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.
In another era, she might have been considered terribly attractive. As it is, she sits just on the prettier side of average. At about 5'6", the girl looks to be carrying around a hundred and sixty pounds, giving her a rather full, hourglass figure unusual for a girl in her mid-teens. She has quite a pretty face; it's a bit plump and tawny freckles are scattered across her nose and cheeks, but otherwise her complexion is unblemished, and her features are well balanced. Full lips frame almost-straight teeth, often revealed in a cheerful grin, and large, almond-shaped eyes, the irises a warm, gold-flecked shade of brown and the lashes thick and dark, peer out brightly through wire-rimmed glasses. Her mass of unruly black curls falls untamed to the middle of her back, stray strands frequently dangling before her face. It looks as though she might be wearing an almost imperceptible bit of makeup, perhaps a light dusting of gold eyeshadow and some sort of very pale peach lipstick; the only thing resembling jewelry, though, is a silvery key hanging about her neck on a dog-tag sort of chain.
Her style of dress is equally unlikely to get her on the cover of Cosmopolitan, but it wouldn't be out of place in the average high school. She's clad in a deep green tanktop of some stretchy, slightly shiny fabric, which clings to her curves, the v-neckline scooping low enough to display quite a bit of cleavage. The shirt does absolutely nothing to disguise her bustiness, in fact playing it up for a change. The hem is tucked into a threadbare pair of baggy dark blue jeans, cinched tightly around her surprisingly small waist by what appears to be a seatbelt -- the buckle even reads "GM". The frayed hems pool around the ankles of her decrepit black Docs, laced with sparkly silver laces which have also seen better days. Atop all this is a huge and ancient black leather motorcycle jacket, the cuffs of which constantly fall down over her hands. Slung over her shoulder is a bulging canvas backpack, probably military surplus, dotted with patches and pins in various colours and states of repair.
She's not what most would call pretty. Terms like delicate and petite would never be attributed to her, and come to think of it, neither would lady-like. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties, standing roughly between 5'10" and 6'. Her powerful frame carries a full 175 pounds, all of it undoubtedly muscle. Her hair's returned to its naturally black color and shoulder length. It's not set in any particular style, hanging straight. She wears no make up whatsoever, not having the time nor the care to put any effort into such things. She does, however, sport several earrings and tattoos. Her eyes are a dark, unremarkable brown that manage to look angry a good deal of the time, whether she is or not. If there is a traditionally attractive aspect to her at all, it would be her finely crafted cheekbones and elegant jawline. They give her an air of nobility otherwise lost in her rough and uncompromising nature.
She's dressed in old, well worn jeans. Black combat boots catch the bottom edges, and a black t-shirt with a skull and crossbones motif clings to her well-toned frame. A black bandana with another skull motif is tied around her neck, barely seen beneath her creased black leather jacket. The jacket bears some scars--a bullet hole or two that the Get has covered with electrical tape, and at least one she hasn't bothered to repair.
Signe's Harley hasn't been heard in a while around here, that's for sure. But tonight, it sneaks up on the quiet darkness of the park. Signe parks it at the edge of the street and walks the rest of the way into the heart of the Park. she scales the rusty fence, rather than walk around to where it opens, and winds up down by the fountain. she simply eyes the thing, critically.
On the other side, the fountain has a temporary decoration: Bernie, lying on her back on the thick edge of the thing, hands pillowing her head as she gazes upward at the stars -- or, hearing the sound of the bike, in that direction, trying to see past the statuary and check whether it's a sound that requires her attention.
Signe eventually wanders around to the side on which Bernie's lying prone. The Get's hands are tucked neatly into the front pockets of her jeans. when she sees the gnawer, a grin appears on her otherwise pale features. "Well, shit. Just when I was gonna give up."
Bernie sits up quickly at the approach, blinking once as she begins to make out the Get's figure through the darkness, then breaking into a return grin as she recognizes the voice. "Signe!" she exclaims, swinging her legs over to sit on the edge of the fountain, facing outward, "Hey! Long time no see, as they say in th' Sahara."
"They say that in the Sahara?" Signe asks, continuing until she's standing only a couple feet from the Gnawer. "I'd figure it would be, 'Gimme a goddamn glass of water.'" A lame joke, but the Get doesn't seem to care. She looks around the park, takes a deep breath of cool spring air, and lets it out in a sigh. "Long time. Yup."
No less lame than Bernie's was; the reply gets a grin anyway, and a shrug. "Well, that's what they =mean=, they just tend t' beat around the bush with th' hinting, y'know how some folks are. Welcome back! Where've you =been=, anyhow?" She gestures vaguely to the structure beside her, offering a seat.
Signe doesn't answer the question, at least not without a little more pulling. She gives the gnawer a patented shrug of her leather jacket and drops onto the bench to kind of sprawl out in a slouch--the epitome of a leathered-Get. Sighing again, she says, "Thanks. Had some things to do. I even got some of them done."
"Like what?" Obligingly nosy Gnawer. "....man, I don't even remember when I saw you last. Tch. 'least it was productive then, yeah?" Bernie pulls her legs up indian style, and rests her elbows on her knees, chin on her hands.
Signe's eyes kind of slide a look over to the Gnawer, as if appraising her. "Yeah," she answers, still not all that forthcoming with the details. "You did some growing up," she adds, as a simple comment. Then, finally, she explains, "I went down to California for a while. Met up with an old packmate. He needed some help with...something."
Bernie half-smiles at the appraisal. "Thanks. Don't seem t' be able to avoid it. Where in Cali?" she asks, interested, "...if you were down where I'm from, you mighta run into somea my fam'ly. Did you get what you were helpin' with handled?" Not pressing for what, at least, not yet.
