NPC: Mikey and the Goth
5/2/2005
11:47 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (38% full).
It is currently 23:22 Pacific Time on Mon May 2 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.11 and rising, and the relative humidity is 80 percent. The dewpoint is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)
Harbor Park -- The Meadow(#194RJ)
One of the last bastions of green left in the city, mottled and withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet, with the construction work turning what is left into just bare dirt. The vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. Construction work is ongoing here: a raised earthen berm about five feet tall is being built all around the park perimeter, with two breaks each at the Bridge Street entrance and the First Street end. Wooden posts are being erected at regular intervals all along the earthen wall, while tasteful iron gates and fences are being added at the entrances. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. From the street view or river view, the park is now isolated, as if it existed apart from the city. People in tall buildings have an excellent view of any goings-ons for now, though. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed surrounds the fountain.
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.
Contents:
Jeremy
Jeren
Obvious exits:
Bridge Street Fountain First Street River
Drinking on a Monday night. Normal people won't think it, but a bunch of teenage or just slightly older deliquents who have scored a few packs of supermarket stock booze. Five in all, they are utterly oblivious (or uncaring) about the disheveled appearances all five of them cut, with their mismatched oversize or undersized shirts, baggy jeans and random hairstyles in need of better maintainence. They drag their haul towards the park meadow, knowing that there, they could very well have their alcoholic fun undisturbed.
Standing on the fountain is Jeremy, arms stretched out at his sides, feeling the rush of wind pound away into his face and chest, causing his mis matched bangs to go fluttering back, trench coat dancing about his person. Chains rattle and clang against his legs and throat as they stir, his face lightly bleached and his eyes dyed dark with make up.
At some point between the safehouse and here, likely when the neighborhood started getting seedier, Jeren left her vehicle in favor of pure, simple, adrenaline funneled running. This is not exactly a normal sight--a woman fairly sprinting down the street, silent except for her footfalls and heavy breathing. She enters the park more out of coincidence than design, and while her Rage is respectably low both by Auspice and the current moon, the Ragabash is nevertheless seething with pent up frustration.
Jervis is unrecognizably haunched over the railing on the riverside of the park, only the occasional glow of his cigarette illuminating or even betraying anything resembling movement about his form. Eyes seldom blink.
"Break it out, man, c'mon!" "Shut up Mikey, it ain't your booze anyway, it was your /brother's/." "You shut up!" "Wh-- hey, someone's over there." The group's loud conversation can be heard even over the slapping of water on water from the fountain, fading away with the as-one head turning and observing of the lone gothkin standing atop the fountain's concrete edging. A round of snickering follows, given Jeremy's outright strange appearance. Jeren, for now, goes utterly unnoticed as she enters from the edge of the thinned trees bordering downtown St. Claire's tiny bastion of green. And Jervis, too, on the river's side, is wholly unrecognized in the darkness.
It doesn't seem that Jeremy is taking much notice of any of the others. He continues to stand on the edge of the fountain, feeling the cool mist wash against him at times as the wind decides to blow that way, just enjoying the feel of the night in his face. oO( You belong to the city, you belong to the night. Living in a river of darkness, beneath the neon lights.)Oo Drinking in one deep breath after the other, his eyes remain closed, drowning out the world and letting it all just settle in, like grains of sand on the bottom of the ocean.
The change in the ground beneath her from pavement to dirt and grass seems to serve to heighten whatever is fueling Jeren's run. She breaks from sprint to mad, heedless dash, only bothering to avoid trees, and bushes taller than her hips. If anyone was watching, they might think she was on some drug-induced flight.
Jervis' head flicks bird like in response to the sudden sounds behind him, but soon goes back to mulling over the flowing water. Completely oblivious, he seems, and yet also entirely aware, somehow.
"Dude, check it out. Hah! What a freak." "Isn't that one of those goth angsty types?" "Tchyeah. How much y'wanna bet he shops at Hot Topic?" The group laughs again, before Mikey, a relatively young and brash caucasian youth dressed in Sonics attire and jeans, drums up the boldness to prove himself in the faces of his peers. "Gothboy! Hey! You on the fountain!" The older teen comes closer to the Walker kin, as the rest of them watch. A few hands reach for the beer cans in the 12 pack, not really paying all that much heed to the errant Mikey's actions.
