[Feb 11, 1997]

Forgotten Church(#1801RAJLM)
        The old church is dark, dimly lit by outside light coming in through 
  scum-encrusted windows during the day, and tomblike during the night. There 
  is a coatroom in the back of the nave, with separate doors leading off to 
  mens' and womens' restrooms, and two staircases, one going up to the balcony 
  and bell-tower, and the other leading down to the basement. The double doors 
  leading out to the street are at the back of the coatroom.
        The hard wooden pews in the sanctuary are, for the most part, still 
  intact. There are even Bibles and hymnals left in the shelves along the back 
  of each row, although many of them look rather chewed on. The altar on a 
  dais at the front of the church is empty, and the lectern that once stood 
  next to it has been knocked over. Rotting red cloth hangs at the very front 
  of the church; there might once have been a design on it, but it has long 
  since faded or been eaten away.
Contents:
Squirrel Man
Alley Cat
Obvious exits:
Street  Basement  
You quietly close the doors behind you.

Squirrel Man (or Ed, for those who ask) is of an age to be considered old by 
  most people, pushing along through his early-70's now, though some people 
  might guess him to be ten years younger than his actual age. Yes, it's true 
  that his hair continues to thin out on top, and that what's left is more 
  white than brown. And it's also true that his movements aren't as quick or 
  as sure as they were five decades ago. His hazel eyes still have a look of 
  sharp focus to them, and this without the aid of bifocals.
He's dressed the same as he is for almost any day, and almost any occasion: 
  dark brown polyester slacks, a button-up long-sleeved shirt, winter jacket, 
  and shabby dress shoes. No sir, sensible fashion like this just doesn't go 
  out of style.

Squirrel Man is puttering around, alone in the church this evening. The side 
  wall of the church is undergoing some minor construction, in the form of a 
  bookplace he's setting up. A shopping cart nearby has several crates of 
  magazines that are obviously intended for that area, once it's completely 
  built up.
Hazmat wrinkles her nose, pushing lank hair out of her face as she looks 
  around. "Yo, Jimmy?"

Hazmat(#4113Pce$)
A tall, gangly sort of girl in her late teens, just under six feet tall and 
  somewhat skinny. Pale, pale hair hangs in lank strings about her face and 
  shoulders, somewhat greasy. Her features are ordinary enough, too narrow to 
  be considered really attractive, and her nose is crooked. Grey eyes with a 
  constantly blood-shot appearance watch the world with quizzical 
  intelligence, and her long-fingered hands seem rarely still.
Her clothes are dirty and secondhand; the plain grey sweatshirt is worn to 
  holes at both elbows, and the faded blue jeans are blackened at the knees. 
  The clothes fit tolerably well, but not perfectly, having been made to fit 
  someone of her height but larger mass. The off-white sneakers are brandless, 
  and the battered brown trenchcoat is rather too big for her. Her pockets 
  bulge with assorted junk. 

