Garbage in the Park

[hazlogs]

It is currently 11:09 Pacific Time on Sat May 23 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.17 and rising, and the relative humidity is 77 percent. The dewpoint is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (34% 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.

Val is taking a breather and getting some fresh air, while seated on the edge of the fountain and puffing away on a cigarette. Worn and ratty around the edges, the young girl looks as if she had a rough night, or several rough nights in a row. What with her age and the cigarette use, she is drawing the occasional glance from those who are passing through the park.

Val is is a young girl in her mid-teens, who has an angular face, high cheekbones, and a prominent nose. All softened by the faint chubbyness of youth. Her hair is shoulder length and streaked in a series of rainbow hues, everything from dark purple to a brilliant orange. Due to the Val's strong northern Italian ancestry, her pale olive-tinted skin darkens to a rich brown during the summer months. She stands two inches below five feet tall, which accentuates just how thin and petite she is. The young woman's figure is whip-thin, with the faint curves that identify her as female. Val smiles a lot, a friendly cheerfulness that is hard to ignore and is almost contagious in nature.

Currently, the teen is wearing a black t-shirt with a yellow Batman logo on it. Over the shirt, she wears a warm black hoodie, with a zipper up the front, rainbow striped arms, hood, and front pockets. On her right wrist, she is wearing a thin charm bracelet; there are a few birds, an old-style sun with a face on it, an egg, and a lippy-mouth. Val's legs are covered by a pair of skinny denim jeans and Her feet are shod in a pair of well-worn black sneakers, clearly chosen for comfort rather than style. Around her neck she wears a braided leather necklace with a large black opal pendant. On her fingers, she wears a number of thick rings, some with a mirrored surface, others holding the luster of stainless steel. A black and white leather backpack with the image of a magpie sewn in to it hangs from her shoulders, always filled with something or another.

Despite Val's youth, small stature, and thin frame, she moves with an easy, sure-footed grace. Her movements are quick, practiced, and at times, a little on the jerky side.

Garbo slouches in from the direction of Bridge Street, her gait loose and unhurried. She meanders along the path, pausing to stop at a trashbin and poke a long arm around in it.

She's a lanky teenager close to six feet tall, all arms and legs and androgynous build. A thick, tangled mass of brown-black hair hangs in messy curls to her narrow shoulders, much of it hiding a round face with thick eyebrows, heavy-lidded brown eyes, a button nose, and full lips. Her skin is light brown, spotty with acne here and there and dusted with black fuzz on her forearms and lower legs.

She's dressed sloppily in a dirty black t-shirt, filthy jeans that have been hacked off at the knees, and grubby canvas sneakers without socks. She's unwashed and unkempt and smells like rotting garbage, sweat, and dog.

A not-seen-around-much-lately mid-80s Suburban 4x4, covered in the dust and dirt of many, many miles, eases into a parking space on the street. Muttering to himself, Nick exits the vehicle, clambering down the side, and accidentally slamming the heavy door closed. *WHAM!* The large car wobbles slightly and Nick looks momentarily surprised before he heads into the park, immediately taking note of Val and heading her way. Nick looks a little rumpled and road-weary, but not nearly so much as his car. "You don't call. You don't write," he chides as he draws nearer.

Val looks up at the slammed car door, the noise having drawn her attention to the Mage's arrival. At his words, she offers up a genuine, if tired smile. "Hey there Nick. Finally made it back, I see. Was it a good trip?" The cigarette is held loosely in one hand.

Garbo's head snaps up at the WHAM, nostrils flaring. Her eyes, barely visibly past all that hair, follow Nick to Val, the contents of the trash can momentarily forgotten.

Nicodemus draws nearer, silently, perhaps contemplating the question or his response to it--or both. He glances around before responding, mouth opening and closing as if having a silent conversation, and notices Garbo eyeballing him from afar. He responds to Val with a lowered voice gauged so that his words won't carry far. "It was... very interesting." Cryptic? Nick? No, never! The mage settles onto the back of a park bench which just so happens to allow him to keep Garbo in his field of view. "I did have someone look at those samples you gave me. Hope you didn't want them back. I had to do some horse trading."

Val shakes her head. "Wasn't expecting them back," she says, then snuffs out the cigarette and pockets the butt. "Been a bit busy, myself. I have some new stuff for you, when you drop by my place next."

Garbo goes back to fishing around in the trash, though slowly. Still, eventually the filthy teenager comes up with a prize -- a large McDonalds bag. She opens it up and sticks her face in to sniff the contents, then wanders off a short ways, away from the trash can but mildly closer to Nick and Val, and sits down in the grass to dig in at discarded french fries and a half-eaten Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese.