Letting out a slow breath, Jeremy opens up his blue eyes as his mixed blonde, red and black hair is blown away from his face. His arms drop down to his sides, enveloping himself in the jacket once more. He tilts his chin downwards slowly, staring back at the other. His gaze is intense, hawk eye like, fingers splayed out in an eerie fashion.
And at the end of this final dash comes burnout. Jeren comes to a stop not too terribly far away from the fountain, legs trembling. She lifts her right arm and leans it carefully against the trunk of the tree she's stopped under, and lays her forehead against the arm. Her ears are pounding, which nearly drowns out any other sound.
Closer examination reveals the group to be 3 guys, 2 girls. Mikey looks to be the fifth wheel on this group, though his 'position' is dynamic and fluid as the water cascading down from the fountain's statue. "Shouldn't you be inside? Sun'll be up soon. You'll burn to a crisp." Mikey smirks, snarky and undeterred by Jeremy's stare. The slight pops and cracks of beer cans almost get lost in the fountain's background splashing.
Jervis blinks, and, at the noise of the riffraff, turns slowly to get a proper view, stepping quietly closer, no inclination of interfering present. THe Fang squints a little at the goth being assaulted, taking a long, thoughtful drag from his cigarette, face glowing orange briefly. Just before the glow fades out, there's a smile of recognition. Then he watches.
"If only that was true, I would welcome the release." Jeremy says in a soft breath as he continues to pin the other down with his eyes, unflinching as his left hand subtelly brushes along his coat, inching just past the folds as he sways, rocking a bit on his sturdy boots. He would have noticed Jeren if it wasn't for the guy in front of him, taking up most of his attention. Its dark out afterall, just past midnight. "Your friends are going to drink up all the beer." He says, his voice cracking slightly. "Should get back to them, enjoy what bit of enjoyment you can get from the night."
Jeren is breathing heavily. That, plus the pounding in her ears, makes interpreting the nearby conversation a timely exercise, and most of it simply passes right by her unnoticed. She lifts her left arm and gives the tree trunk a small blow with her fist. This accomplishes nothing beyond chipping off a small piece of bark and scratching her knuckles.
Mikey just laughs in Jeremy's face. "Holy shit, you really /are/ a ball of wangst," the youth sputters, half-turning at Jeremy's remark about the booze getting drunken away. "Yo Mikey! Heads up!" The voice comes from one of the guys, the one who previously received the 'Shut up' command. A beer can goes sailing through the air, football style, but Mikey might as well be named Butterfingers too. The youth snatches air, and the can instead hits Jeremy right on the shin. Ow.
Jervis takes another few quiet steps closer, still thoughtfully sucking on his cigarette, but smiling now, and that smile grows noticeably larger as the can hits the kin. The Fang mouths something silently to himself, as he waits for a reaction from Jeremy.
Soon as the can hits his shin, years of hackie sack come in hand as Jeremy quickly shifts his leg, letting the aluminum can roll a bit and pop upwards from a thud of his boot. Snagging the can in mid air, he slowly twists his wrist so that the tab is facing upwards, thrusting it towards 'Mickey'. There is a slight gleam in the Goth's eyes as he tosses it upwards in the air a bit towards the 'thug', then starts walking along the edge of the fountain, one foot after the other. "Good night."
Jeren moves her head, just enough to be able to see past the tree with one eye--unfortunately, her slightly weaker visioned one. Jeremy's presence still doesn't seem to click with her. She's too busy trying to catch her breath, and trying further to contain her frustration fueled temper.
This time Mikey does catch the beer with both hands, checking out the can for a second before pursuing the gothkin. "Hey, where you goin'? C'mon and stay awhile. Party it up. Or are you gonna go home and cry your black blood tears?" Mikey's hand shoots out for a section of Jeremy's loose trenchcoat tail.
Jervis flicks his spent cigarette to the side before drawing still closer, hands in coat pockets. He stops just short of where the ambient light might make his presence obvious. He waits, smirking. Anxious for the plot to develop, like a surly film critic.
