Recruiting Tatt

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:58 Pacific Time on Wed Sep 4 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 69 degrees
Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
northwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.98 and steady,
and the relative humidity is 40 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees
Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning No Moon phase (15% 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.


Tatt is lounging on one of the benches facing the river, gangly legs
sprawled before her as she smokes a cigarette; something she hasn't done
in months. The Strider is lost in thought, seeing as there's no-one to
keep an eye on in the park this evening.

Approaching in something of a spread out group, John - followed by Salem
and Alicia - enter the park slowly. Something to keep an eye on, indeed.

Taking up the rear is the Gaian, arms swaying at her sides as she moves,
thumping heavy boots upon the ground. The trench coat billows about her
body in the light breeze, swirling in a slow, lazy gait. Upon spying the
lounging Tatt, she raises up a brow, dark eyes sparkling.

The Strider may be preoccupied, but she's neither blind nor deaf. She
glances casually over her shoulder, blows out a stream of cobalt smoke as
she spots the trio. "Well, if it ain't the Three Stooges," she rasps in
greeting. Amiable enough.

Salem stalks along at the Ahroun's side wordlessly, hands folded into the
pockets of the trenchcoat. His face is a study of unemotive neutrality. He
responds to the Strider's greeting with a slight nod, saying nothing.

John tilts his head up by way of greeting. The trenchcoat brigade move
closer, but it's only when they're a few yards away that John speaks. "Got
a minute? We need to have a word."

The dark-skinned Galliard arches a brow at the three of them dubiously,
and sniffs dryly. A shadow of concern passes over her lined features.
"Somethin' wrong?"

"Maybe, feeling nervous?" Alicia quips as she tosses back her red and
black streaked hair from her face, smirking at the Strider.

Salem cuts a sidelong glance over toward Alicia, then shakes his head
slightly and scans over the rest of the park, his caution more habit than
anything else.

The Walker Ahroun rolls his eyes at the Coggie, and looks to Tatt with a
shrug. "No. Just had a, uh..." He frowns, looking for words. "You know,
with Roger in the pack, we used to have two Galliards. And we've been
looking for someone to offset this one..." He jerks a thumb at Alicia,
then clears his throat again. "I-- we... think that... we'd like you to
join Synthesis." He looks into the Strider's eyes, measuring.

The Strider /was/ rather distracted by Alicia, until she absorbs the end
of John's sentence. Topaz eyes blink once, flash sharply. She drapes one
arm over the back of the bench and taps off some cigarette ash. "..Quit
fuckin' with me, Smith," she grunts.

"He's serious Tatt. Ya'see, I'm broken, and they don't want me around
no'mo'." Pretending to sniff, Alicia smirks slightly, then flops onto the
bench next to her, reaching out to steal the smoking cig' from the
Strider.

Salem turns his eye away from a grim study of the river and over to the
Strider. "No fucking going on here," he says, completely deadpan.

John pulls his hands from his pockets to fold his arms. His nose wrinkles
slightly, as he looks aside to the river.

Tatt makes a half-hearted grab for the stolen smoke, but she's too
preoccupied to really care. That wet-gold gaze slides from one Garou to
the other, bluntly disbelieving. "Scrapin' the bottom of the barrel these
days, hey?" She sounds slightly bitter.

Salem's jaw clenches slightly at the reply, and he cuts a look over toward
the pack's alpha.

The Ahroun makes no attempt to agree or disagree, but simply turns his
gaze back to the Strider. "I wanted you in. I asked the others. They
agreed. Do you want in, or not?"

Alicia rolls her shoulders a bit, taking a drag off the smoke, before
handing it back. Clouds of white trail out of her nostrils in a whispy
curl. "C'mon Tatt, say Yes. I need a full time chick to talk to." She
winks.

The Strider takes the smoke back absently, puts it between her lips, but
doesn't take a pull. She folds both arms across her chest slowly, and tips
her head back. Considering the Ahroun, as she would a chess opponent. "Why
me?"

Inclining his head, John lifts one hand from the folded arms to gesture at
Alicia. "Ignore her," he suggests, and then returns the hand. Pausing to
give the next few words some consideration. He takes a breath, and holds
it awhile before rumbling unashamedly, "You're as Urrah as the rest of us.
That's an essential pre-requisite. You're sharper than you let on. You're
grounded, when it comes to others. And you speak your mind with
irreverence. As for the rest... I dunno. I'm not going to sit here and
pump up your ego. Just call it a gut feeling. That you'll fit, and that we
can work together." There's a slightly unpleasant hint of amusement as he
narrows his eyes. "Besides. It'll do you good."

Salem, meanwhile, has turned his straight-faced, bland regard onto the
Strider, and he holds it there as Alicia makes her comment and as John
speaks his mind. He, himself, offers no opinion.

The Strider purses her lips at his answer, and lazily re-crosses her legs.
Her gaze drops, as she grates, "Good save. Now, give me /one/ good reason
why I should run with a Roach-lovin' Get." Tatt lifts her gaze bluntly,
her stare a subtle challenge. Daring him to answer.

