Date: 8/17/02

Harbor Park -- Fountain

Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six
trees, a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into
concrete, and a flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.

The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and
about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix
of old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel
slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around
the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in
bright mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle
is a large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped
in robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek
symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its
feet.

Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any
residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.

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. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several
feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.


[J.C.] 
She presents an unimpressive figure at best, barely over five feet
tall, thin and sickly and dressed in old, stained, cast-off clothing. Her
grubby t-shirt bears various stains and a faded Pearl Jam logo and is far
too large for her. The legs of her old jeans have been cut off at the
knees, revealing the legs of the yellowed thermal underwear she's wearing
underneath. Her feet are shod in a pair of cheap blue plastic flip-flops,
and a red hooded sweatshirt with a tear in the collar, if not worn, is
tied around her waist. On her head is a Seattle Mariners baseball cap,
which does not entirely cover her bald head.

Her age is difficult to determine precisely; she looks anywhere between
her mid teens and her very early twenties. She also appears to be
suffering from some illness. Her brown eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and
her prominent, bony nose is red and sniffly. Her skin's pale and sometimes
marked with rashes or ugly red blotches, and her brown eyebrows are almost
nonexistent. Even cleaned up, she wouldn't be a beauty.

Hanging off her shoulders is a PowerPuff Girls backpack, somewhat stained
and lumpy.


Out by the edge of the park, a tall, dark, familiar figure in a trenchcoat
silently slips into the grounds and stalks towards the glade in the center
of the meadow. The sinister image is somewhat jarred by the presence of a
bag of donuts in one hand and hot, steaming coffee in the other. He loops
around, after a moment though - the fountain isn't his target, but rather
he seems to be looking for a nice place to stand and watch the river.

J.C. shuffles along at the edge of the fountain area, a minute figure in
flip-flops and grubby clothing, heading toward the nearest trash can.

Lyra comes up from the Rialto, having just peeked inside to see if anyone
was there...but it was empty. Chewing her lip in thought, the Gnawer cub
stuffs her hands in her pockets as she walks to the Park. She always met
interesting people here. Who would she meet today? Flipping her hood up
with a childish grin, she mock-marches towards the Park. A mission, an
adventure!

One may surmise that the tall fellow and the kid on the skateboard were on
course for collision, but they cross points without quite meeting. Maybe
she looks in his direction, grins quick and bright, but she keeps rolling
towards the fountain.

It's possile that the gesture the large man makes with the hand holding
the donut bag is either a lazy salute, or simply brushing back a stray
hair at his temples. But he continues on toward the river, and pauses only
long enough to rest the bag in the crook of his arm, and deftly extract a
donut with the same hand. He munches quietly to himself.

J.C. stops by the trash can and leans over, studying the top layer of
refuge with keen interest. She snuffles noisily, wipes her nose with one
bare arm, and then dives said arm into the trash. Her tongue pokes out of
her mouth as she feels around.

Anneka's skateboard rattles and barks as she loops around the fountain,
over the strange chalk drawings that surround it. She rolls right past the
woman at the trash can, doesn't slow-- though she glances at her.

J.C. snaps a quick glance up at Anneka, alertly. She pauses with her arm
buried nearly to the shoulder, blinking bloodshot, watery eyes, as if she
_thinks_ she _should_ recognize Anneka, but doesn't.

Floppy ears bob against the hood as the cub makes her way to the park,
making a game of stepping on certain spots touched by shadow, for
instance. Hopping onto on spot and then standing still, Lyra cranes her
neck up to look for the moon, hood falling off. Half! Half! She grins. If
only she had a cliath. Then she could go to the Umbra. Golly.

Standing like some silent sentinel, John simply sips at coffee and regards
the river for a while longer. The sheer number of people in the park are
making this usual past-time a little difficult, however, and he looks over
his shoulder to scowl faintly at the unfamiliar person rummaging through
trash.

