People in the Park

[hazlogs]

21 July 2001

Harbor Park Meadow
One of the last bastions of green left in the city, occasionally mottled and 
  withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet. The 
  vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and 
  much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. 
  Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a 
  busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to 
  the east. A rusted chain link fence delineates the territorial boundaries 
  between the park and the encroaching city. Unchecked hedges and vines 
  interweave through the fence, as if the park wanted to distance itself from 
  the city--or the local community wanted to distance itself from the eerie 
  park. Despite the foliage, the majority of the open meadow is easily seen. 
  People in tall buildings or on boats have an excellent view of any 
  goings-ons. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a 
  flower bed surrounds a lovely... plywood barricade.
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.

Elan nods to Drew. "We don't seem to be able to connect, Drew. Yeah, Elan, 
  Bone Gnawer Elder."

The chain link fence rattles audibly as Malachi climbs it from the street-side.

Dena's own palms are not calloused, but her hands are strong. "Really. Well. 
  I'll try to live up to her example. Don't suppose," she adds hopefully, 
  "She's still around?" She glances at the fence, and then back to Drew. "My 
  bunch appears woefully underdeveloped."

Drew mimes a little curtsy at Elan, but it's respectful. "So," she rasps. 
  "I've got this Strider cub in my apartment, dropped off by Seeker and John. 
  He's gettin' a little restless, and I for one don't feel like leaving him in 
  my home with all my valuables." Her grin widens, and she tilts her head. 
  "Thinkin' I could hand him off to a farmhouse-bound type, y'know?"

Drew glances aside at Dena, her expression sad--remembering something. 
  "Arlen's gone," she rasps. "Wish she wasn't, but there ya go."

Malachi pauses at the top of the fence, peering toward the knot of conversing 
  adults; fortunately, the kid's obviously well out of hearing range. After 
  that moment's hesitation, the boy swings his body over the fence and lets 
  himself drop to the ground with a moderate amount of grace.

Vicki sighs softly. "Sorry about that Drew. I don't know why they told me to 
  drop them off at you place, but I wasn't about to argue with two Ahourns."

Elan nods to Drew, then glances over by the fences; his voice drops a bit, 
  still conversing with Drew. "Certainly, I could come get him now. Name?"

Dena swallows. "Happens to the best of us," she mutters, looking away for a 
  moment. Gaze drifting back, she adds, "Never easy." After a moment, she 
  adds, in a far less tense voice, "Want some help?"

Malachi picks himself up and pushes his glasses up his nose. Now secure on the 
  ground, he squints in the others' direction again, chewing on one corner of 
  his lower lip and frowning.

Drew watches the Fury, eyes searching her countenance for a moment before 
  nodding to both Garou. "My place is a few blocks from here--but y'all have 
  to promise to be quiet. My kid's sleeping." Her gaze shifts to Vicki, with a 
  smile. "You're invited too, hon. I'll make ya some tea or something."

Vicki smiles. "Thankyou. I'd like that. Is your place still loaded with cats?"

Elan smiles a bit to Drew. "And, hey, I knew Arlen pretty good. She died well, 
  as well as any of us get to die. She gave me my Rite for the rank I now 
  hold."

Dena manages to quirk a smile at Drew's scrutiny, but her heart doesn't appear 
  to be in the gesture, not yet. Holding a hand up in the girl scout salute, 
  she murmurs, "As a church mouse."

Drew shakes her head aside to Vicki. "They couldn't handle Chaser, and vice 
  versa. Get and housecats is a /bad/ combination." She grins at the three of 
  them, shoving both hands deep in her pockets. "So c'mon. Aaron's probably 
  crawling the walls by now." With that, the tiny kinswoman turns and sets off 
  for the street.

Dena manages to show her dismay at the word "Get" only in her eyes. She, too, 
  stuffs her hands in her pockets, and follows the Kin out.

Vicki nods and takes up a position behind Drew, following the other kinswoman 
  to her place.

Elan follows in stride.

Malachi pushes his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts and watches the 
  figures walk off. He hasn't budged from his spot near the fence.

[Later...]

Kaz and her flute case are wandering down by the river, staring into it 
  thoughtfully.

Malachi's eyes follow the group out, then cast a long gaze upon the rest of 
  the area. Unsurprisingly, he focusses on the only other individual in the 
  park; his eyes follow Kaz for several moments, suspiciously.

Kaz sits down, puts the flute together, and starts playing, for several 
  minutes. It's a jazz/blues piece, and no particular song is identifiable. 
  She completely ignores Malachi.

Malachi shifts his weight, apparantly involved in some sort of inward debate. 
  He scratches the back of his neck, then shrugs, shoves both hands back into 
  his pockets, and starts wandering over in a hunched-shoulders slouch.

The song ends about the same time Malachi starts heading over. The last note 
  hangs in the air, before Kaz lowers the flute, shakes her head at nothing in 
  particular, and starts breaking the flute down again.

Malachi quickens his pace just enough to get within talking distance before 
  the musician's done taking apart her flute. "Hey."

Kaz pauses, gives the kid a glance, and finishes taking it apart before she 
  says, "Yo." She doesn't sound very welcoming.

Malachi stops perhaps a few feet away, sneakers planted firmly apart; the 
  kid's posture screams tension but his tone displays a partially-successful 
  effort to be reasonably polite. "Gotta light?"

Kaz puts her flute case slightly behind her right thigh. "I... /think/ so..." 
  She rummages in her pocket, and comes up with a battered, cheap, but 
  workable lighter, and hands it to him. "Go t'town."

