Dirty Joke

[hazlogs]

7 October 2014

Currently in Saint Claire, it is fair outside. The temperature is 67 
degrees Fahrenheit (19 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
from the northeast at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.94 and 
falling, and the relative humidity is 75 percent. The dewpoint is 59 
degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full (Ahroun) Moon phase (91% 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.

Harbor Park is unseasonably warm today--for this time of year--and yet 
there's not many people out taking advantage of it. In fact, there's only 
about a dozen people in the whole park at the moment, and most of them seem 
to be a kids having fun on the playground equipment. Two women watch over 
them, though they're mostly preoccupied with chatting at one another. 
There's a bum on the northern end of the park, sleeping off an 
alcohol-infused bender. And then there's Nick loitering at the heart of the 
glade, seated on the rim of the fountain. Seasoned city denizens might 
recognize that even though he's reading a Kindle Fire, he looks up 
periodically and gives the park and its inhabitants a looking over. Then 
back to reading. It's a practiced, almost rhythmic activity that seems to 
indicate that he's watching for something. Or perhaps patrolling the area.

Ramos enters the park from the direction of Bridge Street, rubbing his 
hands together near his chin and mumbling soundlessly to himself. He makes 
a vague, circuitious route toward the fountain, making stops to poke around 
at the top layer of garbage in the park's trash cans. He doesn't take 
anything, however.

Nicodemus pays more and more attention to the newcomer who starts circling 
the fountain and poking at the trash cans. He's silent at first, just 
keeping tabs on what the stranger is doing without being terribly obvious 
that he's doing so. Although in such close proximity, it's going to be 
almost impossible to overlook the fact that Nick is, in fact, quite aware 
of the other's presence. That's probably a good thing insofar as the 
don't-care-to-be-mugged crowd goes. As Ramos draws nearer, Nick clears his 
throat after he finishes poking at the trash cans and taking nothing. 
"Looking for something in particular?" he inquires quietly, pitching his 
voice soft enough to be easily ignored if Ramos chose to do so. And not 
sounding confrontational about it, either.

This thin, wiry, short (5'6"), and moderately attractive man is probably in 
his very late twenties to mid thirties. His dark brown hair is of medium 
length and styled so as to appear unkempt--even though it isn't. His 
attire, appearance, and mannerisms communicate that he's well-off, but 
certainly not wealthy

	Nicodemus is currently wearing loose-fitting blue jeans and a grey 
long-sleeved shirt--perfect for variable spring weather conditions. The 
exceptionally perceptive might notice his pants do not quite hang 
naturally over his right ankle. A new-looking charcoal gray longcoat 
envelopes his form, shields him from the weather, and masks some of his 
body language and movements.

	He wears few accessories: an unadorned cotton lanyard and a slender 
gold chain around his neck plunge beneath his shirt, a small metal owl 
pin resides on the left collar of his coat, and worn brown leather 
gloves protect his hands. There's a whiff of wood-smoke and ozone 
lingering in the air about him, possibly from an expensive cologne.

	When he moves, it is with grace, fluidity, and sure-footedness. When 
idle, he seems alert and focused, yet somehow simultaneously 
introspective.

Ramos turns his face toward Nick, head cocked, lips stopping in mid-mumble. 
And after a moment or two, he moves closer, smelling strongly of unwashed 
clothes, unwashed body, and onions. "I need," he says, forming the words 
carefully and slowly, "a dirty joke."

Nicodemus leans off to one side slightly, putting just a few more inches of 
distance between you and his nose. It probably doesn't help. Nope. It 
doesn't. He leans another inch away, even though that still doesn't help. 
Perhaps he just likes a bit more personal space? "Is that a joke?" Nick 
inquires dubiously, experimenting with the concept of breathing through his 
mouth instead of his nose.

Ramos doesn't move closer, but he doesn't go away, either. "No. I need a 
dirty joke."

Nicodemus is seated on the rim of the fountain. Ramos is nearby. They seem 
to be talking, although Nick's torso is leaning a bit away from the rather 
fragrant Ramos. Nick asks Ramos, "When should you kick a midget in the nuts?"

Ramos takes a moment to let this sink in, his lips moving soundlessly as if 
he's repeating it to himself. Then, like it's a ritual, he intones, "I 
don't know. When should you kick a midget in the nuts?"

Nicodemus completes the joke. The astute might notice that he's breathing 
through his mouth and not his nose. "When he's standing next to your 
girlfriend and says that her hair smells nice." With the inflection he 
uses, it almost comes out as a question. Tenative. As if perhaps that 
wasn't a good one.