Soon as Mikey grabs at Jeremy's coat, he whirls around swiftly, chains a rattling, one hand sweeping out to snag the thugs wrist, while the other whips out a black device. With the motion, he looks to carry the thug straight into the water as he jerks his arm back and plant something against his neck.
The Ragabash's head lifts sharply, jerked back to reality by Jeremy's sudden movements. Alarmed, but still disoriented, she slips past the tree, toward the fountain, and drops into a three point crouch, every nerve on end as she tries to figure out just what is going on.
Suddenly Mikey's fun is interrupted. Suddenly, Mikey finds himself grabbed, his wrist twisted, and his face swiftly meeting water's rippling surface. The cry of surprise more than pain sends alarm up, followed by the youth's frantic grabbing at anything in his reach to keep himself from going completely end over end. Whatever it is that is planted against his neck though, shuts Mikey up quick. "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" he yells out. "Let go of me!" The others, too, have looked up from their random conversation. For the moment, Jeremy has the element of surprise on his side.
Jervis remains unfazed by the sudden violence. He merely goes about lighting up another cigarette, despite the attention the light may draw to him. Eyes on Jeremy and his assailant. Body trained on nothing at all.
"Mickey, listen to me very carefully. I bought this at the store for only thirty five dollars. It was on sale." Jeremy says as he firmly locks the arm in place, applying pressure with his knee against the thugs back. "Its called the Streetwise Three hundred thousand. The long number at the end stands for volts. I heard someone once knocked a cow out with it. Imagine, what'd happen if I decided to press the button while I dunked your head under water. Do you think it'd hurt? I told you good night, and instead you felt the need to grab onto my jacket and fuck around with me. I'm just a angsty lil freak, right? Well, guess what, I'm also a god damn psychopath with a death wish. You have to the count of three to apologize, gather up what is left of your pride and walk your ass back to your friends and have yourself a party, or, I will do something quite bold and rash, that will haunt you for the rest of your life, provided that you survive from it." There's a light 'zzzaaap' noise, right behind the ear.
Relative silence follows Jeremy's words, aside from the pained grunts of the youth being held immobile against his will. Finally, hearing the quiet electrical hum of the taser above the splash of water, the guy relents. "All right! All right! Just fuckin' let go of me!"
"I didn't hear you say that you were sorry." Zaaaap. Jeremy says, eyes narrowed ferally as he stares down at the man, not once breaking a smile upon his painted face.
Her lips lift away from her teeth for just a moment as Jeren finally grasps the specifics. The Ragabash straightens abruptly, trying not to clench her fists too hard, and moves swiftly, steps light, to get behind Jeremy. Between the time she leaves the shelter of the tree, to the time she appears behind the Kin, her edges appear strangely blurred. No doubt a trick of the eyes on a dark night. She doesn't bother with negotiation--instead, she strikes swiftly, firmly, just below the base of the Kin's skull with one hand, while the other grapples for the wrist of the hand holding the taser.
Jervis is for the first time, visibly rattled, as the form he had taken for just another, if wayward member of the gaggle of youth-scum suddenly springs onto the kinfolk. He approaches close swiftly, but maintaining a walking pace, lit cigarette still grasped in his left hand. The Fang waits a moment, at the possible risk of endangering Jeremy's life to his new assailant, as if to measure her up. As if suddenly realizing he had better make something of this, he mutters, loudly: "Jeremy, let go of the fuckwad." He then turns to Jeren. "I suggest you do the same."
At the swift attack that shoots out of no where, Jeremy is caught completely unaware. Crack! The shot to his skull throws him forward as he slips on the fountain. Zap! Still grabbing the man, he tumbles to the side, smacking his forehead hard on the concrete, opening him up as he sees stars. The weapon is tossed, falling from his fingers.
Within a blink of half-a-second, the threat of three hundred thousand volts of electricity is lost as the taser drops into the water and Jeremy's grip loosens. Mikey twists out of the grasp almost too eagerly, whirling around with his hands balling into fists, ready to punch out. The presence of two people, though, surprises him. The others in his group are swiftly abandoning their drinks and coming to aid their friend, having seen all that transpired.
