---- Recall start ----

Harbor Park Meadow(#194RJ)
Obvious exits:
Bridge Street  North  First Street  River  

The wind hurls itself down the river toward the ocean, sending tiny raindrops 
pelting at anything in its path. Thick clouds cover the tiny sliver of moon, 
stifling its light.

Arlen, hunching her shoulders against the wind, is wandering down by the river, 
scanning about while she does so.

Arlen:
         When at rest, this woman is content to rest. But she can burst into 
movement at the drop of an interesting comment, eyes alight. She's about 5'5", 
and stocky, although it's obvious she's in quite good shape. Her face is 
somewhat square, not at all beautiful, but strong, interesting, and eyecatching 
even so, with fierce brown eyes and short brown, almost black hair, with a 
rat-tail trailing down practically to the small of her back. She seems in her 
mid twenties, a certain studied calm in her eyes.
        She wears battered cut offs, one thumb hanging from the front pocket 
(unless there's something more interesting to do with it), and a battered jean 
jacket, with (today) a dark red t-shirt emblazoned with "Ladies sewing circle 
and terrorist society" on it. Her boots are black, and well worn.

Down at the south end of the park, away from the street, a fire gutters 
fitfully in the wind. Several figures cluster around it, their conversation 
torn from them by that same wind and flung into the air over the river almost 
before it reaches the ears of those it is intended for.

Arlen keeps up her wandering, kicking a rock or two towards the river. The 
figures fail to attract major attention; a glance in their direction, and 
that's all.

Apparently, however, she attracts their attention. After a few minutes they 
get up, some half a dozen of them, and fan out across the river side of the 
meadow. One approaches her directly, the others close the half circle up behind.

That gets her attention, certainly. Being who she is, she's already sized up 
escape routes. All she does now is take a few steps forward, looking... Curious.

The forward lead, tousled dark hair, black leather jacket and jeans are all 
that are visible so far in the dark. He looks her over, taking a second look at 
her bare legs. "Scuse me," he calls in a friendly voice, still moving closer.

From afar, Arlen doesn't quibble about that bare legs thing, since I /haven't/ 
changed my desc since last FALL.
Long distance to Arlen: Dulcinea figured she was just eager for spring to 
arrive. (:

Arlen stands her ground. "Yes?"

The others move to form a circle, about twenty feet across. He moves into a 
social speaking distance, his eyes trying to make contact with hers. "We're the 
Landlords. You wanna use the park, we're in charge of collecting rent."

This definitely gets Arlen's attention. Raising her head to meet his, all of 
her unconscious dominance gestures coming to the fore, she says, "Rent," 
somewhat incredulously. "Oh, that /is/ amusing. What brought this on?"

The boy dips his head pseudo-shyly. "Nature abhors a vacuum, miss. So when the 
losers who /used/ to hold the area got kakked, we decided to move in and do it 
right."

Arlen continues staring at the young man, a certain disgust barely showing in 
her eyes. "Right," she says, tersely. "Pardon my incredulitity. What, pray 
tell, are you planning on... charging."

He shrugs. "We're flexible; if you're short on cash, which it looks like you 
are, we're willing to work on the barter system..." He glances up, over her 
shoulder, and frowns. "Of course, group negotiations are always welcome."

"Oh, you'll get a group rate, all right," Arlen says, attempting to suppress 
her outrage and doing relatively well. "Got some friends of mine interested in 
this, I'll bet."

He shakes his head, smiling smugly now, still looking over her shoulder. "I'm 
sure we can arrange season passes later. For now, let's just deal with the two 
of you. How about it, chica? You look like you might be holding."

Arlen still hasn't looked over her shoulder. And she's not planning to now, 
either. "Yeah, how about it?"

His smile fades to a look of annoyance, and he folds his arms across his chest. 
"Okay. You want rent taken out of your hide," he mutters, turning his attention 
back to Arlen. "How about you? Reasonable? Or trouble?"

Just before he shifts his glance, Arlen takes a brief, brief look over her 
shoulder.

Approaching slowly from behind is a particularly morose looking little 
nachtkind. She is carrying a bundle of something in her arms, but her attention 
seems to be on the river rushing past.

