1 October 2014

Currently in Saint Claire, it is partially cloudy. The temperature is 63 
degrees Fahrenheit (17 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
from the west at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.18 and 
rising, and the relative humidity is 54 percent. The dewpoint is 46 degrees 
Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half (Philodox) Moon phase (52% full).

Regan Avenue West, Downtown

For two or three blocks, between Thirteenth and Fifteenth Streets, 
red-brick apartment buildings alternate with the occasional small, 
struggling side garden or a small business. A pizza parlor decorates the 
corner of one intersection, and a relatively prosperous deli takes up space 
at another. Along one street, a fire station interrupts the other 
buildings, small but obviously in good condition from frequent need. 
Graffiti shows on sidewalks and on a few of the buildings, but is not 
prevalent. The road has been paved sometime within the last few years, to 
judge by the lack of potholes.

Those eyes of her are peeled as Mack watches the three continue their 
conversation from the safety of her car, and the bliss of her music and 
Mickie D's.

Slug shrugs his shoulders at Val and moves around to a good position to 
load up her bag. First the 12 pack, then the plastic bag follows- Along 
with the change he had in the palm of his hand. As soon as he's done 
shoving all the crap in, he steps back and jerks his head at Brad in turn. 
"Sup man," he greets. He just laughs at Val. "An ID is just another thing 
that gets burned when you get made."

Quoz shuffles down the sidewalk behind his overstuffed shopping cart. He 
spies some familiar faces and heads toward them.

Ramos wanders along from the other direction than Quoz, veering close to 
the curb and walking with his head lowered slightly and hair in his face.

Brad calculates the weight of Val's bag, "Whoa", and holds out a hand with 
"I'll carry that to your place", offered to Val. "It's on my way", which it 
is now, whether or not it was before.

Val smiles at Brad. "You're a peach," she tells him. "I owe you one, Slug," 
she says, then heads off with the kinsman.

Mackenzie wrinkles her nose a bit more and then shakes her head at the 
transaction. Something about it seems to ruffle her feathers though, as the 
next handful of fries is forsake so she can let a quick punch at her 
steering wheel go. It hits dead center and an awkward attempt at a horn 
goes off. It sounds like a balloon being stripped of its air by means of 
stretching the neck, then suddenly blurts out into a full blown cough of a 
HOOOONK!

Almost before the sound of Mackenzie's irritable horn honking has died, 
another sound seems to peel from under it, a low, grinding rumble, like two 
cinder blocks being rubbed together. It's subtle enough that it's only just 
audible against the traffic and other city sounds.

Quoz waves to Val, who's leaving as he arrives, then to Slug. "Good 
evening! Haven't seen you around in a while, what have you been up to 
lately?" He jumps a bit as the horn goes off and looks around for the 
source of the noise.

Ramos startles visibly at Mack's horn, head snapping up, nostrils flaring. 
He looks around, standing stark still.

Slug smirks at the two of them and shakes his head, watching them go. He 
leans back against the nearest wall and reaches into one of his many 
pockets for a pack of cigarettes, though he does stop and look at Mackenzie 
when she lays on her horn. He looks at her, then ahead of her, and all 
around, as if trying to figure out what she's honking about.

In all truth, the girl inside looks just as startled by the horn as the 
others, and she's caught one fry dangling from her mouth like a robin with 
a worm as she stares at it. That greasy potato morsel is tossed back sans 
hand, much like a great white flipping a seal cub better into its maw as 
she holds up a hand in a placating 'sorry' gesture. Her eyes move to follow 
the odd father-daughter couple as they walk off with the booze, but she's 
quickly distracted by a pair of familiar faces that draw her attention in 
their direction. Namely, Ramos and Quoz.

That's about when the world goes wrong. The grunt itself gives a sharp, 
sudden jerk downward and then up, as if trying to shake the people right 
off of it, followed almost immediately by furious rolling shakes from side 
to side. Further up the road, a car slams on its brakes, then spins halfway 
into the oncoming traffic lane as the car immediately behind it slams into 
its bumper, and the car behind /that/ one hits the second car. There's a 
screech of tires as the leading car in oncoming traffic manages to turn 
aside just in time to avoid hitting the poor front car again, and echoes of 
the same as more cars behind it slam on their brakes. The ground shakes 
wildly enough that Mackenzie is tossed against the driver's side door even 
in her truck.

Quoz turns back to Slug after looking for the honking horn and seeing 
someone slightly familiar. He's about to say something when all hell breaks 
loose. He's nearly knocked off his feet by the sudden seismic ground waves. 
"Great Gaia! Earthquake! Big one!" He staggers to the sidewalk and finds a 
street sign to hang on to until the shaking subsides.