"Should have held on to a bit for myself," he half-bemoans, but dismisses the oversight casually. "The super formor?" Nick says as he leans in a little closer to Val. "Not a fomor at all. No sign of possession by an evil spirit." He pauses to blink, eyes remaining closed a hair too long to be considered a 'normal' blink, before resuming. "It was never even human. It's something new. Or at least new to me and my mentor. It seems to be capable of disrupting.... kind of the underlying pattern to everything. A little difficult to explain in greater detail than that."

This wiry, short (5'6"), and moderately attractive man is probably in his mid to late thirties. His dark brown hair (with the occasional white strand) is of medium length and styled to appear slightly unkempt. His attire, appearance, and mannerisms communicate that he's well-off but not wealthy, physically fit but not an athlete. He'd blend in effortlessly with a crowd of corporate office workers. He's handsomely forgettable.

Color doesn't seem to be his thing. Nicodemus is wearing crisp, charcoal-gray khakis and a matching button-down shirt. If a tie were added, he'd be ready to switch from "business casual" to "business." A longcoat (more gray, but lighter) envelopes his form, shields him from the weather, and masks some of his body language and movements. It's almost as if he's dressing to be unmemorable.

The more perceptive might notice the following details. He wears a sturdy necklace, mostly hidden by his shirt. A metal owl pin resides on his coat's left collar. Worn, brown leather gloves protect his hands. His pants do not quite hang naturally over his right ankle. There's an almost hair-raising energy about him, as well as a pleasing whiff of woodsmoke and ozone--likely from an expensive cologne.

Val mms, then stifles a yawn. "I had wondered if they were some sort of construct," she says, voice low and designed not to carry. "But yea, I went to that place just outside Hanford. Really is mess. Have some interesting footage that I can show you. And don't worry," she adds with a half-smile. "I only gave you half of what I had. But, I've been feeling utterly shitty since my trip and it isn't easing off any. Actually, I'm gonna try laying down again," she adds, as she rises from her seat. "Drop by my place in a bit? Might be feeling a bit more chipper, then."

A middle-aged woman goes by on the path past Garbo, leading a Shih Tzu on a leash. Garbo pauses in her eating to watch the dog walker intently.

Nicodemus raises his eyebrows ever so slightly when the Corax mentions feeling bad after her Hanford trip, but he lets it slide. For now. "Sometimes a nap does wonders for the body and the spirit. Go catch some rack time. We'll catch up later," he suggests. "Just give a call. I should be around and about."

Val mms. "It feels like shit that I've experienced before, less severe, but it's not responding too clean-up. Hoping it passes. Seems to have, with others. Slug has been keeping tabs on me," she admits, then starts to wander off, while lifting a hand in farewell. "Seeya Nick. Don't be a stranger." And off she goes.

Garbo watches the dog walker for several minutes, long enough to see the woman loiter patiently while her pet sniffs all around a clump of grass. Then she goes back to eating out of the discarded McDonalds bag.

Nicodemus watches Val depart, looking as if he might be concerned while trying to not look concerned. After Val is gone, he pulls out a black Kindle Fire and powers it up. His mouth moves as he reads, though no words come out. He does stop from time to time to look around the park, keeping tabs on who is around and what they're up to. Garbo is certainly included in these periodic checks. His gaze lingers, perhaps, ever so slightly longer whenever his sweep brings him to Garbo. It's as if he's keeping tabs on her activities.

Garbo crumples up the empty bag and gets up to stuff it back into the trash can. She rubs her nose, sniffs, then sniffs again. Moving away from that trash can, she wanders closer to Nick. Or maybe to the one nearest him.

As luck would have it, Nick happens to be downwind of Garbo. He gets a whiff of the blend of rotting garbage, sweat, and... dog? The last is slightly unusual for a homeless person, and Nick tends to deal on a regular basis with those kinds of unusual people. He exhales sharply, drawing attention to the fact that humans do have a sense of smell, limited that it may be in contrast to a canine's apptitude. He squints a little more, eyeballing the homeless-looking person. "You have a dog?" Odd question for a random stranger to ask right out of the blue.

Garbo pauses to peer at Nick, head cocked. She seems to be considering the question, or maybe her answer. "Ga' f'ends who'a dogs." She talks like her mouth's full of marbles. "Dogs'a good."

"More of a cat person myself. They tend to be more independent than dogs, but I still like dogs. And I know a number of people who are quite fond of dogs. Canines in general," he amends almost as if an afterthought. "Are you new around here? I haven't seen you in the park before, but I've been away on business for the past couple months."

"Cassa good too," Garbo says. "Sha'p but okay." She digs fingers into her hair, scratching the back of her head. "Yah, new."