Arlen's forehead wrinkles as he asks his question, not about to allow him to 
take rent out of /anyone's/ hide. "I don't... How do you define reasonable?"

He shrugs. "Co-operative. Not like the Little Goth Girl." He glances to the 
edge of the ring. "Marty? Get her."

Arlen pages: Are there any signs that any of these people have guns?
You paged Arlen with 'Not that you've seen, no.'.
Arlen pages: WELL then. 1 rage here. Pardon me while I pose.
Long distance to Arlen: Dulcinea bows.

Arlen's knife is out if its sheath on her arm in a blur, as she grabs for the 
head thug, and his neck, faster than one might expect to be possible. "I 
/don't/ think so," she grates.

He urks nicely, quickly lifting his hands to his waist. "Back off, boys. She's 
thought up an alternative payment method," he says, grinning. Then, one of the 
gang shouts in dismay off over her left shoulder.

"I certainly have," grates Arlen again, and maneuvers him backwards a bit so 
that she's not as surrounded by young annoying punks. If she can work it so 
that she can watch the woman escape/leave, that would be gravy.

He moves along happily, albeit carefully. The girl continues moving slowly 
along her way, and Arlen passes by her as she backs up. The bundle in the 
girl's arms moves slightly. One boy tentatively advances on the girl, like an 
ape in a Kubrick film.

Arlen can't be said to be shouting. Whatever she's doing, though, is designed 
to get people's attention. "Tell your friend, he touches her, you're in pain. 
For a long time."

Arlen pages: So what's goth girl look like, now that I can see her ok?

Dulcinea:
Long, razor-straight blue-black hair drapes down around an alabaster 
Kabuki-style face, framing large dark eyes ringed with kohl, one of them in the 
Eye of Horus design. Blood red lipstick makes her lips look almost too big for 
her narrow, delicate face.
Under the layers of black gauze is probably a willowy body wrapped in a 
Georgian black dress, with a high waist, and black button-up granny boots.

The other boy pulls up, dismayed. "But... Marty. He--Hell, man." Giving the girl
 a wide berth, he scoots toward the fence.

Arlen gives the other young men a rather fierce glare. "You up for it?"

The other three, oddly enough, are more or less ignoring Arlen. Their 
attention, awe and uncertain fear rests on the dark figure who continues past 
them toward the bridge. "Hey," the leader growls, "Fuckwits. She's talking to 
*you*."

"Yeah," Arlen calls, putting a slight amount more pressure on the knife, "I am. 
Don't fuckin' /touch/ her."

One more boy shakes his head and starts moving quickly for the fence. "Don't 
worry, lady. I'm not *touching* her."

"Rest of you, he's got the right idea." Arlen finally takes the time, now that 
she's got quite a secure grip on the boss man, to give the young woman a closer 
look. There's got to be /something/ making these people flee...

The girl stops, turning to look back downstream wistfully. A skeletal arm 
emerges from her bundle, waving about in that cute baby manner. This seems 
enough to induce one of the last two boys to follow his companion. "Fuck," he 
announces, "Fuckin' weird ass shit!"

Arlen pages: Like, literally skeleton?
You paged Arlen with 'arlen doesn't think so, no. That makes no sense. Just 
very thin.'.

The scene thus far: Four rapidly departing young men, at staggered distances. 
One last uncertain ganger watching the Little Goth Girl, Arlen and her new 
special friend who are locked in embrace. Arlen does seem to posses the power 
in this relationship.

"What is your major malfunction, camper?" snarls the leader at the last ganger. 
"I could use your co-operation here."

Damn right she has the power. "You," Arlen snarls, manuevering her 'friend' 
nearer the woman, "Get the fuck out. Now." She still hasn't actually spoken to 
the woman. Little bit of other concerns, and all.

Davy walks in from the street. His only concession to the rain seems to be the 
waterproof college jacket he's wearing over a black No Fear sweatshirt. His 
jeans show the rich blue of damp cloth, and his boots send up small splurts of 
puddle water with every few steps. The retreating gangers get the first 
attention, as they're closest to the approaching ragabash. The sound of his 
packmate's familiar snarl, however, does quickly capture Davy's attention. He 
picks up the pace, arrowing in on the little tableau.