Squirrel Man turns around, echoing, "Jimmy." Hazmat has seen him around a time 
  or two before, even talked to him once about the fallout shelters down in 
  the sewers, though he's an easy enough person to forget. "Jimmy hasn't been 
  by today, I'm afraid."
Hazmat peers at the squirrel man and ohs, shrugging. She flops into a pew. 
  "I'll wait."
Squirrel Man says, "If you'd like." He goes back to, well, puttering, 
  measuring and sawing wood for the bookshelves. "Are you a friend of Jimmy's?"
Hazmat rummages in a pocket and pulls out a length of string, the kind used to 
  tie up packages. "Yah."
Jimmy Wilson steps through the old double doors, closing them behind him.
Jimmy Wilson has arrived.
Blinks steps through the old double doors, closing them behind him.
Blinks has arrived.
Squirrel Man says, "Well, he sometimes comes by at night."
Blinks shuts the door behind him, and blinks, adjusting to the dim light.
Jimmy Wilson wanders in, talking to Blinks. "Anyhow, there's still food here 
  that I can bring out to... Hazzie! Shit, I've been looking..." His jackaled 
  voice trails off and he regards her closely. "Where ya been?" he asks, 
  carefully.
Blinks, too, seems surprised. "Gnawer bitch!" he says warmly. "I have not seen 
  you in a long time."
Squirrel Man leans over, and plucks a hammer out of a battered tool chest that 
  has made its way into the church. "You've got company, Jimmy," he says, 
  needlessly.
Hazmat sits up, grinning that big ol' Haz grin, stuffing the string in her 
  pocket. "Heyuh, Jimmy. How yuh doin'?"
Blinks gives Hazmat an awkward hand-wave, but he is quickly distracted by the 
  old man. He seems fascinated by the white hair, the wrinkles.
Jimmy Wilson shrugs at Hazmat. "Not too bad," he whines. He turns his head 
  long enough to spot the "improvements" the old homeless guy is making to the 
  place, then looks back. "So, you missed a big party," Jimmy says to Hazmat. 
  "Everyone was there, 'cept you and yer pack. Where you guys been? I need ta 
  talk ta Thena."
Hazmat's expression clouds. "Thena's dead," she says, quietly, sitting down 
  again.
Squirrel Man doesn't mind much Blinks staring, but that also gets him marked 
  as one to help out in these improvements. "Say, can you help steady up this 
  board while I whack on it?" he asks, waving the hammer vaguely toward Blinks 
  to indicate the target of his request for help.
Blinks reaches out to take the hammer.
Jimmy Wilson stops cold, biting his loewr lip, a habit he seems to have picked 
  up somewhere. "Dead? How? Where's Kosh?" His face shows nothing but concern.
Hazmat absently pulls at a loose thread on her coat. "He's 'round. We all went 
  off, kinda lookin' fer shit, an' we met up with this Wyrm shit, an' Thena 
  died." She brushes hair out of her face. "Kosh is fine, Windy too. They're 
  'round."
Squirrel Man's attention wanders toward Jimmy and Hazmat, with a look of 
  concern crossing his face, but then it's none of his business really and he 
  doesn't intrude. "No, I'll whatck it, and you hold her up steady," he says, 
  just as Blinks' hand nears the hammer. "I need a place to put these 
  magazines, I think. A shopping cart is convenient, but not a proper 
  bookshelf."
Jimmy Wilson sniffs the air a little. "Shit, Haz. You guys _did_ hit some bad 
  shit, eh?" He sniffs some more, then comes to a decision. "I need ta get 
  Gabriel or someone out here ta Clean ya up. You sorta, uh, smell."

[Note: Hazmat does not smell of Wyrm.]

