6/7/2004

08:18 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

SCCU: The Quad(#3990RJ$)
Like most colleges, St. Claire City University has an area known only as 'the Quad'. This is it. Sidewalks criss-cross the perfectly rectangular grassy area in a web to connect one dull concrete and darkened glass block-shaped building to another. Still, the grass is green most of the year, and well-trimmed brightly-shaded flowers and manicured shrubs manage to soften the harsh grey of the architecture. Small groves of trees dot the landscape of the lawn randomly to provide shade and to break up the monotony.
The dome of the student union building can be seen off in the distances behind several buildings and some trees. A sign post points out that the suitcase-like buildings you spy to the north are dormitories. A 'sign' in front of Curtiss advertises on-campus activities.
Contents:
Natalie
Obvious exits:
Student Union  Dormitory  Campustown  

[look Natalie]
Nat's an inch or two over average height for a woman, perhaps five-seven or -eight. She's built rather reminscent of a brick, with a square face and jaw, and broad shoulders that have no need of padding. Nondescript brownish hair is only a few inches long, and the ten-dollar cut makes her face look even wider. Blue-green eyes are widely set under a pair of thickly stroked eyebrows; her nose and lips are proportionately large. She wouldn't catch any eyes if it weren't for the eerie way she has of staring, or the suggestion of prior and pending fist-fights in the small scars pocked across her face and hands. Her accent is flat Midwestern unobtrusive, her age roughly twenty.
Her clothes are pure practicality: blue jeans faded at knee and thigh, navy sweatshirt advertising the 'Half-Time Bar and Rec' in St. Paul, and nondescript once-white sneakers. She usually has a battered leather bomber jacket slung over a shoulder if it isn't being worn.

Well after dinner a little green truck comes cruising slowly down the lanes of the SCCU campus and stops close to the Beta Alpha Theta frat house. The driver talks a moment with her passenger, then slides out of the truck. She gives the hood a reassuring pat and hooks her thumbs into her front pockets; stops to give the building a professional once-over before heading up to the front door.

[Natalie pages: Anything so mundane as a 'who lives here' list, or mailboxes, or anything?]

[You paged Natalie with 'Mmn, just a normal two-story house. A small patch of front lawn, a grill. You could probably find out who lives in it if you really asked around, but it's likely you wouldn't know everyone in there unless you knew someone from the inside, or attended a party there or something. Mailboxes don't have names.'.]

The house lights are on in a few windows, indicating occupants. None are outside. As the woman comes up to the door, the inner house erupts with cheering from at least what sounds like five voices.

"Hell," the woman mutters to herself, looking back at the occupant of the truck. She sighs a, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained' sort of sigh, then frees one hand to rap knuckles against the door.

The door goes unanswered for a short minute, and then someone comes to the door as the cheering dies off. As it's opened, the greeter appears to be a short, average looking Korean guy. His immediate impression is less than savory of the stranger, but screwing up the politeness of anyone with a shred of morality, he looks at her. "Can I help you?"

Natalie affects an expression of friendly politeness and drops her weight onto one hip. "Uh... yeah?" Not only her mannerisms but her voice is different, with a faint southern accent. "I'm looking for a John Stiegler? They said up at the Union that he lived around here?"

"Union?" The guy looks confused first, before he realizes. "Oh, the ASU." He glances back behind him, calling out, "Hey is Bach in? Some woman's lookin' for him." An answer comes straight after. "Yeah! I'll get him!" is the voice of one of the other occupants. You see another guy going up the stairs to the rooms above. Then, back to Natalie. "You aren't another reporter are you?" Suspiciously, he eyes Natalie up and down.

Natalie keeps that inoffensive bland smile on her face as she chirps a confused, "Reporter? I wish. No, I'm at the Vo-tech. I don't even write for the school newspaper. What's up with the reporters?"

Vo-tech. Something the student's never heard of before, evidently. Movement coming down the stairs reveals the guy who went to get John, as he hurries back down to catch the game with the rest of the house occupants. "We've been having a lot of reporters come by from the paper..." says the Korean, fading off as Bach comes down the stairs dressed in a pair of jeans and random white button shirt thrown on, half-buttoned. He is definitely older than the students you just saw. He comes to the door, looking at Natalie as well.

