The night siren sounds out across 12th Street. It's broadcast with the same loudspeakers as the morning klaxon, but the siren's got a long, low, almost mournful tone. It's not meant to wake people up, like the klaxon. It's meant to sing people to sleep.
Of course, that in no way means that 12th Street shuts up for the night. Some of the people call it a day, sure. But not you fuckers.
Wilson, you've gathered together those of your crew that you could find. How'd you do that? Obviously, Tavi was up there in the tunnel with you, but Man just disappeared. Shade, I'm assuming you were looking for Wilson, so maybe it's an unspoken thing that if you're separated you'll meet up at the Big Game lodge by nightfall.
Kray, how'd you know to come here, though? Where'd you go after, y'know, the earlier antics? Did Wilson find you, there, or did you decide to check in here?
Wilson, I'm pretty sure you spent most of the day dealing with commercial issues, what with the mandiboar carcass and remaining concerns left over from yesterday, when you came back from that hunt. Nothing too big a deal, really, but time-consuming. The good news is the beasties are chopped up in slabs of meat, so you've got plenty for a good meal at the Big Game lodge. What'd you bring, exactly? What's good eating?
Shade, your thing with Crine is coming up. You've probably got an hour. Elite deepers like to have "late" events, after the siren. Makes them feel somehow special, being so detached from the "normal" day/night cycle. They make their own day, they make their own night, or so they would say.
Tavi, did you stick to Wilson most of the day? I know Nickel stuck to you. Maybe you went to find Dremmer, but if so, you probably didn't have much luck. Did you just give up, decide to go hang out at the lodge? Did you do anything in particular with Nickel?
Anyway, the Big Game is filled up, like it often is at night. Hunters give the place a brisk business, even after the night siren, and you can hear the rumble of voices and revelry easily slips past the Big Game's walls. Smoke pours out of the building's poor chimney, made out of old metal drums with the bottoms taken out, stacked on top of each other, as the hunters inside roast their own meat in a big makeshift fireplace, a metal drum at the bottom of that chimney, cut in half, with the open side covered in a wire mesh that can be pulled back cross it to prevent sparks from leaping out, when it's not being used to roast food. Not the safest thing in the world, but Silver makes sure to keep plenty of buckets of dirt and water around, along with some worst-case emergency thick fluid made from swampfish secretions.
Unless anyone would prefer to be inside right now, I kind of figure everybody's meeting up outside the building.