Malachi takes it with mumbled thanks as he fishes out a crumpled pack of 
  cigarettes. The whole affair or getting one cancer stick out and lighting it 
  is accomplished without too much fumble, and once he's done the kid tosses 
  it back.

Kaz stuffs it back in her pocket. "I'd mutter something about that being a 
  filthy habit, but fuck, I got worse ones, s'who'm I to judge?"

A grimace starts forming on the kid's face, then fades at the latter part of 
  Kaz's sentence. He almost smiles, though there's no real strength in it. The 
  anger's far more powerful. "Yeah. People always buggin' me. Like they're my 
  fuckin' parents."

Kaz watches this transformation with interest. "Dude, believe me, I can't even 
  /begin/ to be anyone's parent. Ain't my place to be buggin' no one about 
  nothin'."

Malachi nods, puffing at the cigarette with jittery energy, not quite 
  inhaling. "Fuckin' A. Like, this one guy, he gives me stuff 'cos, I dunno, 
  he's a boyfucker fag or somethin', even though I don't do anything for him, 
  yeah? Fuckin' creep." It's like a switch was turned on; he rattles off a 
  torrent of aggravations. "An' his friend hits me when the guy ain't around 
  and he's like, asshole, stay away from my dick-licker. And I'm like, fuck, 
  ain't worth it and I hate the guy anyway, so when the fag sees me again I 
  tell him to fuck off, and he won't let it fuckin /go/, and I hadda tell him 
  like /twelve times/ I wanted him to stay the fuck away from me. I mean, what 
  a /dumbass/, y'know?"

Kaz listens, nodding occasionally. His descriptions of Joey and Junior fly 
  over her head, but the general situation, she gets. "So he's totally gone 
  now, huh?"

Malachi grimaces. "God, I fuckin' hope so. Fuckin' fag."

Kaz says, "I dunno, I ain't got a problem with queers, s'long as they don' go 
  hittin' on folks as don't want it. You tell him you dint want him hittin' on 
  you?"

Malachi puffs on the cigarette, flicks ash from it, and generally fiddles with 
  it. "Tried t'touch me once. I got away. Didn't see him then for ages, and he 
  was all like, yeah, I'm your friend. Like I wouldn't know." He wrinkles his 
  nose, corner of his lip lifting enough to show a bit of tooth. "'Course, 
  when I finally called him on it he fuckin' totally denied it. God, I fuckin' 
  hate this place. It sucks. It sucks /ass/."

Kaz curls her lip. "Fucker," she decides. "Mother fuckin' asswipe." She shakes 
  her head. "Well, I dunno, I been places I hated a lot worse'n here. Here, 
  here's actually kinda tolerable. On alternate Tuesdays."

Malachi scowls and digs his sneaker-toe into the grassy turf. "It still 
  stinks. Like fuckin' garbage. An' people come here, talk stupid shit like 
  they do, and never leave you alone, and /fuck/. I wanna fuckin' scream." 
  Angrily, he kicks at the grass again, digging up a toeful of dirt.

Kaz tilts her head. "Why doncha? No one's gonna fuckin' notice, around here."

Malachi shakes his head, turning his gaze toward the river. His glasses have 
  slipped halfway down his nose, and he pushes them up with an irritated, if 
  habitual, gesture. "Wouldn't make any difference. Would still fuckin' stink. 
  Would still be fuckin' people talkin' fuckin' shit and never fuckin' leavin' 
  me alone."

Kaz says, glumly, "I dunno, except when you retreat t'th' woods, where you'll 
  get sap in your hair and burrs on your ass, there ain't really nowhere at 
  all you /won't/ have people fuckin' with you. Just, sometimes you can get 
  'em to shut up better'n others."

Malachi's reply to this is a muttered, gloomy-sounding, "Fuck."

Kaz goes on, "An', of course, there's th' joy of fuckin' with them an' them 
  bein' too stupid t'notice til later." Yes, it's Kaz, encouraging juvenile 
  delinquents.

Malachi cocks a curious, if wary, eyeball toward Kaz. "Whattya mean?"

Kaz shrugs. "Fuck with their heads. Or property. Or whatever. Just don' let 
  'em know you're doin' it. That oughta be easy as shit, shouldn't it?"

Malachi scratches at a bug bite on the underside of his jaw, frowning 
  thoughtfully. "Yeah... Yeah, it should." He takes another puffing, 
  non-inhale drag on the cigarette, then peers toward the river again. 
  "Anyway..." His mismatched eyes flick toward Kaz again. "...Thanks for the 
  light."

Kaz shrugs. "Y'welcome. Jus', try not t'fuck with my crew, huh?" She gestures 
  vaguely. "I mean, just 'cause they're my friends, and stuff."

Malachi squints doubtfully at her. "Um... yeah, okay. Who are they?"

Kaz gives fairly accurate descriptions of all of Trouble, and adds Anneka into 
  the mix, as well. "Although," she admits, "Tim's kinda the type who'll fuck 
  with you just f'the joy of gettin' into a fight, an' Max is occasionally so 
  defensive she'll provoke someone just because she can't help it. So I mean, 
  y'know, you're human, an' I don' expect no miracles."

Judging by the kid's expression, there might be some doubt as to whether he'll 
  remember all the descriptive stuff, but he nods anyway. "'Kay." He starts to 
  walk off, stops, then adds a, "See ya," before before continuing to head on 
  his way.

Kaz says, "Later," and only about five minutes later gets alook on her face 
  that says, "I just encouraged a kid to be a general JD. What on earth was I 
  thinking?"