On Labels

[hazlogs]

It is currently 10:22 Pacific Time on Tue Feb 9 2016.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is foggy. The temperature is 35 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.20 and steady, and the relative humidity is 96 percent. The dewpoint is 34 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing New (Ragabash) Moon phase (9% full).

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.

"Drier today," Zach observes as he comes within a dozen feet or so of Alicia at the fountain. Hands still in his pockets. Head still on a swivel. Those two words have nothing that follows them, but after he's spoken he slows his approach even further. Some might read it as him keeping a safe distance, others might read it as a non-verbal request the couresty of a distant hail before entering into a woman's personal space.

Bobbing her head in time with the music, Alicia gives the other sneaker another re-tying to ensure the laces are snug, then glances upwards. She pops one bud out of her ear and the sound of Journey cranked up loudly can be heard blaring out Wheel In the Sky. "Huh? Were you talking to me?" She asks as she rises upwards to her feet, giving her rear a quick brushing off from any bench debris. "Need something?"

Salem enters the park from the direction of Bridge Street and heads over toward the fountain. He's got his hood up and an extra layer of coat on over that and an attitude that suggests that, no, he doesn't care that it's a school day, he has every right to be here.

Zach pushes an amused half-syllable out his nose, cracking that quirked grin at the right corner of his mouth. He shakes his head, lifts his shoulders, and responds with, "Naw. Just being friendly."

"Ah. Hey, nice to meet you then." Alicia says as she pops the other bud out of her ear, then settles them over one shoulder. "I didn't catch what you said though. I was in the zone."

Salem makes a beeline, more or less, toward Alicia and Zach once he gets close enough to recognize them and offers up a casual "Hey" in greeting once he's within conversational distance. His body language is loose and careless, though Zach gets a bit more scrutiny than Alicia does.

Another shake of the head, and Zach waves off the notion that anything he'd had to say was important enough to recall. Recall it he does, though it's distracted as his vigilance detects Salem's approach. "Just said it was drier today." He gives Salem a wordless lift of the chin in response to the greeting before he clarifies the statement. "Than the last time we met, that is."

Naturally dark hair is parted from the right, feathered so that unless one looks him directly in the eye, it obscures the left eye and most of the left side of the face of the man, somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties perhaps, who wears it. It's an otherwise normal white/caucasian face showing only minimal scarring from the usual encounter with acne in his youth. He has a pair of hazel eyes, calm and showing some age beyond their years but the rest of his face seems a touch younger. He keeps cleanshaven. His jawline is on the square side but not harshly so, his chin juts a little bit, below full lips.

He's of trim frame, athletic and in good shape, though not exactly the poster child for a health club. His strength is quiet - tone rather than muscle definition. Wiry, is the word. He carries all six even feet of himself about with a casual sort of grace but one that has a tense edge to it - like his presentation isn't entirely to be trusted. At rest his body is always loose, relaxed, but again there's that edge to him. His clothing is worn to blend in with the rest of the 'street' crowd.

Black leather boots are laced to the top, providing a good amount of support and disappearing into straight-legged black jeans in a loose cut. The rest of him is shrouded from head to toe in a black knit hoodie that may have been in a thrift store at least once. One of the pullstrings for the hood is frayed, but the garment is still plenty servicable. A single, marsupial-style pocket dominates the front panel and it's not unknown for him to stash a cellphone in there. The hood is usually worn up, casting shadows over his face. From a distance, he's easily dismissed as just some nameless guy.

"Huh." Alicia says as she mulls the statement over, then squints at him. "Oh! Yeah. I remember you now. You were doing the parkour at the park the other day." She says as he gives him a grin. "I see you are still in one piece. No more dramatic falls?" As Salem makes his way over, she glances from him to Zach for a moment, then looks back to the Glass Walker with a brow raised.

Salem climbs up onto Alicia's bench and perches himself on the back, sneakers in the seat; his hands never leave his coat pockets. "He's okay," the youth says to Alicia.

Zach notices the way Salem vouches for him, of course. (He's standing right there, after all.) He squints a moment, then looks back and forth between Alicia, as if trying to place the piece of a very large puzzle. He doesn't comment further on it. He does, however, nod along with Alicia, managing a self-effacing grin that someone more savvy (or giving more of a shit) might've used to hide his open observation of the social dynamics. "I mean," he says, "I take falls. It's how you learn to fly."

"He's okay? What does that mean?" Alicia asks as she straightens up, now shooting her eyes back to Zach to stare at him a bit more closely and give him more of her attention as opposed to a passing guy at the park. She taps the phone strapped to her shoulder to kill the music.

"It means that nobody here is one of the ignorant masses," Salem says, still pretty casual. "Though not in the same way."