J.C. looks like one of those crazy homeless people, yep. Crazy homeless
_diseased_ people, and the baseball cap over the bald head, coupled with
her small stature, makes her look a little like one of those cancer kids.
She keeps watching Anneka, then flicks a look around at the others in the
park. John, being the most violent-looking, gets a particularly wary eye.

Anneka catches the edge of the fountain with a grubby hand, her skateboard
with the other, lofts herself for a moment right into the air. It looks
like something muscles would tense over, but not worth the face the young
woman makes, a flash of pain. She lets go, traces a messy loop through the
dark and lands with a sharp protest of rubber wheels and wood. "Ah--" She
wobbles, rolls along a few feet and stops to rub at her right arm.

Carter enters the park quietly and pensively. He looks around as he
approaches, stumbling a bit as he recognizes John. Still, he continues
gamely, finding a spot at the base of one of the henges. He opens his
laptop bag and extracts a drawing pad and battered laptop, which he
arranges next to himself...just so.

The sound of wheels on gravel and -thumps- on the ground bring Lyra's
attention to things at the fountain, which is still a bit of a walk ahead
of her. Humming to herself, she continues her hop skip and jump game,
almost losing her balance as she trips on a piece of glass. This continues
for quite some time, till she's landed near Carter. Not that she sees him,
being so focused on her game.

The scowl only turns into something altogether nastier - frightening,
even, in its viciousness - as John catches sight of Carter. He lowers both
cup of coffee and small bag as he turns and starts striding towards the
young man purposefully.

J.C. pulls her arm out of the trash, her attention immediately rivetting
on John's advance toward Carter. Again, she snuffles like a person with a
bad cold and blinks rapidly.

Anneka chews on her lower lip, shakes her head and pushes at the ground.
She starts to roll again, then stops, looks back towards the newcomer.
That Lyra's standing near him makes her head tilt. She tips her 'board up
into her arms, calls out. "Hey, hi."

Carter's attention is, for the moment, apparently wrapped up in arranging
things around himself: laptop, pencils, drawing pad, etc. As John nears,
however, he says "Good evening, Mr. Smith," without looking up.

"/You/." John's voice couldn't be more filled with poision than if he were
a snake-shifter. "Why isn't he dead, yet?" he demands flatly, with plain
and open disregard for whoever may hear.

Anneka looks back towards John. Behind the sunglasses, it's hard to see
the shift in expression, but her faint smile fades, her mouth stretching
out into a line. She pushes harder at the ground, scrapes to a halt near
the cub. "Hey," she says again, her attention on the two men.

Voices suddenly thrown her way, the cub stops, foot in mid-air. She looks
around, and the closest person to her is Carter...and now approaching
John. Lyra blinks, fingers curling and uncurling in her pockets. "Mr.
Smith?" she repeats under her breath, looking from Warper to Garou with
utter confusion. Then Anneka rolls up and gets her share of the blinking,
and a grin. "Annie!"

"Hi, hi," Anneka says. She catches one of Lyra's arms, the hand marred,
two fingers cut short. There's no overt tension in her stance, but she's
alert, watching John, the fellow with the laptop, the grubby woman at the
trash bin.

J.C. glances at the two other females, then shifts her attention back to
the men.

Carter looks up, finally, with a bland expression. "I have a number of
theories. It is entirely possible that he /can't/ die, having never lived
in the first place. The dominant paradigm enjoys such symmetry." He pulls
the pad onto his lap and selects a charcoal pencil, beginning to sketch
John as he talks. "As to why I haven't killed him, well. I've never killed
anyone. I already infer from the question that /you've/ had no success in
finding my wayward twin, let alone dealing with him."

John's face twists in an angered snarl. "Get up! And don't put this on me,
or rattle your fucking semantics at me, you piece of /shit/." A gloved
hand tosses the steaming coffee aside, reaching down for Carter's collar
to enforce that order. It doesn't take any supernatural abilities to feel
the waves of hatred and tension radiating from the oversized man. "/Why
isn't he finished by now?/ Your fucking 'Aristotle' should know where he
is. That was all we had to do!"

