People in the Park

[hazlogs]

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.

Konstantin's smoking, sitting on a park bench. He appears to be speaking a very
      Slavic sounding language, but there's nobody near by. At last he lifts a 
      cell phone, removes the earbud and presses a key on the phone.
Crocuta slouches into the park, earbuds plugged into her ears and wires
      trailing down into the iPod in her hand. Her eyes flick from side to side 
      in a wary, guarded kind of way, but otherwise she effects a careless, 
      apathetic demeanor.
A street performer, done up in mime-white paint, is busy trying to work a small
      crowd near the fountain. She wears a pair of baggy jeans, a bright 
      t-shirt with a yellow daisy on it, and a black beret which offsets her 
      white face. She is currently trailing behind a young couple who are 
      oblivious to her antics; which would be an imitation of the girl, ditzy 
      and in 'love' as she strolls with the young boy.
Konstantin exhales another plume of cobalt smoke, flicking the partial butt
      into the midst of the fountain. He stands up, limbering his fingers by 
      making fists. Then he jams them into his coat.
Crocuta peers over at the guy speaking into the cellphone, lips pursing into a
      slight frown, but soon the punkling's attention is distracted toward the 
      show over by the fountain, and in that direction she slouches. When she 
      catches sight of the mime, she smirks.
Konstantin is a young man in his late teens with a lean, wiry build. He has a
      generally unruly collection of close cropped sandy brown hair, long, 
      almost delicate fingers and a definite, although not unattractive Slavic 
      look about his facial features. He's dressed like a typical preppy 
      teenager, wearing a pair of freshly polished and stylish leather loafers, 
      a pair of snazzy looking and freshly pressed khaki colored dress slacks 
      with a button up cotton knit short sleeve shirt. The shirt is covered in 
      a vaguely tropical motif. Around his neck is a simple woven leather rope 
      with what seems to be a raven charm.
When the young couple finally discover their shadow, the mime shrugs her
      shoulders in over-exaggeration and 'whistles' up towards the sky. The 
      girl is of course embarrassed, and after a quick grin, the chivalrous 
      male is hurrying her out of the area. That too, of course, is mocked by 
      the young performer as she acts out what might seem no less than a 
      nervous prison escape scene.
Konstantin watches with a thoroughly detatched and dour Russian frown. He
      rummages for his cigarettes, and with a practiced ease, extracts another 
      smoke from the hardpark using one hand, his lips and a very expensive 
      looking stainless steel lighter. A flicker of orange brightens his very 
      distinctly Slavic features as he lights up.
Crocuta gives Konstantin another sidelong glance, her dark eyes narrowing
      almost suspiciously. She edges away from him to another spot where she 
      can watch the mime.
The show continues on, the young mime doing a fair job of getting a rise out of
      the small crowd watching her. Her finale, as always, is the silent 
      imitation of people searching out wallets from pockets and purses and 
      depositing tips into her hat. It concludes with her actually holding her 
      hat out, and an average amount of people dropping a dollar or two into it.
Konstantin continues to smoke and look around; especially over his shoulder at
      the pools of light created by the lamps spread out across the park. His 
      phone rings, but he glances at it and silences the ring tone: a 
      electronica beep rendition of the BeeGee's "Staying Alive." The young 
      man's lips twist in irony as he watches the mime solicit money.
Crocuta scratches her nose with her free hand, then shrugs and digs into the
      pockets of her jeans. Kon's phone-ring draws a glance and some rolled 
      eyes, and then she's got a crumpled five out and drops it into the mime's 
      hat.
A lean, slim specimen of _Homo gothius punkius_, Crocuta is a little under five
      and a half feet tall and looks to be around college-age. Her smooth, 
      youthful face is attractive in its way; her nose is a little large, but 
      it fits in with the rest of her features, and her dark blue eyes -- 
      touched with green in certain lights -- are especially distinctive. A 
      lack of piercings and tattoos gives the broodling goth-punk the naive 
      aura of a warrior that hasn't yet been blooded.
Her light brown hair has been shaved off along the sides, leaving an inch-wide
      strip down along the middle. This has been dyed a toxic shade of green 
      and spiked up into a short but perfectly servicable mohawk.
Dressed in an assortment of ragged black, she sports a pair of baggy jeans with
      tent-wide legs that drip chains and the hems of which drag on the ground. 
      Her oversized t-shirt is black as well and displays a drawing of Invader 
      Zim, a maniacal cartoon alien. On her feet are a new pair of heavy black 
      curbstomping steeltoed boots with dark red laces. A small padlock hangs 
      from a chain around her slender neck, and another chain's been threaded 
      through her beltloops.
When necessary to battle the cold, she wears an long tweed coat that looks
      twice as old as she is. 
Joey smiles brightly at the five, eyes widening as she looks to the source of
      the donation. Most of the others have already tipped and moved off, and 
      the girl gives up her silent vow. "Thank you so kindly miss, thank you, 
      that is... it's awfully generous, thank you." Up close it is more obvious 
      how young the girl seems, and there are no others around that seem to be 
      associated with her.
Konstantin flicks a quarter toward Joey. But somehow it lands in the fountain.
      He replaces his hands into the pockets of his coat and sits back on a 
      bench.
"Jesus." Crocuta seems a little taken aback at the overflow of gratitude; she
      crinkles up her nose in a way that's almost cute. "Fuhgetta 'bout it, 
      it's nothin'. Ya like, the first mime I've seen in town." Her accent's 