Zach rolls his eyes. "Don't discount the masses," he warns, tiredly. "A: They know a shitton more than they let on and B: one snark in ten is a boojum." It's said to Salem, but has, perhaps, a tone of posturing to it - like he has the conversation as much for Alicia's benefit.

Alicia folds her arms over the top of her chest. "Huh. So it seems that I am the only one in the dark then. Did you know who or what I was the other day when we first bumped into each other?" She asks Zach curiously.

Salem sighs. "Fuck me for trying to be clever. Let me rephrase." He points at Alicia and says to Zach, "She's like me." He points to Zach and says to Alicia, "He's more like that one family member you have." To both, perhaps a mite testily, he asks, "Is that clearer?"

When Alicia asks Zach, point blank, if he understood her nature when they met, he nods, the gesture emphatic enough that he may even consider the question one of those 'well duh' sorts of things. Salem is speaking at the time, so he doesn't voice the sentiment. Instead, he seems to take some entertainment from Salem's frustration. "Not a bit," he answers, smirking. "But I'm enjoying watching the set-definition dance, for now."

Wrinkling her nose, Alicia sizes Zach up for a moment, then squints her eyes. "Did you fall on purpose to get my attention then?" She asks as she gives a shift of her jaw. To Salem, she says, "It's all good, far as I knew, he was just another guy asking how my day was. I met him a few weeks ago doing a work out, forgot he even existed until just a few minutes ago."

Salem wrinkles his nose at Zach's amusement. He's not that angry, just maybe a little irritated. "I'm thrilled."

"Pfffft," Zach says, when Alicia asks him about his training accident. "Don't kid yourself. If I want your attention I'm not coy about it. I was just out running. Learning to fly." About the last bit, however, he recognizes something about Alicia's account and his barbed humor is softened just a hint. "I have that effect on people."

"I see. So you're a wizard." Alicia says as she rocks on the balls of her feet for a moment. She gives another glance to Salem, then settles herself back on the bench and crosses one leg over the other across her knee. "I am Alicia. Can't remember if I gave you my name last time."

Salem casts a glance skyward, briefly, then looks past Zach toward the park, scanning the area.

"Wiz...ard..." Zach says, openly gawking with a hint of cruelty at Alicia as she utters the word. "Woooowww. I haven't heard that one in a while. Uhhh, no." The denial of the identity is firm, and serious. "I'm Zach. Don't get caught up in the what, because there isn't a 'what.' I'm no more, or less a 'what' than you are," the you is used in the singular case, but the statement is directed to include Salem anyway. "So you're Alicia," he repeats, "and I'm Zach," and he gestures to Salem, "and he's Jack, if memory serves."

Giving a slow nod of her head, Alicia says, "Well, this makes this conversation a whole lot more uncomfortable I suppose. To think what we could have been talking about if Salem didn't pop over." She says with a bemused grin towards the Glass Walker, then unwinds the headphones again, tucking them behind her ears. "Either way, again, nice to meet you."

Salem exhales a quiet little breath. "Labels are useful, as shorthand if nothing else." He turns his eyes back to his companions. "A 'what' might not tell you everything, but it tells you more than just a name."

"Sure," Zach says, smirking Alicia's way for just a moment at something she said. His attention, however, has shifted to Salem now. "Labels are great at packing assumptions, preconceived notions, and.. added bonus: absolute bullshit into the same convenient baggie!" Why yes, that enthusiasm is most assuredly sarcastic. "And the best part? As those labels age? All the useful stuff rots and decays, but don't worry, the bullshit? That's still bullshit. Harmful as fuck, and good for nothing more than getting folks to go to war over who can call who the worst names. Good times."

"I am more of a tree hugger personally." Alicia rises off the bench and gives herself a long stretch, then flops one foot on the bench and bends forward to touch her toes. "But, as long as Salem likes you, we will be cool."

"The 'liking' part is still being considered," says the young teen, looking not the least bit impressed with Zach's short rant-slash-lecture. "And I'll say it again, labels are useful. Like on medicine bottles. 'Don't mix with grapefruit, do not drive or operate heavy machinery.' Or on food. 'Contains nuts, soy, gluten.'" His eyebrows go up. "'Prone to fits of irrational anger, may cause accidental fatalities.' Or: 'Prone to soapboxing rather than conversation.'"

"Then use those," Zach says, undeterred, happy to engage even. He gestures towards Alicia, "and respect the labels people use for themselves where it doesn't conflict with good reason. 'Treehugger' is borderline," he gestures back to Salem now, "'prone to X' is better, but we're not candybars. We're not made of static stuff. Who I am tomorrow is, necessarily, different from who I am today. But forget all that: Tribal labels don't get to be considered next to a box of Cheerios."

At some point during this back and forth between them, Alicia had slipped the earbuds back into her ears to crank up Journey again. Now, her hands are on the bench and she is doing push ups, dropping up and down rapidly as she puffs out small breaths.