Jeren's hold shifts--while the one hand continues to grasp Jeremy's wrist firmly, the other snakes around his chest, both to hold him still and hold him up, considering the knock he's just taken. The Ragabash hisses a stream of furious, near-whispered curses into the back of the Kin's neck as she tries to obscure her own face from the approaching teenagers, and Jervis. Louder, she replies to the Fang, "As soon as he stops /being/ a God-damned fuckwit! You!" This is addressed to the gathering in general. "Go on, clear off! There's worse than a fucking Goth dropping fucking acid around at this time of night."
Jervis nods a little at the Walker's words, then notices that the rest of the gaggle has gathered. He sighs, and retrieves from his coat pocket a rather menacing looking handgun: likely a magnum of sort, but the calibur and size should be obvious to even the most uninitiated to firearms. "You'd best do as she says, kids," the Fang says, not pointing the weapon at anyone, and, it seems, making sure _not_ to. "_Get_ me?" he adds, menacingly.
Feeling warm blood trickle down the side of his head, Jeremy groans out in a soft murmur. He is hanging a bit limply in Jeran's grasp, and the voices swim in and out of his ears.
"Holy shit!" Mikey sputters, scrambling back not from Jeren's proximity or words, but from that shiny metal Doom-stick. Everyone who had begun to come to Mikey's aid or at least investigate what the heck was going on, stops and makes a few paces back of retreat. Mikey backpedals quick as he can, away from the trio at the fountain, turned around and running like a whipped dog, utterly not knowing whether the Fang will open fire right at his back or not, but not staying to find out. The group only hangs around long enough that Mikey makes it back without any lead plugs in him, before they completely abandon the fountain area, running for the meadow and then further out to the treeline. The beercases are left behind as well.
The taser on the ground is not forgotten--but Jeren hardly finds herself in a position to pick it up. She uses Jervis' distraction to slide her hand away from Jeremy's wrist, and up under his armpit as she starts dragging/leading the Kin backwards toward the relative safety of the trees. The idea is to get one arm under his, and one of his arms over her shoulders, but she's only about halfway there when the kids start to scatter. Anticipating a shift of focus, the Ragabash releases her hold on Jeremy's chest to reach back and slide her own Glock from beneath her shirt, and point it toward the 'helpful' Fang.
Jervis pauses, watching them flee, sighing, both at the retreating hoodlums, and at the gun that he notices now being pointed at him. He puts his own weapon away, slowly, but manages casualness as well. "We're both on the same side, hon," he says, peering a little in the kin's direction as he adds, "sad as that "side" is....this basketcase and I go way back..." he tilts his head, "thick as _wolves_, you might say?" He snorts, a little disgusted with his own graceless subtlety.
Click. The sound of a hammer being pulled back is heard as Jeren now feels something pushed hard into her side. Looks like the wolves aren't the only two packing heat tonight. "The basketcase.. has .. a head ache.." He shoves himself up to his feet, blood dripping down his face. "Its bad enough that you treat me like dirt, but now you won't even let me stand up for myself. I hate you fuckers."
Jeren lowers the gun, though only just enough to be aiming for Jervis' manhood, rather than his chest. "How kind of you to wait until he was ready to fry the damn kid before popping up," she growls. And then. Uh. Gun. Pressing into her side. Well this sucks. "He's family," she says toward Jervis, though her retreat has effectively been halted. "--Jeremy." And this time her voice is obviously controlled. "I'm going to take you home. Where you can get some advil for that headache. I'd really, /really/ prefer if you'd lean on me rather than blasting a hole through me."
Jervis smirks, shaking his head a little at the "exchange" between the two, and oddly emitting a loud chuckle at the mention of a "headache". "Like he said, he needs to fight his own battles. Choosing them...he ain't too good at--Sorry, Jer, but you got really dumb there at the end." Eyes back to Jeren, Jervis takes a drag from his still lit cigarette, "Haven't seen your face around before...guessing you aren't exactly from here? Anyway...do we have time for a proper introduction, or...does Mr. Winters' headache require immediate medical attention?"
"Fuck you." Jeremy spits out the words. "I'm not your fucking pet. I wasn't going to fucking fry him. He grabbed -me- first. I guess its OK for him to possibly beat the hell out of me, maybe bring his friends to stomp on my 'stupid goth face', but lord fucking help me if I stick up for my god damn self in fucking self defense!" He shouts out, pulling away from the female, storming off, sliding the gun into his jacket. He scoops up the taser along the way, latching it onto his belt. "This isn't Denver, the rules are different here." A beat. "Nice to see you again, Lord Jervis."