Slug looks back to Quoz when the man calls to him, and he waves back with a 
thin smile on his face. "Hey," he calls, his voice a bit tense, but 
friendly. "I guess I'm doin'-" He pauses and trails off as the ground 
starts a moving and a shaking. At first, he just sort of stands there for a 
couple seconds, but he's quick to squirrel himself away in the nearest 
doorway or beneath the closest overhang. He flips his hood up and draws it 
close around his head, placing one hand on the nearest wall. "T-The fuck?!"

Ramos drops to all fours as the ground starts rocking and rolling, his 
mouth dropping open, the back of his oversized coat rippling like he's got 
a couple of large pythons hiding under there. He crouches, thick fingers 
gripping the concrete, nostrils flaring wide.

Mackenzie not only gets her head thumped against her own window, but finds 
the last remnants of her fries tossed into the air like a pinata full of 
grease candy. "Fuck!" she yells out, loud enough to be heard over the rest 
of sounds erupting through the area. Brakes lights flash as she puts a foot 
hard to the pedal, and the sound of the parking break cranks just before 
she opens the door and lets herself get dumped out of the vehicle. She 
scrambles quick and bolts toward a building, "Fuck, fuck!"

Noise, noise, noise. That grinding sound fills the ears, not so much 
drowning out but mixing with everything else. Carn horns blare, people 
shout and, in the case of one poor woman, scream incessantly. Somewhere, 
something, no, several somethings, snap, and there's the faint sound of 
breaking glass and things crashing from shelves, with not even brick walls 
able to fully muffle the sound. And the whole time the ground rolls and 
shakes like an insane beast, until suddenly it simply stops. 

The sidewalk has cracked noticeably in several places, though the road, or 
what can be seen of it underneath the stopped cars, seems to have mostly 
escaped unscathed. Down at the corner a water line has actually popped 
right up through the concrete, spraying cars, part of the road, and halfway 
up the nearest building. The majority of the shouting is now coming from 
the firehouse, from which firefighters in varying states of readiness hurry 
out and toward the multi-car wreck. People are getting out of their 
vehicles too; some look dazed, a few appear to have hit their heads, but 
fortunately there's no sign of severe injuries here. One of the light poles 
is leaning a little too far for comfort, however, and both it and the 
traffic lights have gone dark.

Slug tucks his back in against the wall as the world continues to try and 
turn itself upside down. The Gnawer stays on his feet, but not by a huge 
margin. By the end of things, he's looking all shook up, dissheveled, and a 
bit stiff in the legs. He sniffs the air as he gets his bearings again, 
looking up and down the street. "Is that... Gas?" He looks at Quoz, tilts 
his head, and looks down at the sidewalk. "Oh. Right."

Quoz hangs on to the sign and waits for the shaking to stop, his eyes shut 
tight. Once it stops, he releases the death grip and looks around, seeing 
if anyone nearby looks hurt. He glances at Slug, then looks at the fountain 
down the street, shaking his head. "Probably water, looks like a main 
broke." He sees the woman who's fallen out of her car and heads over to her 
to see if she's okay.

The brash girl from the truck looks as pale as a ghost just now. She's 
breathing heavily and remains pressed hard against the side panel of her 
truck. "Fuck!" she mutters again as if it were the only word she was 
capable of.

Sirens can be heard in the distance. The firehouse and the pizza parlor 
both seem to still have power, but the city skyline has an awful lot of 
dark spots in it.

"Yeah," Slug says to Quoz, sounding a bit distracted. The Gnawer bites the 
inside of his cheek and looks off in the direction of the sirens, the 
approaching firemen, and the threat of more eyes on the street. He shoves 
his hands into his pockets and slinks off down the nearest alley, hopping 
over a few tipped over trash bins.

Quoz crouches down near the woman and offers a hand to her to help her to 
her feet. He pauses for a moment, trying to place her face. Suddenly, 
realizaton strikes. "Ah! You're the cajon player. Are you okay?"

Ramos stands up slowly, shoulders hunched and fingers still spread like 
he's expecting to have to drop to the ground again. He mutters to himself, 
lips moving noiselessly.

Mackenzie looks up at good Samaritan and blinks, familiarity registering in 
her gaze too. "Oh. Yeah, that's me. Uh, yeah? First quake. Holy shit that 
is not cool. Is it done? What happens now?"

Quoz shrugs. "Dunno, it's my first, too. I'd be careful, if I were you, 
though, there may be aftershocks. They can go on for days." He stands up, 
although with his crooked back, he looks like he's still hunched over. "It 
didn't fit the pattern, though. Strange. We should've felt a big jolt, 
that's the P-wave, then the S-wave, then the big rolling ground waves. But 
we just skipped straight to the ground waves. Uh, from what I've read, 
anyway." He looks around. "Where'd Slug go? Dammit."

Ramos, still mumbling to himself, rummages around in his pockets and comes 
up with a piece of chalk. He shuffles a few steps, then hunkers down and 
draws a circle on the sidewalk. A circle, and then another interlocking 
circle and several curved lines, seemingly at random.