Salem glances down at Alicia when he hears the tinny music, frowns, and then stands up and hops off the bench, giving her plenty of room. His hands go back into his pockets. "Fine, you're Zach, and you dislike labels, linguistic shortcuts, and grouping people into different, eh, groups." His nose wrinkles in a grimace of displeasure. "...And don't presume to lecture me about how people change."

"Then act like you get it," Zach says, perhaps cementing that he's not going to apologize for anything he's said. There isn't the tone that suggests he's going to engage on it, either, however. there's a certain measure of quiet satisfaction. "Anyway," he says, gesturing down towards Alicia as she goes through her calesthetics, "I was just swinging by to say hi." He wasn't, his tone makes clear, but that may be deliberate as well.

After moving through about twenty-five push ups, Alicia pops back up and gives her body a swivel left to right to pop the joints in her body, then looks back towards the two, despite the fact that she is only hear 'blah blah blah' through the music pounding in her ears.

Alicia pages: Mind Speak: ( Everything okay? )

Salem goes very still for a moment, eyes narrowed up at Zach; that 'prone to fits of irrational anger' is suddenly quite relevant, though the 'accidental fatalities' part doesn't seem imminent. After a few heartbeats of that, he looks, unsmiling, over at Alicia. "Don't complain to me in future when you're not told things, if you're going to shove goddamn headphones in your ears when people are talking." With that, he starts walking off.

When Salem goes still like that, there's a shift in Zach's posture. To most, it would simply look like he was turning to more fully face the person he was speaking to. To folks with experience at violence, he's responding to a familiar threat and ensuring his stance is lined up properly with the line of attack. It's a calm, practical thing. He doesn't make so much of a thing of it as describing it would suggest. He watches Salem begin to withdraw, and seems to be mulling over saying something... but instead his attention falls to Alicia and he squints, as if trying to understand something about her, perhaps what Salem said... perhaps something else. Whatever he concludes, he keeps to himself.

Having popped the buds out of her ears, Alicia gives a visible frown at Salem's words, then looks confused. With a look back to Zach, she says, "He is the last person you should fuck with here, as a head's up." With a sigh, she starts off as she runs a hand back through her hair.

(...Much, much later...)

It is currently 19:51 Pacific Time on Tue Feb 9 2016.

On the Bridge's Supports

You rest, partially suspended on various cables and girders, and partially against the cement barrier of the bridge support. River water flows rapidly under you, and traffic runs right overhead, with the occasional pothole impact causing quite a thunk.

It's only a few dozen feet down to the surface of the water, though you doubt you could climb down, and you're close to the top of the bridge as well.

The traffic growls and rumbles above, and the river rushes cold and dark below, and Salem's tucked into the girders, curled in like some particularly grouchy aboreal mammal. He's easily missed but for the glow of a cigarette; thirteen years old and he smokes like he's been doing it for decades.

It's the light from the cig that gave him away. Zach might've kept going along, but once the telltale glow of an ember reached his eyes, it was a matter of determination. Zach hasn't been monkeying around like this for decade/s/, but he's clearly no stranger to moving his body around. Curiosity gives way to recognition as he gets near enough to pick details of the youth out... and Zach groans. It's not the meeting he was hoping for, apparently. But he's not going to be 'rude' about it and turn around to go back. "Fuckin' A..." he says as he setles into a lower diagonal support. "..you're just /everywhere/ aren't you?" The 'greeting' is wry, rather than actually bitter.

Salem gives Zach a sour eyeball. "Hello to you, too." He doesn't shift his position, having apparently found exactly where and how he wants to sit.

Zach smirks again, lifting a foot to secure his own position and gestures at the river. "Nice view," he says. "Don't worry, I won't stick around long if you need privacy. Just waiting to see something." He studies the youth, as if contemplating something he doesn't voice.

Salem's mouth thins out, but he gives a shrug like he doesn't care. "You're fine." He flicks ash off the end of his cigarette. "What are you looking for?"

"Ghost," he answers, plainly. "She comes by here now and again. I haven't seen her in a while, though and there were some... questionable things I'd heard from others that make me wonder if she's okay." He doesn't put a lot of urgency in it, the whole thing sounds like it's a casual social call rather than a search. Maybe he's masking it... but then, he's never been subtle in the two other times Salem's run into him.

Salem's eyebrows go up. "Ghost?" His sourness moderates a little, though he takes a drag on his cigarette and considers his answer before giving it. "She's... mostly okay. Considering all the shit she's had to deal with, she's being a goddamn rock."

Zach listens, nods, perhaps notes Salem's reaction. "Truth," he agrees, with the assessment of Ghost's resilience. He lets out a long sigh, looking down and to the side.

Salem doesn't offer anything further about Ghost. He toys idly with his cigarette, then takes another drag, studying Zach all the while, unsmiling but not overtly hostile.