Natalie doesn't notice Bach's arrival, her smile is still for the door guard. "Oh yeah? Some frat thing, huh? Hazing, or what not?" Apparently her grasp of fraternity life is about as hazy as his of vocational schools. "That's a heck of a thing. No, I'm here with an old friend of his." She jerks a thumb over her shoulder toward the truck, only then noticing Bach. The smile's notched up a couple of kilowatts.

Old friends... yeah, ok. That's well enough explanation for the student and he passes off to Bach once he arrives. "Friend o' yours," is all he says, turning around and walking back into the house with a moment's glance. Uh huh. Bach is tall, and a fair looker by young man's standards. Sweeping a hand up to comb through his blondish hair, he waits for Natalie to explain herself. Doesn't talk much, this guy.

"I'm not the friend," Southern Nat hastens to explain, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at her truck again. "I'm helping Chris' little sister move out here, and she knew you went here. She's got a headache, or she'd've come to the door herself. But she wanted me to ask if you'd come out for coffee, or something?"

John tilts his head off to aside, looking out the wide open door so that he can see the truck. Not too familiar, that vehicle. "... Didn't know Chris had a little sister here," he replies, rather monotone. "But sorry, no. I got things to do."

Natalie shifts her weight to her other hip and cocks her head to one side. "Well she sure remembers you. Come on, be a pal? It's just coffee. Heck, I'll even buy. There's gotta be a good place in town, right?" She takes a step away encouragingly, expectantly. "I mean, it's practically criminal to leave her hanging like this. She's been chattering about seeing you all across Montana. Yap yap yap, can't wait to see him, wait'll he sees me." In the truck the other person turns and waves - it's too far and too close to dusk to see inside, but the person seems slightly built.

John, in very rare form, frowns ever so slightly. "Montana?" Chris isn't from Montana. Some other Chris that he knows, perhaps? Hard to tell with the not quite pleased look on his face. The guy blinks twice, flat eyes looking from Natalie to the truck, then back to Natalie. Perhaps he is debating about getting a cup of coffee at the campus cafe. After a long and uncomfortable silence, just long enough to have one think that she's going to get rejected, John nods once. "Let me get something." He turns, heading back up the stairs and leaving the door wide open still.

Natalie doesn't sigh her relief until he's disappeared up the stairs, then turns to give Rina a cheery thumbs up. That done she strolls about the little porch and down onto the lawn, for all the world a friend of a friend who's just invited a complete stranger out for coffee.

Typically a guy takes less than 10 minutes to get ready. John is one such guy. A large jacket on for the night's weather, his shirt beneath buttoned, hair combed once. Yet somehow he manages to pull off the nice-looker feel that a lot of average guys would be envious of. He turns at the foot of the stairs, tapping one of the guys watching the TV to tell him that he's going out for a coffee. The guy just nods in passing, and John's back at the door. "After you," he says, somewhat more amiably.

"Sure," Nat agrees, falling into step beside the man. As they approach the truck the other door opens and Emily pokes a leg out. "It's close enough to walk to, right? Or would it be easier if we drove there?" She 'accidentally on purpose' swerves a little closer to him on her second suggestion, trusting to the Curse to spook him away from it.

John is incredibly dull and imperceptive. Either that, or he could have a high sense of will. Either way, he doesn't mind the swing of Natalie's closer to him. "Yeah," he replies as if answering the first question only.

Natalie beckons to Emily and the kin swings fully out of the truck, locking the door behind her. "Hi," she croaks, offering a hand for shaking - apparently not only does she have a headache, but a nasty case of laryngitis, too. Nat backs off a step to let those two move off first, and also to prevent nosy frat brothers from following. "So what was that the door guy was saying about reporters, anyway?" She keeps up her chirpy demeanor, too.

This is Chris's sister. Doesn't look anything like him, John notes silently. Maybe she's a half sister. Step sister. Whatever. He nods his head once in greeting, realizing he's the one who is probably leading the way. "They've come by now and then, trying to get interviews," he states, one languid glance behind him to Emily. "Are you certain you don't want to drive?" Obvious implications of Emily's sickness and walking through the chill of night evidence in his brief, direct tone.

Emily waves off his question with a pretty smile and a raspy, "Sounds worse than it is." "--It is, too," Nat pipes up. "Interviews? What about? Dean's list, or something?"