The boy nods, seeming happy enough to have the decision made for him. "Sorry, 
Jack. I'll, uh, catch you later." He edges carefully toward the fence between 
Arlen and the girl, his back to Arlen as he watches the girl. Once past, he 
breaks into a run and heads for the fence.

"So," Arlen says, conversationally, "You want to follow 'em and maybe kick 
their asses? Personally, I think it's a better option than trying to kick 
mine..."

He rolls his head slightly, looking up at Arlen. "What is up with that chick? 
She a friend of yours? You're, like, the ninja and she's the Addams Family."

Arlen says, "Never seen her before in my life." Returning to the point, she 
asks, "So would you like to get out of here? I'm gettin kind of tired of 
holding a knife to your throat. And when I get tired, I get... Careless."

Arlen pages: That's supposed to be a threat. It doesn't look like one now. Sigh.
You paged Arlen with 'Late, as in the late DentArthurDent?'.
Arlen pages: Something like that.

Davy stops perhaps ten feet from his packmate. His eyes flick to the goth girl, 
then return to Arlen's face. "Arlen," is all he says.

Arlen says, almost apologetically, "They were trying to charge me rent."

The boy raises his hands higher. "I wouldn't want to tire you out. I'll just be 
on my way after I put out that fire, It's pretty dangerous to leave a thing 
like that unattended."

"I'll get it," Arlen tells him. "You just /leave/." Releasing the knife, she 
pushes him forward a few steps, quite ready to take him again if she needs to.

He stumbles forward, taking a long stare at the girl, who has continued her 
reluctant walk up the river. He frowns, and then turns and trots off toward 
the fence.

Davy tenses as the boy is released, his hands spreading with the unconscious 
reaction. The son of Weasel doesn't relax until the boy has gone a good thirty 
feet trotting away.

Arlen watches him out of sight, moving towards the girl as she does so. 
"Thanks," she tells Davy, and then calls, "Hey, ma'am?"

Dulcinea keeps moving, now nearly on top of the sputtering remains of the fire, 
some thirty feet away from Arlen. She doesn't seem to hear.

Arlen shrugs, and leaves her be. Her mission's to protect, not force 
conversation. "New Gang," she explains to Davy, watching the woman. "Trying to 
take this as territory. Wanted t'force money... Or whatever... out of me. And 
her."

Davy turns his head toward Arlen's movement and the retreating girl. He looks 
more puzzled than anything, but he follows on a slower pace that quickly 
catches up with Arlen once she stops. He looks around at the park as he 
answers, "Brave group." Another look toward where the gang leader disappeared. 
"Think you ran them off for good, or they'll be back with bigger weapons?"

Dulcinea continues her slow tread through the fire, turning toward the river.

Arlen pages: Just checking. THROUGH through?
You paged Arlen with 'Right through.'.

Arlen's eyes widen. "Don't know," she tells him, and breaks into a slow lope, 
to try and catch up with the... woman. "Probably have a new jefe next time, 
though."

Davy's nod is lost on Arlen. He watches her lope toward the girl again, and 
wisely just stays where he is while she deals with... whatever.

In the daylight, the sand under Dulcinea's feet is a lovely multi-coloured 
swirl of deposits from the river's flow. Tonight, it's just black. She stares 
at the sand intently as she moves toward the river, seeming fascinated by it.

From afar, Arlen does that thar Name the Spirit.
You paged Arlen with 'You think she's a Jaggling of the 25 point variety.'.
From afar, Arlen hrms. But no info on type? (I don't go by points anyway. I 
take it that means she's not real powerful?)
You paged Arlen with 'She's not, no.'.

Arlen grunts, as she peers at the woman. *You anyone I should know?* She's 
paused, for the moment.

Davy frowns, his brow creasing. With another glance around, he still remains 
where he is.

Dulcinea turns her attention to the baby for a moment, on the water's edge. 
Reaching inside the blanket, she strokes its ulcerous cheek and almost smiles. 
Then she 'beeps' its cancer-eaten nose and starts moving onto the river.