Anneka tilts her head down, green eyes flashing over the tops of her
sunglasses. One is too still, caught within a circle of scars, intent for
the way it doesn't stir. She is rather swiftly between the cub and the two
men.

Lyra shakes her head ruefully, smiling at Anneka. "I don't understand him
and his imaginary twin," she whispers, eyes on the man she'd met before.
"He's a Warper, but-" As John reaches out to grab Carter, menacing voice
and all, the cub blinks and calls out hotly, "Hey!! Leave him alone!"

J.C. shuffles around, maneuvering so that the trash can is between herself
and the raging Garou. It doesn't matter that John's ire is in no way
directed at her or even _near_ her, she's wary. But she sticks around.

Anneka hisses, sharp and quiet through her teeth. Her attention's on the
woman near the trash can for a moment, then back to Lyra. "Hold on. Stay
behind me."

Yanked up by the collar, Carter offers no physical resistance whatsoever.
"I'm afraid you've seen to many science fiction movies, Mr. Smith.
Aristotle isn't omniscient. He's not HAL 9000. Neither am I. There really
isn't any argument I can make in my favor, since you've already made up
your mind. So. You can put me down, and we can continue this discussion
like rational sapients, or you can do something unspeakably violent,
senseless and brutal, in front of witnesses. Perhaps you'll find some way
on your own to deal with a powerful, magick wielding hobgoblin who may
very well be unkillable by conventional means."

Anneka lets her skateboard slip down to earth, then straightens up, her
attention never quite leaving the two men. She holds her hands at her
sides, loosely, her attention drifting towards J.C. again.

Tipping his head back and Letting loose a cry of pure frustration and
anger, John crunches a fist into Carter's face, sending the smaller man
sprawling on the ground. The Ahroun whips about to level a finger at the
women, snarling in a voice several octaves lower than a human voice has
any right to be. "BACK THE FUCK OFF, OR DIE." Muscles usually so fluid and
graceful are tight and twitching with the rage. He turns on the laid-out
Carter again. "I'll draw you a FUCKING MAP. I'll show you the fucking
front door! But /what do we do?!/ MAKE HIM DIE, YOU SCRAWNY LITTLE FUCK!"

In the space between Anneka looking away from J.C. and looking back at
her, the bald chick has vanished. Just like that, gone.

Lyra's mouth is open in a scream that never gets to her throat when John
-punches- the mathematician. She tries to push past Anneka, ignoring John
completely as her first instinct, to help, comes full force. "Mr. Carter!"
she yelps out as he falls to the ground.

Anneka twists about, sets her feet against the earth as she pushes back.
She's a good deal stronger than someone her size should be, even in human
guise. "Sit still, 'kay?" She looks back at John. "This /isn't/ a good
place to go nuts."

Carter drops, his drawing pad sliding to a stop by the edge of the
fountain. His nose is obviously broken, bent awkwardly to one side,
gushing blood. The blood runs down Carter's cheeks toward the ground, but
the flow stops quickly, and he lies still for a moment, breathing
shallowly through his mouth.

Anneka looks from the Ahroun to the Warper, a quick turn of her head,
grits her teeth. "Okay," she says, her own voice gathering a harsh edge.
"Kill who?"

Nobody's looking toward the trash can, probably. If they were, they might
notice a minor rustling in the trash, underneath a discarded Whopper
wrapper.

"What did you do -that- for, you big bully!?" an indignant Gnawer cub
shrieks, still trying to get around Anneka to help the fallen man somehow.
She goes off into a stream of unintelligble Mandarin curses, eyes flashing
in anger. How horrible- cruel- violent- oooh! Lyra's too furious to speak
properly. Even her own aunt wouldn't be able to get half of what she's
saying now.