      thick, pure Noo Yawk.
Joey grins again, and nods, "Well that's good, means I might have a few solid
      weeks of profit here then. Really, that goes a long way ya know? Thanks 
      again." She pauses for a minute and cants her head, "You know of any 
      other places around town that'd draw a good crowd?"
"Jezebell's," Konstantin pipes up, naming a notorious downscale brothel in the
      industrial underbelly. "You could make a mint there," he offers.
Crocuta wrinkles her nose at Konstantin and shows him her middle finger. Then
      she turns to Joey. "Campus. Mebbe that fountain uptown. But I'd hit the 
      campus if I were you."
Konstantin snorts faintly, sneering at the obscene gesture. His phone rings
      again, and he answers it this time. "Konstantin," he mutters flatly.
Joey looks back towards the Russian with a narrowed gaze. "What is Jezebell's
      anyway? And, campus would be good, except students are tight wads who 
      enjoying beating mimes up, more than they like tipping them." She smiles 
      goodnaturedly though.
The Russian says four Russian words in the same hostile, flat tone, then hangs
      up the phone decisively. He never removed the cigarette from his mouth 
      while doing so.
Crocuta just shrugs and looks down at the iPod in her right hand, thumbing the
      control absently. "...Yeah, well. Yeah. Greeks suck. Oh, shit." She looks 
      up. "Y'should try the Montrose district. I's, like, no fuckin' Greenwich 
      Village, but it's pretty fucking much artsy central."
Konstantin pages: She pays, one way or another" is the jist of his conversation.
Crocuta also gives Konstantin another brief, wary, narrow-eyed glance.
"Jezebell's is a exclusive club with a very wealthy, very /particular/
      clientele. I'm sure you'd earn quite a lot there. I could arrange an 
      introduction?" He smiles, the gesture looks quite charming, actually.
Joey smiles again, "Thanks, I'll give it a shot." She turns to gaze up towards
      the offer of introduction. "Well, I don't know if I'd need introductions 
      really, just a quiet spot to run a few skits is all I'd need..." she 
      smiles herself, though her eyes dance back to the woman.
"It's a whorehouse," the punkgirl says flatly, scowling. "Probably wants t'be
      yer fuckin' pimp or somethin'. Or he'll get a cut." Hey, she's been 
      around. She's seen movies. And stuff.
Konstantin nods at Joey, and almost /springs/ up off the park bench. If one
      could be said to slither by walking, that's how one might describe 
      Konstantin's approach to Joey. "I'm Konstantin," he says to her, holding 
      out his hand. "Don't listen to her," he says in reply to Crocuta's 
      warning. "The place has a reputation that's not at all deserved. Just 
      freaks and losers who can't get in -- bad mouth the place all the time. 
      Buncha rich old men go there -- they love all kinds of acts."
	A dark haired teenager with the beginnings of maturity in her eyes. She stands
      at a modest 5'2" and is of average build; neither skinny as a twig, nor 
      plump in any fashion. A line of fading freckles saddles over her nose, 
      blending in with the darker hue of her skintone. Her hair has a natural 
      wave to it and hangs down past her shoulders, and her eyes are a rather 
      plain brown.
	She often has a bounce to her step and a smile on her face. Her eyes are warm
      and filled with a look of contentment and happiness, though also quite 
      alert of her surroundings.
Her open mouth shuts dumbly with no hint of the smile that was once there. Joey
      reaches down then to grab up her satchel and sling it over her shoulder. 
      Her eyes fall to the woman in silent thanks as she edges away from the 
      man and his offered hand. "Thanks but no thanks, I'll take the word of 
      the lady, and really, I'd rather not limit myself to performing for only 
      certain kinds of audiences. Bad for business for one, and just not my 
      style."
Konstantin shrugs and puts his hand back in his coat. "Net you a grand, easy,"
      he says. "Your loss..."
Crocuta backs up Joey's retreat by moving in between the young mime and the
      Slav; her posture becomes aggressive. "Piss off, why don'cha?"
Konstantin smirks again. "Why don't you?" he asks tartly, narrowing his eyes.
Joey is quickly growing nervous by the tension, and she takes another step a
      little, "Uh do you guys know eachother? I mean, I'll just go, no point in 
      ruffling your feathers over a stranger.. a mime for pete's sake." Seems 
      she would like to see the situation defused before she goes.
Crocuta hesitates a fraction of a second, then pulls out her earbuds and stuffs
      the iPod into a coat pocket. "I know his _type_," the New York transplant 
      says sourly. "Little fuckin' needledick wannabe."
Konstantin laughs; seemingly with genuine amusement. "You don't know shit," he
      replies. The young man's eyes swivel toward Joey and he smiles at her 
      pleasantly. "No ruffled feathers, my fine young lady. Run along now," he 
      murmurs, withdrawing a quarter inch thick wad of 100 dollar bills. "Here 
      you go," he murmurs, peeling one off the top. "Enjoy your evening." He 
      holds the money out toward the mime.
Crocuta's scowl deepens, her lip curling away from her teeth in a snarly sneer
      that'd put Billy Idol to shame.
This certainly is the make or break point for the mime. One hundred dollars is
      enough to get her by comfortably for a long time, but what is the source? 
      She eyes the bill and then eyes the woman. Practicality wins out, but 
      before taking the bill she offers another sincere thanks to the woman. 
      "Thank you miss, honestly, you're much appreciated." The bill is snatched 
      nervously from the other and she gives a nod, "Uh thanks. Don't expect 
      nothing in return for this though, I just take donations." Then she is 
      back stepping to make an exit.
Konstantin laughs again. "Me too!" he calls out. Crocuta's expression just
      seems to make him all the happier.
Crocuta snorts. She flips Konstantin the finger again, then turns to stalk off,
      digging into her coat for her iPod and earphones again.