"I travel alone too."
Sep. 15th, 2014 02:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretGhost has a brief encounter with a young busker in Harbor Park.
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.
Obvious exits:
Harbor Park Meadow
A bright, sun-filled day with temperatures reaching to 70 is a rare treat at this time of the year, and it has brought out a slew of patrons to the park this afternoon. From business people taking late lunches, to moms with kids in joggers or toddlers play-dating with their peers, the grassy meadows of Harbor Park are well used. Adding to this scene are of course the vendors, and also today, a lone girl sitting on what looks to be a wooden box. In odd contrast to the bright day, the song that she is drumming out a rhythmn to, and singing along with, is Teardrop. Her voice is a smooth, pleasing alto, and her head is tucked mostly down while she sings as if the act isn't quite second nature to her yet. ~Teardrops in your fire, Black flowers blossom, I feel like the sun might give way. Oceans in my head, Crash against my lonely bed. I feel like the sun might give way.~ A small handful of business folks have stopped to listen to her, and a few even drop some bills into a hat.
Someone who looks decidedly unlike one of the casual, business-folk parkgoers nears the scene of the young busker as well. It's another young woman, looking decidedly threadbare today, what with faintly stained jeans, button up shirt hanging loose over an equally worn tee, and the jacket tied about her middle. That her eyes are a bit red rimmed and she looks rather pale and under the weather doesn't help her image much. She pauses on the outskirts of the small group, lingering and listening.
The song comes to an end and a few more bills are dropped into the hat. The girl offers genuine "thank you's" to each as they do so, then looks up to scan around the park. Two people get an extra glance; the red-eyed girl and a sporty looking man that starts to approach her with a puffed out chest and a stride that suggests too much time on a leg press machine. "Hey gorgeous. Nice box you got there," slides from his lips with venom-filled arrogance. The response from the musician as as genuine as her thank you's were, and backed by a palpable sense of dark anger. "Fuck off asshat."
The girl gives Mackenzie an apologetic look, along with pulling out her pockets to show they're absolutely bare, but this gesture is interrupted by the arrival of the sporty looking man, and her dark, almost black eyes rapidly flit between busker and new arrival.
"Hey now, just complimenting you on your-" begins the jock, only to get cut off by the girl on the cajon. "Why don't you go find a nice picture book to read through before football practice, ok d-bag? Your jokes aren't funny." This brings a flush of pink to the highschoolers cheeks and he steps closer with a hard set scowl. Something seems to happen that changes his mind though, as once he's nearer her personal space and she looks up to meet his glare, he decides against it and simply turns away with an over-the-shoulder, "Crazy bitch." Not to be denied the last word, the busker puts on a sharp smile and simply says, "Ah, a request for some Buck Cherry, we can do that."
The onlooking girl's eyebrows arc upward a little at this exchange. There's a faint, barely perceptible shift in her weight when the guy closes in, but nothing else happens to indicate what the intent of that was. As he leaves, she stays, looking from his back to the busker.
The busker watches him leave and join up with a couple of his friends. Laughs and shoves take place, as well as a few looks and fingers pointed at the girl on the box. She meets their gaze, a veiled threat lined behind the glare before she turns back and starts drumming out a rather loose, syncopated rhythmn that seems to belong to no song inparticular. Once they've left the park proper, she turns to see what the exchange has done to her audience- which is pretty much gone. "Assholes... the whole lot of them," she mumbles under her breath as she gives up the beat and reaches for her hat.
"You know those guys?" The other girl finally asks, now that they're seemingly the only two remaining in the immediate patch of grass.
Mackenzie shakes her head, "Nope. Just know their type." She pulls the money out of the hat but doesn't count it in front of the other; just shoves it messily into her jeans pocket. The motion of pushing her light jacket out of the way reveals a glint of steel tucked into her belt, that a perceptive glance might have registered as knives. "You?" she asks in return of the other.
Ghost shakes her head and gives the faintest of shrugs, though her eyes flick toward that glimpse of steel. "They didn't look familiar, uh, but I'm not the most social person around here."
"Yeah I hear you on that." The hat, a grey twill poor boy style, now emptied, gets tucked onto the top of her head. "School's just starting up now, right? So all the meatheads are getting back together to do their prowling. Oh well. Should probably bail here before that bitch cop shows up again anyway."
"Bitch cop?" Ghost echoes, her tone curious. For her part, she at least looks old enough not to attract the unwanted attention of truancy officers.