The blood flowing catches John's eyes - wide and glinting with madness. He
takes a deep breath, as he looks at the fallen figure, and then rumbles,
"Shut up," over his shoulder. "Shut up. Shut up, or it'll be /you/." He
looks back to Carter, slowly mustering sanity and control. But there's no
easing of the malice in his tone when he growls at the mage. "Tell me. End
this. Make a fucking /effort/, or I swear to God I'll kill you, regardless
of the consequences. End this and get out of my FUCKING TOWN."

Anneka looks for a moment to the fallen mage. In the middle of all of
this, he appears like a reasonably rational person. She furrows her brow,
thought the thought that forms is swept away as she turns to the cub.
"Okay, I said sit still and I mean it. Stop and think that maybe Mister
Smith has a reason to be mad that you don't know about, and now's not a
good time to ask /him/ about it, because he's mad enough to eat his shoes.
Right now the best thing to do is listen to me." Even without persuasion,
her voice is calm and even.

Carter makes no reply, just crossing to the fountain to put a hand into
the water, washing away the blood. He turns, sitting with his back to the
fountain and his eyes closed, mumbling something that sounds like
mathematical formulae. Slowly, with a quiet sound like styrofoam being
bent out of shape, his nose straightens on its own, the swelling goes
down, and the tissue becomes less purple. Still he breathes through his
mouth.

One could almost hear John's jaw creaking, as it grinds teeth together. He
simply stands and watches, though, both fists balled up and out to the
sides as he watches Carter performing those magics of recovery. Patience
and rationality gain a foothold in what is still probably a losing battle
against that unthinking hatred.

Lyra stops midway through "(And you probably stole lunch money as a kid!)"
when Anneka reprimands her, however gently. All the anger melts away into
meekness and a few -very- concerned glances towards Carter. One hand
reaches up to tug on the hood nervously.

Anneka reaches up to rub her nose with her ruined hand, looks back at John
and Carter. She's seen people heal grosser wounds-- what would have
fascinated her, once, gets a quick glance. For the moment, she remains
silent.

Carter dries his face on his sleeve, then picks up his notepad. With all
the dignity he can muster, he returns to his original spot. "I don't have
the time or patience it would take to explain what I'm doing to you. I
can't afford the energy to continually heal myself when you hear an answer
you don't understand." Before John can throw him around again he offers a
forestalling palm. "I don't want you to understand, you have enough to do
to take care of 'your' city. Are they aware of this, by the way? I have
grave doubts that the dominant paradigm even includes your existence, let
alone an acknowledgement of the debt they owe to you for taking care of
them." He frowns. "Now. To begin again. My seeking will take place within
the week. He should be here, along with any number of his minions. If all
goes well, I'll succeed, he'll wink out of existence, and you'll have the
opportunity to vent on any number of deluded young people whose only crime
was to listen to a caricature with no moral compass."

Lyra's stunned into a sort of surprised silence, different from her almost
sullen one a few moments earlier. She glances at Anneka, worried because
she doesn't understand a smidgen of what the Warper is talking about. But
she's said enough for one day, probably a lifetime...the bunny ear gets
tugged a little lower by her neck. Without realizing it, the halfmoon cub
holds her breath as she waits to hear John's answer.

There's no more motion from the trash can, and J.C. continues to remain
absent.

The words - as they go on - seem to sap a good deal of the anger from the
Walker. He loses some of the fire in his eyes, and his posture loosens
slightly. Instead, when Carter's done speaking, there's only a cold,
hollow loathing left in his eyes. Icy, dead tones, each syllable carrying
a hatred so heavy. Each word is genuine, spoken from the heart. "I want
him dead. I want him to suffer. I want to watch him writhe in agony
forever. I don't give a fuck about the kids. I want /him/. I want the
taste of his blood in my mouth, I want to hear him scream himself hoarse
for mercy. I want to torture him in as many was as exist, until he weeps
and begs for death... I want him gibbering in terror and madness. I want
to watch him try, pitifully, to end his own life, and then deny him even
that. I want to watch his spirit wither and die in loneliness, fear, and
so very much pain. And you've said I'll find myself robbed of these
comforts... Fuck you. We'll see if he can't be killed by conventional
means." The Ahroun turns abruptly and stalks away, moving to leave the
park.