Blinks studies the strange apparatus of hammer, shopping cart, magazines, and 
  board, trying to divine its purpose.
Blinks picks up the board and holds it out for Squirrel Man to "whack".
Hazmat pulls at her shirt and sniffs it. Then she shrugs. "Been patrollin' th' 
  sewers."
Jimmy Wilson looks at her, frowning a little. "Yeah, alright."
Squirrel Man takes Blinks' help in stride, guiding the board down so it's 
  flush against a side support, making a T for one of the shelves. "Really 
  ought to countersink the screws," he mumbles to himself. "Just hold her 
  there, so she doesn't slip."
Hazmat tilts her head at Jimmy. "Somethin' wrong?"
Blinks holds the board like the old man says, his eyes still on the man's face.
Jimmy Wilson continues to frown. "People been talkin', Haz. There's some bad 
  shit goin' down, ya know. You need ta let people know that you're back. I 
  was lookin' all over for you, but couldn't find ya. I thought you was dead 
  or something."
Hazmat's brow furrows. "Talkin'? Talkin' 'bout _me?_ Why?"
Squirrel Man uses slender nails, just something to hold the boards in place 
  until he can work on finding some wood screws to do a more proper job. He 
  hums some melody or another as he works, and keeps up a conversation. "I've 
  been collecting these magazines since 1942, I've only missed about a dozen 
  since then. Life Magazine -- good pictures, beyond a doubt."
Jimmy Wilson eyeballs Hazmat carefully. "Because you guys all took off without 
  sayin' nothing, then no one could find you. Not even me and the 'Stone. 
  Wharf Rats took off too, but they at least told people they was leaving. You 
  need ta find Chugs and let him know yer back. He'll wanna know."
Blinks flinches at the hammer's first blow, and watches in alarm as the old 
  man conducts his strange work.
Hazmat's eyes narrow slightly. She scowls and slouches back in the chair. 
  "Means fuckin' nothing, does it?" the Ragabash complains. "I do good shit 
  all my fuckin' life fuh 'em, an' I've even gone off b'fore fuh stuff, people 
  fuckin' *know* tha'." She's obviously insulted, even a little angry. "Yuh 
  din' think shit like that, didja, Jimmy?"
Squirrel Man gets the first nail hammered in, which stabilizes the bottom 
  shelf at least partially. His humming stops as he looks, again, toward the 
  two younger teenagers, but again he doesn't intrude, not even with Hazmat's 
  language. To Blinks, he continues right on talking, about nothing in 
  particular. "If you told me your birthday, I could even dig up the issue 
  from the week you were born. It's always interesting, seeing how things were 
  back then."
Jimmy Wilson grits his teeth. "Ya should tell people, Haz. I thought you was 
  dead... or worse." He sighs whiningly. "I'm just glad yer okay."
Hazmat seems mollified. She sighs, temper fading down. "'Cept fer Thena, we're 
  all oh-kay." She pauses. "What's this 'bout bad stuff?"
Blinks thinks about the birthday issue for a moment. "How old are you?" he 
  finally asks Squirrel Man.
Jimmy Wilson squints at Hazmat. "Bad shit," he says simply, looking over 
  toward Squirrel Man and Blinks for a second. "Real bad. That's why I moved 
  outta here, at least fer now. Maybe Chugs should bring ya up to date. He 
  seems ta know more about it than me. Thought it was leeches at first, but 
  now... they think it's somethin' else, maybe. No matter what you do, don't 
  trust no one out there with this info, okay? Ya don't know who ya can trust 
  anymore."
Hazmat chews worriedly at a thumbnail and nods.
Squirrel Man says, "Old enough to know not to answer questions like that, from 
  a young person such as yourself." He winks, and starts tapping against 
  another nail lightly, guiding it into the woods. "I was born back in '26."
Blinks frowns, thinking very hard about that answer. He counts a few numbers 
  off on his fingers, then gives up and looks up. "Really old," he says in an 
  awed voice.
Jimmy Wilson shrugs at Hazmat. "Anyhow, let Kosh know, huh? I'll be out at the 
  caern if ya need me. I've been hangin' out there mostly."
Squirrel Man nods, thoughtfully, now distracted by Jimmy's words more than the 
  nasally tone of his voice. "Ayup," he says to Blinks. "Rolling past seventy 
  years now. Pretty soon, I'll be past my prime."
Hazmat nods to Jimmy. "Yah, okay." She glances around. "Where is everyone? 
  Don' they hang out here no more?"
Jimmy Wilson suddenly loses all interest in his conversation with Hazmat, 
  turning to put his back to her. "Seventy?! Shit, yer fuckin' Old, man." 
  Jimmy seems almost in awe of the homeless guy. "I didn't know you was so 
  ancient, man. That's cool."