Mackenzie runs a hand over her face and up into her hair, shaking her head. 
Having taken the hand up, she offers a quieter, 'Thanks,' to Quoz and then 
looks back to the truck. A sigh of relief escapes her before she double 
takes to look toward the other familiar face. She takes a few steps toward 
the oddly dressed man, peering down at his chalk work, "What're you doing?"

Quoz holds up his hand to the woman. "Stay there a moment." He walks over 
to the man drawing in chalk on the ground, but doesn't approach too 
closely. He has enough experience dealing with mentally ill homeless to be 
wary of people muttering to themselves. "Sir? Are you all right? That was 
quite a shock we had, eh?" He glances down at the chalk drawing on the 
ground.

The collection of circles and lines looks very deliberate, but it's nothing 
either recognize. "Things... things moving in the earth," Ramos says 
distractly, without looking up. He makes a back-of-the-throat gurgling 
noise, then hawks a wad of spit and phlegm into his free hand and slaps it 
down in the center of the... glyph? Symbol? Abstract art piece? "Deep. 
Big." He sits back on his heels and looks up at them, eyes hidden behind 
the welder's goggles, brow furrowed.

Mackenzie doesn't take the others advice about staying put, and steps up 
right beside him. "It's fine, met him before..." she offers to Quoz. "What 
do you mean things?" she asks, eyes filled with more scrutiny on the goggle 
wearing man.

Quoz peers at the strange goggle-wearing man and looks a bit startled at 
what he's saying. He doesn't say anything about that, though. "Deep, big, 
yeah. Tectonic plates are big. The Farallon Plate is subducting under us 
about 20 miles down."

"No," Ramos says. He spreads his hands, chalk held between two fingers of 
the left, palms down over the drawing he's made. "Things. Living. 
Breathing. Old. Big. Moving. Hungry? Angry?" He frowns. "Not known."

Mackenzie gives Quoz a side long glance, and clears her throat slightly. 
"Yeaaah. Okay." The verbal dismissal is louder than it needs to be, as if 
she were doing it for show toward the other. She steps in closer though and 
drops down into a squat. "So what gives on these things you drew?" Her 
voice lowers as she nears Ramos, whispers intent for him alone, "You told 
me you weren't up to trouble. I don't believe you so much just now."

Quoz mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper, "I hope you don't 
mean what I think you mean." He glances at Mackenzie as she whispers to the 
man, arching an eyebrow.

Ramos ducks his head, cringing back from Mackenzie, pulling his hands close 
to his chest and looking away. "Nnno. No trouble. The symbol, it... it is 
focus." He talks without looking up. "The ground moves. Moves not... not 
the way ground moves when it moves on its own. Moves not the first time. 
Not the first time in the past close to us."

Mackenzie tchkts her tongue to her cheek and draws in a breath, "Just who 
are you?" she asks him in that forced whisper once more. A side-glance back 
to Quoz is offered with a shrug of her shoulders as if she were getting 
nowhere with the man.

Quoz shrugs. "Well, you seem OK. Physically, anyway. I have to run, need to 
check up on some folks, make sure they're not hurt. See you around, OK?"

Mackenzie looks back toward Quoz and nods, "Yeah, thanks. Really." The 
gratitude is genuine from the girl as she nods her farewell.

"Gunther Ramos. I seek the other paths." He twitches his head to the side 
to note Quoz leaving, then warily gets back to his feet; he seems nervous 
of Mackenzie.

"You're seeking other paths, but speaking in damn riddles." A wave of 
frustation washes over Mackenzie and she looks in hard debate over 
something on her mind. Finally, she eases a little closer, voice as soft as 
she's able to manage it, but her tone firm and blunt, "Do you seek the 
destruction of this world?"

"No," Ramos says, for once looking at her directly. At least for a moment 
or two.

Mackenzie looks into those goggles as he gives his answer; and though the 
eyes may be the most important factor in gauging truth typically, the young 
woman gives an absolute nod as if accepting his answer as truth. "Good. 
Then stay safe." She glances back to her truck, "You know my truck by 
sight. If you find something out, no matter how strange it is, come tell 
me." She pauses, "Will you do that?"

Ramos hesitates, looking from Mackenzie to the truck and then back again. 
Eventually he says, "Yes," and it sounds like the truth.

Mackenzie takes a fair step back then and nods, looking him over with brief 
curiosity. "Same goes if you get into trouble and need something." A pause, 
"And hey. Can call me Mack, alright?" That last offering, the simple act of 
sharing her name, comes with a heaviness of posture and a somewhat nervous 
draw of breath. A nod follows as she turns to look back at her truck and 
then make her way back to it.

"Mack," Ramos repeats, and then several times more, muttering it 
underbreath. He looks down at the chalk drawing, then up at the sky. Still 
muttering, he stomps and scuffs out the chalk lines, then heads off down 
the sidewalk at an awkward, hunched trot.