It's difficult to pin down Harry's exact age. Somewhere over forty, probably, though exactly how far over is difficult to tell. He exudes an air of shabby and forced gentility. His black hair is slicked back behind his ears, and has the sheen and colour typical of someone who has discovered Grecian 2000. His features are sharp, and rat-like: he has a pointy nose and his eyes flick from place to place shiftily. On his upper lip is a thin black moustache. When he opens his mouth, he reveals a set of crooked teeth, majorly in need of some dental attention.
He's not a big man - perhaps 5'10" tall, and he's wearing a pinstripe suit that was fashionable twenty years ago, with a red handkerchief shoved into the breast pocket. His black shoes, however, are polished to a fine shine.
He often carries a battered brown-leather briefcase. Hanging from the corner of his mouth is a roll-up cigarette, that doesn't appear to have been made with much tobacco. It's not always lit. When he speaks, he has an English accent, common. Experts and Brits would recognise it as being typical of the East End of London.
This wolfdog is a ramshackle beast, white-furred and skinny underneath her shaggy pelt. The wolf in her is in clear evidence, visible in her loose gait and long muzzle and bushy tail, but her fur grows long around her neck, belly, and haunches, and her black-tipped ears are overlong and overbroad, showing touches of collie and German shepherd. Her grey eyes are rimmed in black, and her nose is a dark brownish color.
There's a scar across the top of her muzzle that doesn't quite put it out of alignment; other scars are hidden under thick fur. Though not much of a pet (there's something just a bit too primal and wild about her), she seems easily distracted, more distant than fierce, and sometimes, like a cat, she seems to be staring off at things that don't exist.
Around her neck is a cheap pink nylon dog collar, partially hidden by her shaggy white ruff. A little bone-shaped metal tag hangs from it.
Pizza trots through the park at an easy pace, going back and forth and clearly in no particular hurry to get anywhere. Passing an overflowing trashcan, she stops to sniff with interest around its base and noses with even more interest at an empty burger wrapper that still smells strongly of Big Mac.
Sitting on a park bench nearby is a dapper man, dressed in an out-moded suit. He has a brown leather briefcase next to him, and he's just extracting a paper packet, which to a sensitive nose contains some kind of meat-related product. He sets the packet on his lap, and slowly unwraps it, revealing the sandwich within.
Pizza lifts her head, abandoning the wrapper with its scraps of special sauce, onion, and cheese. Her ears go up; her nose works. She smells the sandwich, smells the man, considers both for a moment, then trots over.
Harry looks up, and appraises the approaching mutt. "Now, you're a funny-looking dog," he says, his British accent strong. "Some wolf in you. Wonder how much?" He seperates his two sandwich halves and proffers one half. It smells like ham. "Want some?" he asks. "I've got plenty here. Won't even charge you for it."
Pizza's jaw drops open, tongue lolling hungrily out of her mouth. Her bushy tail wags slowly as she approaches. Delicately, carefully, oh-so-ladylike, she cranes her neck out and takes the proffered half of sandwich in her mouth, then backs off a step or two before dropping it. Then all pretense at gentility is swept away as the animal wolfs it down, no pun intended.
Down by the river, someone vaguely Kaz-shaped can be seen ambling along near the bridge.
The man grins and takes a bite from his half. "Not bad, though Dave's forgotten the bloody mustard again," he says, before looking back at Pizza. "I'm still not sure about you. Fancy saying anything to me?" His eyes dart around, looking to see if anyone can overhear him. "I'm looking for someone called Kaz," he whispers. "Of course, if you're just a dog, forget I said anything."
Pizza licks crumbs off her chops and looks alertly at the man. Her head tilts. Hello? Do you mean Ears?
Kaz tosses a rock into the river; she tosses it rather hard, really. Possibly she's working off some irritation at something.
"Bloody jackpot," Harry says, his face cracking into a jubilant smile. "Yeah, I think so. To be honest, I'm bloody awful at silly names. Who are you? I'm Harry." His voice is kept deliberately low. "Any idea where I can find her?"
Pizza lifts her muzzle as the breeze changes direction and sniffs the air. She looks cannily at Harry, then bounces to her feet and goes tearing off across the park toward Kaz, barking. Ears! Hey, Ears! Hey!
Random people talking in the park, Kaz ignores. A dog barking her name, not so much. She swivels around at the first bark, squinting and then brightening at sight her. "Hey, yo!" she calls, and starts heading thattaway.
"I stepped in the lucky shit today," Harry observes to himself. He settles back and finishes off his sandwich, savouring every bite. When it's gone, he screws up the wrapper and tosses into...well, on top of...the trashcan.
Pizza reaches Kaz and starts jumping around her, her tail wagging fiercely. Hi. Hi hi hi. That man knows your name! The man in the suit! He gives food. Do you know him?
Kaz crouches down (creakily) to give Pizza a better target. "Hey, you." She manages to get a look at Harry around Pizza's perigrinations, and shakes her head. "Not /yet/, I don't..." She trails off, and, eventually, levers herself to her feet again, beginning to amble over to the older man.
Harry blinks at the approaching figure, and scrabbles inside his jacket, pulling out a tattered piece of paper. He looks at the paper, then at the approaching figure, then at the paper again. "Fuck me," he says, and hurriedly stands up, smoothing his suit down.
Pizza heels neatly next to Kaz, trotting along briskly, tail waving cheerfully behind her.
Dusty steps from riverside into the meadow, a twisted-up cigarette between her lips. She's frowning as she pats her pockets, then pauses to survey the park. Well, everyone seems to be making headway toward Harry, so she follows suit, slowly.