Ghost can be seen at one of the far edges of the park, street-side, 
entering behind a hand-holding couple that promptly heads toward the river 
bank. She's got her full get-up today; two shirts and the jacket, faded 
baseball cap, backpack slung over her shoulders. She also has a McDonald's 
bag and a partially unwrapped cheeseburger that she's already taken a bite 
out of. Her gaze sweeps the park as she chews, settling on the fountain, 
then the occupants, in that order. She heads that way.

Ramos doesn't laugh, smile, chuckle, or show any sign that he finds Nick's 
joke humorous at all. He simply nods, slowly, saying, "Thank you." One 
meaty, pale hand delves into a coat pocket and comes up with a rumpled and 
rather dirty pamphlet of McDonalds coupons. He holds this out to Nick, 
offering.

You paged Nicodemus with 'They look like they were fished from the trash. 
Maybe stepped on at some point. (And are all expired, not that Nick can 
tell without close examination.)'.

"Ah. Well," Nick says as Ramos offers him a selection of soiled McDonalds 
coupons. "That's, uh, very kind o... Hey!" He says, suddenly noticing the 
newcomer approaching the fountain. "Haven't seen you in a while," he calls 
over to Ghost.

This is a young woman of average height or a little above, maybe 5'6 or 
5'7, who looks to be somewhere in her early twenties in age. She has olive 
skin, shoulder length dark brown hair that's almost always pulled back into 
a simple, tight ponytail, and even darker brown eyes that look black from 
any distance when they aren't catching the light. She is neither ugly nor 
particularly pretty, and there's a certain haggardness to her features, a 
sharpness defined less by genetics and more by hard living. Her build is 
athletic, of a sort; not the sort you see on track fields, but the sort you 
find among young soldiers in distant countries, or refugees that are used 
to moving at a moment's notice and from which reality demands a certain 
sort of fitness or death.

Her clothing isn't ragged, but it does tend to be rather frayed around the 
edges. She wears faded jeans and old but sturdy sneakers with decent 
treads, a variety of cheap shirts, a long sleeved button-up shirt when the 
wind is up, and oftentimes has a light jacket tied about her waist, as if 
she wanted to be prepared just in case. Her hands are well calloused, both 
on the palm, fingertips, and knuckles. Oftentimes she wears a very well 
used pair of fingerless gloves, though often these appear to have been made 
fingerless after the fact.

"Crazy shit," Ghost says when she gets close enough that she doesn't have 
to shout. Her shoulders are slightly hunched; she might be talking to Nick, 
but she's watching Ramos carefully. "Fucking earthquakes, protests. Cops 
all over the place."

Ramos continues to hold the forlorn and likely useless booklet of coupons 
out to Nick, as if the other man might actually want them. But also, as 
Ghost arrives, he shrinks into himself a bit, shifting his weight nervously.

"Thanks," Nick says to Ramos, raising a gloved hand to decline rather than 
accept the coupons. "But I'm okay dinner-wise." He looks to Ghost, then 
shrugs. "Not much I can do about it except stay out of the way and out of 
the city. Which is exactly what I've been doing." He glances around the 
park, noting his current location, before he amends his statement. "For the 
most part. You doing okay?"

Ghost takes another bite from her cheeseburger as she forces her attention 
away from Ramos, and onto Nick. She chews and swallows. "I don't like any 
of it, but I'm uh, I'm not hurt or anything."

Ramos fidgets, grimacing anxiously. Finally, he bends down to place the 
McDonalds coupons on the ground in front of Nick and then, offering made, 
starts hustling away.

Nicodemus seems to get a little awkward himself as Ramos seems to be in a 
rush to depart. He falls silent, looking between Ghost and Ramos, as if 
trying to figure out what kind of dynamic seems to be at work there.

Ghost turns her head to watch Ramos again. Her nostrils flare briefly, as 
if she were catching his very...very noticeable scent, and she seems to 
ease up a little once it's clear he's leaving. "Who was that?"

"No clue. He seemed to be afraid of you, though." Nick shrugs mildly, 
emphasizing he had no idea what that was about and taking a moment longer 
to eyeball the McDonald coupons that Ramos left near his feet. "Weird guy. 
But that's the homeless and mildly nutty for you."

"People get afraid of me," Ghost says, as if she were commenting on the 
weather. She bends down and reaches for the dirty old coupons, apparently 
unbothered by the prospect of dirt or anything else that might be on it. 
"It's not as bad as with some others, but uh, it happens, you know? Often 
enough."