Losing her hold on the Kin, and versely being released from immediate danger of being shot, Jeren shoves the glock angrily back into the holster hidden beneath her buttoned down shirt. There's a tense, careful breath taken, to calm her frazzled nerves, before she straightens. "Yes, Jeremy, of course, I was only here to fucking interfere with you and make sure you got beat down. And what in the hell do you think his friends were going to do if you tased him in the water? And obviously, I was going to help you home in the middle of the night purely out of my own fucking self interest." Jervis...goes ignored for the moment. Having said her peace, she storms past the Kin and back in the direction she came.
"You'll get used to it!" Jervis calls out after the other no-moon, smiling. Then back to Jeremy, eye catching his finger. "And you..." he calls, even if the kin is intent on making good his escape. "You're a mess, as ever. You let one of us snag you, man?! How the mighty have _fallen_," he chortles, in a tone that's curiously good natured, for Jervis.
"SEE! You think I'm some weak.. stupid.. nothing!" Jeremy shouts back, whirling on the pair of Ragabash, trench coat dancing. "You don't even know shit about me! I can shoot the hair off a flea's ass fucking eighteen hundred meters away with a M eight-two A One! I've studied a good amoung of Kung Fu with a Kailidorani Bone Gnawer! I've spent four years with an adept Kickboxer! I fucking lived with a mad scientist and I have enough crammed in my head to set fire to the city! I can hack Bill Gates! I know four languages! You just fucking assume I'm some god damn weak human just because I'm not like you! Just because I'm miserable in my life, doesn't mean I'm helpless!" By now, the tears are flowing, partly due to the pain that throbs in his head, and the cloud that bleeds about his heart. He squeezes his hands together tightly, nostrils flaring, then shoots a look to Jervis.
Jeren spins furiously in place, and takes one single step back toward Jeremy. "If I thought you were so damned /helpless/, I would have attacked the fucking teenagers for you! Why in all the flying, fucking hells do you think you know a single thought that floats through my head, let alone what I assume or don't assume about /you/? M eight-two A fucking One, my ass. If you think you need to use that stupid shit on some drunken teenagers, then why don't I just go to town on a few fucking kindergarten bullies?"
Jervis lets all of this previous banter go aside, in light of Jeren's retort. Smiling, he mutters, again, in a manner too loud to be meant as a mutter. "She has a point."
"This coming from someone who can turn nine feet tall and sprout fur!" Jeremy shoots back. "I had a fucking taser, not a god damn hand grenade! I guess its only for pregnant women to carry a fucking taser in self defense but Oooh No, not the fucking Gothic! That's just plain ridiculous!" He hollars back. "What fucking ever, hypocrite. Your kind are nothing but walking time bombs anyways. Soon as you guys hit the moon rag, its all the same." He starts off through the park, pulling his coat about him, digging out his car keys. "Can't even enjoy a fucking night out to get some peace in. I can't fucking get away from you people."
Jeren snarls after him, "You'll notice I /didn't/! That's my god-damned fucking /point/, Winters!"
Jervis begins to laugh, slowly, then full on. A moment into it, he regains control, and sighs loudly. "Oh loooord..." He looks to Jeremy, calling out. "You can't run from what you are any more than we can, Jer!" He then mutters, muffled by a cigarette. "'least back then you seemed to know how to have fun with it..."
The kin continues to stride away from the pair, fists squeezed together tightly. He is wheezing by now, his breath puffing against the cool air as he stares ahead.
Jeren turns her back to Jeremy. As beating up trees would be rather anti-Gaia, she turns her fury onto the next available thing--the fountain. The Ragabash is remarkably silent apart from a quiet, continuous hissing through her teeth, but she strikes the stone lip of the thing with a sudden, lightning barrage of kicks, and the occasional (very unwise) punch.
Jervis shakes his head, finishing his cigarette before flicking it away, and sighing.
Jeren continues until her foot is numb and her knuckles are bleeding, then wordlessly turns away and starts jogging--back the way she came, though not as fast.
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