Signe shakes her head, cutting the gnawer off. "didn't see any 'family', other than a couple Get. And, yeah, we got the situation under as much control as could be." A wide grin shows she's said as much as she's going to about the subject, and so she changes it. "How bout you? What's been happening in our Sainted Claire?"
Bernie shrugs a little, glancing out over the park as if something might suddenly arise. "...mm. Not a lot, really. Well. Depending. I mean, when'd you leave, again? Lessee. There was this lost cub who was not keepin' kosher and didn't wanna change his ways, Anneka ended up having to deal with his judgement on that, that was pretty recent... people've still been workin' on th' hospital... I met a vampire..." Her brow furrows a bit as she runs through things. "I've been a li'l outta the loop for a bit, 'cause I was takin' too many classes and working. I think I fried my memory."
Signe lets all the news sink in, and only after several nods and a long moment of silence does the Get speak again. Frowning, she turns her head to the Gnawer and says, "Anneka. She ain't a cub no more, I guess, if she's judging people."
Bernie shakes her head. "Nope. Yeah, I guess that'd be somethin' else that happened, too. She rited, yeah. Also I heard Sophia did, but I haven't seen her in a bit. Lessee. ...=how= long back'd you leave, again?" The ragabash brushes a curl back behind her ear as she tries to catalog what happened when.
Signe shrugs again, shaking her head. "Shit, I can't remember. Least six months ago. Don't know how long I'm gonna stay either. Quiet--or whatever she calls herself these days--still in charge?"
Bernie nods a bit. "Yeah, unless I'm even more outta it than I thought..." she replies, with a grin that fully implies she considers this laughably unlikely. "Far's I know no one else's aiming for the job, so. Y'know Kaz's Gnawer elder now, or was that after you left, too?"
Bernie shakes her head.
Signe nods her head twice. "Yeah, I heard about Kaz," she answers, gaze drifting out to the waterline. "You ain't seen Chas around, have you?"
Bernie shakes her head, looking a bit apologetic. "Nah... I haven't. Not in a while. Sorry. 'course, I haven't heard how she was goin' anywhere, either, so..."
Signe shakes her head, letting the Gnawer know there's nothing to be sorry about. "Hell, half the time /I/ couldn't find Chaser when we were both /living/ in town. Chas is a lot like your average leopard. You know anything about cats? Leopards are not only loners, but impossible to find, even when they're right under your nose."
"...so what you're saying is, she's hard to spot," Bernie replies, with a quick grin. "Yeah, she's prolly around somewhere, I guess... so why wouldn't you stay 'round, anyhow?" she asks, picking up on the earlier comment.
Signe makes a face. It's not a grimace, but it belies any other description. "I dunno," she says, in a half-answer. "I'm finding it harder and harder to stay in one place these days."
"I've got superglue," Bernie replies, in an earnestly helpful tone, "...bet Max does, too. We could fix that for ya."
Signe smirks at the Gnawer. "Try it, no moon, and you'll be eating it."
Bernie grins back. "Y'know, y'try t' help someone out..." she declares long-sufferingly, and shakes her head. "So where d'you wanna go, then? Or just 'away'?"
Signe takes a deep breath, considering the question. "I was thinking, with summer coming along, maybe heading to Sturgis." she fixes the young Gnawer with a look--to see if she understands what that means.
Bernie's brow furrows as she tries to place it; that's probably a no. "...What's there?" she inquires, after a moment. "It sounds kinda familiar, for some reason, but... I dunno why."
Signe lets out a laugh, leaning her head back a moment. "Bikes," she answers. "Lots and lots of 'em. And the freaks that ride them." Another shrug of her shoulder, and she adds, "Great place to get laid, or so they say."
Bernie turns distinctly pink, eyes widening a touch behind her glasses, though she controls that part quite quickly. "Do they? I guess that could be a good thing t' know, in gen'ral." She pushes back a curl, and adds, "...think my Dad went once, when I was little; think that's where I heard it."
Signe smirks a little, but it's unclear if it's in response to the Gnawer's blush, or her answer. She asks, "Your dad ride a Harley?"
Bernie nods, swinging her legs a little. "Yeah. 's an old one. He useta take me for rides on it, sometimes. Not good for tryin' t' take th' whole family somewhere, though, obviously."
Signe looks a little surprised, but agrees with a nod about the last. "Depends on the family I guess, but yeah." A pause, and she looks the Gnawer ragabash over a little more carefully. "Your pop. Was he one of us?"
Bernie nods again, and grins, pulling her legs up indian style. "Still is. He's a 'dox. My middle brother is, too, only far's I know he hasn't changed yet. I think Dad'd've told me, 'cause we talked about it when I went down t' see 'em an' all."
"Damn, Gnawers," Signe says, shaking her head a little, her tone teasing. "you take after your totem a little too much, sometimes." Unlike Bernie, she slouches in her seat, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets idly.
"What, somethin' wrong with likin' cheese?" Bernie inquires, grinning again, and shrugs. "I've got two brothers, three sisters, anna niece, so far. So, yeah, got that fertility thing down," she agrees, hints of the blush returning.
Signe's eyes widen. "Ain't all of them garou though, are they?"
Bernie shakes her head. "Oh, hell no. Just me an' Dad an' Bobert, far's I know. Though I dunno if they checked Penny, that's my niece. I'd kina assume they did. Mom an' th' others are just normal kin."
Signe gives a nod. "So, how old's the little bro? He close to coming out?"
[Alas, scene called for RL.]