Kaz limps towards the man, looking fairly cheerful. "Hey," she says, once she gets close enough to be fairly quiet. "Hear you're kinda lookin' for me?"
"Depends," Harry replies, eyes flicking. "Some friends of mine down south gave me a couple of names. The big one was "Kaz". Would that be you? I guess if my dinner companion is anything to go by, you probably are. You only sort of match the description I was given, though. I was expecting someone with, y'know, more presence. I'm Harry, anyway." There's something guarded about him, and he looks actively shifty.
Pizza sniffs carefully around at Harry's shoes and pantcuffs and noses at his briefcase.
Suddenly, indefinably, Kaz abruptly looks every inch her rank, eyes filling with a snap of command, posture becoming more dominant. "Presence?" is all she says. And then, just as suddenly, she's back to her limping, cheerful, relatively relaxed self. "But yeah. I'm Kaz. Also known as Ears. Whereabouts down south y'comin' from?"
Dusty pauses again. She's out of hearing range, studying the trio with the hesitation of one deciding whether or not to interrupt strangers.
"Arizona, lately," Harry says, with a grin. "Though you can tell by my accent that I ain't from this neck of the woods originally." He seems unfazed by the change in Kaz. "Actually, what I meant was that they said you were fat, and you ain't really. I suppose I should do the fol-de-rol. I'm Harry Hall, sometimes called Works-Every-Angle." He flicks his eyes around the park, alighting on Dusty for a second, then drops his voice into a more guarded murmur. "Cliath Ragabash of the glorious Gnawers. And I've come here with the full intent of enlivening your little sept with my wit and charm, and providing quality services at reasonable costs. Have you got a car?"
Pizza lifts her head, ears perking. Car? Then she notices the girl loitering just out of talking distance. The wolfdog stiffens, staring alertly at Dusty, her nose twitching visibly.
"Oh, you know," Kaz says. "Kinda burly. Same thing." She looks from Pizza to Dusty, and then lowers her own voice, as well. "Galliard, Fostern, Gnawer, metis, all that crap. I'm all f'enlivening things, although actually, I do gotta car. Van. Some Kin goober gave it to me."
Interrupt it is, Dusty stuffing her hands in her pockets as she marches towards the others. "Any've y'all got a light?" she asks amiably around her cigarette. Her gaze shifts over people and wolfdog with casual scrutiny.
Harry stiffens momentarily, but looks over at Dusty and smiles. "Sure love," he says, pulling a disposable lighter from his jacket pocket. He sparks it, cupping his hand in a makeshift wind break. "Knock yourself out."
Pizza sneezes explosively for no obvious reason, scratches vigorously at her neck, then becomes occupied with chewing and chasing other itches.
Kaz regards Dusty for a moment, and then flips out an old and well loved Zippo. Harry, however, beats her to it, so she sticks it back in her pocket, apparently perfectly happy not to have random strangers use it.
Dusty sucks the flame into her cigarette for a moment, then grins back at Harry. "Thanks. Usually prepared, but y'lose things on the road..." There's a pause as she pulls another drag, then adds as she glances between the two Gnawers, "Didn't mean to interrupt. Afternoon." And she strolls out the park.
The Gnawer Ragabash blinks. "Well, yeah, as I was sayin'. I've got a nice line in car radios. Want one? Blaupunkt. Only some of the wires obviously yanked out of a Merc. Good quality." He smiles winningly. "I can do you an excellent deal."
Pizza clambers up onto the park bench next to Harry and balances there, sniffing at his artificially-black hair.
Kaz blinks at Dusty, and then refocuses on Harry. "Dude," she says, clearly amused. "Do I /look/ like I'm made've money?"
"Hey, gotta try and make a crust," Harry says, with an open gesture. "Still, if there is anything you need, just ask. Procurement is one of my specialities. Anyway, let's get down to the nitty gritty. I got...well, gonna get, a shop. Just as soon as I find a good place. If I run it as, like, a dosshouse - a safe place. People can come crash, hide out, whatever. That enough to get me in?"
Pizza, meanwhile, continues to snuffle wetly in the vicinity of Harry's ear. SniffsniffsniffHUFF. Warm doggy breath assails his nostrils.
Kaz doesn't at all seem offended by the sales pitch, in any case; she merely grins, says, "Sure, just, ain't gonna get money out of a stone." But at his proposition, she says, promptly, "Yes. I think that'd be a fuckin' good thing. Them Walkers have one, but I gotta real strong feelin' it's better t'have more safe places than less."
"No more sarnies," Harry says amiably to Pizza. "Do you have a name, anyway?" He looks back to Kaz. "Great." He spits on his palm, then offers it to Kaz. "It's a deal. Won't be able to put up the hordes of Genghis, best to keep it low key."
Pizza sneezes again before flopping down on the bench, taking up much of the space not used up by Harry. I'm Pizza. No-moon.
Kaz grins at this interaction, mildly. "Yeah, makes sense. It's f'th' best, really. Them Walkers have this fuckass huge space everyone knows about? So I'd kinda like this t'actually /be/ a secret, f'Sept folks who really fuckin' need it. We've had some Kin and Veil problems lately, so I kinda like this whole "for emergencies only" thing."
"Gotcha," Harry says, still holding his hand out. "We goin' to shake on it?" He grins at Pizza. "Pleased to meet you. When I've got the shop sorted, feel free to drop by any time. Dave'll make you a sarnie or whatever."
Kaz, hastily, shakes.