Hazmat's GarouMUSH Logs

It is currently 00:44 Pacific Time on Thu Sep 17 1998.
Currently on this breezy and crisp summer night in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13.9 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the west-southwest at 8.45 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are clear with 
  a possible chance of precipitation.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (29% full).

Harbor Park Fountain
The area where the fountain was, and presumably the new fountain will be, is 
  now totally enclosed by high plywood walls. There is a door in one of the 
  walls, firmly locked with a padlock. The walls enclose much of the flagstone 
  area, now, only leaving a little around the edges of the old courtyard. To 
  one side, some ground is being leveled for further improvements. Healthy 
  green hedges line one side of the courtyard, just behind some mostly 
  graffiti-free benches. The park is almost constantly devoid of people as its 
  reputation of being one of the most violent places in the city spreads.
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. The park extends to 
  the south.
Contents:
Rina
Cutter(#1443PJcq)
Flowers
Obvious exits:
ManHole  River  STreet  South  

Cutter begins to relax, feeling more in control of the situation now that he's 
  standing and facing his enigma. "If this was a fairy tale, if there was more 
  magic in the world, I c'n think of a lotta things you might be, stuff you 
  might be doin'. But let's be honest, sparky." He stands before the man, wide 
  stance, hands still deep in his coat pockets. "F'some reason, I don't feel 
  like I trust y'enough t'do some social chattin'. You know some of my hand, I 
  wanna see a card or two from you."
The younger man scoffs at that. "Yeah, /right/. This is fuckin' stupid anyway. 
  Don't know why I even bothered tryin'." He shakes his head, pulling black 
  leather gloves tighter over smallish hands. The voice still has a nagging 
  familiarity. "F'get it." He turns on one heel toward the street.
Magister becomes visible, if one cares to look, from the south, a lone, thin 
  figure in black, with a black backpack. He walks with head lowered, 
  studiously minding his own business.
Cutter clenches his fists, and opens his mouth, then shuts it. A full second's 
  thought, then he says "Cuz ya wanted t'know," to nobody in particular. The 
  body language is tight, clenched; the voice is smooth, fluid.
"Yeah," the boy snaps, stopping dead in his tracks. "'Cause I wanted to know. 
  If you gave a shit about anything besides y'self, anymore. But, fuck it." He 
  stands still for a moment, fists clenched at his sides; then he turns and 
  stalks toward the river, passing Cutter at a few inches' distance, head 
  still bowed.
Cutter whips out an arm between him and the river. "Rina," he says, firmly but 
  quietly and just a little triumphant. Perhaps smug.
The gesture stops her effectively enough--but once it hits, she doesn't move, 
  merely standing with her head bowed. "Forget it," she says quietly. "Just 
  forget it."
Magister lifts his head, turning a brief, sidelong glance toward the other 
  figures in the park; the kid keeps his distance, however.
Cutter says "Look. I ast you if you wanted t'talk t'me." He lowers his arm, 
  releasing her. "I still wanna talk t'you. I just don't wanna talk t'some 
  stranger who appears suddenly in the park an' knows too much about me. Makes 
  me a little nervous. Think about it, what would /you/ do?""
Rina shrugs hopelessly. "Doesn't matter. I just--you never talk about it. What 
  happened when you left." A swallow twists her throat. "Guess I wanted to try 
  an' work things out, before it's too late." Abruptly, she sidesteps his arm 
  in an attempt to head for the river's edge, as if to continue the 
  interrupted walk. "Forget it."
Cutter shakes his head. "I ain't gonna forget it, Sunshine. An' you never 
  asked, didja? I'm not the kinda guy who comes home from a holiday, drags out 
  the slide prjector an' traps everybody in the den f'two hours." He doesn't 
  turn to follow her as she moves toward the river.

[Cutter]
Six feet tall, wiry and lanky. His skin holds the pale pink hue of Irish 
  descendants. Stuck in the brim of a brown felt fedora is a black feather. 
  Under the hat, an orangey-red buzzcut peeps around the edges and emphasises 
  the point of his fake elf ears. An oversized black leather dog collar with 
  chromed spikes hangs about his neck. If you hear him speak you'd guess he 
  was from New York City or Chicago.
Sharp blue eyes hide behind metal-rimmed Gargoyles, the needle-focus of his 
  attention shielded by their dark screens.
Under the London Fog trenchcoat, he wears a black silk suit and black leather 
  cowboy boots with silver heels and toecaps.
Carrying:
paper
Room Key