Arlen pages: In other words, the kid's a big ol' mess. And it's not separate 
from Dulcy, or is he another spirit?
Davy pages: I'm watching her walk on water? :)
Long distance to Davy: Dulcinea nods. Looks like, from where you are.
You paged Arlen with 'You don't get another reading on the baby. And the kid's 
a big ol' mess.'.
You paged Arlen with 'The kid, in fact, is horrific.'.

Arlen grits her teeth, and draws a breath in, looking down for a moment. *No, 
really. Some reason you're here? You stuck on this side?*

"Jesus Christ," Davy exclaims, as he stares at the woman duplicating one of the 
Savior's more famous feats. He begins to walk toward Arlen, quickly.

Dulcinea rocks the baby slightly, moving out onto the surface of the water, 
pointing down river and lifting the bundle up slightly so the baby can see 
where she indicates.

Arlen pages: So where's she pointing? (HS, even.)
You paged Arlen with 'A spot on the river, nearly even with the fountain's 
little house.'.

Arlen squints downriver. Muttering, "So what the fuck's..." she trails off and 
just watches the woman for awhile.

Davy comes up behind his theurge packmate. "Uh, Arlen?"

Arlen grits to the spirit, *Stop,* and looks back at her packmate. "Hm?"

Arlen pages: Er, Command Spirit.

Dulcinea moves across the surface of the swiftly moving river, the wind not 
disturbing a hair of her delicate 'do. Caught in the band of reflected light 
from the streetlamps above, she stops and stares up at where the moon should be.

Davy says "What the hell is that?"

Arlen says, "Some kind of spirit. Jaggling. Not too powerful," as she watches 
it. *Come here,* she grates, taking a step or two forward herself.

You paged Arlen with 'Into the water?'.

Davy doesn't move any further forward. "Well," he mumbles, still staring at the 
woman on the water. "Least it's not the Second Coming?"

Arlen pages: Yeah. Only, mmm, an inch worth of water, though. She likes her 
shoes.

Dulcinea turns slowly, and begins to move toward the shore. From her 
expression, every step is taken on knives, and tears begin to stream down her 
face.

"So far as I know, no," Arlen mutters, and says, quite clearly, as if the 
spirit were deaf, *Who the fuck are you?*

Arlen pages: That's NOT CS, though.

Dulcinea stops, about five feet from the river's edge, still crying, and opens 
her mouth as if to speak. No sound comes forth, but then she has made no sound 
walking on the grass or the water or breathing anyway, so this is not 
surprising. The creature in her arms waves its skeletal hand at the two 
inquisitively.

Dulcinea pages the room: Now Davy gets to see the baby too. Either of you read 
lips?
From afar, to the room, Arlen can't say as she does, no.

Arlen is, occasionally, rather too hardheaded. *Talk.*

Finally, as if torn from her by the single word command, she lets loose a 
keening shriek which carries on the wind downriver. As the shriek dwindles 
into a choked sob, the figure seems to collapse on itself. Almost instantly, 
it is gone and a pile of clothing floating on the water are all that remain.

Arlen says, shaking her head, "That wasn't talking," and glances around to make 
sure no one's watching.

From afar, Arlen wanna follow! Reach reach baybee. But only if it's actually 
deserted.
Dulcinea pages the room: May have to wrap this up or pause it--train leaves 
soon.

Arlen asks Davy, as she searches for, and finds, a less swift portion of river, 
"C'mon?" She's gone before he answers, though, reaching over swiftly.

Davy moves as soon as he can, after a glance at the thin-mooned sky. It takes 
him longer to reach across than it does the spiritual theurge.

Davy pages to the room: And no, I don't read lips. :)

The other side swirls with a flock of snarly gaffling river spirits, NetSpiders 
flying here and there on cel-phone calls or other random duties, but no 
GothGirls.

Dulcinea pages the room: Gah. Must go. If you wish, +mail me all the questions 
you have, and I apologise briefly but if I don't go now I don't go for another 
two hours.

Arlen mutters, "Damn it," and

From afar, to the room, Arlen oks at Dulci. Have a good ride.

---- Recall end ----

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