iz." And then she's off, meandering in the direction of the main road again.
No comments:
Post a Comment