"Yeah, she showed up here the other day. Thought she was gonna harass this guy that was out here, so I sorta butted my way in. She ends up slapping me with a warning about needing a permit to busk out here. Which, yeah, not doing that." Mackenzie shrugs at this, "I'm not to sure about this town yet. Real unfriendly sorts here."
Ghost raises an eyebrow, and asks, "Isn't that every town?" She glances back the way the group of boys departed, and then to Mackenzie. "Do you uh, do you always get in the middle when a cop starts harassing someone?"
A chuckle at the first question is met with a nod from Mackenzie. "Yeah, true enough. And no, depends really on who they're harassing. Bunch of thugs or d-bags? Have at 'em copper. Some homeless person, or lost soul minding their own business... then yeah, on most days I do."
Ghost reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You must get a lot of beatings." She says this as though that were just something one would expect.
"Get roughed up sometimes sure. But if it's during the day, and you make a scene against the cops, most of the time they'll not go too far. One good thing about cell phones and their video capabilities I guess." She looks sidelong at the girl then, "Why you askin?"
Ghost shrugs again. "Just wondering." She adds, after a moment, "see, the problem with messing with cops, is they've got friends. That are /cops/."
Mackenzie grins a bit at this. "That's true. I don't go looking for trouble in uniforms, I just, I dunno." She shrugs, "Sometimes they tick me off and I don't want them to get away with being unnecessarily cruel."
Ghost considers Mackenzie, and then her gaze drops to where she spotted the gleam of metal. "Don't they get agitated when they see that?" she asks, gesturing towards the concealed knives.
Mackenzie looks down to where the other gestures, and an eyebrow goes up. "Usually they don't see those. Nice set of eyes ya got there." She gives the girl just a hair more scrutiny but doesn't press much. "I travel alone these days and that needs some manner of reassurance. Trust me, I'm one of the good guys." A pause at that, "Well, I'm not a bad guy, at any rate."
Ghost's mouth quirks ever so briefly upward at the corners. "I travel alone too," she replies. No comment on whether she does that armed. Another glance, this time upward. "I should get going though."
Mackenzie gives a nod to the other, "Yeah. Getting going sounds like a good plan." She moves to pick up that box of an instrument then, gives a farewell nod, and heads off toward an old beater of a Dodge truck.
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.
Obvious exits:
Harbor Park Meadow
A bright, sun-filled day with temperatures reaching to 70 is a rare treat at this time of the year, and it has brought out a slew of patrons to the park this afternoon. From business people taking late lunches, to moms with kids in joggers or toddlers play-dating with their peers, the grassy meadows of Harbor Park are well used. Adding to this scene are of course the vendors, and also today, a lone girl sitting on what looks to be a wooden box. In odd contrast to the bright day, the song that she is drumming out a rhythmn to, and singing along with, is Teardrop. Her voice is a smooth, pleasing alto, and her head is tucked mostly down while she sings as if the act isn't quite second nature to her yet. ~Teardrops in your fire, Black flowers blossom, I feel like the sun might give way. Oceans in my head, Crash against my lonely bed. I feel like the sun might give way.~ A small handful of business folks have stopped to listen to her, and a few even drop some bills into a hat.
Someone who looks decidedly unlike one of the casual, business-folk parkgoers nears the scene of the young busker as well. It's another young woman, looking decidedly threadbare today, what with faintly stained jeans, button up shirt hanging loose over an equally worn tee, and the jacket tied about her middle. That her eyes are a bit red rimmed and she looks rather pale and under the weather doesn't help her image much. She pauses on the outskirts of the small group, lingering and listening.
The song comes to an end and a few more bills are dropped into the hat. The girl offers genuine "thank you's" to each as they do so, then looks up to scan around the park. Two people get an extra glance; the red-eyed girl and a sporty looking man that starts to approach her with a puffed out chest and a stride that suggests too much time on a leg press machine. "Hey gorgeous. Nice box you got there," slides from his lips with venom-filled arrogance. The response from the musician as as genuine as her thank you's were, and backed by a palpable sense of dark anger. "Fuck off asshat."
The girl gives Mackenzie an apologetic look, along with pulling out her pockets to show they're absolutely bare, but this gesture is interrupted by the arrival of the sporty looking man, and her dark, almost black eyes rapidly flit between busker and new arrival.