[Rina]
Dark-brown eyes, touched with hazel and amber, look out from a pixie-sharp 
  face. Rina's skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive 
  from generations of pure Italian ancestry. Black-dyed hair, showing hints of 
  dark brown at the roots, frames her features in a butch cut a la anime: long 
  enough to send spikes down into her eyes, tapering to jagged shortness at 
  sides and back. Her chin is delicately-boned, her mouth small, the line of 
  her jaw well-defined: a girl-next-door attractiveness, down to earth. She 
  can't be more than twenty, but a certain wry cynicism shows in her 
  expressions. Despite her petite, un-curvy build, she carries herself with 
  confidence and a kind of lean-muscled, athletic grace. 
She wears a charcoal-grey men's suit, single-breasted, the Italian lines and 
  matte merino fabric reminiscent of 30s gangster style. A crisp white dress 
  shirt hides her tattoos, and a pinstriped vest in lighter grey adds some 
  interest. Well-polished wingtips finish off the ensemble.
When outside, she wears a long almost-black cashmere overcoat; to complete the 
  butch-Italian image, a traditional black fedora half-shadows her face. 
The girl whirls on him, turning violently to glare up at the young man. 
  "That's not what I asked for! I never asked you for anything!" The tense 
  fury evaporates an instant later; her tight, angry expression crumples, and 
  she looks away to veil the lines of pain. "I just wanted to know where the 
  hell we stand, if we're even friends anymore, if anything fucking /matters/ 
  to you..."
Cutter says "I was busy watching my mother die."
Magister settles onto a bench, pulling the backpack into his lap, his manner 
  weary. The couple's voices reach him only mutedly, too distant to make out 
  more than a flicker of tone. He glances up once as the girl exclaims 
  something.
Rina flinches as if slapped, and falls silent.
Cutter shrugs. "I feel like I tried t'talk t'you since I got back. I did it 
  wrong, or you listened wrong. Whatever."
Rina swallows. "No. I fucked everything up. Okay? But just--forget about it. 
  Hell. Forget you even /know/ me." She doesn't look up, wrapping herself in a 
  miserable embrace, head down to shelter her face from view. "I'm sorry I 
  fucked things up so bad. It won't happen again."
Cutter turns now. "Okay, exactly /what/ did you fuck up? You got this weird 
  communication interface that I never did figger out. So I went off, an' when 
  I came back I wasn't followin' you around like a puppy any more. An' we 
  still weren't communicating. No surprise." He slips his hands out of his 
  pockets, tucking his thumbs into the belt of his coat. "So."
Rina studies the ground. "You cared. You were there. And all I ever gave you 
  back was pain an' grief an' trouble." She crosses her arms and looks off 
  toward the city, and the lights illuminate a hard, fierce expression. "It 
  won't happen again."
Cutter shakes his head. "I d'nno what t'say when ya do this. Used t'be..." He 
  lowers his voice slightly. "Used t'be I'd just grab you up an' hold ya." He 
  lets his gaze drift around the park. "It ain't gonna happen. Don't mean 
  we're not friends."
Rina lifts dark eyes to his, then; chaos linger behind them, as she studies 
  his face, the averted gaze. "Yeah. Just means you're smart enough to stay 
  away from me, right?" She almost whispers the words. "S'aright. I don't 
  blame you. Look..." A swallow twists her throat, and she takes a step 
  closer. "You take care of y'self, aright?"
Cutter actually smiles a bit. "Still lookin' out f'you, too. Like I said, 
  don't mean we're not friends." He wets his lips. "Good friend of mine told 
  me Love Fucks Everything Up. Just took me a long time t'learn the lesson, 
  okay?" He also takes a step closer. "Don't mean I want you t'go away."
"I'm sorry," she says quietly. Her gaze holds steady, a moment longer, and 
  then she ducks her head. "I'm sorry."
Cutter frees one hand, to rest it on her back as he moves closer. "Toldja 
  before. Nothin' t'be sorry about. Missed you, by the way."
Rina shakes her head quickly, perhaps unable to speak. She offers a quick 
  embrace, drawing away after a moment's time. Readjusting the fedora to shade 
  her expression from sight, the girl looks up at him and then glances away 
  almost instantly. "Take care," she murmurs. "City fathers watch y'back."
Cutter allows the embrace, and smiles at her. "We still got that dinner date, 
  or did this replace it?" he asks, perhaps a little playfully.
Magister remains slouched on the bench, well out of Cutter and Rina's 
  conversational distance. The kid's arms are folded across his chest, his 
  head lowered.
Cutter seems to hear the words she means, his cheery smile fading slightly. 
  "Yeah. I'll just stop by sometime, see if I catch y'at home, then." His hand 
  drops and finds a place tucked into his belt again. "Walk careful." A brief 
  hesitation. "Walk free," he amends.
Rina nods quickly, and turns to walk away--heading for the streets, not quite 
  running from the tension behind her.
Cutter makes a face at nobody at all, and reaches into his coat to pull out a 
  cigarette, lifting and lighting it in one fluid movement.
Rina picks her way south, into the overgrown meadow.
Rina has left.