Nicodemus hmms thoughtfully as he seems to study you a bit more--perhaps even a little uncomfortably. He then resumes speaking before it gets into 'weird' territory. "Lots of people bring their dogs to the park here. One guy I know? He is *coughcough~Gnawer~coughhackcough*. Ugh," he says after this coughing fit, lowering his gloved hand from where he'd raised it to cover his mouth. "Sorry. Swallowed the wrong way. But yeah, he brings his big dog here all the time." It'd have been subtle to anyone but a garou or someone who knew bits and pieces of the Mother Tongue, but it's less subtle to those in the know.

Garbo's head tips to the other side. "Yuh fam'ly?" She sniffs, leaning closer to Nick, looking him over carefully. "Nah Gnawuh." There's a hint of a question at the end of that.

Nicodemus exhales slightly. "Took a gamble with that guess," he claims as he stands up, explaining away how he might have suspected the young woman was a werewolf in disguise. "Not Gnawer. Walker. Just kin, though." It's as if he just dismissed his own importance with that 'just kin' statement. "You?"

Garbo leans back, frowning. "Wuff, 'Hroon, Gnawuh. Name Ga'bo." She scratches at her scalp again.

"Ga'bo," Nick echoes the pronunciation perfectly. Somewhat quizzically he asks, "Like Greta Garbo?" The piratey 'arr' sound is slipped in, as if he'd anticipated that sound to be there. "So are you passing through? Gotten in touch with the local members of your family to let them know you're in town?"

Garbo shakes her head. "Nah. Geddin' food, figga' den go woods fuh howl."

Nicodemus considers this angle and then nods. "That ought to be okay. They're fairly open to other tribes. From what I hear. Alpha is a Wendigo. Very traditional. And a bad-ass ahroun. So be very respectful if she shows up." He considers things a bit longer. "I could give you a lift out that way if you wanted. Make sure you're nearer rather than farther when you announce yourself. You plan to hang around, or are you just passing through?"

Garbo shrugs. "Nah plan. Prob'by stay. Go yuh cah." Her eyes widen a little, her whole expression intense and extra serious. "No fuggin' wid me," she warns him.

"With the windows down," Nick adds as a caveat. "Unless you're willing to take a shower first." He seems to be well aware of the fact that the Gnawer has a strong odor about her, and doubtful that the suggestion of a shower is likely to be taken. "I've been living out of the back of the car for a bit, so it smells already."

Garbo's mouth drops open, lips pulling back, a dog's smile on a human face. "Cah is bedda' widda winnow down."

"There's a lot to be said about the virtues of air conditioning, but..." Nick looks around, as if just now noticing that St. Claire is not actually hot--much less lukewarm--at the moment. He shrugs. "Windows down it is." He backtracks to some prior information. "So. Wolf-born, huh?"

Garbo nods. "Yah, wuff." She digs under her shirt to scratch at her belly. "Why?"

Nicodemus shrugs. "It's just unusual is all. At least in the city. I think there's at least one other wolf-born Bone Gnawer around. Tied in with a Chimera pack that has a Glass Walker in it." He circles back around to what might have been his original question. "I was just curious as to why you stay in a place like the cities as opposed to heading out to the woods."

Garbo huffs and climbs up onto the bench to squat next to Nick. "Bahn ciddy. Ciddy bedda'. Easy food, bedda food. Bedda sleep. Ciddy wuff."

Nicodemus nods in understanding. "I've done some sleeping under the stars myself. It's nice," he admits. "But there's something to be said about having a roof over your head and walls and doors to help keep things out. And have some privacy," he adds almost as an afterthought. "Sleeping outside takes some getting used to." He then asks, "You found a quiet place to be for when the moon is full? The Gnawers here have a building that they're fairly open to sharing. Might be safer for you to be there for when the moon is fatter."

Garbo nods. "Yah, godda be safe onna fat moon. Ciddy good, bu' peeble inna ciddy, summa dem nah." Her lip curls, briefly showing teeth.

"Precisely. And sometimes it's not that a person is bad, but they just show up at the wrong place at the wrong time and say or do the wrong thing. Then they end up dead," Nick summarizes, shaking his head as if not liking it when innocent people get killed. "Plus dead people tend to draw attention. From cops and, you know, /others/."

Garbo sniffs. "Yah." She hops off the bench and goes over to the nearby trash can, the one she was heading to before. "Geddin' food, den we go in yuh cah?"

Nicodemus nods agreement. "No problem."

(OOC) Nicodemus: And if I'm not around, assume Nick drops Garbo off about 4 miles away from the farmhouse. She'll be heard when she howls, but she won't be handed the location of the farmhouse.