"Lyra mentioned you to me."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 16:39 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 22 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 59 degrees Fahrenheit (15 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 15 mph, with gusts up to 20 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.90 and falling, and the relative humidity is 47 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (59% 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.

It's a sunny afternoon and quite warm for the time of year, though this dosen't lead many more than the odd few vagrents to the park. One such 'vagrent' is hunched over the fountain's basin, cheerfully washing his hair in the waters, though lacking soap or shampoo to make a decent job of it.

Raul is a grubby and rather averagely-proportioned example of the human race, standing at roughly 5'7" when upright. He's got naturally-tanned skin and /brightly/ bleached blonde hair, the colours contrasting each other all the more when not coated in the dirt of the streets, though that's rare. A pair of sharp blue eyes peer over the world from out of his grimy face, set over a slightly-too-large nose and expressive lips, a slight dimple appearing in the man's chin when he grins. His frame is limber and fit, his actions betraying the grace and ease of motion that comes with being totally at ease with oneself, though he's often hampered in part by his clothing.

Raul's torso is half-uncovered, revealing a lithe musculature and rather tight stomach, wiry strength coupling with the lean look of someone who dosen't eat quite as well as he should. Covering his legs are a pair of two-size-too-big blue courdroy pants that have definitely seen better days, as evidenced by the wear on the seat, thighs and knees and the ragged hems that trail about his mismatched shoes. One seems to be a muddy white sneaker, in relatively good condition if one ignores the lack of tongue, while the other is a black leather shoe, missing it's usual laces and instead tied with washing line. Over all this is an unnusual-looking coat (+detail), covered in used car license-plates and festooned with badges, so tightly-packed that they don't rattle.

Raul's coat is long and black, made of some kind of thick wool. One arm is torn off from mid-bicep, and the other sleeve has seen it's share of slashes, while an inch-wide strip of the hem is ripped and hanging off at an angle. It's unnusually decorated, as used car license plates have been attatched all along the back and sides, front flaps and arms, bent and shaped to make wearing reasonably comfortable. As if this wasn't enough in the way of decor, there's also a festoon of colourful pin-buttons between the larger plastic plates, tightly packed so that they don't rattle, almost obscuring the coat's underlaying blackness entirely.

Salem comes into view from the southern section of the park, a tall figure in black with dark glasses hiding his eyes. A filterless cigarette dangles from his lips as he stalks along, his body language expressing a certain air of authority.

Straightening sharply so that his hair is shaken back from his face before being wrung out, Raul spies the authority figure and quirks a brow, keeping an eye on the dark stranger.

Almost at the same moment, Salem spots the bum with the unique coat. His eyebrows lower slightly, and his mouth twitches into a frown as he regards Raul.

Hmm. Spotted. Noting that he - or rather, his coat - seems to have garnered an admirer, Raul calls over cheerfully, "Afta'noon!"

"Afternoon," Salem replies, a good deal more coolly. Slowly, he strolls over, hands buried in the pockets of the long black duster and smoke trailing from the handrolled cigarette. "Is your name Raul?"

"Tha it is," Raul agrees, unquashed by the other man's dour exterior. "Wha can I do fa ya?" he goes on to prompt, binding his hair back with an elastic band and folding his arms over his chest, one or two of the licence places clinking as they're rubbed together.

Salem stops and seems to look the Gnawer up and down for a moment, then takes the cigarette out of his mouth and taps ash off the end of it. "Jack Salem," he says, introducing himself. Interesting how he doesn't offer to shake hands. "Lyra mentioned you to me."

Raul eyes the Walker similarly in return. "Yeah, an' I heard ya name too," he allows. "Just tha person I need ta talk ta, in fact. Got a couple'a minutes?"

"Certainly." Salem takes in a lungful of smoke and exhales it through his nose, dragonlike. He glances around, making sure there's no one within earshot, and then turns back to Raul.

Raul lifts a hand to absently scratch at his cheek. "Ya got a kid under ya umbrella by tha name 'a Cat Hopkins?" he prompts quietly, voice lowered a touch dispite the lack of audience. Hands now shove into his pockets briefly, only to emerge empty so his arms can refold.

Salem's mouth thins. "I do," he says flatly. "What of it?"

"Saw 'im on the flipside, las' night," Raul replies soberly. "Jus' him an' a roach spirit. Wanted ta make sure he got home okay. Tha spirit seemed worried 'bout 'im." He shakes his head slightly, eyes drifting out to keep watch for potential evesdroppers.

Salem's mouth tightens, a twitch of irritation. "Far as I know, he did, but I'll check with his guardian." The Walker's tone has turned a notch more dour.

"Good. Nice spirit, though. Real friendly like." Now that his lingering concern has been satisfied, Raul seems more than willing to drop the subject. "So, 'sup in town? Ain't had a chance ta speak ta any 'a you guys, apart from tha blue-haired kid."

Salem grunts and takes another drag off the cigarette. "Haven't been filled in on things? Have you met Renee yet, or Elan?"

"Yup, an' yup. Jus' tryin' ta get as many angles as I can," Raul replies nonchalently, peering into the fountain. "Always good ta be informed, ya know? Renee's busy with bein' tha boss, an' Elan ain't ever in town, so figure maybe ya guys might have a betta idea, maybe?"

"Steer clear of the hospital," the Glass Walker advises, "and the sewers, especially in the southern part of town. Keep your eye out for any undead. We've had a couple of reports of those recently. Otherwise," he says, taking another drag off the cigarette, "it's mostly quiet." Salem's tone is brusque and businesslike, without warmth.

Raul inclines his head slightly. "A'aight. An' now I'm gonna head off an' do some diggin'. Glad I finally met tha Walker head honcho," he murmurs, sketching a bow towards the other Cliath. "Hasta manana."

Salem taps ash. "You do that. One more thing." The Walker's tone hardens. "We have enough murders in the city to have our own people adding to the body count. You kill someone, you make damned sure it's part of the war. I won't stand for any unnecessary casualties. Understood?"

"Chill, hombre," Raul replies languidly. "Only things I kill 'r on tha flipside. Don't get'cha panties inna knot." Raising an imaginary hat to the Elder, he then heads off through the park, whistling cheerfully and utterly tunelessly.

Salem snorts. He watches the Gnawer go, then returns to his patrol of the park.