Goth-Cop!

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:56 Pacific Time on Mon Jun 17 2002.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (49% full).

Osprey Circle Fountain

Situated in the center of the grassy mound is a white marble fountain. The
smooth stone of the fountain sparkles and sends off bright shafts of light
whenever a stray beam bounces of its shiny surface. Perched at the top of
the fountain is a soaring osprey. Directly below the osprey, gentle jets of
water spurt up into the air, making it seem like the spray is propelling the
osprey upwards toward the sky. White marble, about a foot wide, rings the
center of the fountain, allowing the formation of a watery basin. Iron
benches sit slightly back from the fountain.

The asphalt roadway of Osprey Circle rings the grassy mound.

Eamon strides over from the asphalt roadway of the circle.
Eamon has arrived.

Nicodemus is kicked back on one of the park benches near the fountain,
Starbuck's coffee steaming next to him. He isn't really doing much of
anything other than sitting and thinking.

Salem prowls toward the fountain in a circular, indirect way, hands folded
into his coat pockets and the brim of his fedora tugged low. Restless,
brooding -- his thoughts are a thousand miles away.

Eamon whistles as he wanders over toward the fountain from the direction of
his store.

Nicodemus lifts up his cup of coffee and takes a sip, idling away his time,
sparing only a moment's effort to glance at the new arrivals to the area.

Eamon glances at the Goth, then nods to Salem. "Hey, Jack, what's up?"

Salem glances up as his name's called, jerking out of gloomy introspection.
One eye regards the Fianna for a moment, and then he nods, politely enough.
"Evening, Eamon."

Eamon grins. "What brings you out this way?"

On the asphalt roadway, Rina comes from the south out of the city's
administrative sector.

Salem exhales a breath, his gaze wandering over the fountain; it falls on
Nicodemus and lingers for moment. He answers Eamon with a distracted,
"Nothing special."

Seated on one of the wrought iron benches surrounding the fountain in the
center of the Historic District's hub of activity, Nicodemus takes a sip
from a still steaming Starbuck's coffee cup. Venti, for those in dire need
of caffeine. He's doing a whole lot of nothing at the moment, and may
continue to do just that for an indeterminate length of time. It's a nice
night for doing nothing, afterall.

Eamon sits on a bench and crosses his legs, then watches the fountain for a
while.

On the asphalt roadway, Rina notices him before the others, as she walks
around the little square of shops with a tall cup of something in her hand.
A wide smile comes to her face, lighting it up and chasing away the lines of
stress and fatigue. "Nick!" she calls out, crossing toward the bench with a
broad grin. "Oh my *God* it's been /ages/..."

Eamon looks over his shoulder at something, then turns his head to Nick.
"Hey, do you know where that trampoline came from?" He grins and waves as he
sees Rina.

Nicodemus slowly rotates his head towards the outburt that began with his
name, raising one eyebrow in a manner that might make Dr. Spock envious.
"Well if it isn't Rina," the goth comments wryly as she draws near enough
for her to hear without him needing to raise his voice excessively and make
a scene. "You're a bit out of the way of your usual haunts. Or were you
headed to the Demilich?" He glances from Eamon to trampoline and back
towards Eamon. "Commies."

Eamon arches an eyebrow. "Commies, huh?" He shrugs.

Rina shakes her head, setting a booted foot up on the bench near Nicodemus.
"Nah," she answers. "Just wandering. Lookin' for trouble." She offers him a
typical crooked smile. "And what'd'y'mean, usual haunts?"

"Last I heard, you were hanging out at the Temple and that general
vicinity," Nicodemus returns with casual interest at most. "Very easy to
find trouble in that neck of the woods without looking terribly hard, but
such is the case almost everywhere."

Rina's smile is the slightest bit pained. "Yeah, no shit," she murmurs,
lowering her eyes.

Salem watches all of this from a distance, his hands still buried in his
coat pockets, his expression deadened and cold. Finally, the saturnine
Walker stalks forward, circling around toward Rina and Nick.

Nicodemus pauses to take a sip of coffee. "So what've you been up to
recently? Haven't gotten out much in the past year, so I'm behind on all the
juicy gossip." He glances up again towards the approaching Salem, but only
briefly.

Rina grins at him, resting an elbow on the upraised knee. "Me? Just been
hangin' out. Painting a lot..." And packing, evidently. Not that it should
be any surprise. His glance cues her, and she looks over her shoulder to
Salem; her smile softens a touch, and she lifts a hand to him. "Yo."

