It is currently 18:19 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 1 2005.

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (59% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 44 degrees
      Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric 
      pressure reading is 30.00 and falling, and the relative humidity is 96 
      percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

Garcia's Pizza Parlor(#2882RJM$)

The first thing some people notice when they step into this room is the noise:
      almost always there is some sort of noise, of music or conversation or 
      the employees in the back, cooking. Others see the lights, harsh 
      yellow-white over the counter and on into the kitchen in the back, a 
      dimmer, indeed faint glow above each of the tables scattered around. No 
      matter which sense is first engaged by the room, almost all soon are 
      captured by the smell of pizza; the smell pervades the place, an aroma of 
      melted cheese, cooked tomato sauces, various meats, vegetables, all 
      subtle, yet all blended together into the overwhelming smell. The smell 
      tells the customer that, despite the less-than-classy look of the 
      restaurant, the product is, undeniably, almost guaranteed to be good.

(Type +view for details.)

  In the corner near the door is a trio of video games and a soda machine.
      Scattered around the room are several tables; lining the back, the 
      counter on which the pizzas are put before they are picked up.

Free from work and free from the bland office wardrobe that office slavery
      requires, Gertrude Vogel slouches into the pizza parlor in her baggy 
      black clothes and sagging black backpack. The staff recognize her, but 
      the smile that the counter-guy gives the Chinese girl is stilted and 
      fake, and Gert doesn't bother to return it as she orders dinner for the 
      evening -- two slices of cheese pizza and a large Coke.

The door opens, allowing Betty to enter. The woman surveys the room with a cool
      gaze, allowing the door to close behind her as she slips her jacket off. 
      As she starts to move through the small space, most eyes turn to watch 
      her. Its not precisely clear why; she's attractive but not overly so and 
      even slightly messily dressed. Nonetheless, there's -something- about her 
      that seems to draw the eye. Predatory but also...more. She waits behind 
      Gert, her hands casually in her pockets, watching the back of the girl.

	Though not especially tall, there's a certain appeal about this woman.
      Standing at about average for a woman at five foot five, she has a 
      pleasant face. Her eyes are large and muddy brown, set beneath carefully 
      plucked eyebrows and with straight nose and strong mouth and chin. Her 
      hair is long and golden brown, set with rather large waves that seem 
      retro in this day and age. When she speaks, there's a hint of the east in 
      her voice though the actual regional accent can't be placed. She seems to 
      be young, perhaps in her early twenties.

	Betty wears a slightly rumpled blue blouse that is tucked into kahki pants. A
      brown leather jacket is usually worn or carried, as is a plain black 
      backpack. She wears a silver locket and earrings. If she doesn't look to 
      be one concerned with her clothing, she still looks mostly neat.

Gert forks over some cash to pay for her food, accepts her fountain drink, and
      then steps to one side to wait for her pizza to be heated up. She turns 
      to eye the woman behind her as though sizing her up.

Betty looks right back at Gert, meeting the young woman's eyes without even
      blinking. She's not challenging her, precisely, but she is assessing her. 
      Moving forward with a faint smile, she orders a drink. That's all. She 
      pays for it and receives it quickly, winking at the young man who 
      delivers the drink and leaving him smiling dumbly. Then its back to 
      studying Gert, her chin raising slightly. Its odd but she doesn't even 
      sip the drink. She just holds it.

The continued attention seems to get Gert's hackles up, metaphorically
      speaking. Her dark eyes narrow, and a frown tugs at the corners of her 
      mouth. "What."

"You were looking at me, darlin'," Betty says. Her voice doesn't have a precise
      accent and seems to be more of an amalgum of various east coast cities. 
      Still, its a pleasant contralto.

Gert's brow furrows. "Guess I was bored," she says curtly, even rudely. Her own
      accent is local; it's unlikely that she's lived anywhere further than 
      fifty miles from where they're standing. She turns away sharply and 
      pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie and glowers at 
      nothing in particular.

"Conversation tends to be far more interesting than confrontation." Betty
      doesn't even seem to notice the young woman's anger. Perhaps its just 
      sliding off of her. Either way, as the pizza is placed up for the young 
      woman, she gestures toward a table. "Come, let's sit. Its always terrible 
      eating alone."

Gert turns back to give Betty an odd look, bemused at this response and more
      than a little suspicious. "*I* don't have a problem with it," she 
      replies, rather snarkily. "But okay." Taking her tray, she heads over to 
      the table that the other woman gestured to.

Betty gives the girl a knowing look but doesn't say anything at first. Settled
      into her seat, she toys with the straw in her drink, watching Gert. "So. 
      I'm Betty."

"Gertrude," the younger woman replies, before taking a bite out of her first
      slice of pizza. She watches Betty right back.

"I'm new to town," the woman says, her fingers still toying with the drink. "I
      was hoping for a few heads up. Places to go, places to avoid. Things to 
      do. Exciting events, that sort of thing. Could you possibly help me with 
      some information?"

Gert's eyebrows rise. "Gangs hang out at Harbor Park. That's south, by Bridge
      Street, near the river. And you already found the best pizza place in 
      town." She's not a very smooth speaker; the words come out chopped, the 
      tone stilted.

Betty, by contrast, is very smooth, almost cultured. There's a slightly odd and
      formal edge to her words, almost sounding like someone's grandparent. But 
      that must just be an east coast thing. She can't be much older than Gert. 
      "Yes, it is a rather nice little place. I found it one of my first nights 
      here. I come back from time to time. It just has a great air." Yeah, 
      that's it. "Goodness. Gangs. I was hoping for different news."

Gert nods and takes a sip from her soda. "Sorry." She doesn't sound apologetic
      at all. "The gangs are pretty vicious here. Most of them have trained 
      attack dogs. I think our murder rate's the highest in the state." She 
      says this without a smile to indicate humor, but almost sounds proud of 
      the fact.

-That- catches Betty's attention and she gives Gert a very sharp look. "Trained
      attack dogs? That's a quirk I've never heard before." And it seems to be 
      one she doesn't like. "A large number of killings. Are they mostly done 
      by these gangs with dogs?"

Gert shrugs. "People shoot and knife each other, too. Or blow up buildings."

Betty doesn't answer for a time, staring into space. "Well. I have a few calls
      to make." She pushes to her feet and gives the girl a smile. "It was a 
      pleasure, Gert. I'm sure we'll see each other again." And then she 
      waltzes right out the door.

Gert wrinkles her nose, offering up a flat, "See ya," in reponse. Once the
      woman's gone, she rolls her eyes with the air of someone who does not 
      suffer fools gladly but has to on a regular basis and gets out her book. 
      She's just *fine* with eating alone.