Zach returns the favor... his language marks him as American, but the way he sits in 'companionable' silence is decidedly foreign. Americans aren't comfortable with silence. They're especially not comfortable with social ambiguity, as a rule. And yet, Zach is quiet for many minutes.

Garou aren't known for enjoying social ambiguity, either (or any ambiguity), but if Salem's uncomfortable at all, he doesn't show it. And the longer Zach stays silent, the longer Salem stays quiet as well.

"How's a teenager wind up the person I get warned not to fuck with?" Zach asks, perhaps abruptly. His tone is that of a man who is pondering out loud. "I mean... I get the big-and-scary bit, but that's hardly unique." And then he starts putting it together out loud. "And you smoke like some folks grandfathers do. Which... I mean, if you started at like... eight, maybe. But that's a lot of deference for a teenager. And an abandoned apartment? That's... really fucking savvy for a safe house..." Now his gaze fixes on Salem directly. "And then there's the way you stick up for Dalton..." whatever he takes from that he doesn't explicitly name.

"Dalton and I go way back," Salem says. "And I'm older than I look. A great deal older."

Zach nods, as the world makes sense again. "Huh. The fountain of youth is a new one on me." He may even be respecting it. "That also explains a fair bit. Dalton likes him some labels too." Another nod. "You ever hear of a place called Nightfall?"

The not-young youth considers the name for a bit. "Not offhand, no."

"Hm." Zach nods. "I guess it's probably another casualty of war, then." A frown sits on his face now. "Y'all watch the park. You know it's a Dragon Point, I assume."

Salem smirks. "Now who's using labels? But yes. Though the term we use is glade."

"Some labels are less bullshit than others," Zach says. But since the topic is broached... "When you call someone a 'wizard' you're distancing yourself from them, and they from you. And being super fucking awkward about it, to boot." The last, he just adds as a jab for the absent interlocutor. "You wanna call it a glade, we can call it a glade. I'm all about arguing semantics, but Othering ain't about the semantics, and if you're as old as you claim? You know that already."

"I'm not the one who called you a wizard," Salem points out. "I've heard dozens of different names for people like you and Nick, and while I have no problem in calling you whatever you want to be called, I don't think it's useful to pretend that certain categories don't exist. That's not Othering, that's accepting differences." He takes another drag.

"Categorical differences /don't/ exist," Zach says, directly. "You group Nick and I together, for example. That tells me a lot about how you think, the kinds of categorical errors you make. Why not include yourself in that group? Or Ghost? Or the people you call 'the masses?'"

"Do you prefer the term 'civilians'? I do, as it happens." Salem considers his almost-dead cigarette. "There are experiences, characteristics, /abilities/ that people like Ghost and I, and Alicia, and every other potentially-hairy asshole out there in the woods, share. Things that are fundamentally different than the kinds of things you and Nick can do, or potentially do."

Zach snorts, but he listens. "Yeah yeah yeah," he says, at the natural pause, waving a hand. "I've heard this one before." He leans his head back, thunking it gently against the steel. "You're not special, you know. Neither is Dalton." Pause. "Neither am I. Whatever it is you think I can or can't do, or you can or can't do? For one? You're wrong. I can't do anything you can't do. And, as it turns out, vice-versa."

Salem grimaces. He takes a final drag off his cigarette, then crushes it out on a nearby girder. "I disagree. Not on the special thing, I'm not special. I'm a goddamn monster fighting a goddamn war and /trying/ to keep it away from the people who aren't a part of it and just want to live their goddamn lives." He says all this while fishing an old Altoids tin from a pocket and using it to store the dead cigarette butt. Because fuck littering. "I also have a feeling that we're not going to convince each other, and listening to you get all authoritative at me when I've been turning into a nine-foot killing machine for probably longer than you've been fucking /alive/ is doing nothing but piss me off." He pauses to stand, balancing with one hand on a concrete pillar. "And I'd actually rather not be pissed off at you."

"You're as much of a monster as you allow yourself to be, then." Zach says, shrugging. "I don't prefer the word 'civillians'," he answers what was probably a rhetorical question, at last. "But if you think you're in a war, there's at least a useful context there. You want a word for people like me?" Digging even further, there. "Stick with 'human' if you have to be essentialist about it. 'Person' would do nicely, otherwise."

"I'm thinking more 'condescending shithead,' to be frank," Salem says, starting to make his way down. He's obviously climbed the belly of this bridge many times before; he seems to know just where to step. "But I'll let Ghost know you asked after her. She could use more friends."

"That'll do," Zach agrees, nodding, and accepting 'condescending shithead' as an appropriate class label. He doesn't answer what Salem said about Ghost, though it's abundantly obvious that he heard what was said.

With that, Salem heads off, muttering under his breath in really disgruntled (and probably profane) Serbian.