Anneka squints, then looks at the bruised mage over the tops of her
glasses. She takes them off, an eye stark and still amidst a burst of
scars. "Right," she says, very quiet. "Four zero four." She nods to
herself, her countenance mild, almost serene in comparison to the Walker
Elder's.

Nobody's dead. Wow. Lyra's pent-up breath releases in a faint whistle
before she looks from Carter, to Anneka, and then at the stalking-away
John, eyes a murky brown. "Um?" she asks. Not that she really expects an
answer.

Carter sighs. "Oh well. I could have explained, but of all people, he
doesn't want to hear answers he doesn't like or understand."

Anneka stuffs her ugly pink sunglasses into a pocket, cants her head as
her attention turns in full to the mage. "I'm interested in hearin' them."

With John gone, Lyra takes a hesitant step towards Carter, before looking
back at Anneka as if asking permission.

Carter shrugs, and devotes a little more attention to Anneka. "I don't
believe we've met. I'm Carter. Mr. Smith and I were just discussing my
imaginary enemy, who happens to be a doppelganger of me."

Anneka glances towards Lyra, her chin dips in the shadow of a nod. Then
she's looking back at Carter. Her face is sunny, freckled, she couldn't be
more than fifteen or so, but the scars throw the image askew and her gaze
is very hard, intent. "I met him, once. I'm Annie, hi. I thought he was
gone."

Well, now that the whole mess is over, the cub doesn't know quite what to
do. After a rather confused pause, Lyra takes a seat by Carter's laptop,
looking at it as if it had eyes with which to gaze back at her. Then she
watches the two speak, hoping an answer will fall through.

Carter smiles, thinly. "Perhaps he is. It's entirely possible he has
simply faded away. I'm not counting on it, however." He glances over to
Lyra. "If you'd like to say hello to Aristotle, just open it and flip the
power switch on the side." Back to Anneka. "My theoretical knowledge is
fairly shaky, because to the best of my knowledge this has never happened
before. However, it is entirely possible that Mr. Smith would be terribly
disappointed with an attempt to torture my twin to death. It may not
affect him at all, and I'm not entirely certain he can die, in the way you
or I might."

Anneka takes this all in as she toes the tail end of her skateboard. It
leaps up into her arms, almost dutiful. An electric blue wheel spins
about, slow, tiny bearings click. "How're you two stuck together?" She
cants her head. "He doesn't sound real, alive anyway."

One ear tuned on the conversation, Lyra gingerly picks up the laptop and
sets in on her thighs, opening the screen carefully. One hand goes to the
side, feeling for the switch or button. Click. She blinks, not knowing
what to expect at all. Another hello, perhaps? She glances over at Carter
after Anneka's comment. "You said he was imaginary," she reminds the
Warper.

Carter nods. "He is. He's a figment of my imagination. Should I tell the
story of how this happened? It may take some lengthy explaining." The
laptop comes to life with a very non-standard graphic. Leonardo Davinci's
Anatomy of Man. THe figure is divided into rectangles according to the
Golden Ratio, and as the boot up progresses, a curve--the Golden
Spiral--draws itself from the center of the figure outward.

Anneka finds the fountain, bumps her rear against it as she leans back.
She reaches up, pushes a few tangled ringlets away from her brow. "Best
place t'start."

Lyra watches the spiral grow, curve outward, then glances over at Carter
when it's close to finishing. She wanted to hear this. Eyes on his face,
she can't repress a shudder. His nose just got punched in, but he was okay
now. Weird...