"Good evening, Rina." Salem's tone is cool and calm; his eye falls on the
goth again, and now he's remembered the other's name. "Nicodemus."

Nicodemus nods faintly at Rina, then looks towards Salem as he draws
nearer--giving him a much closer looking over as he uses the goth's name.
"Hey," he offers as a cautious and vague greeting. "I think I've forgotten
your name, but you kind of look vaguely familiar."

"I believe we only met the once," Salem says, with that same cool, deadpan
courtesy. "Sally MacKay introduced us. Jack Salem."

Rina flashes a quick, reassuring smile to Nick, and gestures between the
two. "Salem, Nico, et cetera," she adds.

Nicodemus finally places the scarred face, eyebrows creeping a bit higher in
recognition. "Wow," he says with little emotion. "What fucked you up?"

"Pitbull," Salem replies, completely straight-faced.

Something tugs at the corner of Rina's mouth, and she turns abruptly to plop
down on the bench next to Nico. "So. How y'been? Safe from harm, I hope?
Things've gotten worse out there..." she waves a hand distractedly at the
city in general.

Nicodemus huhs faintly at Salem's explanation. "Never did care for dogs.
Anyone who thinks they're totally safe in this world is a victim waiting to
happen," he responds to Rina. "Things do seem to have gotten a bit worse--or
maybe wilder--in the past month or so particularly."

Rina nods. "Yeah," she says a little tightly. "It's--" There a guarded
sincerity in her eyes, when she looks at him. "Try not to get near anything,
you know? I mean... be careful."

Salem cocks an eye briefly at Rina, then glances someplace other than the
two of them. Underneath the facade of calm, he's restless and tense. Nothing
Rina at least hasn't seen a thousand times before.

Nicodemus can't help but smirk at Rina's comment. "Anything at all? Like a
bench?" He looks at what he's sitting on, then glances to Rina. "Or chicas
that have a history of catching lead poisoning?" Then Salem. "Or pitbulls?"
He raises a thumb to brush against his nose. "Suppose you haven't heard I
hooked up with St. Claire's finest about a year ago? Kind of my job to be
knee dip in shit."

Salem glances back at Nic at mention of pitbulls, and a thin, highly cynical
smile tug at one side of his mouth. He gives Rina another look, gauging her
reaction to the goth's last revelation.

Rina wets her lips, and abruptly wraps her jacket a little tighter around
herself, staring at him warily. "Oh, /great/," she murmurs. "That explains a
lot."

Nicodemus pffts dismissively and waves a hand vaguely in the air. "Only part
time. And I'm off duty, so don't go freaking over your dime bags."

"And how _are_ things with the men and women in blue?" asks Salem, his head
tilting slightly to one side as he turns back to Nick.

Nicodemus shrugs at Salem. "Gotten back to the usual grind since the Feds
left a couple days ago. Lots fewer people wandering around with their noses
halfway up the G-men's asses."

Rina snorts. "Not dime bags I'm worried about," she mutters.

Salem nods once, barely moving his head. "Less rimming, more work being
done." Again, absolutely deadpan. "And speaking of which..." He tugs up a
coat sleeve to glance at his watch. "I should be going."

Nicodemus gives a nod towards Salem. "Later." He then suggests to Rina,
"Pack something lighter than a nine, then. They're less bulky. And obvious."

Rina's smile is a shade tighter. "Yeah, well. I got to worry about power,
these days, more than gettin' arrested. Besides... my guns are legal." With
a wiseguy smile, she leans back in the bench. "Want me ta walk with ya,
Slame?"

Salem tugs his sleeve back down over his watch rather fussily, then shakes
his head at Rina. "Not necessary," he says, with only a hint of wary pause.
He twitches the corners of his lips upwards. "Enjoy your evening. It's not
even midnight yet."

Rina flashes the man a quick, terse smile--though the lines of tension seem
to have settled around her eyes again. "Yeah, the night is young and all
that shit."

"Yes," agrees the Walker, and he isn't smiling anymore, nor pretending to.
Then, with a nod to them both, Salem turns and heads away from the fountain.

"Carpe Nocturne and all," Nicodemus chips in, taking another sip of coffee
afterwards.

Rina winces slightly, leaning forward and resting both elbows on her knees.
"Yeah, and here I sit with a motherfuckin' /cop/," she says dryly.

You descend down the grassy mound, away from the fountain and onto the
asphalt roadway. Back toward Riverfront Drive.