John's eyes don't waver, though the light-hearted amusement disappears.
"Because it's me, asking you," he replies simply and flatly with no
emphasis on any word in particular. It could mean lots of things. The
Ahroun watches her eyes carefully.

Tatt makes a thoughtful, unreadable sound in the back of her throat. Her
topaz gaze switches abruptly to Salem; the dark half-moon's silence won't
save him from her scrutiny. "I dunno. What d'you think, Tall Dark'n Too
Fucking Quiet?" She's apparently enjoying this, beneath the gruffness.

Salem's posture stiffens subtly, but his scarred face remains stone,
unchanging. "I think you're perfectly suited for this pack, and we need
someone to keep Mr. Smith in line." His tone is completely bland, dry as
deserts, almost without inflection.

It's brief, but there. A faint twitch at the edge of Smith's eye. The tall
man narrows his eyes, but keeps his face impassive, as he regards Alicia.
Disregarding the comment, it seems.

Alicia blinking her eyes, she looks over to John, noticing his stare upon
her. "What?"

"Nothin'," John grunts neutrally in reply, turning his gaze instead to
Tatt.

"Tatt, if you don't join up with us, I'll give ya an indian burn the size
of Colorado." Alicia threatens, grabbing her arm and giving her a few
playful, unharming twists.

The Strider growls a low protest and pulls her arm out of reach, managing
to get in a good yank on a lock of the Gaian's long hair. Re-composing
herself, she clears her throat and looks back to the pair of male Garou,
while casually slipping an arm around Alicia's shoulder. "Know what I
think? I think y'all have got y'self a new packmate." The Strider bites
the cigarette between long teeth and grins at them, coyote-style.

One corner of Salem's mouth twitches upward; there's a glint in his eye
that could be interpreted as approval.

There's a moment of sudden uncertainy in John's expression, at that coyote
smile, and he looks aside for a few moments. Resolving a few things in his
own head, before nodding a few times, slowly and re-mastering control of
his expression. "Good. You'll be introduced to cockroach shortly, then.
After you meet the rest of the pack. You'll need to abide by the ban--
you're to treat cockroach's children with respect. Spare them when you
can."

Alicia snuggles up next to Tatt and curls an arm around her waist,
grinning faintly to herself. Leaning back comfortably on the bench, she
crosses her legs, swaying one foot up and down.

The Strider feigns a look of sheer innocence. "Roaches? I love the little
buggers. Wouldn't dream of squashin' one. I don't even /own/ a can of
Raid." Grinning, she ruffles a hand through the Gaian's hair. "Dena's
gonna be /pissed/," she notes cheerfully.

John arches an eyebrow, as he looks to Tatt curiously.

Salem looks rather quizzical at the remark as well.

Tatt shrugs at her new packmates' nonplussed expressions. "Y'all just
lured me away from the Guardian pack. What can I say? I'm weak." She
shrugs again, twirling a lock of Alicia's hair around her finger idly.

Alicia laughs and glances over to Tatt, smooching the side of her head.
"Hey, this gig is way better then being stuck on the Bawn twenty-fo'
seven. At least you get to blow shit up an kick baddie's ass an look good
doing it."

There is, quite definitely now, a glint of amusement in Salem's eye at
this, though he doesn't quite manage to smile.

John closes his eyes in a concession to the temptation to wince. When he
opens them again, he shakes his head slightly - expression wry. "We
probably need to talk about this. ...Later." The Ahroun shakes his head a
little more, and reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose. "Who wants
to go out and celebrate?"

Tatt grins crookedly. "I'm down, as long as yer buyin' the non-alcoholic
beer."

"I think that can be arranged," Salem says dryly.

Alicia hops up to her feet, dragging Tatt along. "Sweet. I"m all for
Karokee ta'night." She hips her new packie. "Whatcha say sis? Wanna break
a few ear drums?"

"Alcohol-free beer for everyone except Alicia," John notes dourly. "Can be
arranged."

The Galliard coughs once, and actually blanches at the mention of kareoke.
"I, uh... don't sing, actually." Tatt ducks her head sheepishly,
scratching at the back of her neck.

"Nonsense," John mutters, moving past the Coggie and Strider, towards the
exit to the park.

Alicia laughs and follows after them, wiggling her brows to Tatt. "That is
the point of Karoke. To prove out much ya suck at it."

Salem is not, _certainly_ not, taking a bit of petty, amused satisfaction
at Smith's dour turn of mood. He himself seems... well, not chipper or
anything, but in a fairly good mood underneath the taciturn manner and
controlled body language. He takes up the rear of the group, one corner of
his lips quirked ever so slightly upward.

The Strider chuckles lowly at Alicia, shakes her head. "I think I'll sit
this one out, amiga. Got a few things to think about. You can wail your
guts out, though... I'm sure you've got the voice of an angel." She
follows John's lead at a ground-eating lope, hands in her pockets.

Alicia nods her head to Tatt with a slight grin on her face, shoulders
rolling a bit. "Aiight, if you say so." She says, chuckling. "I am all for
wailing my guts out if you guys want to listen."

"Lovely," Salem comments in response to this, again perfectly deadpan.