hazlogs | Rat and Mage (Reply)

6/15/02

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.

Contents:

Nicodemus

chalk drawings(#2525d)

Flowers

Obvious exits:

ManHole Harbor Park Meadow

Nicodemus enters the park from the city streets after skirting the chainlink fence for half the length of the meadow. He enters and detours towards the swings, loiters a moment, then changes direction after a look around and heads towards the fountain.

J.C.'s short, grubby little form is near the fountain, or specifially near one of the trash cans set up in that area. One arm is buried past the elbow in trash, face scrunched into an expression of concentration as she feels around.

Nicodemus subconsciously--or consciously perhaps--alters his path ever so slightly to give himself just that much more space between himself and the rummaging bag lady. His boots clunk on the cement surrounding the fountain as he leaves the struggling swaths of grass and weeds.

J.C. suddenly grins, and drags her prize out from underneath the canful of trash, scattering a few bits of displaced litter on the ground nearby. It's a Burger King wrapper, and the Whopper inside it is almost entirely whole; only a few bites have been taken out of it. "Stupid wastin' sons-a-bites," she says to herself, almost cheerfully, dropping the burger into a plastic Wal-Mart bag. She gives the area a quick look 'round, and that's the point where she notices Nicodemus, and blinks, surprised.

Nicodemus pays no direct attention to you, though he certainly doesn't look oblivious to his surroundings. Only a dead person would do that in this neck of the woods. The goth stops, coincidentally just at the edge of the chalked markings on the ground, as he looks over the fountain's new design. "Hmph," he half-grunts to himself as he takes the view in.

J.C. scratches at her nose, then picks up her bag (which has more than the moldy Whopper in it) and takes a few steps over, slowly. "Weird, ain't it?"

Nicodemus casts a sidelong glance at you, warily and tense in this area, smart enough to not act it, but not good enough to fully supress it either. "It's different," is all he says, accent indicating he's a long-time local.

J.C. flashes the goth a broad, friendly grin, baring yellowish and rather crooked teeth, the front ones prominant. And she stops just outside the personal space range. "Yeah, but that bouncy thing uptown's cooler."

Nicodemus, unsurprisingly, doesn't appear particularly keen on sharing even the boundaries of his personal space with you. His body angle shifts subtly a few degrees in a direction away from you. "Yeah, I guess." His gaze drifts down towards the chalk markings.

J.C. snuffles, then wipes at her nose with the back of her hand. "S'weird, ya know," she says, plunking herself down on the grass with the bag in front of her. "I almos' never see nobody in this park, 'n never at night. S'not like the one uptown. That one's, d'no, cheery 'n stuff."

Nicodemus studies the blue chalk markings for a bit before withdrawing a black cigarette with gold trim from inside his jacket, placing it in his mouth. "Bad neighborhood." A zippo is produced, the goth still looking over the drawings as he steps over onto it and looks at if from another direction. "Attracts the bad types." Flame from the zippo briefly illuminates the words engraved on it: TRUST NO ONE. The lid snaps closed and the flame dies, the zippo disappears, and the goth takes a drag while continuing his study.

J.C. reaches into the bag and withdraws the Whopper. She unwraps it and takes a bite, ignoring the dozen or so hapless ants that will never see their Queen again. Chew, chew, swallow. "You noticed that, too?" She takes another bite and adds, mouth full, "No cops, though."

Nicodemus crouches to examine one particular portion of the artwork on the ground. "Not often, no." He takes another drag on the cigarette as he straightens back up, apparently satisfied with just a quick glimpse. He moves a little further away while giving the park a casual once-over.

At a glance: Goth, male, rebellious-looking, early twenties, skeleton thin, and a hair under average height--in about that order.

A more extensive eyeballing reveals greater details. His attire, for instance, is what one might call "traditional gothic mixed with post-industrial trimmings." A black leather jacket with a mosaic skull of mirrored glass covers a black T-shirt with a twisted, malformed, and drawn to look slightly out of focus tentacled fish derivative of the ever-popular Christian fish image found on car bumpers. Inside the fish, instead of reading "Darwin" it reads "Cthulhu" in mad penmenship. His pants are a Frankensteinesque patchwork of PVC, transparent plastic, and pothole mesh. A length of heavy chain is wrapped about his waist, serving as a belt or, possibly, a nasty bludgeoning implement. The man's boots are also, of course, black.

Various accessories complement the goth's clothing. Most notable might be the infestation of earings, a unique-looking silver skull necklace with a translucent red crystal inside, and a rather out of place looking crucifix about his neck. A pair of finger gauntlets, one on each hand's middle finger, bears a jagged--almost bladed--design on the top that looks sharp enough to do some actual damage if they were used in a non-civil fashion. Contrasting starkly with the other attire, he's wearing expensive-looking wire-rimmed glasses.

J.C.'s bloodshot eyes follow his movements unerringly as she chews and swallows and occasionally wipes at her nose. "You're cute, by the way," she says. "I like that little finger thingie."

Nicodemus takes a lengthy drag on the cigarette, as if he'd been dying for one for days. He lets the cute comment slide, but glances at his finger gauntlet as if he might have forgotten he was even wearing it. "Oh. Yeah. Probably be out of style next month." He looks around the park once more and ends up facing back towards you. A finger points towards the west-southwest. "There's a shelter over that way a few blocks. Lot safer to spend the night there than out in the open."

J.C. reaches under her shirt and scratches vigorously at an itch. Then she turns her head and coughs, the sound wet and phlegmy, into the shoulder of her coat. "Yeah, I'll probably stop by (hack) there later."

Nicodemus offers a simple, subtle nod in response before departing towards the northeast to walk along the shoreline for a bit, pausing every now and again, before cutting back across the meadow and leaving the park to the bag lady.

J.C. spits out a wad of mucous and wipes at her mouth. Her eyes follow the goth's departure, the big cheerful grin fading into a more thoughtful expression. Eventually she shrugs, and remains to finish off her Whopper.