John simply walks along for a bit, silent on his end of the rather interview-like conversation. The cars that pass are few in the evening, but there still are some. "From out of town, then," he considers aloud. "There were a series of pranks pulled by some of the members of the frat. The guys got their dues by some angry people who found out." The succinct, if vague summary, is what he gives as an answer.

"Harsh," Nat volunteers from behind them, while Emily looks interested in that 'I'm hanging on your every word' sort of way. She's not only prettier than Natalie, but she also doesn't have the Rage dragging fingernails down the chalkboard of Bach's mind.

The man nods, seeing as as his explanation has sufficed. Until there are more questions though, he doesn't seem to have any of his own for the both of them. Strange, perhaps, but those who know of Bach and the rumors that surround him pin him as a quiet, reserved kind of guy. And cute. Girls. They arrive not long after, perhaps 10 or 15 minutes of walking, from the school's oft frequented cafe. Though a little emptier than usual due to the time, it's bound to have some pickup once the night gets a little further in. In a chivalrously polite way, Bach holds open the door for both women to step through before entering himself.

Both women offer him smiles as they pass through; Nat settles Emily at one of the corner tables and heads up to the suddenly very nervous barista to place an order while Emily beckons the frat boy over to join her. "What happened to them?" the kin croaks, then offers a smile instead of further words.

"They were beaten up," Bach answers, looking towards Natalie as the woman goes to order. "Excuse me," he says to the kinswoman, standing up to move to the counter as well. At the sight of Bach, the cashier girl smiles, if not a little more disappointedly considering how he regards Natalie. "I'll get this," he says to Nat, placing an addition to Nat's order, along with a cold mint tea. He's very close to the Garou. Not at all bothered, it looks like.

Natalie looks over her shoulder, plainly surprised to see him there. "You're sure? I said I'd get it - it's not a problem. "

As she should be. Others who're waiting to order give the pair a wide berth. Is it Nat? Or is it Bach? Either way, the servergirl nods again and takes John's money rather than the woman's. "Yeah," he replies, handing over a ten and getting change right before the Garou. Even as the order is received, he has a way of picking up the drinks in hand without spilling - like he's probably done some waiter job before perhaps. As the two walk back to their table and he sets the drinks down, he finally asks a direct question of his own. "I don't think I heard Chris talk about you," he says, sitting down in his chair so that either woman is on either side. "Or you. I don't happen to know your names, either." Oh yeah, he's direct.

Natalie shrugs and trails the man back to their table, sits. "I'm Natalie," the galliard says, offering a hand. "Nice to meet you, John." Not that he ever said it was, but hey. The kin waits until she's done before volunteering, "Emily." "--Don't look at me," Nat cuts in again, over the 'sick' woman's words, "I wouldn't know Chris from a hole in the ground. Emily here just thought it'd be nice to visit, since we were in the area, and all."

"Mmhm," John replies, settling with his mint tea. "So Chris didn't tell you any embarrassing stories about me did he?" Because if he did... nah. Too nice. "And you could call me Bach. Most everyone around here does."

Emily grins over the rim of her coffee mug in an evil big sister fashion and doesn't answer that. Natalie, on the other hand, continues her 'interrogation' stubbornly. Doggedly, you might say. "So I didn't hear - what happened to your frat brothers anyway? Is that what's got you so spooked about reporters?"

Spooked? John looks far from the term. Very far. "They are considering the possibilities of getting kicked out of the university, at this point. Brian's father isn't happy about it, but he has strings to pull." A sip, and he continues on. "As for Devon and Tim..." He sits back a bit. "Both have been... quiet." The understatement takes second place for being the biggest of the year. "Tim, especially, but I would say they have learned their lesson. The reporters used to come around more often when the story was big, but now they've probably moved on to other news."

"Sounds like this whatever it is made a splash," Nat agrees. "Hope nothing too bad happened to them. Think they'll be all right?"

"Devon'll survive," Bach says with a nod. "Tim quit the fraternity after the incident. Not surprisingly, he hasn't spoken to anyone but me since then." He sets his glass down. The ice cubes inside clink lightly against the glass. "They'll be fine. The Devil's dashing good looks are like spoiled fruit, though." He smiles, eyes unfocusing briefly. Ooh, look, an expression! Coming back to earth though, "Though it will be awhile before the frat can get a permit to go camping in the woods again. Pity."

[And they talked, and went back to the frat house after coffee... hopefully with information that Natalie wanted.]