"Hey now, just complimenting you on your-" begins the jock, only to get cut off by the girl on the cajon. "Why don't you go find a nice picture book to read through before football practice, ok d-bag? Your jokes aren't funny." This brings a flush of pink to the highschoolers cheeks and he steps closer with a hard set scowl. Something seems to happen that changes his mind though, as once he's nearer her personal space and she looks up to meet his glare, he decides against it and simply turns away with an over-the-shoulder, "Crazy bitch." Not to be denied the last word, the busker puts on a sharp smile and simply says, "Ah, a request for some Buck Cherry, we can do that."
The onlooking girl's eyebrows arc upward a little at this exchange. There's a faint, barely perceptible shift in her weight when the guy closes in, but nothing else happens to indicate what the intent of that was. As he leaves, she stays, looking from his back to the busker.
The busker watches him leave and join up with a couple of his friends. Laughs and shoves take place, as well as a few looks and fingers pointed at the girl on the box. She meets their gaze, a veiled threat lined behind the glare before she turns back and starts drumming out a rather loose, syncopated rhythmn that seems to belong to no song inparticular. Once they've left the park proper, she turns to see what the exchange has done to her audience- which is pretty much gone. "Assholes... the whole lot of them," she mumbles under her breath as she gives up the beat and reaches for her hat.
"You know those guys?" The other girl finally asks, now that they're seemingly the only two remaining in the immediate patch of grass.
Mackenzie shakes her head, "Nope. Just know their type." She pulls the money out of the hat but doesn't count it in front of the other; just shoves it messily into her jeans pocket. The motion of pushing her light jacket out of the way reveals a glint of steel tucked into her belt, that a perceptive glance might have registered as knives. "You?" she asks in return of the other.
Ghost shakes her head and gives the faintest of shrugs, though her eyes flick toward that glimpse of steel. "They didn't look familiar, uh, but I'm not the most social person around here."
"Yeah I hear you on that." The hat, a grey twill poor boy style, now emptied, gets tucked onto the top of her head. "School's just starting up now, right? So all the meatheads are getting back together to do their prowling. Oh well. Should probably bail here before that bitch cop shows up again anyway."
"Bitch cop?" Ghost echoes, her tone curious. For her part, she at least looks old enough not to attract the unwanted attention of truancy officers.
"Yeah, she showed up here the other day. Thought she was gonna harass this guy that was out here, so I sorta butted my way in. She ends up slapping me with a warning about needing a permit to busk out here. Which, yeah, not doing that." Mackenzie shrugs at this, "I'm not to sure about this town yet. Real unfriendly sorts here."
Ghost raises an eyebrow, and asks, "Isn't that every town?" She glances back the way the group of boys departed, and then to Mackenzie. "Do you uh, do you always get in the middle when a cop starts harassing someone?"
A chuckle at the first question is met with a nod from Mackenzie. "Yeah, true enough. And no, depends really on who they're harassing. Bunch of thugs or d-bags? Have at 'em copper. Some homeless person, or lost soul minding their own business... then yeah, on most days I do."
Ghost reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You must get a lot of beatings." She says this as though that were just something one would expect.
"Get roughed up sometimes sure. But if it's during the day, and you make a scene against the cops, most of the time they'll not go too far. One good thing about cell phones and their video capabilities I guess." She looks sidelong at the girl then, "Why you askin?"
Ghost shrugs again. "Just wondering." She adds, after a moment, "see, the problem with messing with cops, is they've got friends. That are /cops/."
Mackenzie grins a bit at this. "That's true. I don't go looking for trouble in uniforms, I just, I dunno." She shrugs, "Sometimes they tick me off and I don't want them to get away with being unnecessarily cruel."
Ghost considers Mackenzie, and then her gaze drops to where she spotted the gleam of metal. "Don't they get agitated when they see that?" she asks, gesturing towards the concealed knives.
Mackenzie looks down to where the other gestures, and an eyebrow goes up. "Usually they don't see those. Nice set of eyes ya got there." She gives the girl just a hair more scrutiny but doesn't press much. "I travel alone these days and that needs some manner of reassurance. Trust me, I'm one of the good guys." A pause at that, "Well, I'm not a bad guy, at any rate."
Ghost's mouth quirks ever so briefly upward at the corners. "I travel alone too," she replies. No comment on whether she does that armed. Another glance, this time upward. "I should get going though."
Mackenzie gives a nod to the other, "Yeah. Getting going sounds like a good plan." She moves to pick up that box of an instrument then, gives a farewell nod, and heads off toward an old beater of a Dodge truck.