Hazmat falls into silence, worrying at her fingernail.
Squirrel Man seems rather amused by this response, even gives a chuckle. "Lots 
  of mileage on me, that's for sure. But then my family tends toward extremes, 
  either living long or dying young. I've still got a few good decades left in 
  me, boy."
Jimmy Wilson nods at Squirrel Man, his jaw still dropped.
Hazmat tilts her head, looking at the old man thoughtfully. "Huhn."
Squirrel Man finishes this second nail and calls it a good night's work, one 
  shelf at least partially in, and the magazines all collected in one spot. 
  "Close you mouth, you'll collect flies."
Jimmy Wilson grins back at the old man. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He looks back to 
  Hazmat. "So where did you guys go? Did you bring me anything back? Ya know 
  how much I like surprises. Becca even got me somethin' when Wharf Rats went 
  to New York, even though it was only some stupid soap and shit from the 
  holtel they stayed at."
Hazmat perks up. "Oh, yah. Speakin' a' Becca, I ain't seen her."
Squirrel Man keeps half an ear on the conversation, and most of his attention 
  on Blinks. "So you're one of Jimmy's friends, eh?" he asks, 
  conversationally. "I can't recall seeing you around town too much, but then, 
  I don't get out as much in the winter."
Jimmy Wilson shrugs. "She took off with Matt an' Mosh. Someone fucked up that 
  cub they was watching an' Chugs got pissed at them. They just fucking 
  bailed, I guess. I don't think they're comin' back. Chugs says not ta bother 
  goin' after them, 'cause they wouldn'ta left if they wanted us around them 
  anyhow. Whatever."
Hazmat narrows her eyes. "Cub?"
Blinks wanders over to listen in on the conversation between the two Gnawers. 
  His eyes go up in surprise at mention of Mosh.
"Yeah, some redneck kid," Jimmy whines. "Got gutted an' scalped."
Hazmat's eyes widen. "A *cub*?" She rises from the pew. "They let a *cub* 
  die?" Fury sparks in her eyes.
Jimmy Wilson frowns at Haz. "I know; I was pissed, too. Chill out, huh? 
  Gettin' pissed won't help anything." He looks over to Blinks. "You about 
  ready ta bail? I gotta go pick up Sparrow from Miss Brittany's place soon."
Blinks holds up his empty hands, to show he is doing nothing.
Hazmat's hands clench into fists. "I'm gonna kill 'em if they ever come back 
  here. Gonna fuckin' *kill* 'em!"
Blinks takes a step back from Hazmat. "Hazmat?"
Jimmy Wilson looks coolly at Hazmat. "You don't like Becca, do ya? I mean 
  before all this went down? Like that shit back at the caern that time..."
Squirrel Man straightens out a few of his tools and closes the top on the tool 
  chest, a snap of the clasp to fasten it. Now, without anything to distract 
  his attention from the conversation, he's getting a little uneasy at 
  Hazmat's rising temper. "I think I'll go downstairs for a bit," he says, to 
  no one in particular.
Hazmat sits down, abruptly, putting the heels of her hands to her eyes, taking 
  deep breaths. "No," she says, calming herself. "No, I don'. She's careless 
  an' stupid. An'... an' a *cub*. Fuck shit cunt shit fuck *dick*."
Jimmy Wilson grins a little. "Damn, Haz. You swear better'n Mosh. Anyhow, I'll 
  see ya 'round, huh?" He looks over to Blinks. "Let's get that food an' get 
  back to the caern, okay?"
Hazmat nods, summoning up a smile for Jimmy. "Always liked *yuh*, Jimmy," she 
  says, suddenly. "Yuh gonna be a great Father someday."
Jimmy Wilson stops, turning back at Hazmat frowning. "Why the fuck does 
  everyone want me ta be in charge a' shit? I just wanna... fuck it, 
  nevermind. We can talk about it later over a keg, eh?"
Squirrel Man toddles off downstairs, into the basement, bringing an armload of 
  those Life magazines with him.
Squirrel Man heads down the basement stairs.
Squirrel Man has left.
Hazmat giggles slightly and nods. "Yah, oh-kay. Tell Chugs I wanna talk t'him, 
  oh-kay?"
Jimmy Wilson nods at her. "Yeah, right. You know where ta find him." He heads 
  downstairs quickly, coming back up with a few shopping bags full of Stuff. 
  "See ya later. Let's bail, Blinks."
Long distance to Jimmy Wilson and Blinks: Hazmat hehs.
Hazmat waves, then lies back in the pew.
Blinks still seems disturbed by the whole scene. "She won't really kill 
  anyone, will she?" he asks Jimmy as they walk out the door.
Jimmy Wilson shrugs. "Nyeah," is the last whiny word Haz hears from him as he 
  heads out.
Blinks opens one of the double doors at the back of the church, leaving for 
  the streets.
Blinks has left.
Jimmy Wilson opens one of the double doors at the back of the church, leaving 
  for the streets.
Jimmy Wilson has left.