Dozing in the Park

[hazlogs]

Chaser makes her way through the tall grass of the south.
Chaser has arrived.
Chaser stalks north into the park proper, covering ground as if she owns the 
  place. The tough-looking young woman practically bristles with repressed 
  hostility as she heads for the walled-off fountain.
Cutter smokes furiously near the plywood fountain, glowering at nothing in 
  particular.

[Chaser]
Her eyes are striking: an intense green, glinting with rock-hard cynicism in a 
  face that has more character than beauty.  A shock of short, spiky 
  dark-auburn hair sets off the deep color of her eyes and the pale ivory of 
  her skin.  Some might call her classic features attractive, even 
  elegant--but a mask of cynical distrust usually twists her lips into a 
  bitter, hard expression, destroying the symmetry of her face.  She stands a 
  few inches under six feet, and has the lanky manner of one not yet used to 
  her height; in fact, she looks no older than twenty-one or so.  The lines of 
  her figure have a sharp, gaunt look defined by lean muscles and few curves, 
  and she walks with an unconscious predatory grace.
Ripped and faded jeans cling to the spare curves of her legs, held up by a 
  studded belt of black leather. The frayed denim descends into a pair of 
  beaten-up combat boots, the once-black leather scuffed beyond recognition. 
  The thin knit of a white t-shirt drapes over her wiry torso, tucked in at 
  the waist; the sleeves have been rolled up over her shoulders a la James 
  Dean, though sans cigarettes. A brambled vine of black ink spirals down her 
  right arm, starting at the shoulder and terminating in a series of 
  wicked-looking thorns across her knuckles. 

Magister, oddly enough, almost looks as though he's fallen asleep sitting up; 
  the kid's chin all but touches his chest above the folded arms.
Chaser flips her hair out of her eyes to regard the Shadow Lord. "That shit'll 
  kill ya," she comments with her usual brusqueness."
Cutter shrugs. "If women don't do the job first," he replies, as flip as her 
  hair.
The Get snorts. "Yah, /right/." She leans back against the fountain, lounging, 
  turning her attention toward a cursory scan of the park. "Any action, 
  t'night?"
Cutter shakes his head. "Just a neurotic girl. Distant relative. She'll either 
  be okay or she won't." He takes another look around. "Other'n that, silent 
  as a tomb."
Currently on this breezy and crisp summer night in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 56 degrees Fahrenheit (13.3 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the south-southwest at 6.9 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are clear with 
  a possible chance of precipitation.
Chaser gestures toward the figure on the bench, with a jerk of her chin. 
  "Who's the weirdo?"
Magister stirs briefly, tugging his coat closed and hugging the backpack to 
  his chest.
Cutter shrugs. "Chicken, maybe. Runaway almost certain."
Chaser's expression settles into a habitual scowl. "He been around long?"
Cutter lifts a hand to glance at his watch, considering that to be answer 
  enough.
Chaser grunts noncommittally, watching the teenager from a distance.
Cutter says "In either case. Shouldn't be a concern f'more than a couple 
  weeks."
Magister continues to do not much of anything besides retain his weary slouch 
  on the park bench.
"Huh." The tall woman leans easily against the plywood fencing, still scowling.
Cutter frowns to himself. "As a tomb. As a tomb," he mutters to nobody in 
  particular. "Like in those jungle movies."
Chaser glances over to him, skepticism clear in the lift of one eyebrow. 
  "Fuckin' loony," she mutters, before returning her attention to the park.
Magister abruptly jerks his head up, breath escaping him in a muted 'huh' as 
  though startled from a dream. Blinking, he sits up, taking off his glasses 
  to rub at his eyes.
Cutter shakes his head. "No, no, you seen 'em, right? They're trompin' through 
  the jungle, an' there's all the drums an' the one guy's sayin' "I wish 
  they'd stop with those blasted drums!" an' all that." His english accent is 
  pretty awful. "An' then they stop an' he says "It's too quiet out there. I 
  don't like it."
Chaser eyes him again, and then simply nods. "Right." Then she returns to her 
  study of the pencil-necked youth.
Cutter shrugs. "Just tryin' ta explain. Jeez."
Magister replaces the wire-framed glasses and twists around in his seat, 
  casting a sleep-deprived glance around the park.
Chaser gives a rueful shake of her head. "Christ," she mutters. "Kid's gonna 
  get himself killed inside a week."
Cutter says "Like I said. He ceases t'be our problem."
Chaser snorts quietly. "Fuckin' scab," she growls.
Maybe he's just paranoid, or maybe the kid has an overdeveloped sense of when 
  people are talking about him. In any case, though he's still out of earshot, 
  it becomes clear that the teenager is watching the pair.
Cutter smiles widely and cheerily and lifts his hand to waggle his fingers at 
  the boy.
Magister hesitates, and then waves back, vaguely.
Chaser, on the other hand, offers only a steely, unsettling glare.
And Magister's wave falters and drops. He turns away, hauling himself up out 
  of the bench, slinging the backpack over one shoulder.
Cutter folds his arms across his chest. "There," he mutters, "I scared him off 
  anyway. Maybe he'll last two weeks."
Chaser snorts again.
Magister heads out of the park at a quick, jerking pace.
You make your way onto the street.
East Elson Commercial Sector and Waterfront
Motels, movie theaters with posters of scantily-clad women, and even a few 
  posters of nudes, and bars are interspersed with stairways leading to 
  dilapidated second stories or downwards into basements. Women saunter along 
  the western streets of the district, around Third and Fourth Streets. In the 
  area around Second, a profusion of graffiti markings of black knives or the 
  words 'The Blades' are scattered along buildings and sidewalks. A little 
  further eastwards beer cans are scattered around the entrance to one bar 
  with, if one looks through the window, several pool tables in enthusiastic 
  use for several hours a night and even occasionally during the day.
Contents:
SCPD Patrol Car
Pedro(#4101Jep)
Obvious exits:
Fountain  The Rialto  The Underground  North  West  South